Family Matters

by Robert Ullrich

  “We are set, Mr. Johnson,” said General Fischer. “He doesn’t have a fucking clue, either.”

  Lazarus’ face broke into a wide grin. “Jest the way I like ‘em, General. It’s like leading sheep to the slaughter.”

  “Interesting analogy, Mr. Johnson.”

  “You ain’t never gonna call me Cooper, are ya.”

  It was General Fischer’s turn to smile. “No, Mr. Johnson, I won’t. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “By the way, General, whatever happened to that other feller we brought in?” asked Lazarus.

  “You must be referring to Ricardo Spencer.”

  “Yep, I know it’s Ricardo sumthin or the other.”

  “Ricardo Spencer’s real name is Juan Garcia. He is a deep undercover DEA agent. He’d been in Los Zapatos for 7 years. We didn’t know if he’d make it out alive. There was no way to warn him you were coming.”

  “Well then, I’m damn sure glad nobody shot his ass when he got off the chopper with Camacho.”

  “Gunny had a picture of him, just in case. That is one lucky man, Garcia. I understand he signed up after Torano killed his family in Los Trios over a shipment of cocaine that was seized at the family’s truck stop.”

  “I’m glad that worked out, General.”

  General Fischer noticed the change in ‘Johnson’s voice”. So, he watched curiously as ‘Cooper’ removed his hat. Seconds later he leaned over and appeared to be fiddling with contacts. When he turned back to the General, those dark brown eyes were hazel, flecked with gold and green. It was when he spoke that it finally sunk in.

  Lazarus spoke with not even the slightest drawl or southern inflection. “General Fischer, it has been an honor working with you and your team. Those are fine men, true soldiers. I couldn’t have accomplished this without them.”

  General Fischer leaned back and looked Lazarus over. “I am duly impressed, whatever your name is. I assume you are the one referred to as the Chameleon.”

  “On occasion, yes, sir, I am,” said Lazarus. “I want you to know that I hold myself personally responsible for the injuries your agents were subjected to in Florida. Particularly for Derek, or should I call him Mr. Black.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said the General. “Why, though, are you revealing your identity to me here, now.”

  “General, if you arrest me, I will go without resistance or complaint. I am revealing myself, as you put it, because I need to. Your men and women risked their lives for me. Derek has saved innocents at my request, jeopardizing his life and career. I can’t lie to the man who made this possible.”

  “Derek has told me much about you,” said General Fischer. “Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes, it does, General.”

  “I know about Los Trios, I know how you saved his life in Juarez. I know you were hired to kill his parents and refused, for personal reasons.”

  Lazarus was taken by surprise for the first time in decades, stunned even. “I don’t have words to express what Derek and his parents mean to me, General.”

  “I do,” answered the General. “The words you are searching for are these; ‘They are like family to me.’”

  The last tumbler dropped into place. Lazarus knew the General was right. He just didn’t understand how it all happened – especially to him. “I think you might be right, sir.”

  General Fischer didn’t answer. He held out his hand.

  Lazarus took it and received the firm grip of a Marine General in return. General Fischer looked the assassin known as the Chameleon in the eyes and smiled. “You have work to finish. Remember, you aren’t doing this just for yourself. This isn’t your revenge. This is judgement day for Weaver and Camacho. Derek is like a son to me. This entire operation has been because of it. That’s why I helped you, why I supplied your weapons, why I am covering for you even as we speak.”

  “Thank you, General. That sounds so inadequate right now.”

  “Not at all, son. Thank you is the perfect response. Now you better get going.”

  Lazarus put his contacts back in, donned his Stetson and stepped out of the car without another word. He watched as the General’s car pulled away. He never looked back.

  Lazarus climbed up into the Humvee for the short drive to hangar E-3.

  November 17

  8:00 AM – CST

  Lazarus entered the office with Young Bear and Mumphord on his six. A startled Agent Weaver looked up from his coffee. He had no idea who the big cowboy was.

  “You must be that feller, Weaver,” said Lazarus with his drawl. “The name’s Cooper, Cooper Johnson. Ya see, my daddy was a big fan of Gary Cooper. That’s how I ended up with this here moniker.”

  Weaver rose and shook the big man’s hand.

  “Who’s yer buddy here?” asked Lazarus.

  “This is Alejandro Ortega, Mr. Johnson, he’s been assigned to Buenas Aires with me.”

  “Well, alrighty then, let’s git this show on the road,” said Lazarus. He turned to Young Bear. “Ya’ll set to go in there?”

  “Never have we been readier, Cooper. Never.”

  Lazarus turned to Weaver. “Let’s git you boys out of here.”

  “Sounds great to me,” said Weaver as he grabbed his travel bag. Camacho just fell in behind him, watching Mumphord and Young Bear closely. He knew they were members of Mr. Black’s team. He’d feel a hell of a lot better when they were 500 miles behind him.

  Weaver rounded the corner into the hangar and froze. Camacho, who was looking down, ran right into him. “What the fuck, Phillip?”

  Then Camacho saw what Weaver had seen. An AC-130 sat in the middle of the hangar. It was flanked to the left by an MI-35 Russian attack helicopter.

  The words were out of his mouth before he realized it. “I thought that plane got shot down…”

  “Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Weaver,” said Young Bear.

  Weaver decided to go with false bravado. “I’ll have your fucking job for this Young Bear. General Fischer is going to hear about this bullshit.”

  Mumphord interrupted. “Who do you think arranged all this?”

  Weaver started to panic. Camacho was almost there himself.

  “This is pure bullshit. I want General Fischer on the phone, now!”

  Gustaf sauntered up to Weaver, pulling his tie out, stroking it. “Silk. I love silk ties, Mr. Weaver. I might just have to keep this one.”

  “Fuck you Reichart.”

  “I thought you’d never ask, Phillip. I’ve caught you savoring my ass more than once.”

  Weaver clenched his fist. He quickly unclenched when Mumphord took a step towards him. Reichart winked and took Weaver’s bag.

  Lazarus stepped back and leaned on a bench. This was their time. Derek was their team leader. He watched unemotionally.

  “I’m thinking you might have misunderstood when I said we owed you, Phillip,” said Young Bear. The look on Weaver’s face confirmed it. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t sold Derek out to this piece of shit, Camacho.”

  Camacho’s face flared red at the insult. “Fuck you. You don’t scare me. You Americans are all the same. You talk about this and that, and how you will kill some drug dealer, but you don’t. Your laws won’t let you.”

  Sheffield stepped up, surprising his own team. He was never much for words.

  “Andres, may I call you Andres?” asked Sheffield politely.

  Camacho just stared at him.

  “Andres it is then. Let me explain your situation, Andres. My brothers in arms here aren’t as patient as I am. I am a sniper. Patience is in my blood; my DNA. They want to kill you now, right here. Yet, as you pointed out, there are laws against such things.”

  Camacho grunted. “So, get me a fucking lawyer.”

  Sheffield surprised everyone who knew him by driving his knee into Camacho’s balls, taking him down hard and fast. A feint squeak escaping as he collapsed. Sheffield cocked his head to the left, then stomped on Camacho’s right ankle. T
he sound of bones snapping filled the eerie silence in the hangar.

  He crouched down by Camacho, one eye on Weaver who was standing nearby. He patted Camacho on the back until he got his attention. “You see, Andres, you and Mr. Weaver have made a serious mistake; assuming we were taking you to the American Authorities. Such is not the case.”

  Lazarus took his cue and pushed off the bench and joined Sheffield by Camacho, hunkering down on his boot heels.

  “You see, Andres, Mr. Cooper here works for the gentlemen we know as The Chameleon. He and his associates will be escorting you to his plantation. Even the CIA has no idea where it’s located.

  “He’s all yours, Cooper, and Mr. Weaver, too.”

  Weaver started shaking as the words sunk in. “I’m an American citizen. No one can just hand me over to a criminal. I have rights!”

  Lazarus stepped closer until he was almost touching Weaver’s chest. He clamped his hands on both of Weaver’s shoulders. “Well now, Mr. Weaver, that’s jest not gonna happen. I am however, gonna give you the chance they didn’t give Derek when they hauled his ass into that damn jungle.”

  “What the fuck does that even mean?” said Weaver.

  “All in good time boys. Now, git your asses on the goddamn plane.” Weaver looked up as LJ and Eno approached with matching Heckler and Koch .308’s. Impressive weapons.

  As LJ and Eno marched the two men away, Lazarus turned to the four men standing there.

  “I know all ya’ll want to do this. I git that. You gotta trust me on this one. It’s better this way. Both disappear and no one will even know where to start lookin’.”

  “I want to thank ya’ll, too. I couldn’t have pulled this shit off without all ya’ll. I appreciate the hell out of ya.”

  Lazarus shook hands all around before heading to the gunship. Mumphord hit the switch and the hangar doors slowly parted, the bright South Texas sun glaring off the polished concrete.

  Weaver and Camacho were trussed up in jump seats when Lazarus, still dressed as Cooper, boarded. He didn’t even spare them a glance as he headed to the cockpit.

  LJ returned and strapped in across from the pair, his H&K across his lap. They rolled out of the hangar five minutes later and were heading down a runway at exactly 8:30 am, CST.

  ~30~

  NOVEMBER 17

  11:45 AM – CST

  Over the Lacandon Jungle

  Eno was in the pilot’s seat, a somber Lazarus sitting beside him. They’d been airborne over three hours. Lazarus hadn’t said a word. He seemed almost in a trance; eyes half-closed, his breathing deep and regular. In the back, Weaver and Camacho were both drenched in sweat despite the cool temperature in the fuselage at twenty-thousand feet. LJ dozed on and off, secure in the knowledge the two men weren’t going anywhere.

  Lazarus was roused by a voice in his ear-com. “Mr. Johnson, do you copy?” asked Katsumi.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he replied. “You caught me sneakin’ in a nap. What kin I do fer ya?”

  “Just checking in, sir. We hadn’t heard from you since last night, and one of the ladies was getting a little concerned.”

  Lazarus smiled. “One of the ladies, huh. You sure it wasn’t you feelin’ a little worried?”

  Katsumi laughed, “What? Me worry? Never Mr. Johnson. I know LJ is keeping an eye on you.”

  “That he is darlin’,” said Lazarus. “Sorry ‘bout not gittin back to ya sooner. It’s all good on our end. We’ll be settin’ down in Costa Rica in ‘bout an hour and change. First I need to deliver a couple of packages fer yer boss.”

  Katsumi answered somberly. “I was wondering about that.”

  “Don’t you fret lil girl. You know it’s gotta be done.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Johnson, I do understand, even if it is hard to accept.”

  Lazarus paused in thought. This wasn’t like Katsumi. She never expressed concern or remorse over what he did. “I reckon I understand,” said Lazarus. “I guess you best talk to the boss when he gets back about that.”

  Katsumi answered with a lighter tone. “It won’t be necessary, Mr. Johnson. I wasn’t thinking about the packages. I was thinking about Mr. Black.”

  “He’s tough, Katsumi. Don’t go givin’ up hope on our boy.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. Then, I reckon we’ll be seein’ you tomorrow morning. After we hit Costa Rica, we’ll be heading back out in less than two hours. You tell that worried lady-friend of yours it’s all good.”

  “I will, Mr. Johnson. Thanks for listening.”

  “Not a problem, darlin’,” Said Lazarus. “See ya tomorrow.”

  He looked at Eno. “Are we close to the drop-off?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Eno. “I was preparing to go into a holding pattern in five.”

  “I reckon I best git on back and get them two fellers ready to go,” said Lazarus with a dark smile.

  Weaver saw Lazarus first. He elbowed Camacho who had somehow drifted off. “Heads, up,” he whispered.

  LJ stood and retrieved two parachutes from a storage locker on the starboard side. He handed them to Lazarus, flipped the safety off the H&K and pointed it at Weaver.

  “Put on this here chute, Mr. Weaver,” said Lazarus.

  It was obvious Weaver had never strapped one on before. Lazarus helped him get it on correctly. “Now, sit the fuck back down,” he told the agent.

  “Come on, Andres, I reckon you know what to do,” said Lazarus as he freed the drug lord.

  “Why would I put on a fucking parachute?” he growled at Lazarus.

  Lazarus let out a proper Johnson guffaw. “Well, son, I reckon that’s up to you. If’n you want to try free-fallin’ from twenty-thousand feet, be my fuckin’ guest.”

  With a scowl, Camacho strapped on the chute. He’d watched Lazarus putting Weaver’s on. He’d never worn one before, but pride is pride. It wasn’t an easy task, Camacho had to compensate for his broken ankle. Yet, he managed to get it on right.

  “Now, I reckon yer both wonderin’ what’s up with them chutes?” asked Lazarus. They sat watching as he took off his hat, and then his hair. Both men realized at about the same time what was happening. Lazarus pulled off the beard, not without difficulty. He took off his shirt and jeans and shed the fat-suit. Lastly, he took out the contacts. He turned towards them, wearing only black compression shorts and a matching muscle shirt.

  “Gentlemen,” said Lazarus in his own voice. “It is officially time to pay the piper.”

  Weaver was speechless. Camacho wasn’t. “So, you are the famous Chameleon. You go around in disguises? I think only a coward would do such a thing.”

  Camacho’s head bounced off the back of his seat as Lazarus delivered a straight right to his nose, breaking it. The punch came from his side. One moment his arms were hanging there, the next a fist was driving into Camacho’s face.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” said Lazarus. “I didn’t hit you because you called me a coward. I hit you because you don’t seem to grasp the current situation. I wanted your full attention.”

  Blood poured from his broken nose as Camacho spit a tooth out. “Fuck you,” he said. “It’s easy to hit a man who is defenseless.” Camacho got a left to the nose for that comment.

  “Andres, you aren’t even restrained,” said Lazarus. “You can stand up and have a go at me, if you’re up to it.”

  Camacho spit more blood and another tooth out as he tried to launch himself from the seat, forgetting the ankle Sheffield had brutalized.

  Lazarus turned his upper body to the right, grabbing Camacho’s arm as it passed by his head. He continued the turn with his hips and threw Camacho into the starboard bulkhead. LJ had to scramble to his left to avoid being hit.

  Camacho was trying to get up when Lazarus grabbed him by the hair and lifted his to his feet. The unexpected move and resulting pain brought a cry from Camacho. Lazarus smiled and threw him towards the rear of the airplane.

  “You,” said Lazarus pointing at Weaver, “stay
the fuck put, Are we clear?”

  Weaver managed a nod, nothing more.

  Lazarus held out his hand towards LJ, who slapped a K-bar combat knife into the palm.

  Wordlessly, Lazarus cut the chute off Camacho, tossing it behind him. “Stand up,” he ordered. Camacho struggled to his feet, wobbly from the punches, being tossed around like a toy and the broken ankle. He held on to the cargo webbing, managing to stay vertical, all his weight on his left leg.

  “LJ, if you would,” said Lazarus. Without comment, LJ crossed the cabin and hit a large red button on the port side, just behind the howitzer. The ramp began to lower at the rear of the AC-130. The noise level increasing as the ramp descended.

  Lazarus moved without warning, the K-bar a blur in his hand. Camacho cried out in pain as the knife opened a wound from his right hip all the way to his left shoulder. Lazarus repeated the move and a bloody X appeared on Camacho’s torso.

  “That was for Ben. He was a good man,” said Lazarus. “This is for Derek.” Lazarus’ right leg came up and forward in a fluid motion, catching Camacho square in the chest. The impact, so intense it shattered his sternum, leaving him gasping for air as he flew out the door.

  LJ hit the green button below, and the ramp came back up.

  Lazarus waked over to Weaver, grabbing him by the straps. “Now, Agent Weaver, it’s your turn.”

  “Why,” he cried. “I didn’t do anything to Derek?”

  Lazarus held up an I-phone. There was a video just starting. It was the entire conversation Weaver had with Camacho at Fort Bliss. Lazarus let it play out to the end.

  “Nothing at all, Weaver?” asked Lazarus. “You must mean other than betraying Derek, giving him up to Los Zapatos. I know all about it. You told his men where to find him and that he would be alone that day. You put it all in motion.”

  “Listen, please,” begged Weaver. “I never knew he was going to kidnap Derek. I was just blowing off a little steam.”

  Lazarus slapped and back-handed Weaver. “This is how I blow off a little steam, Phillip. Believe me, what I did to Camacho was a mercy compared to what I am capable of.”

  Weaver put his head in his hands, tears streamed down his cheeks. “Please, please don’t kill me.”