by Jim Roberts
Caracas, Venezuela, October 5th
LUCK WAS with them for the time being. The curfew imposed upon the civilian population of Caracas seemed to be working, as they saw few neighborhood inhabitants. The team needed to stay stealthy for as long as possible. They played it safe and tight; checking corners and moving in practiced unison. Upon leaving the parking lot, Agrippina led them into a dark alley, where just beyond they could see a quiet street bordering the perimeter of the Petare barrio.
Orchid took the first opportunity to scamper up onto the nearest rooftop of the surrounding buildings. With the help of the Whisper shroud—the light-refracting chemical coating surrounding the outside of the armor—Orchid was able to remain effectively invisible to any unfriendly eyes. Periodically, she would relay to Team Alpha any locations of errant civilians defying the curfew.
As they reached the edge of the dark alley, Joe’s comm beeped. Halting the team, he clicked the earpiece. “Go ahead, Mother Hen.”
“Joe,” Headcase’s voice spoke swiftly, “we’ve run a search on the cartel guarding the mall.”
“What have you found?”
“The Infierno Cartel is reportedly responsible for approximately two thousand murders in Caracas over the past five years. Apparently, their favorite method of dealing with traitors or trespassers in their territory is decapitating the offenders and packing the heads with semtex.”
“Jesus. What for?”
“They famously hate cops. They reattach the head and call the police. When they arrive and find the body, the cartel remote detonates it. I have reports of it happening twice last month.”
Krieger snorted, “Huh. Sounds like my last date.”
“Just stay frosty, Joe.” Headcase said.
“Will do, Mother Hen. Out.”
After another solid fifteen minutes of sneaking, Agrippina halted the group.
“We’re here,” she said, pointing.
Across from them, on the opposite side of an extraordinarily dirty road, they could see the old mall. It was in a state of complete ruin. The east side facing the group was visibly crumbling, and the entire thing looked like it was held together by blue tac and good intentions.
“Braddock, come in.”
Joe pressed the comm. “Go ahead, Orchid.”
“I’m seeing multiple tangos positioned around the complex.”
“Armed?”
“Small arms mostly, Cobra LPDs and Skorpions. I count a dozen at various locations.”
“Those are Walker’s cartel guards. Stay here, I’m going over.” Agrippina stood up readying herself.
Before she could move, Joe caught Aggy by the arm. “Wait…you’ll be too exposed out there,”
“It’s the only way. They’ll either let me in or kill me. Or I’ll kill them, it depends on my luck. Either way, you stay here.”
Krieger chimed in, “What is stopping her from ordering them to come and kill us?”
“I’ve had more than enough chances to blow your cover, Braddock,” Agrippina snarled, “Why would I do it now?”
Joe clenched his teeth, unsure what to do. Agrippina was too important to let out of his reach. If Curtis Walker’s cartel guards decided she was a threat, they wouldn’t hesitate to put her down. Perhaps Agrippina could escape, but the racket would draw down the entire barrio upon their head. They would be picked off in no time if they lost their stealth edge. Joe realized he had to do the thing he hated most.
Trust this woman.
“Alright. But if you’re compromised, we’ll try to cover you. Get back here as quick as possible.”
“See you in a bit,” Agrippina said, giving Joe a wink from her cybernetic eye. She marched across the street, head high as if she feared nothing on earth.
“This is bad idea, Joe,” Krieger said, a tone of uncertainty in his deep voice.
Rourke nodded his agreement. “Don’t you think you’re giving her too much leeway, Sergeant?”
“It’s her show, guys. Let Agrippina do it her way.” Joe kept watch on the street, following the Olympus assassin as she sauntered over to the mall, not caring she was within cartel borders. Joe sucked his cheek, hoping he was doing the right thing.
“Joe, this is Mother Hen.” Headcase’s voice came through the comm. The analyst’s voice sounded concerned.
“What’s up Headcase?”
“Satellite imagery is showing increased movement among patrolling Government Forces around the barrios. You need to get off the street, ASAP.”
“Hell.” Joe cursed. Come on Agrippina, get us inside!
He could see the Olympus harpy speaking to the cartel guards. The men had been trying to look nonchalant in front of the mall, even while violating curfew. The gangsters had balls, Joe had to admit. They spoke to Agrippina for several minutes—too long for Joe.
“She’s fucking us, Joe!” said Rourke, his grip tightening on the Battle Rifle.
“Just give her a minute,” Joe hissed.
“We’ve given her plenty of time. We need to get out of this place!”
From down the street, sounds of heavy vehicles with diesel engines could be heard. Government patrol, Joe thought. He clicked the comm, not wanting to wait any longer.
“Agrippina, what’s the delay?”
There was no response from the woman. Agrippina continued talking, rather aggressively with the cartel men.
Orchid’s voice came through the comm. “Joe, I have a visual on three riot vehicles on your nine, about a quarter of a klick away.”
Joe keyed the mic, “Aggy, it’s now or never!”
The noise from the patrol was getting louder by the moment.
Krieger stood up, “That’s it, I am going. She is bullshitting us—”
Joe’s comm beeped. A sultry voice spoke to him. “Joe, it’s Agrippina. Are you going to sit there all night? Come on in, the cartel knows you’re there.”
Joe turned back to his mates. “We’re in. Follow me, double time!”
They were on their feet in an instant, running full speed across the road. Passing the mounds of garbage and debris scattered around them, they reached Agrippina. Flanked by the two cartel members—rather angry looking Venezuelans dressed in haggard looking jeans and T-shirts—Agrippina led them into the mall. Joe stood back, waiting until everyone had entered. Behind them, another cartel member closed and barred the door with a makeshift iron rod.
Joe clicked the comm again, “Orchid, find an elevated position and keep an eye out. We’ll call if the situation changes.”
“Copy, Joe,” came the stealth soldier’s reply, “Be careful in there.”
They were immediately greeted by a group of armed Venezuelans, dressed in civies, save for bulletproof tactical vests. They clutched AK-74 Assault Rifles and had their weapons trained on the team. Immediately Joe and the Peacemakers readied their own weapons.
Agrippina held up a hand. “Don’t! We have safe passage. They’ll take us to see Walker.”
Joe gritted his teeth but acquiesced. “Put em up, guys. We’re all friends here.” As they lowered their guns, the Venezuelans did the same. One of them—Joe guessed the leader—stepped forward. He was taller than his friends, his face marred with a severely out-of-place nose, probably broken one too many times during a rough life.
“You can call me Tulio. Agrippina says you’re here to see Walker.” The man spoke in accessible English.
Joe nodded, “Can you take us to him?”
“He doesn’t like guests.”
“He’ll like us. We only need a minute of his time, then we’ll be off.”
There was a moment’s hesitation as the rebels looked the team over, then conferred with each other in Spanish. From outside the mall, Joe heard the sound of the riot trucks, patrolling the sector.
A decision being reached, Tulio turned back to Joe, saying, “You leave your weapons here. Then we take you to Walker.”
Joe shook his head. “No dice. Our guns stay with us.”
A ripple of anger went over the g
roup of rebels. Agrippina stepped in and said, “Look, my…friends can be trusted. The Vagabonds have a vested interest in these soldiers. Keep us under guard if you have to.”
It took another few minutes of tense negotiating before the rebels agreed to allow the group to enter the mall proper. They could keep their weapons, but would be under guard until Walker said otherwise after their meeting.
With everything agreed upon, Tulio said simply, “Follow.”
The mall concourse was a spiral design. It reminded Joe faintly of the Guggenheim museum he’d seen pictures of in New York. The entire layout of the mall seemed rather trendy for the low-income community. Spanning four floors, the design concept of the shopping center was intriguing in its execution. As they walked, Tulio briskly explained that the mall had been built in an attempt to bring some upscale elements to the low-income barrio. Built during the Venezuelan oil boom of the early 21st century, the mall quickly failed to bring the different classes of Venezuela together in the barrio. After several high-profile gang attacks against shop owners, the mall declared bankruptcy and closed. It remained shuttered, abandoned and vandalized, until one month ago. Walker and his group of arms merchants had arrived and set up shop inside the mall; carrying out their business with cool efficiency.
To Joe, the architecture of the mall recalled a nautilus shell design, as the old, ramshackle shops were strung together in a circle, flowing upwards. From the concourse below looking up, the mall resembled a multi-floor parkade. A massive skylight covered the length of the ceiling.
As they moved up the winding path of the mall, they noticed the shops beside them. They were loaded with crates and bins overflowing with all manner of munitions. AK-47s stacked by the dozens, crates of grenades, countless boxes marked WARNING FLAMMABLE. Scattered her and there were dozens of gas powered generators, explaining how the place still had power.
Krieger leaned in and spoke in Joe’s ear, “This Walker does not mess around. If he farts he could put half this neighborhood on moon.”
Joe managed a smile, “Well let’s just hope he can control himself then.”
Along the way, they saw several guards who were definitely not members of the cartel. While they too were Venezuelan, they were more professionally equipped than the gang members. Wearing body armor and carrying FN FAL rifles, Joe guessed that these were VPA regulars. The rebels observed the Peacemakers with looks of caution.
Finally, the team reached the top of the concourse.
Agrippina held back for a moment, saying to Joe, “Like I said, you’d better leave the talking to me. Walker’s kind of an edgy guy.”
Tulio led them into what Joe guessed used to be the management offices of the old mall. He saw various people—rebels and cartel—working on laptops throughout the offices. As they approached the last door, Tulio knocked twice in succession.
“Come in!” came a voice from the other side.
Opening the door, Tulio guided the team inside. The office was the largest on the top floor, heavily packed with weapons and armaments. Joe even spotted an old MG3 Heavy Machinegun, a relic of World War II, but with a refurbished chamber to allow for post-war ammunition. Krieger was right; this man was stocked to the gills.
As Joe stepped in, a female voice spoke directly to him, “Joe…Joe Braddock?”
Standing up from the laptop where she’d been working was a woman Joe knew well. He’d helped save her from being murdered by the cruel dictator David Musabe back in Sadoma city.
“Sarah? Sarah Anders?”
The lovely CNN foreign correspondent rushed over to the group, who were just as surprised to see her as well. Her long red hair had been let loose from the ball cap she typically wore on location. She was incredibly grimy, but that was the norm for the rough and ready journalist.
“What are you guys doing here?” Sarah asked, giving Joe a quick hug. He had to admit, he missed the spunky reporter. She greeted Krieger and Rourke, pausing as she laid eyes on the strange dark-haired woman.
“This is Agrippina,” Joe said, introducing the assassin, “She’s helping us find Curtis Walker. Don’t worry, she’s with us.”
Sarah took a breath. “Well, you don’t have to search hard, he’s right here.” She held out a hand toward the other end of the room. Standing up from a series of computer screens—having simply sat and listened to the exchange so far—was the man that held the answers Joe was seeking.
Curtis Walker stood a sturdy six feet, with a mop of curled brown-blonde hair growing in every direction. His eyes were a dull blue, set deep in a face that seemed completely uninterested in the world itself. To Joe, the man resembled a large kid—dressed in a simple gray tank top and black jeans. His arms were toned and he looked like someone who could more than handle himself in a fight. A nasty scar gouged its way through his lower lip.
All in all, not exactly the man Joe was expecting.
“So, you guys are the Peacemakers I’ve heard so much about.” His voice had an American accent. When Joe had served in the Rangers, he’d known several guys from Ohio, who had similar accents.
Joe nodded, moving forward to hold out his hand, “Yes, Mister Walker, my name is—”
“YOU!”
Joe jumped in surprise as Krieger bolted forward like a cannonball, jumping over tables and chairs to crash headlong against Walker in a fury of flailing limbs and fists.
“Krieger what in the actual fuck are you doing?” Joe yelled, completely caught off guard by his friend’s assault on their target.
The Venezuelan rebels brought their weapons to the ready, unsure what was happening. Agrippina leapt forward, holding her hands up. “No! We’re not here to cause trouble!”
Krieger and Walker rolled around the floor, thrashing wildly. Krieger aimed several punches to the gunrunner’s face, clearly intent on beating his head in. Walker fought back against the beefy Russian but was unable to get an upper hand.
Joe and Tulio rushed forward to try and separate the brawlers, who were hell-bent on breaking each other’s skulls.
“Krieger that’s enough!” Joe yelled, “Get off him!”
It took both men to separate the Russian from their target. Both men had suffered a few wounds in the fight; Walker’s nose was bleeding and Krieger had a bloody gash on his forehead.
Joe was beyond angry at his friend. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
Krieger pointed a finger at Walker, who was being tended to by Tulio. “This man! I know this man!”
“What do you mean you know him?”
“Back in Lebanon, three years ago! He betrayed me, left me to die at the hands of Hezbollah scum!”
“Be that as it may, you will relax right now!”
“I am relaxed!” Krieger roared, his eyes blazing with hatred.
Walker got to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “Well, that was an interesting way to say hello.” His eyes met Krieger’s, “Never thought I’d see you again, Alexei. Can’t say I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Shut up!” Krieger barked, “You have no right to speak, traitor!”
Rourke raised an eyebrow. “Alexei?”
Krieger shook his head. “That is not my name!”
Walker moved to within a few paces of the enraged Russian. “That’s what it was back then. What did your friend here call you…Krieger? What kind of name is that? You don’t look German, Alexei.”
Krieger snarled and was about to attack the man again when Joe grasped him in a bear hug. “Rourke, help me get him outside!”
It took both Peacemakers to haul the enraged Russian out into the hallway. Before they did, Krieger shouted to Curtis Walker. “I don’t forget, traitor! I never forget!”
* * *
“What the hell were you doing in there?” Joe asked the Russian, barely containing his anger.
“What do you think? Trying to kill a traitor.” Krieger replied, nonchalantly.
Krieger was hunched down between two thick cartel gang members. Each man
looked more than willing to take out the Russian with a gunshot to the brainpan.
Since being taken into the hallway, Krieger had calmed down slightly. Joe, on the other hand, was irate with his friend.
“You could have botched the whole mission! His men could have killed you and the rest of us for what you did!”
“Yes, but they did not.”
“Stop being cute with me, you damn idiot! You’d better come clean with me right now, or you can swim back to the carrier.”
“There is nothing to say.” Krieger looked away from Joe, an indignant expression on his bearded face.
“Fine.” Joe felt like he was lecturing a school child who’d stolen another kid’s lunch. “For now, you can sit here, and when this mission is over, you, the General and myself are going to straighten this out for real.”
Krieger crossed his arms and sulked. Joe scowled, turning away to go back into the office.
“Wait—” the Russian said.
Joe stopped. “What?”
“I…know you might not trust me now. But you must know I never lied to you or the team about my past. There are things you do not need to know. For now, I am loyal to you, my friend. Trust in that.”
Joe sighed angrily, “Actions speak louder than words, big guy. Right now, you haven’t proved yourself worthy of my trust. I’m going back in there. Hopefully, I can convince Walker not to have you decapitated and trussed up with semtex.”
“Oh good, my night is getting better already,” Krieger grunted, leaning back against the wall.
Shaking his head, Joe left Krieger with the two cartel goons before entering the office once more.
* * *
SITTING AGAINST a clutch of ammo crates, Curtis Walker wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “So, the Peacemakers have called on me for a visit. I’m touched. What the hell is it you want?”
After things had cooled down, Joe and his team quickly introduced themselves. He knew they were walking on eggshells right now. He resolved to be as to-the-point as possible.
First, he had a burning question that needed asking.
“How did you get mixed up in all this, Sarah? Why are you with this man?”
