Rain taps against the windows of the general's office. General Joseph took a deep breath of his cigarette as he pointed to the folder on his desk. "Welcome to Operation Lazarus Directive."
James skimmed through the document. "We are naming operations now?"
Joseph deadpanned him. "With our success on the last mission, we have finally gotten a bit of attention. It's time to get serious about this. We had our breakthrough with Cuba, and now with some favor from Starks, we can start to be more aggressive, get some more operations under our badge, which we can show the president, and things will follow after."
"We're off to Cuba?" James said, looking up from the document.
"Sure are, we got some information that someone down there is selling classified intelligence. Anything that has a high value on the black market is being sold by them. You need to find them and figure out how the hell they are getting all this information and selling it to the highest bidder. But here's the kicker: they're only selling to Latin American clients. No Russians. Just south of America."
James passed the document to Robert. "Mmm, interesting. They look like they are selling from all over the place and from so many different agencies." Robert scowled. "Some of this is our stuff, some of our reports on South American states and their military."
The General raised his eyebrows. "I know, and it does not look good for anyone, but from this comes a great opportunity for us. If we can get to them and find out how it is being done, we can look good, and the rest of the agencies look bad. Our men have been working hard in the south and managed to find this out before anyone else did. Lucky us."
Robert frowned. "I know we have been good recently, but are we really the only agency to have found this out. It is equally possible they have also found this out and are quiet about it, wanting to pull the same thing that we are?"
Joseph took another puff on his cigarette. "Potentially, but from what we have gathered, they sell through a single middleman, who we have been tracking for a while; it has only just been found that he has been doing this other work as well."
"Don't be such a downer, Robert. This is a good chance for us, with three big wins for us, we will be sure to impress the president."
Robert did not look so convinced.
"This mission is going to be tough; the Cubans will be protecting him because he's become very valuable to them. They'll have protection whilst in Cuber, and you'll have none, if things go bad, well, I don't need to tell you about that.
James shook his head. "No, you don't. We all know the works of G2 when they find Americans.
Joseph nodded. "You're going in through cover identities. You'll land in Panama first, then take a boat to Cuba disguised as South American dissidents. You're meeting a man named Reynaldo Suarez. Cuban exile. Ex-filtration specialist. Used to work for Batista's Ministry before the revolution. And he is eager to help us in any way he can. He'll help you find the men we are looking for and make sure you survive Cuba."
Odd, there is nothing in the report about what we are to do after. "Once we find out who's selling the information. What are we supposed to do?" I asked.
"Then you report it. That's it. We can pass the information to other agencies, and as much as it pains me to say, they have more and better resources to take care of them; there will just be the three of you, and that won't be enough to take them out or take down their entire operation. Besides, by monitoring them, we will be able to find their network, not just one seller. We need the seller and their buyers."
"We can get it done, General; we won't let you down." I smiled at the General as he turned to look at me.
"I'm loving your confident kid, but you still have a lot to learn, so make sure to listen to James and Robert. I expect good things from you all."
"Yes, Sir." We all said.
/
The descent into Panama came through clouds the colour of gunmetal, each pocket of turbulence shaking the military-grade transport plane like a dice cup. The jungle below glistened in emerald and steam from recent rain, stitched together with muddy roads and river veins that snaked toward the coast.
I sat by the porthole, staring towards the Panama Canal, the man-made wound through the continent. From this height, it looked too narrow to hold the weight of global trade; it looks so small.
We landed at Tocumen Airfield, where the humidity hit us like a slimy wall. It passed through the clothes and clung to us like a suit one size too tight.
Panama City, just beyond the runway haze, shimmered in the late afternoon sun. American-built highways cut through neighborhoods where rickety shacks leaned against neon-lit cantinas, and kids chased after stray dogs while the army cargo trucks thundered past.
James tapped my arm. "Come on, kid, we need to reach El Chorrillo by the end of the day; Reynaldo is waiting for us there."
We took the bus, and even as it drove away, I could still hear the chatter and ringing of the bus engine in my ear. We talked for far too long to reach a crumbling old church, by the looks of it, through a sign outside read Tumba Vieja. Not sure what that meant, but with the sun setting on my back, we entered.
Golden light slicing through shattered stained glass onto pews that ought to be replaced. Above the altar hung a portrait of Saint Michael slaying the devil, though I could see that someone had scratched "Castro" into the demon's face with a knife. How very slick and 'well hidden'.
We entered and sat in the creaky pews that did not take kindly to it and led to James cautiously deciding to stay standing, though it did not take long for a stranger to join us.
Tall, but slightly hunched, maybe late 40s, early 50s — hard to tell. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, but the roots were uneven, and a long scar ran from his right temple to his cheek, like someone had once tried to unmask him with a blade.
He wore a cream-colored guayabera, stained at the collar and half-untucked. His trousers were military issue, faded to ash-gray, tucked into scuffed boots.
That said, he did cut a good figure that just seemed to suit him as he strolled into the church.
"Glad to finally meet you, I've been looking forward to a day like this for a long time."
James shook his hand. "Glad we can assist. This is an important operation for us, and so we appreciate the support for it and the risks that you are willing to take."
"No, thank you, I have been wanting some support to begin some of my own work in Cuba, and you guys sound like you are the perfect ones to help me."
From the looks James and Robert were giving each other, it looks like they really don't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"
Reynaldo smiled brightly. "The rebels need good, and I can become the man who can get it for them. I know where to start looking for them and how to get them around; I just needed help on the 'procurement' of them, and maybe these rebels can gain some actual traction."
It looks like Reynaldo is quite the character and ambitious guy.
"As long as you help us with what we want, then we can help you with yours," Robert said as he nodded to Reynaldo.
Looks like we are as well. I really need to get a better grasp on these things. What kind of spy doesn't know what is going on around him? I'll have to ask about it later with James.
"I like the sound of that, come on then, I've got a boat waiting for us to take us to Cuba. This war won't fight itself."