Reunion with old friends
The Scottish Highlands - September 29, 2011
For two weeks, Alen had embraced the steady rhythm of life with his grandmother. He helped Amelia at her hospital, enjoyed her cooking, and found a brief peace in the misty Highlands. But the quiet couldn't last. The memory of Simmons's betrayal and the looming threat of the C-Virus were a constant itch beneath his skin. It was time to move.
His plan was clear: infiltrate Blue Umbrella. To do that, he needed a backdoor, a recommendation from someone who operated in the world's shadows. He retrieved a small, worn piece of paper—the note from Mateo Cárdenas Ortega.
Setting up his laptop in his room, Alen connected a cheap, untraceable burner phone. He took a steadying breath and dialed the number.
A gruff voice answered in rapid Spanish. "¿Quién es? ¿Cuál es el código?" (Who is this? What is the code?)
Alen replied, his Spanish fluent from countless missions. "Código Uni dos-cinco-cuatro-siete."
There was a pause, then the sound of the phone being handed over. A new, colder voice came on the line, this time in English. "How did you get this number? State your business."
"I need to speak with Mateo Cárdenas Ortega. Tell him an old friend from Mexico is calling. A friend from Christmas Eve."
Another pause, longer this time. "Wait." The line went silent for several minutes before the voice returned. "You have an appointment. Be at these coordinates in Bogotá in 24 hours. Memorize this code: Uni cuatro-cinco-cinco-siete. The clock is ticking. Destroy this phone." The line went dead.
Alen quickly wrote down the coordinates on a separate piece of paper, then systematically destroyed the burner phone. The choice was made.
He found his grandmother in her study, tending to her plants. "Amelia, I have to leave."
She turned, her kind eyes filled with immediate concern. "So soon, my boy? Is everything alright?"
"I have unfinished business," he said, his voice soft but firm. "It's something I must do."
She didn't press him. Instead, she went to a small lockbox and pressed a thick envelope into his hands. "Take this. It isn't much, but it will help. And remember, this will always be your home. My door is always open to you."
He hugged her tightly, a silent thank you for the sanctuary she had given, then shouldered his backpack. Using his John Michael Kane passport, he began his journey to Colombia.
---
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."
---
Edonia - Two Weeks Later
The introduction was made. Diego "El Lobo" Cruz was every bit the mercenary leader: hardened, cynical, and all business.
"So," Diego said, his voice a low gravel, looking Alen up and down. "You are the phantom who saved my sentimental brother's family. He says you are a great soldier. I say talk is cheap. You want to be a Black Wolf? You prove it. Two weeks. You train with my best. You keep up, you are in. You don't... well, the Edonian winters are cold, and the graves are shallow."
For two weeks, Alen was pushed to his limits. Live-fire exercises, endurance runs through unforgiving terrain, and brutal CQC sparring with Diego's most ruthless men. But Alen didn't just keep up; he excelled. His CIA and MI6 training was sharper, more refined than anything the mercenaries had seen. He moved with precision and foresight that left them in awe.
At the end of the trial, Diego approached him, a new respect in his eyes. "My brother did not lie. You are not just good; you are elite. Wherever you came from, it was no ordinary army." He extended a calloused hand. "Welcome to Los Lobos Negros, Mr. Kane."
As part of the initiation, the guild's insignia—a stylized black wolf—was seared onto the shoulder of his tactical gear. The pain was brief, a mark of his new allegiance.
"From this day," Diego announced to his men, "this is John Michael Kane. Code name: Lone Wolf. His record with us is flawless. His papers are in order." He turned back to Alen. "The path to Blue Umbrella is clear. Remember, Lobo Solitario, once a wolf, always a wolf. We look after our own. Good luck."
With a firm handshake and a new identity earned through fire, Alen was ready. The ghost had been given a body, a history, and a path directly into the heart of the enemy. John Michael Kane was ready for duty..