McDonald Array - Divide and Conquer

“Doing as you suggested nephew!” he replied with a smile, opening the passenger door of the third Lexus.

“What’s that?” asked Luis perplexed, having no recollection of suggesting his uncle go out that night.

“Using some of my ten thousand men to stop the meeting!” El Jefe climbed into the Lexus and turned to his even more confused looking nephew. “After tonight, no one will be on the streets of Nuevo Laredo and no Americans will be visiting any time soon.”

In answer to Luis’ unasked question, El Jefe picked up the FN Minimi machine gun that sat at his feet and secured to it a one hundred cartridge drum feed. Luis stopped himself from asking anything further. Wherever El Jefe was going, many people were going to die. Nuevo Laredo was about to become a war zone again.

Luis signaled to his two guards to wait and rushed back inside. Takings would be hammered in the next few days and their cash-flow needed to be protected. A number of purchases would have to be put on hold, otherwise Los Zetas may experience a very embarrassing cash-flow issue. As Luis logged into their bank accounts and stopped the payments, he wished his uncle would understand that they had to discuss his actions because whether he agreed with them or not, there were always consequences.

Safe in the knowledge that they’d have enough cash on hand for a few weeks but would not be taking ownership of two new aircraft anytime soon, Luis headed back to his waiting truck. He checked his watch; it had been another thirty minutes since his last call. He powered up another unused pre-paid cell and tried the emergency contact number — it was still off.

“Let’s go!” he said, the concern growing. He really had expected the cell to have rung.

“Where to?” asked the driver, having no idea what was in Luis’ thoughts.

“Laredo!”

Sean looked at his watch over Katie’s shoulder. He really needed to get a move on. She had been stuck to him for over ten minutes, her body heaving against his, rising and falling with each and every deep, long and sad breath. As much as Sean felt for her situation, he didn’t have the time or the inclination to be the shoulder to cry on. He had a boy to rescue.

Time was moving on and whoever had rung the cell phone would be wondering why their man hadn’t answered or returned whatever pre-arranged system they had in place. Sean was beginning to wish he hadn’t killed them both. First things first though, he had to extract himself from Katie.

Sean slowly began to disengage from Katie, removing one arm at a time until she sat before him unaided, her eyes bloodshot and wet as tears flowed freely.

“Please get our boy back!” she pleaded as much with her eyes as her words.

Sean thought better of pointing out it wasn’t his boy, given Katie’s current state of inertia. Patting her knee tenderly, he got up and made his way back to the hallway, retrieving the Mexican’s phone. At least he knew why it hadn’t rung subsequently. The hard tile floors were no place to drop a phone you hoped to use again. He dismantled and reassembled it quickly but the result was the same; the phone was dead. He really wished he hadn’t killed them both but then it was pretty much a rule for Sean. If somebody shot at him, he would shoot back better, which pretty much meant if you shot at him you died. It was a rule he’d never broken and was living proof it wasn’t a bad rule to live by.

However, it wasn’t going to help save the boy. For that, he needed some help but that came at a cost he wasn’t sure he was willing to pay.

“Sean?” Katie joined him in the hallway, having pulled herself together. She walked across and leant into him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his chest. She ignored his flinching. “Our baby, Sean, what about James?”

Sean struggled to control his emotions. “James, your son is called James?”

“After his grandfather.” Katie reacted calmly to Sean’s disowning of his child, coping with Sean’s post traumatic stress. “Your father!” she confirmed.

“Jesus,” replied Sean shaking his head, a photo on the staircase caught his eye and he pulled himself away from Katie and realized the wall that lined the staircase was a home gallery. He followed them up the stairs, recognizing many of the photos and remembering exactly when they were taken. They were his photos, his graduation photo, his passing out photo, his mom, his dad, his photo in full dress uniform, his photo with the President. His history, his life. The wedding photo ended the history and the lie. The baby photos of James with his real father and mother took precedence as Sean reached the top landing and looked at the last photo in the collection. Vincent Black with the young James Fox on his lap.

“Just what in the fuck is going on here?!” Sean asked himself, as another twist was added to the already bizarre set of circumstances.

Borodin had made it back to GRU headquarters by the time the call from Pyotr Travkin had ruined his day for a second time. The news that Sean Fox was alive and in the house was anything but good. He extracted the file that had sat in his top drawer for pretty much all of his service and had never had the misfortune to have to open until earlier that day. The fact that he was having to open it for a second time that same day did not help his already foul mood.

The word 'GREBNEVO’ was written in fading ink, a brief description was written below in German and Russian but had faded so badly neither was legible. However the word CEKPETHO stamped in red were as visible then as they had been over fifty years earlier. Obviously his predecessors had chosen the red ink on their top-secret stamps far more carefully than their pen ink.

He opened the file and scanned through the yellowing pages, finally finding the page he wanted and was rewarded with a photo of a smiling young couple staring up at him, James and Myriam Fox.

The top of the page offered a file reference, the sub file was stored down in the vaults and would have to be brought up to him.

“Vasiliy!” he shouted at the door. An intercom sat on his desk but Borodin found his voice carried well enough on its own.

The door opened momentarily and Borodin’s ever-present assistant entered the office.

Borodin scribbled down the reference number and passed it to the only man he truly trusted on the planet. After nearly sixty years together, there was nothing they didn’t know about each other. They joked that their memoirs would make an amazing story but it would have to go in the fiction section as nobody would believe it was true.

“Can you get this file for me.”

Vasiliy took the reference and noticed the number referred to the most secure area of the records department.

“I’m sorry, General, but I cannot,” offered Vasiliy apologetically.

Borodin rubbed his temples; the stress of the day was getting to him. He didn’t need any more grief.

“Are you too busy?” he asked, struggling to hide his irritation.

“No General, I’d like nothing better,” replied Vasiliy quickly. “It’s just the number you have given me refers to an area of records that only yourself, the Prime Minister and President can gain access to.”

“Vasiliy, Vasiliy, I trust you with my life and my sons’, and grandsons’ lives. I will call down and let them know you are getting them for me. Off you go.”

Vasiliy was about to protest but seeing the look on the General’s face thought better of it and began his wasted trip to the basement record department.

Borodin called the Head of Records and was informed he was indisposed and would return his call as a matter of urgency. Borodin had to laugh. The first time in fifteen years he had called to speak to the man, he had been on the shitter. Borodin could just imagine how crest fallen the man would be at having missed his call when it came in.