What’s the Best Way to Watch a Fishing Show?
WHAT’S THE BEST WAY TO WATCH A FISHING SHOW?
Triumph
Through his laptop screen, Triumph looked at the participants on the secure call. Francesca and Tripoli shared one thumbnail, then there were two other men, one known, one unknown, each in a square of their own.
The first of the two was Special Agent Cruz Livingston of the San Antonio FBI office.
He looked particularly rumpled and grumpy.
Then again, Francesca had pulled him out of bed in the middle of the night to help with something the FBI shouldn’t be helping with.
The man had yet to go to bed since yesterday, making sure the passport happened for G, and he was here anyway.
His connection to the agent was minimal.
Cruz was a former co-worker of Francesca’s and had worked her last case with her.
Triumph’s only time in his presence was from the sidelines of the final showdown they had when she’d been taken, and seeing her escort him and a woman around Elysium a few times, so they’d never been formally introduced.
However, he had no connection to the other man on the screen, which made him a little nervous, despite Cruz and Francesca vouching for him. This newcomer was a huge cowboy type, complete with a hat. Less rumpled and definitely less grumpy, Texas Ranger Wes King made his screen space seem small.
At first, he didn’t understand what help the ranger would be. Then he remembered that his organization had connections to border security. If Cruz and Francesca thought he would be helpful, he trusted they were correct.
Cruz started the conversation. “How’s she doing?”
“Holding steady as far as I can tell.”
Wes grunted, pushing his cowboy hat back. “She’d need to be tough, given what she was involved in. The Colonel Cartel is bad news. The world got lucky late last summer when half of it imploded. No one seems to know why either.”
Tripoli’s focus left the screen, and the contents of his coffee cup suddenly became very interesting to him.
Proving how observant he was, Wes glanced at the corner of his screen, then returned his gaze back to where Triumph’s thumbnail must be on his screen, raising an eyebrow. “He know something we don’t?”
Triumph shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you.” It was more like he wouldn’t unless Tripoli offered up the information.
Suddenly, Tripoli engaged in the conversation.
“Yeah. I know about it, but it can’t leave this discussion.
” He ran a hand through his short hair. He hadn’t bothered to style it after his shower, so it lay flat against his head where it had dried.
“Cruz, you remember those two mystery guys who were at the airport when Francesca was taken?”
Cruz nodded. “The giant and the quiet guy with the creepy eyes. They disappeared before we could question them, and you told me you didn’t know their names.”
Tripoli nodded. “Sorry. I lied about that last part. I can’t tell you who they really are. What I can tell you is that they work for a mercenary company, and if you try to find them, you won’t. They’re deadmen.”
“What are deadmen?” Wes asked.
“They’re ghosts,” Francesca explained. “They don’t exist. I tried poking into them when I was on medical leave but couldn’t come up with anything. There’s no record of them anywhere. Or if there is, no one could get to it. Even Triumph came up empty, and he’s impossible to hide things from.”
“The giant called me back in August. The quiet guy with the creepy eyes needed a favor,” Tripoli said.
Wes’ face reflected that, after doing the timeline, he knew exactly how they’d returned the help for Francesca. Hector’s death took place in August.
Cruz asked, “We?”
“Me. A few of my Raider buddies. My buddy, Cosmos, and some of his guys.”
“Fuck,” Wes swore. He rubbed his forehead. “How?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. I want to know, but I don’t want to know.”
“If you were down there last summer, how come you couldn’t help G now?” Cruz asked.
“Well, there wasn’t exactly anyone stamping my passport for a legal entry, Cruz. The only people we came into contact with… well… they aren’t exactly around to identify us to anyone.”
Triumph’s phone pinged. Glancing at his screen, he saw a text pop up. Relief flooded him at the message. “Package arrived.” He immediately began to text G.
“I want to talk to her,” Cruz told him.
Nodding, Triumph opened his computer. “She’ll be calling once the passport is in her hand. I appreciate the fact that you’re willing to help, especially since this is off the books. You’re risking a lot for a stranger.”
When the phone rang, Triumph picked up the call on his computer screen so he could patch her into the conversation. Her screen popped up, revealing a black box. She either couldn’t or wouldn’t turn on the video feature on her end.
Triumph started the call with his typical joke offering. “What’s the best way to watch a fishing show?”
Silence hung over the line. Everyone involved in the call was thinking.
Her smoky rasp came over the speaker. “Off the hook? I dunno.”
“Not a bad guess. Live stream.”
Everyone on-screen groaned.
His so-proud-of-myself smile spread across his face. “How was dinner?”
She chuckled. “I’ll never doubt your skills again. Good, thank you.”
“I have some people here who want to talk to you. They’re friends of a friend, but you can trust them.” He nodded to the men.
Cruz spoke first. “G, my name is Cruz Livingston. I’m with the San Antonio office for the FBI.”
“And I’m Wes King. Texas Rangers.”
“Gentlemen.”
Her voice had gone cool. It was as if she’d not only withdrawn emotionally, but he could almost see her stepping back from the phone.
Triumph knew talking to these men might cause her enough anxiety that she’d hang up and disappear on him, but he needed to take the chance.
Hopefully, her wariness wouldn’t cause her to run.
He attempted to reassure her. “Remember. You called me, which means you trusted me to help you.”
“Trust is difficult right now, M.”
“I get it, G,” Cruz injected. “Your passport is all I promised. In order for me to decide if I help further, I’ve got questions. Since I can’t call the CIA, according to your fire-breathing dragon here, I’m forced to ask you.”
“Understood. I get the Fed being here, but why a ranger?”
“Because this is off the books. If we’re going to help you get into the country, I’m going to need someone a bit stealthier than a Fed.
Rangers will have some back doors locally, and I would be conspicuous if I used them.
So what can you tell us about why you’re down in South America in the first place? ”
There were some rustling noises in the background.
“Ten years ago, I became attached to the team trying to take down the Colonel Cartel. Surprisingly, the eldest son and most recent jefe, Guillermo, saw me and decided he was interested in pursuing me. My superiors decided to allow the pursuit, and within six months, I had him landed.”
“You’ve been undercover all these years?”
“Correct. Not standard practice, although there are long-term legends out there.”
“I don’t think there’s any delicate way to ask this—”
“Don’t try to be delicate,” she assured him. “Simplest explanation, while on assignment for the Company, I was ordered to get close to him, by any means necessary, so that’s what I did.”
Internally, Triumph rolled his eyes. Simplest explanation. More like oversimplified.
Whatever the case, the implication was easy to understand.
Ethics and morals aside, G had been ordered to do whatever it took, including getting into the jefe’s bed, to secure information.
While he understood the spy game, it still made him uncomfortable.
Not with her. Not even with her choice to follow through.
However, while he knew she could have refused, her results probably would have been less successful, and he knew from past experiences with his own employers, she would have been manipulated into saying yes.
Internally, he winced, a flash of their conversation about him controlling her actions without her consent. He should probably apologize for that.
“What was your assignment?” Cruz asked.
“Get access to as much of his operation as I could. Names of buyers, logistics, detailed map of the hacienda, anything that would give us the advantage to take him down.”
“Why was this operation left open so long?” Wes asked.
“This isn’t a Hollywood film, Mr. Texas Ranger-man,” G snarled. “There are no limits as to how long an undercover operation can go.”
“Yeah, but it shouldn’t take ten years to shut down a cartel with you on the inside like that. That asshole should have been put to ground long before now.” He looked at Cruz. “Unless…”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
He did not like where this train of thought led.
Wes completed his thought. “There was never a plan for you to leave.”
Snark dripping copiously in her response, she said, “Well, who let the smarty-pants in on the game?”
“Jesus, G,” Triumph breathed out. His fists clenched on the table. “For fuck’s sake, why?”
There was a pause over the line, and along with it, a drastic change in tone.
What sounded like a plea for him to understand.
“Somebody had to do it, M. They’d been trying for years to get men in at the ground level as soldiers so they could work their way up the ladder, but none made it far enough before being killed in shoot-outs or whatever.
“The bosses decided a different tactic was required. Guillermo has a reputation as a ladies’ man, and none of his women have ever disappeared or been found in a shallow grave somewhere.
So when he began to aggressively pursue me and ditched all the other women, my superiors pushed.
I was young. Single. I didn’t have family, like some of the other agents did.
I wasn’t about to let someone else’s family be torn apart when there was an option that could prevent that. ”