by Margaret Kay
The team occasionally fucked with him, trying to make him goof up so he’d have to restart it. But this time they were pressed for time, so they let him do his thing. Mother played his scrabble word games on his phone, and Lambchop read Bible verses on his.
Sloan leaned over and peaked at the game list on Mother’s phone. He literally had ten games with the same cartoon avatar representing an opponent, a sexy, shapely woman with dark hair and a medium skin tone. She wore a white lab coat buttoned up to bulging breasts and stiletto heels. It could have been Michaela from the lab at work. The hair color and length were correct as was the skin tone.
“Whoa, sexy cartoon,” Sloan said. “Hey, all your games are with her.”
Mother scrolled down. “No, only those that are my turn. Here are the other games with my other opponents.”
“You have to have ten with her though.” He looked closer at the phone. “With Dr. ASS.” He laughed out hard. “Dr. ASS, oh my God!”
Mother huffed and pulled his phone back.
“She doesn’t really look like that, you know. She’s a three-hundred-pound mother of five who lives in a beat-up double wide, married to a jerk with a beer gut, who smashes beer cans against his forehead. There are four junk vehicles in the front yard that he’s going to fix someday, and the toilet that quit working two years ago.”
“Her first name is Annaka and I assume the SS is her middle and last initials. And she does work in some kind of lab.”
“Oh, does she now?” Sloan replied. “Let me see your avatar.” He grabbed Mother’s phone from his hand again. He laughed even harder. “Shit, it’s cartoon Rambo. I like the linked ammo belt strung across your wife-beater tank! You are not even close to being this buff, though. False advertising, my friend.”
Mother ripped the phone from his hands. “If we weren’t getting ready to dive, I’d pound your ass into the ground.”
Sloan laughed again. “When we get back to HQ, we’ll do some sparring. You’re overdue on your PT, anyway.” Sloan slapped him in the gut. “We’ll work on getting you back to your buff cartoon self.”
“Enough boys,” Lambchop cut in. “Pray with me.”
All joking banter stopped, and the men bowed their heads.
“Heavenly Father, protect your sons as we engage in this mission to find and recover our man. Keep all innocent civilians from our path and safe. Lead us to do Your will, we pray in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, Amen.”
“Amen,” the others replied.
“Watch each other’s six and be safe,” Lambchop said. Then he opened the door and led the others from the wardroom.
The four men secured their gear, positioned their dive masks, their LAR V Draeger rebreathers, their tanks, and their Voit UDT Duck Feet Swim Fins. They sat in the lockout trunk waiting for it to fill with water. Loaded down with sixty pounds each of equipment, they swam from the hatch, one by one, to the SEAL Delivery Vehicle which sat atop the hull nearby.
The serenity of the warm water around him, as Sloan broke from the hull of the sub, and the gentle current was a welcome reminder of why he loved his job. The silence of the water, with only the bubbles from their tanks filling his ears, was a quiet he enjoyed as he floated weightlessly in the water.
After stowing their gear, Lambchop took a seat in the open cockpit of the vehicle and powered it up, which illuminated the controls on the panel. The three others released the cables and fasteners that held the twenty-two-foot-long submarine vehicle in place. Mother took the seat in the open cockpit beside Lambchop before either Sloan or Sherman could, leaving them to enter the craft further back and squeeze in with their packs and other gear for the short ride to the location where they would leave the craft on the ocean floor.
The craft lifted from the back of the sub and under its electric power, made its way towards the rocky cove in the dark ocean tide. Upon reaching their destination, Lambchop put it down gently on the sandy ocean floor. Immediately, the four men secured their packs, grasped their automatic rifles in their hands, and swam towards shore.
Four dark figures broke from under the surface of the water, rising slowly, rifles aimed in different directions, their experienced eyes surveying their surroundings. They walked towards the shore; their dive fins already secured to their vests. They moved slowly, soundlessly, their eyes scanning every shadow, every rock, every tree beyond the shore.
Once they reached the rocky beach, they set up along the rocks that lay to the east to have some cover. They waited for nearly an hour before they heard from the sub.
“There is movement, looks like three Tangos moving towards the beach,” Captain White’s voice came through the comms of the Shepherd Security Team. He was on the conning tower, eye pressed to the periscope. The USS Washington was at periscope depth, ten miles from shore.
Sloan, the team’s sniper, took up a position, aiming his rifle over a clump of rocks towards the direction the captain called out. Through his night vision scope, he first identified the face of their CIA Operative, leading the other two. The second was a Chinese male, the third a Hispanic female. Something was looped around her torso. Upon closer inspection, he identified an infant in a front-carry sling.
“Fuck,” Sloan cursed quietly into his comms. “We got a woman with an infant. He didn’t bring his soccer mom. He brought his or someone’s baby mamma.”
The four men knew their extraction plan was shot to hell. In their bags they had two additional sets of dive gear. But nothing that would get an infant out. Lambchop motioned to Mother, sending him to intercept the incoming trio. He and the Birdman stayed where they were on alert.
Mother approached them, weapon up, finger hovering near the trigger. “Julian?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Thank you for coming.” He pointed to the stone-faced Chinese man beside him. “General Zhang Wei wishes to defect.”
“My wife and daughters presented themselves to your officials in New York yesterday with this request. Contact your State Department. I am expected.”
“Son of a bitch,” Mother cursed quietly, a thought echoed by each of his teammates and Captain White who listened in as well. “So, you are who we are extracting.”
“Me, my wife, and daughter as well,” Julian Aguilarte said, motioning to the woman and infant. “We are all in danger now.”
Lambchop sent Sherman to them. “Do any of you have weapons on you?”
“Of course, we do,” Julian said.
“I’ll be taking those,” Sherman’s Cajun voice drawled.
After the two men handed semiautomatic handguns over, Sherman searched them all. He noticed the woman’s sickly appearance. “Undertaker, you need to evaluate one.” He motioned the group to follow Mother, who led them over to where Lambchop waited, partially hidden by the rocky wall.
“Do me a favor and keep your hands in sight,” Lambchop said to the two men who they’d be evacuating.
They both nodded.
Sherman took up Sloan’s position, and Sloan came over to the group. He gave the two men a glance, but then focused on the woman. “Are you ill?”
Her eyes darted to her husband. “I’m just tired and dehydrated. We walked a long way.”
Lambchop removed his camel back. He handed it over. “It’s water, drink.”
“Thank you,” she said and then drew a healthy guzzle from it.
Then she handed it to Julian who also drank like he hadn’t in days. He then in turn passed it to the Chinese General.
“How is your baby doing? I’m a medic,” Sloan said.
“She is well,” the mother replied.
“Are you nursing?”
She nodded.
“You need to stay hydrated, for your health as well as hers,” Sloan told her.
“How will you get us out?” Julian Aguilarte asked.
Lambchop pointed to the water. “We can take everyone but the baby down, got two extra sets of dive gear.” He shook his head.
Sloan knew that inside that head of h
is, he was working the problem. How do they get the infant out? “Julian, you are in danger. Is your wife in as much danger as you? Is she on anyone’s radar?”
“I’m not leaving her behind,” the man insisted.
“General Wei, do you know how to use dive gear?” Lambchop asked.
The General nodded.
Lambchop anticipated that would be the answer. “Get him suited up,” he told Mother, who was already opening his pack.
“She’s nursing. We can’t split mother and child up,” Sloan whispered in Lambchop’s ear.
“I know.”
“Two of us can escort the mother and child three clicks west to that little marina we saw on the surveillance footage and jack a boat. After you make it back to the Washington, you can launch a RIB to intercept. We’ll still have the cover of darkness,” Sloan suggested.
Lambchop considered it. He didn’t like it, but he hadn’t thought of anything better. He glanced at Julian. “Two of our men will keep your wife and daughter protected. They’re safer without you.”
“I won’t leave them behind.”
“Look,” Sloan said. “Your presence will be a hinderance. You and the General have to be the hot commodity right now. A woman and infant, a dime a dozen.”
Julian Aguilarte’s worried eyes went to his wife. “Daniela,” he began, but she cut him off.
“They’re right. Maria and I will be fine. You must get out of sight. It’s too dangerous for you to walk any further.”
“My wife still bleeds from the birth. Maria was born two weeks ago. It has increased since we’ve been traveling yesterday.”
Holy shit, Sloan thought. This just took on a different dimension. “Can you walk three more clicks?”
“I can do whatever I have to, to get to safety,” she said.
“Some bleeding is normal with increased activity this soon after birth. Are you cramping?”
She looked down. “A bit, but I can continue.”
Sloan locked eyes with Lambchop. “Leave Mother with me, but you take our dive gear and any unnecessary equipment. We need to be able to carry her if need be.”
Lambchop nodded. His thoughts exactly.
It didn’t take long to get Julian suited up and give him a brief tutorial on the use of this particular rebreather. While they did that, Sloan and Mother changed into civilian clothes. Their black diving fatigues were stuffed into one of the many bags the others would take with them. Sherman handed his camelback over. It was nearly full.
“We’ll communicate after we have cast off in a boat,” Mother said.
“We’ll dial Ops in and have them keep an eye on your trackers,” Lambchop said.
As Sloan and Mother led Daniela Aguilarte away from the beach, the other four men silently disappeared below the waves.
“Daniela, is it?” Sloan asked quietly as he helped her up an embankment.
She nodded.
“Let me know if you want me to take the baby or your backpack. And, my name is Gary, this is Danny.”
“Thank you, but I am fine. All I have in the backpack are diapers and a few outfits for her. It doesn’t weigh much.”
Mother pointed to the tree line. “Let’s move near the edge of the woods to get some cover. And Daniela, you tell us if we are going too fast or you feel ill. We don’t want to endanger you. We’ll take a break whenever you need it.”
“Three kilometers, I can do that.”
“The terrain is a little rough in spots. We’ll help you,” Sloan said.
The two men stayed on alert as they made their way to their secondary extraction point, a small marina in a sheltered cove. The boats there were primarily small boats that made the daily trip over to the ABC Islands to sell local fruit and vegetables. The biggest risk they would face would be that due to the current economic condition in Venezuela, many of the farmers and hands who operated these boats, slept on them as well. They’d have to find one unoccupied and steal it without alerting anyone in the area who would more than likely sound an alarm.
When they arrived at the little marina, Mother left Sloan and Daniela hidden in a clump of trees and he went in alone to do some recon. It was a good break for Daniela to sit down. Sloan was concerned because the baby had not cried at all.
“When last did you nurse?”
“About an hour before we met you.”
So, it had been about two hours and fifteen minutes since the baby had nursed. Not anything to be worried about. The baby slept. He took her pulse and counted her respirations. All looked well. If they timed it right, she’d stay asleep until they were long out of the marina and well into the channel, far from ears to hear her when she did cry. Hopefully the water would remain as calm as it looked, and Daniela could nurse as soon as the baby woke.
Sloan stayed on alert. They hadn’t encountered a single patrol, which he found odd and troublesome. Here by this marina would be where he would deploy a team, if he were in charge. Though with the economic state of this country, he doubted that there was any semblance of security or a police force left. Moreover, he figured, they’d have to worry more about bandits, out to steal whatever a passerby may have on them. He smiled to himself, realizing they were in fact about to steal a boat.
Mother quietly walked up the shadowy dock. There were six boats tied up. All still had product on board that probably had not sold that day. Unfortunately, all boats had people aboard too. Several didn’t look happy to see a stranger on the dock. He kept his hand on his semiautomatic within the deep pocket of his cargo shorts.
One of the men approached, speaking in Spanish. “What do you want? You’re not welcome on this dock. We don’t want trouble,” the man said.
“I’m not looking for trouble. I need to charter a boat to take me to Curaçao. A third of the payment now, the rest when we arrive,” Mother said in Spanish. He strategically positioned himself with his back to the man’s boat so he could watch the other boats and their occupants.
The man looked him over. “Payment in Guilders.”
“Guilders there, bolivars here,” Mother said, knowing this man would probably agree to anything for The Antillean Guilder. The Venezuelan Bolívar was damn-near worthless.
“Yes, you come with me in the morning. We sail at five.”
“No, now. I’ll pay premium.”
“You’re crazy, navigate in darkness. Freighters and tankers go through there all day, all night. They no see us, and we get hit.”
“I can navigate us through, and I will pay you very well,” Mother told him.
“Money means nothing if I’m dead.”
Mother smirked. “I’ll get you through and I’ll pay you more than you make selling your crop all day. But we leave now.”
The man eyed him cautiously. “Show me the money.”
“I don’t have it on me. My amigo does, who is nearby. If you agree to the charter, he will join us, and you will get paid.”
Mother could tell the temptation at that much money was swaying him. The man looked Mother over again. “I don’t care why you leave Venezuela, don’t get me killed while you do it.”
“I promise, I can navigate us through. I’ve done it hundreds of times.”
The man suspected he was a deserting soldier or sailor from the Venezuelan military. “Will a patrol boat be looking for you?”
Mother smiled. “I hope not and the sooner we leave, the less of a chance of it there is.”
The man reluctantly nodded.
“We have a boat chartered,” Mother spoke into his comms. “Come with whatever cash you have, ready.”
“Roger that,” Sloan replied. He helped Daniela to her feet. He reached into a pocket and pulled fifty dollars out in U.S. currency. He kept his hand on his weapon as he led her towards the dock.
“English?” The man said, gazing quizzically at Mother. “American?”
“You’ll be best to forget all about us after you drop us,” Mother warned, in Spanish.
Just then the two dark figures
approached.
“Three? I agree to one. It’ll cost you more.”
“Pay him,” Mother said to Sloan.
Sloan handed the money over.
“U.S. dollars?” The man said in surprise. He counted the bills. Fifty U.S. dollars would go a long way.
“We’re starting to attract too much attention. We move now,” Mother said firmly in Spanish. Several of the other boat owners were climbing onto the dock and watching the exchange. Mother was sure those on the two closest boats could hear them clearly. He glanced back at Sloan and Daniela. “Get in the boat, we need to leave, now.”
