Mennigen Cotton FBI - Episode 12

Survival
1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-3-8387-4880-1
Verlag: Bastei Lübbe
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 12, 130 Seiten

Reihe: Cotton FBI: NYC Crime Series

Digital Series. Episode 12:

There's a new government training program intended to get FBI agents into top shape. Equipped with nothing but their wits and an emergency backpack, the participants will be dropped in the vast forests of the northeastern United States. There, they will have to survive a week in the wilderness.
Philippa Decker, Zeerookah, and Steve Dillagio are selected as the first group from the New York division. The day before the program begins, Dillagio suddenly calls in sick. Agent Cotton steps in at the last minute as his replacement.
What starts out as a relatively carefree expedition turns into a nightmare for the three FBI agents. The first night, they're woken up by the sounds of gunfire. Then they discover the bodies of another team of agents. By then, it's clear to Cotton and the others that someone is using the survival program to carry out a treacherous plan. And that they have been transformed from hunters into the hunted and must fight for their survival.

A new legend is born! COTTON FBI is a remake of a world famous cult series with more than one billion copies sold and appears bi-weekly with a self-contained story in each e-book episode.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Mennigen, Peter

Leseproben

Prologue

Three Years Ago

To put it bluntly, anyone contemplating suicide or hoping to find out what it feels like to have their throat slit open can get their wish in Knoxville, Arizona.

Knoxville is located somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, near the Mexican border. It can be hard to believe that this hick town of ramshackle wooden houses used to be an important place in the old days, back when cowboys drove cattle through the region. These days, the desolate outpost has become something of a collection point for wasted lives. Hookers, junkies, crooks — the entire spectrum of losers is well represented among the population.

The hub of local social activity stands right in the center of Knoxville, bearing the colorful name ‘Alligator Lounge’; of course, it’s a bullshit name, since there isn’t a single alligator in all of Arizona, except maybe one or two in a zoo. Maybe the name is intended to reflect the clientele that frequents the bar, often late into the night. They mill about aimlessly, waiting for unsuspecting travelers to drop into their snake pit of desperation and violence and volunteer to be cheated, robbed, or even killed, depending on the circumstances.

Until just recently, Special Agent Philippa ‘Phil’ Decker had had no inkling of Knoxville’s existence. All this changed one sweltering day in June, during an operation on Knoxville’s Main Street. She and a dozen other agents were crammed into three large Chevy SUVs parked along the street. The FBI agents had been assembled from five different bureaus especially for this assignment.

The sun blazed hot in the steel-blue sky above them. Although they had all long since taken off their jackets, they were still sweating so profusely that their clothes stuck to their bodies like a second layer of skin. The vinyl seats didn’t help matters much. The only positive thing about this hot, shadeless location was the clear view they had of the bar.

Decker and Special Agent Steve Dillagio were in charge of this operation. Zeerookah, the G-Team’s IT expert, was also in attendance, on one of his very rare assignments outside of headquarters.

The agents were waiting for their main objective to appear: a man named Loco Hernando, the younger brother of the drug lord Pablo Hernando, whose cartel controlled much of the drug trade between Colombia and the US. The FBI had been informed that Loco would be here today to personally oversee a deal. If this information was correct, then the odds were good that there was more to it than just a simple drug deal.

After observing the bar for five hours, the agents were running low on water as well as patience. To everyone’s relief, just after noon, the sound of an approaching vehicle gave them hope that the moment they had been waiting for had finally arrived. A large Hummer turned onto Main Street and rolled past the Chevys, stopping in front of the Alligator Lounge.

Three enormous muscular bodyguards dressed in black got out of the Hummer and looked around. They didn’t seem to be the brightest bulbs on the Christmas tree, since the black FBI vehicles with their dark-tinted windows didn’t arouse their suspicion. Having determined that the coast was clear, one of them opened the rear door of the Hummer.

Loco Hernando got out of the vehicle. He was a wiry Colombian in his mid-thirties. Decker was able to identify him from the photos she had been issued. She was surprised by the way he was dressed. Even though the FBI dossier on him mentioned his extravagant taste in clothes, she hadn’t expected to see him wearing a pink designer suit. He disappeared into the dive bar, together with the medium-sized aluminum briefcase he was carrying and his heavyweight entourage.

Nervous, Decker drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Now would be the ideal time to strike … if it weren’t for Loco’s driver, who had stayed in the vehicle. The bald man was sitting resolutely in the driver’s seat. His left hand was resting on the steering wheel, and his right hand was toying with an Uzi, as the agents could see through his open window.

This unforeseen situation sparked a heated debate among the FBI agents. Using their radios, they argued back and forth about how best to get Loco and his briefcase. Decker didn’t participate in the discussion. Instead, she took off her shoulder holster and opened the top buttons of her blouse.

Dillagio let out a whistle and Zeerookah’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets when the two men saw what she was doing.

“Are you crazy? I know it’s hot in here, but you don’t need to get undressed.”

“A woman’s greatest weapon … ever heard of it?” Decker had opened her blouse enough to allow a glimpse of her bra. “Every species has a weak spot. For men, it’s sex.”

“You want to play Venus flytrap in the lion’s den?”

“That is what’s known as a mixed metaphor.” Decker worked on a stubborn button. “But I know what you mean. I guess you could put it that way.”

“You do realize that if your idea doesn’t work, we’ll be visiting you in the cemetery?”

Decker ignored the warning and told the men what her plan was. Then she opened the door and got out. She pulled her pistol out of its holster and stuck it into the waistband of her skirt at the small of her back. Her plan was to get close to the man with the Uzi without arousing his suspicion and then take him out.

Before she made her move, she unbuttoned her blouse all the way. She thought it might be better to allow the driver a full view of her cleavage. Zeerookah’s jaw dropped open just a bit more. Dillagio swallowed hard.

Her colleagues were seeing more of her than they ever had before, but that was the least of Decker’s concerns. Mission first! Determined, she walked over to the Hummer.

The Hummer’s driver saw the woman approaching through his rear-view mirror. Although she was partially obscured by the vehicle, he could see that her blouse was completely open, waving in the hot breeze blowing in from the desert. His interest aroused, he concentrated on getting a better look. The unknown woman was tall, with a great figure and long legs. Based on what she was wearing, at first he thought that she was one of the local whores, the type of wench who would fall to her knees for a few bucks. This irritated him. He turned his head to look through the driver-side mirror, where Decker now appeared in full view. His eyes widened as he saw that she couldn’t be a whore; not only was she hot, but she had style … if you ignored the open blouse.

Casually, she placed a hand on the top of the door and leaned forward, sticking out her chest. The man behind the wheel couldn’t help but stare at the view Decker was offering him. Sweat was trickling down her skin, disappearing into her bra. He didn’t notice that her right arm was behind her back until she raised it in one smooth motion, Glock in hand. She pressed the muzzle of the gun against his forehead and smirked at his stupefied expression.

“F … B … I,” she said breathlessly, in her best Marilyn Monroe impression. “Lay your weapon down on the passenger seat, sweetie, and put both hands on the steering wheel.”

The man cursed through clenched teeth, but he obeyed. Decker signaled to the other agents, who hurried over to her. Dillagio placed handcuffs on the driver’s wrists.

Decker stuck her pistol back into the waistband of her skirt and walked over to the bar, buttoning her blouse.

She stepped inside the semi-dark dive, which was full of cigarette smoke and criminals of all varieties. It was a long, narrow room, with the bar on the left, restrooms to the right, and tables in the middle. The amenities were spartan: rickety chairs and well-worn tables. The unfinished wooden floor hadn’t seen a mop in ages.

Decker glided past tables and chairs, attracting the attention of a few of the customers. The men openly stared at her body, much to the disgust of their female companions. Disapprovingly, the women sized up Decker from head to toe.

Loco Hernando was standing at the bar with his back to Decker. With his hands in the pockets of his pink trousers, he was speaking in Spanish to a medium-sized man with broad shoulders, an angular face, and greased-back hair. In his Armani suit, highly polished five-hundred-dollar shoes, and silk tie, Loco looked like an LA drug dealer. The aluminum case rested on the floor beside him. Beside it was another case made of fake leather, which seemed to belong to Loco’s companion. The bodyguards were scattered around the premises.

Decker stepped up to the bar — the surface was filthy. The shelves on the wall behind the bar were filled with liquor bottles of all varieties. The barman asked her what she wanted to drink. She ordered water and was given a glass filled with a disturbingly brownish liquid.

Loco ordered two Jim Beams and clinked glasses with the man he was talking to. Decker eavesdropped for a while, hoping to hear something interesting. Finally, she reached behind her back, drew her weapon, and tapped the barrel on Loco’s shoulder.

“Loco Hernando?”

He turned his head and found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.

“The FBI would like to have a word with you,” she told him with a smile.

Loco jerked his arm up, reflexively grabbing for the weapon concealed underneath his pink jacket.

“Don’t do that,” she told him in an ice-cold voice. “You...