by James Rosone
“We’ve gathered the civilians from the city as requested,” stated General Xi. “They are currently being moved through the various in-processing centers.”
Li smiled. “Excellent, General. I’m impressed. You have gotten things under control and set up quickly. How are you separating the ones that don’t fit the program parameters?”
Pointing to the smaller stadium nearby, Xi explained, “The ones who are too old and frail or require continuous medication to live, are being moved over to the smaller stadium. In the larger stadium, we are separating the younger women who fit the Q program requirements from the rest of the population. The ones that are staying here are assigned a work detail and sent home once they are chipped. The women who fit the criteria given to us are being kept underneath the stadium and away from the others. Every four hours, we plan on loading them onto buses and will transport them to the Ciudad Juárez airport.”
“Excellent. Are you having any problems with the transport aircraft?”
General Xi shook his head. “No. Four planes arrive each hour: two cargo planes and two passenger planes. Each Air China Airbus A350 brings in 312 soldiers. Soon, they’ll be returning to China with the same number of women for the Q program.”
Li smiled. He felt good about how well the system appeared to be working. The planes were bringing in 14,900 new soldiers a day and would soon transport the same number of women to the Mainland.
The two of them walked to one of the mobile command centers set up in the back of one of the ZBDs. As they entered the tent, Colonel Li saw many maps of the city, broken down into quadrants. There was also a whiteboard that listed the number of firearms that had been captured and a listing of the units that were assigned to go house-to-house to search and seize the Americans’ guns.
“General, the civilians that are too old or require medication to stay alive—what are your plans for dealing with them?” asked Li.
Xi leaned in closer so the others couldn’t hear. “We’re going to give them a vitamin shot and then load them onto some of our troop transport trucks that will ‘take them home,’” he explained, using air quotes. “However, within twenty minutes of receiving the shot, they will fall asleep and not wake up. The trucks will be driven out to a mass grave site we are establishing in the desert. They’ll be buried far away from prying eyes so no one will find them.”
Colonel Li nodded. “And the healthy ones?”
“They are all being given an RFID chip in their right hand, and they’re being marked with a tattoo, letting us know they’ve been processed. They’ll be assigned to work gangs and put to work growing food, managing cattle, and repairing the infrastructure to keep the city running. They’ll earn their keep, or they’ll be shot.”
“Excellent. Why don’t you walk me through the rest of the occupation plans, and let’s see how things are going,” Li said. The two of them discussed the situation for a while longer. Their efforts to transform the state and the country were now well underway.
Chapter 16
First Break
March 22, 2021
Camp Perry
Ashley Bonhauf stood at the front of the briefing room; all eyes fixed on her as she began her brief. Behind Ashley, on a corkboard, was an image of Wen Zhenyu on the lower left side of the board attached to a line at the top left side with a picture of Peng. Next to that photo of Peng were pictures of Johann Behr and Roberto Lamy, connected by different-colored lines.
“A couple of weeks ago, we found a possible break in the case of uncovering this conspiracy to rig our country’s election and foment this civil war and UN intervention. From our interrogations of Wen Zhenyu, we learned that Peng An, the Head of the China Investment Corporation, was somehow involved. What we didn’t know was who his other co-conspirators were, and how deep this conspiracy ran.
“A week ago, Peng received a series of calls from the Director-General of the World Trade Organization. The NSA was able to intercept the call and decoded their conversation. It’s clear now that not only is Peng a pivotal player in this conspiracy, but so is Johann Behr, the leader of the UN. Roberto Lamy, the head of the WTO, is also involved as well. What we don’t know is who else is involved and if they have an American connection.”
Ashley leaned forward on the podium. “Several days ago, we initiated a plan that would lure Mr. Lamy away from Geneva to come back home, and it worked. We’ve just confirmed that Mr. Lamy booked flights to Rio, departing two days from now.” She paused for a second before adding, “Our plan is to snatch him as he leaves the airport. Then our crack interrogation team will then begin the process of questioning him.”
She heard a couple of soft whistles from a few of the JSOC operators as they realized this would more or less be their task.
Walking up to the front of the room to join Ashley, General Lancaster added, “It is critically important that we snatch Mr. Lamy and not get caught. While the President has sanctioned this operation, we are doing this on Brazilian soil and without their permission or oversight. Our plane to Brazil is wheels up in three hours. Those of you heading down there should pack whatever you need quickly. The van will be out front in two hours to take us to the airport. The rest of you who aren’t traveling to Brazil will stay ready to analyze the data our interrogators obtain and continue to help us connect the dots. It’s imperative that you help us find the other pieces to this puzzle. Is that understood?”
A chorus of “yes, sir” rang out. Excitement hung in the air.
*******
While moving along in the Gulf Stream, Seth sat in an overstuffed leather chair, reading everything he could about Mr. Roberto Lamy. He looked at the man’s social media posts, the types of papers he wrote about in college, books he read, movies and TV shows he watched, and any other pieces of information the CIA and NSA had put together on the man. Seth made it his mission to learn as much about the man as he could before he sat down to talk with him.
A few hours in, Ashley Bonhauf plopped herself down in the chair opposite him. “So, Seth—what’s your deal? Why are you on this mission?”
Seth put the dossier down on the table between them. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, a few weeks ago, you were in charge of running one of the DHS protective service training brigades—a job I might add I heard you were very good at. One of my FBI friends from the FLETC academy was working there. He said you had the training camp up and running like a well-oiled machine in a week. So, if you were kicking butt there, why would they pull you from there to put you on this team?”
“Let’s just say I have a special skill set Lancaster thinks he can use on this mission,” Seth replied cryptically.
Lifting an eyebrow, she asked, “You mean you’ll be the one interrogating him?”
Seth just shrugged.
“You know, I’m pretty good at questioning too. I used to work on the counterterrorism team out of the New York field office before I was moved to headquarters. I spent some time questioning terrorists in Iraq and Afghanistan,” she added.
Smith sat down in the seat next to Seth and smiled at Ashley. The left side of her lips curled up mischievously. “I suppose you have something to add?” she commented.
Smith tipped his head toward her. “The type of questioning we’ll be doing is a bit outside what you FBI types are trained for or allowed to do.”
“You mean torture,” she retorted, her eyebrows crinkled.
“I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about,” Smith replied, feigning ignorance.
“How can you trust the information you get from the subject if you torture him?” asked Ashley. “For all you know, he’s just telling you what you want to hear to get you to stop hurting him. It’s not that I totally disagree with the concept, but it’s worthless if you can’t trust the intelligence you collect.”
Seth leaned forward. “Ashley, torture is a broad concept,” he asserted. “What you define as torture may be different than what I or what Smith view it as. Yo
ur perception of torture is also probably outdated. It’s not about breaking people’s bones or sticking needles under someone’s nail beds. This is the twenty-first century. We’ve moved way beyond those methods.”
Ashley paused for a moment. “You know, a friend of mine on the counterterrorism task force told me about the CIA testing pharmaceutical interrogations on Al Qaeda prisoners in Yemen. He told me they yielded some good results until one of the prisoners died. If I’m not mistaken, Senator Lambert from California shut the program down when she heard about it. She said during the hearing that one of the prisoners had suffered terribly when he’d had an adverse reaction to the drug.”
Seth and Smith didn’t say a word and listened with unchanging facial expressions as Ashley told them what she knew about the Yemen operation. Eventually, Smith said, “Your friend seemed to have known a lot about it. Was he there?”
Ashley nodded. “He was. He also ended up getting canned by the FBI because he didn’t do anything to stop them. He told me one of the interrogators was an Army officer on loan to the CIA. When he was asked by Senator Lambert what the names were of the interrogators, he suddenly developed a case of amnesia. That’s when Director Polanski kicked him to the curb. He knew the names before the hearing, but he wouldn’t disclose them when asked. He was a good agent. I just wish he’d been truthful during the hearing—he’d probably still be in the FBI.”
Seth sighed. “Sometimes, Ashley, doing the right thing isn’t always doing the right thing.”
Laughing at what he’d just said, she added, “I suppose you’re right. That’s what he told me his last day in the office as well. You know, come to think of it, I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing these days.”
Now it was Smith’s turn to smile. “I’m sure he found a good job somewhere.”
The rest of their flight went by relatively smoothly. Many of the folks aboard either took advantage of the time to sleep or read up on their target.
*******
Eventually, they landed at the Tom Jobim International Airport—a large airport that had several small hangars off to the side that were run and managed by companies involved in some aspect of aviation. Five minutes after touching down, their Gulf Stream had taxied over to one of those open hangars on the far side of the airport.
This particular hangar was operated by a small jet engine repair company that specialized in repairing engines on Lear and Gulf Stream jets. It was also a CIA front company that allowed the Agency to have a private place to park planes when they needed to deliver or pick up people or packages without being spotted.
When the hangar had been sealed up, the outer door to their jet opened, and the team disembarked. Two blacked-out SUVs were parked nearby, waiting to whisk them away to their safe house. A couple of attendants swiftly unpacked the cargo compartment of the plane, unloading their gear and essential equipment and placing it into the back of the SUVs.
Ashley had been getting antsy. She always did fine on a flight until they made her wait to get off. She was excited to stretch her tall frame without a ceiling hanging over her. Once she stepped outside, she was surprised by the sight of a friend she hadn’t seen in many years.
A broad smile crept across her face. “Speak of the Devil—Ed? Is that really you?” she asked. She couldn’t help but feel the irony—Ed Laughlin was the FBI agent she’d just talked to Seth and Smith about on the ride over.
He laughed and smiled. “Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing here, Ashley?”
“Polanski put me on the task force,” she responded. “It’s good to see you.” She immediately realized that it was the CIA that had told her friend not to testify on the Hill—and it looked like he’d landed a job with them.
“Come on, Ashley. You can ride in my vehicle. I can fill you in on the situation down here, and we can catch up.”
From behind Ashley, Ed suddenly caught sight of Smith and Seth, who were the last to exit the plane. He shook his head in amusement. “How did I know they’d send you two guys down here?”
Smith tilted his head to the left. “Well, when they need the best, they send the best,” he replied with an innocent smile.
Ashley shot Ed a quizzical look before asking, “You know these two?”
Ed chuckled as the group walked toward the SUV. “Know them? Of course I do. These were the two interrogators I worked with in Yemen. Seth here is the best interrogator I’ve ever seen. He’s like honey laced in poison when he’s in the booth.”
Suddenly, Ashley looked at Seth and Smith in a different light. She wasn’t sure if she liked them more or if she should be scared of them. If half the stories of what went on in Yemen were true, then she was certainly glad these guys were on her side.
It took them forty minutes to weave their way through the traffic congestion of Rio. It was a beautiful city in certain parts and an outright ghetto in others. Their little motorcade mostly stayed in the good side of town and drove along the water as much as possible. Eventually, they started moving up one of the mountains along the southwest side of Rio. The higher they drove, the better the views of the ocean and this side of the city became.
“Where are we?” asked Ashley.
“We’re heading up to my place. I have a house up here that I stay in and keep running for special missions like this. It used to be an old coffee plantation, so it’s got a few hectors of land and a number of buildings we use for our activities. It’s also situated in a beautiful, well-to-do neighborhood, which means it’s well protected by the police force, so there’s less likely of a chance of some random burglar stumbling on to our operations.”
“Ah, yes. Casa Luxe. It has to be one of the best safe houses I’ve ever seen,” Smith remarked with a smile. “I forgot you oversaw it now.”
“Yes, and the views from the infinity pool down to the city and coastline below are pretty spectacular,” Ed said with a wink.
Changing the topic, Seth asked, “Is our room set up for us?”
“Yeah, I’ve got the place rigged for what you guys needed,” Ed responded, still obviously in a jovial mood. “We soundproofed the building and the room a year ago. It’s got a biometric lock on the doors to get in and out, so it’s pretty secure.”
The rest of the drive went by quickly, with the passengers simply enjoying the view. Eventually, they came to the front gate of Casa Luxe, which was secured by a guard shack with two armed security guards. Both guards appeared to be armed with pistols, though Ashley wagered they probably had assault rifles inside the guard shack, just out of sight.
The villa itself was beautiful. It sat high above the city and had exceptional views of the water. It was also secluded and perfect for what they needed to do.
*******
Roberto Lamy hit the button that would return his leather seat to its upright position. He was tired from the long flight. He’d flown from Geneva to Paris, and then traveled from Paris to Rio. The last leg was the worst; it was a grueling eleven-hour-and-fifty-minute flight from France to Brazil. Fortunately, his position afforded him the ability to travel in first class, so it wasn’t all bad.
Besides being drained by the journey, Roberto was saddened by the reason he was having to fly home. His elderly mother had passed away two days ago. She had lived to be ninety-six, so it wasn’t as if she hadn’t lived a full life. She had. He was just sad that he hadn’t been able to visit her in the last six months. With everything going on in the world, he’d been too busy to leave Geneva.
I should have flown her to Geneva when the family joined me out there for Christmas, he thought. Then again, at her age, such a long journey wouldn’t have been easy.
The aircraft jolted as it touched down. Roberto could hear the air and wheel brakes engaging, and then he was pushed forward as the plane rapidly decelerated. Once they had slowed down to a normal ground speed, they taxied over to the terminal where they’d begin the process of deplaning.
Once he was finally walking through the terminal, Roberto breathe
d in deep and held it for just a second before letting it out.
It feels good to be back home.
Roberto made his way to the luggage carousel and stood in line with the rest of the crowd, waiting for his bags to appear. An elderly gentleman suddenly walked up to him. “Excuse me, are you Mr. Roberto Lamy?” he asked.
Roberto looked the man over. He was wearing a sports jacket, slacks, dress shoes, and had a clean, manicured beard and mustache. He was also holding a white placard card with his name on it.
I hadn’t arranged a car, Roberto thought.
“I am,” he responded cautiously. “Who, may I ask, are you?”
“I’m Francisco. Your wife hired my agency to pick you up at the airport. She wanted to arrange something special for you. She sent me a picture, so I’d recognize you,” the man said. He produced a smartphone and showed Roberto a photo of him and his family at Christmas a few months ago in Geneva. Roberto also noted the text message had been sent from his wife’s cell phone number.
Roberto smiled at his wife’s gesture, then nodded to Francisco. “Yes, thank you. That was very nice of her to arrange this. I had planned on taking a cab. I just need to collect my bag, and I’ll be ready.”
The two of them stood there for a moment while they waited for the bags to start arriving. A few minutes later, the carousel started rotating, and before long, Roberto’s bag appeared. Francisco reached down and grabbed it off the conveyor belt, and the two of them walked out to his waiting car. Roberto loved how Brazil still maintained a VIP car park near the front of the airport, unlike America and some airports in Europe.
