by Ben Bequer
“He’s making a big deal about the guy next door,” said Funko.
“No time,” Michael said, pulling Brunetti to his feet and trying to push him towards the exit. Brunetti balked, slapping away Michael’s hands, his sharp rebukes turned to less coherent blabbering as he gestured to the room next door.
Two keys again. Franklin.
“Oh, fuck,” Funko muttered.
“Hold on,” he said, almost shouting, and keyed back. “Target secure. Ready for egress. Report Able.”
Two keys, then Franklin switched to Morse. R. A. P. E. Cyanide appeared at the door, and the three of them shared a grave look, even as Brunetti’s volume rose in the otherwise silent room. Rape?
Brunetti switched to English. “Give me a gun, damn you!”
Michael took off his headgear, and Brunetti’s tirade ceased.
“Michael!” the lawyer said, rushing forward to hug him.
“Carlo,” Michael said, peeling the tearful man off him. “This is a rescue. I need you to be quiet from now on. Do you understand?”
Brunetti nodded as if understanding their situation for the first time. “Why you?” he said, his voice meek.
Michael put a firm, gentle hand on the nape of Brunetti’s neck, “Because I take care of my people. Now, we’re going to…”
“Are you sure I can’t have a gun?” he whispered. “Please.”
Michael shook his head.
“What does he want a gun for?” Cyanide said.
“Able we’re headed out. Get ready to retreat.”
Brunetti’s hands were shaking, desperate. “Please.”
“We’re leaving, Carlo. Why do you need a gun?”
“To kill him,” he said, pointing to the adjacent room.
“I just cleared that room,” Cyanide said. “It’s empty.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Michael said. “You know the drill here, Carlo. No more.” Michael stepped out of the room as Funko and Cyanide took positions around Brunetti. Funko was just behind Michael as Cyanide put a firm hand on Brunetti’s shoulder, bending him at the waist and using her bulk to walk him out of the room.
Edberg had been securing the family room and was waiting for them as they headed for the same back door they had used to enter. He joined Michael up front, his expression thoughtful beneath the gear. “Did I fuck up with Rebecca?”
Michael shook his head, “Not right now, bud. Come on.”
“It was a bad joke.”
“Like all the rest of them,” Michael said in a light tone.
“You know what I mean. Did I miss something?”
“Game face, Ravel,” Michael said, slapping the man on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re usually dense as brick. Now, what’s say we get the hell out of here and work the rest out later?”
Edberg nodded, but his bravado was gone.
“We’re coming, Able,” Michael said creating as small a silhouette as possible while sweeping the area from behind the muzzle of his rifle. Satisfied that nobody was in the area, he stepped out into the crisp night with Edberg right on his ass, splitting their coverage so all angles were accounted for.
“Bravo, this is Home One. Aspect change.” Travis said. Michael froze, holding up a closed fist.
“I see them, Home,” Wargacki interjected immediately. “Two targets, one at Hotel and one at The Barn.”
“ID them Wargacki,” Michael said.
“Target One looks like a Boko regular,” Wargacki said. “He’s headed toward my twenty.”
“And the other?”
“The other’s a ghost.”
“Okay, Wargacki,” Michael said, ordering Funko and Cyanide forward with a gesture, Brunetti still hunched between them. He moved around the edge of Casino to get a better view of the courtyard. “Let’s focus.”
“I’m not kidding, boss.”
The Boko Haram guard was clear as day despite being across the courtyard. He sauntered toward the front entrance and Wargacki’s position like he owned the camp. In fact, he might. With a tall, lean frame and an angled beret – much like the one Franklin sported– there was a chance he was the elusive man Michael had paid two million dollars to deal with.
“Take him, Wargacki. Able, get ready to clear the back,” Michael said then turned to his team. “Edberg, there,” he said, pointing out a good defilade position. “Cyanide, Funko get him behind that abandoned truck.”
Movement from the gate interrupted him and he turned to see Wargacki pop out of nowhere and take down the Boko terrorist. Other than a groan and the slapping of Wargacki’s knife into the man’s midsection as the two collapsed to the ground, they were quiet.
“Able …” he started, but a dozen muffled shots from the back side of the compound cut him short. Distance and the walls diffused the noise, and the suppressors did their part but even silenced M-4 rounds were loud as hell.
Then the ghost came.
It was squat with a brown flowing robe, strolling in his direction with purpose. The light hit it from behind, giving the apparition a hazy outline as the illumination flickered off the clothing. “Motherfucking Christ,” Cyanide said, pushing Brunetti lower as she followed Michael’s gaze.
“Target Two almost to you, Bravo,” said Travis.
“I see it,” Michael said.
“What the fuck?” Edberg said, training his weapon on the approaching figure.
Outlined in the camp lights, the ghost seemed to flow towards them, but Michael realized that was wrong. It snapped into place and he cursed himself for not getting it sooner. Running out into the open, he grabbed the bundle of robes, his arms wrapping tight around the frail figure encased within, and carried it to join the rest of Bravo team in cover. Working around the figure’s struggles, Michael was able to pull back a hood to reveal a woman. She was young and thin, her cheeks slightly sunken, and her eyes darted to each of them, their weapons, their outfits, and the open space past them.
“Bravo,” said Franklin over comms. “Rear area is clear.”
“Do you speak English?” Michael asked.
The woman fought him but there was no way she was going to escape. Cyanide left her post. She had done some research and had a passing knowledge of the local tongue. She talked to the woman, who nodded in reply. “She doesn’t speak English, but she won’t scream if you let her go.”
Michael released her and turned back to Funko and Brunetti. They were still behind the abandoned truck. Funko’s job was to stick to the package all the way back to the landing zone for the EVAC choppers. Michael knew Travis was quiet on comms, coordinating the arrival of three helicopters that would take them home.
“Sixty seconds,” he told Funko. “In sixty seconds exactly, you take Edberg and the package and get out of here. Wargacki, you’re with Funko, you hear me?”
“Got you, boss.”
“You have the mark,” he told Funko, who nodded in response.
Cyanide called to him.
“Edberg, get back here,” he said. If anyone was coming from Hotel, they would have responded already.
“I heard,” Edberg said, taking position beside Michael. “What’s her problem? Want me to handcuff her?”
“She says she’s with a group of girls in the Barn,” Cyanide said. “They came in a few hours ago,” the woman’s cadence picked up speed and pitch as she started to cry and Cyanide comforted her before the cry could turn to a wail.
“She was awake because several men came to their quarters and took her sister and two other girls a few minutes ago. I guess that’s what Able ran into in the back.”
It was eerily quiet, the dead bodies still lying in place, waiting to be discovered. Comms were silent as Franklin no doubt stewed. Funko’s sixty seconds were about gone. Michael looked across the empty courtyard at Hotel, where the remaining hostiles were pent up.
“They came in those trucks, huh?”
“I know where this is going,” Edberg said.
“Bravo, we don’t have time for t
his,” Franklin said, also sensing a shift in the wind.
So far the mission was a huge success. No injured and the package was secure. All Michael had to do now was retreat, rush the EVAC zone and, of course, cash the insurance’s check.
“Travis, any attitude change in Hotel?” Michael said.
“None.”
“How many targets?”
“Six now.”
“And at The Barn?”
“Twenty-six.”
Michael motioned Bravo team to join him behind the abandoned truck where Funko and Brunetti were. Though he had no comms piece to clue him in on the conversation, Brunetti saw the girl and perked up for the first time since Michael had admonished him. “What is happening? Who is she?”
“Change of plans,” Michael said. “Twenty-seven girls? How many guards are there? Ask her.”
“Michael, what is going on,” Brunetti said, his volume low, his tone edging on frantic. “Why are we changing plans?”
“One guard,” Cyanide responded, her eyes flicking to Brunetti.
“Why did he let you out?”
“She said she had to pee,” Cyanide said.
“Michael, this isn’t our mission,” Franklin snarled over comms. “Get your fucking head in the game, man.”
“Able,” Michael said without missing a beat. “Move back to rendezvous position, three elements coming with the package. Funko, you, Wargacki and Cyanide complete the mission. Edberg, you and I are going to clear Hotel and then The Barn. Then we lead these women to the trucks.”
“What are you talking about,” Brunetti said.
“I’m down,” Funko said.
“Michael, this is crazy, you can’t leave me to rescue some cagna puttana!”
Michael turned on Brunetti, fists clenched tight on his haunches, and Brunetti shied away from him. He tried to step away, but Funko grabbed a hank of the lawyer’s once expensive, now frayed and dirty blazer and held him tight. “You listen to me, you…,” Michael started when Cyanide cut him short.
“He’s right. Let me come too. You don’t even speak Kanuri.”
He thought about finishing the sentence but accepted the trap door. Taking a deep breath, he tried to express multiple layers of gratitude in a single nod. Edberg, oblivious to the tension, said, “I’ve known you long enough to just roll with it. Fuck it, let’s save some people.”
“Good man. Cyanide, you’re with us. Adam, I need you with Brunetti and Wargacki, you hear me?”
“You got it, boss,” Funko said, though Michael could see he was eager to join them.
“Michael, please don’t do this,” Brunetti pleaded, reaching out with a hand.
“Wargacki, Funko is inbound with the package,” Michael said, slapping Funko’s haunch to get him moving. “Go! Get him to the rendezvous.” Funko had taken up Cyanide’s position behind Brunetti, and herded the lawyer indelicately towards Wargacki’s position. Michael gestured to Edberg and Cyanide, “Let’s give them cover.”
Taking positions around Casino, Michael, Cyanide, and Edberg covered the courtyard as Funko and Brunetti moved along the back wall towards Wargacki. The young woman stayed near Cyanide, and it didn’t take much to keep her still and quiet. There was a key over comms, and Michael heard Travis exchange muffled words before a new voice filled his ears.
“Oi, Michael,” Ritchie McCullough said. “You hearing me, mate?”
“I’m here, buddy,” Michael said.
Edberg shook his head. “You done fucked up now, boss.”
“I’ve got to say that I’m having a hard time here, ‘buddy’, listening as you fuck up this op.”
“Op’s a success. Package is headed to EVAC with an overwhelming protective force.”
“Fuck Brunetti,” Ritchie snapped. “I’m talking about you, bruv. I need you safe and sound and not mucking everything up in some African shit stain. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” Michael said, motioning his team to move forward and all three left cover, heading for Hotel.
“I want you to take your leave of that place and bring yourself back here A.S.A.P. I’m not even fucking around, mate. This ain’t hero time, you hear me? This is ‘get the job done’ time. It’s get-the-fuck-out-and-have-a-pint-while-we-cash-our-checks time.”
“I’m not leaving these people out here,” Michael shot back.
“Well, fuck me. You know what happens when you make me mad, right? I get drunk and punch a random person. Then I get arrested and then it goes in the news and it’s-“
“Travis, edit out Ritchie’s signal.”
“Boss…” Travis said.
“Do it, Travis, and cut the passive-aggressive tone. We’re doing this, you understand?”
“You cunt,” Ritchie roared. “You wouldn’t fucking da-“
And he was silent.
“Travis, split our channel from Able and the EVAC efforts. Keep the monitor team live.”
“Will do. Should I hold EVAC Three for you?”
Wargacki stood from cover to meet Funko and Brunetti. The big guy was limping a bit as the three figures exited the main entrance and were gone from sight.
“Negative, Home One, all assets are on the package. Wargacki, you alright?”
“Fully functional.”
Michael motioned for the others to join him behind a large truck. Cyanide held the woman by her shoulder, leading her to cover. “Cyanide, you hang back with her. Watch The Barn but check your fire. That part of camp is dark as hell and I don’t want to-“
“I hear you, Michael.”
“Good. Edberg, you’re on the door. I’m primary. Suppressors,” he said and both men dug into their kits for silencers that they slotted into barrels of their M-4 carbines. Michael took a moment to stare at Edberg’s weapon once they were ready. It was modified to the hilt.
“I might have a mild accessory fetish,” he admitted.
“Does she understand what’s happening? Michael said.
Cyanide was fighting off the woman’s gratitude. “I think so.”
“Okay. Then let’s do this.”
One quick glance at Cyanide and Edberg told Michael they were ready. Lowering infrared goggles over his eyes, he heard them click into place and the world was cast in hues of red and blue. The next instant, Grayson was through the main door to Hotel, a wooden rickety shack that looked like it would topple with the impact. They didn’t have the layout of this building, no rolling cameras or satellite feeds, but they had a head count, and Michael had seen enough in Casino to estimate where the Boko fighters were sleeping.
Feeling Edberg right behind him, he moved through the entry room, past the makeshift kitchen and into a common area where one man slept and another was waking. The sleeping guy was his responsibility, and Michael stitched his chest with three silenced 5.56mm rounds, while Edberg did the same with the second one. The gunfire sounded like explosions in the small room, even with the suppressors, and Michael waited just long enough for Edberg to clear the room before moving down the main hall towards the bedrooms.
Taking the right side, Michael put a hard boot into the first door he saw and found a pair of men sleeping in a large double bed, the goggles rendering them into featureless red blobs. Michael fired a pair of three round bursts, the red blobs undulating as they died. He heard Edberg behind him, dealing out death in a similar fashion, clearing half the hallway in less than thirty seconds. Sweeping the narrow hall with their rifles, they saw that one door remained.
There were two hostiles left in the building, and with all of the rifle fire, little doubt that anyone was still asleep. The door ahead of them was little more than papier-mache with hinges. If the occupants decided to shoot through, neither Michael nor Edberg could do much to avoid it. Michael heard a low click and saw that Edberg had unclipped a flashbang grenade from his harness. Nodding an affirmative, Michael was about to kick the door down when light shone from under the thin cracks around the door.
Michael and Edberg moved in the same instant, flat
tening against opposite walls, rifles clutched tight against their chests, waiting for rounds to start pounding through the door. A five counted ticked down in Michael’s head and nothing happened, and he held a hand up to keep Edberg at bay. Edberg shook his head, lightly shaking the flashbang in his hand, pantomiming a throw into the room. Michael shook his head, knocking the door down in one hard kick, training his rifle on the room’s lone occupant.
Better fed and looking healthier than some of the other Boko fighters they had encountered during the op, the man had used his lead time to pull on a pair of pants, and as door splintered, was speaking frantically into a satellite phone. Michael understood none of it but saw the rifle within reach on the bed where he sat.
He recognized the man.
The Boko man flinched at the sound of the door breaking, his eyes locking on Michael immediately. Holding the phone tight against his ear, the man’s other hand crept towards the rifle as Michael hesitated. He couldn’t put a name to the face, but Michael was sure they had met at some function, maybe in the last year or two. He was certain it was more than that because Laura had been with him. He remembered this man enjoying a long, uncomfortable look at her during their short interaction.
“Contact!” Edberg said, breaking Michael’s reverie. Ducking further into the room, rifle still trained on this new enigma, Michael heard the report of Edberg’s rifle and a short burst of return fire from down the hall. Edberg grunted in pain over comms, fired another burst down the hall, and then silence. “All clear,” he said, his voice strained.
“Edberg, you ok?” Michael said as Edberg shuffled into the room in obvious pain. Fearing the worst, Michael scanned Edberg’s legs and hips for wounds and found none. The Boko man took his chance, dropping the phone and grabbing the rifle. He got a hand around the grip before his chest exploded as Edberg shot him. The guy fell back, dead.
“Where?” Michael said, pulling a quick clot patch from the emergency kit in his vest.
“In the vest,” Edberg said, motioning to a still smoking hole near his shoulder. “Vest got it, but I popped my clavicle for sure.”
Michael turned back to the dead Boko man and rolled him over. His eyes turned towards Michael, and his mouth worked, thick bubbles of blood forming at his lips then popping. “What’s your name?” Michael said, but the man’s legs gave a final, weak twitch.