The Recruit: A Taskforce Story

by Brad Taylor

  Knuckles pulled on a black watch cap, like a burglar from a 40s movie, and said, “Let’s get this done.”

  While they could have opted for multicam or some other high-speed clothing—things that would make their infiltration easier—they’d opted for nothing more than dark attire. Subdued browns and blacks. Jeans and long-sleeve shirts.

  Knuckles knew that, like everything else in his Taskforce world, the operation on the X was only a small part of the mission, and they couldn’t afford to be caught, before or after, dressed like commandos. They might be forced to flee on foot and would need to blend into the nearest neighborhood to seek refuge.

  Everything was a trade-off, and more than one mission had been compromised following successful execution because of Murphy’s Law.

  Knuckles said, “Okay, first things first. We get over the wall, use the draw to get close to the guesthouse, and set up the laser mike and relay. From there, we enter the main house. You good on the lock?”

  “No sweat.”

  “Even under NODs?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Worked it in the closet of the hotel today.”

  After the mission shift from the Oversight Council, they’d spent the remainder of the day conducting a reconnaissance of the house, using the same vantage point they’d found earlier.

  Knuckles had taken high-resolution pictures of every lock he could see, then sent Decoy back to the hotel to build mock-ups and practice cracking them. Knuckles had spent the rest of the time studying the terrain.

  He’d discovered that the squad of Peruvian squatters was crammed into a guesthouse. Situated on the outskirts of the main house like the short end of an L, it wasn’t physically connected, and the woman was the only human in the expansive primary residence.

  He’d watched the comings and goings and had determined that the squatters weren’t allowed to leave, with the exception of some sort of squad leader occasionally approaching the main house. Apparently, he was the only one authorized to bug the German national.

  The compound itself was large, with a swimming pool in the cup of the L, a garage set back from a sliding iron gate at the front, and over a half acre of landscaping spilling down a hillside. Landscaping that had seen better days.

  The area was becoming overrun, leading Knuckles to believe the woman was renting the place and didn’t care, something that would help with the infiltration later in the night.

  After the sun had set, he’d come back to the hotel to find Decoy looking like a mad scientist, NODs on his head and a ton of lock components lying around. They’d selected what they thought they’d need from the electronics they’d brought, then had impatiently watched the clock until three in the morning. When it came, they’d slipped out the back of the hotel, following Decoy’s GPS route through the scrub, threading between the mansions in the hills.

  Knuckles locked the truck, shouldered his pack, then screwed a suppressor on a Glock 30. He said, “All right, Romeo. Your beach landing.”

  Hoisting his own pack, Glock in hand, Decoy grinned and said, “Let’s see if you still remember how to patrol.”

  They slipped through the scrub, reached the wall, then climbed over, one man pulling security while the other moved. Once on the inside, Decoy began slinking at a pace like drying paint. Slowly, ever so slowly advancing on the first location. The guesthouse.

  He paused in the rocks, an overgrown bush hiding his form. Once a cultured piece of landscaping, it had returned to the wild, growing with abandon in the hardscrabble ground.

  He whispered, “Got an angle to the window. I say set the laser and repeater here.”

  Knuckles said, “Let me check the Wi-Fi.”

  He pulled out a small device, let it register, then whispered, “We got signal. Encrypted.”

  He pushed a couple of buttons on the device, then set it on the ground, saying, “It’ll take a few minutes to crack. Break out the laser mike.”

  Decoy pulled out a small device that was the size of an overgrown pencil, and a pad about three inches across. He mounted the device to a standard portable camera tripod and aimed it at the window of the guesthouse. He pressed a button, the laser light springing out in the glow of his NODs. He worked the beam until it reflected off of the pane of glass and was caught by the pad at their location. He backed his hands away from the tripod, seeing the beam still hitting the pad.

  He said, “Okay. It’s set.”

  Knuckles ran wires from the pad to a box the size of a hardback book, then extended an antenna. He picked up the original handset and said, “Hack done. Type this in.”

  Decoy leaned over the keyboard of the book device and said, “Send it.”

  N-A-Z-C-A 4-6-8-9

  Decoy watched the screen for a second, then smiled. “Nothing like US technology. We’re in.”

  Knuckles nodded, his own grin breaking out. He draped the tripod and other equipment in burlap and foliage and said, “Okay. Now the easy part.”

  They began the stalk to the main house, moving so slowly it made Knuckles think of a glacier. Or an operation he’d conducted in the Hindu Kush stalking a Taliban killer of men. Eventually, they reached the sliding door opposite the small pool. Knuckles took a knee, waited a beat for anything to appear, then whispered, “You’re up.”

  Decoy slid forward, pulling a sleeve from his pocket and extracting two tools. He focused on the lock for all of five seconds, then turned back to Knuckles, nodding up and down in an exaggerated manner.

  Knuckles hissed, “Yeah, you have the door. Open it.”

  Decoy looked back at him, the night vision on his head making him appear like a bug. He whispered, “When I nod, it means I’m done. It’s open.”

  He slid the glass pane of the door to the right.

  “Did you want me to bring some red carpet? Because that wasn’t on the packing list.”

  Knuckles said, “Okay, okay. Rehearsal worked out. Don’t get cocky.”

  Knuckles slid through the door, hearing, “Cocky? You haven’t seen that yet.”

  They entered into a large sunken den, the house using the slope of the terrain. The sliding door was at ground level, but it was necessary to take a small staircase to reach the main entrance. At the front door, another set of stairs led to an upper split level with a four-foot wall that allowed anyone from above to view the den.

  Knuckles pointed to a wide-screen high-definition television above the fireplace. Decoy went to it and began slaving to the Wi-Fi embedded in the system, turning the television into a giant microphone. Knuckles began implanting devices called spiders, very small widgets that would reflect audio back to the TV, which would then funnel the transmission through the house’s Wi-Fi to the collection device outside.

  Finished with the lower room, they moved to the stairs, ignoring the bedrooms in the wings. They climbed slowly, guns out, NODs reflecting the infrared beams in stabs of illumination. Knuckles swiveled left and right and saw it was a media room overlooking the den. A secondary place for entertaining. Knuckles flared his IR pointer, illuminating another TV and giving Decoy an unspoken command, then began moving to the chairs, planting spiders.

  A brilliant blast of light flashed across the room, like a lightning bolt, and Knuckles realized it was from car headlights coming through the windows, blinding his NODs. He crouched below the wall, seeing Decoy do the same.

  The lights stayed on the front door, spilling through into the anteroom, and he heard a door open from one of the bedrooms beneath them.

  Shit.

  Decoy whispered, “We going hot? We never talked about rules of engagement.”

  “No. Not going hot. ROE is self-defense only.”

  Decoy hefted his Glock and said, “Roger that.”

  Knuckles heard the padding of feet, then the front door open. There was a conversation in Spanish, a woman’s voice followed by a man’s, t
hen the footfalls of many more men.

  Another truckload of indig.

  Knuckles whispered, “Did you lock the sliding door after we entered?”

  “Hell no. Why would I do that?”

  “I have no idea, but I was hoping you were that stupid.”

  Decoy grinned and said, “Maybe next time.”

  They heard the passing of feet, and Knuckles said, “Going to the guesthouse. Hopefully, she doesn’t wonder why the door’s unlocked. You done with that TV?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We hear them exit, and we haul ass out the front.”

  “What if someone’s at their vehicle? What if they didn’t all come in?”

  “We deal with it.”

  Decoy crept up to the entrance of the stairwell, Glock at the ready.

  They heard the sliding glass door close, and the conversation of the woman faded.

  “Now.”

  They slipped down the stairs, opened the front door, and exited, keeping to the shadows. Decoy raised a hand, then pointed at the cargo truck blocking their escape. Knuckles nodded, and they sidled toward it. They reached the cab, finding it empty.

  Knuckles pointed to the east, down the road. Decoy nodded, and began moving, weapon at the ready. After five hundred meters, he held up, pulling into the brush at the side of the road.

  “You do realize that by coming out the front, we have a four-mile walk back to our truck, right?”

  Knuckles pulled off his NODs, stowing them in his pack, and said, “You want to go back for the shortcut?”

  8

  Checking the catering uniforms, Comandante Zero heard the horn outside and prayed it was his van and not another delivery of white coats. He went to the window of the garage and saw the outside gate open. He recognized Felipe behind the wheel, and smiled.

  The truck rolled forward past the threshold. He waited until the gate had closed, blocking a view from the street, before opening the door of the garage. The van rolled in, a white one without any windows in the cargo area, and parked next to an identical model, its back doors open wide and flashes of light and spark spilling out from someone welding inside.

  Felipe exited and said, “No problems. I see you’re still working on the other van. I told you I’d get it with plenty of time.”

  Comandante Zero nodded and said, “He’ll be done in about five minutes.”

  “Is all of that work necessary?”

  “Yes. The security is usually lax, but they’ll be searching the vans, I’m sure. We can’t very well ride in back with our guns out.”

  “Does he know what he’s doing?”

  “Yes. He worked for the Colombians, running cocaine. He can build concealment devices into anything. But more importantly, did your contact at the caterer come through? We won’t need the vans if his information is wrong.”

  Felipe reached inside his van and pulled out a clipboard. “Here’s the schedule. They’ll set up, serve dinner, then, while that’s ongoing, the two vans will return to the caterer for supplies. We intercept them on the way back and take their passes. The guards will have already seen the passes and will be expecting two vans to return.”

  Comandante Zero scanned the paperwork and grunted his approval. He pointed at the rack of caterer’s uniforms and said, “Take those to the guesthouse. Have the men pick out ones that fit. Make sure they fit well. Half of those peasants have never worn a tie, and we can’t afford anyone to question why we look like clowns at an official diplomatic function.”

  • • •

  Decoy heard a fist pound his bedroom door, then, “Wake up, sleeping beauty. We’ve got work to do today.”

  He rolled over and saw it was close to noon. After crawling into bed past dawn, it meant he’d had only four or five hours of sleep. He groaned and sat up, Knuckles handing him a cup of coffee.

  “You always this messy?”

  Decoy leaned over and pulled a shirt off the floor, saying, “Don’t start. What’s up with our implants?”

  “Talked to Kurt. The feeds are working, but they still need to be translated and analyzed. We’ll get the mission to retrieve the collector and the laser mike probably in a day or so. We leave the spiders. If it’s anything, they’ll pass it to the Peruvian authorities. They’ve already passed the German national’s name to OGA.”

  Decoy pulled on his pants and said, “Can’t you just say CIA?”

  Knuckles smiled and said, “Sorry. Habit. Hurry up. We need to get our tuxes for tonight.”

  Decoy went to brush his teeth, saying, “Do we get to play poker? I’m dying to say ‘Bond, James Bond.’”

  “Not tonight. You get to pretend you’re a cellular technician. Spend the night practicing living a lie.”

  Before he reached the bathroom, his cell phone rang. He answered, looked at Knuckles, and mouthed OGA.

  “Hey, Carly, I was going to call later about the party tonight.”

  Without preamble, she said, “We need to talk. Right now.”

  “What’s up?”

  “That name you gave me? You remember?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s in my office now.”

  “So?”

  “I’m not talking on a cell. We need to meet. Let’s go get lunch.”

  “Okay, okay, but we’ve got to go get our monkey suits for tonight.”

  “Swing by the embassy and pick me up. I know a great place at the Mercado Central.”

  “The embassy has already set up a place. We’ve got a fitting.”

  “The embassy doesn’t know shit about Lima. Let me guess. They’re sending you to that store in Miraflores?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “That place is a kickback for the owner. His brother is responsible for all customs checks for embassy deliveries. The embassy sends everyone there as a back scratch, but they’ll make you look like a sad sack. Come get me. I won’t steer you wrong.”

  “Okay, okay. How soon?”

  “Now.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  He hung up and told Knuckles what had happened, ending with, “We did that. I mean the Taskforce passed the name.”

  “Brush your teeth and comb your hair. We’ll go meet her.”

  “Knuckles, I don’t want to get her in trouble. This is our fault.”

  “She won’t. There are ways around it. Let’s see what she says.”

  9

  At an outdoor table next to a park, the swirling, bustling central market, claustrophobic with people and vendors of all stripes, Decoy watched Carly getting her order of ceviche from a street vendor and said, “You sure eating this won’t give us the runs?”

  Knuckles said, “She’s fine with it, and she seems to know her way around.”

  Decoy poked his own order and said, “She’s probably immune by now, and most definitely wouldn’t mind us spending a day or two on the can. This fish doesn’t even look cooked.”

  As Carly came walking back, Knuckles responded, “Expand your horizons a little bit.”

  She sat down and Knuckles asked her, “Okay, what’s up? You won’t talk on the phone, and don’t trust our rental. Can you talk here?”

  She ate a bite and said, “We got an intel report today from headquarters stating that Linda Devoire is possibly living in Lima, Peru. Mighty big coincidence after you two assholes had me run the name.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means I did some checking on your company. Outside of a DUNS number, there’s not much to you. A single-page website with no links and a single phone number. No fax, no information on Google, no prior history as far as I could find.”

  Decoy said, “Why is someone in the Consular Section doing searches on a company contracted by the ambassador?”

  She flared her eyes at him and said, “Because I’m abo
ut to get in serious trouble! I know about a wanted German fugitive because I slept with a guy on TDY and tried to help him out. And I didn’t report it. I couldn’t report it without saying how I found out, and I’d get fired. Or at least shipped home. Jesus, I can’t believe this has happened. Who are you guys?”

  Knuckles said, “You keep asking that. We’re who we said we are. Did you call the company?”

  “Yeah. I got some receptionist.” She eyed them both. “She said you were unavailable but worked there.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  “Oh, horseshit.”

  “It sounds to me like you’ve got some Jesse Ventura conspiracy theories going on because you’ve had some experience in things like this in the past. You know, in the ‘Consular Section.’”

  She said nothing for a moment, then, “That’s where I work. You can check it out.”

  Knuckles said, “I’m sure we’d find you listed on the embassy organization chart. Maybe with a single phone number and an e-mail.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Decoy cut in. “Okay, okay, I don’t want you to get in trouble. Look, it wasn’t us. I mean, if we had the capability to inject ourselves into some Consular Section intel report, why would we come to you in the first place? Did the report say where it came from?” Decoy could see that, in a twisted way, what he was saying made sense.

  “No. That sort of stuff is always masked. No reason to broadcast the source. But it was reported as credible from an asset with excellent placement and access.”

  “Was it announced, like, in a meeting or something?”

  “No. It was in a cable full of other things, but someone will focus on it. Then they’ll see my search. I am truly screwed.”

  Knuckles said, “Who gives a damn about a German national?”

  “Nobody, but they’ll care that I didn’t report it.”

  Decoy said, “So report it. Do it now, and tell them who it was that gave you the information.”