QUOTE:
Warning: If you are easily shocked with regard to contrary
points of view, conspiracy theories, offensive language, political
correctness, sex, violence, or anything else that may offend your
sensibilities or lack of open-mindedness, or if you're a minor
(but by no means limited to the aforementioned), please do
not read this novel. It's not for you...
Note: This is a work of fiction. The events described here are
imaginary: the settings, events and characters are fictitious,
and/or are the product of the author's imagination or used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2006 by F. Scott Sinclair.
All Rights Reserved.
General Ortega
A misty fog seemed to have enveloped the jungle
canopy of the remote village that I was supposed to
rendezvous with my CIA case officer. The popping
sound of the Huey's blades gave me the willies at
this early hour of 2.00 a.m. But that’s the time she
wanted to meet, so here we are… In the middle of
nowhere, and it was near pitch black down below.
I tapped my pilot on the shoulder and pointed
downward, and said into my headset, “This looks
like the village. Take her in.”
The pilot sounded a bit rattled, as he said, “Not from
this direction you won’t, sir. South by Southwest is the only
approach I’ll make towards landing this bug on its pad
below. If I come in any other way, we won’t see daylight.
And that I promise you…”
He turned his head at an angle, and our eyes met
briefly. I could see the sincerity written all over his face,
and knew instantly that I’d better follow his lead. He
knows something I don’t. I nodded my head in concurrence.
As we swept in from the South, the jungle canopy
whisked by like telephone poles I remember counting as
a youth from the car window on vacations. I almost thought
the pilot was going to make me slide down a rope through the
trees to ground level. But he spared me the pleasure of an
exhilarating experience of fear at its worst.
When the skids touched the dirt road, I was immediately
greeted by half a dozen gringo's and my female controller.
“Welcome to our little haven in your neck of the woods,
General!” my no name CIA officer said.
We were both partially crouched over trying not to get
decapitated by the Huey’s rotor blades, as I extended my
hand. Feeling her chilled and moist hand didn’t make me
feel too secure, as the debris from the dirt road swirled about
making it difficult to get one’s bearings. I said, “Let’s get
moving before we wake up the whole neighborhood!”
See tugged at my rolled up shirt sleeves, and says,
“This way, General.”
I eyed the camouflaged jeep in the distance, and asked,
“Did you get my message about the proposed timing of the
assassination attempt on our dear friend in high places?”
She acted as though what I’d said went in one ear and
out the other. She was ignoring me. But why?
As we reached the roofless jeep in the near pitch black
of early morning, with crickets and other bugs of night
sounding their melodic drums of panic, I leaned against
the armored door, and said. “You haven’t answered my
question, Julie.”
Her neck and jaw in unison slowly turned in my direction.
The moon’s glow reflecting off her blue eyes in the still of
the night, as she said with pursed lips, “How’d you find
out my name, General? Are their loose lips on your side
of our bargain, or what?”
“Not exactly…,” I said, knowing that I’d gone too far.
“I like surprises, General. But not those kind of surprises.
We had an agreement to remain anonymous. That was the
deal, wasn’t it?"
How could I disagree?
“You’re right of course… Sometimes an intelligence
officer likes to convey a sign that information isn’t as
secure as you’d like it. And that maybe there’s someone
on your staff who’s loyalty isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
She waved her hand in the direction of the jeep, and said,
“Your point has been made and registered. Now, get in this
so-called limo of ours, if you don't mind. Because I’ve got a
few questions I want answers to, General.”
Sometimes getting too friendly with the help isn’t very
healthy indeed, I thought. “And where may I ask are we headed?”
Julie didn’t even glance in my direction. She kept her
eyes on the road and her hands on the wheel of the jeep.
Moments later we arrived at a deserted outpost, about
5 kilometers from the main village.
As she turned off the engine, she snapped her fingers
and four mercenary soldiers appeared out of nowhere,
surrounding the jeep.
“Take his bags to the storeroom.”
“To the storeroom… Why?”
At first she was looking down at the steering wheel,
but then her eyes and head shifted slowly in my direction.
I could sense a suppressed rage beneath the veneer, as she
replied, “Because you won’t be needing them where you’re
goinin'.”
“Meaning…?” I said, fearing for my life.
She opened the driver’s side door and jumped out,
and said, “You’ll find out soon enough. I hate to ruin a party.
But at this party, you’re the only one invited. How does
that sound?”
My mouth became dry and my lips a bit parched, as I asked,
“It’s not my birthday today.”
She smiled faintly, and said, “Take him inside. I’ll be with
you in a couple of minutes. I need to prepare for the—how
would you term it—a Halloween party of sorts. But I don’t
want to give away the surprise. Take him away.”
“I thought our meeting was going to be about finalizing
the assassination attempt on my fearless leader? What’s
going on here? I demand to know...!“
Abruptly, Julie twisted around, facing me nose to nose. Her
straight nose and blond hair touched my Spanish features,
and says, “A change of plans. Got it?!”
Before I could reply, one of the mercenaries crammed
a handkerchief into my mouth. Only my muzzled grunts
and groans could be heard as they dragged me away.
Struggling didn’t help. After several blows to my kidneys
with a baton, or stick, I was knocked into unconsciousness.
