Insertion, page 9
Sliding out of bed, the carpeted floor feeling great in between his toes, he walked to the bathroom to take a leak. Starting the shower, cranking it to hot, he let the water fall over his skin. Ten minutes later, feeling somewhat awake, he threw some clothes on and made his way downstairs. Enrique assured Max he made no enemies when he left the Special Forces. When Max asked how it was even possible to not have enemies in a location virtually run by cartels, he just said, “Sometimes you have to get a little dirty to earn their respect.” He had a feeling of what that meant but didn’t want to get specific.
There were a million things going through his mind right now, but the thought of being that close to rescuing Ben laid heavy on his conscious. As much as he wanted to push full steam ahead, Max needed to be the voice of reason. The team needed someone with experience on a mission like this one.
Opening the door and looking to his left, he noticed other bedroom doors wide open. Hearing faint voices downstairs, his curiosity was piqued.
The bottom of the floor had an open layout with the stairs leading to the middle of the kitchen. The first thing Max laid his eyes on were the three figures sitting at the marble countertop. On his left was the living room with a massive television hanging on the wall displaying soccer, and in the dining room to the right was a gigantic table that looked like it could seat a substantial amount of people.
“Since when did the riffraff get sent down here to play with the big boys?” Max said, swiping his hand behind Nate’s neck just close enough that Nate could feel the wind.
Nate responded without missing a beat, “We heard you needed help so we came running.”
“Who needs help? Not us,” Max said, yawning and leaning over on the granite countertop.
“I know a lie when I see it and that was definitely a lie,” Nate responded.
“Nah, I’m glad you clowns are here. The faster we find Ben, the faster I can get back to being downrange by myself.”
“What’s the fun in that?” Nate asked. “I’m just giving you a hard time, man,” he said, extending his hand to Max, who took it.
“Where’s the rest of your goon squad?”
“They went for a run on the beach to get the lay of the land and make sure nobody is keeping a close eye on this place,” he said, sliding a coffee cup toward Max. Looking to his left, he said to Kwame, “How about you big boy, you doing alright?”
“Yes, but I could barely sleep,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Yeah, the bed was comfy, but getting a massive amount of sleep during crunch time like this isn’t going to happen,” Max said. “Who all is here anyway?”
“Everybody except Jack.”
“Damn.”
“We come bearing gifts,” Nate said, sliding a light tan manila folder his way.
Max pushed it towards Kwame and watched him open it and sift through the documents, he continued, “We spent all day yesterday learning all we could about the Saint Bertrand Cartel and looked at every ounce of details that any law enforcement agency had on Mr. Alvarez,” Nate said.
Kwame finished looking at the folder and slides it back towards Max. Not even picking it up, Max responded, “I know it’s technically not early, but I just woke up. Just give me the skinny on what’s inside,” he said, rubbing his forehead.
“Fair enough. Alejandro Alvarez took over the cartel when he was twenty-seven, he’s forty-five now and has more money than he knows what to do with. He also is very invested in sex trafficking, obviously drugs, and has several casinos in the United States. Nothing out of the ordinary, just your typical cartel member. The one thing we did find interesting though was that all of the sicarios have a small tattoo of their saint behind their left ear.”
“I’ve never heard or seen that tattoo before. So, what do you mean he took it over?”
Holding up his hand, Nate said, “Just let me finish and hold all questions until the end, please, class.” Max rolled his eyes and gestured with his hand in a sweeping motion to urge him to continue. “His uncle died from stomach cancer, and after Alejandro got back from graduating college in the states with a business degree, he decided—or more so was the last person in his bloodline, really—to take over the business. I would imagine that’s why he was going to business school anyway, but what do I know. He has multiple properties scattered all throughout Colombia and various small homes throughout South America.
“We thought that most of the other small properties he owns would be for launching his product. Some, I would imagine, are reserved for vacation homes when he wants to get away from Cartagena. That’s what we have on his property. When we dive into vehicles, boats, etc., he has a massive yacht that stays docked in Aruba at his beachfront home, a couple planes, and he has a plethora of different vehicles that are all registered in his name. There’s a bunch of footage and pictures that we looked through and all that yesterday, but that’s pretty much the meat and potatoes of it all.”
Looking out the back door through the windows, Max noticed the sun’s rays beating down on the water and the waves crashing onto the sand. There were a couple of people walking around and sitting on the beach way off in the distance, but no one remotely close to the back patio of the AirBnB. The aroma and the taste of the medium-roast Colombian coffee kicked in, and his five senses became more alert. He stretched and yawned one last time before downing the rest of his coffee. Just then, the back door opened as Alex, Pete, and Kyle walked through, bringing in the stench of sweat and a trail of water and sand dripping across the floor.
“I see your parents didn’t teach any of you manners growing up.” Max said, shaking his head and walking over to greet the remaining three members of the team. After exchanging smart-ass comments for a couple of minutes, they got back down to business and huddled around the kitchen island.
“Enrique has let us stay here for as long as we need to, to regroup and figure out what the next course of action is.”
“Wait,” said Alex, turning to Nate, “did you tell them about Alexandria?”
“Oh no,” he said with a surprised look on his face, “I totally forgot. Good call.”
Tilting his head, Max asked, “Who’s that?”
Nodding his head and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sweat-soaked shirt, Pete said, “While you guys were playing cops and robbers, some of us were busy doing actual detective work. When I went to the bathroom for a quick break, I caught a glimpse of the cyber tech supervisor. She asked me questions relating to the case like where we were headed and all sorts of stuff.”
“Did you guys tell Jack?” Kwame asked.
“Yeah, he said he’d watch her and see if that’s our mole.”
“What do the rest of you think?” Max asked, starting with Alex.
“To be honest I don’t know what to think, but if you look at all the evidence, it would make sense if there was some sort of informant feeding Alejandro or whomever information. We can start in Nogales where we had eyes on the house but they still managed to leave before we got there,” Alex said.
“They could have had spotters set up around the area. I can guarantee you they had spotters set up—you don’t run that type of operation without spotters to let you know when law enforcement is coming,” Courtney said.
“You can’t count on that,” Max said. “Your spotters are called falcons in the cartel. Just more information for your future endeavors.”
“Jeez, you really are a plethora of knowledge.” Kyle smirked.
“Jeez, you really do like to randomly use big words to make it seem like you’re smart.” Max responded.
Leaning back off the island and folding his arms, Kyle didn’t say another word. The rest of the group fell silent and let the soft noise of the commentators of the soccer match between Mexico and Venezuela fill the sound void. It didn’t take long before Max said what was circling through everyone’s mind. “Let me call Jack and figure out what the next move is. They could be anywhere by now.”
CHAPTER 18
When the group landed in Cartagena, Ben was once again blindfolded and taken in a convoy of SUVs to what he could only assume was Alejandro’s residence. He could only guess the amount of time it took them to drive to the mansion, but for now he was more concerned with staying seated properly as the SUV bounced all over the unpaved roads throughout the countryside.
Arriving at the destination, Ben’s door was opened as he was led upstairs to his room, blindfold removed and tossed inside. His survival training immediately kicked in. He walked around to look for anything he could use to his advantage as a weapon, yet there was nothing.
The room was relatively large for harboring a prisoner, and he wasn’t going to complain because he knew these types of people could very well have him in a dungeon somewhere underneath the building. A small desk occupied a corner of the room along with a television hanging on the wall, and a full-sized bathroom off to the right. Realizing that this might be the equivalent of an escape attempt from Alcatraz Island, Ben gave up and threw himself on the bed. The noise from the rusty springs vibrated throughout the room as they tried their best to support his weight. If he was going to do anything, it needed to be on a good night’s sleep.
The next morning, he was startled awake by his door opening. A butler walked in, holding a plate of chorizo, toast, and water, and delivered it to his desk. The trip from the night before left him mentally and physically exhausted, and all he could do was watch as the butler took one last look at him before he turned around and walked out the door. Ben watched as he continued around the corner and left his view. He left the door wide open.
Realizing this had to be a mistake of some sort, he sat in his bed for a good minute, thinking the butler would come back to close the door. But he never came. Ben’s brain immediately went into overdrive, contemplating how to play the hand he was just dealt.
Why wasn’t the door closed? Whoever dropped off the food had to know what they were doing—or maybe the person overheard something and was offering him a way out? There’s no way, he thought. These types of people kill family members for less, which meant the door certainly wasn’t open on purpose. Regardless, if he was going to make a move, it had to be now.
He snatched the breakfast off the table and shoveled everything into his mouth. When he felt the food drop into the bowels of his stomach, he reached for the ice-cold water and downed it in two gulps. Setting the empty glass back down he noticed something small folded where the glass was just sitting. Quickly picking up the paper and unfolding it, he read a three-letter word in all caps: RUN.
Instantly his heart picked up speed, and small beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Someone was trying to help him. Maybe there was a way out after all. Whether or not that person knew who Ben was was beside the point. He needed to escape, and he needed to do it now.
Doing a once-over of his room to make sure he didn’t miss anything, he walked over to the open door, poking his head out, looking down the corridor. Not seeing anybody, he crept very quietly to the right. Not knowing the layout was going to be difficult, but what other option did he have? He could only guess someone was coming for him, but he didn’t want to put all of his eggs in one basket. This wasn’t the movies.
Reaching the end of the corridor, he leaned over the railing, looking at what was below. The foyer was empty, so he crept down the wooden staircase as it spiraled below.
Noticing two gargantuan double doors in front of him which he was sure led outside, he checked left and right while crouched at the bottom. He couldn’t hear anything, so he tried his best to lift his legs, creeping toward the door. The wood felt cold to the touch. He pressed his ear against it, listening for clues—nothing but silence on the other end. Just as he was about to turn the doorknob, he felt a hand land on his shoulder that tossed him backward onto the ground.
In a matter of seconds, instead of breathing warm air outside, he was greeted with the barrel of an AK. Yanking him off the floor, two guards grabbed him by the armpits, turned him around and dragged him through the hallway into one of the open doors leading into the dining room.
“Look who was caught trying to escape this morning,” said a man sitting at the end of an elongated table which looked like it could be used in medieval times for a feast. The guards forced Ben down into one of the chairs at the other end and walked back outside, closing the door behind them. “You really thought it was going to be that easy?” Alejandro asked. “I am very disappointed that you underestimated me,” he said, gesturing with his free hand for him to take the seat next to him. As Ben stood up from his chair, he walked forward and took the seat next to the drug lord. “I promise I won’t bite.”
There was artwork from some of the most globally well-known artists hung throughout the room. One of the more pronounced paintings was a beautiful rendition of Saint Bertrand in a white robe, sitting at the head of the table behind Alejandro, overlooking the dining room. Alejandro clapped his hands twice and a servant instantly appeared through the side door leading into the kitchen. After pouring Alejandro a fresh cup of coffee and bringing Ben a fresh cup, setting it next to him, he turned and disappeared back into the kitchen.
“You should wait a couple of minutes before you try that, I wouldn’t want you to burn your mouth.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Ben said sarcastically. His first time meeting the drug lord and he pretty much fit the persona to a tee. Noticing the muscles poking out of his workout shirt, covered in dried sweat, Ben guessed that age was merely just a number to Alejandro, and that staying fit was definitely high on his priority list.
“Would you like some food?” he asked, in between bites of his toast.
“No, I’m fine, your people brought up some food to my room earlier,” Ben said.
“Okay, suit yourself.”
Ben reached for his cup and tried to taste the coffee, but before he could even put the cup to his lips, the steam caused him to wince. He placed it back on the table.
“Ben, do you realize how much influence I have in your America?”
“I would imagine a lot,” he responded, leaning back and crossing his arms.
“That’s correct,” Alejandro said, finishing his last bite of toast and leaning back himself. “This is a multi-billion-dollar business, as you Americans like to call it, and I am very good at it. I run everything in this city from the government to the coffee beans that made the coffee inside of your cup. I have ears everywhere in the city and surveillance from my people all throughout the United States. Nothing moves in or out of Colombia without me knowing about it, regardless of whether it’s with my people or a rival cartel. It is important that you understand that before we continue this conversation.”
Ben took a second to take in everything and then nodded.
“Good,” Alejandro said, “now, grab your coffee and follow me. If we’re going to talk, let’s talk with a view.”
Ben followed suit, pushing the chairs back, as they made a soft scratching noise on the hardwood floors. Passing through the gigantic kitchen with granite countertops, white cabinets, and fancy pots and pans hanging above them all, he noticed one man, who he assumed was the chef, sitting by himself eating breakfast and flipping through a newspaper. Alejandro opened the French doors leading out onto the veranda stepping outside to admire the sun’s rays coming across the valley below. The warm air coupled with the humidity reminded Ben again exactly where he was. He could see for miles around, nothing but acres and acres below, with the skyline of a city off on the horizon. Grabbing the only two chairs at the small table, Alejandro motioned for Ben to take a seat.
Sitting down, he could already feel the sweat sliding down the back of his neck. He wanted a glass of water, but he decided to just wait until the butler walked back outside.. Ben watched as Alejandro took his shirt off and drape it over the back of his chair before he took his seat. And as if on cue, the same butler who had served him his coffee had brought out two glasses of iced water, Ben was relieved.
“I want you to look around, Ben, and tell me what you see,” Alejandro said. Looking out past the veranda, Ben admitted to himself, the view from where he was standing was one of the best he had ever seen. Armed guards stood almost everywhere he looked, and an Olympic-sized pool sat below with women in bikinis eating breakfast and joking among themselves.
“I see a lot,” he said.
“Everything you see, I own. Do you believe me?”
“I have no reason not to,” he said, drinking his coffee.
“That’s correct, you have no reason not to. What is important is that you understand that people are trying to save you, but you’re all alone. I’m going to make sure you’re here stuck with me, permanently.” Alejandro let that last line sink in before he continued. He needed his prisoner to know he was hopeless and had nothing to live for before he made his proposal.
Just then, the double doors swung open as two of his guards burst through, AK’s dangling on their backs as they dragged and threw an haggard man who looked to be in his fifties at Alejandro’s feet. Landing on all fours, the man had welts all over his face and bloodied clothes. He looked back and forth between the guards and the drug lord.
“¿Qué pasó?” Alejandro asked in a calm voice. Ben had to give credit where credit was due; even though he hated Alejandro’s guts, he was poised in the way he carried himself, was clearly educated, and spoke nearly perfect English.
“Jefe, we caught him stealing.” Ben didn’t know what came next, but he could tell there was some sort of light arguing and of course Alejandro could understand it all, so he held up his hand, they both fell silent.
“Stealing?”
“Sí, jefe.”
Setting his coffee on the table and leaning forward in his chair, he had a conversation with the man in Spanish. Ben could only understand minimal Spanish and the amount he could pick up were only curse words or stupid phrases from the buddies he worked with, neither of which would help him in this instance. The calm conversation continued for the better portion of a minute after which the man was ordered to stand up. Alejandro pushed his chair back and stood with him, taking a step forward so that he was now inches from the weathered man’s face.
