Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

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Saturday, June 9th, 2:10 a.m., Avondale, Arizona
Mitchell agreed to let us return to my townhouse to get the clothes I’d bought Gabriella. He let me drive us there and followed us in the two Suburbans. He was trusting me—why? He had requested I put my pistol in the trunk. I agreed because, at this point, it was dead weight unless I wanted to take on four armed agents from the US Marshal Service—at least that’s who they claimed to be representing.

Somewhere along the way, I was going to find out who Mitchell really worked for. I was pretty sure he had some connection to the CIA; he mentioned Colonel Flagg. Mitchell having possibly talked to Flagg was certainly interesting, and I wondered if he was part of this operation in some way. For now, though, I just wanted to appear as cooperative as possible.

I powered on my phone as we left the El Oso Park parking lot and called Kovachev.

“Ruiz?”

“I can’t talk long. I’m with Allen Mitchell. He says he’s in the US Marshal Service, but he’s in bed with the CIA, I think. I can’t explain that right now, but he’s taking Gabriella to her parents in Boulder. We’re leaving from Scottsdale Airport in an hour. He’s going to give up details on the abductions and how they’ve been 'resolved'. I think you should be there," I blurted out quickly, hoping he could meet us there.

"Slow down... You're going with him to Boulder?" Kovachev asked.

"Yes. It's a crazy story I can't really get into, but he says the abduction case has been 'resolved'."

"I can meet you at the airport... About Mitchell, I couldn't find any record of him working for the US Marshal Service," he said, concerned.

"I didn't press for a badge, but I will ask to see it when we get to my townhouse," I replied, trying to sound confident I had all the bases covered. Why hadn't I asked for that while we were talking in the parking lot? I'm slipping. Fatigue? Certainly, we could produce fake badges, I guess, do did it matter?

"If you can stall him at your townhouse, I will just meet you there."

"I don't think that's going to be possible; we're just picking up some clothes for Gabriella; you'd never make it there in time."

"Fine, I will be at the airport. I'm in Arlington. We were able to get a warrant to search the property. The dog was an issue, but we were eventually able to get into the building. You shouldn't have entered the room. The CSI team is processing evidence now. Did you touch anything?"

"No, and I only entered the room enough to close the door and lock it behind me. I used my shirt to do that and to turn the knob when I exited. I even used the back of my hand to turn the light on and off. I did not linger any longer than sixty seconds," I explained.

"They have found foot prints from eight different people. There are also some fingerprints, but we haven’t had a chance to get them run yet.”

"One set of footprints would be mine if they were looking at the doorway, Gabriella's, the other Trans woman, and the three men who were with them. So, we've got two sets of footprints unaccounted for," I mused. “Oh, and like I said, I didn’t touch anything—my prints won’t be found.”

"She told you about her assailants?"

"Only that there were three men, two of them Mexican and an Asian," I replied, and then thought about what Mitchell had said about the story he was offering me having 'international shit' implications: "Mitchell mentioned an international connection with these assaults."

"How does he know these things?"

"I'm not sure, but the blood you've found isn't the blood from the other Trans woman who was with Gabriella."

"He told you that," Kovachev asked, surprised.

"Not in so many words," I replied, glancing over at Gabriella, who looked shocked, maybe even worried.

"Okay, we can talk at the airport. I'll meet you there. Be aware of your surroundings, Ruiz."

"I will," and the line went dead.

We got to my townhouse in about twelve minutes, with Mitchell's contingent right behind us the entire way. He and another agent escorted us in and allowed Gabriella to load my backpack with the few items she'd used before we went in search of the building she'd been taken to—a toothbrush, makeup, and the other changes of clothes. I grabbed my laptop and noticed the SD card adapter was missing. I looked at Gabriella, and she looked away. She'd taken it; why? Insurance? Were there other things on the card?

"Why the laptop?" Allen asked.

"I've got deadlines to meet, and if you're detailing the solving of these assault cases, I need to get ahead of it and get something written," I said. It was true, and there wasn't an ulterior motive for bringing it along.

"Okay," he conceded.

"So, you work for the US Marshal Service?" I asked as I was rolling up my power cord.

"I do tonight," he said, fishing something from his suit jacket and holding it out for me to see.

It was an ID and badge in a leather-bound holder. It said his name was Allen Mitchell and all the other official stuff you might expect on a government organization's credentials, including his picture. He nodded to the other agent, who produced the same type of credentials, but there was a difference between the two. Mitchell's badge said "Marshal Service Deputy," and the other agents said "Marshal Service Marshal."

I wasn't positive, but I assumed Mitchell was functioning as a deputized member of the US Marshal Service at the moment. He likely worked for another agency, and this was his 'legal' way of functioning within the US outside that agency. Probably why Kovachev couldn't find anything on him with whomever or however he tried to check with him.

"Thank you for that; good to know we're all here on the up and up," I commented. "We ready?"

"I'm just waiting on you," Mitchell said.

"You promise to get Kara back to the shelter,” I asked.

“Yeah, we’ll get her back,” he said impatiently.

Are the bases all covered? God, I hoped so.

Saturday, June 9th, 2:49 a.m., Scottsdale Airport, Arizona
We made better time to the airport than I expected we would, and the Learjet we'd likely be flying on had just finished taking on fuel. The tanker truck pulled away as we came to a stop a hundred feet from where the jet sat. No Kovachev. I looked around and wondered how I was going to delay us leaving without having a confrontation with Mitchell or tipping him off to my asking Kovachev to meet me here.

"Wait here," Mitchell said over his shoulder as he and the other agent both exited the vehicle and began speaking to the agents in the other suburban.

I leaned over to Gabriella and whispered, "You took the SD card?" She nodded. "Is there something else going on here that I should know about?"

She took my hand, and I felt the adapter. "Keep this; they cannot access their account without you," she whispered in my ear.

"What does that mean?"

"Two factor authentication; I changed that while you were getting ready earlier and used your phone number... The site will send you a six-digit access code necessary to complete the login process. They have the initial password for the login credentials we agreed upon, but they didn't take into account the two-factor authentication requirement. These accounts are very secure that way."

Shit! Adding that was probably a smart move, but why involve me? And that they somehow forgot—someone was not on their game. But why give me access to information or make me a key player in this mess? Then I thought about it a little more—she was trying to protect herself and her family from the devil. She might have just outsmarted them with that move, or at least insured some concessions for access to that pile of money. On the flip side, I really didn't want any further involvement with whatever these two sides of the operation were up to or that third party, Corbino.

Saturday, June 9th, 2:56 a.m., Scottsdale Airport, Arizona
Mitchell returned to our vehicle and opened the door for Gabriella. "Alright, we're good to go."

Gabriella looked back at me as if needing my approval to get out of the Suburban.

"Our destination is still Boulder," I asked, trying to delay, hoping Kovachev would show any second.

"Yes, that's where our asset is, her family," he said, looking away to watch the other Suburban begin to drive away. "Detective Kovachev won't be joining us, I'm afraid. He's been called back to the crime scene in Arlington. The agents," he nodded toward the suburban pulling away, "Will brief him as I will be briefing you. If you'd have asked, I could have saved him some time heading this way."

Shit!

"Yeah, well, ferrying us away without anyone knowing seemed like a risk I wasn't willing to take," I said, not hiding that I was annoyed.

Mitchell chuckled, "You act as though I'm the bad guy here, Ruiz. I assure you, I've been on the same page with you about everything and will continue that until I either can't trust you or we run into details that you shouldn't be privy to."

If the shoe was on the other foot, you'd be making all kinds of noise about getting flown away to a 'supposed' destination. Asshole...

"Can I call my lawyer?"

"I'm not sure what that's going to get you, but if it will make you feel better, go ahead," he replied as if it weren't a big deal.

I opened my door and stepped out. I dialed Lena, and two rings later, a sleepy voice answered, "Cass?"

"Hey, sorry to wake you, but this story took a crazy turn."

She interrupted me, "Are you alright? Where are you?"

I could hear and feel the panic in her voice.

"I'm fine, but I'm with the US Marshal Service. A guy named Allen Mitchell. I saw his badge; he's a US Marshal Service Deputy. The number on his badge was 3118. The twist to all this is that I think he's actually CIA."

She interrupted me again, "CIA?! What the hell, Cass?" She was completely awake now, judging by her tone and the unhappy inflection blaring from my phone pressed against my ear.

"I know, I know... I have a long story that I can't really get into, but I'm going to take some pictures and text them to you. I'm getting on a jet bound for Boulder, Colorado, to reunite Gabriella with her parents. I had contacted Detective Kovachev to meet me, but they or someone squashed his coming along. I'm not comfortable with any of this, but I felt like I needed someone to know."

"NO! Don't even think about getting on that plane, Cass! Don't let Gabriella either. I can make a few calls and roust a judge for a protection order for both of you to slow these people down," she complained. “Where are you?”

"I think if this was a bigger problem than it appears on the surface, they would have just taken Gabriella from me already. This Mitchell guy is offering me the real story about these abductions and what happened to the other Trans woman who was with her."

"You're risking the safety of both of you for the 'hope' of a story? Seriously, Cass?" she asked, the disappointment in her voice thick.

"I know it sounds crazy, but he says he's talked to a CIA agent I worked with when I was in the Army... I can try to reach out to him." I pause to see Gabriella walking with Mitchell towards the jet. She was looking at her phone. "Shit..."

"What now?" Lena barked.

My phone vibrated, and I looked to see a text message with a six-digit account verification code. Someone was trying to access the government account.

"Mitchell is walking Gabriella towards the jet. I have to go," I whined.

"Cass, this isn't a good idea. Let me at least make some calls; stall them, please," she pleaded.

"I think it's too late. I'll send you some pictures. I... I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"God damn it, Cass! This isn't 'Goodbye'; don't even give me that... Get me those pictures. Get a number. I can reach this 'Mitchell' guy or your CIA guy from the Army. Cass," her voice became quieter, "Don't do this. I can come get you."

Gabriella and Mitchell were at the stairs to the jet.

"I'm sorry, I gotta go. I'll get you pictures and a number. I'm sorry, Lena." My heart sank, and a lump in my throat made it difficult to speak anymore.

"Cass...," she whispered.

"I gotta go..." I said, choking up and killing the connection before she could reply.

I pulled up the camera on my phone and took pictures of the Suburban's rear plate and the tail letters of the jet. Unless these things were both fake, they would be something someone could use to track us. They had to file a flight plan; we would be in shared or controlled airspace over Phoenix, and there should be a trail that could be followed. Of course, I could be fooling myself, especially if Mitchell was really working for the CIA. I texted the pictures to Lena as I walked towards the jet.

A few seconds later, she texted me back, "I'm making calls now. I'll see what I can get from these. Be careful. Don't turn your phone off!"

I put my phone in my pocket after reading her message, but it vibrated again. I looked at it quickly. Another verification code...

Saturday, June 9th, 3:09 a.m., Scottsdale Airport, Arizona
The inside of the jet wasn't expansive, but it was certainly plush. Leather swivel captains’ seats that reclined and had foot rests that extended, plenty of leg room all around, and there was even wood paneling throughout. Once we were all seated, one of the two flight crews pulled the door shut, and the engines began to spin up.

I'd flown many times while in the Army—noisy Air Force hops on their C-17 Globemaster', C-5 Galaxy', and even a couple C-130 Hercules. Being 'Airborne' qualified, I'd jumped out of many airplanes, which I was sure wasn't on the flight plan today, given the cabin would be pressurized. I felt a little caged at the moment. Was chasing this story a mistake? I needed to see Gabriella make it out of this, right? Get the real story?

I watched Mitchell pull his phone out, read something, then get up and head towards the front of the jet. He was speaking to the pilots, but I couldn't make out what was being said.

"Someone tried to access the account," I said quietly to Gabriella.

"Yes, I acted as though it hadn't been sent to my phone yet, though it was supposed to go to another number... I said it was supposed to come to mine," she replied in a whisper with a hint of a smirk.

"They are going to figure out something is up. Then," I stopped speaking when the conversation with Mitchell ended and he returned to his seat. Change of plans? I decided to probe, "What's up?"

"Unexpected detour. I'd prefer you didn't share that with your lawyer friend; in fact," he said, reaching out, "I'd like to hold both of your phones for the duration of the flight. You'll get them back once we get to Boulder, but right now I'd like to control the flow of information," he said, holding his hand out to take our phones.

Gabriella looked at me, and when I didn't move, she offered hers to Mitchell.

"Where are we going now?" I asked.

"Quick trip to Mexico..." he said casually.

Gabriella looked panicked, and I’m sure Mitchell caught the concern: "I assume this is a necessary detour, especially given one part of her family is quite valuable to the shithead you guys ripped off in Mexico last night. I would think Gabriella being anywhere near Mexico right now is a bad idea.” I had to pause a second to think about this—was I also bait or in danger?

"Noted. We're picking up other assets. Let's just call it a reunion of sorts... And as far as the 'shithead' worrying about her family," he gestured towards Gabriella, “They think they were blown up in a vehicle, so they aren’t actively searching for them.”

"Yeah, but they know they’ve been ripped off, and Gabriella could have information on that. You can’t tell me they aren’t looking for her right now. If for nothing else to have someone to throw their angst at. How about Gabriella and I get off this jet, and you can go down there? We'll wait at my townhouse with the Marshals."

The jet engine began to whine loudly, and we started moving.

"It might be a little late for that," he said, chuckling. "I can see why Flagg likes you, Ruiz. Phone, please..."

He’d mention Flagg; had he talked to him, or was he just fucking with me? I saw his extended hand beckon for my phone. Shit… I had the latest Apple iPhone, and short of Mitchell having access to the 'Hide UI' app or the Grayshift device to connect my phone too, he wasn't getting into it without my cooperation—unless I was forced.

I was worried about the two-factor identification Gabriella had set up to use my phone number and Mitchell seeing a pop-up message on my screen, so I turned my phone off before handing it to him.

"What's in Mexico we need to be reunited with?" I asked, annoyed.

"I told you to pick up assets. A little something for the both of you, actually."

Gabriella looked at me worried.

"Knock it off, Mitchell. Why are you taking us to Mexico?!" I barked at him.

"We're extracting Flagg and Eduardo Caesar Lopez."

Gabriella took in an audible breath, "Eduardo?"

I looked at her and asked, "You know this person?"

"He is a close family friend," she said. There was no mistaking the connection, and I wondered if this was the 'older' man she had feelings for.

"Flagg is part of this OP," I asked.

Mitchell only nodded. Guess I didn't need to reach out to Flagg after all—of course now I could add more anxiety to an already full bucket of worries that was beginning to spill over. A reunion with someone from my past—could this day get any worse?

I was a completely different person from what Flagg would remember. It was going to be awkward, no matter how much either of us put the past behind us and focused on the OP at hand. Stay focused on the end game I commanded; it’s going to be what it’s going to be with Flagg. He’ll understand. Maybe…

Saturday, June 9th, 4:01 a.m., Mar de Cortés International Airport, Puerto Peñasco
It felt like no sooner had we reached the cruising altitude that we were descending. Mitchell hadn't shared where we were going, and I had no idea what airports were however many miles south of Phoenix and into Mexico we'd just flown. Why hadn't I asked him?

I was tired and had let my guard down. I was never like this in the Army while on an OP. Fatigue during operations tended to get people killed or injured. Okay, focus... I'm not that person anymore; I’m not operational or an operative. I’ve moved on, but I need to stay sharp.

We'd be on the ground shortly, given my view outside the window and popping ears. The jet was beginning to make a wide banking turn close to some coastline. I guessed the view had changed from twinkling city or town lights to an expanse of black, which would most likely be the Pacific or maybe even the Gulf of California. I should have asked where we were going. I need to focus!

On what I assumed was the final approach given the angle of attack—compared to the darkness and lights below—the small jet ran into some pretty good cross winds, buffeting it around uncomfortably. By the look on Gabriella’s face, she was not liking the controlled chaos that was bringing the jet in for a landing. I think we were all happy to hear the screeching of the tires on the tarmac and to be on terra firma when it was all over.

At nearly the end of the runway, the jet turned twice to make its way back down the adjoining taxiway. We passed a single, dimly lit terminal building and appeared to be heading towards the furthest corner of a large aircraft parking area. There were two other small aircraft parked there, both prop planes, and both tied down, which I assumed would keep them from taking off unexpectedly due to the winds. The parking area could have accommodated at least thirty aircraft, maybe more. Wherever we were, we didn't rate an airport capable of large jetliners, and it seemed too infrequently used—at least at this hour of the morning.

I could see parking lights on vehicles as we approached and as we got closer to the end of the lot area, I could make out three vehicles. When we were a hundred yards away, they all turned their headlights on, lighting up the area in front of them. I nodded to Gabriella, and she looked a bit petrified. I tried to smile at her to reassure her.

When I turned back towards the window, that smile quickly faded. In the glow of the headlights, I could see dark figures emerging from the vehicles, moving into defensive positions; at least it appeared that way. Okay, that's not good... Men, armed with what looked like automatic weapons—no uniforms!

"Shit," I said, looking over at Mitchell. "We're expected, right? That's an awfully big and unfriendly-looking party out there." I stated, the worry evident in my voice, I'm sure.

I watched Mitchell lean over and look out the window. Gabriella leaned over my seat to peer out. There was fear in her eyes.

She whispered, "Corbino's men?"

"No, Dirección Federal de Seguridad, the Mexican secret police." Mitchell had heard her and commented calmly.

The jet stopped twenty feet from the nearest vehicle and rocked slightly back and forth for a second. The engines were still running, and the men outside were now pointing their weapons at the jet!

"Tell me you've got more than your sidearm on this jet!" I snapped.

"Relax, both of you," he chided.

I watched one of the flight crews undo the jet door and deploy the stairs, then step back as if surprised by something.

"I would feel a lot better armed," I complained.

"Not necessary..." Mitchell replied.

The passenger doors of the vehicle furthest from the jet opened, and three men exited. It was difficult to see them, but one of them appeared to be limping. As he passed the headlights of the second vehicle, I could see one of his pants legs was darker than the other.

"One of those guys looks like he's been shot!" I yelled and stood. "I'd like a weapon, Goddamn it!"

"Sit the fuck down, Ruiz!" Mitchell snapped.

"I'm not getting dumped here, and neither is Gabriella," I said as I stepped towards him.

He continued to look out the window and said, "If you were in danger, would those men out there be shaking hands right now?" Mitchell asked calmly.

I bent over to see the armed contingent lower their weapons and begin loading themselves back into their vehicles. Mitchell was correct; there were handshakes happening out there, and I recognized something familiar about the way the guy with his back to us was moving—tall, lanky—that had to Flagg.

Mitchell got up, before saying, "Wait here."

I had been dismissed and could only watch as he exited the jet.

Saturday, June 9th, 4:18 a.m., Mar de Cortés International Airport, Puerto Peñasco
Eduardo limped through the tiny jets’ doorway, and Gabriella rushed towards him. She was in tears, rapidly speaking Spanish, asking about his injury, her parents, and Corbino. She finally shut up and hugged him for a long moment, burying her face in his shoulder. He hugged her back, but then patted her back, signaling that they needed to get seated. She released him, took his hand, and escorted him to a seat across the aisle from me.

Eduardo looked to be annoyed—maybe because of all the attention or maybe he wasn't supposed to be here with Flagg. I'm not sure, but something was up with this guy. I clearly heard him say to Gabriella that it was only a scratch. He told her he’d been looked at by a doctor and would be fine in a couple weeks. He looked like he might be on painkillers, not just because he dropped heavily into the seat, but because his head bobbed a lot as if he were struggling to stay awake or be fully in control of his faculties.

After he was settled, Gabriella went to the rear galley and grabbed a bottle of water for him, which he gladly took and swigged two long pulls. She looked worried. Had I missed something in their exchange? A look, a gesture, or something whispered during their embrace?
He put the bottle in the seat cup holder and looked over at me. “Who is this person?" he asked, looking from me to her.

Interesting… Not, ‘Who is she?’ or ‘Who is this woman?’, but ‘Who is this person?’ I wasn’t getting a good feeling about this guy.
Gabriella rattled off the highlights of who I was, explaining I wasn’t part of Flagg’s contingent and leaving out any details of the abduction or hospital. Her lip was still a bit swollen, and he’d probably press her for an answer to that at some point—he certainly wasn’t an idiot. He nodded and reached towards me as if asking for my hand, which I offered.

“Thank you for looking after Gabriella,” he said, squeezing my hand lightly. “You are a very kind woman to look after her and keep her from danger.”

“My pleasure,” I said, pulling my hand back after noticing shadows at the front of the jet. The guy who had opened the jet's door stepped back as if to make room for someone to enter.

Mitchell appeared first, followed a moment later by Flagg, who turned and threw a loose salute to someone on the tarmac. He turned, slapped a hand on the shoulder of a flight crewman, and said something I couldn’t make out over the whining jet engines blasting loudly through the open door of the jet.

He looked into the cabin, looked down the aisle at me, and nodded, then turned to poke his head into the cockpit while the door to the jet was being secured. It got a little bit quieter, but there was a persistent ringing in my ears, my chest felt tight, and my stomach was now fully in knots.

Seeing Flagg brought on a rush of emotions. Fear—because who I was now might be a disappointment to him, shame because of that fear, and an odd excitement because I had always respected and liked him. Would he understand who I am now? Fuck! Get a grip!

I'm not living my life for him... He's either going to be an ass or the Colonel Flagg I remembered. I huffed a breath slowly out, realizing I had been holding my breath... Good God! I noticed Mitchell was looking at me from the seat across from me with a concerned look on his face.

“You, okay? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost. Shit; it’ll all be over in a second," he laughed.

He was obviously enjoying this 'reunion' and that I was visibly uncomfortable; “I’m fine..." was all I could muster in reply.

I could feel my heart wanting to explode out of my chest. The weight of the anxiety leading up to seeing Flagg again was crushing me, but seeing him in the flesh multiplied every. Augh! No amount of mind tricks I could employ, if I could remember how to do them right now, was going to work to calm my anxiety. Could I ask Mitchell to snuff me out with one of the pillows?

I sat slowly, my eyes locked on Flagg’s back. The jet engines began to spin up, and we began moving. Flagg pulled the cockpit door closed and made his way down the aisle, stopping next to Mitchell.

“Let’s get the laptop fired up,” he said, then turning his attention to me. “Ruiz, good to see you,” he said, smiling, his hand extended.

I could barely breathe.

"Sir...," I fumbled, “Colonel, good to see you." I shook his hand politely, but likely not as he expected. WTF! Why did I have zero confidence in front of this man?

“Something to drink?”

“Water. Water would be good, sir." I stammered with barely any control of my emotions.

He would sense that; he has to know how difficult this is for me, right?

He walked past me toward the rear of the jet. Mitchell was smiling ear to ear.

“You should relax, Ruiz. He’s got a lot of respect for you. On the other hand, I’m not so sure about you,” he chuckled, then added, “I’m kidding."

“You really are an ass, Mitchell."

“I’ll own that,” he grinned back at me.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see Flagg presenting a bottle of water, which I took and said, “Thank you, Sir."

“You were an unexpected surprise,” he said, smiling. “A good one, but a surprise. I always wondered what had happened to you. Shit hand, you were dealt by the Army. Sorry about that. I wish you'd have called me,” he said, taking a seat next to Mitchell.

Flagg was exactly as I remembered. The voice, mannerisms, everything—just a little older looking, a little more white in his medium-dark brown hair, one might even say he was handsome even.

“Thank you, Sir..." I replied and looked out the window at the fading darkness. The sun was on its way up.

We were making a turn off the taxiway to the main runway, and as we got lined up, the pilot throttled up the engines to full power, and we began picking up speed. I looked over at Gabriella; she had her head on Eduardo’s shoulder. His eyes were closed, and I couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or just passed out from whatever painkillers he was fighting against until this moment.

It took nearly no effort for the jet to jump into the sky, and unlike the landing, our egress had less buffeting to contend with.

Saturday, June 9th, 4:36 a.m., Mexican airspace, 74 miles south of the US border
The wheels clunked beneath our seats, and the jet began a slow banking turn north. At least it felt as though we were heading north, given that the sun was rising outside the right-side array of windows.

Eduardo opened his eyes, looked towards me, smiled, and then closed them again. Gabriella had her head against his shoulder at an odd angle; she was asleep. They had been whispering back and forth before we started to taxi.

I envied that she could just unplug and felt safe enough to sleep given all that had happened to her. There was something going on between them; it was obvious. I wondered if he was here so that Flagg could leverage that connection. How did he even end up with Flagg?

Flagg pointed at the laptop screen in front of Mitchell, and the movement caught my attention. He looked at me and asked, “Any idea where she sent the two-factor authentication code too?”

Fuck… How do I stall?

“We could ask her,” I offered while shrugging.

“It’s not being sent to her phone, and it’s not being sent to the phone number given to her father—which is a whole other twist we weren’t expecting. That could have screwed up the extraction of her parents. Her father and I are going to discuss how she ended up doing the transfers rather than him and why they let her coyote her way to Phoenix rather than let us extract her with them. Was there a burner or some other phone she had access to too?" he asked.

Now Mitchell was staring at me; he’d obviously tried to access the account, had her phone, and there was no two-factor authentication text message appearing.

“No, not that I’m aware of, Colonel. She was never out of my sight long enough to have picked one up. When we met in the hospital, she had nothing; her backpack was empty. She asked for a phone, so I got her one from Target when I was buying her clothes to get her out of the hospital. You have her phone; maybe there’s something up with her phone getting text messages or something simple like that."

Complete and total fabrication or at least part of that story was. Would they buy it? Would they figure out that my phone was the key? I added absently, “Maybe his phone,” I asked, nodding toward Eduardo.

Mitchell got up and headed towards the cockpit, pulling a bag from the doorway where you enter the jet. He pulled out two phones, looked at their screens, and returned to his seat.

"Nothing,” he said.

“We’ve got time; we can ask her in a bit,” Flagg offered. “Tell me about you and this version of your true self,” he said while waving a hand at Mitchell, essentially saying that getting into the account could wait.

Mitchell closed up the laptop, stood, placed it on the seat, and headed towards the cockpit to join the pilots. Did that mean something?

“We’re heading to Boulder now, right?" I asked.

“Yes. Should be there in about two hours, maybe two and a half, depending on head winds. You have reservations?”

"No, sir, just… Well, it’s been a long day, and I’m fried. My operational readiness is crap right now, and I can barely hold my eyes open,” I replied, trying my best not to sound like I was complaining or stressed beyond my capabilities, which I was; he probably already knew that.

“You’re welcome to rack out Ruiz... Do you go by Cass now as your short for Cassidy?" he asked casually, but with some interest.

“Cass… I’d always been Cazz up until five years ago, and Cassidy was a way to kind of honor being named after my grandfather and still be comfortable with how people addressed me.”

I hadn’t skipped over the fact he’d asked me about becoming my ‘true self’. That was an interesting inquiry in itself and either a lucky guess at how to ask me about who I was now or he knew more about my transition than he was letting on.

Flagg was an information purveyor for the CIA; he knew how to pull information out of people and, of course, feed false information. Did I need to be on guard? Was he fishing for something? What does he know about my life now? Certainly, enough to know my new name now and remember that I was once Casimiro, Cazz...

“Why not Cassandra?”

“I considered that; it is more like my grandfather’s name, maybe, but it felt too stuffy, proper..." I answered.

“How did your parents react?”

I paused, “Typical Hispanic disdain for anything veering from the machismo norm."

He’d know what I just divulged would mean my parents thought I was gay and were not happy about that. I wondered how much data he had on me. Would he know I was bi? Did I care? Fuck!

He chuckled, “I can see that... It couldn't have been easy.”

“It wasn’t and hasn’t been, but I’m more at peace with my inner self, less doubt, less...," I didn’t want the conversation to turn dark so stopped speaking.

“You look comfortable in your skin. I had no idea back in the 'stan you were conflicted,” he mused.

“I didn’t know, or I should say, I didn’t want to accept that who I was presenting on the outside wasn’t who I was on the inside.” I felt a twang of embarrassment, but fuck it. I'm me, and I'm not apologizing to anyone for that.

"I'm not sure how you held your shit together back then, Cass, given the internal conflict, but I’m happy for you that you got it figured out. From what Mitchell tells me, you’re still operational; I warned him you had skills." He turned to look out the window, then back at me, “So, you’re a reporter now?”

I wanted to like what I just heard, but I was guarded. Was he fishing for something specific? It’s like he had just finished reading a deciare file on me and was probing the facts within, trying to find some wrinkle in those facts, trying to gauge me in regards to this OP. I needed to get this conversation moving in a different direction.

“Thank you, sir... Yes, I work for a news outlet in Phoenix, and I’m writing the story of Gabriella’s and other Trans women who were abducted, but you already know that." Now to push the envelope, “Mitchell said I would get the full story on that, but I’d also like to report on Corbino’s demise.”

I held my breath, waiting for his reply, and gave him my best deadpan stare.

Flagg pursed his lips and said, “I’m aware of the deal Mitchell floated; we will deliver on that. Corbino, that’s something I would need to look into, and it could come down to you helping us secure the account before I can lobby for that request.”

Shit… He suspects I know more about Gabriella setting up the account.

“I’m happy to assist, sir. I could talk with Gabriella, see what I can find out, and I understand why there would be concern," I said, trying to show I was a team player. "Could we talk about the abduction story first?”

Please take the bait. We were both playing a game of chess, and he had to know I was trying to outflank him on the sly.

He smiled and said, “Alright, but we’re going to talk about the account before this plane lands. I’m getting some uncomfortable pressure from those above me about not having those funds secured.”

I nodded that I understood, and he began by saying that anything I wanted to get published would first need State Department approval. I said I understood. He began with a story about a Chinese ambassador’s son, who apparently has a Transgender fetish. I pressed for the ambassador’s name, since I didn’t know it offhand, and was given Xi Sung Lu. The son’s name was Qin Lu, but he went by Bobby. He was 36 years old, bisexual, and, most recently, a person of interest in a child molestation case out of New Orleans. And, of course, the abductions of those Trans women in Texas and Arizona.

I interrupted him, “How long have we known Bobby was a predator?”

“For a while. He popped up on our radar as a sexual deviant a few years ago. Then last year, his father was appointed China’s ambassador to the US, and we passed Bobby’s background on to the FBI,” he offered.

“So, this guy has been feeding his fetish for about a year on US soil, and nothing has been done to put an end to it?”

“His father was warned we had concerns."

“Warned? Like a slap on the wrist?”

“Come on, Cass, politics... Things move slowly, and China isn’t a dog anyone in power wants to beat in the public eye,” he offered.

“Someone gaming the son? Trying to extort information from him in exchange for free rein to be a predator here?”

“Doubtful, I really wouldn’t know though, not my sandbox... From everything I’ve been able to learn, Bobby isn’t the brightest product to come out of China,” he said deadpan.

“You do understand that being Trans isn’t a popular life choice and that fucks like Bobby are everywhere,” I complained. “And if that wasn’t enough, being Trans increases your chances of being assaulted or killed by a factor of ten or more,” I added, feeling like I was preaching and shutting up before I really let my Trans flag fly.

He was staring at me, contemplating something possibly, and said, “I understand Cass... I’d put a bullet in this guy’s head if that were possible, but it’s not, at least not yet.”

Harping on the injustice of what Flagg had told me so far was pointless, so I conceded the point.

“Pisses me off, sir, that our government hasn’t stood up for my community with this asshat." I needed to stop and dial it back, so I asked, “What happened in that building out in Arlington? Gabriella had been taken too."

“We were looking for Gabriella, and we’re tipped off to Bobby being out there with her. On site, he was MIA; however, there were two Mexican nationals and another Transgender woman there. The two guys made the mistake of going for their weapons and were eliminated. The woman is safe and getting an expedited run through the citizenship process via the Marshals Service,” he said as a matter of fact. Then he smiled and asked, “How’d you get past the dog? I understand you did a recon of the grounds.”

“Some guy told me a story about using a bitch in heat once to get around some warlords camp that was protected by dogs,” I said, grinning. “I volunteer at an animal shelter and was lucky... How’d your guys get past the dog?”

“Tranquilizer gun,” he said. “Cleaner, quick, and honestly, no one thought about finding a bitch in heat,” he chuckled. “I wish you’d have called me after the Army booted you, Cass."

“Thanks, but I doubt I would have been in the right mindset for a job with the CIA after the Army."

“I think you’d have fit in just fine. You hid who you were; better than half the job is appearing to be someone we aren't."

I nodded my appreciation but was already thinking about my next question, "Where’s Bobby now? What about his collection of videos from these assaults?" I asked.

“I heard from Mitchell about the videos; I wish we could get them back, but by now they’re all over the internet or some dark web space, or he's got them someplace private. Where Bobby is, that’s complicated, Cass."

“How so?”

“Someone leaked to Ambassador Lu that the FBI was gearing up to make some very public inquiries about Bobby’s activities through Texas and Arizona. Then the New Orleans thing popped up right after that warning to the ambassador. It was enough for daddy to put him on a plane back to China. I was told he left last night, and it's been confirmed he is in China. Sorry,” he said, a slight pang of regret in his voice.

“And how do I rap a bow around this story, Colonel?”

“I expect you’ll summarize it as the Marshal’s Service led a raid on a building; they were tipped off to where two Transgender women were being held. The confrontation led to the deaths of two Mexican nationals. It’s an ongoing investigation. What you say about Gabriella is up to you, but for her safety, it’s probably best to not mention her or any of these women who were abducted, for that matter."

I nodded. “So I can’t implicate Bobby?”

“No solid proof, Cass; you’d be in for a liable suit if you blow his name up out there."

“And Corbino?”

“I told you, that can’t be reported on without the approval of someone well above my pay grade, and my help with that is going to depend on you helping us get those funds secured.”

“I think I’ve got a solid enough relationship with Gabriella to assist with that, but if she’s not reunited with her parents, it’s going to be impossible to get anything out of her."

He looked at his watch and said, “Less than three hours, and that will happen, Cass; you have my word."

“Thank you, Colonel."

There wasn’t anything else I could think of to ask, other than time to peck out the outline of a story, get it approved by the Feds, and then get it past Carol Black for publication. And I wanted to jump on that, but I was just too tired.

The chemistry between Flagg and me was casual and relaxed, like we were still doing our thing back in Afghanistan. He seemed genuinely interested in my life, nonjudgmental, and showed no outward disgust for who I was now. I had to wonder if he gaming me or was he being genuine?

Flagg excused himself, saying he needed to use the bathroom. I sat back to rest my eyes for just a moment, to contemplate...

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