Embargo (Hot Off The Press) Book 2 (7 page)

“Thank you, Mr. Rex. I have a lot of great information. Once Julie and I get down to Veracruz, we can get a full picture of the situation,” Harold announces.

“Great work and excellent interview questions,” Mr. Rex responds. The T. Rex appears to be in good spirits. Enough so that he invites Harold to a cigar bar down the street. I tag along. The two men enjoy a couple of really overpriced Cubans with some fine cognac. I can tell Harold is really flattered to be hanging out with Mr. Rex. But I have to confess that I start to get a little jealous.

The two men finish their cigar session at a little after midnight. Mr. Rex and I head back to the office and ride the express elevator all the way up to the roof. We hop into the helicopter and head back to the mansion. I rest my head on my boss’s chest. He puts his hand on my ass. Oh, it is so nice to have Mr. Rex’s attention again! We begin to kiss as the helicopter heads back to the mansion. I feel a hand rise up to my breast. Mr. Rex is feeling me up like a horny teenager. Before I know it, our clothes come off. I have lots of fun removing my boss’s suit and shirt. There is something about seeing his massive chest in the confines of his helicopter that drives me nuts.

Mr. Rex pushes me off of my chair and we find ourselves on the floor. The cabin of the six-passenger helicopter is isolated from the pilot and copilot so I have no idea if they can understand what is going on back here. My boss gets on top of me and begins to kiss my neck. He runs his tongue down to my chest and starts to suck on my tits. Then he runs his mouth lower and lower until I feel him right in-between my legs. Oh, this is the only way to fly. Mr. Rex licks me off. I want to scream but I am afraid that the helicopter pilots will hear me. We begin to descend onto the compound. My boss quickly grabs the intercom and tells the pilots to fly around for a while. Then he gets right back to work on me!

The helicopter rises as I prop my legs up on the chairs. Mr. Rex spends a nice long time down there. I grab the top of his head and open my mouth wide wanting to scream out odes of joy to my boss’s magnificent tongue. Alas, I keep my moans suppressed, creating an even more intense sensation within my body. Mr. Rex turns me over. He spanks my ass. “I won’t be seeing you for a few days, I need to play with every part of your body before you go,” my boss demands. I respond by simply wiggling my ass back at my boss. I feel his teeth sink right into my ass cheeks. Oh yeah. He can eat every inch of me.

Mr. Rex spends lots of time kissing, biting and spanking my ass. His tongue rolls up the base of my back. I feel that hard cock of his slide up my thigh. Mr. Rex kisses every inch of my back and finishes off his fluffy of affection with a nice hard bite on my right shoulder. He slowly enters me from behind and begins to fuck me with merciless aggression. My boss pushes my head down as he ploughs my pussy. I can barely breathe. Mr. Rex is doing me like a condemned man on his last day on Earth.

I am placed on my hands and knees. Mr. Rex fucks me doggy-style. He pulls on my hair and spanks my ass. Oh, now I am sure the pilots heard that. My boss spanks me harder. I moan out my approval. “Dammit, I love your tight little body,” Mr. Rex growls as he fucks me at full speed. That dick feels so good that I begin to cry. My body is close to orgasm. Mr. Rex digs his fingernails into my ass cheeks and goes deep. I cum. Mr. Rex screams. He finishes and lies on top of me. My boss gently kisses me on my right cheek. His hands slip under my body and gently cup my breasts. We enjoy the perfect post-orgasmic cuddle as the helicopter continues to circle around Mr. Rex’s massive estate.

After a few minutes, my boss reaches for the intercom and commands the pilot to, “Take us down now.” The helicopter angles itself above Mr. Rex’s private helipad as we get ourselves dressed. All I can say is that I never imagined that I would ever get lucky inside of a private helicopter. Life is full of surprises. The helicopter lands. Mr. Rex and myself exit onto the helipad and make our way to the mansion. It doesn’t take long for our clothes to come off again. We chase each other up to the master bath and enjoy a nice long shower followed by a dip in the jacuzzi. Our night is spent cuddling up and playing with each other’s flesh. As the midnight hour approaches, I feel a twinge of anticipation about the trip to Mexico.

“I’ve heard so many stories about those gangs in Mexico,” I tell my boss.

“You will be better protected than the President. The Federal police and my personal security team will take care of you,” Mr. Rex assures me as I feel his strong hands on my shoulders. If only I could have my boss’s big massive arms around me wherever I go, I would always feel safe.

***

I enter the Gulfstream jet and it is more spacious and luxurious that I had imagined. Big plush seats invite me to relax as though I were back at Mr. Rex’s mansion. For a moment, I forget that I am headed to one of the most dangerous places in the Western Hemisphere. Harold follows me inside the jet. He is equally impressed.

“Is this your first time in a private jet?” I ask the editor.

“No. But this is by far the finest,” Harold says as he quickly makes himself at home. The attractive flight attendant asks if we would like anything to drink. I don’t want to impose so I ask for a diet soda. Harold, on the other hand, has no problem asking for a Rum & Coke. A couple of more members of the firm enter the jet followed by Mr. Skoca. While the head of security normally creeps me out, I am more than happy that he is on the flight with us.

Within minutes, the jet door is closed and we are rolling off onto the runway. I am surprised to hear that the flight will only last about an hour and a half. Then I look at a map of North America and realize that Dallas is not at all far from Veracruz. It is just worlds apart when it comes to crime and corruption. The Gulfstream takes off and quickly gets us up into the air. Harold and I spend our time researching Veracruz’s crime situation while occasionally stopping to marvel at the gorgeous interior of Mr. Rex’s private jet.

***

I am immersed an article about the beheadings in Veracruz when Harold taps me on the shoulder. His touch makes me jump a bit.

“We’re here,” Harold says as he gestures toward one of the side windows. I look down and see a congested coastline of high-rise buildings and oil wells. Everything is so bunched together that I get claustrophobic just looking out of the window. Much to my surprise, we are not headed to an airport but rather a private airstrip right on the grounds of Rex Industries Veracruz Oil Field. After a quick taxi towards an aircraft hangar, I see about four military like vehicles speed up to the Gulfstream. It makes me nervous. Are we being ambushed?! The door opens and Mr. Skoca tells us to quickly gather our things and head directly to the vehicles.

We rush outside to the distinct aroma of burning oil. I keep my head down as Harold and myself climb into one of the vehicles. The convoy is quickly sped away. I look out of the window and see that several gun towers guard the facility as well as a massive twelve-foot reinforced concrete wall. The vehicles make their way to a checkpoint. We pass the armed guards and find ourselves inside of the “secured zone” of the facility. The vehicles quickly slow down to a cruising speed. I look out and see an office park as well as various businesspeople walking around rather casually - a scene that would not look out of place in the suburbs of Dallas.

We come up to a sprawling three-story building that appears to be the corporate headquarters of Rex Industries’ Veracruz operations. The convoy stops and two armed guards open the doors to our vehicles. Mr. Skoca exits first. We follow. In front of us is a well-dressed man and a Mexican officer with several stars on his collar.

“Julie, Harold this is Juan Perez, President of Rex Industries’ Mexico Division and General Manuel Morales, Chief of the Veracruz Police,” Mr. Skoca informs us. We greet each other warmly. Juan is one of those tall Latin hunks who look pretty damn good in a suit. Chief Morales looks more round and rugged with an intense stare. I can only imagine what General Morales has seen in his line of work.

The five of us are led into Mr. Perez’s office, which is spacious but not overly luxurious. Outside of the windows, we can see several of the oil derricks at work.

“This is your first time in Mexico?” Mr. Perez asks the two of us.

“Yes,” I answer.

“I’ve been here on business and vacation over a dozen times,” Harold responds.

“Business?” the police chief asks.

“I’ve worked several stories on the Ciudad Juarez drug wars,” my editor explains.

“Well then. You have a fairly good idea as to what goes on down here,” General Morales states.

“I’ve covered everything but I’ve never heard of an American company funding a Mexican police force,” Harold responds.


“Senor Rex is a hero inside my force. I hope to someday meet him,” the police chief states. “We kill five Los Zetas soldiers a week. And Los Zetas is lucky if they can get to just one of my men. As a show of appreciation to Senor Rex, I assign twenty-five percent of my force just to watch his oil refineries and protect his employees.”

I feverishly take notes as the police chief continues to explain the relationship between Rex Industries and his police force. After Harold asks some basic questions, I take over the interview and ask specifics about Los Zetas’ activities. Harold occasionally chimes in if he feels that some clarification is necessary. It’s sure nice to have an image of Harold as an experienced editor rather than the pathetic sight I saw at the Motel 6.

“Has Los Zetas resorted to any retaliatory terror acts on civilians in Veracruz?”



“They tried that two years ago. Those bastards blew up a car right in front of a nightclub and killed 14 people. We used military copters, financed by Senor Rex, to find and completely destroy one of their hideouts. We killed 26 members of Los Zetas that day, including their second in command.”

“As a Mexican, how would you feel if the United States sent military support down to Veracruz?” I ask.

“Speaking as a Mexican, I would not want to see American combat troops on Mexican soil. Speaking as the Chief of Police of Veracruz, I would be open to having resources from the FBI and as well as some military advisors from the United States. My officers are loyal and brave. We just need a little more help to crush Los Zetas,” General Morales responds.

The interview continues for a few more hours. Afterward, we head over to Senor Perez’s villa for some dinner. Much to my surprise we are served some really great steaks and shrimp. I was expecting burritos. Yeah, I know that makes me sound like a silly American. We stay at a nearby hotel. The trip from Senor Perez’s villa to the hotel scares the shit out of me. I see the part of Mexico that has been really torn apart by the drug war. Mr. Skoca and Harold don’t seem fazed by the sights of rundown neighborhoods, machine gun mounted police jeeps and obvious gang activity. I will say this though. Every time a motorcycle gets near the convoy, Mr. Skoca does inform the drive to “watch the bike.”

“What’s the concern with motorcycles?” I ask the head of security.

“90% of assassinations are done by motorcycle. Easy to get in on a target and easy to get away.”

“Oh, well. The vehicles are bulletproof, right?” I ask.

“Yes, but they are not bomb proof,” Mr. Skoca replies.

Just then I realize how serious the situation is down here.

***

We spend the next couple of days interviewing members of the Veracruz police force as well as members of Mr. Rex’s Mexico operations. And they all give us different perspectives on what is going on down here. Though they all agree on one fact in particular - Mr. Rex’s support of the Veracruz police is hurting Los Zetas’ operations in the region. On our last day, the Chief of Police hands us a box. “This is a gift for Senor Rex. A show of gratitude from every member of the Veracruz police force.”

I look down at this four inch by ten inch box. It is made of fine mahogany. I wonder what could be in the box? Well, I’ll have to wait until we get back to Dallas before I can find out. As we head back to the airstrip, I notice that our head of security is not with us.

“Where is Mr. Skoca?” I ask.

Harold looks around the SUV. “Good question. I have no idea.”

I figure that perhaps Mr. Skoca still has some business down here and will not be joining us on the flight back. We arrive at the airstrip, hop on the plane and make it into the air within minutes.