The Swarm - Unraveling the Shadows

As I made my way towards the elevator, my movements were a graceful performance of calculated seduction, familiar to any woman who has walked the streets of Detroit's seedy Eighth Mile Road at night. With a press of the button, I selected the twenty-fifth floor, concealing my true intentions from the lingering eyes of the attendant.

Ascending through the emergency stairwell to the twenty-sixth floor, my heart pounded with anticipation. The top penthouse level awaited, harboring both danger and hope. There, I hoped to find Rosa Hernandez executing a daring extraction that would test my skill and resolve.

I'd taken a gamble by assuming no extra guests would be present in the penthouse. I hadn't had the luxury of time to conduct a thorough reconnaissance. My limited knowledge concerned the surrounding streets and the fastest route leading me out of Detroit and through the underwater tunnel into Canada. From there, I'd need to plan to re-enter the United States, avoiding Detroit at all costs.

"Fortune favors the bold, Jade," I murmured as I pushed against the emergency door crash bar, allowing me to slip into the expansive, dimly lit kitchen. Not a soul was in sight, and the only sound emanated from the overhead speakers playing Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's "The Magic Flute."

"Fucking Mozart and your ironic choice of music, Montgomery," I hissed, steeling myself to venture deeper into the penthouse. With no layout to guide me, I relied on my instincts, navigating like a cat in the darkness, my back pressed against the wall and guided by the feel of my surroundings. "You compose a symphony about rescuing a daughter from the clutches of a villain, only to find that the damn girl refuses to be rescued... this better not have that kind of ending, Wolfgang..."

As I turned the corner into the living room, it appeared slightly brighter than the kitchen's nightlight. I caught sight of the hallway leading to the other side of the penthouse, where muffled sounds reached my ears. Drawing both swords from their concealment, I proceeded down the hallway. If the situation demanded it, I was prepared to strike first and ask no questions--just a swift, decisive action and make a daring escape. That was the plan to find eighteen-year-old Rosa Hernandez and get our asses out of there!

The anguished cry of a woman abruptly shattered the silence, urging me to hasten toward the source of her pain. Bursting into the room at the far end, I was greeted with a horrifying sight. Rosa Hernandez lay bound on the bed, her body contorted and restrained in a manner reminiscent of those captured by El Mas Loco. Montgomery Whitmore-Smythe, the epitome of depravity, reveled in his cruelty, slapping her breasts callously, deriving pleasure from her torment.

The details of what unfolded swiftly in that room became a blur. Amidst Rosa's agonizing screams, I vaguely remember swiftly cutting the ropes binding her arms and legs. That set her free from her torment. Her cries drowned out the wails of Whitmore-Smythe, but the remnants of that night would remain a blur in my memory. The Detroit Newspaper later reported that Whitmore-Smythe had been attacked in his penthouse, labeling it a lunatic assassination attempt that left him with deep cross-cut lacerations on his back. The injuries would require extensive healing time and result in lasting muscular damage.

"Good for him," I recall thinking as I drove Rosa Hernandez over the international bridge that connects Baudette, Minnesota, and Rainy River, Ontario. With a flash of my stolen FBI badge and the presence of a Mexican national in my Maserati Nightingale, we easily sailed through, leaving the dark underbelly of Detroit behind us.

Once we crossed the border into the States, I stopped at the River Bend Resort Restaurant in Baudette and placed three calls. Rosa cried through the first, as her mother answered in Juarez, Mexico. I'd found lodging for her mother; an anonymous source funded that. That same source would also clear a path for Rosa to return to Juarez after I escorted her to the airport in Minneapolis.

The second call was to JW's hotline. That was a short recording. "Michigan's hunting was good; names and details to follow," I announced and hung up.

The third call was to Worthington and Worthington. I spoke with Gina briefly, though my first thought was to contact Jim. The electrical charge I felt was too strong for that conversation. I knew he had a woman in the wings from the flowers he carried the other night as I watched him enter and stay for a while. I wasn't going to create anything that interfered with his karma.

Though, I still had business with Worthington's gold mine of data. I had the time to plan that out as I drove back down to land in the accounting firm's parking lot in time for the morning flag-raising.

Meeting with Brett, Gina, and Jim Rawlings, I laid out a brief plan to assume an undercover role as a driver for Muller Trucking Enterprise and insert myself into the bowels of the beast to root out the rot that preyed on those seeking a better life. I aimed to sever the head of the El Enjambre Cartel and end 'The Swarm' that continues to cross the border. It seemed that Brett Worthington had some interest in that cause as well. Perhaps, this wouldn't have to be a solo flight across the southern border.

After a week of frenetic eighteen-wheeler training, I hit the highway and wound my Muller truck into the narrow backstreets of a warehouse district in Juarez. The scene was chaotic, like a swarm of bees, with a mixture of men, women, and even children of various nationalities huddled together. Like sheep, rough-looking individuals sorted and separated them, loading some onto trucks. Having uncovered a similar operation in Detroit, it was clear how the process worked. The worker bees were packed into numerous freight liners amidst various manufacturing products, while the more attractive women were funneled into a different truck. My heart sank as I realized the alarming number of girls destined for the sex-slave markets. The urge to draw my blade and unleash mayhem right then and there was almost overwhelming.

But I restrained my anger when I caught sight of a familiar older man leaning against the rear gate of a military-style truck. Four younger men stood by his side, appearing to be the transporters' protection during the loading process. However, I knew there was more to it.

Worthington wasn't interested in slavery; he had to be here to help dismantle El Enjambre and eliminate the mastermind behind it all. For a brief moment, our eyes locked. I nodded. At that moment, I realized there were more elements to JW's internal network of comrades-in-arms that I had access to. Brett Worthington grinned, and I averted my gaze, looking away. My mission's goal changed on-the-fly -- to navigate through the Swarm, find the leader hidden somewhere within the depths of the building, and signal Worthington for backup. That on the fly change in plans was better than going it solo. With growing anticipation, I made my way up the stairs... more confident that tomorrow would be a better day for those still en route. My chances of getting out were now well beyond fifty-fifty. I'd take five Green Berets as a backup for an ex-Navy washed-out SEAL every day.

It was shaping up to be a fruitful day for hunting in Juarez, Mexico. By nightfall, I anticipated delivering the news to JW over the phone, signaling a step forward in our mission.

The table was cluttered, the highchair was a mess as usual, and the oatmeal bowl had once more been swiped onto the floor. Of course, Blacktongue was getting his share of that. We were beyond the stage of 'spitting up' and on the verge of trying to figure out how to childproof the old ramshackle home. Gabby held Maria Elena by her hands, as she wobbled across the floor on tiptoes. And Carmen ... well, she watched it all, absentmindedly rubbing the next Rawlings child on the way as it stirred in her womb. We weren't exactly the traditional family, an orphan, a polyamory family with twin wives, a giggly dark-haired baby girl, and another child from the other mom-to-be on the way. Though still living in troubled times post-war, my world had found an ex-miliary soldier's equivalent of peace.

Worthington offered me a partnership in his firm, and I took it. Gina became the senior partner; clearly a great choice. Brett's leg still bothered him from a tumble he'd taken on a southern vacation. He wanted to step back from his activities and enjoy his grandson, Sally and Chris Mortenson's boy. Retire and grow old with Brandon, is what he told me.

Worthington said he had fallen down some stairs while vacationing in Mexico almost two years ago. That story rang hollow. A piece of national network news that day carried a story out of Juarez, Mexico. A drug and trafficking cartel called 'The Swarm' had been dismantled by the Mexican government's equivalent of the DEA. It seemed the name aptly fit them, as they appeared to have been buzzing back and forth across the border, engaged in drugs and trafficking mayhem. It appeared similar to the case the FBI lady, Jade Dagger, was investigating. However, the news didn't mention any FBI involvement in the cross-border takedown.

The fact that Jade Dagger was at Brett's side when he returned told me something was off, but neither offered an explanation as to why they were together — or the truth. I didn't ask. Jade Dagger looked damned somber and nervous the day they returned. The way she looked at Brett, a tear clinging to her cheek, as she shifted the Maserati into gear told me that woman was traumatized, broken, and would need help before long — perhaps the FBI had a good health plan for that. I felt she and the Colonel had some bond that tied them closely--one beyond just having met over an accounting matter. Jade Dagger looked defiant, that long hair flowing over her shoulders in the wind as she sped off. Brett's pains had thrown him off a bit, I supposed. He misspoke and called her Jackie as he said goodbye. Then, pain does have a way of causing confusion — I knew something about that.

Thanks for reading my story. And thanks to kenjisato for his assistance with editing. Please rate this for me and leave a comment. I love those. Comments are my nourishment for my future stories.

Dmallord.