Maggie's Mark: Ceiba Cartel, #1

Chapter 1

February 22, 1985, Georgetown University, Washington, DC

As Maggie Barnes entered the Georgetown job fair for bachelor’s degree graduates, Kelly, a girl in her advanced Spanish class, talked her ear off about how she couldn’t wait to start her teaching career. Maggie, on the other hand, had no idea what she wanted to do when she graduated. With graduation just months away, she had reluctantly agreed to go to the job fair with Kelly after class had finished.

Unlike Kelly, who had talked about teaching nonstop for as long as Maggie had known her, which wasn’t long—just since the beginning of the semester—Maggie had chosen her classes based on her interests rather than her career goals, which were pretty much non-existent.

She took Spanish because she wanted to travel one day. That’s what she told everyone. The real reason had more to do with the Mexican she’d met in Introductory Psychology as a freshman. The way he spoke drew her to him—Spanish was sexy as hell. Unfortunately, he hadn’t felt drawn to her, but she still loved the language and ended up majoring in it along with American history. Might as well get to know the country she was born and raised in before heading off on that travel adventure she liked to tell everyone about.

Mags, look, Kelly said, grabbing her hand and dragging her to the area where all the local elementary schools had their tables set up. So many tables, so little time. She beamed at Maggie.

Go ahead, said Maggie, a little thankful to have a break while Kelly basked in the glory of securing herself an interview for a teaching position.

Come with me. Kelly yanked on her arm. You’d make a great teacher.

Maggie laughed. She begged to differ. I most certainly would not. Go on. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to check out my options. How she wished she had a trust fund or some other way of being able to travel for a year before starting her grown up life. Her parents couldn’t have cared less about what she did or where she did it, and she’d left the small town she was born in as soon as she’d graduated from high school. She’d only ended up at Georgetown thanks to scholarships. Scholarships she managed to keep year after year thanks to her top-notch grades. She much preferred the protection of university life to the real world. Plus, working for a living seemed entirely too boring for her.

I’ll see you later, Kelly said, rushing off to a table where two women stood talking to another student. Kelly practically shoved her resume in the first woman’s face. Maggie couldn’t help but smile at Kelly’s tenacity. The girl certainly knew what she wanted which was more than Maggie could say.

She looked around the crowded room. It was a sea of people with rows and rows of tables. Some tables had banners, others had tent cards indicating the employer. Maggie took a step down the nearest aisle, moving with the crowd.

Hey, pretty lady, how’d you like to work in investment banking? a man asked. She cringed then looked in the direction of the voice, not sure he was talking to her. Starting a sentence with Hey pretty lady guaranteed she wouldn’t apply for work there, but she needed to know where there was, so she walked to the man’s table.

He wore an expensive-looking suit and his hair was slicked back. He handed her a card. She didn’t care what his name was, only the name of the company he worked for: Morgan Guaranty. I sure could use someone like you to get me my coffee in the morning.

Ugh. Oh, please. The overpowering smell of his cologne made her want to vomit. She accepted his card, only to remind herself she’d never get anyone their coffee . . . ever. She nodded as she took the card, then rolled her eyes, continuing to the next table.

A few tables down the row, a familiar face caught her attention, so she walked in his direction. She struggled to remember his name. Something Garcia. She smiled and nodded when she arrived at the table.

He pointed his finger at her. Hey, I remember you. Intro Psych, right?

Maggie nodded. Maggie Barnes. She held up her hand in a wave. Maybe she’d made an impression after all.

Juan Garcia, he said, offering his right hand. She accepted and they shook hands. His accent was still as sexy as ever. Are you interested in working for the CIA too? he asked, gesturing at the man behind the table. Unlike the Morgan Guaranty rep, he was dressed comfortably in acid wash jeans with a peach colored t-shirt tucked into them. A skinny white belt, barely visible under his pot belly, completed his look. Sunglasses were perched on his head, and she wondered if he knew they were there.

Cam McKay, the man said, extending his hand, and she shook his hand and smiled.

Maggie Barnes. Cam was certainly intriguing, based on his fashion sense alone. He didn’t seem to care that he seemed to be the only one not dressed in business attire.

Have you ever thought about working for your country? he asked, handing Maggie a pamphlet.

Maggie squinted her eyes. She hadn’t thought about working for anyone, but the realization of the closeness of her graduation date caused her mouth to go dry.

They have great benefits and you get to travel, Garcia interjected.

Travel. That did sound good.

What’s your major? asked McKay, gesturing to the few typed resumes Maggie held in her hand.

Foreign languages and American history. She handed McKay a copy of the resume she’d frantically typed before Kelly had arrived at her dorm room to drag her to the job fair.

Nice, McKay and Garcia said at the same time.

This is a preliminary round, so to speak, continued McKay. If you make it to the next round, you’ll have an interview on Monday, but you probably won’t hear anything from us after that until the end of April or beginning of May.

Maggie nodded. She had no idea what the CIA did, but she liked the idea of serving her country. That was certainly better than fetching coffee for skeezy-looking investment managers.

It was nice to see you again, Maggie. Garcia wandered on his way, while McKay continued to ask her questions about her experience and education.

Now, due to the confidential nature of our work, it’s important that you not tell your friends and family that you’re applying to the CIA. Is that going to be a problem for you?

Not at all, said Maggie. She doubted her family would believe her if she told them, anyway. They always underestimated her. Nobody believed she’d gotten a full scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools in the country. I don’t really keep in touch with my family, she added. She was so focused on her grades she hadn’t made a lot of friends either.

All right, Miss Barnes, it’s been a pleasure talking with you today, said McKay.

Maggie extended her right hand again. Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity. She smiled and went on her way feeling oddly excited. The CIA. Could she really work for the CIA?

Garcia had ended up a few tables down and one row over. He glanced back as if he was looking for her. She waved when she caught his eye then made her way to where he stood.

How did it go? he asked.

Good, I think.

What are you doing now? he asked.

I should probably find my friend. Maggie looked around for Kelly but didn’t see her right away.

Why don’t you find her, and we can all go get a drink?

Uh . . . Sure.

Garcia’s dimples appeared as he smiled back at her. Meet me by the main entrance.

Chapter 2

April 14, 1987, CIA Headquarters, Langley

Hey, we’re out of cream. Could you get some more? a CIA officer asked Maggie as she poured herself a coffee from a decanter at the back of the meeting room.

She raised her eyebrows then eyed the officer. Do I look like an errand girl to you? Get your own damn creamer. She glared at him while dropping two sugar cubes into her coffee then gave it a stir with a plastic stir stick. The officer scowled back. She’d seen him around and noted previously that he was an arrogant prick.

All right, settle down everyone. That was McKay’s way of letting them know he wanted to get on with the meeting and they should take their seats. There was an empty chair next to Garcia, and she made her way over there.

Hey, Mags, he said as she took the seat. She smiled and raised her chin in acknowledgment. The two of them were just six months out of training, most of which they’d spent together on The Farm at Camp Peary, Virginia. She never would have guessed two introductory psychology students from Georgetown would have ended up in the CIA together.

All right, people. McKay paced at the front of the room. He seemed more agitated than usual. He walked to the podium and shuffled some papers around. A situation in Bogota has come to our attention. A hush fell over the room, and the buzz of the fluorescent lights suddenly emerged.

Isn’t Colombia DEA territory? some jackass yelled from the back of the room before letting McKay finish.

McKay took a visible breath before continuing. Anyone else want to play twenty questions?

He put on his reading glasses. Looking over the top of them, he eyed each officer individually as if waiting for someone else to ask a stupid question. Maggie sat a little straighter when his eyes landed on her. The room remained silent, and he carried on. Yes, the rumors about Bogota are true. The Ceiba cartel is getting out of hand. And where drugs are concerned, yes . . . McKay paused and looked at the officer who’d asked about the DEA. Drugs and their trafficking into the US are the responsibility of the Drug Enforcement Administration, however . . . He paused again as he scanned his notes.

Come on, man, just spit it out.

Garcia turned around. If you give him a minute, I’m sure he will. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, catching Maggie’s glance.

McKay nodded at Garcia. The cartel appears to be mounting their own political party and they’re targeting leaders of the PU—the Patriotic Union. They seem to have the backing of the Revolutionary Armed Forces.

The FARC’s supporting the cartel? someone asked from the back of the room. Doesn’t surprise me.

We need to find out what’s going on, otherwise PU party leaders, among others, will continue to be assassinated. Too many innocent people are dying over there right now. And we all know how President Reagan feels about communism.

The room hummed with hushed whispers. McKay continued with further details and encouraged officers to ask questions. He informed them they would be split into smaller teams and given specific tasks