01 January 1982
Ometepe, Nicaragua
“Happy new year, Rick,” said CIA Operative Fred Poole as he raised a bottle of Toña beer. Rick touched his own bottle to Fred’s, completing the toast. The two of them sat at a table on a deck overlooking Lake Nicaragua. The patio had been poured by the Seabees not long after the base had been seized by the Americans. The tables, chairs and umbrellas had tickled in over time so that now, XX months later, the little CIA outpost had tiny retreat for its inhabitants.
“With the way things are going in Europe,” said Rick, “this might be our last chance at a happy new year for the foreseeable future.”
“That could be true,” replied Fred, “but there are worse places to spend the end of the world.” The breeze blowing in off the water was refreshing. “How’s Nancy?” asked Fred, referring to Rick’s wife.
“I’m not sure,” said Rick. “She’s getting tired of my being on the road all the time.”
“Yeah, I bet. She’s well aware of your roving eye,” said Fred with a laugh.
“Hey, I love the ladies, what can I say? Besides, these Latin women are amazing. What about you? Whatever happened with what’s-her-name? Scott Alexander’s daughter?”
The question caught Fred off-guard. He thought of Mary Alexander often, but it had been years since he’d reflected on the end of their relationship.
“Mary,” said Fred. “Mary Alexander. Talk about star-crossed lovers. It just wasn’t meant to be. I think she was worried that her dad liked me more than he liked her.” Scott Alexander had been his mentor when he first came to the CIA and he’d fallen hard for the man’s daughter in what seemed like a million years ago. “She’s back in Portland trying to take care of her brother.”
“Steve?” asked Rick.
“Yeah, Steve. He never really got back on track after Vietnam. Anyhow, enough ghost stories. What was important enough to get you out of that cozy Mexico City station of yours?”
“I’ve got a lead on these ComAms you’re dealing with down here. What can you tell me about them?”
“Not much at this point. The bulk of them are former Sandinistas who went underground when the US started blowing everything up. They appear to be well funded, especially in the propaganda department, but with weapons and equipment as well. We’re working under the belief that they are getting most of that funding from the Soviets, most likely using Cuba as a pass-through.”
“Interesting,” said Rick with a nod. “What are they doing with all of that money? Are they putting together a real resistance?”
“I think it’s too early to tell. Right now they appear to be somewhat unmotivated and disorganized. I guess that’s what an ass whopping like that will do to you.
“You have an asset on the inside?” asked Rick.
“Yeah,” said Fred, before realizing his mistake.
“Who do you have? Former Contra? Hondruan Special forces?”
“Oh, nobody you know,” said Fred, hoping he sounded casual. Rick knew better than to ask for details about covert sources. That was very unusual. Something wasn’t quite right here. “Does your information corroborate any of this?”
“Yeah, you’re right about the Soviets. But it’s not just Cuba as a pass through. They’re using Mexico as well.”
“The Mexican government is helping bankroll the ComAms? How does that make any sense?” asked Fred.
“On the face, it doesn’t… Until you consider the predicament of the PRI right now,” said Rick, referring to the ruling party in Mexico, the Institutional Revolutionary Party. They’ve held onto power for over fifty years, and I think they can feel the winds shifting. By supporting the ComAms now, we think they are trying to build some credit with the Soviets to flip like the Turks and the French did. This would allow them to stay in power, as long as they play ball with Moscow.” Fred let out a low whistle.
“This certainly ups the ante, doesn’t it?”
“That’s right,” said Rick, “We need to stamp these bastards out quickly. This thing will spread like wildfire if we allow them to get organized. Can you imagine a solid communist bloc from Panama to Mexico?”
“A nightmare,” said Fred, shaking his head.
“A God Damned nightmare,” agreed Rick. “Listen, I’ve got to meet up with someone on the mainland, but I wanted to get this to you quickly.” He pulled a file folder out of his briefcase and slid it over to Fred. “These are the financial records that the forensic accountants used to piece together the transactions. It’s got Eastern European Commie stooges, Castro, and even a Columbian drug gang.”
“A little light reading,” said Fred.
“Exactly, but listen, I’ve got to run,” said Rick.
“Yes, you’re mysterious friend on the mainland. What’s her name?” said Fred with a wink.
“Nobody you know,” replied Rick with a sly grin. Fred flipped through the papers and watched Aldrich “Rick” Ames head out the door.