PROBLEMATIC

Chapter 17

oOoOo

Stephanie's POV

Looking directly at Tank, I sat in his guest chair and declared, "He's stateside," not actually asking for confirmation.

I knew it in my bones. Lifting my chin up slightly, in a challenge, I watched Tank's expression. It was neutral, no denial, with no evidence or preparation to counter, nor asking me to qualify my statement. Nor was he using his laptop or other desk paraphernalia to distract his attention, or mine. His desk was clutter free, the paperwork neatly filed in their respective folders in the out tray.

The corners of his eyes creased, for just an infinitesimal moment, as he observed me in a studious manner.

I went in for the kill. "But, I don't think this was the first time."

He raised an eyebrow. "You know this, because…?" Gotcha. No denial from the big guy once again. Ergo, I know that confirms my suspicions.

"I figure he must have been stateside earlier, around the same time as I was doing my Rangeman accreditations. I felt it, but I had to focus on the challenges. I was determined to meet all the criteria." Tank nodded and smiled as I added, "He didn't come here to Rangeman. I would have felt the tingles, for sure."

He nodded, cognisant of the unique connection Ranger and I have.

"You met all the criteria and made your Rangeman brothers very proud, Little Girl."

"You could say, that with the knowledge and comfort of knowing that Ranger was stateside, at that time, gave me added confidence since the sense of edginess I felt prior to that had lifted."

"Edginess?"

"Yes. I felt a distinct uneasiness for a while there, which I attributed to something that went awry on his mission." I shrugged but decided to elaborate, since Tank gave me the almost blank face. "You know, like something unexpected happened, like bad intel perhaps, as in not on the correct course? I don't know. Something just felt off. But I sensed he wasn't in any direct danger…because he's so good at what he does."

Tank stared at me, as if he was seeing beyond my thoughts. I could tell he was astounded. Right again. I just shrugged and grinned at his reaction. He scrubbed his large hands over his face and that smooth bald head, pausing, maybe considering how much to reveal.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he looked me in the eye, "Rodriguez and Silvio followed up on your spidey senses, as Ranger immediately commanded with his departure."

"Yes. That's good. Phew. I felt bad vibes. Strong bad vibes."

An involuntary shudder escaped my body.

"Because of your concerns, they dug deeper, and found some…irregularities, which led to more anomalies. What I can tell you is that a number of changes were made without informing Ranger and his team. Your spidey senses were on point. Ranger and his team had to make a quick getaway before regrouping to resume the mission, with an unexpected windfall."

Oh? Hm, I wonder what that meant, but I knew he couldn't tell me the specifics of the mission. Then he might have to kill me.

Tank chuckled. Oops. Out loud? He nodded.

He stood up, walking around his desk to stand in front of me, forcing me to look up. He sat on the edge of his desk, so we were eye to eye, and gently put one large hand on my shoulder.

"We never doubt your spidey sense, Steph. It is something unique. Your reservations about the validity of the intel confirmed the necessity for deeper investigation. When Silvio and Rodriguez probed deeper, a veritable minefield came to the fore. Red flags all over the place."

I looked alarmed.

"I'm only telling you this because your instincts were spot on, and, without your extra concerns, by voicing them, we might have lost them. You actually saved their lives before they were able to land at their destination." He paused. There's something he's not telling me. Before they were able to land…? I gasped, my hand instantly covering my mouth. Oh crap.

"Just know that he is back, stateside, dealing with some other issues which need to be resolved. Just keep the faith."

With a smile he ruffled my hair. "Wish we could bottle that uncanny spidey sense of yours. The military needs people like you. For a civilian, you are perceptive and tenacious, and as a researcher you are brilliant. Rodriguez said you were like a dog with a bone, much like a pitbull, with the tasks he was able assign for you to explore and investigate." He grinned.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

When his phone rang, I gave him a finger wave, taking that as my cue to leave. I closed his office door, and went to the break room for some coffee.

Ranger POV

"Don't get shot."

"Don't go crazy."

Our special parting words, ritual affirmations in a way, like a promise to one another, which always made me smile. But this time she hesitated and added, "Watch your back."

I paused to look her in the eye since this was not part of our usual routine.

"What makes you say that?" I asked quietly.

She shrugged like she had something crawling on her back.

"Hm. I don't know. Just…something is sort of weird, off, more that it is not as it seems, or should be."

"Something? Or someone?"

"I'm not sure. Something. Maybe check your intel? Be aware of your surroundings, as you always say to me," she half-smiled. I could tell that she was concerned by bringing this up at the last minute. I wonder for how long she had sensed this.

As if she read my mind, "It just came to me, like there's been a late change, you know? Or, maybe, some kind of interference. Or both."

Interesting. I had a hinkey feeling too. I kissed her forehead tenderly. But then I came in for a passionate kiss, a reminder to her, and myself, reaffirming our promise to each other.

"No time. I'll get Rodriguez to follow that up STAT. You can give your input, but only he has the higher clearance for the military specifics. Tell him exactly what you just told me. He understands. He won't discount your instincts, and Silvio knows too. Together they can backtrack the intel." I smile at her reassuringly.

"Come back home to me, Carlos."

Holding her face tenderly, with both hands, our parting kiss was especially passionate. Dios, I love this woman.

"See you in the sunshine, Batman. Go get 'em."

I love it when she calls me Carlos. Batman I can handle. Carlos. That really tugs at my heart. Sometimes she teases me, as if she is tasting each sound in different ways on her tongue, while trilling the R, and lingering on the S.

She is my home. I have often mentioned "someday" and that the Batcave is forever. They were both a bit of a tease. But, in all honesty, the Batcave is not a home per se. Where ever she is, she is my home. Since I had given her the promise ring I have felt her love, strength and faith in me on a whole new level. It was a mutual sensation. But, in saying that, I do have a home, which I bought especially with Stephanie in mind. One of the main criteria was being close to the beach. Sweeping ocean views from various balconies would win her heart. I smile with that thought, as I rush down the stairs, visualising her expression of surprise and delight when she sees it.

oOo

She was right. Again. It's uncanny how she gets these vibes. Her spidey sense.

Remembering that slight hesitation in Stephanie's parting comment and the doubt in her eyes, not fear, but doubt for sure, made me hyper alert. Luckily for us, that was the essential factor that made this mission a success, eventually. Perhaps she has some of those Hungarian gypsy genes from her grandmother which enable her spidey sense. Was there a seer in her gypsy heritage perhaps? I am so often amazed at her instincts. I have also recognised the relevance of these. Her survival instincts are finely tuned but she is able to channel it on me, like with this mission. I didn't want to ignore those instincts.

Before we left, I promptly briefed Rodriguez while rushing down the stairs to the parking garage. He was cognisant of Stephanie's spidey sense and asserted he would check the intel thoroughly, making it high priority. At times, changes are necessary to expedite our task. It's not the first time that intel was doubtful or incorrect, sometimes even questionable. As always, I'd already thoroughly checked it before briefing the team.

It was Go Time.

Okay. Game face on. I nod to my team with Moose, Sly and Angel. While Tank drives us to the airfield, I quickly explain the circumstances as they are, and how one of my leading researchers has expressed concerns about the validity of the intel. I reassure them that Rodriguez and Silvio will pursue the intel to find any black holes. In the rear vision mirror I see Tank nodding. He will adjust the schedules accordingly.

In the meantime, our transportation had arrived. I nodded to Tank and we knuckle bumped each other. Our silent conversation conveys so much: "I'm on it, Boss. Rodriguez and Silvio have priority. I'll keep an eye on Steph and keep her safe."

Once we were on our flight southwards I explained to my team the element of doubt and to be hyper aware. Yeah. Something was off alright. Taking risks was part of the game, but we had to be ready, as a team, clusterfuck or not. Vigilance was the paramount.

I could vouch for my team unquestionably. We had an excellent rapport and worked in unison exceptionally well. Moose, Max Elkington, was a powerhouse, built like a brick shit house, much like Tank, but leaner. He was remarkably light on his feet, using stealth as well as his size to advantage. He was our medic and has been very resourceful when a medical emergency arose. Sly, Sylvester Stoneham, was our munitions and explosives expert. Then we had Angel, Gabriel Gomes, who spoke both Spanish and Portuguese. He was an excellent tracker and our sniper. He was like a chameleon, now you see him, and then, like smoke, he's gone. He often reminded me of Hector and Ram combined. We all have Latino heritage enabling us to blend in easily. We only spoke Spanish from the moment we took off. For all of us it was second nature.

"Be alert. It's a definite Charlie Foxtrot. This mission has clusterfuck written all over it. Be prepared to make an immediate jump from the chopper at my signal."

We all knuckle bumped in unison. "HUA!"

Just before we boarded the connecting flight in the chopper, for the last leg of our journey, the Sat phone rang with Rodriguez. All eyes were on me. I nodded and disconnected. It was as I thought, a new drop zone, and different code names, which was enough to bring further suspicions to the fore. When I noticed a significant change in direction for our drop zone, I instantly pulled out my Glock and held it to the pilot's head. Because he was not one of our regular pilots, also a last minute change, my hackles were already up in warning. Yep. Hyper alert. Too many changes already in the mix was not a good omen. Too many red flags. Time to get out of Dodge. Sly held a knife to the co-pilot's throat and yanked the comms from their ears. While I instructed the pilot to an alternate drop off point, the guys readied to leap out on my signal. Adrenaline was the name of the game.

This mission had FUBAR written all over it. SNAFU, just not situation normal but definitely all fucked up. Quickly disabling the communication systems, and the radio, the pilots' confusion allowed me time to leap out and follow the others. It was a standard military helicopter jump, into the dark above the jungles of Colombia. As each one landed they flashed a short sharp code signal enabling me to home in on their position. We all landed safely, within fifty metres of each other, quickly stuffing our chutes into our backpacks. Putting as much distance as possible between the chopper, we hurtled through the dark undergrowth. Suddenly there was a bright flash in the sky behind us, followed by a not so distant explosion.

"Fuck! That was the chopper!" Moose was right. "Had we stayed on board, we would have been toast."

"Yeah, fried. Obviously, those two pilots were collateral damage. Someone has been interfering with our mission," Sly muttered.

"Too many red flags for my liking. Do you get the feeling that this seems like it was supposed to be our failed mission? Like a suicide mission? Don't like the vibes, man," Angel added, reflecting my thoughts precisely.

"Affirmative. Too much of a coincidence. As soon as I saw the pilots, I was beyond suspicious. Thoselast minute changesare always a cause for concern. The original code names were compromised, further jeopardising this operation. I hope Charlie and Pedro are okay. I would never have doubted their pilot presence. It seems like someone is cleaning house. Someone high up, like someone in a position of influence and authority. Let's keep moving and put some distance from that helicopter ambush."

To say I was surprised that Charlie and Pedro were not our pilots irked me. They have worked with us so many times and always have our backs. As far as the powers that be are concerned now, we are MIA, presumed dead, better still, KIA. Killed in action gives us a good cover. No one will be expecting us. It's not the first time something like this has happened. In our missions, we anticipate the unexpected. An ambush can come in many forms. Without a doubt, this reeks of a rat, likely an insider, a mole. Problematic. But, if we are presumed dead, said mole will not be expecting us to pursue the mission obligations. It's time to play dirty, and sneaky.

No time to waste on idle thoughts and what ifs, we still had a task to complete. Using our GPS, we promptly headed south, then rested, before heading north west towards the coast, the destination for our contact.

We spent the next week to ten days doing a thorough reconnaissance, initially hiding, and observing from various vantage points. Taking different shifts, to cover and monitor day and night time activities was necessitated, especially since our mission had been compromised. Locating an abandoned shack was easy at this end of the harbour town, more like Shantyville. We were able to store our gear, well-hidden nearby, and disguised our appearance, looking just like the locals. Being inconspicuous yet blending in was the aim.

Then gradually, we inserted ourselves, individually at first, blending in amongst the local people, remaining visible, yet not conspicuously. It helped that we were familiar with the local Costeño dialect which we heard from the fruit traders nearby, which was close to the designated meeting place, anagricultural cooperative. We remained vigilant.

These vendors were basically modified food trucks, temporary but presently fixed in this market square with the trading turnover. They were all close to the cooperative, like a market square. A lot of bartering was evident, often trading goods for goods. The owners lived behind their trucks, guarding their precious cargo. The little kitchens were busy with a variety of options available. We ate well. Fresh fruit and juices were so refreshing. We ate chicken rice, arepas and empanadas while careful not to flash money around. Villagers, and workers from the small fishing fleet, and the cooperative, ate here. The comuna had a village feel. There was evidence of a fire, an arson attack, with the charred remains of one of the food trucks, left as a warning, or a decorated memorial of standing their ground. Defiance.

Agricultural cooperatives, such as this one, gave small farmers an opportunity to be more competitive in markets, especially with commodity crops like coffee and cocoa, and tropical fruits, especially bananas. Many of the purchasers were large businesses who could manipulate and monopolise markets. The importance of these small cooperatives was essential to the many small farm holders.

Cocaine, the sinister evil lurking in the wilderness and seeping into Colombian life. To be honest, it was a political nightmare, with international trade impacting on the country's economy. It was complicated and fraught with danger, and a terrible history of violence. There was a high demand for cocoa, and coffee beans. Colombia is one of the only countries that produce 100 percent arabica coffee beans. Arabica is considered to be the superior bean. However, the demand for cocaine was inconceivable, considering the enormous quantities, in tonnes, that made it onto our shores.

The US was the largest importer of Colombia's coffee, but also for cocoa beans and cacao products. The drug cartels have used the cacao trade to disguise cocaine shipments. This was part of our mission, to take out one of the emergent drug cartels who somehow already had a foothold in the States. We had our target. We had photos and a new code name, Gonzales. We had to confirm the shipment then take out the players. Confirming the shipment was essential in tracking it to catch the players in the States. We were part of a combined agency sting.

There was a new government directive against cocaine, by President Gustavo Petro, in an initiative to stamp out the violence, fear and coercion for these small farm holders. This involved the complex network of competing drug cartels, guerrilla groups, paramilitary organisations and also government organisations. There was corruption from all sides. They were all vying for control of the lucrative cocaine trade. The directive gave incentives for the small coca farmers in protecting their livelihood. The coca leaves were harvested and bagged. The cartels have established rudimentary drug labs in the wilderness before further processing in the main towns, into a paste, in preparation for the final stages.

From early in the morning, we watched as farmers brought their sacks of produce on small trucks. One afternoon, an older woman, with a weather-beaten face, was having some difficulty unloading her truck. A couple of locals, along with Moose and Angel, quickly came to her assistance. The staff from the cooperative logged her delivery and she was given her payment after it was weighed and processed. It was an official trading transaction, and efficient. We watched as the owner of the cooperative thanked her personally. She hugged the big teenager who stood beside him. She wanted to thank them, refusing any payment, but she bought them a coffee each to show her gratitude.

Sipping her coffee, she praised the integrity of the man running the cooperative, Juan Pedro Gonzales, as they sat with her at a table, in the shade of a substantial mango tree. That was an unexpected surprise, dropping his name like that. The other two helpers nodded, agreeing that his reputation for being fair and trustworthy was widely known. Moose and Angel listened closely, nodding, as if in agreement.

"But that bastardo, Garcia," she spat in disgust, "he's causing problems, for all of us," she muttered, speaking the last part in hushed tones, with furtive glances around the barrio. The two helpers nodded their heads vehemently. "Diego Garcia is an evil man. We call him Diablo! Our farmers, as well as our traders here in the barrio, fear him and his intentions. Garcia is new in our comuna and he is trying to take control. He has already commandeered the villa where Juan Pedro used to live. Juan Pedro sleeps in a small room beside his office and we take turns to guard the building, with others inside, his staff. He is a good man, a really good man. His assistant, Javier, has no tongue, but good ears. He is a big young man. Javi can speak but with some difficulty. His parents, and the rest of his village, were massacred. One of Garcia's men cut out his tongue. Camila here, found him and healed him. She gave him work and a home on her farm. Juan Pedro has been like a father to him and has given him work, teaching him the business. He is good on the computer. But the Jaguar, he keeps us safe. Jaguars are known to hunt at night." This was a private joke as the two men chuckled.

When we regrouped we shared our observations, sharing a meal of arepas and tropical fruits.

"Diablo? The Jaguar? Lots of information to process. I got the distinct impression that the shrewd woman, Camila, wanted us to know that information," Moose contemplated.

"Yes. I thought the same. I have a feeling they know we are here to help because they were not suspicious of us. Nor did they think we were Garcia's men," Angel added.

"They haven't reacted, but there is an element of trust, and respect from these people. When we chop wood for the bakery, they smile. Each time we offer help it is greatly appreciated." Sly made good points.

"Do you think we blew our cover?" I asked.

"Hmm…dunno." The three of them wore expressions of doubt, pulling faces accordingly as they pondered that thought.

"You know, I think it has a lot to do with the man they revere, Juan Pedro Gonzales. I bet he's the Jaguar. There's something about him, but I can't put my finger on it just yet."

In the meantime, we maintained our night time surveillance. At the end of each working day, the little market square and the cooperative closed their shutters, doing what vendors usually do, going home to their families in the shanty town where they lived.

We had already sussed out the cooperative inside, which featured a lot of posters encouraging small farmers and land holders to join this concept. It was welcoming and genuinely in support of the new government directive, so that these small farmers were not overshadowed by big profiteering rackets and businesses. The exceptional quality of their produce was the key which made it more desirable.

What did we find out?

More red flags. Garcia. Initially, Diego Garcia was the supposed contact. But we now know that Diego Garcia, also known as Diablo, was feared and more likely our target, with the emergent drug cartel. That was another set up, presumably another ambush, which was to ensure we were doomed to fail. Definitely a FUBAR mission. Someone had gone to great lengths to have us captured, ambushed and killed. There was a lot of misinformation and misdirection with our intel.

Jaguar. Juan Pedro Gonzales was the second name given as our target. It seems we've been sent to get rid of him, to clear the way for more contraband shipments and control of the cooperative, probably as a cover. Juan Pedro Gonzales was the cooperative owner.

Not who we expected. Nothing was as it seemed apparently. Intel be damned. We were flying blind, using our specialised training, and finely honed instincts, was the only way to resolve this mission.

Over the next three nights, we noticed a single man, lurking near the cooperative. He was young, alone, and behaved suspiciously. Was he one of Garcia's men, perhaps? It looked like he was trying to break in. The following night he was armed with a machete. Each night he was more careless, not even hiding in the shadows. His reckless behaviour also drew the attention of some of the village guards who signalled to us they had spotted him. The dimly lit square only had one light. He was easy to see having made no effort to disguise himself or hide.

Night after night he prowled around the building. One night it was obvious that he wore a KU Class of 24 t-shirt. Not local, more like an American. Branded sportswear is available across the globe. But, a specific KU Class of 24? KU as in Kansas University? He was a college kid. That was not expected. He constantly rubbed his nose, a sure sign of a coke addict. He was looking for a fix. We could only observe. There must be cocaine already stashed within the shipment. This is the shipment we were to trace.

We remained vigilant, not getting involved. I had a bad feeling. Was he going to be a liability?

Then he disappeared. Did he get inside? Suddenly, we heard a gunshot seeing the flash of the discharge, the muzzle flash, in the dark.

Fuck!

oOoOo