Family Matters

by Robert Ullrich

  Clark and Reichart started laughing at the same time. They laughed so hard they couldn’t speak. Sheffield finally gave up and stretched out on the back seat. They woke him when they got to Fort Bliss.

  *****

  Lazarus seemed distracted to LJ as the AC-130 approached the U.S-Mexican border. “Something on your mind, Cooper?”

  LJ got a cold stare in response. It unsettled him for the first time in years. LJ, like everyone close to Lazarus, knew there were many facets to his personality. One thing no one ever failed to remember – Lazarus was a dangerous man. LJ didn’t fear him, but he knew the man he called “Boss” was a veritable force of nature. And like nature, you never knew when the wind might change.

  “Yep,” said Lazarus. His expression didn’t change as he turned back towards the horizon. They would be on the ground in less than an hour, and he hadn’t decided what he would do with Camacho. There were options. First and foremost, he could kill him outright. He could also stretch his death into the middle of next week. The Chameleon, through back-door channels had been offered two million dollars to turn him over to the Matamoras Cartel. The Zetas had put in an offer of three.

  It wasn’t a matter of money. Lazarus was rich. It wasn’t a matter of extending an olive branch to another Cartel. The earth had shifted in the last three days. The balance of power in the Mexican Cartels had been changed forever – all by one man, by him. In the end, he would kill Camacho himself. It was almost as if he had no choice. All the tumblers that had fallen into place were churning away in the back of his consciousness. What was on his mind? He’d risked his entire future; taken more lives in three days then he had in twenty years as a killer for hire; lost a good man in Ben and for what? Revenge? Retaliation? It didn’t add up anymore. He’d acted impulsively, driven to bring down Camacho’s entire world for a reason that eluded him.

  Yes, he considered Derek a friend. He’d lost many acquaintances over the years without losing a minute’s sleep. He counted HH and D as friends, yet somehow, he knew in his heart he wouldn’t have done this for them, if they had been taken. There, was the crux of the matter. Why Derek?

  ~28~

  NOVEMBER 16

  6:35 PM – CST

  Fort Bliss

  Andres Camacho woke to the mother of all headaches. He had no idea where he was. The room was plain; four poured concrete walls which at one time may have been a dark blue. Those days were long gone. It could pass for robin’s egg blue at best. A single window stretched across one side, the sill at least seven feet up a ten-foot wall. There were no bars, just wavy glass that was either thick or bullet-proof, maybe both.

  He was dressed in the same clothes he was wearing when he left the compound. He vaguely remembered drinking a couple of beers with Ricardo and the black American in the back of a helicopter. “Shit,” he muttered, “I was drugged.” The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question – by who?

  The silence was broken by the screeching of metal on metal as a large steel door swung outward. The noise was almost too much for Camacho. He covered his ears and groaned to the pounding in his head. The groan became louder as CIA Special Agent Phillip Steven Weaver entered the room, closing the door behind him.

  Weaver joined Camacho in the other of two chairs bolted to floor by a metal table. “Here,” he said, handing Camacho a bottled water and a pack of Marlboros. “You look like shit, Andres.”

  “Fuck you, Weaver,” said Andres as he opened the water. “I’ve had a shitty day.” He drained the water and lit a smoke. “So, my American partner, where am I?”

  “Fort Bliss. North of El Paso, safe for now, thanks to me,” said Weaver. “I apologize for the drugged beer. It was necessary. The agent in the back smuggled you out in a large weapons container. I identified the man with you as the infamous, Andres Camacho, head of Los Zapatos del la Muerte cartel,” he added with a smile.

  “Okay, although Ricardo was a good man, better him then me,” said Camacho. “What about the fucking Chameleon? He knows what I look like.”

  Weaver’s smile broadened. “He ran into a bit of unexpected trouble. Seems there was a third party at the compound. The gunship was taken down by a shoulder launched missile. Re-con advised there were no survivors.”

  “What third party?” asked Camacho.

  “Rumor on the grapevine is a Chinese Tong in Chicago sent a man to eliminate the Chameleon; apparently a family matter,” said Weaver. “Who knows? More importantly, do you really care?”

  Camacho rubbed his temples, shaking his head no. “I guess not. You’re sure he is dead?”

  “I got the information directly from General Nick Fischer, Director of Covert Operations. It doesn’t get any better when it comes to intel and verification. Not only is the Chameleon dead,” added Weaver, “I got promoted for helping bring down Los Zapatos. You are looking at the new Chief of Station in Buenos Aires. Ironic, isn’t it.”

  “That’s all well and good for you, Phillip, but I am broke. Have you forgotten he drained my accounts?”

  “Andres, you worry too much. The CIA intercepted most of the funds, but not all.” He waited a moment for emphasis. “By ‘not all’, I mean roughly two billion dollars. I moved money from my account, the one I used to pay you and an account in the Caymans I had identified two years ago as yours. All the money has gone into a numbered account in Switzerland. We are rich men, Andres. Provided of course, no one finds out about our prior relationship.”

  Camacho nodded. He had no choice, at least not now. Weaver had the number to the account. Perhaps, in time he would be able to eliminate the smug American. Better two billion than one, after all.

  “Here’s the icing on the cake,” said Weaver. “Fischer has chartered a private jet to take me to Argentina. I will be leaving in the morning. You will be leaving with me, as one of the flight crew.”

  “How can that be?”

  “Andres, like I said, you worry too much. The CIA has Andres Camacho in custody. According to General Fischer, you are on the way to Cuba for detention, even as we speak.”

  “Forgive me, Phillip, but I find this hard to believe. How could you manage all this?”

  “It wasn’t easy, but neither was it as hard as I had expected. The director mentioned your pilot, Clark, had been compromised by the Chameleon. I slipped away and contacted Clark through one of your men in Houston. I made him an offer that he found acceptable. It wasn’t a hard sell, he was certain the Chameleon would kill him when he was of no more use. He brought you to the drop-off and left with a million dollars for his trouble, and a new I.D., including a passport. There are advantages in being a spy, Andres.

  “Clark carried it off perfectly. He even called the Chameleon to confirm the drop-off point. What the Chameleon didn’t know was those men were CIA, working for General Fischer.”

  Camacho leaned back and lit another smoke. “I am impressed,” he said. “I thought you would turn on me.” Camacho shrugged. “I mean no offense, but it is what most men would do.”

  “Lucky for both of us I’m not most men,” said Weaver. “I’ll be back in four hours with dinner and a bottle of Chivas. We will celebrate then.”

  *****

  General Fischer laid the headphones he’d been using on the desk. “I’ve heard enough. He bought everything I told him.” Corporal Kristofferson cut the feed and turned off the monitor. “He really doesn’t have a clue,” said the General.

  “I reckon that’s a purty tough pill to swallow, General,” said Lazarus. “Jest remember this; this ain’t on you. Weaver’s a grown-assed man who ratted out that Mr. Black. He made the damn bed he’s gonna die in.”

  Lazarus put his hand on the General’s shoulder. “You gotta promise me sumthin, General. Don’t you let that snake in the grass git him a star on that wall at the CIA. He ain’t no fuckin’ hero.”

  General Fischer smiled grimly. “That will never happen. You have my word as a Marine.”

  “That’s more’n enough for me,” said Lazarus. “I ‘pre
ciate that, General.”

  “No need to thank me. This could have been an international cluster-fuck of epic proportions. Your boss and you ran the op as near perfect as any I could have come up with – maybe better,” grunted the General, begrudgingly. “It’s me who should be thanking him.”

  “I’ll pass it along, General. I’m supposed to catch up with him some fuckin’ place in Europe I can’t even pronounce. No rest for the wicked, or some shit like that.” Lazarus chuckled as he took the General’s hand.

  “Here’s something for your boss,” said the General, handing Lazarus a metal briefcase.

  “It ain’t gonna blow up on me is it?” asked Lazarus with one eyebrow raised.

  General Fischer laughed. “I’m pretty sure my ass would already be out the door if that were the case.”

  “Good point,” said Lazarus as he popped the catches. He tipped the top back for a look. It was full of ten-thousand-dollar stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Lazarus let out a long slow whistle. “Damn, General, that there is one fine thank ya very kindly, if’n I’ve ever seen one.”

  “It was Los Zapatos money. Your boss routed billions of cartel money into one of the government accounts I use. Consider this his commission.”

  “Looks like there’s close to three mil in there.”

  “Two and one half,” said General Fischer. “I funneled a half a million into Mr. Black’s account, off the books, of course.”

  “How’s yer boy doin’ anyways?”

  “No change,” answered the General. “He’s still paralyzed from the neck down.”

  Lazarus response wasn’t feigned for the General’s sake. “That fuckin’ Camacho is gonna pay for this.” He looked General Fischer in the eye. “Yer boy, Weaver, too, if’n the boss had it his way.” Lazarus knew what General Fischer had already agreed to, Cooper Johnson, didn’t.

  “Don’t you worry about it, Cooper. Mr. Weaver will be taken care of.”

  “I guess.” Said Lazarus. “Still, I’d really like me about ten minutes in a closed off room with that pecker-wood-chicken-shit-coward. I guarantee he’d be limpin’ for years.”

  “About Mr. Clark,” said the General. “Don’t give up on him. He’s come through more shit then you can imagine. It will take time, but he’ll be back. I feel it in my bones.”

  Lazarus nodded. “I reckon time is sumthin he’s got plenty of right about now. I sure hope yer right, General. From what the boss tole me, he’s a good man, for a squid.”

  General Fischer chuckled. “That ‘squid’ would eat you for lunch, Master-Sargent Cooper Johnson, ex-Green Beret or not.”

  Lazarus laughed. “Fer fuck’s sake he better. I’m sixty-seven goddamn years old.”

  “I’d put money on Mr. Black if you were forty years younger and in your prime. No offense, Cooper.”

  “None taken, General. You’re most likely dead-on about it anyways. Them damn Seals are a tough bunch of boys as a rule.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on, Cooper,” said General Fischer. “Come on, dinner is on me.”

  “Well hell, you jest gave me two and a half million and yer throwin’ in dinner, too? Remind me to get me one of them-there Power Ball tickets. It can’t git much better, but I’m willin’ to gamble a couple of bucks on it.”

  “It’s a deal, Cooper. You can buy one for me, too,” said General Fischer as they headed out the door to a waiting Corporal Kristofferson and a black Crown Victoria.

  ~29~

  NOVEMBER 17

  3:45 AM – CST

  Fort Bliss

  Lazarus was alone in the moonless night, smoke rising from a Gurkha Beast. The coming day would bring an end to his journey of retaliation and revenge. It was a new experience for Lazarus. His life had been about what he was, what he could do, and do well. He had operated in the shadows for over two decades, anonymous to those around him. His life had begun changing in the last year – coming to a head these last five days.

  Today, the world knew of the man called the Chameleon. Many networks bore witness to the devastation he’d brought to the Zapatos Cartel. Broadcasting the carnage from Chihuahua to the mountain stronghold.

  Lazarus wasted little thought on the repercussions of the exposure. There was nothing he could do about it now. The story would spread of the AC-130 going down under a rocket attack. The Mexican government had flown an old C-130 into a canyon as false proof. President Villa could not afford to have this come back on him any more than the U. S. Government.

  He took a long draw on the Beast, acknowledging to himself he would never be the same. He’d lost control. He’d acted in haste. That haste resulted in the death of Ben de la Sedro and left Derek Grimsrud, paralyzed. The death he brought to the Zapatos was nothing to Lazarus. It was Ben haunting his sleep. Derek, paralyzed from the retaliation in Key West, was his fault. He knew it. He acted rashly and others paid the price.

  He heard footsteps approaching from the east. Whoever it was moved well in the night. Lazarus smiled, “Come on over LJ. You might just as well hollered at me.”

  LJ couldn’t see the smile – he couldn’t even see Lazarus. “You know something, boss?” said LJ. “That shit weirds me out every damn time.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” said Lazarus. “I didn’t know you were there until I said something. That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten. You’re getting better.”

  “Thanks, boss,” said LJ. “What time do you want us ready to go?”

  “Is Puff still in hangar 3-E?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “General Fischer will be with me, along with Weaver and Camacho. Be ready at 8 o’clock to roll.”

  “We’ll be ready.” LJ started to turn away and stopped. “You okay boss? No offense, and I hope I’m not overstepping here.”

  “No,” said Lazarus.

  “No, you aren’t okay, or no, I’m not overstepping?”

  “Both. Neither,” said Lazarus. “Either way, I’ll be fine.”

  LJ nodded and disappeared back into the night.

  *****

  General Fischer was eating an early breakfast with Weaver. “Well, Phillip, looks like everything worked out in the end.”

  “Yes, sir, General Fischer,” said Phillip. “Los Zapatos are finished, and Camacho is dead. I can honestly say I didn’t see this coming a week ago.”

  “No one did, Phillip, not even me. Damn, that’s not something I ever expected to say,” said the General with a snort-laugh. “Then again, I had grossly underestimated the Chameleon.”

  “You aren’t the first, General. From what I’ve heard over the years, the Cartels used stories of him to keep their hired hands in line. I wonder what they’ll do now that he’s dead?”

  General Fischer nodded, his teeth clenched to keep himself from going across the table. “Who knows?” he said as he reached for his coffee. “Definitely, not my problem.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “Be at hangar E-3 at 0745. We will be wheels up at 0800.”

  “I’ll be there, General, with Mr. Ortega.”

  General Fischer held his breath until he cleared the doorway. “What an arrogant fucking prick,” he muttered. He headed down the hall to join Mr. Johnson to discuss the details of the day.

  *****

  A Humvee was waiting outside visiting officer’s building when Weaver and Camacho walked out into the warm morning sunshine.

  “It’s going to be a beautiful day,” said Phillip as they climbed up in.

  They rode in silence; Camacho stared out the window, still trying to understand how someone with the unremarkable skill-set of Phillip Weaver had managed all this. He couldn’t shake a sense of impending doom, no matter how many times Weaver tried to reassure him.

  It was a ten-minute ride to hangar E-3. The main doors were closed, which Phillip thought odd. He didn’t give it much thought when he spied General Fischer, standing by the door with Young Bear and Mumphord. They appeared relaxed, Mumphord was laughing at something and Young Bear was shaking his
head.

  Weaver dismounted first, with Camacho behind him, trying to make himself small. His head was freshly shaved, wearing blue jeans and a Texas Longhorn hoodie over a black tee-shirt. He looked nothing like the drug lord who barely escaped with his life the day before.

  “Right on time, gentlemen,” said General Fischer. “You must be Alejandro Ortega.” He extended his hand and Camacho took it, hoping the General wouldn’t notice how sweaty his palms were. The General noticed and smiled. “Good to meet you, Ortega.”

  Young Bear and Mumphord both shook hands with Weaver. “We owe you, Phillip,” said Young Bear.

  Weaver, full of bravado and himself, didn’t catch the double entendre. “No, you don’t, Gunny. I was only doing my job. I’m glad we got that son-of-a-bitch for what he did to Grimsrud.”

  “Gentlemen,” said General Fischer. “I have a flight to catch so I will leave you to it. Good luck Phillip. It was nice meeting you Mr. Ortega. Enjoy your flight.”

  General Fischer climbed into the waiting Crown Victoria. He never looked back.

  Mumphord opened the walk-door. “Shall we?” He waved Weaver ahead of him. Camacho fell in behind. The door opened into a hallway that lead to the rear of the hangar, to the office and shop. Young Bear got the door and ushered the two men into the room. “There’s coffee and donuts. It’s going to be about 15 minutes before you board.”

  “Thanks,” said Weaver as he headed for the coffee. Camacho picked out a glazed donut and sat in one of the chairs by the wall. There were no windows in the room, other than a 6”x24” piece of wired glass in the office door.

  Mumphord led the way. Young bear discreetly flipped the lock on the way out. Weaver hadn’t noticed there was no handle on the inside.

  “See, Andres,” he gloated. “I told you we had nothing to worry about.”

  “I’ll still be more comfortable when we are in the air and off this fucking base.”

  General Fisher’s driver pulled to a stop beside another Humvee parked at Hangar E-2. The Door opened on the General’s side and Lazarus/Cooper Johnson climbed in.