As I pulled into the yard, Jane, on cue, woke and stretched lazily. My head was still spinning. Questions piling up. I pulled up next to the RV and the cat-flap, mounted in the bottom of the door opened and a Frenchy head popped out with pricked-up ears. Instantly, upon seeing Jane climb out the car, the Frenchie’s ears folded all the way down and she came running with bowed head and wiggling bum.

I followed Jane into the RV, which was again, gloriously cool. I noticed Jane had left her tog bag in the back of the car but didn’t say anything. Hoping as part of our new partnership, she was going to tell me more at the proper time.

She gestured to the seat, and I sat down. The Frenchy followed and assumed the position while Jane opened the fridge, took out two water bottles and offered me one. No Coffee. Water would do. Jane sat down opposite me, opened her water, and took a long draught. I followed suit. The way she placed the bottle on the table felt ceremonious to me, her eyes focused on the bottle, her expression brooding. She lifted her head and my gaze locked with her honey speckled green ones. My heart rate increased, and I felt my mouth dry up.

‘I know you have questions.’ For the first time since I met her, I saw a warmth in her eyes. Probably an emotion that had to fight tooth and nail to come to the front. Breaking down walls created by conditioning and training alongside uncharacteristic abilities to compartmentalise and being able to focus 100% on the task ahead without letting emotion or memories interfere. I had seen it before. Special Ops do it all the time. They develop an internal switch, becoming single minded, completely mission oriented. A mindset which when engaged, turns a happy, laughing, and good-humoured army drinking buddy into a stone-faced Juggernaut who will do anything necessary to complete their mission. I had never developed that switch. Frightened it would kill my humanity. I’m sure I killed at least one opponent during a fire fight. And no, I had not felt a deep contrition afterward. It was war. And hell to anybody who says it’s not personal. They were shooting at us. Trying to kill us. Premediated. How is that not personal? I had aimed and fired. I saw him go down and not come back up. As far as I am concerned, I killed him. And I was OK with that. I didn’t enjoy it. I don’t celebrate it. It happened, now it’s over. I can’t take it back. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been more forthcoming with information, but I cannot go into details. My mission, and I sincerely hope it will become our mission, is to find Lucile and return her and Vanessa to their families and stop at least one pipeline of people smugglers.’ Jane’s eyes dropped to her folded hands. ‘I have been involved in many major decisions that affected thousands of lives but often a handful escape the net and no matter how hard we try to make a difference; we never get to see or help those which are the most desperate. I feel a need to make a difference in Vanessa’s life and if I can change the career paths of some people, I meet along the way, all the better. Agent Scott, what I am trying to say is that I am declaring war against that cartel, and I am asking you to join me.’

Mind blown. I had been scratching the Frenchie’s belly throughout Jane’s confession and had stopped to think. A gentle nuzzle against my hand brought me back to reality and I continued to scratch.

‘Ok, walk me through your plan. What exactly what do you have in mind? And I will tell you if I’m ready to board the train, since I have no idea of destination or if there are any in between stops.’ Jane nodded.

‘As I said, my immediate plan is to do some recognisance and plant the cameras, so we have a live feed of the farm. We monitor the comings and goings of Jose. When we are sure he is going to leave, we setup a trap, stop the convoy and interrogate Jose. Now, I must warn you. Yes, I have contacts, but they are limited in their influence. Attacking a cartel boss is not an easy one to explain away. This could have serious consequences for both of us if we get caught. Are you sure you’re ready for that?’

Was I sure? Hell no. Only Death and taxes are sure. But sitting here and reflecting on the last thirty-four years of my life I felt more than a little unsure of what I had accomplished with my life so far. A few higher-than-average profile murders in the CPD, an honourable discharge from the army and that’s about it. A few short-term relationships and nothing besides a few one-night stands since coming here. Was this fate knocking? The opportunity to do something great for someone else. No hidden agenda. No politics. Hit back at an enemy that hides behind shadows and great unwashed human shield walls. I had no idea where this train was going but I was ready to buy a ticket. Unsanctioned, if we get caught, black-ops style investigation and action taking without having to colour within the lines. Are there lines? I didn’t care anymore. I felt a surge of energy flash through me. A determination.

‘OK, I’m in,’ I said. Jane beamed and the Frenchie snored.

***

Jane had suggested that I go home and change into something a little stealthier while she ran into town, flushed her tanks, and grabbed fuel and fresh water. One of the inconveniences of having a mobile home and the USBP site not providing plumbing and water supply to visiting RV’s. I had looked at my mankini hanging in the closet and wondered if I dyed it black if it would work. Considering how cold the nights are here, I left it hanging. Eventually I dusted off my old combat boots, found some black jeans, and a black polar neck. I even found an old, black woollen hoody which smells funky, and I have no clue of its origins. I decided to leave behind anything that would identify me as a USBP agent. Including my shield and Glock and was now staring at Jane’s RV with Mexican jumping-beans in my stomach where I had topped up Shelly’s burger with a bowl of cereal. “Eat when you can.” Another nugget of wisdom from my Training CO.

A brand-new looking Mercedes 4x4 in matt black was parked behind the RV. All jacked out with tinted windows, huge all-terrain tyres. Jacked-up suspension, two spot-light bars, one attached to the nose and one on the roof. Not a single piece of Chrome, even the iconic triple star was coated in some non-reflective paint. A desert style Bat mobile. Very cool.

I knocked on the RV door. Jane opened a moment later and stepped back. On the table her tog-bag, looked packed and heavy next to a large suitcase sized black box. The type made for the military and government agencies from ultra-tough, plastic. Where the hell does she keep all this stuff? I wondered as I looked around and saw the Frenchie staring at me with expectant eyes and folded down ears.

‘I’m ready,’ Jane said. She was dressed like me, head to toe in black but hers were proper covert agent style clothes. All nylon, with lots of little compartments and places to store extra magazines and stuff. No gun. I was surprised. At least not visible since her leg holster was empty. She gestured to the black box. ‘Would you mind giving me a hand with that please.’ Ever the gentleman I stepped up. First to the box, smiling, then in my expectation of how much that damn thing weighs. My other hand joined the first, white knuckled one. My eyes bulged as I barely managed to pick up the box, double handed, by two solid metal core plastic handles which were moulded into the housing. I was no longer smiling but felt the blood rush to my head as my arm muscles screamed in protest and my back shouted yippee-ki-yay.

And down. Screw gently. The box thudded as my hands gave way sending the box freefalling for the last few inches.

Jane shouted. ‘Careful please. That contains some sensitive stuff.’ Sensitive my ass. I nearly broke my back. Jane reached down to one of the handles and lay the box flat. A second pair of handles came into view on the other side. Duh, it’s a two people job. Donut. But hang on? How did Jane manage by herself? ‘C’mon now. And this time bend your knees.’ Jane said as she grabbed a handle on each side of the box, having gone down on her haunches. Jane four, I think, idiot still zero. But whose keeping score? Right?

Having stowed away the box in the Mercedes, Jane returned to grab her bag. I guessed she didn’t trust me with that since the box incident. I didn’t blame her.

I looked back and the Frenchie was staring at us with longing hazel eyes, her ears twitching, from the cat flap. The cutes farewell ever.

Jane drove. Fast and hard. She was using a route from the onboard Sat Nav which was far from production standard. The double spotlight bars sliced into the darkness before us. Carving a tunnel of daylight into the darkness so bright I wished I had sunglasses. The miles tore by without either of us speaking. My thoughts were on tonight and what could happen if we were discovered. Janes’ probably ten steps ahead of mine, like a grandmaster chess player, anticipating their opponents moves. Strategizing many moves ahead, anticipating everything, assuming nothing.

The Sat Nav was showing we were nearing our destination and Jane slowed. A dot in the middle of nowhere. As Jane switched off the engine and lights the difference was startling as darkness engulfed us and the stars above created a glimmering twilight like sheen across the vastness, stretching long into the horizon. Party time.

Jane wasted no time and opened her bag. First thing out were those weird body armour vests. I still didn’t know if I trusted them. But the temperature had dropped considerably, and I welcomed it just for the warmth aspect.

Then came out two rucksacks which she placed on the ground. Next was the box. Finally.

The lower side of the box was compartmentalised by laser cut high-dense foam. Inside were numerous little boxes with spikes. All in desert camo coloured metal boxes. Cameras. All self-contained with power and probably a radio range of about a hundred clicks. Nice. Spike it into the ground and walk away. Done like Shelly’s extra crispy bacon. Simple and delicious. I guessed most of the weight came from the internal batteries. If anybody ever makes those lighter, they deserve the billions they will make.

Jane loaded six cameras into each rucksack. Once they were on my back they settled in comfortably. Jane brought out two smaller boxes. She opened one. Inside more cut foam lay a pair of large, black rimmed glasses. Almost cartoon sized. Jane picked them up and placed them on my nose. Nothing. Black. Then I felt her press a little button on the top of the frame. A moment later Jane’s face came into a sepia focus. But clear. Everything was clear but sepia, unlike the harsh contrasted green and bright shapes of standard night vision. Jane smiled.

‘They’re good, aren’t they? They auto adjust to the light conditions so you can keep wearing them when entering a lit-up house and not get blinded by bright lights.’

They were fantastic. Everywhere I looked I could see clearly for fifty plus meters. These glasses were a game changer.

‘They are brilliant,’ I said, taking them off and marvelling as instantly everything disappeared into shrouds of darkness. Glasses on, clear sepia. I was in awe.

Jane handed me a gun, a tranquilizer gun as it turned out but none like I had ever seen. This one had a barrel. ‘These are great. They shoot a charged dart like projectile that almost instantly demobilises a person. It holds eight cartridges. Non-lethal and fries the body and brain that they usually remember nothing. They just wake up stiff and sore. Like the worst hangover you’ve ever had. Here are another two magazines. As I said, this is only reconnaissance so I would like to avoid a body count.’

Very sensible. No bodies, no questions. I like that.

‘We are about three kilometres from the farm. Once we get there, we’ll spilt up.’

Hmm, me no like split-ups. Jane reached into her bag and handed me a receiver module, no bigger than a box of cigarettes, and an earpiece.

‘Here, this will keep us in constant communication. Direct. No radio signals. Untraceable.’

Nice, more British 007 toys. Me like. I was still in awe of the glasses. My brain had already accepted the sepia images as the new ‘normal’ and I kept staring at arbitrary things like rocks and admiring their clarity and detail, as if stoned. A surreal emotion overcame me. Everything felt like I’m was being drip moulded into a spy. The jury was still out on whether I liked it or not. But for now, we have a mission and the tech. Hurrah!