we ever considered. These men came highly recommended. They were supposed to be among the best in the industry.”
“They were obviously not good enough,” Cody snapped back.
Alejandro nodded. “And that’s my fault, Master Cody. I underestimated Adam and Cameron. I should have sent more people.”
“No, Alejandro. It was wise to send a small team. We just have to be more careful next time. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a face-to-face hit. They can do it remotely. Use a bomb. It’s not like we don’t have the resources.”
“Very well, Master Cody. I will issue the orders. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No,” Cody answered.
Alejandro picked up the teapot from Cody’s nightstand and left the villa. He marched across a small field and entered a large concrete construction. It was covered in moss and vegetation. He knocked on the door and a skinny man in a green robe opened. Alejandro went inside and continued until he reached his office, which was located nearly five metres underground. The concrete construction was a remnant from some German war criminals who had hidden out in Argentina in the aftermath of the Second World War. They were all dead now, of course, but they had left behind an impressive set of buildings and underground facilities. One could say what one wanted about the Germans, but no one could deny they were brilliant engineers. Where else would a seventy-year-old construction seem like it was only built yesterday?
Alejandro sat down at his office desk, and rubbed his eyes. The attempted hit had been a terrible mistake. Adam and Cameron weren’t amateurs; they had managed to remain hidden from MKULTRA and the CIA for almost three years now. It had only been pure luck that Alejandro’s hitmen had located them in the first place. The men had been searching for months without results. And then an old fisherman had mentioned he had seen an American teenager spearfishing off one of the more secluded reefs. The fisherman had been impressed because none of the locals dared diving there, as the reef was riddled with sharks. The young teenage girl had seemed to be totally fearless however, and she had left in a tiny dinghy with an impressive catch of fish. The rumour about the fearless teenager had eventually reached Alejandro’s hitmen, and they had been able to track down Mimi , Adam’s sailboat. That was two days ago. The hitmen were now most likely dead. Alejandro studied the picture they had emailed him. It had been taken with a tele lens, and was a bit grainy, but he could clearly read the name, Mimi , on the side of the boat. What boldness! Adam and Cameron had teams of CIA agents hunting for them, yet they continued to move around in their boat. They hadn’t even bothered to change the name. Alejandro and Cody lived under a different regimen. They moved quite frequently. Cody seldom spent a month in the same place. Argentina was a poor country, and loyalty was easily bought and sold.
Alejandro had known, the very same day Martin Drecker and Cody had been taken into Marconi’s camp, that Cody would be his ticket out of Mexico. Normally Alejandro was the one responsible for interrogating prisoners, but he had chosen to remain in the background when they brought in Cody and his father. Alejandro had known they were special the second the computer told him they were officially dead.
He just hadn’t known how special they were.
In fact, they hadn’t even known themselves. It was Alejandro who had convinced Martin Drecker to start writing the Holy Book, to record Cody’s dreams and visions during deep sleep. Dr Drecker was an academic, he was intelligent, but he didn’t have the vocabulary to give Cody’s thoughts justice, so Alejandro had taken it upon himself to edit the book. To turn Cody’s nightly ramblings into something meaningful. The solution had been to rewrite the text in verse form, to connect seemingly unrelated sentences into beautiful poetry.
“They were obviously not good enough,” Cody snapped back.
Alejandro nodded. “And that’s my fault, Master Cody. I underestimated Adam and Cameron. I should have sent more people.”
“No, Alejandro. It was wise to send a small team. We just have to be more careful next time. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a face-to-face hit. They can do it remotely. Use a bomb. It’s not like we don’t have the resources.”
“Very well, Master Cody. I will issue the orders. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No,” Cody answered.
Alejandro picked up the teapot from Cody’s nightstand and left the villa. He marched across a small field and entered a large concrete construction. It was covered in moss and vegetation. He knocked on the door and a skinny man in a green robe opened. Alejandro went inside and continued until he reached his office, which was located nearly five metres underground. The concrete construction was a remnant from some German war criminals who had hidden out in Argentina in the aftermath of the Second World War. They were all dead now, of course, but they had left behind an impressive set of buildings and underground facilities. One could say what one wanted about the Germans, but no one could deny they were brilliant engineers. Where else would a seventy-year-old construction seem like it was only built yesterday?
Alejandro sat down at his office desk, and rubbed his eyes. The attempted hit had been a terrible mistake. Adam and Cameron weren’t amateurs; they had managed to remain hidden from MKULTRA and the CIA for almost three years now. It had only been pure luck that Alejandro’s hitmen had located them in the first place. The men had been searching for months without results. And then an old fisherman had mentioned he had seen an American teenager spearfishing off one of the more secluded reefs. The fisherman had been impressed because none of the locals dared diving there, as the reef was riddled with sharks. The young teenage girl had seemed to be totally fearless however, and she had left in a tiny dinghy with an impressive catch of fish. The rumour about the fearless teenager had eventually reached Alejandro’s hitmen, and they had been able to track down Mimi , Adam’s sailboat. That was two days ago. The hitmen were now most likely dead. Alejandro studied the picture they had emailed him. It had been taken with a tele lens, and was a bit grainy, but he could clearly read the name, Mimi , on the side of the boat. What boldness! Adam and Cameron had teams of CIA agents hunting for them, yet they continued to move around in their boat. They hadn’t even bothered to change the name. Alejandro and Cody lived under a different regimen. They moved quite frequently. Cody seldom spent a month in the same place. Argentina was a poor country, and loyalty was easily bought and sold.
Alejandro had known, the very same day Martin Drecker and Cody had been taken into Marconi’s camp, that Cody would be his ticket out of Mexico. Normally Alejandro was the one responsible for interrogating prisoners, but he had chosen to remain in the background when they brought in Cody and his father. Alejandro had known they were special the second the computer told him they were officially dead.
He just hadn’t known how special they were.
In fact, they hadn’t even known themselves. It was Alejandro who had convinced Martin Drecker to start writing the Holy Book, to record Cody’s dreams and visions during deep sleep. Dr Drecker was an academic, he was intelligent, but he didn’t have the vocabulary to give Cody’s thoughts justice, so Alejandro had taken it upon himself to edit the book. To turn Cody’s nightly ramblings into something meaningful. The solution had been to rewrite the text in verse form, to connect seemingly unrelated sentences into beautiful poetry.
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