Chapter VII

Donde no hay humo, no hay fuego.

(Where there’s no smoke, there’s no fire.)

Mexican Proverb

The escape tunnel was a series of one and a half meter diameter concrete conduit with male and female ends which fit together tight enough to keep water and critters out.  It had a slight downward slope at the end of which was another locking hatch. 

The difference between this hatch and the one in the hacienda had to do with what one couldn’t see.  There was only one wheel controlling the locking mechanism, on the inside.  Anyone happening upon it from the outside would be greeted by an almost featureless steel plate, slightly inset to be flush with the concrete bordering it.  The slightly smaller steel plate which made up the outer face of the locking mechanism had bolt heads studded an inch in around the outer edge.  The impression was of an access plate that, upon removal of the bolts, would allow for access.  In reality the bolt heads were welded on to frustrate unwanted visitors.  Time wasted trying to loosen a welded bolt head was valuable time for those folks in harm’s way from the intruders.

The larger inside surface of the hatch was, again, flush to the inside of the concrete opening.  The difference here was the thick length of thick steel which would drop across the hatch once it was closed.  Beside the hatch was, what appeared to be, a set of welders goggles attached face first to the concrete.  It was to these goggles Juan walked up and leaned into.  A second later he leaned back and declared, “All clear.”

Matias explained how he and Juan had caught wind of a World War II submarine periscope being scrapped.  Juan took the skeleton of it and fashioned a static version from the parts which only gave them a view of the outside from the hatch out about ten meters, enough to be pretty certain no one was waiting on the outside. The lens on the outside was camouflaged at the top of the concrete conduit so you couldn’t see it without looking for it.  The ‘periscope’ had been anchored to the iron rebar prior to the concrete being poured and now it was a permanent part of the structure

Matias had everyone step to one side as Juan turned the wheel and unlocked the hatch.  Matias held the old M-16 he’d taken from the entrance and put it to his shoulder.  He saw the look from Elke and explained, “Just in case.”

Juan swung the hatch inward and Matias flinched and squinted, fighting the urge to bring his hand up to shield his eyes again the bright sunlight flooding in.  Matias cursed 

“Aye! Muy brilliante!”  Matias finally succumbed to the light and fumbled with a pair of sunglasses in his shirt pocket.

Already armed with polarized sunglasses, Juan leveled the muzzle of his confiscated MP-5 and stepped in front of the captain, checking the gun left and right as he stepped through the hatch into the open.  He continued panning the gun around in a more thorough sweep of the hill which tunnel let them out on.  He could just see the roof and upper half of the hacienda’s second level over the tops of tall bunches of nopal cactus used as a natural security fence around the property.  Known for their edible prickly pears, and fleshy leaves with a green bean flavor when cooked, it is also used as natural corrals for livestock and a security barrier, due to the long sharp needles covering the leaves, that is not easily breached except by a long, sharp, machete.  Generally, no one messed with a mature growth of nopal cactus.

The mouth of the tunnel was forty-five meters and slightly downhill from the hacienda.  It ended inside what was to become a corral for some goats Juan was shopping, hoping to try his hand at some cheese making.  To this end he had been nurturing another shorter line of nopal about twenty meters further downhill, just before the mango grove which grew between the cactus and the main road.

Matias assisted everyone else out of the hatch before he climbed out, sunglasses now in place and M-16 raised to waist level.  He saw Juan and Hilda in firing positions; Juan kneeling and Hilda lying prone.  He took a knee as well, noting that Elke was sliding to her butt in a sitting position against the concrete.  With some help from Larkin she also brought her weapon to her shoulder causing her face to grimace in pain from her wound. 

The pain was mirrored on Larkin’s face.  He whispered to her, “I am sorry Baroness.”

Elke sighted down her barrel, resting it on her knee.  “Do not be concerned Herr Larkin.  You might like to join me, ja?” 

Larkin used the base of the hatch opening to brace him as he lowered his large frame to a kneeling position in the sand next to her.  He was puffing at the exertion.  “I really need to get out of this line of work.”

“We are, none of us, as young as we used to be.”

Larkin smiled as he brought his weapon up.  “Yes, but I am at least two of whom I was.”

Juan lowered his weapon and hung his head a bit.  Matias called to him in a low voice.  “Qué pasa, amigo mío? What is it?  Anything wrong?”  Everyone continued to scan the low hedge of nopal down the hill.  Matias looked over both his shoulders up the hill behind them as he waited for Juan’s answer..

Juan looked over and whispered back to him, “They know too much, too much.”  He pointed the muzzle of his weapon to a patch of nopal between two mango trees.  Chewed up pieces of the succulent leaves littered the sandy soil where a narrow opening was almost completed.  He continued his explanation, “This was not done by Mexicans.  A child would make less mess of the nopal.”

A voice called from beyond the nopals, in the small orchard, “Attention, bitte!  Tenemos Waffen, guns, aimed hacia usted.  Verstehen Sie?”

Larkin scrunched up his face.  “Understand?  Did anybody catch any of that?”

Elke spit to one side, probably the most un-lady like thing she does in moments of displeasure, especially when dealing with shortcomings in her own countrymen.  “He is an idiot, but yes, I caught the gist of it.”  She cupped a hand to her mouth and called back in German, “Pick a language you imbécil.  Why butcher more than one?”  She lowered her hand and said in a normal voice, “Now you will probably only butcher your own, you moron.”

There was silence for a few seconds then another voice called out in English, “Attention!  Do not move or you will die.  We have many guns aimed at you.  Understand?”

Elke yelled back, “Ja, ja.  You have said this already.  Is there more to your script, or is this it?”

“Surrender or die!”

Matias called out this time, “We will die in any event, yes?”

“That is very likely.  However, perhaps we can strike a bargain if you turn over the Baroness and her Jew bitch.”

“Jude Hundin?”  Hilda reacted to the slur aimed directly at her.  She yelled back, “This Jew bitch will rip your Nazi testicles off and then we’ll see who the bitch is.  You want me?  Come take me like a real man you coward.  Not one of you Nazis has ever been a real man!”

Gunfire erupted immediately from several different targets down the hillside.  Matias’ group tried to melt into the sand failed.  Matias over to Hilda with his face flat to the sand.  “Very diplomatic and tactful.  Would you mind if I handle international relations from here out?”

The fusillade ended after a minute, and several hundred rounds.  The miracle no one was hit, probably due to no clean shot through the nopals which were now chewed low enough to simply step over.  This probably being their primary intent.  Matias raised his head in time to see something fly through the air over the line of mango trees. 

Before the object hit, Hilda jumped up like an outfielder and yelled, “Grenade!”

She caught it while performing a perfect in-air pirouette, threw the grenade up the escape tunnel as hard as she could without her feet firmly planted, and managed to drop before the event horizon of the hatch just before the grenade detonated.

The steel door was not latched open and had swung almost to the balance point for the drop latch.  When the grenade detonated the initial force blew the door closed, thereby containing force inside the thick, hardened, concrete and the meters of sand covering greater length of it.  Matias and Juan would talk about a great amount of money well spent, at Juan’s insistence, on a later date.

The sound of the explosion was muted by the hatch and it became deathly quiet, for a few seconds.  The German contingent had spread themselves out in the Mango grove.  When the gunfire resumed it seemed to come from everywhere in front of them at the same time, but only for a few seconds.  Under this kind of automatic weapons fire a few seconds seemed like eternity, especially for target of Larkin’s size.  He felt very vulnerable, and it was pissing him off.

For Larkin, melting into the sand was no longer an option in his later years.  He waited with the knowledge that, in almost every battle not well thought out, everyone firing together multiplies the risk of having to reload at the same time.  The gunfire suddenly dribbled to nothing and Larkin got as quickly to his feet as he could, and he came up shooting, his pistol in one hand and the MP5 machine pistol in the other.  He had well calculated when he thought the firefight subside and where the most vulnerable enemy targets were located.

A low yell began from deep in his throat, and even through the roar of his weapons fire everyone heard it grow in intensity.  All eyes turned to Larkin, and saw a man possessed, no longer resembling the fat hippo from Fantasia. 

On May 10, 1963, Sgt. Fury and his Howling Commandos exploded onto the comic book scene and young boys would be digging foxholes and fighting the Nazi scourge for many issues and years to come.  Larkin was Sgt. Fury incarnate, with modern weapons taking the place of the trusty M1 Thompson sub-machine gun, the “Tommy” gun from the bygone war.  Gone also were the bandoliers of bullets for the Browning M2 heavy machine gun that would adorn a heroes chest like suspenders. 

Here stood a modern hero who long considered himself a man out of time, on so many levels, making a final stand against insurmountable odds. 

Matias saw Larkin rise to fill the front of the tunnel hatch, looking like a soldier protecting a bunker, and he knew the man had made a life decision - enough was enough.  Before the assault team could regroup and reload, Matias, Juan, and Hilda joined Larkin as his squad of Howling Commandos.  Even Elke, managing to use the rifle as a crutch to regain her feet, braced her back to the concrete tunnel and fired the weapon from her hip with teeth gritted against the pain in her side. 

As with their opponents, they also had to reload, and enemy fire picked up where theirs left off.  The Germans had learned from their mistake.  Sporadic fire came in alternating spurts from different spots around the grove of trees.  The gunfirefire seemed to increase, and yet, something was different.

Matias and Juan looked at each other and then around at the others.  No sand was being kicked up by incoming rounds, nor was concrete being chipped away from the tunnel face or ricochets buzzing away overhead.  Larkin noticed several of the men jumping to their side of the trees as though they group up the hill was of lesser threat than whoever they were shooting at toward the road.  Larkin lowered the muzzle of his rifle and leaned back against the tunnel.

“Who the hell are they shooting at?”

“It matters little, jefe,” Juan laid down in a prone firing position after he slammed his last magazine of ammo into the MP-5, “as long as they are not shooting this way.”  He saw a worried look on Matias’ face.  “Last of my ammo, Capitan.  You?”

Matias let the useless M16 drop to the sand.  “Out.”  He drew his pistol and saw Elke drop her weapon as well, her side now soaked with wet blood, he wondered if she would pass out from that or exhaustion first.

Juan pointed as several men broke from the trees in an effort to escape back around the hill to the beach.  The others were still picking away at targets down by the road.

Larkin dropped to one fat knee, this time with little effort as his body bled off excess adrenalin. In a seemingly fluid motion he tossed the now empty MP-5 to one side while ejecting the empty magazine from his pistol, inserting a new one, and charging the weapon as he brought the pistol up in both hands to aim and fire, one round each, as he panned to each runner, lowering the muzzle when the last one dropped.  He let out the breath he’d been holding and nodded his head with satisfaction.

“One shot, one kill.  That’s how we roll in the CIA, assholes.”

Spanish replaced German as a voice echoed up from the road beyond the Mangoes.  A familiar woman’s voiced yelled out, “Capitan Matias, State Security would frown on losing several good agents to friendly fire.  May we approach?”

Matias called down, “Si!  Watch yourself, however.  Several more of our unwanted guests may still occupy the hacienda.  They are like cockroaches; you would do well to stay alert.”

The voice was getting closer.  “We have some pest control on the way to assist.”

“Gracias!”  He looked at Elke and yelled down.  “Do you have medical with you?”

“Field first aid only.  Do you require more?”

Elke was being attended by Hilda who nodded, affirmative.  He called back down, “Si, we have one wounded.”  He saw a hole blown out the back of Larkin’s shirt, high on his shoulder.  Larkin turned around, looking at the blood on his hand.  Shock set in and the hero of the moment went to his knees.  “Make that two!”

Several people, dressed in black battle outfits, made best time up the hill with weapons trained on the hacienda.  They were followed closely by an attractive young woman with raven black hair in a ponytail, carrying a pistol in each hand.  She saw Matias and called up, “What more would you now like to share with me?”

Matias turned from Elke and spoke in an even voice, “They are on the beach with the Mi-26 from the gasification plant.  There is also a freighter on station, in international waters, awaiting the cargo.”

Seconds went by as Sanchez climbed the last few meters to stand in front of Matias one of her security team.  She pointed out the wounded to her man who was already pulling off a medical pack.  Hilda was now assisting Larkin in removing his shirt enough to at least bear the shoulder.

Sanchez was catching her breath when she arrived, but still managed to talk.  “The freighter will not get far.  There is a destroyer leaving port en route to intercept.  If they try to run we will accidentally sink them.  Accidents happen.”  She took another breath.  “The Mi-26 is another issue.  Do we need to be concerned about it?”

Matias looked from Juan down to Larkin, who was regaining some color.  Larkin smiled up at Matias and lightly shook his head.  “The more things change, the more they stay the same.  This has become such a fucked up mess I think the agency would simply walk away if there was no reason to be involved.  Donde no hay humo, no hay fuego. Eh, senor?”  With that last, Larkin winked, then winced as the medic applied a compress and bandage to his through and through.

Matias felt tired.  “Si, Agente Larkin.  I, too, believe this is so.”

The medic finished up and reported to Sanchez, “They will both live, but hospital is required as soon as possible.”  He nodded to Matias gave the captain a relaxed salute before retrieving his weapon leaning against the tunnel to go in search of his unit at the hacienda.

Matias looked at Juan and repeated what Larkin said, “Where there is no smoke, there is no fire.”  Juan’s brow furrowed as he considered the line and looked at his own scars.

“Depends on what is being burned, Capitan.”  With that said he walked into the surrounding brush and back toward the top of the hill.  Matias gave a concerned smile to Elke and quickly followed with Sanchez in tow.

The pain meds were kicking in and, with Matias gone, Elke’s brave face disappeared and she relaxed against the concrete.  She turned her head toward a roar of engines at the base of the drive and she noted two diesel troop carriers grind into lower gears as they turned onto the drive and muscled their way up the hill to the hacienda, the lead truck sporting a manned .50 caliber mounted behind the cab.  Twelve Marinas in full camo battle gear jogged alongside until the trucks gained momentum, at which time they fanned out into the palms and mango trees.  The lead truck no sooner hit the parking area than the .50 cal. opened up on activity down on the dunes and beach.  It became obvious that the German “Werwolf” assault team was in full retreat.

Hilda was looking up the trail Juan, Matias and Sanchez had taken only moments before.  Elke told her, “Go, Hilda.”  Hilda turned.  “Go be of some help.  There is nothing to do here.  I will be fine.”

“Are you still in much pain?”

Elke attempted a laugh and winced.  “Only when I try to laugh.”  The .50 cal. was still pumping out massive amounts of chain fed rounds.  “I sincerely hope Matias wanted to redecorate.”

Hilda nodded agreement.  “Ja, if they’re shooting the .50 at the house there won’t be much plaster left.  It is will be quite a mess.”

“Come, my dear.”  Larkin got unsteadily to his feet.  “Let’s go see if we can back up the boys, eh?”  He was still holding his pistol in a weak grip.

Hilda’s eyes were full of concern, but Elke insisted, “Go, go.  Give them hell for me as well!”  With that, Hilda preceded Larkin up the trail assisting him as needed.

Juan took more time getting to the top of the hill than was probably needed.  He picked his way carefully through the brush stopping occasionally to ensure no threat was about before continuing.  Because of this care, when he finally came to the end of the brush which marked the hacienda’s perimeter, he could hear Matias and Sanchez immediately behind him with Hilda and Larkin only several meters behind. 

As he waited for them to catch up he took a moment to survey the open area between them and the low rise that was across the yard and in line with the hacienda sidewalk onto which Juan had thrown the German to his death.  The area looked secure so Juan moved quickly to the rise, hunched over to make a smaller target.  The others followed his lead with Hilda and Larkin bringing up the rear and checking windows overlooking their route.

Juan reached the rise and continued to the sidewalk, placing his back against the building and looking down at the beach.  The threat was gone, along with the saucer. 

When Matias drew himself up next to Juan he saw they had ripped the patio out and seemed to have dragged the saucer out the back side of the dune leaving a wide gash of a ramp that now accessed the beach like an upward sloping corridor. 

He pointed out the wound to the others. “Probably in too big of a hurry due to the fighting and didn’t bother trying to gain altitude prior to leaving.”

Juan pointed to a very small dot just on the horizon that was closing on another dot in the water.  “They are almost to the ship.”

Matias nodded agreement.  “Yes.  It looks like they contacted the ship and had it come in to meet them.”

Hilda gave a frustrated sigh of disappointment as she squinted toward the dots, barely making out the large helicopter as it approached the freighter.  “Verdammt!  Wir sind zu spat.  We are too late!” 

Sanchez had a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun’s glare.  She was confused, exasperated, and angry that no information had been forthcoming.  She lowered her hand after hearing Hilda’s comment and turned to face Matias, Juan, and the rest of the party.  The anger in her voice was controlled but evident.

“Too late for what, Capitan?  I want answers, senor!  What is going on and what are you involved in?”

Matias glanced at Sanchez as he watched Juan fumble inside a fanny pack he had donned just prior to entering the dark tunnel.  The pack had gone unnoticed around his waist.  Matais held up his index finger as Juan peeled a satellite phone from the zippered pouch.

“Momento, senora.  I will explain everything in a moment.”  He returned his attention to Juan and asked, “Juan? Are we too late?”

Juan’s knitted forehead was in disagreement with his smile.  “In one respect, si.  In another, we shall see.  La suerte favorece a la mente preparada.”

Hilda asked, “What did he say?”  A new voice answered her from behind them, “Chance favors the prepared mind, my dear.  Louis Pasteur, I believe.”  Elke stepped slowly forward to lean against the building next to Matias and put a hand his shoulder for support.

Matias wrapped his arm around her waist, realizing she was weak from the effort of catching up to them.

Everyone watched Juan carefully punch in a number on the phone’s small keypad.

********************

The Mi-26 slowed as it approached the freighter from the stern.  The saucer dangled, securely, from the thirty meter tether attached to the bottom of the large helicopter.  On the ship, several crewmen stood ready to receive the cargo as it is lowered onto the aft deck.  The deck had been cleared in preparation for the delivery.

The freighter was relatively small and only a few years old.  On the hull a meter of red waterline could be seen, evidence the ship was riding high in the water due to lack of any other cargo onboard.  Although this made it more visible from shore, being empty would also increase its cruising speed, if needed. 

When the ship first arrived on station, a little more than nineteen kilometers out, the freighter sat just over the limit of Mexico’s territorial waters.  The captain had brought the ship up the coast from the Panama Canal, only moving out to international waters for this pickup in case of trouble. 

Even though nations claim the sea floor of the continental shelf off their coastline for oil drilling and such, territorial waters generally only extend out about nineteen kilometers.  The ship was to hold station over the continental shelf just in case it sank under “mysterious” circumstances, in which case international salvage law would supersede Mexico’s claim, unless they mounted a salvage operation first.  Inside the territorial limit, salvage would fall under the purview of Mexico.

Needless to say, encroaching into Mexican waters was not what the captain was very happy about, but he was being paid well and the passenger holding an automatic weapon on his bridge crew was added incentive for cooperation.

The aircrew maneuvered the helicopter into position for their final approach to the aft deck, made more difficult as the ship cane about and continued to move back out to sea. The weight of the cargo hanging beneath in no way approached the helicopter’s max load capacity of twenty metric tons, but landing the load on a moving ship was not something the aircrew was trained for.

Three freighter’s crewmen were guiding them forward with signal paddles, one man on either side and one directly in front.  The roar of the helicopter engine was deafening without hearing protection. 

The saucer was almost over the deck.  In the cockpit, wedged up under the instrument panel, was a package, about the size of a loaf of bread, wrapped in old oiled tarpaulin.  To the casual observer it resembled something left on board since the helicopter was first introduced in 1983.  From inside the package came the distinct ringtone a satellite phone playing the first few bars of the ‘Himno Nacianal Mexicano.’  Flight helmets, headphones, and the roar of the helicopter, all contributed to drowning out the National Anthem of Mexico, and the musical tone was replaced by a blinding flash as the three bricks of Semtex reacted to detonators set off by the cell phone.

On the ship, below, crewmen on either side of the approaching saucer were blown into the air and over the side of the ship.  Both would die in the water.  The one crewman standing directly in front of the helicopter, guiding in the cargo, was blown backward five meters.  The rest of the deck crew were knocked from their feet, but still far enough away to immediately regain their senses in time be blasted back one more time by a secondary explosion that all but vaporized the metal disc.

Unknown to everyone involved, including Flugkapitan Aloisia Henke, Oberfuhrer Stifle had beat Juan and Matias to the punch about the middle of the last century.  Heir Stifle also had worries that an assault team might board a similar freighter back in 1945, an allied assault team that would steal the future of the next Reich out from under him. 

While German soldiers were prepping the saucer to be loaded by crane onto that freighter’s weather deck, he had two of his most trusted SS officers pack a small compartment, an undiscovered compartment beneath the tool kit which Matias and Juan had removed from under the pilot’s seat.  The compartment was full of Nobel 808, a plastic explosive captured from a British Special Operations unit and originally intended to sabotage the Nazi experimental station where the saucer was constructed.  Stifle and his SS colleagues had fashioned the explosive into a command detonated device requiring only the receipt of a proper radio frequency to detonate; a radio frequency he would alert his loyal SS officers to send.  All he had to do was blow on a simple, brass, signal whistle.  Age had made the material extremely unstable.

This secondary explosion, along with vaporizing the cargo, also reached the helicopter with enough force to kill the spotter leaning out the door and lift the end of the Mi-26 up into the air until it was almost vertical.  Pilot and co-pilot, both in shock from the explosions, were thrown forward by the sudden lift of the rear of their aircraft and forced, by gravity, down onto their controls.  Too low to ever have a chance of recovering they could only watch in horror as the deck got rapidly closer. 

The last thing the pilot saw in this life was the helpless guide he had been watching on the deck in front of them, still in shock and lying on his injured back on deck.  The injured man looked up and screamed in unison with the pilot the nose of the helicopter crushed him prior to exploding with virtually full fuel tanks, tanks which ruptured on impact spreading the contained aviation fuel burning across the aft deck.

The sounds of the explosions were replaced by fire klaxons going off all over the ship.  The entire aft of the vessel was set ablaze by the spread of burning aviation fuel and emergency crews immediately began losing a battle against a disaster they were not equipped to win.  It wasn’t long before the ship’s captain ordered everyone to make ready to abandoned ship should the blaze not burn itself out.

********************

Matias and crew witnessed the explosions as a momentary flash followed by a secondary explosion, the sounds of which came rumbling across the ocean, seconds later, like distant thunder. 

Soon, they could see a widening column of black smoke rising into the sky above the ship, a marker not missed by the destroyer coming around the western peninsula of land at full speed.  The destroyer radioed the freighter, notifying them they were en route to assist.  The destroyer went to general quarters, manning their close in weapons for when they came along side, just in case there were suicidal idiots on board who might opt to fight and die in lieu of rescue.  With the size of the blaze the destroyer’s commander figured the crew would probably be very happy to surrender.

Juan stared out to sea at the smoke, dumbfounded with eyes wide in surprise as he mumbled, “Funciono?  It worked?”  He turned to Matias, with a big grin spread and exclaimed, “It worked!”

Matias slapped him on the back and laughed.  “It did indeed, my friend! It did indeed.  Enhorabuena, amigo mio!  Congratulations!”

Hilda stood by them shaking her head incredulously at both.  “Einfach unglaublich.  Incredible.” She asked Juan, “You rigged a remote detonator to a satellite phone?  You will have to show me how.” 

Matias reached over and relieved Juan of the satellite phone.  “Perdone, but you won’t mind if I use this until we get my cell phone replaced, si?”  Juan, now smiling again, put up his hands with a small shrug of silent compliance which made Matias smile. “Gracias, mi amigo, job well done.”

Juan broke into a wider grin.  “De nada, Capitan.  De nada!”

Hilda gave Juan a playful smile and hooked her arm through his.  “This adds yet more mystery to you, senor.  An interesting man of mystery that, perhaps, requires additional research, ja?”

Knowing he was old enough to be her father all Juan could do in front of everyone was blush.  Hilda laughed at his embarrassment pulled him toward the hacienda while questioning him about construction of the explosive device.

Matias turned around and came face to face with Sanchez, hands sternly on her hips and handcuffs dangling from her fingers.  “Senor Capitan Matias!  You have much explaining to do to State Security… and to me!”  All of a sudden Matias felt the urge to relieve his bladder.

“Excuse me.”  Larkin saved him before the rant Sanchez was launching gain momentum.  Larkin looked like a man in desperate need of vacation as he addressed Matias, “Witnessing the events of the past few minutes, can I rest assured that the ‘item’ of concern has been removed from my agenda?”

Matias nodded.  “Si, senor.  Judging from the explosion caused by the kilo of Semtex used, I think we can safely assume the item was destroyed.”

Larkin let out a short laugh.  “Semtex!  Holy crap, my friend, I don’t even want to know.”  He continued after wiping his brow, “No chance of anything being recovered from the bottom?”

Juan gestured over his shoulder with a thumb at the burning freighter, still churning its way slowly toward the open sea.  “The freighter, they were sitting over a submarine trench.  It is well known amongst the locals for strange happenings.  The trench starts a kilometer or so out, and then dives to the ocean floor as a steep canyon through the continental shelf.  Even if a piece were big enough to find, you would probably not find it.”

Larkin looked to Sanchez, “Then, if you have no business with me, madam, I will take my leave.”

Sanchez looked about to implode.  Her frustration made her loud.  “Oh, Dios mio!  You piss me off, you old spy!  Aye, pendejo…Si, I have much business with you, you, you… viejo culo estupido!” 

As she continued her frustrated rant continued its assent, Larkin handed her a business card and in a calm voice advised her, “Call this number, my dear.  A woman will answer.  Identify yourself and ask for Mr. Wilson, his name and number are on the back.  Explain to her that it concerns Mr. Larkin’s agency in Mexico and tell her you’d like to lodge a complaint.  I’m certain they will be most accommodating.”

He gave her a slight nod, and the rest of the team a curt salute, then moved off toward the drive down the hill in search of an old, blue Nissan that would take him to the airport and a long overdue retirement.  He stopped by a mango tree halfway down the hill to relieve himself.  “God, I hate my prostate.”  He smiled and then started to laugh as he thought of Matias probably needing to step away from Sanchez to accomplish the same.  He zipped up while starting to whistle the Mexican national anthem and continued down the drive.

Watching all this, as they moved to the upper patio at Matias recommendation, Sanchez shook her head more in frustration and surrender than anger.  She pointed at Larkin as he stopped by the tree.  “Asshole stops to pee.  He knows I am watching.  He treats me like iguana crap.  No respect!”

Matias smiled and tried to explain, “I’m sure no disrespect is intended senora, his bladder is not that of a younger man.”

She spun on him with fire.  “Do not test me, senor!  Capitan de Navio, I think you also show little respect and I have, momentarily lost my professionalism.”  She folded her arms at her self-admonishment.

Matias moved toward the shredded screen door as the others found seats in the much less destroyed patio area, more than willing for allow Matias to handle Sanchez alone. 

Sanchez calmly asked him, “Where are you off to now, senor?”

Matias turned, “I do so respect you, senora Sanchez, and the office you represent.  However, you must excuse me as I, too, must take a personal moment.  The excitement is too much I fear for an old man with a weak bladder and failing prostate.  You understand.”  Elke made an audible giggle.

Sanchez looked at the patio tile and reiterated, in a calmer tone, “I get no respect.  I do not understand any of this,” she looked up as Matias continued to walk into the house, “but I will before any of you leave.”  Matias kept walking.

Sanchez came over to where the others were and took a seat on a wicker settee off to the side.  She took her hair out of the pony tail as Hilda got up and moved over to sit beside her.  “Maybe I can fill you in a little, senora, ja?”

Sanchez looked at the young woman and sighed.  “Ja?  You think you can?  I have dead Russians, an American spy, my own Mexicanos involved in who knows what with you German women, and a dead German assault force littering my countryside.”  She scoffed, “Si, por favor.  Please, enlighten me.”

“Oh,” Hilda grinned, not wanting to tell her, but seeing no way around it, “I’m not German, senora.  I just speak German more fluently than the several other languages I know.”

“What are you, then?”  Wait for it…

“I’m Israeli.  Jewish to be more precise.”

Sanchez bowed her head, put the palms of her hands on her eyes and simply stated, “No shit?”

********************

Over the next several days of inquiry, debriefing, phone calls of agencies talking to agencies, and reminders of who owes whom favors, as it always is in the intelligence community, everything was made right with the world… until next time.

Hilda and Juan found a few days to enjoy the pool and relax while Juan brought Hilda up to date on his early life, military career, and retirement as still the captain’s right arm.

Elke was on the mend and did not want to be bedridden for the rest of her stay.  She and Matias also found time to relax and visit a long missed restaurant for their long delayed romantic dinner.

Sanchez was called to meetings with her superiors, ad nauseam. She was finally called from her apartment, by the head of the CISEN, to a waiting limousine and a long ride to the capital where she had an unexpected impromptu discussion with el Presidente.  The discussion continued over the course of several days and included several other agencies. 

She talked with Matias confidentially and often.  They became fast friends as the weeks turned into months.  There was rumor of a promotion.  Then, one morning, she didn’t report for duty.  Her apartment was as if no one had ever lived there.  When inquiries were begun, a phone call was received by the head of State Security and the inquiry forgotten.  The matter was simply dropped.  It was Mexico after all. 

Rumors spread that she was either silenced or disappeared.  Neither was considered good news for Sanchez.  Matias made numerous phone calls, as well.  He was not without friends in high places.  He could find out nothing.

He pulled in many favors to save his own ass, and Juan’s, from any real problems concerning the events surrounding the craft.  He was finally advised, by a high government official, to let the subject drop. Then, one evening, he found himself invited to a meeting with the head of State Security.  Upon entering the office he found the President had actually set the meeting. 

The President shook his hand with a warm greeting and invited him to sit as he asked Matias, “I understand you have been asking many questions?” 

Matias laid his cards on the table concerning Sanchez, the incident, and a seeming cover-up.  The whereabouts of Agent Sanchez had remained a mystery with any information concerning her ‘final disposition’ being so much unconfirmed rumor.

Before the meeting ended several things became apparent to Matias.  Most importantly, Sanchez was alive and in “protective” custody; another way of saying permanent house arrest. 

The second was a feeling the President gave of having pressure brought to bear on his office from multiple sources within the military, government, business, as well as several foreign governments. 

The third was a clincher for Matias, when the President mention a phone call from the State Department of the United States, and someone named Senor Sam Wilson, who mentioned he would consider it a personal favor, and in the best interest of Mexico, if el Presidente would meet with the good Capitan Matais, and ask what he has held back; what he has to offer. 

This current president of Mexico was very different than his predecessors.  He wanted Mexico to be more than a joke on the world stage.  He surrounded himself with loyal military and security.  He was going after the cartels like none before him, but Mexico would remain Mexico unless something changed her balance of power, both in country and internationally.  Matias knew this and had, in fact, held his trump card in reserve, waiting for the appropriate time to play.

Matias opened his briefcase and removed an old, yellowed and large envelope.  He opened it and gently dumped the contents on the table in front of the President.  The youngest President in the modern history of his country, he reached out and stirred through the pile of small, delicate pieces of paper with the eraser end of a pencil.  Aa a man of science himself, he recognized much of what he saw.  When he came to the largest piece he studied it for a moment before looking over his reading glasses at Matias. 

Matias began to speak, but the President held a hand up and put a finger to his lips.  He stood, shook hands with the captain while thanking him for an informative meeting, and assured him they would be meeting again very soon.  The President smiled, winked, and Matias left. 

The President sat back down at the conference table as a side door opened and his most trusted staff took seats around the table.  Across from him sat a young, very pretty Mexican woman with striking black hair pulled back in a ponytail.  He pushed the mound of paper across the narrow table to her.  She looked at the largest one on top and turned it over.  A number of very tiny equations covered a diagram of the saucer shaped craft which filled the paper.

The President spoke in a quiet tone.  “Your thoughts, Elena?”

She looked up from the drawing and the other papers.  “Matias is bored, senor.  He does not enjoy retirement.”

“But,” the President continued, “can he be trusted?”

She looked deep into the President’s eyes, interlocked her fingers and rested them on the desk as she leaned forward.  “As much as we trust you… or you us, yes, he can be trusted, and perhaps moreso.  He is, and always shall be, Matias Ortiz de Avendano, a Navy Capitan of the Republic of Mexico.  With all due respect, Mr. President, when does even that start to mean something again?”

The President tightened his lips and looked away, as his jaw tightened.

Elena Sanchez pushed the papers back across the table.