Undercover (2 page)

The next day, after meeting with Raul in the early morning, as always, Pablo drove the Jeep to Bogotá, and this time he went alone. He met a man at a house in the Macarena district, who handed him a battered suitcase full of money, the fruits of their work a few days before. Pablo often brought large amounts of cash to Raul. He asked no questions about where it went or how it was handled, although he had heard long ago that Raul had personal accounts in Switzerland and in other countries in the Caribbean. But if so, Raul had never shared that information with him. There were some things El Lobo kept to himself, no matter how much he trusted him. Pablo knew where some of the operation's accounts were kept, but he knew better than to ask any details. When Pablo returned to camp that night, Raul told him that he needed him to return to Bogotá, for a smaller operation than the one he had carried out that day. There would be no money pickup this time, but only some directions that needed to be verbally given, and Raul said it wouldn't take him long. He wanted no record of the transaction, and they were laying the groundwork for the transfer to Miami, which usually went smoothly, with operatives they had dealt with for a long time.

The two men chatted for a few minutes, but Pablo was eager to see Paloma, who he knew had dinner waiting for him, since he had told her that he was only going to Bogotá. She was smiling and held her arms out to him in a simple white cotton dress she had made herself, and she was wearing gold sandals he had brought her from the city. He loved bringing her small gifts whenever he could. Raul always warned him about spoiling her, and told him he would regret it one day. Women were like that, according to El Lobo, who had never trusted a woman in his life.

They sat down to dinner to the familiar sounds of the jungle, and Pablo could hear a small plane droning overhead. He knew that there were several men coming in that night from Ecuador. They were part of Raul's empire, and Pablo knew he would be meeting with them and Raul the next day when he got back from his mission in the city.

Paloma didn't ask him what he'd done that day. She never did. Her brother had trained her well. They had other things to talk about, and for now, all she could think about was the baby. She hardly ate that night, she was too big. And after dinner, they lay down on the bed, listening to the noises around them, and were comfortable lying side by side. He rubbed her back, and she fell asleep, after she tossed the white cotton dress onto the floor beside the bed. Her body was so spectacularly beautiful, even now with the enormous bump that made him smile each time he saw it, and her breasts were large and full, bigger than they'd been before, and she had long graceful legs, which hadn't changed. In another world, she would have been considered a remarkably beautiful girl, but here she lived concealed and isolated in her brother's jungle camp, in a place that paid no attention to her, except as an occasional object of envy or admiration. As Raul's sister, she was unattainable, except to Pablo. And only he really appreciated how beautiful she was, and what a kind, gentle girl. Here, no one cared.

She was still asleep when he left the camp early the next morning, when he went back to Bogotá, to carry out the mission he'd been assigned. It was a brief meeting with a man he knew well and had met with many times before. They agreed to the amount of cocaine to be transferred to Miami, and how much it would cost. The funds would change hands later on.

After the meeting, Pablo walked for a little while, and stopped at a café. He ordered a cup of strong black coffee, which the waiter served him, as he sat on the terrace in the sun. When he finished it, he ordered a second cup, although the brew was strong, and the waiter spilled it accidentally, as he was about to set the cup down. The hot coffee spread across the table but missed Pablo. The server apologetically mopped it up, with an embarrassed look. Pablo didn't look like the sort of man one would want to annoy. There was a tension about him that was reminiscent of a lion ready to strike.

And as the waiter wiped up the last of the coffee, he whispered almost inaudibly, “Now.” Pablo's eyes grew steely the moment he said it, and he glanced back at the waiter with a murderous look, then looked away. Pablo stood up and threw a few coins on the table, as the waiter watched him mournfully, and just as inaudibly, Pablo said, “No,” strode away from the table, and walked to the Jeep. He was back on the road a few minutes later, and his eyes were cold and hard as he drove.

Pablo met with Raul and the men from Ecuador late that night. They were making plans for the transfer of goods from Ecuador to Panama, but there was nothing remarkable about the meeting. And at the end of it, Raul offered him a cigar, which Pablo took. As he lit it, he saw Raul watching him, as he always did. One always had the feeling with him that he could look into your thoughts.

“So what do you think?” Raul was asking about the meeting.

“It sounds all right to me.” It wasn't one of their bigger deals, and seemed like business as usual. They talked about the upcoming shipment to Miami then, which was far more complex, and more interesting, for a much larger amount. Raul told him then that he had to go back to Bogotá again the next day. Sometimes Pablo didn't go for a week or two, and at other times, when they were moving several shipments, he had to go to the city every day. He didn't mind.

It was nearly two in the morning when Pablo finally left the tent, and Raul disappeared into the shrubbery to dissolve into wherever in the jungle he would spend the night. The two men had embraced as they parted, as they always did. And when Pablo went back to the hut, Paloma was sound asleep. She was sleeping more now, he had noticed, as her time came close, and something told him it would only be a few days. He lay quietly next to her and fell asleep, and was up and dressed before first light.

He didn't stop to see Raul as he left, as he had to be in Bogotá early that day. But he was hoping to be back late that afternoon. The only thing that bothered him about going to the city now was not being there for Paloma if labor started. There was no one else to help her—she was the only woman in the camp.

He was thinking about her on the way to his meeting, when a man jostled him hard on the sidewalk. He apologized in Spanish, and locked his eyes into Pablo's. Pablo recognized him immediately and didn't want to be late.

“Not now,” he said under his breath, and the man responded just as quietly, seeming not to even speak to him.

“Now.”

No expression crossed Pablo's face, as he headed down a narrow street, turned a corner, walked behind a small dilapidated building, and took a key from under a plant. With startling speed, he had turned the key in the lock, entered the house, and closed the door behind him. He ran up a flight of stairs, threw open a door, and glared at three men in jeans and ordinary street garb, who were waiting for him.

“What the fuck is this about?” he shouted at them. “I told you yesterday, not now. I have a meeting in five minutes about the shipment to Miami. Why don't you guys back off?” He sounded angry and looked tense, and he was speaking to them in English, not Spanish. The collective look they aimed at him was like a wall. There was no give in it, and no emotion. This was pure business, of a different kind.

“You're out, Everett. You're done. There's a leak somewhere in the chain. It's going to get to Raul any second. Maybe it already has by now.” Pablo thought of the men who had flown in from Ecuador, and wondered if one of them had said something to Raul. There had been no sign of it the night before. But El Lobo was cagey that way, and he would have wanted to check it out. Maybe that was why he had sent him to Bogotá for the third time in a week. But Pablo wasn't ready to quit. He was too close in, knew too much, and with Paloma ready to give birth, he wasn't going anywhere.

“The hell I am!” he shouted at the men again. There wasn't even the slightest shift in their eyes. “For chrissake, I've been here for three years. My woman's about to have a baby any minute.” He was shaking with rage and emotion and looked like he was about to cry.

“You're risking everyone in the operation if you try to stay. You're a marked man, Everett. We're talking about hours before Raul knows it, if he hasn't already heard. You're out. There's a plane waiting for us now. You may not even make it that far, if El Lobo is on to you. You've got five minutes. You know what you have to do.” Pablo hesitated for an endless beat and glared at the man in charge. His name was Bill Carter, and he was a senior special agent of the DEA. He had flown down from Washington to get him. They knew he was hotheaded, and they didn't want any mistakes.

“And if I quit and walk out of here and go back?”

“You'll be dead by tonight, and so will the girl. The only thing that might save her is your getting the hell out now. Does she know?” Pablo shook his head miserably. “You know the deal. You can't destroy everything you've built by going back now.” Pablo knew that too. Other operatives like him were planted throughout Raul's operation. If he was marked now, he was liable to blow their cover too. He had to get out. But it nearly killed him to leave Paloma, with their baby days from being born. He would never see the baby now, and possibly not Paloma ever again. He had known that all along, that inevitably this day would come. He just thought he would have more time with them, and that maybe he could get her to safety one day. It had been a futile dream. He knew that now.

“I have a life here,” he said sadly.

Bill Carter spoke with compassion. “We all did when we were undercover. I was in for seven years. That's a long time. You've got to get ready.” He handed him a small kit.

Pablo hesitated for an instant before taking it from him and heading to the bathroom. He thought about climbing out the window and going back, but he knew how many men would be killed if he did, and his getting killed himself wouldn't help Paloma either. He had no choice, he knew, as he took out the razor, and shaved his beard and his head. He put some dark makeup under his eyes, which aged him instantly. There was theatrical makeup, which allowed him to create a long ugly scar down one cheek, and contact lenses, which changed the color of his eyes. They had left clothes for him in the bedroom, similar to theirs, with a baseball cap, and as Pablo dressed, all he could think of was Paloma at the camp. It was inconceivable to him that he would never see her again, and he was determined to return. He would find her wherever she was, and do whatever it took to bring her home with him. But for now, he knew there was no way out. He had to leave.

As he emerged from the bedroom of the small apartment, looking like a different person, one of the men handed him his passport with his real name, Marshall Everett, and the badge he hadn't carried for three years, as a special agent of the DEA. The Drug Enforcement Administration had placed him in Colombia three years earlier, and for three years in Ecuador before that, to set up his identity for El Lobo's operation. The three men were standing, each carrying a shoulder bag, and they were ready to leave. They wanted him in the air and out of the country within the hour, before all hell broke loose and Raul sent his men after Pablo.

The man who had been Pablo Echeverría for six years of diligent undercover work said not a word as he followed them down the stairs to the car parked discreetly outside. He got into the backseat, and looked out the window in agony as Bogotá slid by. All he had to do was make a run for it, get to the Jeep, and drive back to camp, but he knew that if he did, the whole undercover operation would come down around their ears and other men would die.

They drove swiftly toward the airport, showed their badges to security, and boarded a small military plane that was waiting for them.

Security didn't look closely at any of them, and moments later they were in the air on the plane heading to Washington. There was a terrible unreality to it, as Pablo, now Marshall Everett again, watched the countryside shrink below them, knowing that the woman he loved was still there and he had just abandoned her. The only thing that reassured him was that she was Raul's sister, which at least would provide some protection to her. She had never had the remotest suspicion that he was an undercover agent for the DEA. And Marshall knew better than anyone that there was nothing he could do for her now. Later, if he was lucky, he hoped he could find a way to return, without endangering her, which would be a delicate mission at best.

Bill Carter looked at his watch half an hour after takeoff and informed Marshall that they were raiding the camp within the hour. They had had close calls with Raul before, and this time they didn't want El Lobo to get away. It was why they had wanted to move so quickly. Everett had already stalled them for a day. He should have gone straight to their meeting point the day before, when the waiter spilled the coffee, and instead he had ignored them. That came as no surprise to Bill. Marshall was known to be stubborn and independent. He was a brilliant operative, willing to take unlimited risks, but he had defied his superiors a few times over the years, which was why Carter had come himself. He was taking no chances. They wanted Marshall out, before he was killed, once they knew about the leak.

“Tell them I have a woman there, and she's almost nine months pregnant, and to watch out for her when they take the camp,” Marshall said tersely, then turned away and closed his eyes. None of the three men accompanying him attempted to speak to him for the rest of the trip.

An hour after Marshall's flight left Bogotá, Raul was warned by informants in the city that American DEA agents were about to raid the camp. He had just been told about Pablo, and after gathering up his papers and giving instructions to his men, he hurried to the hut where Paloma was taking a nap. He grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her off the bed.

“You knew about him, didn't you?” he accused her, his face inches from hers.

“Knew what?” She looked suddenly terrified. She knew how dangerous her brother was in a rage.

“He's an undercover agent…the sonofabitch…I trusted him like a brother….He's a lying bastard, and he doesn't give a damn about you. You and that baby were just part of his cover, to fool us. What did he tell you?”

“Nothing…” She looked horrified. “That's not true…he can't be.”

“It's true. He's gone. He left the car in the city and disappeared.”

“He'll come back. I know he will,” she said in a choked voice.

“He's smarter than that. You were just part of his game. And now what are you going to do with that?” He pointed at her belly in disgust, as her hands instantly went around it to protect it.

“He'll be back for me. I know he will.” Raul believed that too. Pablo may have been a fraud, but he knew the kind of man he was, the kind of softhearted guy who would risk his own life for the woman he loved. And all Raul wanted now was vengeance for the lies Pablo had made him believe and for making a fool out of him. Without hesitating for a second, Raul pulled his gun out of the holster he wore, aimed it at his sister, and shot her in the head. Paloma fell to the ground. He wanted Pablo's men to find her and tell him what he'd done. The woman he loved and the child he wanted so badly were dead. And with that, Raul turned on his heel and left.

Marshall had been asleep for several hours when Bill Carter was called to the cockpit, an hour before they landed in Washington.

The message relayed to Bill in code was that the camp had been raided. Marshall's woman was dead, shot through the head, and El Lobo had escaped before they got there, yet again. He had vanished into thin air, and their suspicion was that he had flown to either Venezuela or Ecuador to take refuge until things cooled down. Without commenting, Bill went back to his seat and told no one what he'd heard. It was too soon to tell Marshall about the woman. He had three weeks of debriefing ahead of him, and they would tell him at the right time. It had been three years that he was with Raul in Colombia, and he had only returned to the States for two weeks to be reassigned after his successful mission in Ecuador, which laid the groundwork that allowed him to enlist in Raul's operation. He had essentially been undercover for six years. He had fully lived the life of Pablo Echeverría, and Bill knew it would take time now for him to get over the shock of being removed so quickly. And they wanted his full cooperation for the debriefing, to tell them everything he knew and had done for Raul. He had sent back regular coded messages to make them aware of shipments, locations, quantities, money laundering, and the people they did business with. But now they wanted the rest of the details.

Bill knew how hard reentry would be for Marshall after being undercover for so long. He had been through it himself. For a moment, they'd been afraid that he would refuse to come out at all. But he was responsible about his work, although Bill sensed it was a close call this time. The threat of costing lives other than his own had been the deciding factor, as Bill knew it would be. Marshall would never endanger another agent, no matter how willing he was to risk himself.

Marshall woke up as the plane touched down at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland, just outside Washington, D.C., and he looked exhausted and pale under his tan. He had removed the scar, the colored contacts, the makeup, and the baseball cap. But as he looked in the mirror in the bathroom of the plane, he no longer recognized himself. His head was shaved, his beard was gone, his eyes looked dead, and his heart had turned to stone. Pablo Echeverría had vanished into thin air, and what was left of Special DEA Agent Marshall Everett had come home. It was the last place he wanted to be. He felt like a robot instead of a man. A part of him had just died.

When they disembarked from the plane, Marshall knew he would be taken to the Drug Enforcement Task Force Center, where the OCDETF, Office of Crime Drug Enforcement Task Forces, was located, to check in. And a helicopter was already waiting to take him to Quantico, the facility the DEA shared with the FBI. He would be there for three weeks of debriefing, and reentry readjustment, including heavy psychological testing, to determine his state of mind. He had been debriefed for two weeks after Ecuador, but this was different. He hadn't been as deep into operations in Ecuador as he was in Colombia. And when he left Ecuador, he was twenty-five years old, and he had moved on to his assignment in Colombia very quickly. Now he was three years older, had infiltrated deeper into Raul's organization, and had left behind a universe and a life that he cared about deeply, a woman he loved, and a baby about to be born.