Читать книгу Hidden Agendas - Paul Boardman - Страница 8

When Phil and Michael entered the bar they received a frosty look from the owner. Before their drinks arrived Tom Barrens entered and joined them at their table. The waitress was at the table within seconds. She spoke out immediately.

“These two have already been warned. The same goes for you. If anyone at this table so much as sneezes my friend at the bar will be showing you the door. Get it!”

All three men instinctively glanced toward the bar where a three hundred pound Hawaiian monster sat. He turned his bar stool around backwards, and was now directly facing them, intimidatingly.

“What do you say?” asked Phil, directing his question at Michael and Tom.

Farris looked at the monster and grinned. “I’ll be good,” he said.

“Sure, me too,” added Tom.

Phil gave the waitress his best, innocent smile for which he received nothing but an icy stare in return. Drinks were placed on the table and the waitress left.

The three men each took a swallow of their beer. Tom was the first to speak.

“So, as I was saying yesterday, I’m with the DEA. I’m not going to show you my credentials because we are in a crowded space. If you want to confirm my identity call the number in the phone book and ask for extension 5536. I’ll be there at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. Now, let me explain my proposal.

“First of all, DEA has no warrants for you and you are not under investigation for any particular crime. We have done background checks and Mr. Harrison has come up without a blemish. Mr. Farris,” he looked directly at Michael, “has attracted suspicion in the past for smuggling activities, but there has never been any hard evidence of that. Furthermore, there has been nothing at all in the last five years, except for a tiny blip concerning the disappearance of a Ricky Ferungali.”

“That’s nice to hear,” drawled Farris.

Tom ignored him.

“A few weeks ago a DEA agent, by the name of Jeff Ritkies, was killed in an explosion at sea, about fifty miles from here. I knew him, slightly. Naturally, what I am about to say is strictly confidential. That agent was undercover in an operation directed at breaking a cocaine smuggling ring. It took two years of dangerous undercover work to get our man inside. We were close to arrests which would have seriously hurt the drug cartel. Instead, our man was set up, and then blown up, in mid ocean. The explosion was so powerful that there was barely a trace of evidence as to what had taken place. However, we were in telephone contact with our man at the time. We also witnessed the explosion on radar.

“Training a new agent, getting him in and letting him work his way up through the organization would take a couple of years. Perhaps the result would be different, perhaps not. Would you like another drink? I’ll just put it on my expense account.”

“I’m fine,” said Phil. Farris said nothing.

“Gentlemen. I think we should all have a bit of a laugh, so as not to draw attention to ourselves. Right now we may appear too serious.”

Tom Barrens sat back in his chair and let out a believable couple of grunts from a smiling face. In fact, the act was very good. Farris and Phil responded, with less enthusiasm. The bouncer turned back toward the bar and the owner, who had been watching closely, seemed to relax. Tom glanced over at her and waved for another round.

The drinks were served without comment. Tom leaned forward as soon as the waitress left.

“Look, we have good historical knowledge, not evidence, of Mr. Farris’ past dealings. What we are proposing is setting up a sting operation and nailing the bastards who blew up our agent. We need your help, Mr. Farris. You have credibility in Colombia, so we need you.”

“I’m flattered that you would like me to do the DEA’s dirty work, but I’m afraid I have no interest in the matter.”

Tom leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and sifted through what Mike Farris had just said, searching for a crack he could work on. He found none. He had been told repeatedly from a variety of agents and analysts to expect this response. His alternate approach would have to be an unpleasant one.

He opened his eyes and plastered a ridiculous grin on his face. He watched carefully as Phil and Michael responded, smiled and reached for their drinks.

“Come on, gents. You know I’m not going to be able to accept that decision.”

“I don’t see that you have too many options,” said Phil.

“Only unpleasant ones,” countered Tom. “HQ gave me a whole damn bag full of unpleasant ones. They insisted I would need them.”

“Name a few,” growled Phil.

“Hell no! I didn’t come here to threaten you.”

“The sons of bitches audit the be-Jesus out of you. Might create a few immigration problems for me, seeing as I’m Bahamian. That sort of harassment,” spat Michael.

“That’s a good start. Sometimes the SOB’s get even nastier,” said Tom.

“Such as?” questioned Phil.

“You have to understand. To fight the king pins of the drug cartel, you have to be a thoroughly determined person. The Director qualifies! I’m just an analyst. I got this assignment by mistake, but having said that, I intend to see it through.”

“Getting back to the nasties,” demanded Phil.

“Look. It’s like this! The Director sends a guy out and the guy gets blown to smithereens. Well guess what. Sir Drug Lord sends out guys and they get killed too. Not much difference. They are both alpha males. They both run huge organizations. They both get good pay, though Sir Drug Lord gets way more. But they are both committed to winning. They both need to win. It’s in their genes and they’ll stop at nothing. If someone gets killed they just move the next in line forward. The cost of doing business is just a cost. Neither the Director nor Sir Drug Lord will ever refuse to pay, despite the lethal cost. They will both use whatever tools are necessary to win. Neither one will ever earn the title of Mr. Nice Guy.”

“Explain the nasties,” repeated Phil, dryly.

“I told you, I don’t like making threats. If you guys say “no” I’m demoted back to analyst which is what I should be, anyway. You guys walk away and we begin training a new man to go out and get himself killed.”

“Hypothetically speaking, if you prefer. What are the nasties?”

“This wasn’t my idea. I tried to make the boss take it out of the bag of tricks. Some other asshole made a strong case for it and it stayed in.”

Tom looked up at Phil who was staring him down. He fought back momentarily and then gave up. “They’ll crucify Linda Wilson. Now Linda Farris. Drag out an audit for months … years even.”

Phil looked over at Farris, who appeared calm despite the fact that he was seething inside.

“Guess you got there before me,” thought Phil as he looked over at his friend’s grim face.

Farris spoke up. “Who runs this operation?”

“Me.”

“Who is our contact?”

“Me.”

“We’ll let you know in the morning.”

Tom plastered on a fake smile. “See you guys, later.” He clapped Phil on the shoulder as he rose to leave.

He stopped at the bar to pay the bill and spoke quietly with the owner. A few minutes later she stopped at Phil and Michael’s table.

“OK. You are all forgiven. You guys left a big tip yesterday and the other guy left one today. Fines paid. You can all come back, again.” She smiled a sexy smile.

“Did you tell the bouncer?” asked Farris.

“Bouncer? That guy? The Hawaiian? Naw, he’s just giving me a quote on some new plumbing.”

The waitress spun on the heel of her cowboy boot and sashayed back to the bar, hips swinging. Michael turned to Phil.

“I guess we have to tell them.”

“Watch the sparks fly. Judy will go ballistic.”

“Think we should take them out to dinner?”

“Wouldn’t work.”

“Right. No way to avoid it. OK. Drink up! Let’s get this over with.”

The girls knew something was wrong when Michael failed to pull out his bicycle bar and started to mix drinks in the galley instead. Once drinks were passed around Linda, who read the signs correctly, asked her husband, “So what’s wrong?”

“Lots,” said Farris. “Best you have a drink first.”

Everyone took a sip but Judy. She didn’t touch hers. There were a few moments of silence before Farris began to relay the day’s events.

“It’s all very simple. DEA wants Phil and me to go undercover and smuggle a load of cocaine into the States from Colombia.”

Following that statement both Farris and Phil carefully studied the teak deck refusing to make eye contact with their women. Linda stared hard at the top of Farris’ head her eyes slowly turning to ice. Judy sat in shock, her mouth drooping. Eventually she found her tongue.

“So why not just say No”, she asked. “Isn’t that what the drug ad on TV says? Just say No!”

“No is a word these guys don’t understand very well,” answered Phil.

“Meaning?” questioned Judy.

“Meaning that option would result in IRS audits for the three of us and immigration problems for Michael.”

“They can’t do that!” exclaimed Judy.

“Sorry babe. They can and they will. Add three more letters to your alphabet soup. IRS. That’s not the really bad part. You and I would survive the audits without too much hassle and although there might be a few questions about how we ended up with part ownership of this boat, I believe we could get around that. The real problem is Linda.”

“My finances are all above board. Why me? What’s the problem?”

“Nothing a quarter of a million in accounting and legal fees couldn’t handle. It’s the foundation,” answered Phil.

“They wouldn’t go after the half-way house?” asked Linda, coldly.

Linda had been mesmerized by Michael Farris when they first met. The infatuation mellowed into a deep and lasting love that had resulted in marriage a year later. Linda had learned about Michael’s career as a professional smuggler and had insisted that he retire from that business as a condition of marriage. Farris had reluctantly agreed. He had been a smuggler all his life, as had his father and grandfather, The smuggling market had formerly been relatively tame, consisting of smuggling precious stones, gold, sometimes booze and then marijuana into the United States and returning with consumer items such as TV’s, stereos, car parts and other miscellaneous items back into the Bahamas. Since the early days of development in the Caribbean, the Bahamas had been a port of call for all types of pirates, slavers and privateers, many of whom were fully supported by the Kings and Queens of Europe. Smuggling had always been considered an honored profession in the Bahamas prior to its transition into a drug trade. The nature of the business began to change with the astounding growth of the marijuana business but then morphed again as cocaine became so popular and profitable. Farris admitted that the social impact of cocaine was devastating and accepted his fiancée’s demands at least regarding drugs. As a wedding gift he provided the capital to build a half way house in Florida for recovering addicts.

“You said that Michael provided seed capital, as a wedding gift,” stated Phil.

“That’s right.”

“My guess is, before they finish, they’ll be accusing the foundation of money laundering, via a large gift, courtesy of Michael, from the Bahamas.”

“That’s crazy,” spouted Judy.

Linda looked angrier than any of the other three had ever seen her before.

“Those sick animals. I’ll advise my lawyers in the morning,” she finally said in a calmer but still vehement tone of voice.

Michael spoke up, for the first time. He was sitting beside Linda and now he reached over and held her hand as he spoke.

“Darling, Phil is right. These guys don’t need dirt to dig it up. They just create it, and then say, “Oh, look what we found!”

“So why you?” demanded Linda.

“Because I know Eduardo Fernandez, and DEA knows it.”

“But that was before we were married. That was over six years ago!” responded Linda, not wishing to admit the dilemma they were caught up in.

“I say to Hell with them!” snapped Judy.

“I agree,” stated Linda.

“I don’t think we have a choice. I think we have to co-operate,” voted Phil.

“Co-operate. It’s either that, or give up our life of idyllic pleasures in exchange for one of constant hassles,” said Michael.

“God, this is so unfair,” said Linda. “How can you even try to “co-operate” without getting yourself killed?” she asked her husband.

That evoked a strange reaction from Farris. He grinned. “I think I can avoid that.”

Linda now became really angry. “You bastard, Michael Farris. You want to do this! You crave the challenge, the adrenaline. I’ll bet you have already agreed. And you did it just to satisfy your fucking testosterone!” She rose angrily and marched off to their stateroom.

“Wow!” said Judy after Linda was out of ear shot. “That’s the first time I ever heard Linda say the “F” word”. Maybe I should go talk to her.”

“Give her a few minutes. But watch out. When Linda gets angry, you might be much safer on a different planet. It’s possible the entire galaxy is at risk.”

“How dangerous would it be? Co-operating, I mean,” asked Judy. “If we agreed.”

Phil answered. “On a scale of one to ten … probably eleven.”

“And you vote we do it?” exclaimed Judy.

Phil looked down at his hands and said nothing.

“Men are such turkeys. Always marching off to war. Grinning to themselves as they leave. I’ll go talk to Linda. Maybe a new “all girl planet” is a good idea. With that Judy took both her glass and Linda’s and headed to the stateroom.

Phil looked over at Farris and raised his glass. “I think that went over well, don’t you?” he muttered sardonically.

“Perfectly. Just fucking perfectly.”

“Is it safe to leave?” asked Phil.

“It’s not safe to stay. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Linda pegged you, didn’t she?”

Farris didn’t answer immediately. He looked hard into his friend’s eyes. “You a bit bored with the happy life, Phil?”

“Yah, a bit”.

“Me too.”

Phil drove the rental car along the parkway, windshield wipers intermittently clearing off the drizzle. As DEA headquarters came into view Michael Farris dialed the number on his cell phone that he had copied from the phone book. The receptionist answered.

“Tom Barrens, 5536,” said Farris.

“I’ll put you through,” responded the receptionist sounding young and pleasant.

“Barrens, here.”

“This is Michael Farris.”

“Hello, Michael. Thanks for calling.”

“Where’s your office?”

“Sixth floor. A couple of offices from the South West corner. Don’t ever come here, though. I can meet you somewhere close by.”

“Just flash your lights on and off a couple of times.”

“Uugh, OK.”

Tom Barrens stood up and walked to the wall switch and turned his lights off and then on.

“OK. I can see them. Meet us at Cloe’s Crab Shack, at noon. That all right with you?”

“That’s fine.” Tom Barrens looked at his phone. It had suddenly gone dead. His first reaction was to be a bit put off, but then smiled to himself. “Smart!” he thought.

An hour later, the three men were seated in a booth at the restaurant.

“We’ve thought it over and we’ve decided to help,” said Phil.

“Excellent. Here’s what you’ll do. We’ll put you on a plane for Colombia ASAP, say two to three weeks. I’ve got papers requiring your signatures that will spell out remuneration, insurance, expenses, etc. There will be two weeks of intensive training and briefing before you leave. Then I’ll get the tickets. Here are the briefing files. Your part of this mission is to contact Eduardo Fernandez in order to set up a buy and then make a delivery to the USA. We supply the buyer. The object is to nab a first level importer.”

Farris replied, “I understand the mission, but we call the shots on the planning. We’ll also need two more sets of papers for signature. Linda Farris and Judy Simpson. We’ll all train and then we’ll all sail to Colombia on the Iron Pyrate. We’ll make contact in our own time. No rushing.”

“The women. Never considered that! That may present a problem.” Tom’s face showed no concern. That was one of his assets. The fact that there might be a problem had no emotional impact on him. It was simply an anomaly for which he had to find a solution. It would require careful consideration but he would formulate an answer.

“Then it’s one you deal with. We had enough problem dealing with that difficulty last night and then again at breakfast,” said Phil.

“Like that, hunh. OK, I’ll handle it. Anything else?”

“Yah, don’t ever threaten the women again. Linda is on a first name basis with her senator and has enough clout to have you demoted to janitor.”

Tom chuckled. “I’ve only had my promotion for a week. Haven’t even seen my increased pay yet. Demotion wouldn’t hurt that much. You know I’m kidding don’t you?”

Phil looked at Farris and grinned. A few seconds later they turned back to Tom.

“What’s the training like?” asked Phil.

“It’s rugged. Not boot camp, but pretty tough. Are the women up to that?”

“They’ll make it. It’s me I’m worried about,” chuckled Farris.

“All right men. I’ll contact you with the details. Lunch is courtesy of the US of A. Anyone want dessert?”

Farris shook his head. With that Tom Barrens rose and left the table.

Phil watched as Tom left the restaurant. His eyes drifted to a waitress carrying a dessert plate to a customer. “I wish I’d ordered a piece of that pecan pie,” he said, pretending incalculable dejection.

When the men returned to the boat Judy seemed normal but Linda was still fuming.

“How did it go?” asked Judy.

“Everything is fine. Next stop …. Boot camp!”

“Wow. Boot Camp. Hey, Lyn! Want to get our heads shaved like Demi Moore?”

That evoked a reluctant smile.

“Sure, why not? Michael did watch that movie at least six times.” Linda was trying to act normal but it was easy to see the anger still seething not far below the surface. “What then?” she asked.

“Then we take a leisurely sail, island hopping through the Caribbean, until we reach Colombia.”

“That part I like!” said Judy.

“Just make sure those Federal bastards pick up our expenses!” said Linda.

“You wouldn’t be the vindictive type, would you?” asked Farris.

“You know me well enough to answer that yourself.”

Farris put a hand sideways across his mouth and stage-whispered “Vindictive” to Phil and Judy. That brought another half smile from Linda. She put her head, sadly, against Michael’s shoulder.

“You love me, anyway, Mr. Farris.” It was a statement.

“I’d be scared to death not to!” he replied.

The first part of boot camp took place in Arizona. The hot, dry climate was conducive to healthy living and healthy living was what boot camp was all about. Mornings started at six AM, with a five kilometer jog. Over the course of one week, the run was gradually doubled. That was followed by breakfast, then weapons class, which Phil and Michael thoroughly enjoyed. They played with every imaginable type of gun. Handguns, rifles, short stock shotguns, fully automatic Mac 10’s and M16’s. There was a short course on bazooka training but a more in-depth course on surface to air missiles. Grenades were touched on, and a couple were lobbed over a concrete wall for practice.

Then there was the urban guerilla site, with good guys and bad guys popping up as targets or victims. Phil was by far the best at this endeavor, a fact about which he teased Farris, considerably. What was surprising, were the high scores Judy and Linda racked up. They fired many fewer shots but seldom shot a “good guy”. To the girls it was training. To the men it was just a game that paid dividends in anecdotes and bragging rights.

Next was an hour of martial arts that taught kill tactics, without the breathing and meditation that accompanied martial arts in clubs. Then lunch, if you could call a piece of lettuce, lunch. That was followed by a half hour rest. The next two hours were spent learning Spanish, with a Colombian instructor, then an hour of aerobics and stretching and once again back to the classroom for lessons in guerilla warfare tactics. These tactics included instruction on homemade bombs and weaponry with both written and oral examinations based on escape from dangerous situations.

Dinner was Spartan but nutritional. Then came the reward for the day’s work. The center was wonderfully equipped with steaming hot tubs, sauna and steam rooms and top notch masseurs to remove the knots in overworked muscles. By nine o’clock, bed was the only thing on anyone’s mind.

Linda and Judy seemed to enjoy the entire exercise much more than their male counterparts, Linda boasting that she had each lost weight and should do this more often. Phil and Farris grumbled that at first opportunity they were each going to demolish a twenty-four ounce steak with French fries. By the third day of torture and famine, it had grown to a thirty ounce variety.

“Do they realize none of us have had so much as a beer in nearly a week?” demanded Phil.

“I promise you the finest martini you’ve ever had, if we survive this ordeal,” answered Farris. “Followed by as many chasers as you can swallow! I can’t tell if my gut aches because of those damn half sit-ups, or if my liver is dying from boredom and lack of challenge.”

The beginning of the second week seemed tame by comparison. School had been moved to Corpus Christie and concentrated on water sports. For Phil, Michael and Judy this meant triathlons, long and grueling swims that included running and biking. Linda, however, was exempted from the long distance swims and was given a swim instructor who, judging from his blond hair and deep tan, must have come straight off the beach in California. By the end of the week, everyone gathered around the pool as Linda proudly demonstrated that she could now swim one width of the shallow end (as long as her instructor walked along beside her). As she reached the far side of the pool she stood up gasping but ecstatic and gave her teacher a huge kiss that Michael thought lasted far too long. Nevertheless, Linda achieved a lifetime milestone and was awarded with a water polo tee-shirt which she now proudly wore.

School was out. The foursome was flown back to Miami. When they reached the boat they were all so exhausted that they simply said good night and went off to their staterooms, foregoing the promised martini.

“What the Hell is that noise?” demanded Phil. “It’s seven AM.”

“It sounds like Michael in the galley. Go help him, Hun.”

Grumbling Phil pulled on a pair of shorts and stumbled out of the stateroom.

“I know you still feel groggy but try one of these,” said Farris over the sound of a blender. He poured half a glass of fruit juice into a tumbler and handed it to Phil, who immediately attempted to take a sip. “Not so fast, friend. First I’ll add a bit of this.” Farris topped off the glass with a healthy splash of Dom Perignon.

“Not bad,” said Phil. “First booze in two weeks!”

“Exactly how I felt. Here, take one to Judy in bed. I’ll take one to Linda. Then we’ll regroup for ham and eggs, fresh fruit and crescent rolls.”

Breakfast together on the boat was a happy affair with everyone complaining about the aches and pains they were feeling as a result of their long training period. The men had each lost about ten pounds and Linda was down eight. The already slim Judy, however, reported that she was still the same as she wolfed down another fattening crescent roll.

“Are you even capable of gaining a pound or two?” demanded Phil.

“What! You want me to turn into El Blimpo?” was Judy’s curt reply.

“It might be nice if you had a few of the problems experienced by us normal human beings.”

“Nope. I’m at one-fifteen and I plan to stay there. Pass the jam, Love.”

“OK”, said Farris. “Perhaps we had better discuss the next phase.”

“Tom called me last night,” said Judy.

“He called you?” asked Phil.

“It seems that some people turn off their phones and some people don’t. He wanted to meet you guys at the Crab Shack for lunch. I told him you would be there.”

“I have a pretty fair idea about what he wants. My guess is he wants us heading to Colombia, ASAP,” said Farris.

“In that case, Judy and I will go grocery shopping,” said Linda.

“After lunch, Mike and I will top up the fuel and water tanks. Anything else we need, Mike?”

“Might just as well grab a couple of extra fuel filters, etc.”

“I’ll check out the engine but as far as I know, we’re good to go,” said Phil.

“What about special clothing? Anyone need anything? Colombia is full of jungles, isn’t it? And what about medical supplies?” asked Linda.

“We might want malaria pills.”

“I want to stop by a couple of stores,” said Judy.

“We know what that means,” responded Phil. “Linda can go with you. You always get talking high tech wizardry with some kid with pimples and I end up gawking stupidly at some gadget which does something I can’t even explain. Then some brainy clerk offers to dazzle me with it.”

“That’s OK. You guys work on Paleolithic tasks. Linda and I will keep you current with the New Millennium.”

“Mike and I have already worked out a rough plan. We’ll sail only as far as Guadeloupe. From there Mike and I can fly to Colombia,” said Phil.

“Why Guadeloupe?” asked Linda.

“So we can visit the famous Jacques Cousteau Reserve. Great diving and it will add to our cover. Besides, Guadeloupe is French. It may be just a bit less friendly to US authorities than some other islands. Less chance of interference.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be co-operating with the DEA?” asked Linda.

Michael did not respond. Furthermore there was little use in pursuing the matter. Michael had already worked out a plan. When that happened, the best course of action was just to go along.