by Alex Ryan
“I’m a little bit confused,” Lattimore said. “I thought the CIA wanted us to handle this operation. Why are they then involved?”
“Two reasons,” Kirsten said. “First, I’m not sure if Simon explained it, but we, acting as the agency, can’t go in to Mexico and apprehend Castillo. Secondly, I understand you have persons experienced in military interrogation. The CIA proper doesn’t perform interrogations. We can’t. Our hands are tied. If we do more than waterboarding, the public finds out and everyone is in an uproar. That’s why we have Special Forces and Delta Force handle that part. The problem is, we can’t send Special Forces or Delta Force in for political reasons. That’s where you come in.”
“Just so we’re clear,” Lattimore said. “Tac ops is in operational control of this mission. Is that understood?”
“Yes, that is understood. You can just consider me to be a liaison. As soon as we find information, we are going to have to disseminate it fast, and act on it quickly. That’s what I’m here for.”
“Yes ma’am. I want to reassure you, tac ops is more than capable of handling any level of tactical military operations to stop these terrorists.”
“Mr. Lattimore, I’m not questioning the capability of your unit, but let me put things in to perspective. This terrorist threat has the potential to affect the lives of millions of people, and mortality could be in to the hundreds of thousands. The president himself has committed all military forces, and has authorized the use of nuclear weapons to stop this attack.”
“Nuclear weapons? Oh my Lord,” Simon exclaimed. “I didn’t know that.”
“Our expert has determined that the only way to neutralize the biological agents in an aircraft, should it become airborne, is to strike it with an air to air missile equipped with a nuclear warhead.”
“Okay” Lattimore said. “Give me some intel on this man and where he is located.”
Rex took the floor. “Ceasar Castillo, otherwise known as El Rey, is a local crime boss that lives in a fortified ranch located in the mountains east of Ensenada, Mexico, in the state of Baja California. If you are not familiar with Ensenada, it is the next major town on the coast south of Tijuana. The extent of El Rey’s criminal dealings is unknown, but he is in charge of all of the local low-level criminal activity in the town of Ensenada and surrounding areas. He tries to live bigger than his means. We believe that the aircraft he purchased, plus the biological weapons production facility in Sonora, has been financed by parties other than him, and likely by Middle Eastern Terrorists.”
“So, as I understand it, the mission is to raid a fortified ranch, detain Castillo, and remove him to an outside location for interrogation. Now, to do so will require us to transport weapons and gear that we are not going to be able to transport from across the border. Can a covert overflight be arranged?” Lattimore asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Kirsten replied. “There will be intense aerial security along the border, on both sides.”
“Hmm.” Lattimore sat back in thought.
“Well, there is another factor to consider.” Rex said. “El Rey maintains a live-in girlfriend, a Brazilian national going by the first name of Isadora. He pays to have her live in an apartment located in central Ensenada, in an unsecured complex, and he often uses his own personal vehicle to visit her. She happens to be an implant. I placed her there myself. She can be trusted. I would consider the option of a snatch and grab mission at her apartment.”
“What’s the general physical condition of this Castillo?”
“Older, overweight, out of shape, not particularly challenging to counter physically.”
“How about a facility where we can detain him for interrogation?”
“The cops in Ensenada are nosy. Damned nosy, and they’re going to crawling about the place when El Rey is reported missing. I recommend someplace that isn’t a major town.”
“I think I might just have the perfect idea.” Lattimore said. “You think you could broker a deal with your little lady friend in that apartment to let us hide out?”
Kirsten cringed and squeezed Rex’s hand out of sight under the table. “Yes, I believe so. A fallback plan would be to wait for him in the parking lot. That is the second place he would be most vulnerable.”
Nassir Al-Hasan sat at the table of the adjoining motel room in San Luis Rio Colorado reading the newspaper. The three pilots of the ATR 42 sat at the table eating a breakfast of pita bread and hummus. Technically, although the ATR only required two pilots, someone had to operate the sprayer. “We have a problem.” Hasan said.
“What is that?”
“They found the facility.”
“What?”
“It’s in the news, here, read it.”
“In Allah’s greatness, how could that have happened?”
“Someone is obviously investigating Ceasar Castillo. Now they know, or they will shortly figure it out.”
“What are we going to do?”
“The first thing, the very first thing, is we need to move the plane. We cannot have it here. It is now compromised.”
“But then how will we fulfill our mission?”
“Do you remember when we were shopping for the ATR 42?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember we considered that 727, the one with the fire tanks installed?”
“Yes.”
“You are all rated to fly it?”
“No. Amir and I are rated in it, but Salid is not qualified as a flight engineer.”
“Does he really need to be?”
“Not really.”
“Take the ATR to another place. Any place but here or Mexico City. Leave it on the desert floor if you must. Then go back to Mexico City. We will purchase that 727.”
“Then what?”
“Is the runway at San Luis Rio Colorado long enough to land a 727?”
“The greater question would be, is it long enough to take off with a full load. I don’t know the answer. I would have to run the calculations. I think so.”
“If not, we need an alternate airport to load the cargo.”
“This airport here is the only non-towered airport with a runway long enough to handle a passenger jet. I think we need to make it work, one way or the other.”
“Then, make it work, and find a way to fly it across the border, I think we can expect the highest of security. May Allah be your guide in your creativity to achieve this wonder.”
Hasan dialed a number. El Rey picked up. He dared not speak his name for fear El Rey’s phone was tapped. “Your roof is leaking.” He hung up.
El Rey looked out of his window at the rain falling in the desert mountains. Hasan cut him off. Abruptly. Somebody is spying on him. Somebody must know about Hasan. That could be the only explanation for the cryptic message.
And then there were the little things. Isadora always seems like she is hiding something these days. Plus, she is the only one that knows about Hasan. It’s like someone is following him around. And there is only one common denominator.
Only one.
Chapter 9 – Tag you’re it
This time, it was a regular car. A Buick Skylark. The same, horrid gaudy faux concert hall look of the same recent model Lincoln Continental. It wasn’t a real Skylark with a commanding presence, it was some mid-size front wheel drive semi-econobox that Detroit thinks people want, except all the European and Japanese automakers do the same thing a whole lot better. But at least it was off the radar. As was the beachfront motel. Ensenada had eyes and ears, and the more you look like a plain Jane tourist the better right now.
The motorhome looked absolutely ridiculous. Will Lattimore looked more like a prison escapee dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and tropical shorts, and two of his cohorts, Leroy and the man that only goes by the name of ‘Champ’ looked equally hysterical. But the concept, however, was air tight. Three gay guys on a Mexican motorhome excursion. Neither the cops nor the Federales are going to want to touch that. They aren’t really gay, but damn su
re passable.
“Looks like the Village People have arrived.” Rex chuckled. Kirsten let out a short laugh.
“What?” Lattimore asked.
“Nothing. You guys look sweet. Here’s the plan. You follow us to the apartment, try to park as close as possible to the entrance I point out, and wait. I’m going to go upstairs and position myself. Kirsten, I mean Agent Maples, will signal when El Rey arrives. If you can grab him at the stairs, do it. Otherwise, follow him up, and wait for me to open the door.”
“Got it.” The three men sounded in unison. Lattimore looked a little uneasy, but more so because of the appearance that he is accepting orders from Rex.
The train of the motorhome led by the Skylark wound its way to the green block apartment complex. Rex rode in the passenger seat, and got out at the entrance, slowly walking up the stairs without looking back. The motorhome couldn't get an optimum vantage point by the entrance.
Rex knocked on Isadora's door. She opened it slightly. "You can't come here, he's on the way," Isadora said nervously.
"I need to talk to you" Rex replied.
"We can't talk now."
"We have to talk now."
"Okay, quickly, only for a few minutes."
"It is unsafe for you to stay here. You need to leave."
"Why?"
"We're taking El Rey away, tonight."
"We?"
"What are those bruises on your face?"
"Nothing."
"He hit you, didn't he?"
"Go, not your problem."
Downstairs, Kirsten signaled that El Rey's car was pulling up. Leroy surveyed the situation. "I don't know, boss, it's going to be messy from where he is. I think we're better off taking our chances upstairs."
"I agree." Lattimore said. "Give him a thirty second start and let's go."
The knock sounded on the door. "Oh my god, he's here!" Isadora exclaimed. "Quick, hide!" Rex went in the bedroom. "Not there!"
It was too late. Isadora forgot to lock the door behind her. El Rey came inside the living room. He just stood there.
"I've been waiting for you." Isadora said in Spanish.
"Have you? Have you been talking to anybody?" El Rey replied.
"What do you mean?"
"It seems that people are digging into my matters. They are finding out things that only you know."
"You know I would never turn on you, Senor Castillo."
"Your eyes lie." El Rey wrapped a length of chain around both of his wrists. "Turn around. Do you need a moment to pray?"
Rex emerged from the bedroom. He stood in front of Isadora. "Do you feel like a big, powerful man, holding that chain, beating up on little girls half your size?"
"I should have known" El Rey laughed. "A cheating little whore. This will be fun. I will kill the boyfriend first."
El Rey unwrapped the length of chain around his left wrist, transforming it from a choking device to a weapon. He swung it as he approached Rex.
Rex was unfazed. His eyes didn't move. El Rey's smile turned to a frown. El Rey swung the chain as hard as he could at Rex's neck. Rex ducked, and followed through, spinning and pushing his right hand, swing further with his left arm, then smashed his elbow into El Rey's face, knocking him backwards to the ground. Not only was El Rey sitting on the ground in agony, Rex was now in control of the chain. "That was really a bad move."
The three men in Hawaiian shirts burst in, and manhandled El Rey to the floor, duct taping his hands, feet, and mouth. "Nice work, kid" Lattimore said.
"What about her?" Leroy asked.
"Bring her with us." Lattimore answered.
"Be careful with her, okay?" Rex said.
"Don't worry. She's in the safest place in the world right now." Lattimore assured him.
"He beat her up pretty bad last time."
"Champ's a medic, he'll check her out."
"Go with them." Rex told Isadora. "You can't stay here."
Rex climbed in the passenger seat of the Buick as the three men carried a hastily fashioned box from materials they found in a dumpster down the stairs. Any onlookers would probably guess that three gringos dresses like gay guys were moving out of their apartment. But nobody seemed to notice. Or care.
"Don't you think she should come with us?" Kirsten asked.
"She might be useful. She may be able to help them dig the truth out of El Rey.”
Five people in a motorhome are flat out cramped. Rex elected to let Leroy do his magic on his own for the night, then they regrouped in the morning to continue the interrogation. To that end, the bus like motorhome was parked at the very end of a long, deep, empty truck lot.
The occasional scent of decomposing seaweed wafted through the open motel window as the surf crashed on the beach. Rex lay under the sheets with Kirsten. "Is it true what they said about hundreds of thousands of people could possibly die?" Rex asked.
"Yes. I attended the Pentagon briefing with the president." She replied.
"It makes my situation look kind of unimportant, I guess."
"You know that other people in the agency can find out who you are as well, right?"
"I figured as much."
"Unless you can clear your name on your own, it isn't just Simon that owns you. It's the agency too. I need to tell you that."
"What does that mean?"
"As long as you're useful to them, they'll look the other way. They'll even protect you. Stop being useful to them, it's over."
"I can always get another identity if I need to, and just run away."
"I wouldn't blame you for wanting to do that."
"But I feel like I'm doing something important here. That's why I signed up to be a Ranger."
"Until you can go back to being Alex Dahl, you can't stop being Rex Muse, ever. The tools the agency has, the tools the FBI has, are almost impossible to get past, and they are only getting better."
"I'm doing fine so far."
"You're doing fine because of the balancing act you are performing on the perch on which you sit. Don't fall."
"Why are you telling me all of this stuff?"
"Because I have a vested interest in you being here, and I don't want it to end."
"What happens if I ever cease to become useful to you?"
She put her finger over his lips. "You're beginning to learn to think like an agent."
"So what's James Bond's next move?"
"You have to ask?"
"Now that's more like it." Kirsten said happily as Champ and Leroy cooked up some eggs and some sausage on a gas grill outside the motorhome. She took a seat on the lawn chair.
"Just because we on a mission don't mean we need to live like rats." Leroy commented.
Isadora came out, and grabbed a plate, and joined the line for eggs and sausage. "What happened to Isadora's hand, it's bandaged up?" Rex asked.
"I ain't gonna lie, I let her take a few swings at that puke, Castillo. She packs a damn mean punch." Isadora had a huge grin.
"Let me see that hand." Lattimore offered. He unwrapped it, dabbed it with peroxide, and bandaged it with fresh wrap.
"Becoming a regular nurse I see." Leroy observed.
"Shush it." Lattimore grumbled.
"So, what did we get out of Castillo last night?"
"Five murder confessions, we know all about his ring of prostitutes and petty theft laundering operation, and he doesn't know a goddamn thing about Hasan or his pilots, or the anthrax." Leroy said.
"Huh?" Rex replied. "I find that hard to believe."
"I've been doing this shit for twenty years. Vietnam. Nicaragua. Mogadishu. Darfur. Lebanon. I know when people be telling the truth and when they ain't. This man is just stupid and ignorant. And he's a psychopath, by the way, as well as a pedophile."
"What did he say?"
"He says Hasan promised him some big drug operation where they would run high grade methamphetamines produced in that lab of his to the States, using that plane of his. They gave him the money to buy s
tuff, and he just signed the papers."
"What about the plane, does he know where it is?"
"He didn't even know it was missing from the Ensenada airport."
"What about Hasan, does he know where to find him?"
"He gave us a number. Said Hasan don't answer it no more."
"Hey?"
"Yeah?"
"You said, they gave him money and he signed the papers. Where did he buy the plane?"
"Let's go in and ask him." Leroy choked down the last of his eggs and sausage, and Rex followed him to the back of the motorhome. El Rey was bound up with ropes, his pants and underwear down to his ankles, and duct tape across his mouth. Leroy yanked the duct tape off.
"Yo. That airplane you bought. Where did it come from?" Leroy asked.
"I... I don't know. I don't know." El Rey stammered.
"Man, you gotta make this difficult. We been doing this all night." Leroy took a propane torch off the table, lit it with the igniter, and held it close to his genitals. "Keep this shit up, and your dick is gonna be blacker than mine."
"Okay! Okay! It came from Mexico City! Airplane broker at the International airport!"
"Which one?"
"The only one there that does jets! Please, keep that away!"
“Give me a name.”
“I don’t have a n...”
“Let’s see how this feels...”
“Ay caramba! No! No! Gunther Wolk! German man!”
"Works like a charm."
"All right." Rex announced to the group. I think we've squeezed as much information as we are going to get out of El Rey. He just doesn't have any more. Does the agency want him?"
"Nope." Kirsten said.
"You were able to get your people to get the Mexican people to float that word on the street that El Rey was about to make a big drug shipment in Valdez's territory?"
"Their people told our people who told me that the word is out."
"Okay, well, then let him go."
"Are you sure?" Lattimore asked.
"Unless you want to take him back with you."
"Hell no."
"Cut him loose, then."
El Rey ran down the highway looking like a scared pig, putting his thumb out to hitch a ride. They watched him jog a quarter mile before a rickety bus finally pulled over for him.
