by C. G. Cooper
"What do you want me to do with this?" he asked, raising the bottle cap.
"Flush it down the toilet and take a leak if you need to. Then we'll go."
Five minutes later, they were headed down the back hall and took the rear exit into a back alley. Trent half expected to find overflowing dumpsters and poor beggars lining the thin strip of concrete, but the place was clean. Every scrap of trash seemed to be in its place.
"This way," Gaucho said.
After another thirty minutes of walking and two cab rides later, they arrived at their destination. From outside, the place looked like it was maybe five years younger than the hotel they'd left, but at least when they walked in the lobby, frigid air blasted down from oversized vent holes.
“Now that's more like it," Trent said, angling his face up to the stream of blissfully cool air.
"Come on, Top," Gaucho said without stopping. The Hispanic operator passed by a perfectly tailored man standing behind the welcome desk who barely registered their presence. There was a sign above a door at the other side of the lobby that said "BAR" in three different languages.
Trent noted the heavy sound of a roaring fan as they approached, and when he entered he realized there was a huge duct overhead that was sucking up the billows of smoke from the patrons below. Despite the empty hotel lobby, the bar was full to capacity.
The customers came in all shapes and sizes and only a handful looked up when Trent and Gaucho entered. They had to stand at the bar and have a drink before a table came available . They made small talk until a waiter appeared to take their order.
"Two more of these, please," Gaucho said, pointing to their beers. The man nodded and disappeared.
"So when's your buddy gonna show up?" Trent asked, staring down a pair of particularly swarthy-looking patrons. Gaucho shrugged, completely unconcerned. "You really live for keeping me in the dark, don’t you?"
Gaucho grinned and shrugged again.
The waiter took his time coming back. Trent had watched him wander the room, depositing drinks, until finally they received the last two bottles on the well-worn tray. He set down two napkins upon which he placed the two beer bottles before walking away.
"Nurse that one, will you?" Gaucho said before Trent could pick up his new drink. The Marine gave him a quizzical look but Gaucho only answered by picking up his new beer bottle, laying his hand next to the wet-ringed napkin. Trent looked down, and just like before, what could've been in the same handwriting as the bottle cap, was the number 37. Gaucho crumpled up the napkin once he knew Trent had read it, then sat back to savor his beer.
They spent the next ten minutes each letting his gaze travel around the room as they chatted about nothing in particular. Finally, Gaucho polished off the rest of his drink, set it down on the table and reached into his pocket for a couple of bills. After laying them on the table, he stood and Trent followed. They made their way back to the lobby where the man at the desk once again ignored them.
They went up the stairs. The second floor had a sign that said, "Rooms 25-40 to the right." Trent pointed at it as Gaucho continued up the stairs to the third level. "Don't we want to go that way? Room 37, right?"
Gaucho shook his head. "Keep going, Hombre."
For some reason there were even more rooms on the third level and the numbering system didn't really make much sense to Trent, but he followed along, and soon they were at room 73. Whoever Gaucho's contact was had switched the numbers. Gaucho knocked twice. There was a moment before anyone answered.
The man who opened the door was about the squirreliest-looking dude that MSgt Trent had ever seen. He wore baggy clothes over his wiry form. He had the dark complexion of a native, but his hair was matted and caked with dust. His eyes darted every which way like he was looking for ghosts that weren't there.
He didn’t say a word, but let the two men in and then closed the door behind them. As Trent stepped deeper into the room, he watched the man out of the corner of his eye. Even the dude's body was shaking like he had some kind of palsy. Gaucho was watching the man too, but he was smiling, like he knew something that Trent didn’t.
And then, to Trent's complete surprise, the man's hunched form straightened, and where there had once stood a man maybe just over five feet, the guy before them now was probably closer to five foot six. More interestingly, his eyes were no longer twitching and his body was ramrod straight. He wore a sly grin matching Gaucho's.
"Top, I'd like you to meet Sergeant Elliott Peabody."
The man wearing baggy clothes walked over, stuck out a hand, and in an accent even deeper than Trent's own relatives said, "Pleased to meet you, Master Sergeant."
"Well I'll be damned," Trent said, shaking the man's hand that was surprisingly strong considering his size. Gaucho and Sergeant Peabody both laughed at Trent's discomfort.
“Sarge and I go back a long way, Top. He even carried me out of a firefight once. Where was that, Sarge? Panama?"
Peabody shook his head. "Poland, Gaucho. Are you getting that old? Startin’ to forget things?”
Gaucho shrugged. "Maybe, my friend. So, did you find out anything?"
Sgt. Peabody motioned them over to the table. It was a little rickety but still serviceable, and they all sat down. "Everybody's pretty tight-lipped around here right now," Peabody said. "Ain't seen that in a while. You been watching the news?" Gaucho and Trent both nodded. "Well, word on the street is, there's a little power struggle going on inside the Djibouti government. Now, I'm not officially supposed to know this, but a friend of a friend of a friend told me that a certain Djibouti general ain't too happy with the president cozying up to us Americans."
"And who is this general?" Gaucho asked.
Peabody shrugged. "I don't know yet. That's what I'm trying to find out. My boss thinks there's going to be a coup, and that's about the last thing we need right now."
"Your boss?" Trent asked.
Peabody grinned. "I'm a card-carrying member of the Children's Institute of America."
The CIA, Trent thought. Who better to know what was happening on the ground than an operative from the Central Intelligence Agency?
"Has this general made any moves yet?" Trent asked.
"That same circuitous source mentioned they're going to start quietly rounding up foreigners. You know, because now there's suspicion considering what the Chinese have told the U.N., and said general is supposed to have the ear of the Djibouti president, even though the president doesn't know exactly what the general's going to be doing."
Gaucho grunted. "And you’re sure there's been no word about any prisoners yet?"
Peabody shook his head. "Not that I've heard of. I mean, there's the occasional kidnapping stuff, of course. That's to be expected in this part of the world, but for the most part, the government's kept that hidden, as you'd expect. No sense scaring off foreign investments, if you know what I mean."
Gaucho leaned further across the table. "Look, Sarge, I know I didn't tell you exactly what this was about before, but we're looking for two friends."
Peabody's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms across his chest. "Who are they?"
"Vince Sweeney and Karl Schneider," Gaucho said.
Peabody turned his head and spit on the floor. "Nobody told me about this."
"Nobody's supposed to know," Gaucho said.
Peabody shook his head. "I wish I'd known, because then I'd have been looking. Vince and Karl were good to me when us men of color weren’t especially liked in the Army. I'd hate to see something happen to them. Tell me what you need me to do and consider it done."
"Just keep your eyes and ears open. Don’t let your boss know what's going on, at least until I tell you. Also, we might need some of your assets soon."
Peabody nodded and put both of his hands on the table and looked at his watch. "I've been here too long. I need to go, but before I do, I want to tell you both to be careful. This may look like a cosmopolitan city now, but things are about to turn. I can feel it
in my bones. So keep your heads down. If you're going to be in town for long, make sure you steer clear of the military. I don't like the sound of whoever this general is."
"Thanks for the warning," Trent said, and Peabody rose from the table and left without saying another word. When he was gone, Trent said, "Your friend is an interesting cat."
"Top, you have no idea." They waited another five minutes before leaving the way they'd come.
Chapter 13
So far the trip to Camp Lemonnier had been a total bust. Their plan had been to make contact with US forces without having to mention any of the strings they had back in D.C. Cal hadn't recognized a single Marine he'd seen walking by, and the only glances of a non-hostile origin they'd received were born of curiosity, staring at Liberty as she pranced along between Cal and Daniel.
They hadn't seen Dr. Higgins since they'd landed, but both Marines knew that the wily interrogator could take care of himself. Without any current options, and because all three of them wanted to get out of the heat, they headed to the chow hall. It was between meals, but like any military base, there was always someone manning the food stations for those coming off the watch or coming in after their patrols.
The only other people in the mess hall were a pair of airmen who looked like they might plant facedown into their trays of untouched food. Cal and Daniel both grabbed burgers, including an extra hamburger patty for Liberty and a handful of water bottles. They explained to the sergeant behind the counter that the German short-hair was a working dog, then they ate in silence, savoring their first American meal in over a week. When Liberty was done, she laid her head in Cal's lap and closed her eyes. It was her way of telling him it was time for all of them to take a nap.
"Half a day gone, and still nothing," Cal said. "You think Gaucho and Top found out anything?" Daniel shrugged and held out the last bite of hamburger for the dog. Liberty took it gently out of his hand, chewed it twice, gulped, and then she licked Daniel's hand in thanks. This time, she laid her head in Daniel's lap.
"Knowing those two, they'll find trouble long before we do," Daniel said.
"You sure about that? They say we are the trouble magnets, not them. Besides, I wouldn't mind a little trouble right now. You know me and waiting around. I don't have near the patience that you do."
Daniel nodded and polished off another water bottle. "When do you think we should bring Brandon into this?" Daniel asked, insinuating that they should use some of the president's clout to kick open some doors.
“We should wait. I know we're losing time, but it looks like El Presidente has his hands full. Maybe Doc Higgins will come up with something."
As if on cue, Dr. Alvin Higgins walked in a few moments later. He was sweating profusely, but he wasn't huffing and puffing from the heat, showing his conditioning in spite of his size. He pulled up a chair and sat down, while mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
"Gentlemen, I hope your investigations are going well."
"We've got zilch, Doc," Cal said.
Dr. Higgins looked from one man to another. "Why, I would have thought a duo of your stature and expertise would have been able find some kind of information by now or have at least dipped your toes into trouble. As for me, I now remember why I took an office job instead of jet-setting from one desert locale to the next." Cal could see he was building up to something. They waited patiently and Daniel smiled.
"Why, just as I was strolling down Camp Lemonnier Boulevard, enjoying the nonexistent breeze and dreaming of a nap in a nice air-conditioned hotel room, I happened to come across the most interesting fellows. It was near the front gate, you see, and this young boy was accompanied by an older gentleman, who I came to find out was his grandfather. Said young man was chatting amicably with one of the soldiers in fluent American English, even though he was dressed like a native. I casually listened in on their conversation and happened to hear two familiar names."
Dr. Higgins paused, wiped his brow before he continued. "Would you gentlemen like to venture who this young lad was speaking of?"
“Vince and Karl," Daniel answered. Dr. Higgins nodded.
"Naturally, I didn't want them to know that I was eavesdropping, but I casually followed behind and watched where the soldier took them. I thought that perhaps the three of us—or rather four—excuse me, Liberty." He reached down and patted her head. "I thought the four of us could go find yon natives and have a little chat."
"Doc, you never cease to amaze me, you know that?" Cal said.
Dr. Higgins gave a short bow, and said, "I live only to entertain you, young Calvin."
Sometime later, they'd somehow convinced the layers of base protection, without invoking the president's name, that they weren't a threat and that they needed to talk to the commanding officer of the camp. He greeted them with curt civility and got straight to the point.
"I'm not sure who you folks are, but my adjutant says that you've invoked the holy name of national security to get in here to talk to me and with a dog to boot. Now, was my adjutant right or wrong in that statement, gentlemen?"
"That's correct, General," Cal said. "I appreciate you—"
The general cut him off with an upraised hand. "Why don't you just cut straight to it? Now, while you don't look like typical Washington weenies, I sure as hell don't appreciate strangers coming onto my base, right smack dab in the middle of a potential international crisis."
Cal nodded and chose his words wisely, carefully.
"Two Djibouti nationals just entered your camp, General. I'm not sure if you had a chance to speak with them, but we would very much like that opportunity."
The general seemed to be only half listening, because he had suddenly taken a keen interest in Daniel.
"Do I know you, son?" the general asked, meaning Daniel, of course.
"We have met once before, General," Daniel said. The general’s eyes flickered with recognition.
"Well I'll be goddamned," the general said, "Snake Eyes, isn’t it?"
"Yes, sir."
The general slapped his desk, pointing at Briggs. "I can see by that ponytail that you're not in the Corps anymore. I never did hear what happened to you. Did you get out and secure some fancy job with these two gentlemen?"
"Something like that," Daniel answered with a smile. "My friend here," Daniel pointed to Cal, “is a Marine, too."
The general looked at Cal.
"I know I shouldn't be asking this, but what's your name, son?”
"Stokes, General. Cal Stokes.”
The general thought about that for a moment and then asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Colonel Stokes, would you?”
"He was my father, General."
The older man nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss, son. I didn't know your father personally, but I knew of him, and I suspect you already know that he was the Marine's marine."
Cal felt that familiar pit of hollowness deep in his stomach, and after a brief silence, the general changed the subject.
"Well, now that I know that Washington hasn't thrown a trio of spies into my midst, why don't you Marines tell me what you need with those Djibouti nationals?"
Cal nodded for Daniel to explain.
"We're looking for some people, General. Our operation, if you could even call it that, isn't classified or logged in any book, if you take my meaning." The general nodded. "It's possible that these two visitors know the whereabouts of our missing companions."
"Would these missing companions, as you describe them, in any way be linked to the current hubbub between China and Djibouti?" None of the three answered, but the general took their meaning once again. "Gentlemen, I believe it would be best for all of us if we ended this conversation."
"But, General—" Cal said before receiving the raised hand.
"I will not discuss this further, and I suggest you take my lead, unless we all want to be dragged in front of some international tribunal. Now, it was a pleasure meeting you all, but I really do have a pressing
schedule to get back to."
Cal was going to protest, but Daniel grabbed his arm and pushed him towards the door.
Once they were outside the office, Cal said, "He knows something. We were so close."
They ignored the curious onlookers as they made their way through the headquarters building and finally found the exit. Just as Daniel was reaching for the doorknob, somebody called from behind.
"Excuse me!" It was a fair-skinned captain, the general's adjutant. He held up a piece of folded paper for Cal. "Gentlemen, the general said you forgot this in his office." Once the piece of paper had changed hands, the peppy adjutant did an about-face and went back to his tasks.