Chapter One

 

Standing at Shada's gravesite made me reflect on my own life. Shada was a good comrade and was highly valued. When she decided to disappear, there was a void left in our ranks. Although I was sorry to see her leave the 'Company' somehow, deep down, I had reason to believe that she was still alive.

 

It had been reported she perished in an aviation accident. Like everyone else, I accepted the fact she was gone. Then one day, I was tasked with confirming her death by examining the wreckage of the aircraft. The aircraft had been spotted from the air in the Darien Gap. The Darien Gap is an impenetrable jungle south of Panama on the border with Colombia. The Pan American Highway on the north side ends at the Gap and does not continue until well into Colombia. The denseness and the marshy composite of the soil made connecting the highway from the north to the south, difficult. Shada's aircraft had been down in the Gap for over two years before it was discovered. Due to the condition of the aircraft from the air, it was believed no one could have survived the accident.

 

When I inspected the aircraft, the flight deck was empty. On the floor in front of the second seat was a brochure advertising St. Kitts. That convinced me Shada had faked her demise. I was very fond of Shada. We were comrades and spent many hours together carrying out missions. We had also discussed retiring from the 'Company' in the past. It has become common knowledge that one cannot retire. If you try a retirement, the 'Company' will hunt you down and neutralize you. I was witness to that fact on several occasions.

I covered for Shada by producing phony photos of remains in a cockpit of a Cherokee aircraft. After presenting the photos to the Colonel, he concluded that she was dead. However, the client, a woman by the name of Nefertiabet was not convinced. She believed that Shada had murdered her father. Her father had sexually abused Shada, while she was a prisoner in his house in Alexandria, Egypt. That convinced Nefertiabet that Shada had a motive.

 

I traveled to St. Kitts and met with Shada. Shada had developed a new life practicing medicine. She had also gotten married and had a child. I learned that Nefertiabet was intent on having an independent laboratory return to the aircraft and take samples of the remains. Nefertiabet had samples of Shada's DNA, from a hairbrush she has once used for comparison. Shada could not allow that to happen. I aided her in a plan to neutralize Nefertiabet. Shada returned to Panama to execute that plan. While executing the mission, Shada was fatally shot. I left her body for the authorities to find. I then returned to St. Kitts and informed her husband of her death. I went with him back to Panama to claim her remains. Her body was returned to St. Kitts for burial.

 

Immediately after the funeral, I offered my condolences to her husband. Then I left for the airport. I didn't want to stay in St. Kitts any longer than was necessary. I got on a flight to Aruba with a connecting flight to Miami.

When I boarded the flight to Miami, I was seated in the business class. Within a few minutes of getting buckled up, a young woman sat down beside me. At first, I didn't pay any attention to her. As the aircraft began to taxi to the runway, her presence had this magnetic pull on my physical. I looked over, and what I saw had an electric shock vibrate through my body. She could pass as a double for a young woman that I had been involved with years ago. The woman in question was several years older than me. I believed at the time; we were hopelessly in love.

I entered the military shortly after completing high school. At some future time, I expected to eventually marry this woman. However, during my first deployment, I received a Dear John Letter. I threw myself into my military career, and through a lot of challenging work, I became a Navy Seal.

 

An hour passed, as I sat in my seat reminiscing the past of many years ago. I finally got up my nerve and asked her the big question. "Excuse me, I said. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you look so much like a young woman I once knew. I wonder if you would mind answering a few questions for me." She looked at me and smiled. She extended her hand and told me her name was Helen Majors. I introduced myself as well. I informed her she could be a double for a young woman, I had been involved with years ago. I said, "I had heard, through a mutual friend, that she passed away recently."

I asked Helen, her mother's family name, but when she told me the name, I knew the resemblance was just a coincidence. I inquired if she was going to Miami for vacation. Ms. Majors said she was returning from a vacation. She said she had recently completed nursing school, and a nursing position was in the offing at a Miami hospital. She was to report to her new job on Monday. We continued to exchange niceties for a few minutes, and then I went back to my thoughts.

 

My name is Ebi. I am a second-generation American. My parents emigrated from Iran when I was two years old. My father was an engineer and had worked for an American Firm in Iran. When he was transferred to America, his family became eligible for citizenship. My father made a particularly good salary, and he sent me to the best schools. I was an only child. My parents gave me the best of everything. My mother taught me her native language, as well as English, in my formative years.

I became infatuated with the young woman that watched my sister, and me, when my parents would go out for an evening. She was about five years my senior; but as I grew into my teens, we became romantically involved. I lost my virginity to her.

 

When I graduated from high school, I decided to join the military. My father was extremely disappointed that I had decided not to go to college. Francesca, my romantic interest, was disappointed as well. We agreed when I was financially set up, we would marry. I was deployed overseas and was gone for two years. One day, I received a letter from Francesca. She had married someone else. I was devastated. I threw myself into my career. After ten years as a Navy Seal, I was offered a lucrative 'Company' job. That was ten years ago. My life became revolved around the 'Company.' Recently, however, I have become distraught with what I am doing. I decided to continue for another year or two while I plan my retirement and escape.

 

I continued my conversation with Ms. Majors. As we approached the Miami airport, I turned to Ms. Majors and said, "I enjoyed our conversation. I was wondering, do you think we could meet and talk at another time?" She took a pen from her purse and wrote down her cell phone number. She handed me the paper. I, in turn, gave her my number. I said that I was planning to be back in Miami in a few weeks. I would like to take her to dinner and continue our conversation.

When the aircraft finally landed and we disembarked, I told her I looked forward to seeing her soon. She indicated she too would look forward to it as well. Then we bid our goodbyes. I had this strange feeling come over me. It was the same feeling I had when I left for the military. Somehow though, I didn't think this one was going to turn out like the last time. I caught the next flight to Panama.

 

Back in Panama, I caught a cab to the hotel. I checked with the counter clerk to see if there were any escorts available for the evening. He reached under the counter, and he showed me several pages of women's photos. I selected one. I told the clerk to have the young woman find me in the restaurant at 2000 hours.

The counter clerk took a photo of me. I checked into a room, showered, and got dressed for the evening. At 1950 hours, I walked into the restaurant and was seated in a quiet corner. I was in the mood for some romance. I know these women do not give a hoot romantically about their client's feelings, but they are particularly good actresses.

I saw this extremely attractive brunette stop in the doorway and survey the restaurant. She had a photo in hand. I raised my hand and signaled her. She walked over to the table and asked me if I was 'Ebi." "Yes. And you must be Rosa," I replied. I stood and walked around to help with seating her at the table. I have learned, since my date with Rosa, that all the women in the escort service go by the name, Rosa.

We ordered drinks and began to look over the menu. I was wondering what it was going to be like later when Rosa and I made love. It had been a long time since I made love to a woman. The demand for my services with the 'Company' did not allow much time for sexual respite. Rosa asked me if this was my first trip to Panama City. I told her I had been coming here for years, but this is the first time using the escort service.

"After tonight, I guarantee you will use the service time and time again," she promised.

She seemed confident, that I would be pleased with what she had to offer.

We had a delightful dinner and conversation. This lady was very educated and widely traveled. In a way, she was like a geography lesson. After dinner, we had several more drinks.

She finally said, "Are you ready to retire?"

We stood up and made our way to the elevator. When we arrived at my room, I offered her another drink from the hotel refrigerator. We opened a bottle of wine.

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable and take off your clothes? I'm going to powder my nose; I'll be back in a few minutes," she assured me.

After I stripped down to my underwear, I was feeling a bit reserved. It suddenly crossed my mind; I just met this woman two hours ago, and I am about to have sex with her. Then another thought came to mind. I'm paying a lot for this service, so I might as well enjoy it. I at once dismiss my 'puritan ethic' as Rosa came out of the bathroom wearing only her panties. She directed me to sit back on the bed. She took control.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"If I were paying you, I know exactly what I would have you do," she said in her sultry voice.

She took her panties off and pulled down my shorts. She laid her naked body on top of me. Then she began to kiss me as she moved down my body. With her tongue, she began to lick my manhood. I got an erection that was so hard it began to hurt. When it was standing very straight, she eased herself down on it and inserted it into her vagina. Then she began to move vertically, and slowly, up, and down. I sat up and put my face into her breasts. I wanted to savor every moment of this experience. I rolled her over, and I removed my manhood. I moved down her body and began to lick her vulva. With short flicks of the tongue, I began to give her what I believed to be an incredible pleasure. The sounds that were resonating from her during this exchange were a sign of what she was experiencing. After she had, by my count, three orgasms, I mounted her. I put my hands under her buttocks as I moved in and out of her. As I felt her about to reach another crescendo, I let loose with an orgasm. We just rested in that position for what was a half-hour. I rolled over and went fast asleep.

 

When I woke up the next morning, she was still there. She was awake. She said she had to leave, but she would agree to a quickie. We had another fast intercourse session. She got up, collected her clothing, and went into the bathroom.

Within five minutes or so she came out, walked over to the bed, kissed me on the cheek, and said, "Let's do this again sometime."

I went back to sleep for a couple of more hours.

I finally got up and took a shower. It was lunchtime, and I was starved. I went down to the restaurant. Rosa was sitting at the table where we had dinner the night before. I was tempted to walk over and sit down with her, but I decided against it.

I sat at another table and placed a call to the compound to request a ride. The driver said he would be there in about an hour. I ordered lunch. As I was eating, Rosa left the restaurant. I saw her walk up to the counter and speak with the clerk. As I was finishing my lunch, the driver from the compound came into the lobby. I flagged him down, and we left for the compound.

As we drove through the gate the guard informed me that the Colonel wanted to see me. I walked to my quarters and dropped off my luggage. The administration building was just across the road. The Colonel's door was closed. I knocked once, and he exclaimed for me to enter. He indicated for me to sit down. He was reading a document and looking at some photographs in front of him.

The Colonel looked up and said, "How was the vacation, Ebi?"

"It was good sir; I needed the time off."

"Good." I have a difficult job for you. Have you ever heard of Darfur?"

"I believe it's a region of Sudan."

"Since 2003 there has been an ongoing conflict centered on the Darfur region. Groups in Darfur took up arms, accusing the Sudanese government of oppressing non-Arab Sudanese in favor of Sudanese Arabs. There is a militia group that calls itself the Janjaweed. The Janjaweed are Black Arab ethnic group members, who have long despised the Black African farmers who practice settled agriculture. They are described as a grotesque mixture of the mafia and the Ku Klux Klan. They see the Arab population as the supreme population that would like to see the subjugation of non-Arab peoples. They are criminal racketeers that have been supported very directly by the government to wage the war against the people of Darfur. There is also blatant racism, and a political ideology known as 'Arab Supremacy.' It also fuels Janjaweed's agenda. The Darfurians were threatened with death and subjected to racial epithets during attacks. The attackers called non-Arab Africans abid or slave and Durga, which means 'black' but is used as a racial slur. There were reports of Arab women singers complicit in rape. While African women in Darfur were being raped by the Janjaweed militiamen, the Arab women stand nearby and sang for joy. Although the Sudanese government denies they support the Janjaweed; they have been supplying financial assistance and weapons. It has also supported them in organizing joint attacks on civilians. I'm giving you this background, so you know, going in, what you are going to be dealing with."

My brain was traveling at one hundred miles an hour. I couldn't imagine what I would be doing in the middle of this civil war.

The Colonel continued. "A few months ago, an American journalist by the name of Robert Meade was in a non-Arab village doing a story when a group of about one-hundred-Janjaweed rode into the village. They at once began to murder, rape, and burn the village. When Robert Meade tried to prevent one of the Janjaweed from raping a woman, he was shot in both legs. The leader of the group, one who goes by the name of Ahmad ibn Muhammad, ordered gasoline poured over Mr. Meade, and set afire. As he was burning to death, a group of Janjaweed militias struck at his burning body with machetes. Robert Meade was twenty-five- years old and had graduated from one of the finest journalism schools in the States. His father is a media czar and has been compared to William Randolph Hearst. He is willing to pay whatever we ask to avenge his son's death. He wants the leader of that group, Mr. Muhammad to suffer and die under the same circumstances as did his son. He wants the execution filmed."

My first question was "Has this mission been planned?"

The Colonel said, "No. I want Rayan and yourself to develop a plan, and we can discuss it in a few weeks. Rayan is on leave, and he will not be back until next Monday. In the meantime, I would like you to get started on it. There's not a budget for this mission. If the mission is successful, costs will not enter the equation. All the assets of the 'Company' will be at your disposal.

I left the Colonel's office and headed for the 'Company' library. I wanted to get as many maps as possible of Sudan, and its relationship to other African nations. My first order of business was to develop an ingress and egress strategy for the mission. I at once concluded that ten Rangers, Rayan, and I should be enough manpower to complete the job. I would research the Janjaweed to decide on their training. Based on my earlier experience with these kinds of groups they are usually ragtag.