by Brad Taylor
The guy behind the bar, a black man with Rastafarian dreadlocks, hollered at him, saying, “You want another coconut? Or you going to sit here all day at my table not paying?”
Alek said, “I’m waiting on a friend. When he gets here, we’ll get another one.”
The Rastafarian nodded and went back to his work. Alek glanced back toward the fort again and saw the kids had scattered. Then he saw why.
Nikita was coming down the flagstone path, and as always, he projected an air of anger. Of a volcanic temperament that was begging to be released, and the children seemed to pick up the vibe like rabbits sensing an earthquake. Or maybe it was his false eye bobbling about, always looking away from where Nikita was focused, giving the man a demented persona that kept anyone around him off balance. Alek hated it, but knew Nikita treated it as a badge of honor, having lost his eye fighting for Mother Russia in Ukraine.
Because of his past ruthlessness and clinical skill, Nikita had been placed in charge of Operation Harvest—the entire Brazilian effort—and Alek knew he was feeling the pressure. Which didn’t make the news he had to give any easier.
Nikita took a seat and said, “Target two is gone. Poor bastard crashed in a plane in the Amazon.” He smiled, and Alek smiled back, mightily ignoring Nikita’s left eye staring off into space.
Nikita said, “What about the target here?”
Alek glanced away, then said, “Hang on. I promised this guy I’d order something when you got here.”
He stood up before Nikita could say anything and ordered a couple of coconuts, waiting for the Rastafarian man to hack off the top and jam in a straw. Alek paid him and returned to the table.
He put one in front of Nikita and took the other to his side of the table.
Nikita said, “What the hell is this?”
“Coconut milk. It’s good. Take a sip.”
Nikita ignored the straw and said, “How fucking long have you been down here? You’re going local on me? Who gives a shit about a coconut drink? What’s going on with the next target? I owe a report.”
Alek set his coconut on the table and said, “We’ve had a problem.”
Alek watched Nikita’s left eye wander, but the cold blue steel of his one good eye remained steady.
Nikita said, “Problem?” as if the word were foreign to him.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Our target was on a ferry to Itaparica Island this morning. Just a day trip with her security, same guy we’ve seen all week long. Nothing special, except also on that boat were the two men that you were worried about. The Americans. Their appearance definitely spiked our interest.”
He paused and Nikita said, “And?”
Alek took a breath and said, “Believe it or not, the ferry was hijacked on its way to the island. It’s currently about a hundred meters offshore, anchored against a lighting buoy with four armed men aboard, including explosives.”
Nikita blinked and said, “You’re kidding me.”
“I wish I were. It’s some criminal group called Primeiro Comando da Capital. The PCC. They’re a bunch of thugs that hold sway in most of the favelas around Brazil. They’re screaming about prisoner releases and a bunch of other shit. Threatening to kill everyone on the boat if their demands aren’t met.”
Alek waited on Nikita’s famed temper to appear, watching him closely for signs of an eruption. Nikita glanced down the street with his one good eye, then said, “You think the Americans have something to do with this? That it’s a fake attack to disrupt our plans?”
Alek said, “No, I don’t. If anything, it’s being done by the Cardosa campaign to help his election. That’s what my contacts are saying. He engineered it because he’s the ‘law and order’ candidate.”
“What? So that asshole made a deal with thugs to take over a boat so he could crow about how that shit won’t happen if he’s elected?”
“That’s what I’m hearing. And that guy is our final target.”
Nikita scoffed and said, “He’s just as corrupt as any of them. Hell, maybe we should co-opt him instead of working the line we’re on.”
Alek relaxed, realizing he wouldn’t be to blame. He watched the eyeball for a moment, waiting on Nikita to tell him what to do. Wanting to please him.
Nikita stared into the sky for a moment, and a smile began to form. He focused on Alek and said, “This may be just what we need. Our primary target may have just made our mission work.”
“How?”
“We need the death to be blamed on something else. We need plausible deniability for anything we do. We used an aircraft in the Amazon, but that guy didn’t have any security. This target does, and it’s hampered our ability to get close enough to kill her. Now we can use the PCC. All we need to do is botch any rescue, forcing them to kill our target. Even better, they can kill the Americans while they’re at it. What’s the police response?”
“A special unit called the BOPE arrived today from up north in Bahia. They’re the crisis response for things like this, sort of like our Alpha group. Special weapons and special tactics. They’re usually used for high-risk warrants and working in the favelas, but they do hostage rescue as well. They don’t take a lot of shit.”
“Can we get to the commander?”
“Yeah, I’m sure we could work that. We have the contacts, but why?”
“We need to convince him to force this thing to end badly.”
“I don’t think he’ll be susceptible to a bribe. The BOPE are the elite of the police down here. They don’t get in if they’re corruptible.”
Nikita ignored him, asking, “How many men on your team?”
“Four. But I told you—”
Nikita cut him off, saying, “Call the team in the Amazon. They’re headed to Rio for the primary target, but he can wait. We have his schedule. Get them up here. We need more manpower.”
Alek said, “Okay. That’s easy enough.” And waited, not wanting to risk Nikita’s wrath.
Nikita said, “Can you get a safe house without any connection to us? No credit cards, passports, or anything else?”
“Yeah, I have some local talent that works in a church here. It used to be a working convent, but now it’s just a church that tourists come to take pictures of. The convent portion is still there, though. It has dorm rooms and plumbing, and is off-limits to the tourists. I already prepped it in case we needed to disappear quickly. Why, though? I told you the BOPE captain wouldn’t take cash.”
“Every man has a price. Maybe it’s not cash, but it’s something. First order is to find out if the captain’s married. Second is to locate his wife.”
Chapter 12
I heard my earpiece break squelch, then heard, “Two on the move. Third in place.”
Finally.
It had been a day and a half since I’d confirmed the Russians’ culpability in the death of Kurt Hale, and I’d had no luck at all building a pattern of life to interdict them. Which was to be understood, given the circumstances. It wasn’t like they were driving the same way to work at the same time each day, and it was frustrating.
I had three primary problems. One, I felt the press of time. I had no idea why the Russians were staying in Charleston after the hit, but I assumed it was to ensure a gap in coverage before they left. If the authorities somehow linked them to the death, it would give them plausible deniability. What foreigner would stay at the scene of a crime if they could flee to their home country? Given that, sooner or later, they’d feel comfortable leaving, and if it were sooner, I’d miss my chance.
Two, killing them outright would be the easiest thing, but with the sparse information Nung had discovered, I needed to interrogate one of them. Preferably the one who kept using the phone to call his higher headquarters. Killing them as an act of revenge—while satisfying—wasn’t going to solve the problem. I needed a crack to break it all open, which brought up my final problem: I needed to separate the men to get one alone.
I knew what
two of the men looked like, but the third—the one who stayed in the room guarding it—I had no idea. He would be the easiest, but the fact that he stayed hidden all day told me he was some support flunky. I’d get him in my own sweet time, which left the other two, and they were hard men who never separated.
But I had an ace in the hole to force it. All I needed was a setting where they felt secure, and after a day of waiting, I had one.
They’d made reservations at a steak house called Michael’s on the Alley, which was about as perfect for interdiction as we were going to get.
I acknowledged Nung’s call and said, “Koko, Koko, five minutes. Nung, need to beat them here.”
I was already in the parking garage next to Michael’s, knowing they’d show up here. They might park on the street, but with the mess of parking in Charleston, I doubted it. Jennifer—aka Koko—was stationed outside, giving me early warning when they arrived.
Nung called, “I’m moving. They’re in the same rental. Black four-door Hyundai.”
Jennifer said, “Got it. Eyes on the garage entrance.”
I said, “Nung, go ahead and get set.”
My phone buzzed, and it was Jennifer, not wanting to talk on the net. Exasperated, I said, “Yeah?”
“Pike, what are we doing? You keep talking about building a pattern of life, and now we have it. What’s the end state?”
Honestly, I’d been avoiding this conversation. We’d spent the last twenty-four hours on the tactical side of things. She was now asking the strategic question.
I said, “The end state is figuring out why these guys killed Kurt and why they’re fixated on Knuckles and Brett. That’s the mission.”
She said nothing, but I could hear her breathing, sitting inside the lobby of a hotel adjacent to the entrance of the garage. I said, “Jennifer, you there?”
She said, yet again, “Pike, I don’t think this is right.”
I said, “I agree, but I didn’t choose this fight. And neither did you. Get your head in the game.”
The phone disconnected, and I wondered if she’d have the strength for the endgame. She said she did, but the moment of truth was the last time you wanted to find out your teammate couldn’t commit. Couldn’t execute what was asked. It was a weak link, and one I’d never had with her. But she was crucial to the outcome, because she was the bait.
To make matters worse, my callout to Israel had my other teammates arriving right in the middle of this operation. Shoshana and Aaron were landing in twelve minutes, and all I could do was get them an Uber to my office on Shem Creek. They wouldn’t know it until they turned on their phones and received the text messages. I could only imagine the pain I was going to feel for that.
Nung called and said, “In position.”
I replied, “Koko, Koko, status?”
“Still clean.”
We’d had a full day to build up an attack plan, and Michael’s on the Alley was the best choice for an ambush. It was a steak house built into an old Charleston structure, situated on—of course—an old alley. It was actually three establishments: an Italian restaurant on the left, Michael’s on the right, and a cocktail venue called Victor’s Social Club in the center. All were connected, sharing the bathrooms located in Victor’s.
We’d explored it today, under the auspices of using the venue for an event, and had learned that the entire second floor spread across all of the restaurants, had one elevator entrance, and was unused tonight. Well, unused by someone having an event.
I fully intended to use it.
Jennifer called, “Target entering garage. I say again, target entering garage.”
I said, “Roger,” and ducked down, watching the right-side mirror. Two minutes later, their vehicle passed me, climbing higher.
I said, “Target acquired. Nung, you set?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, let them settle in for dinner. You trigger and then we play the shell game.”
Chapter 13
I waited an interminable amount of time, still tucked down low in the seat of my car. Eventually I began to think we’d missed them. Finally, Nung came on, and said, “In the restaurant. I’ll signal when they’re set at the table.”
Whew.
I said, “Roger that. Jennifer, meet me outside Victor’s.”
I got a reluctant “Roger all” and opened my car door, slinking through the parking garage until I could see the alley. I surveyed, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. I went to a corner in shadow and waited. Jennifer found me thirty seconds later.
She immediately confronted me. “What the hell are we doing here? What’s the end state?”
The fact that she cursed at me was an eye-opener. Because she never did that, which meant she wasn’t on board. Sitting alone with only her thoughts to keep her company had caused her to retreat from her earlier acquiescence. I glanced out to make sure we were still clear and said, “What I’m doing is finding out who killed Kurt.”
I looked her in the eye and said, “That’s what I’m doing. You on board, or not?”
She shook her head and said, “Don’t give me that crap. I’m all about finding who killed Kurt. Don’t put that on me. That’s not my question. What are we doing here?”
“Exactly that.”
She looked down, shuffling her feet, then let out, “You want to murder the people here. I’m not sure I can do that. This is it. A cut line. I’m not going to murder someone in Charleston because you ask.”
She caught my eye. She wasn’t fighting me. She was begging. I said, “All I want to do is learn what they know. That’s it. Knuckles and Brett are in danger in Brazil because of these fucks, and we need to find out why.”
She nodded and said, “So, you won’t kill them? If you find that out?”
I heard the words and said nothing, because I couldn’t lie to her. I could kill without remorse, but I couldn’t lie to her. It was a strange world I’d entered when we met. A thing that just was. Lying to her was worse than the death I was about to bring.
She said, “Pike?”
I said, “Look, if you were in Vietnam on patrol and a VC element came in front of you, you’d open up. They don’t know you’re there, but they’re the enemy, and it’s completely within the international law of land warfare. This is not any different. They are the enemy. Because we’re in an American city means nothing. Because they aren’t wearing a uniform means nothing. Can’t you see that? This is an ambush. It is not murder. And they deserve every bit of the pain that’s coming to them.”
She looked at me, seeing the blackness. She nodded. And then she said, “I understand. I want you to understand. This is more than them, this is about you. Would you kill someone who survived the ambush? After he was your prisoner?”
And that was the crux. She was right. An ambush was justified, but slaughtering soldiers who surrendered after the smoke cleared was, in fact, murder. So I could kill the men inside before I had them in my custody, but doing so after the fact made me a murderer. But killing them beforehand would deprive me of the very reason I was here: intelligence on their operations.
Something I didn’t want to think about. I said, “Get in the building.”
Her face grim, she said, “Pike, I’ll kill anyone who did this to Kurt, but only in a fight. And I won’t harm anyone who didn’t. You understand that, right?”
I heard the words and realized she thought I was out of control. And maybe I was. I said, “Yes, of course. Just get staged outside the restaurant. You know me. This is good.”
She glanced up the alley, then back at me. She said, “I’m the bait. I get that. Don’t use that to force me into your problem.”
Meaning don’t use her to kill, even by secondary actions.
There was only one way I believed I could separate the two assholes eating dinner, and it was to have Jennifer walk in front of them. I knew that they would recognize her on sight, and would be shocked at her appearance. The coincidence would be too much for their suspici
ous minds to absorb; they’d want to follow her to see what she was doing, but wouldn’t be alarmed enough for a full-on play. I was sure the leader would send his underling to check her out. Once Nung had the subordinate under control, I’d confront the boss, taking him up to our little interrogation room.
At least that was my plan, if Jennifer would execute.
Jennifer started to back away and I took her hand, saying, “This is the real world. They killed Kurt. I didn’t bring this fight to us, but I’m going to finish it.”
She nodded, not liking the words, and we heard, “They’re at the table, drinks ordered. Button cam is in place, and I’m moving to the second level.”
The transmission ended, and I looked at Jennifer. Waiting. She said, “Okay, Pike, I’ll get this guy in the nest. But that’s it.”
I said, “That’s all I want.”
She gave me a wan smile, leaned in, and kissed my lips. She said, “I love you for who you are. Don’t do anything that would change that.”
I wouldn’t have been more shocked if she’d pulled out her Glock and started firing it in the air while hopping up and down and yelling like she was in a Yemeni wedding. We’d danced around our relationship since we’d met, and I’d eventually resigned myself to a more “friends with benefits” than actual commitment. Most of that was my fault, because I was petrified of rejection, but she’d never committed, either.
She started to walk away, leaving me slack-jawed. I said, “Wait, what?”
She grinned and said, “Have I not said that before?”
Completely outside the mission, now at a loss for what was happening, I said, “Uh . . . no. You’ve never said that before.”
She walked to the door saying, “Don’t make me regret it.”
Chapter 14
Felipe Costa pulled off Avanida Sete de Septembro, swinging his police motorcycle up to the guard shack that controlled an imposing iron gate. Behind it, he could see a modern building towering forty stories in the air. It was where the rich and famous lived, and a far cry from the favela where he had grown up.
