Recluse:The Induction

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday, 5:43pm

  Senior superintendent Miguel Almeida, Secretary of Public Security for the city of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil stared down at Rodriquez inside the Intensive care unit, a surgical wing on the first floor of tower two, north entrance, in the Hospital Medica sur, located in the administrative delegacion of Tlalpan, México city.

  ‘Rodrigo, glad you are back. I’m here to take you home.’ Miguel said with tears in his eyes.

  Rodriquez painfully adjusted his eyes to the bright light as he looked up at the figure staring at him.

  ‘Miguel? Is this you?’ he asked. His tongue felt heavy and the smell of penicillin overwhelmed his nostrils.

  ‘Yes Rodrigo it’s me.’

  Rodriquez could see his best friend’s sullen face had red watery eyes.

  ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘Am just happy you are back.’ Miguel replied.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You are in Hospital Rodrigo, Medica sur, in México city. Emergency responders were dispatched after radar reported a possible airplane crash in a field in Sinaloa. You amigo, are a lucky man. Doctors say you took a whack to the head which explains that ugly white bandage wrapped around your head. You kind of look a little bit like my grandma. The good news is, you didn’t suffer any major fractures though, just bruises and you have been lying in a coma close to a week.’

  Rodriquez felt a sharp sting at the back of his head prompting him to instinctively frown before raising his left arm to try and feel it. He also noticed a thin plastic tube fastened to his arm coming from a plastic colorless liquid bottle dangling above his head pegged to a metallic rod.

  ‘Stay calm Rodrigo, want to eat something? You must be starving.’ Miguel said.

  Indeed, he was hungry and felt weak.

  An hour later, he was feeling much better having eaten and drank. Doctors and nurses mulled around him flashing bright lights into his eyes and mouth. He was made to answer a flurry of questions and also made to walk around the sterile room unaided. His entire body etched.

  ‘Tomorrow we will be on our way back to sunny Rio and we will put all this behind us.’ Miguel said once he’d been let back into the room. ‘I have arranged a private flyer to fly us back home since you amigo, have no documents on you.’

  Somewhere above México, Tuesday 10:49am

  Rodriquez sat on a soft leather brown seat facing Miguel aboard a Hawker beech craft. The small private aircraft’s interior smelled brand new and looked cozy. The four passenger seats which faced each other had in their midst neatly arrayed expensive looking coffee tables and cup holders crafted according to precise specifications. The entire plane cabin smelled of luxury. Rodriquez could see his friend appeared absent minded. He also seemed to have aged considerably since they last spoke only a few days ago in the Hospital Adventista lobby. Miguel’s huge frame appeared to sag inside the black blazer jacket which made him appear rather frail. Rodriquez noticed too that Miguel kept straightening his blue and white polka dot tie, which was kind of amusing. He recalled that Miguel had always been a sucker for fashion. Some twenty odd years ago, Miguel had showed up at a street dance competition in a fluffy yellow oversized jacket turning him into a spectacle. He had gone on to win the competition nonetheless.

  ‘You still got the moves?’ Rodriquez asked breaking the silence.

  ‘What moves?’ inquired Miguel.

  ‘The bugaboo moves you always displayed back in the day.’

  Miguel’s weary face let off a smirk revealing his jowly chin.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not anymore.' Miguel answered in reply, 'However, I’m pleased to learn that your memory is still intact.’

  ‘But you still haven’t lost the moves.’ Rodriquez persisted.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve lost you Rodrigo, what moves are you speaking of?’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  Sighing, Miguel moved his frame into an upright posture.

  ‘What I’m about to tell you is top secret and you have to promise me amigo, not to divulge this information to anyone.’

  He turned to look over his shoulder towards the cock pit before turning back to meet Rodriquez’ puzzled gaze.

  ‘Your escapades Rodrigo have created a diplomatic storm between our governments. The Mexicans think we are spying on them. Both our countries agreed in principle, together with the Americans to share all critical intelligence information at all times on operations relating to the drug cartels and no one, not even the Americans can enter Mexican territory to apprehend any of these criminal gangs without going through the legalities in place.’

  ‘Miguel, I’m sorry but I don’t see how one man, a simple detective on a private rendezvous can possibly stir such emotions.’

  ‘You don’t get it Rodrigo. Let me break it down for you.’ Miguel said steadying his heavy frame in the narrow seat.

  ‘I believe you knew Father Gustav Aurelio the priest from Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Candelária.’ Rodriquez’ tummy tightened at the mention of the priest’s name and anger flashed across his face.

  ‘That man tried to kill me!’ Rodriquez said coldly.

  ‘I know, but that’s beside the point amigo, he was also a double agent, a mole.’ Miguel Interjected. ‘We found out he was working for the Sinaloa at the same time their arch rivals, the Los Zetas. He was laundering drug money through the church’s bank accounts tax free. As an accomplished mathematician, Aurelio took on the alias El Matematico and was in charge of these gangs’ liquidity flows. A very important jigsaw in the puzzle we call the criminal underworld. Our people were hot on his trail until his lifeless body was discovered in his study ten days ago.’

  ‘It was self-defense.’ Rodriquez protested.

  ‘I know that too.’ Interjected Miguel again, ‘He was quite unstable especially during the last few weeks of his life. Our intelligence has gathered historical records about him which showed that during his youth, he had spent a year in a mental hospital in Lisbon, Portugal. Prior to which he’d been in and out of jail mostly for petty crimes. An orphan, the church took him in, in an attempt to reform him. Upon becoming a priest, El Matematico was posted to Culiacan, Mexico and later transferred to Rio de Janeiro as Rector. I guess the church won’t miss him. We also secretly had the original antique mirror in his study replaced with an identical one fitted with illusion transponders. We hoped this mirror would make him crack. The way the mirror works is, it digitally reflects what your mind thinks it sees. In other words, it tricks the mind and in his case, it made him psychotic and delusional. Anyway, we’ve since removed it. I once happened to glance into that mirror and I still shudder from the images it formed.’ Miguel said.

  It was Rodriquez, who this time agreed ‘I know.’

  The Flight captain’s voice came through the intercom announcing an electrical storm ahead and that it was still another five hours to their final destination, Galeao International Airport in Rio de Janeiro.

  Five hours earlier, they had taxied off the Licenciado Adolfo Lopez mateos international Airport in Toluca, Mexico city, with an anxious Rodriquez desperate to get back home. Even now, as the captain clicked off the intercom, the feeling hadn’t subsided. He knew once back in Rio, he had the unenviable task of dealing with his boss, Antonio Francisco Oliviera over the small matter of frisking his colleague Constable Selton ‘Selli’ Mello to illegally take him off the grid.

  Gazing through the plane’s translucent circular glass window, Rodriquez could see brilliant white-blue flashes in the midst of dark grey clouds gathered in the distance. He returned his gaze to Miguel who had resumed straightening his tie.

  ‘You still haven’t told me how you found me.’ He said.

  ‘We traced your whereabouts through one of our people.’ Miguel answered his hand still clinging to his tie.

  ‘And who might that be if I may ask?’

  ‘She was on the same flight with you to Mexico City and am reliably informed she ferried you in and ou
t of the kill zone.’ Miguel answered in reply.

  ‘Ramona works for you?’ Rodriquez asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes, undercover of course. She is still mad at you for making her risk her cover.’

  ‘Send her my sincere apologies.’ Rodriquez said smiling. He recalled her distinctly strong fragrance.

  ‘We recruited her four years ago with the sole purpose of infiltrating the Sinaloa Cartel.’ Miguel announced. ‘An expert in counter intelligence, a military background in the Marines, fluent in Spanish, English and Portuguese, she is our perfect soldier of fortune. Our turning point came when she joined a smaller group called the Javelins, a splinter group which carries out cleaner jobs for the Sinaloa Cartel. Their job is to eliminate groups of rival organizations especially the Zetas and Beltran Leyva or anyone who attempts to seize the Sinaloa Cartel turf in México’s desert west. These enforcers move by convoy ranging from twenty to a hundred trucks and SUVs with six or seven gunmen in each, fighting pitched battles over control of the area’s ‘plazas’ for moving cocaine and marijuana. This group has one instruction only, to kill them all. As a way of gaining the trust of the cartel leaders, she has had to participate in some of the most gruesome murders. At times I feel sorry for what we have made her become, but it’s for the good of society as a whole that we are sometimes willing to sacrifice one individual’s interests in order to save the masses and it’s because of her amigo, that we were able to understand the inner operations of this cartel and how far its tentacles stretch. An asset she is.’

  ‘What does that have to do with me?’ Rodriquez asked.

  'Everything.' Miguel answered. 'You amigo, somehow managed to draw the Sinaloa cartel’s elusive leader Guzman out of his safety bunker in the mountains. You amigo, talked to him one on one and live to tell the tale. He is a psychopath who likes to dip his victims in acid but thanks to you, finally after eleven years of unsuccessful Intel on his whereabouts, we are now able to track his every move and soon we will have him behind bars, this time for good.’

  ‘I’m curious Miguel. How in the world did I manage to tag Guzman?’

  ‘That flash you handed over to him, it’s our window into his operations. We can now track his day to-day operations in real time, suppliers, route plans but most crucial like I said before, his whereabouts. It’s the most vital operational success for our organization to date. So, to answer your question Rodrigo, you were rescued from inside a burning 1963 Cessna 502 plane by our covert team which had been tracking the plane’s movement. We received Intel the cartel was shipping a load of SAMs down to Columbia. We had to intercept it. Ramona informed us that you were onboard too just before I authorized to have that plane brought down. You are one lucky chap amigo. My question however is, what exactly happened on that plane?'

  'I tried to hijack it and was hit with some metal I think, by one of the crew.' Rodriquez answered.

  ‘What happened to the Missiles?’ Rodriquez Inquired.

  ‘They are safe.’

  'Where?'

  ‘Safe is all I can say.’

  ‘What about the others?'

  ‘What others?’

  ‘The Two men, the pilot and...’

  ‘The pilot am afraid tried to resist, the other one is still missing.’ Miguel interrupted.

  ‘Miguel, what organization is this you work for? My guess is it’s not the Brazilian government.’

  ‘We are known as Recluse, a private security company contracted to handle very specific jobs. The highest priority targets for governments around the world. Targets like Guzman, Gadaffi, Osama bin laden, Doku Umarov to mention but a few.’

  ‘So you are Mercenaries.’

  ‘We are the Knights Templar of the modern age. We have one goal and one goal only. It’s called private gain. Unlike most private security companies out there, we prefer to use very few highly skilled people, one or two at most for an assignment and I’m pleased to say our success rates have been astounding. We are signatories of the Montreux document, a voluntary code of conduct for all private security organizations, so we are legit. We have carried out operations in Benghazi, Damascus, Iraq and Chechnya. Our operations are funded by governments keen to limit the political cost of placing military boots on the ground. Rodrigo, this is big business believe me, multimillion-dollar rewards involved. Many firms want a piece of the action but we want to stay ahead of competition. So I’m asking you to join with us. We could do well with a man of your survival instincts, and skills. Painful as it may seem, you have no strings and no family. You can, if nurtured well, become the ultimate weapon.’

  Rodriquez was silent for a while studying his best friend's face before opening his mouth to speak. And when he did speak, the words were slow and his face furrowed.

  ‘I will join you on one condition.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Give me Marcelo.’

  ‘Then I’ll consider him your first assignment. We call it induction into Recluse. It will also be your opportunity to impress our funders. That’s if you can get to Marcelo and eliminate him.’

  ‘Just point me to where he is. That’s all I need.’

  ‘This time amigo, you’re in luck. You see, Marcelo happens to be in custody, in prison.’

  ‘Which prison?’

  ‘He’s being held in Bangu prison, Rio de Janeiro.’