With a final heave, he ripped his leg free of the grass and crouched lower as the creature came within arm’s reach. He dropped the net over its rounded back and pressed the fob.
The net zipped with electricity, the white streaking in the night, sparking and sputtering with each touch from the blades of grass that closed in around it. The creature froze and made a horrible little howl. It writhed in the net, chewing on the wire even as the net electrocuted it. Roo let go of the fob, not wanting the creature to kill itself. He assumed they needed it alive.
“Heard a damsel in distress,” Booker said. He strolled over just as the creature tried to run, net and all.
Roo flung himself on top of it, pinning it to the ground with one knee. It scrabbled beneath him, clawing, biting, and howling all the while.
“What’re you talking about?” he ground out, trying to keep the animal pinned down. It was strong for something its size.
“You screamed.”
“No, I fucking didn’t.”
“Agree to disagree.”
The others soon gathered around.
“Brilliant! Well done, Roo,” Prince said.
He grunted. “How are we getting it back? I don’t know if this net’ll hold.”
Their leader grabbed the box contraption from Charles. “We’ll put it in this.”
The Aussie took the trap and rolled off the creature at the same time that he brought the trap down over it. The creature slotted safely inside, net and all. He stood and they all looked down at the box as it shuddered and bounced, the creature inside snarling and squealing.
Charles looked around the small clearing. The trees moved around them, and hostile eyes peered from the thick darkness of the tree line. Zoo animals watching as another of their number was carted off to be studied.
“We’re surrounded,” he muttered.
Prince waved a hand. “Don’t worry about that. All right, Charles, pick that thing up and we’ll get it back. We’ve already been gone too damn long.”
He looked at the Nigerian, then back at the boxed creature as it rattled around. Roo pressed his fob again and the box jumped once and then movement stilled.
“Did you kill it?” Charles asked.
His teammate shrugged. “Hopefully not.”
“It’s just stunned. Now, let’s go,” their leader said.
Charles hefted the box, surprised at how heavy it was. He was glad the creature wasn’t throwing its weight around, and he hoped they could make it back before it woke up again. It would make jogging out hell.
Prince led the way, his pace quick. Now that the creature was in their grasp, he was eager to return.
The Zoo thrummed around them. In the distance, there came the distinct cough of an AK-47 followed quickly by a creature’s cries that made the hair on the back of Charles’ neck stand up.
“How far?” he muttered to Booker, who jogged next to him.
The man kept his MP5 leveled at the jungle around them, although there didn’t seem to be anything there. “Can’t be far now. The foliage is thinning. I’d say no more than a klick out.”
He shifted the box in his arms. It was an awkward thing to carry, and he wished they had some rope so he could’ve strapped it to his back instead.
A few creatures growled in the near darkness, but nothing attacked as they jogged back toward the Harvesters Camp.
The sounds of humans and creatures battling raged on in the distance.
“Should we help them?” Roo asked, frowning in the direction the noise was coming from.
Prince shook his head. “Do you want to get paid? Yes? Then keep moving.”
The way back was quicker. They hadn’t traveled far into the Zoo interior and now, they ran along. Charles’ lower back was beginning to ache, but he didn’t think it was worth mentioning. He’d had worse, after all. Maybe forced retirement was making him soft. He jogged a little harder, his longer legs easily setting a pace that pushed the others to maintain.
They weren’t attacked and slipped easily out of the Zoo. They were making their way back through the gate when the creature started rattling around. Charles gripped the cage to his chest, locking his long arms around it and using his chest to try to absorb some of the erratic movement.
Gate 03FLC swung shut behind them. Prince held his arms out for the creature. “Hand it over. It’s time to get paid.”
The American gave up his cargo. Prince latched onto it, then passed it to one of his ever-present—when not in the Zoo—bodyguards. The man grunted in surprise as the creature struggled harder in the confines of the crate.
“Let me go with you,” Booker said.
Prince whirled back toward the group, his finger extended toward the Brit. “You stay right here. I’ll be back with our pay.”
The men watched him disappear to meet with the buyer and deliver their prize.
“Where does he go?” Booker muttered.
Charles shrugged, although it was more a way to get his shoulder muscles to relax than an answer to the question. He shook his arms out, flexing his fingers and trying to get the blood flowing again.
“Achoo and his mysterious ways,” Roo said. He stretched, then yawned. “You guys don’t need me. I’m going to bed. You can just bring me my money.”
They watched him go, then turned their attention to the Angolans who went through the motions of another prayer to cleanse themselves of the Zoo.
The gate swung open again and three bedraggled groups of men shuffled through. Their armor was torn in places and most of them had drying blood, both human and creature, on them. They stopped in front of the gate as if confused as to what their next step was supposed to be.
A tall, bald man broke away from his group and moved next to the Angolans, who were standing by Booker and Charles. “Back already? Looks like you guys missed all the fun.”
No one bothered replying.
His grin slipped. “Shit, you assholes already got the fucking critter, didn’t you?”
The Angolans said nothing, and when the man turned his glare toward Charles and Booker, they didn’t say anything either.
He swore again and then returned to his group. Word rippled through the few returned teams and looks of hatred were tossed their way.
“We have to bring them back. Tell them it’s over,” a man said.
The bald man grunted, then he went back through the gate alone. A flare shot high into the sky, the red light pulsing and illuminating the trembling trees.
“I hate how the whole place looks like it’s breathing. Like it’s all one organism or something,” Booker said.
“Yeah, I know how you feel. Like that Pando thing in Utah I told you about. The trees all connected,” Charles said, suppressing a shudder.
“Bleddy Prince, he knew the other teams were headed in the wrong direction. That’s why he waited. He knew exactly where that creature was going to be. What a wanker. He used the other teams to draw the fighting away so we’d have a better chance at nabbing the thing unhindered by fending off other Zoo animals.” The Brit shook his head. “I don’t know if I admire him or hate him.”
As the other teams slunk away to tend to their wounds, muttering insults and curses at them as they went, Prince returned. He didn’t bother hiding his self-satisfied grin. Or the envelope of cash he carried.
“Here we are, gents. Your winnings.” He divvied up the cash, starting with the Angolans. Once the ex-communists got their money, they disappeared.
“Where’s Roo?” he asked.
“He went to bed,” Charles said.
The Nigerian nodded, then handed them Roo’s share.
“How’d you do it?” Booker asked.
“How’d I do what?”
“Send the other teams on a wild goose chase so we’d have a better chance at making the catch unhindered.”
The man pursed his lips. Then he grinned in a way that showed all his teeth. Charles noted his solid gold molar.
“Ah…that. A magician never
reveals his secrets.”
Chapter Ten
Container Alley, The Harvesters Camp
The sky over the Sahara that morning was static. Nothing but the gaping blue sky and the horrifying yellow sun. It reminded Roo of a picture his daughter had drawn him once. Except her sun was wearing sunglasses. He wanted someone to do that to the Sahara’s sun—cover it and lessen it somehow. Wishful thinking.
“With a payday like this, we could definitely get that flamethrower,” Charles said.
Booker didn’t bother replying.
“I don’t think Prince is a real prince,” Roo said, trying to blink the sun out of his eyes. He’d looked up at the sky too long.
“Last time you said he was,” the Brit reminded him.
He shrugged. “Now, I think he’s some entitled wombat who likes people thinking he’s worth more than he is.”
“He’s worth an awful lot. Just look at his kit. And that watch has to be an easy twenty K. He gets paid on top of all the fees he charges people. Why do we let him take thirty percent, again?” Charles asked. He dropped to the ground and started doing pushups.
Roo slouched further into his lawn chair.
“I wish I knew where he went to get the missions to turn things in. If we knew that, we could cut him out entirely,” Booker said. He ran a finger under his nose. His brow furrowed like he could conjure up Prince’s movements.
“I have a pretty good idea,” the Aussie said.
His companions looked at him.
He grinned. “Did you really think I went to bed last night? I followed him.”
“You followed him,” the Brit said, “and you’re just telling us this now?”
“You’re welcome.”
The man muttered something in Cornish.
“If you’re going to insult me, at least do it in a language I know so I can retaliate. Besides, you should be happy.”
“Can you remember where?” Charles asked.
“Fuck you, Yank. Of course, I remember where.” Roo made a big show of getting up from his chair and stretching. The other two men glared at him, but he wasn’t done gloating.
Roo kept up a commentary on his surveillance skills as he led his teammates to where Prince conducted his deals. By the time they arrived, Booker was glaring at him and even Charles was beginning to look fed up. The Australian just grinned.
“And voila, gents,” he said sweeping an arm out to indicate the building he’d led them to.
It was windowless and the same ramshackle pole barn affair as most of the other buildings in the area. Two guards slouched against the personnel door, and a few other men stood around chatting. Booker could faintly make out a hatch farther up the building where he suspected a rotary cannon could fit nicely. The building didn’t have logos painted on it and there were no indicators anywhere that it was anything at all. He knew this meant it was either nothing or something very important.
They approached one of the loitering men. He turned and watched them coming, mild interest on his face. The Brit could tell by the way he held himself that this guy was a pogue.
“Nothing today,” the man said.
“Thought we’d stop by anyway,” Booker said. He forced the pogue to maintain eye contact with him. “Prince said there might be something.”
At the mention of the Nigerian’s name, the man stood a little straighter. His gaze darted around as if he was waiting for Prince to appear. “You know Prince?”
“Work with him,” he said with a shrug.
The pogue licked his lower lip and pressed the uncalloused tips of his fingers together. “Yeah? Haven’t seen you around before. You one of his plebs or are you on the level?”
“What do you think?” the Brit asked. He squared his shoulders and quirked an eyebrow for good measure. Charles and Roo stood at parade rest just behind him, willingly playing the part of his bodyguards. He was glad he’d decided to put on a button-down before they came.
“Still doesn’t change that we don’t have anything. Got to wait for the order to be placed, you know?” The man waved his hands around in a vague way that said it wasn’t under his control.
Booker nodded slowly. “Right. Prince didn’t bother mentioning if you worked in flora or fauna.”
The pogue hesitated again and he looked at him over his sunglasses.
“Well, we do anything, really. More flexibility than bigger companies. It’s a mixed bag, but there’s less competition that way.” He shrugged. “I used to think that meant the men we get running jobs aren’t as skilled, but now I think it’s the opposite. With the big contractors, they run a specific type of mission, and it’s all clear cut. Men feel comfortable knowing what’s expected of them. We can’t give people that. So people with more, uh…adaptable working methods come to us.”
“Thanks for your time. Prince was right in saying we’d find what we were looking for here,” Booker said. “I think we’ll be seeing more of each other…”
“Franco.”
“Franco.” The Brit smiled and shook his hand. “I’ll drop by later.”
Franco nodded and the three left the building and returned to the converted storage crate in Container Alley.
“We have gear. We have the know-how, and now we know where Prince gets a lot of his jobs,” Roo said, counting the points off on his fingers. “I don’t see why we couldn’t start our own company.”
“But they don’t know who we are. Remember what happened last time we tried to do it on our own?” Charles asked.
“Don’t be a scaredy-ass,” Roo said.
“All’s I’m saying is we should be rational about this,” the American insisted. “Maybe do a few more jobs. Get ourselves a financial cushion.”
“You want to keep paying Achoo his thirty percent?” Roo asked.
“Of course not.”
“I see your point, Charles,” Booker interjected. Roo rolled his eyes, and Charles smirked. “But, now that we know where to actually go to get a mission, we’ll have better luck. We don’t need cookie-cutter missions. We can do whatever the hell we want.”
He paused and did some mental calculating. “Besides,” he continued, “the jobs Prince keeps bringing us keep getting bigger. Which means we’re only helping to line his coffers.”
“We don’t have a lot of equipment,” Charles pointed out.
“I think you want to keep making that Nigerian bastard rich. You Americans really are gullible,” the Aussie muttered.
The other man glared. “No. I just think we should look at all the possibilities.”
“It’s smart, Charles. But I think I’m with Roo on this one. I believe in our abilities. I am…well, was, one of the best negotiators in the SAS. Now I know who to concentrate on, I’m confident I can get us jobs. No problem.”
“Ah, fudge. Let’s do it.”
“Fudge?” Roo scoffed.
Charles shrugged. “My mom doesn’t like swearing.”
“You’re a grown-ass man. Besides, I don’t see your mom here,” the Aussie retorted.
“Get your mouth washed out with soap and Tabasco often enough, and even you’d lose your taste for swearing.”
“Not fucking likely,” he muttered.
“Focus,” Booker said. “If we’re going to have a company, we need to be called something. It has to be memorable. Catchy.”
“It’s got to be something badass,” Roo said. “The Threesome?”
“I thought you said it has to be badass, not a sex fantasy,” Charles said.
“A threesome is pretty badass if you want to satisfy the two birds,” Roo said, thumping his chest with his fist.
“How about ‘The Three Musketeers,’” the American said. “I always thought d'Artagnan was pretty badass.”
“d'Artagnan? He wasn’t even one of the three musketeers,” Booker said. “Besides, if we’re going to enlist others to join us, there will be more than just us three.”
“Good point. Well, how about ‘BRC,” you know, for Booker, Roo, Ch
arles—oh, wait, your real name is Eustace,” Charles said. “So, ‘REC?’”
Roo looked at the Brit in surprise and asked, “No shit? That’s your name? Fucking Eustace?”
“Yeah, that’s my name.” He looked at Roo, confused. “You never knew that?”
“No, I didn’t. And no matter what, Eustace ain’t killer-bad, not now, not ever. And anyway, the ‘R?’ My name isn’t fucking Roo. That’s only what you half-wits call me.”
“REC doesn’t mean much, Charles,” Booker said, ignoring the other man. “We need something that’ll attract recruits. Like the Royal Grenadiers or something.”
Both of his teammates objected to that with Charles saying they threw off the tyranny of royalty and Roo saying, “We criminals don’t bow to no one.”
“How about we use Cuello Negro,” Charles said with a laugh. “That’s what brought us together, after all.”
The Brit didn’t answer except to throw a wadded-up dirty shirt at him.
They continued for thirty long minutes without anything that could get more than two approvals. For this, they all knew it had to be something they all liked.
“Hell, we’re all three military men,” Booker said in frustration. “You’d think we have something in common that we can agree on.”
“Military. Of course,” Charles said. “It has to be a military name. That’s what we’re selling, right? Military knowhow and discipline.”
His companions turned to look at him as one before Roo said, “The bloody Yank has got a point.”
“Soldiers of Fortune, Semper Fi Warriors, Brothers in Arms—” Charles started before Booker cut him off.
“What did you say before? Cuello Negro? What about Cuello Negro Warriors?”
“Spanish? None of us speak Spanish. What does Cuello Negro mean, anyway?” Roo asked.
“Black Neck,” the American explained, and when the man turned to look at him, he shrugged and added, “I had to take Spanish in high school.”
The Australian shook his head, then said, “Well, Black Neck Warriors, Inc. won’t cut it. We need something else. I like the Warriors bit, though. But we need something else, like we’re sticking it to the others out here, sticking it in their asses if they think they can compete.”
Reprobates (The Bohica Chronicles Book 1) Page 10