The Swarm - Unraveling the Shadows

My fourth cup of coffee sat on my desk, and the one I brought down for Gina sat cold next to her favorite picture of 'Chubby' otherwise named Ray Jr. She spotted it and sighed, "Thanks, I need this so very much. I flew out the door without one. Chubby was spitting up, and I had to change ... again." She took one sip ... and smiled. "That fuckn late?" she laughed, noting the room temperature of the cup.

I listened to her banter. 'Spitting up ... why would he do that?'

Guess they do ... needed to note that or at least tell Gabby. On second thought, she probably already knows that from all the books she and Carmen have been reading. I suppose that's why they said I had to attend parenting classes ... to learn about spitting. I grew up spitting as an orphan and a GI. Orphans spit on, not up, and as a GI, having eaten a lot of tail-rotor dust, spitting came naturally. I hadn't signed up for classes on baby spitting and still wondered what that was about.

"Sorry, here too. Even closing one eye, I can't pinpoint why some trucks carry just half a load and seem to be a day late to their destinations. Their cargo manifests are accurate, for the most part. We need to focus on something other than cargo. Drivers, perhaps?"

As Gina's hands pulled the second stack from my desk to review them again, I heard the low rumble of a sports car coming to an idle and then shutting down. One glance out the front windows, and I recognized it. The lipstick-red Maserati with the nightingale on the hood had just swooped into one of the guest parking spaces. The long-haired driver flowed out of the vehicle, swinging a small valise, and strode purposefully toward the front entrance. She moved quickly up the steps. Her legs were striding as far as her sharp pantsuit would allow. Last night's silhouette breezed through the front doorway like a leaf riding on the wind. Petite though she was, she had that confident look of a girl on a mission as she veered toward the front office and slipped quickly through the door. For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of a nice piece of Amerasian eye candy through the glass office door.

Gina's eyes followed mine to the lobby as I softly muttered, "What the hell?"

"Got the hots for that long-hair, GI?" Gina smirked.

"Not particularly, but I saw her yesterday, twice. And now, she's here. Tell me ... that's a coincidence, right?" I replied in response to her question.

"Never believed in coincidences," Gina smirked, "but I believe in karma."

Just as fast as she entered, the Amerasian girl breezed back into the lobby and headed for the elevator. I caught sight of the sidearm she carried beneath her jacket as her arm raised to press the elevator button.'Somebody is in trouble,'I thought.

"Neither do I," I huffed in answer to Gina's comment on coincidences. She was already dialing the front office to find out what was up.

"FBI, chick," Gina stated flatly as she finished grilling Red at the HR front desk.

"Since when does an FBI agent drive a Maserati?" I asked disbelievingly. "Guess you and I are in the wrong line of work," I declared. "Things like hot FBI babes and fast cars only happen in the movies. And there are no movie sets in this part of town."

Gina glanced out the window at the red two-seater and snickered, "No room for a baby and a stroller in that boy-toy piece of eye candy, GI. She's got to be single, for sure. You did say you were single, right?" Gina's sultry voice carried a not-so-veiled hint at my checking out the cutie in the red-rose outfit that had flowed through the front door.

"Yeah," I replied with a chuckle. With wedding plans to be made for three and a baby on the way, the thoughts of a ride like that are no longer on my horizon — single, yeah, but not if engaged overrode that status. At some point, I would have to fill Worthington and Gina in on my polyamory relationship with the twins. It would take some getting used to thinking about family ties and leaving thoughts of single women behind me. Although, the FBI gal did look tempting.

Gina and I continued to plow through the current data, still struggling to understand what was unfolding. It didn't make sense to either of us at this point. Another hour had passed when I heard the outer conference office door open, but Gina's remark snapped my eyes up.

Long and drawn out, Gina whispered as she rose from her desk, "Well, hello, — sugar."

I looked up and rose to my feet as well. Worthington was beside the petite, long-haired Amerasian dame. Close up; it seemed time slowed down, allowing more of it to enjoy her stunning beauty.

"Meet Ms. Dagger. She's a special agent with the FBI," Worthington introduced us.

The woman stepped forward, extending her hand. She had an intriguing air of confidence and determination. "Special Agent Jade Dagger," she introduced herself. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Rawlings. Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Anderson."

Dagger had a firm grip for a girl as she extended her hand in my direction. It felt like the handshake of a pump shotgun racking a couple of shells and firing for effect. She had no reaction to the missing digits on my gun hand as she grasped what was left and locked those almond eyes onto mine. She gave a nod and smiled in Gina's direction.

"Congratulations on being a new mom. I saw his picture in the lobby, and he is so cute."

"Yes, thank you. Ray Jr. is my first, so it's all so new. Not like watching my cousins taking care of their little ones. I got to hug them, play with them, and hand them back. It's like being an octopus and getting down with all those routines he demands. I'm a wreck by bedtime," Gina gushed in reply.

"I know, right?" Dagger responded. Her face took on a slight sense of pleasure.

"You have kids, then?" Gina prodded.

"Oh, no! No, not ready for that ... still looking for Mr. Right, maybe," her voice tremored for an instant as though she wasn't sure about that line of thought.

Gina turned and arched her eyebrows conspiratorially in my direction. I'd have to break down and tell her that other women outside the twins weren't in my playing cards any longer.

"Ms. Dagger," Worthington cut in, "has been assigned to follow up on cases like the Texas Grifters' debacle and is looking into our puzzling financial situation with Muller Trucking. I spoke with Muller a few minutes ago. He wants us to give the FBI anything we have discovered."

Worthington looked at Gina expectantly for some positive feedback. We had spent two days pouring over the data, and he hadn't heard from her regarding the status of our data mining.

Gina's smile turned somber. "Brett, I'm afraid we have little in the way of analysis at this point."

She pointed to stacks of sorted documents stacked neatly on the conference table and whiteboards filled with extracted numbers from our combined two days' work.

"These show partial shipments only and have full days missing in time. The second stack has partial shipments and late deliveries. The third stack seems to be complete deliveries and arriving on time. There doesn't seem to be any reason for the delays in manifest deliveries noted anywhere to account for the inconsistencies. We've checked mileage logs ... noting there stands out."

"Mind if I peruse those for a bit? I have some background in accounting and analytics," Agent Dagger said, glancing between Gina and Worthington.

With a go-ahead nod from Worthington, she pulled out a chair and made herself right at home as if she owned the place. Her hands moved swiftly as she sifted through the three stacks, rearranging them into new categories. Her lips pursed, and her brow furrowed as she seemed to decipher something internally. She focused solely on the papers, disregarding everything and everyone around her.

Her mind must have functioned like a savant's; she didn't jot down many notes as she encountered numbers. Instead, she motioned for the whiteboard marker I held, gracefully rose from the chair, and started writing figures on the front glass windows. Her method of data organization was peculiar but seemed significant for her.

Like expectant old warriors, Gina and I sat there, gazing at the petite yet buxom woman poring over the documents and sipping multiple cups of hot coffee that Worthington had sent down. She seemed to have a bladder like an oil tanker. For two hours, the only sounds were the rustling of papers and the clinking of coffee cups on the glass tabletop. Agent Dagger's pursed lips finally transformed into a smile.

She had dissected and analyzed the documents that Gina and I had spent two days trying to make sense of — and she had done it in just two hours. Not only that, but she also made a few discoveries that we had yet to think to investigate. As accountants, we focused on inventory and reconciling shipping products with deliveries. However, Jade Dagger's mind took a different approach.

"This stack consists of complete, on-time, and consistently routine deliveries. It serves as the baseline, correct?" she spewed out, more for our education than seeking agreement.

"Forget about the inventory in the truck for now. Check the weight for each haul. They are fairly consistent, which is expected. The trucks carry the same parts north out of Mexico, resulting in marginal weight differences."

Gina and I observed as she circled those consistencies on the glass window. Then she circled the three other categories. Those had half-filled loads of inventory, but the weights at the truck way stations were all over the place.

I watched Dagger's hands rapidly up and down the glass, calculating the truckloads of different weights like a damn computer. Gina was the first to speak as she began to see the pattern.

"Those half-filled trucks should be half the weight of the full trucks ... " her voice tapered off.

Dagger smiled. "So GI, care to guess what accounts for the differences and the disparity in the partially loaded trucks?"

"Smuggled cargo?" I opined.

Gina added, "That might be. Sounds like a possibility. It would account for the missing time in the deliveries. To avoid suspicion, the trucks would need a location to unload the cargo and then proceed with the half-load deliveries at the docks. That accounts for days missing."

"Muller's trucks run out of Texas, and some travel the Arizona corridor," Dagger added more details from the manifests. "The weights are different."

Gina noted Dagger's handiwork in breaking out the two routes on the glass. Done that way, it was easy to see that the route weights were different from each other. The Arizona trucks were much heavier than those running north out of Texas.

"Yeah," Dagger added as her expression grew terse.

"Seems like the FBI has some idea as to why, right?" I asked, as I watched that scowl. Dagger didn't reply right away. It seemed she wasn't about to let go of a gold nugget she might be hiding. Perhaps with a good reason. If it were something they were already on the trail of, they wouldn't want civilians mucking around in the numbers. I figured Gina and I were on the outside — it was just a need-to-know basis. I understood that. Loose lips sink ships.

The diminutive Dagger nodded. "Maybe," she slowly eased out. "Try this idea on for size. The trucks going west — carry cargo of similar weights — that's a drug import route. The northbound trucks — that's a human smuggling route." She put the marker down and let the thoughts trickle in as she picked up her cup of cold coffee and drained it without a wince.

"So," Gina hesitantly conjectured, "the westbound loads only carry half the freight loads and half drugs — the weight stays consistent. The missing times are the time to offload the drugs and continue delivery of the actual manufacturing parts the next day.

"And the variable weights," I answered, as the light bulb clicked on, "in the northern routes are more inconsistent due to people being transported, not drug packages with consistent weights?"

"That would be my guess," Dagger stated, "but that's conjecture. How to prove it is on a whole different level."

The three of us sat looking at one another across the table — with an enigma in paper form between us. It was as though the Bermuda Triangle had engulfed the room in a swirling fog. As Worthington had predicted, we were again on the verge of another trucking incident far worse than the Mortenson situation of parts being ripped off and sold by one small set of grifters out of Texas. This was more ominous — drug cartel shipments and human trafficking. A bad combination of human suffering regardless of what came across the border.

"Dagger, I hate to bug out on you, but ..." Gina said as she stood up while tossing a handful of trucking data onto the third pile of documents.

Dagger's soft, southern voice interrupted her. "Family first, friends second, and work ... that's third at least."

"Right," Gina responded, grabbing her jacket as she headed for the door. "You two should go to dinner ... then get some R&R," she winked.

Her grin wasn't discreet; damn, I knew I'd have to come clean soon. If I acted on that suggestion, Gina's comments would likely get me into hot water with the twins. The FBI chic had caught her innuendo as well as Gina's wink. Dagger wasn't blind. I saw that from her reaction, the glint in her eye, and her wry smirk at Gina's saucy comment. Dagger was an intelligent woman — it wasn't difficult for her to put one and one together and get — she understood Gina's undertone as she exited the room.

"Ms. Dagger ... I ah... am afraid I have to be somewhere in a while. I could make a call and see if they can wait. At least I could ..."

"Not to worry," she chuckled at my stammering. Dagger's demeanor changed a bit after we were alone.

She grinned as I tried to put some distance between Gina's saucy suggestion and getting back to the twins. It was as though she knew I had a rendezvous with them.

Intriguing. 'They can wait?' So, two women were waiting for him? Jade Dagger mused.

"Jim, I have a full night ahead, making contact calls and reports to generate. You know, all that damn FBI paperwork shuffling that gets in the way of the fun stuff — like cracking bad guys' heads."

I chuckled at that, too. It was hard to imagine someone about five-two and barely a hundred pounds soaking wet had ever cracked a bad guy's head — maybe a kick to the nuts at most. Then out of nowhere, she asked about the park across the street.

"Not much activity in that park; it seems empty now. Any police patrol that regularly?"

"Not many folks there most evenings, so police don't patrol it that frequently. It stays quiet like this around five or so. Why?" I asked.

"Thought I'd get in some exercise time. Lots of space to do that over there. My motel is not conducive to a full workout."

"It's pretty safe. At least until dark, I suppose. I wouldn't spend time there after that. Lots of homeless camps out in the park after sundown. The police don't bother them, so most settle around the fountain area."

"Number crunching gives me a headache. I think I'll stay and work out and ease some tensions. Enjoy dinner, Jim. See you tomorrow — maybe," Dagger replied as she picked up her valise.

"Do you need copies of these docs?" I asked as she headed for the door.

Smiling and tapping her head, she grinned, "Got all the data I need right up here, Jim. I'd stay and help you clean the windows, but the sun is going down." She added that last offer of help, but it rang hollow. The words sounded like she implied, Just fuckn with you, GI.

I'd had a lot of that in my military life — mostly SNAFU stuff. Jade Dagger seemed to have some military bearing from her comment and previous demeanor. I seemed to find myself in a small world, surrounded by ex-military members like most of Worthington's staff.

As I moved the stacks of documents into a cabinet, I saw her walking toward her Maserati. She opened the trunk, removed her jacket and sidearm, and placed them in the trunk. Surprisingly, she took off her pantsuit and tossed that, too, into the trunk. I couldn't believe my eyes when she stood in the open in her bra and panties and changed into a form-fitting outfit. She grabbed two swords from the trunk, walked to the park, and began performing kata exercises. She demonstrated amazing ambidexterity. I chuckled. A one-hundred-pound sword-wielding menace was loose in the park. I was damn impressed by her focus and dedication. It was clear that nothing and no one could distract her from her training.

As for myself, I was mesmerized until the phone rang and interrupted my gaze.

"Tell me that's not the FBI girl, Jim," he asked when I answered.

"Yep. She needed some room to exercise. Said her motel was too confining," I responded.

Worthington laughed. "Goodnight, Jim."

If it hadn't been for a call from Worthington asking what was going on in the park, I would have stood at the window and watched the whole routine. As it was, I caught a half hour, and she was still hard at it when I left. I thought about the skull-cracking comment earlier and revised that, walking down to my truck. She could break a few heads and kick a few nuts as well — probably put the fear of God into a few with those swords.

She was right about a motel being too confining for such a routine; doubtful they'd even allow that sword practice. She'd need a whole gymnasium to work through those moves. The park's expanse gave her that. I hoped she would come back. I liked her — her routine; that is — she was like a leaf blowing in the wind. Dagger was graceful, could dance, and was damn sure deadly. She didn't have to worry about being in the park after dark. I was confident of that.

A lusty smile spread as I drove to the twins' place. Dagger's nearly naked supple body had whet my appetite. Dinner might be delayed longer tonight; I might have twins for appetizers beforehand.

Jackie Wilson or her persona Jade Dagger, both an alias of her real identity, stepped across the street into the park as a determined and resilient warrior. She carried the weight of her past as a former Navy SEAL washout. Born with an indomitable spirit, she defied expectations and pursued her dream of becoming a member of one of the most elite military units in the world. However, as a one-hundred-pound woman, she faced immense physical and mental challenges during her training, ultimately leading to her dismissal from the program. That didn't deter her. It added more to her resolve.

Despite her washout status, Jackie's time in the Navy SEAL program instilled in her a sense of discipline, a strategic mindset, and unwavering determination. It taught her valuable skills and made her a formidable warrior, even if she didn't complete the training. This experience, coupled with her relentless pursuit of justice, makes her a force to be reckoned with as she fights against the shadows of the world. She fits right in with the goals of the team headed by her boss, Jack Wilson, as an avenging angel for justice when the legal system cannot provide that to victims who have no one to turn to.

Jade Dagger pushed her exercise regimen to the limit as she cut through imaginary foes in the park. Their faces took on the look of those she battled within the echoes of the Mexican jungles. The face of El Mas Loco was preeminent; he had planned to kill her and had killed an entire family trying to draw her out into the open. That frightening trauma weighed heavily on her as she considered facing another Mexican cartel. In the end, she had walked past The Crazy Bastard's men, shattered, bloodied, sword in hand, and carrying his severed head by his long hair.