Susan was already poring over the profile of Alberto De La Cruz when their table was being cleared of dinner dishes and coffees placed in front of them.
“De La Cruz is well insulated, isn't he?” she asked Armando.
“Yes. We know that he's a major arms dealer, but every time we try to tag him the trail back to him gets lost in layers of bogus companies and disappearing money. People who go up against him seem to meet unhappy endings also. Usually they look like accidents, but even when the killings are sloppy, the trail back to him is lost. Spike Olaf usually contracts the hits for him, and he is also well insulated. Alberto is smart, so he keeps a protective shield over Spike, who is not a planner, but a doer.
“They tend to eliminate any witnesses or people who have knowledge of their operations – people who could cause trouble for them later on.”
Susan sat back and took a sip of her coffee as she stared off into space, thinking. She sat forward and said to the two men, “We have two significant characters in our problem, and one significant only because he's so dangerous. The two big ones are the mole in the agency and De La Cruz. Spike is significant only because he's the muscle.
“So far, they've been running this whole show. They act and we jump. I suggest we change things. Let's sting them.
“The mole is what makes it impossible to snag De La Cruz. No matter what happens, Alberto know about it. He's always at least one step ahead of you. Obviously, through the mole, he has access to the most secret of information that you have.”
“You have something in mind?” Brad asked.
“Yes. Let's give them what they want. The memory stick.”
“Okay. So far, that doesn't sound like a great idea.” Brad said.
“We're not going to give them the real memory stick, but one that holds distorted information.”
“Are you saying you know where the stick is?” Armando asked.
“Yes. It's in a very safe place.” Brad responded.
“Why didn't you tell me before?” “For the same reason that almost got me blown up. There was a chance of the mole finding out.”
“Do you guys want to hear this or not?” Susan asked.
“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.” The words tumbling from both of them.
Looking at Armando she said, “There must be tons of weapons systems that you people have discarded over the years simply because they did not work or were too unstable and dangerous to operate.”
“Actually,” Armando said, “We probably have far more of those than good systems. I don't even know why we keep them, but they're stored at the bottom of the Pentagon.”
“Do you have access to it?” Susan asked.
“No, but the Director and Assistant Director have access.”
“Do you trust the Assistant Director?”
“As much as I try to, no. He strikes me as self-serving.”
“What about the Director?” she asked.
“I would trust him with my life. In fact, I have.” Armando looked at Brad. “You worked with Ted a couple of times when he was a light colonel, didn't you?”
“Yeah. Good man.”
“Okay, guys. Enough of the military. Susan said.
“The Director, Ted Warner,” Armando said to Susan, “is already involved in this.”
“Let's see if we can get him a lot more involved. What's the chances we could meet with him in a discreet location.”
“That would depend on for what purpose.”
“To destroy the mole and Alberto De La Cruz.”
“I'm pretty sure that would get his attention. I'll set it up.”
“No. Wait.” Susan said. “You can't do anything within the agency. It's too chancy. Call him at home and ask if you can meet him there.”
“Good idea.” Armando said.
“Also, let's set up a predetermined meeting spot right now so that we don't have to communicate over any electronic devices.”
“Okay. Where do you want to meet him?”
“On the beach at the head of 17 mile drive at – what did you call it?” She asked looking at Brad, and then turned back to Armando before Brad could answer, “At 1800 hours tomorrow. That's 6PM, right?” she asked Brad.
“Yep. You've got it.”
“Okay, my friends, it looks like I have a busy night ahead.” Armando said, rising from the booth. “I have an agency plane waiting for me. I'll call Ted on my way back to make sure he's awake when I get there.” Armando reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a cell phone. “This phone is encrypted. Speed dial goes to me and me alone. If any problems arise, ca
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Brad and Susan sat back and sipped their coffee in silence as Armando paid the dinner bill and left the restaurant. Brad wanted more details of what Susan had in mind, but decided to wait, knowing she would tell him as the details fell clearly into place for her.
“Why did you choose here to meet with the Director?” he asked her.
“Are you kidding? Why wouldn't I choose this place. We get to spend the next 24 hours in Carmel.”
“You are such a romantic.” Brad said teasingly.
“Coming from a guy who considers writing poetry about a horse as being romantic, I'm not sure if that's a solid statement.”
“You aren't going to let my live that down, are you?” Brad asked hopelessly.
“You can always redeem yourself by writing another poem, but not about your love for livestock. The concept is kind of sick and twisted for anybody but a cowboy. It blurs species identity.”
“I sense a note of prejudice towards farm animals. Have you never looked into the big brown eyes of a cow or been nuzzled by a horse?”
“Oh, pu-lease. You've been alone on the farm way too long.”
“City girl.” Brad said.
“Country hick.” she retorted.
He reached over and kissed her passionately. “I love it when you call me names.” he said. “Maybe we should get a room.”
Susan giggled. “We're rich. Let's get a bungalow on the beach instead.”
Even though the villages of Carmel and Monterey nestle against the same bay as Santa Cruz, the coastline is very different. Santa Cruz invites surfers, swimmers, raucous beach parties around fires at night. The southern coast of the bay, where Carmel and Monterey are, is more rugged, the view more crisp. The wind shaped Monterey cypress trees clinging to the precipice of weather carved cliffs give it a uniqueness not found any where else in the bay. Damp evening fogs roll in every night, keeping the lush landscape endlessly green, flowers constantly blooming. The sands are pristinely white. By day, the sea is a shocking blue, by night, a liquid dance of phosphorescence. The Carmel/Monterey coastline is one of sharp edges that is better viewed than experienced. People tend to step gently into its beauty, almost with reverence.
That is the view they had outside their nine pane window in the small 1930's bungalow above the beach. Rose bushes lined the walk up to the bungalow. Hydrangeas covered the walls, subtly sculpted over many decades. Wisteria dangled colorfully from whitewashed latticed entry ways to the bungalows. Tucked beneath shading trees, it beckoned with charm, found romance in the most hardened heart, inviting the soul to fill with its beauty.
They had rented the bungalow using fake I.D.'s provided by Armando and paid in cash. For the moment, they were invisible, had disappeared from the the searching scope of their pursuers. For the first time since they had met, life offered them a breath of peaceful air.
Freshly showered and wrapped in terry cloth bathrobes, Brad and Susan laid back on lounge chairs on the front porch of the bungalow, two cups of hot tea on a table between them. A full moon captured the evening in a blue light, so far, unencumbered by the distant wall of fog, moving as slowly and quietly as an old sailing ship towards the shore from the horizon.
Susan took a sip of her tea and released a deep sigh, the tension of the last days expelling into the atmosphere and dissipating into nothingness. She could feel a calm spreading from the core of her being. She sighed again and felt the beauty of the night envelope her; the silver crests of the waves lighted by the moon, soothing her with natures artistic touch.
“This is nice.” she said lazily. She looked over at him and could see in the dim light he was frowning, staring intently at the ocean. “What's wrong?” she asked.
He glanced over at her and gave her a forced smile. “Nothing.”
“Here's rule number one, and all the rest of the numbers after it.” Susan said, reaching over and putting her hand on his. “We're always honest with each other. Tactful would be nice, but always honest. So, what's wrong?”
“Sometimes things you see will trigger memories.” he started reluctantly. “It's not that you want those memories at that moment. I mean, we're sitting here looking at this beautiful night, and you accept it for what it is. I looked at it and suddenly remember another night just like this, meeting up with a Navy Seal team on a beachhead for a combined operation. That's not what I wanted to see tonight, but sometimes things just fall out of the rafters of your mind and fill your present with the past.”
He looked over at her, taking her hand into his. “But, it's passing. This is the kind of moment that I wish to live for. This is where I want to be.”
Susan rose from her lounge and laid down on Brads lounge, her legs over his lap, sideways to him with her arm across his chest. She kissed him softly on the neck.
“Me too.”, she said as she rested her head on his shoulder, both of them gazing quietly at the moonlit sea, totally content.
All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.
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