“Two million dollars in cash. Evan? Evan!”
Evan paused.
CHAPTER 11
The Zoo
Tetlanohcan, Mexico, February 16, 0800 Hours
San Francisco Tetlanohcan is a tiny mountain town with a population of about ten thousand in the Mexican state of Tlaxcala. Mexico City and its pollution lie two hours to the west.
La Malinche, or the Lady of Green Skirts, is a massive, dormant volcano with an elevation of 14,636 feet. The mountain serves as the town’s one and only skyscraper.
Four miles outside of town, tucked away down a long, one-lane gravel-and-asphalt road, sat the entrance to a working ranch. The nondescript entrance was marked with a large rusty iron gate with faded writing.
Roger stood on a new, wide wooden deck that served as a second-floor balcony to a new stone-and-wood building. He sipped his coffee and glanced out over the thousand-acre estate. The sun rose slowly and dissipated a fog that was clinging lazily to the ground. He had overheard that the morning temperature would be forty-five and then climb to seventy in the afternoon. Roger looked out over acres of trees, crops, and a small herd of alpacas that huddled near an old fence.
“Sleep well?”
Roger jumped and turned around to see Mia and her sister. They were dressed in shorts and hiking boots, ready for their hike.
“Yes. You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
“You shouldn’t be so easy to sneak up on,” Mia teased.
“Beauty has that effect on me, darlin’.” Roger nodded at the two younger women.
“Nice here, yes?” Mia said quietly.
“How far are we going to hike? I am not in great shape, so don’t lose me,” Roger pleaded.
“Only one way to get in shape.” Mia laughed.
Roger nodded and finished his coffee. “What is this place?”
They had arrived late last night under cover of darkness.
“The Zoo, that’s what we call it,” she said.
“And?”
“By tomorrow we will have about one hundred operatives. Everyone is assigned a room and a team. In two days training starts. We have indoor ranges, kill houses, outdoor ranges, and facilities to conduct our training. Only rule is, we do not venture off the property, and we don’t clump around in large groups,” Mia replied.
“Interesting out here isolated, I see. Can we go into town?”
“No. When Nathan arrives, we will get our orders. Secrecy is very hard to maintain.”
“Thought I heard helicopters last night,” Roger said.
“Sí, airfield about a mile that way.” Mia pointed out toward the mountains.
Roger spoke and asked his most important question, “Are they going to feed us?”
Mia laughed. “Yes, we eat then hike. I will show you the obstacle course.”
“Great,” Roger mumbled. He figured he would just follow her lead, since she seemed to be not only well respected but pretty much known by every one. If Roger had learned anything from his life in the military it was to figure out when chow was and who were the people that could get things done. Mia was a go-getter like Roger, and they hit it off fabulously.
CHAPTER 12
Training Wheels
Huejotsingo Airport, Puebla, Mexico, 1000 Hours
The jolt from the landing gear caused Evan to drift slowly to the surface of a dream until he reached that place where he consciously knew he was dreaming but was unable to stop the reoccurring events. He drifted back to sleep. His brain gained altitude while his subconscious continued to perseverate over the same thought: violent, bloody death.
It was 1994 Columbia. A big band played its version of “Carita de Angel,” a classic from Cuban composer Bebo Valdes. The piano, horns, and soft rhythm of the female vocalist did little to soften Evan’s mood. On any other day, he would have sat at the bar and drowned himself. Evan paused for a second to listen; he felt like he had been here before.
“The angel of death is the only one here tonight,” he muttered.
Evan adjusted his clip-on tie, put in a dip, and pushed his way to the back of the packed restaurant. No one paid him any mind as he moved past well-dressed, busty young women who stuck to gangsters and politicians like static cling. Music, smoke, and the loud voices of drunks who had lost all sense of personal space raised Evan’s angst. He hated crowds. A bar was a bar no matter where you were. He stood in Cartagena, Colombia, in a restaurant once owned by the former Pablo Escobar. Anyone who was on the top of the food chain in the underworld had at one time made an appearance here. Armed guards, corrupt cops, and generals felt safe here.
“Have to be suicidal to pull off a hit in this place,” Evan said to himself. He paused to spit in a potted plant.
No one noticed, and he smiled.
A large man with a scar down the side of his face stepped in front of Evan and held up a thick hand. The man held a wand like you’d see at the airport. He stank of cigars and whiskey.
Evan sneezed and spoke rapidly with great excitement. “Excuse me—allergic to smoke.”
“Who are you?” The man was a few inches taller than Evan and quite thick and fat.
“Here to wish a happy birthday to Andre Pena’s son, Miguel. Wow, who are those babes? Is that a soap-opera star?”
The man kept a steady gaze on Evan and placed his free hand on his hip, presumably on a gun.
“Yes, that’s the soccer-player’s wife…What’s his name? She was a porn star.” Evan spoke and turned his head sideways as if in deep thought. “Oh yeah, now I see it.”
“Get lost!”
“And the blonde?” Evan asked as he peered past the bodyguard.
“Who are you?”
Evan was about to answer and then turned to sneeze again.“Excuse me, name’s Miguel also. His dad sent me. I only got about five minutes; then I gotta leave.” Evan looked at his watch.
“Well, more like four and half now.”
Evan laughed and looked past the bodyguard and at the table where Miguel Pena sat sandwiched firmly between two intoxicated ladies. The married ex-porn star grabbed an ice cube and put it down Miguel’s shirt. Evan sized up Miguel’s two bodyguards, who sat unmoving at the edges of the circular booth. One on each side. They were staring at Evan with their right hands in their jackets.
“Look,” Evan began, “time is ticking, my friend. I must give him his present.”
“I check you first. What you carry? Put your arms out!”
“Sure, sure.” Evan held his arms out and let the man give him a thorough pat down and scan. If he had had a gun or a weapon, the man would have found it.
“Your hand…what that?”
“Inside joke. Night-vision goggles. He will understand in a moment. Go tell him Miguel is here. Gift from Daddy.”
The man looked at Evan.
Evan watched the bodyguards watch him.
The blonde had disappeared under the table. Miguel was holding the edge of the table, a shocked look moved across his face.
“You give to me.”
Evan glanced at his watch again. “Here.” Evan gave the man a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills and smirked when his eyes lit up. That easy to sell out. Amazing, Evan thought. “Go get Miguel and me two Margaritas; you keep the rest. I’m just going to give him these goggles and then I’m outta here! Hate all this smoke!”
The man took the money, crammed it in his pocket, and bit his lip. He looked at Evan and the night-vision goggles and shook his head.
“Hurry up, weird one!”
“Oh, I will.” Evan checked his watch and grimaced. “Two minutes. Shit.” He put the night-vision goggles on his head so they sat up high on his forehead. He walked up to the table, smiled, and placed his hands flatly on its surface near a lonely steak knife. “Hola, Miguel! I am Miguel too. Got a present from Poppi!”
“Who the fuck are you?”
The two bodyguards began to stand.
Evan looked at his watch, the table, and the young blond girl w
ho was trying to climb back into her seat. Her hair was a mess, and her lipstick was smeared. The married ex-porn star was staring at Evan. She was gripping the table as if they were on a moving boat and she needed to steady herself.
“What the fuck is on your head?” she blurted with the eloquence of a drunk.
“It’s a punch line, bitch!” Evan said.
“Fuck you. Kill him, Miguel!” the blonde said.
Evan heard his wristwatch alarm chime. He smiled, picked up the steak knife, pulled the night-vision goggles over his eyes, and ducked.
Boom! Boom!
Evan sat up with a jolt, wide awake. The plane landed roughly. He was horrified, in hindsight, at how easily he had killed Andre Pena’s son fifteen years ago. He had slit the man’s throat with no more thought or compassion than he would have given to stepping on a spider. He felt nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no guilt.
Revenge was a lie, a dead-end alley, and this was no game. He had killed this man, and others, like a dog. Death did not ease death.
His head began to throb, and he felt an anxiety attack drawing over him like a curtain. “Pull it together.” Evan closed his eyes and prayed that he could just lose his memory. His brain felt stuck, like the accelerator of a race car. “Forget. Screw guilt. It’s just a feeling.”
Nathan’s voice brought Evan fully back to the reality he had been trying to hide from. “Sleep OK? You look like a train wreck! Stay behind; you and I will drive out together. Got stuff to chat about.” Nathan smiled at Evan and patted his shoulder, as if they were best pals.
“Sure. Need to sleep for a few more weeks,” Evan said.
The Dark Cloud team was to meet for the first time in nine months. Nathan had reason to be careful. One traitor could end all their lives.
“Don’t trust any of these people,” Evan muttered to himself.
Evan stood up slowly, stretched, and listened to the Mexican mercenaries discuss mundane things such as futbol and a variety of interests. They grabbed their assortment of backpacks and duffel bags and headed off the plane. Plastic cases and other equipment was off-loaded from underneath the plane and loaded onto trucks with the names of bogus companies. The mercenaries piled into any number of vehicles ranging from cars to SUVs. No one would notice any of them; Evan nodded approvingly. Staying hidden was the only way to stay alive.
Dark Cloud had about two hundred employees. Any one agent could spill enough information to expose and kill them all. Evan knew drug cartels would attack and obliterate police stations, army barracks, and any other target they felt threatened by. They would pay millions to political candidates and law-enforcement officials, who would turn a blind eye.
Evan had his own theory of why Mexico was a mess and, on a larger scale, why the whole world was screwed up.
“Sir, are you OK?”
Evan complained and sat up. “Got a migraine, that’s all.”
“I’ll bring you a drink.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
“The altitude, sir—it gives headaches.”
“Reality and memories give me headaches.”
Forty-five minutes later, Nathan and Evan parted ways from the flight crew and got into a heavy, bulletproof 80s-vintage Toyota Land Cruiser.
Evan placed his weapon on his lap. He had on a baseball hat and dark sunglasses. He put a dip in his mouth and got into business mode. “You got a serious group of operators here.”
Evan watched two men open the hangar doors so they could drive out into Puebla, Mexico.
Evan waved at them, and they ignored him.
“You got no idea how corrupt it is here,” Nathan began. “A few months ago, some American CIA operatives with diplomatic plates were sprayed with bullets from Mexican Federal Police. Still investigating that one. Do you remember seeing in the news about US consulate workers being chased down and shot? Gangsters don’t care.”
“Evil is man’s only consistency,” said Evan. “Same everywhere. In Afghanistan we train and give supplies to Afghan police who turn around and sell it to the Taliban.”
“Mexico is not Afghanistan. It’s wealthy, well educated, and one of the richest countries in the world, which makes this whole thing that much scarier,” Nathan said flatly. “We are dealing with a culture, a religion, and a cult of the narco and a government that is impotent. This is a very different enemy, and one that no one wants to talk about. Ever see the American media do a three-week story on the drug cartels? No.”
Evan agreed and said, “I know. Colombia was the big player back in the day. Course we haven’t helped with our neat little drug-flying operations.”
Nathan ignored Evan. He knew that Evan had worked undercover as a pilot. “Fuck Colombia. That was the ’90s, Evan. Back then the Mexicans were a joke. They were players, sure, but now they are moving out, expanding. They call the shots. They aren’t just a pass-through point like in the old days. Mexicans are in Colombia and half a dozen European countries. They have this country by the balls. The drug war was a joke.”
Evan did not cover up his annoyance and replied, “And once again, Americans are devoid of all responsibility.”
“What a way with words, Evan.”
Evan shrugged. “What a way with life. Legalizing it ain’t going to make organized crime vanish. No, they will just change tactics, diversify. I got my wife and child killed playing this game; lately it has been haunting me more and more, as if it happened yesterday.”
“You need to talk with someone,” Nathan said.
“Ha! Would love to—and do what? Cry? Hug? And then what?” Evan said.
“That’s not what I mean.” Nathan sounded annoyed.
“I liked the violence. I miss it. Some people deserved to get wasted; some did not.” Evan rolled down the window, spat, and then rolled it back up.
Nathan gripped the steering wheel and checked his mirrors. He looked a little nervous and frowned. “You’re not really all there, are you?”
“Maybe,” Evan said, seriously considering the question.
“Look”—Nathan tried to sound as diplomatic as possible—“we got set up. There was a leak eighteen years ago, and that’s what led to her death. The Colombians, for whatever reason, wanted to keep Pena, so they stashed him in jail.”
“Their death was revenge for the Pablo mission,” Evan said flatly.
“We all failed you.” Nathan fidgeted and was both nervous and sincere.
“I lied to them and broke the rules by getting involved and marrying a local,” Evan said flatly. “My arrogance and belief that nothing could happen to me led to their deaths.”
“It was horrible, but it’s past,” Nathan said.
“Not to me. The older I get and the more free time I have, the more I think,” Evan said.
“I need you to focus on this job, here and now. If you can’t handle the speeding train that you are about to get on, tell me now,” Nathan said.
“I can,” said Evan.
“Kinda hard to do our job if we don’t trust,” replied Nathan.
Evan looked out the window.
Nathan changed the subject. “Some people said that when you left Colombia, you really did not leave.”
“Uh-huh. People say all kinds of shit. Some people say that it was not the Colombians who betrayed my team’s identity. It was political—it was someone on the inside,” Evan said, staring at the growing urban area.
“Inside?” Nathan asked.
“American,” Evan countered.
“Bullshit!” Nathan slowed down and honked the horn as they hit traffic.
“Whatever. I did leave Colombia, took my month leave, parted with family, and I have never looked back,” Evan lied.
Nathan said, “And all of Andre Pena’s adult children were executed, one by one. Crazy coincidence while he sat in prison helpless and got taunting letters.”
“Life’s cruel, huh?” Evan said.
Nathan grinned but was not being humorous. “Where did the agency send you
after Colombia?”
“Eastern Europe mostly. I did enough damage in South America for a decade, I guess. Nine eleven happened, and then it was trolling for terrorist cells in Europe and Asia. Identifying networks; setting up sting operations; buying weapons, drugs, whatever. They are big drug users. Good revenue.”
“And?” Nathan prodded.
Evan quipped, “And? You want my résumé? I retired before I could be fired, about three years ago. I am basically a has-been—what do you want?”
“I want you to be Ivan, sell the sub, get me close to Mario.”
“OK.” Evan shrugged as if Nathan was asking him to get a beer or something similar.
“I need your A-game, not your ‘I feel sorry for myself’ game,” Nathan said.
Evan chuckled. “Nothing like some honesty.”
“Shit is going to heat up!”
“Got it. Once we kill off these kingpin drug dealers and get our suitcase full of cash, then what?” Evan mused.
“Not our problem.” Nathan chuckled.
“My ass,” Evan said bluntly. “We create a void, and another cartel steps in. Most likely, whoever hired you is representing some other cartels!”
“The government hired us.”
Evan laughed, cursed, and spat out the open window again. “Like I said, another cartel!”
“Let’s talk about Ivan.” Nathan changed direction again.
“OK. Talk.” Evan pushed his baseball hat down low over his eyes and leaned back in the seat.
“His girlfriend doesn’t know he is dead yet. You will have to work with her.”
“A warning?”
“One of many. When we get to the Zoo, we will split up into teams and cells. The briefing process will be long and painful, but I need you to be locked on.”
“You embarrassed of me or something?” Evan chuckled.
“Jesus. No. Well, I don’t want to be…Some of the stuff you say,” Nathan said.
Evan smiled. “Got it.”
Evan played with the radio now and tried to find some decent music. “Fine, I can play Ivan. But I do it my way. If you are going to plagiarize one of my old missions, we may as well do it right.”
Silver Lead and Dead (Evan Hernandez series Book 1) Page 12
