GRENADA, NICARAGUA
April 19th, 2017
Chris Black stood in front of his squad, regarding each one of them silently as they muttered among themselves. They were sitting in a line; their chairs had a small fold-away table attached to the right arm, like in an exam. Overhead, the buzz of the fluorescent lighting was barely audible over the chatter in the large, yet mostly empty, meeting room.
Since failing their mission in Colombia eight days prior, they had received only one communication from their CIA contact, Julius Jones, which simply told them to sit tight and await further instruction.
It had been a tense time, especially for Black. He didn’t regret for one second obeying the order that came through to terminate Jericho, but once the dust had settled tensions had started to run high. He acted quickly to restore order, and renew the team’s faith in his ability to follow in Jericho’s footsteps and lead the unit.
“Okay, settle down,” he said to the room. He waited as they fell silent and turned their attention to him. “I know it’s been a long wait, but it was necessary, under the circumstances. I’ve heard from Langley today, and they have a mission for us.”
He picked up his tablet from the table to his right and pressed the screen, linking it up wirelessly with the large digital wallboard behind him. He stepped to one side, so his squad could see the display. A large profile picture filled the left of the screen, with writing appearing down the right.
“This is Daniel Vincent,” he began. “He’s an engineer for a private contractor. We have intel that suggests Mr. Vincent has stolen classified information. We don’t know what his intentions are, but due to the sensitive nature of the material, this is being treated as a matter of national security.”
“What’s the information?” asked Damian Baker, who was sitting to Black’s right.
“Classified,” replied Black, sharply. “I wasn’t told, because we don’t need to know. The only thing that matters is retrieving it before he has the chance to do something stupid with it. He’s been under surveillance for the last twenty-four hours. He’s smart — staying off the grid, using public transportation where possible, and sleeping in anonymous motels all over the world. Langley suspects he’s trying to make contact with someone, maybe a buyer for the information he has. We’ve been monitoring his family — he has a wife and daughter — in case he tries to get in touch with them, but so far… nothing. Questions?”
“Where is he?” asked Charlotte LaSharde, who was sitting to the left of Baker.
“At the moment, we don’t know,” conceded Black. “The last sighting of him was in a coffee shop in Berlin, but analysts are using every camera, cell phone, satellite — you name it — at their disposal to find him. As soon as they do, we’ll move to intercept.”
“Are we sure this intel is good?” asked Rick Santiago, over on the left of the room.
Black glared at him, and even the others turned and looked surprised at the question. Santiago was typically a quiet man by nature, and rarely spoke unless he had to.
“What do you mean?” asked Black.
“I mean, our information was way off in Colombia. Our target didn’t have the laptop like we were told. In fact, I’m not sure our target even was a target… I know Jericho didn’t think so.”
Black held his gaze for a moment, clenching his jaw muscles with frustration.
“The intel is fine,” he said eventually. “Once we know the location of the target, we move to intercept. That’s all for now. Dismissed.”
Everyone stood, the chairs scraping on the floor and sounding loud in the otherwise silent room. Baker left first, followed by LaSharde. As Santiago neared the door, Black stepped toward him.
“Rick, you got a sec?” he asked, as calmly as possible.
Santiago turned and hung back, waiting until the others had left before closing the door. “What’s up?” he asked, informally.
“Do we have a problem?” asked Black.
Santiago shrugged. “I don’t know… do we?”
“You’ve been unhappy since we got back from Colombia…”
“I know. The real question is: why haven’t you?”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Santiago struggled to manage his frustration. “What the hell do you think? You shot Jericho in the fucking head, Chris! How are you okay with that?”
Black took another step toward him, in an attempt to exert some of his newfound authority. “I was following orders,” he replied. “Something Jericho developed an issue with over there. He was talking with our target like he was a colleague! He knew Langley was listening and he disobeyed a direct order…”
Santiago shook his head. “That’s because it was a stupid fucking order,” he countered. “That was Jericho, homie! He was our boss for over seven years, and you blew him away like he was nothing!”
Black moved so he was standing almost nose to nose with the slightly smaller Santiago. “I followed an order given by the director of the CIA — that was all. We’re soldiers, and this is a war. Get in line, or get the fuck out — your call. But make it fast, homie, because I won’t tolerate my authority being questioned in my unit.”
“Your unit, huh? Just like that?” Santiago shook his head and took a step back, holding his hands out to the side. “Whatever, man. Like you say, we all soldiers, right? Just tell me which direction to shoot… boss.”
Black held his gaze for a few tense, silent moments, and then nodded his head. “Dismissed.”
Without a word, Santiago turned on his heels and walked out of the room, leaving Black standing there, breathing heavy with adrenaline and anger.
Once the door was closed, Black waited a few moments, to give Santiago chance to walk away, before picking up the tablet computer he was using and launching it across the room. It hit the far wall, smashing into pieces on impact and scattering across the floor.
Black leaned forward on the desk, staring at nothing in particular. He knew he had to deliver on the next mission. All eyes would be on him, following Colombia and the events of the past couple of days. He knew if he couldn’t hold things together and get the job done, then Langley would find someone else who could.
Did he regret having to kill Jericho? A little, maybe. But orders are orders, and he’d waited his whole life for a chance to head up a unit of such importance. He wasn’t about to let one man’s insubordination get in the way of that.
He left the room, heading outside into the courtyard. Directly across from him was the barracks; off to his right was the armory and motor pool. He could see Santiago ahead, making his way over to where Baker was gathering weapons and equipment, preparing for the next mission. He watched as the men began talking, but he was too far away to hear what they were saying. Judging by their body language, he guessed it was about him.
He shook his head in a moment of anger and headed across to the barracks, where LaSharde was just disappearing inside. She turned in the doorway and, seeing him approaching, held the door for him.
“Thanks,” he said as he reached her.
They walked inside together, entering the dimly-lit corridor.
“You alright?” asked LaSharde.
Black sighed. “No, I’m not. There’s so much going on right now. I dunno… I feel out of my—”
She stepped in front of him, placing her index finger on his lips. “Hey, it’s alright,” she said. “Come here.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. After a few moments, they parted, both smiling. “That better?” she asked him.