Sparrow & Tulip
Copyright© 2025 by Mad Homer
Part 2
May 4, 2041
City of Waxahachie
North-Central Texas
“C’mon, sit up for God’s sake!”
He gave her another minute, but the old woman didn’t even twitch. Hands shaking, Lyle dialed the phone. His fingers felt huge and clumsy as he fumbled around, trying to push the three little buttons.
There was an immediate answer. “911, where’s the emergency?”
“Uh, hello? I’m at Crestwood Heights Apartments, there’s this lady, she’s older, and well, uhm, she’s slumped over her table and she’s not moving, and her head is down and...”
“Okay, slow down. Where is she, sir?”
“Across the courtyard, I mean our apartments face each other and I can see her through her window and her head is on the table but I usually see her in the morning, but I didn’t see her this morning. And I don’t think she’s asleep and...”
“Sir, take a deep breath. I need you to slow down a little bit, okay? How long has it been since she moved?”
“I don’t know! I noticed her over there when I got home, uhm, ten minutes, I think? She usually has her curtains closed but...”
“Okay sir, just stay calm for me. Help is on the way.”
An ambulance followed the police car into the apartment parking lot. The apartments were in a quiet neighborhood, and they’d left the sirens off. Still, the flashing lights drew a crowd. The police officers were out of their car first, a young rookie and a middle-aged sergeant. The paramedics were next, fussing with getting the rolling stretcher out of the back. The two police officers looked at each other, and the veteran rolled his eyes and nodded toward the building lobby where a heavy-set bald man was waiting. The pair headed for the door. The paramedics would eventually catch up.
The manager was nervous and visibly sweating as they followed him into the building.
“I never had this happen before,” the man blurted out in the elevator. “I called the owners.”
“That’s fine, sir,” the sergeant said in his “soothing” voice. “What’s the tenants name?”
“Barbara Louis.”
The sergeant nodded. “You know if anyone else lives there? Or anyone that visits often?”
“She lived alone, and I never noticed any visitors. But I don’t pay a lot of attention to that unless they’re loud or late with rent. She was polite but kept herself to herself.”
They got out and headed down the hallway. The manager pointed at the door of unit 302 and fumbled with his ring of keys.
“Just stay back here for the moment, okay?” the sergeant said while the junior officer knocked on the door.
“Police, Ms. Louis, everything okay?” he called.
He knocked again but there wasn’t an answer. The sergeant motioned for the manager to unlock the door. The fat man stood back while the two officers called out again as they stepped inside. The TV was on in the living room and cheerful news anchors went on about something or other.
They found her sprawled at a small round table in the kitchen. Her head was down, her sightless eyes staring into the kitchen and her arms hung down, hands almost touching the floor. The sergeant knew it was probably pointless, but he felt for a pulse. Nothing.
There was a bowl of cereal that had been knocked to the floor. Neither it, nor the woman, was ripe. She’d passed this morning, the sergeant figured.
“Andy, have a look around. Remember to take notes,” he told his rookie and pulled out his own small notepad.
The paramedics finally made an appearance and the sergeant watched as they checked her pulse. They looked at the sergeant and he nodded. She was carefully moved to the stretcher.
“See anything strange?” the sergeant asked. They were a long way from pathologists, but it never hurt to ask.
One of them shrugged. “Nope. Just looks old, y’know?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Lots of meds in the bathroom, sarge,” Andy called. “Some for high blood pressure.”
“Okay, be there in a second.”
He went to the door where the manager was waiting. “Sir, do you know if she had any family or friends?”
“I checked before you got here, she didn’t have anyone else listed on her lease.”
“Okay, we’ll take a look. Andy, check for anything that might list a next of kin.”
The sergeant was an eighteen-year veteran. He’d done enough welfare calls to figure that they wouldn’t get far with this one. There wasn’t much personality to the place, not even pictures of family, just some generic looking art. Whoever she’d been, she’d lived simply and quietly. It seemed that she’d died the same way.
“What did the manager say her name was?” Andy called from the living room a few minutes later.
“Barbra Louis.”
“Okay, then who is Genevieve Rosseau? Or Karen Wilson?”
The sergeant walked into the living room where Andy had been looking through the desk drawers.
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s a bunch of passports here, sarge. Looks like the same woman but they all have different names.”
“You yanking my chain, kid?”
Andy held up a stack of little books in different colors. The sergeant was relieved to see that he was wearing latex gloves.
“Remember what I said about Fridays? Leave those on top of the desk and write all this down. Good job, but don’t touch anything else. I’m gonna call the lieutenant.”
The lieutenant had been there for half an hour when a cheerful looking man in a gray suit got off the elevator and tapped on the door of 302. The young patrol officer opened the door.
“Can I help you, sir?”
The man held up his ID. “Don’t think we’ve met before, Special Agent Fred Bates, FBI.”
The young man suddenly stood straighter, almost at attention. “Yessir! The Lieutenant is in the living room!”
Bates smiled and nodded at the kid as he walked in. looking around. The place wasn’t much, he’d seen hotel rooms with more personality. He didn’t notice a single personal item as he walked through the apartment and the agent felt a tickle of interest. In the living room there was a thin man in a rumpled sport coat talking to the sergeant that had been made the discovery.
“Well, howdy Detective Nance. And how’s it going Mike?”
The sergeant and detective gave him friendly nods.
“Howdy yourself, Fred,” Nance said. “I figured we’d be seeing someone pretty quick on this.”
“This is the most interesting thing to come through in months. And in Waxahachie of all places. Get anywhere on her identity yet?”
“Nada. There’s a driver’s license that matches the name on the lease and her car registration but that’s where it ends. Crime Scene are checking the rest of the place out now.”
The agent looked through the eight passports, now each sealed in its own evidence bag.
“Wow, these are really nice work. Check out the wear and creasing on them. They kinda look beat up? That’s professional work, very high-end. Now, if you look at the edges...”
He was still showing the sergeant and detective the finer points of counterfeit passport quality when an evidence tech came out of the bedroom.
“Detective, I think you’d better come take a look.”
Bates raised his eyebrows and followed Nance to the bedroom. There was a piece of drywall on the floor and the tech was shining a flashlight in the hole.
“It fell out of the wall when I moved a picture. There’s a couple metal cases stashed in there.”
Nance glanced at Bates. “You think your guys are gonna take this over?”
“I’d imagine that someone is arguing about that right now. Let’s at least see what Mr. Martinez found before one of us gets kicked out of here.”
There were two cases and the evidence tech pulled them out and put them on the bed.
“Well, she wasn’t planning to get her deposit back tearing up the place like that,” Detective Nance said. “Let’s start with the big one.”
The tech examined the box carefully before opening it, while another photographed it. Lifting the lid revealed a layer of black foam. On top of it was another set of identification cards held together with a rubber band. Bates pulled on gloves and picked up the little bundle. He slid the passport out and handed the rest to the detective.
“Huh. It looks like we can add Nina Jenkins to her list of names.”
“Same name on the rest of these,” Nance said.
The FBI agent nodded. “Then I’ll bet we’re looking at something closer to our mystery woman’s real ID. What else is in there?”
The evidence tech carefully lifted the thin sheet of foam, revealing a collection of firearms.
Bates whistled. “Nice stuff.”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Nance said.
“The assault rifle there is an Steyr AUG-90,” Agent Bates said. “High tech, not very common. I’ve never actually seen one in the flesh.”
“What do you make of those things next to the pistols?”
Martinez half lifted one with the end of a pen. “Looks like silencers.”
Nance rubbed his face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Bates peered at the black cylinder and nodded. “Sure enough. Good quality too, all this stuff is. The pistol there is a Remington R3, very chic. Ms. Barbra Louis is turning out to be a fascinating woman. Okay Mr. Martinez, what do we have behind door number two?”
The technicians went through the same process as the other case. This time, all three of them whistled as the lid was opened.
Bates squatted down, examining the stacks of bills closely. “This looks like a lot of cash. And a laptop, how ... convenient.”
“Always on a goddamned Friday.” Nance said. “My kid has a game tonight.”
“Looks like there’s more underneath the laptop,” Martinez said.
“Okay, wait a second,” Bates said. “I’m getting a bad feeling, we really should go stand somewhere else.”
He left the room without saying anything else. Nance followed him, waving for the technician and police officers to come along. Bates was standing in the hallway waiting for them.
Nance looked at him curiously. “What’s wrong?”
Bates began ticking points off on his fingers. “First, she’s got high end, professional looking hardware and there’s a lot of cash stashed with it. Her apartment is too generic, not a trace of personality. It makes me think that we’ve got ourselves a high-level critter here. But why would she do something stupid like leaving those passports where they could be found so easily? And Mr. Martinez’s powers of observation aside, those cases weren’t hidden very well either.”
“Maybe she got sloppy,” Nance said.
“Could be. Or we could be looking at some bait. I’d strongly recommend that both cases need to be inspected by EOD before they’re moved or even touched again.”
They all looked around as door opened and an elderly woman stuck her head and glared at them.
“Tryin’ to watch mah stories, “ she snapped.
“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” the rookie said.
“And it might not be a bad idea to get everyone out of here,” Bates added, after she slammed the door shut.
“Yeah, better safe than confetti,” Nance said. “Mike, you two start getting everyone out. I’ll send in some help.”
The sergeant and patrolman began knocking on doors as Bates and Nance headed for the elevator.
“Pretty sure those passports mean this is going to be your baby,” Nance said. “Sorry about your weekend.”
“Nah, I haven’t had one of those in years now. Enjoy your son’s game.”
Two hours later Detective Nance was sitting next to his wife at a Little League game. His youngest was on strike two when he got a text from Bates: Disposal found four pounds of plast-ex wrapped in ball bearings. You owe me a beer.
Nance deleted the text and put his arm around his wife. She smiled and leaned against him. They watched as Jacob swung wildly at a pitch and struck out.
I owe you a goddamned keg, my friend. What the hell was that all about?
May 5, 2041
Training Facility Echo, Operations
REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED
In a cramped windowless room, a man was just sitting down with his second cup of coffee when one of his people came in.
“Jeff, I just forwarded an urgent heads-up from one of our Feds. They found Nina Jenkins dead.”
“Wow, the Nina Jenkins? Any idea who retired her?”
“I checked and it wasn’t us. There’s an autopsy scheduled, our guy said it looked like plain old natural causes. He included a list of other names she might have used.”
Jeff turned around and opened a browser. “Who dies of natural causes? Okay, let’s see where these names take us”
Twenty minutes later he was walking quickly through the tunnels that led to the Big Office. Adeline, the Boss’s chief aide was at her desk, like always. She waved him in.
“Hi Jeff. What brings you out of the twisty-little-passages-all-alike?”
“Hey, Addy. Turns out that Nina Jenkins was found dead. In Waxahachie.”
“The same Jenkins as Iowa? Good news. What’s a Waxahachie?”
“It’s a place in Texas. I’ve got more the Boss will want to hear.”
“She’s with a ... delegation, I guess you’d call it. She’ll be glad to hear Jenkins is gone. What else should I tell her?”
“Okay, Jenkins had a bunch of cover identities. The one she was living under had been used, she left tracks. It got classified as Need-to-Know but I evacuated from the same R&D as the boss, so I know exactly what happened, okay? I’ll need more time to check forensic data but...”
“Jeff, take a breath. What are you saying, exactly?”
He took a deep breath. “Right, sorry. So, Nina Jenkins had a cover identity, Barbra Louis. She was careful but there’s a little bit of data attached to that name. Maybe enough to track down her nephew. I brought what I have so far.”
She tapped something on her keyboard. “Remember when I used to say you couldn’t surprise me? I was wrong.”
There was a chime and she tapped her headset. “Hi. There’s something she needs to hear abo ... no, Mirjam. She needs to hear this right now. I’m going to buzz him in.”
Jeff’s eyes were a little wide. “Mirjam is in there too?”
Adeline raised an eyebrow. “Where else would she be? You know the drill? Three steps inside, hold out your arms and slowly turn in place. Follow her instructions from there.”
“Jesus.”
“You’ll be fine, just relax. And remember not to make any sudden moves.”
May 8, 2041
Southern Border of the United States
Southeastern Texas-Northern Coahuila
Marisol Gutierrez followed the rest of the migrants, jumping down from the back of the panel truck. The only light was a dim red glow from a light held by one of the coyotes.
“Border is that way,” he told them, bored. “Go west when you’re past the fence. West only, North and east is a big road, lots of Border Patrol. Small roads to the west, no towns.”
Marisol made sure her water supply, formerly two bleach bottles, were tied down tightly before heading for the fence. Once she’d climbed the homemade ladder up and over, she looked around. The only light was a dim glow to the east, probably the freeway lights around Langtry. A middle-aged woman was having trouble with the last rungs and Marisol helped her down. The ladder immediately slid up and disappeared over the fence as the coyotes pulled it back.
The woman thanked her, and Marisol smiled before starting to walk away.
“You’re going the wrong way,” the woman said. “We’re to go this way.”
“I’m meeting someone,” Marisol said. “Go with God.”
“Good luck,” the woman called, before turning to follow the others.
Marisol took a several deep breaths before she began jogging to the northeast. After twenty minutes, she began to see the glow of headlights crawling across the night. She stopped beside some medium sized rocks and drank as much water as she could out of one water bottle and dumped out the rest. Cutting open the side, Marisol pulled out a sealed package that had been taped to the bottom of the bottle. Repeating the process with the other bottle revealed another sealed box.
By the time she got to shoulder of the road, Marisol was wearing a silk shirt and had a hijab wrapped around her neck with British papers in her pocket. Everything else had been buried near the rocks. Along with the new identity, she had a small cellophane envelope in her shirt pocket. As she walked down the shoulder of the road, she saw the glow of headlights from beyond the next rise.
Marisol opened the little envelope. She dipped her fingers into the envelope and took a deep breath before wiping her fingers, now coated in habanero oil, under each eye with and under her nose.
“Shit!” she yelped, waving her hands in front of her watering eyes.
Whatever secret agent wannabe that dreamed up this bullshit plan, they were going to have some serious explaining to do when she got back. She waved her hands in front of her eyes and continued down the road. The glow of the headlights became a white SUV with a green stripe on the fender. Marisol made sure the hijab was over her head and opened several buttons of her shirt.
The brake-lights of the SUV came on as it passed her and the driver made a U-turn and pulled over, pinning her in the headlights. She’d been trying to breathe through her mouth but as she made her scared face, she sniffed through her nose. She almost gagged and her nose began running profusely. Behind the headlights, she could see both doors opening. Two men walked in front of the headlights, approaching her slowly.
“Border Patrol,” one of them announced in Spanish. “Do you have identification?”
“What are you saying? Doesn’t anyone speak English in this bloody country?” Marisol replied in a strong West London accent.
The agents looked at each other. This wasn’t one they’d heard before.
“Ma’am, where are you coming from?” one of them asked in English.
“Oh, thank God! That bloody Charlie just drove off and abandoned me here!”
“Who did, ma’am?” the other one asked, looking at her exposed cleavage.
Marisol barely held back a sob. “I thought he was nice, he seemed nice on the internet when we met. But then I flew all this way to meet him. But he didn’t look like his picture and wanted me to do ... things. Awful things. When I refused, he said he was taking me to the airport but we started arguing and then he just left me out here!”
She tried to wipe the tears away from her red eyes as she sobbed once. Both men winced as snot dripped from her nose. Another long line of it dripped over her upper lip. Marisol used the back of her arm to wipe it away but ended up smearing it all over her cheek.
“Uh, do you need a kleenex?” one of the men asked.
“Thank you, that would be very kind,” she sniffed, pulling a hanging streamer of snot back into her nostril.
Both men visibly flinched this time. Marisol would have laughed if she could. Now, instead of paying attention to her forged papers, these two weren’t sure whether to hit on her or hose her off.
“Ma’am, who left you?” the other agent asked.
“His name is Charlie Jones, we met on the internet, a dating site. He works at the Laughlin base and I came all this way to visit him and then he...” Marisol buried her face in her hands. “I was so bloody stupid!”
The other agent returned and handed her a wad of paper napkins. She wiped her face and thanked him, not having to fake her gratitude.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but what kind of things did he ask you to do? Were you hurt?”
“I didn’t recognize any of the ... things he was showing me. Except the little saddle. That’s just too much. When I said he wasn’t to lay a finger on me ... well, here I am.”
The agents looked at each other, fighting back smiles. “What’s your name?” one of them asked.
“I’m Atiya Hakim. I’m English.”
“Do you have identification Atiya?”
“My passport, some credit cards. Can you help me?”
“Sure we can, can I take a look at your passport?”
Two hours later they were dropping her off at a hotel near the tiny Del Rio airport. Marisol traded numbers with them both and promised to keep in touch before going inside to get a room.
Too bad Atiya is disappearing Marisol thought. The blonde one was cute.
Still, she was going to have a conversation with whoever did these idiotic travel plans. They owed her a couple of first-class flights after this crap.
May 8, 2041
Ciudad Juarez
Northern Chihuahua
A broad-chested man waited outside of the bodega, ignoring the passers-by. They were happy not to be noticed. He was a vicious looking thug, with an elaborately trimmed and shaped beard that marked him as an enforcer for one of the southern cartels. The wide berth everyone gave him meant that no one entered the market, ruining the morning’s business. The owner wasn’t happy but wasn’t suicidal enough to go out and tell the pendajo to move on.
Finally, a classic El Dorado painted a vivid metallic orange-flake and sporting ridiculously oversized rims pulled to the curb. The thug moved a passing man out of his way and bent down next to the car. After trading a couple of sentences, he climbed in and the car pulled out with a screech of tires.
“Nice ride,” the thug said in English. “Name’s Jonesy. We get to take this all the way to the border?”
“Only if you’re in need of a proctological exam. We’re crossing as Mormon missionaries, got a nice beige church-van all charged up.”
Jonesy glowered at Juarez going past outside of the windows. “At least I can get rid of this damn beard.”
“Looks like you were down south.”
“Yeah, rolling up exo-trafficker operation. Somebody up the food chain is farting sparks over something.”
The driver glanced at him. “Surprised they sent you up solo.”
“Team leader is crossing another way. The rest of them are holding in place.”
The man stared at him. “Ops split a team in the field? Phew, that’s evil juju man.”
Jonesy nodded gloomily.
May 9, 2041
Itinerant Worker Point #4
Blue Lick, West Virginia
Marisol Gutierrez was getting out of a beat-up taxi in front of a decrepit looking motel. The parking lot was full of beat-up trucks mostly but there were a few sedans here and there. A bunch of kids were playing on the balcony on the second floor, watched over by a couple old women. Two old school buses, sloppily painted white, were in the lot, dropping off a large crowd of migrant workers. Marisol headed for the office as they headed for their rooms, greeted by the shouts of the children.
Marisol stepped into the office, dark after the bright afternoon sun.
“Ain’t got no rooms available,” a man called from the back.
“My cousin has a room, I don’t know which one.”
“What name?” the manager said, shuffling out of the dark of the back room.
“Emiliana Garza?”
He nodded. “Yeah, got here yesterday. Two-eighteen, stairs around back.”
Marisol nodded and walked down the parking lot. There were a lot of curious looks, especially from the groups of young men. One of them called out remarks in Spanish that would’ve landed him on the wrong side of a sexual harassment charge, at most jobs anyway.
For a moment she wished she’d worn something sleeveless, the muscles and tattoos on her arms usually bought some cheap respect. But they were playing spy, so Marisol just laughed and called back insults that were teasing more than angry. Laughter at the hapless admirer followed her around the edge of the building as she climbed the stairs.
She tapped on the door of two-eighteen, calling out for Emiliana to let her in. The curtains twitched as someone looked out and then she heard the door unlocking. Inside, Jonesy and another man were sitting with their backs against the headboard, throwing cards at a hat on the dresser. The woman that opened the door had long dark hair that draped over one shoulder. Her skin was nearly the same color as Marisol’s but the shape of her nose and slight epicanthic folds around her eyes showed more of a Pacific Island heritage.
“Kawehi!” Marisol whisper-shouted and the two women hugged tightly.
“Mari-contrary! How’ve you been?” Kawehi asked.
Marisol grinned at her “Busy. Got a promotion to Chief Sergeant though. How about you?”
“You may call me Lieutenant Moana, plebe. No need to salute, simple groveling will suffice.”
Marisol put an arm over Kawehi’s shoulder. “Damn, I thought I might have finally caught up.”
“With me? Please,” the other woman said and they both laughed. “Meet my Warden, Nate Jackson.”
The man beside Jonesy got up and shook hands with Marisol. “Good to finally meet the legendary Marisol Gutierrez. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“She made everything up but the dirty stuff,” Marisol said. “Hiya Jonesy.”
“Hey boss. How was your trip?”
“Unbelievable. I came over with illegal migrants in the middle of Texas. Whatever this little side-trip is about, we’ve got to adjust our raid timeline.”
Kawehi looked a little embarrassed. “Actually, your whole op is on pause while Nolan’s gang gets down there. The rest of your team will hand things over and start working their way up here.”
Marisol was suddenly furious. “What the fuck are they thinking? We spent fucking weeks getting everything ready. Now I’ve got fucking offworld agents in my shit? Are we invading fucking Mars next?”
“Mari, take a breath and relax,” Jonesy said as he hopped off the bed. He offered her a bottle, and she had a swallow and then another. It was rum, a very welcome change from the raw pulque they’d been drinking.
“My temper is completely shot, but that was out of line,” Marisol said. She pulled off her long-sleeved shirt revealing a form fitting vest covered in pockets. She unzipped that halfway and sat against the headboard next to Jonesy. “I’m completely crispy.”
“How long has your team been operational?” Kawehi asked, pulling a battered chair over to the bed. She gestured to Jonesy and he handed her the rum.
“Six months now,” Jonesy said. “Got sent down south after wrapping up a bug hunt. Richards’ entire troop got wiped, so we got their op after we wrapped ours up.”
“I hadn’t heard about that,” Kawehi said. “Absent comrades.”
She took a pull from the rum and they passed the bottle around once more.
“I’m going to apologize first,” Kawehi said. “You’re both here because of me.”
“How’s that?” Marisol asked, taking a bottle of water that Jonesy offered her.
“I asked for both of you, specifically.”
Jonesy was surprised. “And Ops okayed splitting a team up, mid-operation?”
“Operations tends to give the Commonwealth agents whatever they need,” Kawehi said with a half-smile.
“Anything they can do to get us the hell off Earth again,” Nate added.
“This operation was ordered from fairly high up in the Commonwealth hierarchy,” Kawehi said. “It’s going to be delicate, and I wanted two of the best operators I know.”
“You were always blowing sunshine up my ass,” Marisol grumbled.
“Whoa, what?” Jonesy said. “I always thought you two were studying. I had no idea anything that interesting was going on.”
Marisol elbowed him in the ribs while Kawehi gave him a withering look. Nate just laughed.
“What’s the real reason you wanted us?” Marisol asked.
Kawehi shrugged. “Because the three of us can pass as Latinos.”
“That sounds a lot closer to the truth,” Jonesy said. “And we both are Latino, thank you very much.”
“Shut up, Jonesy,” Marisol said. “What’s the new game, Kay?”
“The three of us are going to do initial recon. When the rest of your crew shows up in a few days we’ll be able to roll on the op. It’s a recovery, one that needs to be done delicately.”
“Kay, that’s way too fast,” Marisol said. “We’re not the team you want, not right now. I’m not the only one with a hair-trigger temper, everyone is just as worn out as I am. Snatches need a lot of prep and planning. What’s so important it can’t wait for a prepped team?”
Kawehi smiled. “This is the part where you start to love me again...”
The next day, Nate was sitting in the middle of the floor meditating when the door to the motel room opened. Kawehi sagged into the room and flopped down on the bed. Marisol was behind her and immediately pulled off her work shirt and went to rummage in the cooler.
“Don’t stink up the sheets,” Nate said to Kawehi as he unfolded himself from the lotus position.
“You are an asshole,” Kawehi said, eyes closed. “I haven’t worked that hard since hell week.”
“Even I’ll admit that it was a long day,” Marisol said, opening a beer. “Would you like the shower first, Kay?”
“So, you don’t nasty up the sheets?” Nate added.
Kawehi sat up with a small groan. “I was wrong, you’re both an asshole and and a shithead.”
“You hear the way she talks to me?” Nate said to Marisol.
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