Aztec Treasure

CIA Station Chief Richard Todd’s POV

CIA Safe House, South of Ottawa, Canada

“New intercept is coming through now, sir.”

“Thank you.” I moved over to his station, looking over his shoulder as the computer decrypted the file. It had been a frustrating week for the Foggy Bottom brass. How tough could it be to bring in a 17-year-old girl and a baby? Apparently, tough enough to leave two in the ground, one in the hospital and two in Federal custody. Frank Grimes and his werewolf buddies made us look bad, and the heat was on.

Our break came when the National Security Agency managed to break the encryption Frank and the Packs used for their cellphone communications. The codes had changed five days ago, so we only had the numbers involved, times, and durations. When we started listening in, it was clear that they had eyes on Maria. The calls came in at the same time every night and never from a place within fifty miles of the previous report. Their people in the field removed the batteries between calls, taking away the ability to track them via cellphone towers. They were good, but they put too much confidence in the expensive military-grade encryption they were using. The NSA made it a priority, and their supercomputers cracked it in two days.

Their conversations didn’t provide us any clues about where Maria was hiding; from the pattern of calls, we knew it was somewhere in southern Minnesota, southwestern Wisconsin, or northern Iowa. Frank Grimes and Chase Nygaard called them Tom and Meghan. A quick check showed Tom and Meghan Nichols were mated members of the Arrowhead PackLake Superior’s North Shore.

The Deputy Director- Covert Operations came up with a plan. We knew the people involved, but we didn’t know where they were. “When the game is hiding in the thicket, you need to flush it out,” he told the five of us on the call. “Frightened game will bolt for the nearest cover. Since Arrowhead is the closest Pack, that is where they will run. When they do, we’ll be waiting.”

“How do we flush her out of hiding,” Peter asked.

“Simple. We make Maria believe that hiding is no longer a viable strategy.” Yesterday, the plan went into effect. We used the information on Maria, the paranoia about Were-people, and the promise of a large reward to turn the country into our eyes and ears. We put the reward offer out on social media and pushed it through the websites opposed to the Werewolf treaty. Since we knew she was in the Upper Midwest, our people targeted the advertising, leveraged media coverage, and invested heavily in social media.

For fifty grand in cash, people would sell their mother.

The tip lines didn’t go as well as we had hoped. Cyberattacks, ranging from spoofing to denial of service attacks, slowed or stopped the tips. Our phone lines got swamped, with thousands of reports coming in every hour. If we needed that intelligence, it would be tough to find.

We didn’t. All we had to do was scare the wolves enough to bring the cats home.

“The decryption finished, sir,” the technician told me. Under the rules, the CIA couldn’t listen in on intercepts of US citizens. However, the CANADIENS could, and there were no restrictions in sharing that information once it came to them. Since Canadian Intelligence couldn’t break the encryption, they could say they didn’t know the content under oath. The Canadian military was very interested in werewolves, as they had several Packs there already and a Russian Pack moving in.

I put on the headphones as he played the audio file. “Tom.”

“It’s Frank. We’ve got a big problem. Someone put out a fifty-k reward for Maria’s location. It’s all over the place, Tom. We’ve got to pull her in.”

“Will she come with us?”

“You need to convince Maria because SOMEONE will have seen her. Spidey’s doing all she can to mess with the websites, but it won’t last.”

“What if she runs?”

“Convince her that running makes her more vulnerable. Her best bet is to let us sneak her in.”

There was a pause. “Maria is watching Maritza play at the park now, and I don’t want to do this in public,” Tom said. “We’ll follow her home.”

“Call me when you have her.”

“Yes, sir. We’re on it.” The call ended as I smiled. I went into my office, opening up the secure line to Langley. I informed the Deputy Director of the conversation. “Good. Our people will be waiting for them north of Duluth. The vehicle registered to Tom Nichols is a maroon 2018 Honda Pilot, Minnesota license number NVY 287.”

“Understood, sir.” It didn’t take long to get an update. The next call was at 2:05 Central time. Tom reported that Meghan had the two cats with her and should arrive at Arrowhead around seven PM. He was cleaning up her apartment and would follow a few hours later. I quickly passed the information to the DD-Covert Operations and went back to the rest of my work.

Cats may have nine lives, but the third time is the charm.

Meghan Nichols’ POV

Interstate 35 North, Minnesota

Just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.

The events in Austin made me nervous about security. It was probably nothing, but my gut told me it was possible that Maria’s landlord, or her neighbors, hadn’t seen our car when we went into her driveway. It was enough to make me want some help. After all, when your Spidey Sense is tingling, call for Spider Monkey! I dialed her on the emergency burner phone. “It’s me,” I said. “I’m nervous about coming home.”

“You shouldn’t be; Mom will love them,” she said.

"I just have this feeling something bad will happen."

She didn't say anything for a few seconds. “I’ll send someone down to help.”

“Thank you.” I hung up and focused on the drive north through the cities.

It was two hours later when I got a mental send from Frank Grimes. “Where are you at?”

“I just past Stacy on I-35,” I sent back. “Thanks for coming.”

“Better to be safe. Take the Highway 95 exit in North Branch. Go to the Holiday Station on the northeast corner of the intersection. Pull into the pumps behind a white panel van from Northwoods Catering. Have Maria exit on the pump side while we block the view from the store. We’ll have the side door open for her. Brent and Laura will exit out the back with bags and get into your car while you’re pumping gas. I’ll follow you out after you pay and use the bathroom.”

“Will do. I haven’t seen any tails, Frank. Maybe I’m paranoid.”

“The people we are dealing with have satellites, drones, and tracking devices. Paranoid is a good thing.”

He was right; all it cost us was some time and gas. “Five miles.”

“We’ll be ready.”

I briefed Maria on the plan. “What about the car seat?”

“You’ll be in the back, I doubt there will be anywhere to place it, and we don’t have time. Use the sling. I don’t want you visible for more than five seconds. The awning over the gas pumps will hide us from surveillance, but not from someone in a car.”

The swap went like clockwork. I pulled into the gas station and saw them on the inside of the last row of pumps. I pulled in behind the van, turning off the ignition but leaving the keys in place. “You guys ready?”

“Go.” I got out and walked behind my car, stopping at the gas pump. While Frank and I blocked the view, Maria got out with Maritza in her sling and her hijab on. She climbed into the cargo van as Brent and Laura bailed out the back doors with canvas range bags. The two warriors got into my car, Laura riding shotgun, while I swiped my credit card in to pay for the gas. Laura picked up the hijab I’d been wearing and pulled it over her head to mask her identity. Frank walked into the gas station as the van drove off. “Nice job, Meghan. Take your time, do the windshield, and use the bathroom. We want them to get a good head start on us.”

I finished filling up my tank, then went inside and used the bathroom. I picked up a Mountain Dew and a pack of Twinkies, then walked back outside to my car. I got in and started it up as Frank opened the door and climbed into the rear passenger seat. “Let’s go,” he said.

I got back out on the freeway, watching for tails and not finding any. Once we were at speed with no cars around, the weapons came out. I had my Glock 22 on my right hip, and I was sure everyone else had a pistol or two, but they came prepared. Laura brought a Benelli M3 semi-automatic 12-gauge combat shotgun. In the back, both Frank and Brent had chosen carbine-length AR-15’s with 30-round magazines. “Where is mine?”

“Here,” Frank said as he passed forward another AR-15. Laura held them between their legs as I drove.

“Why did you come along on this, Frank?”

“I’m the only one with a badge if this goes bad,” he replied. Brent laid down in the back cargo area while Frank laid on the back seat. Laura and I watched for hostiles over the next ninety minutes as we passed through Duluth and headed up the North Shore on Highway 61.

Laura was the first to pick up on the threat as we drove past Knife River. “Two black Suburbans just pulled onto the road behind us after another pulled ahead of us,” she said. The big SUVs had tinted windows, and the two behind us were driving side-by-side now. The one in front was going just below the speed limit, so we were catching up to him. If we didn’t do anything in the next minute, they’d have us boxed in on the four-lane divided highway.

Frank was sitting up just enough to see where we were as he dialed 911. “This is Supervisory Special Agent Frank Grimes of Homeland Security. Officer needs assistance, possible kidnapping attempt in progress. Suspects are driving three black late-model Chevy Suburbans.” He gave them the license plate numbers and our location, plus the details on our SUV.

“Boss, they are closing in,” I warned him. We were almost on top of the lead SUV, and the trail ones were only a hundred feet behind us.

“Wait until the last second, then turn right onto Salakka Road. If they follow, they are hostile.” I watched as the intersection approached, then locked the brakes up and turned a hundred and twenty degrees right onto the road. The Suburban behind me had to swerve to avoid me, and both of them overshot the turn. They didn’t care about traffic; I could see them backing up to the intersection when I was a few hundred feet down the road.

I braked and turned into a driveway, following it behind the house to park behind a pole barn. The guys were bailing out before I stopped. I was out and had my AR-15 pointed over the hood seconds later. Laura moved to the near corner of the pole barn, hiding in the bushes while aiming her shotgun back down the driveway. Frank went to the other end of the pole barn and took cover while Brent set up behind a car parked by the house.

Frank was still talking to the 911 operator, and I could hear sirens in the distance as the first SUV came into the driveway. “Open fire at the first hostile act,” Frank told us.

It didn’t take long. The first two vehicles parked about twenty yards away, turning to block our escape. The last Suburban stopped at the end of the driveway. What they didn’t know is that we didn’t want to escape. Six men exited the vehicle, all carrying pistols or shotguns. “YOU ARE SURROUNDED! DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP, MARIA!” He pointed his Mossberg Tactical in my direction, and all hell broke loose.

The four of us opened fire on the men in the closest SUVs. They only expected me to be armed, and all their focus was on me. They didn’t expect to fire from three additional locations on each side, and they didn’t live long enough to regret their poor situational awareness. Anyone who stuck his head out got it shot off, and those that didn’t found out what deer slugs could do to an unarmored vehicle.

The guys at the end of the driveway said “fuck it” and took off, but it was too late. Frank shot out the driver’s side window, killing the driver. As the Suburban crashed into a tree, Frank and Brent were already closing in on the survivors.

The police started to arrive, blocking any escape. In the end, there were eight men dead, one critically injured, and three captured. None of them were in the system, and every one of them wanted their lawyer.

The four of us ended up back in Duluth at the FBI office, where we suffered through hours of interviews before being let go. Frank’s presence saved us; since we were acting under his direction, we were effectively his deputies. The 911 call recorded the kidnapper’s words, and everyone knew about the bounty on Maria.

Frank laid down the law. “Maria Meztli is under the protection of the Arrowhead Pack,” he told the FBI and the Federal Agencies on the line. “Figure out who is trying to get her and stop them. The Packs have no problem with stacking bodies until they give up.”