The Fixer

by Mike Gomes

  Falau secured his bag tightly behind his back. He was sure from Tyler’s briefing that photographs would be taken of him from the moment he landed. Security would have the manifest of the plane and any outsiders would be processed through the security check list. There was no doubt that someone out there had eyes on him right now.

  The photographs would upload directly into the computer system. Facial recognition would check every person that arrived on every fight, all faces checked against the database with all the security systems, both nationally and internationally. If a person had so much as a parking ticket the Colombian government would know about it in less than 5 minutes.

  Fully aware that by this point they were watching him, Falau made his way off the jet way and into the terminal. Walking straight for the new arrivals customs area, a young man stepped in front of him holding out his hand.

  “Sir, do you speak English?"

  "Yes,” said Falau.

  "Sorry to stop you, but you have been randomly select for a baggage check. I hope you understand this is standard protocol, and you are just the person that randomly came up. We have no reason to suspect you of any wrong doing. We will try to complete this as fast as possible,” said the young man in uniform.

  Falau rolled his eyes, keeping in disguise, playing the part of the frustrated traveler.

  “I have been through this numerous times. I understand,” said Falau.

  Falau slid his hands in his pockets, looking at his bags and back at the officer. Giving him, ‘the look’ did not appear to speed anything up, despite Falau's obvious frustration. Making eye contact back with Falau, the official slowed his speed in response to the attitude of the American.

  The two walked over to a table set against a wall just to the side of the main area. Falau placed the bag onto the table.

  The official stared into the open bag. “Do you have anything to be declare?”

  "No."

  "Are you transporting anything that the country of Columbia would find illegal?”

  “No. Not to my knowledge. Feel free to check everything if you like,” Falau said, lacing his words with sarcasm and disgust.

  “Sir, you do understand how long I could make this search go on for, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. Sorry. It was a long flight.”

  “Understood, Sir. May I have your passport?”

  Looking through the passport and checking each detail, Falau was sure that if anything was slightly out of place he would be directly on a flight back to the United States.

  "Your papers say you’re in farming equipment. Seems like a waste of time if you ask me. We have more than enough farming supply companies here in Colombia. Who would ever want a product from the United States when you can get one here?" asked the officer, jabbing at Falau.

  Falau just smiled and nodded his head. He knew exactly what the official was trying to do, but he was not going to take the bait and resisted the temptation to reply.

  A higher-ranking officer walked over to them, a variety of ranking bars across the shoulders of his uniform. He looked to be in his fifties and did not make any eye contact with Falau. He leaned into the young man in the uniform and whispered in his ear, changing the expression on the young man’s face.

  The officer, suddenly sounding more official, stated, "Your itinerary please.”

  Falau reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two pieces of paper bound together and handed them to the young man. He checked the papers closely and then photographed them. Handing them back to Falau, he started at the big man.

  “I hope you enjoy your stay here in Colombia. You are free to go,” said the young man abruptly.

  Gathering his things, he slid to the end of the table and pulled them into his arms. Walking and repacking his case at the same time, he knew that he was now on their radar and he had not even made it out of customs yet.

  Chapter 9

  FEEDING THE PASSKEY into the slot in the door, the light turned green and he pushed the door open to his room at the Bogotá Hilton. Like so many of the other big hotel chains, the room was plain and simple. A large queen-size bed sat in the middle of the room. The desk and chair were along the far wall. Beside the large double sized window sat a small table and more comfortable-looking chairs.

  Placing his bags on the table he examined the room, doubting they had time to get inside and add surveillance. He knew he could not fully examine things or he would blow his cover if they were watching from inside the room. Better to keep playing the part given to him by Tyler, he thought.

  The big man walked to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Wiping himself off with the towel, he stared at himself beneath the strong lights of the mirror. It had been a long-time since he had seen himself in this kind of light. He had aged, and it had snuck up on him. He had deep lines running down his face like men twice his age. He looked unkempt, despite the suit. He was miles away from the man he wanted to be.

  “You killed me. It was your fault,” said the woman in the back of his mind without warning.

  Attempting to fend off the flashbacks, he ran the cold water and rubbed it on his face and in his hair, hoping the shock of the cold would do the trick. He pushed his hair back with the flat of his hand and walked quickly to the main room.

  He opened the mini bar like a man on a mission and grabbed two nips from it. Not even waiting to see what they were, he poured them into a glass that sat on the table and took a long sip of the concoction. It went down hard and stung his throat, but it would do the job.

  Sitting down in one of the more comfortable chairs he pulled another over to place his feet on. Staring out the window he took another drink while enjoying the skyline. In the distance several tall buildings stood out. One building had a light flashing from one window, but there was no way that the swift on-off, on-off was just someone turning a room light on and off, or some kids playing. This light was focused and directed. Studying it there didn’t seem to be any pattern to it. It simply flashed for short and long periods of time, but nothing over 5 seconds.

  Hitting to the bottom of his drink Falau wondered who was flashing the light and for what purpose. Could it be Vick? he thought.

  Like a lightning bolt from the blue he finally realized what the light was doing. It was Morse code. He recognized it from his short time in the military. Falau smiled and grabbed the paper and pencil from the desk. It could be just some kids having fun, he thought, but better to know what he was dealing with.

  Copying down the dots and dashes of light he kept going until the sequence had repeated itself twice. Opening his smart phone, he deciphered the message and knew from the few simple words it said that it was from Vick.

  “Corner of Carrera 9 and Calle 73. Tyler.”

  Tyler’s name was all the big man needed to grab his coat and rush out the door.

  Chapter 10

  THE ASH ON THE CIGARETTE had grown long as it sat on its perch in the groove of the ashtray. The owner had somehow forgotten about it despite the constant stream of smoke drifting up from his desk.

  Behind the desk sat a young man in his 20s. His olive skin and dark hair were not enough to charm ladies, so he focused his attention on his studies and work. That kind of dedication led him directly to the National Police of Colombia, straight out of university. And within a few short years the whiz kid had risen to the rank of lieutenant in the Special Operations Commandos. The SOC was tasked with being sent into action in situations considered high-risk tasks. But now he was stuck. The only way to move up the ladder was to have someone die above him, or to create a giant splash to draw positive attention onto himself. Regardless, neither of those seemed particularly possible as he sat in a one-window office at the city airport.

  Carlos Rivera flipped through the hundreds of photographs that lined his desk, all taken by the facial recognition software at the security area for incoming international travelers. Rivera felt like he had been tasked to find a needle in a haystack. Thousands of peop
le each day entered the country through the airport, and it was his job to pick out the person that did not belong. When he volunteered to work on the drug task force, he never thought it would involve sitting behind a desk at the airport. He was assured he had a very important job and if he screwed up on the task, he knew it would be his job.

  Going through the photos for the third time, he was again taken aback by the American with a hardened face who had been detained but cleared to go on. The leadership felt he posed no threat and was ill-equipped to provide any kind of smuggling operation for the locals in that line of business. But Rivera remained uneasy with the man named Falau.

  Turning to the computer where he had accessed the video, he scrolled to the moment when Falau was in the security area. Studying the man, he seemed oddly out of place. He was glancing to the side when he felt he was not being watched, a sign of a man who knew what he was doing. He didn’t overplay his hand, but rather took sneaky looks to gauge the room, rather than someone looking to see if they were being surrounded. That is what normal passengers would do in that situation. Rivera remembered the words of his old trainer from years ago: when people get detained they get claustrophobic. They feel like they’re being held in. Watch out for the fight or flight response. This man Falau showed none of that.

  Flicking through the papers the National Policeman found Falau’s itinerary and scanned it. In no location did it show a clear meeting with any of the local coffee growers. Rivera knew that if this man was here for anything to do with farming, that his contacts would surely be within the drug trade.

  This was exactly the kind of bust he had been waiting for–the one that slipped by the others–and he would pounce on it. All his life Rivera had wanted to exact revenge on the local drug cartel and its leader, The Butcher.

  Rivera straightened himself up in his chair, remembering back to his childhood and the moment he learned how The Butcher had killed his brother, who’d been dealing drugs in the streets. They refused to give up their money to The Butcher, so he responded by hanging them alive in the town square. He jammed a spike into their lower backs, up under their skin, and out through their necks. The brothers lived for several agonizing hours, but the community was too afraid to get involved for fear The Butcher would go after them. The ends of the poles were dug into the ground to put them on display for all to see. It was such a horrific sight that Carlos’s parents would not let him see, but he had heard the stories around the neighborhood in all the graphic detail, painting an image he could never wipe from his mind.

  Carlos knew that arresting Falau would disrupt The Butcher’s operation and he’d get a minimal amount of revenge for the loss of his brother.

  Looking back to the itinerary, the name Hilton stood out. Carlos smiled. Hope you have a nice sleep, Mr. Falau, because I am going to be with you for the rest of your trip, he thought, tapping on the picture.

  Rivera stood up from his desk and grabbed his keys. Moving to the door he put his leather jacket on and took his motorcycle helmet from a hook on the door. Closing the door behind him Rivera knew this could be his one shot to advance himself in the eyes of the leaders of the National Police of Colombia.

  Chapter 11

  WALKING THROUGH THE front door of the hotel and onto the street, a gust of wind hit Falau, making 65° feel more like 50°. The busy street was alive with cars and pedestrians moving in every which direction. Most pedestrians wore thick coats with their collars up to keep the wind at bay. Falau looked over the crowd, knowing this was making his job more difficult... high collars concealed faces and was good for covering people’s eyes. The street looked like a mass of black jackets with only tops of heads sticking out of them.

  He moved down the steps and onto the sidewalk. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he hunched up his shoulders and started to walk at a casual pace. Being followed would be the worst thing that could happen now. He attempted to dance a fine line between walking too fast and trying not to appear too slow. Spotting a tail would be much harder on foot with so many people around. He knew any number of people could be going where he was just by chance.

  Staring into a store window, he used it to check the reflection across the street. Everyone seemed to keep moving. Nobody even looked over. Opening his phone, he held it to his ear and began to speak.

  “I know you want me to get the coat, but I have no idea what more you want,” Falau snapped into the phone to nobody. Continuing to argue, he turned side-to-side constantly while talking and taking video with the phone.

  “You want it so bad, just get the damn coat yourself... anything I get will just be a waste of time.”

  Turning the phone off Falau was sure he had captured on video all the people that had been around him and in the area. Pushing the shop door open he went inside and headed straight for the women’s coats.

  “Can I help you, Sir?” asked an effeminate clerk as he strolled over to Falau. “I can see you have good taste. Are you shopping for your wife?”

  “Actually, I am getting some pictures of different styles, then she can get an idea of them and we can come back and pick it out. You know, saves me from having to be here if she tries on thirty different styles.”

  The clerk smiled and nodded at Falau with a good amount of condescension towards the fashion impaired American. “Well, if she likes one please send her to us and we will take good care of her.”

  “Thanks,” said the big man as the clerk strolled away.

  Taking out his phone Falau turned down the volume and started to watch the video while pulling out different coats and acting like he was taking photographs. The faces all seemed normal. If he was being followed, the guy was very good and was not tipping his hand. Am I just paranoid? thought Falau. Who the hell even knows I’m here?

  Getting back out onto the street he kept his pace steady and even, stopping at the occasional shop to look inside the window keeping up his façade. Passing the Universidad Santo Tomás he got to the intersection of Carrera 9 and Calle 73. There was a beehive of activity: taxis going up to the sidewalks and people hopping in. People cutting across the street against the lights. The screech of brakes from a driver who had not been watching where he was going. It was organized chaos at its finest. A kind of ballet, where all the dancers were moving on their own to different styles of music. It was just a matter of time until two crashed into one another.

  A car screeched to a halt in front of Falau. A taxi sign adorned the top of the car and it was clear this was a bootleg taxi, as nothing indicated it was part of one of the big companies working the streets. Falau knew these guys always worked harder to get their fares and had to stay one step ahead of the law. Normally they were also a bit riskier than the normal taxi because they were operating on the wrong side of the law. The driver leaned over, pulling down the window. “Need a lift?”

  Staring into the car Falau saw a woman driving. She was attractive, with dark hair and blue eyes. Despite seeing none of her skin other than her face Falau could see she was strong and fit, and seemed to be the kind of woman that could handle herself in a fight with a man.

  “You need a ride or what, Mister? Tyler said you might need a ride.”

  Hearing Tyler’s name was all Falau needed to take this ride from a stranger. If she were working for someone after him then they had done their homework. Falau reached down to open the door with a loud creak and hopped into the back seat. No sooner had Falau hit the seat than the woman screeched away from the curb and burst into the middle of the intersection. Heading next to a side street, the tires squealed on the turn.

  “Did Tyler teach you how to drive?” snapped Falau, but it was met with silence from the woman. Again and again Falau attempted to engage the woman with some kind of conversation, but was constantly met with no response.

  “Can you speak?” Falau asked her with sarcasm and building frustration.

  “Yeah. Shut up,” said the woman, letting Falau know exactly where he stood with her.

  Cutting t
he wheel hard again she pulled into a taxi parking garage. Keeping her speed up she raced to the far end of the garage and pulled into the spot next to several other cars that looked exactly like the one she was driving.

  “Out! Now! Follow me and shut up!” demanded the woman, not waiting for Falau to answer. The door swung open and she started to walk away, causing Falau to scramble to catch up to her.

  The sudden sound of more tires screeching made Falau look back. The car was being driven away by a woman with dark hair and a man in the backseat. She had thought of everything to keep the cover alive, just in case they were being watched. Falau was sure that by the time they had hit the garage entrance the man would have on clothing similar to his and nobody would know the difference. The woman continued to move at a swift pace as they exited out the back of the garage. Reaching down to grab Falau by the hand, she dropped back next to him giving the appearance that the two were a couple.

  “This is all very sudden. I don’t even know your name,” said Falau sarcastically.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” said the woman, smiling and leading him to the door of the building next to the garage. She then unlocked the door to the apartment building and went inside. Rushing up one flight of steps she led them into the hall and to the first door on the right. Apartment 2J. Unlocking the door they went in. All Falau knew was this woman knew Tyler’s name, and nothing more. He wondered if he’d just walked into an ambush following nothing more than the name of a friend.