His name was José Fidel DeLorenzo. He was one of many within the Cartel, but most of his peers would acknowledge that his was a voice to which all listened. They might not all agree, not all bend to his will, but his ideas were always given the attention they deserved because they had proven to be effective ones. The Cartel had no head per say; it was more like a committee of business leaders than a single board of directors. But DeLorenzo was certainly one of its senior members and the one who had the power to command a tribute from many of the members in north Colombia.

In many ways, he and those like him were truly masters of their fates. They owned palatial houses and lands that stretched as far as the eye could see. They possessed wealth of such vast amounts that counting it was almost a matter of habit than anything meaningful. Most importantly, each one possessed the power of life and death; within each of their fiefdoms, anyone who they did not like could be put to death. It was a power that was exercised all too often; a flick of the wrist, a casual remark to an associate and it was done. It was the kind of power that only the kings of old enjoyed and more than one person could be driven mad by the prospect. DeLorenzo knew that many members of the Cartel were addicted to their privileges and the illusion of omnipotence. Watching this illusion shattered was what motivated this meeting.

The doorbell chime interrupted his reverie and he walked briskly to the spacious entryway of his home. "Julio! How have you been?" DeLorenzo said to the tank-like man standing on the other side of the door. The two men shook hands warmly, effectively disguising their hatred for each other. Julio Ortega wiped his feet carefully on the mat in front of the door and entered. DeLorenzo noticed a complex sweat stain in his white cotton shirt that accurately traced a shoulder holster. This was the first time he had seen Ortega unarmed.

It had been a difficult call. On one hand, these were all businessmen -- the most powerful drug lords in north Colombia -- and should be able to be trusted not to start a gunfight in his living room. On the other hand, the bad blood between many of his guests was old and strong. In the end, he had personally guaranteed everyone's safety, and politely insisted that no firearms be brought into his home. A few of them had offered token resistance, but deep down, they had been relieved by the directive. DeLorenzo was a killer, drug dealer, and a thief, but he was a man of his word.

"You are the last guest to arrive, Julio," DeLorenzo said, scanning his front yard as he slowly closed the door. Inside the luxurious living room, fifteen people other members of the Cartel were gathered, retelling stories and recollections with good-natured laughter between them -- some genuine, some forced. Ortega's arrival put an end to the small talk and DeLorenzo called the meeting to order.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming on such short notice." DeLorenzo paused to allow everyone's attention span to get focused. "As you all know, there was a major incident take place two weeks ago in the town of Ceratibo. Now, many of us have used this town for our production, as the availability of cheap labor and the town's remote location worked for our advantage. Two weeks ago however, all that has changed. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words, so I will allow our country's media coverage present my case."

With that, DeLorenzo produced a videocassette and slid it into the player and activated the screen. The room went quiet as the words "Breaking News" appeared on the caption and the camera slowly panned across the blackened, ruined landscape. The voiceover gave the usually drivel of how lamentable the loss of life was and how they had never seen such destruction. In the latter case however, this was not hyperbole.

"I have taken the liberty of contacting our friends in the government," DeLorenzo elaborated as the bleak scene played itself out on the television. "According to the forensics specialists, the molecular composition of the soil itself has changed. Nothing can grow within the blast radius out to nearly four hundred meters from ground zero. There is no known conventional weapon capable of accomplishing such a feat."

The room was quiet for several long seconds before one of the minor chieftains spoke. "What sort of weapon can do such a thing?"

"The government is speculating on the possibility of a neutron weapon, or a chemical payload. However, they would be wrong. For one thing, only another government would possess such a weapon, and what would be the motive for such an attack? Even the most fanatical anti-drug officials would not have the nerve or desire to commit an act of war, especially since we all have production facilities in other small towns scattered throughout Colombia. Also, my sources tell me that, despite appearances, there is no trace of radiation or chemical toxin."

"Then what...?"

"A metahuman." DeLorenzo replied simply. The message hung in the air for several long seconds before someone challenged it.

"You're telling us that one lone person did this?" the chieftain asked incredulously. "Who...?"

"Yes, one lone person," DeLorenzo interrupted. "As it turns out, an American girl, no older than sixteen by her appearance, unleashed her power onto Ceratibo. What you see is the results. As for who she is, we have witnesses to give us more information." With that, he surrendered the floor to Luis Colombar.

Colombar stood up and cleared his throat with uncharacteristic restraint. Ordinarily a man of volcanic tempers, he had been advised by Perez to keep his temper in check. Now was not the time for the typical Latino machismo. Not with so much at stake, his reputation being one of them.

"We were returning back to my villa from the Production Committee meeting two weeks ago. Nothing seemed amiss when we pulled up. When we entered...." Colombar trailed off and shook his head. "Everything went blank. The next thing we remember, we were back outside by my truck, but it had been several hours later. My men all report the same thing; none of them could remember any of the events in the span of four hours."

DeLorenzo nodded sympathetically. "Please indulge me for a moment my friend, and make it clear. You do not remember anything?"

Colombar shook his head and looked downward. "No, I'm afraid not." He then turned to Perez to continue for him.

Perez stood up and acknowledged the assembled group. "I have taken the time to review the surveillance cameras that are installed around the Colombar residence. From that coverage, I have been able to produce this composite." He pulled out a medium sized computer picture, showing a young girl wearing a tight-fitting black leather costume and a long flowing cloak. "The cameras show that she possesses the power of flight and evidence suggest that she is capable of utilizing her mind-numbing powers on a mass-scale. I also went through the inventory of our possessions and found over one-point-one billion pesos missing from our personal accounts. Since no other damage was inflicted on the estate, we can surmise that the purpose of this young woman's actions were simply for the money and that Colombar and myself were targets of opportunity, rather than intent."

DeLorenzo then stood back up and continued. "However, that was not enough for this girl. She then apparently proceeded to Ceratibo, perhaps looking to obtain some of our product to sell. We are fortunate that our ally Generallisimo Juan Hernandez arrived to oppose her. Although he was unable to defeat her, he did drive her off, but not before she unleashed her power onto the village, reducing it to what you see here. What concerns us here however, is the possibility that this girl will return for more money. Next time, it could be any one of us."

"So what are we paying that metahuman dictator for then?" Ortega demanded. "If he won't defeat this bitch, then who will?"

"I have been personally assured by El Generallisimo that he is taking this matter very seriously. Even as we speak, he is making preparations to ensure our safety and prosperity."

Generallisimo Juan Hernandez was no stranger to theatrics; indeed, his role as the President of Santo Domingo required it. His recent battle against the unknown American girl had been carefully documented and presented to his people in a manner of his choosing. The battle itself was epic; only Hernandez's experience and battle savvy enabled him to prevail over the girl's awesome, but inexperienced power. In a fit of spite, she unleashed her power on the village, despite Hernandez's valiant efforts, and fled like the coward she was. The fallen men of Los Soldaditos were honored as heroes and martyrs to the cause. Hernandez's voice almost cracked with practiced grief as he described the horrors and his rescue attempts at the few survivors, driven hopelessly insane by the mental barrage. The only known witness, the pilot, supported Hernandez's retelling; it had been made crystal clear to him what would happen to his family if he did not.

In his private study, Hernandez watched the video replay again on his private monitor. He had considered releasing it publicly to generate worldwide propaganda in his favor, but decided against it. The battle itself, unfortunately, didn't show him at his best; in fact, it showed him almost groveling before the mind witch and only saved by her own stupidity. Video editing had its limits, and this particular clip would almost certainly be scrutinized by the best if it were available to the public. Besides, he had vowed that he would see this girl beg for mercy before he executed her for her crimes. Seeing her tried by some world court would deny him that satisfaction.

"El Presidente," the intercom buzzed. "El Tornado and La Escorpiona are here to see you."

"Send them in," Hernandez replied and deactivated the monitor. He then stood up to meet the two members of Los Soldados. "Thank you for coming, my friends."

The leader of Los Soldados nodded briefly. Their relationship with El Generallisimo was still chilly because of their teammate El Jaguar's MIA status. Hernandez had assured them that he had nothing to do with it and El Tornado was not able to disprove that. But Hernandez was a lifelong politician, so the suspicions remained. "I have heard that you are pursuing the incident that occurred in Ceratibo."

Hernandez shook his head somberly. "It was a tragedy and an act of terrorism. What can I do but pursue it?"

"Well, far from us to question your noble intentions," Tornado said perfunctorily, not bothering to conceal the lack of sincerity. "But we do have questions how you were in the area, given that Colombia is several hundred miles away."

"The miracle of modern communications, my friends. Many of Colombia's leading citizens fell victim to this metahuman's power several hours before Ceratibo's demise. I was made aware of her machinations by a surreptitious message delivered to me from one of the victim's homes and naturally I chose to assist a fellow citizen from such a powerful threat against Hispanic sovereignty."

"Metahuman? Who?" La Escorpiona demanded.

"An new unknown threat. She doesn't match up with any known databases."

"I see," El Tornado. "So now you ask us to intervene against this villain?"

"On the contrary, I'm here to ask that you refrain from any such action of the sort."

El Tornado lifted an eyebrow with surprise as La Escorpiona lashed out, "You're asking us to let this terrorist go running amok destroying village after village?"

"Hardly," Hernandez dismissed. He walked behind one of his desks, opened a drawer and pulled out a cigar given to him by his more-famous neighbor in the Gulf. "I ask this for your team's own safety. I stood against this girl and came close to being destroyed myself. Were it not for the heroic sacrifices of Los Soldaditos, I would not be here today."

"Yes, we saw the ceremony," El Tornado replied dryly. "Then I must know what measures you are taking to bring her to justice. If you ask us to avoid doing so, I must know that someone else will bring her in."

"Naturally. And I will be calling upon you to do your duties once my plans come to fruition. I know it must be frustrating to wait, but I can assure you that if this girl is confronted without a proper battle plan, she will destroy even our combined might. The scope of destruction in Ceratibo should convince you of that."

"And you are going to develop such a battle plan?"

Hernandez nodded. "I have already set things in motion to develop a proper dossier on this girl. Once I have sufficient information, I will be making contact with your team. Until then, I would ask that you continue to enjoy our country's hospitality and perhaps continue your training so that you will all be strong and ready for the battle ahead."

"We will discuss this between ourselves, El Generallisimo," Tornado replied. "We will make the decision on what we will do next."

Generallisimo Hernandez smiled. "Naturally, my friends. I would not dream it otherwise." He watched as El Tornado and La Escorpiona turned and left the room. After a few minutes of quiet puffing of his cigar, he pressed a button on his desk, opening another entrance to his room. "You heard everything, Colonel?"

A raffishly handsome man emerged and nodded. His eyes gave the look of intelligence and experience. "They are proud, Los Soldados. I can only speculate whether they will heed your advice."

"Oh, they will, Colonel," Hernandez smiled. "Telepathy can only reveal so much, and they will be guided by what El Tornado reports to his teammates. Which in this case, happens to be mostly true. So what other action can they take?

"One must never make assumptions when one is dealing with the human heart."

"Perhaps. I do hope they take my advice; it would be a shame to lose Los Soldados to this American bitch. Speaking of which, when can you start Colonel?"

Colonel Manuel Cortez smiled and nodded. A former member of Cuban and Soviet intelligence, he was more than familiar with the task of gathering information for his masters' agendas. Of course, his targets were usually just normal people in the past; going after a Class 1 Metahuman wasn't going to be the same as before. A final caveat, he decided. "There is always the risk factor to consider, El Presidente."

"Your salary has just doubled." Hernandez replied without hesitation or doubt.

Cortez nodded and straightened his coat. Hernandez must really hate this girl, Cortez thought. Clearly the battle at Ceratibo didn't go as well as he presented to his people and his ego had been badly bruised. How very Latino, he thought and smiled. This would be a stimulating and profitable mission indeed. "I have a plane into LaGuardia tonight."

"You can't be telling me we're just going to sit here!" El Tanque demanded.

"He is speaking the truth," El Tornado. "As for this metahuman girl's power, Hernandez truthfully believes we would all fall before her power if we challenge her unprepared and Ceratibo would seem to support Hernandez's belief."

"He's hiding something, I'm sure of it!" La Escorpiona hissed. "Even if his words are true, his story reeks of foul play! Who exactly are these 'leading citizens of Colombia?' And as for Los Soldaditos, I just don't buy this 'noble sacrifices'! How do we know he didn't pitch them in the path of the oncoming train to save his own ass?"

"I don't trust the intent of Hernandez's speech either," El Oscuro whispered from the shadows of his cloak. "But Ceratibo is objective evidence, regardless of his lies or deceptions. I don't believe Hernandez would personally commit an act of war against a foreign nation just to win our sympathy, and he probably doesn't have that much personal power to begin with."

"If this girl is that powerful, then why don't we call The Protectorate?" El Tanque. "Let them prove their claims of international equality of justice."

"Right now, my understanding is that The Protectorate has their hands full with recent events in Ireland," El Tornado replied. "The remaining superhero teams such as Canadian Shield, The Ensigns and The Sisters of Hope are all busy filling in the gaps to contain the chaos. Right now, we're on our own, plus whatever Hernandez provides us."

"Then what are we going to do?" El Oscuro whispered.

"We wait," El Tornado declared. "If Hernandez can provide information about this metahuman terrorist, then fine. But rest assured, this won't be some open-ended timetable. If one more village or city is threatened by this girl, then we go in and God helps Hernandez if he gets in our way."

The Cartel meeting began to break up in a few hours. A few members gathered in cliques to discuss matters both related and otherwise, while other made their way back to their security entourages to make arrangements to return to their respective villas. As Colombar heads towards his car, DeLorenzo takes Perez aside.

"Could I speak with you, my friend?"

"Certainly, jefe," Perez replied.

DeLorenzo took Perez into one of the adjoining entertainment rooms. A large oak pool table dominated the center of the room, with cue sticks and chalk mounted on the walls. Hanging from the ceiling was a classically designed pool lamp, which provided lighting and atmosphere.

"How is our friend Colombar holding up?"

Perez sighed and shook his head. "It has been a...unique experience. To say the least, it puts the concept of memories and loyalties into perspective."

"I can imagine. I was surprised Colombar handled it so well."

"He pays me to counsel him, so I counseled him. Now was not the time for bluster or foolish emotions."

"I would agree. Then perhaps you can offer your counsel to me."

Perez rubbed his chin thoughtfully and gave a pensive look. "If I had to make the decision?"

"Indulge me, my friend."

"I would propose we meet Omar Sosa Borjas at the earliest opportunity. I feel that this threat is serious enough to make such a step. And despite our ambivalent history, it would not be in our best interests for Omar Borjas to fall prey to this girl's telepathic powers."

DeLorenzo thought things over. "It could be difficult. There is a lot of bad blood spilled between us. And Borjas is not an easy man to convince."

"I realize that, jefe," Perez acknowledged. "At the same time we must not be blind to the threat we face. Even if this girl never returns to Colombia, and I sincerely hope this to be true, we must realize that she will not be the last metahuman we will face. If we continue to do what we have always done, wasting our energies plotting against one another, then the metas will simply pick us off one by one, stealing our money, perhaps even threatening our lives as they see fit. We must develop a focused plan of defense and retaliation."

"You present a bleak future, but one that cannot be dismissed. How would you suggest we go about averting this?"

"We must first make contact with Borjas. To avert any misunderstandings, I offer my services as a mediator to make initial contact with him. It is my hope that he will see the logic of our proposal. If he is amendable, then we all meet at a neutral site to conduct our negotiations. Once we have an agreement that would be acceptable to both our factions, we shall decide on our course of action."

"You're proposing an alliance then. A bold step," DeLorenzo nodded. "If it is successful, then what would you suggest as a course of action?"

"That we recruit and develop our own metahumans to serve our purposes. They would enable us to defend ourselves from hostile metahumans on their terms, and lend their considerable powers to improve our own production and sales. We must be cautious, of course, which metas we recruit. They must be absolutely loyal, or at least controllable, lest they turn against us."

"Our own superheroes, eh?" DeLorenzo smiled. "Now that has possibilities I can only barely imagine." He nodded and offered his hand to Perez. "You have my permission to meet with Borjas. Tell him that we must face the future as a united front."

Perez took DeLorenzo's offered hand. "It shall be done."

After Perez leaves, another one of the Cartel comes up to DeLorenzo.

"Those two," the man motioned to Perez and Colombar. "How do you know they can be trusted? If this girl is a mind witch, then...?"

"Your concerns are well placed, my friend," DeLorenzo assured. "I myself had the same concerns, so I asked Generallisimo Hernandez to look things over quietly when he paid me a visit a few days ago. He assured me that there is no sign of any current telepathic activity within their minds."

The man nodded and looked silently out the window where a commanding view of the valley below could be seen. He shook his head with grudging admiration. "It must be quite a feeling; to be able to probe people's minds like that. Knowing their most intimate secrets."

DeLorenzo nodded with agreement and smiled. "Indeed."

Mindshadow focused her concentration as she hovered in a lotus position in her penthouse. "... must be absolutely loyal, or at least controllable, lest they turn against us," she mentally whispered. She paused and listened to DeLorenzo's musings about a bright prosperous future, then felt the pressure against Perez's hand as they confirmed the deal. "It shall be done," she whispered. After confirming that the other thoughts and minds in the area seemed satisfied, she opened her eyes and smiled. Perfect, she thought. All of them in one nice little package.

A hypnotized servant brought Mindshadow a snifter of cognac as she congratulated herself on the foresight of concealing Perez's and Colombar's hypnotic conditioning. She had felt that fool Hernandez's mind scan and smoothed out the ripples as he tried to blunder about. It was like watching a blind man fumbling for his cane in the middle of the desert, she remembered with amusement. His probing was so clumsy and overt it was a wonder he didn't break anything in Colombar's and Perez's minds. Perhaps it was a "guy" thing, she speculated, but there weren't enough telepaths in the world to do a proper sampling, and even fewer who were refined enough with their skills to scan passively the way she did.

She took a sniff of the aroma from the glass and just held the sensation in her mind. She didn't need the alcohol messing with her powers or judgment; she just wanted to experience the flavor. It would be something to look forward to; both the additional wealth and the satisfaction of watching that pompous buffoon of a general grovel before her feet. And this time, it would be different. This time, she vowed, no mistakes. No mercy.

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