Insertion, page 11
“Pretty legit right?” asked the shorter but stockier individual of Asian descent. “Larry…Larry Wang,” he said.
“Max Fontaine,” he responded. The other individual in the room who was an inch or so taller than Max but very skinny introduced himself as Robert. Max vaguely remembered these two from the night before, but introductions were not on their mind at the time.
Robert turned to Derrick and asked, “Do we need to leave? I know y’all have some secret squirrel stuff to talk about that us common folk probably aren’t cleared for.” He tapped Larry on the shoulder and tilted his head toward the door.
“You’re an idiot,” Derrick said, lightly punching his arm.
“Fuck it, Larry, let’s go before the gym gets packed.” Saying quick goodbye’s, the two men left the room and shut the door behind them. Watching the door slam, Max walked over and sat on one of the beds. Derrick followed suit. Reaching over to the remote sitting on his nightstand, he made a motion for Max to lean to the left so he could hit the receiver to allow the television to come on. With a click of the button, ESPN was blaring through the sound box.
“Sorry,” he said, turning down the volume, “sometimes it gets crazy in here.”
“No need to apologize. Clearly I made the wrong career choice. I’m out here running around in jungles trying to not get my dick bit off by some new insect that hasn’t been discovered yet, and y’all are posting security for cargo ships.” Derrick laughed.
Tossing the remote back on the nightstand and scooting so his back was leaning against the wall, he said, “This business has its perks.”
“How does a security firm who only protects clients get involved with cargo vessels?”
“You remember that hijacking of the cargo vessel way back in ‘09, I believe?” he said, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, that Special Forces team had to be called in to get the job done.”
“Correct. After that whole incident, these ships took piracy very seriously, and since these companies have more than enough money than they know what to do with, they hired private security firms.”
Pausing for a second before he continued, Max asked, “But I wouldn’t think that there’s piracy down here in the Eastern Pacific?”
“There isn’t, but cartels are running rampant down here and have been for decades. When you have all this money from transporting goods and services across the globe, then I guess you say screw it. From what I was told they would rather be safe than sorry. Last thing they need is a cargo ship stumbling on a drug hand-off in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”
“When you look at it like that, I guess it makes sense,” Max said. Derrick reached over for his coffee sitting next to the remote and took a sip. His veins were popping out of his arms so much that Max thought his shirt was going to explode.
“I wasn’t told too much over the phone for obvious reasons, but you guys aren’t here to evaluate us on our living conditions. What do you guys need?”
“What were you told, exactly?” Max asked.
Throwing his arms up to the sky to signify he has no clue, he replied, “Man, all we were told was that there was a package of seven we needed to secure on the beach. Coordinates were given to me, and I relayed them to the rest of my team. When we pull into Panama City, that’s where we part ways. Now, if you can’t tell me specifics, then I completely understand and I won’t hound you for it. But we’re not stupid. Y’all aren’t some SpecOps team coming in and needing an ex-fill from a private security firm—”
“And how do you know?” Max asked with a hint of sarcasm. Derrick stopped mid gulp and gave him a hard stare before he said anything.
“No. A couple of SF dudes don’t need our assistance—or do they?”
Max gave in and decided to stop messing with him. He said, “Look, I have no clue whether or not that group of people would need evacs from you guys or not, but let’s just say we’re in the same business, so to speak.”
Raising an eyebrow before setting the coffee cup back on the desk, Derrick said, “Being honest here, a couple of guys and one gal running around Mexico with high powered guns and radios needing an evac doesn’t sound like typical special operations military work. But what do I know?” Derrick said, looking at the ceiling. Max could tell he was standoffish and rightfully so. They did just rescue them from a country full of cartels, so he figured he could give way, just a bit.
“Typically we don’t expose ourselves, but given the circumstances, by hooking us up with this lavish resort…”
Smiling and spreading his arms as if to say “you’re welcome,” Derrick let out a small laugh. “We have a buddy of ours, a teammate of ours, who was kidnapped a couple of days ago and we’re trying to get him back.”
Scooting to the edge of the bed, Max clearly had Derrick’s undivided attention now.
“What are you guys? All I know is for my boss to call us on the sat phone and tell us to do what we did, someone very powerful has to either be friends with him or ordered him to do that.”
“You could say we do the dirty work for that agency that likes to hide in the shadows.”
Derrick nodded in approval. While scratching his beard, he asked, “Say no more. What else do you guys need?”
Max was relieved that he was winning him over, because the one thing he never wanted to do was come right out and tell people who he worked for. If they believed that it was the CIA or some wet-work Department of Homeland Security agency, then it was on them.
“We don’t need guns or ammo, but my boss mentioned that you might be able to hook us up with a ride to where we’re going.”
Rubbing his thick black beard some more, Derrick thought for a second.
“While you contemplate on that, I’m going to go pee,” Max said. Derrick nodded as Max walked into the restroom connected to the berthing and shut the door.
Two minutes later he emerged and found Derrick with his backpack out, a list of what looked like names, and a satellite phone. Walking to the door and opening it, he turned to Max and said, “Brother, I got you,” and without hesitation or waiting for a response, stepped outside into the hallway and shut the door.
CHAPTER 23
Checking her watch, Alexandria still had enough time, provided the computer would boot up quickly. Gaining access to the corner office was a breeze using her pick and lock kit she acquired several years ago. Sitting in the swivel chair waiting for the main screen to load, she scanned the office and noticed pictures of what she could only imagine were friends and close relatives. One picture which was sitting right next to the computer consisted of a beautiful woman standing with a rifle in her hands. Alexandria closed her eyes, trying to remember what her name was, but she couldn’t. It didn’t help that no ones names were allowed to be on the doors.
Her name was not registering, despite the fact Alexandria was sitting in her chair, in her office. Still looking at the photo, she reminisced on her own father and the memories they shared. He never taught her how to shoot a rifle, but he also didn’t hunt. Damn, she thought, putting the picture down, what was her name?
The program booted up and was good to go, so her fingers danced and glided across the keyboard. She knew the files were not going to be easy to pull up—or would they? All computers in the facility were already encrypted, so why would she have a super-secret file saved somewhere that would not be easy to access if she was the only person who was using this computer?
The first thing she realized was that her desktop was practically barren. A neat freak. Turning her head around the office, she noticed even the wastebasket was clean enough to eat in. Scrolling to the bottom left portion of the screen and pulling up the saved folders window, she noticed ten or so different folders listed, none of which stood out except for one. It wasn’t labeled but it did have a lock symbol on it, signifying there was some sort of password needed to gain access into the file.
“Hmmm,” she said under her breath. “This can’t be too hard to crack,” she mumbled to herself. She had been in the secret-stealing business for a very long time and was extremely good at cracking passwords and bypassing mainframes on computer hard drives. This trait alone was one of the reasons why she was hired right after she obtained her degree, and probably why she moved up the ranks so quickly. Her boss told her right after she made Chief Intelligence Analyst that if she kept up the great work, in a couple of years she would have his full recommendation to take his position as chief of that division when he retired. It would be at that point she would have to take a long hard look to see if she wanted to keep the business of secrets going or throw in the towel.
Five minutes later she cracked the password and a whole array of information populated. “Holy shit,” she said. Well, she knew exactly where she was coming back to when she needed more information, and she knew she could charge a pretty penny for some of this stuff she was seeing. Not wanting to dive into other files and get sidetracked, she found a file named Agents.
Clicking on it revealed more subfolders listing Gangs, Mafia, Cartels, and Random. Clicking on the one labeled Cartels, brought her to an assortment of groups listed in alphabetical order. These went back for decades; some of the cartels didn’t even exist anymore. Scrolling didn’t take her too long as she quickly found the Saint Bertrand Cartel. Clicking the name brought up five people. Grabbing her phone from her breast pocket of her blazer, she took a picture of the names on the screen. There were no way all five undercover agents were in bed with the cartel at the same time. These were probably over the course of a couple of years.
Doing one quick sweep of the file to ensure that she didn’t miss any names, she backed out of everything and shut the computer down. Getting up from the chair and making sure everything in the office was in the right place, she put her ear to the door and tried to interpret sounds outside. Opening one end of the blinds, she looked down both sections of the hallway and didn’t see a soul.
Remembering to lock the door from the inside, she opened it, stepped through the threshold, and closed it as the bolt fell back into place with a small clicking noise. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Alexandria walked back across the complex to her office. Heading back through the cubicles she felt the onset of sweat dissipating. Making it to the end of the hallway and rounding the corner to walk back to her own office, she nearly ran into the woman in the pictures.
“Hey Alexandria!” she said. “How are you?”
Surprised, she replied, “Hey! How are you? Sorry if I forgot your name, I’m still waking up. I’m normally not in this early!” she said, rubbing her eyes and giving a fake yawn.
“Oh, that’s fine dear. Janet,” said the woman, outstretching her hand at the same time. “You’re Alexandria, right?”
Swallowing hard, and not wanting to dive too far into a conversation, she played it cool. “Yep, that’s me.”
“I thought so. I remember you from the all-hands conference meetings.”
“Yeah, I haven’t made my way to sit at the table yet. I’m still in the side chair,” she said, producing a fake laugh to take her mind off the fact she wasn’t supposed to be in that portion of the building.
Every Friday it was required that all chiefs and department heads met in the massive conference room on the seventh floor. People sat in ranking order from the head of the table to the end. Whoever was not authorized to sit at the table, including guests sometimes, was required to sit in one of the many chairs that wrapped around the office. Alexandria hated it but it was whatever, just new person shenanigans until someone retired or left for another job. She just wished they had more comfortable chairs to sit in.
Resting her arm on Alexandria’s shoulder, Janet took a step closer, her perfume taking up the remaining space in between them.
“Don’t let the men here at the big table fool you, I know when I see a strong woman. You definitely fit the bill.”
Forcing a smile, she said, “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“Good,” Janet replied, looking at her Omega Constellation. “Speaking of meetings, look at the time. I would invite you into my office so we could get to know each other a little but I have to run.” With that, she waved goodbye, and walked around Alexandria. It was at that moment a small bead of sweat slid down Alexandria’s forehead.
CHAPTER 24
Two days passed as the cargo ship made its way in the Eastern Pacific. The remaining time spent on the ship was used for planning and extensive research on the terrain the team would be traveling through. Everything was mapped out and Max made sure there were at least two or three contingency plans to every primary plan they discussed. Derrick and his team provided help as best they could, which included two Toyota Hilux’s courtesy of a friend of his at the Panamanian Embassy.
After the ship had pulled in and docked successfully, Derrick and his team said their goodbyes as they walked across the brow to the waiting trucks on the pier. The rest of the ship’s crew had seen the new crewmembers who magically appeared on board but knew better than to ask questions.
Approaching the truck, Max noticed a tarp in the back of both of them. “What the hell,” he said, flipping up the tarp and revealing a case full of ammunition and assorted tactical supplies.
“One last parting gift,” Derrick said, patting Max on the back. Max frowned knowing he didn’t need the extra gear but was content nonetheless.
“Thanks, man,” Max said, returning a handshake.
As Max and Alex jumped in the driver’s seats, the group loaded up the rest of the vehicles, threw the tarps back over the gear and hopped in the trucks. Checking his encrypted phone now that he had service, even though it was spotty, Max saw Jack had sent coordinates in a text to a rendezvous point after they crossed the Colombian border. They were scheduled to meet with their old friend, Antonio, who would be accompanied by two small boats waiting for them. Satisfied they had a plan of attack once they made it through the Amazon, he powered down the phone and looked over at Alex.
“Estás listo, amigo?” Alex asked through the window of his truck.
Before Max could respond, Kyle rolled down his window. “English, bro,” he said, fanning himself with his hand. “Fuck, it’s hot out here.”
“Cállate blanco,” shot Alex, taking out his sunglasses from his pocket.
Kyle pulled his own sunglasses over his eyes and tilted his head back.
“How long is the drive?” Alex asked, adjusting the radio and stopping at a salsa song he recognized.
“A little over two and a half,” Max said. “But if you two idiots are done, we can leave.”
Smiling, pushing the shades down over his eyes, Alex held out his hand motioning for Max to take off. Shaking his head, Max pulled out of the dirt parking space, Alex following suit.
The drive from Panama City to Darien National Park where the safe house was located wound up being long, hot, and humid. Max enjoyed the Panamanian culture fluent throughout the countryside as they passed older broken buildings, children playing in the streets with withered soccer balls, and more favela’s than they could count.
Once the city was in their rear view, they made it just under the time Max predicted. The two-story cabin was hidden about a mile into the dense park and off the main trail. Pulling up onto the gravel that surrounded the property on all sides, the trucks stopped and everyone got out. Grabbing the gear and ammunition crate, the team was relieved to have access to simple pleasures like simple showers and beds. Opening the door, Max saw there was nothing out of the ordinary than what someone would typically think a cabin in the forest would look like. A couple bedrooms upstairs, a living room to the left of the front door, and walking past the living room to the right, the kitchen with a small island and a small circular table. Cooking was out of the question as Max knew how far the smell and smoke could possibly travel. Risking their presence for a good steak was not on his mind.
Kwame and Alex offered to drive into the small town they passed before entering the national park and hit the small café for food. Orders were given and no sooner than they arrived, the two men were off back down the dirt path.
Max took advantage of the brief pause in operations to step outside and power up the phone to shoot Jack a text telling him everything was alright and they were going to leave shortly. He slid the phone back into his pocket and walked back to the cabin.
“Is everybody here?” Max asked, stepping into the kitchen.
“Kyle stepped outside five minutes ago to get some fresh air,” Courtney said.
“Fresh air? How much fresh air does he need, he’s about to get plenty of it,” Max said, already getting annoyed with Kyle’s smart mouth over the course of the past couple of days. Looking through the windows in the kitchen, he couldn’t see Kyle anywhere. “Are you sure he went outside?”
“Yeah,” Pete said sitting on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “That’s what he told us, plus I heard the door slam.”
Opening the back door, goosebumps ran up and down his arms. Something was off. Walking the perimeter of the cabin, he saw Kyle at the tree line toward the front of the house talking to someone on his phone.
Max took baby steps across the gravel, careful to not alert Kyle. Tilting his head to the left, he tried to hear the conversation, but he couldn’t make it out. This was it, he thought, all of the smart-ass comments would come to an end and he didn’t have to hear his stupid Bostonian accent anymore. Hearing him give coordinates or any type of intel gave Max more than enough authority to put a bullet in his skull. No, he thought, that’s too easy for a snitch.
Getting closer to the tree line, not knowing how in the world Kyle had not turned around yet, his right hand moved away from the butt of his pistol to the handle of his Kershaw. Unstrapping the handle from the sheath on his belt, Max brought it to chest level and adjusted the blade in his hand so the serrated edge was facing forward.
