Bogotá, Colombia - September 30, 2011
The coordinates led him to a nondescript bar in a bustling, neon-lit district. The air was thick with the smell of tobacco, spilled beer, and faint perfume. Inside, the place was crowded with off-duty mercenaries and their companions, the atmosphere a mix of celebration and tension.
Alen moved through the crowd, his posture relaxed but his eyes missing nothing. He approached the bartender, a large man with a scar across his brow.
"I have an appointment," Alen said quietly. "Code Uni cuatro-cinco-cinco-siete."
The bartender's eyes narrowed slightly. He checked a ledger under the counter, then gave a curt nod. "Follow me."
He led Alen through a back hallway to a reinforced metal door guarded by a man with a shotgun. The guard repeated the ritual. "Code."
"Uni cuatro-cinco-cinco-siete."
The guard nodded, unlocked the door, and gestured Alen inside to a sparsely furnished waiting room. "Wait here. El Fantasma will see you shortly."
Five minutes later, the door opened. Mateo Cárdenas Ortega strode in, every inch the powerful cartel leader. But when his eyes landed on Alen, his confident look broke. He froze, his face shifting from shock to disbelief to emotion.
"Dios mío..." he whispered, his voice cracking. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled Alen into a crushing embrace. "Brother! My guardian angel... I thought you were dead! We all thought you were dead!"
Alen returned the hug, surprised by the man's genuine emotion. "Mateo. It's good to see you. But how did you know?"
"How?" Mateo released him, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Amigo, I have ears everywhere. Even in the CIA's morgue. I heard about Siberia. The ambush, the C-Virus... your team... your fall. My family... we mourned for you. My daughter, Isabella, she still asks about the 'quiet angel' who saved her papa." He shook his head in awe. "But you are here. How are you still alive? We saw the virus..."
"I don't have all the answers myself," Alen replied, deflecting the question. "Let's just say I got lucky."
"Luck? That is a miracle!" Mateo clapped him on the shoulder, guiding him to a chair. "Now, tell me. Why are you here? You need money? A place to stay? Name it. Everything I have is yours. You are family."
"I need a different kind of help, Mateo. I need you to get me into Blue Umbrella."
Mateo's friendly expression vanished, replaced by disbelief. He leaned back, staring at Alen as if he'd grown a second head. "Blue Umbrella? The... the 'good' Umbrella? The PMC run by the US government? Are you serious, amigo? After everything they did?"
"I know what they were. I know what they claim to be now. It's the only place I can fight the people who did this from the inside."
Mateo let out a low whistle, running a hand over his face. "Madre de Dios... You do not ask for small things." He paced for a moment, thinking. "Your situation is... complicated. To the world, Agent Alen Richard is KIA. You are a ghost. We cannot use your real history."
"I have a new identity. John Michael Kane. It's clean, verifiable. Canadian."
"Sí, but a Canadian civilian is not getting into Blue Umbrella. They recruit soldiers, mercenaries... veterans." A knowing smile spread across Mateo's face. "But I know a man. My brother, Diego. He runs a guild—Los Lobos Negros (The Black Wolves)—in Edonia. They are... respected thugs. For the right price, he can make John Kane a veteran of his guild. A proven fighter. That is a record Blue Umbrella will notice."
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