May 22, 2001
7:14 P.m.
Broad River, Columbia, South Carolina
“Again? That’s the third time this night! Son of a… gah!”
The normally composed girl threw her head back with a cry as she nearly fell backwards in anger and disappointment, her rod and hook already reeled in as she messed up at the last second and caused her prey to get away. Dusk was setting into the fishing hole located within the heart of the city of Columbia, though as summer approached that meant the darkness wouldn’t come until much later. They still had another hour or so that they could enjoy before turning in for the night.
More than enough time for Jack to get his fill of laughs. His hat, adorned with various hooks and flies accumulated over the years as sorts of trophies, jingled as he began to prance on over in triumph, his own rod dangling a small fish of his own as Max the Mutt followed close by, his eyes locked dead on with his master’s prey.
“I’m at what… five now? Thought you said you were better at everything… not that hard.”
“Do I look like I can use the force? You’re cheating, I just don’t know how!” The incredulous girl replied, unable and unwilling to cast her line again as she sat down on the grass. While the joke was on Jack, he had to keep his mouth shut to prevent himself from giving away his secret; he may have been able to cheat, but just because he could doesn’t mean he did.
“It’s not cheating… it’s simply the form. Did you know that India is one of the largest fishing countries in the world?”
“Then why do I suck at it?” Padma asked.
“Partly because of what you’ve been taught… fishing in India traditionally involves a net. That’ll work in some parts of the US… but not here. Here, you need to ignore your Eastern heritage and remember your English ancestors… your people were just as important to the history of England as the English themselves.”
Taking a moment to free the fish he had captured, the bearded man had found there was no need as all that remained was a portion of the head, Max contently chewing the rest from a ways away. Knowing nothing could be done for it now, Jack set his rod down as he walked over to his girlfriend dressed in cool jeans and a blouse as he lifted her to her feet. Then, motioning for Padma to take the rod that had helped him many a time, he placed his hands upon her hips and began to whisper in her ear.
“Do as I say… feel as I feel… and move as I move. You want to know how to use the force… than let me teach you.
“Turn as I twist… and launch the hook when I begin to push.”
Padma, for her lack of inherent fishing ability, was at least able to make up the deficit by listening to her teacher. Taking a deep breath, she slowly twisted her waist about the side as her hook began to swing through the air, only to launch it hard as Jack prompted her with his hands. Not a perfect cast, but sufficient; it landed near the center of the stream as it bobbed in the water, the red lure shining bright even in the setting sun.
“Excellent.” Jack commented, moving his hands from her hips to her arms. “Now focus on the lure, but keep your hands on the reel and rod… not so tight, but don’t make it loose. Don’t imagine this as a hammer, but a pencil… this is just another question to be solved, nothing more.”
Padma nodded, letting her boyfriend embrace her in such a way as her determination hardened once again. They’d been there for over ninety minutes already, yet it took a half hour each time just for her to even get a bite; she was about to make small talk because of it when the lure suddenly disappeared beneath the waves, a clear sign a fish had taken hold when the line became taught against the rod.
Jack was quick to speak now, his usual caution abandoned at the thrill of the hunt. “Now reel it in; not so fast as to pull it off, but not to slow that the fish can get away. Two revolutions per second will suffice.”
Padma liked the math and could synchronize to it as well. Two to one, two to one, two to one, two to one caused the line to come in, not as quick as she had been doing earlier but neither was it as hard or as much of a struggle. The fish seemed to have been lulled into the perfect trap; it tried to break free, but it didn’t fight as hard as it could have in the attempt to do so.
“When do I pull up?”
“You don’t. Let the rod do it for you; simply reel in the line and nothing more. Don’t jerk, don’t stray; just stay true to the course and your prize will come to you.”
It lacked the climatic finish because of it, but Padma preferred a good ending to an exciting one. A few more seconds past and suddenly the lure was out the water, a good sized fish about half the size of her arm dangling in the air. It may have been the smallest one of the night, but the fact that she accomplished such a marvel was all that mattered.
At least to Padma. Once the fish was safely overland, she dropped the rod in a hurry as she turned and hugged her taller boyfriend, kissing him straight on the lips and remaining interlocked with him as the bearded man was stunned, unaware he’d be receiving such a strong display of affection in plain sight of the other fishermen trying to close out the day on a good note. A few wayward glances and hollers were cast their way, but the Indian American ignored them all; she simply kept her lips locked for as long as she wanted, pulling away only when she felt her gratitude was proven.
When she finally did separate, Jack was grinning though half confused. “It was just a fish.”
“I’ve never caught a fish before. You just made me a fisherwoman.”
“Huh… well then, let’s make you the best one in the world if I can get a kiss for every fish you catch.”
Seems Jack knew exactly what to say. “Sounds like a great idea.”
They were just about to kiss again when a loud cough was heard, the lovers turning to find the cold stare of aviator glasses focused on the two. They began to separate… not due to the presence of Trevor Daines, but rather his friend.
“Sorry to ruin the date, Boss. But we got problems. Jack and Padma, meet-”
“Agent Fabio Lopez.” The Hispanic man answered, the hint of an accent and the way he said his Z betraying that he was no native born United Statesman. Still, that meant nothing to the men gathered; the Caucasian and Indian took his gloved hand regardless, more than happy to meet the tall and strong stranger in a suit, a government spy of some sorts if Jack had to guess. The answer to the exchange proved all that Jack needed to know.
“What can I do for you, Mister Lopez?”
“You brought in a Latin Drug Lord. We need you to take him down.”
May 22, 2001
8:02 P.m.
Jack’s Home, Columbia, South Carolina
There weren’t many times that Padma had actually stopped by to visit her boyfriend’s home. She was aware of some of the philanthropy that often kept him traveling; no use owning a massive home because of it. At the same time, Jack wasn’t the type to talk about his family; he was personable and open, willing to answer any question she had about them… but she learned to stop veering in that territory long ago. Jack came from a line of soldiers, a line that trailed Death wherever he went; Padma couldn’t ask about a single person without Jack suddenly tensing up, the sorrow of their passing taking over as his usually happy countenance turned blue.
It made things easy for the future doctor to focus more on him than other trivial matters because of it; she didn’t try to interpret his blank walls and small home that was even more compact than her own as she instead starred at the man, watching as his strong muscles rippled with every picture of gore and violence shown to him, threatening to tear apart the flannel shirt he was prone to wearing.
“These are all picture of his native land. Rodrigo Morales may not have been the strongest of his bunch, but he was the most violent; he is the king of the ring, in a la
nd already torn apart by mob violence.
“Hangings, burnings, even crucifixions… it’s estimated that Morales and his gang, Los Ocelotes de Justicia, were responsible for at least four of the gang related deaths that occur on a daily basis, equal only to Mara 18.
“Then this happened today in Los Angeles.”
The clean shaven FBI agent tossed a picture onto the clear glass dinner table, the group disgusted by what they had found. A Hispanic police officer, stripped naked save for his police badge pinned into his chest, was nailed to a wall in five different parts, his limbs detached from his torso in what was a pre-meditated mutilation. The reason was clear; the word traidor was written above his head as a sort of condemning sign, almost as ironic as what Pilate had written for the crucified Christ.
The agent had seen far too much violence to grimace anymore. “They call themselves Ocelots of Justice for their specific targeting of Latin Police Officers; they believe they are traitors to their countries, helping sustain corrupt governments and fat cats while the rest of their people suffer. Not that the gangs due much to help the poor out anyway; they’ll exploit them when they can. Still, Morales is infamous for these kinds of racial killings and will go out of his way to torture and maim them, always putting their bodies up on display when he’s done. That he’s repeated his actions in LA means he seems to be setting up shop there.”
“Why, if I may ask good sir,” Fred said intently from the kitchen, preparing glasses of lemonade for the still blistering hot night. With spoon twirling about the large container holding the precious juice, he worked and spoke simultaneously. “If he is so fearsome, why leave El Salvador for new territory?”
“I can answer that, though we have a problem Boss.” Trevor replied, motioning his head towards the Indian girl shuddering from the violence depicted on the table. “It relates to the other half of our work. The kind the public doesn’t know about.”
“Padma can hear it… she’ll find out about it eventually.” Jack replied, taking his girlfriend’s hand into his own. That seemed to calm her down, but only slightly; she still couldn’t help but frown, her face contorted as if it would puke. It’d be enough to keep her from asking questions until later.
The FBI agent took it as a sign to continue. “As Mister Daines said, the truth is something the public doesn’t know about. As you know, the infamous mercenary for hire Adrian Vantel-” A growl was heard, Max enraged by the name even from his doggie bed in the living room, “-has been working for The Robber Barons full time since about the time he avenged the Kennedys in New York a few years back in 1998. He’s expanded his portfolio after that case, moving from simple assassin and FTM hunter to full on thief, black mailer and saboteur. While the FBI simply answers to whoever is in charge and tend to work with various parties, even we know to get out of the way once Adrian arrives.”
“Which is what happened in El Salvador about three months back.” Trevor added, knowing even more intimately than Fabio Lopez as to what had happened. “Taking a note from the Germans following World War II, the surviving members of groups like the Illuminati and Knights Templar took refuge in Latin America. In exchange for protection, money and control, they supplied arms, political favors and immigration to the gang members of Latin America. Part of the recent surge in violence is because of this; organized crime is getting a booster shot from secret societies, or at least what remains of them.
“Of course, that’s bad for the Barons. A boy can grow to be a man, and a single man is all that’s needed to destroy a kingdom if he’s made of the right stuff. There is a zero tolerance policy in the Barons system right now, which mean destroying anyone that Cerberus and the rest might have come into contact with. They dispatched Adrian to start at the tip of South America and charged him to work his way upwards, destroying the criminals reinforced by the Baron’s enemies while reinforcing those who had yet to be bought. Because of it, the Barons were able to wipe out the competition while establishing their control over the western hemisphere, allowing them to become the uncontested masters of the Americas.”
“So what did Morales do… take in a rogue Templar?”
“He did.” Agent Lopez answered, taking out a photo of a man Jack had met once or twice. Save for his shining yellow eyes, nothing about him was remarkable. “Dead now, of course. However, before he died he managed to give over ten million dollars and five hundred assault rifles to Los Ocelotes. Were it not for Adrian, El Salvador would have found itself under new management in what would have been another civil war. Might not be a fan of my bosses, but at least they keep some kind of peace.”
“A peace bought with control and oppression.” Fred commented, arriving with the glasses of lemonade. Everyone took one, especially Padma; the butler had just finished preparing an extra glass of lemonade when he switched the one she had, an empty cup for a full one.
Fabio had to take a sip before he could answer. “I was born in Argentina about three years before the start of the dirty war. I grew up as a child in a state of oppression, a military state that shot first and asked questions later. My own parents were taken from my home when I was seven before I was shipped to the United States, a child to be adopted in exchange for government aid. I thought there was nothing worse than that, living in a totalitarianism state where state dictates what’s true and permitted.
“Now I’m not so sure. Now I visit my friends and brothers in these other Hispanic countries and I see the kind of Hell that happens to a race and a people when you don’t control them. I may be a citizen of the United States, but even I feel bad about the way it’s corrupting our cultures and our nations down South, all because they’re too weak to stand on their own anymore. I’m not saying that I would take another Jorge Videla… but I am suggesting that Argentina and Chile would have at least controlled their identities had they kept their power the way it was.”
“Even though they both received American financial and intelligent support during the Dirty Wars?” Trevor asked. The FBI agent nodded nonetheless, his answer remaining
“A man chooses who he works with; a slave obeys all who are not his equal, whether it be a master or a stranger.”
Perhaps it would be a good time to mention the only perspective that really matters, that of our protagonist. I fail to mention it until now because it may be slightly underwhelming; the fact was, Jack didn’t care. How the world operated and the way it’s governments managed meant little; what truly mattered was that the individual did what was right, though the ways that came about often differed. As such, Jack merely whistled to bring the attention back to him, Max instinctively rushing over at his master’s call.
Patting the obedient dog on the head, the owner of the small house replied “Politics are fun… but not when we have a murderer to hunt. I brought him in, I have to take him out… that’s the score?”
“Sort of. The fact is we have no other choice.” Fabio replied, waving his hand through the air absently in disappointment. No picture to describe the hole he found himself in. “Cerberus is stretched too thin to take him out, especially as he doesn’t have any value and is currently hurting the Barons more than helping. Sylvester Jayden, Grand Boss, and most of the other mercenaries I can think of are in a similar situation; Morales is going to be a hard man to catch, and we can’t afford to pay their price for just a simple drug lord.”
“What about the Robber Barons?” Fred asked, the name still sour to his tongue. “You seem to know enough to at least be cordial with them. Why not direct their attention to Morales?”
“Because they won’t until they can be a hero for it.” Lopez sighed, knowing full well of the corruption of his masters. “Take out Morales now and he’s just some shrimp in a bigger sea. Let him grow though, eat some guppies and fish until he’s the size of a shark, and suddenly it’s worth the effort. What makes the better story at the end of the news day? The man who caught a one pound trout or a hundred pound mutant?”
“Always the
latter… fortunately for you, I don’t care about how big my fish are.” Jack announced, extending a hand forward. His two companions practically knew from the start that he would take the case, but what even they weren’t aware of is that it did take some convincing for him to get to that point. Whether the severity of the cause or the use of fishing analogies was the source for the sudden change, let it be said that while he was unsure before he was now completely ready to dive in. “I’m in. We head out tomorrow…. Time to catch ourselves a baby shark.”