Online Murder Syndicate: The Paranormal Mysteries & Adventures of Special Agent Lou Abrams (The Paranormal Mysteries & Adventure of Special Agent Lou Abrams Book 2)

by Thomas Craig

  “I think we need a spiritual ceremony. Something that can connect us to the Sky People in a safe way under the spiritual guidance of the elders and Shamans.”

  My inquiring mind wanted to know, “Who will talk to them if they show up? I do not know enough Shiwi’ma to hold a conversation with them. Do they even speak the Zuni language? Do they even speak? What happens when they decide to play badminton where I’m the birdie?”

  “They wouldn’t dare be violent in a spiritual ceremony. You just stay out of trouble and I will make the formal request and arrangements. This will not be immediate, likely a few weeks. Maybe longer,” she predicted.

  “I trust you, and I will try just about anything that gets me off their radar or in their good graces,” I said as Arya walked through the door of our hotel room.

  “Please be safe. Call me often to let me know you are okay. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Lolo. Have fun in Flagstaff.”

  “How is Lolotea doing?” Arya asked with a smile.

  I had to do my best to keep Arya and Lolo separated at times, even from phone calls. They’d get together and act like two sisters hyper-focused on poking fun at me. I needed this phone call to help figure this mess out and I already felt a little better having talked with Lolo.

  I caught Arya up on my conversation with Lolo as we both finished packing for the next part of our trip. After we checked out of the hotel, we met up with the team.

  Agent Keri Redford informed us she completed all the interviews with the women from the Lost City mansion last night, and the women were in the process of being placed with family or a convalescence center if needed.

  One interview, with a somewhat apprehensive former captive named Esperanza, had stood out to Agent Redford and it became extremely helpful information to us all.

  “According to Esperanza, Tazario sent her to his boss’ room a few nights ago. A big shot named ‘Tiki’. She was normally not passed around, but Tiki was sending a message to Taz. Apparently, Tiki and his crew wanted Taz to focus on the cocaine business, not human trafficking. After an evening she cared not to remember, Tiki told her to feed him information on whatever she overheard around Tazario. Unfortunately for Esperanza, she expressed her irrational loyalty to her captor, and refused Tiki’s order. Consequently, Tiki beat the hell out of her,” Agent Redford reported.

  She continued, “Esperanza said that Tiki would kill her if she spoke of this, hence her reluctance to share.”

  Arya joined in, “there is an opportunity here to kill two birds with one stone. If we could convince Esperanza to call Tiki and report that Tazario went to Casuarito to set up his own smuggling operation, bringing in women from Venezuela through Puerto Ayacucho, Tiki will be pissed.”

  Agent Redford then added, “Exactly. Tiki will not be pleased that Tazario is still prioritizing the women over the cocaine operation. This would likely trigger Tiki to pay a visit to Casuarito to straighten out Tazario.”

  Holliday saw where this was going and jumped in, “with Tazario across the river in Puerto Ayacucho, Venezuela, Tiki would become impatient in Casuarito, Colombia, and pull rank to have Taz return across the board to have their sit down. If the dominoes fall right, we could potentially take both of them down!”

  It was built on layers of assumptions and hopes. The story felt a little thin, so Agent Redford and Agent Abbasi temporarily split from the group to go work with Esperanza to make the call before she was returned to her family.

  When Esperanza made the call to Tiki and presented the story, Agent Redford had her start by apologizing to Tiki for placing her loyalty with the wrong person. Esperanza then informed Tiki that Tazario was upset about Tiki beating her and for Tiki questioning his methods for handling the LLC but didn’t care enough to take her with him when he left the mansion. Esperanza added that Tazario called Tiki a moron and that he, Tazario, could and will run the cartel better and with more bravura.

  The words had hit home with Tiki and the team got the reaction from him they had hoped for. The scene was set. Our team was ready and now en route to the edge of the Amazon, bordering Colombia and Venezuela.

  Chapter 26

  The Orinoco River

  It was a long trip from the coast of Santa Marta to the jungle of Casuarito, but the views were amazing through the Cordillera Oriental northern range of the Andes Mountains. Everywhere we looked, massive, jagged shards of earth shot up from the rugged cold alpine tundra of the Sierra Nevada Del Cocuy terrain below.

  At our current altitude and airspeed, the wind chill factor had to be close to 34 degrees Fahrenheit. The sliding side doors to the Blackhawk were closed and we were enjoying the comfort of the helicopter's heating system.

  As we cut through the high-altitude peaks and valleys, my eyes kept darting back and forth from the glacier that produced melting runoff into a huge pristine blueish-green lake and the prominent Ritacuba Blanco peak that looked out over this part of the mountain range.

  The Ritacuba Blanco, at 17,800 feet, was the highest peak and had an unmistakable easterly facing flat vertical rock formation. The 2,500-foot vertical climb tempted most big wall mountain climbers to ascend it.

  Our pilots didn’t think we needed to join the club of climbers that reached the peak. We were already close enough to the Blackhawk's surface ceiling of 19,000 feet. They instead thought best to spare the engines (and all of us) from the thinner altitudes. We didn’t want to wear the oxygen masks that altitude required, so they kept the Blackhawk under the Ritacuba Blanco peak and maneuvered around the wall at 14,500 feet.

  I could make out a few climbing expedition base camps a few hundred yards away from the loose rock topography that sloped from the face of the mountain to the semi-flat valley floor beneath us.

  The Sun was directly over us, providing an easy view to pick out cherry red and banana yellow parkas being worn by climbers already half-way up the 2,500-foot face of the mountain. They had just emerged from a small puffy grey cloud that lingered against the mountain's vertical surface.

  As we continued, the pilots continued to easily maneuver through the wide valleys. Soon we were over an area where the valley floor was covered in colorful circular shapes. It looked like endless giant lily pads of various shapes, sizes, and colors surrounded by small shallow streams and ponds.

  “What is that?” I shouted to the commando thinking he would know.

  He just shrugged his shoulders.

  “Valle de los Cojines. The valley of cushions. Beautiful right?” Agent Redford informed me with a smile. “I plan to make this hike someday. It is a must-do before I relocate.” She paused for a second looking at the scenery with me.

  “They are big pads of ground moss. Miles of miniature moss islands to walk, jump, and hike across,” she finished saying as she pointed below.

  “It is beautiful,” I agreed as I moved forward to allow Arya to lean behind me to see out the window.

  Agent Redford nodded at me and then leaned back, closing her eyes. Most of the team had their eyes closed, focusing on breathing in the thin air and controlling or fighting off any altitude sickness trying to creep in.

  The two commandos offered coca leaves to us to chew on and most of us stubbornly declined at first.

  CIA Agent Abbasi did not hesitate to accept and had a handful chewed up into a pulp and sitting in his cheek.

  His noticeable comfort was tempting us to do the same. However, we stuck to our principles and avoided the coca leaves. Our headaches and slight altitude fatigue would have to be addressed another way.

  Arya passed around bananas and unsalted potato chips. The potassium and carbs would help. Lauren passed around the Ibuprofen and water bottles. We felt better 30-minutes later; fed, hydrate, and at a noticeably lower altitude.

  Once the pilots found the Arauca River, its waterfalls and rapids led us out of the high altitudes of the Andes through some tropical rain forest, down into the rolling hills and plains of the Eastern Colombian Savana. The patches of fo
rest that stretched through the Savanna indicated major and minor river systems. These rivers originated in the most eastern range of the Andes Mountains and their flowing waters fed into the mighty Meta River.

  The Meta crossed the Colombian Savanna and eventually intersected with Venezuela’s vast Orinoco River close to our destination. We traced the Venezuela and Colombia border the whole way south until we saw the rich and muddy waters of the Meta River intersect with the dark navy-blue waters of the Orinoco River.

  We turned westward to cut through part of the dense forest before circling back to come into the town of Casuarito from the west. We did this to draw less attention to ourselves from the town on the other side of the Orinoco River, Puerto Ayacucho.

  Thankfully, no unexpected violence erupted from the forest below as we flew dangerously close to the treetops in suspected ELN territory on the outskirts of Casuarito. We landed in a field adjacent to what smelled like a small fish processing plant.

  It was decided earlier in the day that Lauren would be our communications expert and stay with the pilots and one gunner on the Blackhawk. From there, she could safely feed us intel and ensure the helicopter and crew would come to our aid if needed.

  Arya, Holliday, Redford, Abbasi, and I navigated our way into town by foot, joined by a commando sniper with his Remington bolt action M2010 ESR with noise suppressor and another commando who served as his spotter. The idea of taking a shot across the river to eliminate Tazario was not on our agenda, but not off the list of options of the Colombian government.

  There weren’t many homes or buildings in this town taller than one-story, and we needed a place that could give us a higher vantage point across this town, as well as across the river looking into Puerto Ayacucho.

  We were lucky to find an abandoned two-story mill of sorts close to the river’s edge. It appeared to be disconnected from the rest of town which was set further back from the Orinoco.

  This mill had likely felt the wrath of one too many floods over the years and was no longer operational. The stairs were, at one point, made of concrete and not much of them still stood. The steps had eroded due to their internal rebar expanding from rust, breaking up the concrete.

  Looking it over, I gave the structure about 5 years or one more flood before it completely crumbled. The floors were made of mostly rotten wood planks. We walked across the second floor poking the floor ahead of us with a long two-by-four to ensure we didn’t plummet unceremoniously to the floor below.

  The commandos unpacked their gear, unrolled some black mesh, and pinned it to the frame of both easterly facing windows. They scavenge around both floors collecting debris until they had enough to build backdrops 6 feet from the windows to block any light from behind them when at the windows. No one from the outside would be able to see their silhouettes as they sat in these dark shadows looking out over the river into Puerto Ayacucho for a target.

  There was enough black mesh to do the same to one westerly facing window and one facing north to watch over any approaching people from Casuarito, which was 100 yards slightly uphill from our perch.

  We would eat MREs tonight, compliments of the Colombian Army. Later, Agent Abbasi, Arya, and I would do some reconnaissance in the Town of Casuarito and then across the river in Puerto Ayacucho.

  ◆◆◆

  An hour before the team landed in Casuarito, Tazario sat on an outdoor patio with Izabella, having an early dinner at a restaurant overlooking the Orinoco river. He liked this city for many reasons. One of those reasons was the location of this informal eatery, as it overlooked a section of the river that ran over a few hundred yards of solid rock. He liked to watch the people gather here to play in the river.

  There were long, flat, slippery sections where the water ran only a foot or two-deep. Closer to the riverbank, where he sat, were deeper grooves in the slippery rock where faster water concentrated. Some of these trenches were sized exactly right for people to slide or float through.

  The sound of the river rolling over the rocks and bumping up against the long manmade retainer wall protecting the large restaurant patio had a soothing effect on him. He could sit there for hours.

  Being a fishing community, Puerto Ayacucho reminded him of his boyhood fishing expeditions in various rivers and streams outside Armenia and Ibagué Colombia.

  The fishing here was excellent. Puerto Ayacucho was downstream from the massive and unnavigable Atures Rapids. Tired and hungry fish from the Meta and Orinoco Rivers pass through the Atures Rapids only to come out the other side to be met by a city and town based on fishing the Orinoco.

  The other reasons he liked the city was for the convenience of drug transportation by the National Liberation Army (ELN) and human trafficking. He had bought in early on both accounts, and yesterday he spent time having his priority pick of beautiful Venezuelan, Bolivian and Guyanese women kidnapped and/or sold into servitude.

  He wasted no time the day he fled the mansion in Santa Marta, chartering two separate flights in Venezuela to arrive in Puerto Ayacucho. Taz had already acquired 5 women to start rebuilding what he had before the FBI and Colombian Special Forces tried to ruin everything.

  Even though money was not an obstacle, he wasn’t used to paying for the women, but he was in a bit of a hurry. A few of the ELN leaders were close by and he aimed to bring the entertainment to an ELN meeting where he planned to establish a higher coca production and transportation into Venezuela.

  The ELN might have been the largest guerrilla group in Colombia, and they were considered by most to be the most violent, but Taz knew they liked to be entertained and were always looking to blow off steam when not in the jungle. Which wasn’t very often.

  As he looked out over the water, Izabella reached over and took his hand to show her loyalty and support. His phone rang and he quickly released her to answer.

  “Yes?”

  “Tazario, it is Tiki. I am in Casuarito.”

  Taz paused for a second confused as to why his mentor, his boss, would come to such an undesirable small town and not to Puerto Ayacucho instead. In his opinion, there were no good hotels or restaurants on the other side of the river.

  “What took you to that dump?” Tazario asked.

  “I am here to speak to you about our future in Venezuela. The ELN are in town and there will be a sit-down tonight. Where are you?”

  “I am in Puerto Ayacucho for the very same reason. Your information is slightly off. You should be across the river enjoying the city until then. I have women ready for the meeting. Come over,” Tazario informed his boss.

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean No?” Tazario asked.

  “I have a nice Hacienda and I am comfortable here. Make the arrangements to come over and ensure our ELN friends meet here, as well. Make it so.” Tiki hung up before Tazario had a chance to debate.

  Tazario was swearing into an empty receiver as he paced in front of Izabella. She rarely saw him angry, but it was becoming a common emotion this week.

  She tried to take his hand again to give him comfort. Bad timing. He pulled his hand away and smacked her across the face. She knew she had to accept it and not make a scene. She would apologize later, perhaps when they went to bed.

  Tazario took some money from his pocket and tossed it on the table as he gestured for Izabella to get up. As they started to leave, his phone rang again.

  “Yes!?” he exclaimed.

  “This is Mauricio, I have some information.”

  Mauricio was barely a teenager. Tazario hired him and his two siblings to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity in the border town of Casuarito. The ELN could be unpredictable at times. If they came in as a small party, then likely they meant business and were not looking to draw too much attention to themselves. If they arrived in a large, well-armed party, then perhaps they came looking for a fight or a debt to collect.

  Tazario had hired a group of teenagers in Puerto Ayacucho to do the same scouting to ensure he had his exte
nded eyes and ears active.

  “What is it?”

  “The ELN entered the town a few minutes ago and only had two jeeps.”

  “Very good. This is good. Thank you,” Tazario replied to the boy.

  “There is more. A big crew came in and took over the fishmonger’s Hacienda. Lots of heavily armed people,” the boy passed along.

  “Really?” Tazario did not realize he said this out loud. His mind was racing.

  “How many armed men?” Tazario asked.

  “Three trucks and a car full. About twelve men,” the boy estimated.

  Son of a bitch! Taz thought. What was Tiki planning? Was he here for the ELN?

  “Thank you, Mauricio. I will give you a bonus when you return,” he promised as he was about to hang up.

  The boy yelled, “Wait!”

  “Yes?”

  “My little brother just ran up and told me he saw an army helicopter land a few minutes ago right at sundown. My other brother is following the soldiers that got out right now. They are headed through the town.”

  The phrase ‘what the hell?’ was echoing in Tazario’s head. There is no way the Army could have traced his whereabouts to this city, he thought. No way! He was extra careful.

  Why was Tiki so adamant to have him come back into Colombia versus coming to the Venezuelan town where the Army could not follow? Was he working some kind of angle between the ELN and the Army? That made no sense. None of this made any sense. He seriously considered putting his backup plan into motion.

  Chapter 27

  Good and Evil

  The people of Colombia were happy by nature, with vibrant multicultural backgrounds that mix beautiful African, Spanish, and Indigenous history to make unique, lively, and resilient communities. The music, food, and traditions were special like the people that created them and took pride in them.

  Just about every country in the Americas has had a checkered past with violence, gangs, drugs, civil unrest, and blatant disregard for human rights, but that did not and should not cast a shadow on their people in general.