by J E Higgins
“I don’t want to be presumptuous,” the Italian cut in, “but I want to discuss an issue before we leave on this mission. If things go badly, what will be the escape protocol?”
Tarkov was expecting this question. “I know you’re all concerned about what happens if our operation is in danger, and we need to escape quickly. If we get compromised, we have established an exfiltration plan to get everyone out. We will initiate it in any case where I deem our situation tenuous--”
“No!” Sauwa interjected, this time with an authoritative vehemence. “Don’t tell us about exfiltration plans. It’s a waste of time.” She hadn’t intended to say much, and she certainly was not speaking with the intent of impressing her new team. But hearing an emergency escape plan made her cringe. All eyes were on her, and she was extremely concerned about this outburst getting back to Valikov. Still, she had to raise the issue. She could even feel the man standing in the back scrutinizing her.
“I would think an exfiltration plan would be one of the most important things to discuss in this situation,” Tarkov said looking at her indignantly.
“I agree,” she spoke up. “However, an escape plan should be on the individual.”
All eyes were watching her, and it was apparent an explanation was required. If she created too much of stir, Valikov’s wrath would be awaiting her return. However, she was aware of how easily such missions could go badly leaving everyone in a compromised state. Her boss’s anger seemed less concerning than being stuck on an island as a highly sought fugitive. “I’m just looking around this house. All the guys you have here who have been running security and handling the operation of getting us here easily show the necessary capability and intelligence to execute whatever mission you need to have carried out in Cyprus. From the look of them, I’m guessing they’re a personal guard not hired guns. This makes them a lot more trustworthy for your employer to use over mercenaries you hired from the back alleys, through an arms merchant you hardly know.”
“As I see it, there’s only one logical reason why you would use us over them and that is we’re entirely dispensable. This job, whatever it is, is going to get dangerous. I’m also guessing that whatever the blowback, it can’t be traced back to whoever is bankrolling this operation. I’m also guessing they can’t handle the exposure. We’re just mercenaries, making it easy for you to wash your hands of us, and leave us to our own fate. This is exactly what I expect to happen if things don’t go well, and the operation gets aborted. Especially if it spares the backers from having to pay us for services rendered.”
The room was as silent as a mortuary. Tarkov looked at her with a blank stare that she couldn’t interpret. He was either angry that she was causing so much trouble or realizing this unconsidered revelation. She watched as he looked past her to the man standing in the back of the room. She couldn’t tell what the Asian was relaying to the Russian as they carried on a dialogue communicated through facial expressions and head nods. The Russian cleared his throat as he prepared to speak. “Perhaps you are right. You have no reason to trust us in this situation or to have any concern for your lives.”
“Exactly!” One of the Italians snarled as he nearly came out of his seat. “The English girl is right. If this shit goes bad, there is nothing that guarantees we will not be left on an island to fend for ourselves. Those hiring us will be too busy looking after their own arses. They’d easily cut us loose to protect themselves.”
Tarkov was beginning to understand the reality of the situation. Carzona decided it was necessary to intervene. Walking to the head of the room, he relieved a somewhat flustered Tarkov. “Quiet please!” He snapped instantly asserting dominance over the conversation. “If you feel uncomfortable about the situation, we can discuss something more amenable.”
“The only amenable plan,” Sauwa stated, “is if we are able to affect our own means of escape. No plan that calls for your people and resources is going to be trustworthy if things go bad. If the mission gets compromised, I definitely reserve the right to make a run for it. That said, I would want three thousand U.S. dollars before we depart. If things go badly, not only do I fully believe you would abandon us, I also believe we would never see that eighty thousand or any other payment as our paymasters would have just disappeared. An initial three grand will ensure we at least get something and guarantees that if we have to run, we have money in hand and are not completely lacking resources.”
The rest of the mercenaries were grumbling and unanimously nodding their heads in agreement with the young woman. It was apparent this was not going to be negotiable. “I will get back to you on this matter,” Carzona said rubbing his forehead and lowering his shoulders in a sign of capitulation. Carzona returned the floor to the Russian as he stepped out of the room to contact his superiors.
Assuming control of the meeting, Tarkov was at a loss for words. He looked down at the young South African with a mixture of irritation at the near mutiny she had caused and respect for making him aware of this new revelation. “During this lull in the meeting, I want to take time to introduce everyone, so you know who you’ll be working with.” He shifted his body until he was facing the Italian at the far end of the row of seats. “Mr. Vincenzo Gorzo.” He waved to the first Italian, a lanky, slender man with long hair and a pencil mustache ─ he looked more like a playboy than a mercenary. Gorzo smiled and waved to the other mercenaries.
“I would next like to introduce Mr. Gino Sacchini,” Tarkov said pointing to the other Italian. Sacchini rose to his feet. A man of medium build with a slightly protruding gut, he looked quite average with his unkempt, curly hair and a day and a half of facial growth. “How do you do.” He smiled politely showing off his tobacco stained teeth as he waved and bowed like he was entertaining an audience.
After he returned to his seat, Tarkov turned his focus to the sandy-haired Frenchman. “I would like to introduce you to Masseur Jacques De’vor.” The Frenchman folded his arms and gave only a slight dip of his head, his eyes focused on Tarkov.
The Russian turned his attention toward Sauwa. “And finally, I would like you to meet Miss Sauwa Catcher. Who, for purposes of this operation, will be operating under the name Marisa Ramsey.”
Sauwa didn’t appreciate being outed this way. She suspected it was cheap revenge for the near mutiny she had just caused. She stared coldly back at the Russian, but he merely brushed it off and continued his briefing. “I wish to explain that you were all chosen because of your particular backgrounds. You men all have extensive military histories with commando units, primarily naval commando operations. You have all served for a lengthy period of time in elite units that specialized in high-level raids and assaults. This experience will be essential for our mission as we will likely have to conduct such operations. I understand that you have all continued plying your trade and maintaining your experience in addition to getting used to operating without government support.”
“That’s us,” interrupted Vincenzo Gorzo as he scowled at Sauwa suspiciously. “If this is an important and dangerous mission, we shouldn’t have a woman with us. They create unneeded risk.”
Tarkov went on with his briefing as if he hadn’t heard the Italian’s protest. “In the case of Miss Catcher, her expertise is in intelligence ─ particularly clandestine operations and ground reconnaissance. She will be helping us accumulate the needed strategic intelligence on our targets and assist in the operational planning for the execution. She has worked in western European cities and has a better feel for what we should expect.”
The attitude exhibited by the men was still one of suspicion and distrust. They were professional combat soldiers and women didn’t figure into their world outside of being secretaries and nurses. Sliding back in her seat, Sauwa knew it would be a difficult mission trying to sell herself to these guys. It wasn’t the first time, and she would make do however she had to.
Carzona entered the room and worked his way to the front of the meeting. Eye contact with Tarkov sent him
to the corner, giving the Filipino the floor. “It is settled. On the day of departure, you will each receive an initial payment of three-thousand dollars upon setting foot on the ship. This payment will be in addition to your eighty thousand dollars. Will that suffice?”
The mercenaries all nodded with satisfaction. The meeting ended with everyone filing out the door. As Sauwa was about to leave, Tarkov asked her to stay. When the room emptied leaving the two of them and the Filipino, Tarkov began. “I wish to begin by expressing my apologies for disclosing your true identity to the men. I felt it was better to give full disclosure now than have it come out or be an issue later.”
Sauwa studied the Russian for a good minute before responding. “I’m sure that’s not the only reason you detained me for this private chat.”
“It is one of the reasons,” Tarkov explained as she dropped into the seat next to him. “I also understand you didn’t want to do this assignment. My friend subsequently loaned you to me for this operation. And, I am grateful. With all the candidates we were given no one else really matched your background and qualifications. I want to make it clear that you were recruited because of your background. Most of the candidates we reviewed are soldiers whose experience has been in war zones. As I said in the meeting, they will serve us well when we have to initiate action against our targets, but they won’t have the expertise to operate in a sophisticated urban environment such as where we will be going when we have to perform more complex operations. This is why we took you despite your legal situation.”
“You are expecting this thing to get nasty, aren’t you,” she responded with a twinge of uncertainty in her voice.
“We aren’t sure how messy it might get,” the Filipino suddenly interjected. “We know we can expect to have a fair amount of gunplay. What we hope is that we can minimize it and rely on more discrete methods as much as possible to achieve our goals.”
Tarkov took back control of the conversation. “We are soldiers, we fight wars in war zones. You are an operative who lives in this kind of place, and I will be looking to you for advice when planning our course.”
“You’re putting an awful lot of trust and responsibility on a mercenary fugitive you hardly know and wants no part of this affair,” Sauwa pointed out as she rose to her feet and started pacing.
“I am,” Tarkov explained. “You were the one who came highly recommended by your employer,” Tarkov explained. “Which either means you are a spy who he figures will somehow keep him posted on our movements, or you are someone who does a great deal of important work and has an impressive record doing it. I’m guessing it is the latter, since Mr. Valikov was insistent I alert him the minute you disappear. He seemed very determined to have you back when this operation was finished.”
“Well, maybe I’m that good in his bed,” she started toward the door.
“More like you’re better in the field,” the Filipino said following after her. “Your questions tonight were quite astute. You know your business well, and I imagine Valikov thinks so too.” He walked up until his face was close to her ear. “Playing innocent and ignorant doesn’t seem to suit you, and I don’t much care for it.”
“This is your mission,” she replied. “And, let us be clear.” She turned her head enough to have her face meet his. “I’m not the only schooled operative in this room, am I?” Their eyes met in a cold glare. “I imagine you’re no stranger to this business either.”
“Just do the job we’re paying you for,” Carzona said in a low stern voice. “And, in the future, save the issues that could lead to a mutiny for private discussions, not group meetings.”
The conversation ended with the two breaking from their stares, and Sauwa exiting the room.
13
It had been years since Thorten Ridgeway had been with Her Majesty’s Secret Service commonly referred to as MI-6. Then, he was considered one of the organization’s most gifted operatives. He had been a successful spy master heading up the SIS’s office in Italy, then later Greece, where he had matched wits with the likes of the Soviet KGB and GRU as well as the efficient East German Hauptverwaltung (Main Directorate A). He had organized an elaborate intelligence network throughout the Mediterranean that had effectively penetrated the echelons of the Italian and Greek governments, including their military staffs. He had also developed several contacts within the Southern European business community. As a pioneer, he had cultivated a network that gained deep inroads into the criminal organizations dominating the underworld in the region. The black market was heavily indulged by the governing elites of the communist states of Yugoslavia, Romania, and Bulgaria. It was interesting what information the leaders of the Mafia, Union Corse and Camorra had access to about these enemy nations that sophisticated western intelligence did not.
Sadly, the end of the cold war, the fall of the communist empire, and the inevitable budget cutbacks had left such gifted intelligence masters without employment. Pensioned off and having nothing to go back to in his native homeland, Thorten Ridgeway went into business for himself. Capitalizing on the vast business contacts he had acquired in his intelligence career, he established a private organization comprised of old network people and some of his old adversaries. He found a bold new market for intelligence in the world of corporate espionage. Companies were willing to pay handsomely to know about their competitors. They also paid generously to be kept apprised of the activities of the socialist parties and political leaders who sought to curb the free market. Radical leftists and communist groups were often engaged in troublesome or violent behavior. Companies sometimes paid even more to have such organizations disrupted to erode their overall effectiveness.
When Ridgeway took a private table in one of the reserved rooms in the restaurant of the illustrious Prince Ferdinand Hotel in Rome, Italy, he was intrigued by the young female lawyer from the Philippines. He had met her a few times before when her firm had wanted to make inquiries for clients looking to invest in some East European companies. A few months ago she had offered a great deal of money to retain his agency’s services for a rather strange request ─ to monitor some businessmen from her homeland while they were in Cyprus and gather intelligence on their business contacts and dealings. At first, he considered that this was just another story of a competitive business interest. The head of his Cyprus office contacted him directly to inform him that the man the Filipinos were meeting with was Theo Kalopolis. Kalopolis was a major arms trafficker who supplied large orders of all kinds of weapons.
Hearing this news, Ridgeway decided to take charge of the matter personally. Over the next few weeks, his people continued their investigations. The more he learned the more he wondered exactly what this young lady had gotten him into. When she contacted his offices to check on his agency’s progress, he took the call himself and demanded they have a private meeting. With everything he had discovered, he felt it better to have a friendly lunch at a nice restaurant where they would not attract any attention. He did not want her to come to his office and risk his agency any further.
Esmeralda Morayo entered the big double doors of the Prince Ferdinand hotel. She was met by a well-groomed, middle-aged maître d dressed in a tuxedo. She told him she was meeting Mr. Thorten Ridgeway and immediately found herself being led past the dining area through a couple of hallways that led to big oak doors. “These are the private reserved rooms,” the maître d explained. Arriving at room 28, he knocked gently.
“Yes?” A gruff voice called out from behind the door.
The waiter responded in Italian, and Morayo understood he was announcing her. She heard a command to enter in the same gruff voice.
Pushing the door open, the maître d led her inside a majestic room with polished oak furniture and tasteful replicas of classic paintings lining the walls. The room was akin to what one would find at an aristocratic estate that was designed to evoke power and wealth. Accustomed to such extravagance, Morayo was not at all intimidated. She was sure the room had been chosen fo
r exactly that purpose. Brushing past the maître d, she thanked the man in Italian and walked over to the table where Ridgeway was seated.
“Mr. Ridgeway, it is good to see you again.” Her pleasant dignified manner confirmed she was not at all unnerved by the palatial settings. The expression on his face portrayed his irritation at her calmness.
“Senora Morayo, would you please have a seat?” He rose in a gentlemanly fashion to pull a chair out for her.
“Thank you,” she replied as she slid into the plush leather chair.
He waved away the maître d, who bowed humbly shutting the door behind him as he exited. Ridgeway sank into the chair next to hers. He marveled at the young woman, who was dressed in an expensive grey pantsuit and a white silk blouse. She looked like a woman who could be an innocent girl or an intimidating power player based on the setting.
“I understand you have found information for me,” she said, resting her hands in her lap and crossing her legs, making it clear she intended to be the power player today. “Though I must confess, I was surprised when I learned that you wanted to speak to me directly. I expected to be dealing with one of your executives on this matter.”
“I’m afraid these are exigent circumstances, my dear.” His manner was the epitome of a calm professional, but his reddening face indicated the growing anger he was trying to hold back. She was not oblivious to his anger. “When my agency agreed to this mission, it was with the understanding we were gaining information on a corporate business deal. I’m not ignorant to the fact that corporations at times wet their beaks in the illicit world when it is necessary and when we come across such things, we act according to the agenda of our clients. In this case, however, you have asked for too much.”
“I see,” Morayo replied. Her calm, professional manner remaining unchanged. “I do apologize. When I retained your services, I knew some illegalities were at play, but I imagined your organization had come across such things before. I take it you have discovered some dangerous information about our client’s enemies?”