Hugo drums his fingers against the table in front of him. He glances around the room, studying the other patrons in the restaurant. His booth is positioned toward the back and against the window. Leaning forward, he picks away at his appetizer and glances outside. The rain beats against the ground and the wind shakes the glass.

As the storm howls, Hugo looks down at his satellite phone, sitting idly on the table. He sighs and returns his stare to mother nature's chaotic display.

Suddenly, the phone vibrates. Startled by the anticipated sound, he clammers for the device and answers the call. "Hey, what'd you find?"

"Hugo," replies Gomez on the other end. "You'd better buckle up. This shit's about to get even crazier than we thought."

Hugo listens to Gomez's discovery, with intensity. He props his elbows on the table and strokes the scruff along his face. Once Gomez is finished, Hugo takes a short moment to process the new information. "This is insane," he finally says.

"I know," says Gomez. "JSOC has been contacted, so we'll likely see Delta or DEVGRU being dispatched soon, to clean up."

"Mother of God..." says Hugo. DEVGRU (otherwise known as Seal Team Six) and Delta are arguably the two most deadly and well trained military groups in the entire world. Inviting them to the party means things have really gotten out of hand.

"Yeah," says Gomez. "And in the meantime, we need you to do a couple things: First, track down Erikson. We need eyes on him to confirm he's really who we think he is. Second, we want to find out who he hired. Current intel says there were at least three, possibly five, mercenaries."

"Why do we care who he hired?" asks Hugo.

"We want to cover all our bases, here," replies Gomez. "If Erikson used CIA resources, we've got a huge problem. We don't want any evidence linking us to this shit show."

"Got it," says Hugo.

After ending the call, he makes a sour face, attempting to come up with a plan. All he needs is Erikson's phone number - that should be enough for the NSA to locate his whereabouts. But, the only connection he has to Erikson is Rodríguez.

Hugo reaches into his pocket and pulls out his burner phone. Luckily he knows someone working close to the Venezuelan President.

---

Victoria plucks away at her keyboard. The screen before her displays the minutes from Rodríguez's last meeting, which she rushes to transcribe. She doesn't have time for this nonsense. Her mind fumes over his insistence that she transcribes the notes for him to review later. 'I'm not your damn secretary,' she thinks to herself. Although many of her tasks are parallel to that of a secretary, she's often agitated by the misconception.

Her phone buzzes. She glances down at her government-issued cell phone lying on the wood desk. It remains silent. The vibrations come from her burner phone. "Shit..." she whispers. She leans forward and plunges her hand into her purse on the floor. After a moment of rummaging, she fishes the device from the bag and then walks across her office to shut the door.

Finally, she answers the phone. "What?" she asks, impatiently.

"I need a favor," says Hugo, on the other end.

"Of course you do - I didn't expect this to be a friendly chat," Victoria replies.

"Please tell me this Erikson guy - the American - schedules his appointments with the president through you."

"Of course not."

"Dammit..." Hugo mutters.

"Their meetings are always pretty secretive," Victoria continues. "He calls the President directly and refers to himself as Señor Webber. They usually meet after hours. Why?"

Hugo hesitates. "Okay," he finally says. "I'm going to need you to get his phone number."

"What?" she asks. "How am I supposed to do that? I'm never in contact with him. Like I said, he only-"

"Only calls the president - yeah, I know," interrupts Hugo. "That's where it's going to get tricky... You'll need to get his number off the president's phone."

Victoria drops her jaw and throws her hand in the air. "Are you insane?" she hisses. "I'm not going to steal the president's phone. He keeps it on him all the time, like any normal person."

"You're gonna have to come up with something," says Hugo. "Does he use a burner, or government-issued cell?"

Victoria thinks it over. "I don't think he has a burner - he's gotten pretty cocky and isn't all that good at this espionage thing... He feels invincible with the Cartel backing him."

"Okay..." says Hugo. "Victoria, I know this is a lot to ask, but you're smart and damn resourceful. You can do this."

"I don't know..."

"Victoria, if you really want to get out of here, I need your full cooperation." He pauses. "You'll be getting a new name, passport - everything I've promised you, okay?"

Victoria bites her lower lip as she nervously contemplates the risk.

"Victoria?" asks Hugo. "Are you with me?"

She blows out a long sigh. "Yeah... Yeah, I'll do it."

After hanging up the phone, Victoria paces in front of her desk, mulling over her new task. She suddenly stops and glances down at her government-issued cell phone. Dropping the burner into her purse, she grabs the other phone and exits her office. She steps into the hallway and proceeds toward Rodríguez's office door. Brushing pass his secretary, Victoria takes in a short breath and knocks on the door.

"Enter!" shouts Rodríguez from the other side.

Victoria's delicate hand grasps the handle and twist it open. She strides into the office and approaches her boss's desk, where he comfortably sits, looking up at her.

"What can I do for you, Victoria?" he asks.

She holds out her cell phone. "My phone's calendar doesn't seem to be pairing with yours and, um, I just wanted to check your, uh, settings to see if I can, you know, fix it."

"Of course," Rodríguez answers plainly. He reaches into his pocket, drags out his phone, and unlocks it with his thumbprint. Handing it over to his Chief of Staff, he glances back to the printed piece of legislation on his desk.

'That's it?' Victoria thinks to herself as she fumbles the two cell phones. 'I expected that to be a little more difficult.' She pulls up his contacts and searches for 'Webber.' She finds nothing. She tries 'Erikson.' Again, nothing. Unconsciously biting her lower lip, she flips through his text messages.

"Are you alright?" asks Rodríguez, looking up at her, with furrowed eyebrows.

Victoria's heart sinks. Her gut tightens. "What?" she asks tensely, glancing down at him. 'He knows. It's over. I'm done,' her panicked mind races.

Rodríguez gestures to her legs. She looks down, suddenly noticing her quivering knees.

"Oh," she laughs nervously. "I've- I've had a lot of coffee today - gives me the jitters and makes it hard to, you know, sit still."

Rodríguez's expression lightens. "Oh trust me - I know exactly what you mean."

Letting off another nervous laugh, Victoria returns to combing through the President's messages. 'Come on...' she thinks to herself. Her mind suddenly recalls the moment she was told to schedule the meeting from the other night; it was right after he got off the phone with, who she assumed was, Erikson. She racks her brain for the exact time of day, as she pulls up the recent incoming calls. Then she sorts through the list of phone numbers from two days ago.

There it is. At 16:12 hours there was a call from a contact labeled, 'Yanqui.'

'That's him,' she thinks. Victoria quickly types the number into the notes app on her phone.

She closes the applications on the president's cell phone and hands it back to him.

"Fixed it?" he asks as he takes the phone from her.

"Si, Señor," she replies.

---

Hugo stares intensely at his phone, as if attempting to summon Victoria through it. Finally, the device vibrates. He snatches it up and opens the text message. He lets out a sigh of relief. The text displays a ten digit phone number. 'Hopefully, that'll be enough,' he thinks to himself.

After sending the contact number to Gomez, Hugo decides to commandeer a set of wheels. He wanders out of the restaurant and down the street. The storm continues to blow viciously. Glancing around the miserably wet streets, he finds himself completely alone.

He eventually comes across a beige sedan parked along the street. The vehicle is about a decade old and seems inconspicuous enough. Hugo reaches into his bag and fishes out a flat metallic stick, known as a 'slim jim.' He jams the tool between the window and the rubber seal. After a brief moment, he finally hooks it to the latch and unlocks the door.

Hugo lunges into the car and out of the aggressive downpour. Grateful to be away from the storm, he then snatches the multi-tool from his backpack and leans down to remove the panel below the steering column.