by S L Shelton
“Monkey Wrench, wait,” Nick said, I assumed so that he could verify my information. A moment later: “Acknowledged. Skidmark is on his way to your location. Have you seen our Tangos in the area yet?”
Skidmark? I had to chuckle at the code name for Ukil. I could only imagine the story behind it.
“Spartan, not hide nor hair,” I replied. “Is it possible Skidmark is making the delivery?”
There was a short pause, “Monkey Wrench. Keep your eyes open. If he’s there, then we’re dealing with more than a few AKs and RPGs.”
Right. The rockets, I thought.
Apollo turned looking at me pensively and then gave me a mild shrug. “Roger, Spartan. Monkey Wrench out.”
“What’s the timing gonna look like?” Apollo asked.
I checked my screen again. “Skidmark will be here in about six minutes depending on traffic. We're in the middle of town, and he's still on the outskirts,” I said when it suddenly struck me as odd that we were meeting in the center of town, “—and the rebels will be here in about fourteen. Do either of you think it’s strange that the transfer of weapons was set up in the middle of town?”
They looked at each other and shrugged before Apollo looked back at me. “You’re the tech. You tell me.”
I zoomed in on the area from the satellite feed and began a closer examination of the streets around us. I watched the ground image radiating blooms of heat, representing the people who were walking around the area. Down a side alley, I saw two men standing next to motorcycles. The engines were nearly as cool as the ground, according to the thermal imagery.
“We’ve got some loiterers on motorcycles down the alley a block and a half away,” I said into my mic.
“You want me to go check it out?” Aspen asked Apollo.
Apollo nodded and Aspen stepped out of the vehicle to take a walk. I watched on the screen as Aspen left the Rover and began a leisurely stroll toward the alley. I kept an eye on Ukil’s tag as it approached our area. “Skidmark is five blocks out, but it looks like he’s taking a detour.”
“Which way is he headed?” Apollo asked.
“East,” I said, and noticed one of the loiterers getting on his bike. “Aspen, hold up there for a second,” I said. “The guys on the motorcycles look like they are getting ready to move.”
I heard two clicks across my radio, indicating he had heard me. Suddenly, the indicator popped up for a new call on the Syrian’s cell phone.
“Spartan, this is Monkey Wrench,” I called into my mic.
A second passed then, “Monkey Wrench, go.”
“I’ve got an active call on the rebel cell phone. Can you get someone there to translate and let me know if there’s been a change of plans?”
“Roger, wait,” Nick replied.
“Hey, Monkey Wrench, Aspen is sticking out a bit,” Apollo said. “Can we get a call?”
“I’m waiting on a translation,” I replied. “Hang tight, Aspen. I haven’t forgotten about you.”
Click, click.
Another minute passed and Nick came back across the line. “Monkey Wrench, you need to move to another location,” Nick said. I looked down at the moving tags for a moment before responding.
“Which way are we going?” I asked.
“East,”
“Roger. Aspen, come on back. We’re moving,” I said.
“Aspen, this is Spartan. Belay that, I’m gonna need you to stay on that corner,” Nick said. “There are two things going on here, and I need to have trackers on both of them.”
“Spartan, we can’t split the Op like that,” Apollo broke in. “Besides, all the tech is here in the vehicle.” Referring to the tracer tags.
“Apollo, drop some tags with Aspen on your way out,” Nick said. “You’ve got to move, now, or you’re going to miss the rendezvous.”
Apollo sneered, but he clicked his mic open anyway. “Roger, Spartan. Oscar Mike with the tags,” he said, using phonetic slang for on the move.
He crawled over into the driver’s seat and started the vehicle. “Your guy—” Apollo said, shaking his head.
I knew my mic was still on VOX. I agreed with Nick—we needed tracking on all the players if we could get it—but I wasn’t going to say anything one way or the other.
As we pulled out onto the street, I detached a handful of clothing tracers from a sheet, and two magnetic vehicle tags, each smaller than a nickel. I reached over the backseat and handed them to Apollo.
“Aspen, we’re coming up behind you,” he said into his mic.
“Roger,” Aspen whispered.
Apollo slowed the vehicle and reached his hand out. “Stay clear and keep your eyes open,” Apollo said as Aspen took the tags. “I don’t know when we’re coming back this way.”
“I’m good,” Aspen replied with a grin. “But don’t forget about me.”
With that, we pulled forward. “Alright, Monkey Wrench. Where are we headed?” he asked.
“Hey, Spartan, who are we following?” I asked into my mic as I pulled the laptop back in front of me.
“Monkey Wrench. Yellow tag,” Nick said. “Follow Skidmark. He’s gonna be the rendezvous point.”
How did he come up with that? I wondered. He must have information I don’t.
“What’s your new INTEL?” I asked.
“Monkey Wrench, this is Spartan,” he said, emphasizing each word.
Now is not the time for a communications protocol lesson, Nick.
“Skidmark has the first rendezvous,” he continued. “He just got a call from the primary targets.” The Serbs. “The call you intercepted was them changing the drop time and location.”
I thought about that for a second. Is this planned? My flowchart kicked into high gear—the result was a question mark on satellite coverage.
“Spartan, this is Monkey Wrench. What’s the status of the imagery feed?” I asked.
There was a moment’s pause and then he came back with urgency in his voice. “Monkey Wrench, you are going to lose your feed in fifteen mikes.”
Fifteen minutes! They don’t know we are on to them and are still playing the same game of hide and seek with the satellites they have been all along.
“Roger, Spartan,” I replied. “That’s good news.”
“Monkey Wrench, explain how losing your feed is good news,” Nick replied. I could hear the impatience in his voice—he was going to be harder to break of that habit than John.
“Spartan,” I replied. “It means business as usual. They haven’t changed their MO.”
There was a long pause after that and then he came back just as we were turning onto the street Ukil was traveling.
“Monkey Wrench. Acknowledged, but that means you have to have eyes on the primary Tangos before they leave the AO,” he said, making a very good point. If they left the area of operation before we got tags on them, we’d lose them again.
“Roger, Spartan,” I replied. “Eyes are peeled.”
Two clicks confirmed we were on the same page.
“What are we doing?” Apollo asked.
“Skidmark is stopped about six blocks away on a cross street of this one,” I said. “The map shows a parking lot.”
Apollo nodded and pressed down on the gas. In a matter of moments, we were pulling to a halt a block away and on the opposite side of the street from Ukil’s marker on the map.
Apollo turned off the engine and reached his hand back to me. “Tags,” he said urgently.
I handed him two sets of tracer tags before he left the vehicle, and ran down the sidewalk, crossing the street once he reached the intersection. I lost sight of him as he turned the corner.
I looked back to my monitor and saw the satellite feed was beginning to break up. I watched the glowing thermal image of Apollo moving down the street toward a dark area, out of the view of the satellite due to its low angle on the horizon.
On the back side of the connecting street, I saw another “walker” moving away from the parking lot. I z
oomed in on him, watching as he paused and looked both ways before turning onto the street I was on.
“Apollo, this is Spartan,” Nick said across my earpiece. “Status.”
A few seconds ticked by and then, “Spartan, I have Skidmark’s vehicle in sight. No other movement or vehicles around.”
I almost mentioned the man walking on the other side of the block, but then thought better of it as the other man was moving away from the parking lot.
“Acknowledged,” Nick replied. “Hang tight until the primary targets arrive.”
“Roger,” Apollo replied.
“Aspen,” Nick said. “Status.”
“Nothing,” came the quiet reply.
“Roger,” Nick said. “Hang tight. We haven’t forgotten about you.”
Click, click.
After a moment, my earpiece squawked at me. “Monkey Wrench, this is Apollo. Can you confirm Skidmark’s location?”
I looked down at my screen and flipped it back to map view, off satellite. “Roger, Apollo,” I replied. “His tag is still stationary in the parking lot.”
“Then we have a problem,” he replied. “There’s no one in the car.”
My chest constricted at the revelation.
He left his phone in the car!
I pulled up my satellite feed, knowing it was about to die on me, before quickly zooming the image out on the immediate area. I had to find the heat signature of the man who had exited the lot on the opposite block.
As my signal started to fade and crackle before my eyes, I located the heat plume. He was just ahead of our vehicle by about one hundred yards and was starting to jog. I reached into Apollo’s weapon bag and pulled out the night vision scope, turning it on as I raised it to my eye. It took a second to focus, but I caught a glimpse of Ukil just as he turned the corner on my side of the street and into a narrow alley.
“Spartan, Monkey Wrench, I just had a visual on Uki—shit, Skidmark,” I said, my words stumbling in my excitement. “Have just lost sight, just lost sight. Instructions.”
My chest tensed, waiting for what I hoped was coming…
Please say follow. Please say follow.
“Apollo, location?” Nick asked quickly.
“Two blocks,” he replied, breathing heavily. “No way I’m gonna make it.”
“We’re losing him,” I said, warning in my tone, grabbing a handful of tracer tags and stuffing them in my pocket. Nick was stalling.
Screw it. I’m going, I thought as I climbed over the backseat and out the door. I was already ten long strides into my pursuit when I heard John’s voice across my earpiece from Langley.
“Monkey Wrench, follow him,” John said firmly.
“Aye aye,” I replied as I neared the alley that Ukil had disappeared down.
Ukil was just turning right at the other end of the alley as I rounded the corner, encouraging me to pick up my pace. I pumped my arms and legs furiously, attempting to close the distance as quickly as possible.
“Monkey Wrench. Status,” came Nick’s voice across my earpiece.
“Running,” I replied breathlessly, hoping I wouldn’t have to waste more breath explaining I didn’t have an update yet.
No reply. That’s a start.
As I closed in on the edge of the alley, I had to slow to make my turn. I got a mental “tug” to my right, urging me to pull up short at the corner.
Breathe, my mental hitchhiker whispered into my ear, causing me to relax and stop, peeking around the corner before I continued.
I had closed a lot of distance on Ukil, but I was still about forty yards behind him. I turned the corner and walked at a brisk pace, crossing the street so I could watch him from the other side.
“He’s thirty-five meters ahead of me,” I whispered.
“Don’t follow too close, and don’t look like you’re following him,” I heard Nick say with tension into my ear.
“He’s got it, Spartan,” I heard John say reassuringly.
THANK you, John! Jeez.
I continued to slowly close in on Ukil as he reached the next block. He looked both ways before crossing the street and then crossed again to my side. I slowed my pace to a more casual-looking gait as he continued down the next street. I began to run again as soon as he was out of sight, turning left into an alley and bringing my pace up again.
When I reached the other end, Ukil hadn’t appeared at the next street yet, so I jogged toward the intersection. When I was within ten meters of the street, Ukil appeared and turned right, walking away from me. I quickly stepped up into a doorway just before he looked around again.
Whew! Close.
Peeking around the corner, I watched as he crossed the street again and then broke into a jog.
I began following at a faster pace, doing my best to stay clear of the streetlights that had long since begun their evening watch.
I was grateful I had declined the native shoes and had stuck with my soft-soled boots, as they were much quieter than hard-soled shoes would have been.
I mentally overlaid the map of the area on my current position.
He’s heading back toward the original location.
“Monkey Wrench, status,” I heard Nick say after a few minutes.
I reached into my pocket and separated one of the trace tags from its sheet, activating the beacon.
“Spartan, tag eight is me,” I whispered as I continued to jog on the opposite side of the street from Ukil. “No other update.”
“Roger,” Nick replied. “You’re heading back to site one?”
“Click, click,” I said sarcastically, my radio still on VOX.
As Ukil reached the next corner, I slowed to see if he would turn left again. When he did, I was about to cross over and catch up when my schizophrenia kicked in again.
Stay straight and ignore everything, my other voice said.
I abandoned my inclination to move across the street and instead kept walking straight at a leisurely pace, looking straight ahead. As I reached the corner, I noticed out of my peripheral vision that Ukil was standing there, watching me. I continued across the street, walking as if I hadn’t a care in the world.
Thanks, I thought to my hitchhiker.
I crossed the street a few seconds later and continued to walk away from Ukil. That must have satisfied his paranoia because he walked off down the street I had just crossed.
Whew, again.
As soon as I heard his footsteps recede, I took off at a run again, looking for the next street or alley to my left. I didn’t see one close, so I opted to hop over a low stone wall, run down someone’s side yard and through their backyard.
I came around a second row of houses and, seeing the next street down, I pulled up tight against the corner of the building, peeking around the edge.
Ukil was walking across the intersection less than half a block away from me—still headed toward the original target site.
I followed more discretely after my close call, waiting until he reached the end of the next block before running to catch up. We played the little game of tag several times until we were within two blocks of the original location… And then Ukil broke the expected pattern—instead of turning right, he turned left, away from the target.
Oh shit, I thought. Is he a decoy? Was I just led away from my support team on purpose?
I looked around and saw no indication that I was being followed, but I was getting into a bad neighborhood. The late-night troublemakers were already prowling the streets.
I waited for him to turn the corner before jogging quickly to the corner so I could see where he was, passing a narrow alley on the way. In my peripheral vision, I saw two men sitting on boxes in the ally, talking quietly and drinking from a shared bottle—one of them looked up as I jogged by.
I stopped at the corner and peered around the edge of the brick. Ukil standing next to a closed shop front, stopped to light a cigarette.
“He’s stopped,” I whispered.
“How f
ar are you?” Nick asked.
“Thirty meters.”
“Hold tight. Apollo is in route with the vehicle,” Nick said.
“Roger,” I whispered, suppressing the urge to complain about the preferential treatment—Aspen had been on his own longer than I had been.
I watched for a few moments before seeing movement to my right, a couple of streets away. It only took a second for the sound of motorcycles crossing the intersection to reach my ears.
“Apollo,” I heard Aspen whisper through my earpiece. “My guys are moving. Heading south past where we were parked before. I didn’t get a chance to tag them.”
“Roger,” Apollo responded. “Oscar Mike to your location.”
“Negative, Apollo,” Nick shot firmly. “Monkey Wrench needs backup.”
Damn it, Nick, stop babysitting.
There was a short pause in which I imagined Apollo swearing a lot and then, “Roger. Oscar Mike to Monkey Wrench.”
I was about to protest when the roll-up door behind Ukil started to rise. “Hang tight, Apollo,” I whispered. “There’s a vehicle pulling out of a garage at Skidmark’s location.”
“I’m coming up to the corner two blocks behind you,” he said.
I looked behind me and saw the headlights flash at me, two blocks away. He had found me with the tracking tag I activated in my pocket.
I looked back around the corner and watched as a large, military-styled truck pulled out from the garage and onto the street. My heart started beating fast as it suddenly occurred to me the warheads might be on that truck.
I wish I’d brought the Geiger counter.
Ukil climbed into the passenger side of the truck and it began to roll, turning toward me on the corner. The hairs went up on the back of my neck.
“Monkey Wrench,” I heard Apollo call through my earpiece, but I was suddenly distracted by someone behind me—probably what he was going to tell me.
I turned just as an arm reached around my throat and I felt a knife pressed to my ribs. He said something in Arabic I didn’t understand.
“Tango on Monkey Wrench,” I heard Apollo say in my ear. “He’s telling you to give him your money.”
A mugging?! My heart pounded as I tried to push myself away from the corner so as not to be spotted by the oncoming truck. The arm around my neck was grasping a bottle of liquor and I could smell the fumes from his breath. He was strong, but wobbly. This was certainly a simple crime of opportunity—but damned inconvenient timing.
