Never Bloodless

by Steve Richer

  “There’s no such person in US federal enforcement? In any agency? Then who is this guy?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you. Paul Gervasi isn’t a Special Agent of anything. He doesn’t exist.”

  Her face blanched. For the first time since she had begun working for Uncle Sam, Jasmine Needham wasn’t sure of anything anymore. It was the scariest moment she had ever encountered.

  Chapter 50

  The presidential palace was an architectural oddity. It had begun life in the 1930s when the British governor general had wanted an official residence better suited to his standing than his current accommodations.

  Over the course of a year was built a large Art Deco mansion. After the country’s independence, the new president felt he needed something more grandiose. He diverted international aid funds which had been meant for rural hospitals and launched a massive construction project.

  The problem was that these were architects from the groovy 60s and the postmodern style was like an acid burn against the solemn Art Deco facade.

  When the building was completed, what was left to represent Katoga was a stylish marble portico in front of a cinderblock body. More than a few architecture critics had commented that it looked like a spaceship attempting to gobble a nobleman’s country home.

  By now few people cared. It simply was part of the country’s charm. The peculiar style was thankfully offset by the fact that the palace rested on several acres of property. As awful as it looked, the palace still commanded authority.

  Most of all though, it was a security measure. Visitors weren’t even allowed to drive onto the property; they had to park in an adjacent lot and come on foot.

  Brigadier General Tombo was past these idiosyncrasies. He’d come here so often that he didn’t notice anymore. He was ramrod straight as he marched forward toward the perimeter gate.

  His heavy jowls jiggled with each step though no one would dare laugh. His eyes were dead serious. Getting closer, two guards with uniforms cleaner than the local norm opened the gate deferentially.

  “Good afternoon, General,” the closest one said as he saluted.

  His routine – he came by the palace every week – was to salute back and comment on the weather. Not today.

  Speedily, he drew his nickel-plated sidearm and pressed the muzzle against the guard’s head. The young man froze. The other guard raised his hands, not even thinking about reaching for the rifle that was slung over his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Tombo said.

  On cue, Preston rushed from behind the General with ten mercenaries in full battle gear. Two of them lingered by the gate shack to tie up the guards, after having stolen their uniforms. One of the soldiers of fortune would remain here. The others ran forward to the palace.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Carver had trained his men well. Right on time they got busy preparing for the total disruption of the country’s infrastructures. Two-man squads set up roadblocks by torching old cars at key intersections.

  It only required ten men to seize the airport since all they had to do was climb up the air control tower. With no urgent traffic, the radios were turned off and the controllers were ushered away.

  At the same time, other mercenaries attacked the radio station. The guards were quietly subdued and the on-air talent was left to speak in dead microphones when the power was shut off.

  On the other side of town, the only significant port on the river was stormed by ten men. A couple of police officers were always on duty here to control smuggling and act as customs agent. The two that were on post today were old and weary. They laid down their guns at the first sign of trouble.

  Two blocks away, the Defense Minister was coming out of a whorehouse. His mind was still on the voluptuous Rokia and he never saw the men sneak up on him as he got ready to enter his car. By the time he knew what was going on, his hands were being tied behind his back.

  The next VIP to be taken down was the Minister of the Interior. Walking out of his posh home, he was taken down by mercenaries, augmented by Katogan soldiers under orders from Brigadier General Tombo. The latter took care of the bodyguards while the mercenaries took the Minister into custody.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The offices of the Katoga Today newspaper were not bustling with activity. Though it was the only legal publication in the country, the range of events it had to cover was limited and reporters didn’t have to run around to get the presses stopped for a breaking story.

  More often than not, government officials told them what to write about. For this reason, most reporters were at their desks composing stories on their antiquated computers.

  Suddenly, the doors flew open and a squad of mercenaries poured in. Their weapons were cocked and aimed but no shots were fired. A sergeant shouted in Ubangi, requesting cooperation and at the same time scaring them into submission with his tone of voice.

  Behind the pack were Hewitt and Jammeh. Neither was armed and they walked in rather casually. They remained by the door until the mercenaries had the situation under control.

  When Hewitt judged the time was right, he stepped toward the most well-dressed man in the room. From his reconnaissance he knew he was the editor.

  “The newspaper is going to print a special edition right now,” he told him. “I need you to publish these documents.”

  He gave him some papers and a thumb drive.

  “What is going on? Who are you? What do you want?”

  “I trust you will read this article before printing it. Your country has been liberated.”

  The editor nodded, not sure if he had heard correctly. He glanced at the documents in his hands and headed for a computer.

  Hewitt turned to his colleague. “Jammeh, you’ve just become editor-in-chief of the largest newspaper in Katoga. Congratulations, lad.”

  They both shook hands, each privately disbelieving it was going so well.

  But was it really?

  Chapter 51

  The scene was repeated at the TV station. Carver was tagging along this group of mercenaries. They had practiced the maneuver dozens of times with mockups in the weeks leading up to today. Now they were ready.

  The men barged in. Half went to the control booth while the others assaulted the rest of the building. Guards were quickly rounded up and disarmed. Carver came in last as he was escorting Professor Arly Traore.

  The two of them reached the control booth just in time to witness his boys cutting off the live feed. Finally, the mercenaries took over the studio where a panel of women was discussing the intricacies of basket weaving.

  It was done, the national television signal was no longer distributed. Carver didn’t point his rifle at anyone.

  “Everybody stay calm, nobody has to be hurt. I need you to prepare for a live broadcast.”

  He turned toward Traore who was clutching his notes tightly. This was the moment of truth.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Preston was no longer nervous. He was in operational mode and he could think of nothing else but the task at hand. Along with the General and his mercenaries, he was in the palace now.

  As odd as it appeared from outside, the interior was downright sumptuous. It was filled with furniture that would be at home in a European castle.

  Every time they encountered people – mostly servants and clerks – a mercenary tied them up and put tape over their mouths. It was necessary for the time being.

  “Right after the next corridor,” the General whispered.

  Nodding, Preston intuitively checked his rifle and motioned for his men to follow him. They reached double-wide gold-plated doors and the group took tactical positions. A mercenary sergeant tried the knob; it was unlocked. After taking a deep breath, the American gave the signal.

  The doors burst open and they stormed in. The office was huge and in the middle were Colonel Chikaba and President Nyassi sitting in zebra skin armchairs. Nyassi was himself dressed in a leopard skin stole over an Adidas track suit. He was an
old man with vicious eyes.

  “What is this?”

  He looked at the two bodyguards that were standing in the office with them. But by the time he did so, the mercenaries were already well within the room.

  “Defend me!”

  It would have been suicidal for the bodyguards to draw their weapons and initiate a shootout. They were seasoned enough to realize this. Outnumbered and outgunned, they raised their hands in defeat.

  Preston approached the two men who were still seated. A part of him wanted to kill Chikaba right this instant for having set out to torture him.

  In the fog of war, it would have been easy to sweep it away. Hell, his men would undoubtedly have understood. He decided not to pull the trigger. He was here to do something good for once.

  “There’s a regime change and we don’t need you gentlemen anymore. Consider yourselves under house arrest for the time being.”

  Lowering his rifle, Preston went to a large plasma TV and turned it on. It was tuned to a European hardcore porn satellite channel and that’s when he noticed several stacks of erotic DVDs nearby.

  “Is that what you call foreign diplomatic relations?”

  He made abstraction of the well-endowed lady on the screen and switched channels. Right on cue, the screen was filled with an image of Arly Traore sitting behind the news desk.

  “Hello Katoga. Today is an illustrious day for our country. For too long our great nation has suffered at the hands of Nyassi, a man who spoke of freedom and justice but who was in fact no more than a common dictator.”

  Preston looked back at the despot. His eyes were riveted to the American, the man who had defeated him. He couldn’t care less about what was on television. Starting to get fazed by the staring contest, Preston looked away and turned toward the screen.

  “The time has come for Katoga to truly embrace liberty and equality to establish a strong democratic African republic. My name is Arly Traore and I propose to lead you towards our promising future.”

  The speech was over. It was all the people needed to hear at the moment. Preston turned off the TV and went back to his prisoners.

  “Any questions?”

  Nyassi now began to lose his cool. Gradually, his breathing accelerated to the point of hyperventilation. No one made a move to help him, least of all Colonel Chikaba who remained stone cold and staring at Preston.

  Chapter 52

  It was a humbling sensation to enter police headquarters without being afraid of anything. The last time Preston had been inside the building he’d been a prisoner about to get tortured.

  Now he was the proverbial top dog and, in principle, he shouldn’t have been afraid of anything. All the former ministers and VIPs were jailed, waiting to learn about their fate from the new president.

  He had too much experience to be complacent though. The revolution was still too fresh and while the police officers and soldiers had been assured there wouldn’t be any witch hunts, there was no telling what would really happen.

  Some of the older officers saluted him when he walked in. Word had spread that he was cozy with the new regime, that he’d had a hand in the bloodless coup. They were treating him like royalty.

  He didn’t salute back; he never did when not wearing a military uniform. He spoke to a captain, gave him his holstered pistol for safekeeping, and was led down to the dungeon.

  The place brought back sharp memories. Sure, it wasn’t that long ago that he had spent a day here but he’d seriously feared for his life. He could see just how the ghostly setting could drive a man insane.

  It was exactly why he had ordered Gervasi to be locked up here. A guard unbolted the door for him and he stepped into the dungeon. He was locked back in with him.

  The prisoner was sitting with his back against the sweaty wall. He was still dressed – minus shoelaces and belt – and wasn’t shivering. Preston had insisted on no torture methods, including no forced air-conditioning.

  Gervasi looked up at his guest with the energy of someone who hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, which was precisely the case.

  “Not getting too lonesome, are you?”

  Gervasi snorted. “Are you asking if I’ve become someone’s bitch already?”

  “Actually, I was offering reading material.”

  Preston had brought a copy of the local newspaper and let it fall to the ground in front of the imprisoned American. The headline read New President, Corruption Ends.

  “You son of a bitch...”

  “A friend of mine wrote the article but it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  As Gervasi glanced back at the paper to read the article, Preston crouched next to him.

  “I want to know why you were chasing me yesterday morning. I want to know why you were shooting at me.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Gervasi asked with a disgusted sneer.

  “I want to know why a federal agent would go the hell out of his jurisdiction to try to kill me.”

  Gervasi shook his head from side to side, fuming. His rage was as obvious as his refusal to answer.

  “If you know what this newspaper means,” Preston continued. “Then you know I can legally hold you in this cell for as long as I want and there isn’t a thing any foreign government can do about it. Why were you trying to kill me?”

  “There’s a special place in hell for people like you, McSweeney.”

  This conversation not going anywhere, Preston stood up.

  “Okay, I’ll be sure to visit your mom while I’m there. Hopefully, you’ll have answers for me tomorrow morning.”

  He went to the door and knocked. The guard’s face appeared in the barred window and he opened the door for him. He was disappointed by Gervasi’s attitude but he frankly hadn’t expected anything else.

  On top of that, things were still shaky in Katoga and the interrogation of an American law enforcement officer wasn’t his chief priority.

  He reached the top of the stairs and entered the lobby. He was gearing up for the blanket of heat outside the building when he stopped walking. Special Agent Jasmine Needham was at the reception desk arguing with a police officer.

  “Look, I’m an American government agent and in your prison is also an American government agent. I demand to see him immediately.”

  The Katogan cop was exasperated. Clearly, he had been giving her the runaround for a while and she was getting on his nerves. Preston walked up to her.

  “I’m sure they’ve already told you but you can’t see him.”

  She snapped her head toward her suspect, surprised to find him in these premises.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Have you seen the papers this morning? TV, radio?”

  “You mean about the coup?”

  “That’s right and I sort of work for the new government. And as such your buddy will have to spend a little more time inside. That’s standard procedure for people who try to kill me with a powerful German assault rifle.”

  Her eyes narrowed in puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, the fact that federal agents don’t usually try to murder people. It kind of bothered me.”

  He left her to ponder this and walked away. He went to the captain again who handed him back his pistol and holster. Once it was buckled around his waist again, he left the building. All the while, he thought about her.

  She was a determined woman, he had to give her that. And there was the fact that her doggedness made her, well, beautiful. She was like one of those little girls on Kid Jeopardy! who never knew when to give up.

  With a deep sigh, he told himself to forget about her. She was inconsequential, especially here in Africa where she had no authority. Plus he didn’t need the distraction of a woman. The last time he had allowed himself this luxury he’d gotten robbed in Panama. He had to stay focused. No women, no worry, no problem.

  “Hey!”

  His hand instinctively shot to his sidearm before he realized it
was her calling after him. He let go of the gun and continued to walk toward his Toyota, not even looking back. She reached him before he was halfway there.

  “I want you to release Gervasi right now. I don’t know what he’s done to you but we’ll deal with it back home.”

  The mercenary finally stopped and turned to face her. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. The roads are blocked, the airport is closed, and you can’t afford to take a boat out of here.”

  “The American Embassy—”

  “The closest American Embassy is in the Congo,” he interrupted. “I don’t think I would have organized a coup in this country if it had had an American embassy.”

  Jasmine’s furrowed her brow at this new information. She even reached for her notepad and pen.

  “You overthrew this government? Is that why you killed Rodriguez?”

  “Rodriguez?” Preston inquired in total bewilderment. “You mean you’re here, in Africa, because you think I killed Rodriguez? You think I killed my friend and then decided to overthrow a foreign government just to make a quick buck?”

  “Did you?”

  He looked away for a moment trying to decide how much he felt comfortable telling her. He then judged that nothing mattered any longer, not while they were out of the country.

  “Rodriguez was going to meet some guys in Mexico to sell stolen weapons. He came over to ask me to provide muscle on the deal and I said no. He met some dude on the way who was meaner than he was and he got dead. I had nothing to do with that. I was just a broke landscaper.”

  “The evidence points at you?” she said with insubordination.

  “Look, I spent my entire military career in special ops. Don’t you think I would know how to kill someone without leaving evidence? I didn’t kill Rodriguez. I never killed anyone outside my Army career, including this week.”

  He resumed walking toward his vehicle. There was a limit to how much barking one could do against a deaf tree.