Transporter 001

Destination: The Missile Silo

An hour later, Michael was still thinking about his confrontation with the scientists. He understood that desire to help everybody, but knew how unrealistic it was. He still believed that most of humanity was essentially decent; unfortunately, those few percent that were bad—held most of the power. They were usually alpha personalities, the ones wanting things done their way. From an evolutionary standpoint that made sense, you need individuals who would break the rules and conquer new territories. Right now, those atavistic tendencies were pushing the entire species down a very slippery slope.

He was sitting in a transporter on his way to the missile silo. Jack had called earlier and said they needed to talk in person. In fact, he mentioned something about needing a favor. Tyron, Pete, and Al were escorting him on this trip, having no intention to let him go anywhere alone. While Alice had to stay on the island and help Max with intelligence gathering. If they had become a focal point of the nefarious plan the President talked about, being aware of it and knowing a few more details were crucial.

It was some time since Michael’s last visit here, not that the place was ever abandoned. The structure itself went through some changes and all the levels were completely finished. Jack had, in all but name, taken possession of it, using it as a base for all his work in the states. He still visited the island on occasion, to touch base and attend one of their meetings, but most of the time he was right here.

The roof door opened to let the transporter into the garage space and closed immediately afterward. Michael could see Jack standing close to the elevator, a welcoming committee of one. Not that he was alone here, more than fifty people were occupying this location. Most were part of Jack’s staff, but several were part of Elizabeth and Alice’s intelligence division, stationed here in case they had to act fast in an emergency.

“Guys, I’m glad you could make it,” Jack said as soon as they exited the transporter.

“You just need to ask, Jack, we got your back,” Michael said as they shook hands.

“Let’s go to the conference room, I’ve prepared a brief which will explain why I need your help.”

The lift took them to the level where the corridor leading to the control center was. Nothing much has changed here, except many new faces who, for some reason, saluted Michael as they were passing.

“Almost all levels are occupied,” Jack informed him. “But we left your office and living quarters alone.”

“If you need them, use them,” Michael replied. “There is no point for them to stay empty.”

“No, no, I don’t think anybody would feel comfortable knowing that they took your personal space,” Jack smirked.

In a few minutes, they were all seated in a conference room, with only Jack standing and facing them.

“I called you because I need your help. I have a friend that is in a heap of trouble, a lot more than he can handle,” Jack started. “We went through one tour together, back in the day; one the most courageous soldiers I had the honor to serve with. But after that tour, he did not have it in him anymore to be that close again to all those bad things soldiers have to face. Not that I blame him, I had the exact same thoughts more than once in my career. Anyway, he and his wife could not have children, so they opened an orphanage on the Mexican side of the border. He put aside tools he used to end lives, and made his life’s mission to nurture life instead.”

The image on the holo-screen was that of an older gentleman, hugging his wife in front of a big house, while a bunch of smiling children were sitting in front of them. Jack looked at the picture with a sad expression on his face.

“Unfortunately, in time, drug cartels began taking control of the town where his orphanage is located, and their M.O. is using children to be their runners, dealers, and drug mules’. Saul, that’s my friend's name, tried everything to keep his kids out of their reach, to make sure that they had a decent chance in life, but everything changed yesterday.”

Jack’s jaw clenched so hard, they could hear his teeth grinding.

“You see, for some time now, I was trying to convince Saul to join us, to move to the island where they could be much safer, and finally he agreed. His wife was the one that did not want to move, fearing that such drastic change would have a negative effect on the children. Unfortunately, they waited too long; five of the children were taken yesterday. A van full of cartel soldiers came to their orphanage, beat him and his wife, and chose those kids that could be the most useful for them… and then they dragged them away.

The police made some promises, but most of them are on the take. He called me last night, begging for help; that’s where we stand right now.”

“Do you have any idea where the children were taken?” Michael asked.

“Yes, Max found out where the cartel base is; a small town called Alvarez that is totally under the cartel’s control. The best source of information where the kids are exactly held would be with Diego Garcia, the cartel's leader.” Jack answered.

Michael nodded. “All right Jack, evacuate everyone that is still at the orphanage to the island, and we will go to have a little chat with the cartel’s leader,” he said rising from the chair. “Looks like we have some kids to save.”

***

Transporter 001

Destination: Mexico

Michael and the rest were flying over the Mexico border while putting on their battle-suits. All the team’s equipment was packed on the transporter; it has become a habit and the necessity to always carry it with them.

“From the satellite surveillance, the head honcho’s base is a big hacienda a few miles from Alvarez; plenty of guards walking around the perimeter and there is barbed wire on the wall encircling the property. Mostly it is just for show since the entire surrounding area is populated by his men and their families.” Max said.

Michael looked at the satellite image of the place. “Okay, we will disembark in this little forest a half a mile from it, and then proceed to the property. This time, let us do something different. Load your weapons with tranquilizer rounds, but pack a few clips of regular flechettes just in case.”

This new addition to their arsenals was something Max made after Michael’s suggestion. It came about in a conversation they had about how lethal they always were; the new rounds gave them a new option. It was a strong mix of anesthetics and paralytics, which could knock down a grown man in less than a second.

Tyron decided that the mission would be another real-world test of their overall readiness he was training them for.

“Let’s try to knock them all out without anyone being the wiser, if even one of them raises the alarm, I will consider this entire mission a failure,” Tyron said. ”If the real shooting starts, we will need to change the rounds into flechettes and kill them all.”

Ten guards around the property did not stand a chance. Bored from the constant patrols, they barely felt small mosquito bites, before it was too late. As the team advanced towards the house, satellite imagery was constantly updated with the position of the remaining guards. It took less than ten minutes before every single one of them was down, and only the cartel leader remained. That was due to the fact that he was occupied by his current girlfriend, and even the thick walls couldn’t stop some of the noises they were making.

The first indication that something was not right was when his girlfriend’s body slumped on his, as if she had fallen asleep. The second was a barrel of Michael’s gun that appeared a few inches from his nose, held in the hand of a man dressed in black.

“Mr. Diego Garcia, we have some questions for you,” Michael said.

The naked man’s eyes briefly looked at the gun on the nightstand, but the thought of reaching for it was neutralized by Michael’s weapon digging into the skin of his forehead.

“I would strongly advise against it,” he said to the man whose eyes were crossly looking at the barrel. “It may as well be the worst decision you have ever made.”

Diego took that advice, and while holding both hands in front of him, he started screaming for his men. The victorious look in his eyes lasted for a few seconds until he realized that nobody else was coming in.

“There is no one else but us, Mr. Garcia, and I need you to answer some of my questions,” Michael said.

His desire for cooperation was obviously not great since the next thing out of his mouth was a very colorful insult involving Michael’s ancestors.

It took a few minutes to secure him to the corner of a sturdy bedpost; the cartel boss was still very insulting. Michael pulled the chair close to him and set down into it, looking at the infamous man.

“Now, the reason for this visit is that you have done something bad. As every action has its opposite reaction, you could say the law of unintended consequences has come to bite you in the ass. Specifically, you kidnapped children, which are wards of a friend of mine, and I’ve come to escort them home,” Michael said politely, hoping that Diego will listen to the voice of reason.

Except, he was wrong since the man sneered and said, “you are not in the states anymore gringo, this is Mexico and for doing this, there will be a high price to pay. You may not realize it yet, but you’ve just made the worst mistake of your life.”

Michael rolled his eyes and looked at the direction where his HUD showed him Tyron was. “Why is every single scumbag I question threatening me? Seriously, that is the first thing they say to me. Am I doing it wrong? What’s the deal?”

Tyron deactivated his camouflage, which made Diego’s eyes go round in shock. “You’re dealing with alpha males, so you need to give them a proper incentive. And frankly, you’re way too polite… may I give it a shot?” Tyron’s deep base rumbled.

Michael shrugged his shoulders and got up from the chair. “Yeah, knock yourself out.”

Tyron came close to the bed, all seven feet of him, and reached for the cartel's boss hand. Not giving him any time to realize what was going on, he took the middle finger and bent it backward; it made a popping sound as the bone was dislocated from its socket. Diego Garcia shared one thing in common with the late leader of Boko Haram, Abubakar Shekau, both of them could scream in a very high falsetto voice.

After the man calmed down from the initial shock, Tyron got really close to his face. “I have nineteen more to dislocate before I get serious; will you tell us what we want to know?”

Diego’s voice still had that high pitch when he yelled looking at Michael, “I will… if you give me your word!”

Michael was somewhat impressed. Unlike the fanatics he had to deal with lately, Diego didn’t try to put much resistance. After realizing they were quite serious he immediately tried to make a deal.

“I have to give you the credit for your stubbornness, fine, what is it that you want?”

“I want your promise that you will not kill me, I will even pay you a lot of money if you agree to that.”

Diego couldn’t see the ironic smile on Michael’s face under the helmet.

“That sounds nice, money is always welcomed, and you have my solemn word that you will not be harmed. We are even going to fix that finger of yours and make it as good as new; I can even promise that all your men will be left alive.”

After that, he told them every single thing they wanted to know, and Michael was sure he wasn’t lying. Max had come up with a new gizmo; using the additional sensors built in the suits, he could now detect lies with a good percentage of success. From micro-expression on the man’s face, dilation of his pupils, and the way his heart reacted when he was answering the questions.

The children were kept on a farm a few miles from their location; it was something of a school where they were trained to work for him. If they were disobedient, threats of killing those they cared about, and frequent beatings, were used to quickly subdue them.

“Thank you, Mr. Garcia, you have been more than helpful, and I am a man of my word,” Michael said and shot the man with a tranquilizer dart.

“Max, we need one transporter with a few volunteers to take the children back to the island and we need one additional big transporter to take care of the cartel.”

Tyron looked at him, “boss, what do you have in mind?”

Michael smiled under the helmet, “oh, you will see… call it poetic justice.”

It didn’t take long to free the captured children, and a few guards that were on the farm got the same treatment as their friends at the Hacienda.

“It’s all right… Saul, your foster father sent us to find you,” Michael said as they entered a barn where the children were huddled together in one corner.

“Are you going to take us to them?” One girl asked, looking fearfully through the hair that was almost covering her eyes.

“Yes, little one, a few good people will come to take you to them.” Michael smiled at the girl. He had to remove his helmet so the children would not be afraid.

Children were their first priority, so as soon as the transporter came, all the little ones were immediately evacuated using one of the transporters and a few volunteers who were there to keep them calm during their trip.

When they returned to the hacienda, that additional big transporter was already waiting for them, and Max organized the volunteers to carry all of the forty tranquilized men into it. When the team came down into the basement, they saw something quite incredible.

“Oh hell, this guy was a hoarder,” Al said, “and I have a pretty good idea who is going to haul all this crap up the stairs.”

He was talking about tons of money stored inside. In neat little stacks, there was a five-foot-tall wall of bills, filling the entire 10x20 room that Diego used as his vault.

“Well, as Max said, every cent helps, and there are a lot of cents here,” Michael replied.

It took them some time to pack everything, and they even had to use their own transporter as the big one was packed full.

It was a long day, and Michael couldn’t wait to unload the cartel's boss and his men to their final destination, so he could go back to the island. While still on the way, he took a pen and started writing a letter on a stationery paper he picked up from the hacienda.

***

An Island In The Pacific Ocean

One Day Later

Diego Garcia groggily woke up to the sound of the ocean surf. He was lying on a beach, and the hot sun was already turning his skin to an angry shade of red. Rising to his feet, he could see all of his soldiers on the same beach; some waking up, and others were confusingly looking around themselves. One thing was even stranger, just like him, they were all naked.

There was an endless body of water in front of him and a dense jungle behind, with a few coconut trees leaning towards the water.

Being quick on his feet and taking control of the situation were necessities for operating a drug cartel. In the next half an hour, he managed to organize them into teams and ordered each team to search in a different direction for any sign of civilization. Those who returned first confirmed his suspicion, they were on an island.

The last team, the one that was sent to the jungle directly, excitedly ran back saying that they have found something. Diego hurriedly followed them to the center of the island.

The image he saw, when he broke through thick vegetation, was postcard beautiful. The big waterfall had dug out a small lake and there were wildflowers everywhere around it. One taste of it confirmed that it was fresh water, so he took a long drink of it until his thirst was sated.

What he saw next, near the lake, was the reason his subordinates had summoned him. A few feet away from the water was a huge pile of white, plastic-wrapped packets. He recognized it as his stash of heroin, and by the looks of it, every single kilo hidden on his property was left here.

Lying on top of a neatly assembled pile were three items, a book and a letter held in place by a big conch shell.

Diego quickly approached the pile, and with trembling hands opened the letter.

Dear Mr. Garcia,

As I promised, your life and the lives of your men were spared. We even took the trouble of fixing your finger to be as good as new. As I said, I am a man of my word, and that word has been upheld.

Concerning the money offered, do not worry about it. We cleaned out your accounts (very kind of you to have them together with the passwords on your computer), and all those stacks of bills that you hid in the basement, were also appropriated; think of it as a fee for transferring you to this tropical destination.

As to where you are, I am happy to inform you that the island you are currently occupying is located in a quiet, and peaceful part of the Pacific Ocean. Apart from frequent rains and an occasional hurricane, you will be quite comfortable; but do try to keep yourself dry in a monsoon season. The last time any ship passed close to your new home was ten years ago, so rest assured that nobody will disturb you.

If such a situation were to arise, I would advise you against setting signal fires, as there is a dedicated satellite monitoring your position. If a signal fire is detected, we will be forced to remove you from this world… permanently.

I know that you have a reputation for being quite the ladies’ man, unfortunately for you, there is not a single member of the opposite sex for a few thousand miles around you. I heard that abstinence could be good for your soul, and if not, I hope you are a man enough to broaden your horizons… if you know what that means.

Be careful of the poisonous snakes and spiders on the island, they are quite numerous; and this part of the ocean is infested with sharks… refrain from feeding them.

The heroin is a gift from all of us; use it at your discretion.

My friend wanted to express his remorse for inflicting pain on you, so he gifted you with this conch and a bilingual manual of its use.

So long, Mr. Garcia, I wish you a happy life.

Sincerely yours,

Gringo in black

Diego Garcia’s face was a mask of an impotent rage until his eyes fell on the book’s title and then that mask turned into one of desperation.

The book was rather thick, and as the letter said, it was in two languages. He took it in his hands and looked at the front page, wanting to rip it to shreds, but stopped himself; this was probably the only thing he could read on the island.

The title was written in a big glossy font, and it said: “El señor de las moscas / Lord of the Flies”