by J E Higgins
Rising to her feet, Sauwa walked over and handed the young man the papers she held. Nodding appreciatively, the young man perused the scraps. “Each of these notes is discussing different things ─ one is explaining the need to secure a pier for a ship coming out of Bulgaria in two weeks, the other one is discussing finding a different location for something they were doing in Nicosia. That’s the largest city on the Greek side of the country in the north.”
Sauwa looked at Tarkov. He stared at Nico questioningly. She walked over to Tarkov and was about to speak when he exclaimed, “You don’t think that this is happening all the way across the island, do you?” the Russian asked nervously.
“That we’re in the wrong city and on the wrong coastline?” Sauwa responded. “I don’t know. But this will certainly complicate things if we have to quickly move operations and familiarize ourselves with a whole new location in a short period of time.”
They walked over to the table to view their map of the country. They looked for Nicosia, tracing the northern coastline. “Nico, where exactly is this place?’ Sauwa inquired. Dutifully, the young man stepped over to where the two mercenaries were hunched over the map. He pointed to a large spot a good distance inland. “That is Nicosia,” he said tapping the black dot.
Sauwa and Tarkov noticed that the city didn’t rest on the coastline at all. Nico quickly followed up with an explanation that the city had been built along a river system and wasn’t at all near the coastline. This revelation led the mercenaries to conclude that their objective was not there. Deciding to disregard the Nicosia information, everyone concentrated their focus on the first note discussing the procurement of a pier.
Nico scrutinized the document. Every so often he lifted his brow to observe the group of mercenaries that had started to crowd around him. The degree of danger these hardened killers presented was apparent, and he began to feel slightly unnerved. “This explains little more. The only other thing I can see is that the arrival of the ship is to be late at night.” He continued examining the note while the mercenaries pondered the information.
“We don’t know that this is talking about our objective,” Sacchini commented, slightly disheartened.
“Even if it is, it hardly offers enough information to locate and recce the place,” Sauwa interjected.
“You’re both entirely right,” Carzona spoke up. ‘What we can determine though is that we seem to be monitoring the right man. He is clearly entrusted with a series of important matters for our arms broker.”
“We need more intelligence that’s for sure,” Tarkov grumbled in exasperation.
“How do we know any of this has anything to do with the arms trafficker, Kalopolis?” De’vor asked. “I mean this guy is a criminal. He could be doing this for someone else ─ a completely different deal.”
“No,” Sauwa replied. “Men like Kalopolis don’t entrust important business, such as major arms deals, to freelancers. And, securing a pier for a cargo ship is not easy. This is a trusted lieutenant in his organization. The question though is whether we’re reading about business pertaining to our mission or not?”
“There is something more,” Nico announced as he unwrinkled the bottom half of the note. All eyes gravitated back to him. “It says the arrangements should be made to accommodate two cargo ships. It has some words written at the bottom, possible second cargo ship.”
“Does it explain where this second ship is coming in from?” Tarkov asked.
Nico turned the paper around to check for any additional notes. He looked disappointed and shook his head. Everyone walked away confused and dissatisfied. They returned to sorting through the trash on the floor. The few other arbitrary notes yielded nothing of significance. What they did find that caught Sauwa’s eye were several leaflets from a club of some sort. She also noticed several disposable wristbands that had colors and a logo matching what was on the leaflets. Still sifting through the rest of the debris, they found several documents that looked like invoices.
Gathering these documents she presented them to Nico. Glossing over everything quickly, he explained that these were invoices for a club that translated into Zeus’ Kingdom. Judging by the regularity of the paperwork, Nico realized that it was an establishment Prokopis apparently owned or partially owned.
“Really?” Sauwa pressed. “He seems to go there a lot. Anything else?”
“Based on the dates on the invoices, it looks like he goes there every night.” Nico held one of the sheets up to show her.
By now, they had been joined by both Tarkov and Carzona with the rest of the team following behind as the young man explained these things to Sauwa. She looked back at her two bosses watching both of them plotting. After Nico finished his translations, he took a cue from the mercenaries’ expressions and stepped away as Tarkov turned to address his team. “It’s clear we need even more intel than what we have. I certainly don’t think we can wait to collect it from fishing in his trash over the next week.” The others nodded in agreement.
“We need more to work with ─ we need to get inside his house.”
The mercenaries responded to this statement with agreeable murmurs.
The meeting ended with Carzona leading the German and Nico out of the warehouse. Once outside, he thanked the two men. Nico nodded and started for their car leaving Carzona and the German to speak privately. “I thank you for your help. Our mutual acquaintance, Esmeralda Morayo, said you could be relied upon for help.”
The German wiped his hand across his face as he nervously looked around. “I have known Esmeralda for a long time. She needed my help to assist you in whatever you are doing. I trust her, and she offered me a great deal of money for whatever risk I’m taking. Still, I have taken a great deal of time getting you here, setting you up in this place, and now assisting in this new development. I don’t want to be brought into this too deeply, and. I fear this will go much deeper.”
Carzona raised his hand to the German’s shoulder. “We use your services sparely, no more than is needed. We do not intend to abuse your assistance. Hopefully, we will soon have no further need of your services.”
The German cracked a smile as he started toward the car. Carzona watched as he left. The German was Karl Brukman, an attorney from Munich who, like Esmeralda Morayo, specialized in international law and business. His practice gave him business all over Europe as well as connections. At age of sixty-five, he had become short of money. When young Miss Morayo approached him about helping her people get into Cyprus undetected and assisting them during their time in the country, he was hard-pressed to say no after she stacked a hundred thousand U.S. dollars on top of the polished oak table in his living room.
She explained that he didn’t need to know more than his part. That she, nor any of the people involved could undertake what she was asking him to do. Her people were already in the country and couldn’t afford to be recorded. That is why she was enlisting his help. He just needed to ensure that nothing he did in support of her ‘friends’ traced back to him. It sounded dangerous and was certainly illegal. But, staring at the fortune on his table and knowing he needed it, the risk seemed worth it. He had said yes to her and her companion, a Mr. Carzona, the man he would be meeting again at a pier on a decrepit fishing boat with a half dozen unsavory-looking people. He had arranged with a man who specialized in creating false documents to accompany him to the wharf and present each of Carzona’s people with an ‘official’ stamp authorizing them in the country. He had, through an acquaintance, bought a warehouse that would serve the needs of Carzona and his people. He left them that day with a number to a disposable phone but hoped he would never hear from them again.
21
The Molos boardwalk was buzzing with smatterings of tourists, mostly youths enjoying a break from school, and some young couples making the most of their honeymoon or romantic getaway. Rhys strolled along the asphalt walkway as he looked out over the crystal waters of the Mediterranean. The sun was in its last stages of
life as it slowly retreated from view. Halfway down the boardwalk, it widened into a large circular pattern that lengthened beyond the shoreline into the water.
It was here that Kennson Rhys stopped and took a moment to rest against the railing and enjoy the view. Not the view of the ocean, but the view of the city that was starting to brighten up with lights from the buildings and homes as the natural light began to fade. The street lamps lining the boardwalk burst to life after a few flashing jerks, cutting into the emerging darkness. He took some time to enjoy the splendor of the city before focusing on other matters.
His reason for being here this evening was to rendezvous with the rest of his team. This was the night and the location for the meeting. His attention transitioned from the city toward the crowd walking in the immediate vicinity. By design, he was more than an hour early. He didn’t like the idea of hired soldiers, men waiting around in uncertain locations, hired soldiers that he had never met or worked with before. He also didn’t like the potential of an ambush or a surveillance team catching him off guard. In his experience. early arrival to a questionable meeting offered the means to assess the situation and scope out potential dangers.
The area was still awash with romantic couples taking advantage of the picturesque scenery. No one paid him the slightest attention ─ he was just another person out for a walk. Every so often Rhys caught sight of a local police officer on patrol. But each time the lawman walked steadily by arbitrarily looking around, not paying the slightest attention to the New Zealander resting against the railings. Rhys continued enjoying the warm breeze coming off the water as he patiently waited.
An hour later. Rhys caught sight of a man walking his way. He was Greek like most of the people here. His was dressed in jeans, tactical boots, a tank top under a tan collared shirt with the sleeves cut off, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. The man was certainly trim and athletic looking ─ he had muscular biceps and a chiseled physique. What caught Rhys’s attention was the tattoo depicting the bursting grenade emblem of the French Foreign Legion and the motto Legio Patria Nostra on his arm. The motto translated into The legion is our Fatherland.
The man also carried a black backpack with a small strip of yellow colored tape stuck along its side. It was the identifying mark the men were instructed to use for the meeting. Rhys continued watching as the man walked up the scaffolding until he was less than a few feet from the New Zealander. The man looked around the area a few times before settling to watch the sunset. Rhys continued watching the man out of the corner of his eye as he kept his gaze on the boardwalk.
Gradually more men showed up ─ all with athletic builds, looking rough, and bearing small strips of yellow tape that were visible but in inconspicuous places on their bags. They joined the first man and began to congregate. It was apparent by the casual nods and gestures of polite recognition that they all knew one another. Rhys figured they were all consciously not speaking as they kept their distance and waited quietly for their soon to be employer to appear.
When all seven men were there, Rhys turned his own backpack around to reveal an X marked on it with the same yellow tape. He turned his body slightly in their direction allowing his head to twist further toward the ocean. He could see that the seven sets of eyes had noticed the yellow X and gravitated toward him. After a few minutes, he took his bag and joined the men.
“You must be Mr. Scott,” one of the men said as he approached.
“I am,” Rhys replied. Mr. Scott was the name he had told his friend to give the recruits to make contact. He normally didn’t approve of such espionage nonsense, finding it both tedious and unnecessary. But, he understood this was not the chaotic battlefield he was accustomed to operating in where law enforcement was non-existent. In a sophisticated European country such as Cyprus, their activities were highly illegal and any one of these men could be caught by the police. He figured the less they knew about him the better.
“If you would all follow me,” Rhys said as he started walking. The mercenaries trailed him moving in a loose group down the boardwalk. Little attention was paid to them as they strode past gatherings of tourists and locals. Feeling uncertain and suspicious, the mercenaries remained silent.
The journey ended at a bus stop just off the boardwalk. The group dispersed a little to not look too obvious to anyone. A few minutes later a bus pulled up. Rhys looked around at the men and gave a slight shake of his head to signal them that it was not the right one. The bus left, leaving the men waiting. This happened one more time and, finally, when the third bus arrived, Rhys’ nodded subtly and pointed finger at the bus. The doors opened and the mercenaries slowly formed a line and stepped into the vehicle. Fares were dropped into a machine manned by a pudgy, smiling driver who happily thanked everyone as they entered.
The doors slid shut, and each man slipped into the closest unoccupied seat. Aside from the mercenaries, the only other occupants on board were an old man in a brown corduroy jacket and stained, collared shirt, and a young girl of about nineteen sitting way in the back. The bus began to hum as it pulled from the curb and started down the street.
Rhys liked public transportation for these types of operations. Personal vehicles were too easily monitored and required paperwork and documents which made it difficult to simply discard them should they become a liability. Buses were easy to work with given they had a planned network throughout their city that made it easy to plan and offered a variety of stops that one could use to depart if they felt they were being watched. A car following a bus would be quite conspicuous trying to stay behind a bus that stopped frequently with all other traffic striving to pass it. Similarly, anyone on the bus would have difficulty following its quarry if they kept changing buses at the same time and then showing up on the same bus as their quarry. It was an easy way to travel around a city with discretion as buses went everywhere making it difficult to track someone’s movements. Cars, on the other hand, could be tracked and identified through license plates and VIN numbers.
After five stops, the bus arrived at their destination. Rhys alerted his men by rising from his seat, preparing himself to move. The doors opened, and the New Zealander made his way through them. He stepped out onto the pavement and watched as the mercenaries exited the vehicle behind him.
Once they had all left the bus, Rhys led them down the dimly lit sidewalk eventually leading to a sizeable house sitting on the beach. It was a two-story structure that looked like it housed a bunch of college surf bums on vacation. The sun had set leaving the city in darkness.
From a strategic point, it was not ideal. The windows were big and provided good visibility for anyone outside looking at what was going on inside. The walkway was engulfed in plant life that had not been tended to for quite a while and was thick enough to furnish decent concealment to anyone who might want to recce the place or attack them. There was no fencing of any kind between the property and the open beach surrounding the back half of the house which was another weakness someone could exploit. On the plus side, the house was tucked deeply enough in the surrounding trees and shrubbery that the neighboring houses, a considerable distance away, could not easily observe what was going on.
They arrived at the front door. Before they could even knock, the door was flung open, and they were met by a short, shadowed figure guarding the door. Even in the darkness, it was easy to see Khadga Yadav was looking suspiciously at the group of men following his commander up the walkway. “So, we have our force, I see,” the Nepali eyed the Greeks judgmentally.
“Yes, we do,” Rhys replied as he gently pushed Yadav out of the way and entered the house with the others trailing behind. Yadav assessed each man as they walked past him. He had protested the hiring of unknown people for this mission from the very beginning. He was adamant that they should work with people they knew. He felt this regardless of the concern that they would be conspicuous in this country not to mention out of their element.
Inside they found Iventi Mehendra busy laying out
thick reams of dark fabric over a large weathered table in the main room. Like the outside, the inside of the house looked like it had seen better days ─ the furniture old and beaten and the floors were slightly warped and creaky. The mercenaries filed into the room and sat down in the chairs and couches lining the walls.
Rhys walked over to Mehendra. In the better light, he got a good look at his new hires. They were all in their late twenties and early thirties, athletic, and fit. They all wore jeans or cargo pants, boots or tennis shoes, and their shirts were either cut off T-shirts or tank tops. They're less than military hairstyles looked more conducive to a wild partying scene than a military operation. Still, they sat alertly in their chairs giving their full attention to their new employer who stood at the front of the room. Yadav had followed the group and eyed them all with suspicion. His experience in the British army had left the former Gurka with a foul taste toward most European soldiers ─ particularly those trained by the French.
For Rhys, it was the perfect fit. A bunch of athletic young men dressed as they were provided the perfect image for the house and location. To anyone passing by, they looked like the typical summer partiers living at a beach house. They would be easily dismissed and forgotten by the local populace.
Once everyone was sitting and their attention focused on him, Rhys began his briefing. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get down to business.”
Yadav leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded. Mehendra leaned against the wall directly behind his superior. The Greeks were all giving their undivided attention to the New Zealander. The expression on their faces was of cold interest.
“I’ll just come out and say it,” Rhys started. “We’re in the midst of a covert war. The people who have employed us have an important operation they intend to carry out, and Cyprus is a key hub. We have intelligence that enemies of our employers may wish to subvert said mission. This could be through military action. This team has been assembled for the express purpose of stopping any intervention that could jeopardize this operation. Now, we are flying a little blind. We don’t know exactly who it is that could be our potential threat, nor do we know for sure that the threat will be something that requires our services. Our employers just wish to cover their bases. Make no mistake. This will be an alien world for most of you. We’re all professional soldiers who are accustom to plying our trade in battlefield environments. We are not in that world.”