Cobra Clearance

by Richard Craig Anderson

  She instantly said, “Yes,” and easing the tourniquet from his grasp she cinched it around his bicep and said in a low voice, “Get a vein ready while I cook the smack.”

  A heartbeat passed. Then he sat on the edge of the soiled mattress and began slapping the inside of his elbow while she grabbed the bent spoon and a chunk of heroin. He said as if mentioning the weather, “Gimme five mills.” Then he looked up. “How much are you doin’?”

  “Me? I don’t use it. Ain’t even mine. Been keeping it for a friend.”

  Levi regarded a bulging vein, then ripped the tourniquet off. “Well it ain’t no fun doin’ it alone. Besides, I promised Kruger. So that’s it.”

  Brenda felt a spring unwind. She liked Eric, and though she’d goaded him into shooting up she was glad he wasn’t going to. They made idle talk for a while, then she gave him a blanket and watched as he stripped and stretched out on the shabby couch. “Leastways you ain’t bashful,” she said, and turned off the light. “Well, good night.”

  “Yeah. G’night. Thanks for letting me crash, an’ for everything else.”

  She undressed and lay on the mattress-only bed. A minute passed, then another before she got up with a gentle creak of floor boards and went to the couch. Lifting the blanket she lay next to him. “I can’t sleep. The blow.”

  “Yeah. It’s keepin’ me awake, too.”

  Silence. Then they were all over each other—gasping, groping and groaning, their sex loud, long and lusty. His stamina amazed her and she reached ever higher summits, until finally they both exploded and collapsed in a sweat-drenched heap. It had been, she thought, perfect sex.

  But the second go-around was even better. They kissed and touched and tasted one another, and in time he locked her in his embrace, established his rhythm, and took her on a fresh and singular journey—whispering to her, running his fingertips along her body, and gently urging her on until he brought her to a newer, more exotic destination. When their breathing returned to normal she coaxed him to her bed, and after propping his back against the bare sheetrock wall, he raised a knee and planted his foot flat on the soiled mattress. Then she cuddled against him as they shared a joint and some laughs.

  Levi woke up at dawn with Brenda’s arms and legs entwined with his. Her breasts felt firm and fine against his chest, her smooth legs warm; their juncture inviting. He eased away and got up, and after stepping over soiled clothes and dirty dishes he padded to the window and studied the dirt parking lot. He needed to look outside. The unkempt room depressed him. He felt the desiccated decay beneath his bare feet; smelled the dust and the old grease coating the stove; spotted rat droppings near the mattress; saw a roach crawl along the base of the fridge. He also found half a dozen flea bites on his body. The mattress was obviously infested and probably harbored bed bugs as well.

  After a bit he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. Kruger’s interest in his relationship with her, combined with the non-verbal message she’d passed to Jackson had raised storm flags, and by flirting with the drugs he’d solidified his image as a doper. He was never going to do the heroin, of course. But he trusted the Bureau’s intel, and he was convinced that Kruger’s caveat to avoid hard drugs was a ploy: provide an excuse to avoid hard stuff, then regard non-use with suspicion. But a bonafide druggie would push the limits, and ironically that might put the paranoid Kruger at ease. Levi would now wait and see if his gambit worked or backfired. Then there was the sex. It had also been necessary, but unlike his dance with drugs it couldn’t be faked.

  As for Brenda, even if she played no role for Kruger, when it came to dealing with major criminal enterprises he trusted no one. Either way, he had to manipulate her to establish credibility with Kruger—and the Ft. Lauderdale event made him redouble his efforts. To begin the process, he got back in bed and grazed a finger along her cheek.

  They rested afterward and later she cooked breakfast on the kitchenette’s tiny stove. The scrambled eggs were runny and rife with streaks of white, and the bacon was soggy. But when he told her how good they were she said, “You’re welcome to stay.”

  “Yeah?” He put down his fork and looked at her. “Why me?”

  She reached out and touched her fingertips to the tiny silver rings in his eyebrow. “‘Cause you’re cool. And you got that Harley.” She showed a tiny smile. “Fair enough?”

  Levi grunted. “Don’t expect me to support no kids when I knock you up.”

  “Already figured that.” Brenda turned quiet, then said. “I know how things work so I know you’re gonna screw other women.” She fidgeted and looked at him. “Please don’t bring ’em here. Okay?” She bit softly at her lower lip and waited.

  Levi felt genuine pain for this woman and the hard reality that she must’ve known all her life. But he had to be a vulgar brute. “Don’t bug me.”

  “Of course, I won’t be messing ’round on you.” She looked beyond him and whispered, “‘Cause I know you’d beat me if I did.”

  “Just shut up an’ gimme some more eggs.” Levi finished his meal and left for the compound, letting the early-April winds lash at him as he thundered down the road. He hated this sordid, woman-hating society he had to inhabit and felt repulsed by the persona he had to present to Brenda. But every move he made last night, every word he’d spoken since, had been deliberate—and he had Michael to thank for teaching him how to pass as a product of poverty. He felt confident that his actions had been the correct ones, and these stakes were as high as they got—so high that he’d decided that if he had to get her pregnant to validate his role, he would adopt the child. Damn this world. He twisted the throttle with savage force and took the wind full in the face.

  Brenda waited until the Harley’s engine faded in the distance, then stood beneath a warming shower. Her body still tingled with pleasure. She’d been with five men in her wretched life but none had ever made love to her. All they did was screw her and knock her around. Slam, bam. But Eric had been so attentive to her every need all three times, so she thought he’d be different. Even kind. And he had such lovely blue eyes. But he was just another thug. At least he was gorgeous—and great in the sack. She turned off the water and watched the last little bit trickle from the rusted-out shower head.

  She got dressed and picked up her cell. After a moment’s hesitation she made a call. When a voice at the other end said, “Yes,” she closed her eyes and held the cell tight. “It’s me. I’m goin’ to see Mama. Should be back around one.” She listened and replied, “Okay. Two o’clock.”

  Leaving the cabin, she got behind the wheel of her green ’94 Impala. Holding her breath and praying it would start, she turned the key. The engine caught the third time and an hour later she arrived at the hospice. After winding through antiseptic-smelling hallways she reached the room and spent the next three hours caressing her mother, talking to her all the while about the life she would lead once she finished medical school. “Two more years, Mama. Then I’ll be a doctor.” The comatose woman didn’t stir, and when Brenda saw that it was noon she said, “Don’t worry, Mama. I’m doin’ what I gotta do so you’ll be taken care of.”

  She forced herself to leave and when she reached the nurse’s station she asked a young nurse if her mother had shown any improvement. The nurse had a pleasant face but her reply was sad. “I’m sorry. Her condition hasn’t changed.” Brenda left, got in her Impala and returned to the Sunset.

  Kruger took Levi to the compound’s range and pulled a Colt .45 from beneath his jacket. He turned it over in his hand. “Good American gun.” He thrust it at Levi.

  A harsh wind fanned Levi’s hair as he took the weapon, grimacing as if it was about to bite him. “It ain’t loaded is it?”

  “It has no value if it’s not.”

  “What do I do? Pull the trigger?”

  “Cock the hammer first. With your thumb.”

  Levi used both thumbs, and after pointing the pistol in the general direction of a paper target fifteen feet away, he closed h
is eyes and jerked the trigger. The pistol roared and the heavy slug kicked up a mound of dirt five feet to the left of the target.

  Kruger said without looking at Levi, “We’ll work on it.”

  An hour later his learning curve showed a marked improvement. Then Kruger took the weapon, inserted a fresh magazine and held the pistol in a two-handed grip at chest level while assuming a practiced stance. “Say when.”

  “When.”

  Kruger straightened his arms and fired six shots in two and a half seconds, putting them into an area the size of a silver dollar.

  Levi noted how fast he had gotten “on the rail.” TPC-level shooter. Might even be better than me—at least with paper targets that don’t shoot back. Levi made a show of letting out a low, long whistle. “Damn.” He shuffled his feet. “Hey, you ever been in a gunfight? ’Cause I bet you’ve blasted plenty a losers.”

  A long silence hung in the air until Kruger holstered his weapon. “Never been in one. But I have experienced the pleasure of killing a few men.”

  “Yeah? Damn. Hey…I wanna be like you—an’ as good as you.”

  Kruger’s face was a mask. “I can get you there. It’ll take work, but I’ll have you ready by May.” He showed a sudden smile. “Maybe you’ll get the Zionist in your sights.”

  Levi went to high alert. “Zionist?”

  Kruger hesitated. “I meant Zionists. Plural.”

  “Okay.” Now was the time to pry. “Who are they? How’re we gonna do it?”

  But Kruger said nothing. They broke for lunch. Afterward he handed Levi a pile of books on weapons and tactics. “Something to keep you busy while I go into town.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Maybe another time.” Kruger got into his F-150 and drove off.

  Kruger’s pickup raised a dust cloud as he barreled down the dirt road beneath a bright sky. He turned north on Highway 41 and went past circular patches of agricultural land, a few rock mounds and the occasional ranch vehicle. He pulled into the Sunset’s parking lot precisely at 2:00 p.m. and shut off the engine. She was standing outside in a red coat, blue jeans and boots. After looking over her shoulder she strolled across the dirt lot and climbed inside the truck. He turned to her. “Well?”

  “I did what you said and fixed it so he had to move in.”

  “The cannabis and hashish in his cabin—were they for show?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. He’s been smokin’ since way back. I can tell. He rolled a joint and wanted to pass it with me. But he put it away when I said no.”

  “Good. He’s not a total stoner. Did you tempt him with the drugs I provided?”

  “Yep. He did a couple lines a coke with me. He was gonna do another till he remembered he wasn’t supposed to. I swore not to tell nobody but it didn’t matter. He said no. Then he saw the smack. Christ, he freakin’ drooled over it. It took some doing but I finally got him to shoot up…” At Kruger’s glare she said quickly, “But he didn’t. He backed off. Said he wanted to stay clean. For you.”

  “So other than a little cocaine he stayed true-blue, huh? Excellent.”

  “Tell you what. For a user—an’ he was a user—he’s got will power ’cause he sure wanted it.” Facing him she said, “Something else. He was never a heavy doper.”

  “What led you to that conclusion?”

  “His skin’s too pretty. Hard-core dopers? Skin turns to crap in a few months an’ it stays crap.”

  “Hmm, good observation. I’ll have to remember that. Okay. Push him hard to do heroin and keep me posted either way. Now then, how did he talk?”

  “Huh?”

  “Jesus. Listen, did he use big words?”

  “You mean like you? No. He talked reg’lar, like me.”

  “All right. Could he be homosexual?”

  “Christ, no. For sure he’s into pussy—an’ randier than a three-balled tomcat.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “What’s to say? He nailed me three times. Says he’s gonna knock me up.”

  Kruger looked into her eyes. “Did you tell him you’re infertile?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good, because since you are, your sole worth to me is in this capacity.”

  She looked down. “At least he’s great in bed. An’ I love his piercings.”

  Kruger let out a cruel laugh. “Don’t get attached. I’m putting him out to stud.” He shifted in his seat. “Has he mentioned the activities at the compound?”

  She lowered her window a few inches and let in some fresh air. “No. Nothing.”

  “Anything else? What do your instincts tell you about him?”

  “Eric’s the real thing, Brent. He—he’s like my brothers.”

  “The ones in Folsom?”

  “Yeah. He’s just like ’em. A thug.” She looked up and to the left. “It’s little things. Like, he can’t wait to get shed of his shoes and shirt when he comes indoors.”

  “Hmm. Yes, I see. Behavior consistent with humble beginnings. Very good.” He reached inside his bush jacket and pulled out an envelope. “Here’s your money.”

  Brenda took it. “Do I get the bonus now that you stuck me with him?”

  “I said you would, didn’t I?” He turned the key and started the engine. “By the way, how’s your mother?”

  Brenda held up the envelope. “She’d already be dead if it wasn’t for this.”

  Levi brought the books to the barracks. The dingy room of yellow pine contained ten bunk beds, a shower room and a lav. Dirty clothing and porn magazines were strewn among empty beer cans. He stretched out on an unused bunk and was reading a gun magazine when three tattooed gang members trooped inside. The first two in the door were tall and gaunt. Their pinched faces shouted ex-con and they sported recent track marks on their arms—one more reason for Levi to question the validity of Kruger’s drug policy. The third guy was a walking poster for morbid obesity.

  When the big one saw Levi he snapped, “Hey. New guy. You the one went after that coon with the cannon?” After Levi nodded the guy grinned and mimicked smoking a joint. “Wanna burn one with us?”

  Levi dug into a pocket and produced a baggy. “Yours, or mine?”

  A buzzed Levi went outside at noon and walked a jagged pattern while Avwatch flew a stable pattern miles away. When Levi returned to the bunkhouse one of his new friends chortled, “Hey. We done agreed. You’re one of our kind, and damned generous with the weed.” He sighed. “Quality product, too.”

  Hacksaw watched the images on his laptop and checked the reference sheet. “Nothing new.” He yawned and said to Dentz. “What’s room service got? I’m hungry.”

  Kruger pulled up to his office and found Potts waiting for him. The short man climbed down from the F-150 and after they went inside Potts said, “The boys feel comfortable with him. According to Tiny Ted, ‘Eric’s righteous.’”

  “Good. Brenda’s also convinced he’s genuine and she’s never been wrong. Plus he did two lines of coke last night. A cop wouldn’t have done that. Not with the out I provided.” At Potts’ raised eyebrows he explained, “My zero-tolerance speech. Whoever he is—and he is what we’ve been looking for—he’s not an operative.” It was past six when Levi parked the Harley and stepped inside the Sunset to see Brenda. They chatted a bit but she was busy so he told her goodbye and went to the cabin. Tossing his jacket on the bed, he retrieved the surveillance detectors and swept the room. Satisfied, he hid them and was getting ready to take a shower when he noticed a spiral-bound notebook atop the bureau. He had to explore all possible sources of intel, so he picked it up. After brushing aside a large brown roach atop the bare mattress he plopped down and began reading. Brenda had filled page after page with prose. Her cursive handwriting was as elegant as the words she had written. The prose were riddled with grammatical and spelling errors, but her thought process impressed him. He turned the pages with care and read each word. “Wow,” he whispered. “Untutored, but brilliant.”

  “BRILLIA
NT. JUST…” SUSAN ended the call and flopped down on her hotel bed, wondering what to do next. She’d called an Albuquerque hotel and told the desk clerk, “Mr. Levi Hart’s room.” The clerk told her bluntly that there were no Harts registered and hung up. After a few minutes she reached for the phone book and called the next hotel. If he was a guest then a clerk would put the call through. If indeed he was in a hotel, and not staying with another woman. The image propelled her into another calling frenzy. “Hello,” she said when the Airport Comfort Inn answered, “could you please put me through to Mr. Hart’s room?”

  PUNGENT AROMAS FROM BRATWURST and sauerkraut stalls taunted Tucker’s appetite as he flicked his eyes at the cabaret’s entrance. “Sawyer, take the lead on this. Same S.O.P. as before.” The procedure was straightforward—if they found Kalil they would establish a surveillance and tail him to see if he led them to Amahl. Or, they could take him into custody on the spot. Tucker would make that call.

  “Very well, sir.” Sawyer took Monica’s arm in his and led the way from the snow covered cobblestones of Predigerplatz, and up a short flight of steps to the door.

  Hundreds of tourists and locals had braved the Saturday night snow storm, and Tucker and crew had mixed with the stream to let themselves be carried toward Zurich’s most popular cabaret. He wondered at the revelers’ ability to shrug off gloomy economic prospects and venture out on this of all nights. It didn’t register with him. Rational people didn’t behave this way. The lucid assessed their resources, estimated the situation and hunkered down until the barrage was over. Only then would they venture out to celebrate a new lease on a life spared from the shelling.

  The appalling news from Ft. Lauderdale had been moderated by measured optimism at the outset, and later by scientific evaluations. The experts determined the risk to the drinking supplies to be so minimal that authorities were prepared to reopen the valves. That was the sort of all-clear that made sense to Joe Tucker. The all-clear had yet to sound for the world’s deepening recession, yet people were out anyway. He prayed that Kalil was, too.