by Jack Slater
The idea gave him a goal, and he sprinted forward with little regard for the sound he was making. It wasn’t a rational decision, for he was presently guided only by animal panic.
In any case, it did not matter.
He exploded onto the yacht’s unlit rear deck, pulling up only once he noticed a dark shape emerge by his feet. He backpedaled but was unable to stop in time and tripped over it. The shape was fleshy.
It was warm.
It had once been a man.
Acid rose in Reyes’ throat, singeing his esophagus. He swallowed it back and attempted to wrestle control back from his panicked breathing. There was still a way out, but not if he fell apart like some helpless woman. He reminded himself that he’d been in worse scrapes.
He knelt by the body, his hands now as slick with blood as his right foot, and searched it quickly for a weapon. There was none, but he found that the sicario’s throat had been expertly cut, and even in the dull gleam of light visible from shore, he could see exposed white sinews deep inside the wound.
The nausea rose once more.
The armory.
He stood, the imagined prospect of safety driving him onward. He took two more steps toward the stairwell that led to the lower deck and tripped over another body. This one too was lying in a pool of his own lifeblood.
Reyes could scarcely believe that this wasn’t some terrible nightmare. It was as though demons had somehow gained access to his boat under the cover of darkness and wreaked the most terrible of revenge.
But who – and why? Fernando Carreon was dead. What was left of his organization was either pledging their lives to his own cartel or were running for their lives. There was simply no way that any of them could have organized so bold an attack as this.
It didn’t matter. There was a way off this boat. The jet ski, mounted by the prow. He needed a gun first, then he could tackle that goal. But only when he had a weapon. In truth, maybe going for the armory wasn’t an optimal strategy for survival. But he couldn’t face the terror of this yacht without one.
Reyes skirted the second body and climbed down the steps to the lower deck without further incident. It was even darker down here. Even the safety lights were turned off. He was forced to navigate by feel and memory alone. He made his way through the darkness step by step, reaching blindly out with one hand as another gripped the wall.
The searching fingers touched another shape in the darkness. Not cold, or hard, but warm. Reyes froze. Whatever and whoever this was – he was alive.
The shape spoke English. It said, “Going somewhere?”
Trapp, his eyes long since accustomed to the darkness after the underwater swim and another ten minutes crouching next to her bulkhead waiting for this prick to emerge, smiled wide. The man – by process of elimination it could only be Ramon Reyes – was breathing hard, almost hyperventilating.
He balled his fingers into a fist, drew his elbow back just barely enough to make it hurt, and drove the weapon into Reyes’ stomach. The cartel boss went down like a sack of potatoes, grunting once, then moaning as he clutched his belly in agony.
“I thought it would take more than that,” Trapp observed as he carefully frisked the Mexican, only to learn that he was in fact unarmed. “Shame. I was looking forward to a fight.”
Reyes said nothing, just clutched his belly and gasped as he attempted to suck air into his stunned lungs.
Trapp hauled him upright and dragged him along the deck before entering a hatchway about halfway down the boat. Reyes hardly bothered to resist. He tried pulling himself away once, but the attempted bravery was quickly dispelled by a sharp blow of the head against the nearest bulkhead. That too elicited a dull groan, and after that, just silence.
“Better,” Trapp muttered.
With the prisoner secured, Trapp now flicked the nearest light switch, blinking as the yacht’s interior lighting flickered into view. He worked his way to the boat’s main living space, where Hector and half a dozen of his Marines were waiting. He thrust Reyes to the floor, and the pitiful excuse for a man just lay there, not daring to look up at his captors.
“The crew?” Trapp asked.
“In their quarters. They’re secured. I’ve got two men watching over them. They don’t want any trouble. All his guards are dead.”
“Good.” He gestured at Reyes. “I brought you a gift.”
“So I see.”
Reyes moaned with fear and started to crawl backwards, stopping only when he was pulled up short by coming into contact with a plush sofa. He flinched as he touched it, eyes snapping over his shoulder in panic, then visibly relaxing as he learned the precise nature of the obstacle.
“Please…” he whispered. “I don’t know who you people are. Just let me live.”
Trapp glanced at Hector for permission to speak. He didn’t want to step on the Mexican officer’s toes, and they hadn’t exactly rehearsed this part. It was entirely possible that Reyes might have been caught in the crossfire in the initial assault. Not optimal, but always a possibility.
His capture, though, was what they’d hoped for. Hector seemed to consider the request for a couple of seconds, then nodded curtly. Trapp smiled his thanks.
“That’s up to you, Ramon.”
Reyes squinted up at him. Trapp was no longer wearing his helmet, but his face was liberally daubed with dark, oil-based camouflage grease. It wasn’t exactly blackface, but enough to make a terrified man question the evidence of his eyes.
His accent, however, was an obvious giveaway.
“Who are you?”
Trapp gestured at the sofa that Reyes was sheltering beside. “Go on, sit. I’m getting a neck ache looking at you down there.”
He waited for the cartel boss to climb laboriously up onto the piece of furniture, moving so slowly it looked as though his muscles must have turned to jelly. He continued the second Reyes was upright, not giving him a chance to reset. “I guess you could call me a concerned citizen, Ramon.”
“Concerned about what?”
“The arrangements for tomorrow. By the way, I don’t think I passed along my condolences about your wife’s passing. I was there when it happened.”
Reyes’ face wrinkled with incomprehension. “You –?”
“You guys aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”
“Who the hell are you?” Reyes snarled, his fear at least momentarily forgotten. “I have rights.”
“That’s actually a really fascinating point, Ramon,” Trapp said, not bothering to disguise the mocking tone in his voice. “I’m glad you made it. But this is the thing: depending on how you read the law, you might be an enemy combatant. I would be perfectly justified in snapping your neck right here, right now. For example.”
“You can’t!” Reyes said, attempting to scramble back before realizing he was unable. He jabbed his finger at Hector’s men, seeming to recognize that they were compatriots. “They won’t let you.”
“Who?”
“Them!” Reyes squawked, his voice strangled with panic.
Trapp looked over his shoulder with exaggerated confusion. “I see no one.”
“You can’t do this,” Reyes moaned.
“Can I be honest with you, Ramon?”
The Mexican waved his hand, barely able to lift it off the sofa cushion. He couldn’t look at Trapp.
“I’ve never liked addicts. My daddy was a drinker. He would come home and beat me. Maybe it’s the reason I am the way I am.”
“That’s nothing to do with me.”
“I never said it was. But you see, I can’t bust down the door of the Jack Daniels distillery and start taking names. But I can do something about you. And these men here, I don’t think they are going to stop me.”
“So you do see them…” Reyes whimpered, like a child waking from a nightmare.
“There won’t be any news cameras at the funeral tomorrow, Ramon,” Trapp said, switching tack. “I’m afraid we’ve reviewed the arrangements, and the guest lis
t doesn’t work for us.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Wake up, Ramon,” Trapp snapped. “I’m offering you a way out. Do you want it or not?”
“What offer?”
Trapp listed the conditions on his fingers. “No cameras. No guests. No security from your organization. My friends here will be on hand to ensure everything goes to plan.”
“I can’t agree to this,” Reyes grumbled, a sullen expression on his squat face. “Tomorrow is –”
“I know what tomorrow was supposed to be. But I told you, it doesn’t work for us.”
Reyes cocked his head, seeming to consider the offer, then shook it. He stood, lifted his arms, put his wrists together, and walked toward Hector. “No deal. Arrest me. I’ll take my chances in court.”
Trapp burst forward, closing the distance in a fraction of a second. He grabbed Reyes by the throat and slammed him down onto the deck. “Listen up, fuckface. This isn’t a negotiation. You’ll do what I tell you, or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes, drive this boat five miles out to sea, and dump your body deep enough that the only creatures who get to see it have gills for lungs. You understand?”
The Mexican’s eyes bulged as Trapp’s fingers closed around his Adam’s apple, squeezing. He opened his mouth, patently attempting to speak, but Trapp only pressed harder. He raised his fingers, attempting to push his attacker off, but Trapp resisted that too, batting them aside as though he were no stronger than a child.
Finally, Reyes nodded, desperation in his eyes. Trapp released the hold and stood off him.
“Good. Now, are you ready for part two?”
Reyes lay back numbly, as though he had simply accepted whatever fate had in store for him.
“I’ll take that as a yes. You see, it hasn’t escaped my friends’ attention that you’re planning to expand your organization’s activities over the next few weeks and months. We can’t have that. At least, not the way you planned. No more violence. No more public executions. No innocents catching a stray bullet. I don’t care if you psychopaths kill each other, but the rest of it has to stop. Do we have a deal?”
He received a sullen nod.
“And you will be working closely with my friends here. If they ask you for something, you’ll do it. No questions asked. Names, places, shipments, I don’t care if Hector here wants you to wipe his ass.”
“For how long?” Reyes mumbled, trying hard to locate his spine, but not quite succeeding.
“Forever.” Trapp shrugged.
“No.”
His eyebrow kinking upward, Trapp said, “No?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t think you’re a stupid man, Ramon. Would you agree?”
A nod.
“Then I’m guessing you have an idea who I work for.”
Another, more grudging one.
“Now, I’m no one. The chain of command is about a million feet long, and I’m right here at the bottom. But the guy at the top lost his son to an overdose, and that’s a thing you just don’t forget. I can be your worst nightmare. Maybe I won’t kill you. Maybe I’ll let you go to sleep every night wondering if it’ll be your last. And I’m guessing the president won’t mind stumping up for my plane ride down here.”
“That had nothing to do with me. It was years ago,” Reyes protested.
“Like I said.” Trapp shrugged. “The kind of thing you just don’t forget. So what’s it going to be, Ramon? A life of luxury, occasionally jumping as high as we tell you, or no life at all?”
Reyes glowered back, but in the end he only had one road left open to him.
He nodded.
Epilogue
President Nash greeted the four of them at the stairwell that led into the Executive Residence. He was wearing a white button-down that was rolled up to just below the elbows and dark slacks. Trapp wondered if he ever just slung on a basketball shirt and joggers when he was on his own.
Probably not. What a curse that would be.
“Thank you for joining me.” Nash smiled. “Come in. Don’t bother taking your shoes off.”
Again, that was just something you never thought you’d hear your president say…
And yet that was the truth, wasn’t it? Nash was just a man like everybody else. Sure, an Air Force colonel followed him around with a briefcase that could end all life on earth, and sure, he had a giant blue-and-white jumbo jet at his beck and call, but he still ate, slept, and broke wind just like everybody else.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, following him in with Ikeda at his side. They were holding hands, whereas Nick and Kelly kept a more professional distance from each other. In fact, the young female agent was ramrod straight. He didn’t blame her.
“Not tonight, Jason,” Nash said with a wry shake of the head. “Tomorrow you can get back to saluting and clicking your heels and all that protocol nonsense. But not tonight.”
“I’m not sure I can do that, sir,” he replied.
“How about I make it an order?” Nash chuckled, glancing over his shoulder as he led the small party through the residence. “Would that make things easier for you? I’m your commander-in-chief, remember.”
“Well technically, Mr. President –”
“Charlie, please,” Nash said with a wicked smile that could only have been intentional. “Go on…”
“Technically,” Trapp coughed, disguising a word that might or might not have been the president’s first name. “I’m just a contractor.”
“Who pays your bills?”
“The Agency.”
“And who signs the budget every year?”
“Well, you do.”
“Exactly. So we’re agreed on something. I’m the boss, and I make the rules.”
“Yes…”
“Great. And what’s my name?”
Trapp gritted his teeth. “Charlie.”
“Perfect. I’ll speak to Lawrence and see if I can’t get you a raise.”
Shrugging, Trapp remarked, “That’s just fine by me, so long as you don’t tell him why.”
Nash chuckled and ushered the four of them into a dining room. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The room was decorated in a fashion that was both opulent and restrained. The quality of furnishings was superb – rich, dark curtains that were a shade of orange brown, modern art on the walls, and a discordantly striped Persian rug on the floor. The dining table had two flower arrangements on it and was set for five.
“All my predecessor’s work, I’m afraid,” Nash explained, noticing Ikeda’s interest. “Interior design has never been my strong suit.”
To Trapp’s practiced ears, her voice sounded a little stilted, though it was likely that nobody else noticed. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Nash said.
The joviality quickly faded from his face, and he beckoned them toward the dining table. Once they surrounded it, Trapp noticed several small boxes – a little larger than a wedding ring case – on the polished surface.
“I imagine you’re all wondering why I asked you to join me here tonight,” Nash said. “It’s not just that I could use the company.”
The weak attempt at levity prompted a few smiles. Ikeda squeezed Trapp’s hand, and he suspected that it was because she detected a little more truth in the president’s words than he’d probably intended.
Nash turned to face Nick and Kelly and scooped two of the boxes off the table. He handed one to each. “These, I am afraid, cannot leave this room, and neither will they appear in your personnel files. Director Rutger knows, and I know, and that is the entire circle.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Kelly said, which Nick echoed a moment later.
“It’s –” Nash began, “oh, forget about it. You both did your country a heck of a service. I am ashamed that I can’t recognize it in public, but that would rather put a hole below decks in the deal I made with President Neto.”
“Out of inter
est, sir, exactly what did that involve?” Trapp asked. “I’m surprised he agreed to keep things quiet.”
“He struck a hard bargain,” Nash replied dryly. “Billions of dollars in support for his cartel-eradication efforts, an intelligence sharing agreement, you name it. But he had an incentive to keep Senator Salazar’s involvement quiet as well. It’s not too healthy for democracy when a rival candidate does a deal with the cartels to try and steal an election.”
“No, I guess not.”
“Still, I sometimes wonder if keeping this stuff quiet is the best policy in the long run. They say sunlight is the best disinfectant. Well, maybe this Apparatus outfit would never have done the damage they did if someone had shone a light on them earlier.”
“Maybe,” Trapp agreed. “But some good came out of it in the end. Reyes is under the Mexicans’ thumb now. He won’t be able to so much as blink the wrong way as long as they don’t want him to. A lot of people had to die to get there, but most of them were bad guys.”
“This time,” Nash agreed. “And I suppose if you really think about it, then you four are also an off the books intelligence organization. And you’ve done more good than you know. It’s never easy, is it?”
The president seemed to shake his head, as if dismissing the thought, but Trapp sensed it still lingered. He reached down and picked up the two remaining medal boxes on the dining table and handed one each to him and Ikeda.
“Anyway – enough of the heavy talk. We’ll eat in a second, but I wanted to pay both of you the same recognition I just gave to Nick and Kelly. Different medal, same story.”
“That’s okay, sir. I never found much use for these things anyway.”
Nash rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t. But it’s still important to give them out. And recognizing what the four of you did for this country is one of the few easy things I get to do. Now, let’s eat.”
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for making it to the end of The Apparatus! I hope you enjoyed the read.
