CIA Safe House Charlie Foxtrot
Tucson, AZ
Peters was as drunk as he ever got. He wasn’t sure why the CIA safe house had a full bar, but upon discovering an almost full bottle of Bulleit bourbon on the shelf, he decided that the fates were trying to tell him something.
Park walked into the room. “Jesus Christ Peters, are you drunk?”
“Hell yeah, I am drunk as shit.”
Park picked up the empty bottle. “Did you drink the whole bottle?”
“I dunno, but that shit looks empty.”
“Look, Peters do you remember the Red Team, from the last war?”
“No, who the hell are they?”
“They are the guys who figured out what the Chinese were doing during the last war.”
“Why the fuck should I care about that?”
Park tossed a thick folder on the table. “Because they think that the Chinese are going to launch an invasion of the USA from Mexico.”
“Wait, what? Why should I care about this shit?”
“We’re going to go back to Mexico and find out what is going on.”
“We have orders to go into Mexico?”
“Well, no, we don’t. We have orders to stand down.”
“The fuck?”
Park sat down at the table. Picked up the bottle and examined it. Still empty. Sighing, he went over to the bar, picked up a glass and put an ice cube in it. Scanning the bottles on the shelf, he picked out a bottle of Angel’s Envy and came back to the table. Sitting down again, he poured himself two fingers of bourbon.
“Gimme some of that.”
Park gave Peters a disgusted look. “You’ve had enough.”
“I’m just getting started.”
“That’s what worries me.”Park looked into Peters’ eyes. “Can you function? Can I count on you?”
“Fuck. It takes more than a little bourbon to knock me off my game.”
“Look, there is a Naval Aviator in Mexico. A reserve officer. She was an embassy dependent but didn’t get out with the rest. NSA has tracked her to a house in Sonora.” Park picked up a map, flipped it open and pointed to a red X. “Right there. We’re going to go get her.”
Peters, becoming interested, looked at the map. “What are those sites there?”
Park smiled. “Those are the SAM sites the F-35s attacked last week.”
Peters smiled. “Those two are less than fifty miles from the house.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.” He picked up the map. “Sober up, get your shit together. We’re driving down in two hours.”
“What, we’re just going to drive down there?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
It was a six-hour drive from Tucson to the little beach town of Bahia Kino in Sonora. About an hour west of Hermosillo, it was one of those small Mexican fishing villages with million-dollar homes in a narrow strip along the beach and tumble-down shacks right across the street. The long drive had given Peters plenty of time to sober up and he also slept for three hours. Now he was just hung over and cranky.
Driving down Mar de Cortez Avenue, they drove past a series of more and more expensive houses on the beach side. Coming to the one they were looking for, there was a HMMWV with the word “Marinas” on the side and an M2 machine gun on top. The uniformed officer on duty in front of the house looked alert and was wearing a helmet and body armor over his camo uniform.
Park kept driving. The civilian Ford Expedition they were driving had Arizona plates but otherwise didn’t stand out on the street. “What do you think?”
Peters thought for a moment. “To be honest, I’m glad it’s the Marines instead of the Army. I trust those guys more.”
“Do you think we can name drop?”
“Probably. It’s a small force. They may know Bustamante.”
“Let’s try it.”
They pulled a U-turn and slowly drove up to the house. Pulling into the short driveway, Park rolled down his window. Peters put his hands on the dashboard. “Buenos Dias! We are friends of Bustamante. We are wondering if you could reach him for us.”
A uniformed marine in body armor and armed with a Mexican-made FX-05 came up to the car. “Don Bustamante is not at home, señor. Please move your vehicle.”
“I wasn’t aware that Commander Bustamante lived here. We are asking if you can contact him. We have a message.”
“And you are?”
“It’s Park and Peters. He knows us.”
“Un momento, por favor.”
The marine retreated a few steps and made a call on his radio. After a few moments, the radio crackled a response and he gestured for the marines inside to open the very serious looking steel gate. “Please park on the right, señor.”
Pulling into the compound, they were astounded to see Commander Bustamante standing on the front stairs, dressed in civilian clothes.
“Ah, my favorite CIA operatives! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We are here at the request of the State Department.”
“I see.” Bustamante had an almost mischievous grin on his face, like he knew a secret the other two did not. “And what is this request?”
“May we speak to Captain Harris please?”
“I’m sorry, I know no such person.”
“We know she is here. Can we speak to her?”
“There is no Captain Harris here.”
Park was getting angry. “Look, let us talk to her or we will be back, with friends.”
Bustamante smiled again, without the humor. “It’s good to have friends. I have many friends.”
Peters rolled his eyes. He had no interest in this type of dick contest that so many military men seemed to enjoy. Apparently, the CIA wasn’t immune either. He went back into the SUV and pulled open the operation file. He had met a few aviators in his day and half of them wouldn’t answer to their given name. What was her call sign? Ah, yes.
He went back to the front steps and let out his best parade ground bellow. “PING PONG!! FRONT AND CENTER!”
The door opened and Ping Pong walked down the stairs to stand next to Bustamante. “Who the fuck are you two?”
Peters saluted and handed her a document. “Captain Peters, US Army ma’am. You have been recalled to service.”
She glanced at the document with a grimace. “And you found me, how?”
“Cell phone, ma’am.”
“Right.” She glanced at Bustamante. “Do you mind if they come in?”
“Certainly señora, this is your home for as long as you care to stay here.”
As they entered the mansion, the ocean came into breathtaking view. Ping Pong led them into a large room with a huge glass wall facing the ocean. Couches and chairs were scattered about the room which was bathed in light from the afternoon sun.
“So, what is this really about?”
Park feigned a hurt look. “We are here to retrieve a US service member trapped in Mexico.”
Ping Pong gestured around her. “I’m not exactly in prison.” She picked up her phone. “No messages. You could have called or texted me.”
“You could have been compromised.”
“Uh huh.”
Bustamante smiled again. A complex man, he had many smiles. This one was the “Let’s cut the shit” one. “Gentlemen. I think we can all agree that the farce has gone on long enough. Tell us why you are here or you can leave. As you can see, Ping Pong is in no danger here, I have an entire platoon guarding the building. My uncle owns this house and is close friends with the local police chief. I can assure you she is perfectly safe here.”
Park was about to answer when Peters put a hand on his arm. “Bustamante, why are you not in uniform?”
“I am on administrative leave.”
“And may I ask why you have been placed on leave?”
“For filing a false engagement report.”
“And this was the report on our last engagement with you?”
“Si.”
“And this report stated that the Russians had infiltrated northern Sonora?”
“Si.”
“Commander, the US military has been issued a stand down order. We have been told that there are no foreign troops in your country.”
“Please tell me you are joking.”
Park shook his head. “No, he’s not joking.” He shook his head. “I cannot believe that I’m telling you this, but your government may be compromised.”
Bustamante put his head in his hands, suddenly very serious. “That’s what Admiral Rodriguez said. He told me the Army was compromised.”
Park nodded. “Well, it looks like we may be in the same predicament. My government has also lost its mind. Just a moment.” Retrieving the briefing papers from their vehicle, Park proceeded to fill Ping Pong and Bustamante in on what they knew.
“So, we propose to surveil a couple of these sites, and see what evidence we can find.”
Bustamante nodded. “Simple enough, I will have vehicles brought to the house.”
Park pointed at Ping Pong. “And how do we get her back to the states?”
Ping Pong turned red in the face. “You don’t, mister. I’m going with you.”
Peters snorted. “Ma’am, this could go wrong quickly. Not like flying your P-8.”
She turned a steely gaze on Peters. “And what is your MOS, soldier?”
“Eighteen Alpha, ma’am.”
“Special forces, of course.”
“Green beret. On loan to the CIA at the moment, but yeah.”
Bustamante smiled again. This one was the “We are going to do this” smile. “This is easy enough. She has been seconded to my command. The US Navy and Mexican Navy have an excellent exchange program.”
“And when did this happen?”
“As soon as I call Admiral Rodriguez. He is close personal friends with the US Chief of Naval Operations.”
“Right.”
Ping Pong smiled. Hers was simpler. Ping Pong wasn’t a complex person. All she really wanted to do was to kick the ass of the people who had hurt her husband. “You do realize I am senior to you, commander?”