Chapter Four—And so, it begins…

Taking this sinful world as it is,

not as you or I would have it.

Ranger's POV

I glanced out the window as the plane started its descent. It was late afternoon; the island beaches were spread out for miles with hot white sand still dotted with sunbathers. Stephanie would love this… Mañoso, erase that line of thinking.

I closed my eyes as the military plane landed at Barking Sands at the Pacific Missile Range Facility on Kauai, Hawaii. I needed to clear my thoughts and focus solely on the training ahead. The summer heat and tropical humidity hit me as the doors opened and I walked onto the tarmac with the other four men that had been chosen for this team.

We were shown our rooms and given the training schedule, with instructions to meet at the base conference center at 1700 hours for the initial briefing. After unpacking, I joined the other men in the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and to get to know the guys I'd be trusting with my life.

At 4:55 p.m., the five of us filed into the conference room. There was the usual assortment of military types sitting around the large table. The one surprise was that General Braddock had come to brief us personally on the mission. Unusual unto itself, but this was no ordinary mission. We'd been handpicked for our expertise and skill sets. I'd never worked a mission with any of these men, but knew they were the best at their jobs, just like I was.

Without a wasted minute or motion, General Braddock stood ramrod straight at the front of the conference room. Fixing each of us with his eagle-eyed stare, the General began.

"Men, you have a serious challenge ahead of you. The mission you're being charged with is not the relatively simple one of taking out a person or a facility. It is a long-term undercover assignment that will require you to work side by side with those who are plotting against the U.S. and our democratic way of life."

Tell me something I didn't already know. Sounded like he was running for office—defending America and our freedom from our enemies.

"In the next four weeks, you'll be training harder than you've ever trained before. I'm talking physically, mentally and intellectually. This location was selected because it is the closest site in the U.S. to the environment you'll be working in for your undercover assignment. All physical training will be structured to push you to your limits. The elevation, humidity and heat will take their toll on you. But that is the least of your worries."

I was actually looking forward to the physical challenges. Running a business stateside had left me soft and out of shape.

"You're all going back to college, men. You'll be studying geology, nuclear physics, engineering, business, language and international politics. When we get done with you, you'll have the equivalent of two PhDs: one in nuclear engineering and one in international business management."

Great! I thought I was done with college. Maybe I could add a 'Doctor' to my name. My mother would love to be able to introduce her son as Dr. Mañoso. The mention of nuclear physics caught my attention. Sounded like we'd be dealing with the threat of nuclear weapons.

"As to the political ramifications and your specific assignments, there are files in front of you that you must internalize within the next week."

Each of us glanced down at the 'For Eyes Only' files in front of us. We'd soon know exactly what the mission entailed and what the stakes were.

"Listen carefully. Here's the bottom line scenario, men."

Hmmm. Looked like he was going to tell us directly instead of letting us read the files. That was unusual. This mission must have serious political implications and the military was getting pressure from above to resolve whatever situation had come up. A situation requiring stealth, subterfuge and probably violence.

"Sources tell us Venezuela has secretly agreed to provide Iran with weapons-grade uranium. Russia is the middle man in this, providing the technology and equipment to build nuclear reactors. From what we understand, the first shipments of uranium should be ready within two, maybe three months. I don't have to tell you what this would mean if it were true."

Yeah, Iran is run by an aggressive little Napoleon who fancies himself on a mission from Allah. He wouldn't hesitate to use nuclear weapons on any of his neighbors, starting World War III with the push of a red button.

"Your primary assignment: find incontrovertible proof of the agreements and actual collaboration between these unfriendly governments in their pursuit of building nuclear weapons AND get that proof out of the country back to us."

So, that's why we were going through matriculation at our age and taking advanced courses in nuclear engineering and international business. This could take months infiltrating a tightly run clandestine international triumvirate. I'd rather this was a simple assassination.

"Your secondary assignment: render useless the processed uranium or at least find a way to slow down these operations. We need time to get the U.N. to agree to implement harsh sanctions."

That was more like it. I could get into blowing something up.

The General finally shifted his rigid stance a millimeter. He made the control I had over my body look like I was a flailing marionette. He continued in a monotone with the mission specifics.

"Here's what we do know:

Geologists recently discovered the Roraima Basin in South America has the largest uranium deposits in the world. It is also one of the world's most inaccessible and inhospitable areas. The Basin covers three countries' boundaries: Venezuela, Brazil and Guyana, but it is most accessible from Venezuela. There are few towns and fewer roads. The main transportation mechanism to get any contraband out of the region is the Orinoco River and its tributaries. Most of the basin is shrouded in heavy fog and clouds so satellite imagery is useless. Also, the Venezuelan government recently declared the Roraima Basin a 'no fly' zone, so there are no opportunities for air reconnaissance."

So, we were going in to a hot humid hellhole without map Intel. This should prove interesting.

"We have unconfirmed reports that several 'gold mines' in Venezuela are actually uranium mines owned by Iranian holding companies. We also know the Venezuelan government has established a so-called state-sponsored job creation program that is really designed to mask the processing and transportation of uranium ore out of the country.

There are rumors of a new 'tractor factory' and a 'cement plant' that haven't produced one tractor or one bag of cement and are instead being used to process raw uranium into 'yellowcakes,' the concentrated powdered form of uranium oxide. These so-called factories are located along the Orinoco River west of Cuidad Bolivar." [Bolivar City]

Hmmm. So, if we blew up these 'factories' we'd be spewing raw or partially processed uranium into the watershed, affecting the environment for several hundred miles downstream. I made a mental note to research implosion techniques, instead of explosion weapons.

"Cuidad Bolivar is one of Venezuela's larger cities, with over 325,000 people, and is located where the tropical Orinoco narrows from a 13 mile-wide river to less than one mile. Large freighters can sail up to the city from the Atlantic Ocean to privately owned ports and transport cargo, legal or otherwise, back out to the Atlantic. Also, there is now a major bridge at this location connecting two highways over the river facilitating cargo transportation by truck."

At least we'd be living in luxury in a big city while we infiltrated their systems. I hadn't fancied a several month-long stint trying to survive in the Amazon jungle. There, your enemies were not only the hostile government troops, but deadly reptiles, insects and disease.

"That's where you come in. We have no proof of these uranium processing plants. The folders in front of you detail your individual undercover assignments. Some of you will be posing as nuclear specialists while others will be international business advisors helping the locals deal with the Iranian holding companies. We expect it will take you a few months to infiltrate your respective companies and gain access to the sites in question. Therefore, you will need a firm background in your new professions to be believable for that long."

I always fancied myself as an international business tycoon. Now, I'd have the chops to pull it off.

"The training over the next four weeks will cover the basics of uranium detection, mining and processing, enrichment processes and various facets of nuclear engineering. You will also be trained to use miniaturized radiation detection equipment to protect yourself from overexposure."

Dios! Instead of Batman, I could become a radioactive Spiderman. I wasn't ready to give up the possibility of being able to have any more children, though I didn't know why. It's not like I ever let anyone get close enough to contemplate raising a family with me.

"All of you speak English and Spanish fluently, but you will receive language sessions, mainly in Farsi/Persian and the local dialects spoken by the indigenous people. You aren't expected to be fluent in them, but may be able to understand key words if someone is speaking them."

Another couple of languages under my belt. I already had considerable experience with Arabic for previous missions in Afghanistan and Iraq so the Farsi should come easy to me. I smiled inwardly thinking my brain was already confused trying to keep my thoughts straight in multiple languages. My personal communication skills sucked—big time. Now they could suck in two more languages.

"I don't have to tell you this assignment has drastic international implications. Neither Venezuela nor Iran is friendly to the U.S. and if they discover U.S. spies amongst them, the consequences would be dire. You'll be on your own from the moment you arrive in Venezuela."

Nothing new there. If any of us got caught, the U.S. would disavow knowledge of us and of the mission. In other words, don't get caught.

"The only safe extraction point we have at the moment is the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago. The island of Trinidad is seven miles north of Venezuela. That's where you'll need to go to get your Intel out. The information and photographic proof you obtain is critical if we're to get the support and backing of the United Nations for sanctions against these rogue governments. You must find a way to get it out at any cost. Of course, any destruction of the processed ore or damage done to these facilities after you obtain the proof would be a bonus… one that would be generously reflected in your paychecks."

Seven miles of open ocean. After the next four weeks of strenuous training, I should be able to swim that distance, if necessary. And I might have to. Nice to know there could be a substantial bonus above and beyond the hazard pay this mission qualified for.

"Also, the drug cartels are on the move right now in Venezuela since Colombia has cracked down on all drug trafficking through their country. The same barges and ships we think will be used to transport contraband uranium are also being used to transport drugs and weapons. So be on the lookout."

As if we needed another obstacle to dodge. Drug cartels were suspicious of everyone. Just being on a ship loaded with their drugs would make us a target for the 'shoot first, ask questions later' drug runners.

The General was winding down. Good. I was tired. It had been a long day of sitting in airports, planes and hard metal chairs.

"Men, be prepared to begin your training at 0500 tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

"Hooah!" the five of us said in unison. Picking up our respective folders we all trooped back to the barracks and bed. For the next four weeks, sleep would be in short supply.

As I turned off the light, a feeling of dread came over me. This was the time of day I was vulnerable to unwanted thoughts. During the day I could stay focused on the task at hand, but just before I fell asleep, thoughts of her came creeping into my mind.

And unfortunately, the guy in the room next to me was playing the guitar and singing some really sad sappy song. I wanted to pound on the wall and tell him to shut up, but the song matched my mood so I let it wash over me as I drifted off to sleep. I could only hope the harsh training regimen that started tomorrow would thoroughly exhaust me every day so I could sleep without dreaming.

Nobody ever warns you,

Or tells you what to do

She walks away,

You're left to stay

Alone, forever blue.

The stars have all stopped shining,

The sun just won't break through.

Each day's the same,

More clouds more rain

You're left forever blue.

Forever blue because you love her,

But she doesn't love you.

You did your best,

Life did the rest

You're left forever blue.

No reason left for living,

Still there's a lot to do.

New tears to cry,

Old songs to sing

And feel forever blue.

And be forever...blue

AN: Song is 'Forever Blue' by Chris Isaak.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

¡Dios, he ido suaves y débil! [God, I've gone soft and weak!]

That first day of training nearly killed me. We were hauled up the mountain to Hawaii's 'Grand Canyon,' Waimea Canyon. Entering through a little known military installation, our instructor spent the next six hours running us up one knife-edged ridge after another and rappelling down narrow V-shaped canyons in between the ridges. The hundreds of shades of green overwhelmed the visual senses. Our instructor demanded a fast pace and the more than challenging terrain combined with the heat and humidity pushed us all to our physical limits.

The rest of the day was spent on base getting a crash course in nuclear physics or one of the other subjects. Our evening relaxation was listening to language tapes.

The days passed and the training only got harder. Our instructors pushed us to the maximum every day, both physically and academically. I expected nothing less. I was the oldest on the team, and was still able to not only keep up with the rest of the men, but also surpass them both in the field exercises and in the classroom. Playing to our strengths, my primary assignment was international business management, though I still had to pass the rest of the courses, including nuclear engineering.

With the vigorous pace that was set, I had no time to think of anything, or anyone, else. I considered it four weeks of bliss. My dreams, however, were not so blissful.

One recurring dream always woke me up in a sweat. The details changed each time, but the theme was the same. The dream starts out with me and a curly-haired girl, walking hand in hand or doing something else together, and then as I lean in to kiss her she pulls back with her arms out, warding me off. I try again and she steps out of my reach—and into the arms of another man. All faces are blurred. There are several variations of the dream, but the one that disturbed me the most was when I stepped back after the girl leans into the other man's arms and an IED explodes under my feet.

I wished I could just sleep without dreaming.