by J E Higgins
Slowly she rose to a standing a position as she carefully peeked a single eye inside just enough to glimpse at the back seat. She could make out the outline of a man’s body leaning back slackly in the seat. The man remained motionless with his carbine half hanging over the seat onto the floor. For good measure she aimed her weapon and fired another burst, hitting him directly in the chest. The body jiggled against the force of the bullets penetrating his chest but, otherwise, he remained motionless.
Satisfied the man in the back seat was dead, she shot the driver the same way. Stepping back from the vehicle she kept her weapon trained on the vehicle, then maneuvered into a position to cover the greater area, occasionally looking backward to ensure no one was sneaking up on her. She caught up with the two Palestinians as they moved back in similar fashion.
They all continued moving ─ one watching backward while two remained fixed on the area they had just come from. They maintained their positions all the way back across the road. They discovered Imil’s body sprawled out on the pavement. A pool of blood had formed across his stomach. The other two Palestinians scooped him up by his arms and feet and carried him the rest of the way.
Using a flashlight, Sauwa signaled the van driver down the road alerting him the battle was over, and they needed extraction. The van hastily sped backward in the direction of the mercenaries from where it had been hidden behind a large dirt mound. It came to a halt several meters shy of where they were. Quickly throwing open the back doors, Sauwa stood protecting the Palestinians as they loaded their dead comrade into the van. She jumped inside right after them and barely had time to shut the doors before the van was peeling off down the road.
Stripping the balaclavas from their faces, Sauwa and her team fell back breathing heavily as they all stared at Imil’s body. They may have all been mercenaries and this job was done for pay but, in the end, a comrade in arms was a comrade in arms. It made it even harder knowing they would have to forgo a respectful burial over the necessity to dispose of the body quickly. In truth, they would have left his body on the street to avoid the danger of packing it. But they had to remove it because it would have been dangerous evidence to leave for the police investigation that would soon follow. Their journey back was done in complete silence.
Tarkov and his men jumped onto their rafts. Like before, Gorzo and one of the Palestinians stood rear guard while the others climbed onto the raft. It was made more complicated because the mercenaries had to load their dead and wounded first. Once the battle had subsided, and the remaining enemy had made their escape, Tarkov found they had suffered some serious casualties ─ three dead and two wounded.
The rafts roared into action, and the mercenaries made their escape. Behind them, the pier was littered with the dead of their adversaries, and the Chin Wu was sinking. The hole left by the limpet mine had devastated the center of the ship leaving a massive tear in the main cargo hold where water was pouring in like a river.
The fishing trawler was waiting when the mercenaries returned. The men were picked up by the ship as it idled along. The sailors quickly helped Tarkov and his men on board, then the ship began picking up speed. A plastic sheet had been laid out for the bodies of the fallen men to prevent any blood or other signs for police to find. It was a difficult action, but the trawler would head far out to sea where the bodies would be disposed of discreetly and respectfully.
30
Kennson Rhys heard about the disaster at the port when he caught the morning news on the small television playing at the corner bakery he had discovered. He had made it his usual haunt for breakfast along with his mates, Yadav and Mehendra. He had just sat down to enjoy his cup of Turkish coffee and honey covered baklava when he saw the image of the port. It was through the angle of an aerial camera shot filming from overhead depicting a large cargo ship overturned in the harbor and half submerged. The report was being given in Greek and the New Zealander wasn’t able to get the details. In some cases, he didn’t need to.
His men had not yet returned from their mission when he had awakened as the sun was coming up. His initial thought had been that they were held up dealing with the large shipment and that complications might have arisen between the arms broker and Managua, the lawyer. The fact that he had not received any calls on his disposable cell phone told him enough.
Paying his bill, he cut his meal short and returned to the beach house. He had just finished explaining what he had discovered to a semi-lucid Yadav when the remaining Greek mercenaries came bursting through the door. They were flushed and tired from making their escape and safe return while trying to keep from drawing attention to themselves. Rhys listened silently as they explained in greater detail the events that unfolded during the evening in greater detail.
The informal briefing ended with the Greeks withdrawing to their sleeping quarters for showers and fresh clothing, leaving Rhys and Yadav to digest the information. Yadav waited until he was sure they were alone. “With Managua missing or dead, we don’t have any point of contact. You have to admit, we’re on our own.”
The New Zealander stared in an obscure direction and shook his head. “It won’t be for long. If Managua escaped, I expect he’ll be in contact with us once he has reported to his superiors and received instructions as to what they want us to do next.
“And, if he’s dead or in custody?” the Nepali asked.
“Then, expect those same superiors to contact us,” Rhys responded. “We’ll be their chief operatives for this debacle.”
Yadav dropped his head into his hands. “We should fold up our operation right now. Men we have employed for an illegal mission are dead on those docks. A ship with our people crewing it is half sunk in the Cyprus port loaded with illegal military arms. No one in their right mind would suggest we continue hanging around any longer.”
“It was all the result of some enemy we still have little knowledge of,” Rhys stated with irritation. “Furthermore, as complex as this project is and with the degree of importance certain people attach to it, those we report to may think differently.”
The Nepali stood up and began pacing as if he were practicing drill on the parade field. “They would expect us to wait and hear from them.”
“It won’t be that long, I assure you,” Rhys replied looking directly at his comrade. “By sometime tomorrow, we will be contacted with new instructions.”
“You seem awfully sure about that,” Yadav said incredulously.
“We’re dealing with businessmen, not bureaucrats,” Rhys explained. “This is business for them, pure and simple. And, like any business situation, they are working to mitigate the problems as quickly as possible. Right now, they’re not worried about dead subordinates; they’re focused on alleviating fallout and planning their next step. Once they’ve assessed their assets and losses, their next focus will be a new strategy. In either case, we’ll be contacted quickly, because we’re the guys on the ground most able to execute whatever action they wish to take.”
“Then there is a team?” Yadav said suddenly. “A good portion of our team was lost in this attack. We are facing a larger force than what we’ve been briefed to expect, and they are certainly skilled operators. We’re definitely dealing with professional soldiers ─ possibly commandos and trained Special Forces types.”
“Oh, I’m sure we are,” Rhys agreed, “which eliminates our other concerns and has made it clear what game our enemies are playing.”
Yadav went on. “Then there is Mehendra. At a time like this, we lost not only a valuable soldier...”
“We lost a friend.” Rhys didn’t wait for the Nepali to finish. “What’s more, we can’t even retrieve his body or the bodies of our other men. We can’t be connected to any of this.”
Yadav’s eyes widened as he began to look around suspiciously. “Do you think this place is possibly compromised?”
Rhys looked back up at him. The Nepali continued. “I mean, the police are going through the clothes on the bodies of our men. D
o you think they might have anything on them that will lead back to this house?”
“All the dead men scattered around are from the same ethnicity,” Rhys explained. “Many of them belong to our arms trafficker. I think there would be too much confusion for the police to reach a conclusion on anything. The main problem we have would be Mehendra. If he had his passport on him, the police can trace when he entered the country. If they check surveillance footage from that timeframe, they will see him exiting the plane and going through customs with us.”
Yadav sank into a nearby chair, looking utterly defeated. “We can’t stay Kennson. We’re sitting ducks at this point.”
“We don’t know that,” Rhys reacted with a curt tone. “Right now, I don’t want to make any hasty moves. I also would like to know who it was who attacked us last night since we might be dealing with them again if our employers decide to force some continuance of this project.”
Yadav tapped his fingers anxiously on the arm of his seat. “What about our Greeks upstairs? When they come down, I imagine that after all that has happened a few of them will want to go home. Without a team, we’re scrapped.”
“If that’s what they wish, we’ll pay them what we owe them and send them away,” Rhys said. “If we’re ordered to continue with any of this business, we’ll just have to explain the added problem of recruiting another team. I’m positive my friend back in England can furnish replacements. What we should be focused on is the information Managua’s people obtained from that woman they intercepted.”
“You mean clumsily murdered and made it a spectacle,” Yadav quipped snidely.
Rhys ignored the interruption and continued, “They’ve apparently gone over some of the documents and found something that might be of benefit.”
“Oh really,” Yadav continued to look skeptical.
“Just before Mehendra left for the port last night, he told me they came across a name that they think may be working for her here in Cyprus. He mentioned a German lawyer by the name of Karl Brukman. He had some people investigate this lawyer and his activities here.”
“Another lawyer,” Yadav groaned. “Are there any who aren’t conducting such business dealings as a side business?”
Rhys again ignored his comrade’s remarks. “They discovered that the lawyer had documents of rentals for a couple of warehouses in the city’s old port district. What is so interesting is that the rental documents are all under the name of a person who apparently hasn’t been alive for several years.”
The Nepali perked up, “Go on.”
“He was going to go into further detail with me later when we could sit down and plot our next move.” Rhys let his eyes wander as his brow furrowed. “I think, in the absence of any other option, we should check these properties out and see what’s there.”
Yadav took a few deep breaths as he thought the matter over. It was apparent by his facial expression that part of him wanted to pack up and go home or, at the very least, keep a low profile and do nothing that would attract attention. But, there was still the part of him, the soldier, who couldn’t overlook the fact that an enemy force had gotten the better of them. In doing so, they had killed their comrades ─ their brothers in arms. A part of him wasn’t going to let that go unanswered. “Let’s do it,” he replied slowly.
Casein Lorenza was not one to show emotion, at least not when it came to her professional responsibilities. Sitting quietly in the velvet chair provided for the meeting taking place in her hotel penthouse, she listened to the half-dozen well-dressed figures in the room endlessly fret over the news they had received that morning ─ the news of the Chin Wu’s sinking, the carnage at the Soledad port, and the possible death of Theo Kalopolis. Everyone was in a nervous uproar. Casein hated the audacious displays she was witnessing. The needless posturing was nothing more than a gross waste of time. Still, she understood that for some people it couldn’t be helped. They needed to engage in dramatic displays and, when it occurred, it was best to let it play out until cooler heads prevailed.
In the meantime, she scrutinized her colleagues and planned how she was going to approach matters. As the daughter of Azio Lorenza, one of the most powerful men in the Philippines, possibly all of Southeast Asia, and the patriarch of the Lorenza family holdings and interests in Europe, it was left to her to lead this group to a favorable resolution. The people arguing were the children of some of the most powerful families in their native country. Handed an important responsibility in this pipeline of weapons from Russia to the guerrillas back home, they saw nothing but a fruitful outcome and great accolades from the elder members of their clans. Everything was set to favor success and a seasoned negotiator to handle the coordination with the arms merchant and keep their hands clean from the more sordid business. One of their top soldiers had been sent in to provide protection once they were alerted about a perceived threat.
Now, they were in the midst of what was turning into a monumental disaster. After nearly an hour of hysterical antics and shouting two notches above a heated conversation, the emotion had died down leaving only two key people dominating the meeting. One was a young woman, in her late twenties looking like she had enjoyed a successful career as a fashion model before venturing into the world of business. The other, a young man who had a thick muscular frame that fit snugly into the expensive tailored suit he wore that was obviously designed to display his chiseled features. Even though neither of them was saying anything moving the group toward a viable resolution, the rest of the meeting attendees were by now too exhausted and shaken to bother interjecting.
It was then that Casein Lorenza found her opportunity. “If I may,” she said in a soft but forceful tone that stopped all talking instantly. With a single motion that was both slow and majestic, she rose from her chair and started toward the center of the room. She was not a tall woman, only about four foot ten, yet everyone seemed to look at her as if she were a giant. In her black tailored pantsuit and dark red blouse, she revealed a natural stature and commanding power over everyone. All mouths were closed with no one daring to speak ─ to do so would be akin to heresy or treason.
“At this point, we need to focus on evaluating our situation.” Her accent was deeply English with only a slight hint of her native tongue. The English was from her years abroad in exclusive boarding schools ─ first in New Zealand and then in England where she finished her primary education. Later, she attended the London School of Economics. Her skin was a creamy mocha color denoting the deeper ethnic lineage of her Spanish roots over the faint amount of Indian blood that occasionally made its way into the family line. Her hair was a silky raven black and was tightly drawn up in a neat roll behind her head. “As it stands, nothing traces directly back to us. We have never had any direct contact with Mr. Managua or his associates. The phone he used to contact us was a pre-paid disposable one that was carried by one of our security men not any of us. For all intents and purposes, we are here for the very reasons we have professed. We are conducting a business summit discussing our holdings in Europe.”
“What about the ship?” One of the others spoke up nervously. “The captain will certainly be taken into custody if he didn’t die in the attack.”
“And?” Casein replied, her eyes widening with a look that questioned why the issue was worth even bringing up. “The captain and the ship are out of Thailand with papers that have them returning to Thailand. He was contacted by people from Manilla that have nothing to do with us. What else is he going to tell the police except for that story? He knows nothing about us or our connection. What we should be focused on is the next step ─ getting in touch with people back home and apprising them of the latest complication. We’ll let them decide if they wish us to continue with this operation.”
“What is there to continue?” Another member of the meeting interrupted hysterically. “Our arms contact has been killed. The police are all over this investigation. We have no arms merchant and, even if we did, the plan was to run the weap
ons from Cyprus to the Philippines. That is no longer an option.”
“You’re right,” Casein replied. “However, a few days ago, my people in Stockholm were contacted by a Mr. Andre Valikov. He was apparently offering his services as a broker of such wares. His timing was rather convenient actually.”
“He could have had a hand in instigating this mess,” the woman who previously dominated the meeting added.
“Oh, I’m positive he did.” Casein’s face and manner were completely devoid of any emotion as she spoke indifferently. “In fact, I’m reasonably sure he is the broker who has been supplying our enemies. He made contact with my Stockholm offices only a few short hours ago. Most likely he was anticipating this unfortunate situation.”
“And you are actually entertaining the idea of doing business with him?” Another person spoke up.
“Might I remind you that this is business, not ideology? We’re not dealing with moral individuals driven by a romantic philosophy, but men motivated purely for monetary gain and little else. In light of our current situation,” she looked at her critic, “Mr. Valikov is a well-connected arms merchant, who supplies weapons on a very large scale. What makes him even more interesting is that he has several contacts in the far eastern reaches of the old Soviet Union. His latest message to my people was a reminder of his offer, coupled with the benefit that he has extensive connections with some of the warlords in Myanmar who can help move the weapons more easily through their usual heroin routes. This will eliminate several logistical problems, provide a faster means of transport, and look like just another black-market deal. That will meet our goal while keeping our hands clean.”
The room was quiet. The rest of the participants looked at each other with disbelief and uncertainty. No one spoke, to either agree or to challenge Casein. It was exactly the response she had anticipated. Seizing the opportunity, she continued her explanation. “I am flying to Stockholm tonight to meet with Valikov. If he proves capable of meeting our requirements, I will contact Manila and see what they wish to do. In the meantime, our next order of business is to deal with this terrorist threat plaguing us.”