The captain nodded as if that settled everything, and returned abovedecks.
The swarthy man fidgeted, his nervousness level quadrupled after seeing the contents of the bag. “We done?”
Turning to him with a smile, Skull nodded. “Don’t worry. I don’t need to kill you, right? You’ll keep your mouth shut?”
He nodded so vigorously that his cigarette flew from his lips.
Skull walked over and stepped on the burning ember. “Good thing the captain didn’t see you do that. He’d have killed you.”
“Thank you, bye-bye,” the man said, rushing up the steps and off the vessel.
Back on deck, Skull saw the captain watching him from a rusty folding chair. Several members of the ship’s crew performed menial tasks. None paid him any attention.
“How long till we depart?” Skull asked the captain.
The old man looked up at the sky, and then twisted around to gaze out to the ocean before answering. “Noon. We’ll be able to put you ashore on Catanzaro around midnight. Once there, as long as you got enough money, any Italian you run into will take care of you. Even the police or Carabinieri. Especially the Carabinieri. Their pay has been cut twice this year. They are expected to work for love of the Virgin Mary and Bella Italia, so they take bribes. How else will they support their mistresses in style, much less their wives?”
Skull chuckled, and then looked at his watch. He had at least three hours. “I’ll be back before you sail. I’ve got some unfinished business. If you leave without me, I’ll kill you.”
The captain smiled indulgently.
Walking off the ever-sinking ship, Skull hurried away from the piers and hailed the first taxi he saw.
Once seated, he specified an intersection near the address of a man who worked at the U.S. Embassy in Tunis. The last Psycho he’d tortured and killed gave up every member of his CIA network before dying.
The image of his grandmother came to mind, as it so often did in these moments.
Taking care of one more hidden Psycho wasn’t part of his mission, but why miss an opportunity, especially as he didn’t have anything else to do?
Besides, he’d already seen all the old Carthaginian historical sites. They were as dead as his target would soon be.
Nothing lasts forever. Shit happens.
Don’t get caught when the walls fall.
Chapter 8
Spooky Nguyen didn’t much care for the reactions he was receiving from the men and women in front of him, mostly members of Reaper’s former covert action team, with a few promising new possibilities. His face remained a mask of calm, but inside he struggled to control his frustration.
These people have gone soft, sitting around for months, waiting for the call to battle. And, I must admit, I haven’t cultivated them. I’ve been too busy. And since Markis hasn’t given me the authority to order them, I must convince them, for the sake of my family.
“Sounds like another damn suicide mission if you ask me,” said Flyboy. “And again, you got me flying a pair of boots. This sucks.”
Bunny gave Spooky an openly appraising look, cocking her hips and deliberately folding her arms under her ample chest. “That never stopped us before.”
Hawkeye shook his head in amusement at the deadly temptress’ wiles. “The truth is, sir, this doesn’t sound like the sort of mission with a high likelihood of success. I respect what you’re trying to do, but it’s likely to get not only your family killed, but us as well.”
Spooky clenched his fists, and then slowly opened them. “I have planned this mission down to the finest detail. My people have run the numbers and the chance of success works out to sixty-seven percent, plus or minus three points.”
“Thank you, Doctor Spock!” said Shortfuse with an oversized smile.
“I think you mean Mister Spock,” Flyboy stage-whispered. “Doctor Spock was the –”
“Shut up, birdbrain. Sixty-seven percent, huh? Why didn’t you tell us that first? We’d have said yes in a heartbeat!”
Spooky ground his teeth at the sarcasm, feeling his iron control slipping. These people seemed to have no respect for him and his authority. If only they were part of his own organization, but his teams were small, two to four people, and trained for clandestine infiltration, assassination and intimidation rather than full-blown spec ops. They had no problem following his orders.
He suspected it was because they were all together. Like a wolf pack facing a tiger, they were confident because of their numbers. And he was an outsider. His personal reputation only went so far when, he knew, the Free Communities Armed Forces regulars had been subtly turned against him by the rumors of his methods.
If only he could have convinced Markis to assign Reaper to him again, but the Chairman had told him she could make up her own mind. And when he asked her yesterday, she’d said no, just at the time he really needed her.
Spooky was honest enough with himself to realize he’d miscalculated. He’d overdrawn the bank account of Reaper’s moral tolerance once too often. He resolved to make sure in the future she owed him, rather than vice-versa, and also to find more leverage on her. Maybe that Python fellow…a threat to send him in harm’s way, or a promise to help them both find some cozy love nest?
That was worth more thought. But it didn’t help him now.
With these people…he wanted to kill them all.
There must be some way to convince them.
“That’s still pretty shitty odds if you ask me,” Shortfuse continued. “You think I’d touch an explosive that had a thirty-three percent chance of blowing my head off? Covert ops is about precision and predictability. For all your so-called meticulous planning, we just don’t know what we’re getting into here.”
Spooky gave the squat demo expert a glare of pure poison. “You don’t have to tell me about covert operations. I was killing lowlanders in Vietnam before my balls dropped.” He walked over and pointed at the map of the United States again. His finger jabbed at a mountainous spot in eastern Tennessee. “There. Intelligence indicates they are there. Camp Pleasant, a small camp with higher-value prisoners, isolated from the major urban centers.”
“That’s rough country,” said Tarzan, the survival expert. “Those Appalachians aren’t the Andes, but in the winter they can be deceptively dangerous.”
“And we’ve all heard of Camp Pleasant,” said Stitch, the medic. “Suitably Orwellian name, if you ask me. They dissect Edens, I hear, looking for a better way to exterminate us. Not the sort of place any of us wants to end up.”
“We’ll have the element of surprise,” explained Spooky again with heavy patience.
“That’s it? Surprise? That will last all of fifteen seconds.”
“Seems like you’re asking us to go on faith,” said Livewire, the comms specialist. “You wanted to leave all our asses hanging out there in Ethiopia. Why should we trust you now?”
Spooky sighed. “You are an expert covert action team. You’re trained to get out of tough situations. Do you really want a higher element to come swooping in to save the day every time you bump your knee?”
“If we ask for it, yes,” said Shortfuse. “And isn’t that what you’re asking us to do? Swoop in and save the day because your people aren’t up to it?”
“My people have different specialties…such as wet work.” Spooky gave Shortfuse a menacing look.
“See, there you go again, coming off all Billy Badass, threatening people.”
“Yeah, dude, that’s way bad karma,” Tarzan chimed in. “You Asians ought to know about that.”
Spooky’s voice rose. “Asians? What does that mean? Because I share a continent with someone I’m somehow like them? I am Degar. My culture is nothing like the lowland Vietnamese, much less the Chinese invaders or Thais or Kampucheans or Laotians or even Kazakhs. They’re all ‘Asian’ too. And I’m not even a Buddhist! I don’t believe in karma!” Spooky stopped himself, realizing his control was slipping. It had been ages since his legenda
ry cool-headedness had begun to crack like this.
“What’s in it for us?” asked Bunny, stepping forward to show him an even better view of her figure.
Interesting. Was she throwing him a bone? Suggesting the carrot may work better than the stick? “First, the same thing that’s always in it for you,” said Spooky. “The opportunity to use your skills in a worthy cause. You’ve all been sitting around too long without a mission. You’re getting rusty. Maybe it’s making you a little bit scared of going back out into the big bad world.”
The giant Hulk moved forward aggressively. “None of us here are scared. Least of all by you.”
Spooky sized the large man up and mentally cataloged the various ways he could disable him. If it would further his cause, he’d be happy to take Hulk down. But it would probably put the nail in the coffin of this op. He forced evenness into his tone. “So what do you want?”
Hawkeye smiled. “Besides a mission we can expect to return from? How about some R&R? We’ve been stuck within twenty miles of this compound for six frickin’ months without a chance to cut loose. Bunny and Tarzan can only service so many.”
“You wish,” Bunny said with a grin.
“Hey!” said Tarzan. “I am not gay!”
“No, but I hear your husband is,” said Flyboy.
Spooky thought while the juveniles bantered. “Fine. A week in Buenaventura when we return. Ten thousand dollars apiece in bonus pay. And my eternal gratitude, which is worth more than either.”
“That sounds good, huh?” Hulk rumbled, looking at the others, who seemed guardedly pleased.
“It’s a start,” said Hawkeye.
Spooky spread his hands. “And the truth is, you need a mission.”
“Who says we ‘need’ a mission?” asked Tarzan. “I’m perfectly content to sit around all day chillin’, dude. When I get in the mood I can go hike in the jungles here or climb a mountain. I ain’t no supercharged adrenaline junkie like some here.”
“You’re a different sort of junkie, you fruitcake,” said Livewire.
“Hey, that’s a slur. Why does everybody think I’m gay?”
“Because you use guy-liner?”
“I do not! These chick magnets are all-natural.”
“And you shave every visible part of your body except for your head.”
“I shave more than that.”
“You’re proving my point. And why do you care anyway? Shortfuse is gay and he owns it.”
Tarzan stared at Shortfuse. “You are?”
Shortfuse shrugged and smiled.
“Can you children focus for even one minute?” Spooky snarled. “Do you agree to my terms?”
Hawkeye, their natural leader, turned to Spooky with a flat stare. “I’ll go on a mission when the time is right. This isn’t the time and this isn’t the mission. Not for me. Not with you. Though I might consider it if you stayed behind. At least I know you’ll support us this time. Your relatives will be depending on us. Or…if Reaper leads us. I’ll go then.”
The team looked at Hawkeye, and then at Spooky, and nodded their agreement with their comrade.
Silence hung thick in the air and Spooky closed his eyes for a long moment. When he spoke, he did so with precise diction, each word like a driven nail. “Reaper isn’t coming back to this kind of work. She’s moved on to working for the Chairman. I know she was your favorite mother figure, but it is time you all moved on as well.”
“That’s not all this is about,” broke in Shortfuse hotly. “It’s about you, not her.”
“Yet none of you have performed any significant missions since she became Chairman Markis’ security team chief. I also know that the FC government isn’t likely to let you all keep sitting around sucking up the free room, board, and copious amounts of booze without getting some work out of you.”
“We don’t drink that much,” said Flyboy.
“Well, you do,” answered Bunny. “Kind of frightening for a pilot, if you ask me.”
Stitch said, “Besides, we’ve been working as cadre, training the regulars. I know I’ve been busy.”
Hawkeye stepped forward, cutting them off. “I’m getting tired of your insults,” he said to Spooky in a low voice. “I thought you were a Green Beret. Hearts and minds, isn’t that your unofficial motto? You’re doing a shitty job of winning ours.”
The small Vietnamese sized up Hawkeye. “I’m not insulting you. If the shoe fits, wear it. I simply state facts. If you resist joining my mission, I’m sure you’ll be given another. You can’t avoid operations forever.”
“See, there you go again, implying we’re chickenshit.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No,” ground out Hawkeye. “And we’re not going to be goaded into accepting just because you call us cowards. We’ve got nothing to prove. So, we’re not volunteering. If you really want us, get an order from our chain of command. Otherwise, find someone else. Like those guys.” He gestured at the group of tough-looking strangers standing nearby, keeping to themselves. “Why not take them? They look ready to go.”
“They’re augmentees,” answered Spooky, lowering his voice. “This mission requires a cohesive, highly trained element. People who know their jobs and understand everyone else’s roles. It won’t work without you as the core.”
“You don’t have time to train a new team, do you?” asked Shortfuse.
“I thought that was obvious,” answered Spooky. “Forgive me for giving you all more credit than you were due.”
“More insults,” said Stitch. “Good tactic. Seems to be working. Not.”
“The answer is still no,” said Hawkeye. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. We all have family, but we’d like to live to see ours again.”
“Tarzan doesn’t,” said Bunny. “He was hatched from an egg and raised by spider monkeys.”
“Hairy spider monkeys with razor blades,” Shortfuse muttered.
“Bottom line,” continued Hawkeye, giving the two a warning look, “we need to get back to the work you don’t think we do. We’ve heard you out at length and now we’re done. If you come up with something new, call just me, okay? Don’t waste everyone else’s time with this drama. I’ll evaluate your proposal and pass it on.”
Spooky sighed as he readied himself to go. “Snipers. Why are all of you so difficult?”
“Because they’re elite specialists, and they don’t like close-range bulletfests,” said a female voice from behind them. “That’s what you’re proposing.”
Everyone turned to see Reaper approach with feline grace, dressed in tactical gear rather than her usual semi-civilian bodyguarding clothes.
The team let out a chorus of catcalls and greetings. Hawkeye and Shortfuse shook her hand. Bunny gave her a hug. The rest slapped her back or patted her shoulders, all except Stitch, new to her since Crash bought it on their last mission.
“All right already,” Reaper said, batting them away. “When did you people get so handsy?”
“Some of us always were,” said Bunny.
“Ooh, some lesbo action!” said Tarzan.
Reaper rolled her eyes and turned to look at Spooky.
One eyebrow arched, all the surprise he’d allow to show.
“If you’re here to help talk us out of it, Reap,” said Hawkeye, “there’s no need. I told him to go pound sand.”
“Actually,” said Reaper, eyes sweeping the team, “I’ve decided to lead the mission.”
The team stared, shocked.
“Spooky may not have earned our trust, but this time he’s motivated, and it’s personal. It’s his family on the line. And, I don’t know about the rest of you but I think I’m getting a little soft hanging out here with the REMFs.”
“The REMFs serve good food,” said Hulk.
“What about that shit he pulled in Africa?” asked Shortfuse.
Reaper shrugged. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Why should Spooky’s innocent family members suffer because he doesn’t inspire loyalty? Besi
des, his elite ass will be at risk with the rest of us.”
“I inspire loyalty,” said Spooky softly. “When I need to.”
“Epic fail today.” Reaper kept her eyes on Hawkeye and Shortfuse, knowing the rest would key off them. “So what do you say? Saddle up and ride again?”
“With you in charge? Not him?” asked Hawkeye.
“That’s the deal. Reaper’s Rangers, one more time. Though it is his family.”
“Then I’m in.”
“Me too,” said Shortfuse. The rest agreed in a rush.
Reaper walked over to stand before Spooky. “Well?”
“Yes?”
“I think what you want to say is, thank you, Reaper.”
“Thank you, Reaper,” said Spooky slowly. “But Jill, you’re not in the habit of doing free favors any more than I am. It makes me wonder why.”
“Who said it was free? You’re going to owe me, big time. And I’ll collect, you can be sure of it. Besides, I’m bored, I’m getting soft being a bodyguard, and I miss the life. And...I think with you along for the ride, our perspectives and goals will line up a little better.”
“Fair enough,” nodded Spooky. “I pay my debts. I will owe you, ‘big time,’ as you say.”
“So we can get rid of these posers?” asked Bunny pointing to the group of men and women watching from the back of the room.
“The plan is for a twelve-person team,” said Spooky. “If all of you are going, that makes ten with Reaper and me. We need two more.”
“These guys have skills?” Shortfuse asked.
Spooky ignored him and looked at the group. “Long Knife and O’Malley, step forward. The rest of you are dismissed. I thank you for coming out.”
A tall, dark woman and a pale man walked up to Spooky; she, lithe and fit; he, squat, muscular and bald.
“This is Vivian Long Knife,” said Spooky. “Expert hand-to-hand and a damn good shooter. Survival expertise as well.”
Tarzan gave her an appraising look. “Whoa, cool.”
“Put it back in your pants, blondie,” she snapped.
Nearest Night Page 6
