Operator Down

by Brad Taylor

  Armstrong glared at Johan, his message clear. Johan retreated, but he didn’t want to. Tyler aggravated him with his attitude, with his fake-ass operator beard, and by pretending to be some personal badass while he did nothing but sell weapons to anyone who would purchase them. Johan leaned back but left his eyes on Tyler. Tyler looked away first.

  Focusing on Colonel Armstrong, Tyler said, “Enough with the questions. My work is done. All that remains is my pay. And you haven’t given me any indication that you can produce.”

  Armstrong said, “Mr. Smith was involved with Project Circle. He has the access, and he can deliver.”

  Smith looked shocked at the admission. He stammered, “I . . . I wasn’t involved . . . but I’m now in charge of the repository of the project . . . I don’t think we should talk about such things here.”

  Tyler glared at him and said, “I want my payment now.”

  Armstrong raised a finger, a civilized gesture that got the attention of all involved. He said, “No, no. Your work isn’t done until you land that plane back on South African soil, and we’re on it.”

  Incensed, Tyler said, “That wasn’t the agreement with Cohen. That was not the agreement. If this thing fails it is not my fault. I get paid either way.”

  “I agree with that, with one caveat: If it fails, me and my men are still flying out. I won’t hold you accountable for what happens on the ground, but I can’t possibly throw away my security by paying you now. What’s to stop you from just flying your ass somewhere else? Even if it’s successful? We cannot be on the ground while they consolidate power. We dismantle, and they clean up. We were never there.”

  “That was not the agreement.”

  “It’s the agreement now. You want those triggers, you follow through. If I make it back to South African soil, you get them. It’s that simple.”

  Aggravation bleeding through, Tyler said, “Okay, okay. So you’re satisfied with the merchandise?”

  Armstrong glanced at Andy. He nodded, and Armstrong said, “Yes. I am.”

  Tyler stood up hard enough to knock his chair over. Clearly displeased, he said, “This is not how I do business. I make an agreement, and I get paid.”

  He looked at Colonel Armstrong and said, “Believe me, you don’t want to mess with my business. I have friends you don’t want to meet.”

  Hearing the words, Johan stood as well, giving Tyler the heat of his stare. He said, “Don’t give me a threat. Give me a promise.”

  Tyler’s eyes went back and forth between the men, confused. Johan cleared it up for him. “If you’re not on that airfield, I’ll gut you alive. And that’s a promise. Bring your friends if you want. I’ll gut them too.”

  Tyler glared at Armstrong, then at Johan. He stormed out of the room without a word.

  Nobody said anything for a moment; then Colonel Smith rubbed his face, clearly distressed at how the conversation had deteriorated and how he was now involved. He tried to bring it back to his world. The military one.

  He said, “Lloyd, speaking of failure, if you don’t secure that place quickly—if anyone else becomes involved—you know I can’t stop what’s coming. South Africa won’t sit on the sidelines if America or some other country is stopping a bloodbath.”

  Armstrong said, “I know. I know. Don’t worry about that. You’ll be protected.”

  A SANDF member in uniform entered the room, startling Colonel Smith. The sentry said, “Sir, you told me to alert you about any activity.”

  Colonel Smith said, “Yes?”

  “Well, it’s nothing big, but we have some suspected trespassers outside the gate. American tourists, apparently. I didn’t want to disturb your meeting, but you said to tell you if we heard anything . . .”

  Johan thought one thing: Americans. Again.

  42

  I’d been sitting up top for five minutes, monitoring . . . well, monitoring nothing, really. I was just hoping the laser was actually recording something, and reflecting on the fact that Johan van Rensburg was somehow wrapped up in this mess, when Brett came on. “Pike, Pike, I’ve got eyes on Carrie.”

  What. The. Hell.

  I turned toward the square two hundred meters away but of course couldn’t see anything. “What’s she doing?”

  “I have no idea. She’s just leaning against a palm tree, staring at the castle.”

  Why is she here? I said, “Carrie, Carrie, you on the net?” I heard nothing. “Carrie, Carrie, damn it, if you’re on the net, you’d better answer.”

  Nothing.

  Brett said, “You want me to go interdict her?”

  “No. She’s already pinpointed you, I promise. She knows where you are. I don’t know what she’s doing, but don’t spook her.”

  I saw a flash of light off to my left and crouched down, thinking, What now?

  It was a security guard coming up the stairwell on the far bastion. Jesus Christ. What the hell is he doing up here?

  Hiding in the shadow of an old outcropping of brick, I watched him in my NODs. He went around the bastion, flashing his light here and there, occasionally lost from view before reappearing.

  And then he began threading through the ancient defenses toward me. Shit.

  I looked at the receiver, seeing it in the green of my NODs. Decision time. Break it down and hide, or hope he just goes past? The equipment was really hard to see, and even if he found it, it looked like some weather device. Breaking it down now would mean losing the conversation. But if he was out looking as protection for the meeting, we’d be in trouble, because he wouldn’t let it go.

  He came up the stairs from the mortar casement in the bastion, entering my level, and I made a decision. I raced to my equipment, saying, “Koko, Koko, I have a guard headed our way. Break down the laser and get out of sight. Let him go by, and we’ll reconnect.”

  I expected some questions, but all I got was, “Roger that.”

  Brett came on: “Pike, Koko. You need exfil?”

  “Not yet, but get ready. If he does a lap and keeps going, we’ll get back in play.”

  “That’s risky.”

  “I can’t get by him now anyway. My only chance is to let him miss me.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  Good question.

  I collapsed my tripod and shoved the whole thing against the wall, scuffing grass and dirt over it, watching the light bobbing toward me, thankful that he couldn’t see anything outside of the scope of the beam.

  That was the primary problem with using a flashlight—you lost all night vision because you were staring into the glow—but it didn’t help me if he shined it on my body. There was nothing to camouflage me like I had used on the tripod. Jennifer had mortar pits, casement walls, and the captain’s tower in her position on the bastion. I just had about a thirty-foot-wide path of grass that was the roof of the front of the castle.

  I said, “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s about what I would expect from you. Moving to the car. Good luck.”

  There was a wrought iron railing on both sides of the wall to prevent tourists from splashing their brains onto the pavement below, and I decided to just hang from it, but now I had a choice: drop inside the castle, or outside? Inside would put me in view of the meeting, but outside would allow everyone in the square to possibly see the crazy man hanging.

  The flashlight advanced, and I chose outside. At least if I fell—and I didn’t break a leg—I could run away.

  I flipped over the side and hung there holding my breath. I heard Brett come on. “Pike, Pike, is that you? Are you kidding me?”

  I said nothing, seeing the light bobbing by. Brett then said, “The good news is, I’m in the car. The bad news is, Shoshana’s seen you. She’s moving toward the castle.”

  Damn it.

  I wanted to scream, Stop that crazy bitch
, but I couldn’t risk talking.

  I hung there for what seemed like an eternity, then heard Jennifer whisper, “He’s at my location. I’m secure. When he gets by, I’ll call.”

  Which was enough to let me know I could talk and move. I climbed back over and said, “Blood, Blood, what’s Carrie’s status?”

  “I lost her. I’m up the street, on the main drag that leads to the tourist parking lot, same place I dropped you off.”

  Damn that girl. The last thing I needed was her trying to penetrate the castle on some misguided mission to find Aaron.

  Jennifer came on, and now she was talking so low I could barely hear her. “Pike, this is Koko. He’s found the rope. He’s looking at the rope.”

  We’d pulled our grapple hook and coiled the rope at the base of the wall, not wanting it to be seen hanging down from the outside, but I’d never considered it being seen from the top.

  “What about you?”

  “I’m good. He won’t find me. I can move when he does. But he’s got a radio.”

  Well, this just turned into a shit sandwich.

  I started packing my receiver, knowing the mission was over. I said, “Take him out. Now.”

  “He’s already used it.”

  Which meant removing him from the equation would only prove whatever suspicion he’d called when he was found. Whoever he’d radioed was on the way.

  I shouldered my rucksack and began slinking toward her position, saying, “Blood, Blood, get ready for a hard exfil. Break, break—Koko, status?”

  I heard nothing and took a knee, waiting. Finally, I heard two clicks, which meant she couldn’t talk. I moved close enough to help if she needed it, then simply waited, my head wanting to explode from the silence. Thirty seconds passed, and then I saw the flashlight bounding along the adjacent wall, moving away. Koko came on, saying, “He’s looking for us. He thinks we’re deeper in, ahead of him.”

  I sprinted as fast as I could with my NODs on my head, finding Jennifer on a knee behind the captain’s tower, holding her tripod and camera in her hands. I pulled off the NODs, dropped the ruck, and said, “Break it down. We’re going.”

  She started working, and I called Brett. “Blood, we’re coming over the wall. You ready?”

  Getting compromised was one thing, but getting caught was something that absolutely couldn’t happen.

  He said, “I’m set at the original drop-off. You want me to come to you?”

  The parking lot had a narrow bridge across the moat, and if he came in, it would be easy to prevent him from getting back out with a vehicle.

  “No. Stay where you are. We’ll come to you.”

  Jennifer stood up, handing me the ruck. I said, “Come on, let’s go. You first.”

  She said, “I can’t retrieve the rope if I go first.”

  She thought she was repeating in reverse what we’d done originally, with me using the rope, her tossing it to me, and then her climbing down the wall, but it was too late for that.

  “We’re both going to scale the wall. We use the rope now and they’ll know we escaped. It stays just like he found it. Hopefully, we get away clean and it’s just a mystery.”

  She said, “I can pull it up after you go.”

  “We don’t have time for that shit. Every second counts. It’ll take too long going one at a time.”

  She looked down the wall and said, “You sure you can do this?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t get cocky. Get on the stone.”

  She grinned, her teeth glowing in the night, then flipped over the wall, holding the parapet with her hands while she sought purchase with her feet. She looked up at me and said, “I’ll catch you when you fall,” then began scampering down. I let her get a body length away and then followed.

  I got about halfway down, still fourteen feet above the ground, and saw the lights of a cop car rolling down the road toward the moat. I moved faster, not wanting them to see us on the wall, and felt my foot slip.

  I rapidly slid it left and right, looking for purchase, then felt my handhold going. I lost my grip and then was in free fall, sailing by Jennifer. I slammed into the ground on my side, getting the breath knocked out of me.

  Jennifer dropped to the ground next to my body, scrambled to me, and leaned over as if she was going to hoist me to my feet. I knocked her hands out of the way from pure embarrassment, saying, “Get out of sight.”

  I rolled over, and we both ran to the edge of the moat. It had a seven-foot culvert of concrete, with the water far below. No way to slide down that and escape. We’d never make it out the other side without being seen. I briefly considered just hiding in the water for the night but knew that was ridiculous.

  Jennifer said, “What’s the plan?”

  I said, “It’s completely shot now. I thought you were going to catch me.”

  She looked at me like I’d grown a horn, and I grinned. She hit my shoulder, and I saw the cop car roll across the bridge.

  I said, “Stand up. We’re going to bluff our way out.”

  “Pike, how?”

  I stood, saying, “How what? We’re just a couple of tourists out on the night. There’s nothing connecting us to the rope up there.”

  “Except for that damn backpack on you.”

  The headlights from the car blinded us, and I said, “Too late.”

  The light bar on the roof began flashing, and three people came out of the car, advancing warily. One said, “Come to us, please. Hands in the open.”

  Raising my hands in the air, I said, “Whoa, whoa. What’s up, Officer? We’re just checking out the castle.”

  “It’s closed now. What are you doing?”

  “Just walking around.”

  “Come to me. I won’t ask again.”

  We started walking toward them, and he shouted, “Hands! Let me see your hands.”

  We both raised our hands high, and I heard his partner call into his mic, “Couple of Americans. We’re checking them out.”

  We stopped five feet away, and I reached into my pocket. The cop shouted, “Hands!”

  I said, “I’m just getting my passport . . . Calm down.”

  I withdrew my fingers from the pocket, holding my passport in the air. His partner said, “What’s on your back?”

  And I knew we weren’t going to get out. Damn suicide bombers making everyone jumpy. They would find the laser mic, the NODs, and everything else. I triggered my radio and said, “Blood, we need some help.”

  Cop One said, “What?”

  And then he hit the ground face-first like someone had tied a rope to his legs and jerked out with a pickup truck. His partners whirled at the motion, and something came across the hood of the car, like a wraith in a horror movie. A movie I’d seen before.

  I saw the form engulf one cop, and I launched on the last guy, sweeping his legs out from under him and hammering his skull. He bounced on the ground and, surprisingly, tried to fight back. I blocked his blows, cradled his head, and choked him out. He relaxed like a toy doll, unconscious, and I turned to the other fight.

  I saw the dark angel over the cop, blotting out the light, him struggling and the wraith winning. He thrashed for a second, then grew still.

  The form rose, and Shoshana said, “Why am I always saving your ass?”

  I stood up over my cop and hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Surprised at my tone, she said, “Huh? I got the key. I was just sitting around. I thought I could help.”

  Aggravated, I bit out, “And you don’t bother to get on the radio?”

  Jennifer slapped me on the shoulder and started speed walking past the police car, saying, “Hey, we need to go. Pike’s happy for the help.”

  Shoshana glared at me, then began jogging to catch up with Jennifer, saying, “Doesn’t sound like it t
o me.”

  43

  The sentence hung in the air, and I knew we’d just crossed the Rubicon. The words on the tape were damning, and not in a way that would help my mission.

  Shocked, unable to believe what she’d heard, Shoshana looked at me and said, “Play it again.”

  I said, “Shoshana—”

  She cut me off, saying, “Play it again.”

  I rewound the digital recorder by twenty seconds and hesitated, not wanting to set off the grenade. She glared at me and said, “Play the damn tape.”

  I hit the button.

  It was the last bit of recording we had obtained before we had to break down our laser microphone and flee like a couple of shoplifters at Macy’s.

  And it was brutal in its simplicity.

  You have a problem with me, Johan? Have I let you down yet? Did you have any trouble smuggling the Israeli? Or interrogating him?

  Shoshana hissed, growing dark, and the recording continued. That was my safe house. I took the risk. It’s my warehouse on the waterfront. More risk. So far, I’m the only one who has stake in this game, so back the fuck off.

  The true revelation was that Tyler was neck-deep in whatever mess was going on, but all Shoshana heard was a single word: Israeli.

  She turned to me and said, “They have Aaron. That fuck you called a friend has Aaron.” She looked at me with more pain than hatred. Pain at my perceived disloyalty because I’d told her I knew who Johan was.

  The room grew tense, with Jennifer staring at the recorder and Brett surreptitiously putting a hand to the butt of the weapon on his hip. He understood the threat.

  Shoshana flashed her eyes to me and said, “You call Johan a friend, and he’s talking about interrogating Aaron?”

  She stomped in a circle, fists clenched, looking at each of us in turn, and said, “I swear to God, if he’s harmed, I will kill every—single—one of you.”