“So kill him. You have people, drones, all this technology. Take some of it off hunting my people down and use it on these bastards.” I still didn’t understand why me.
Ker looked at me, her hand going down over her rounded belly. “The CIA has tried, multiple times, to take him out. The man is impossible to get to; he never leaves his estate in the high jungles. The land around him is controlled by him and his agents for hundreds of miles, all of the nearby law enforcement and civilian populations are scared to death of him. The military is ineffective; he’s basically above the law. The last man we sent to kill him, came back in pieces.”
Al picked up the story. “Even the other Cartels are growing nervous. Black Ker has been contracted by the Gulf cartel to assassinate him, and the contract is for five million dollars. The problem is, it has to be done in the next two months and Ker is unable to carry the job out while heavily pregnant.”
I looked at her, then shook my head. “So turn the job down then, tell her she isn’t available.”
“We can’t,” Al said, “We need him dead, and we need everyone to think Black Ker did it. That way, nothing is directly traceable back to our government. The Cartels won’t say anything, the Gulf Cartel won’t want people to know they have contracted her, the rest will just be happy he is gone.”
“So you kill him, another takes his place. Why bother?”
“Well, being a druglord isn’t an easy thing. They tend to keep things to themselves or a few trusted others, and loyalty doesn’t always pass to the designated heir. Jose has a son, Juan. He is twenty, and is a bit crazy even for their line of work. We think with his father gone, he won’t be able to hold the Cartel together and it will be absorbed by others or reform as a smaller, less influential one. His father is the only one with the intellect and connections to make a play to be King of Kings.”
I sat back, the waitress came up with our food and we all stopped to dig in. Ker’s big steak was what I was used to a big Were eating, while Al and I had more human portions. When all was clear again, I started up the conversation again. “All right, so I get you need him killed and Ker can’t do it while pregnant. What makes you think I can help? I’m not a werewolf any more, and none of my people are trained for this kind of work. Wolves don’t even live down that far.”
“I know,” she said. “When I was sixteen, I was a werecat living on the streets, making money by stealing things from rich people. I got caught, and was recruited into the CIA by an older werecat, Trevor Madison. He needed someone to replace him after an injury rendered him unable to continue field work. What I do requires some specific physical and character traits that are difficult to find and develop properly.”
“Wait, why don’t you find a military guy, or an assassin, and just turn them? You could have all the werecats you want then.”
Al shook his head. “Believe me, we’ve tried and it’s been a complete disaster. The kind of personality and mindset we find in our business, let’s just say it doesn’t meld well with the mind of a panther. The result has always been volatile, soon uncontrollable, and we have to destroy them. If we choose someone without that background, we get a panther with no aptitude for assassination. It’s quite the conundrum, really; how do you find someone with aptitude, yet you can trust to become a werecat? Someone who won’t be overwhelmed by the presence of an animal part in her head?”
I looked at the two of them like they were nuts. “So why are you looking at me? My wolf was killed. I’ve begged Luna for her back, but there is nothing that can be done. Doc says I’m basically immune to the change now.”
Ker reached across and took my hand. “When flu season comes around, you have to get another shot, right?” I nodded. “The antibodies your body developed last year don’t work against the different strain that spreads this year. It is the same, we think, with the change. You know you can’t have a wolf, but I think I can give you a panther.”
I sat back, shocked. My thoughts were reeling; could it happen? If it could, would I want it? Would I still be mates with Craig? Alpha?
I took a drink of wine, thankful my new ID said I was 21, and then gulped down the rest of the glass.
“The panther nature is key to the plan, Ella. If you take the change, the cat is a natural at camouflage, at ambush, and silent movement. Trevor and I will train you to the point you can penetrate the hundred miles of jungle, take him out with a sniper shot, and escape again. If anyone sees you, they will think it is Black Ker.”
“And you can do this in two months?”
“Yes,” Al said, “Given what you have already demonstrated we think we can. Anyone can be taught to shoot, but very few have the mental capacity to kill. Your cat’s instincts will meld with yours. Our thought is that since you grew up with a Were side, you will meld easily with the Panther portion and the training for this one mission can be completed in time.”
I looked down at my plate, suddenly I wasn’t so hungry any more. I cut a piece of my steak, and chewed it slowly. I missed the taste of meat, the smells, the presence of my wolf. If I could become a Were again, I wanted the chance.
And once I was changed, I could give that same option to Olivia, Tina and Tony, all of whom had lost their wolves to wolfsbane injections at the beginning of the war. I might even be able to help the triplets, once they are mature enough to handle it.
“So if I do this, what is in it for me? And more to the point, what if I refuse?”
Al sat back and smiled. “Our standard fee plus expenses for your rescue comes to $772, 484,” he said, presenting me with a bill. “That doesn’t include the three million he put up to buy Alpha Marvin and associated expenses.” He handed me another bill. “However, these go away if you do this for us. In addition, the money the Cartel is paying us to complete this contract will be used to buy this.” He slid a folder across the table to me; I opened it up and looked at the photograph, my eyes getting wide. “It’s a good offer, so I’m asking you to talk it over with your mate and your Pack and let me know. You have until tomorrow night at midnight to decide one way or the other.” He tossed some bills on the table and he slickly removed and pocketed his device as he stood.
Ker stood and put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m hoping you agree, Ella. You’re special, I could see that the first time I met you.” They got up and left.
I spent a few minutes looking at the folder, then I got up and walked to my car. Craig and I needed to have a LONG talk.
I texted Craig that I was all right and heading home, but I couldn’t stop my mind long enough to pull out of the parking space. I opened up the folder and looked at it again, I couldn’t believe what he was offering.
The photo was an aerial view of a tropical island off the Pacific coast of Panama called Isla San Jose. The island was seventeen square miles of jungle, cliffs and over fifty white sand beaches, plenty large enough to hide a Pack. It had a current had a population of ten and was privately owned. These ten were all caretakers of the island, and lived at the Hacienda del Mar on the southern coast. The resort was closed now, and the staff would stay on as employees if we bought it. The island had become popular as a setting for reality television, with several seasons of Survivor filmed on its remote beaches and thick jungles. It looked like a tropical paradise, with white beaches in hidden coves. The paperwork said it was almost overrun with wild pigs and deer.
“Not for long,” I thought as I flipped through the paperwork.
I didn’t understand how such a beautiful island could be so undeveloped until I got to the history part. It turns out there were real dangers there. I looked at the printout of this news article, and among other things it said this:
“Zima said news reports from the 1940s indicated that around 200 U. S. soldiers were dispatched there to conduct chemical warfare testing.
According to a 1988 U. S. Army book, “The Chemical Warfare Service: From Laboratory to Field,” U. S. soldiers came to the island to assess “chemical warfare weapons under tropical conditions.”
They tested 1, 000-pound bombs that contained phosgene and cyanogen chloride, and smaller mustard-filled bombs, the book says. Other reports say the soldiers also tested VX nerve gas and sarin, the lethal neurotoxic agent that the Organization for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons found had been used in the suburbs of Damascus, Syria, on Aug. 21.
“These studies gave the participants valuable data on the offensive and defensive phases of chemical warfare in jungle fighting,” the book says.
Zima said in an email that the abandoned chemical munitions lie scattered “on a very small percentage (9 percent, approximately) of the island, mostly in the northwest section.” (Read more here: http://www. mcclatchydc. com/news/nation-world/world/article24756817. html#storylink=cpy)
At least eight unexploded munitions had already been located but not removed, and there were suspected to be more submerged offshore. As a result, the island had only a small portion developed, including a long airstrip and roads down to the resort once popular with sport fishermen.
Al had left some notes in the margins of the printouts; he told me that the existence of the airstrip meant we could be flown directly to the island, and the caretakers could use boats to bring food and supplies from the mainland or other islands when required. He would provide passports and immigration stamps for each person in the Pack so our long term residence would be legal. It would be absolutely remote, and under our ownership we could ensure our secret part remained safe.
He also noted that although Panama tested eyes for werewolf shine like all immigration authorities, they did not consider themselves to be at war with weres. There simply weren’t any there that they knew about. There were werecats in the jungles, but they stayed to themselves. Werecats didn’t have large packs, they had small family units of a mother and her kitts; when they grew, the young moved out and established their own territories. Most cats led a solitary existence, unlike the social life of wolves.
As I looked at pictures of unspoiled beaches and soaring cliff faces, I mentally thanked myself for having suffered through Spanish class in school. Finally, I set the material back in the folder and drove home.