Operator Down

by Brad Taylor

  Johan said, “Sir, I’ll do the killing, but I’m not going to make that guy think he’s a savior. He’s a fucking mercenary, just like me.”

  61

  We left the hardball road, taking a gravel track, and the caravan slowed to a snail’s pace. Brett came over my headset, saying, “The South African checkpoint is about five hundred meters from here. We marked a path around it. Everyone hold up while Carrie and I go find the route.”

  I said, “Roger that. Everyone else, kill your engines.”

  The night grew quiet, the two small engines disappearing into the darkness. Jennifer put down her kickstand and sauntered over to me. I said, “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got a long way to go to Morija. We get through the checkpoint and I think we should get some sleep.”

  I said, “I know. We’re going to be running the ragged edge here soon. I’ve got a campsite picked out, in the Lesotho national forest. We’ll get there about dawn and rack out. But I’m worried about them making it to the safe house before we do.”

  “It’s about four hours to Morija once we cross the border. They aren’t due to get in until tomorrow night.”

  I said, “Yeah, I just worry. We’re trusting the word of some asshole we just sent into the sky.”

  She patted my arm and said, “It’ll work out. With you it always does.”

  I said, “I don’t know this time.” I looked at her and said, “I think Aaron may be dead, and I’m worried about Shoshana. If that’s true, and she finds out, she’s going to go on a suicide run. She’ll kill everyone, and then get killed. I won’t be able to stop her.”

  Jennifer said, “He’s alive.”

  I said, “That’s just talk. There are plenty of men I wish were alive who aren’t. We aren’t special. We bleed like anyone else.”

  She said, “I know. I remember Decoy. That’s not what I meant.”

  I immediately felt like a patronizing ass for comparing my combat to hers. She said, “I mean, he’s alive. Shoshana believes it, and she’s scary supernatural.”

  I said, “I hope you’re right, because if you’re not, I might be putting her down like a rabid dog.”

  Her eyes widened, and she said, “What do you mean by that?”

  Brett came on the net. “We have it. Follow the path we used; you’ll see us about seventy meters in.”

  I said, “Go back to your bike.”

  She said, “That’s not happening. Ever.”

  I repeated, “Go back to your bike. And remember, we have a mission. Don’t make it personal. I promise Shoshana won’t.”

  Knuckles took the lead, and we wound through the woods until we found Shoshana and Brett. They mounted up, and we went about fifteen miles an hour, threading through the brush. Every once in a while, I saw a piece of reflective tape tied to a limb. Shoshana and Brett had marked the entire path to ensure we could get through without a lot of searching. Thirty minutes later, Brett cut to the left, and we were back on a hardball, riding as fast as the bikes could go—which is to say about thirty miles an hour.

  Sooner than I expected, he cut to the right of the road, saying, “This is it. The blacktop ends about a hundred meters ahead. There’s a small opening with no gate. We need to pedal through, one by one. There’s a police checkpoint on the left. It was active in the day, but I have no idea what’s there at night.”

  I said, “Roger all. You leading?”

  “I guess I have to, as the black man.”

  I chuckled and said, “Call when you’re through.”

  He left, and we waited. Ten minutes later, he called, “Shoshana, you’re next.”

  She left, and then one by one, the team pedaled through the small pedestrian gate. Finally, it was my turn. I realized immediately that the pedaling part of the equation left a lot to be desired. It was as hard as hell to get going. Of course, I was probably carrying about a hundred pounds of gear. I wondered why I hadn’t heard Shoshana or Jennifer bitch about it.

  I huffed, changing gears as I built up speed, finally seeing the gate ahead. I reached it and then heard someone shout.

  Not good.

  I pulled into the brush and became absolutely still, my head cocked in the direction of the noise. I heard the voice again, and it wasn’t from us. I withdrew my NODs and saw a half-dressed man on a porch, shouting into the darkness underneath a single bulb. He had on pants and an equipment belt, but no shirt. Two more men appeared, dressed in uniforms, and they all left the porch. Brett said, “I have an issue. They’ve seen me.”

  I pushed the bike through the gate and dropped it in the brush. I said, “Did they see the bike?” It was too late to retreat, and if we had to take them out, I wanted them searching for black men on foot. If they saw the weird motorcycle, there was no way we could risk riding them again.

  “No. It’s lying down.”

  “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Hiding in the brush. They’ll be found if they come out.”

  Shoshana said, “Let them come.”

  That was the last thing I wanted. I said, “Negative, negative. Everyone but Brett and Knuckles, stay where you are. Lie low. Brett, approach them.”

  “I don’t speak the fucking language. They’re going to know I’m not Basotho.”

  I started moving forward, saying, “Just do it. Knuckles, Knuckles, you see the targets?”

  He whispered, “Roger that.”

  “I got the tall guy on the left. Can you get the guy on the right without him seeing you?”

  “Roger.”

  “Okay. Brett, you got the center guy. Start waving your arms and talking. Get them focused on you. Everyone else, stay the fuck down.”

  Brett stood up, saying something that was lost in the wind. I circled around to the edge of the porch and began stalking. I whispered, “Knuckles, you good? I’m about to hit.”

  “I’m good. I’ll go on you.”

  They reached Brett, and he began talking, his hands waving all over the place like he was describing the building of the pyramids. The middle guard pulled a pistol from his holster, and that was the end of the planned assault.

  Brett snatched the weapon out of his hand and slammed it into his face.

  My target drew his own gun, focused solely on Brett, and I saw Knuckles come out of the darkness behind the far target. I reached mine a split second later, grabbing the barrel of his weapon and hammering a fist into his kidney from behind. He collapsed to his knees, and I jerked the gun out of his hand, then used it to knock him out. I whirled to the other targets, but they were all down.

  I said, “Check them for damage.”

  I felt the pulse of my guy, then watched his breathing, seeing it steady. I explored the wound on his head, finding a crease of blood but no fracture.

  I said, “How are we looking?”

  Brett said, “My guy is good. Gonna wake up with a headache, but no permanent damage.”

  Knuckles said, “Same here.”

  False dawn was starting to bleed its tendrils of light into the woods. I said, “Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here. The campsite’s about forty minutes due west. Inside the Sehlabathebe National Park. Let’s get there and bed down for some shut-eye. We’re going to be busy for the next twenty-four hours.”

  Brett said, “Should we leave a Batman card?”

  Turning to go, I said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know, Batman. I’m starting to really like that character.”

  I said, “Batman’s American. If you can think of a Lesetho superhero, I’m all about it.”

  He said, “Good point,” and jogged to his bike.

  62

  Aaron scuffed the mortar of the next brick in the row, close to finishing the work on the entire ring around the window. The noise seemed deafening to his ears. A scrape, scrape, scrape that he wa
s sure the lethargic uniformed tribe would eventually figure out and report. But so far they hadn’t.

  He was working faster than he had before because he knew his time was coming to an end. He pried out another piece of masonry, tossing it through the window.

  He had a decision to make, and soon. He didn’t want to leave without Alex, but he had the means of escape in front of him. He’d been torn for the last twenty-four hours about his next actions. Escape, leaving her in the prison? Or stay, when he had no control over her fate? He’d decided that his getting out was the best course of action. There was a risk, in that the guards could punish her for his escape, but it was the best chance for the both of them.

  He stepped off the bucket, casting a wistful glance out the window, seeing the gloom from the setting sun. He hid the spoon in a crevice he’d created and came from behind the blanket. Thomas was sitting on the floor with his cup, ready to alert if anyone came.

  Aaron said, “It’s ready, but this is going to be close. If that fuck comes before it’s dark, I’m out of luck.”

  Thomas said, “You want to go now? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I can’t. There’s no way I’ll get off this base in the daylight. Not even these guys are incompetent enough to allow that.”

  Thomas smiled and said, “Then darkness it is, although I still think you’re making things worse.”

  “Thomas, you may not believe it, but you’re going to die in here. And I might too, if that damn sun doesn’t drop fast enough.”

  Thomas said, “Maybe, but each day I live is one more day on earth. I don’t seek to shorten it.”

  Aaron said, “Neither do I.”

  There was a commotion in the front of the room, and Aaron saw Lurch come barreling in with four other guards, the inmates scurrying away.

  Shit. Aaron knew he’d just missed his chance.

  Lurch marched forward with his phalanx of minions, all swinging batons even as the inmates scrambled away. The only one who didn’t run was Thomas.

  Lurch stopped in front of them and said, “Jew, it’s time to go.”

  Thomas said, “Why must you use such aspersions?”

  Lurch lashed out with a baton, cracking Thomas in the head. He fell to the floor, and Aaron knew something had changed. They had never before directly accosted the suit tribe, and certainly not its leader.

  Lurch said, “You’ll get yours later tonight, you little worm. For now, I’ll settle for the Jew.”

  He jerked Aaron to his feet, then flicked his head. A man to the left hammered Aaron in the head with a baton, and he fell to his knees. The man cracked him again, dropping him to the floor. Aaron lost focus, vaguely seeing Thomas step in and get brutalized as well. A guard cuffed his wrists, then dragged him on his stomach through the open cell room, the uniformed prisoners laughing and hooting. He tried to stand up, but the pace was too quick. He staggered forward, then fell again, the man jerking on his handcuffs without mercy.

  They reached a Land Rover, and a hood was thrown over his head. He was shoved into the vehicle, and they drove for what felt like close to five minutes. Not long enough to leave the base. So they were going deeper. Aaron’s mind was working furiously, trying to assess the best- and worst-case scenarios.

  He was jerked out of the vehicle and once again forced to move faster than his legs could maintain with the hood on. He fell, was kicked, and stood again. Eventually, he was slammed into a wall, then hoisted up, hooking his handcuffs on an iron bolt that left him on tiptoe, straining to relieve the stress on his shoulders, his ankle chains slapping the wall.

  So it’s the worst case.

  His hood was ripped off, and he found Lurch in front of him. He said, “General Mosebo won’t be here for a few hours, but he asked me to soften you up. He wants to know what you know, because tonight is critical. Make no mistake, I have no questions. I’m just here for the fun.”

  He brandished a bamboo rod and stood back, swishing it in the air. For the first time, Aaron saw a person next to him. A female in bra and panties, hung on a hook just like him, but still hooded. Lurch lashed out, striping her belly, and she screamed.

  Alex.

  Aaron felt molten fury, wanting to explode in vengeance.

  Lurch came back to him and said, “You want me to work over you, or her?”

  Aaron gritted his teeth and said, “I’m going to kill the lot of you.”

  Lurch laughed and said, “I guess that means you want me to work over your partner.”

  He raised the bamboo lash again, and Aaron said, “No. Don’t. Take it out on me.”

  Lurch said, “Good. Because it won’t be fun using that body after we’ve beaten it.”

  And the rod came down.

  63

  Johan felt the aircraft leave the earth, and it had a feeling of finality. They were in the air, and the mission was a go. He looked at the men around him and had confidence in their abilities, but he was losing conviction in what he was about to do.

  The men sat in the web seats of the C-130 aircraft, already in their parachutes. The flight was only an hour and a half, and it wouldn’t be long before they exited into the black night. He leaned over to Chris and said, “You sure you’re good to go?”

  Chris was American Special Forces and had proven to be a good man during the rehearsals. One of the few who understood the limitations of the indigenous men they were training.

  “Yeah, I’m good. My ankle is cinched tighter than a virgin’s cunt. I’ll be fine.”

  Johan nodded, and, curious, he said, “How did you get into this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Johan leaned back and said, “I mean, this doesn’t seem to be your skill set. How were you hired?”

  Confused, Chris said, “You’ve seen my skill. I can outshoot anyone here. My ankle doesn’t matter. What the hell are you talking about?”

  Johan said, “We aren’t training anymore. We’re taking over a country for money.”

  Chris squinted his eyes and said, “We’re removing a despot. That’s what I do.”

  Johan laughed and said, “When? Where have you removed a despot?”

  “I served in Iraq. Afghanistan. I did what was right then, and I do it now.”

  Johan nodded and said, “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Seeing he’d hit a nerve about Chris’s past service, and not wanting to fight, Johan let it drop, saying, “Nothing. Just do your job and earn the paycheck.”

  He moved to the front of the aircraft, feeling Chris’s eyes on his back. He reached the loadmaster, hearing him talk to the pilot on a headset about the altitude. With the short flight time, they’d spend most of it below ten thousand feet to avoid wasting the oxygen the men held on their HALO rigs.

  He sat down in the web seat next to the loadmaster, away from the men, not wanting to think about what he was doing. He closed his eyes, and it was almost pure, the vibration of the aircraft, the smells, the cinch of his harness bringing the memory of just such a flight, on a team that believed in what they were doing, and an end state of something worth gaining. Back when he cared.

  He was jolted awake by the loadmaster. “Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes.”

  He turned to the back of the aircraft and relayed the command, the men standing up and beginning the laborious process of hooking rucksacks and weapons to their gear. He went to the rear to do the same. Ten minutes later, the loadmaster gave him the mask signal. They were climbing.

  He relayed, and the men closed the oxygen masks on their faces, checking bottles and making sure they could breathe in the rarefied air of twenty-five thousand feet. The group began doing pre-jump checks on one another, making sure they’d connected all the various attachments correctly and that the container pins were ready to deploy the lifesaving parachutes. Johan talked to the l
oadmaster one more time. He should have had someone check over his gear, like the others, but he’d done this so many times he didn’t bother. Better to focus on his duties as the jumpmaster.

  He went to the ramp at the rear of the aircraft, his adrenaline starting to pump, his senses becoming hyperalert. This was it. What he lived for. No matter the outcome or purpose, this moment in time was why he did what he did.

  The loadmaster pressed a button, and the ramp began to lower, the sky outside huge. The wind began to rocket into the back of the aircraft, and he glanced back at the men, all now looking at him, their faces covered with goggles and oxygen masks.

  He was the single person on earth they trusted now, the focal point of their entire existence. They would do what he asked without hesitation, because he was the jumpmaster. He gave them a thumbs-up and then awkwardly took a knee at the corner of the ramp, fighting his rucksack and the wind, looking for the terrain features he’d memorized.

  The beacon he’d emplaced would guide in the aircraft for the jump run, but it was his job—his duty—to corroborate the information. If he couldn’t find the landmarks, he wouldn’t give the release.

  He craned his head out into the wind and stared down, seeing nothing but scrolling hills in the blackness. He waited, then saw a river. The five-minute landmark.

  He turned around and gave the command to stand up. The men shuffled upright, crowding to the rear. He could feel the adrenaline, see the vibration in their bodies. He returned to the wind, craning out of the side of the aircraft for the release point.

  He saw the lights of Maseru ahead, then the rotating spotlight for the airport, at twenty-five thousand feet looking like a toy flashlight. They were on track.

  He turned around and gave the signal to stand by.

  The men crowded closer to the edge of the ramp, eyes wide. Sweat pouring. Goggles starting to fog.

  He saw the crest of a butte, the release point. They crossed it.