Aztec Treasure Ch. 01-10

Damn. I wasn't shocked by the objective; it wasn't much different than that of the Task Force. The difference was that the CIA director wanted these Sons for the CIA. His message made me a double-agent against my coworkers. I would use the information learned here to help the CIA grab the target first.

Director Sinclair wanted to have captive werewolves away from US laws and oversight.

I deleted the message and closed up my laptop just as Commander Lindstrom came out of her office. "CONFERENCE ROOM," she yelled as she led the way. I joined the group heading in, noting that Sofia was still stuck in her computer, even after the door closed. Members found seats or stood around the room as Irene walked to the front of the long desk. "I just got off the phone with FBI Director Patterson and Attorney General Guttierez. The events of today do NOT change the agreement they have with Chase and Rori Nygaard. Our task force remains prohibited from continuing investigations into Chase and Rori, Arrowhead, or their friends and relatives named in the agreement."

"They aren't HUMAN, Commander! They turn into WOLVES!"

"Legally, that doesn't matter. Chase Nygaard entered into an agreement with the Attorney General that granted them immunity from their activities in exchange for information on the Sons. As part of that agreement, the Attorney General agreed to limit Task Force activities to taking down the Sons. What IS different is that there may be more to Arrowhead's conflict with the Sons than just an attack on the Steel Brotherhood. If the Sons are a rival werewolf Pack, we need to look at things differently. What have you come up with?"

The group had a bunch of good ideas. It was possible the 'guard dogs' in Orlando were really werewolves, and it might explain how members of leadership managed to escape the Clubhouses during the raids. Commander Lindstrom had an agent writing everything on a board when the door burst open.

"YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS," Sofia blurted out. She ran over to the computer driving the television screens around the room, putting a flash drive into it. "Agent Perkins and I were discussing how the Sons Presidents made it from the parking lot east of Nogales into Mexico. He pointed out that I was looking for people, not werewolves. I found this."

She played a video. It was in black and white, time-stamped along the bottom with a camera identification. It showed where the border fence ran up to jagged rock outcropping that it was unable to cross. "This sector of the border uses cameras and motion detection instead of fencing due to the terrain," she said excitedly. "Watch the right side."

We all watched the big screens as a large feline broke from the cover of some rocks and ran across the border, leaping with ease from rock to rock. He was followed by fifteen more over the next five minutes.

The rosettes on their sides were distinctive. They were jaguars.

Ch. 7

CIA Senior Agent Al Perkin's POV
Sons of Tezcatlipoca Task Force, Los Angeles

The Commander's meeting broke up a half-hour later, and we all had our marching orders. The entire task force was re-examining all of the evidence we'd gathered based on the revelation that there were Werecats among them. Sofia was going back to watch that border crossing area in the time after the airstrike, looking for anyone who might have escaped. I was watching the Mexican Reaper drone video again, this time looking for four-legged targets.

The drone was too high to make out identities, but it did show a figure in the parking area who survived the blast. It also showed something I discounted before as a dog or cat, running from the car into the jungle. It was a smudge on the screen compared to the person by the car, but it was an animal. I took some screenshots and moved on.

The drone flew off, losing sight of the compound as the person moved to search the rubble.

It didn't matter after what Sofia found an hour later. "Take a look at this," she said as she projected her screen onto one of the wall monitors. It was the same camera we'd seen the men crossing into Mexico from, but this was two nights after the drone strike based on the time-stamp at the bottom. "Watch the right side." The night-vision camera picked up a large cat as it picked its way around the rocks leading towards the border. If I had to guess, it was four to five feet long and over a hundred pounds; it looked every part a fearsome predator. It leaped across between rocks a dozen or more feet apart, clearing large gullies and dropoffs with ease. It took less than ten seconds for it to disappear from view on the United States side.

"Run that back to the beginning," I asked. Sofia backed the video file up and played it in slow motion until I asked her to stop. "What's that at its neck?"

I wasn't the only one walking close to the monitor to get a better look. Commander Lindstrom traced the outline of a strap. "It looks like a bag," she said.

"It's hotter than the surroundings," I said. There was a bright dot at the top of it, looking like a bump coming out of the animal's chest. "Shit. It's a baby!" The others looked closer at it but ended up agreeing. The werecat had a cub with it.

"It has to be Maria Meztli," I said. "She's the only one not accounted for that was known to be at or near the target. Her mother died in the strike, and her father's head got hung on the fence. The baby would be Maritza Coreirra, also missing. The Reaper footage showed someone out by the cars just before the strike. Maybe Maria was getting something or changing Maritza's diaper?"

I didn't mention that I saw a small animal run away from the car into the jungle was Maritza in jaguar form. "How old is Maria," Commander Lindstrom asked.

"Seventeen," Frank Donovan said. "She's clean, as far as we can tell. She's an average student in high school, no known boyfriend, no disciplinary or police problems. Maria spent a lot of time at the Clubhouse, but that is normal for a Club Princess. None of the evidence we've collected in Denver points to her."

"Has she turned up in the States?"

"We've seen nothing, but we haven't been looking that hard because she's not the subject of our investigation."

"We should find out if she's made contact with anyone back in Denver or elsewhere," the Commander ordered. "She's not a suspect, but we can bring her in as a material witness to what was going on in Mexico."

"I'll get people looking at her," Frank agreed.

She turned to Supervisory Special Agent Claire Bennington, the FBI Forensic Accountant heading our financial group. "Put out a net for Maria Meztli. If she's been in the States for three months and has a baby to take care of, she has to be getting money from someone or somewhere. Check the Club accounts, family accounts, whoever has probate on her parent's will, everything."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Our conversation was cut short by a breaking news bulletin on the televisions. "PRESIDENT TO SPEAK ABOUT WEREWOLVES AMONG US," the crawl said.

The Commander called for quiet as we watched the press conference with President Kettering and Werewolf Council President Colletta Grimes. It answered some questions and raised a bunch more. When it was over, I shook my head. "Anyone else here thinks Washington knew about this long before we did?"

"Not your problem, Agent Perkins," the Commander said. "Yes, the President knew before the hostage incident, but that information was classified to prevent a panic. The President has an alliance with the werewolves, and we know the Sons are werecats. Get over it. You all have work to do, now get to it." She walked back to her office as we all looked around.

I had to call my boss, and I didn't want to do it here. I went down to the garage, got in my car, and drove to a nearby park. I had a satellite phone with a scrambler for such times, and I called Headquarters with it. I grabbed a sandwich and waited by the pond until CIA Director Peter Sinclair called me back. He had his Covert Ops and Central American Desk chiefs in the room with him. I gave him a quick brief. "Sir, the Task Force has video of the Presidents crossing the border east of Nogales as large cats, likely jaguars. I'm certain now that the Coreirra extended family, and maybe more of the leadership, are all jaguar shifters and not wolves."

"That's good news. You probably saw the President signed a treaty with the Werewolf Council. Werecats aren't party to that agreement, so they are fair game."

"You want them captured and extracted?"

"Absolutely. What we know of werewolves is mind-boggling. Super senses, strength, lifespan, and image how much easier infiltration would be as a werecat? Can you imaging leveraging that kind of talent and power in service of America? I want them all in CIA custody before the Department of Defense or Homeland Security gets them. We'll rendition them to a black site, away from the bleeding hearts and subpoenas, and then we'll figure out how to properly use their powers and breed more."

I figured that was it. "Julio Salazar, former Master at Arms for the Dallas chapter and nephew of the San Antonio Chapter President. He was captured in the initial sweeps and lawyered up. He's at the Federal Prison in Oklahoma City right now, but he's due to be shipped to the ultra-security Federal Prison in Beaumont, Texas."

There was a pause. "We'll take care of Julio. Who else is out there?"

"A few minutes ago, we found Customs video of the border crossing east of Nogales, two days after the drone strike. It was an adult jaguar and cub, believed to be 17-year-old Maria Meztli and six-month-old Maritza Coreirra. Commander Lindstrom directed the Task Force to find her and bring her in as a material witness since we have nothing to hold her on."

"Do you know where she is?"

I wanted a better answer than I have. "No, sir. She's disappeared without a trace."

"Damn. Hopefully, Chase and his Arrowhead hacker didn't get her. Find her, and contact me when you do. Nothing is a higher priority for you, Al."

"I understand, sir." The Director hung up, and I went back to work.

Federal Transfer Center, Oklahoma City
Unknown POV

I showed my identification and the transfer paperwork at the Administration building. "Prisoner transfer," I told the guard at the prison as my partners stood behind me.

He looked at my paperwork. "Julio Mark Salazar." He typed the name into the computer. "He's not scheduled for transfer today, Marshal."

"Don't look at me, Ted. I get my orders, and I pick up my prisoners."

The guard made a call to get Salazar brought out. The three of us drank coffee and waited on a couch for Julio to get ready. The guard made a copy of the transfer order, then handed everything back. "He'll be at the loading dock in ten minutes. You can back your van up and wait there."

"Thank you, Ted." We walked back out and drove our van around to the dock area. We waited in our US Marshals uniforms, moving forward when the door opened. Julio Salazar was a dangerous-looking man with long black hair and dozens of tattoos. I signed the paperwork, the guards opened the gate, and my partners moved the prisoner into the back and locked his shackles to a ring welded in the floor. One of my men stayed in the secure back area with the prisoner while I sat in the passenger seat.

We drove away, not saying anything as we arrived at the helicopter. I pulled off my uniform, leaving behind the fake US Marshal badge and gear, and left them on the seat. My partners had the hooded and shackled prisoner on the ground when I got to the back. "Where am I," Julio said as he tried to figure out what was going on.

"Time to take a ride," I told him. We marched him to the waiting helicopter's open door. I secured him in one of the back seats, then I went around and sat in the other. The pilot was already spinning the engines up as I closed the door.

I put a set of hearing protectors over the prisoner's ears, then put a headset over mine. "Ready to go," the pilot asked.

"Roger that," I replied. He increased power and took off, heading southeast over the empty farm and ranch lands. We stopped once for fuel in Louisiana, then headed south into the Gulf.

Once we'd landed, the waiting staff took custody of the prisoner. They took the hood off as we took off again, and I got a quick look at the utter confusion on his face as he looked around.

Julio Salazar didn't exist anymore. He disappeared out of the Federal Prison System and would never hear that name again. The CIA Black Site agents would provide him a codename, an interrogator, a handler, a trainer, and a few doctors to watch over him.

This decommissioned oil platform, a hundred miles from the Louisiana coast in international waters, would be his new home. When he died, the sharks would destroy the evidence.

Ch. 8

Maria Gonzales (Meztli's) POV
Cabin west of Empire, Colorado

I couldn't take my eyes off the coverage as the day went on.

Mom and Dad had warned me repeatedly that under NO circumstances could humans find out about our existence. "They fear what they do not understand, Maria. They will hunt us down and destroy our kind if they discover we exist. If we survive, it will be in their labs and zoos, subjects of medical experiments until they learn our secrets."

I looked over at Dad as we sat on this very couch in the cabin. "What about the werewolves?"

"They feel the same. No one is willing to risk exposure; that is why we cannot let our hatred of each other spill into open warfare. We stay away from Pack lands, and they avoid our Chapters. If we sense one around, go the other way. If humans find out about were-beasts, we all die." The only other werecats in North America were mountain lion shifters, and they were loners in the California mountains. There were other cat shifters in Africa and Asia, but I'd never met them.

I grew up with feet in both worlds; my werejaguar family and the human bikers of the Club. The Sons, Dad explained, were useful as muscle and labor in our drug empire but could never know our secret.

It was why we only shifted at the cabin. We used darkness and our senses to make sure hunters and hikers weren't around before we went out and stayed together. If we hunted, we devoured the deer and hid the remains.

And now, I was watching Colletta Nygaard standing in the Rose Garden with the President of the United States. The caption at the bottom of the screen read, "WEREWOLF LEADERS MEET US PRESIDENT."

President Kettering spoke first, talking about the standoff at Arrowhead. She confirmed the residents under Alpha Rori King were werewolves as if a live transition between forms wasn't enough proof. I was surprised to learn that Colletta Nygaard had been in Washington negotiating how to make their kind public without causing widespread panic. Coffey's actions must have driven them to get ahead of the story.

My jaw dropped when the President verified that Alpha Rori's people had been heavily involved in the takedown of the Sons of Tezcatlipoca. My anger burned as I listened; what they did was a betrayal of our kind in the worst way. We all understood you couldn't involve humans, yet the Arrowhead Pack hid behind the FBI to take out Werejaguars. After hunting my kind to near extinction, the werewolves were celebrating with their new friends in the US Government.

I felt sick. I paused the television, running to the bathroom to throw up.

It was so unfair. The werewolves weren't strong enough to fight fairly, so they brought the humans in to do their dirty work for them.

I came back out a few minutes later, picking up Maritza and setting her in my lap as I took the broadcast off pause. Colletta was doing her best to calm a nation's fears, although revealing there were ten thousand werewolves around wouldn't help. She stressed that werewolves had always been part of America and were indistinguishable from others. She talked about how they switched forms and how they reproduced. People seemed more interested in Colletta's age than her ability to shift into an animal. Colletta also warned that no werewolf would be in that form during this time, so any wolves that got hunted were protected native wolves.

The President reinforced that the Pack members were American citizens, subject to and protected by American laws. She ended with an appeal for calm. "Now, we all take a deep breath and relax. There is no danger, no crisis, only an opportunity to work together and build a brighter future together."

"I look forward to a new era of cooperation between our peoples," Colletta added.

"That is all. Thank you for coming," President Kettering said. She put her arm around the new Werewolf Council Chairman before they raised their hands and waved to the crowd.

My head was spinning; everything that was up was now down.

I couldn't turn off the coverage, even sleeping in the living room on the couch, so I didn't miss any of the changes. The first day the country was in shock, but the second day brought the inevitable blowback. Hunting parties went into the woods, and many a family pet was gunned down because it "might be a werewolf." Protests for and against werewolves sprung up in major cities, especially ones near known Packs. The remote Arrowhead Pack was the focus of many of these protests, and it had turned into an armed camp. Members of the Steel Brotherhood motorcycle club had poured in, patrolling the property with guns as the police divided them from the protestors.

There was one thing I was certain of. I wouldn't be shifting again unless my life was in danger.

I worked on my escape plans while Maritza was sleeping. I put additional bags into my SUV, making sure I had enough clothes, food, and water to last a week without going into town. I also packed and hid a bag about a mile back in the woods, along a trail I could take to get to Empire without going near the road. I searched escape routes and looked for hiding places. I also used empty cans, string, and bottles to 'booby-trap' entrances into the house. I needed every second of time I could get to escape if I didn't hear them coming.

The werewolf stories dominated the news cycle all week. Protests, violence against suspected werewolves, and even armed attacks on Werewolf packs were daily occurrences. The Werewolf leadership reduced public fears by giving multiple interviews and letting reporters have access inside the Packs. Calmer voices eventually won out, and the violence faded away.

The biggest story of the week for me was the disappearance of Julio Salazar. My only living relative, Julio, was missing without a trace. The story was something out of a spy novel; he'd been taken from a Federal Prison in Oklahoma by three US Marshals. He just never showed up at the next prison. After two days, it was clear he wasn't showing up in their system again.

The Bureau of Prisons treated it as a prison break; the transfer papers were skilled forgeries, as were the US Marshal identifications. The FBI and Federal Marshal Service were investigating, as was the Sons of Tezcatlipoca Task Force. Julio's defense lawyer railed about what he called his extra-judicial detention, filing suit in court and demanding that the US Government allow him to exercise his Constitutional rights. Meanwhile, the lawyers for other Sons members suspected Julio flipped on the Club and was now in the witness protection program.

I knew Julio would die before he cooperated with the Feds, so there were only two options that made sense. Either a government agency figured out he was a werecat and took him to a facility for testing, or the Cartels wanted him for themselves. Either way, I knew I'd never see him again.

I was slowly going crazy in the cabin. Afraid to go out, afraid to use the computer, afraid to make a phone call, afraid to shift into my jaguar, afraid to look out the window, afraid to sleep without Maritza in the room. I kept guns in each room, out of reach of the inquisitive Maritza, but never more than fifteen feet away.