The Land of the Free

by Krakondack

  As Lyle said that, Jess’ face brightened. “If he hasn’t moved out of the country, or died, or been corrupted,” added Lyle, sorry to see her expression fall.

  …

  Luis’ boat pulled into Golfito Bay around midnight, with a waning moon reflecting off the water in the bay. Around them rose hills covered by lush tropical forests, and the smell of the ocean was complemented by ripe tropical smells, with a trace of brackish water from the surrounding tidal flats. They docked and arrived at the Hotel Las Gaviotas, where it only took a few minutes for Luis to find an attendant. Lyle then gave Luis an account number he could charge for his troubles and costs associated with the trip.

  The morning was raucous with the sounds of birds, insects, monkeys, and other assorted fauna living in the Costa Rican rainforest that surrounded them. But there was no sign of Luis. The front desk told Lyle that he’d found a group of German tourists looking for a fishing charter for a few days, and had gone back out into the Pacific Ocean.

  The water looked bright blue against the lush green of the surrounding hills, and Jess, who had awoken early, sat on the patio overwhelmed by the symphony of nature.

  Lyle took a moment to watch her enjoyment of the view before joining her on the patio. “We should come here again sometime, under better circumstances.”

  “I’d love that, absolutely,” said Jess, who blushed, embarrassed her own candor. She gave him a shy smile and then added, as if to correct herself, “I mean, that would be nice. But what do we do now?”

  “We need to get to San José, the Costa Rican capital. Whatever we do next, San José will have the necessary infrastructure for it.”

  Lyle walked over to the front desk and spoke with the attendant for a few minutes, then returned to Jess at their table. “There’s a bus leaving for San José at noon. We can’t risk flying, particularly knowing the reach of the people at San Marcos. It’s going to be a long trip. There will be mountain switchbacks, sections of dirt road and other possible hazards.”

  Jess smiled, more excited than concerned. “A closer look at the Costa Rican ecosystem sounds fabulous,” she said. They spent the morning around the pool, airing their one set of clothes in the sun before dressing in them again for the trip to San José. The bus was not air conditioned and the weather was hot and humid, but the seats were at least comfortable. They turned onto the Pan American Highway and followed along the coast for about a half hour before doubling back and beginning their ascent into the Costa Rican mountains.

  The weather cooled the higher they went, and fog developed, along with a small shower. Jess was not disappointed with the scenery, and occasionally gave Lyle a summary of the climate zones they were passing through, or relayed various curiosities about the species that lived in each zone. At the request of the passengers, many of whom were eco-tourists, the bus stopped at a waterfall on the Rio Nuevo, and most took the opportunity to jump into the water for a refreshing dip.

  As they reached what seemed to be a plateau, the air was suddenly drier, and the vegetation thinner. Neither Lyle nor Jess had seen Costa Rica before, so both were relieved to find most of the roads paved and much smoother than those back home in New York State. The bridges turned out to be modern steel-truss designs, inspiring confidence in their integrity. The stops made by the bus were at clean restaurants and shops, where the attendants always spoke English reasonably well.

  “I don’t know why, but I was expecting third-world conditions,” said Lyle.

  “I know what you mean. Parts of America would need an upgrade to match this. And the scenery is every bit as spectacular as I’d dared hope.”

  They passed the flanks of Cerro Chirripó (19), Costa Rica’s tallest mountain. The sky was clear and clouds were visible beneath them, flowing in and filling up the valleys. They made one more pass up into the high mountains before descending into a drier valley where the forests partially gave way to the pastureland and farmland that surrounded San José.

  San José struck Jess as a modern city, with malls and commercial districts just like those in the developed world. But she felt it strange that every property had bars over its windows and sturdy steel fences. “There must be a lot of crime” she thought to herself.

  Chapter 57: With the Howes

  “Getting in to see the President is not that hard,” said Admiral Stanley Howe, “if you can convince the Chief of Staff to schedule you. That part can be tricky to impossible.”

  “That’s Gerry Levine,” observed Frank. “He’s from Chicago. I bet I can find someone who knows him.”

  Frank had lost his cell phone when they were captured by Morningstar Security, so he called his banker friend Troy from Howe’s phone. John and Stanley Howe listened to him speaking.

  “Troy, it’s me again, Frank.”

  “Yeah, we’re still alive, but we’ve had a close call.”

  “It’s very serious, and now we need a way in to see the President. Do you know anyone who knows Gerry Levine?”

  “Great. Tell him to call Admiral Stanley Howe at this number, but not to tell anyone else.”

  “Perfect, thanks.”

  “Yeah, the phone I was using before is now in the hands of Morningstar.”

  “Yes, I’d be worried.”

  “Oh okay.” Frank hung up the phone.

  “Is Troy going to be okay?” asked John.

  “He’ll be careful but it’s not a major concern. The number I called is to a switchboard with a live operator, who then connects to Troy. So all they’ll have is the main phone number for a large bank.”

  Howe’s wife came into the room with a pot of tea and some cookies. They politely thanked her, but then to their surprise she sat down and joined the conversation.

  Mildred Howe or “Millie” was only slightly younger than Stanley, at about 60. She was about 5’6”, devoid of any cosmetic enhancements, but pleasant for a woman of her age. “I won’t pretend I didn’t hear you boys speaking with Stanley,” she said. “Seeing how serious the situation is, and that you don’t have a way forward, I think you should call my brother-in-law’s brother-in-law.”

  “Say again?” said Frank.

  “My sister’s husband has a sister, whose husband has a brother, who’s a veteran with the CIA.”

  “I appreciate the tip,” said John, “but the top brass at the CIA may be in on the plot with.”

  “I know that, Mr. Corson. I don’t make this suggestion lightly. Roger Snyder has had an undeservedly mediocre career because he’s never gone along with their plots. He knows everything there is to know about the agency, and you’ll be able to trust him.”

  “She’s right about that,” said Stanley with a chuckle. “Snyder hates his job and can’t wait to retire. He’s not necessarily incorruptible but he pisses off his bosses so regularly, they’d never try to recruit him for something irregular, just because then they’d have to deal with him on an extended basis.”

  Chapter 58: Dwight Crosby

  Upon getting off the bus in San José, Lyle turned on his phone, and looked up a name. “It’s only a few blocks. We can walk the rest of the way.”

  The street was so busy with people, Lyle never noticed the man getting out of the car that had been tailing the bus. Instead, he and Jess walked past the University and the National Museum, which was reminiscent of an old world Spanish city. In no time, they arrived and rang the buzzer at the gate of an attractive house with white columns and a red roof.

  A slightly balding, paunchy man of about 5’8” peeked out the window, and then came out of the house looking slightly bewildered. It wasn’t until he approached the gate that he smiled broadly and said, “Lyle!”

  Dwight Crosby and his father had known the Fergusons seemingly forever. Their fathers had initially been friends, and Dwight had occasionally looked after Lyle when he was a small child. They had lost contact a decade ago, when Dwight expatriated to Costa Rica, setting up an international law practice.

  The house was nicely appointed, with o
riginal pieces of art and designer furniture. They sat down, and Dwight served some refreshments. “I can see that you’ve done well for yourself, Dwight,” said Lyle. “And we’re pleasantly surprised by Costa Rica.”

  “We don’t have an army as you’d think of one,” said Dwight. “That’s a lot of money saved. And a lot of freedom reserved to the people.”

  “How have you ended up so much better off than your neighbors?” asked Lyle. “Nicaragua, Guatemala, Honduras, Panama. That’s not a nice list of regimes, and here you are in the middle of it.”

  “Agriculture wasn’t as profitable here as in those other countries,” replied Dwight. “So the multinationals never made large investments. That’s the key, because as soon as they sink money into a country, they demand compliant labor markets, land ownership rules, and environmental oversight. If those factors aren’t to their satisfaction, the CIA shows up, instability follows, and the fabric of society is quickly corrupted. The wealthy and the poor become enemies, and paradise turns to hell. The roots of the problem go back to the Spanish times and gold exploitation, to be sure, but even then Costa Rica was obscure enough that we had it easy.”

  “What about the booming tourism here, won’t that bring in the multinationals?” asked Jess.

  “It’s a concern. There’s been some investment but it’s not big enough yet to dominate our political scene. The other thing is that to have success in tourism you need peace and some social harmony, or the tourists will quickly sour on the place.”

  “Everyone has bars on their windows and fortified iron fences around their houses, including you,” said Jess, seemingly determined to find the downsides of Costa Rican life. “Crime must be quite an issue.”

  “It’s not much of an issue. I guess the bars help. I definitely wouldn’t want to be the only homeowner that doesn’t have them,” Dwight said with a smile. “We value our freedom here. Nobody thinks we’d be better off by not securing our houses but having a police presence on the streets. Most of us think the police would be the problem, not the solution. I know that’s a pretty foreign idea when seen from the American perspective.”

  Dwight noticed they didn’t have suitcases and didn’t look terribly fresh. “So now it’s your turn to do some explaining. You turn up here in Costa Rica without bags, looking like you’ve been through some trying times. What sort of trouble are you in?”

  Lyle chuckled then said, “Well, as you guessed, this isn’t a social call.” He and Jess took their time explaining Robbie’s death, their suspicions of Tilbury, their visit to San Marcos, and their conclusions. Dwight listened silently then became somber as he comprehended the ramifications of what they had just said.

  “One of my clients has been telling me for some time about a lot of Chinese activity in the Mexican desert at San Gustavo, near the Amistad Reservoir. Here’s what I know. They bought a large parcel of land and made some arrangements with the Mexican government and the various drug smugglers. Then they built a huge complex with long air strips, a lot of hangars, barracks, and various storage facilities. Flights land in there straight from China, with no questions asked by the Mexicans. Without giving it a whole lot of thought and concern, I assumed they just wanted a presence on the southern border of the US, using the locals to make a point with Washington every now and then. You’ve probably heard of incidents that sound like the Mexican army crossing the border, shooting off a few rounds then coming back.”

  Lyle nodded and Jess looked at Dwight, astonished.

  Dwight continued. “We have Taiwan and any number of islands in the eastern Pacific. The Soviets had Cuba. So I just assumed the Chinese have northern Mexico for the same purpose. It’s a little reminder that if the US wants to mess with them, they have the ability to complicate matters and return the favor. I never thought you could successfully invade the US and take it over by starting from the Mexican desert. By the time you got to the Mississippi or the Rockies, you’d be shredded by the US military. And since the US has to know about the base, I thought they could disregard it for the same reasons. That is, until the military stopped actually residing on US soil. But hearing your story, if I combine what I’ve heard with your theory of a quick strike to take the major ports which coincide with the major cities, this could constitute the start of a viable plan.”

  “So what can we do?” asked Jess. “We need to get back to the US but our fake papers are compromised by now. Can you think of any way for us to get back?”

  Dwight was unfazed by the question. “I’ll take you to the consulate and get you travel papers on the spot.”

  “In our own names?” asked an incredulous Jess.

  “Of course. You did everything until now using false names. If you’re lucky, nobody is watching out for your real names. Any other way we could smuggle you back to the US would be riskier.”

  “What will we tell the consulate?” asked Jess.

  “Tell them you were hiking, you were robbed, and the locals won’t do anything about it. It’s a plausible explanation, because the first instinct for the locals would be to cover up anything that makes the country look bad.”

  As it was getting late, Dwight took them clothes shopping and picked up some Chinese takeout for dinner. As they finished, he poured some Cognac for each, and they sipped it while talking into the evening.

  “Are you armed, Dwight?” asked Lyle.

  “Of course,” he replied. He pointed them to a nondescript wood box in the corner of the room. “There’s a 9-mm Glock in there, and some ammo.”

  “And if you ever had to make a quick exit from Costa Rica, what would you do?” asked Jess.

  “I don’t give it much thought. But in that case I’d probably take a cruise ship back to Florida, lost amid all those tourists. Looking like you’re not in a hurry to get out is really important when you’re actually in a hurry to get out.”

  Chapter 59: Reconnecting

  Admiral Howe’s phone rang just after breakfast, and after answering he handed it to Frank. “Hi Troy, what’s up?”

  “Yeah? You’re kidding.”

  “Did he explain how imp – four days?”

  “Alright, thanks.”

  Having finished the call, Frank turned to the group, shook his head in disbelief, then said, “Well guys, it seems that Gerry Levine is too busy to deal with anything inclusive of Armageddon for the next few days. He’s on a fundraising blitz and nothing else takes precedence. Troy will keep pushing and maybe a donor can be recruited to drive home the point with Levine, but right now, it looks like your Roger Snyder is all we have.”

  “We still need to speak with Lyle and Jess,” said John. Turning to Howe, he said, “Our phones were taken when they caught us. Admiral, do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” said Howe. “Go ahead and call from my phone.”

  John called Lyle, and nervously waited for an answer. “Lyle, thank God you’re alright.

  “And Jess?”

  “That’s wonderful. A relief.”

  “A Trojan Horse? We’d also uncovered some clues pointing in that direction. You’ve confirmed it for me.”

  “I see. Can you guess when they might be deploying?”

  “I was afraid of that. We’ll need you to corroborate our story. How soon can you get to Washington?”

  “Great. Pictures would nail it. We’ll meet you at the airport.”

  “My phone was captured by Morningstar.”

  “Okay, we’ll be careful. Same goes for the two of you.”

  John hung up and stood in place for a moment, smiling in relief at Lyle and Jess’ safety. Then he turned to the group and explained. “They managed to get onto San Marcos, they checked out the operation, and barely got away. They saw shipping containers converted into troop carriers, and others storing weapons. There are as many as 100,000 troops on San Marcos, by their count. And now they think there’s a Chinese base in northern Mexico that could launch a supporting air and land invasion, coincident with the capture of the ports and cities.
They’re in San José, Costa Rica, and they’ll fly to Miami tomorrow morning with a connection to DC. They think the deployment from San Marcos could have already been underway when they were there two days ago, so we’re talking a few days at most until the landings start. There’s just no way we can wait for Levine’s fund raising trip to finish.”

  “So can Snyder get us into the White House?” asked Frank.

  “Probably not,” said Howe. “But he’s sure to have some useful information, and maybe some useful contacts too.”

  Stanley Howe made a phone call, and spoke for a while. When he was done, he too was frustrated. “Snyder’s been swamped and is rarely home other than to sleep. It looks like they dropped a project he was working on and gave him a pile of busywork that requires his exclusive attention.”

  “You can never tell with government,” said John. “But it’s just possible he was on to something, and is being kept busy so he doesn’t finish it.”

  “Glad to have been of help,” said Millie, who then excused herself.

  “That’s a fine woman you married,” said John.

  “She’s always had my back. When I was deployed, she stayed plugged into the politics of the Navy as much as she needed. She kept the knives holstered that would otherwise be in my back.”

  …

  “Howe speaking.” Stanley Howe answered the evening phone call, and his eyes lit up as he listened. “Roger! I’m so glad you found the time to call. We need to see you urgently.” They spoke for a while longer then Howe hung up the phone.

  “Since we’re going to DC to pick up your friends tomorrow in any case, we can meet Snyder for lunch near Langley.”

  “There’ll be spooks everywhere,” said Frank.

  “Precisely,” replied Howe. “He’ll just be going out to lunch like every other spook. There’s nothing suspicious about that.”

  Stanley Howe gestured for the men to have a seat on the back patio where they could enjoy a refreshingly cool evening and a glass of Scotch. As they clinked glasses, John saw something from the corner of his eye that caught his attention. It was someone approaching from the direction of the water. John instinctively hit the deck as he saw the man draw a weapon. The man got one shot off before John took him down with his shot. He first turned to Frank, who was fine, then Howe, who was clutching his arm and grimacing.