More Than Life | By : Psnoo17 Category: M through R > Once Upon A Time In Mexico Views: 1900 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time in Mexico, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
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Washington, D.C.
– October 2p>thp>th
Sands was still a
CIA agent. While he was semi-amazed by
this, and resentful of the knowledge that he was going to have a very attentive
eye trained on him for most likely several years in the future, he wasn’t
completely surprised. The CIA didn’t
take a very proactive position when it came to torturing its own agents for information,
and Sands was the only one still alive that knew all the cookies that had
crumbled in the failed Day of the Dead coup.
Hell, as far as Uncle Sam was concerned, he had done his job. El
Presidénte was still alive, Marquez was dead, the leader of a powerful
cartel and his successor were dead (to the best of anyone’s knowledge), and the
current Mexican government was apparently stronger than ever after the
revealing of corrupt agents and the rally of the people around national
identity. It was enough to make Sands
sick.
No, I take that back. These endless meetings are what’re getting to
my stomach. The constant inaction
wore on him. Most of the time he could
manage to distract himself; annoying whatever bigwig was questioning him,
playing out different scenarios in his head, imagining what he was going to do
should he ever be sprung from the cold, impersonal walls of HQ . . . .
The past month had
been nothing but meetings. Meetings and
debriefs and medical pow-wows. It was almost enough to make him swear off
women all together, because they were the ones that had brought him to
this. This is all Ingrid’s fault. Or
more likely, her fault. I’m tempted to track her down and make her
pay for this. It was a thought he’d
been considering on and off over the past months.
You’ve
been considering it ever since you found out that she left. That she left you alone, injured, and
vulnerable. It was one thing that she saw you in that condition; that she left in
the care of strangers is nearly unforgivable.
It was good that she left if I was being
stupid enough to let myself be that dependent on her.
You’re
still ‘dependent’ on her, or you would have forgotten her long ago. You have a hard time remembering the names of
old girlfriends. You need to resolve the
situation surrounding her.
The only situation I need to resolve is the
fact that they’ve got me sitting around on my ass all
day long.
The doors to the
conference room opened. Sands didn’t
bother looking up. Instead, he took one last,
defiant drag on his cigarette before snuffing it out in an ashtray. He purposely did a poor job, allowing the
cigarette to smolder, trails of smoke rising in lazy columns.
William Colton
sighed as he took his seat at the table.
Sands, while undeniably brilliant, had never been approachable. Colton
knew his agent could be outgoing when he wanted, but even then he wore a
threatening air that kept people at an arm’s length. However, ever since he’d been retrieved from
LA, his attitude had been strictly belligerent.
He was clearly dissatisfied, impatient for something. Which was why this meeting
was taking place. Over the
objections of the Agency doctors and some of the other directors, Colton
had decided that it was time to send Sands back out into the field.
“Agent Sands, it’s
good of you to be here this morning.”
“Cut the crap,
Bill. Why did you call me in?” Sands finally looked up from his study of the
table, squarely meeting his superior’s gaze.
Colton
didn’t even blink. In the months that
Sands had been back and raising hell amongst the ranks, he’d gotten used to the
sight of the man’s now hazel-green eyes.
This morning, Sands eyes were their former color of coffee brown. “The doctors already informed me that you
were ready to start wearing contacts.”
Sands grimaced,
displeased when he didn’t get the reaction he’d been hoping for. Doctors
. . . busybodies, all of them. “I
take it I’m not here for more chitchat?
Because I think I should warn you that I’m chitted
out.”
“No. Actually I – ” the
door opened as another man came into the room.
Paul Strauss, Colton’s
personal assistant, took a seat on the director’s right, laying his leather
portfolio on the table. Once the man was
settled, Colton continued. “I have an assignment for you.”
Sands raised his
eyebrows, interest making itself apparent on his
face. “It better not be busy work.”
“No.” The older man settled more comfortably into
his chair. “In the past three or four
months, reports have been pouring in from our agents and contacts in Mexico.” Sands’ face went blank as Colton
continued. “In the aftermath of last
year’s failed Day of the Dead coup d’etat, the Barillo cartel was believed to
be . . . inconsequential. Fractured. Moribund.
However, attempts by the other local cartels to take control of the
territory were all violently repelled.
Now our agents in Guadalajara
and Mexico City are sending news
that not only is the Barillo cartel intact, but it seems to be gathering its
forces to take over more territory. They
have their eyes set on expansion . . . something that our government wants to
see fail.”
Sands knew what was
coming, and quite frankly, he was thrilled.
The chance to go back to Mexico
and totally annihilate the Barillo cartel once and for all. The ultimate revenge. A part of him whispered that it was almost as
good as getting revenge on her . . . on la
niña. “When do I leave?”
“That all depends.”
Oh my god.
Please tell me they don’t have a bunch of protocols for me to follow. “On what?”
Colton
let his aide take over. Strauss pulled a
photo out of his portfolio and slid it across the table. “We have reason to believe that you’ve come
into contact with this woman in the past months.”
Sands looked at the
man, then picked up the picture. It was a black and white surveillance
photo. The woman in it was completely
unfamiliar. He might be bad with names,
but Sands never forgot a face; he’d never seen the woman in his life. “Hate to break it to you, but I’ve never laid
eyes on this woman.” He tried to hand it
back, but Strauss held up a hand to stop him.
“I wasn’t asking if
you’ve ever seen her. We know that
much. But you have met her. That’s Teresa Barillo, the woman who got you
out of Mexico.”
Sands felt genuine
and unpleasant surprise wash over him as he looked at Strauss, then back down
at the photo, studying the female who’d done so much to throw off his
equilibrium, even though she’d tried not to.
As Sands tried to
burn the image into his retinas, he thought that he should have recognized her
even though he’d never seen her. He’d
felt the contours of Tessa’s face the night before his surgery. Even now he remembered the way her skin had
felt. And this picture . . . There were hints of Barillo in her nose and
cheekbones. Her lips were full, but her
mouth was wider that Ajedrez’s had been.
“What does she have to do with all this?”
Colton
took over the briefing. “She’s the
key. Your way in. Word is, the cartel has been conducting a
quiet manhunt for her since December of last year – a month after you both
arrived in LA. We don’t know why, that’s
why we need to get in contact with her.
We need to know why they’re looking for her and if she can get us
in. The idea is to get her inside,
working with an agent to discover just what her family has in store.”
“And that ‘agent’
would be me, correct?”
Colton
nodded. “We also want you to make
contact with her. We have reason to
believe that she might listen to someone she knows. If that doesn’t work, we send in the
secondary contact, and if that doesn’t work . . . we’ly toy to persuade her to
work with us.”
“So you’re going to
use her.”
Colton
shrugged. “The Barillo cartel cannot be
allowed to gain that much power. We have
enough trouble even putting a dent into all the narcotics they traffic into the
country. If they take over the territory
they have their eyes on, they’ll be nearly unstoppable.”
Sands nodded,
looking at the picture again. “How long
do I have to . . . contact her?”
“We want to proceed
with the operation by the new year.” Strauss slid a manila folder across the
table.
Sands took it in
hand and stood, tucking the photo inside his jacket pocket. With an ironic salute, he left the room.
Strauss leaned over
to Colton. “What did that mean?”
“It meant he’ll
take the assignment.”
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