"Of course—uh, no, I mean, I'm here to assist," the young black agent stammered nervously.
He was wearing a DEA-branded jacket and had a gold DEA badge pinned to his chest. His round, earnest face still reflected confusion and shock, as though he hadn't fully processed what had just transpired.
"Good. Come with us—we need DEA's intelligence support," Jubal said with a welcoming smile.
As the group prepared to head back to the temporary office set up for the FBI inside the prison, Captain Roland's phone rang, and a call came through on Jubal's phone simultaneously.
The helicopter had been found. It had crashed about 15 miles southeast of the prison, deep in the forest.
"I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Greg Galeson, from the DEA's Philadelphia office," the young DEA agent finally said after nervously glancing at Jack several times during the drive. He had been trying to gauge Jack's mood, intimidated by the agent's silence since getting into the car.
Jack had originally planned to visit the crash site alone while Jubal and Alice stayed behind at the command post. However, since Galeson had offered to accompany him, Jack saw no reason to refuse.
Despite Jack's suspicion that the DEA might have dirty hands in this case, he didn't have any hard evidence. His mistrust was largely fueled by previous experiences with the DEA and CIA. Still, Galeson seemed inexperienced—likely just a low-level field agent being used as a pawn, much like Jane Banner had been when assigned as a liaison in Mexico. Jack saw no need to make things difficult for him. He smiled politely and introduced himself.
"Jack Tavola, deputy leader of the FBI's fugitive task force. Nice to meet you."
Galeson visibly relaxed and became more enthusiastic. "God, you don't know how fast I had to get here. I got the call just three hours ago and drove straight over. They told me the FBI was leading the investigation and that DEA was just providing support."
Jack maintained his polite smile and offered a diplomatic response. "We appreciate DEA's cooperation. Apologies if I seemed distracted earlier—I was just thinking about how dangerous Maldonado is. If he regains his freedom, more innocent people will suffer. It's hard not to worry about that."
Galeson blinked, surprised. He hadn't expected such a compassionate statement from someone with Jack's reputation. While he wasn't privy to all of Jack's accomplishments in Mexico, rumors about the task force's high-profile operations—including the Charlotte shootout that had drawn presidential attention—were well known in law enforcement circles. Still, he hadn't anticipated this seemingly empathetic side of the hardened agent. Unsure how to respond, he nodded vigorously.
"You're absolutely right. Even among drug lords, Maldonado—'El Pincho'—is notorious," Galeson said, trying to agree.
"El Pincho?" Jack raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. It's his nickname. During his rise to power, he once impaled a man against a wall with a broken shovel. The victim screamed all night before finally dying. It took days before anyone dared to recover the body," Galeson explained, swallowing nervously at the memory.
"Pincho means 'shovel,' right? But I don't think we should use that name—it only serves to glorify him. He killed one of your undercover agents in Monterrey, didn't he? We should refer to him by his real name, Esteban Martín Maldonado," Jack corrected him firmly.
Galeson hesitated, then nodded in agreement. Before he could say more, Jack smoothly steered the car onto a forest path and stopped. "We're here."
The scene was a typical North American secondary forest, with towering deciduous trees and a thick layer of decomposing leaves on the ground. The summer heat intensified the unpleasant smell of rotting vegetation, now mixed with the acrid stench of burnt material.
"Impressive landing," Jack muttered with a touch of sarcasm. Before them lay a small clearing, barely 10 meters in diameter. It seemed to have formed naturally over time due to fallen, decayed trees. The crashed helicopter rested on a slight mound in the center. Its tail section was almost entirely severed, but the main cabin remained mostly intact. Smoke rose from the charred cockpit, the source of the foul burnt odor.
Several state troopers stood near the wreckage, pointing at a badly burnt corpse in the cockpit. Two pickup trucks had just arrived, and K9 officers were unloading their dogs.
"Ugh!" Galeson gagged the moment he saw the scorched body. He staggered to a nearby tree and vomited. Jack ignored him and approached the wreck, carefully inspecting the debris.
"Any other bodies found?" Jack asked, flashing his credentials to one of the troopers. He wasn't bothering with his FBI-branded jacket in the sweltering heat.
"No, sir. We've already searched a hundred-meter radius," the trooper replied, shaking his head. He gestured toward the newly arrived K9 officers. "That's why we called in the dogs—to see if they can pick up any tracks."
Jack nodded in thanks and walked over to Galeson, who was still recovering from his nausea.
"Simic and Maldonado escaped. The pilot had a broken leg and took a bullet to the head. Whether he was killed as a liability or granted mercy after being trapped in the burning cockpit—that'll be up to the coroner to determine," Jack explained.
"Couldn't they have burned the body on purpose?" Galeson asked, turning away from the corpse in disgust.
"Not likely. If they'd worried about smoke drawing attention, they would've acted faster. This looks like an accident. The engine wasn't the only thing shot—looks like the fuel tank got hit too. When the helicopter made its emergency landing, most of the fuel must have leaked out. The remaining fumes were ignited by the electrical system shortly after."
Jack paused, glancing at the surrounding trees. "Luckily, the rain from the past few days prevented a forest fire. Looks like Lady Luck's still with us."
Despite his words, Jack sighed inwardly. He knew that as long as Maldonado and Simic remained at large, the death toll was bound to rise.
"God knows how many innocent lives those two will claim before we catch them," he thought grimly.
(End of Chapter)
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