Dark Ops: Everglades
Yesterday I posed a challenge to readers on both my professional and personal Facebook walls to submit ideas for a story. I promised that I would choose one of those ideas and write a story naming the "contestant" as the protagonist. That task turned out to be much more difficult than I imagined. Therefore, instead of choosing one story idea, I have mashed several of them together and have incorporated as many of those that submitted ideas into the story. What you are about to read below is the fruit of that endeavour.
Please note, however, that for those of you from whom I have (with your permission) taken characters' names, I will, as always, take great liberties in the writing. While your characters will bear your names, and likely many of your personal traits, there will also be many deviations, characteristics and situations which may not be reflective of who you are in real life. If at any time, as I weave this tale, you become uncomfortable with how the story is progressing, I will be happy to change the name of the character. I say this because I have a great many thoughts for this story, and this very well may become my next manuscript.
Thank you all for your suggestions. I hope I am able to bring them to life in a way you can appreciate.
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Dark Ops: Everglades
County Route 25 was a desolate one – not a single stoplight adorned the stretch of nearly twenty miles of pavement in between its beginning, at the interstate exchange, and its end, where it terminated at a “T” with State Route 88. The few side streets that connected to it, like the tributaries of a dying, winding river, disappeared in the distance of the hazy fog that usually enveloped the area on humid evenings like this one. The sun began to fade, and the moisture that clung to the air cast the sky in hues of bright orange and purple. Insects mercilessly pelted the windshield of Lisa’s brand new Mercedes GLK 350 SUV like large rain drops, causing her a great deal of consternation as she had just had the vehicle detailed. Wondering if she was close, she glanced down at the papers in her lap. Thankfully, she had printed out directions in addition to programming her in-dash GPS, as she lost the GPS signal seven miles ago.
“Why in the hell is she dragging us out here?” she said aloud as she drove down the country road, before she noticed the road sign that indicated the next ten miles would consist of “Fresh Oil, Loose Gravel.”
“So help me if I get one paint chip, she’s paying for it,” she continued to no one but herself. Lisa had grown up a country girl but, after the success that their little “band” had achieved, she had retired to a more comfortable, city lifestyle. Why Veronica returned to the country was beyond her. Lisa toned down her annoyance slightly though, knowing fully well that Veronica wouldn’t call them all back together, and in such an isolated location, if it wasn’t important.
As she drove, an eerie glow began to permeate the mist up ahead. She could barely make out the source of the light until she was almost directly upon it – a flashing neon sign that blinked the words “Art’s Auto Salvage.” Fixated on the sign, Lisa almost didn’t notice that she was about to pass the address Veronica had given her. When Lisa slammed on the brakes, the SUV kicked up a cloud of dust and stone as the SUV’s anti-lock brakes brought the car to a rapid halt. Throwing the Mercedes into reverse, Lisa backed it up before turning it into the gravel driveway just past the junkyard. Confirming the address with the faded number on the mailbox, which was forlornly affixed to the mail post with a bungee chord, Lisa muttered to herself “this must be the place.”
The driveway was short and she quickly reached the old country house. There was no garage, so she pulled up and to the right of a large area that she assumed was meant for parking. Sprouts of crabgrass pierced the otherwise barren patch of dirt. Thankfully it had been a dry summer and hadn’t rained recently. If it had, the heels of her Manolo Blahnik Kahikalow’s, which she had just acquired at Barney’s annual sale in New York
“Ok, I’m here,” she said with a hint of annoyance, expecting Veronica to be there to greet here. When no one appeared, she turned to survey her surroundings. Despite the oppressive summer heat, a cold shiver coursed through her body. The place disturbed her. Glancing in the direction of the junkyard, she could just make out the mounds of decaying automobiles that littered the landscape. In the distance she heard giggles and dogs barking, and she guessed that some brave kids had wandered a little too far into the salvage yard looking for adventure and had encountered its four-legged night watchmen. Nervously, she looked back to the house. She was at first startled, and then grateful, when she saw another set of lights pull into the drive. She immediately recognized the headlights to be those of a newer model Audi, as she had just traded in her own for the Mercedes. Curiously, she shielded her eyes and wondered which of the group would emerge. Eric stepped from his silver Audi R8, took one look around, and scoffed.
“What a fucking dump!” he exclaimed. Lisa laughed, drawing his attention. A wide smile leaped across his face at the sound of her voice. “Hey babe!” he said as he walked forward and pulled her into a lingering embrace. “It’s been too long. I see life has treated you well,” he noted, always having a knack for stating the obvious. Though nearly ten years had passed, Lisa had lost neither the svelte figure nor flair she possessed in years passed.
“Likewise,” she said, returning the compliment as they broke from each other. Eric’s hairline had receded from where she had remembered it, but he had still managed to maintain his boyish good looks and charm. “What are you doing these days?”
“Aside from answering cryptic emails and driving out to the middle of nowhere?” he joked. “Private consulting. Mostly port security. I actually just got back from a job in Los Angeles
Lisa suspected he was doing more than “consulting” but opted not to press the subject. Eric was about to ask her a similar question when another car arrived. Shiva, the humblest of the bunch, never saw the need to spend exorbitant amounts of money on material things, and was more than satisfied with his candy apple red Volvo S-60. He slid the sleek sedan neatly next to Eric’s Audi in the driveway. Shiva climbed out and immediately looked as out of place on the old country farm as the others. His chai colored, Indian skin, having grown darker from nearly decade living in southern Florida
“Shiva, darling, how are you?” Lisa asked as she gave him a hug.
“Wonderful, and you?”
“Can’t complain,” she said, giving him a half-curtsy to show off her ensemble.
“Eric, good to see you my friend,” Shiva said, turning his attention to the other man. Eric embraced him with a typical “man-hug,” slapping his back with such force it caused Shiva to cough. “Still working out, I see.”
Eric laughed. “A little bit, yeah.”
Happy to be reunited, the three of them immediately set to chatting, almost forgetting that they had been summoned there, and who had summoned them. Eric remembered shortly, and was about to inquire as to Veronica’s whereabouts, when the whine of a high performance motorcycle engine punctured, then eliminated, the sound of the cicadas that occupied the fields behind the farm house. The black clad figure roared into the driveway, revving the engine twice for effect, and then shut it down and climbed off of the charcoal colored Ducati Diavel Carbon bike he had been riding. How he could see through the tinted visor of his matching grey helmet was beyond any of the rest of them. They knew immediately who had arrived before he had even removed his headgear.
Rubbing his hand through his glistening, silver hair, Jimmy smiled his trademark mischievous smile. Lisa rolled her eyes, but Eric and Jimmy, who had actually worked together barely eight months prior, smirked and nodded to one another. Neither of them had lost their cockiness, that was for sure. Shiva just shook his head in mock disapproval. “Hey guys!” Jimmy said as he approached the group and unzipped his leather jacket. Lisa did not embrace him as she had the others, but rather nodded. Shiva politely extended his hand, and Eric followed with a clasp of the hand and hard hug. Lisa relented and gave him a tepid, though sincere, peck on the check.
“Where’s V?” Jimmy asked, finally posing the question none of the rest of them had yet had to ask.
“Here,” she said, barely above a whisper, and in a voice not her own. Instinctively, both Jimmy and Eric drew their matching Glock Model 19 semi-automatic pistols and aimed in the direction of the voice. From where they had drawn their weapons, Lisa had no idea, so quickly they had armed themselves. Veronica laughed, this time her voice coming from the side porch of the farmhouse. Flicking on the light, she stepped from the darkness. Jimmy and Eric returned their weapons to their waist holsters at the smalls of their backs, Eric’s hidden by the tail of the Henley shirt he wore, Jimmy’s by his jacket.
“Goddamn it, V, you know I hate it when you do that!” Jimmy said with annoyance.
“That little trick saved your hide on more than one occasion, as I recall,” Veronica retorted. Jimmy parted his lips, but did not speak. Instead he simply raised an acknowledging eyebrow and nodded affirmatively.
They all had a chuckle at Jimmy’s expense and Veronica embraced each of them in turn. After she had done so, they stood in an awkward silence before Shiva spoke.
“So, I see we’re getting the band back together. Now all we need is MB,” he remarked. Suddenly Veronica’s expression grew dour.
“She’s not coming,” she said with despair.
“Why not? What’s happened?” Eric asked.
“I think you all better come inside.”
They each followed Veronica into the spaciously remodeled kitchen of the hundred year old farmhouse. As they filed in, a gigantic German Shepherd growled ominously from the hallway that separated the kitchen from the living room beyond. Jimmy was the first to react.
“V, that can’t possibly be Cyrano!”
“No, sadly, Cyrano passed a couple of years ago. This is Alfred, and he is every bit his father’s son.”
Sensing that he was among his father’s friends, Alfred’s scowl subsided and his tail began to wag before he leaped forward to greet the visitors. They each petted him before Lisa broke the ice once more.
“V, what’s going on? Where’s MB?”
“After Monte Carlo Annapolis
Each of them tensed at Veronica’s words. The Monte Carlo job netted one of the biggest hauls of black market American currency in history, much of it having been smuggled out of Iraq
In order to do so, however, they each had to remove the security beacon that had been surgically implanted in their bodies. Every member of the team had their beacon implanted in a different place so as to avoid easy detection. Jimmy unconsciously ran his tongue over the false tooth on the upper right side of his mouth, recalling when he painfully removed his molar, in which his beacon had been placed, with a pair of pliers. Eric had dug his out of his thigh with a Swiss Army knife after consuming copious amounts of scotch. Lisa removed hers from her shoulder with a pair of surgical scissors and a compact mirror. Shiva had to do nothing more than amputate the pinky toe of his right foot. Veronica? Veronica neither told the others where her beacon resided on her body, nor how she removed it. MB, though, opting to continue her service, never had reason to silence hers.
“So where is she?” Shiva asked.
“Follow me, I’ll show you.”
Confused, they all scurried after Veronica as she walked down the hall and led them downstairs to the cobblestone walled, dirt floored basement. Alfred rushed passed them and quickly descended the stairs after his master. In the corner of the dimly lit dungeon of a basement stood a 1956 Frigidaire refrigerator, an antique no doubt. When Veronica tugged on the handle of the derelict appliance, it began to disappear into the floor, revealing a narrow passage behind it. She grinned as the others stood in awe. “One of the benefits of being the former CIA Director’s daughter, and inheriting his homestead.”
Quickly, Veronica disappeared into the narrow corridor and down another set of stairs. Again Alfred followed obediently. When she reached the bottom, Veronica turned on the lights to reveal her father’s secret operations center. She had updated the hardware, software and overall effectiveness of the small, hidden military complex with the gracious help of Laura and Jen, the team’s computer and security experts back in D.C. Eric’s eyes widened as he stepped into the room and gazed jealously.
“I think it just moved,” he said absently as he drooled over the technology that surrounded him. It took a moment for Lisa to register what he had said before she smacked him in the arm.
“You’re still a pig!”
“Ow! What?” he exclaimed indignantly as he rubbed his arm. Again they all chuckled before turning serious once more.
“So you were going to show us where she is?” Eric asked. Veronica nodded, walked over to the main computer terminal, and punched in a few key strokes. Instantly Jen’s image appeared on one of the large screens, and they could hear The Rolling Stones playing in the background.
“It’s about time,” she said. “I was getting worried.”
“No worries,” Veronica replied. “We’re all here now. What have you got?”
“Well, as best as we can tell, her beacon is still active and broadcasting from this location,” Jen explained, sending an image to the other large screen in the operations center. It showed a point near the southern tip of Florida
“Jen, that’s smack in the middle of the Everglades . There’s nothing there but swampland and gators.”
“I know, but that’s where the beacon is coming from. Satellites don’t lie, they spy, remember?”
Jimmy and Eric studied the map, while Lisa instinctively went to a computer terminal and started typing. Information on the Glades popped up on the screen next to the image.
“There’s plenty of places someone could hide in there. Maybe a hunting shack or, maybe a hideout of some kind?”
Suddenly it hit him, and Eric went pale. “Escobar.”
They all turned to him and glared as if he had uttered the name of some ancient spectre who, upon the mere utterance of his name, would wreak devastation and havoc on those that dared speak it. At that point, Laura had joined Jen and was peering over her shoulder.
“Juarez Escobar,” Laura said. “Head of one of the bigger cartels. I suppose it makes sense. A good portion of the cash confiscated in Monte Carlo
“He operates mostly out of Havana Miami
Eric closed his eyes and tried not to imagine the horrible things Escobar’s men might do to her. Lisa felt nauseous.
“So what do we do?” Shiva asked.
“Well, that’s why we’re all here. I can’t speak for anyone other than myself,” Veronica began. “But Colonel Ogawa authorized me to go after her. We’ll have all the resources we’ll need. If anyone wants to join me,” she continued when Jimmy tried to cut her off.
“V,” he said softly. She continued speaking.
“This is purely volunteer. We’ll be off the grid on this one, just like Monte Carlo
“V,” he said with a little more volume in his voice this time.
“I don’t want any of you to feel obligated….”
“V!” Jimmy yelled. Finally she stopped speaking and looked into his eyes. Her tears began to well. Jimmy stared back at her with a cold, killer’s resolve. “It’s MB,” he said. “It’s MB.”
“It’s MB,” they each repeated as they sat down around the small conference table in the middle of the room and began planning their rescue operation.
© J.J. Goodman 2012. All rights reserved.
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