Ghosts of Guatemala

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chief Operations Officer Mike Morrandon didn’t know anyone who enjoyed bureaucracy, but everyone seemed to accept its necessity. He recognized it was the best way to keep power in check. He might even agree that it stymied corruption. But even the Romans had bureaucracy, and America wasn’t about to be outdone by another empire, collapsed or not. Yes, bureaucrats were downright miserable people. And the CIA was a bureaucratic nightmare. He just hoped his meeting wouldn’t be akin to a gladiatorial match. After all, he’d been the one to request it.

It didn’t help that it was early in the morning. An earlier start than he was used to. Not that he usually slept well, but he was sure his colleagues weren’t enthused about the morning’s efforts either.

His cell phone reception was knocked out as soon as he’d driven close to Langley’s CIA offices. The jammers were a basic precaution but an important one. The jammers added a helpful warning to American citizens as they drove by. If anyone was using their phone at the time, they’d know that the CIA was there, and the CIA would know you were, too.

He pulled into the parking lot after flashing his badge at the security guards manning the gate. Once parked, he made his way across a manicured lawn and up the steps to one of the imposing office buildings. A sharply dressed man and woman in matching suits, shades, and wired earpieces opened the double glass doors for Mike. He nodded thanks to the impassive bodies and passed over the threshold into the CIA’s Special Activities Division (SAD) building. The acronym seemed apt as a small group of intelligence personnel hurried past him, murmuring to one another. Any hint of a personality was sterilized by the seriousness of what they all did for a living.

As far as Mike was concerned, the CIA was Special Activities. SAD was a department formed for the express purpose of giving the CIA an arm’s length from any sensitive operations or public scrutiny, or anything the international community might not find particularly appetizing.

Needless to say, the department was huge.

All the offices at Langley were modern, clean, and constantly reminding anyone walking the halls that they had the best money could buy. He used to be amazed by it. He used to try and keep track of it all. But that was long before he had learned a thing or two about what money was able to do. He had encountered it directly, and more than once. Offers of payment or promotional whispers if he would lean this way or that, or send a team to check something out as a personal favor. He had always politely declined, forwarded the name off to Internal Affairs, and kept his head down. Nothing had happened in the three cases he’d experienced — at least visibly — but that was as much as he could do.

And that was money, something the average American consumer could understand, but it wasn’t a budget. Budgets were different. Budgets were giant slices of a great big money pie that could hardly be fathomed by a single person. The Central Intelligence Agency had a budget of fifteen billion dollars. That was on the books. Mike would never know the exact number. In fact, it was possible that no one would ever know the exact amount, which was probably seen as a strategic win by many and a bitter foxhole by others. The last estimate, by an associated team conducting an audit that Mike happened to be privy to, revealed a figure at least quadruple of that on the books. But Mike — or anyone — hardly knew what that meant because of all the offices under, associated, and otherwise attached to the agency. It made Mike think of barnacles stuck to a harbor front or, perhaps more aptly, suckling piglets to a sow.

The CIA had become a sprawling monster with offices other offices didn’t know about, positions other positions made up, and people that other people thought were inactive, elsewhere, or altogether dead. The only semblance of control came from oversight meetings, such as today’s. They were a pain. They were sometimes too passive, and sometimes were corrupt. They also happened to be the only thing standing between fair use of powerful tactical units — like the one he was in charge of — and schoolyard bullies like his colleagues. Everything was off the record in the Special Operations Group as far as the CIA was concerned. Mike had learned to play ball.

He made his way up an elevator after passing through another security checkpoint, then found himself interrogated by a harsh secretary who refused to blink when he spoke. Eventually, he was allowed into the head offices of the Special Operations Group. For better or worse, this was his wheelhouse.

The spacious meeting room held plenty of tables surrounded by chairs, but only three were occupied. He was the last to the party, he noticed, although as he walked over to the chair left for him it looked like his colleague Paul Locklee was just getting settled himself. The man sat the Latin American desk for Special Operations. And he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

As Mike approached, Locklee met his eyes with a furious glare.

Mike couldn’t remember a time he’d truly gotten along with the man. Maybe it was because Locklee was the opposite of Mike in too many ways to reconcile. Locklee was built like a string bean on a diet, while Mike had started putting on a little extra after his metabolism had decided to kick him to the curb. Locklee was white, his ancestry looking like it lingered from some Danish isle or the other. Mike was a dark shade of black. Locklee dressed decently, but had a greasy gray ponytail that betrayed any common sense of style the man might have had. Mike’s hair was trim, but he couldn’t remember the last time his shirt wasn’t wrinkled and felt lucky if his pants weren’t stained. Locklee was a bastard who was dangerously good at his job.

So was Mike.

At a certain point the differences came to an end, even if he wasn’t happy about it. They were all bastards when it really came down to it. Anyone working in the CIA probably thought that, but anyone working farther toward the basement knew it. SAD might be under the CIA, but the Special Operations Group didn’t have windows.

Locklee was mad because he’d come to Mike with a mission request that he’d rather keep the blinds on, and Mike had called upon the faithful bureaucracy, which his boss Linda Kim represented, to let the sun shine in.

“Mike. Paul.” Linda nodded curtly to them each respectively.

Linda was an older-than-middle-aged Korean woman who had carved a tight and successful career as director of the CIA’s Special Operations Group. She could be a pain, but she was his boss, and it was times like these he appreciated how tight-laced she was. He suspected that respect was mutual, though he doubted she’d ever admit it. Apparently she’d had enough time to enjoy half a cup of coffee.

And there was one other person at the table. A stranger.

“I don’t think either of you have met Sara Burnes. She’s PAG. Works the Latin American desk over there.”

Mike and Locklee both frowned in unison.

PAG stood for the Political Action Group. When they bothered to think at all, the American public always believed black operative organizations like Linda’s Special Operations Group were the scary ones. Things like assassinations and sabotaging infrastructure across international borders came to mind, to assert American dominance and eliminate threats around the world. And they’d be right. But this didn’t compare to the scale of what the Political Action Group’s operations involved. They moved slowly over decades, methodically moving the global theatre toward the goal of American supremacy.

There was a reason SOG and PAG didn’t usually mix.

They were on the same team, but worked two different angles. The SOG conducted more surgical, often militaristic missions; the PAG leveraged political situations and instances of diplomatic subterfuge. That was fine by Mike, as long as no one got in his way. He didn’t like playing games to achieve his goals. But perhaps she would prove to be a pleasant distraction from all the nasty business that had fallen into his lap.

Pleasant distraction indeed.

She was undeniably attractive. She had the face and body of a world war p********a pinup. White skin, bright blue eyes, light brown curls and not-too-thickly applied red lipstick greeted Mike with a smile. Too put-together for the hour.

“Nice to meet you,” Mike said, his even tone a practiced neutral. He was careful not to betray any of his thoughts.

“Thank you for having me,” Sara responded sweetly.

“What the f**k is she doing here?” Locklee asked, stabbing a finger at Sara.

Mike frowned again as Linda bristled. Sara’s smile, however, remained plastered on her perfect unmoving face, unfazed as she spoke.

“We’re hoping the Guatemalan government doesn’t become a problem for us. For anyone. Perhaps we can pool some of our more specialized resources.” Sara didn’t take her eyes off Mike as she spoke.

Ah, he thought, there’s the kicker.

Mike’s position was highly enviable. He was head of a special, off-the-record Latin American task force known as Blackthorne. He could coordinate efforts across Latin America, initiating everything from intel-gathering to target elimination. He had agents scattered in various countries, ready at any moment to receive a phone call and execute his orders. If there was a person of interest in Latin America or a situation that needed follow-up, he was the CIA’s most effective tool. That also meant he was usually saved for a last resort. He got the tough missions. He liked it that way.

He wasn’t all-powerful. Linda was still his boss and had to approve everything before Mike could make a call, but he was used to intelligence personnel like Sara shimmying up next to him, or trigger-happy officers like Locklee using his team at every chance provided.

“I’m sorry, aren’t you the folks who overthrew this same democratic government back in the good ol’ days?” Locklee asked.

Sara shrugged. “That was a long time ago. I’m not quite that old, Paul.”

Locklee looked like a tea kettle put to boil. He opened his mouth for another retort. Mike had the distinct feeling that he was back in high school.

“Now, people, let’s play nice,” Linda said flatly. “We’re all here for the same reason. This Puentes character poses too great a threat to ignore. Paul, give us the briefing.”

Locklee stopped his seething to adjust his wiry glasses, suddenly all business. He pulled out a thin file folder and lifted a couple pages, half reading from the page, half putting together his thoughts into words as they came.

“Two weeks ago, Blackthorne sent one of its agents to eliminate Sandor Puentes, a cartel lord in Antigua, Guatemala. His illicit affairs were well known and increasing in volume. Unfortunately, our agent was killed in the process.”

His name was Brian. He was a good agent. And the mission was at your request, Locklee. Don’t forget that. I sure haven’t.

“Follow-up revealed Sandor Puentes had been eliminated after all, assumed to be the casualty of a coup by his younger brother, Pablo Puentes. Unfortunately, Pablo has become the new threat. At twelve thirty-three A.M., my office received a call from Pablo Puentes,” Locklee said, glancing up from the printout in front of him. “In a surprise move, he has declared war on the agency, providing blackmail in an attempt at immunity.”

Mike already knew where this was going. He didn’t like it, but he had to leave things to Linda.

“Well, I can’t say I’m a stranger to how these things work,” Sara was saying. “It has a simple fix. Eliminate him and be done with it.”

“Thank you for your input, Sara, but you’re not here in an advisory capacity,” Linda said pointedly.

Mike rubbed his forehead, feeling his wrinkles furrow with idle disappointment. There seemed to be too many of them recently.

Locklee crossed his arms. “The blackmail means we can’t just take him out. He claims to have a kill switch; if he dies, the blackmail is released. What exactly are you bringing to the table, Sara? Or are you just here for the show?”

Linda’s anger was palpable. “Paul, that is-”

She was cut off by a rude snort from Sara. “Our shows are a little more entertaining than this one.” Her eyes flashed dangerously. Locklee seemed to back off, visibly giving her some breathing room. “We admittedly have an interest in the situation in Antigua,” she said slowly. “Pablo has just inherited his late brother’s illicit empire and could threaten our allies in the familias oligarcas. We are hoping the situation is stabilized once you folks are done.”

“Once Pablo is dead, you mean,” Mike said.

Sara closed her eyes and smiled, nodding in agreement as if he were a small child finally understanding the lesson she was trying to teach. When her eyes opened, she was looking at Locklee.

“Tell us about the blackmail, Paul. I’m curious.”

Mike turned to his colleague, who was glaring back at Sara. Locklee finally pulled away and looked to Mike and Linda.

“It pertains to Sandor’s assassination. He’s wanting to reveal to the world and his government that an American assassin performed operations on foreign soil, killing a Guatemalan citizen in his home.”

Mike scoffed. “They won’t be able to prove any of that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mike, do you want to be the spokesperson for the legal shitstorm that will be hitting the fan? Or do you want to be the one who helps solve the situation?”

“By killing the brother now? Locklee, really, do we just keep knocking them off until there’s no one left to complain?”

“That’s your f*****g job!”

“Enough!” Linda hissed.

Mike and Locklee shut up and snapped their attention to Linda without another word. Linda disregarded them, turning to the PAG woman instead.

“Sorry, Sara, I’m going to have to cut things here. Mission details are SOG only, and it looks like we have plenty to talk about.”

Sara gave a little sigh, but she shrugged off any annoyance with a little shake of her heavily hair-sprayed head. “I understand. Good luck to you,” she said to Linda while standing up, then turned to Mike and Locklee. “Gentlemen. Don’t take too long.” Her eyes hovered on Mike’s a moment longer before she turned to leave.

Was that flirting? Or a threat?

Both made him uncomfortable. Locklee scowled and Mike quickly averted his gaze to focus back on his boss when Linda cleared her throat.

“This is embarrassing, to say the least,” she snapped. “Blackmailing the CIA on top of everything already? The boys upstairs are on my a*s because of the botched op. PAG is on my a*s because an American agent has been exposed in an assassination attempt behind Guatemala’s back. And it’s no concession that our attempt was a failure. I am not going in front of some oversight committee and being told that Special Operations needs to pull out of Guatemala, and that it’s time to simply ignore the drugs and s*x trafficking that is ending up in goddamn America.”

Linda didn’t yell when she was angry. She didn’t need to. Mike sucked in air as she continued.

“This is what is going to happen. Puentes will be removed. Blackthorne will complete this mission without a hitch. I want this kill switch — whatever form it might take — deactivated beforehand. And after all is said and done, I’m going to tell this PAG b***h she can do what she needs to in order to smooth things over. She will pass it up the chain that there’s no problem here. Understand?”

They were silent for a moment.

“Thank you. Yes,” said Locklee.

Mike didn’t like that. Locklee agreeing with his angry boss was one thing, but being polite was another. Something was off. They were jumping from one failed mission into something that felt even worse. The man wasn’t telling him everything. Luckily, he had other ways of getting the information he needed.

“Mike?” Linda prompted.

“Fine. If this is the way it’s going to be, fine.”

Locklee leaned back, seeming a little too relieved. Mike savored the pause.

“But no one is going to stop one of my agents from having a conversation with Pablo.”

Linda narrowed her eyes, but didn’t disagree with him. He appreciated that. Linda was hard but fair. His suggestion would be a lot more difficult than what Linda had been thinking. A simple hit and run now required a full-on interrogation, probably k********g the target, maybe coercing other guards or family close to Pablo. It could be messy. He didn’t care. He owed it to Brian. Mike might be a CIA desk-jockey bastard, but he could give the dead agent that much.

“Fine. Just get it done. I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Mike nodded and muttered his thanks as Locklee piped up.

“What, wait-”

“Is there a problem here, Locklee? I mean, aside from all the other problems we’re dealing with?”

Locklee went a little red in the face, but held back whatever he was about to say.

“No. Never mind.”

“Good.”

When it was clear there was nothing left to discuss, they all stood and walked away, separately, without further comment — Linda back to her office, Mike and Locklee giving a wide berth between each other and avoiding the same elevator. If anyone had been watching, it would have seemed like an ordinary business meeting. But then, for members of the CIA’s Special Operations Group, it may as well have been.

***

As soon as Mike was a mile away from the agency, he placed a call to his trusted assistant, Barker. He was a strange young man, but clever and loyal. Mike tried to look past Barker’s more disturbing qualities.

“Chief?” came Barker’s muffled reply. He was probably just waking up. “How was the meeting?”

“s**t. It’s just as I thought. Locklee wants to nail the younger Puentes brother this time. Send another of our agents in for the kill.”

“For the kill, or to get killed?”

That wouldn’t normally be an appropriate remark, but Barker was too good at what he did. Mike let him have it. “We’re being set up. It’s Brian all over again.”

“Right. But why? What’s his angle?” Barker’s tone betrayed too much curiosity over any concern he might’ve felt.

Mike frowned. “I don’t know,” he said, although it pained him. Mike clenched the car’s steering wheel.

“Chief?”

Brian had been a good agent. A good man.

“We’ll find out for sure,” Mike said. “Linda approved an interrogation of the target.”

A pause. “What? Sir, why?”

“Because I said so,” Mike growled. “I want information. And Locklee doesn’t know we already have someone on the inside.”

“Yes, sir. Should I send the order?”

Mike rubbed his chin. “Yes. But she won’t be alone. We’re not doing another solo op.” He paused, thinking about who he had scattered where in Latin America. Who would be best for the job? He’d need someone who could infiltrate; someone who could move through the region like they were part of it, and wouldn’t think twice about getting answers from Puentes. All his agents fit the bill. But there was someone who Mike knew would want a chance at revenge. Someone who would do anything to see the mission through and get some answers. And that made all the difference.

“Barker?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get me Carpenter.”