Chapter 16 Trusted Enemy

Melting ice clinked together at the bottom of the glass as it was placed down onto the rich deep wood of the open bar. A drop of condensation slid down the side joining a growing ring beneath it. Sam swiped at it with his hand spreading the water across the bar and nodded a yes when asked if he would like another.

The deep color of the bartenders brown skin was in contrast by his starched white and neatly pressed jacket. Sam watched as he tipped the bottle and the golden liquid filled his glass one more time.

"Hi Sam. Is Mike up in the room? I need to talk to him. " Fi asked as she waved down the bartender while sliding in next to him and patting him on the back.

"No." He replied somberly.

Fi looked around and then at Sam. "So where is he?"

Sam took a large gulp from the glass in front of him. "He's not here."

"So where is he?" She asked, eyeing his drink with envy.

"He's gone." Sam said, lifting the glass again for another shot.

"Gone where?" She said, waiting while her wine was poured. "I have a job for him." She said with a lilt in her voice.

"I have been trying to call you all day Fi. You and Jesse. Don't you answer the phone?" He said.

Fi put the glass down that she had raised to her lips. The flirtatious almost humorous release from her stressful day slipping away. "Where is Mike, Sam.?" She said soberly as her eyes met his.

"Mikes not here, because he wasn't at the house. He was taken."

"Taken?"

"Taken to . . . well . . . I just don't know." He said with an increasing frustration in his voice while raising his glass again to his lips.

Fi gave him her best look and grabbed the glass with her finger, applying just enough pressure for him to lower it back to the growing puddle

" Sam, what do you mean, you don't know?" Fi replied, anxiety building in her own voice.

Sam explained his findings from the day. The family could tell him very little and the driver, even less. The cartel was something people talked about, but pinpointing their whereabouts was an entirely different set of rules. No one was talking. No one, and for Sam, that was more than frustrating.

Fi sat back in her chair and listened to his story unfold, then holding her wine then she began her own story. She told Sam about the job they now had or might have if they could locate Mike.

"So you are telling me that Mikey might be in the middle of the same compound that we are trying to get Jonathan Cooper out of?" Sam finished his sentence, leaned heavily in his chair and drained his glass.

Fi gulped from hers. "Yes, but now we will be working for the man Michael was suppose to bring to justice for his new job, our new life"

Both of them raised their glass. "Bartender!"

Morning broke in the Jungles of Bolivia with a raw reminder that the heat and humidity made the daytime air thick to breathe. Even the nightfall gave little relief from the heat except from the rays of the scorching sun. The hum of life outside the walls seemed to take on new intensity as the sun rose through the dense foliage.

Michael could hear movement behind him as the souls in the room were roused from their sleep by the guards who were yelling commands in Spanish. He sat up slowly and waited for the storm in his head to abate before trying to move anymore or any faster

.Next to him in a pile of old leaves curled on his side, was a man. His face was familiar and Michael shook him before the guards made their way down to his corner of the room.

Looking at his face as he sat up too, Michael recognized him.

"Coop?" He said with a dry throat.

The man looked at him and returned with his name, and there was the voice from the darkness of the night before.

"Thanks for the help last night." Michael said, eyeing one of the guard as he made his way closer, but he stopped and returning to the entrance when he knew all of them were awake. There were at least 20, maybe more sleeping on beds made of materiels from the yard. There were no blankets, mattresses or beds. Straw was a commodity, but mostly old leaves. The people he recognized from the arrival the day before, ragged, and scared.

Coop looked at him strangely, still waking and spoke while Michael worked his mind through the crowded room. "If I had known it was you Westen, I would have left you to die."

Michael's eyes stopped the cursory evaluation and focused on Coop. Not sure what he heard was true. Coop looked as ragged as the others with sunburn to his neck and face. His beard had begun to fill in, but not completely. Filth and dirt caked his clothing and hands while the skin below showed small gashes and abrasions.

"What kind of place is this Coop?" Michael asked.

"It is a crap hole and it looks like the place you left me in the last time I saw you."

Michael's mind ran through scenarios of his past. Coop had been an agent, like him, though they had mostly passed in the halls Michael did have the privilege of working with him on a few occasions, though rare and it was a privilege. Coop was good, probably better than Mike overall. He was quick on his feet and witty with his thoughts when he needed to be. It made Michael shudder as he looked around.

"When?"

"When! Coop laughed. "Four years ago when you conveniently moved to Miami. I was your back up on that little plan to buy loyalty from the scum of the earth, but when you walked, I had to clean up that mess. Those dirt bags worked on me for a week while I was their guest in a small hole that smelled of piss whenever the temperature went above 90. As I am sure you remember, THAT WAS ALL THE TIME!"

Michael could see the anger in his face. "I didn't know I had back up. You know the agency doesn't always tell you. I had no idea Coop. I was in the middle of negotiating when they burned me- for crimes I didn't commit. Left me out in the cold and I know what your captors were like. They planned to put a bullet in the base of my skull too, but not before they nearly kicked me to death. I was lucky to get out, but it was never my choice to leave or have the op go bad. I am sorry."

Coop was quiet for a moment while he contemplated the words pouring from Michael. He had been surprised by his actions four years ago and if he hadn't been caught up in the aftermath, he probably would have been skeptical of the entire scenario after knowing Michael Westen's work, but the scars remain and so do the memories of that awful week as well as the doubts.

"So, what are you doing in Bolivia? Did a drug deal go bad or just vacationing?

"Actually Coop, I am here to help you."