Let Slip the Pups of War: Spot and Smudge - Book Three

by Robert Udulutch

  Each of them had an assault rifle slung over their shoulder. They had been pulled quietly from a duffle at their feet when they first saw the roadblock. The rifles were heavily modified versions of the People’s Army QBZ close support weapon. The bullpup gun was light and had been customized to use a smaller caliber round. It could hold a higher capacity magazine, and with their advanced recoil suppression they had almost no perceivable kick when fired.

  The small gun looked ridiculous against Boba’s huge bulk. Even when he had the scope moved to the farthest forward position he still had to hold the weapon off his shoulder to see through it. Jixi, however, loved the little rifle. It was scaled perfectly for her and when the cousins were testing the weapons at Carver’s ranch she could write her name with it on the plywood targets.

  While Tian was watching the line of cars move Boba and Mu had removed the combo night vision infrared scopes and the undermount tear gas and tranq dart attachments. If they had to drop from the truck’s bottom access panel and engage the border agents they wouldn’t want all that extra gear attached. The lethal live fire rounds exiting the barrel at nearly a thousand rounds a minute would suffice.

  Tian watched Harley’s calm face and had to admit his normally juvenile cousin was pretty brilliant when it came to his snakehead duties, and he took them deadly serious. He had changed from easy going, silly Harley to a proper businessman the moment they landed at the Moncton airport in New Brunswick. He barely spoke as they exited Canadian customs and met Carver in the parking lot. Fifteen minutes later a Chinese man came from the terminal building pushing a cart with their bags, and three large black duffels.

  They spent the night at Carver’s ranch where they tested the weapons and reviewed maps of southern Canada and New England. He handed each of them a small leather billfold that held cash and papers detailing emergency plans and extraction points along their route. The billfold also had a magnesium wire strip built into the lining. One pull from the red tab and it would ignite, incinerating the wallet’s contents.

  The really impressive part came at the border crossing. Harley and Carver had constructed aluminum sleds that fit onto the abandoned rails at the Forest City crossing. The Canadian Atlantic Rail Company had gone under in the nineties and most of the track had since been torn up, except for the small section on the isthmus. The old rails snaked far outside of town and were lost in the woods at the border.

  The modular sleds could link to form a small train. Harley could add as many as he needed to ferry people or contraband as required. Two sleds easily held the four cousins and all of their gear, and the lead car was powered by an almost silent electric motor. The cousins had to admit it was pretty ingenious, especially the rubber wheels on arms that slid to compensate for the bows and twists in the old rails. Carver had repaired some of the track and cut back the brush just enough for the sled to move quietly over the tracks for the entire four mile trip. There were even some fake bushes along the way that the cousins stopped to move and replace after they passed. The route was deserted except for one small shack that had been the rail border checkpoint. It had been ravaged by teenagers and raccoons long ago and barely the foundation remained.

  Harley and Carver had dropped the cousins off well before sunrise two miles north of Forest City on the Canadian side. The men then waited with the truck at a garage Carver owned until noon to cross the border at the little hut. They met up at Carver’s other warehouse on the southern outskirts of Forest City on the U.S. side.

  The border agent at the little hut knew both of them by name as the affable bearded man and his funny Chinese coworker had passed through her check point dozens of times. They were always accommodating and friendly, even on the rare occasions when asked to pull over for an inspection of the truck’s auto parts.

  Tian and Harley watched the border agents and their dog, and they could tell the little sedan in front of them was in real trouble. “Stay calm, but be ready back there,” Harley said without expression, and without looking down at his phone.

  Ollie kept the occupant’s passports and asked the young blonde driver to pull ahead and stop in front of Mike’s pickup truck.

  “Shit guys, what the fuck?” Hale whispered as he put on his shoes and tied the laces.

  Narny rolled slowly up to the pickup truck. The truck’s orange lights raced across the wet windshield in front of her, turning her worried face a pale yellow.

  Hale grabbed for Kit’s hand but she pulled away from him, shaking her head. Tears had started to flow down her face. “I told you this was a fucking stupid idea,” she hissed at him.

  Randy and Ollie walked along with the sedan until it stopped.

  Mike crossed in front of the white box truck and went to the driver’s window. He recognized the local auto parts store delivery truck, and the driver looked familiar.

  Carver lowered his window halfway, nodded at the sedan and said with a smile, “That doesn’t look too good, officer. Those poor kids doing something stupid?”

  “Perhaps,” the agent said, “Sorry for the delay, just wait here for a minute, please.”

  “Sure, we’re in no rush. End of the day for us after this drop,” Carver said.

  Mike nodded, and as he turned back to face the sedan he thought, Yep, poor stupid kids is right. This is going to result in some painful phone calls home. Muffy and Reginald are going to be plenty pissed at Buffy and Trent, and they’ll probably lose more allowance than Snyder for this little stunt.

  Mike watched as Ollie put his hands on his hips and bent to speak to the blonde driver. Snyder was standing at Ollie’s side at attention, staring at the young man in the back seat. He didn’t even flinch when lightning flashed behind the low hills in the distance, and thunder grumbled softly across the valley. Mike, Randy, and the dog could all see that the passengers weren’t too happy about the situation.

  Ollie walked to his SUV and returned with an umbrella. He opened it, pulled open the car door, and held the umbrella above the blonde driver as he escorted her to his SUV. Mike smiled as Ollie opened his back door, but didn’t put her in. Ollie put his hand on her shoulder as he spoke to her, and Mike didn’t need to hear what was being said. She was shaking her head, and Mike started to count down slowly under his breath, “Ten, nine, eight…” When he got to three the girl broke down and her shake turned to a nod. “Three seconds faster than last time,” he said to himself as she sobbed openly and pointed to the sedan, and then specifically at the nervous looking young man in the back seat.

  And that’s when things happened very quickly, and Mike drew his gun.

  Chapter 28

  Fisho stepped over his son and raised his open hands as he moved in front of Ayo. “There’s no need for that, brother,” he said, “He didn’t know any better.”

  The tall man looked away from Fulfort, who was lying in the dirt. He met the father’s eyes and his scowl turned to a broad smile. “Okay, Dada, okay,” he said as his knife disappeared into some hiding place behind him, “But you keep him on a short leash.”

  Without taking his eyes off the scraggly Angolan, Fisho picked his son up and helped him to a seat by the fire. Ayo turned and sat down in his folding chair. He gave them a dirty look as he stabbed at his pan of beans with his fork.

  “It’s alright my son,” Fisho said to a puffing and angry Fulfort, “Nothing damaged but pride. Let it go. Eat your dinner.” The father handed his son the dented bowl half filled with boiled chicken and white beans.

  They ate in silence for the long while.

  Ayo finally snorted, took a long drink from his beer and tossed the empty bottle and his plate at the men’s feet. He went to the front of the truck to pee before climbing into the bed. With his feet hanging out from the open tailgate he started to snore almost immediately.

  Fulfort set down his bowl, settled back onto his bed roll, and looked up. Their small fire fended off some of the bugs and pushed away the evening chill. It was a clear night and there were a billion stars overhea
d. The Milky Way painted a streak down the center of the sky, and a hundred animal constellations shined down on them.

  “Father, I’m sorry. I thought we were joking,” Fulfort said quietly, still rubbing the tender spot on the side of his cheek.

  “Don’t bother with it,” Fisho said, “But we need to be more mindful. Men from the north can be unpredictable. I’m sure Ayo had his share of challenges on the way up, and his mother is probably a sore subject. Walk carefully around him, my son. How’s your face?”

  “It doesn’t hurt as much as the inside. I should have hit him back. I don’t want him to think me a coward,” Fulfort said.

  “You could have struck him back,” Fisho said, “And you’d sleep well tonight knowing you didn’t let an ignorant bully of no consequence sucker punch you. Of course you would have slept through the night, and all of the next day, and the next year, because you would have been split open from the belly to the head.”

  Fulfort stewed on that for some time as he stared up at the stars.

  Fisho turned to watch his son. It had been a difficult day for the young man, after having almost been killed, twice.

  Ayo had made the men ride in the back of the small pickup truck, and even with bedrolls to sit on the bumps and potholes were murder, especially on Fisho’s old bones.

  After leaving the Zambian capital of Lusaka before sunrise they crossed the Zimbabwe border north of Lake Kariba. The long thin lake would eventually become the Zambizi River and drop over Victoria Falls three hundred kilometers to the southwest. Fisho had seen this river once before when he was about Fulfort’s age, but he’d never been south of it.

  The tired truck had left the main road and took rutted paths when they got close to the border, and Ayo drove them like a madman. Sometimes they thought he was aiming for the potholes.

  After the border crossing Ayo stopped the truck and climbed into the bed as the sun was coming up. He grabbed the bed rolls and stretched out, kicking Fulfort out of the way.

  After a moment he looked at Fisho and said, “Well, Dada, you going to drive or just fucking watch me napping? Just head south on this road, you can’t get too lost.”

  “We don’t know how to drive,” Fisho said.

  Ayo sat up and looked at the older man. He then looked at the blank stare on Fisho’s son, and flew into a rage. After a lot of screaming and pushing, he shoved Fisho into the driver’s seat and said, “Don’t fuck with me old man, I’m not your lorry man. Drive the fucking truck and quit pissing about.”

  Fisho made it one gear grinding kilometer before almost getting them all killed. A deep rut bounced the back of the light truck wildly off the road and into a thicket. Ayo was tossed from the low bed into the brush. Everything in the southern African savannah is covered in spinescent vegetation, and the thorns of the yellow barked Acacia have been known to puncture auto tires. They had no problem tearing up Ayo’s backside.

  Ayo drove the rest of the way with his back not resting on the seat, after almost stabbing Fulfort for smirking at him.

  He raced them south through Zimbabwe at brake neck speeds, covering seven hundred kilometers before sunset.

  As the stars came out the truck pulled off the main road and they bounced through the bush for another hour to a small clearing by a river. As they setup camp for the night Ayo told them they were in the southern Masvingo, about fifty kilometers from the South African border. “Tomorrow we hunt,” he had said with wide eyes and a crazy smile, “and get hunted.”

  Fisho patted his son’s shoulder as he set his empty plate down next to Ayo’s. He dropped onto his bedroll, and as he turned his back to the fire said, “Goodnight my son. If you don’t rinse those dishes they’ll be hard to clean in the morning. And be careful by the river, the crocs hunt at night. Too bad you’re wife isn’t here to teach you these important bush skills.”

  Chapter 29

  Border agent Mike Phillips took two steps forward as he drew his weapon.

  In the front of the truck Harley dropped his hand to his side and let his fingers rest on the grip of his hand cannon.

  In the back of the truck Tian craned to see around Carver’s fat head and bushy beard. When he saw the border agent step forward and raise his weapon Tian put his hand on his cousin Mu’s shoulder.

  Mu was kneeling, ready to pull up on the handle of the access panel on the floor of the truck. Jixi and Boba silently flicked their assault rifles from safety to burst auto. Boba tried to remember how big the access panel was. Before they left the warehouse Carver had just packed the big plastic wrapped pallets in around the cousins and Boba hadn’t thought to see if he’d fit through the little hole in the floor. He whispered to Jixi that he should probably go last.

  Ollie handed his umbrella to the blonde driver as he and Snyder stepped in front of her.

  Randy stared wide-eyed from the passenger side of the sedan. He had also drawn his weapon when the young man shoved open the rear car door.

  Hale had said, “Fuck this,” to Kit, grabbed his coat, and made a run for it.

  Mike followed the young man with his pistol as the kid darted straight away from the car.

  Hale tugged on his coat as he crossed the wet road and jumped the abandoned tracks.

  Mike, Ollie, and Randy all exchanged a look and a shrug, and a smile.

  Ollie watched the young man high-stepping through the deep snow of the field on the far side of the railroad tracks. The kid was pretty fast. He was tall and thin and ran like a motivated athlete, although Ollie wasn’t sure where he thought he was going. There was frigid water on both sides of this mile wide strip of land, and it was cold and rainy. The only thing back that way was a small town and the border, but he’d be soaked and freezing long before he got there.

  As the kid ran over a small hill Ollie looked down at Snyder. The dog looked up at him, and wagged.

  Ollie watched Randy pull open the other back door of the sedan and lean down to speak to the young woman. It was clear the trembling girl wasn’t going anywhere. He pointed, and the girl leaned over to close the door the young man had just exited from.

  He said something to her and without hesitation she ripped open a pillow case and handed Randy a big bag of what allegedly appeared to be marijuana. Randy closed the door and held it up for Ollie and Mike to see.

  “Okay buddy,” Ollie said to Snyder, “I think we can call that probable cause for pursuit and detain. You can go get him, but try to bring him back only mildly beat up.” He gave Snyder the hand sign.

  From the back of the truck Tian had watched the young man run from the car. He watched as the girl handed over the bag of weed, and the black and white police dog tore off after the idiot kid a few moments later. He held back a laugh and tapped for Mu to stand down. The eldest cousin stood up and joined Tian at the small window.

  Harley moved his hand away from the dragon pistol grip and exchanged a broad smile with Carver. The agent outside Carver’s window was facing away from the truck watching the dog. As it cleared the railroad tracks in one bound he holstered his gun and put his hands on his hips.

  “Well that’s not something you see every day,” Carver said to the border agent’s back, “Just where the hell does he think he’s going?”

  “I have no idea,” the agent said without turning around.

  Ollie waved to Mike, and Mike turned to face the driver of the white truck and said, “Go on ahead, sir. This is going to take a while. You have a nice day.”

  “You too, officer,” Carver said as he slipped the truck into gear, “Have fun with that terrorist.”

  Mike laughed at the bearded truck driver and waved him and the two other cars behind on as Snyder disappeared over the hill in the tracks of the running young man.

  Ollie nodded to the driver of the white truck as they passed him and the sobbing blonde driver.

  Carver and Harley nodded back at the big black border agent as he was putting handcuffs on the girl.

  Chapter 30

  Barton
crossed the Bourne Bridge at Buzzard’s Bay and entered the salty, rarefied air of Cape Cod. He turned off the two lane highway and followed the winding shore road to the south as the houses got bigger and farther apart. Eventually they were the kind of homes that had quaint little houses in front for the staff, or the horses, or both.

  Traffic was light. In winter the beaches of the cape were deserted and had a healthy covering of snow. On any July weekend this twenty mile stretch from the bridge to Gloria’s foundation compound could easily be an hour drive.

  VB’s phone chirped and he hit the scramble decode app before he picked up.

  “I got your text,” Comina said, “Don’t you think it’s a little odd she called you down to the cape?”

  “Hi to you, too. I’m fine, thanks,” VB said, “Yes it’s a little odd, but I hear Mrs. Bekker-Myers has always been odd. My darling wife, who likes everyone as you know, saw the woman for ten seconds at a fund raiser years ago and later described Gloria as upwardly bitchy. There are some appointments I just don’t get, and Gloria’s promo to Security Advisor tops the list.”

  Comina said, “What do you make of her boss jumping ship with the shortest goodbye email ever? Every other top spy who left did so with a big wave of their cloaks and a subtle parting swipe with their daggers. They drone on with thanks and veiled eff-you’s for two pages at least, but this guy just evaporated into the thin DC air with a one-liner.”

  VB said, “I would imagine he’s sitting at home avoiding his wife and wondering how much the third drink he had the other night is going to end up costing him. He’s also wondering why he let his intern take a selfie with him in the tub at the Carlyle Hotel.”

  “We had eyes on him?” Comina asked.

  “Not that I’m aware,” VB said, “But if we’re placing bets, my money’s on a staffer with a flexible attitude towards handcuffs, and the other input.”