The Angel of Death
      The passengers of Flight 31-A checked in their luggage and began to board the plane to the Caribbean islands. The take-off was smooth and relaxing as the passengers were settling in for the 6 hour flight that lay ahead of them. I was placed in first class in the upper level of the Boeing 747, and thanks to some quick and smart computer work by the guy’s down in IT; I was the only passenger on that level.  However I wasn’t there to go on vacation. The mission I chose to accept from HQ was to transport Pedro Gonzales to a U.S. government holding facility in the Caribbean’s until the CIA could deal with him. My guess would be that they would lock him up with the other highly dangerous criminals in Alcatraz. 
      Pedro Gonzales is the most feared man outside of the U.S. He is the ring leader of hundreds of drug-smuggling corporations stationed world-wide. In every country with a criminal organization, his word is law.  He is also known as “El Ángel de la Muerte”, or the Angel of Death. Pedro was sitting five feet from me sipping water through a straw while is hands and feet were tied together by re-enforced steel chains that could be opened by a secret code; he was completely bound and immobilized with no feasible means of escape. This guy who I considered to be a low-life criminal who has no respect for human life, wasn’t really discrete at all. He was wearing a blood red dress shirt with the first few buttons undone with a bright white leather pants, shoes, and jacket. What caught my eye first was the large and expensive looking gold necklace he was wearing around his neck. The pendant on it was quite round and had a symbol on it that I’ve never really seen before. I assumed that he stole it given his track record. 
      He had an air of power to him, there was no fear, just confidence. You could tell just by the way he sat, his legs were casually out in front, he was leaning back in his chair nonchalantly and his arms would be relaxed if they weren’t shackled to his neck. The aura he gave off would make you sense that he was a commanding man who showed no mercy. It made sense considering his background. He was born in a refugee camp in Guatemala which was run by the rebel army during a time of civil unrest. Gonzales grew up learning to hate the government or anyone who tried to oppress freedom, especially those of his family and his people. After his improvised schooling by some of the educated soldiers, he joined the rebel forces to help defend his people from the corrupt government that was running Guatemala. He was a ruthless killer who showed no mercy on the battle field, and any enemy that had the misfortune of crossing his path was met by a swift death by his hand. It was on the battle field where he also got his infamous name. When he rode into towns to free people, they would cry out, “El Ángel ha llegado” (The Angel has arrived). It was also on the battlefield where he turned to the life of crime and malevolence. The story goes that he was seen talking to a spy from the government and was giving him plans and dates of the rebels attacks. It was a classic example of the saying, “Everyone has a price” and Pedro’s price rang to the tune of one million U.S. dollars. He was shamed out of the rebel army and even the country. That’s when he set his sights on Italy. There, he had no interest in fighting so he turned to a life of crime. He started out as small weed dealer in the alleyways of Sicily and eventually his client base grew to a point where he hired others to sell his products. The small empire he had created continued to grow. He made friends with influential people and through them he became influential in his own right. Pedro began to ship out larger amounts of cocaine as well as marijuana across the world.  He was a cunning man, especially with his money. He didn’t keep it all in one place; it was spread throughout the world in different bank accounts all under different names. He also followed the policy of keeping his friends close and his enemies closer, which made sense bearing in mind that he had no enemies, only followers.  He was known throughout all of Italy, then all of Europe, then all over the world. 
      He seemed fairly calm as he reclined in his seat, while watching a movie. I guess he thought his little “vacation” in Alcatraz would only be fleeting because of his reputation. However what he didn’t know is that we got him on charges that include first degree murder, smuggling and countless other crimes. I tried not to focus on these details because they were irrelevant to my mission. I sat in my seat calmly writing in a note book in which I’ve developed a habit of writing down my thoughts and experiences. To me it is a way of depositing all my emotions so they do not affect my job performance. I store them away with no intention of looking at them in the future. However there are some things that can never be forgotten, but this system helps counteract that. As I sat in my seat, my mind began to wander and I thought about how Pedro’s story was similar to mine in some aspects. I grew up in a military environment in which my dad was a general for the Irish army. He taught me everything there was and is to know about the army and its honor. This meant learning military tactics, how to shoot and how to survive in any climate. To follow in father’s footsteps, I went to America and joined the army there. When I was young, my father told me about the prowess and might of the American military and navy and it became my dream as a child to become an elite member of the Navy Seals. After I was enlisted, I became somewhat popular. One month in, I had already saved a whole unit of soldiers from an enemy ambush. I was given a Purple Hear and was promoted from private to colonel when I was only 25. Soon after that I was contacted by an organization that was similar to the FBI and the CIA but had no affiliation with any sort of government. It was a group of individuals whose goal was to eradicate the evil and corruption in the world. I went on many missions and I became a skilled member of this organization. This mission required all my skill and ability and it was one that I could not fail.  However I did not let any of my emotions show, I followed my orders to the letter up to this point and I could only pray that it would continue to go smoothly. 
      	Eventually we reached cruising altitude and the low hum of the engines drifted off into the background. When the seatbelt sign was turned off, I stood up to stretch my legs and to go to the bathroom. Gonzales was still immersed in his movie and for extra precaution I chained him to the seat. I went to the bathroom and as I was washing my face, I heard banging on the door. One of the stewardesses was screaming something about the man fainting. I burst out of the door to find Gonzales limp in his chair with foam around his mouth. I carefully approached him, making sure that I had my gun within reach in case something happened. Closer inspection showed me that the gold chain that was previously hanging from his neck was now in his mouth. I asked the stewardess to give me some latex gloves and she obliged immediately. I slowly pulled the chain out of his mouth and saw that inside the pendant there was an empty vial. I checked his pulse and applied standard CPR procedure to try and revive him. He had no heartbeat and a cold chill was spreading through his body. I bent closer to Gonzales’s mouth, first making sure that he was fully unconscious by giving him a few slaps across the face. There was no response, so I sniffed the area around his mouth and I caught a whiff of a potent odor that burned the inside of my nose. I realized that Gonzales must have had a poison or some sort of drug that was capable of killing him in his pendant. Since he didn’t have the use of his arms, he must have just put the whole necklace in his mouth to try to get at it. Judging by Pedro’s condition and the fact that his skin was ice cold and that he had a sickly blackish color forming around his lips, I made the decision that he was dead. The clear cause of death was poisoning, and the lab rats back at the CIA could figure out the specifics. I unchained his arms and legs and moved him to the back of the compartment, and proceeded to put a blanket over his body, covering his face. 
      	I returned to my seat and pulled out my phone. I texted HQ, reporting what happened. They replied with one solitary question, “Why?” I had no clue. I thought to myself that he was, in one way, touched by an angel, his own merciless, “Ángel de la Muerte”.  Was Pedro that desperate not to get caught, so he poisoned himself instead? It made no sense to me. In my line of work usually the criminal gives up, heads to jail, and that’s the end of that. The last time I had to transport a criminal, they guy just sat in the seat, with his defeat just hanging over his head.   But Pedro Gonzales was a proud man; he was a strong man who didn’t show mercy to anyone. He wouldn’t give up so easily, he would do what he grew up doing, fighting for his freedom. Before he seemed so calm, and now resorting to suicide to escape punishment was an act of desperation. My theory was that he probably didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in a dirty prison cell with subordinate scum. But something was still nagging at the back of my mind; why would such a man with so much power, who worked his way to the top, do something so pathetic? It was so incomprehensible that I was starting to doubt that the infamous Ángel de la Muerte could actually be dead, killed by his own hand. I was startled by the buzzing that came from my pocket, but it was HQ telling me to get a flight to Amsterdam for a new mission as soon as I landed. 
      I was still squirming in my seat at the thought of the dead criminal and started to doubt all my theories and my own abilities to do my job. I had to prove to myself that he was truly dead and that I wasn’t wrong. I headed over to the back of the plane where the corpse of Pedro Gonzales was decaying. He was so far in my head that I removed my gun in my holster and pointed it at his lifeless body. I removed the blanket, and his body was in the same state. The eyes were rolled into the back of his head; his mouth was gaping, and his arms hanging limply at his side. But something was off, something seemed out of place. I looked at his hands and his watch caught my eye. There was a false compartment underneath the face of the watch which was opened and empty.  	
      Suddenly, he attacked me! I stumble back disoriented, as the now revived Pedro Gonzales lunged at chest. My gun was knocked aside and slid down the aisle. Several thoughts rushed into my head as blood was rushing out of it. I realized that while his necklace held the poison, he must have had the antidote in the face of his watch. He wrestled me to the ground as I stretched out to reach for my gun which was only a few inches away. A stewardess came out to see what the commotion was about and promptly screamed at the top of her lungs. I told her to shut up and go back to her station. I would have to deal with her later. Gonzales pummeled me in the stomach as my fingers grazed the butt of my gun. We continued to roll around on the carpet as we grappled with each other, and for the gun. Finally my fingers closed around the handle and I stood up pointing it at him. He put his hands on the back of his head, facing me as he stood up slowly. And as if from experience, he instinctively lunged for the gun. I had never had to face someone with so much daring and I was caught off guard. As I regained composure I saw that he now had the gun and was pointing it straight at my head. An announcement rang above our heads, “Flight 31 to the Caribbean will now start its descent. Please return to your seats.”
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		The Angel of Death. 11-12

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