by Howard Upton
“I wanted you on my team for two reasons, Buck, one, because you’re a helluva soldier and a damned good tracker and two, just in case that slick bastard Dugan decided to crawfish on his deal and keep the cartouche for himself, I needed you to try to get it back.”
“So I was your backup plan then?” Evers asked.
“Yeah, so to speak. But you were also part of the primary plan. When Dugan started getting suspicious and worried that his man here in Mexico wasn’t going to give him the cartouche, I told him we could get you on the case. He was well aware of your abilities but I underestimated his lack of trust in anyone,” Buddy explained.
“You underestimated his level of mistrust?” asked Evers sarcastically. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. He’s the king of evil, Buddy, and you risked my fucking life on a piece of jewelry that you have no idea whether it works or not!” he hissed.
“You’re wrong, kid. We are virtually certain this thing’s for real, and we have to get it. Since I was a part of the shit that went down at that hangar, we can rest assured he’s going to take the cartouche and sell it to a different country. If he sells it to one of America’s enemies, we’re dead in the water or forced to use some major firepower to stop that army. Can you imagine dropping a daisy cutter or nuke on a sovereign nation to try to stop them from attacking? How about dropping that kind of ordinance in our own backyard to stop them? The possibility of this happening is beyond comprehension, Buck, but completely plausible.”
“There is no ‘we,’ Buddy. I’m done with this op. You used me, endangered my life needlessly, and double-crossed me. We were friends, Buddy but not anymore. You hear me? I’m out of here.”
“Simmer down, Buck. Right now I’m the only friend you have, whether you believe that or not. I didn’t double-cross you and didn’t use you, per se. I should have let you know that I told Dugan about you, and was going to do so when you told me those four Mexican fellers that took you were pulling up. Do you remember that conversation? When Dugan told me he planned to kill you I had to figure out a way to prevent that from happening. So stop whining like a little girl,” Buddy said emphatically as he pointed his finger at him.
Their waitress walked over and took their order. Both wanted nothing more than a greasy hamburger and fries. She walked away and Evers took another long drink from his beer, swishing the smooth lager around in his mouth.
“I don’t know how you can drink that skunky smelling shit,” Buddy quipped.
“It’s the green bottle,” Evers said casually, his rage calming only moderately. “It doesn’t keep the light out which damages the beer, but the green bottle is iconic so they won’t change to brown ones.”
“Well, look at the brain on Billy Einstein,” Buddy chuckled. “Now, let’s get back to our discussion. I’m being one hundred percent up front with you, now it’s time for you to do the same with me, Buck.”
Evers eyes narrowed and he exhaled slowly, some of the pain subsiding momentarily in his ribcage. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been nothing but honest with you, Buddy.”
“Is that right, Buck? You’ve told me everything I should know? You let me in on everything before you left Alabama to come to Mexico?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Buddy, but it’s time for you to get to the point or I’m getting up and walking out of here right now,” Evers curtly replied.
“The dreams, Billy. The nightmares you have. Do you have them every night? Have they affected your judgment at all? You suffer from PTSD Buck, and it almost cost you your life. That’s the primary reason Dugan wanted to kill you. He considers you unstable and untrustworthy, a liability. I need to know that you are none of those things,” Buddy said matter-of-factly.
Evers slammed the half-full beer bottle on the table causing the few people dining in the area to turn and stare. The bartender walked from behind the bar and asked Buddy and Evers if there was a problem.
Bill turned and faced the bartender and spoke through clamped teeth, “No. There’s no problem here. We’re good.”
The bartender walked back behind the bar and continued mixing and pouring drinks while keeping a cautious eye on the duo. He didn’t want a fight or trouble on his watch, as he was certain to lose his job if that happened. The manager always blamed the bartender when fights occurred.
A thousand things swirled through Evers’ head at that precise moment. The complete spectrum of emotions ran through him. He sat there, stunned, for a couple of moments not knowing what to say or how to reply to Buddy. If he were to be honest he would talk to Buddy about the nightmares, but he didn’t want his old partner working part time as his personal shrink.
Evers also didn’t want anyone else to know that he was suffering from the nightmares. He was afraid that it would stymie any future work he might acquire if prospective employers found out about them. Anger and fear flowed through him like water over a waterfall. Logic and confusion moved through his head in waves.
He looked away before he began speaking, “Buddy, that’s none of your business. I suppose when I was knocked out those bandidos reported back to Dugan that I was talking in my sleep. But those dreams have nothing to do with how I perform in the field. Do you understand? Have you seen any indication to the contrary?” he asked.
“Buck, you’ve only been back on the job for a week. I need to know the pressure and stress isn’t going to cause you to crack. There’s no harm in having a conscience my friend, but if it interferes with the job then you put us all in mortal jeopardy.”
A sneer crossed Evers’ face, “You mean ‘mortal jeopardy’ like you put me in, right?”
“Look, I get it – you’re pissed. But trying to change the subject and avoid this conversation isn’t going to help us get to the bottom of things, or more importantly, help me feel better about hiring you for this operation. Now, for the last time,” Buddy drawled, “you were a part of the plan to assure we got the cartouche. I never intended for you to be in any sort of jeopardy, mortal or otherwise. You’re simply going to have to trust me on this one, or not...that’s your call.
“I need to know how long this has been going on, Billy. Is that why you bought that place in the middle of nowhere, Alabama at the foot of that mountain? Out there you can be alone and wallow in your own self-pity, haunted by the memories of some men you were forced to kill. Am I right?”
Evers looked away again, refusing to make eye contact. He was afraid that Buddy would somehow be able to look into his soul if he did, and that he would be judged for the death and pain he had inflicted “over there” and in Africa.
Silence cloaked the area between the two men while each weighed their next words. At last Evers spoke, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Buddy nodded a sad understanding and took his turn staring down at his feet. After a minute he looked up and said, “That settles it then. Go home, Buck. This op is over for you. Do what you planned to do when this conversation began.”
The waitress brought them their food and place in front of them. She asked if they would like another beer and both said yes. Without another word they both dove into their burgers and fries. Evers’ food was half eaten when the waitress returned with the beers. She stared in disbelief at his plate and the ketchup dripping down his chin. The waitress shook her head and walked away.
Buddy and Evers finished eating and drinking in silence. “You’re a real asshole, Buddy. Obviously, you must think that reverse psychology is going to work on me. I said I was leaving and you told me to go home because I wouldn’t talk about my dreams.” He shook his head while fumbling with his beer bottle.
Buddy’s head flipped back and a loud bellow of a laugh shot from him. “Did it work?” he asked.
Evers smiled but it didn’t touch his eyes. “Look, let’s finish this mission then I’ll see what I can do about getting some help. I just don’t like the thought of some shrink playing around with my mind, you know? Hell, everyone knows the shrinks and pharmac
eutical companies are in bed together. One feeds on the other and makes his partner richer, all at the expense of the soldier who winds up on a pocketful of anti-depressants. It’s no wonder so many of my war brothers have succumbed to drugs or drinking, or choosing to eat a bullet to end the pain.” His tone was reticent and sad.
“I get it, Buck. People who haven’t seen what you and I have seen couldn’t understand no matter how hard they tried. Maybe just talking to someone who’s been there will help. I don’t know what the solution is for you, Billy, but as a friend I want you to get better. As your employer, I can’t have that liability in the field.”
“That’s what you don’t understand, Buddy. Being in the field is easy. Taking a person’s life is simple,” he said as he gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. “It’s the toll on my conscience that troubles me. Killing someone in cold blood is easy my man. The stain it leaves behind is what gives me nightmares,” he finished, his words hanging ominously in the air.
Buddy watched him for a couple of minutes before replying, “I know, Buck, I know.” He smiled and continued, “I’m just happy to hear you’ll be in control while we’re out there,” he nodded his head toward a window, the field implied by his motion. From the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching them.
The bartender walked over with their beers while their waitress took care of another table. “Glad to see you muchachos getting along,” he smiled.
Evers cut his eyes at the bartender who felt the heat and ire shoot from his patron. He promptly spun and walked away. Buddy smiled and raised his beer in a silent toast. Evers did the same.
“I’ll look into some help when we get home. The bigger question is do you have a plan for getting the cartouche before Dugan unleashes hell on Earth?” Evers asked.
Buddy looked at Evers winked and replied, “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
38,000 Feet Above The Pacific Ocean
July 22, 2013 1:19 P.M.
Rafael stared at Dugan, who sat across from him on the Learjet, holding a pistol he had stashed on the plane. In Dugan’s other hand lay the cartouche he had taken from the man he’d hired to steal it. His eyes shifted from the jewel to Rafael and back again.
“What the hell were you saying back there in the hangar? It sounded like some strange chant and it wasn’t Spanish. What was that?” Dugan asked, his eyes piercing Rafael’s.
“I don’t know. It began shortly after I took the cartouche. It speaks to me. I do not understand any of this, Mr. Had...Dugan, but it has caused my physical health to begin failing. I hate it, but I cannot keep myself from touching it,” Rafael said.
“Yeah, you look like a fucking skeleton with AIDS,” Dugan said tersely. He wrapped his fingers around the cartouche and stared at his hand willing it to talk to him as it had Rafael, but nothing happened...other than a light thrum he seemed to feel deep within his arm. Growing more and more agitated, he rose, still pointing the pistol at Rafael, and paced for a few minutes.
“Why the fuck did you pull that gun on me? You had to have known you wouldn’t get away with killing me? Did you think you could sell this damned jewel to the highest bidder you stupid bastard?”
“No,” he responded. “I told you, the cartouche talks to me and it reveals things to me. Places and people I’ve never seen were shown to me by this thing. It guides me to its home,” Rafael attempted to explain.
Dugan stared at the thinness of the man who had been quite strapping just a few weeks earlier in the Yucatan of Mexico. He looked around the plane for a moment as though all the answers were stuck to the tubular walls. Everything this guy told him lined up with things his research team had found, except the fact that a Mexican was being shown the cartouche’s secrets.
“What do you mean it reveals things to you? Tell me what the hell you’re talking about,” demanded Dugan.
Rafael looked away and said nothing. He didn’t feel that Dugan deserved to know anything that the cartouche had shown him. It also didn’t matter if he shot him, which he didn’t think he would risk on an airplane in flight.
Sensing Rafael’s reluctance to answer his question, Dugan stood and stepped toward him. He raised the pistol to his head, his hand not wavering. “I will bury a bullet in your shrunken head, do you fucking comprende? And after I kill you, I’ll dump your skinny body into the ocean and smile as I imagine the sharks tearing it to shreds.”
He stared at Dugan as small beads of sweat formed on his face. Still, he didn’t say anything. Several agonizing seconds passed and he finally said, “I’m not afraid to die. You need me more than I need you, so if you must shoot me and throw my body in the ocean, go right ahead.”
Fury reverberated through Dugan’s mind and body, the truth behind Rafael’s words causing him to lose control. He looked at the hand holding the pistol and watched as it began shaking. Rage gripped him like never before. With blinding speed, he lashed out with the pistol smacking Rafael across the cheekbone. Dugan heard a satisfying crunch as the steel of the pistol met the naked skin and bone of Rafael’s face.
His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he lost consciousness. Dugan wanted to hit him again but feared killing him, given his captive’s wasted attenuated body and the uncontrollable rage with which he wanted to lash out. Instead, he stuck the pistol in his waistband and sat back down. After calming his mind he stared at the man’s motionless body. He needed him to talk. There was something about the entire situation with the cartouche and Rafael that he hadn’t quite pieced together, but if he could find out what else the jewel had revealed to him he would be a step closer to solving the mystery.
Why would the jewel reveal itself to Rafael but not to him? His research team believed only a family member could unlock...
Could it be? Is it possible that Chan’s bloodline had found its way to Rafael? His team had already proven the blood of the Chinese shaman was found in various Indian tribes from Alaska, into the western United States and further into Mexico. Never in a million years would I have thought the one person I hired might have the ability to unlock the spell. I thought I would have to find someone in China, but this is a possibility. Chan was forced to leave the country with the rest of the village. It’s conceivable that Chan has no existing bloodline left in his mother country. How stupid of me to overlook this and how very fortunate this idiot pulled a gun on me when he did!
His last thought brought a malicious smile to his face. He would have to secure Rafael now and keep him alive long enough to unravel the secret. Perhaps he would be a part of the second half of his plan as well. Only time would tell.
Monterrey, Mexico
General Mariano Escobedo
International Airport
July 23, 2013 6:42 A.M.
Shortly after their dinner and beer at the Four Points, Buddy had called in another favor with Javier in Mexico City. Fortunately, Javier had several connections in Monterrey and was able to help him out, for an exorbitant price. At this juncture in the game Buddy wasn’t concerned with money. He would explain everything when he got back home on his expense report.
Using his own passport photo, as well as the one he had had Evers take for the Roper document, Javier’s contact was able to create two new United States passports in a matter of hours. His workmanship was incredible, all the way down to the Great Seal watermark and holographic image of “E Pluribus Unum.” Buddy had laughed at how naïve the States’ Homeland Security could be when it came to counterfeiting documents such as passports. Give an individual with an average I.Q., a computer, the right paper, and a couple of hours, and brand new documents could be created.
His next task was to purchase two tickets to Hong Kong, but he had to avoid re-entry into the States. There was no time for all the questions he would face, and deniability from the CIA about his and Evers’ existence would prove very difficult for them should they re-enter the U.S. The plan was to fly to Mexico City then on to the Chinese Island of Hong Kong.
Regrettably, t
hey would have a long layover in Manila, The Philippines and Shanghai, once they got on the mainland, which would cost them precious time. Dugan, however, would be significantly delayed because of the small aircraft on which he traveled. He would be forced to make several stops along the way before getting to Xi’an. Buddy hoped this would be their saving grace and provide them with enough time to find him before he unleashed the cartouche’s fury.
They had gone to Evers’ room where he checked his agent for broken ribs. Fortunately, everything seemed to be connected. The deep bruising would cause him substantial pain and discomfort for a while, but they would heal relatively quickly. He explained to Evers his plan to get to Hong Kong and about Javier’s friend who was making their passports as they spoke.
Their flight to Mexico City was scheduled for 8:02 a.m. on the twenty-third, which gave them both a little time to rest and he some time to figure out how they would get into China largely undetected before heading to Xi’an to stop a madman. How they would stop him was a problem Buddy hadn’t sorted out yet. Smuggling guns into China was an area he had not ventured into, but he was certain Dugan had, and that worried him tremendously.
Neither man could really talk about the next phase of the mission in the crowded Monterrey airport, even at that time of morning. In fact, both were simply relieved there had been no problems getting through security with their new passports. Buddy was going to have to destroy his original once they got to Manila. He didn’t want to be caught in mainland China with a legitimate United States passport with direct ties to the CIA.
Evers walked over to a nearby coffee shop and bought two cups of steaming hot java. The men sipped their coffee gingerly and made small talk about fishing and hunting. Evers had obviously done more in the wilderness of late than Buddy had, but Buddy told him he would like to spend some time in Alabama at his place once they were finished with the job. Evers nodded his head approvingly.
