The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

FINAL CHAPTER?
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Saturday, June 9th, 6:51 a.m., 53 miles south and southwest of Boulder, CO
The engines throttling back woke me. Flagg was watching me get my bearings, then raised a bottle of water to his lips and finished it off.

“Get a good rest?”

Those anxiety feelings I had prior to meeting Flagg all came rushing back as if I were slapped with them all over again. I could only nod in reply. I was surprised I slept, but I was happy to get a little bit of recharging for my nearly depleted batteries. We never slept like I had just done in the Army while in the field. We always hovered above getting deep into the Zzz’s, aware of every sound, our weapons at the ready. I felt guilty for having slept and I doubted Flagg or Mitchell had clocked out.

"We should be on the ground in 10 minutes,” he said, looking out the window. “The safe house is about thirty minutes outside of the city, an old ski cabin.”

“Boulder, Sir?”

“You really aren’t very trusting, Cass; why wouldn’t we be landing in Boulder?”

“I don’t know, Sir; it’s,” I looked over towards Gabriella and Eduardo and said, “There’s a lot on the line and a lot of money. I saw the transfers happening; she nearly got to every account.”

I didn’t want to say more about this and have to dodge questions or say something without at least speaking to Gabriella. I looked at her; she was listening to the exchange and nodded. If we ended up with her parents, moot point, anything less, and it could be a problem for all of us.

“We’re landing in Boulder Cass; I gave you my word on that,” he said.

“I know, sir… I’m, I'm just not operational; it’s been awhile.”

That was so true. Would he fault me for the tactical mistakes I had made these last twenty-plus hours? Could I use being out of the Army for so long as an excuse? Excuses in the field tended to get people killed and this, whatever this OP was he was running was likely no different…

"Understood," he looking towards Gabriella and, in Spanish, said, “We are bringing you to your parents; they are being well cared for and are safe. When you’re satisfied that we’ve delivered on our promise to safely extract your family from Mexico, we’re going to need access to the account.”

In perfect English, she replied, “I understand, but your government will need to include Eduardo in their offer for protection. He cannot return to Mexico."

“I believe he wants to stick it out with you and your family, correct, Eduardo?” Flagg asked him in English.

“Yes, I would like to be included in their arrangement.”

“I figured as much and have the bandwidth to make that happen easily enough. You’re all safe; Corbino will likely be out of the picture within a week, thanks to your families' help. That’s a lot of gun, drug, and sex trafficking removed from getting across our border."

Saturday, June 9th, 7:19 a.m., Boulder, CO
Wheels on the ground, the tiny jet made its way to a large, unmarked hanger near the west side of the airport, next to one that said ‘Brungard Aviation’. I could see a group of three black Suburban’s waiting and six agents milling about.

Flagg was watching out the window also, so I decided to ask, “Marshals?”

“Yes, my team is on ‘loan’ to them while we’re stateside.”

“Understood, Sir…”

Mitchell appeared from the cockpit, smiling like a little kid, and looked over at Flagg.

“Nice landing, eh?”

“Don’t tell me they let you fly this thing again,” he said, chuckling.

"Okay, I won’t tell you that. Good landing though, right?”

“Any landing you can walk away from is a good one, Mitchell,” he replied trying to suppress a laugh.

“Ha ha ha… Screw you!”

Their playful banter continued with a few more digs at Mitchell’s expense, but was set aside quickly once the plane came to a stop and the engines were spinning down. We were ushered off the jet and secured in the middle Suburban of the caravan. No one said much of anything, and we were moving towards the airport exit in under a minute.

To set everyone at ease, each of the Marshals in our Suburban flashed their badges; all of them were “Marshal Service Marshal,” not “Marshal Service Deputy,” as Mitchell’s credentials were. I was positive now that this was the legal way for Flagg’s team to operate on US soil and not have some case, they were supporting interagency, get thrown out of court. Sneaky, but I would expect nothing less from the Colonel. I’d be interested in seeing his credentials; maybe I could stop calling him Colonel or Flagg.

Saturday, June 9th, 8:01 a.m., West Boulder, CO
We eventually got out of Boulder proper and began heading west on Highway 119, getting off of that onto Four Mile Canyon Drive and exiting that onto a dirt road that ran next to a closed yoga studio and a lodge called Boulderhaus. The dirt road took us up the north side of the canyon to a non-descript house at the end of the road. There were two other Suburban’s parked out front when we arrived.

The Marshals exited first, and when they were happy with their perimeter security, we were escorted into the house. Inside, the reunion between Gabriella’s parents and both she and Eduardo was heartwarming, if not a bit loud, and emotionally charged. Tears were flowing, and I felt a deep pang of jealousy that she had such a secure and supportive relationship with her parents. Mine were…

"Are you okay?" Flagg asked quietly as we watched the reunion from a few feet back.

“Yeah, I’m good, Sir." Was I wearing my reaction to this reunion that openly?

“Mind if we talk?" he asked, nodding toward a hallway that looked to go past the kitchen to a back door.

“Sure…”

I followed him to the door and took a seat on the patio. He looked at me for a moment, and then commented, “I’d really appreciate your help with Gabriella and securing the account... No BS, Cass, short hairs are getting pulled pretty hard right now.”

He sounded worried, and I would be too if there were over three hundred and two million dollars on the line. Certainly, a lot more than the OPthat led to my medical discharge from the Army, but likely in the scope of what I assumed were our national security interests, this OP had people’s attention up his chain of command.

“You’ve delivered, Sir; I’ll assist. But I’d like to speak with Gabriella alone; are you good with that?”

He nodded and said, “Get the account secured, and I’ll push the Corbino story access. I was thinking you could tie Corbino to the human trafficking of the women that were abducted. You can't pin anything on Bobby, but it does shed some light on the dangers to your community and how the border is less secure than it should be.”

"That’s a good angle, certainly. Thank you for the consideration, Sir... I'd like my phone; I need to check in with some people."

He hesitated. “I’m fine with that, Cass, but you can’t tell Ms. Cantor or Detective Kovachev anything about Corbino. You might not want to give either of them our address either. You want to say Gabriella is safe and the story has a finite ending? I can authorize that. Anything else," he paused, "Operationally, it could cause my team some problems, understood?”

“I do, Sir; I just want to check in to calm some nerves. No mention of your team...”

He pulled my phone from his coat pocket and handed it over.

"Figured that request was coming," he said, smiling.

I pressed the power button, and it began to boot. They hadn’t thought to check my phone after I’d handed it over to Mitchell, and since Flagg was still asking for my help, whoever had used my phone as a tracking device wasn’t actively keeping tabs on the messages being sent to it. That means I had a sliver of leverage, at least until someone woke up and realized I was gaming Flagg.

“We’ve got two Spec Ops guys out there someplace,” he said, waving his hand towards the mountainside. “Don’t go wandering off."

“Yes, Sir… Two quick calls, and then I’ll get you the account access.”

“I’d appreciate that, Cass... There is a time crunch,” he said with the slightest hint of stress in his voice as he got up and headed towards the patio door.

I nodded that I understood and watched him enter the house. When I was alone, I pulled up my text messages: four messages with two factor authentication codes, two messages from Lena, and one from Kovachev. There were at least that many missed calls from both of them and voicemails. I started with Lena.

“Cass! Where are you? Are you alright?!”

“I’m safe, as are Gabriella and her family. I can’t really expand on that, but I would guess I’ll be back in Phoenix later today.”

“Good! Something isn’t right with this story, Cass; something bigger must be going on,” she rattled off quickly. “I contacted Judge Baton and Ninth District Court Judge Billington and got warned that I needed to back away from getting involved. I know these judges personally, Cass, and they wouldn’t talk to me. They were warning me off. What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t say much, but there are international implications, and everything has worked itself out. We’re with the US Marshall Service right now, and like I said, I can’t see why I won’t be home later today, probably tonight. I’ll let you know when I know something firm on that.”

“Okay, well, that’s good news and all, but you need to be careful, Cass. I’ve been worried sick since you called this morning,” she complained. “And you turned your damn phone off!”

“I know, you said not to do that, but I’ll explain why it was necessary when I see you—promise. I’m so sorry I involved you, Lena; I promise to make it up to you." I gulped. Here comes the hard part: “I hate to do this, but I really need to go. This was the first chance I got to make any calls, and you were my first call. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Three promises in the span of ten seconds? You’re going to owe me more than a nice dinner, Cass," she said, trying to sound less worried, but I could still hear it in her voice—the concern hadn’t gone away.

“I would really like that... Dinner and owing you..." My heart was swelling, and I felt that lump in my throat grow.

Saturday, June 9th, 8:23 a.m., West Boulder, CO
“Ruiz? Where are you?”

"Boulder..." He already knew that was where I was going with Mitchell, so it wasn’t a tactical slip. “Hopefully back in Phoenix later today. I wanted to call and let you know Gabriella is safe and I’ve been briefed on the abduction story, but before I get my story updated for your PIO,” I left out, maybe needing the State Department’s blessing if I was given the go-ahead to wrap Corbino in this story, “I’m wondering if you could tell me what you were told by the Marshall Service?”

He hesitated a second, as if considering my request, but parroted back to me the same story Flagg had laid at my feet.

“Did they tell you differently?" he asked.

“No… That’s exactly what I was told. Something seems off though,” I said, wondering how far I could push him for information without showing him any of my cards.

“Yeah, this whole case doesn’t feel right. The two Mexicans who were killed in the raid on that building they held Gabriella led us nowhere—no gang affiliations, no cartel connections, nothing. There will be no inquiry into the ‘justification’ of those deaths either, which in this day seems is more problematic for law enforcement, but this case feels like way more is going on.

“In fact, it’s been my experience that when you’ve got nothing on the surface, it means the bulk of the iceberg is under water and unseen. It’s unlikely the two men killed were the masterminds behind abducting Trans women here, in Texas, or anywhere for that matter. I don’t like this, but I’ve got other cases I need to move on too. The Asian connection is an unsolved mystery at this point,” he said, sounding a little dejected and maybe realizing that the return on investment of his time wasn’t worth pursuing this case any further.

If he only knew...

“Sorry about that... I don’t do enough work with law enforcement to know the intricacies of what makes someone a good criminal,” I replied, hoping that was enough opening for him to give me an in to ask a question.

“Be glad you don't; the criminal element operating around here can really make you question humanity."

Here goes nothing...

“I’m sure… Have you heard the name Corbino before?”

“Corbino? Why do you ask?”

“Two of the Marshalls mentioned that name, but I didn’t hear what they were saying about him," I replied as if the question was an off-handed curiosity on my part.

“That’s an interesting name to be speaking, especially right now. A CI (confidential informant) for another detective mentioned this morning that someone had made a play for Corbino’s business. I don't know to what extent, but his name being tossed around by you is certainly curious. Are you sure you didn’t hear anything else?”

I ignored the question, “Is that common, cartels pushing out other cartels?” It was my attempt to show him I didn’t know more than just a name.

“When they are big enough to impose their will, it is,” he paused, “But this takeover doesn’t sound right; there was mention of Chinese backing, which would be an interesting twist if true."

“The Chinese, in Mexico? That doesn’t sound right."

“You must not keep up with China’s global expansion efforts,” he quipped.

“I keep up on current events, Detective; I tend to gloss over conspiracy theory bullshit." I swung back at his dig.

“You might want to look into the WH Group and their 2013 purchase made in this country. Maybe look into who’s pouring money into the Panama Canal. I don’t buy theories easily, Ruiz, but facts tend to strengthen truths. China is expanding and stretching its grasp on the world quietly and subtly.”

“Okay, let’s say the Chinese took out Corbino. Why? What do they gain?”

“Do you think Mexico produces fentanyl in quantities that make it worth their effort?" he began, not waiting for an answer before rolling onto his point. “No, they don't; at least the smarter cartels don’t bother with it. Mexico has nearly no control over their ports, so importing fentanyl is as easy as China shipping computers or toys to the US, maybe even easier. The fentanyl goes directly to the cartels to move north through the border at a cost to China. Wipe out the middleman and increase your profits,” he said, taking a breath. “I’m hypothesizing; the CI is probably mistaken about a Chinese connection to Corbino being taken down. But the ease at which they can get drugs across our border does screw this country. They are making a play subtly for world dominance whether you believe that or not.”

“I guess we will see..." I said, wanting to get off this call now and having something else to chew on. I hated having conspiracy theory arguments. To my knowledge, our greatest threat from China was their military, or maybe their holding of loans for all we borrowed. Whatever…

“I guess we shall. When you get back to Phoenix, call me; I’d like to go over some legal aspects of this case.” He added before I could question him, “You won’t need Ms. Cantor; you’re not in any trouble, but I have paperwork to get handled and will likely need an official statement from you and a couple signatures... All that will end up on microfiche or some hard drive in some vault and barely be a blip on anyone’s radar.”

He was not taking the dead end that this case appeared to be very well.

“I can come down to see you, but I think I’d like my lawyer there with me; it can’t hurt,” I said, smiling, thinking he probably didn’t like that response.

“As you wish... Safe travels, Ms. Ruiz, and thank you for working with me.”

“You’re welcome, Detective. I appreciated getting to work with you also.

“Stay safe…”

“I’m doing my best."

Saturday, June 9th, 8:39 a.m., West Boulder, CO
The line went dead, and when I turned to the patio door, Gabriella was standing in the kitchen, looking out at me through the kitchen window. I waved for her to come out. She did…

“I didn’t want to disturb your call."

“Just touching base with Detective Kovachev,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s got some paperwork I’ll need to get reviewed and signed. How are your parents?”

“They are relieved I’m here and safe,” she hesitated, “But they do not know about the abduction. I’ve made Eduardo promise not to say anything. I told them my lip was split and the bruises were from slipping in the desert while getting to Phoenix. I told them we met by chance, and you helped me when I had lost everything except the SD card."

"Gotcha—lost everything, helped out. But Eduardo knows what really happened. How does he feel about that?”

“He is still unhappy,” she said, lowering her head. “He did not have time to handle that problem before Corbino’s men came for him."

“The consequences you asked me about? You set that in motion with him; he was going to handle your coyote problem?" I asked softly, no judgment in my voice or tone.

She could only nod and say, “The coyote I used to get across the border recognized Eduardo; he was with me the night I met this man and said something to someone in Corbino’s organization. They came for him and tried to kill him, but the man you call Flagg was able to get him to safety and medical attention. I feel very guilty for this...”

I was close enough to her to put a hand on her shoulder, “Let all of that go... You’re about to get a new life,” I said, lifting her chin. “Right? And it sounds like he wants to stick around and be there for you. Take the win! You’ve got so much to be thankful for, and I’m so excited for you! Your life is going to really start moving in the direction you’ve always dreamed of."

She tried to smile and hugged me, whispering, “Thank you, Cass... Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sorry to have made this so difficult.”

“Don’t worry about it... But,” I paused, “There is the matter of some money that needs to be secured. I need to speak with Flagg and get him that access. I know this man, and you can trust what he tells you. If he says you’ll be safe, he will deliver," I said as if I were a cheerleader for the CIA, Flagg, or our government.

“Yes, he has earned my trust... Do you want me to tell him?" she asked.

“No, let me... I’ve got some questions I need to ask him before we give him his prize." I smiled and hugged her quickly, “Oh, and the SD card—is this something I should hold onto or give to him?”

“He will find many pieces of information my father gathered on there that will be of interest,” she smiled slyly.

Okay, Flagg isn’t getting that until I snap a copy of it onto my laptop.

Saturday, June 9th, 9:05 a.m., West Boulder, CO
I’d seen Flagg after Gabriella and I came back inside; he was on the phone but quickly wrapped up talking to whoever was on the line. On the surface, he might not look stressed, but I felt like he was hovering—was that a sign? Things were about to start moving quickly to the end game. He gave me a look, and I nodded to the door I’d just come in. Once alone on the patio again, I didn’t waste any time.

“I’ve got your access, Colonel, but I need to understand Corbino, and I want to tell that story."

Bold move, bold ask? Was I pushing the bounds of any professional relationship we had?

Flagg thought about it for a moment: “I can’t authorize that, Cass, but I can push it up the chain, and with some oversight on what you’d like to report, maybe they’d go for it. I really am not in control of that decision, but I promise to lobby for you.”

“I understand, Sir, and thank you... Is this because Corbino’s takedown has Chinese implications or support?”

There was the slightest movement of his brow as if I’d just about hit the target, ranging that target with a long-distance sniper rifle round.

“The Chinese? Why would they be involved, Cass? Corbino was our OP.”

“I don’t know; that’s why I’m asking."

Was I pushing my luck with that lame retort?

“What makes you think I would know whether the Chinese were involved?”

“Because it’s your OP. Because Bobby the Chinese Ambassador’s son was hanging out in Arizona and Texas with Mexican nationals, no one can pin him to any group or organization. It seems a little suspicious, Sir." I thought I sounded as though I was whining, so I added, “Drugs coming north are straight out of China for the most part.”

He thought about that, pursed his lips as if he were going to say something, and then thought better of it: “I don’t know where you got this intel from, Kovachev maybe, but it’s not going to catch you anything, Cass. There’s no connection between this OP and the Chinese, loosely speaking. Red herring..."

I wasn’t sure I believed that.

“Okay, loosely then, but the fact that fentanyl comes straight from China can’t be ignored. So, why would we want to knock Corbino off his throne? What do we really gain? Three hundred and two million dollars? It makes no sense."

"China—fentanyl—that's ‘loosely’ and as much as I can comment on because I don’t know much about that, loosely speaking, mind you. The decision to hack Corbino off at the knees was handed down way above my pay grade. The money is just part of sticking to a cartel shithead,” he offered.

“No, not buying that, Colonel..." I was about to dig my heels in.

He chuckled as if knowing that’s what I was doing, “What part? I don’t make decisions about the covert operations I’m assigned to. Maybe you just have to ask the right questions if you’re looking for answers." He looked as if he were contemplating something, and then smiled, “Any news stories of late that you could tie to this mess?”

Huh? Right questions? I’m asking good questions! Was he baiting me with stories about current events? No, I did... Oh fuck!

“The President’s son?”

Flagg smiled and shrugged as if he were impressed that the long-distance sniper round had now hit maybe an outer ring of the target.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

My reply, pursed lips for a moment, then, “Is there a question in there?”

My mind was spinning; the story of the President’s son went something like, Fuck! The kid was at some, and I couldn’t recall the entire story because I tuned out those morning news staff ‘kudo’ meetings while Carol Black was 'rah rah' praising Kevin. Damn it!

“Is the President’s son really an addict?" I finally asked, pulling that question out of my ass and verbalizing it even though I knew it was lame.

"Would take someone with real juice to set this OP in motion, wouldn’t you think?”

Not an answer to the question, but then it hit me what had been reported. The kid’s security detail was around when the Tucson Police and DEA were making a drug bust and assisted in the takedown! Reportedly, the President’s son wasn’t around and was never in any danger. More likely, the kid was buying and stepped into a sting operation, but then there was, of course, the political spin. Good God!

“Colonel, I don’t buy right-wing conspiracy bullshit."

He interrupted me, “I can assure you, in this instance, no fucking wing sanctioned this OP."

“Then it’s a cover-up, a redirection of attention? Retaliation maybe? All with the benefit of maybe doing some good by stopping shit from coming across our borders, which us news reporting lemmings will lap up eagerly, spinning it to benefit the President. Is that what you’re selling me here?”

“Cass, if you want the Corbino story—that last piece about ‘doing some good shit'—is the only way you’ll get and spin it. Otherwise, kiss this story goodbye. You think after I run your request up the chain, they are going to let you rip the guy running this country or blow their narrative? Come on, ain’t happening,” he motioned a hand towards the door. “Let’s talk accounts?”

Fuck! How deep was this fucking rabbit hole?

Saturday, June 9th, 9:49 a.m., West Boulder, CO
Flagg, Mitchell, and I gathered in the laundry/mudroom that was between the kitchen area and garage. Mitchell already had the banking site up on the laptop when he set it down on the washing machine, entered the credentials, hit enter, and turned to look at me. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, pulled it out, and after unlocking it, navigated to messages and brought up the code.

Mitchell just stared at me.

“Fuck you!" he yelled angrily inches from my face, droplets of spittle hitting me, his eyes dark and menacing. He turned and stormed out of the cramped little room we were in, bumping me none too kindly as he exited and slammed the door. My shoulder began to throb from the contact he’d made bumping into me.

That shook me, and meekly I looked at Flagg and shrugged, having zero confidence in myself, and could only say, “I’m sorry, Colonel; I figured your team would have picked up on this sooner... My mission was to protect Gabriella, keep her confidence, and see this play out. Mitchell didn’t make working with him something I could trust, Sir. I had no idea you were involved and had considered even reaching out to you a number of times but got swept up in the current. I’m… I’m not operational, far from it."

Flagg moved to the computer, entered the code, and navigated around the site, confirming there was actually a pile of money there—three hundred and two million dollars. Next, he went to settings and changed the authentication phone number from mine to another. That couldn’t be accomplished without yet verifying another code sent to my phone, which hadn’t moved. He typed the code, hit enter, and a popup message appeared on the screen. The laptop was running a mirroring app for the phone number he’d changed the authentication to. A code was entered, and he hit the enter key.

The account was now secured; he logged out, closed the laptop, and finally looked at me.

"Mitchell is an ex-DELTA operator. I trust that man with my life, much like I thought I could trust you, Cass,” he began, the disappointment in his voice just barely perceptible. “What was your game?”

“My game?”

“Yeah, what did you gain from playing both sides in this?" he asked quietly.

“The mission objective - that Gabriella is safe and has been reunited with her family; I would imagine that is what was negotiated: get them all out of Mexico in exchange for financially kicking Corbino where it hurts. I stepped in not knowing the beginning OP details, so I winged it. Mitchell may not like me much right now, but my integrity is intact, Sir. I completed my mission, he did also - though in more of a round-about way," I answered without really thinking any of that out.

“And ‘if’,” he emphasized the word heavily, “Her parents had just kept her with them as planned, none of this crap would have been necessary!” His anger was showing through now.

“Understood, but I… I think she was their safety valve, their marker to make sure you, our government, delivered, for them helping you to take down Corbino,” I replied sheepishly.

There was some hesitation, restraint, but he continued, “You remember our after-action briefings in the 'stan?" he asked. I nodded I did and he continued, “This was Mitchell’s first command and control OP, I..." I could tell he was trying not to lose his shit right now. “He’s been training with me for four years. I had my hands in things, but he ran this operation, and he made the decisions on everything that was laid out, including the x-fil of Eduardo and me from Mexico. Want to guess what kind of hit your stunt just did to his confidence and the other assets under his control?”

Fuck! Okay, I feel bad a little now for playing this guy, but I... Wait—that's the nature of any covert OP. Shit goes sideways, you get a fucked-up hand, you adjust...

“Then he learned a valuable lesson, Colonel.”

Flagg looked as though he liked my answer, but I really had zero confidence in it—other than at this moment, that was how I felt. Later, when I replayed this conversation, maybe I’d feel differently and have answered differently.

My life now had different parameters I needed to navigate—OP’s, protecting the lives of people in my unit—all distant memories that did not apply to who I was now. My biggest risk to losing my life was a car accident by some old snowbird on the roads in Phoenix or running into the wrong character while in public hell bent to snuff out my existence because I was Trans. Fuck them all and fuck Mitchell! I did what I... What I did was what I needed to do, and as best I could given being out of the game for so long!

Flagg picked up the laptop and headed for the door.

“Sir, what now?”

He stopped, not facing me, and replied, “We’ll get you back to Phoenix. Better hope Mitchell isn’t the one flying you back.”

He reached for the handle and disappeared into the house. If I had to guess, this would be the last time I would probably see Flagg. That thought hurt more than I expected, and I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. I shut the door to the mudroom and sat with my back against it, silently sobbing. Everything that had happened these last however many hours was just too much to bear at this moment.

I wasn’t the same person I was six years ago; every fiber of my being had made a shift to who I was now. The emotional toll of being pulled back into that past life would be hard to deal with. This pain was going to be difficult to reconcile, just like being kicked out of the Army. Just like transitioning. My sobbing alone left me feeling emptier than I'd felt in a long time...

Saturday, June 9th, 10:25 a.m., West Boulder, CO
It took longer than I thought to compose myself and get off the damn floor. Eventually I got up and searched the mudroom cabinets above the washer and dryer set to find something—anything to clean up a bit. I found an old towel that looked clean, and I went about trying to clean my face from the dust and grime of...

My phone buzzed, a text from Lena asking what was going on and replied:

‘They are getting ready to bring me home. I can't wait to see you!’

Which was true, but I was struggling to hold my shit together right now, tearing up again just typing that text message out.

Lena: ‘I can’t wait to see you too!’

I lost it all over again after getting that reply and began sobbing quietly. A knock at the door and a tentative Gabriella poking her head in to see what was going on brought Titanic efforts to stiffen my upper lip in me. I made it appear that I was just washing my face off in the sink and couldn’t bring myself to look at her for fear I would flood the room with even more tears. Breathe, just breathe...

“Are you alright?” she asked.

I steadied myself at the laundry sink and shrugged.

“Good enough." My voice holding, praying she wouldn’t tip me over with some kind word or whatever.

“My father is with Mitchell and your Flagg; I’m worried they are unhappy that we did not do as they wanted,” she said quietly.

I huffed out a slow breath.

“Yeah, well, they weren’t too happy with me either, I suppose. I’m out of here soon. How’s Eduardo?”

“He is resting," she replied.

“That’s good,” I said, turning towards her and trying to pat my face dry with the damp towel. It felt good, but I didn’t want her to think I had been crying. I’m sure my face looked pale, even though my skin had that natural Latina brown hue even without makeup.

“Did you want to shower? I can give something to change into; the clothes you bought for me should fit, yes?"

I tried to smile, I'm sure it looked fake...

“That sounds great, but at this point I’m spent, Gabriella. The tank is empty, and I just want to get home. I’ve got a story to write yet, and I’m sure my editor is going to be a bitch about it,” I said, trying to chuckle.

“Come, my mother is cooking some food... At least eat.”

Saturday, June 9th, 11:41 a.m., West Boulder, CO
My belly was full, and all I wanted to do was get back to Phoenix to see Lena, shower first, and then get lost in her embrace for a week. I got part of my wish soon enough—a trip to the airport by the Marshal’s Service.

Saying goodbye to Gabriella was harder than I thought it was going to be, and really, we just both hugged and cried in each other’s arms. Her mom was the one to console us both, hugging me and profusely thanking me for watching out for daughter. If she only knew to what depths, that hug might be a little tighter than it already was...

And then it was time to say goodbye to Flagg. We both needed time to process, at least I did. He said he would run my request for the Corbino story up the chain and would reach out. I thanked him for that, but I could tell there was something different between us now, something lost.

He had one parting bit of advice: “Keep looking for those answers to your questions; you never know what you might stumble onto."

I got a smirk out of him with that last offering. Cryptic certainly, but that was Flagg—a riddle rolled in, whatever. Nothing else was exchanged between us; I didn’t even ask what he was trying to get at I was so spent and drained from this experience. I got a firm, quick handshake and was escorted out of the house to a waiting Suburban by two US Marshal Service agents. Mitchell and Gabriella’s father—MIA, Eduardo, too for that matter.

I felt empty beyond anything I could recall, a different kind of empty, similar to when I was struggling with who I was and my decision to get my gender righted. I needed to soldier on somehow—if that was even possible since I was nowhere near being what a soldier was anymore or could have been back when I was one for that matter. Was Flagg’s advice one last attempt at getting me to hold onto that past life? Unknown…

I had texted Lena on the way to the airport and gave her an estimated time I’d be in Scottsdale. She was quick to reply and added that we’d be alone tonight because of my promise to make things up to her. That meant she’d talked to Marisa and likely put the 'sock' on the door handle for us. I chuckled and sent her three heart emoji’ in return.

I was the only passenger on this flight to Phoenix. There's no reason to think I was going elsewhere, though I’m sure Mitchell would have been happy to have dumped me in Mexico with the aftermath of Corbino’s shit storm going on now.

See you later, Boulder! I thought as the engine began spinning up louder and louder. I watched as the pilots secured the cabin; one even threw me a ‘thumbs up’, which I returned. This felt like the proverbial rock bottom, though, I felt more like I was in a ‘thumbs down’ mood right now.

How much of my life was just one big lie? Had I just faked my way through this ordeal with Gabriella? The woman I was now conflicted with the soldier I was once... And for what—a glimpse at a story? Was all of this just a measure of who I really was? Did I even know? I need to get a grip and stop the spinning. Fuck it…

Yeah, fuck it! Fuck you, Flagg, Mitchell, Corbino... And as if slapped across the face out of nowhere, I got it! I got what Flagg was trying to tell me. Wait! The plane jostled and began moving. I need the internet, I needed to research something. Phone—this thing would work in the air, right? Better on my laptop!

I bolted to the still-open cockpit door and said, “Hey, there’s internet on this thing, right?”

I already knew the answer, but not how to access it.

The older of the two pilots replied, “Credentials are taped up in the closet right there to your left by the entrance or in the galley, maybe on the refer,” he said, unsure of that last location. “Have at it... Your phone should work too, by the way. We’re roughly two hours out of Scottsdale. There might be some food in the back still; make yourself comfortable."

“Appreciate that… You want this door closed?”

“Nah, unless you’re concerned about it?”

“You’re my Uber out of here; I’m good with whatever; just get me home,” I said, sparked with a new-found purpose and energy.

That got me a couple chuckles from the two of them and a crack about Mitchell’s landing. I rolled my eyes and went to get the credentials for the internet.

Saturday, June 9th, 12:01 p.m., in route to Scottsdale Airport, 23 miles south of Boulder, CO
It took nearly no effort to confirm I understood Flagg’s cryptic message to me before leaving the safe house in Boulder. My first search, thank you Google, was whether there was any news in Mexico regarding a car bomb.

The first listing in the search results was a car bombing in Mexicali, Mexico, that occurred last night, killing a husband and wife. Not really that far from Phoenix, I mused. I clicked the link and read the highlights: car bomb; two dead; husband and wife; identification withheld pending notification of their family; suspicious nature; property damage; no other casualties; and of course, ‘Yet another bombing having all the earmarks of cartel justice—Corbino justice. When will the government step in to curb the drugs and human trafficking to the United States?’

Even the Mexican press corps was calling this a cartel strike on innocents by Corbino, and that was some bold ass shit! Calling out the government! Oh fuck!

Kudos to Flagg for pulling off the bombing and not injuring anyone else—likely making it easy for whomever was going to investigate this to confirm it was Gabriella’s parents. Offhandedly Flagg made it so I could tie Corbino into my story of Gabriella abduction—without every detail, of course, by suggesting I look to see if the questions were already asked. I still had to keep her safe, but as Gabriella Estrada, we’d reported that as her name, it was most certainly not the last name of her parents, the two dead in the car bombing. That’s why Kovachev couldn’t find anything on her during his investigation.

I could assign blame for the abductions to Corbino without State Department buy-in and sprinkle the China/cartel connection to drugs coming across the border in support of the President and the recent Tucson drug bust his kid was probably in the middle of.

Had I just put a bow on all of this and gotten closure?

I opened up a new Word document and began banging out the outline of a story. I rolled Gabriella's story into a blend of US Marshals Service heroics—he'd given me a name to use as heading up the freeing of the other Trans woman held with Gabriella—and I tied the smuggling of women and kids across the border to the work of Mexican cartels—Corbino specifically. That last detail might get me some pushback from Carol Black, but I’d worked it into being a fact through the Marshal Service connection.

I didn’t need to involve Kovachev or the Phoenix Police; I had jumped a level above them by using the Marshal Service and the Mexican press. And my final point, my ‘get on the lemming, tow the line’ point Flagg had made—that the US Marshal Service had delivered yet again on our President's promise to clean up the border. Some wouldn’t like that, but Flagg had said the Corbino takedown was pushed from the highest levels; why not get ahead of that? Maybe get less pushback or ire from the POTUS political machine?

Proofread—a minor rewrite on something I probably could have just as easily left alone—and I was satisfied. I emailed it to Carol and then got her on the phone.

“Cassidy? Where are you?" she asked.

“Hey Carol, sorry to bother you on Saturday, but this Gabriella story took some unexpected turns, and I’ve got a breakthrough—a real story. I sent you a draft; would you mind taking a look and seeing if it’s worthy of pushing up to the site?” I held my breath.

“I can do that,” she said, sounding confused. “Are you calling from inside a tunnel or something?”

I couldn’t tell her where I was, so I just blamed it on my phone. She bought it and clicked off the line. Ten minutes later, she was calling me back, questions in hand. I must have had the right answers because she said that other than a sentence that was maybe a little ambiguous—which she proposed a change for, and I agreed with the rewrite—the story was good to move up. She said she would handle it and that she appreciated the careful and tactful focus I’d given to this kind of crime. She was certain Mike Beaty would approve too.

I was blown away, speechless to the point she had to ask, "Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah… Ah, my phone is really acting up. I’m sorry."

“Alright, good. I’d like you to consider a feature targeting these kinds of crimes, but I’d like it to be wider than just the Trans community. I imagine this kind of crap happens within all LGBTQ+ factions."

Speechless again, but I didn’t diddle around before replying, “I would appreciate taking that on Carol. I know of a few other staff at The PI (Post-Intelligencer) that could assist, but I can outline that after talking with them. ”

Wait a second? Factions? I didn’t like that label.

“I know we’ve got many of those ‘letters’ covered in our place of work, Cassidy, so do as you see fit. Monday, after our staff meeting, let’s discuss this some more. Excellent work, excellent work."

Shocked, speechless again to get a compliment from her, but I had a point to make: “Thank you and I look forward to working with you on this... I do want to state that those 'letters' are not a faction and not anything but real people just wanting to live a life without fear, hate, or discrimination..."

She interrupted me, “Cassidy, I’m one of those 'letters'..." Her voice steeled to the Carol Black I thought was angry all the time hit me, “I often feel like I’m looked at as part of a faction, an abomination, so don't put too much thought into my poor choice of words; it wasn’t meant as derogatory."

Whoa! Carol was one of us 'letters'. I was yet again blown away as I had no idea and hadn't heard anyone even speculate something like that about her.

“Alright then... We will discuss our tribes’ issues Monday then,” I concluded.

“I look forward to it, Cassidy; I feel like it will be liberating for us both."

“I concur…”

Carol signed off, and I sat dumbfounded, just looking at my phone absently. Wow…

Saturday, June 9th, 1:59 p.m., Scottsdale Airport, AZ
We were on the ground, and I was up at the front of this flying tin can as we taxied to where I’d gotten on this ride. I could see Lena by her car; she had her phone in hand. She then looked towards the plane. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Lena: 'Get off that damn plane!'

I couldn’t help but smile. Then I got out of the way of the pilot, or co-pilot for that matter, to pop the door and wave me out. I looked back at my seat, I had everything and wasted no time getting down the stairs and over to her. She was taken aback—a flash of shock mixed with deep worry given my appearance—but happy to get her arms around me in time for me to completely lose any composure I thought I might have seeing her.

Tears that would not stop, sobs that racked my bones, and her voice in my ear telling me, “I’ve got you..."

Saturday, June 9th, 2:43 p.m., Scottsdale, AZ
First course of business: a long, long shower. I had stubble on my legs and I happily shaved those troubles down the drain, hopefully with some of my regrets. Hair washed, conditioned, and every inch scrubbed twice—I was beginning to feel human, like the woman I was—less like the soldier I had escaped all those years ago and pretended to be the last day or so.

When I got out of the shower, there was a glass of wine on the double vanity, and I saw Lena staring at me from the corner of the bed—almost as I had done the last time I was here and she caught me staring at her. I took a sip of the wine—damn good wine, I might add—and raised the glass to her.

“Your story has been posted; I just finished reading it,” she said.

“And?”

“And I am ‘not’ happy that you got yourself mixed up in that mess, Cass."

I had a bath towel wrapped tightly under my arms over my breasts that made the lower part of my body look somehow like a botched magician’s illusion because of the way the towel hung. My hair was a complete wet mop, dripping absently everywhere. What could I do, say? I shrugged…

“You know, you’re beautiful,” she said.

Oh crap… My chin dropped, and again, I was a blithering wreck of tears and sobbing.

She had me in her arms quickly, “Hey, hey..." she cooed, taking my face in her hands. “Easy Cass... You’re safe; you’re with me now."

She took my hand and led me to the bed, got me sitting, and let me have that moment of weakness. I got to cleanse the last few days away and happily let her comfort me. She cared for me, I could feel it in my bones.

“I’m sorry, Lena..." I eventually got out, but then I rode another wave of emotions I couldn’t quite tap.

She had my face again, brushed away tears, kissed my cheeks, kissed my lips, and then kissed me deeply. I greedily took from her, my arms pulling her awkwardly closer until we clumsily fell back onto the bed, her face eventually even with mine after some fine adjustments of our bodies.

“I hadn’t thought the payback wouldn’t start this quickly, but," she kissed me again. “I know you’re probably tired; we don't…"

I kissed her to shut her up, and she had her answer as to what I wanted. She dug at the folds of my towel and got it partially off. I rolled and lifted a shoulder to help her, and the towel went flying.

Naked and wanting—not completely the woman I wanted to be—but she didn’t care, and truth be told, I didn’t either right now. We both took a breath, and while I moved to get onto the bed proper, she was stripping off her blouse, dispensing of the bra in a flash, and gliding down her jeans and panties with barely a breath taken by either of us.

I reached for her and pulled her on top of me, and we were yet again kissing like love-struck teenagers. Her hands found my breasts—so gentle, a warmth in that touch, affirming, and sensual. Her hips were slowly grinding over that last proof that I was male—even if I couldn’t achieve a much of an erection—though I could get close with enough stimuli, like right now! There was fear it would happen to quickly, like the other times we’d been together.

My orgasms prior to this moment were all embarrassingly quick with her and in my mind I kept trying to stay calm while my senses were being bombarded from multiple points of stimuli. Her body on mine was a blur of deep sensations, excitement, lust, and I could sense I was closing in on that climax—even just a minute into our passions. That final wave—the hit, the rush—was coming, and I didn’t want it to be over like those other times.

I rolled to my left, and she followed, and I was on top of her. I pushed up away from her, looking into her caring eyes, our breasts playing a game of tag, and leaned in to slowly, sensually kiss her. Our nipples touching sent sparks between us as we jockeyed for more, to give, and to feel that connection. We were two women giving their everything to one another.

Her moans were in concert with mine, and I felt the need to distract myself from the eventual finale approaching. I broke our kiss and moved down her lean frame to her breasts. To say anything but they we’re 'spectacular' would do them injustice. I did not linger and kept kissing and licking to where my fingers had found the depths of her arousal.

She bucked as my tongue licked that first taste of her love, and again from the pressure I put between those lips. I sucked at them, and my reward was her hands wrapped in my wet hair, guiding me, willing me to push her ever closer to her plateau, and when I had gotten her there, a moan and subtle shaking of her body was my reward.

But that was just the beginning. I was fighting her will, her hands in my hair, my own wants to please her battling her directions to get her more from my actions. I wanted to satisfy her, while basking in her revelry. I swear it felt like I was in a dream; this couldn’t possibly be real.

"Wait,” she huffed, almost as if she were outside her body.

I did not wait; my finger entered her slowly and easily. She stiffened and mashed my eager lips into her with that death grip in my hair, and the shuddering was intense, way beyond what I was expecting.

"Fuck, Cass,” she hissed. “Jessssus,” she moaned slowly a moment later.

Had she spoken? I was too far gone, and the flicking of my tongue on her clit, the brushing of my fingers over and against her labia, as one finger was now two inside of her. Gentle pressure, searching for the right, pressure at that spot... And through cries and moans, I felt my own plateau had been reached. I was stiffening instinctively as I felt warmth at my own hips, and that familiar glow as it was waning quickly.

Focus… I quickened every action and every movement, and she responded, awash in her own glories.

I had climaxed while moving in sync with Lena and it was glorious!

Saturday, June 9th, 3:06 p.m., Scottsdale, AZ
I had fallen asleep in her arms, but she moved, and I woke with a startle.

“I’m sorry… I gotta pee,” she whispered, sliding away from me. “You can sleep some more; it’s okay." I must have had a lustful look because she continued, “Ah, I don’t think I’ve climaxed like that since, hell, when I was in my twenties."

Her smile was infectious, and I couldn’t help but return it.

“I’m glad, because somewhere in there I hit a mark that was pretty moving for me too."

“I noticed a spot on the comforter that wasn’t near anything I had going on." She snuck back over and kissed me quickly. “I’m happy I could do that for you, but I didn’t really do anything. You did all the work..." she chuckled, then said, “Gotta pee, gotta pee! Something else?”

“Go… Go pee… I was just going to say I’m hungry."

“Why didn’t you just say that? We can figure that out when I get back..." She ran a hand over my right breast as she trotted off to the bathroom.

A flushing sound from the bathroom, followed by the sink being run, and she was back, playfully placing her them on my breasts as she kneeled on the bed.

“Hey now, cold hands!” I complained.

“You’ve got tits I would kill for!”

“Thanks, I guess... Trade them for..." I tried to reach between her legs, but she slid back on the bed playfully out of reach.

“Yeah, yeah… You’ll have one of these one day and not want this old one."

The hurt on my face at that comment must have been way too evident because she followed up by hugging me, then apologizing. I forgave her and changed the subject to make her feel better to getting something to eat. I was hungry, and said maybe after food we could satisfy another hunger - again.

Sunday, June 10th, 1:25 a.m., Scottsdale, AZ
Lena and I were similar in size, but her daughter and I were probably more so. I complained about borrowing a hoody and sweat pants that were her daughters, but happily accepted a pair of Lena’s panties to wear while my stuff was in the wash. Won’t lie, something oddly erotic about wearing one’s girlfriend's panties, I thought to myself after she left me with everything to get dressed in. We didn’t argue about need to wear bras, which seemed in line with both our wants.

Uber Eats brought us a meal, and we polished off one bottle of wine—she had opened a second, and...

I woke with a start and looked around. I was on the couch and alone, still at Lena’s, still wearing Marissa’s clothes, but alone. I panicked, stood quickly, and carefully climbed the stairs to Lena’s room. The door was open, and she was sound asleep. The relief washing over me made me shudder.

Unfortunately, I was now wide awake now. I considered crawling into bed with her, but I now needed to pee.

I retreated back downstairs, answered the call of nature, grabbed a glass of water, and decided to log into work to check out how my story was being received. Well, very well, judging by the hit counts and comments, which ranged from thanking those in service of our country (the US Marshal Service) to POTUS. Not too many crazy comments, but it was early yet. I wondered if we’d get this one picked up by affiliates.

Then I thought about the Colonel. Would he be proud that I didn’t take this story elsewhere and figured out his cryptic hint? I had a quick pang of guilt thinking about Flagg, but decided to see if there were any emails I needed to worry about instead of dwelling on that. Nope, just a bunch of praise for a well-written story—even Valeria had sent me a note.

I reached for the screen, intent on closing it up, and remembered the SD card Gabriella had given me. I should have just given that over to Flagg. But I raised a eyebrow to no one, since I was alone; and thought it couldn't hurt to peek at what was on it.

I found the card and inserted it into my computer, and Windows automatically opened up an Explorer panel. I could see the document Gabriella had worked from and a single folder that said “Facturas” (Invoices). Double-click, and there were easily hundreds of pictures. Okay, what are we looking at here? I changed the view to “Extra Large Icons," but everything just looked like pictures of paper—invoices, pretty much - duh.

Double-clicked the first one—some chemical I’d never heard of, ‘tert-butyl 4-(phenylamino) piperidine-1-carboxylate’. Whatever. The company it came from was CPR Holdings, out of Chongqing, China. Interesting… I searched for the company and found it was run by BF Kong. Eh, not familiar; would it matter if it was? The chemical search, though, that had Google screaming ‘fentanyl’ is a dozen ways just on the first page of results. Not good…

I scrolled down the folder of invoices and picked the last one; the company was Zheng Arms Limited of Anyang, China. The founder was someone named Q'Sung Lu. That name sounded familiar and turned out to be because this guy was related to Xi Sung Lu, the ambassador from China Flagg talked about. That’s certainly an interesting connection. Gun maker, China, cartel in Mexico that just got kicked in the ball by Flagg... Hmmm, no connection to China? And all I could think was that Flagg had said, 'loosely' when I tried to pin a connection to his OP and China. Bastard...

I checked out what Corbino had received—one hundred cases of twenty each of something designated as ‘191 Series’ and the initials QBZ further down the page, separate from the ‘191’ that looked like some kind of designation code. No clue what I was looking at...

I searched Zheng Arms, and their non-descript website said they made guns—after I let the Chrome browser translate. The site was a single page with pretty much a phone number and address. Lots of help, guys... That was a waste of time. I searched ‘191 Series’ and got hits for a book by Harry Turtledove—yeah, probably didn’t order cases of books. I then did a search on ‘QBZ’, and a nasty-looking weapon of war was returned in the results. Fuck…

I made the call, but surprisingly, there was an answer: “Ruiz, you were about to be my next call?”

“Okay, but first, you might have a bigger problem, Sir... China isn’t loosely an issue, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“You still aren't asking the right questions."

FIN -

Actually... Not the end, but the follow-up to this story is slow to get moving due to other projects. Hang in there, keep coming back to Big Closet, and I'll wrap this story up for good in a sequel or maybe get it set for yet another set of questions. Thank you for giving this work of fiction a chance.

R

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