One Rough Man

by Brad Taylor

  The 416 was outfitted much like the man, with every conceivable gadget attached to the rail systems, including an EOTech holosight and an AN/PEQ-15 laser attached to the rail system behind the front sight post. The PEQ-15 housed both an infrared and visible laser aiming module, and was a controlled export item from the United States.

  This information alone told me a great deal about my adversary. On the downside, the fact that this guard in Guatemala had such exorbitant kit meant that his boss had serious money, serious contacts inside the arms world, and the intelligence to buy the best. So much for the phone threats being a bluff. On the plus side, the fact that the target looked like the Michelin man with all of that kit on told me that he wasn’t a professional.

  Anyone who used such kit for a living found quickly that less was more. Attempting to climb buildings or enter narrow rooms with ten tons of accessories flopping around usually ended in catastrophic failure. I had learned early to pare down my kit to the absolute essentials, leaving the rest of the Velcro for the wannabes who did more showing off than fighting. Like this loser.

  I watched him as he continued walking down the wall and turned the corner out of sight. About ten seconds later, another guard rounded the corner to the south of the compound, opposite where the first guard had disappeared. Obviously, they maintained a roving foot patrol outside the residence and probably had a mounted patrol along the fence line.

  I felt a split-second burst of fear as I realized I had been too hasty on my sensor analysis at the fence. Whoever was here had enough money to wire the entire jungle and could buy the expertise to monitor it. I then realized that if it had been wired, I would’ve already been caught. I decided not to test my theory and began moving as swiftly as I dared back down to the Jeep and Jennifer.

  JAKE PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT of the Casa Bonita Clara with a head of steam, hammering the brakes hard enough to cause a slight skid in the gravel. He had just finished talking to one of his team leaders and had discovered that the Casa Bonita hotel had been missed during the shift to the airport. Because of incompetent idiots who couldn’t follow simple instructions. The team had reported their location at the hotel, and the team leader had assumed they had gone inside and established contact. They hadn’t, and now he had a gap in the plan that might prove fatal. He felt like he was leading a bunch of children, forcing him to check and recheck everything to get the smallest task accomplished.

  Walking to the front desk, he tapped his hand on the counter, waiting on the woman behind it to finish with a balding German complaining about his bill. Once he was gone, Jake addressed the woman.

  “Hi. I’m looking for some friends of mine. They were supposed to arrive today, but I haven’t heard from them. I was wondering if you could look and see if they’ve checked in?”

  The woman smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to reveal any information on our guests. If you’d like, you can leave me a message for them with your contact information, along with their name. I’ll ensure that they get it.”

  Jake smiled back, attempting to be as friendly as the woman, but failing because his smile did nothing but bare his teeth, giving him all the warmth of a great white shark.

  “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. The bloke who wants to find them is El Machete. I would hate to be the person who refused his request.”

  The woman’s smile faded, replaced with a look of fear. She glanced around to see if her manager was in sight, then said, “What are their names?”

  “Jennifer Cahill and a man.”

  The woman tapped on the keyboard and said, “They’re here. Second floor, second room on the right. Room eight.” Visibly shaking, she said, “Please leave now.”

  Jake grinned, thanked her, then went back to his SUV. He dialed Miguel’s number.

  Miguel answered after the fourth ring. “What’ve you found? Please tell me you have some good news.”

  “I have their location. I’m pulling in the teams and heading back to the compound. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Miguel wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “Well, don’t make me beg. Where are they?”

  “They’re staying in a hotel inside Zona Ten called the Casa Bonito Clara. It poses some additional challenges due to its small size, but nothing insurmountable.”

  Miguel smiled for the first time in over twenty-four hours. “Good. Very, very good. I’m looking forward to meeting this Mr. Pike. Come on back. We’ll figure out how we’re going to skin this cat. Shouldn’t take long. Once we have the package, I want you on the road tomorrow looking for the temple.”

  “Okay . . . Got it. We’re coming home now. See you in a few minutes.”

  SITTING INSIDE THE LOANED CHEVY SUBURBAN, Bakr and Sayyidd heard the entire exchange. Bakr started the giant SUV and drove down the winding road toward the highway while Sayyidd booted up the M4 satellite phone to search for the hotel.

  Sayyidd said, “You’re going to have to stop and give me five minutes before I can get the connection. This thing doesn’t work very well on the move.”

  Entering the close-packed concrete landscape of Guatemala City proper, Bakr began to look for a place to pull over. Finding one, he waited while Sayyidd achieved a satellite signal. Seconds later, Sayyidd found the hotel’s Web site.

  “I have it. We’re only minutes away. What do you want to do?”

  35

  Jennifer and I crossed the lobby of the hotel and headed to the stairs. I had made it back to her and the Jeep without incident, although she was spitting mad. I had found her hiding in the bushes, apparently unsure if the racket I made while approaching wasn’t a bad guy or a jaguar. I had pulled a bush aside and found her staring up at me in fear, which had immediately turned into anger.

  “You think you could give me some warning that it was you coming? What the fuck are we doing out here? Jesus Christ! I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

  “Hey, calm down. It was worth it. Nothing bad happened.”

  She had continued on, and I had let her. I took the tongue-lashing, because she was right. That was a pretty shitty thing to do. I should have simply left her in the hotel room, like I was going to do now.

  “I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I need to head out. You can do whatever you like, but I’d ask that you don’t leave the hotel until I get back. We’re getting close to wrapping this up, and I don’t want to have any hiccups.”

  “Where’re you going tonight? Do you have an idea?”

  “Not really, but there are always tourist markets around the big hotels. I’ll wander around a little bit until I find one that meets our needs. I want one that’s open enough to require a large amount of manpower to cover it and give us multiple options for escape, yet small enough for us to see the exchange people before they spot us.”

  “I’d like to come with you.”

  I paused, acting like I was considering it, then said, “It’d be better if you just waited here. I’m not going to be gone that long.”

  “Are you trying to hide something? I’m getting a little sick of being stuck in the corner like a five-year-old. I might even be able to help you. Wouldn’t it be better for both of us to know what the site looks like in advance?”

  “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m going alone. Just stay here.”

  I walked to the door, now just wanting to get out of the room before she convinced me to let her come. I had my hand on the doorknob when she came back at me.

  “Wait, I thought you said you had forty-five minutes before you had to leave. It’s only been about two, or was that a bunch of crap just to keep me thinking you had some sort of incredible plan?”

  Man alive, she tries hard to piss me off. “Look, I’m trying to save your uncle’s life. I’m not going to fight you on this. Just sit down. Please. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Well, you won’t need the MP3 player for this, will you? Leave it here with me.”

  “What, now you think I’m trying to fuck you o
ver or something? Jesus, you asked me to come here. To help you. If I wanted to cut my own deal, I’d do it without sneaking around. How about a little trust?”

  She threw her handbag onto the bed, “Okay, fine. I do trust you. So you won’t mind leaving the MP3, will you? Unless you plan on doing something with it while I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs.”

  She was right, there was no reason to keep the MP3, but there was no way I was going to admit that now. I left without another word. For whatever reason, my rage had yet to show itself, and I wanted to get out before that changed and I lost control.

  Exiting the hotel, I wondered what brain disease had caused me to fly down here in the first place. All I had to look forward to was a murder rap when I got back home, no matter how this turned out. What the hell am I doing? Who gives a shit about someone’s uncle? I considered simply getting on a plane and going back to the U.S. I’d have to get Jennifer to buy the ticket, but I figured she’d do it. She clearly didn’t like me being in charge.

  I flagged down one of the unregulated taxis that regularly cruised the city. I asked where I could take my girlfriend to see some sights downtown. The driver said he knew just the place, called the Plaza Mayor, and set out toward the historic district.

  He let me out at an open air market and pointed toward a towering, ornate cathedral a few blocks away. After walking west, I came upon a large open parade field with a fountain in the center. It did look like a great tourist stop, but it sucked for an exchange. There weren’t any crowds to hide within, and it had a clear field of view from all directions. I stopped a woman and asked about the parade ground. The woman didn’t speak English, and shrugged apologetically.

  Another person standing nearby taking pictures must have overheard me because he said, “You from the United States?”

  I told him I was.

  “Me too. This is the central plaza or Plaza Mayor in Guat talk. It really gets hopping on the weekends. I was here last Sunday and there must have been a thousand people around here, all out to have a good time. It’s the best time to be here. If today wasn’t Sunday, you’d see nothing at all.” The man was younger than me, with a four-day growth of beard, a stuffed backpack at his feet.

  I moved on with a wave, acknowledging his help, silently giving thanks for Birkenstock-wearing, dope-smoking granola-eaters. Quite possibly America’s number one export. Crossing to the other side of the parade ground, past the large fountain in the center, I came upon a small Plexiglas monument containing a single flame burning from a hidden gas source. The inscription read, “A los héroes anónimos de la paz”—the anonymous heroes of peace—a monument to the peace accords of 1996 that ended the civil war here. If the place got as crowded as the backpacking college student said, I had found my exchange location.

  I began to walk away from the monument, back toward the taxi stands. Moving through the packed streets full of vendors, I got sick of being accosted by every single one and turned into an alley as a shortcut.

  I walked for thirty seconds before realizing it was a dead end. Turning back, I faced two local nationals moving in my direction. I pushed through them with a halfhearted excuse-me, getting a quick feeling that something wasn’t right by the way they stared at me. As soon as my back was to them, I was thumped hard on the head and hit in the kidney. Rolling with the blow I turned to face the pair, only to be tackled. They were uncoordinated, simply hitting and kicking me all over like in a schoolyard fight. I lashed out with a backfist and connected with one of them. He rolled off and shouted at his friend. I turned my attention to the other man on top of me, preparing to wrap my legs around the man’s waist in a guard mount that would prevent him from pinning me down and allow me to finish the fight. Before I could do it, his friend jerked him off of me, and both ran back down the alley.

  I stayed still for a few seconds to catch my breath, then laughed at how easy it had been for a couple of local pickpockets to take me down. As I sat up, it dawned on me that the first man had shouted to his friend in Arabic. I couldn’t speak the language but had listened to it almost more than English in the past few years, and had no doubt that’s what I heard. What the hell? Why would a couple of rag-head toughs be running around Guatemala?

  I had seen stranger things and let it go. I checked my watch and wallet and saw that I still had both, so they had failed in their attempts. I picked up my backpack and looked through it. All appeared to be there. I honed in on the small outside pocket, torn open by the assault. A shock went through me. The MP3 player was gone. I ripped through the rest of the knapsack looking for the device. It wasn’t there. I searched the ground around me, seeing nothing. I ran back the way I had come, scanning left and right, but still came up empty. I stopped searching. What the hell am I going to tell Jennifer? How are we going to make an exchange? How on God’s green earth have I managed to lose the device?

  I flagged down a taxi, gave him directions, and sat back for the ride. Before I knew it, I was back at the hotel. I exited the cab and dragged myself up to our room, not wanting to tell Jennifer what had happened, knowing she would hate me for the incompetence that would cost her uncle his life.

  I unlocked the door. She wasn’t in sight, so I checked the bathroom. It was also empty. I was surprised, and felt the anger rise. I remembered I had said not to leave, but I could see her going out just to spite me. I was working myself into a fine, justifiable rage, building up an argument to counter the sting of losing the MP3 player, when I noticed a piece of paper on the bed. I picked it up and got the second shock of the day.

  You said you would call when you arrived. If you would like to see the girl in one piece, please call immediately.

  36

  I stared at the note for a heartbeat and then sat heavily on the bed, holding my head in my hands. I had failed all the way around. I had misjudged the opposition and misjudged my own capabilities. I’m a fucking fraud. I should’ve never come down here. Nothing good was going to come out of continuing now. I ran through my options and settled on the best course of action: Get the fuck out of here, right now. Get back to the United States. I could fly back and relocate to another part of the country, starting over again. I wasn’t without skills, although they had proven worthless here. I could hire on with a security firm. I had the credentials. They were hiring twenty-five-year-olds with only basic training on their résumé. I could go overseas and make some money, let this entire fiasco blow over, and build a nest egg at the same time.

  I stood up and began packing my things. I wouldn’t even check out. Let Jennifer’s credit card handle the bill. She wouldn’t need it anymore anyway. After packing my rucksack, I looked around the room to see if I could use anything of Jennifer’s before I left. I dug through her purse, searching for cash. I pulled out her passport, seeing her face inside. I paused. From out of nowhere I thought about my family. Heather and Angie.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing them hard with my hands. This isn’t the same. I didn’t ask to be here. I failed Heather by omission. There’s nothing I can do here. Staying was stupid. Trying to do anything about Jennifer was dumber still. All it would do was cause more death, most notably my own. What the hell can I do? I have no money, no equipment, no men, no support, no nothing. The man on the phone has everything.

  I opened my eyes and found myself looking into the mirror across the wall, a hollow, empty soul staring back. What the fuck have I become?

  I was sickened by my own reflection, ashamed of my previous thoughts. Heather would have left the man in the mirror. I sat still, thinking of my family, then thinking of Jennifer. I had no doubt that she would have tried to help if the roles had been reversed, no matter the risk to herself. The thought caused a wave of disgust at what I had planned. I can’t go back like this. I have to do something. If I die, I die. Better than dying in an IED attack guarding a shipment of Baskin-Robbins ice cream in a war zone somewhere.

  I felt better right away. Even though the odds almost guaranteed my failure, I f
elt at ease.

  I LEFT THE LUGGAGE, taking only the small backpack. I left the room as I had found it, with the note lying on the bed. I was surprised that I hadn’t been attacked yet, since Machete clearly knew where we were staying. I took it as a good sign. I ran to our Jeep.

  I merged onto 2 Calle and headed in the direction of the man’s house, wondering just what the hell I was going to do. Thinking through my courses of action, I decided to simply continue with the plan. While the end state had changed, not much in the plan had been altered.

  My original idea had been to find a place that would facilitate multiple exits, forcing Machete to spread out in an attempt to cover all bases. Since I was now about to attempt an assault on his house, I needed to get as many men out as possible to even up the odds. Plaza Mayor worked either way. The only difference was that I had to keep Jennifer in the house while the hired guns came to find me. I hoped I would accomplish that through a phone call. I’m hoping for a lot to happen. Not a great way to plan.