by David Spell
Shaun, Chloe, and Josh had traded off driving duty. Taylor followed the GPS directions to a deserted country road northeast of the Texas border town. After several miles, they arrived at an open metal gate. A large sign announced that they had arrived at Lopez Transportation. The driveway led into a large, unpaved lot containing a number of tractor-trailers. Two square buildings stood off to their right with a number of vehicles parked around them. A light shone in a window in the smaller of the two facilities.
As the van’s headlights illuminated their way into the compound, a door opened and a small man with a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache stepped out to greet them. He appeared to be in his late sixties. The man watched them all closely as they exited the vehicle. Clark and McCain approached him with their hands out.
“I’m Alberto Lopez,” he said, shaking their hands.
Kevin made the introductions as Lopez nodded at the others.
“Let’s move inside where we can talk. I’ve got a pot of coffee and some food if you’re hungry.”
“Do we need to close that gate?” Jimmy Jones asked.
“No, it’s OK,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll have drivers coming in and out all night.”
“Have you got some place that the three of us can talk, Mr. Lopez?” Kevin asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
The older man nodded towards a closed door off to the side. “My office is over there.”
“After you guys eat, unload the van,” McCain addressed the group. “Bring everything in here for now.”
He followed Kevin and Alberto into the trucker’s office. After they were seated, Lopez spoke up.
“My good friend, the general, tells me that you need to get into Mexico. I’m guessing this is not a vacation trip,” he said, with a slight smile. “Are all of you going in? I may have undercharged you, even with the old friend’s discount.”
“Me and seven others,” Chuck answered, nodding at Kevin. “The colonel here is staying on this side of the border with the rest of team.”
“Colonel?” Lopez grunted with a hint of disgust. “I never liked officers. Except for the general, of course. He always treated me right.”
“I never liked officers much either,” Clark grinned. “I started off enlisted but realized I could do more to protect my men from the idiots above me as an officer. Plus, the pay was better.”
The retired sergeant first class laughed appreciatively.
“Bueno! General Perkins tells me you have some business with the cartel. I hate the cartels. They have robbed me, killed two of my drivers, and stolen three of my rigs since I started my business. Anything you can do to hurt them is good by me.
“Personally, I’m not sure you have enough people, though. These new gangsters are tough. They own most of the cops but they’ve also whipped the Federales’ tactical teams and even some of their military units.”
“You just worry about getting us in there, Sarge,” McCain answered. “We’ll be OK after that.”
“It’s your funeral, amigo. You got my money?”
Clark handed over the envelope of cash and watched as Lopez counted it before slipping it into his pocket. Alberto opened a wooden humidor on his desk, spinning it around to face his two guests, motioning for them to have a cigar. Kevin and Chuck were soon puffing away with their host.
“I’ve worked with the Agency a lot over the years getting people in and out of Mexico,” Alberto observed, leaning back in his chair, savoring his cigar. “I don’t remember ever seeing you two before. I did hear through the grapevine about the two assistant Ops directors getting run off after the assassination attempt on Ms. Dunning. One was supposed to be a retired colonel and the other was a big muscular guy, a former SWAT cop.”
Kevin smiled, blowing out a smoke ring. “Like my friend said, Sarge, you just worry about getting us into Mexico.”
Lopez laughed again. “No problem, amigos. Tell your people that we load up at 1430 hours and pull out of the lot by 1500 hours. I drive you myself, and I always try to cross around rush hour. It takes longer to get through but the federales aren’t as alert, either. You have an exit strategy?”
“We do,” Chuck nodded, not going into any detail.
“Well, you have my number if you need me. Like I said, I hate the cartels and if you need anything let me know. For now, your team can bed down out there on the floor and get a few hours sleep if they want.”
Best Western Hotel, Savannah, Georgia, Tuesday, 2140 hours
Jennifer walked out of the steamy bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel. What a dump, she thought, looking at the outdated beige decor of the hotel room. Thankfully, the young guy behind the counter seemed to believe her when she said that her wallet containing her driver’s license and credit cards had been stolen. She paid for one night with cash, gratefully taking the room key.
After slipping on a pair of pink sweatpants and a Washington Nationals t-shirt, she plugged in her hair dryer, letting her mind wander as the hot air warmed her scalp, thinking through her next move. Getting back into the US had been an ordeal, but she knew that things hadn’t really gotten interesting yet. I wonder if Ethan managed to free himself? Or maybe someone from the hotel had found him? Or better yet, maybe he woke up to find the police standing over him?
After paying the captain of the sightseeing tour boat for his services, Jen and Ethan had started back to the hotel.
“Were you able to get into the safe?” Sharpe had finally asked, unable to contain himself.
Hughes gave her partner a smile and a thumbs up. “I did. I got into the safe easily enough but there wasn’t much in there. There were a few memory sticks, some papers, and a little money. I grabbed everything, but I’m not sure those flash drives will have what the boss is looking for. There were no hard drives. Did you see anything in the other two buildings that looked promising? Any computers that we need to try and get into?”
“No, I didn’t see any computers at all. I tried to get a wifi signal on my phone, but there was nothing popping up. You never know about those memory disks, though,” he replied, nodding enthusiastically. “Some of those suckers will hold a lot of data.”
“You can check them out,” Jen said, feigning disinterest. “Right now, though, I’m starving. Let’s get some lunch and then head back to the hotel to wrap this thing up. Unless you think we need to go back to the island again to search for computer servers? Of course, there’s no guarantee that we’ll get the same cooperative security guard if we tried again.”
Ethan laughed. “Edmond would’ve followed you off a cliff. When he was showing me around the other buildings, he asked me all about you, hoping I’d give him your phone number.
“Lunch sounds good,” Sharpe continued in an excited tone. “You’re the spy. If you think we found everything there was to find, let’s go eat. How’d you get into the safe? It looked pretty strong.”
“I’m sure you have your secrets for breaking through firewalls and getting into companies’ networks. I’ve got a few secrets for cracking safes.”
The hacker nodded. “So, how’d I do out there, Jess? You think I could be a spy?”
Hughes locked eyes with him. “You were so smooth, Ethan,” she commented breathily. “I was very impressed. Maybe we’ll get a chance to work together again.”
Sharpe’s eyes widened at her words. “Yeah? That would be great! I’ll tell Max how well we worked together.”
“Go for it. That’s great that you guys are such good friends.”
They stopped at Fat Hogs Sports Bar to eat. Hughes suggested a toast, ordering both of them a shot of clear Arundel rum, produced by the nearby Callwood Rum Distillery.
“To a successful mission and a new partner,” the young woman said, holding her glass up.
Ethan smiled broadly, gently tapping his glass against hers and then gulping it down. They ordered their food and Jen made sure her companion had another shot of rum. By the time their food arrived, he’d already slammed four sh
ots of the liquor. For her part, Jen only taken a sip of her first drink, smiling and letting Sharpe talk, bragging about several of his hacking jobs.
After they had finished eating, Hughes excused herself to go to the women’s room. Inside, she locked the door and withdrew the leather notebook from her purse, flipping through it quickly. Alfie had only used initials for his guests. She wished she had the time to dig into the hard drives to correlate what was on there with what the producer had written down.
The brown envelope of photographs was the real treasure for the moment, at least until she was able to access the hard drives and thumb disks. She flipped through the glossy pictures, stunned at the array of world leaders, celebrities, and well-known business people caught in the act of having sex with what appeared to be minors. Two of the photos contained Maxwell Sterling. In the first, he stood next to the swimming pool, smiling broadly at the camera, his arms draped over the shoulders of two very young teenagers, Jen guessed. They had on skimpy bikinis, while Sterling wore a black Speedo.
The next still, however, was what truly turned Hughes’ stomach. In that one, the CIA director was nude in bed with the same two young women, minus their bathing suits. This time, though, Maxwell had no idea he was being recorded for posterity.
Jennifer was now at a fork in the road, knowing that her next decision was going to set off a chain reaction which would affect many people, possibly even putting her own life in jeopardy. After seeing the evidence, there was no question as to which fork she would take. She just wondered if she was ready for the fallout, suddenly feeling very alone.
When she rejoined Ethan, he smiled up at her, his eyes having difficulty focusing.
“I’m really looking forward to working with you again, Jess,” he slurred.
“For sure. Like you said, you and Max are buddies. I’m sure he’ll make it happen.”
“That’s right. We’re really good friends, me and Max.”
“But you said he’s a bit of a perv?”
“Well, yeah, he just likes younger girls, you know? Everybody has their thing.”
“I understand and you’re right. I think we all have a little perv in us.”
Jen motioned at their server to bring them more rum. She then leaned in and spoke softly to her companion, her right hand lightly touching his forearm.
“I want to watch the videos with you.”
She felt revulsion at even suggesting it, but needed to play her part, hoping to confirm what the photos had indicated. So far, Ethan Sharpe had been easy to manipulate.
“You do?” He tried to focus on her face, swaying slightly in his seat. “I don’t…I don’t think Max would like that. That’s why we’re here. He wants to have control of those videos so no one else can see them. He’d get really mad if he found out I let you watch.”
“Okay,” she said, disappointedly. “I understand.”
“Hey, you’re not drinking,” Ethan commented, after downing his shot of rum.
Jen slid two untouched glasses across the table.
“I had a little, but one of us has to drive. Go ahead. You deserve them. I think you’re a natural spy, Ethan.”
After tossing the last two shots of rum, Sharpe handed Hughes the keys to their rental and she drove them back to the hotel. She continued to smile at him, laughing at his witty remarks, but her mind was whirling, planning out each step she would take when they arrived. After she had dealt with Ethan, she would begin focusing on getting back to the US.
On the elevator, Sharpe leaned against the wall to keep from falling.
“What’s the plan?” he asked drunkenly. “When you want to leave? I think we should stay another day or two and just tell Max we’re still working.”
“That’s a great idea! You think of everything, Ethan. Maybe tomorrow we could take a day cruise and find some exotic, deserted island. We could have a picnic, swim, and lay out on the beach.”
The elevator opened to their floor, where Jen’s room was just three doors down from Ethan’s.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” he grinned, imagining his partner in a string bikini, rubbing him down with coconut oil.
“Just like James Bond,” he muttered to himself, stumbling down the hallway.
“Give me your key,” Hughes ordered. “I’ll help you get into your room. Plus, I need to give you the stuff I found in the safe. Maxwell wanted you to have it.”
“You…you want to come to my room? Okay, here’s the key, but no taking advantage of me just because I’ve had a little bit to drink,” he said, laughing loudly at his own humor.
Jennifer let them into Ethan’s room, but then said she needed to use his restroom. After she shut and locked the door, the CIA agent withdrew a pair of rubber gloves and a leather pouch from her purse. After donning the gloves, she pulled out one of the preloaded syringes. She took a deep breath and flushed the toilet. It was in moments like these that she was always surprised to find that she didn’t feel fear. Instead, she experienced a surge of adrenaline flowing through her, calming her nerves.
Jen made sure the pistol was easily accessible in her purse as she left the bathroom. If the computer hacker was going to attempt to harm her, she would be most vulnerable coming out of the restroom. Instead, Hughes found Sharpe sitting on the edge of the bed in no condition to attack anyone, looking like he could pass out at any moment.
“You OK?” she asked, a concerned tone in her voice.
“Oh, yeah, that rum was great. I haven’t asked you, but do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, I’ll probably be single forever. What about you? I’m sure a sexy man like you has several girlfriends.”
The agent stepped closer to the bed, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Ethan shook his head and gave an embarrassed laugh. “No, not right now. I feel like I’m always working. This is the closest thing I’ve had to a vacation in years.”
“It sounds like you need to take some time off,” Jennifer purred, her left hand resting on the back of Ethan’s neck.
He glanced up at the beautiful young woman, not believing that she was in his bedroom, next to his bed, and touching him. It took a moment for the prick on his right arm to register. Had she pinched him? Sharpe saw her pull the syringe back, after having injected its contents into his arm.
“What? What was that?”
As planned, the alcohol had slowed his reaction time way down. Ethan turned towards her and tried to stand. Jen grabbed a handful of hair with her left hand and pushed on his shoulder with her right, sending him back onto the bed.
“Just a little something to help you relax, Ethan.”
The dose of Rohypnol with which she had injected him was twice the normal amount for treating insomnia. Sharpe tried to sit back up but the room started spinning and within a minute, he was unconscious. Hughes watched him for another thirty seconds, making sure that he was really out. She checked his breathing, having no desire to kill the computer hacker, although he might be wishing for death by the time his ordeal was over. The heavy dose of Rohypnol and the alcohol would hopefully keep him out for at least eighteen hours.
She placed his limp hands on both of the kilos of cocaine and then placed the bricks on his bed, spilling a little of powder on and around him. Jennifer hated to give up the pistol but knew that there was no way that she could travel with it. She wiped it down thoroughly to get her own fingerprints off it, but then pressed unconscious man’s fingers all over the gun. The Kimber was left on the bedside table, along with the extra magazines.
Jen looked around, making sure that she had covered every loose end. She had placed Ethan’s wallet in her purse, along with his cell phone and passport. His computer bag went over her shoulder. She wasn’t leaving him with any ID, money, or easy way to contact Sterling.
When she left, she placed the “Please Clean My Room” sign on the outside of his door. Jen knew that the service staff had left for the day, but hoped with the sign out, they would get to his room the next
morning before he woke up. With a little luck, Ethan Sharpe would be out of business for a long, long time. The agent hurried to her own room to pack and head for the airport.
Her hair now dry, Hughes pondered her next move in the dingy Savannah hotel. Sterling would soon know that she was back in the United States, but that couldn’t be helped. She had plenty of cash, over sixty thousand dollars from Alfie’s safe, and could probably have found someone to get her into the US under the radar. That would have taken time, though, and she knew that she needed to be back on American soil before Sharpe woke up or the CIA Director realized anything was amiss.
After she had left their hotel in BVI and started for the airport in Ethan’s rental car, Jen had dumped Ethan’s phone, computer, wallet, and passport off of the Queen Elizabeth II Bridge into the channel below. Sharpe definitely had some challenges in front of him, Hughes thought with a smile. Maybe his buddy Max would be able to help him out, but she doubted it.
Reluctantly, the CIA agent also withdrew her own Agency-issued smart phone and tablet from her purse and dropped them into the water below. The CIA would not be able to track her now. She wasn’t completely off the grid yet because she would still need her fake documents to enter the US.
Hughes hated to leave any trail at all but felt that she had no choice but to use the Agency credit to buy her ticket. She could’ve paid cash but would still have to show a valid ID to travel. Better to have the CIA pay for her airfare before getting rid of her alias. Note to self, she thought, next time you need to have a second set of documents in your possession in case your cover gets blown.
After landing and clearing customs at the international airport in Jacksonville, Florida, Jen took a taxi to Lonnie’s Luxury Car Sales a mile from the airport. She had found the used car dealer by speaking with a young man who was working at the Jacksonville Information counter inside the terminal. He had used Google to locate the closest car dealer and Hughes had slipped him a twenty-dollar bill for his trouble.
