Cyprus Rage

by J E Higgins

  With the help of their interpreter, Tarkov and Carzona had ordered a couple of beers and had been nursing them for the last hour. The time was 2030 hours, and they had identified two recruits by the envelopes displayed: a young woman in her early to mid-twenties sitting in the back of the room against the wall enjoying a drink and some pita chips and a man of medium build with a muscular physic that suggested he was quite the athlete. From his dark features, he was possibly Greek or maybe Italian. Like the young woman, he had chosen his seating logically. He had taken the last seat at the end of the bar and, like the women, his back was against the wall and he was close to an exit. He sat in such a way that he could catch the activities of most of the establishment with one quick turn of his head.

  A short time later he was joined by another man who bore similar ethnic features and had a similar athletic build. The two men clasped each other’s hands as if longtime friends. Another arrival slipped into a chair next to the first two, leaned up against the counter, and glanced around looking over the entire room. Carzona noted the new arrival, and like the other two, he had one of the envelopes identifying him as a recruit.

  The newest arrival ordered a glass of beer and took a swig the second it was delivered. Carzona and Tarkov looked on with concern. Heavy alcohol consumption was common in the ranks of most any military organization. While they could respect a modest beverage nursed slowly, what they didn’t need for this mission was a hell-raiser who acted recklessly and had no understanding of second and third order effects. Drinking excessively on a night they were being recruited was a sure indication he was not a man they needed. They continued to watch him carefully.

  At 2240 hours, a man with a bushy crop of sandy blond hair and pencil mustache entered the establishment. Stopping at the doorway, he stepped to the side, leaned against the edge of the door, and took a few minutes to look slowly around at the crowd already engaged in their drinks, food, and socializing. Then he ventured further into the place choosing a table toward the center of the near side wall beside two tables full of nerdy looking college types. The only thing he ordered from the waitress was a small glass of whiskey. When it arrived, he let it sit there in front of him touching it occasionally.

  Carzona and Tarkov took their time scrutinizing the recruits. They discussed their observations and personal assessments. The interpreter said nothing ─ he kept his head down and sipped his drink. Every so often he looked up to see if anyone needed his services.

  For the most part, they had been impressed with what they had seen. The individuals identified had made all the right moves that showed they knew what they were doing for this kind of business. Even the man at the bar, who they had been initially been concerned with, had proven far more conscious of controlling his drinking and keeping a low profile. There was some concern about the young woman at the back of the room. Outside of the guerrillas and terrorists, they had engaged previously, neither man had ever worked with a woman in such a direct combat capacity. They questioned whether she would be a distraction or a hindrance. At first, they thought it best to leave her. Then Tarkov reminded him that some countries like Israel had used female operatives with great success in the field. To some extent, he had heard about how the South Africans had used them in their own covert intelligence missions with good results. Observing how she had done well dressing and behaving to blend in with the crowd to be easily forgotten and had made good tactical moves in how she chose her seating and positioned herself, they decided having a woman on the team would possibly give them more flexibility than if they had an all-male unit.

  When the hour approached, a young man in his late twenties joined Carzona and Tarkov. He had somewhat scraggly and unkempt hair and a short beard that looked as if it had only recently been grown out. Tarkov had never seen the man before and was surprised when he simply walked up to their table. His dark skin and Asian features matched those of Carzona. When the Colonel reached out and clasped the younger man’s hand, the Russian concluded the two were more than just passing acquaintances.

  Despite the pleasantries, the younger man appeared hesitant to sit down. Carzona motioned for the young man to do so. He slid into the chair closest to the Colonel. Dressed in an Adidas black leather sports jacket and slightly baggy jeans, he fit in quite nicely with the younger crowd. Tarkov noticed the arrival of the handsome young man had gained some attention from a few of the young female patrons who were eyeing him avidly.

  The two Filipinos spoke in a language the Russian didn’t recognize. Though what he gathered from the commanding way the Colonel spoke was that orders were being given. Carzona pointed toward the various people in the room displaying the identifying envelopes. The young man nodded obediently as the older man spoke then walked out of the bar.

  Not sure what was happening, Tarkov leaned over. “What’s going on?”

  Carzona leaned back in his seat. “That is one of my people. He has a van outside being driven by another one of my people. I told him to make sure it is ready to pick us and the team up.”

  A few minutes later the young man returned. He walked casually back to the table attracting no attention. This time he didn’t wait for permission before slipping into his seat, talking to the Colonel in the same language used before. Carzona turned to the Russian and asked in English, “Do you have any issue with any of the recruits? This is going to be your mission to command when we get to our destination. Your decision is the final one.”

  This came as a bit of a surprise to Tarkov. Until now Carzona had controlled almost every aspect of the operation. That he just suddenly turned and told him he had the final approval had taken him off guard. Scrambling to collect his thoughts, Tarkov cleared his throat as he glanced around the room scrutinizing the recruits again. He looked over the candidates carefully using his most experienced eye to make his assessments.

  His attention went first to the young lady. Women were an anomaly in this business, and he hesitated thinking about what problems she might cause. Still, she looked fit and seemed to act with experience. He next focused on the sandy-haired man in the center of the bar. The man was still fingering his drink which had not diminished at all. Like the others, he looked physically fit, though it was hard to tell from the large, tan military coat he wore. His clothing was not the most suited for this establishment ─ the green military trousers bloused into a pair of tan combat boots. He looked like a drifter or a man trying to imitate a mercenary.

  The two darker skinned men sitting at the bar had impressed him. They carried on a conversation with each other while not drawing attention to themselves or overindulging. The one at the far edge shifted his eyes and his head every so often to check his immediate surroundings. The other one didn’t seem concerned though he did seem to take notice every time someone new sat down at the bar. He had finished only half of his beer in the time he had been at the bar.

  Tarkov wanted to discuss the recruits with Carzona and explain his rationale, but he feared in doing so he would shake his employer’s confidence in his abilities. He still felt he had mishandled the meeting with his old friend Valikov and lost some credibility. He had spent the last hour expressing his views and listening to the Colonel. Yet, for such an important operation as they were about to embark on, he didn’t like the idea of hedging his conclusions made from watching people he had never seen before as they sat socializing in a bar. Even though this was only the first stage, those chosen tonight would be more thoroughly vetted when they got to the safe house. Still, he didn’t want to miss anything and bring an undesirable into their business.

  For the most part, he liked what he had seen, and Carzona had not made any negative comment about anyone. Turning back to the Colonel, Tarkov said, “Based on first impressions, I’m good with them all. I still want to spend more time with them before I give you my final opinion.”

  Carzona cracked a slight smile. “I agree. We’ve seen a general view of their professional behavior, now we must assess their abilities in-depth
.” Turning to the young man next to him, Carzona whispered in his ear. The young man slowly rose out of his chair and walked away. He slipped through the tables and headed toward the young woman.

  10

  Sauwa had finished the last of her chips and was sipping her drink when a young man with a beard and wearing a leather sports coat approached her. At first glance, it was clear he wasn’t Turkish ─ his features were obviously Asian, possibly Polynesian.

  “Hey, how are things, young lady?” He asked in accented English.

  “Fine,” she replied indifferently.

  He picked up the small white envelope and eyed it for a brief second. It was the first piece of the recognition code; her contact would instantly take notice of the identifying object. He continued speaking, “Man, I wish they had a good Polynesian beer in this place.” His manner was casual ─ just a young foreign tourist looking to make conversation. In reality, it was the second part of the code.

  As she had been instructed, Sauwa replied with the proper response. Gently snatching the envelope from his fingers, she said, “I usually only drink vodka or German Pilsners. I only enjoy a Polynesian beer when I’m in Bali.”

  It was the correct response. The young man’s face became serious as he sat down next to her. “You are one of the recruits. Are you ready?” His hand was placed over his lips to shield his facial expressions from curious onlookers. His tone had gone from pleasant to serious.

  “Of course,” she responded with a feigned smile as if he were whispering something amusing into her ear. “Are you the one I was sent here to meet?”

  The young man held his pose. “Go outside, turn right, and start walking down the street. You will see a blue van with a small white strip of tape on the bumper. Knock four times on the sliding door. The door will open, you will slide in, take a seat, and wait. Say nothing to anyone.”

  Sauwa continued her feigned smile as she reached over, grabbed her knapsack, and started to rise. As she stood, she grabbed the check and shook her head at him. He lowered his hand revealing a big grin as he shrugged while watching her leave. To anyone watching them, it would have appeared that the young man was attempting to make a pass at an attractive young woman and struck out.

  Walking to the counter, she summoned the barkeep. Showing him the bill, she laid money on the counter to pay for her meal and exited the bar, turning right as instructed. She slipped past the few people on the street until she came to a blue van. Checking the bumper, there was the white strip of tape just below the tail light. She knocked four times slowly, and the door slid open revealing another Asian-looking man.

  No words were exchanged as he waved her in. Sauwa set her foot on the bumper and slipped inside. The door slammed shut behind her as soon as she was in the van where a small light revealed a large barren hull. A plastic tarp covered the opening to the driver's cab masking the light and everyone inside.

  Taking a seat in the far back corner, Sauwa said nothing as she observed the man who was now her companion. He bore the same ethnic features as the young man who had approached her in the bar. This man, however, was much older. He was in his mid-thirties with a pockmarked face and a rail-thin frame, and the clothes he wore seemed to hang on him. In like fashion, he eyed her as he crouched down next to the door in a position that suggested he might attack her if she tried to leave. He didn’t look like much but for some reason, she got the feeling he would be formidable in a fight. So far these people, whoever she was now working for, had proven serious and were far from being amateurs.

  Settling in she waited quietly. A few minutes later another four raps were heard. The little man dutifully slid the door open, and another figure quickly slipped inside. This time it was a larger man in a military jacket. Sauwa watched as this new addition slid in across from her and sank into a sitting position with one leg extended, the other bent against his chest. His bushy crop of sandy hair and mustache gave him a dismal appearance.

  Another few minutes passed when knocking was heard again. The Asian man slid the door open again, and two mocha skinned men climbed inside. They appeared to know one another as they looked at the other two occupants, choosing to sit next to the sandy-haired man. The atmosphere in the van was like a funeral ─ no one spoke. After shifting eye glances, everyone fell into a monastic state with no one acknowledging anyone else. The small Asian vigilantly watched his charges. Like Sauwa, the other men also carried knapsacks ─ a sign none of them expected to be going home for a while.

  There was another series of knocks at the van door. The young man who had earlier approached Sauwa in the bar entered. She looked up to see a similar expression of acknowledgment from the other three people in the van. The young man regarded the four people sitting in the back and turned to the older Asian man and said a few words in a language she didn’t recognize. The older man nodded obediently, then slid out through the side door closing it behind him. Seconds later the van started, and everyone swayed as it pulled away from the curb.

  The drive took close to half an hour making numerous turns in the process. It was difficult to tell if that was by design or just part of the natural route. The light in the roof was out leaving everyone in the dark. No one said anything or complained as there was nothing to see anyway.

  The van turned and slowed down. Sauwa judged the distance to be a hundred meters or so before the van turned onto a ramp of some sort. It continued a gradual ascent for a few more seconds before coming to a complete halt. Wherever they were, they had reached their destination. The door didn’t open immediately. Instead, they were kept waiting in the dark wondering what was going to happen next.

  Outside they heard voices speaking in the same strange language as their two warders. Then the side door opened. The young Asian man waved his arm energetically gesturing them to exit. First, the dark-skinned men, then the sandy-haired fellow, and finally Sauwa stepped out to find themselves standing in some sort of garage. The young Asian waved the group toward the garage opening. Obeying the command, everyone walked out to a small driveway and patio that was in the back of a two-story house. The driveway wrapped around the house from the street leading to a backyard that was entirely concealed. A high wooden fence and some bushy trees protected the backyard, cutting it off from the rest of the neighborhood.

  At the bend in the driveway, they saw two more men walking by clearly providing security. Following behind them were the young Asian and the older one. “Go into the house,” the younger man said.

  The back door of the house slid open and another man was standing inside waving everyone in his direction. Like a band of Muslim pilgrims, they snaked across the patio and up the stairs into the house. There were neatly arranged piles of rolled up sleeping bags, cots, and some bags that appeared to contain hygienic supplies but no furniture. It looked more like a campsite or a military training facility. An enticing aroma was coming from the kitchen catching everyone’s attention.

  The young man from the bar walked into the house and quickly moved past them until he was standing in what was presumably the living room. “Everyone, we will have meals ready for you shortly. I imagine none of you have had a chance to eat a decent dinner yet. In the meantime, will you follow me to the briefing room?” He led the foursome past the piles of gear through a door that led into a room that had no windows in the center of the house. For Sauwa it felt like an interrogation room with its dreary, blank, cream-colored walls. Except for a desk and a row of folding chairs, there was no furniture. As ordered, everyone moved to sit in one of the chairs. The young man gave an order to another man in their alien language then stepped toward the door. “You wait here. My commander will be in shortly to brief you.”

  Tarkov and Carzona pulled into the driveway following it past the two men standing guard and into the backyard directly behind the van. Concerned that the arms trafficker might be playing some sort of angle, they waited for the van to leave and followed in their own separate car. Since they were the more visible figures, it was
easier to assume they would likely have the attention of anyone tailing them. If they were being followed, they would shake the tail before heading to the house.

  “Well, how will this go down?” Tarkov asked looking at the Colonel. “I mean we can’t just ask them their histories.”

  Carzona sniffed and then tilted his head to one side. “I imagine this is new for you.”

  “Yes, it is,” Tarkov answered. “In the Spetsnaz, I had the benefit of military service records that I could review. I also had the luxury of interviewing some of these people and even having a small enough world to know their reputations. Now, I have four strangers inside who I know nothing about and have to make an assessment for a very risky operation.”

  “However, now we’re working with mercenaries ─ mercenaries we’re hiring in the black market. We know only what they tell us and what we observe and assess with our own professional experience in this field. In this case what we will be looking for are signs of military and mercenary experience,” Carzona responded

  Tarkov just looked at the Colonel. Sensing the need to explain further, Carzona continued. “We speak to them individually in a room, ask them questions, and let them choose how they answer. You’ll find that your own professional experience and instincts will make it easy to distinguish the phonies who are clearly lying about who they claim to be. You’ll also find it easier than you think to distinguish the competent professionals from the idiots amongst those who are truthful about their backgrounds. We don’t need braggarts or blowhards who talk too much and need to impress everyone with their exploits. Nor do we need people who think that pointless or reckless behavior is a sign of a good soldier.

  Tarkov thought the Colonel was a man more used to this intrigue and covert activity than he led him to believe. The Russian felt he had been given a great opportunity his first time as a private freelancer to have such a mentor enabling him to learn about this odd world of private sector military operations.