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  Presidente Parente sat back in his office and watched CNN with a smile across his face. Colonel Rojas was sitting in a chair beside him. “You see, my colonel, it is all working out according to my plan. The election will change their government to one friendly to me,” he said. “Think of it. The great citadel of democracy will be forced to bow. For the first time, the United States will come to me for advice and support,” he said gleefully. “And you will be at my side – my right hand as Venezuela grows in power and influence in the world. Does this not thrill you, my colonel?”

  Rojas could actually think of nothing so horrible, but he grinned widely. “It is a dream come true, Señor Presidente,” he said with some enthusiasm.

  “Indeed!” said Parente. “I noticed that your admiral has managed to evade us. I believe you were right about him. I sent people out to find him and to watch these ships he could use. If they move, we will know about it,” he said.

  “Most wise, Señor Presidente,” said Rojas. “I also asked our intelligence people to monitor what communications they can in Washington, so that we will know of any unusual activity. We may not be able to break their codes, but increased activity can indicate something getting ready to happen,” he said. Rojas stopped for a moment, “I hope I have not overstepped my bounds, but I feel it is my job to worry for you, Señor Presidente.”

  Parente beamed. “On the contrary. You are showing initiative and your loyalty to your Presidente. I agree with you. Let me know what you find out,” he said. “By the way, I have just received a message from Cuba. Presidente Castro will be making a personal visit on the 12th. He wants to meet with me to discuss regional issues. We will meet in my office. Make the arrangements for a formal reception, the meeting and then a formal departure the same day. Let me know when things are set.” He glanced at his watch. I must be going to one of the outer provinces. Get in touch with me if there is any appreciable change,” he said.

  Rojas sprang to his feet and saluted stiffly. “I will contact you immediately, Señor Presidente.” With the work done, Rojas did an about face and made his way out the door.

  Parente, gathered the briefcase he always carried with him and made his way down the secret passage to his limousine. The Chief of his Secret Police was waiting for him at the helicopter. As they entered, Parente tossed the briefcase into the cabin, striking his armrest and breaking a small switch which enabled his headset communications. As a result, the plate also cracked and the switch tore a small gash in the side of the case. Parente saw it and mentally cursed himself. He might need to talk to his pilot during the flight. As both men entered the cabin, grabbed the intercom microphone and checked to see if the pilot could hear him. There was nothing. Parente told the crewman to let the pilot know it was broken. There were always hand signals. Parente then settled in for the long flight.

  Colonel Carl Messina started the helicopter and obtained permission to take off. Using hand signals, he let Presidente Parente know all was set and then pulled back on the collective. The helicopter rose gently and turned toward the mountains.

  The view from the cockpit was exceptional. Blue sky was all around them and two attack helicopters accompanied them. Things went well until there was some mild buffet as they passed over some hills. Suddenly the intercom system came on and Messina began to hear the conversation. He tried to contact the President, but it was no use.

  “So all is ready,” said Parente to his Secret Police Chief.

  “It is perfectly set up. The documents have been placed in the appropriate places so that everything points to Rojas. If the Americans begin to suspect, the ambassador will let you know and we can spring the trap. The hostages will be executed and left at a former military camp with enough evidence that Rojas was planning the coup using the American mayors for leverage. You can then say you found out of the plot and even helped the American CIA to capture the fugitive. Of course, he will be killed while trying to defend himself, but that happens,” the Chief said.

  “Good. I want no one involved with this to be able to talk,” said Parente. “There should be no trace back to us.”

  “Even the guards at the camp will be killed,” said the Chief. “No matter how bad it gets, you will be blameless and the Americans will look to you as a new friend,” he said. “Are we sure the new American President will do as you wish?”

  Messina heard Parente chuckle. “Guaranteed. He wants to be the next president, but he knows that on his own he won’t be able to do it against someone that popular with the people. I will make him President, then he will have to do as I say. Are the documents tying him to Rojas ready?”

  “Yes, Señor Presidente.”

  “Then everything is set. After tonight’s ceremony I plan on returning to Caracas for about another week. After all, I must look like I am helping the Americans. Are the FARC members being rounded up?”

  “Si, Señor Presidente.”

  “Good. After they changed their allegiances, they have become most uncooperative in spreading conflict. It was time to get rid of them anyway. After this, they will effectively be gone, though we can still do things in their name if we need,” said Parente. “Now tell me where you are striking next.”

  The conversation droned on for nearly an hour before the helicopter hit another rough spot and the system shorted out again. Messina could not believe what he had heard. Rojas was a good man. They had come to respect each other over the last year. Rojas had even offered to help his 14 year old son get started in the game of lacrosse. Parente, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Messina already thought the whole thing with the Americans was insane. Now he knew what was really happening and it disgusted him. A good Catholic, he knew this had no place in this or any other country. He had watched as terrorism consumed other countries in the world. Surely Venezuela would not become one of those. A part of him wanted to crash the helicopter into the nearest hill, but quickly a plan came into his mind. He would begin implementing it when Parente left the aircraft.

  Quantico, Virginia

  Ricks had been a tired man after the week-long sojourn into the swamp, and now a few days of briefings and plans had him exhausted. But the thought of one of his friends being held as a hostage had sparked some inner strength that kept him going. Now another spark would let him relax, even if for a few days.

  He pulled his Jeep Wrangler into the driveway and turned off the ignition. Reaching into the back, he grabbed his bag and made his way to the front door. Half way there, two little three-year-olds came bounding out of the front door and latched themselves around his legs. “Daddy!” they screamed.

  Sue Lynn followed the boys out and wrapped her arms around her husband. After a welcoming kiss, she gave him a long hug. “I am so glad you are home,” she said. “The boys have missed their daddy.”

  “And I’ve missed them,” he exclaimed as he dropped his bag and scooped the two of them in his arms. The boys giggled and squirmed as he held them close.

  “Did you get the bad guys Daddy?” young Dale Junior asked.

  “We sure did. We beat them good,” Ricks said.

  “Yea!” both boys cheered and Ricks let them down and took Sue Lynn’s hand. They made their way into the house.

  “You look tired,” Sue Lynn said as took his bag and then led him to his recliner. The two boys waited till he had propped up the footrest before climbing into his lap.

  “I am. Crawling through that swamp nearly did it for me. I’m getting too old for this stuff,” the 22 year old said with a grin.

  Sue Lynn leaned in and gave him another welcoming kiss. “Well, you just relax. I will have dinner ready very soon,” she said. She turned and headed back to the kitchen. “We have fish heads and rice tonight,” she exclaimed over her shoulder.

  Ricks chuckled. That was the standing joke between them when she was preparing a big meal. They had met during the war with North Korea. She was about to be raped by North Korean soldiers when he, Paul Hufham and Lee had come up. He had shot the m
an holding her down and Paul had killed the one getting ready to rape her. From then on, she had done what she could to help the men. At first she didn’t really want to speak, but over the time, she had grown fond of the 19 year old who had helped her. It had come full circle in an air raid shelter when they first kissed. He remembered that kiss and the change it had made in him. From then on, every time he had some time off, he spent it with her. They were married in the middle of a war, surrounded by men who made war. It was the bright spot for all of them when they remembered back.

  Then he had lost both legs trying to save a school full of children. They were being held hostage too. He had made a sacrifice to get them all out. Now he was walking around with two more results from that war – his two sons. At first, he was overjoyed when Sue Lyn said she was pregnant. They had been his reason for living. A month later he personally heard the two heartbeats for the first time. Now they were sitting in his lap asking him questions. They were his miracles.

  Sue Lynn called them to the table. The two boys, identical twins, rushed to their seats followed by their daddy. After the Blessing, they began their meal of beef stew. Sue Lynn had taken pride in learning American dishes and serving them along with some Korean delicacies at home. The conversation was the usual family things, getting caught up on what was going in, then things got a little more serious.

  “I’m going to be heading back out on Monday,” Ricks said.

  Sue Lynn’s face saddened. “Why so soon?”

  “Have you heard about the mayors who were kidnapped?” he asked. She nodded her head. “Well, you remember Patricia Hammond? We went to their wedding.”

  Sue Lynn’s hand went up to her face in astonishment. “She was one of them?”

  Ricks nodded.

  She shook her head. “Poor Patricia. And poor Admiral,” she said as she recalled the man in the white uniform. Dale and the Admiral had become friends after the war and occasionally talked on the phone. During a stop in Norfolk he had actually stopped by their home in Quantico to say hello. Sue Lynn remembered them both fondly.

  “I got the call while I was still down in Morehead City. My team may be the one going to get them,” he told her.

  She smiled at that. Paul Hufham and once told her that it was people like her husband who always tried to do the right thing and make things right. She believed it with all her heart. “Then I not worry so much,” she said. “You go get them and bring them home. You stop the bad people.”

  “You’re gonna stop the bad guys again, Daddy?” asked young Paul. Both boys now focused their attention on their dad.

  Ricks grinned. “Maybe. Some people want us to be ready, so I have to go help out.”

  “Can we tell people about this one,” asked Dale Junior.

  “Not yet, son. This will be our secret so the bad guys don’t know I’m coming,” he said.

  Both boys’ eyes opened wide. Dad had told them before that sometimes it was very important that things be kept a secret. That meant Daddy was going to do something very important. “Will you tell us when it’s okay?” asked Dale Junior.

  “Yea, I want to tell Jake off. He keeps saying his daddy is more important than ours,” Paul exclaimed.

  Ricks laughed. “Oh yes, I’ll let you know and you can tell him. And if I get a medal, I’ll let you show it to him.”

  The boys looked at each other with a grin and exclaimed, “Cool.”

  Ricks remembered just two months earlier when Paul had snuck one of his medals into his little backpack and had taken it to the preschool they attended each week. Although most of the children were the sons and daughters of military families, no one had seen the medal that hung from the blue ribbon Paul had put around his neck.

  Being back with his family was doing the trick. Dale Ricks, Senior, could feel the tensions leave his body. Later on, after putting his twin sons to bed, he turned his attentions to the one other person that filled his life.

  The Compound

  Jim Mitchell had been removed from the cell and placed in a truck mid afternoon. The sergeant accompanied him to see a doctor and had come back later saying Mitchell would stay in the hospital for a few days. A cool breeze had picked up and after showering and donning hospital scrubs, the rest of the mayors had settled down on new straw put in the cell while they were out showering. There was only a common shower room with multiple nozzles, but first the women, then the men cleaned up. Dinner was a fish stew with hard, thick bread which seemed to draw in the broth like a sponge. Only after eating and settling in for the night, did they begin to hear distant drums.

  The Mountains of Venezuela

  Father Cardoza had a wonderful day. He had filled two flash drives full of photos and was about to turn in when he too heard the drums. Turning toward the source, he noticed the village with the stone buildings was brightly lit. There were also a lot of people standing around the obelisk apparently singing or chanting. He really couldn’t hear what they were doing; only the deep resonating drums carried that far. Looking down the hill, he saw another brightly lit area in the trees.

  Curiosity won him over and he pulled out his camera and put on the 400mm lens. The lower set of lights seemed to light up a small compound. There were guard towers there with people in them. To one side was some sort of white paneled truck under the cover of a tree.

  Next, he turned his attention back to the small village. As he guessed, there seemed to be several hundred natives dancing in the courtyard. Fires added light to the scene from several places along the sides of the stone buildings. There were also several men stationed a strategic places. They were marked with some sort of symbols and dressed simply in red colored loin cloths. It looked surreal - like something out of a movie. Suddenly it all stopped as a man, painted in gold, wearing a huge, brightly colored ceremonial headdress walked up. He was raising his hands into the air and saying something while turning toward the obelisk. Suddenly a white smoke seemed to rise from around the buildings and along the obelisk. More lights came on as the top of the obelisk seemed to open up and a figure appeared as if by magic. This man was also wearing ceremonial garb from some long forgotten age, but this one was different. He seemed to glitter and sparkle in the light reflecting some sort of gold hue. It was as if the sun itself was pouring from the figure. He held a staff in one hand which he slowly raised high into the air. The people below him kneeled to the ground.

  Anticipating something was about to happen, Cardoza put a fresh flash drive into the camera and aimed the lens toward the ceremony. The sight filled his view screen. As he began to photograph the event, the group got more active. Obviously the figure in the headdress on the ground was stirring the crowd up. On occasion, the people began to cheer and jump as the figure spoke. Then from out of one of the buildings, several painted figures in loin cloths dragged an old man in a ruffled white shirt and dark pants toward a decorated wooden post set up in front of the obelisk. The man looked almost as pale as his white hair. By the look on his face he was in some pain. He was having difficulty keeping up with his tormenters. The crowd was dancing again now and the old man was tied to the post using what appeared to be a gold colored rope. He was facing sideways to Cardoza, who now realized what was happening. The drums started getting faster and more intense. Now the figure in the headdress on the ground walked up to the old man. Clasping his hands together, he raised them over his head. Cardoza saw what looked like some kind of knife.

  The old man looked up at the figure and then the knife raised high. There was terror on his face. It was as if he could not take his eyes from what was about to happen to him. Cardoza could see some sort of additional pain seem to engulf the old man as his head jerked to his left.

  The knife plunged. It penetrated the old man’s chest and the man in the headdress appeared to carve a long gash into him. Blood poured from the old man and his head slumped to one side. The man in the headdress then reached into the old man’s chest and seemed to pull something from him. When he turned to the crow
d, he held the old man’s heart high above his head. It appeared to still be moving.

  The cheer from the crowd actually reached Cardoza’s ears. He continued to take photos of the scene until the old man was cut down and taken away. By then, he had used up two more memory cards. Without realizing it, found he had been reciting the last rites for the old man in the courtyard. He caught himself, put the camera away, then got on his knees on the little platform. Pulling out his rosary, he went deeply into prayer for the old man who he had just seen murdered. Although nearly a mile away, he felt he should offer God’s salvation to the persecuted man. To Cardoza, the distance didn’t matter. It was after midnight when a very tired and emotionally torn man of God finally looked up from his prayers. The mountain was dark except for the compound at the bottom of the hill.

  Father Cardoza let out an audible sigh. He had thought such things were a distant past since the church had arrived. Now he realized different. He asked himself who could do such a thing. Why that man? What had he done to lose his life like that? Why were people doing things like this in the modern age? No answers came from the darkened mountaintop. Only the sounds of the nature surrounding him met his ears.

  Cardoza remained quiet, listening carefully for God’s answers. At first there was nothing. Yet, after a while he sensed something tell him he must let others know. He must go back and let people know such things were happening. He looked at his camera. It was dark against the night sky, yet brightly outlined by the stars in the heavens. Satisfied he had his answer, the good Father drifted to sleep. In the morning he would cut his vacation short and get back to the city.