Operator Down

by Brad Taylor

  Aaron saw the damage and said nothing. Thomas said, “I know why that is. I had something to give him, which I did not.”

  He dropped his shirt and said, “But I don’t know why he would come for you.”

  Aaron shook his head and said, “I honestly don’t know why either. I have nothing. I’ve done nothing. I’m not a threat to him.”

  Thomas smiled and said, “Yes, you are. You may not realize it, but you are. And I could use a threat.”

  Aaron barked out a laugh and said, “The only threat I am, you saw last night. I can fight, but that does little good in here.”

  Thomas smiled again, his teeth as white as snow in the darkness. “But you have friends, don’t you? You have connections beyond what you’ve shown. A government, perhaps?”

  Aaron sighed, thinking of the Mossad and the lack of help he was so close to achieving. He said, “No. I have no government willing to free me here.”

  Disappointed, Thomas said, “So you’re not being sought? Nobody is trying to help you?”

  Aaron glanced at him, then looked away, but once again, his eyes gave away the answer. Thomas saw the hope leaking out and said, “You have someone? Someone’s coming to find you, yes? Not a government? That’s good too. That’s okay. Who is he?”

  Aaron said nothing. Thomas said, “He can help us both. You have a secret, and so do I.”

  Aaron let the words settle, understanding he now had an ally.

  He said, “It’s a she. And yes. She’s coming. When she does, you want to be on my side, I promise.”

  33

  Shoshana watched the car pull into the roundabout in front of the Victoria & Alfred Hotel, then saw her target exit. She took a left into a tourist car park and pulled into a spot that gave her a view of the entrance. Before committing, she wanted to know if he was entering the hotel or going deeper into the famed V&A waterfront of Cape Town, South Africa.

  Originally constructed as a simple stopover point for Dutch East India Company ships traveling to India and the Far East, it had transformed in the modern era into a tourist promenade, with everything from a giant aquarium to a Ferris wheel that looked like a miniature London Eye. Even though it was becoming overrun with pedestrian walkways, shops, and restaurants, it was still a working port, and Shoshana hoped her target was doing something other than getting a beer.

  In truth, she was a tad bit aggravated at the slow-moving surveillance effort and wanted nothing more than to corner her target and rip off his head, spilling out the secrets that he held. But she couldn’t, because Pike had demanded they develop the situation. She feared the delay was putting Aaron in danger.

  She’d lost the ability to sleep at night, worried beyond measure about what was happening to her touchstone. Her gateway to normalcy. She didn’t realize it, but her fear of losing Aaron was driving her to become exactly what she was trying so hard to leave behind. A monster that shouldn’t walk the earth.

  She saw the target bypass the entrance to the hotel, moving deeper into the waterfront. She exited the car, taking up a loose follow, keeping his blond head in sight in the distance and wondering why his mission even mattered, whatever it was. There was nothing in Cape Town for her. Yeah, the man they called Apple Watch might be doing something heinous, but who cared what the Taskforce thought? He was a bad man like a bazillion other folks in the world. Divining his evil plot wouldn’t get her Aaron. Only skinning him alive would do that. She was regretting volunteering for this task. She should have followed the black man.

  In Tel Aviv, they’d learned that the Taskforce had identified Apple Watch’s iPhone in Cape Town, South Africa, at a hotel in the old Muslim section of Bo-Kaap. They’d done a hasty site survey via online tools and then had flown to the bottom of Africa to interdict the target. The flight route had been circuitous, forcing them first to go to Europe before traveling back down to the edge of the earth in South Africa, and the time lost had eaten at Shoshana.

  She’d become incensed when Pike had developed a surveillance plan on the hotel but no follow-on takedown. No planning for exfiltration with the target, no interrogators, no requests for support assets whatsoever.

  She’d eventually interrupted the operations order, saying, “I see a lot of sneak-and-peek crap to set this guy up, but nothing about taking him down. When are we doing that? We’re wasting time with this tiptoe stuff.”

  The room had gone quiet, all eyes on Pike. In a measured tone, he’d said, “Shoshana, we don’t have authority to do that. Not yet, anyway. We have to build the target package and then get approval.”

  She heard the words and felt betrayed, her earlier fears coming home. They didn’t care about Aaron. They cared only about themselves. She’d snapped to her feet and said, “I told you I wouldn’t stand for any bullshit. That man knows where Aaron is, and I’ll take him down by myself if I have to.”

  Pike shook his head, saying, “And then what?”

  “And then I wring him out. Find Aaron.”

  She’d glared at him, then Jennifer, and started to walk to the hotel door. Pike had said, “What if he doesn’t know where Aaron is?”

  She stopped, the anger flaring out, saying, “Then I move on to the next one.”

  Pike said, “What next one? We don’t have a next one yet. And what happens when our target set realizes you’ve hit him? You think they’ll just continue like business as usual? Or shift? Perhaps move Aaron to a new location. Or kill him.”

  She balled her fists and let out a guttural animal sound, something from deep within her soul. She knew he was right, and that fact was eating her from the inside out. She wanted to fight. She was like a wolf caught in a bear trap, ripping its limbs to get free, the action itself doing more damage than the trap, but continuing to thrash in a frenzy nonetheless.

  She tamped down her instinctual fear, managing to stop her internal struggle. Pike nodded, seeing the change. In a gentle tone he said, “Shoshana, sit down, please.”

  She did, and he finished the OPORD detailing trigger and bumper locations. He ended by saying, “Remember, Apple is our only key, and today is just development. We record every thread and then explore those threads. That’s the mission.” He looked at Shoshana and said, “Can you do that?”

  She nodded firmly, and he said, “Good. Let’s get cracking.”

  They’d traveled to their designated surveillance bumper locations around the hotel, with Brett on the trigger position inside and Shoshana on the least likely egress the target would use—the one away from the city center. It aggravated her, but she understood why.

  Two hours later, sitting in her rental car parked on Wale Street outside a traditional Cape Malay curry restaurant, she heard the trigger call.

  “All elements, all elements, this is Blood. Apple is leaving the hotel foxtrot, intending right on Wale Street.”

  Shoshana perked up at the call. Foxtrot meant he was on foot, no vehicle. Intending meant Blood thought he was taking a right on Wale Street, not a left. Which meant he was coming to her.

  She said, “This is Carrie. I copy.”

  Pike and Jennifer, in the other two bumper positions, did the same, and she saw Apple Watch coming up the hill. She said, “Carrie has the eye, still foxtrot.”

  She’d wait until he passed her before exiting her vehicle, just in case. He didn’t. He stopped at the corner, across the intersection from her position, and a car pulled up, heading the other way. He got in the passenger seat, and she put her car in drive.

  She called the team, gave them a description of the car and the direction of travel, and then passed Pike headed the other way. She grinned. She was now the only one who could follow in the short term.

  They wove through the city until they hit Long Street, the target taking a right. Shoshana followed two cars back, immediately hit a throng of pedestrians, and grew afraid of a break in contact.

  “Pike
, this is Carrie. Apple is on Long Street, and this looks like the barhopping, boozing area. Nothing but pubs and restaurants, with backpackers and locals all over the street. I might lose him.”

  Jennifer came on. “Carrie, this is Koko. I’ve got visor two blocks up.” Meaning she was ahead of the target. Shoshana slowed her urgency through the crowds. She heard Jennifer come back on. “Pike, Carrie’s right. This avenue looks a lot like Bourbon Street.”

  “Got it. No issues now, but it’s something to remember if we have to do night ops here. Brett’s parallel to the north, and I’m to the south. Target’s not getting out without us picking him up.”

  Shoshana saw the target car pull over next to a two-story building with a hotel on top and a bar on the bottom. Apple left the vehicle, and the car rolled on. She called, “He’s foxtrot now. I’m passing. It’s the Long Street Hotel, some type of social club on the bottom.”

  She rolled through the intersection, seeing Apple enter, and called, “I’m off.”

  34

  Johan passed by the Cape Town South African history museum, entering the expanse of green known as the Company’s Garden. Once a plot of land that grew the food for the Dutch East India Company outpost, it had been preserved as a park that spanned hectares of terrain, running right next to the Houses of Parliament of South Africa. It was a crowded place with all manner of people, both rich and poor, black and white, and was a good location to conduct a meeting that wouldn’t draw attention. Especially since both he and the man he was meeting were wanted by South Africa for disobeying the ’98 Regulation of Foreign Military Assistance Act.

  Birthed because of the rampant mercenary activity in the nineties, with less-than-stellar men working for charlatan organizations that built their false pedigrees on the backs of the success of professionals like Johan, it was a law that caused him to tread lightly in his homeland.

  He wandered through the gardens, watching the kids play with soccer balls, taking paths that would channelize anyone following him without appearing as if he was doing anything overt. The winding trails and thick vegetation provided a ready-made surveillance-detection route and were the reason he’d picked this garden to meet the colonel.

  Walking on a path that wound through the trees all by itself, he approached a group of teenagers and saw one of them stand up. His skin coal black, wearing worn Nike sweats and shoes that were untied, he had the vacant stare of a person feeling no pain but looking to apply some.

  Johan passed him by, and the group stood up, following. Shit. Exactly what he didn’t need. The entire point of choosing this location was to sniff out anyone following, not get a police response because of an altercation. The teens were searching for easy prey, and he was simply looking to remain invisible.

  He turned abruptly, and they all stopped short. Five of them, all stoned. He looked the leader in the eyes and realized there was no reasoning with them. Nike Sweats was panting, sweat rolling off his face, pupils dilated. He didn’t care about the police or anything else. He cared about the kill. Strangely, Johan understood.

  Johan said, “You want to make some money?”

  Taken aback, Nike Sweats said, “Yeah . . . how? What you talking about?”

  “You leave me alone, and I’ll pay you five hundred rand.”

  Nike Sweats smiled and said, “You got five hundred, maybe you got more. Maybe I’ll take it.”

  Johan took two steps toward him, closing into his personal space and pulling out a folding knife. He flicked it open and brought it blade-first into the man’s groin. He said, “You want to make the money, or lose your nuts?”

  Nike Sweats was frozen in place. The others became agitated, not sure of what to do. They’d never been on the receiving end of a hunt.

  Johan sawed the blade, splitting the cloth of the sweats. He looked at them and said, “He can’t speak. You guys want to make some money?”

  One of them nodded, saying, “Yeah, yeah. We’ll take the rand. And you can have his balls.”

  The others laughed, and Johan pulled the knife away. He withdrew his wallet, pulled out several notes, and threw them on the ground. He looked at Nike Sweats and said, “Not everyone is prey around here.”

  He turned and walked away, hearing them scamper on the ground for the money.

  Johan was incensed. He had a mission, and it was almost short-circuited by a bunch of random losers. Should have fucking gutted them. But he knew he wouldn’t even if he could. They were just a by-product of the poverty that abounded in Cape Town, and they would end up dying an early death by someone else’s hand. Not his.

  Johan continued on the path until it reentered the main promenade, a statue of the famed politician Cecil Rhodes towering over the pavestones, the outside of the monument now cloaked in protest placards accusing him of all manner of evil. An indication of the new face of South Africa.

  He went by it, threading through the woods until he saw a coffee shop with outdoor tables sprinkled along the garden path. He entered the patio and saw Colonel Lloyd Armstrong sitting under an umbrella, two steaming cups of coffee on the table. He was wearing chinos and a short-sleeve business shirt, his eyes hidden behind a pair of Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses. The attire did nothing to hide his prior profession.

  A hulking man with his hair cut close to the scalp, he looked like a cartoon version of a lion tamer, right down to the cigar he was smoking. Nobody would mistake him for a banker, regardless of what he was wearing.

  Johan slid into the seat next to him, hoping for a surprise. He was disappointed. Armstrong said, “Why didn’t you just kill those fucks?”

  Taken aback, Johan said, “Good to see you too, sir. What fucks?”

  Armstrong raised his coffee mug and pointed with it. Johan turned and saw the drug-addled group following along his path. Armstrong said, “What did you do, pay them to leave you alone?”

  Johan smiled and said, “Yeah, I did. I’m going to claim it as an expense.”

  Armstrong laughed and said, “Always the one to avoid conflict.” He turned serious, saying, “But that’s not what happened in Lesotho. I got the SITREP. What’s the true story?”

  Johan told him everything that had occurred, giving an assessment that wasn’t included in his clinical report. He detailed the atmospherics of Maseru and the impact of the US Special Forces team’s arrival, ending with his assessment of General Mosebo’s troops.

  “They aren’t that good. In fact, they’re shit. You told me earlier that they were some of the best on the continent, but that’s not what I saw. How is the training going? Am I wrong?”

  “No. They aren’t as good as we were told, but they aren’t completely raw recruits. They can work an AK, and they understand basic fire and maneuver. We’re just honing some edges. The first two packages are already back home. We’re finishing up with the last one.”

  “Did you break them out by ability, instead of by LDF assignments? Because some areas are going to need more skill than others.”

  “Yes. They know they’ll get separated. They just don’t know how yet. I was waiting on you for that.”

  Johan leaned back, making sure nobody was within earshot. He said, “I’ll have a complete report by tonight, but basically, we’ll have four stop-groups. The easy ones will be the parliament building itself and the television and radio station. The tough ones will be the police headquarters and the prime minister’s residence. The police will be a firefight, so we’ll need to go in hard. The prime minister’s residence will be the same. It’s hardened, gated, and he has a robust protective detail, but unlike the police headquarters, it’s a much more delicate mission. We can’t just kill everyone. We’ll have to make sure he remains alive.”

  Armstrong said, “I’ll need specifics on force sizes, weapons, and contingencies.”

  Johan took a sip of his coffee before answering, then said, “You’ll get it tonight, but basically, in
order of skill, the best fighters go to the residence, second best to the headquarters, and the rest to the television and radio station. The least skilled simply take over the parliament building. It’ll be closed at night, with a skeleton security-guard force. It’s purely symbolic.”

  Armstrong took a sip of his coffee, and Johan said, “One thing we can’t do is cause the Americans to interfere.”

  “We won’t. We work this quickly and they won’t have a reason to.”

  Johan said, “There’s something else that concerns me. The Israeli.”

  “What about him?”

  “We went after his partner, and we were eviscerated. She had a team working with her. And the team included Americans.”

  Armstrong waved his hand in the air, washing away the worry. He said, “I got the report from Andy. I understand it was a mess, but I don’t assess it as having an impact on our operation. We went after her—a mistake, no doubt—but my contacts in Israel say there have been no repercussions. We stuck our hand into the flame and got burned. Nobody is looking into it beyond a police response. Nobody is looking for outside influences.”

  Johan said, “Nobody but her.”

  “What’s that matter? She’s a single slash. She can’t do anything.”

  “She had help from someone. One of the team says it was the United States.”

  Colonel Armstrong barked a laugh and said, “No, let’s be precise. He said he was choked out by an American. Big difference. I have Americans on this team. They’re everywhere, and they have the skill forged from combat. The continent hasn’t seen this level of American involvement since the end of the Vietnam War.”

  Johan said, “So you’re not concerned? We’re dealing with a diamond merchant who’s also former Israeli intelligence, and when we try to cauterize a leak, we get annihilated. By the partner of the man we now hold. How much do you know about the background of the diamond dealer? Is he telling the truth?”