“Wasswa, correct?” The building was damaged, the doors battered. It was not an uncommon sight for Mateo. “Wasswa Blackwell.”

The owner of the shop, an aged mechanic, glared at the two. “Who’s asking?” He had a light beard, and his head was shaved very low. His remaining hair was greying.

He nodded to the man, holding out his hand. “Mateo and David Fernandez. Investigative photographers.” After a long pause, Blackwell eyeing him but not moving, Mateo lowered it. “Father and son.”

The older man snorted. “You don’t look related.”

David laughed. “I would hope not. I take after my mother, God rest her soul. Mm, DeJa’Vu.”

“May we come in?” Mateo looked back, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. No cars that didn’t belong.

“If you must.”

The mechanic turned away, leaving the entrance to his shop open. David was quicker, moving in ahead of Mateo. The photographer looked back one last time, knowing that anything he could have been looking for he wouldn’t have seen. They were led back to his office, though the man did not take a seat when they did. He remained behind his desk.

“I already told my story to the police and insurance, so I don’t know what needs telling further.” Blackwell was quick to assume what the two had come around for, not that Mateo could blame him.

“We’re not associated with either” Mateo eyed the office they were led to. Few personal effects, no pictures of children or family. “What incident are you referring to?”

“Some gangbanger meat heads thought they were being cute.”

“The Gunners, right?”

Blackwell looked at Mateo before his eyes narrowed. “Don’t think I mentioned that name.”

That gave Mateo pause. Thankfully, his son remained as sharp as ever.

“We know you didn’t,” David opened his jacket, producing documents. Copies of Blackwell’s statements to the police, local news, and insurance companies. “But we’re hoping you can enlighten us to a few things.”

Blackwell scanned the papers as David laid them individually across his desk. Where his son procured them, Mateo couldn’t honestly say. He was a hell of a journalist. Finally, the mechanic leveled his gaze with the younger man.

“What is it that you think you know, exactly?”

David smiled. “Don’t undersell us, Mr. Blackwell. We’re no spooks, but we have our ways. We have connections. We’d have to, to stay afloat in this world.”

“Connections are all fine and good, but I don’t want any of this. Would your connections keep you from beating feet, should I ask you to go back out that door?”

Mateo shook his head. “Not at all, no sir. We just want to know what you know. Knowledge is one of the most powerful things in the world, Mr. Blackwell, and you could hold an important puzzle piece for us.”

Mr. Blackwell shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable no doubt. “It ain’t much, you see. I didn’t talk with them much.”

“We know why the Gunners were here. We want to know what happened a week ago.” David said. “What made them come here?”

“I don’t know the full details. A fucking storm kicked off like God got antsy and started the Apocalypse a few days early. Then,” he paused for a moment, glancing off to the side. “Then a punk I know came into the shop. Bruises around his neck. Rick Damon. His daddy went off drunker than normal. Apparently his ol’ man got struck by lightning and Rick came to crash here knowing nowhere else to go. Last I heard his pa’ was still in the hospital, his ma’ having run out a year or two ago.”

“Where is he now?” Mateo asked.

“Couldn’t say and I’m not sure I’d be inclined to even if I did.” He eyed the two again. “What’s your angle in this? Why you care about some freak storm?”

David grinned. “What do you think of the Supreme United Nations, Wasswa?”

Blackwell’s nostrils flared as a fury took hold. Mateo turned to his son, frowning.

“David?”

His son waved off the question, keeping his steady gaze with Blackwell. “I will not mince words with you, Mr. Blackwell. We are attempting to bring to light their crimes and incompetence. That storm is tied into matters more intricate than you realize, as could be the boy.”

Mr. Blackwell sat, the anger fading.

“How serious are you about this?”

Mateo frowned. “We’re looking into matters that could destroy them. Something beyond our knowledge, and beyond their control. You can imagine how much that vexes them I hope.”

Wasswa Blackwell, eyes reflecting a horror only he could see, nodded solemnly. “Don’t think they’d take too kindly to that, no.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Serves the fuckers right.”

David picked up the papers, getting his attention. “You can understand why it’d be best if you never had this conversation with us. No doubt they’ll know we were here, but as far as you know, we’re just an old crackpot and his jackass of a son.”

The mechanic nodded. “I was a teen in 61’ when they annexed Uganda from the British. They brought the iron boots down on the Buganda, seizing land and power. The people were swept aside. I’m the only one of my family to survive the relocation. Eventually I found my way to America. For the last ten years I’ve been watching them prepare to do the same damn thing again, but world-wide. If you can nail the bastards, you’ll hear no complaint from me.”

Mateo turned to leave but stopped. “Just keep your head down.”

Wasswa Blackwell glared at Mateo for a moment, though the old man could tell the anger was not directed at him. “I know. I’ve had experience.”

Mateo lowered his gaze. “Of course.”

David slipped him a card. “My number. Reach out if they give you any trouble.”

“You sound like a lawyer, you know that?”

“I try.”

“That accent of yours is awful familiar too. Sounds a bit like Queens.”

David grinned wider. “I’ve been here a time or two.”

Mateo glanced at his son as they headed out of the building. He never noticed it before, but Blackwell was right. His son did have a strange accent for his upbringing and where he lived. Was it always like that? When had it changed?

David nudged him, pointing back discreetly. Mateo quickly peeked, seeing a small panel of the floor start to open. A hidden hatch. The door shut behind them.

Mateo swallowed. “Must be a hidden basement.”

“We also have company,” David said, waving.

He looked forward, surprised to see a pickup truck pulled up in the middle of the road. Quint was waiting personally. With a gesture they got into the truck cab with him.

“Find the kid?”

“No,” David slipped in naturally. “Another dead end.”

“Mm. He’ll turn up. Mr. Smith has a job for you.”

Mateo perked up. The Neo Nazi slid them some folders across the dash, bright green eyes glaring at the papers.

“I’m taking you straight to the airfield. Need you in Houston before morning.”

Picking up the folder, he leafed through it. His eyes widened, stomach sinking as he read the contents. Names, dates, specific operations, all the dirtiest of the dirty work the SUN Taskforce.

“You’re to contact Operative Wolf in Houston. She’s stationed there for a few days. Get your ass there. Pass this along. Under no circumstances are you to tell them where you got it from. Let them think you’ve been a good boy and gathered it all yourself. Its written like your own notes.”

Mateo couldn’t reply at first. “Isn’t he working with them?”

Quint snorted. “He told you the same as me, we’re going to change the world. This is how we start.”

David took the folder from Mateo, who numbly let it slip away.

“Break the Taskforce in half, let chaos reign, then what?”

The former biker shrugged. “Beats me. I’m not a big picture guy. I don’t have time to read that shit.”

David flipped through it. “Looks like the in fighting is beginning already. They’ve set up Operative Phantom to take a fall and get the heat off themselves. Timing lines up nicely, Mr. Smith must be wanting to take advantage of it.”

Mateo knew that designation. “That’s,” he fumbled around for a name. “That’s Agent Arnaz, right?”

David nodded. “Maria Arnaz.”

The truck jerked slightly, the father and son staring at their driver. Quint looked, for the first time since they met, genuinely surprised by something.

“You good?”

He took off his glasses, looking at them. “You got a picture of her?”

David picked up some surveillance photo from the file, flashing it to the gang leader. He laughed in return.

“Well, I’ll be fucked sideways. I know that one. We used to ride together. Holy shit, she went and joined those bastards? Well,” he grinned. “Not much worse than who she used to know I guess.”

“Probably less Heil Hitlers,” David said.

“Hitler was a pussy,” Quint spit.

Mateo didn’t want to ask Quint what his views were. The man smelled of cheap liquor and stale cigars and he didn’t want to associate with him anymore than he had.

“Where’s that going down? With Mary?”

“Odd question,” David raised an eyebrow. “You going to save her?”

“Naw. Just need to know where to piss in the wind. Last respects and all that.”

“Seems like her current mission is rigged. She’s going for a ship coming from the Middle East to the usual base. It’s all supposed to go down on the carrier.”

“Mary, Mary, Mary. What shit you have stepped in this time.”

Soon enough they landed. Their plane was prepped and ready for takeoff.

“Remember, head for Houston. Shit’s going down! It’s do or die time!”

“Operative Wolf,” Mateo echoed.

“That’s the one. Play it smart and this world’s gonna change.”

David nodded. “That I believe.”

Quint rode off, howling at the top of his lungs.

“Pleasant man.”

Mateo felt sick. “This is happening too fast. I wanted to try and interview that boy.”

“We can swing back, dad. Maybe this will be the crack we’ve been waiting for?”

But were Mr. Smith’s plans better than what the SUN had in mind?

His son jogged off to the pilot’s seat, whistling to himself. Mateo slowly followed, his chest hurting. He felt hot. He could only hope it was the stress. In a few more hours everything could change.