Kelly’s face widened into a smile. “Remind me never to piss you off, General.”
Within a few minutes a medical team entered the office and wheeled out a person covered in a white sheet. There was an oxygen mask over his face and tape over his forehead. The combination made Ferrell unrecognizable. He was quickly wheeled to the ambulance and taken to FBI headquarters.
The Immortal Showboat slowly made her way to her anchorage in Aruba’s harbor. Sailors dressed in summer white uniforms lined her decks outlining the ship’s lines and giving a crisp, clean appearance. Taking a tip from the Iowa, the Navy had sent along a Navy Band to play for the port visits. The musical theme to “The Showboat” blared from her deck as her huge anchor was freed and splashed into the water. Thousands of tourists and islanders watched in awe as she lowered her boats and prepared to open her decks for tours. The passengers aboard the two cruise ships docked at the piers waved and snapped photos of the magnificent sight. The North Carolina was the first battleship to ever pull into the Dutch port. It wasn’t long before she was surrounded with pleasure boats, their occupants waiving at the sailors from their decks.
One of the spectators could not believe what he saw. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. “An American battleship just pulled into Aruba,” he said nervously. He listened to the reply and then stared at the receiver in his hand. “Of course I know what a battleship is. Do you think I am stupid? It’s one of the biggest ships I have ever seen, with huge guns on both ends. The paper said an American ship would pull in today but it said nothing about this. They said it would be here for two days,” he said. The reply was short. “Yes, I will watch the ship, but there are hundreds of sailors aboard. I can’t watch them too.” The response seemed to sicken the man. He snapped the cell phone shut and cursed. “Idiots,” he said aloud as he began his way to the waterfront.
The first game of the season was going well for Messina’s team. He was standing at the sidelines calling out his support for the boys like most other fathers. Rojas watched with the coach and offered his support for the boys, suggesting little changes which helped them more easily move around the field.
Angela Harrison had showed up early with some sports drinks which they put on ice. During the effort, she leaned in to Messina and pointed out an old man with a Chevy pickup, selling things out of the back along the sideline. During the game, several people had gathered around the truck and she later commented that Messina or Rojas might want to get something for their families. “His prices seem very reasonable,” she said with a stare that told Messina it wasn’t a suggestion.
“I may check out what he has later on,” Messina had said. As the game wore on, he made his way to Rojas and he relayed the information. At half time, while the boys were with their families, Rojas made his way to the truck and began looking at the colorfully decorated garments and wares. Two others were there rummaging through the items. Eventually Rojas and the old man were alone.
“How can I help you, Señor,” asked Carlos Verdes making his way around to where Rojas was standing. It was clear Rojas was being very careful about something. On several occasions while waiting, Rojas had scanned the crowd to see if he was being watched.
“I’m just looking,” said Rojas giving the old man a frightened stare.
Verdes smiled and picked up several items. “Well, I have this pottery, some clay pipes and here are some ponchos. All of these were made by native Venezuelans living in the mountains. Is there something in particular that you wanted?” he asked in a friendly manner. Carlos could read all the signs. They were typical of the people, especially in the cities. Fear of talking to someone they did not know and what someone might infer. But it was also obvious that this man wanted something and was afraid to act. He looked Rojas in the eye. “Perhaps you have something for me as well?”
Rojas stopped in his tracks. There it was. But he was still unsure what to do. It could still be a trap. “I do not know you.”
Verdes laughed, and then holding up a small bowl he said in English, “But I know you, Colonel Rojas. How may I be of service?”
Rojas almost let out a sigh of relief, then glanced around once again. Rojas reached for the bowl and appeared to study it. “You need to understand that I am doing this because I cannot let something like this destroy my country. This must come to an end,” he said.
Verdes nodded. It seemed like all people who provide information wanted you to know why they did it. The reasons vary, but somehow they need to justify it in their own minds. In this case, the information this man had was sorely needed. “Of course. I understand. What we must do is for the common good. It will save lives,” Verdes said softly.
Rojas picked up another bowl as if comparing the two. “You must get this information to your government very quickly. Your mayors are in danger. Parente is obviously insane and I cannot guarantee their safety,” he said very quietly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Fishing for some money, he pulled out some bills. There was a white sheet mixed in with them.
Verdes took the money and shoved it into the small metal box he was using for a cashbox. He also inserted the white sheet into a place under the coin bin where it could be hidden. As he counted out some change, Rojas pointed toward one of the ponchos. It was large and very ornate. “How much is that one?” he asked.
Verdes smiled again and lifted up the poncho, unfolding it and displaying it for him to see. “Very inexpensive, Señor,” Verdes said as he appeared to barter to the man. Then he leaned forward. While seemingly pointing out things on the poncho, he asked, “Is anything getting ready to happen which might distract his attention?”
“ Five Bolivars,” said Rojas, holding out five fingers. Verdes appeared to think a moment, then shook his head. “Ten,” he said.
Rojas took the time to appear to think. He placed his hand over his mouth. “Presidente Castro is coming on the 12th. I don’t know of anything else but this,” he said quietly. Then he called out “Seven.”
“Anything else?” asked Verdes.
“Not that I know of,” said Rojas, almost too loud to be natural.
Verdes smiled. “Seven,” he said, handing the poncho over.
Rojas paid the man. “What if I need to return this?” he asked.
Verdes smiled, “I will be in touch. But I roam the streets near here. If there is a problem, you can find me,” he said.
With almost a relieved look on his face, Rojas thanked the man and took his purchases. Verdes remained at the game until the end, then packed his truck up and set off to where he was staying while in town. Tonight he would have a little extra wine with his meal. Meetings like this seemed to drain everything from him.
“It’s the same latitude and longitude as we got before,” said Kurt West, the head of the FBI.
Craig Harris nodded his head. “Concur. The report from one of my people said it was short and sweet. These two guys are frightened. This guy, Rojas, says our people are in danger. I must say I believe him.”
“I can imagine,” said the President. “Now what have you turned up so far on these phone calls — especially since you called this hurried meeting with me.”
West sat forward in his seat. “Mr. President, I need to inform you that I am commissioning a special prosecutor for this case. So far, I have let you know only about phone calls between Washington and our ambassador’s office. My agents arrested an Air Force captain named David Ferrell. We have both the phone call and video of the captain making the phone call at the exact time. We took him in for interrogation and charged him in violation of Title 18. At first he asked for a lawyer, but after a very persuasive recommendation by General Richardson, at which time the captain fainted, he began asking for consideration for his testimony. We now have ample evidence to charge other parties under the same act.”