Turbulent Past, Tempestuous Present

With live fire completed, Madore, the Colombian attaché, collected the cleaned-up weapons and stowed them away in the van. Pensively, the team gathered around; the anticipation and adrenaline were still high. They knew the mission and had mastered the weaponry, but still needed a timeframe for the away mission.

Cattleya looked at Shadow and surprised him, "We depart at midnight by jet from a private airstrip thirty miles outside of Los Angeles."

She caught Murdock's surprised look and those of the six mercenaries. It was by design that she gave them a short-fused departure knowing that left little time for leaks to form in that military sieve she was sure existed in the Agency. Though it wasn't a total surprise for Murdock, he anticipated an early departure after some more details on transport were to be worked out by the Agency. Cattleya had jumped that hurdle; the Agency would be in the dark until they landed in Colombia. He could live with that as he swung into the lead vehicle and led his team to his home in preparation for the midnight departure timeframe.

At eleven o'clock, three Range rovers rolled to a stop on a desolate airstrip outside Los Angeles. A sleek Phenom 300E twin-engine corporate jet sat on the runway with its cargo bay fully loaded with arms, ammo, and electronic gear, maxed out to the weight limit. It belonged to Cattleya, Murdock learned; a birthday present from her father, an indulgence for completing her master's degree in finance.

"Murdock, the Agency is flying corporate jets? Who's handling the stick?" The burly, bearded redhead asked as he studied the sleek twin-engine aircraft. "You know I ain't fond of tiny windup toys."

"Not the Agency's, and as far as handling the stick ..." Marshall began to respond, but was cut short as Cattleya's head poked out of the cabin.

"It's a yoke — not a stick —and you are in my hands, whiskers, so relax and enjoy the ride. It practically flies itself," she said with a grin as the pale moonlight cast shadows of the jet onto the tarmac.

"You are full of surprises — a banker and a pilot as well — you are a trained pilot, right?" Murdock asked warily.

"Sort of ... what? Do you think I would risk my life if I weren't, Murdock? Lighten up. It's a long, eight-hour flight. Get your team settled in; while I get you to the old hacienda's landing strip."

With everyone on board, the jet engines fired up, and soon, fresh cool air began to wash away some of the testosterone that filled the cabin. Slowly, Cattleya taxied out onto a moonlit runway, pointing it toward the end of a 3,200-foot runway, just enough room to get the sleek Phenom jet airborne. At zero-dark-thirty, the aircraft roared down the tarmac, lifted off, streaking toward international waters before banking south toward Colombia.

The take-off had been smooth, but Cattleya knew the landing zone at the hacienda wouldn't be nearly so. Bulldozers carved it out of the ever-encroaching jungle, and during a wet week, landing would be taxing for even the most skilled of pilots. She'd made that trip a couple of times under those conditions previously, reckless, her father had said, but satisfying in her mind as she stuck the past landings with aplomb. Her last flight to the death place of her father had been four years ago. Weather conditions were supposed to be clear — but this was Colombia, and conditions changed on a whim of the ocean currents and mountain range airflow.

During the flight, Murdock's mind slipped back in time. He was headed back to the site where his doubts about the Razor's death assignment began. The primacy then was simplistic. Kill the head of the snake and the infrastructure would wither and die. The truth wasn't as simplistic: the remains of his empire were fought over, absorbed in bloody infighting, and left Cattleya and her sister in hiding, running for their lives. The cartels had retaliated on the Agency, having put bounties on the elite team members of that mission. One by one, they died in a relentless pursuit by the cartels. Yet, somehow, Murdock learned Cattleya had managed to survive. And now, according to Jordan was a critical operator laundering money for cartels. This wasn't going to be easy. Stop the cartels ... then what about the money? Justice for all wouldn't rule out the laundry business, the Shadow was sure, once the Colombian government began the mop-up process.

The passengers were getting restless, although most had slept through the night hours as well as they could. Dawn broke as Cattleya streaked lower over the mountain ranges and into the valleys attempting to avoid detection. Fatigue had begun to set in as she maneuvered the aircraft toward a remote landing field.

"Heads up, Murdock," she called out as she banked and aimed the Phenom twin-engine toward a hole in the jungle.

In seconds, as heads began to twist to take in the landing zone, she lowered the landing gear, throttled back, and hit the dirt runway with the aircraft swaying on the uneven terrain. It was nerve-racking as the team gripped the armrests and held on as the jet engines reversed. Jets and dirt runways aren't made for one another, yet it worked again for Catti. The looming jungle seemed to beckon the aircraft with waiting arms ready to swallow it, but Cattleya won.

It wasn't until the jet made the last jerking movements and halted that everyone began to breathe again.

"Let me the fuck out of here," Redbeard growled as he made for the hatch.

"Better keep your ass in the chair," Cattleya announced. "They don't know we are coming, but the sounds of the jet will have someone down here in minutes. I'll go first and wave them off in case they are already here. They know me," Cattleya announced as she bent low and squeezed down the narrow path passed Murdock's burly, red-bearded friend toward the hatch.

"I could get used to that hunched-over position and nice tight ass," he smirked as he eyed the heart-shaped behind pass by him.

"She sleeps with a SIG Sauer under her pillow, Dalton. Rumor has it she could be the Widow Maker. That Colombian mob lady that skins guys for pissing her off," Marshall growled under his breath, hoping to dash some ice water on the womanizing ex-Ranger's thoughts.

In the back of his mind, Marshall doubted that could be true. He'd seen her reactions to the photos from his first briefing with her. Her response was an act of revulsion as she quickly closed the folder and handed it back to him.

Dalton cut his remarks short. The explosives expert had seen the photos from Shadow's briefing — six guys on hooks filleted like fish with their skin hanging below their waists. He shook his head at that gruesome recollection.

Cattleya had last set foot in the remote hacienda four years ago. It was to mark her beloved father's grave after she left the hospital. Her torn heart had kept her at bay from the site since then. His kingdom and his sovereignty were based here, yet she couldn't bring herself to return. Most people remained fiercely loyal to her and Pati even amidst the cartel takeover of the poppy fields. They would know that only one person would be daring enough to fly a jet into such a short runway space. Most aircraft landing here were twin-engine stripped to fly out drugs. She was confident they would welcome her return. Though, if need be, Cattleya planned to eliminate any resistance by the cartel's field boss as soon as he came into sight.

Cattleya swung the hatch open and unfolded the stairway. The heat and humidity rapidly filled the cabin as she gazed across the landing zone and called, "Gear up; expect some jittery guards to come down that trail any minute." She pointed to a small opening in the back of the clearing as Murdock's team clambered out.

Dalton opened the cargo hold and issued the new weapons. Rapidly, the six-man team deployed alongside the underbrush on either side of the clearing Cattleya had pointed out. The heat had replaced the ozone-laced jet's air conditioning. Sweat began to flow down the brows of each seasoned warrior. The sounds of tropical jungle birds had replaced the droning whine of the Phenom 300E series' eight-hour flight. Trigger fingers were getting itchy as Cattleya strolled into the pathway of the small trail leading up to the hacienda. It wasn't long before the steady sound of a small convoy made its way to the airfield.

The lead vehicle abruptly halted fifty yards in front of Cattleya as she stood there with her hands on her hips, looking for warning signs that things weren't right.

Cattleya's hands raised and waved in greeting, calling out, "Manolo, soy yo, Catti!" Upon recognizing the friendly face behind the wheel, she identified herself to the hacienda's head of security.

Manolo quickly bound out of the vehicle and rushed forward with open arms, greeting her warmly — almost like a lost daughter returning home.

"Preciosa, que háces aquí? [Beautiful, what are you doing here?]

"I've come to take back what the cartel took from me. Manolo, are you with me or ..."

"The people here are with you, Catti. You and Pati have always treated us well, unlike that bastard Rafael Lopez Rivera."

Catti smiled and embraced him again as the second vehicle's driver strolled up to greet her; his face was unfamiliar. "I brought some help," she told them. Turning, she waved to Murdock as he stood by the nose of the jet as it stood idle. He and his men were prepared to open fire, retrieve Cattleya, and escape if things went south.

Manolo eyed the armed mercenaries. He thought that their appearance signaled they were North Americans. Eventually, he learned that some of them spoke Spanish reasonably well. His instinct was immediately one of distrust, yet Cattleya had brought them, so perhaps, she had a use for them. Reluctantly, Manolo resolved to accept them as her guests.

Over a hurried breakfast, Cattleya briefed Manolo on a reactionary plan.

"But, burning down the fields, that's going to piss Rivera off, Catti. He'll come here and kill all of us for letting that happen."

"I hope so," Cattleya smiled at his alarm. "He won't expect to meet the resistance as we ambush them."

"How can you be sure that Rivera will be with the men he sends, Catti?" The head of security asked in turn.

Murdock had the same question on drawing in the head of the snake when he and Cattleya reviewed the plans earlier for the entrapment plans. It included anticipating the cartel leader's incensed anger over the loss of so much product that he would take personal charge and show up to take revenge.

"In five days, you're going to call and tell him that the Widow Maker is here and plans on taking over his territory," Cattleya answered.

"But, no one knows her, Catti," Manolo answered quietly, suspiciously eyeing the slender dark-toned Colombiana. Her attitude seemed so convincing that he felt there might be a similarity between the young woman he knew growing up here and the rumors of the Widow Maker.

"That's a good thing, Manolo," Cattleya declared. "Just tell him she skinned his brother in that warehouse. That will make it personal. That's all the anger we need to get him here."

Cattleya sent Manolo with Redbeard on a finca tour by jeep and reconnoitered the lone hundred-kilometer trailway from the nearest village; it was the only means of reaching the hacienda by land. It would take five days for Rivera to get a strike team together and cross the rough terrain, and to that point, Marshall and his team would use it to their advantage.

The arrival of Cattleya at the hacienda set a wave of greetings into motion. It was a cause for celebration as they prepared a feast in her honor. She hugged many of them — long-term residents of the hacienda's staff. The Shadow took note of the mutual affection she shared among the workers at the hacienda. The cartel banker may have been away for the past four years, but he could easily see her heart belonged in the remote mountain finca or farm as he learned a word to add to his limited Spanish vocabulary.

Murdock took stock of the hacienda's fortification points. He also noted the fatigue bearing down on Razor's weary daughter. She hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours.

"Before you start partying, you need to get some rest. I'll start reviewing the fortifications and draw up a battle plan."

"You can draw up a plan, Marshall, but I need your assurance that you will watch over me while I get some rest. There are some here I don't know. Better to be overly cautious," she replied.

Marshall and the long-absent revenant ascended the stairs and made their way to the end of an open balcony overlooking the tranquil lake. She stood there, lost in her thoughts, with Marshall by her side, armed and ready to protect the Cattleya orchid. Murdock observed her and couldn't help but notice the peaceful aura surrounding the svelte form leaning against the railing as she watched over the lake. Perhaps it was because she had returned to her childhood home. Entranced, she stood on that balcony like a beautiful, delicate orchid in full bloom. Murdock was dazzled by her appearance as he saw her in a different light — more like a woman of intrigue than a vengeful woman who had held him at gunpoint a week ago.

Catti turned and opened the door to her room. Marshall hesitated.

"Come on ... I don't bite, Shadow. Or are you afraid to watch a sleeping woman?" she breathed the words out as a challenge.

Murdock followed her into the room, surveilling the spacious suite with its balcony and high windows. Dropping his gear, he moved a chair to face the doorway.

"Ever vigilant, Galahad," Cattleya yawned as she stretched and removed her outer clothing unabashedly. She faced the bed without modesty and pulled down the covers. Murdock's eyes roamed the curves of her back, catching just the swell of an outline of her bare breasts. The glimpse ended with a sweep of her form-fitting lace panties as she slipped into bed.

"Thank you, Murdock," she sighed.

"For?" he asked somewhat in a whisper as he watched her wiggle her head into the pillow.

"For agreeing to be on overwatch while I get some sleep. I know I am in good hands ... and for being a gentleman," she yawned, slipping into a soft, gentle deep sleep.

Marshall kept a watchful eye over her, assuming guardianship of the sleeping woman. He observed her tossing and turning, struggling against something in her dreams. After dark, there was a timid knock at her door. A young woman peeked inside and saw Marshall seated in the armchair.

"La comida está lista, señor," she announced. Marshall nodded in reply. Then thoughtfully, she repeated it in English, just in case. He knew just enough to recognize it meant dinner was ready and gently woke Cattleya. She yawned and stretched, causing her covers to slide down as she sat up. Marshall turned away to avoid staring.

"It's okay to look," she breathed out with a sultry grin, studying his sense of respect for a woman. "Do you think I'm pretty, Mr. Secret Agent man?"

"Most assuredly," Marshall mused as he watched her stand and stroll toward her bathroom. She left the door ajar. He heard the water run as she showered, then came out wrapped in a fluffy robe. She grinned as his eyes focused on her in response. Walking into a closet, she quickly returned in a shimmering evening dress. It was fit for an evening ball and obviously with nothing underneath as it clung form-fittingly to her body.

Over dinner, Murdock filled in the team on a four-day marathon preparation event that included concocting homemade napalm to spread in the coca fields, trenched vehicle entrapments cut into the rough roadway, and the path leading down to the airfield by the lake.

By daybreak, Manolo had a team of workers running the backhoe and bulldozer. The finca workers diligently cut trenches while Redbeard and two members of the team refueled the jet and prepared a napalm concoction from the remainder of the fuel for the field hands to spread around the perimeter of the hacienda and down into the poppy fields in swiftly gouged trenches to await the signal to ignite the fuel. The jungle provided ample materials to mask the depth of the entrapments for the expected vehicles at the pincer point, a location at the junction of the path to the hacienda and the logging road leading to the jet. The trenches were cut wide and deep enough to upend vehicles dropping into them at high speeds. Camouflaged with branches and jungle debris, the deadly entrapments awaited Rivera's arrival.

On the fifth day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange hue over the hacienda, Cattleya and Carlton waited in ambush for the arrival of the cartel convoy on one side while Murdock and the others took the opposite side to catch the convoy in a crossfire. Hidden among the trees, they could hear the rumble of engines drawing closer.

"Light it up," Marshall directed as he radioed back to the hacienda. The finca workers quickly began spreading the napalm concoction to the vast field of coca and ignited it. The air rapidly filled with plumes of dense black smoke. Plan B launched into action. The coca fields set ablaze would kill the cash flow for the cartel and further the next steps.

Adrenaline surged through Cattleya's veins as she gripped her weapon, ready to face the man responsible for taking over her father's domain, her childhood home, and the one whose brother had relentlessly pursued Cattleya and Pati to extinguish their lives as a mopping up action.Just business — nothing personal he had boasted. Eventually, in retaliation, she tracked him, then skinned him — just business, — she replied as he begged for mercy.

Tension charged the air. Cattleya's heart pounded with anticipation as she focused on breathing, steeling herself for the confrontation. It was the first time her target was live, not a silhouette firing back at her. For Marshall and his longtime red-bearded friend, Carlton, the scene was an old and familiar tactic — swift and deadly in its outcome — still, it also had moments of heart-beating palpitations. The Shadow knew that regardless of the number of times you faced death, it was never without thoughts of one's destruction. Marshall and Carlton had resigned their fates to those moments as being inevitable.

The cartel convoy rose over the hilltop and rolled into view—a view of a line of three open vehicles with heavily armed men. In the lead jeep, the cartel leader, Rivera, sat with a sinister smirk as he believed he was barreling into an easy victory. Little did he know that another's victory lay in wait over the rise. His smirk faded as he caught sight of the dark plumes of smoke hovering above the hacienda's surrounding fields. Suddenly realizing the apparent source, he ground to a halt and barked out orders to the following vehicles.

"Kill them all!"

The troop-ladened vehicles raced forward, with Rivera's vehicle trailing. The advancing convoy picked up the pace with reckless speed, fueled by the anger of Rivera's orders. It was what Murdock had anticipated knowing the burning fields would enflame the cartel leader's loss of his primary revenue source.

At high speed, the first vehicle's front wheels dropped through the camouflaged entrapment. The forward momentum slammed the front end into the rear of the gashed opening. Like a proverbial brick wall, the forward momentum ended instantly. The ass-end of the truck lifted, going airborne, and sent the hapless men in the back slamming into the cab or flying over the top to tumble like ragdolls across the open trail. A few tried to rise, disoriented, weaponless at that point, and were easy targets in the crossfire.