Reprisal!- The Eagle Rises

by Cliff Roberts

  “Two, get a move on. Our friends are back. Move it!” Shields urged.

  Montoya checked his watch. It had only been twenty minutes since they had left. What was bringing them back in such a hurry?

  David and Mitchell had just opened the last apartment door on the second floor, the one leading to the minders’ OP, when they heard Shields’ announcement. With a growing sense of urgency, they stepped through the empty kitchen and a near empty dining area into the living room. Here they found two computers and a couple of video monitors. The video monitors were hooked up to the cameras on the building’s overhang. The cameras provided them with a passable view of the terrorists walking briskly towards the safe house.

  Aside from the computers, there were also a couple of cots, a hot plate, a small refrigerator and a small TV, all the comforts of home in that one room. The dining room, which they had passed through to reach the living room, held the only other piece of equipment—a telescope sitting on a tripod pointed towards the apartment across the street.

  David and Mitchell continued using hand signals in the dim light of the monitors, unsure if there were any listening devices in the apartment. They checked the two bedrooms but found them empty. So they swiftly moved back to the living room where they ran the magnets over the computers in an attempt to scramble the motherboards in them. Captain Conners had made a present of the magnets when they had traded bags earlier in an effort protect their anonymity. David next rifled through the computer desk’s drawers looking for any other tapes or disks. He used the magnets on the half dozen discs he found there as well, while Mitchell thumbed through the few papers that were lying about, looking for anything of value.

  At the first sound of voices in the street out front, they settled into the only chairs in the apartment—two folding chairs in opposite corners of the living room—and waited for the minders to return.

  Montoya raced from the hallway that led to the bedrooms back into the kitchen area and was startled to hear voices in the street below when he opened the apartment door. His exit had been cut off—he was trapped. He quietly stepped into the dining area and looked out the dining room window. There in the street, the terrorists were engaged in what appeared to be a confrontation with the minders.

  The terrorist who was trying to communicate with the minders kept tapping his watch, while holding it in front of the minders’ faces so they couldn’t miss his gesture. One of his comrades stood a few feet away flipping them off, and the other one just stood glaring at the minders who were slowly backing away towards their OP. As the minders gave ground, they were both speaking at once. Their faces were masks of rage and their hands were balled into fists at their sides. It looked as though there might be a fight at any moment. The fourth terrorist was nowhere to be seen.

  Montoya raced back to the apartment door, doubled checking no one had slipped back to the stairs. A stealthy recon through the door confirmed he was still alone here. With a sigh of relief, he swiftly checked out the small landing, but found no obvious path of escape. He took three steps to the door of the apartment to the rear of the landing. Twisting the door knob, he found it was locked.

  His first thought was to force the metal door open, but then he realized the noise was sure to be heard. His second thought wasn’t much better. He entertained the thought of lying down and acting as though he was a drunk, sleeping it off in a doorway. Except he was pretty sure they’d search him and then he would be in real trouble. It was at this point he noticed a wooden panel in the ceiling that appeared to be an access panel for the roof. It was located above the rear apartment’s doorway, and if he used the door handle as a step, he could push it up and crawl through without anyone being the wiser. That is, if it was just lying there unsecured and the doorknob held his weight. Hearing the voices drawing closer, he wasted no time and sprung up on the handle while pushing up on the panel.

  “Two, I don’t see you! Hurry, hurry, hurry! They’re done playing kissy face with the minders and are turning towards you. Move it!” Shields implored Montoya.

  The three terrorists made their way down the walkway and up the stairs, single file, speaking in hushed tones. Despite his closeness lying on the roof less than twenty-five feet away, Montoya wasn’t able to make out what was being said. He didn’t care if he heard them or not; he was just glad he’d managed to slip through the access and had the panel perched over the hole as the men passed under it and entered their lair. Montoya, being a smart ass, then stood and waved at Shields while he glanced around looking for a way off the roof.

  Shields just shook his head and spoke very calmly and quietly into to his comlink, “That a boy! Now don’t scare me like again, or I’ll take you out and save them the trouble.”

  “Gee, Dad, I did my homework. What’s the problem?” Montoya shot back as he moved slowly across the roof looking for an exit. He quickly realized that the access panel was the only way up or down, unless you dared to jump off the roof.

  “If I caused you concern a minute ago, wait until you see how I get off this roof,” Montoya quipped as he removed the panel, set it to the side and dropped down slowly through the hole, landing with a soft thump on the balcony below. He didn’t try to close the access or wait around to see if the noise had been heard. He bolted as quickly as he could down the stairs, running as fast as he could around the rear corner of the building into the dark alley.

  Just as he disappeared around the corner, one of the terrorists stuck his head out of the safe house door and took a long look around. He failed to notice the roof access panel had been moved, and after half a minute or so, he stepped back in and closed the door.

  “Shit,” Shields mumbled.

  Across the street, David and Mitchell sat quietly in the dull glow of the monitors, waiting for the two minders. The minders talked loudly as they climbed the stairs to their OP. They apparently didn’t care for their current guests very much. They were calling them sand niggers and towel heads. The conversation got interesting when they stopped just outside the door to complain that these sand niggers should be the military’s problem and not theirs. Finally, they stepped through the door, completely unaware they had company. The first man walked straight through the kitchen to the dining room and the telescope. His partner, following several steps behind him, closed the door and stepped to his right into the living room.

  Mitchell’s dart gun phiffed as the man stopped in his tracks, his face a mask of incomprehension at seeing the man sitting in front of him. His eyes widened as he felt the dart prick him. The man in the dining room was just starting to look through the telescope when his partner dropped to the floor. The noise of his partner falling slowly registered through his drunken stupor, and he turned slowly towards the living room, calling out to his partner.

  “Juan? What is wrong?” he asked as he stepped forward into the living room. David’s dart gun phiffed again and the man’s eyes sprung wide open with surprise. As he clutched at his chest, a look of confusion crossed his face, then he dropped to his knees, his hands dangling at his sides. There was crunching sound when he fell forward and landed on his face. David wondered if he had broken his nose.

  “I just love the look of incomprehension on the faces of the targets when you surprise them,” Mitchell chortled, as he stood and stepped over to the fallen man, removing the dart as he passed by him on his way to the door.

  David removed the dart from his target and glanced at the man’s face confirming he had indeed broken his nose then followed Mitchell out the door. David didn’t say anything, but he was concerned that Mitchell wasn’t taking this seriously enough. His comment and the stupid smirk on his face afterwards were highly unprofessional. David knew from Mitchell’s military records that he viewed what they did for a living as a game, and that made him very dangerous to the rest of the team. He would need to watch Mitchell closely.

  “Five, One. Anybody awake?” David called out to Fields over the comlink as he and Mitchell exited the minders’ OP a f
ew seconds apart.

  “That’d be a negative, but there is a truck coming up the street from the east,” Fields replied.

  “Hold tight till they pass and then head for home,” David instructed.

  “Two, One. Location?” David called out to Montoya as he passed the café. The people in the café paid no attention to him or Mitchell when they strolled past. The café customers were focused on the soccer match on the television in the far left, rear corner of the place.

  “Just passing the red light district. Homework is complete. I’m stopping at the pad for the bags and will meet you on the road,” Montoya responded.

  “Three, One,” David called out.

  “One, Three,” Shields replied.

  “Three, wait ten minutes and then start back. Wait five minutes more, then cook the chicken,” David instructed Shields.

  “That’s a big ten-four,” Shields acknowledged.

  “Everyone stay on time,” David stated as he took one last look over his shoulder at the safe house where the dim light in the windows made it seem out of place somehow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a truck. It had turned on to the street and headed towards him from the far end of the block.

  “One, Five. A truck with only a driver turned onto the street where the safe house is. It appears to be stopping at or near the safe house. He didn’t appear to be military,” Fields called over the comlink.

  One, Three. It’s stopping right in front of the safe house. The driver just jogged up to the house. It appears our friends are moving out. A couple of them are carrying boxes out to the truck,” Shields informed David.

  “Everyone keep moving. Three and I will stay and watch,” David ordered.

  It took less than ten minutes for the truck to be loaded, and with the terrorists on board, it pulled away from the house and sped off towards the docks. David tried trotting along behind them while keeping to the shadows as much as possible, but he soon lost them.

  “Mother Hen, One,” David called out to the ship.

  “One, Mother Hen. Go ahead,” Hanchell replied.

  “Our friends have left for a trip. I’ve lost them, but I think they are heading to the docks. Can you confirm?” David asked. Hanchell didn’t reply right away.

  Instead, Captain Conners began talking to him a moment later. “One, this is the Hen and yes, a stake truck has just pulled up to our favorite ship and they seem to be about to unload something.”

  “Three, One. Change of plans. Move out and wait for my instructions. Don’t cook the chicken until I tell you to,” David ordered Shields.

  “Roger, One,” Shields confirmed.

  “Mother Hen, One. Any ideas?” David asked the captain.

  “Our package is set right? Do we know if it’s on the truck?” the captain asked.

  “Negative. We had moved back to execute when the truck arrived. The package though, is ready to cook,” David answered.

  “Okay, make your way home and we’ll regroup here,” Captain Conners suggested.

  “But what if they sail?” David asked, thinking that they might be escaping.

  “I’ve made alternative arrangements for the package’s delivery. Despite any plans they have to go sailing, we can still reach out and touch them. So come on home,” Captain Conners ordered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Montoya was the first to see the military checkpoint that blocked their way back to the boat. He stopped and watched as several additional military trucks came rolling down the road from the east, blocking their escape route. The military was using the park overlooking the harbor as a staging area, and several dozen soldiers were engaged in setting up camp there as well as setting up a serious road block.

  “One, Two. We got a problem,” Montoya called out to David over the comlink.

  “Two, One. What kind of problem?” David responded.

  “It appears the military is closing down the town; well, at least our path home,” Montoya explained. “They’ve blocked the road off.”

  “They what?” David asked.

  “They are shutting down the town. I’ve got road blocks and lots of soldiers,” Montoya informed him.

  “How many is ‘lots’?” David asked.

  “I count ten men and three vehicles blocking the road with more inbound. There is also another fifty setting up camp for a weenie roast later. They’re using the park overlooking the harbor for their camp site.”

  “Shit! Hold tight, Two!” David exclaimed. “Three, One. Can we make it home by your route?” David asked Shields.

  “One, Three. Negative. The road is blocked here as well, as are the two alternatives. It looks like they are locking the town down tight,” Shields passed on the bad news.

  David and Mitchell stopped two blocks behind Montoya and stepped into the shadows as David thought through his next move. Fields walked up and settled into the shadows across the street giving a hand signal that he understood he should wait, as well. After a few moments, David called out to the ship.

  “Mother Hen, One here. We’ve got a problem.”

  “One, Mother Hen. Hold tight. We’ve got some nosey neighbors at the moment.” David didn’t recognize the voice that replied. So he and the team waited crouched in the shadows on two different streets while onboard ship, the captain and the rest of the crew did a quick song and dance for the harbor pilot and his military escort.

  “Yes, the generator is acting up. It will take us a few minutes, maybe an hour, to repair it. It’s nothing major,” Captain Conners disguised as the Third Mate, tried to reassure the military patrol officer, a young lieutenant, who had accompanied the harbor pilot.

  “I must have this vessel and all other non-Cuban vessels out of the harbor in two hours. If the repairs are not done within an hour, I will have this piece of junk towed. The cost will be triple the amount the harbor pilot and his tugs charge, is that understood?” the young lieutenant barked.

  “Yes, yes, I will make sure our crew hurries. We can not afford to be charged that much. We will do all that we can to make the repairs quickly.” Captain Conners stepped to his right and slid his foot under the edge of the captain’s chair and depressed a button on the floor. The button released a foul smelling odor which caused the young officer and the harbor pilot to both visibly blanch.

  “Would you care for some tequila while we wait for my men to finish?” Captain Conners asked just as the smell drifted through the room.

  “No, no, that is not necessary. I will be back in one hour,” the young lieutenant stated as he turned and hurriedly left the bridge. The harbor pilot followed the lieutenant’s lead and backed his way off the bridge onto the bridge wing and closed the door behind him, post haste. Hanchell, playing the role of the communications officer, quickly hit a hidden fan switch and the foul smell promptly dissipated.

  “For a minute there, I thought the lieutenant was going to puke,” Hanchell stated as a grin broke across his face. His disguise included a long brown wig that was tied into a ponytail, sideburns, moustache and a beard that was so long he would have fit right in with ZZ Top. His clothes were the same as he had worn when they had left Kilauea R&D two days ago.

  “I think I’m getting so used to the smell, I hardly noticed it,” Captain Conners stated flatly. His disguise was a fat suit and an unruly black-haired wig which made him appear to be a Beatles reject. He had a three-day-old scrub beard, eyebrows grown together and several decay-ravaged teeth. To make the disguise perfect, he had eaten a very spicy burrito just before the harbor pilot and the young officer arrived. His clothes were a mix of filthy pants covered in grease and a ripped button up shirt stained with grease and body odor. He wore flip flops instead of the standard issue boots to complete the effect.

  Their cover story was that the captain was in his cabin sleeping off a drunk from the night before and the First Mate had quit in their last port of call. The Second Mate hadn’t come back from his shore leave last night, which left the Third Mate to try to handle the problem
s, even though he normally didn’t even set foot on the bridge unless he was called by the captain. So far, the whole charade was working just fine.

  “One called. There’s a small problem he’d like to talk to you about,” Hanchell told the captain as he watched to make sure the harbor pilot wasn’t paying any attention to them. He then checked the clock. It was just after 0200 hours.

  “Okay, I’ll go check in. Keep an eye on our friend and let me know if anything happens. I’ll be in control,” Captain Conners stated as he stepped out the opposite side of the bridge from the harbor pilot and made his way down to the hidden control center. Once there he wasted no time connecting with David.

  “One, Mother Hen. What seems to be the problem?” Captain Conners asked David.

  Mother Hen, One. There’s something happening. All of the routes home have been blocked by the military and they are taking up residence in the park overlooking the harbor.”

  “Are they letting anyone through?” Captain Conners asked.

  “Negative. They are turning back everyone,” David replied.

  “Hold, One. There seems to be something happening at the dock,” Captain Conners stated as his attention was drawn to one of the monitors.

  One of the computer techs pulled up the video images covering the time the captain had spent acting as the Third Mate and was pointing out something on the monitor. Captain Conners watched as the image showed the truck arrive, which he knew about, and then it showed several minutes of the men either sitting in the truck or standing around smoking after unloading a couple dozen boxes marked Semtex and C-4, which the tech fast-forwarded through. It had been about this time that the captain had to leave the control center to meet with the harbor pilot, so he hadn’t seen what happened next.

  One of the terrorists had walked over to the gangway leading up to the main deck and started to climb up. He was quickly met by the ship’s purser, who blocked his way and waved his arms clearly directing the man to go back down to the pier. They stood arguing for several minutes and it was clear the argument was getting nasty as both men bumped chests several times. Then suddenly, the terrorist pulled a gun from behind his back and shot the purser in the chest. The man immediately collapsed to his knees and then fell off the gangway sideways, landing on the pier below.