Nick passed out masks with noise suppression. “When I run back by you, it would be best if you two are right on my ass. We need to be out of the building when my ‘bangs go off.”
“I thought we were supposed to clear the building not blow it up,” Gus called out after Nick. “So much for information gathering.”
“Be calm, Payaso,” John said. “Muerto will not harm the information. I think we will have to abandon the building for a time though.”
Gus saw Nick moving from room to room when a big shadow blocked out sight of him. “Down!”
Gus and John blasted the shadow, but kept their fire in a tight pattern. The moment the intruder collapsed on the floor, Nick streaked past him, throwing his last two explosive gifts inside the rooms nearest the entrance. He didn’t slow as he passed Gus and John.
“Run Forest… run!”
They barely cleared the doorstep when the first concussion grenade went off. Nick dived to the ground with his Unholy Trio cohorts on his heels. The string of concussive blasts caused the roof to cave in. Screams echoed out in the aftermath of silence. John pushed into a sitting position first.
“I may have been wrong about the information saving, Payaso. Um… Muerto… what was the purpose of that particular clearing of the house?”
“Very effective, wouldn’t you say? I knew if they had a guard at the door, they had a significant number of other shit-balls inside. This may not have been conducive to information gathering, but on the other hand, we don’t have any bullet holes in us. If you’ll excuse me, guys, I’ll go make some final adjustments. Go ahead and start dragging bodies into the hangar. I’ll be along in about fifteen minutes.”
“Do you think that’s safe? There may have been one of them anticipating…” Gus paused, shook his head, and gestured at John. “Forget it, there’s no way in the world they saw that coming. C’mon Kabong, let’s prepare for the Kabuki Theater show.”
“That’s the spirit, my treasured sidekick.” Nick pulled out his own MP5 with silencer and extra clips. “I hope the neighborhood thought it was a fireworks show. I need a little time to make sure the house won’t cave in on me while I’m fishing for clues as to why our government let in a regiment of murderous jackals. See you guys in the hangar.”
“Don’t get crushed in there, Muerto. If they have any snacks, can you bring us out some chips or something… and maybe some sodas?”
“Sure, Payaso. How about a glass of nice warm milk to go with it?”
“That’s fine,” Gus said as he and John grabbed the first body, “but only if you can put a dash of cinnamon in it.”
Chuckling over Gus’s impromptu quips, Nick fired into each body he found. He packed in for later study all cellphone and pad devices, along with the only two laptops he could find. They weren’t taking the bodies, so Nick no longer cared about identities. No one cared while letting them all in. He found a guy rolling around inside a closet, holding his head, blood frothing from his nose, eyes, ears, and mouth. In one of his hands, he held a ring of keys. Nick aimed to fire, but took a deep annoyed breath instead.
“Great… of all the gin joints in all the world, Mr. Jing-a-ling, Keeper of the Keys, had to walk into mine. Stay there while I finish, Mr. Bojangles. I’ll be back to help you sort the treasure trove those keys unlock.” Nick finished the rest of the house, having gathered everything he could safely get to. He returned to the man in the closet. By then, the man’s stillness appeared to be death. “Ah… gee, Mr. Jing-a-ling, that was so sweet of you to simply die like-”
The man groaned while rolling slightly.
“Oh crap. Okay, let’s see what I have for you in bag number one.” Nick extracted a small clasped kit containing a needle and several vials. “I’ll give you a bit of a pick me up, Jing-a-ling. If it doesn’t work, I’ll have to shoot you in the head and forget about the keys.”
After the shot of adrenaline raced through the man, he cringed into a sitting position against the closet wall. Nick put his MP5 against the man’s forehead, looked him directly in the eyes, and then tapped his forehead while mouthing in obvious pantomime. “Hi… I know you can’t hear well, but if you don’t tell me what those keys open, I am going to shoot your dick off and let you bleed to death.”
Nick jammed the barrel of the MP5 into the man’s groin area. Nick smiled when the man reached for his head. “Go ahead, dick-less, touch me. My trigger pull is an ounce away from you dying without anything to nail a virgin with. You can be the eunuch guarding the harem of virgins for some other guy with his equipment intact. Show me what the keys open.”
The man didn’t know for sure what Nick said, but he reconsidered his hand movement. Nick reached over and rattled the keys clutched in the man’s other hand. “Show me what these open,” Nick said in Arabic. He saw startled recognition of what Nick meant.
“I…I cannot.”
“Sure you can. You were in this room with the keys clutched like a tree branch over a thousand foot drop into a fiery pit.” Nick ripped the keys out of the man’s hand before forcing him face first on the littered floor. After plastic tying his wrists behind the man’s back, Nick took a quick look around.
“Oh, Muerto… where fore art thou Muerto?”
“Shut up, Payaso. I’m trying to find something to open with these keys I confiscated from a survivor. It must be something important. The guy can’t hear very well, so I’m searching while his ears get a bit better. He’s beginning to annoy me though. Any movement from the neighbors?”
“Not yet. I saw lights go on down the block, but then they turned off. There’s a lot of yardage between properties.”
“I think I’ve found something.” Nick played around with what looked like books on a bookcase without a book out of place near where the concussion grenade went off. “A fake bookcase, Payaso, but it must have a secret release. Excuse me while I get The Keeper of the Keys to come over and show me where the release is.”
“We’re nearly finished arranging the bodies in a semicircle around the helicopters. I hope you can get something meaningful so they don’t kick Paul out on his ass.”
“They won’t get rid of Paul. He knows too much, and if he doesn’t, I do.” Nick plucked the key-man off the floor, holding him upright by the neck. “I found your hidey hole, Bojangles. Hit the release or I get Mr. Sparky out to tickle your balls.”
“I cannot! They will kill me.”
Nick took out his stun-gun. “Oh my… you thought you’d survive this encounter. My bad. I am going to kill you. The only choice you have is a quick death or a nasty painful one. Here’s a demo.”
Nick jolted the man off his feet in a pile. “The next one I do will be a scrotum massage. Now what were you saying about not helping?”
The man rolled to his left, curling into a fetal position. Nick promptly zapped him in the crack of his buttocks, causing him to screech with head thrown back and body jackknifing in the opposite direction. Nick strolled around his contorting body, waited a moment, and zapped the man’s groin area. When the high pitched wail ended in sobs, Nick knelt next to him.
“Hey Bo, how you feel about showing me the release now?”
“Behind bookcase! At bottom… left… switch is there!”
“See how much easier that was when you simply answered the question.” Nick felt around for a moment before finding the trigger. It popped the shelving open in the middle. Nick pulled them open. Three sets of deadbolts and a retina scanner with keypad were located along the door’s edge. “Damn, you guys went all out. Let’s get you into position for eyeball use.”
Nick unlocked the three deadbolts before lifting the man he nicknamed Bojangles into position. “You know what to do, Bo. Give me the keypad code. Then stick your eyeball close for recognition. I hope for your sake you have the right eyeball to open the door. Otherwise, I’ll pluck both of yours out.”
After entering the code given, Bojangles leaned near the scanner. It turned green. Nick opened the door into an eight by sixtee
n foot room, shielded in metal, housing an arsenal of weaponry, including surface to air missiles. With Bojangles held by his ear, Nick examined the weapons and munitions for a silent moment of disbelief. He connected with Gus.
“Ask John to come in the house and bring our good camera. Does he have his costume on?”
“Of course. El Kabong dressed for his part the moment we finished arranging bodies.”
“Good. Send him over. We need what I found to be part of the cartoon.”
“I don’t know if we have time, Muerto.”
“We’ll make time, Payaso. Send Kabong.”
“I am on now, boss. I will be right over.”
John came to an abrupt halt as Nick guided him into the arsenal. “It appears the Buckeye State has a pest problem. I’ll roll the camera. You do the acting honors. Remember to make this serious, even if we are doing it in an Unholy Trio mode.”
John shook his head in wonder. “I will not have to pretend shock and amazement.”
Nick put Bojangles into a position inside the room where John could do his posturing lecture on border infiltration out of control and the proliferation of terrorist cells with arsenals. Pausing after each different section of munitions John would reiterate the terrorist theme involving the heartland of America. As a connecting scene introduction, John explained the show would involve much more of an imminent threat averted by the Unholy Trio.
After signaling cut, Nick pointed at two hand held rocket launchers. “Let’s bring these along for the final helicopter accounting. They’re M-80’s with enough punch to do what we want inside the hangar when we target the helicopters.”
John handed one to Nick, and shouldered the other. “This will be messy, but fun.”
“Indeed it will be, brother Kabong. Our star in the next segment will be Bojangles. He’ll be in the entryway to greet the oncoming spectacular show’s end.”
“I like it. Is this what they can call averting a disaster of monumental danger.”
“The people do when they find out. Everyone else in authority with few exceptions simply shrugs and claims it’s a blip on the radar. We’ll make it into a movie where the blip becomes a nuclear reaction.”
* * *
“We’ve outed the Pakistanis. We killed an entire cell of Isis agents, found an arsenal of deadly weapons including two combat helicopters misappropriated for terrorist use, and did it all with very little government help,” Nick stated as he took final sightings with the video camera. “I wish we could have given Paul his due, but everyone in power will know it was his doing.”
“Are you sure it should end like this? You do realize this will rattle doors miles away, and probably knock us on our asses, right?”
“I told you I fixed the missiles, Payaso. John and I carted the bad parts inside the arsenal for the government to take care of while you dragged ass, barely helping.”
“What about the fuel tanks in the copters, Muerto? I was not dragging ass. I was watching for prying neighborhood eyes.”
“I’ll bet. We have to have some concussive force for the show, right John?”
“Yes, Muerto. Stop nagging us. It is like having Tyrannosaurus Tina here questioning our every move. You looked very frightening in tonight’s movie. Be satisfied with that.”
“Okay, but if we get blown to kingdom come, don’t blame me. The movie is our best one yet. We made a real statement.”
“Here comes the real statement,” Nick said, shouldering the M-80 Yugoslavia made anti-tank weapon. “These are single use, so hit something, John.”
John chuckled as he crouched into firing position. “Fire in the hole, Muerto! Say when.”
“Bojangles appears to be dancing a jig, guys,” Nick said. “That’s really nice of him to get into this final filming with some great adlib moves like that.”
Gus watched the man chained loosely to the helicopter twisting, yanking, and taking small breaks to plead and swear in three languages Gus could count. “Only you could describe that poor sap’s last pleas as dancing a jig, Muerto.”
“Thank you, Payaso. It is nice to receive acclamation from a friend.”!
“That wasn’t acclamation, Muerto!”
“That is of no importance. Fire… fire… fire!”
Gus watched the hits through the range finders before the helicopters exploded. He dropped immediately to the ground with his fellow Unholy Trio cohorts before the concussive wave swept over them. All the glass at the back of the house shattered.
“Uh oh,” Nick called out. “Who is going to pay for those windows?”
“Very funny, Muerto,” Gus said. “Bojangles was very unhappy at the end. Did you have to fire the rocket through him?”
“He was in the way of the helicopter, Payaso.”
“That’s because you chained him there… oh never mind. Let’s get the hell out of here. Even Paul won’t be able to hold off the local forces for much longer. They’ll be thinking we’re blowing up the whole state.”
“Our movie will be impossible to top,” John commented with some sadness. “We’ll have to make something incredible to top this one.”
“You drive, Gus. I’m going to take a quick look at the video and send it to Paul. He deserves first look at the masterpiece. Then I’ll call Clyde and tell him wheels up in an hour. We’ll soon be driving toward Pacific Grove where fate and the lovely Cala await El Kabong, the hero of Hell’s Gate.”
“Where is this ‘Hell’s Gate?”
“It’s a mystical place of bravery and sacrifice, John. If Gus would have been more supportive, this operation could have classified as a textbook example of assaulting superior numbered legions of bad guys.”
“Even you can’t think of tonight’s action as anything but a complete success. Turn off your negative vibes for a moment and smell the roses, Payaso.”
“Yes,” John agreed. “Save your mission bashing for the lovely Tina.”
“Your day is coming. Mark my words, Kabong.” Gus drove away down the darkened highway as neighbors finally piled out of their houses in the early morning hours. “Those people will be surprised at the closeness to death many of them came to. This will be a long travel day.”
“I’m glad we’re driving to Pacific Grove before any of this really gets plastered into the news. There will be media and police everywhere,” John replied. “It would be best to be on the move while people and authorities follow the media’s warped take on all of it. Then I will spring the real deal on them with our YouTube movie. El Kabong will be on top over all cat videos once again.”
Nick sat in the back enjoying the banter while finishing his first look at the movie. “Damn… this is good, boys.”
Nick sent the movie. Paul called ten minutes later.
“Oh my God in heaven,” Paul stated with solemn sounds. “That was an incredible blast. Bloody awesome is the only way to describe it. Homeland and the FBI task force has reached the scene with the usual stunned comments of disbelief at the arsenal you guys uncovered. I don’t know how many hundreds of lives you guys saved, but the pressure will be on DC after your video hits YouTube.”
“Ohio is a crucial voter state. I know we’re going to piss off a lot of people, but the facts can’t get swept away in the usual political doubletalk. I’ll call you when we get on the road to Pacific Grove. I’m hoping we can get home for an uneventful wedding that’s in the works.”
“I believe a low profile for the time being is an excellent plan, Nick. I’ll talk with you later.”
Nick relaxed in his seat. “Jean will be out of school soon. June’s right around the corner with weddings on tap. We must put our superhero capes away for the time being my friends. We’ve saved the heartland of America, executed a couple of Isis cells, and uncovered arsenals of weapons. We need to break for family time, and of course morning beach time with a bit of celebratory Irish elixir.”
“Amen to that, brother,” Gus said. “I overheard Jean talking to Sonny about playing sports. That will require c
oaches and helpers.”
“I can handle helping out in support of any sport,” Nick said. “How about you, John? Want to practice coaching kids for when you and Cala conceive a brood of Kabongs?”
“It would indeed be a very eerie pastime in between our other rather murderous calling. You will have to train Deke on how to be a team mascot.”
“He’ll do anything for a beer, so I doubt I’ll have much trouble. I wonder which sport is on tap for this time of year. I heard Jean talking to Rachel, and most sports end by this month rather than begin. I did hear her say something about coed summer camps with all the usual activities.”
“Dumped for the boyfriend, huh Muerto? You could volunteer to be a camp counselor,” Gus advised. “I’ll bet the kids would be thrilled to have their very own ‘Jason’ to run their summer camp.”
“I’ll have you know I’d be a great summer camp counselor,” Nick replied. “I remember quite a bit from my Delta Force days. I’ll get those kids into shape.”
“Forget I mentioned it.”
“What? Kids crave discipline. They love having parameters and guidelines. By the time their day is over, they’ll sleep like babies. Then the fun begins when I get to put on my hockey mask and patrol the grounds.”
Gus and John stayed silent, doing shunning gestures with their hands held close to the sides of their faces nearest Nick.
“You guys are no fun. I hope Jean asks me to try and get hired on for the camp,” Nick joked. “I’ll be a legend by summer’s end.”
“By the end of the first week, the parents will have formed a posse and burned you at the stake. Please don’t even joke about being a camp counselor. You’ll send Rachel into fits of angst wondering if you’re serious or not. She knows you’d do it just to tweak her.”
“Relax, Payaso. I’ll behave. It will be the simple pleasures in these last few weeks before school’s out: walking Deke and Jean to the school, going down to the beach with baby Quinn so I don’t have to listen to Rachel whine, and sip a couple of Irish coffees with whoever else wants to come.”
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