Seeds of the Bitter Harvest. John Sheppard

a back alley.

      He remained ‘in character’, even though by the end of his shift at KML, he was bone tired. Maintaining his fitness had gotten him through the long nights at KML, and his job as an undercover agent. In a few minutes he would shower, shave, and start his real job.

      Once inside this shabby apartment, with the doors locked, and the blinds closed, his transformation could begin. Working second, sometimes third shift afforded him a reasonable explanation for keeping his ratty looking blinds closed. After all, a guy has to sleep. Yeah, right, like that happens, he mused. Sleep, what’s that?

      The transformation began with removing the thick black wig. Ah, that’s feels so good. The agency had gotten him the highest possible quality wig; but it still felt hot, and itched. Ramos preferred his head naked. He had started experiencing hair loss in his early thirties and decided, back then to keep his head shaved; after all, it enhanced his ‘Mr. Tough Guy’ image.

      Next off came the eye patch. While he could see through it, another high quality agency item - to those looking at it was a solid piece of material. Off too came the contact lens, which made it look like he had the beginnings of a cataract in one eye. Then there was the fake dental work, and the shoe designed to make him limp a little.

      All of these items were carefully accounted for, and stored in a case. Taking the inventory of these pieces was important, so he wouldn’t be seen in public wearing only part of his disguise. Such an error could blow is cover, jeopardize the mission, and maybe cost some lives.

      The case was then hidden in a false bottom of a cabinet in his tiny galley kitchen. The entire warehouse complex was wired with surveillance cameras, which kept him and this operation safe, but he was still careful.

      As Ramos showered, he thought back on what got him here. His real name was Jose’ Chavez, but he had been undercover so long, his past had almost dissolved into his present. Born into a legal immigrant family, in El Paso, Texas, he and his parents often traveled across the border, just a few miles away to Juarez, Mexico, to see extended family.

      His parents had received their advanced degrees in the USA, and became citizens. They were a model immigrant success story. They arrived in the country poor; they got their education, and with hard work and determination made something of themselves. Their retail business thrived. They were wealthy and respected both among the Hispanic and Anglos. In his junior year of college his parents had died in a fiery highway car crash, just outside El Paso.

      It had been hard on Jose’ to deal with his parents death, but the extended family in Juarez reached out to him, and encouraged him to complete his degree in law enforcement. From there, he was recruited by the FBI and had started to make a name for himself within the agency. Tough, intelligent, hardworking, streetwise, were all adjectives used by his colleagues when speaking about him.

      The FBI had decided to station Jose’ back in his hometown of El Paso. His fluent Spanish and natural knowledge of Hispanic culture made his an invaluable asset to the El Paso office as they fought the flow of drugs across the border.

      He had planned to attend his nephew’s First Communion party in Juarez that afternoon on that fateful day fourteen years earlier. There had been unforeseen overtime that weekend, followed by an equally unexpected delay at the border crossing.

      Jose’s uncle had gotten in on the ground floor of the auto industry expansion into Juarez after NAFTA had passed. His uncle was doing quite well, but feared the ongoing drug violence. It was not unusual for middle and upper-class parents to send their children to El Paso for a better education. Many of the family members were having their children cross the border daily. Maybe, his uncle said, it was time to leave Mexico.

      As Jose’ traveled to the party, a drug cartel had mistaken his uncle’s family for family members of a rival cartel. Tragically, everyone at the party died in a hail of gunfire; including Jose’ cousin, Ramon.

      In the chaos which followed, the Juarez news media incorrectly reported that Jose’ had been killed. Some quick thinking senior agent at the FBI saw this as a cover for Jose’ to assume his cousin’s identity and go underground. There was a moving public memorial service held for agent Jose’ Chavez, while his only surviving ‘cousin’ Ramon ‘recovered’ in an undisclosed US hospital, ‘for his protection from the cartel’.

      So, Jose’ became Ramon, and was swept into this operation. Several international law enforcement agencies had targeted KML for its mob/cartel money laundering and numerous other illegal activities. They set up a dummy custodial-security company called Global Ashcott L. L. C. ; often referred to within the company as just GA. On the surface, the company provided contract workers to international corporations.

      Those corporations were pleased to have someone who could meet their entry level security protocols and keep their buildings clean anywhere in the world. They also approved ofusing mostly Hispanic and Asian associates for cleaning duties, since those associates seldom spoke the local language and could be trusted not to understand high-level or confidential conversations held around them.

      Indeed, many of the GA’s associates were the simple workers the worldwide companies thought they were. But, male and female operatives of transnational law enforcement agencies could work clandestinely alongside those same associates and never be suspected.

      Ramos finished his shower, dried, and shaved. He quickly slipped into a pair of slightly worn jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a comfortable pair of casual shoes. He took a couple of steps from his bedroom where he had changed to a small hall closet. Pushing aside his meager inventory of clothing, he felt for a hidden release knob, and pulled. The light was on in the closest, indicating that safe room was clear.

      The back wall of the closet moved with a slight touch to that panel, allowing Ramos to enter a hallway with muted lighting, which ran parallel to the rear apartments. Once in the hallway, he reach into the closet, put his clothes back over to where they belonged, then slid the access panel back in place

      From the hallway, he could access the safe room within the warehouse through a connecting restroom. The restroom had a missing doorknob and a dusty sign affixed to the doors which read ‘Out-Of-Order’. Ramos laid the tip of his right index finger on a well concealed scanning screen, and both the outer and inner bathroom doors slid open.

      The safe room was the transition point for agents to move from their cover as menial workers to government agents. The room was a large windowless storage room used by Global Ashcott. There was a door directly across the room from the restroom lead immediately to another room on second floor of the warehouse, it was locked. Only those who knew of GA’s actual mission had the keys to open that door. Behind the door was ‘Mission Central’.

      Even the safe room had another use to keep its actual purpose secret. It served as a storage room, filled with stacks of cleaning supplies. The room had a third door which led to the mezzanine of the warehouse. It was a general access door used only employees who weren’t undercover agents to obtain cleaning supplies.

      Since the room was without windows, it forced anyone using the room to turn on the lights. An employee entering from the mezzanine would turn on the storage room lights. Turning those light on turned off the closet lights used by the agents. It was a simple system which kept the safe room secure.

      Entering Mission Central, Ramos was greeted by a cheerful, “How ya doing, Ray”. The greeting came from Kelly. It was the only name he was known by. No one seemed to know if that was his first name, or his last name. He was just Kelly. He was the unit’s high-tech operative. At thirty years old, he was the youngest team member. Kelly had flaming red hair, deep-set hazel eyes, a full, round face and a generous sprinkling of freckles.

      The ‘kid’ was always so upbeat, gentle, and pleasant, Ramos wondered if Kelly could really kill someone if need be. But Ramos didn’t have any concerns with Kelly when it came to his primary task; the agency’s databases and communications. The young man kept all of the unit’s technology humming.

      Mission Central was crammed with electronic stuff Ramos couldn’t identify. The office was manned by agents 24/7. There was a desk and chair against each of the room’s