Operation Ares

By Chuck Kimball

Two deep black operatives must risk their lives to sink a private Russian submarine loaded with heroin and a cargo ship carrying illegal weapons. Both shipments are destined to end up on the streets of the United States. As part of the Operation Ares mission, POTUS orders the two patriots to kill the kingpin who leads the most innovative and unp

• Language: English
• Publisher: GoldTouch Press, LLC
• Release date: Dec 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781953791726

Chuck Kimball

Chuck Kimball is the author of _ e CCC. His latest book, CCC REDUX, is a thriller featuring the same deep black ops private operators who have dedicated their lives to helping the President of the United States, POTUS, often by working outside the law by avoiding bureaucratic handicaps. Chuck Kimball was born in a small town in Northern California. In the early years of his career, he worked for the California Department of Forestry, which later became Cal Fire. During his eleven years with the Department, Chuck worked his way up to Fire Captain and spent seven years directing air operations on wild_ res. During the winter months, his interest in teaching Fire Training enticed him to leave employment with California to take a job as a college instructor in San Diego, where he trained fire service personnel and others seeking a firefighting career. While furthering his education, seeking a second Master's degree, he met a wonderful woman from France who became his wife of over forty-two years. Chuck left San Diego and helped put together a Fire Technology program for Solano College in California's Fairfield/Suisun City area. This program featured live-fire training utilizing gasoline and propane for fire props. Recognizing this unique learning site's value, the petrol chemical companies, and the Military Sea Lift Command, and others sent their private fire brigades for training. With the generous time off provided to teachers, Chuck and his wife traveled to many parts of the world, places he depicts in his writing, Russia, India, Egypt, South America, France, Italy, Greece, and the Yucatan, to name a few. Chuck retired the first day of January, nineteen-nighty eight, and moved to Spokane, Washington.

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Operation Ares

Chuck Kimball

Copyright © 2020 by Chuck Kimball.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2020924727

HARDBACK:    978-1-953791-71-9

Paperback:    978-1-953791-70-2

eBook:            978-1-953791-72-6

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Contents

ARES

PROLOGUE

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Acknowledgements

To the love of my life, my wife.

Without your help, guidance, and support,

I could not have written this book.

My dream of writing has become a reality because of your ideas, critiques, helpful advice, and hard work.

ARES

In Greek mythology, Ares is the god of war and son of Zeus, the supreme god. Ares represents the unpleasant aspects of battle.

PROLOGUE

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

Off the coast of Mississippi, near Gulfport, an old man with silvery gray hair looked up into the night sky. He could see into infinity, at least, he thought. There was no smog, no clouds, and most of all, no lights. Approaching the solitary and troubled individual, one could discern a pale and wrinkled man with purplish bags under the eyes; a result of long hours without sleep. He looked aged before his time.

The old man on the Russian submarine raised both hands with his fingers spread apart and ran them several times through his long unkempt hair as he had done each time with the return from the shore of the mini- sub. It was the way this old nervous Russian submarine, Captain Sokoloff, had coped with stress most of his life. Very few knew his surname. His parents, a few close friends, and former comrades in the KGB were the only ones who had ever called him by his last name.

Sokoloff was worried. Neither Renard nor Lopez on the trawler had mentioned that there would be young women brought on-board his sub following each delivery of opiates and guns on land. Even more distressful to him, these girls appeared to be very young, some as young as twelve, none over sixteen. Bringing these girls, let alone any females on-board a submarine was asking for trouble. Young and virile men cooped up in a confined space for months at a time, deprived of physical activity and fresh air could become almost uncontrollable in the presence of females. Each time the mini-sub took a load of heroin or armory in, two girls would return to the craft. Sokoloff had broken the law hundreds of times during his career, especially after he was forced to retire from the Russian Navy. As imperfect as he was, smuggling women or young girls was the utmost crime. He realized he had no choice, but to allow it on this trip, only because Pierre Langlois, Renard’s henchman, had not paid him yet. To appease his unwillingness to transport girls in his sub, Pierre had informed the captain that a big bonus would be forthcoming. No matter the financial attraction, Sokoloff warned that he would no longer get involved in human trafficking.

It took over an hour for the last mini-sub to return from its delivery on land. Two more frightened young girls arrived at the sub. Pierre took off the thick money belt stuffed with euros and diamonds and handed it to the old captain. Sokoloff weighed it, shook it, then stuck it inside his navy blue wool Russian Navy coat. With his money secured, he immediately, without a sound, placed his right hand on top of Pierre’s left shoulder and began to squeeze with force. Due to extreme pain, Pierre’s legs started to buckle. After releasing his firm grip, his face twisted with anger. Captain Sokoloff firmly and loudly enunciated each syllable, Never, ever, bring another woman onto my sub without my permission. Do you understand me?

Pierre swiftly grabbed his shoulder, rubbing it with his right hand. He was in pain, and his voice was shaking when he answered, It was not my idea. You will be paid extra when you return to the freighter.

I don’t care about your damn money, or how great the so-called Renard is. I do not deal in the selling of women, and especially not of innocent young girls. Do you understand?

Yes, I do. I will call my boss, as soon as I go back onshore.

That is good. Now go and dump your last load. Until we meet again, I say goodbye.

When the mini-sub returned with the last two girls, Captain Sokoloff’s men secured the mini-sub to the hull, and the captain took his last breaths of fresh air. Before closing the hatch behind him, he looked at the sail on the sub and saluted it. There should have been a painted Russian flag on the sail. There was none. The sub, stolen from the Russian government, had been painted black, making it look like the back of a whale. As Sokolof pulled the hatch closed, he shouted, Dive, dive, one hundred meters. Follow the Florida coastline, direction Cuba. Then the watertight door shut close as bubbles of water began to encircle the black hull of the submarine as it dropped into the dark waters of the Gulf.

1

PRESENT DAY

Soft balmy winds were blowing across the tarmac of Punta Gorda Airport in Belize. As one would suspect, the humidity was high, over seventy-five percent, still not as high as in mid and late summer. October had almost a week to go. Fortunately, the temperature was only eighty degrees, but there was still time for it to climb a little higher; it was just past ten a.m.

A private jet aircraft was approaching from a northwesterly direction, following a flight plan filed before leaving Paris, France, a day earlier. It had been flying for over twenty hours, including the downtime to refuel. This long flight had left the four travelers tired and grouchy. On the plane, unfolded maps of Guatemala and nautical charts showing the Bay of Amatique laid open on two tables. Two drug dealers sat at each of the tables. One of the maps had pencil markings, and was diligently placed in front of a man known to many as Fox, and to some as Renard, a successful kingpin who had been smuggling large loads of drugs and weapons into the United States. In front of him was a half-empty cup of coffee, and next to it, a smoldering cigarette resting in an ashtray full of cigarette butts, the ashtray of a chain smoker. It had been a long flight.

Just thirteen days earlier these same four individuals were in Bordeaux, France, celebrating the killing of a United States special ops agent named Lyle Mercer. Little did they know that Lyle, after days of rehabilitation, had miraculously survived.

Fox studied the three men, then stared at the one sitting at the table closest to the cockpit. His name was Pierre Langlois, and he was Fox’s lieutenant. The other two men, Fabrice Manseau and Gaston Barnet, had served with Fox in the French gendarmerie years ago. Both of them had retired and had begun a second career in gun running, drug smuggling, and now possibly, human trafficking.

The Fox was looking forward to the next load of cocaine to arrive in Guatemala from Mexico. After having transported his contraband from South America to the United States, he was ready to smuggle out of Guatemala, Central America. He had sellers wanting his services, people who trusted the safe transport of both drugs and armory into the United States where the demand for these products was high. Gangs, dangerous criminals, Isis, and other radicals were in need of guns, and Fox was the man to get the supplies they needed into the country.

After a sip of coffee, he looked at the maps again and spoke, Pierre I want you to contact Lopez on the trawler. The last time we talked, he said he had anchored in Livingston, Guatemala. Let him know of our arrival, and tell him I want to meet with him soon. Next, if you can, you are to contact Captain Sokoloff on the sub. I hope all of his men have been treated well while on shore, plenty of exercise, fun, and rest, so they can go back to work and perform. Pierre said, I will contact them as soon as we land. Do you have a place where you want to meet Lopez?

I have not decided yet. Just tell Lopex I will be in touch soon, and ask him to stay close to his phone. By the way, we will be staying at the Hotel Villa Caribe, but don’t tell anyone. I have made arrangements for us to pick up two vehicles, a Mercedes and a 4WD Toyota. They get rain there this time of year, and we do not know yet where we will be loading and unloading the goods.

Fox had no more finished speaking when the copilot came out of the cockpit to announce that they were on the final approach into Punta Gorda Airport in Belize. He informed his passengers that Punta Gorda was 170 km from the center of Livingston, Guatemala. Fox thanked him and turned to the three men, Fold up the charts and put them in the suitcases. As soon as we land, and the plane is checked out, Pierre and Gaston will catch a ride to the car rental agency. I will speak with the airport representative to see if special arrangements can be agreed upon so we can come and go with our aircraft without having to go through all the inspections prior and after each flight. I am sure a few dollar bills will give us that privilege.

After landing the plane, they followed a military jeep down the airstrip to an assigned area reserved for private aircrafts. Fox could see there were only a few planes; he counted three. There were also smaller prop driven planes that were probably used to fly to the small villages in the jungle. He determined that his observations indicated that they had landed in an area with lower income people. Civil servants with little pay were always easier to bribe. Soon, the jeep stopped to the right of a man brandishing small flags who was directing to where the aircraft was to park. As soon as the plane stopped, the stairs came down. A man with what looked like a folder got out of the jeep and walked toward the aircraft. The Fox knew the procedure. He told his men to stay seated, and he let the co-pilot do the talking. After a few minutes, both he and the airport official entered the plane. The documents were presented and taken to an office a few feet away. Back on the aircraft, the inspector asked to see the passports. The Fox had carefully placed the bribe next to the last page of his passport with just a bit of green from two one hundred dollar bills showing. The inspector pretended not to see them as he flipped a few pages of the passport. As a magician, better yet, an illusionist, he made the bills magically slide from the document into the right front pocket of his shirt.

After this tour de force, he handed the passport back to its owner, and as he bowed, he clicked the heels of his dusty black boots, and said, Mr. Renard, if there is anything that I can do for you and your men, let me know. Señor Gonzales is here to help those who come to visit our peaceful and humble country.

Thank you, Mr. Gonzales. We are looking forward to visiting your country as there are many ruins to discover here, plus scuba diving, and many other water sports that we enjoy. Can you give two of my men a ride to the car rental?

It will be my pleasure, sir, but first, let me sign off your aircraft and other papers. Gonzales stamped and signed the documents and signaled both men to follow him to the jeep. As the inspector was leaving, Fox smiled and mumbled, Money talks, bullshit walks.

2

SAME DAY, WASHINGTON DC

While the Fox was leaving his private aircraft in Punta Gorda, an Air France Airbus A350 XWB with just under three hundred passengers on- board was landing at Reagan International Airport in Washington DC. Within minutes after landing, the seatbelt sign was turned off, and an attendant was getting ready to allow the passengers of the first class to disembark. Third in line was Lyle Mercer. Tired and hurting from wounds suffered in a shootout with a drug lord named Fox, Lyle was not physically ready to face what was ahead. Two weeks earlier, he had inflicted a fatal wound to the man, Renard, AKA Fox, and he had witnessed his death. Lyle had seen the squirting of blood from the bullet puncturing his chest, this same man had pirouetted and fallen from the second story walkway of the chateau where the drug lord was vacationing. Satisfied that the long hunt was over, Lyle was recuperating and getting ready to move on to another assignment. Something bothered him. When he meditated, symbols were appearing on an imaginary screen. He could not decipher what they meant, but he was sure they represented a bad omen, imminent danger. Each time these images appeared he would experience cold sweats and violent tremors at the site of some old shoulder and leg injuries. Why the symbols? Lyle let it go for now and continued toward customs.

With his flight bag hanging over his right shoulder, he went through customs without even a question and was now standing outside, in front of the airport terminal. But this time no black Tahoe or other vehicle was waiting for him; he was on his own. He had been out of contact with anyone far too long, and worse, Lyle had no encrypted phone to reach the authority who could send a car and a driver to pick him up. In the taxi line, he patiently waited his turn.

On his way to the White House to see Colonel Jackson, Lyle was not sure about the reception he would get. Had Brett Thompson, his black ops partner, informed the colonel of his arrival? Lyle asked the cabby to take him to the White House. While at the airport in Paris he had purchased a burner phone that he would save for later. Lyle needed it now. With a bit of excitement, he reached into his bag and dialed Brett’s most recent phone number. The phone rang, and rang, without any response; he was on his own.

After paying the cabby, he paused a moment at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to study the facade of the White House. The view gave him a feeling of dispiritedness. He suddenly felt like giving up as he wondered if his involvement in this war on drugs was worth the effort. Each time he killed a drug lord, another took his place. Lyle honestly felt the answer to the drug problem was to legalize the substances, tax them, and control them like in Holland. The USA had spent years and billions upon billions on the drug war with little change. There had to be another way.

After a couple of deep breaths, Lyle approached the Marine guards. They took his passport, and military ID then scrutinized it and made a phone call. A Marine appeared to accompany him to the office of Colonel Jackson. Lyle had taken this walk many times since becoming a member of the President’s special black operations team. This time the walk seemed longer than usual. He did not know what to expect from this meeting. Outside the door to the secure room, the Marine stopped and asked Lyle to stand to the side of the door, he then knocked twice, waited and gave the third beat, a secret code or signal. Since the meeting room was secure and soundproof, the Marine had to wait until someone inside the room opened the door. William Cornwell the III appeared. Oh, shit, Lyle thought as he looked into Willie’s eyes. This unexpected encounter meant the hammer was going to fall. Lyle had hoped that only the Colonel would be present at the meeting.

Willie was a compassionate man who was not only a genius but also a considerate individual with down to earth values toward other human beings. Lyle, we are glad you made it home. We spent many days and nights worrying about your safety. For a while, we thought you were dead until Brett called us after speaking with you. Come on in, get a cup of coffee and a pastry, then sit down. After you catch your breath, we will start the debriefing. To do that, you must feel relaxed.

After shaking hands with Willie, Lyle walked to the end of the table. The Colonel stood up and saluted Lyle, then he stuck out his hand, and a long handshake took place. It’s good to have you home safe.

Thank you. You don’t have any idea how glad I am to be back. was Lyle’s reply. Over the next twenty minutes, the group consumed coffee and pastries, and small talk was made to warm up the atmosphere and to allow Lyle to unwind. Finally, Willie spoke, We need to get started with the debrief, are you ready Lyle? Then Willie pushed the button of the small recorder to the ‘on’ position.

Yes, I am. Lyle’s voice was calm now, and one could detect the self- confidence that he projected.

Willie spent the first ten minutes questioning Lyle before he gave Colonel Jackson an opportunity to jump in with his concerns. This same course of action went on for over two hours before Willie said, Time for dinner, then we will start over. The diversion was used to get the agent to rest after the tiresome questioning. Following the meal, the same inquiry would be repeated using a different approach to see if there were any distinct changes in the information given previously. To stop something from being overlooked during the first session a second procedure was also applied to prevent any omissions. The talk was over. Dinner was kept completely divorced from issues concerning the operation; there were questions about Lyle’s health, his plans, the weather, and even sports.

After dinner, the three men were back in the room. Once again the button was pushed on the recorder. Lyle who was tired following the flight was now facing another barrage of questions. It was getting close to nine p.m. when Willie said, That is all I have Colonel. What about you?

I have no more questions, Willie. May I speak with you outside, before you leave?

While Willie and the Colonel were talking in the hallway, Lyle moved nervously in his chair. The debrief had gone well, but there was still doubt about his time recuperating at Anne-Marie’s. He stretched his left leg, the one shot before, and then rubbed his shoulder. Even though the bullets had gone through without hitting bones, some of his muscles and soft tissues had received considerable damage. Colonel Jackson was the first one to reenter the room. Willie grabbed his case; he was leaving.

Well, son, I did not exit the room to worry you, I had to get confirmation that Willie would go along with the recommendation I made to him earlier. Let’s fill our coffee cups as I need to discuss some other intel with you.

After filling their cups with coffee, the Colonel spoke first, Lyle, I want honest upfront answers about your health. I know you came as close as you can get to death while traveling by train from Bordeaux to Paris. If it had not been for that doctor you would not name, you would be dead. Are you ready?

Yes, I am, sir. Go ahead.

Your country needs you again, and I don’t have anyone with the background information, let alone the expertise to take over right now. Are you strong enough to go out into the field again?

I am, as long as I do not have to fight hand to hand combat. My mind is sharp, my strength is back, about eighty percent or more. I am still weak in the left shoulder and left leg. I would say it will be three to five weeks before I am back to one hundred percent, sir.

There won’t be any hand to hand combat. I need you to find out two things. One, where have the arms gone to, the ones that ended up in Mississippi? Second, I need to know where the next load is coming from, and where, in the US, it might go to. The Colonel studied Lyle for a few seconds, then said, I guess there is a third primary reason I need you. We must eradicate Fox, or Renard if you prefer.

Lyle, speechless and motionless, stared at the Colonel. This last statement had put him in such a state of shock that he inadvertently pushed his chair back from the table, stood up and hit the table lightly with his fist, What do mean we must eradicate Fox? I did. I saw blood squirt out from his chest where the round I fired hit him. He cannot be alive; I saw him go head first over the top of the skyway from the second floor of the chateau in Bordeaux, France.

The Colonel who was a wise fellow knew that Lyle would take it hard when he told him, that was why he had saved the news for last. He watched Lyle huffing out his sudden disgust and shaking his head while pacing back and forth. After taking a few breaths, the Colonel spoke, Agents of the French government saw Renard at the Bordeaux-Merignac Airport. They have been after Fox for years too, in fact since he left the gendarmerie in France. They knew he was dirty while he was still working as a detective. They could not get enough evidence to prosecute him. When he retired and left, they had a team monitoring him, still, do. Our FBI agent has been updated regularly on his status. We think he was wearing an armor and created a delusion to make you believe you shot him. He was pretty sure you would aim at the chest since it was dark. You have been a thorn in his side, and he needed to take the risk to try and kill you too.

The Colonel had not even finished talking when Lyle spoke with his voice raised, I am well enough to go after him. I will need all the updated intel you have. May I get Brett to go with me?

Sit down, let’s talk about this. The Colonel got up, went over to fill both coffee cups, sat them on the table, and said, Sit down, son. Brett is on special assignment with the DEA, the FBI, Homeland Security, and Military Intelligence in Mississippi. We need to find out where those guns are, the ones that came in through Mississippi. If I decide to send you, and I am not sure yet if you will be on your own again. The President of the United States, (POTUS), needs complete deniability. He wants Fox buried, so does the French government. Then the Colonel began to fill Lyle in on what had transpired from the time he was wounded, and while recuperating in Paris. After updating Lyle on what intel he had on Fox and the ongoing operation in Mississippi, he told Lyle about the rumors on the street of another large shipment of guns and shoulder-held grenade launchers coming in. Over an hour went by as the conversation passed back and forth between the two men.

There was a brief pause of almost a minute when no one spoke. Lyle looked around the room and said, From all the intel you have shared with me, it is obvious that the weapons are coming from Russian supplies. They are defiantly bringing them by cargo ship somewhere off Mexico, Central or South America again. Knowing Fox as I do, he will want to move the drugs along with the arms. A lot of money is made from drugs, and there is ample space within his submarine. I still don’t understand why the President did not sanction more of our subs to take his out.

National Security of the homeland always has top priority over anything else.

After some thought, Lyle responded. I need to meet with Brett, spend a day or two with him and the other agents. Next, I need to fly to Paris and meet with an old Russian friend. If anyone can get information— he can. From there I should make contact with your Russian friend, and maybe even fly to Moscow if he will not talk over the phone. I am confident Fox will try to move his operation closer to the US. As you know from the debrief, Brett and I struck him near Coro.

Sounds like you had given thought to part from this operation even before I told you Fox was still alive.

Yes, I had given it a thought.

Ok then, I am going to inform Willie and the President that the operation is on. You will have access to both Octo and Colonel John Roberts once again. We figured you would accept the challenge for your country, son. The Colonel reached into his briefcase and brought out an encrypted phone, then said. We made this one a little more shit proof, so should you drop it in the toilet, feel and retrieve it. Both men shared a good laugh. Colonel Jackson and Lyle spent the next hour going over details of the proposed operation.

The Colonel had arranged transportation to the Hotel Hilton near Reagan Washington International airport. Lyle was exhausted and eager to arrive at the hotel and hit the sack. The Colonel and Lyle would meet the next day at 0800. As Lyle opened the door to leave, he heard the Colonel say, I will send a vehicle to pick you up early, at 0700, just in case the traffic is bad. Sleep well.

Lyle was not even close to eighty percent healed yet, he became fatigued easily. Sitting in the back seat of the all black Chevy Tahoe, he used his time to think. There was one thing he wanted to do while in DC, and that was to find out where Octo lived to pay him a surprise visit. The young man gave excellent help and devotion, and the work was appreciated. Lyle felt he owed Octo even though there was no obligation to reward him. He did what they asked of him, and it was his job to assist the field operators. Lyle enjoyed his somewhat childish approach, His girls, his positive attitude, and also his discretion. He had to meet this dedicated patriot and thank him face to face for going beyond the regular duties to help others. Deep in thought, Lyle did not hear the driver who was talking. He asked him to repeat, I will be at the hotel in five minutes, the driver said, a little louder this time.

Upon arrival, Lyle went straight to the check-in desk. When he inquired about a room, the clerk said it was already reserved and ready for him. Lyle chuckled and mumbled something no one heard, It is apparent the Colonel knew I would not refuse this assignment. This op was planned in detail for me as soon as Brett had told them I was alive and returning to the States. In his room, Lyle took out the small iPad and started searching for Octo’s address, and finally found it. After the meeting tomorrow, he would go to his home. The young man had mentioned saving up to purchase another lady (computer) that he would use at home, Lyle remembered he had his eyes on an expensive and sophisticated piece of equipment to connect all of his girls.

After a shower, sleep came as soon as he hit the sheets.

3

NEXT DAY

Lyle was looking in a northerly direction out front of the Hilton when the black Chevy Tahoe pulled up close to the curb where he was standing. A military man in uniform let the window down halfway and said, Are you ready to go, sir?

Lyle was engaged in deep thoughts about what he was going to do that evening. Startled, he swiftly stepped to his left, lowered his body, ready to react to what he perceived as an attack. When he recognized the Tahoe he said, Sorry, yes I am. The drive to meet with Colonel Jackson was a little slow; the morning traffic was at its peak. When one had government plates and hidden red and blue strobe lights flashing, one could move faster, even in Washington.

At ten minutes to eight in the morning, the Tahoe pulled away from the parking area as Lyle was walking toward the front door of the Pentagon. As usual, he was accompanied by a Marine Corporal. Once the Corporal opened the door of the empty meeting room, Lyle entered while the soldier stayed behind and stood at attention at the side of the entrance door. He had been in this same chamber less than twenty-four hours ago. To kill time, Lyle studied the walls, the ceiling, and the table, looking for mikes and cameras.

Within minutes both Colonel Jackson and Willie entered and shook Lyle’s hand. Charts and maps appeared on a screen during the first hour. Deep into the second hour, Willie walked over and picked up, with effort, a larger than the average briefcase, then sat it down on the floor just to the right of Lyle. We are sending you with particular diplomatic cases, inside you will find the tools that you usually request: two Canadian and two US passports. There are also twenty-five thousand American dollars in cash and credit cards. You know the drill, so I need to say no more. This case is different from the others. You can only open it using a code that I am going to give you to memorize. If anyone, or even you, should enter the wrong code, everything inside will be destroyed so nothing can be traced back to the United States. Then Willie handed Lyle a piece of paper with the code and asked, Do you recognize the numbers?

Lyle studied the numbers for a moment, reaching deep into his almost perfect recall and eidetic memory.

It is the total sum of my social security and birthday.

Good, you have a sharp and fast mind. Hand me the piece of paper back please. Willie took the paper and placed it in his briefcase, and then he gave Lyle another smaller case with a diplomatic seal. The conversation kicked into high gear once again as they discussed potential locations where Fox could safely bring contraband into the US. Into the third hour, they went over the arms that were coming from Russia. Around the world, within certain circles, it was known that not only Sergei dealt in arms, the Chechen called Aleksey Iman Shamil was also involved. The Russian government wanted Aleksey erased from the earth as badly as the United States did.

Colonel Jackson looked at Lyle and said, Do you remember the name of the Russian contact I gave you several months ago? Without giving Lyle a chance to reply, Colonel Jackson continued, Contact this man if you need updated information about both our Russian smugglers. If the op requires you to go to Russia, he will be your contact while operating within their republic. A person within the Russian government has strongly advised him to assist you. Remember, speak Russian as much as possible while conversing with him. He will appreciate that. Colonel Jackson turned to Willie, and said, Sorry sir, I could not give the name out loud.

Willie understood, he nodded. He was aware of the world of CIA spooks and how they operated. When the Colonel was through speaking, Willie took over, The same as before, use Octo for information and assistance and also Colonel Roberts or Colonel Jackson. There is no sense explaining the rules; you know them. Again, we will help all we can, but there will be complete deniability by POTUS. Willie rubbed his tongue around the inside of his upper lip before continuing, I am sure you would like to take Brett with you. He is still on assignment. But if something of extreme importance should occur, you are to make contact with either of the two Colonels. And they will make contact with me, and then I will provide Brett with a sensitive diplomatic case also. His code numbers are like yours, SS and birthdate. Brett would be moved at the speed of light to be of assistance if needed. In the meantime, we must find those guns and grenade launchers delivered with the last load.

Lyle looked Colonel Jackson in the eyes, then looked at Willie, and said, "I thank you. Brett has saved my life more than once. Before I leave tomorrow, I will make contact with him to find out what has transpired during his transfer in the South.

After lunch, the three men went over intel obtained from the CIA, Homeland Security, ATF and the FBI. As the clock approached three p.m., Colonel Jackson tapped his fingers slowly on the table and said, Gentlemen, I don’t see any use in continuing, we have covered everything thoroughly. If there is no question or concern from Lyle, let’s call it a day.

Both Willie and Lyle confirmed what the Colonel had said, they pushed back their chairs, looked at each other and stood up.

Then Willie broke the brief silence and said, I say goodbye and good luck, and Godspeed, son. I need to meet with the president. He shook Lyle’s hand and left.

There was nothing more to be said between the two men remaining. They had been through this many times to protect the homeland. Colonel Jackson walked over and took Lyle’s hand, grabbed the young man and gave him a long hug. He stepped back and saluted Lyle, picked up his papers, dropped them in his briefcase, and left.

After returning to his hotel room Lyle opened the diplomatic case, he took off his money belt, counted out ten thousand dollars, then placed the belt in the case. After closing it, he slid it under the bed. There was one more thing he needed to do before leaving Washington DC, go to Octo’s residence later that evening. If not home, Lyle would find a way into his rental to drop a gift, the money belt he had just placed inside the case. Lyle spent the rest of the evening going over and over the maps that were given to him and reviewed the few notes that he had taken during the meeting. Usually, Lyle never took notes, but this time he did. To regain some energy, Lyle did push-ups along with several other exercises before showering. After his usual hot shower followed by cold water running over his now warm skin, he rubbed himself down briskly with the soft towel. Of course, an extended meditation followed before he would even consider dinner.

Following a nice meal at the hotel, Lyle went out front of the building to hail a cab. He gave instructions to the driver to take him to the corner of 16th St. NE and Benning Rd., which was a block and a half from where Octo rented part of an old brick building. The rest of the structure housed two small stores, a UPS, mailbox and copying store, and on the other side, a pizza parlor, take out only. Lyle had located the residence. After walking around the building, he noticed there were only two windows protected with bolted wrought iron bars. Carefully working his way in the dark, Lyle found the rear door which opened into the alleyway. He looked at his watch, it was just after ten p.m. Octo was not home. To be safe Lyle decided to wait another hour, then he would try to enter the residence, trespass that is, to leave his gift. Lyle knew in his mind that the doors would have at least two deadbolts. A trained person could release those. To kill time he took a brisk walk and ended up covering ten blocks.

At eleven there was still no sign of Octo. Lyle took out his lock pick set, and within a minute, the central door lock opened. He then looked up and down the edge of the door for wires or other indicators of an alarm system. Finding none, he took out a thin pair of special made pliers, reached in and carefully pushed the chain on each bolt lock until they released. That done, Lyle entered the room that looked like the computer operation center for an interstellar spaceship, or the command center at the Pentagon. There were computers and monitors everywhere. Lyle had been in the control room at the White House, but he was still amazed at what Octo had in his small living room. Quiet as a mouse he worked his way to the big comfortable chair in front of the monitors, took out the money and left it on one of the computer keyboards. Lyle had prepared a note just in case there was no chance to meet him in person. He reached for it into his pocket and left it next to the money. For the note, Lyle had used letters cut from a newspaper. It read, A gift from the Colombian bear to express his appreciation. Sorry I missed you. Lyle knew Octo would figure out the connection and would identify the trespasser, plus he would realize his need for an alarm system. After securing the premises, Lyle walked several blocks before finding a cab back to the Hilton Hotel.

4

GUATEMALA

A gentle wind blowing in off the Bay of Amatique helped keep the humidity and heat at bay. The Hotel Villa Caribe, a gracious colonial 4.5-star resort, was conveniently located to take advantage of these welcomed breezes which kept the temperature at a high of seventy-seven degrees and the humidity even lower. It was ten a.m. Fox was comfortably seated on a wicker chair, in front of a wrought iron table, next to a bottle of red wine and a glass half empty. Cigarette smoke was drifting upward, rapidly dissipated by the breeze. He had a cell phone tightly secured against his left ear and a pen in his hand, ready to take notes on a small courtesy notepad provided by the hotel.

He had been on the phone continuously for