A/N1: I think it would be cool if Carina owned Chuck. Maybe this is natural, but I like her in my AU better than canon Carina. So, sue me.
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They were about ten kilometers east of the city of Delicias in north central Mexico. The area was mostly agricultural; the day was sunny and cool with only a little wind. The dry land gave up the dust from the fields to blow across the road. They could see farmers working their fields, no doubt difficult to make a living with the scant amount of rain in this part of the country. They supposed it was agricultural out of a lack of alternatives, rather than choice.
The man drove the Porsche below the speed limit and generally conservatively. Not seeking to draw more attention than the car itself would generate. It was the persona he choose to present. Wealthy, but not flashy. It was the reason he left the Ferrari in the garage.
Their destination was a large hacienda another few kilometers down the road. As they approached, they first found the wall long before the gate. It was the pale sand color of adobe, but was topped with coils of concertina wire. From the western edge of the wall to the gate must have been a couple of kilometers. Symmetry would suggest that the wall didn't end for another two kilometers eastward of the gate, and they knew that was mostly accurate. Just this frontage on the road was almost five kilometers of wall, and the property stretched back from the road for kilometers northward. A vast amount of land indeed.
The Porsche pulled into the driveway and advanced the dozen or so meters to the gate. A man came out of a gate house and asked what they wanted. The driver gave his name and waited. The man went back inside the gate house and soon the gate opened. It was a heavy gate made of thick metal opened electrically.
Driving through the entryway, the Porsche drove the hundred or so meters up to the main house. It was a huge mansion with a grand circular drive and an ostentatious facade, with small white sculptures of naked women adorning acres of green lawn. The Porsche stopped and its occupants looked at each other for a moment or two before getting out.
The driver of the Porsche was mid-thirties, fit looking, with light brown hair and a deep tan. He wore an expensive looking linen sports jacket and dark slacks. Soft leather loafers covered his feet. Over his eyes he wore aviator sunglasses. He was a very handsome man and no doubt had his pick of female companionship.
The woman looked a bit younger, very beautiful, with long black hair worn in a single long braid down her back ending at the top edge of her butt. She was similarly dressed in slacks and a light peasant blouse, but without a jacket. She too wore sunglasses, but they were the small round 'granny glasses' style. She carried a black cane in her right hand and seemed to lean on it somewhat.
A man came down the few steps from the monumental front door carrying the Star Wars looking submachine gun, the FN P90, on a sling at his hip. He looked like a typical thug or henchman, with anger and suspicion warring for supremacy on his face. He snarled at the man and said, "Who are you?" He spoke in English.
The car's driver said, in Spanish, "You know very well who I am or your man below wouldn't have opened the gate. My name is Reb Salara and I have an appointment with your boss. Tell him I'm here and otherwise take your ugly face away from me."
The man seemed to be taken aback by the American's unexpected assertiveness. It didn't deter him from his own innate assertiveness, however.
Now speaking Spanish, he said to the American, "Give me the keys to the car."
"No."
The man studied Salara for a few moments and decided not to make a fuss about that. He said, "Are you armed?"
Salara smiled and said, "Of course I'm armed. Are you stupid?"
Again, the man was startled. This man was off script. He'd handled these greetings a dozen times and people were supposed to be cowed by his weapon and his attitude.
He said, "Wait here."
Both the man and the woman perched their butts on the hood of the car. Neither one said anything to the other. They waited in silence, the man with his arms crossed over his chest. After a while, the woman looked at her watch and said, in Spanish, "Bullshit. Let's talk to someone serious. You don't have time for this shit and God knows I don't have the patience."
Growling, the man said, "No shit. I have real people to deal with."
They turned and began to get back into the car. They hadn't settled when the front door flew open and a middle-aged man hustled down the steps. He said, "No, no, no. Please don't leave. This was a misunderstanding. You are very welcome, Senor Salara. Please. Don't leave. Senor Rojas is looking forward to meeting you."
The American man stood up, out of the car, but with one foot still inside, his arm leaning on the roof of the vehicle.
"Don't shit on me. Senor Rojas is making me wait to show his dick is bigger than mine. I don't play those fucking games. Senor Rojas can come see me at my residence next time he wants to talk business. Until then, good luck to him and to you." Salara began to get back into his car.
The man on the steps, now almost twitching with nerves, and speaking Spanish very quickly, said "NO, no, please. Senor Rojas can't come to the United States. Please speak to us here. Senor Rojas is waiting for you. Please come in. Please."
Salara glanced quickly at the woman, who nodded once. The unspoken exchange was noticed by the man on the steps.
Closing the door to the Porsche, the man and woman followed the nervous man up the steps of the mansion. "Ok," said Salara. "But this bullshit better be done. Garcia told me your master was a solid guy. If I'm disappointed, word gets back to Garcia immediately. You understand?"
"Yes, Senor Salara. We understand."
As they got up the stairs to the door, the man said, "I'm sorry. If you have a weapon I must ask you to please leave it here. It will be returned to you when you leave."
The American grumbled but agreed and surrendered a large caliber Smith & Wesson automatic from a shoulder holster.
The man looked to the woman and said, "Are you armed?" His voice was neutral, but his body language indicated that he thought it unlikely.
The woman smiled at him with an award-winning smile, and said, "What you see is what you get." She turned a quick circle, allowing him to look at her from all angles.
"Very well," he said, seeming satisfied. "This way, please."
He led them through the house which was expensively decorated in very bad taste. There appeared to be no coherent style selection, merely spending money for the sake of it. Swedish modern was next to French antiques.
When they got to the living room area overlooking the pool deck the man stood to greet them. Heavy with the weight acquired by easy living, but with the underlying muscle to show his history. But, of course, all covered in expensive clothes. Lightweight linen, like both of them. Black hair slicked back. Brown eyes, hard and suspicious. His eyes were the 'give-away,' in that they were empty and somewhat stupid. He was exactly what they had expected.
He stood with his hand out to shake. The pool and sunshine behind him. His teeth gleaming to rival the sunlight off the pool.
"Mr. Salara," he said, "It is my pleasure. Please excuse the confusion at the door. My men are very protective of me." He spoke English.
"Of course," said Salara with a false smile. "Please speak to us in Spanish, as I am more comfortable in that language. In any event, I understand how these things can happen." Salara's smile was false enough that it was obvious. And everyone knew that that was exactly what was intended to be conveyed.
"It's my pleasure to finally meet you in person, Senor."
"May I introduce my associate? This is Amy Contreras. Amy, this is Senor Rojas."
Contreras smiled sweetly at Senor Rojas. He admired the woman and reached for her hand. Bringing it to his lips he said, "Ms. Contreras, it is my pleasure to welcome you to my home. While your man and I deal with business, perhaps you may enjoy yourself at the pool? One of my servants can bring you something to drink."
That statement brought a full-throated laugh from Salara. "Misunderstanding, Sr. Rojas. She is not my woman. She is my colleague. She will be a full participant in these discussions."
Rojas recovered quickly, used to dealing with insane Americans. "Of course. I meant no disrespect. Please, everyone, sit."
They sat and refreshments were served. Rojas said to Contreras, "Not to delve into your private life, but is it Mrs. Contreras or Miss Contreras."
The woman gave him another dazzling smile and said, "Miss. I haven't met the right man yet who can handle me for very long. I tend to be somewhat demanding."
"Ah," said Rojas. "Well, may I venture to say that when you do find him, he will be a lucky man."
"Thank you, Senor."
After the initial bullshit had passed, Salara said, "I am led to understand that you can provide me with a steady source of product, indefinitely."
"You are correct. We can provide that product. Indefinitely, of course, is a question best left to God."
"Good. I have two questions. How are you still independent of the Sinaloa Cartel? And why shouldn't I deal with them directly?"
"Fair questions," said Rojas. "I've been approached by them but not yet been acquired. The business is not yet ripe enough for their serious attention. As to dealing with me now, the best answer I can give you is price. For the time being, I can undercut their price. When I can't, you will seek a different source." He shrugged at the truism of the observation.
"Fair enough," said Salara.
"How much?" asked Contreras.
"Excuse me?" asked Rojas.
"I said, how much? How much of a discount do we get to deal with you?"
Rojas looked at her for a moment and said to Salara, "Am I to negotiate with both of you, then?"
Salara said, "I told you she was my colleague. She's my partner. So, answer the question. How much of a discount do we get for helping you build your financial statement for your eventual acquisition by the Sinaloas? It's fair question."
"It is. I am undercutting the Sinaloas by almost 20% at the moment," said Rojas.
"So," said the woman, "You are selling a kilo for $4,400."
"What? No. A kilo is $5,000," said Rojas.
"Did you ever pay attention in school, Sr. Rojas?" asked Contreras. "Do the math. The Sinaloa's are selling kilos for $5,500, or thereabouts. If you are offering a 20% discount, we are talking $4,400."
Rojas looked frustrated and said, "We cannot do $4,400. We cannot do less than $4,900 per kilo."
"So the 20% discount is only offerred to idiots who cannot do math. How many kilos can you promise?" she asked.
"How many can you move?" he asked.
"Answering a question with a question. To be honest, that just aggravates me. Try again," she said. Her smile was still present, but there was steel in her voice.
Rojas looked at Salara in frustration and got no comfort from the stone face of the other man. "We can move fifty thousand kilos," he said.
She looked at him expressionlessly and eventually rolled her hand to encourage him to finish the sentence. "Yes?" she said.
"What?"
"Senor Rojas, please humor me. Fifty thousand kilos per what? Per year? Per day? What are we talking about here?"
"Per month," said Rojas.
"Ok. Now we're talking. But let's walk before start running. Let's start with fifty. Fifty kilos at $4,900 per kilo is about a quarter million a month. That's too much. You have to lower the price if you want us to deal with you."
Salara said, "Quantity is promising, but you have to do better on the price. We're thinking $4,500/kilo."
"I can't cut the price that much. I have my own overhead. My own bills to pay," he said plaintively.
"I understand," said Contreras. "Let's make it easier for you. We'll take delivery of the packages in Naco, on this side of the border. That saves you the risk of moving it."
"Wait. You can move fifty kilos a month across the border at Naco?" asked Rojas.
Contreras smiled and said, "We never said that, Sr. Rojas."
"How...?"
Salara said "We never said that. I won't ask about your business and do me the courtesy of not asking about mine." His voice was harsh. "We have a secure method of taking the product north. That is all you need to know. That method is known only within our organization. What would stop any of our own competitors from utilizing that method and putting Ms. Contreras and me out of business? We will not discuss it."
"Very well," said Rojas, nodding his head with agreement.
"Let's get back to price. Without the need to take the product north yourself, you will save both expense and risk. The price should be reduced accordingly," said Contreras.
Rojas seemed to pause to think and finally said, "Very well. $4,700 per kilo, delivered to Naco."
Salara said, "Good. We have a ..."
Contreras said, a hand raised to stop the conversation, "No. $4,700 per kilo for the first ten shipments in a year. $4,500 thereafter."
Rojas studied her for a few moments while she looked back at him with calm, spinning her cane in her hand gently. Suddenly, he broke into a grin. "Deal. I like you very much, Ms. Contreras. And I'm suddenly truly delighted that you are Sr. Salara's business partner rather than paramour."
She smiled at him seductively and said, nodding her head getnly in his direction, "My profession does come with certain fringe benefits, Senor."
The three of them shook hands.
Salara said, "We will want the first shipment right away. What kind of an upfront payment will you need?"
"Half now, half on delivery," said Rojas.
Salara took his phone from his pocket and said, "No issue. My banker is standing by. Give me your bank information."
Rojas smiled and said, looking at Contreras, "Yes. And once the money is wired we can celebrate our new relationship." He walked across the room to a particularly ugly painting of a naked woman and touched the corner. The painting swung away from the wall revealing a safe beneath. Rojas spun the dial several times and the safe door popped open.
Salara and Contreras looked at each other for a moment. Contreras touched a button on her watch then stood to walk over to Rojas as he took an electronic device from the safe.
He said, "With this I have secure contact with my bank at all times."
As he was walking towards his guests, leaving the safe door ajar, all hell broke loose in front of the building. Shouting could be heard.
An armed man ran into the room yelling that the federales had breached the gate and were coming in force. Rojas dropped the device in his hand and lunged back to close the safe, but was tripped by Contreras' cane.
Meanwhile, Salara kicked Rojas' man in the solar plexus with the tip of his toe and took the weapon from him as he began to fall.
Swinging her cane like a golf club, Contreras knocked Rojas unconscious.
While they were occupied, three more men rushed into the room seeking their boss, only to find that the guests were the only ones standing. A melee ensued. Salara used the weapon in his hand as a cudgel to knock one of the new comers to the ground.
Contreras used the cane to unbalance one of the men and strike the other on the side of the head. One of the men grabbed at the cane with a strong grip. She reached behind her and took the long braid of hair from behind her back.
The wig was pulled off her head revealing her short red hair with a white splash. She twirled the wig at the end of the braid once to gain momentum, then spun it to smash into the side of the head of the man to her left. The steel chain embedded in the braid held and the lead weights sewn into the mesh of the wig did their job. The man fell to the ground with a fractured skull. The other man, still focused on the cane, realized his mistake and released the cane to step back. But it was too late, as her foot, a particularly hard foot, caught him square in the testicles.
The sound of shouting inside the house was approaching the room. Salara shouted, "SECURE IN HERE."
Heavily armed Mexican Federal Police stormed into the room and relaxed somewhat when they saw the American DEA agents safe and five bad guys broken and battered at their feet.
A somewhat older man with officer's insignia came in a moment later. He glanced around the room, taking in the scene and smiled slightly. He walked up to the open safe.
Looking inside, he said, "Agent Miller, I have to say, I am most impressed. You have the reputation of extreme effectiveness and competence. Until this afternoon, I thought the reputation might be overblown, but the operation you engineered worked perfectly. You got the safe opened with the autodestruct charges offline."
"Yes, Captain. But all we had to do was give him a reason to open it in our presence. Thank goodness that the informant had told us about that gadget in the safe. That was the key."
"You make it sound simple, my friend. But I think it was a daring act of genius on your part."
"Genius?" asked the other DEA agent, a man by the name of David Hawkins, "I thought she was the muscle." He grinned. In truth, he was more than a little bit in love with her and genuinely considered her his hero.
Carina stuck her tongue out at him while the Mexican Captain just laughed.
The federales had pacified the hacienda, and Hawkins and Carina walked out calmly without the nerves they had when they had entered the building.
"We'll miss you at the interrogations," he said.
"I know. But you have that bit covered without me. You know I can't miss this wedding. I'm a bridesmaid, for God's sake, Dave. A bridesmaid. I've never done that before." She giggled like a schoolgirl. "It's going to be so much fun."
"I pity the groomsmen. You'll run through them like a hot knife through butter," he teased, laughing.
"So true. None of those poor fellas will ever be the same," she said. She pushed down the sadness that there were to be no more groomsmen, or any other men for that matter, in her future. Still grinning at Dave, while climbing into the Porsche, she said, "Do they name earthquakes like they name hurricanes? Because Earthquake Carina is heading to Los Angeles and that poor place will never be the same."
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A/N2: Once again, I'm bringing us a chapter outside the main plot of the arc. I wanted us to touch base here. In canon we only got to see Carina working a couple of times, against Alahi and, later, Stromberg. (I'm not counting Cliffhanger, where she had, essentially, a small cameo.) Honestly, I wasn't impressed either time. When I pitted her against Alahi in New Day she was working with Team B and even then she had a mixed result for her effort. So, let's see if I put the New Day stamp on her time with the DEA. She's supposed to be pretty hot shit after all.
A/N3: I will be on a plane within a few hours of posting this. I always love to respond to reviewers, but that might be tougher today. Please let me know what you think of Carina's afternoon, but I won't be able to respond to you for a while, I fear. Next week we get to the actual plot of this arc. Unless I can't write while away, in which case I may miss a week. I know. I suck. I used to be dependable.