by James Quinn
“And then?”
“Then, let's test these star-crossed lovers further. Let's spilt them up and see how they react. For what is love if not pain?” asked Caravaggio.
Chapter Fifteen
Standard operating procedure, when there has been any kind of compromising intelligence operation in the field, is to call in the clean-up crew.
A good clean-up crew is worth its weight in gold to an intelligence operation. They can dispose of evidence, even bodies, and make it look as though nothing untoward had ever happened. Eunice called the duty officer at EXIS, who immediately put her through to Gibb's private number. Eunice knew that Gibbs would call in his own dedicated team to help. It was part of the terms of her contract, and CIA money went a long way with logistical support.
“Yes,” said Gibbs irritably, when he answered the call.
“It's Nikita. There has been an incident. I would like your people to clean it up for me,” she said simply.
“Uh-huh. Tell me the details.”
She could imagine him reaching across his bedside table for a pen and pad. So she told him the details and what she would need; body bags, cleaners, and an emergency vet for the dog. Plus, for someone to have a quiet word with the local Sheriff's Department to tell them that the ranch was a no-go zone for them.
When she had finished, there was a moment or two's silence as Gibbs jotted down his final notes.
“I'll have a team there within the hour,” said Gibbs. “I'm glad that you handled the situation. However, perhaps we should retire you from this operation?”
“Negative. No way!”
“You seem to be compromised, Miss Brown.”
“Don't you dare, Mr Gibbs. This is my bounty. I'll find the target and take him down. It will take a lot more than a few thugs in ski masks to scare me off,” she said, her temper rising.
“Of course, Miss Brown, however –”
“However nothing. If you take me off this operation, I will simply offer my services to another vendor to bring Caravaggio in. This is more than just a job now. This is personal,” she barked back at him.
“But personal is not always professional, Miss Brown.”
“Oh, I'll be professional. You don't have to worry about that.”
Gibbs paused. He could tell that she was serious. And headstrong. Better to have her onside than not, he reasoned. “Very well, Miss Brown. You can continue to have primary on this mission, but I want to be kept informed of any unusual occurrences.”
“Mr Gibbs, it will be my pleasure,” she said, before slamming down the phone.
She came out of the office and noted that the door to the basement was open and Axel was at the top, guarding it. From inside, she could hear the panting of a desperate man and the slow monotone of a patient interrogator. It was Jack… no, Jack was gone. It was Gorilla questioning his prisoner.
A few minutes later, Gorilla emerged from the cellar and went to the kitchen to wash the blood off his hands. She came up behind him and hugged him. Gorilla turned into her and kissed her. Then, when the affection of the survivor was behind them, he was all business.
“He's part of a low-level mercenary crew. Ex-military. Sounds like they do contracts for a few organised crime families up the East Coast. The only thing he knows is that it was a Chinese man who briefed them and paid them,” said Gorilla.
“And they were paid to kill us? Not capture?”
“Seems that way.”
“How is he now?”
“He's passed out. A smash in the face, a knee-capping and being extensively mauled by a tame wolf have taken it out of him. I figured we'd leave what's left of him to the CIA clean-up crew,” he said.
The CIA crew were as good as their word and were at the ranch within the hour. A compact, no-nonsense team of five men plus one tame vet came in and began to move about the house, assessing what needed to be done.
The vet looked at the injured dog and declared that the bullet had gone “in/out” through her rear left leg. A shot to dull the pain and some bandages had fixed Ada up within the half hour. She would sleep for the rest of the night.
Gorilla and Eunice needed to get out of the area and travel incognito, so the Mustang was left at the ranch. Instead, they loaded up Eunice's old Ford truck with the dogs, weapons and clothes that they would need for their eventual trip to Mexico. They needed to disappear completely for the night, just to regroup. Eunice said she knew the perfect place. They were heading into the Appalachian Mountains. She said she knew a man.
“He's my uncle. Well, not my real uncle. He was one of Dad's closest friends. They grew up together. He'll look after the dogs, feed Axel and take care of Ada and check on the ranch while we are away.”
While we are away. Already, she was referring to them both as one entity, noted Gorilla.
“Can he be trusted?”
“Of course. Those mountain folks have a code of silence that would put the Sicilian Mafia to shame,” she said. “And besides, he's family.”
The drive took them a little over two hours. Twice, they stopped and pulled over just in case they had picked up a 'tail'. Once they were satisfied, they would set off once again. Gorilla was fascinated by the road trip. It was the America, the 'lost' America that he had never seen. Up until that point in his life, America had been a blur of airports, chain hotel rooms and busy cities. So this was something new, something refreshing. A hidden secret that was whispered in corners.
They arrived in the small town of Galax, Virginia, just around sunrise. Galax was the gateway to the Blue Ridge Mountains and the air got cleaner and crisper the nearer they were to the mountains. The town itself was small and unremarkable, nothing but a single row of stores and businesses. You could have done a day's worth of shopping in less than an hour.
“Does he live here in town?” asked Gorilla
“No way! Jeb lives out in the boonies… another few miles into the country up a dirt road. He only goes into town for supplies or to pick up his mail.”
An hour later, they were deep into the wilderness of the mountains. The roads had all but disappeared, dwindling to nothing more than dirt and dust tracks. Gorilla thought that the decision to use the truck was the right one. The Mustang would have struggled.
Jebidiah Smith was a tall bear of a man in his sixties. He was dressed in denim coveralls and heavy work boots. His beard was wild, long and grey. He looked like the archetypal mountain man. In his day, he had been one of the most renowned bootleggers in the State and even today, he still indulged in making a little moonshine for his close acquaintances. To almost everyone who knew him, he was simply referred to as 'Uncle Jeb'.
He had been chopping firewood on a block out front of his cabin when he heard the engine of the truck approaching up the dirt road to his isolated property. He calmly put the axe down and stood his ground, picking up his sawn-off shotgun in case of trouble. Uncle Jeb had a few notches on his belt from the past and he could still sling some lead about if he had to. Violence and murder had always been a part of the illegal moonshine business. Probably always would be.
Moments later, an old and mud-spattered truck pulled up and parked. Two people got out, the man first, dressed in a suit and then the woman, tall and red-haired, in flannel shirt, jeans and boots. The big man squinted and then smiled. “Euney? That you? Well, laws alive, if it aint Euney Brown come to see her ol' uncle!”
“Hi, Uncle Jeb. How are you?” She went over and embraced the big man.
What followed, at least to Gorilla Grant's Anglo-Saxon ears, was a rapid-fire cacophony of gibberish and patois. Gorilla guessed that these hill people had their own unique language and way of speaking that was totally foreign to outsiders. Occasionally, he would pick up the odd word that he recognised, or a smattering of a phrase. It was English, just not as he knew it. He thought that he would have to get Eunice to interpret for him otherwise he'd be left in the dark.
“And who's this young fella?” asked Jeb suspiciously.
; “Uncle Jeb, meet my friend Jack.”
Jeb looked at the smaller man as if deciding whether he liked him or not.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Gorilla, holding out his hand in greeting.
The big man shook it and then raised an eyebrow. “Well, he sure dooo have a real pretty mouth, don't he? Where'd ya get that crazy accent from, boy?”
“I'm from Texas,” said Gorilla, with no hint of irony. British sarcasm was his forte.
Uncle Jeb squinted to see if this tough-looking 'furner' was poking fun at him. When he decided he wasn't, he let out a big, bellowing laugh and slapped at his thighs.
“Well, I darn well heard everything now! Texas? Texas, you say? I know that kinda accent… I seen dem picture shows up in the big town. You sound like that guy that played the explosives fella in The Guns of Navarone.”
Gorilla thought he had never sounded like David Niven in his whole life. And never would.
“Well, come on in. Y'all must be hungry. I got some food cooking. I don't eat as well as I used to since Kitty passed on,” he said, “but y'all more than welcome to enjoy some good, ol'-fashioned Southern hospitality.”
The kitchen was small and basic, but comfortable. It smelt of old wood, coffee and diesel. Eunice and Gorilla sat at a big kitchen table, the dogs at their feet, while Uncle Jeb dished out a meal of collard greens, fried chicken and large biscuits.
“That right there,” Jeb pointed to the biscuit and laughed, “is called a cathead, 'cause it's as big as a cat's head!”
“Now Jack, I'm gonna tell you, Uncle Jeb was quite a character back in the day,” said Eunice playfully.
“Back in the day? I'm still alive and kickin'. This little lady only remembers the old, friendly uncle. Your daddy and me… whoo boy, when we were young'uns, we were too big for our britches,” said Jeb, chewing on some food.
“You still making the shine, Jeb?” asked Eunice.
Jeb held his hands up as if to say 'okay, you caught me'. “As long as the stream be flowing, I be making the moonshine. So tell me. I won't ask too many questions, but… something's happened, hasn't it? Let me help if I can,” said the big man, concern in his voice.
“Now, Jeb… You know better than to ask li'l ol' me about my work. But yes, something's happened. But it's been taken care of. We just needed a place to regroup for a day. We'll be out of your hair before tomorrow evening.”
“There's no danger to you, if that's what you are concerned about,” said Gorilla.
Jeb waved a dismissive hand. “Hell, I ain't worried about a fight. I was rough-housing it when you were still sucking on your momma's titty, young fella.”
Gorilla laughed. “I have no doubts,” he said.
Uncle Jeb nodded. “So, what do you need?”
Eunice laid a hand on the old man's forearm. It was a touch of genuine affection. “Let us rest up here for the day. We'll leave first thing tomorrow. I also need you to look after the dogs for me, especially Ada. She took a bullet for us. The ranch is fine. I got people who can take care of that and the horses.”
“How long will you be gone?” asked Jeb.
“I don't know. Could be a few weeks, or it could be a few months. But once I'm finished, I'll come back and collect the dogs. They're good animals. They won't cause you no trouble. Take Ada to the vet in town, just to make sure she's healing well. I'll leave you some money to cover everything.”
Uncle Jeb said nothing for a moment, and then turned to Gorilla, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. “Boy, she got a way of handling men, don't she? She was the same when she was a slip of a girl. Those boys would flock round you, Eunice, and you could twist them around your little finger.”
“Oh, hush now, Jeb or you'll be giving Jack here the wrong impression of me!” said Eunice, a twinkle in her eye. “Besides, us ladies need to have big, strong men to help them every now and again, don't we?”
That was Eunice Brown completely, decided Grant. Soft and gentle when she needed something, but with a core of steel inside when the going got tough.
Later that evening, both men were sitting on the porch, staring off into the distance of the woods and swigging occasionally at their beer bottles. Eunice had gone in to town to pick up some supplies as a thank-you to Jeb. The men sat easy in each other's company. Plus, they had a love and affection for the same woman, so their alliance was grounded.
“It's a little airish out here. You alright, Mr Jack?” Jeb stated.
“Airish?”
“Yeah, airish. Um… I guess you'd say it's chilly.”
“I'm fine. Thanks.”
“So… you a bounty hunter like Eunice?”
“In a way.”
“What way?”
“Best you don't know kind of way.”
“Guvment?”
“Not anymore.”
Jeb accepted this and changed tact. “Is it you that's dragging her into this? Or, knowing Euney, it's more 'en likely the other way around?”
Gorilla nodded. “To be fair, we're both equal passengers on this train.”
“Well, I don't know you too well, mister, but –”
“Hang on, is this the bit where you warn me off of her? If I get her hurt or break her heart, I'll have you to deal with? Is that the way this conversation is going? I hope not, Jeb,” said Gorilla.
Uncle Jeb paused and frowned. “Well, no, I don't suppose I am. I guess we're both a little too old for all that.” He seemed to be about to say something else and then thought better of it. There was a long spell of silence, until finally Uncle Jeb sat forward and smiled, as if remembering a half-forgotten memory.
“I had a dog when I was a young'un. Old Lab, great huntin' dog. Kip, he was called. Whoo, boy, could he track! But he had a crazy streak in him. He would go and go and go until he'd found the kill. I used to struggle to keep up with him. No matter how much I would yell and holler at him, he'd just keep on going and going until he tracked down whatever we were huntin'.”
“Relentless, was he?” asked Gorilla.
“Well now, yessir, he was. Like I said, crazy. He became fixated. That Fall, there was a big ol' buck that I had taken a shot at, but I'd only winged it. Hit it in the haunches. And boy, did it run… left a trail of blood after it. Well, of course old Kip, he sets off at full pace… he's got the scent and ain't nuttin' stopping him. And there's me, o' course, screaming at him to 'come back, you damn fool hound!'
“I thought I'd lost 'em both. They took me miles into the woods. Finally, I saw them both heading upwards towards the top of a ravine. The buck was nearly done, but he still kept going. So did Kip. I hollered and hollered. I could see what was going to happen as clear as day, if that fool dog didn't quit. And it did. Both of them bolted and ran right off the edge of that cliff. The buck in blind panic, the dog out of that crazy fixation he had.
“I got to the cliff's edge, tuckered out of breath, and looked down. Buck and dog were dashed to pieces all over the rocks below. Shame. He was a good dog, aside from his obsession.”
“That's a sad story,” said Gorilla.
“Oh, I got much sadder than that one, Mr Jack,” he said, with a grin. “You see, I know Eunice. And in my time I've known men like you. Sometimes, mister, you just gotta know when to stop tracking and running to ya doom. Stay a while, I'll show you them mountains… show you how to shoot a gun. You furners don't know much about firearms, do ya?”
Gorilla, the professional gunman and assassin, laughed in spite of himself. “No, I guess we don't. Too busy playing cricket, I suppose.”
“Well then. Let me teach you the ways of the Appalachians! Come on – what's the harm?”
And, for that brief moment, there was a sadness and longing in Gorilla Grant. He would have liked nothing more than to spend time in this man's company and get to live among the mountain people. Perhaps even go native with Eunice? But he knew it was a dream, a fantasy and he shook himself out of his indulgence.
“I'm sorry, Jeb, I wish I could. But I can't… we can't.
Maybe one day I can come back. I hope so. But we have to leave soon. We have a job to do.”
Uncle Jeb looked at the smaller man and nodded. He knew that he wouldn't be back. Because this Englishman had the same intense look in his eye that his old hunting dog had, right before he had plunged over the side of a ravine to his death.
Obsession, Uncle Jeb decided, could be a killer.
Chapter Sixteen
Private suite, Hotel Obrigado, Lisbon, Portugal – October 1973
Theodore Gibbs, former CIA officer, and now Comptroller of EXIS, a private and corporate intelligence business, guessed the only reason that he was in this predicament was that he was the victim of his own success. Oh, everyone knew that EXIS was nothing more than a front company, bought and owned by the CIA and that Gibbs, at the end of the day, took his orders directly from the senior men at Langley.
Gibbs had been a promising intelligence officer after his military service in the Second World War. He had fitted into the newly-formed CIA well and had risen steadily, so much so that he had been given a niche position within the Clandestine Services; handling the freelance burglars, kidnappers and contract specialists for wet-work. Within the CIA, they were referred to as the SSM – the second story men. In other words, they were deniable operators that didn't officially exist.
Based out of a secured warehouse in Alexandria, Virginia, the SSM were pros through and through.
If you needed an operation to break into an embassy in Warsaw, the second story would do it for you. If you needed to sandbag a courier in Brazil, the SSM would provide the team to knock him out and fleece him of information. Gibbs had never worked with such a good bunch of operators.
But even within a closed unit such as the SSM, there were even more deeply run assets that Gibbs had to deal with; namely the freelance assassins that the CIA was occasionally called upon to use.
