Spectre Rising

by C. W. Lemoine

  “How would we even get there?” Spectre asked. “It’s not like we can just take your fishing boat and cruise on down to Cuba.”

  The room fell silent. Marcus sat back in his chair and thought about it for a minute.

  “What about a helicopter?” Marcus finally replied.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Castro Field, Cuba

  “As I told you before, you will have twenty chances to tell me what I need to know. Are you ready?” Ling was twisting a pair of pliers in his hands. His voice was calm and emotionless. His only interest in this was information. Her refusal to talk to this point seemed to have little effect on him. He made it seem like nothing more than a minor inconvenience to him.

  Chloe squirmed in her chair. She was back in the same office, tied to the same chair she had been in some time before. She still had no idea what time or even what day it was. Her watch had been stripped from her along with the rest of her clothes. She felt cold, naked, and vulnerable.

  She wasn’t even sure her plan would work. Victor had been pulled from the cell moments before they dragged her back into the room with Ling. She could only imagine the torture he was facing. Nothing was going the way she had originally planned. She was supposed to be living her new life by now. She prayed that this plan, although admittedly weak, would be enough to at least get them out of there with their lives.

  “Please, this wasn’t part of the deal,” she pleaded. “I don’t know as much as you think.”

  “Well, we will find out,” Ling replied as he moved closer.

  As he reached down to grab her right index finger, Moss screamed, “Wait! I will tell you whatever you want. We can make a deal!”

  Ling hesitated for a second and took a step back. “I’m listening,” he said.

  “I can show you how to boot all of the systems up, give you all the codes, whatever you want, but...”

  “You are in no position to make demands, Captain Moss.”

  “I’m giving you everything! I just want you to let Victor and me go. Please! Just don’t hurt him.” Tears were rolling down Chloe’s cheeks.

  Ling stepped forward with his pliers and grabbed Chloe’s right index finger with his free hand. She tried to resist, but his grip was too strong. She twisted against the restraints.

  “Wait! What are you doing?” she screamed.

  Ling jabbed the open pliers into the nail bed and clamped down. With a single motion, he ripped the nail off, sending blood everywhere as Chloe screamed at the top of her lungs. Ling stepped back and held the fingernail in front of Chloe’s face.

  The screaming soon turned to sobbing as he stood over her.

  “This is not a game,” he said as he flicked the nail into the nearby trashcan and shoved the pliers into his pocket.

  * * *

  “What’s her plan?” Zhang demanded. They were sitting in an adjacent office watching Ling’s interrogation on a video feed on his laptop.

  Alvarez cringed as he watched Ling rip the fingernail from Moss’ index finger. It was brutal and bloody, but Alvarez knew it was necessary. A detainee could not be allowed to feel in control. She had to be made to second-guess every thought of resistance. The pain was horrible, but not life threatening. Those techniques would come much later, but Alvarez hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

  “She didn’t say,” he responded, turning away. “But I suspect it has something to do with the deal she’s trying to make.”

  Ling walked in, wiping the blood off his hands with his handkerchief. He tossed it in the trashcan and walked up to desk where Alvarez and Zhang were sitting.

  “She is convinced that Alvarez is being tortured. I think the fear of your death is worse than the fear of her own harm,” he said, looking at Alvarez.

  Alvarez responded with a toothy smile. “You hired me because I am good at what I do.”

  “Indeed,” Zhang replied. “We still don’t have the information though. Do you think she’s trying to escape, or does she really care that much about you?”

  Ling pulled the pliers out of his back pocket. “I can make her give us the access codes we need. She’s already starting to break.”

  Zhang held up his hand and looked at Alvarez. “You’ve worked with this asset for many months now. Do you think she will comply? We are running out of time.”

  Alvarez considered the question for a moment. Moss had been sold on the idea of a new life since day one. She was convinced that Alvarez was not only her lover, but could give her the new life she seemed to desperately want. It had been clear in the prison cell, and it was even clearer in the interrogation room.

  “Let her sit in isolation for a while and then give her the deal she thinks she wants. When it is time, take her to the jet using me as leverage. If she fears for my life, as Mr. Ling says, she will not risk it. Besides, my men will not allow her to escape.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Cutler Bay, FL

  Tucked away in the Black Point Marina off Biscayne Bay, sat Black Point Ocean Grill, a small bar and grill. It offered live bands and lots of outdoor seating, perfect for tourists and local boaters after a long day on the water.

  It was Spectre’s favorite local restaurant, serving the best Mahi Burger he’d ever had. He and Chloe used to hang out there after a long work week to relax on the water and enjoy the live music. But on this evening, his plans were much different. Marcus had told him to meet him there after work, presumably to talk about whatever plan he’d thought up in his office earlier that day.

  Spectre hadn’t seen Marcus since he’d mentioned the helicopter. It was almost as if he had a light bulb moment. Marcus vanished soon after, leaving him to catch up with Carpenter and bury himself in some work he had left unfinished since the events of the last few days had unfolded.

  Spectre still wasn’t sure there was anything they could do. Even if they could come up with a way to get in country, pinpointing her location and gathering intel would be tough. It was a noble gesture, but seemed like a surefire way to get all of his closest friends killed.

  But the idea of Chloe being tortured was still eating at him. He had seen in training what foreign intelligence services could do to get information out of people. It made him cringe to think that someone would be using such techniques on the woman he once loved.

  At the back of his mind lay the doubt that she might be complicit in the whole thing. The draft folder e-mail still didn’t make much sense. She seemed to be looking forward to seeing Alvarez, as if he was a lover. Spectre’s gut told him something wasn’t right, but his heart told him that she was in trouble and she needed him. He had never really stopped loving her.

  Spectre had chosen the table on the pier farthest from the main building and live band. It was a typical South Florida evening. A few scattered thunderstorms loomed in the distance, but otherwise it was just humid and hot with a light breeze. Spectre was used to it.

  Spectre ordered water and thanked the waitress. He was the first to arrive, but only a few minutes later he saw Carpenter walking down the stairs of the restaurant. The band had already started its evening of mostly rock and a few country music cover songs.

  “Any idea what this is about?” Spectre asked as Carpenter ordered a beer and sat down. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flops.

  “Nope, I got the same text message you did. It said to be here at seven. It’s 6:55. Everyone else is late.”

  As Carpenter sat down, Spectre noticed three more men walking down the stairway to their table. In the lead was Marcus, dressed in his usual cargo pants and a polo shirt, followed by two men Spectre did not immediately recognize from the distance.

  As the men neared the table, Spectre stood to greet them. He immediately recognized Elvis, his former squadron mate from the Gators, and Director Browning of the Customs and Border Protection Air and Marine branch at Homestead close in trail. Marcus seemed to have a plan.

  “You’re late, Marcus,” Carpenter announced as he shook the ol
d Marine’s hand.

  “A retired Marine always arrives whenever he goddamned feels like it,” Marcus shot back.

  “Are you a wizard now too, Marcus?” Spectre quipped.

  Carpenter picked up on the Lord of the Rings reference and rolled his eyes. Marcus and his two guests sat down as the waitress took their drink order. He introduced Elvis and the Director to Carpenter. Spectre was forced to wonder what plan Marcus could have possibly come up with.

  “I’m really sorry about Chloe,” Elvis offered as they each placed their orders. “She was a good pilot. We still don’t really understand it.”

  Spectre gave Marcus a confused look.

  “Cal, I invited Elvis and Dave here because I thought they would rather hear it first hand from you,” Marcus explained.

  “So you didn’t tell them?” Spectre asked.

  “Tell us what?” Director Browning asked. “Marcus just invited us out for dinner. We heard it’s been a rough week for you and figured we’d hang out a bit. What’s going on?”

  Spectre looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping and then leaned in. “Chloe didn’t crash.”

  Elvis leaned back with a disapproving look and sighed. “C’mon Spectre, I heard what happened at the wing conference room. You have to come to terms with this.”

  Director Browning gave Elvis a confused look. Elvis explained what he had heard through the rumor mill about Spectre’s confrontation with the SECDEF. The prevailing story was that Spectre had lost his mind in a desperate spectacle with a half-cocked theory about how Chloe had faked her own death and was still somehow a POW in a foreign country.

  Spectre listened to the whole story and then calmly said, “You really think I would just pull something like that out of my ass?”

  “Listen man, I know you’ve been through a lot, and your reputation isn’t the greatest on the base, so I don’t doubt that most of what’s been said isn’t one hundred percent true. But you can’t possibly believe she’s still alive after this long,” Elvis replied.

  Spectre paused for a moment. He considered getting up and walking out. He had known Elvis since his early flying days. The man was a straight shooter and could be sucked into squadron drama at times, but he had never known him to be anything but fair. He still didn’t know where Marcus was going with this, but it was clear he had some semblance of a plan in mind.

  “Director Browning, do you remember the man you guys were chasing when we last spoke? Aalee?” Spectre asked.

  Browning shifted uneasily in his chair. It was clear he didn’t like talking about it in public. He knew he probably should not have mentioned it at all to Spectre and Marcus. He simply nodded in response.

  “And did you know I was involved in a shootout with his group?” Spectre asked.

  “Aalee was killed in a suicide attack,” the Director replied frankly.

  “You guys are really still this bad at sharing information, aren’t you?” Spectre asked rhetorically. “No, before that, he kidnapped Chloe’s family. When I went to notify them with the chaplain, I just happened to find them.”

  Spectre was interrupted by the arrival of their food. He waited for a minute for the servers to leave, and then continued. He explained the e-mails between Chloe and Alvarez, and his subsequent assistance in the investigation by Baxter. He told them how they had discovered the radar track heading south from the radar tapes, and then connected the dots with intel of the abandoned airfield used primarily by Cuban intelligence agencies.

  “So this is what you told the SECDEF?” Elvis asked.

  “Yes, and he said it was inconclusive,” Spectre replied with a look of disgust.

  “Well, what motive did she have?” Browning asked as he cut into his seared tuna.

  “Alvarez used Aalee to kidnap her family and make it look like a terrorist plot. They were using them as leverage to ensure she followed through. Now it’s likely she’s being interrogated by a foreign intelligence service.”

  “Cubans? Really?” Elvis asked.

  “Well, they are probably a middle man. You know as well as I do there are plenty of governments trying to get their hands on our technology. The Russians, the Chinese, Iranians, North Koreans, you name it,” Spectre replied.

  “Spectre, if you’re right, then we essentially have an American with sensitive technology being detained in a foreign country. That’s an act of war,” Elvis said.

  “Which is why this pussified administration won’t do a fucking thing,” Marcus interjected. “Fucking Democrats.”

  “Politics aside,” said Director Browning, “what’s your end game? Media? Politicians?”

  “We’re going to go get her,” Carpenter piped up. He had been silent the entire conversation, but now he seemed motivated.

  “Spectre, you’re not seriously thinking about doing this yourself, are you?” Elvis asked. “You don’t have the training!”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t let her die while knowing I could have at least tried,” Spectre replied solemnly.

  “He won’t be doing it alone,” Marcus said, nodding at Director Browning.

  “What did you have in mind?” Browning asked.

  With the band covering “Purple Haze” by Jimmy Hendrix, Marcus went over his plan in great detail. It was something he had done many times as a Marine Sniper, and even with limited resources and information they had, he was certain it could be adapted and applied quickly to their purposes.

  They all listened intently as Marcus meticulously explained his elaborate plan, covering every aspect from infil to exfil. He had even come up with contingencies for several different scenarios. It wasn’t necessarily air tight, but Spectre thought it was a decent plan.

  Marcus had barely finished before Elvis said, “I’m in. The government might be turning its back on an American fighter pilot, but I won’t.”

  Marcus looked at Director Browning for his answer. He simply nodded and took a long swig of his beer.

  “The branch is probably going to get shut down, and I’ll be forced to retire anyway, might as make it worthwhile,” he finally replied as he slammed the empty beer glass down.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Doral, FL

  “I’m really worried he’s going to do something stupid,” Agent Decker said, breaking the silence from the passenger seat of Baxter’s BMW M3.

  Baxter said nothing as he drove through the staggered barricades to the guard shack. He presented his credentials to the guard and was waved through after a brief vehicle walk around by an assisting officer.

  “He just seemed like he had been pushed over the edge. I’ve seen that look before,” she said, staring out the window.

  “Well, he was pretty much completely discredited by the SECDEF. I would probably be a little upset too,” Baxter replied as he pulled into a parking spot and shut off the engine.

  “I know, but as much as the guy has been through, I don’t want to see him do something that will ruin him,” she said with a frown.

  “You mean like going to the media?” Baxter asked as they walked toward the newly constructed building.

  “Or trying to go get her himself,” she replied, walking through the door the gentle Texan had opened for her.

  Baxter frowned at her as he pulled out his credentials from his pocket and passed them through the bulletproof glass to the attendant in the lobby. Decker passed the attendant hers as well, and they waited for their credentials to be verified.

  “Is this your first visit to SOUTHCOM?” the woman asked as she looked up their names in her computer.

  “No, ma’am,” Baxter replied. “I have been here a few times.”

  Located in Doral, Florida, United States Southern Command was one of nine combatant commands comprised of more than 1,200 military and civilian personnel representing the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, Coast Guard, and several other federal agencies. Responsible for Central America, South America, and the Caribbean, it served as a command and control center for anti-
terrorism, humanitarian, and other joint federal operations.

  Completed in late 2010, SOUTHCOM’s multi-million dollar facilities were state of the art and capable of processing high level classified information in various offices. The building served as the gateway to Latin America. If something were going on in Cuba, someone in this building would know about it.

  At least that was what Baxter was hoping. After their theory had been completely blown off by the SECDEF and his aides, Baxter was determined to find conclusive evidence. The truth was always in the details. But if Martin was correct, he didn’t have much time to get through them all.

  Although it was late in the afternoon after their failed attempt to convince the SECDEF of the urgency of the matter, Baxter had been hoping his contact at the Joint Federal Task Force at USSOUTHCOM would still be working as he dialed her extension from his cell phone. He had worked with her a few times before, and knew she was probably still at work. She never seemed to leave the place or even sleep. She answered on the first ring and was more than willing to help. She was going to be at work anyway, so it was no trouble.

  The woman handed them visitor badges and the large metal door buzzed as it released its magnetic lock. As they opened the door, a petite woman with dark brown hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses in a modest skirt and sweater was standing there to greet them.

  “Agent Baxter, it’s nice to see you again,” she said, extending her pale hand.

  Baxter gently took her hand with a smile.

  “You too, Danielle,” he replied. “Agent Decker, this is Danielle Warden, the NSA’s smartest intel analyst, and best Call of Duty player I’ve ever met.”