When Mayhem Cries

by Alex Howell

  Annoyed, Mason snapped a branch off a nearby tree and aggressively waved it at the bird, causing it to fly off in the other direction. His sudden burst of adrenaline already fading away he then finally relaxed enough to laugh, “Yeah that’s what I love about these remote missions—you never know what you might be up against.”

  Their comm link crackling to life, Kyle informed them “Yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you about the parrots. They’re all over the place here.”

  The group then found themselves entering into another clearing where they observed what looked like an old farmhouse. Mason asked incredulously, “How many farmers have homesteads out in the Amazon?”

  Raina answered, “Um—I’m no expert, but I would wager not too many.”

  Mason then followed up this question with, “What about drug lords?”

  Benton then came up behind them and voiced his own astonishment, “Oh crap—what is all this?”

  Mason with a look of determination flashing across his face muttered, “We’re about to find out.”

  MEANWHILE, THOUSANDS OF MILES AWAY IN UNITED STATES AT THE CAMPUS OF STANFORD UNIVERSITY. Clara Walker had just sat down at a popular study lounge at Stanford’s campus center. Stanford’s summer session had just begun and she was determined to catch up on some of the things she had missed the previous semester.

  It was a demonstration of her incredible resilience that she was even able to continue attending school after what had occurred to her the previous semester. Because it was just a few months prior that she had escaped the clutches of an abusive boyfriend who nearly had her ensnared by a sex trafficking ring.

  Thanks to the relentless efforts of her father Mason and his teammates with Onyx she escaped relatively unscathed, but even so, those with a less sound constitution—if they decided to return to school at all—would have been too shaken up to consider enrolling in summer classes. But not Clara, she knew that the disruptions of recent times threatened to put her behind schedule academically, and that was something she simply couldn’t tolerate.

  This semester she was determined to make her studies her number one obligation. But no matter how much she wanted to keep her focus on her grades, there always seemed to be something or someone ready to distract her. She had just cracked open her anthropology book when a young man sat down in the seat next to her.

  He smiled gently at her and asked, “You mind if I sit here?”

  Since her last bad run-in, Clara was understandably hesitant when it came to guys she didn’t know. But at the same time—just like her father Mason, she was far too logical to allow her emotions to completely cloud her judgement. Despite her fears she knew how to face reality. And in reality—at the moment—there was no rational reason for her to be afraid.

  It was broad daylight, in the middle of a busy campus center surrounded by several other students coming and going in all directions. No bad bogey man was likely to assail her and drag her kicking and screaming across the campus food court. She knew that while it was good to be cautious, she also knew that irrational fear could become a crippling paralysis.

  Despite what she had been through, she couldn’t make herself so shut off to the outside world that she couldn’t function. She had faced evil and survived, but that didn’t mean that she would be so jaded that she would forever expect the worst out of everyone she met. Instead she smiled openly at the young man, her fellow student, and obliged him, “Sure, have a seat.”

  Clara and the other student sat in silence for a few minutes as she quickly scribbled anthropology terms and definitions on a stack of index cards. The young man glancing over at her anthropology book then got her attention by remarking, “Oh—you’re in Professor Meg Williams Anthropology class?”

  Clara looked up from her cards and nodded, “Yes I am. Are you in my class?”

  The guy shook his head, “No—but I took it last semester.”

  Clara asked, “Oh yeah?”

  He nodded, “Yeah it’s a good course.” The man then paused for a moment before thinking to introduce himself, “My name’s Travis Jones by the way—nice to meet you.”

  Clara in her newfound caution, almost thought of supplying an alias for herself, instead of handing out her real name. She only entertained this notion for a split second however, before she chastised herself for being paranoid. Besides, if someone was really that interested, they could easily snoop around the class roster to find someone’s name.

  With a sigh, she introduced herself, “I’m Clara…”

  Travis then looked at the chapter that Clara was studying, and commented, “Oh you guys are learning about the indigenous tribes that live up and down the Amazon River. Professor Meg Williams did an excellent lecture series on that.”

  He paused, before commenting, “The Amazon seems like a beautiful place, I’d love to go there sometime.”

  Clara of course realized the irony of the situation. Because although she couldn’t talk about her father’s secret missions—she knew full well where he was. Even as she was reading about the Amazon in a book, she knew that he was hacking right through Amazonian jungles in person.

  Unable to reveal such detail however, she simply nodded, “Yeah—that would be an incredible trip.”

  Travis replied, “Yep…It most certainly would.

  He smiled, “The trip of a lifetime I would call it.”

  The two then quietly went back to their studies for a few moments before Travis spoke up once again, “You know—I’ve actually got a buddy who’s in Brazil right now…”

  Clara was surprised to hear this as she inquired, “Really? You do?”

  Travis nodded, “Yeah. This guy I know, Brian Nelson—he always goes on all this study abroad trip stuff.”

  Clara not aware of any Stanford sanctioned trips to South America asked, “What’s he doing there?”

  Travis thought for a moment before explaining, “Well… Brian he’s a political science student—just as I am myself—and he’s always getting involved in these trips meant to foster awareness of international relations and things of that nature.”

  Clara slightly smirked, “Oh—that sounds quite enlightening.”

  Prompting Travis to laugh, “But to be honest he also loves to find any excuse to party, and these trips abroad often provide him with plenty of that.”

  Clara smirked, “So you don’t think he’s out hacking through the Amazon Rainforest to save endangered species?”

  It was tremendously ironic for Clara to say as much since her father and his associates quite literally were hacking through the thick of the Amazon even as they were speaking.

  Travis shook his head, “No—the guy’s probably living it up at some posh resort in Rio right about now.”

  Clara conceded, “Must be nice.”

  Flipping through a notebook Travis then offered, “You know what—I’m going to go on a study abroad trip myself at the end of the semester, maybe you could come with me.”

  Clara braced herself, thinking, ‘Okay… this is the point where the creepy guy hits on me. Here we go again.’

  But as she looked at Travis with his lively and inviting green eyes and ruffled, collar length reddish brown hair, she couldn’t help but correct herself, ‘Well—he doesn’t look creepy.’

  She knew better than to judge a book by its cover however, and wasn’t about to go overseas with some random guy she just met in a study lounge. She didn’t just barely escape the clutches of a sex trafficking ring to turn around and be so outrageously reckless.

  Still she had to give Travis the benefit of the doubt. And so, when he packed up his things a few minutes later to head on his way to class, and handed her a small piece of paper with his phone number scrawled onto it, telling her to “Just think about it.” She did. No woman was an island, and besides, she thought to herself, ‘He’s pretty darn cute.

  2

  The Lonely Outpost

  M EANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN THE AMAZONIAN WILDERNESS.

  As Mason, Raina
, and Benton traversed through an open clearing, Mason stood at the tip of what amounted to a triangle as the trio began to move in three directions all at once. They did this in order to converge on all sides of an abandoned home suspected of being converted into a drug house. It was a mission of stealth from here and as such Mason began to give both hand and eye signals to the other two members of his task force, letting them know just how to proceed.

  To Raina he motioned for her to meet him around to the other side of the compound. He then narrowed his eyes at Benton and motioned with his head for him to monitor the back of the house. This left Mason himself to check out the front. He felt a little bad about Raina having to go off by herself even if it was literally just around the corner of a house for a few seconds, with him just a short distance away.

  And feeling compelled to let her know that he cared, as she began to depart from him, he pulled her toward him, she hissed in surprise, “Mason? What is it?”

  He then answered her with a kiss, quickly pressing his lips to hers, as his hands gently clung to her waist. They only embraced for a few seconds but it was like a spark of energy passed between the two and after he let her go, and ran off in the other direction around the house, he felt like his batteries had been recharged.

  Raina concurred with this sentiment, softly sighing to herself in satisfaction as she went around her designated corner of the structure to meet her teammates on the other side. Mason had been a lot more affectionate than usual lately, and she took it as a sign that their relationship had some room to grow.

  Little did she know the true turmoil that roiled just under Mason’s surface however. Because as much as Mason liked Raina and enjoyed her company, he was consistently torn between her and the memory of his deceased spouse Bree. Mason’s former wife Bree had been everything to him and when she died of breast cancer he was absolutely devastated.

  Since that time, he had put all of his energy into raising the daughter Bree had left behind and putting everything else he had into his work. Work—a four letter word which to Mason usually meant creeping around incredibly hostile environments, simply trying not to get shot.

  Along with his inability to let the memory of Bree go, it was the nature of his work that gave him additional reason for pause when he considered the budding relationship that he had begun with Raina Martin. His missions routinely had both of them placed into situations of extreme danger, and Mason knew that his affection for her in these tricky situations most likely made that danger even worse.

  He didn’t view his attachment so much as an asset as it was a liability. If she got hurt, he got hurt. Before he could charge out into the battlefield and not think twice, but as long as Raina was there, his feelings for her would always get into the way. And as Mason prowled around the side of the house, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for putting Raina in this kind of a vulnerable position. But that was precisely the quandary that he had found himself in ever since they had begun dating.

  Raina Martin was a big girl, and this kind of action was precisely what she had signed up for, but now that the two were in a relationship he felt such a responsibility for her that it could be almost crippling at times. As he probed under the crawlspace of the house with his machete, he muttered to himself, “Damn it, Mason—didn’t you know that love and business don’t mix.”

  As the reality of just what he was getting into sank in, he thought to himself, ‘I’ve got no choice… I’ve got to break it off.’ Deep down he just couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a mistake for him to bring his world of special ops missions and his personal life together like he had done with Raina. The second any of his adversaries knew that boyfriend and girlfriend were out holding hands as they worked together in the field, it would give them all the more reason to try and take advantage of it.

  As he put an ear to the house to see if he could hear anything from the inside, he cynically thought to himself, ‘You just had to fall in love with a fellow operative Mason—what’s wrong with you? Was the singles bar not good enough?’

  Mason was startled out of his deep introspection by the sound of Mathew Benton shouting, “Hey Mason, I’ve got somebody over here!”

  Both Mason and Raina flew around their respective corners of the home and converged on Benton’s point to find him holding a man at gunpoint. The man himself did not seem to be much of a threat. He was completely emaciated, standing in just a t-shirt, khakis, and sandals—not appearing to be armed.

  Mason ran up to the man, and asked him in rapid fire succession, “Voce fala Portugueze? Hablas Espanol?” To which the man shouted, “No, neither one—I speak English, you idiot!”

  Mason halfway stunned and halfway enraged that this man who was suddenly in their custody would be so brazen, howled, “What?”

  To which the man coldly replied, “I’m an American.”

  He then stared right down the barrel of Benton’s gun and added, “And I don’t appreciate having Rambo here pointing his gun in my face!”

  Benton judging that there was no real immediate threat then slowly lowered his weapon as he muttered, “Rambo really?”

  Benton then asked, “Who the hell are you kid? And what are you doing here?”

  With Benton’s gun lowered, the man seemed to relax a bit as he sighed, “I was kidnapped.”

  Raina starting to feel a bit of compassion for the man then inquired, “What? You were kidnapped?”

  The man glanced at Raina before looking at the ground and answering, “Yeah—I was out on vacation this Spring Break, was on a trail with my friends, got lost, and the drug lords nabbed me.”

  Mason wasn’t completely surprised to hear of such a thing, but at the same time, something struck him as suspicious about the account. Call it the product of a finely-honed intuition, but something just didn’t seem right. And he wasn’t going to just believe anything this guy was telling him.

  For all he knew this was just some elaborate trick of the drug lords themselves. The very thought of which prompted Mason to ask, “You were kidnapped huh? Can you prove it?”

  The young man laughed, “Prove it? Wow… I never thought I would have to prove that I was kidnapped.” He then started rifling around in his pockets as he play-acted, “Okay let’s see do I have any kidnap ID cards on me.”

  This was a bad move however, because for all Benton knew he was reaching for a weapon, causing him to raise his gun in response as he shouted, “Freeze! Get your hands out of your pockets!”

  It may seem a little harsh on Benton’s part to an outside observer, but this was the world in which they lived. If he had given the young man the benefit of the doubt and played along with him, and it turned out that the guy was pulling out a gun—realizing as much in light of a muzzle flash would invariably be realizing too late.

  The young man was no doubt shell shocked enough already with what he had been through, and seeing Benton with gun raised and finger on the trigger, caused him to involuntarily raise his hands out of fear as he shouted, “Damn! Don’t shoot! What the hell man?!”

  Raina wanting to diffuse the situation, stepped toward him and asked, “Okay…okay… there is an easy way for us to check out your story. Just tell us your name.”

  The guy laughed in exasperation, “My name? Of course.…” He then let out a long sigh and informed them, “My name’s Brian Nelson.”

  Upon hearing this Raina wasted no time, and jumped on the Comm link to ask Kyle, “Hey Kyle we found a man claiming to have been a hostage of the narcos—he says his name is Brian Nelson. Can you check on that for me?”

  Without asking any questions, or missing a single beat, Kyle then piped back into the comm link, “Sure, just a second.”

  It actually took probably all but 30 seconds, but sure enough Kyle came back on the line to inform them, “Yeah—it checks out. There is a guy by that name in the missing persons database right now. And this is fairly recent—as in within the past 48 hours—so the mainstream media wouldn’t have picked it up yet
.”

  Raina then looked to Benton and told him, “You see that? He checks out.”

  Only then did Benton slowly lower his weapon as he grunted, “Alright.”

  But the SEAL in him couldn’t let the man go so easily as he warned him, “But seriously, no sudden moves next time, okay?”

  The man known as Brian Nelson nodded, “Yeah no problem.”

  As rattled nerves began to settle, Mason thought to ask the guy, “So how in the world did you get away?”

  It was after this that the group was stunned to hear someone else—someone with a thick Spanish accent shout back, “He didn’t!”

  Mason was the first to see it, high up on a platform in a tree a short distance away, were a pair of snipers with guns aimed right at them. Mason cursed, “Damn it!” as he reached for his gun.

  Seeing his movement, the sniper immediately shot at Mason’s right foot with the bullet actually grazing the side of his shoe, just short of piercing his flesh. A shot which was immediately followed by the sniper screaming, “Amigo!! Do you want to die?! Try that again and the next shot will be at your head!”

  With the man’s rifle clearly aimed right at him and the other one swiveling his weapon back and forth between Raina and Benton, Mason knew that if he defied the gunman and didn’t stand down, they would be in for a vicious firefight. And the odds were good that at least one of them—either him or one of his teammates—would not survive the conflagration.

  Glancing over to Benton the two’s steely gaze met and the look was one of sheer determination. SEALS don’t just surrender like this. As a SEAL they were trained to never surrender. Not just out of bravery, but out of the simple fact that once you relinquish control of yourself to someone else and become a prisoner, you basically lose your own right to self-determination.

  How many people back in the 2010’s surrendered their arms to terrorist groups like ISIS only to have their head cut off the next day? What was the point of surrender if they were going to kill you anyway? Was he really going to lead himself and his compatriots like little lambs to the slaughter? There had to be another way.