The Brazilian CIA Agent | Chapter 14

Updated: Jun 8




The grass was very green and the summer sun reflected in the last of the morning dew on the excellent golf course. Mingo Rocha, a Brazilian CIA agent, had decided to play the Miklagard's demanding holes for the first time. He was a scratch player with a smooth swing and had the experience needed to tackle the course. It had gone well and he was playing 7 under par so far. But now he had arrived at the 16th hole. It seemed straightforward enough, thought Mingo, while looking at the layout of the hole. The right dogleg gave the opportunity for a birdie, but then the water would come into play and this opened up for the dreaded water hazard which is the nightmare of any golfer. He smoked a cigarette and checked his Audemars Piguet and grunted with satisfaction. He was moving fast through the course and no one was behind him. Still he followed the local protocol and teed up. He was using a rented TaylorMade set of clubs and this added an extra element of difficulty for him, but it saved Mingo the hassle of traveling with the heavy golf bag. He made a calm practice swing and then looked straight down the course to where he wanted the ball to land. There was, however, a fluctuating breeze that he included in his calculations before committing to his swing. His stance was perfect as the driver connected with the golf ball. The follow through was good, the small ball zinged up into the air and continued in a straight line for 230 meters before landing in the middle of the fairway. Mingo nodded to himself and lit another Marlboro. He then returned to the golf cart and drove slowly down the slope. The beautiful blue water on his right looked inviting and he could make out plenty of birds in the sky above the small lake. After having located his ball, he now faced a difficult choice. He could hit another shot straight down the course and set up for a perfect pitch shot on the green. On the other hand he could go for the green directly with this shot. He looked at the green, calculated the length and ran the pros and cons through his mind quickly. He then picked a 3 iron and returned to the ball. He threw some grass into the air to see how the breeze was behaving. It seemed to draw steady to his left. Mingo looked at the green, to make this shot worth the risk, he had to land within three meters proximity to the flag, to give himself a chance to sink the putt. He noticed that the backside of the hole seemed more leveled. He would have to add a serious backspin for this plan to work. He looked one more time. Did a test swing and then went for it. He hit the ball with the full force generated by his straight arms, powerful shoulders, legs and his hips moved with grace. The club whisked under the ball and gave it a good lift that was needed to carry the ball past over the water. He had calculated that it was around 290 meters to the green and he watched the small ball now blazing through the air. It looked good. The shot had felt right. The ball was approaching the green when it suddenly lost momentum. His heart sank, as he could only watch while the ball dropped altitude. It might make the edge of the green but it was steep and would require some fancy pitching uphill. The ball had reached the green now but dropped down and for a second he could not see it. Then it went straight up in the air again and landed at the edge of the green. Mingo quickly drove down to the green to inspect the lay of his ball. It would require a five meter long chip from the edge of the grass, onto the green and then the ball would need enough lift to make a perfect roll into the hole. Mingo smiled and leaned down to read the green. It seemed to draw to the right and then straighten up into a clean line before reaching the hole. He checked again and then drank water. He then removed the flag from the hole. Mingo picked up a seven iron and walked up to the ball. He found a good balance and then let the club whisk through the grass to get the feel of the lie. Mingo then straightened his arms, opened the angle in his palms slightly and made the chip. The ball was lifted cleanly from the grass, landed smoothly midway from the hole and then started to go to the right. Mingo cursed under his breath. He had not read the green correctly. But then by some miracle, the ball shifted direction and was now en route in a straight line, then went left and with the last of the speed left, the ball dropped into the hole. Mingo laughed out loud but at the same time the smartphone in his pants started buzzing. He read the sms and then responded, yes! He completed Miklagard with a solid eight under par and then relaxed outside the golf club with a glass of champagne and a light brunch. Only hours later he was on the move. The plane from Oslo Airport to Helsinki was on time. It was late in the evening when he entered the Clarion Hotel Avapolis in the center of Helsinki. He let his mind wander while he showered. His body felt good and he relaxed.

Mingo's hair was black and it reached his shoulders. He let the water engulf his head and the drops of water ran down past the hawk shaped nose and some stayed inside his big mouth, fronted by the very white teeth. His eyes were open under the even stream of the water and they were the color of nutbrown. They were spaced widely apart and this gave him a haunting expression that women found thrilling. His eyelashes were long and this contributed to a softer feminine approach when needed. Mingo stood 1.80 cm tall and the shoulders were curved and powerful. His skin was as close to the whitest as a brazilian could get, with a constant golden tan. He soaped in the hairless chest and continued down past his greyhound belly and reached his thick cock. It was not circumsized and the skin covered it all the way to the tip. His hands gripped the penis and soaped it in while his mind started to wander. His first murder as a CIA agent! The year was 1987 and the sun had started to fade in the small tropical forest in the north of Rio De Janeiro. The birds were singing gently and the big grasshoppers delivered a constant buzz. The house was simple and white and covered by the thick branches of two powerful palm trees that covered parts of the roof. The house was old and so was the dog sleeping in front of the house in the tall grass.

On the left side of the house the small lake was quiet except for the constant movement of the mosquitoes above the water. The small boathouse was only a hundred meters away.

Inside the boathouse Mingo waited. He was 17 years old and in his hand he was holding a small bolt action mauser. It had been modified with a silencer for this particular job. He had been recruited by CIA the year before and had undergone a year of training. Mingo grew up with his grandmother in Rio De Janeiro city after his parents had been killed in a political rally only one year after he was born. The streets of Largo do Machado was his playground, but it was in the favela where he learned how to survive when he became a teenager. His mother had been Norwegian and his father Brazilian. They were wealthy and left him means to attend a good school where he also learned English. He remembered when his CIA handler had been robbed from his wallet on the streets in Copacabana. Mingo had been the ringmaster of the theft but changed his mind when he looked closer at the handlers clothes and shoes. He felt there was an opportunity for him if he played his cards right. Mingo followed the handler to Ipanema, there he presented himself and gave the man back his wallet. The man responded with a future for Mingo within the CIA! Well, almost like that. He had to undergo several tests, training and was then picked for a specific task. Soon there were more tasks and also missions of low moral fiber!

Mingo smiled at the memory and rested the weapon at the window post. The big guard dog was clear in his sight and he breathed out slowly and pulled the trigger. A second later, the dog was hit in the head and died instantly. The shot had only made a small sound similar to that of popping a champagne bottle gently. Mingo waited. There seemed to be no movement inside the house. He then started to move slowly through the cover of the forest on the right side of the house. He reached the house in two minutes and then entered the porch. The stairs creaked. When he touched the door handle he recognised the sound of a gun cocking and immediately dropped to the ground a millisecond before the shots rang out and penetrated the old door. The man came running out through the door, and it was at that moment Mingo took a big hunters knife and drove it straight through the man's right foot and down into the floorboard. The man screamed and Mingo rose with another knife in his left hand that he slashed straight across the man's fat belly. The blood caught Mingo in the eye as he struck the man in the open mouth with the knife and the blade came out of the target's neck. Mingo got some of the blood in his mouth and revealed in the metalic taste like a shark. The man was middle aged and ugly. Mingo quickly went through the house and found the papers that was part of his mission.

He also salvaged some bundles of money, a box of good cigars and a bottle of Scottish Whisky. Mingo then left the premise in his jeep that was hidden further back in the forest. He was hard now. Very hard. His mind cleared of the vivid memory and he continued to stroke his cock until the sweet release finally came. The next morning he was up very early and walked to a specific bakery. The rain was pouring down and the city seemed almost deserted. He located the bakery, ordered a strong coffee and then waited for the scientist to arrive. Mingo had brought a grey bag that was tucked away under the table where he was sitting. He was the only customer so far. Mingo was dressed like a tourist and blended well with the few other people he had observed on the streets. The intel had been solid. Everyday the scientist bought his bagels in this bakery before being picked up by a military transport at 0800 am. It was an urgent operation set in motion and it was riding on Mingo to succeed. They needed to infiltrate the scientists and get inside the area where the Nexus was mass produced! Mingo was reading a newspaper when the scientist arrived and prepared to set the next part of the plan into motion!



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