The Money Trail

Chapter 1

Alex Bell took the stairs three at a time from the sixth floor conference room. He had to get out, he had to get fresh air or puke all over the documents his partner, Chuck Witt, had laid before him. Alex felt faint, sweat soaked his suit, and even his socks were wet. He grabbed hard the cold metal railing as he descended to the first floor. Fumbling for his handkerchief he finally yanked it out and mopped his face and neck. Alex wasn’t sure he would make the revolving front door before his insides gushed up and spilled out onto the glass like marble floor. And he was right; he never made the door before the foul burning liquid squirted between his clinched teeth and lips.

With one hand holding the handkerchief to his mouth Alex ran past the startled morning watchman through the revolving door into the sunshine. Alex reached the Bench Park close to the tree that the people of Oklahoma had named The Survival Tree. When the Rider rental truck blasted half the Federal Murrah Building away this lone tree stood proud and tall against the carnage surrounding it. The heat was so hot it melted the tires on every vehicle parked near and the asphalt surrounding the tree flowed like heavy molasses for over fifty feet. And yet this tree stood and in a few weeks began to produce leaves, showing the world that among the carnage natures will to survive was strong. With the cool April breeze on his face Alex took long deep breaths until his insides calmed down enough for him to try and think clearly. Alex looked up at the tree and than at his watch, the time was 9:02 A.M., the date was April 19, 2007. My God he thought, twice on the same date and time! Twelve years ago at this exact time I was in my office in the Journal Records Building directly across from the Murrah building looking out the window at a yellow Rider rental truck parked next to the building. Alex’s mind wondered back to that awful moment when the Murrah building exploded sending him flying backwards against the opposite wall of his office. Small pieces of window glass sliced his face and arms to ribbons. For two years he had one surgery after another and today you would have to look hard to see the tiny scars dotting his face. And now this, on the same date?

Chuck Witt, my partner and friend for the last 22 years, just gutted my life. How could a friend or even a partner deliberately do such a thing; we went to college together, took most of the same classes and upon graduation started our own small company. We built our dream working eighteen-hour days for ten years before it took off. Now we were suppose to be set for life with the company growing bigger every year and major corporations calling on a weekly basis, throwing more money then we ever dreamed possible, trying to buy us out.

Chapter 2

Shelby squatted with her rear only inches from the damp leaves covering the ground for more than four hours, seldom taking the binoculars from her eyes as she watched the shinny white house that covered half of the small plateau over looking the village below. Shelby eased one leg straight out while still squatting on the other to ease the stiffness and then repeated the motion with the other leg. Shelby knew if it had been necessary for her not to move it would not have been a problem. She had squatted in this position many times before with instructions not to move a muscle, to become invisible to anything watching, both man and beast. As a nine-year old she squatted for twelve hours at a time, not moving a muscle, knowing she would be beaten or starved if she did. The leather holster of her M11/9 Cobray that was attached to her hip brushed against leaves lying on the ground. The second gun, a Micro Uzis, was strapped to the middle of her back.

Twenty-seven huts, none made with anything resembling brick, were scattered in the few man made clearings below. Shelby had not counted them after she made her way through the thick jungle to the spot she was now occupying. There had been no need too she knew every inch of the ground around this wretched and ugly small place. She had last looked down from this exact spot twenty-two years ago when she was 9 years old and running from the terror she had just witnessed in the big house on the plateau. Things had not changed, the village was still nothing but shacks made of sticks and leaves and mud. Looking at one particular house the memories came flooding back of a happy time when she was very young. But what child knows of the world around her other than her father and mother and the jungle clearing to play in. The darkness and pain had not yet entered her small mind and Shelby allowed a small smile to cross her face as she watched herself running after the monkey and her baby. It was a game not only to her but to the mother monkey as Shelby darted one way and than another as she tried to get close. And each time she got within a certain distance the monkey with her baby hanging on tight would jump to a tree and scamper up ten to twenty feet before stopping and looking down at the base of the tree where Shelby stood looking up.

If anyone had witness this scene they would have sworn the small girl was talking to the monkey. First the monkey would let out a loud screech and the small girl would mimic her perfect. This went on for minutes before one or the other would stop and then the other would stop and rest. Sometimes one or the other would start up again and they would repeat the game until the monkey turned her attention to her baby and forgot the human creature below her. Shelby was five years old when the game came to a dramatic stop one hot afternoon. She had just chased the monkey back up the tree for the third time that day and was beginning to talk to her and her baby when she heard a large crack, like a big limb had been broken. It took her child’s mind a few nano seconds before what her eyes registered reached her brain and every thing was in slow motion as she watched the mother monkey’s head explode as she slowly fell from the tree still holding the baby in her arm.

Shelby turned to her left and saw the big man, she knew his name was Hernando Kling, holding a large ugly gun and he was smiling. Take the meat little one and have your mother cook it for you, he laughed. All Shelby could see was the evil smile and the thick white scare running from the corner of his left eye to the base of his face as she picked up a stick and ran for him screaming as fast as she could. She swung the stick as hard as she could against the man’s leg. He only laughed as he reached out a large hand and hit her on the side of her face, knocking her rolling in the dust and mud. Shelby knew he was one of the guards from the big house and she cried in silence as she watched him climb the hill, whistling a popular tune of the time.

Squatting, Shelby felt the hot tears running down her face as she caressed the handle of the M11/9 Cobray. She knew if the man was in front of her right then she would have cut him in half with the sixty rounds that would spit out in the first three seconds after pulling the trigger. But he was not who she was watching for, he was just a small fish, she was after the big one, the Barracuda of the house. His name was Hector King and he was the lord of the jungle in this area and had been for more than forty years.

Adjusting the phone plug in her ear Shelby moved the controls on the small black box on the ground beside her. The satellite phone call would be made in five minutes from Houston to the remote jungle of Colombia, to the big house on the plateau she now had her glasses on. Any conversation going into or out of the house would be picked up by her and recorded by the black box. The United States Drug Enforcement Agency wanted very badly to know when the big shipment was coming. Twice before they thought they had made a bust only to be confused, not knowing what happened to the shipment or even if the shipment had ever left Colombia. But Hector King had committed the Cardinal Sin against the United States Drug Enforcement Agency. He had ordered the killing of two of their agents trailing the drug shipments. The first was killed in Panama City, Florida, The other in Houston, Texas. That is when they called the Director of Drug Operations, the man in charge in Colombia, Paul Bozares. That is why Shelby was now sitting on her heals in the middle of the jungle, sweating like a pig, waiting for the call from America. Shelby thought back three days ago to another phone call she received.

Chapter 3

Shelby received the call at three-thirty in the morning while on a stake out for the mule she was sure would be coming down the trail. Her team had worked for weeks sitting up this sting and tonight was to be the payoff. This mule was no ordinary mule; he was the cousin of the drug lord in that area. Shelby knew when they captured him with all the drugs and they let him know how many years he would be serving in a Colombia jail that he would start talking. So she was mad as hell when the phone call from her superior told her to drop the surveillance and catch the next plane to headquarters and a meeting with the Director.

Twelve hours later she was climbing the steps to the federal building in Bogota where the Director had his office and she was still mad. It never once crossed her mind, as it would for most agents, to be worried about why the Director wanted to see her, she didn’t care. The only thing on her mind was to let someone know how pissed off she was that all the work she and her team had done for the last four months was now down the drain.

Shelby checked her image in the hall mirror before stopping at the receptionist desk. Staring back at her was a 31-year-old woman with short jet-black hair and startling black eyes. She looked up and down her five foot seven inch figure and the pantsuit she had hastily iron that morning. Then at the figure that always turned the heads of every male she passed. Even the woman gave a second look before turning away in envy. Satisfied that everything was in place she strolled to the receptionist’s desk and flashed her I.D. without saying a word. The receptionist glanced at her I.D. leaned over and touched a small green button.

Agent Cruse to see you Director.

Send her in please. Came the reply.

Second door to your right down the hall, Agent Cruse. She said as she pointed in the direction for Shelby to go.

Without a thank you or a nod Shelby turned and walked in the direction pointed out to her. The cold eyes of the receptionist followed her until she saw her, without knocking, open the second door on her right and walk in as if she owned the place. The room was devoid of furniture, not a single chair, not even a window. Place your palm on the wall plate please, Agent Cruse. Came the voice from the walls. When she did as she was instructed the wall in front of her slid open revealing an elevator large enough for two to three people only. Once she stepped inside she saw that there were no buttons but before she could comment the door slid shut and the elevator shot downward so fast she felt her stomach trying to reach her throat. Shelby calculated she had gone at least ten stories down when the door opened to two burly men, each carrying side arms.

Open you jacket please Agent Cruse. The shorter one said as he slid his hands over her inside jacket and removed the small gun that she carried. Please step behind the screen and do not move please. The second man said as he motioned for her to step where he had indicated. Shelby knew what was coming next; it was one of those new fancy machines that had Superman’s ex-ray eyes. Her belief was proven when she looked at her reflection on the glass wall and saw herself in all her glory. By the time she looked at the two men they had already turned their backs to her and was filling out their report, so much for thinking they would get a big charge at looking at her body, Shelby thought. Although that never happened very many times in her life her respect went up a notch for both men. Please use the door on your left Agent Cruse. The shorter man said as he smiled at her.

Shelby strolled to the door and without hesitation opened it and walked into the room. Although there were no windows in the room it looked and felt like the outdoors. Half the room had large plants growing from floor to ceiling and a wonderful soothing waterfall was cascading down from one corner of the room and splashed into a rather large pond for the size of the room. Sitting behind a very large oak desk was Paul Gozares, Director of Drug Operations for Columbia. He was not looking up. His massive built looked to big for the chair he was setting in and the large rough hands were flipping pages from the folder on his desk. Shelby stood three feet in front of the desk and waited, he knew she was here she was not going to be the one to make the first move. She watched his eyes as they scanned the papers; clear blue eyes that she could tell missed nothing. As his eyes left the pages and lifted to meet her eyes Shelby at that instance realized what he had been scanning. It was her file. Their eyes locked for full two seconds before the Director spoke.

Please be seated Agent Cruse. The Director motioned for her to be seated in the middle chair of the three in front of his desk, the one directly in front of him. Shelby couldn’t hold her tongue any longer.

I don’t know what is so important Director Gozares that you had me pulled from a stakeout in which my team had worked more than four months sitting up. Surely it could have waited another day before–- His head and eyes had been down reading the remainder of her file when she began to speak. His eyes flashed and with a short quick flick of his hand the message came across loud and clear to her. Keep your mouth shut until I ask you to speak. Shelby’s back went ridged and her mouth clamp shut as he continued to look into her eyes. When he saw she had gotten his message he turned her file back to the beginning and began to read out loud.

Chapter 4

Shelby Cruse, 31 years old, born outside Mitu in a small village, date of birth and location never verified, presumed area bordering the country of Brazil. Raised as an orphan at the age of ten by the Bazzaren family. Bazzaren family stated you were found wondering half starved at the edge of the jungle close to their village. Found you had zero school education and was placed in lowest grade. School authorities, after one year of schooling, placed you in advance studies, I.Q. test came back off the charts. Finished high school at fourteen completed all twelve grades in four years and your Bachelor of Science at sixteen. Colombia’s Secretary of Education funded your further education to any university requested. You chose Yale in the United States for your PHD. Which you finished at nineteen. Director Gozares pauses and looked at Shelby before focusing his eyes back on her folder.

Requested and received permission to attend Harvard Law School. Received your law degree at 22 and requested permission to attend the elite F.B.I. Academy. Colombia was required to pull in some very heavy favors to get you accepted. Finished at the top of your class, as I might add, you have at every school you have ever attended. All the reports state you have an IQ in the genius range.

After graduating from the F.B.I. Academy, which offered you a job as one of their agents and you turned down, you applied for a position with this department and began working undercover immediately. That was at your request, to be involved with anything to do with drug smuggling. In two years you were responsible for more arrest than all the rest of your department combined. Assigned as special agent to the elite drug force under Captain Ruiz. In the five years you have been assigned to Captain Ruiz his forces have arrested or killed more drug traffickers then the total for the whole country for more than ten years. Captain Ruiz, in an extremely glowing report on you, has stated if he had just ten more like you that he could eliminate the other ninety on his force. Captain Ruiz also states you have refused three promotions, the last one to be his deputy. Shelby kept her face in a neutral position, he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know, the question going through her mind was, why was he bringing all this up?

Let’s see Agent Cruse, a couple of miscellaneous things at the end here are interesting. You hold a fourth degree black belt, and used that skill to kill a drug dealer with one blow to his windpipe when he tried to stab you with a hidden knife he had in his boot when you and another agent arrested him. The other agent reported it was the quickest most efficient kill he had ever witnessed. And than he did something interesting Agent Cruse, he underlined in red the next sentence. After Agent Cruse verified the man was dead no emotion on her part was shown nor did she make any excuse that the kind of force she used was necessary, in fact seconds afterwards it was as if the incident had never happened. The Director paused to look at Shelby again and the only thing he got were two dark black eyes staring defiantly back at him.

You were awarded the highest metal the Colombia Government bestows on a citizen when you and Captain Ruiz entered a house you though held a drug supplier and stumbled across the kidnapped wife of the Governor of Buenaventura that half of the Colombia army was hunting for. In hand to hand fighting, at which time you were stabbed in the thigh and twice in the back, you disabled two men guarding the Governors wife. Advancing into the next room Captain Ruiz and you encountered three armed men. Captain Ruiz shot one man dead before being shot three times and being disabled. His report stated before either man could turn their guns on you that you had advanced within striking distance with your weapons holstered. Your first blow caught the tip of the first mans nose and drove it into his brain and your second blow entered the other mans solar plexus and ruptured his heart. All while severely injured Agent Cruse! If I put some Krypton in front of you would you faint or would all you powers be gone Agent Cruse?"

I beg your pardon Sir!

Never mind Agent Cruse, that was just an inside joke we have around here. The Director said, as he kept his eyes on her for any kind of reaction, when he got none he continued.

You also speak three languages fluently other than your native tongue, French, English and Russia.

Four.

Four what?

You said I speak three other languages Sir, I speak four, the other is Chinese, five different dialectics of Chinese. The Director looked at Shelby without smiling before he again spoke.

Why are you doing this Agent Cruse? Why are you putting your life on the line every day and why are you satisfied with the small amount of money you draw as a salary when you could go to the business world and make a hundred times as much?

I like my work Director Gozares.

And alarm bells go off in my head Agent Cruse when I go through your file. You’re a loner; you have no boyfriends or girlfriends that I can see. No one ever comes to your apartment, not even to share a dinner with you. It shows you took a month vacation in the fall when you were sixteen before attending Yale, no record of where you went. You took another month’s vacation between your junior and senior year at Harvard Law School when you were twenty-one, again no record of where you went. You took a third vacation that was again one month long while working for us at the age of twenty-six, again no record of where you went. That strike’s me as strange Agent Cruse, you don’t take normal vacations like everyone else and when you do take one it’s a month long and no one knows where you go! If you keep to that pattern Agent Cruse it seems you will be requesting another month vacation to some unknown destination in a few months. What is it Cruse, do you need your batteries recharged only once every five years? When the Director got no response he turned his attention back to the file.

You get along with your fellow workers, both male and female, at lease until they make a mistake in the field, then you refuse to ever, and I mean ever, work with them in the field again. Not even when you were ordered to I might add. Your skill at killing hand to hand is unmatched and your detachment afterwards is frightening. There is no remorse, no sadness or sorrow, no second guessing of what happened, it had to be done and you did it as efficient and as precise as a skilled surgeon and you never bring the subject up after your report has been submitted. It’s as if it was a small requirement of your job and nothing to have feelings about one way or the other, so I keep coming back to the question, why?

"Why what Director! Why am I good at my job? I like my job and I do