Common Ground

Chapter 4- Ambushed

Keith and I sat in a little café close to the ocean. Both of us had iced green teas in a desperate attempt to cool off from the hot humid air. We were discussing our plans for gathering evidence that a man had smuggled drugs and weapons into Brazil. Keith had been acting as his client all week. He had a wire attached to him and I was always a few steps behind him incase of trouble. It worked out so far.

“It’s enough Aria,” Keith crossed his arms on the table in front of him and leaned in to me, “We know Carlos and all his buddies have the goods...”

I cut him off and rolled my eyes. He was missing the point, “But we don’t have proof. We know what we know, but the Director doesn’t know that.We have to take pictures or video footage or something to show them what we know. Then they can send the CIA in and fix everything.”

Keith broke the stare he was giving me and nods, “I see what you mean. But how can we do that? It’s not like we can just break into his house and snap a few photos...”

He risked a glance at my face. I was giving him a half smile, half smirk kind of look.

He corrects his train of thought, “...We can break into his house and snap a few photos.”

I laugh, “You get what I’m implying?”

We spent an hour at the café planning out how we were going to get into Carlos’ house and get the evidence we needed. In the end, we decided to upgrade the wire that Keith was wearing for so long so that it also takes video. To do that, we had to find the black-market salesmen, Delio, that had been helping us with gadgets and such. Keith would go in, make a purchase, ask some question and all the while we’d record the footage and the audio so we could have proof for WTUA and CIA.

It was a perfect plan and we were ready to wrap up the mission and go home. Rio would have been nice if it weren’t for the reason we were there. 

(1 hour later at the Black-market)

Delio was a tanned man with thin black hair and a black beard. He was heavier set and had hair all over his arms and legs. He always seemed to wear the same thing: a plain t-shirt and cargo shorts with sandals.

His shop sold souvenirs for the tourists outside his house but inside is where he sold and made gadgets for the secret services around the world and he was tricky about it too. He may have known you very well and that you only go to his shop for black-market items but he wouldn’t let you see or purchase anything unless you used a code phrase.

You see, he had his mailbox just off to the side. Anyone would know it’s not for sale but if you asked: “How much for the mailbox?”, he would reply, “It’s not for sale. But I have something else that may interest you. Come with me.”

Of course the dialogue was always exchanged in Portuguese.

Keith and I rounded the corner and saw his shop immediately. We both agreed that Keith would do the talking because one: I was a little rusty on foreign languages and two: it’s Keith’s special talent in the WTUA.

We approached the stall and Keith didn’t hesitate he said, “Bom dia sir e eu pergunto, quanto para a caixa postal?”

Delio shook his head, “LAMENTO que a minha amiga, a caixa de correio não está à venda. EU tenho mais uma coisa pode se. Vem comigo.”

Keith nodded to me and I followed after him and Delio. The three of us trekked through his house and into his kitchen. Casually, he leaned against his fridge, forcing part of the wall in; a cupboard door opened to a spiral staircase. The first time I saw it happen, I was in shock, but now, it didn’t phase me.