by Mike Gomes
Reaching a ladder, he turned back to his old friend. “This is it. Only go through the door if you’re fully with us. You will see things and learn things that nobody else knows. And for everything that goes along with that, there is a price. This is no summer camp, and you’re not allowed to just walk away. I vouched for you. I told them who you were, and they trusted me. I hope that I can trust you.”
Falau smiled, showing Tyler had nothing to worry about. “I’m ready to take this on. Who knows, maybe it’s a second career...”
Tyler patted the back of his old friend and climbed the ladder. Tyler knocked on the door in a rhythmic pattern that resembled a jazz tune. The door slid open and the two men climbed up and into the room.
Falau didn’t dare wipe the dust off his body in the beautiful room, with hardwood floors, a large oak desk, some leather clad furniture, and walls lined with books. He smiled, realizing the room probably cost more than everything he had ever owned in his entire life.
Tyler straightened his jacket and walked over to a bar adorned with decanters filled with numerous spirits. “You want a drink?”
Before Falau could respond a voice boomed out from above. “He doesn’t need a drink,” said the mysterious voice of a man that had been altered with electronics.
Tyler turned to Falau with a smile and a drink in his hand. “They don’t trust you. At least not yet.”
A look of frustration settled over Falau and his hands balled up into fists. “There needs to be some kind of trust for us to do this kind of work. I can’t just go on any mission you want me to. Trust is a two-way street, and I need to know there’s some from you.”
Again, the voice from above boomed out. “You want to leave, or do you want to stay?”
Falau stood silent, looking up at the ceiling. Frustrated by being able to speak to anyone, he started to pace the room.
The voice spoke out again. “Mr. Falau, this group and the system will live on, with or without you. We do not need you. It is my understanding that you can help us with our work and that you’re willing to do some for us. But please understand you’re doing us no favors. We have let you get this far because we think that you’re capable of doing good. It’s totally up to you whether you choose to go forward with this or not. But I need a commitment one way of the other, right here, right now. You can let your pride get the best of you, or you could do something meaningful with your life. It’s totally up to you.”
Falau stopped pacing and sat down on the couch, looking directly up at the ceiling. “It’s just that I feel stupid talking to the ceiling,” he said in a sarcastic tone. “You have to admit it’s a little bit silly.”
“I can understand your feelings about this, but you must note that all contact is with Tyler only. This is his mission and that is what he does. It helps us keep the system in order. Too many people knowing too many things leads to too many problems.”
Shaking his head in agreement, Falau could fully understand what he was talking about. But he still wanted to know who the man he was going to work for really was. The voice spoke again, this time in a calmer, more relaxed tone. “At the end of each mission you can choose whether you wish to be in or out going forward. All we ask is that you never say anything about what you do. I can tell you that no person who has ever been a member of this team has ever left, and no one has ever opted out.”
Walking in front of Falau, Tyler took a sip of his beverage. “You see Falau, the mission here is to bring people back for justice. Just like I told you before. But we would never be able to do this without keeping contact to a minimum. You’re going to be one of many guys and women who do this kind of work in different corners of the world.”
Falau smiled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And maybe kill people.”
“Who said anything about that?” said Tyler, his tone now one of anger before the great voice in the ceiling intervened again.
“Sometimes we need to kill someone. It is the ugly part of what we do. Nobody likes it. If we do kill someone it is in the face of overwhelming evidence. Just to put your mind at ease, people that have been hurt by the system are clearly people who have done great damage.”
“Justice takes on many forms,” agreed Falau.
“Yes, it does,” said the voice.
Tyler walked across the room to the desk set against the wall and removed the file from the top drawer. Bringing the file over, he opened it and handed it to the big man. At first glance he could see the face of a hardened man of South American descent. He had a long scar running down his left cheek and eyes that looked as if they’d witnessed a lifetime of fighting.
At first, he simply flipped through the file. “You have one chance to look at it and then it gets put away. My advice is to commit as much of it to memory as possible,” said Tyler sitting down on the couch next to his friend.
The voice from above spoke again. “As you can see, the target is Roberto Mallarino, in Colombia, South America. He is a known drug smuggler. He is responsible for killing hundreds of thousands of people who used heroin cut with carfentanyl. We don’t typically go after drug smugglers, but this particular one clearly understood that using the carfentanyl would result in the deaths of many people. We also have clear information that he himself–and his crew–are responsible for adding carfentanyl to the drugs before they come into the United States. He buys from the main growers and suppliers in the local area. Then he cuts it, increases his profit, and sells it out of Miami and some European cities. The addicts don’t care that so many people die from it. They think they can just use less to get high.”
“What is this carfentanyl shit?”
“In short it is a death sentence, most of the time,” the voice from above called out. “Some people call it elephant heroin. It is 10,000 times stronger than morphine. When this junk is found in drug supplies they call in hazmat teams to deal with it because it can be absorbed through the skin. Normally Narcan is the thing that keeps opioid over dosers alive, but with carfentanyl it hardly works at all. The doctors have to use large doses of Narcan if they even get to see the patient in time. This stuff is a killing machine.”
Falau read through the pages, taking in as much information as possible. “My God, this guy is sick. The beheadings, mutilations, attacks on families, killing children and the elderly. Seems like there is nothing this guy won’t do.”
Tyler shifted and turned toward his friend. “They call him El Carnicero, which translates into The Butcher. It was a nickname that he picked up from the local police down in Columbia. They called him that because when they went to the scenes after his attacks the men said it looked a lot like a butcher’s shop after they’d just dissected an animal. There was always blood and body parts everywhere. This guy knows how to send a message to everybody in the community, and all his competitors. You’re just going to buy from him, or you are going to die.”
“The worst part is that he had been captured and held. The United States demanded him to be extradited from Colombia, but they refused to send him. Power of the drug cartels got to too many people on the inside, and they threatened their families if they didn’t keep The Butcher from being sent to the States. So now he is back on the street doing what he has always done without any punishment at all. At this point he feels unstoppable, now he has this kind of backing,” said the voice from above.
“The judges want this guy alive. They want to see what he has to say and then figure out what should be done,” stated Tyler.
“Do you realize what you’re asking me? You act like it’s no big deal! You want me to go in and infiltrate a drug smuggling operation and then bring the guy back to the United States alive. Oh, and the guy’s called The Butcher! The man is a horrific murderer, and you just want me to grab him and pop him on a plane and fly back here to the States? Maybe while I’m at it you should have me capture a unicorn. Anything else that’s completely impossible you want me to do?”
“We will give you your full choice of y
our own supplies, and Tyler can help. You know what he can produce for you. Maybe a few gadgets that can help you out.”
Shaking his head back and forth, Falau looked over at Tyler as if to say, ‘this is all crazy’.
“Mr. Falau, the time to answer is now. Are you in or are you out?”
Chapter 7
SITTING ON BOARD THE 747 flying at 35,000 feet, Falau’s fingers turned white as he gripped tightly to the armrest. For a man who didn’t enjoy flying in the slightest, sitting in coach packed amongst the travelers, the smells of their bodies and their crying kids was almost too unbearable. To make all that worse, he was wedged in the middle seat with a man to his left he was sure was trying to break the record for loudest snoring, and to his right an overweight gentleman in an oversized cowboy hat. The fat man's belly hung over the armrest, not allowing any room for Falau to put his arm down. He spent the whole flight with one hand on his lap and the other one holding the armrest tight, each set of turbulence causing him to gasp and sweat even harder.
“Hello ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain John Sterling speaking. As you may have felt by now, we’re hitting some turbulence, but that’s to be expected. If you can all try and stay in your seats most of the flight, we can avoid any injuries resulting from more unexpected turbulence. There is no need to put on your seatbelt at this time, so try to sit back and enjoy the flight.”
But no sooner had the captain’s voice stopped than another abrupt bout of turbulence hit the plane, jostling it from side to side. Falau shook in the seat and bumped against the fat man’s body. His breath quickened and he gasped for air, alerting those around him of his nervousness and stress.
“You okay, Hoss?” asked the fat man in the cowboy hat. A soothing drawl rolled in his speech as if he wasn’t even aware of the turbulence.
"Yeah. Just a bad flyer. Never been very good at this at all."
The fat man reached out his hand for Falau to shake it and introduced himself as Billy Ray Johnson. "I’m in coffee products. I sell everything to do with them, so heading down to Columbia's nothing new for me,” said the big man with a southern accent. More turbulence rocked the plane hard, pushing him hard into the cowboy’s belly. Realizing that he had been holding the man's hand for far too long, he quickly removed it.
"Hey buddy don't worry about it, this happens to a lot of people. I fly this route all the time and its constant turbulence. We will be okay, don't worry about that."
“I don’t understand planes. It seems to defy all logic and physics to me. No matter how many times people tell me how it works, it just doesn't make sense," said Falau, trying to get a small laugh from the big man.
With great effort, the fat man wiggled his way out of his seat and stood up in the aisle. Leaning into Falau he reached into his coat pocket he pulled out what appeared to be a small MP3 player and some headphones. "Maybe you should listen to this. I think it will help you a lot."
The cowboy made his way to the back of the plane and out of sight of Falau, who was left holding the gift. Again, the turbulence hit, but in a twist the aircraft moved up and down rather than side to side. Falau felt himself completely raise out of the seat and hit down hard. In an act of desperation, his hands fumbled around the headphones and he shoved them on his head. At this point he was willing to do anything try to make the flight easier on his stress levels. As the sweat ran down his temples the sound of classical music started. The smooth sound of the piano and gentle violins played in his ears, and he was sure that the big man knew exactly what he was talking about as he immediately started to relax.
As the music played Falau felt himself dipping into sleep. Tyler's voice gently entered his ears as if he was a DJ announcing the next song with the music behind him.
"Hey there, friend. I see that you've met my cowboy buddy. He's a good guy. Knowing how hard flying was for you, he gave you this gift." Tyler's voice fell quite over the next few seconds but the beautiful music playing had Falau picturing Tyler in his mind’s eyes, though he could still feel himself falling into a deeper sleep. This was no doubt one of Tyler's inventions that he’d developed just for Falau on this flight.
"This message can only be listened to once, and then never again. It will self-erase. Falau, you're going to meet with a contact. The name of the contact is Vick, and when the time is right Vick will contact you, and it will be unmistakable."
Falau could feel himself drifting into a deeper and deeper sleep but still was able to retain everything Tyler was saying. The mad genius still had all the skills Falau had known from long before. He could create and develop things that no one else could in an incredibly short amount of time. Tyler’s words were embedding deep into his mind without Falau making any effort to make it happen.
"At this point, and we must make some of this quick, sleep should start setting in and you won't be waking up until you’re close to the airport. I have a couple of fun things the you might enjoy on your mission,” said Tyler with obvious enthusiasm dripping from every word. He seemed unable to contain himself about what he was about to tell Falau. "So, we set you up with clothing to wear on your flight down there. Of course, the clothing isn't going to be just normal clothing. The belt you have on, the leather jacket, the collar on your shirt, are all things that can help you. First off, your belt. It's really a very simple design. It's a homing beacon. If at any time you get distressed, to the point where you can't get out and you need some back up, squeeze the belt buckle as hard as you can. It will start a reaction that will deploy people to your location and help you get out of there as fast as possible. I warn you to only use this in the most extreme of circumstances, as it will blow our cover. There's no way that you can activate the homing beacon and expect we could ever go back and attempt to pick up a target after this is been done. The next wonderful little thing you have is the leather jacket you have on. It's bulletproof. I know you're thinking that it fits well and it’s comfortable and flexible, probably even the best jacket you've ever owned. What's more, if someone fired an M-16 at you from close range, all you would suffer is a bad bruise on your body. The bullet would not get through in any way. Granted that will not protect your head if they should hit you there. Your brains would just splatter in an instant, so at least it would be quick. Next the collar on your shirt. Inside the collar you'll feel something that feels like two plastic tabs. But they're not. On the right side, if you pull up the tab there is a small injection needle. This will knock anyone out for several hours. It is a one time only use device. The collar on the left side that, well that can be pulled out and used as a razor blade for combat or any other situation you might need."
Turbulence hit the plane again, jostling Falau about, but now he didn't have a care in the world. He was drifting to the sounds of music and gently riding the wave of the violence from the turbulence while listening to the soothing sound of Tyler's voice and feeling more at ease with every word his friend said.
"Your contact Vick is an insider, and is one of the best people we have. You can learn a lot. You’re going to want to keep your mouth closed and take in every bit of information. Remember you’re a first timer!"
All the snoring of the man next to him no longer bothered Falau, and all the turbulence seemed to no longer have any effect on him. And he felt that the best part about it was at some level he was conscious enough to understand what Tyler did for him, and all the instructions he was being given.
Tyler's voice continued. "When you land, make your way to the hotel we told you about. People will want to know what you're doing there. Columbia takes new businessman coming in very seriously. They are going to wonder what you are all about, because they keep a sharp eye out for anybody they think might be involved in the drug trade. Well it seems like you're about to fall into the deepest sleep that you've ever had in your life. You’re going to wake up rested, alert, and ready to go. I have total confidence in you. I know what you can do and I know you're the right man for the job. Good night, Falau, and good luck
."
Falau's eyes closed and he drifted between consciousness and deep sleep. The music continued but Tyler's voice was gone, as if it had all been a dream.
Chapter 8
THE CAPTAIN’S VOICE crackled through the airplane’s old public-address system.
"Ladies and gentlemen, can you please return to your seats and return your tray tables into their locked and upright positions. Please also put on your seatbelt. We will be landing at El Dorado International Airport in Bogotá, Colombia in just a few moments.”
Falau saw the ground approaching quickly, and fearing somehow the aircraft would get out of control and crash to the ground was too much.
Best thing I can do is keep my eyes straightforward while the plane settles down, thought Falau.
He looked about the aircraft, trying to find the cowboy as he wanted to thank him for the gift he had given him, but the big man was nowhere to be seen, not even the massive cowboy hat. A man that large is too difficult to hide from site. How can a man that big simply disappear on an airplane at 35,000 feet?
As the plane made its final approach the Captain came over the public address system again. “Ladies and gentlemen, your Captain again with a few pieces of information that may come in handy to you. Bogotá currently has a temperature 65°F. There are mostly cloudy skies with sunshine peaking through. It looks like a beautiful day Columbian day. We are on our final approach. Please stay in your seats and refrain from walking about the cabin for your safety. Have a good day, and thank for flying Copa Airlines.”
Within five minutes the plane touched down on the runway, Falau’s heavy breathing finally calming down. The last five minutes had felt like an hour as he felt as if the plane was falling rather than landing. The touchdown of the wheels had made him jump in his seat, but also brought with it a wave of relief that he was back on terra firma.
The Pilot edged plane to the terminal and rolled to a stop. The jet way inched across and the seatbelt light turned off. At once everyone sprang from their seats, reaching up and pulling their carry-on luggage from the overhead compartments. They then all pushed and shoved to gain one spot ahead in the line of people waiting to disembark the plane. Staying in his seat, Falau always wondered why people worked so hard just to get one or two spots ahead in the line. Once out in the terminal it would make no difference, but people always needed that little victory in some way.
