Family Matters Read online

  “My ass is way too skinny to hit, dad, you know that.”

  Dan laughed nervously but took it for what it was. “Then stay away from the donuts or you’ll end up with barn-sized one like mine.”

  “It’s a deal, dad,” he replied solemnly. “I love you guys. I’ll be okay – besides I got my good-luck lizard with me!” said Derek with a laugh.

  In the cockpit, Lazarus smiled softly to himself. He’d heard Derek call him his ‘good-luck lizard’. For reasons he couldn’t begin to comprehend, the term made him feel good. Another tumbler slipped into place as Lazarus banked the jet towards the setting sun; Key West on the horizon.

  ~16~

  November 12

  9:45 am – EST

  Lazarus checked Derek, his team, and Ben de la Sedro into the Ocean Key Resort. It sat at the corner of Duval Street and Angela, near Duval Square and the famous downtown district of Key West. The crew was given one night of unrestricted freedom to blow off the after-effects of the successful extraction.

  As far as Gustaf was concerned, he was in Paradise. He loved Key West, having visited at least a dozen times. He assumed the position of tour guide, promising the team the “Pub crawl of your lives!”

  Lazarus pulled Derek aside as the team entered the Hotel.

  “I’ll be in contact, but nothing until the day after tomorrow,” Lazarus told Derek.

  “What do you need from us in the interim?” asked Derek.

  “Not a thing. I want you and your team to relax and give serious thought to what lies ahead. Going after Los Zapatos, isn’t something I want anyone doing out of a feeling of obligation.”

  Derek put his left hand on Lazarus’ right shoulder. “You really don’t get it, do you,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Get what?” asked Lazarus.

  “We’re all going. No debate – no discussion. This isn’t about duty or obligation. We’re not going because we hate Los Zapatos. I’m going because you’re my friend. They’re going because I’m your friend.” He gripped Lazarus shoulder tighter, releasing as he turned away, leaving Lazarus with his thoughts.

  November 12

  10:04 AM – EST

  Lazarus touched base with Katsumi. She had located and transferred almost a billion and a half dollars into the CIA account. She assured him there would be more by the time he got home. She wasn’t finished.

  Katsumi had widened her parameters and was tracking down funds that had been laundered through ‘legitimate’ companies; trucking, construction, shipping, etc. If the money originated through Los Zapatos, all the skimmed profits were fair game. She didn’t touch the operating capital of any company. Regular people worked there, not just Zapatos. She wasn’t about to put thousands out of jobs.

  Ironically, Katsumi was the most well-known hacker in the world, yet no one had a clue who she was. She never left a trace or a calling card. Ninety per-cent of the both the hackers and the hacked, assumed the “Ghost”, as they called her, was male. She worked that to her advantage. She went in, got what she needed; wiping the backtrail as she extracted herself out. More than once, someone had gotten an electronic glimpse of her presence. They were never quick enough to follow. Typically, they never knew she’d been there, unless money had disappeared.

  Professionals will tell you it’s hacker’s egos that get them every time. It’s not good forensic science or superior technology that does them in. Most hackers crave recognition for their skills; often signing their work with a digital imprint. Katsumi had no such ego. She operated anonymously with skills she picked up at M.I.T. and her unshakeable dedication to Lazarus.

  Lazarus called General Fischer on the drive from Key West to Duck Key with the update. The general was amazed at the numbers, and the fact it had all been accomplished in less than 36 hours.

  He asked Lazarus, jokingly, “You wouldn’t be interested in loaning me your tech for a couple weeks, would you?”

  “Not a chance, sir,” laughed Lazarus. “Besides, you can’t afford him.”

  General Fischer laughed in return. “I will assume it isn’t money that would hinder my endeavor.”

  “You would be correct, General,” said Lazarus. “My tech would never go anywhere without his dog, and his dog won’t go anywhere. So, it’s like that.”

  “I got it, son,” said the General. “Is Mr. Black with you?”

  “Negative, sir. I bunked him at a nice hotel in Key West and told him to call me day after tomorrow. Is this about your operation?” Lazarus had already deduced it was.

  “It is, but I wanted Mr. Black in on the briefing.”

  “General Fischer, sir, Mr. Black isn’t running this operation. I am,” said Lazarus firmly. “Whether or not Mr. Black has a part in it remains to be seen. This is a matter between Andres Camacho and me. The U. S. Government has done enough.”

  “Understood,” General Fischer replied curtly. “Yes, it’s your operation, or vendetta as I see it. Yet, my men are involved, and this matter with Los Zapatos is also my concern.”

  “I’m listening,” said Lazarus, in a tone indicating he was somewhat open minded.

  “I’ve already spoken with the Governors of Chihuahua and Coahuila. They’re on board with my plan. We will only be providing non-combative security. My operatives will be there to keep the civilian population as safe as possible, and the corrupt officials and law enforcement personnel at bay. The United States Government will not be officially involved in this Cartel drug war. It’s a matter for the Mexican Government. I already have boots on the ground in El Paso, and about 400 more pairs headed in from England, France, Germany, South Korea, Argentina and several Central American countries.”

  “General,” said Lazarus, “I appreciate what you’re attempting to do. However, it doesn’t dovetail into my plans. It won’t be necessary for the CIA to provide any peripheral support. As I said, I appreciate and understand what you’re offering. It simply won’t work.”

  General Fischer was silent for almost a full minute. “Do you want, or even need the support of any of Derek’s team?”

  “Copy that, General,” his words clipped and deliberate, “if they are authorized.” Lazarus knew damn well they weren’t. He got the answer he expected.

  “Of course, they aren’t authorized,” snapped the General. “You know that. If you want them working with you, ask them yourself. As you just so eloquently put it; ‘The U.S. Government has done enough’. Tell that to Derek’s father and let me know how that sells.”

  Lazarus answered in an even tone, not rising to the bait. “General, Dan knows exactly what I intend to do. He’d do it himself if circumstances allowed. As for Derek’s team; try and stop them from coming. The only way that happens is if they’re behind bars.”

  The General took a long deep breath, slowly releasing it as he processed Lazarus’ words unemotionally. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but the Chameleon was right. The Government had to distance itself from this. The recovery raid had been carried out without the knowledge of anyone on the Hill. Active, or authorized involvement would mean interference from Congress. He swore to himself before answering.

  “I assume you’ve already made arrangements for materials and transportation,” said the General. “So, the decision is theirs. However, I have one condition. It is non-negotiable.”

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “If any one of them doesn’t make it back, it’s on you. They will lose their pensions and their families will receive nothing if they die off the books. My condition is simple; they die, you take care of their families, and take very good care of them, too.”

  “Done,” said Lazarus. “I will have trust funds set up by the end of the day in the event they don’t return. You will be co-executor of the trusts; that is my non-negotiable condition. Are we in agreement, General?”

  “We are,” answered General Fischer.

  “One more thing, Mr. Chameleon before I go. There is something I want to know about you, something I want you to explain
to me. Maybe then I’ll understand you a bit clearer.”

  The General asked Lazarus a one-word question; a question with more layers than a 2-inch pearl. “Why?”

  Lazarus understood what the General was asking. He wanted to know why he was an assassin, a criminal who chose to live the life he did. Lazarus gave the General an answer. A single word answer addressing the General’s inquiry on one or two layers; while opening the door to so many more.

  “Fate.” Said Lazarus. He ended the call without giving the General a chance to press the matter. Lazarus set the cruise control and settled in the Land Rover’s seat; crossing the Seven-mile bridge.

  “Everyone wants to know why,” Lazarus thought to himself. Why he was who he was. Why he did what he did. For the first time since turning sixteen he actually pondered the question.

  He was still thinking about it when he pulled off the Overseas Highway, turning onto Duck Key Drive. He arrived at his compound 10 minutes later. He was well received.

  After hugs all around and a kiss from Angelique they were treated to a traditional Lebanese meal featuring Kibbeh, the country’s national dish. The primary ingredients are bulgur wheat, yellow onions, basil and ground chuck or lamb. The addition of several spices, salt, black pepper, allspice, coriander, cumin, nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, and sage, along with virgin olive oil and sautéed pine nuts make for an incredible combination of tastes. Angelique prepared it fried, her favorite style which gave the kibbeh a crunchy exterior. It was a hit with everyone – especially Langston who managed to con Rebecca out of about half of hers. Not even the “evil-eye” from Lazarus would deter her.

  She smiled, winked and said, “What are you going to do, spank me if I give it to him? You know you can’t threaten me with a good time and get results.” Angelique nailed her with a grape, as Rebecca started laughing.

  After dinner, Lazarus took Angelique by the hand and led her out to the Ziva, his tri-hull sailboat for a night on the water. Thirty miles into the Gulf, Lazarus dropped the sails and anchor. They spent the next six hours naked, tangled up on the main deck

  ~17~

  November 12

  5:30 pm – EST

  Gustaf started out the evening by hitting a clothing store on Duval. He bought outfits for the entire team.

  “I’m not going to be seen in public with everyone looking like they just got in from a combat zone.” The fact was, they had. Regardless, he had something for everyone. To their cumulative amazement, everything was a perfect fit. Shorts, sandals, t-shirts and light-weight hoodies for everyone. Even in Key West the temperature can get chilly in the evenings. The temperature had dropped to 61 degrees by the time they hit the street. The hoodies did double duty, providing not only warmth, but cover for their sidearms.

  They headed east on Duval Street. Gustaf led them into the first place they hit that served liquor. It was a small sidewalk bar and eatery. The team was a jumbled mix of emotions; relief, excitement and a touch of anger they couldn’t shake. Derek was back, but that was only half the issue. There was more to come with Camacho and the Zapatos, though Lazarus told them it was two to three days off.

  They let down their guard as much as a finely tuned team of operatives can. Ben helped with the mood, even with the wound in his shoulder from Lazarus’ well-placed arrow.

  “It’s really hard to feel gratitude for el Hefe when he’s shot you in the chest,” said Ben with wry grin. “I know he’s good, but damn it, I still think he could have shot me in the leg.”

  “Aw, poor little Ben,” said Gustaf. “Have another shot of Patron and you’ll soon forget all about that shoulder.” He handed the glass to Ben with a slice of lime. “Don’t be such a baby,” he added. “It’s not like you lost an eye or something.” His dead-pan delivery got a rise out of Ben, and a laugh as he shot down the Tequila.

  “I’m hungry,” said Elijah. “I ain’t had a good meal in over twenty-four hours.”

  “He’s got a good point,” added Sheffield. “I could go for a bite.”

  “Only one place to go then,” said Gustaf, “Margaritaville!”

  The team shouted “Oo-Rah!” as they slammed their glasses down and followed Gustaf down Duval to Jimmy Buffet’s restaurant. Elijah caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head back to the left.

  “What is it?” asked Derek.

  “Probably nothing, boss,” said Elijah. “Thought I saw someone I spotted earlier by the hotel.”

  “It’s a tourist town my over-cautious friend,” chided Gustaf. “They all look alike after three drinks.” He winked and headed up the street, Elijah by his side. As soon as they got separation from the rest, Gustaf asked quietly, “Are you sure?”

  Elijah gave a short nod. “Yep, I’m sure.”

  “Keep your eyes open, you and I will be the only sober ones in about an hour. Except maybe, Derek. You know how he is.”

  “That I do my Kraut friend. I’ll drop back, you take point.” Just like that, they were on alert, not even knowing why.

  Dinner at Margaritaville was followed by a trip to one of Gustaf’s favorite bars. He led the team up two flights of stairs to the roof of a large building. The music was pounding out rhythms to make your teeth vibrate – and half the crowd was in various stages of undress. From topless girls to fully naked men and women, all dancing under the stars. Derek sprung for a round and they settled in to watch the controlled mayhem.

  A man stood in the shadows, a block to the west. It was the man Elijah had spotted. He’d picked up on the big black man’s wariness and fell back. He was dialing up a number on his cell phone.

  “Let me talk to El Hefe,” he said when the call was answered. A moment passed. “Just get him on the phone pendejo. It’s none of your fucking business why I want to talk to him. This is Moses.”

  Less than a minute later he spoke again. “Hefe, it’s Moses.”

  Camacho responded, “What is so fucking important you interrupt my meal, Moses?”

  Moses grinned to himself. “What’s so important? I’ll tell you what is so important, Hefe; Ben de la Sedro is here in Key West.”

  “That can’t be,” said Andres. “He’s dead.”

  “No, Hefe, he is far from dead. In fact, the traitor is with the gringo CIA agent and his team.”

  “How do you know it’s them?” snorted Andres.

  “They’re dressed like tourists, but they carry themselves like soldiers. They are alert, moving as a team, and aware of their surroundings. I believe they spotted me, so I dropped back to call. One of them is a giant of black man, or no?” he asked.

  “Si, that would be one of them,” said Andres. “I will call you back in five minutes.” He hung up and called for Castro, the Annihilator.

  “How well do you know Moses Ortega. My uncle’s head man in Florida?” asked Andres.

  “I know him well, Hefe,” said Castro. “He’s a solid soldier. He’s been in the family for over ten years. He runs our product through the keys and is good at it.”

  “Does he have good men around him?”

  “Si, loyal men, reliable men. They will do as told. Why?”

  Camacho waved his hand. “Nothing important, Jose. I just want to know if he can be trusted.”

  “Si. You can trust him.”

  “Thank you, Jose, that’s all for now.” Camacho picked up his phone and called Moses back as Jose left the room.

  “Si, Hefe,” Moses answered.

  “This is important, Moses. You cannot afford to screw this up. If you do, you won’t like life after it.”

  “Hefe, with all respect, after what?” asked Moses, a hint of anger in his voice over being threatened when he didn’t know the reason.

  “After you kill the team leader.”

  Moses took a breath. “When do you want it done?”

  “Tonight, Moses. The one they call the Chameleon thinks he can fuck with me and get away with it. I want to send him a message. I’m not my Uncle, Ramon. He doesn’t scare me.” Camacho�
�s voice was shaking with barely contained rage. “And, I want that fucking traitor de la Sedro dead, too.”

  Moses thought about asking why, though he knew the answer. He’d heard about the six dead soldiers in the Lacandon, and that Ben was one of them. Moses saw it for what it was; a chance to curry favor with the boss. If he took care of this problem, he would be rewarded greatly. He knew it. Camacho was enraged – this was personal.

  “What about the rest of them?” asked Moses.

  “I don’t give a shit about them, kill them all if you can,” said Andres. “Moses, one thing you better be sure of.”

  “I’m listening, Hefe.”

  “They die, and you don’t get caught. Those are CIA operatives. I don’t need the fucking United States Government coming after me.”

  “No problem, Hefe,” said Moses. “I will make it look like the Matamoras Cartel did it. I’ve got plenty of shirts and bandanas with their colors.”

  “Good. Make it happen.” Camacho hung up and Moses went to work gathering his team.

  November 13

  12:11 AM – EST

  It was just past midnight when the team settled in for a late-night snack at a little restaurant on the southeast corner of Duval and Amelia. They pushed three tables together and ordered up.

  Gustaf leaned over and nudged Elijah. “Any sign?”

  Elijah shook his head. “I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary in hours, Gustaf.”

  Gustaf nodded and turned to whisper in Sheffield’s ear. The Brit shifted his chair to get a better view of the street.

  “Just to be on the safe side, Elijah,” said Gustaf. “I haven’t seen anyone who remotely looked like he was tailing us. We’re paranoid by nature, my friend. Sheffield will keep his sniper’s eye open, I think we are seeing shadows, my nervous giant.”

  Derek settled in at the south end of the table with Johnson on the north. Sheffield and Wilson flanked Derek with Ben and Young Bear rounding out the west side. Gustaf and Mumphord were on the east side of the table, facing the building, Gustaf next to Elijah, with Wilson to his left. Their backs were all at an angle to the street, from one direction or another. There was too much space to be covered efficiently. Even if Elijah and Gustaf had been facing northeast, they wouldn’t have time to react.