Deep Undercover Ch. 03

Dana lay in the bed, basking in the afterglow of her own orgasm. Her ass was sore, and would probably continue in that condition throughout the next morning and afternoon. She felt Las Casas' ragged breathing on her neck, and his heart pounding against her back. She pulled his arm around her and--for the first time in nearly two weeks--she felt safe.

* * * *

Dana awoke to find herself alone in the bed. She wandered into the head and sat on the toilet while Las Casas showered. When she was done with her business she opened the shower door and joined Las Casas under the spray of hot water.

"Good morning, my lady."

"Good morning, Papi."

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"My ass is sore, but other than that I feel amazing."

"Very good. Are you ready to start training today?"

"If that's what you want, then sure. Are you going to supervise?"

"I'm afraid I have to go away for a few days."

"Where are you going?"

"Tegucigalpa."

"The Capital? Why?"

"I have some business there that needs my attention."

"Why not send the accountant? Isn't that his responsibility now?"

"Yes and no. These are matters that were formerly handled by Crespo, and going forward they will be handled by Hernandez. But many of these men had long-standing relationships with Crespo, and I need to reassure them that their interests did not die with him."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Just a few days. Three at the most."

"You're not going to visit any whores while you're away, are you?"

"I'm not planning to. But you never know what may come up."

"Looks to me like something is already coming up."

Dana reached between Las Casas' legs and grabbed his growing cock.

"What are you going to do about that?"

"That depends. How much time do you have?"

"Not much."

"Then I guess I'm going to have to empty this quickly."

Las Casas pushed Dana to her knees and then guided her face to his crotch. She grabbed his cock with one hand, cupped his balls with the other, and swallowed the head. Five minutes later she was swallowing his load as he held her head and pumped his semen into her mouth.

* * * *

Dana watched from the window as Las Casas boarded the helicopter. He carried a metal briefcase identical to the one he gave the General in Havana. Ana handed him a small overnight bag and then closed the hatch, sealing him inside. The chopper lifted straight up into the air, turned toward the mainland, and disappeared behind the tropical canopy.

The rest of the day was spent training with the twins. Even though she had spent months learning self-defense and suppression methods at the Academy, the twins' proficiency with firearms and their mastery of combat techniques dwarfed Dana's rudimentary skills. By the end of the day she was battered and bruised, but she had a clear understanding of the gulf that existed between her abilities and those of the twins. She was looking forward to a hot bath, a quick meal, and an early bedtime so that she would be fully rested when her training resumed in the morning.

She had just settled into a steaming bath when there was a knock on the door. A second later the door opened and Micaela stuck her head into room.

"Get dressed," Micaela said.

"I just got in here." Dana protested. "I'm done for the day. You don't get to torture me again until morning."

"You have a dinner appointment."

"Dinner? With who? Is Jorge back already?"

"You'd love that, wouldn't you? No, Señor Las Casas is still in Tegucigalpa."

"Then who, may I ask?"

"Señor Hernandez is requesting that you join him. He's expecting you in thirty minutes."

"Fuck! Can't you tell him I'm not up to it? I really wanted to go to bed early tonight."

"I'm not going to tell him you're declining his dinner invitation because you're too soft to endure your first day of training. If you want to tell him, go ahead. Good luck with that, princess."

"Goddamn it. Alright. Tell him I'll be there."

* * * *

Dana stepped into the main dining room exactly thirty minutes after she received her summons. She found the new supervisor of North American operations--and the man she suspected was the supposedly dead Detective Trujillo--standing at the head of the elegantly set table for two.

"Señorita Zapata! I'm so pleased that you could join me tonight."

Hernandez reached for Dana's hand, bent over, and kissed it. He straightened his back, looked into her eyes, and smiled.

Those eyes! So blue! Women probably cream their panties just looking at him.

"Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," she said.

Hernandez pulled Dana's chair out, waited until she was seated, and then took his place at the head of the table.

"I'm not sure why you requested my presence, but thank you for the honor," Dana said.

"That shouldn't be so difficult to understand. With Señor Las Casas attending business in the Capital, I have a rare evening to myself. Is it any surprise that I would prefer the company of a beautiful woman to the brutes in this complex?"

Hernandez waived his hand and a servant approached. He filled two goblets with water, and then retreated.

"I'm sure, Señor Hernandez, that you could obtain the company of any number of beautiful women. In fact, you could do so without even leaving this house."

"And who would I choose? Maritza? She's nothing but a whore, now. Natalia? She belongs to Davis. Josefina? Too old and too fat for my taste. The twins? I'm not even sure those beasts are women. Their dicks are probably bigger than mine."

"Señor Hernandez--"

"Please, call me Mateo."

"Mateo, I can assure you that Micaela and Ana are both women--very beautiful women, in fact."

"So you say. No matter, I much prefer your company to those two assassins."

"I'm flattered, I guess."

The servant returned with a bottle of rum and a bottle of wine. He poured two snifters of rum, and then uncorked the wine. He reached for the wine goblets, but Hernandez waved him off.

"Not yet," he said.

The servant set the bottle of wine on the table and retreated into the shadows.

Hernandez raised his glass of rum.

"To new friends, new relationships, and new business," he said.

"Salúd," Dana responded.

Hernandez drained his glass, but Dana took just a sip.

"Drink up. This is very good Jamaican rum. I'm planning to sell it in Europe this spring."

Hernandez waved, and the servant reappeared and poured another round. A minute later another servant appeared and set two salad plates in front of Dana and Hernandez. The first servant returned and poured the wine while Dana nibbled on her salad.

"I watched some of your training today," Hernandez said. "Very impressive."

"Um, thank you," Dana replied. "We covered a lot in one day."

"Yes, but you picked everything up very quickly."

"The twins are very capable instructors, and I've always been athletic. That had to help."

"No doubt. You would agree, I think, that your prior training was focused less on lethality and more on apprehension?"

Dana's heart stopped. She looked up from her plate and saw Hernandez staring at her.

"I ... I ... don't have ..." she mumbled.

"Come now. I recognize Florida Department of Law Enforcement training methods when I see them. I used to be a Miami cop, you know?"

"I'm not ..."

"Are you City of Miami? Metro-Dade County? Broward Sheriff's Office?"

"I'm not a cop. I swear."

"It's OK, Lydia. Like I said, I used to be cop."

"Does Las Casas know?"

"About me--yes. You--not yet."

Dana's hands were shaking. She wanted to run, but she knew there was nowhere to go.

A servant returned and cleared the salad plates. The other servant refilled the water goblets, topped off the wine glasses, and retreated to the shadows.

"How did he ... how did you ... how are you still alive?"

Dana rubbed her hands together under the table. She felt a bead of sweat running down her neck. She looked up and saw Hernandez smiling at her. The bastard's enjoying this.

A servant appeared with two plates containing grilled lamb chops, a rice pilaf, and sauteed vegetables. He returned a minute later with a basket of bread and pot of whipped butter.

"I'm an asset," Hernandez said. "I make him money."

"But you're a cop." Dana stared at Hernandez.

"I was a cop." Hernandez took a bite of his food and chewed it very slowly. "Two years ago I was Detective Ivan Trujillo. I was sent undercover to infiltrate the Las Casas organization. I met the late Señor Crespo, gained his trust, and switched sides."

"How did you do that?"

"I turned over an informant. Crespo got him to confess, and I killed him. Crespo was impressed."

"Wasn't he suspicious of you?"

"A lot of cops are bad. Do you have any idea how many Miami Police are on our payroll?"

"No."

"Trust me, it wasn't a stretch for him to believe I switched sides. Especially after I started making them crate loads of money."

"How? Why?"

"The 'how' of it was by tightening supply lines and shipping schedules, diversifying investments, and forming strategic alliances with certain governmental officials in various countries where we needed to expand our market share. The 'why' is simple--there's too much money in this business to ever go back to law enforcement. I was on the wrong team. I learned that the first month I was here. I could never live the quality of life I'm enjoying now on a meager detective's salary."

"But you were a cop. How did you know about making money for a drug dealer?"

"I majored in accounting in college. My wife is a financial planner. I've learned a few things about making money grow."

"How could you leave your family?"

"It was easy leaving my wife. I think she may have been fucking my partner. I know she wasn't fucking me."

"What about your children?"

"That was more difficult--at first. But after being away from them for a few months, I realized that deep down I'm just not a family guy. I needed adventure. Living at home was suffocating me. Out here, I can breathe again."

"If you're such a financial wizard, then how did Crespo manage to steal so much from Las Casas?"

"He didn't."

Dana choked on her water.

"Excuse me?"

"Crespo didn't steal those millions. I set him up with hundreds of transfers that did nothing more than move money in circles. I forged a few documents, created a few accounts in banks that neither Crespo nor Las Casas had ever heard of, and basically framed him for a theft that never occurred. Oh, he did skim around $3-$4 million off the top, but Las Casas would never have killed him over that amount. He would have punished him--maybe even demoted him--but he would not have killed him. His betrayal had to be many times bigger than that to earn him a death sentence."

Dana's jaw hung from her face.

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"He was in my way. I could never rise to this position as long as Crespo was alive."

This man is a monster. They're all monsters, to one degree or another, but he's the worst. What am I doing here? I wish Jorge would return. No, I don't. I want to go home.

"And now, if you don't mind, it's your turn to answer some questions."

"Um, sure," Dana mumbled.

"Let's start with your name."

"You know my name. I'm Lydia Zapata."

"No, I don't know your name. What I do know is that your name is not 'Lydia Zapata.' I have contacts in Miami, and the only record they found of a Lydia Zapata belonged to a nineteen year old Guatemalan woman who was deported from Miami two weeks ago. So let's do this again. What's your name?"

"Dana Alvarado."

"Good. That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"No." Dana whispered.

"What are you doing here?"

"Lydia was bragging about all the money she was going to be making at this fancy boat party. I asked her to hook me up, you know, get me into the party, but she said 'no.' I haven't made any real money in over a month. So I got her drunk, slipped her a sleeping pill, and took her place. I didn't know she got deported."

"Where did you get your training?"

"What training? I've worked on and off in bars and clubs for the past three years."

"Your police training. I recognized your style from the Academy."

"I've never had any training. Sometimes when I have extra cash I work out at the gym. I spar with some dudes that could be cops, I guess. They show me stuff, you know, self-defense moves. They throw me around and feel me up, but they're just after my pussy. I know that. They don't know I know, but I know."

"I'll check out your story, Dana Alvarado."

"You know, I guess I'm kind of like you. I snuck my way into this world, and now that I'm here I want to stay. Don't tell Jorge anything that will make him send me back. Please."

"Like I said, I'll check out your story, and if it holds up, I'll keep your secret."

"Thank you. I think I'd like to go to my room now, if you don't mind."

"Good night, Dana."

"Good night."

* * * *

Harris parked his car inside Candee's walled lot and strode inside the building. He waited a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. When his vision returned, he waded through the sea of empty tables and chairs standing between the doorway and the back office. Normally a bouncer would be standing at the hallway entrance leading to the office, but at 10:00 a.m. the empty club was still in a relaxed state of operation. The music wasn't booming through the speakers, the dancers were still putting on make-up and skimpy costumes, and the lone bartender was filling the ice bin instead of pouring drinks. The club was technically open, but it was not yet ready for business.

Harris reached for the handle to the office door, but it was locked. He backed up a step and kicked the door with the bottom of his shoe, breaking the lock and splintering the door frame. He stepped inside just as Bryan Jackson reached for a button under the desk.

"Who the fuck are you?" Jackson demanded. "Get the hell out of here while you can still walk out on your own two feet."

Harris pulled his gun and pointed it at Jackson's head.

"Don't move. Hands in the air. Now."

Jackson raised his hands above his head. Harris walked around the desk and stood behind Jackson. He pushed his face down against the hard surface, and then pulled out a pair of handcuffs and attached them to Jackson's wrists.

A large black man wearing jeans and a black t-shirt burst through the open door. Harris pointed his weapon at the bouncer.

"Freeze," he said. "Miami Police Department. Get on the ground with your hands behind your head."

The bouncer laid on the floor. Harris grabbed Jackson and pulled him to his feet.

"I'm taking this man in for questioning," Harris said. "If anyone tries to interfere, you'll be arrested and charged with obstruction of justice."

Harris dragged Jackson through the club and out the door. He threw him in the back of the car, started the engine, and sped off.

"Do you mind telling me what this is all about?" Jackson asked. "Or would you rather explain what you're doing to my lawyer?"

"Shut up," Harris said. "You'll get a chance to tell your story."

Instead of driving south toward the police station, Harris headed west. He pulled into a warehouse district on the edge of the city and drove into an alley between two crumbling old buildings. He stopped the car, opened the door, and pulled Jackson from the backseat.

"You were at a party on the sixteenth, out in the Gulf Stream," Harris said. "Whose boat was it on?"

"Fuck you. I wasn't at any party."

Harris slammed his fist into Jackson's stomach.

"Ungh!"

"You were at the party. We have pictures of you boarding the boat."

"Like hell you do."

Harris smashed his fist into Jackson's jaw.

Jackson spit blood at Harris and sneered.

"You don't have any fucking pictures and you know it. Now take me back so my lawyer can get to work on my police brutality complaint. You can kiss your badge goodbye, asshole."

Harris swung his fist into Jackson's balls. Jackson bent over in pain just as Harris slammed his knee into Jackson's nose. Harris grabbed the back of Jackson's shirt collar and slammed his head into the car door. With blood streaming from his broken nose, Jackson wobbled on unsteady feet. Harris punched him the stomach, and then pushed him into a warehouse wall.

"In case you haven't noticed, asshole," Harris snarled at Jackson, "my badge isn't really at the top of my priority list."

Harris pulled his gun from his belt and pressed it against Jackson's head.

"You're going to tell me what I want to know, or I'm going to splatter your brains all over the pavement. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I was at the party." Jackson coughed up more blood as he spat out the words.

"Did you see this girl?" Harris pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. It was a picture of Dana that he had printed off his computer.

"I don't know. There were a lot of girls there."

Harris punched Jackson in the jaw.

"Look again."

Jackson stared at the picture.

"Yeah, I remember her. That whore could really suck a dick. Must have swallowed a gallon of jizz. She either sucked or fucked half the guys there that night. What a mouth!"

Harris punched Jackson in the stomach.

"Ungh!"

"Where is she? What happened to her after the party?"

"How the fuck should I know? The girls were still there when I left."

"Where's Crespo?"

"Crespo? He's dead."

"What? Who? How?"

"Las Casas killed him, or had him killed. I don't know the details. I wasn't there."

"You weren't where?"

"Crespo's house. In Honduras."

"When?"

"A week ago, two weeks maybe. I wasn't there."

"How do you know?"

"I don't, actually. All I know is Crespo is dead, and my new partner is some guy named Hernandez. I've never met him before. Can't tell you what he looks like or anything about him."

Harris pushed the barrel of his gun against Jackson's temple. His finger rested on the trigger.

"Where in Honduras?'

"I'm a dead man if I tell you that."

"You're a dead man if you don't. You've got time to run from them. You've got three seconds left with me."

"Roatán."

"Where?"

"Roatán. It's an island. Crespo--when he was alive--controlled everything there."

Beads of sweat dotted Harris' forehead. The back of his shirt and his underarms were soaked. Jackson's blood streaked the sleeves and front panels.

"I should blow your goddamned head off."

"What the fuck did I ever do to you? Don't tell me--are you tapping that whore?"

Harris swung his arm in a wide, sweeping arc, slamming the handle of the gun against the side of Jackson's skull. Jackson fell to the ground, unconscious. Blood was streaming from his nose and the side of his head. Harris removed the cuffs, rolled Jackson onto his stomach, and left him behind a dumpster. He got back into his car and sped off.

A security camera mounted on the side of the building tracked his car until it rounded the corner, and then the small red light on top of the camera flickered out.

* * * *

Dana spent the next two days training with the twins. She tried to focus her attention and absorb everything they could teach her about eliminating a threat as quietly and efficiently as possible. She spent extra hours handling and firing the various automatic weapons at her disposal, as well as various blades, truncheons, and even a garrote. Despite her best efforts to unlearn her prior training--training that was geared more toward subduing and capturing a perpetrator rather than terminating a potential threat--she found herself resorting to the techniques she had spent the better part of the summer learning to master. Her distraction, she realized, stemmed from the fact that she was constantly looking over her shoulder for any sign of Hernandez.

She didn't know what to do about Hernandez. The fact that he was still alive meant that everything the department thought they knew about Crespo and Las Casas was wrong. She didn't know if Hernandez was still undercover, or if he had turned. Hell, I don't know if I'm still undercover or if I've turned. All I know for sure is that he's my biggest threat--and potentially my only ally.