Never Bloodless

by Steve Richer

  Hadn’t he wanted to make a difference in the world back then? Hadn’t he wanted to do something good?

  The last five years had been nothing but a long tumble into hell. Being drummed out of the military, his divorce, his father’s passing, being framed for murder and losing the only job he’d ever loved. Overthrowing a country for the wrong people.

  Christ, no wonder Embry had recommended him. He was a born loser. Now he had his chance to do something good. Making amends, Gervasi called it. Maybe that was the right term for it. He needed to go through with this. If he didn’t, he risked being as bad as Wyatt.

  On top of that, he couldn’t deny he had another motive for going back to Africa. Jasmine. For some inexplicable reason he liked being around her. It was stupid, really. From the first time they’d met all she’d wanted to do was put him behind bars. Yet, there was something about her that went beyond beauty.

  Her doggedness, her serious demeanor, he could see beyond it. Knowing that she wanted to do something about Katoga even though it was futile and wouldn’t help her career in any way – it could even hurt it – it made her a good person.

  As foolish as it was, Preston was attracted to her. Strongly attracted.

  He cleared his mind as he parked at Mondo’s Beach. The sky was overcast but the air was toasty. The place was packed with as many people lounging on the sand as there were in the ocean.

  He walked to the water’s edge, scanned the surfers, and spotted Hewitt. The man stood uneasily on his longboard for a few seconds before crashing into an incoming wave.

  “Oooh,” Preston whispered. “That had to hurt.”

  The older man climbed back up, caught a small wave, and managed to stand. His balance precarious, he stopped moving when he saw the young man on the beach. His focus lost, he fell into the water once again.

  This time he let the current carry him to shore. He stood up, grabbed his surfboard, and marched to Preston. He didn’t stop there and moved toward his belongings a few yards away.

  “Thinking about taking up the sport of kings, lad?”

  “I thought horseracing was the sport of kings.”

  The British man let go of his board and took a long swallow from a clear bottle.

  “That’s because they didn’t know about surfing. Water?”

  He offered his bottle to Preston.

  “Except it’s not water, is it?”

  “Actually, it is.”

  “You’re giving up drinking?”

  Hewitt rolled his eyes. “God no! It’s just that I’ve decided to start partaking a little later in the day, that’s all.”

  Dubious, Preston seized the bottle, sniffed it, and finally brought it to his lips to take a small gulp. I’ll be damned, he thought. It was actually water.

  “What would you say about another trip?”

  “Africa?”

  “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “Where else are you going to take me, Fiji? You don’t seem the Bora Bora type to me.”

  Preston couldn’t refute that. “Katoga needs a little help, I hear. Something about a vicious dictator and bad foreign relations.”

  “I suppose it’s convenient that I haven’t unpacked my bags yet, isn’t it?”

  “You were expecting me?” Preston asked.

  “I was expecting the situation to need rectifying.”

  “Can you give me a good price?”

  Hewitt looked away for an instant, thinking it over. “A case of Imperia vodka should cover my fee.”

  He winked at the young missionary and took his bottle back.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  If Los Angeles had been hot, Atlanta was a genuine oven. The humidity was strong enough to choke one to death. Yet, it was impossible to tell from inside Carver’s house. The silent air-conditioning made the atmosphere ideal.

  Preston could have reclined on the couch all day like this just to enjoy the cool air. His mercenary friend had other ideas. He had a Swiffer duster and was going to town cleaning some shelves.

  “You know, you have enough money to hire a maid now.”

  “I’ve had enough money to hire a maid for years, man. And I have one but she always does a shit job.”

  “Why do you keep her then?”

  “Because she looks like Beyoncé. She can do a shit job all day long.”

  Carver burst out laughing and Preston joined in. The older man glanced sideways and caught Hewitt in the next room. He was on the phone and spoke in hushed tones.

  “You’re really serious about this?”

  “I screwed up,” Preston replied soberly. “We can’t leave Katoga like this.”

  Pointing at Hewitt with his head, Carver asked, “How much are you paying him?”

  “A case of Imperia vodka.”

  “Then it’s gonna be a case of Highland Park Scotch for me.”

  “Deal.”

  “But the mercs won’t work for booze. They’ll need another twenty each.”

  Preston had figured as much. He ran a hand through his hair as he thought about it. He made a quick calculation in his head.

  “All right, I guess I can spare two million. Ouch, it hurts to say it.”

  “You’re about to become the most popular man in Africa.”

  As they shook hands, Hewitt joined them.

  “We have some bad news. The Greek says he feels he’s under police surveillance at the moment, there’s some political pressure. He won’t sell us weapons again.”

  “Goddamn it.”

  “My guys can’t take over a country with kitchen knives,” Carver said.

  “Did you talk to Gervasi?”

  Hewitt knew this was the next course of action. He had just scheduled the meeting.

  Chapter 60

  The diner in West Hollywood was mostly empty. Preston had been here once before and remembered the food was atrocious. They couldn’t even do toast right. That’s precisely why he had chosen the place for the meeting. There were few people which meant few chances of being overheard.

  He shared a corner booth with Hewitt, Jasmine, and Gervasi. Each of them had a cup of coffee but only the Brit was drinking his. The CIA man had just heard their plea for help and shook his head vehemently.

  “No, the company can’t provide you guys with weapons. The issue is very sensitive right now in Washington.”

  “You mean the CIA has been caught one too many times with the fingers in the cookie jar,” Jasmine accused.

  “Honestly? Yes. This mess was created by McSweeney and he’s the one who needs to get us out of it. When this thing goes down, I’ll be there to help out in the field but the agency as an organization can’t do anything.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Okay, maybe I can get you flight authorizations and some end-user certificates.”

  Preston leaned forward despite the table. “I can’t pull a hundred assault rifles out of my ass, Gervasi.”

  “You were Special Forces. You guys are trained to think creatively. Be creative. I’m sure you’ll think of something. There’s got to be a weapons smuggler you know somewhere, no?”

  The CIA officer looked between the three others. It was up to them to find a solution.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  After the two older men went their separate ways, Preston caught himself inviting Jasmine to his home for a drink. It was dark outside, it was a school night, she had every reason to decline the offer. But she didn’t. She followed him to North Hollywood.

  The temperature inside the trailer was thankfully bearable. He went to his refrigerator and fished out two beers. He opened them and handed her one as she sat on a straight-back chair, the only piece of furniture not encumbered with boxes.

  “I think I have a radio here somewhere,” he said while he rummaged through a box on the kitchen counter.

  “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

  “Believe me, this place is creepy without some type of background noise.”

  At last, he found an ancien
t clock-radio and plugged it in. He turned the dial until he found a program of sappy love songs.

  “I wasn’t talking about the music,” Jasmine declared as he sat on the couch across from her, between two boxes.

  “I know.”

  “There’s no law about sending you to a foreign country to commit a coup d’état. We can’t force you to do it.”

  “Tell that to Gervasi.”

  “Are you afraid of him? About what he might do to you? About what the CIA might do?”

  “No, I’m not,” he says softly. “It’s just that it’s what we mercenaries do. People think we’re killing for money, but that’s wrong. We’re dying for money. We get paid so that others don’t have to risk their lives. That’s it, it’s what I do. Once you understand that, you have your priorities straight.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not getting paid this time. And it won’t be a bloodless coup this time.”

  “It’s never bloodless,” Preston replied quietly.

  Without realizing what she was doing, she set her beer on the floor, leaned forward, and put her hand over his.

  “I can’t let you go there alone.”

  She moved ahead further more. Her head was inches from his, close enough to feel her body heat. They stared at each other for long seconds as if they were both afraid of what would happen next.

  Preston reacted first. He closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers. Despite his longing, he kissed her softly.

  His mouth danced over hers and he inhaled deeply. He hadn’t thought he’d wanted this so badly until now. He took hold of her hand and continued to kiss her tenderly.

  They finally came up for air and he was scared of what she might do. They gazed at each other for a moment and then she did something that shocked him.

  She got off her chair, stepped forward, and straddled his hips, putting her hands on his shoulders for balance.

  “You said you read my file, right?” Preston asked, putting his untouched beer on top of a nearby box.

  “I did.”

  “I don’t want to be remembered for that file. The Army, the private sector, my marriage, everything always ends up bad for me. I want to be remembered for something positive for a change.”

  “You will be.”

  This time it was her who kissed him. She hated herself for being so vulnerable but she hadn’t felt like this about someone for a long time. She thought about the circumstances of their meeting and broke the embrace.

  “And I’m sorry about your friend Rodriguez, about coming after you.”

  “You were just doing your job.”

  He kissed her once more, probing her mouth with his tongue. His hands roamed across her back and the sensation gave him goose bumps. This wasn’t some girl in Panama. Jasmine was a woman he actually really liked.

  A lightbulb went off in his head. He hastily pulled back from her.

  “Rodriguez, that’s it!”

  “What? You’re kissing me and thinking of Rodriguez?”

  A satisfied grin slowly appeared on his face. “I know where we can get weapons.”

  Chapter 61

  The bar was older than the Maryland town it was in. They had a bronze plaque near the entrance about how the establishment catered to Revolutionary War soldiers back when the structure was a flimsy tent with two whiskey barrels.

  Just by the smell of it, Preston could certainly believe it. There was an odor of rot and stale beer permeating the air.

  No one seemed to mind though. The place was packed, mostly by men wearing Army uniforms. Having asked around, he had discovered it was a popular off-post hangout for the personnel of Aberdeen Proving Ground.

  Modern conveniences had been introduced in the form of plasma TVs but history was proudly on display. There were cannonballs, artillery shells, and muskets mounted on the walls.

  Preston was on his second beer and he sipped it slowly while keeping an eye on the door. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go to a third beer; he needed to stay clear-eyed. Given his lack of uniform or high-and-tight haircut, no less than four people had suspiciously asked him who he was and what he was doing here.

  In response, he spewed some nonsense about visiting Churchville to reintermediate the M1’s multi-mode electronic sensing fuse interfaces. It never failed to get people to leave him alone.

  While he was taking a sip, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and looked down. It was a text message that read He’s coming in. He put the phone away and stared at the door.

  Five seconds later an Army officer walked in. He was in his late 20s and had the swagger of someone extremely self-confident. It was Captain Durham.

  He greeted some folks in passing as he made his way to the bar. After he’d ordered himself a beer and gone to a table along the far wall where he sat with two more officers, Preston called the bartender over.

  “What can I get you? Another brew?”

  “I’d like to buy a round of shots for everybody.”

  “You serious? Your wife just gave birth to a baby?”

  “Something like that. Give everybody a shot of Jack.”

  He pulled out two $100 bills to signify he was serious and the burly man started pouring the liquor. He soon ran out of shot glasses and switched to lowballs. A middle-aged waitress went around the room passing them out, explaining that a stranger was buying drinks, and soon all eyes were on Preston.

  The people closest to him offered thanks but before he became swarmed by grateful soldiers he put his plan into action. He stood up, raised his whiskey, and as all eyes turned to him a hush fell over the room. The only sound came from a dune buggy race on TV.

  “Please join me, everyone! A good friend of mine died recently. He would’ve wanted people to drink in his honor. Here’s to Pablo Rodriguez!”

  There was a chorus of “Hear, hear” and everybody drank. Everybody except one.

  Preston looked over to Durham who was staring back. Their gaze remained locked for long seconds and then the officer stood up. He gave some curt excuse to his friends and headed for the exit.

  As he did so, Preston pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

  “He’s coming back out and he doesn’t look happy.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Jasmine hung up, put her phone away, and started the ignition of her rented sedan. She waited until Durham got into his truck and backed out of his slot to shift into gear.

  “You can do this,” she whispered to herself.

  She caught Preston leaving the bar and going to his own rented Chevrolet. Hewitt was already behind the wheel and the two of them would drive over later.

  For now, she was on her own.

  She took a deep breath as she followed the Army officer out of the parking lot. She told herself she was trained for this, that it was her job. Well, sort of. The truth was, she was so much better as a federal agent while sitting behind a desk.

  She had been part of a few takedowns in the field but she’d had always had backup. That was the cornerstone of law enforcement; you outnumber your suspect, you block all exits, and you watch out for your colleagues. Now she was alone.

  There was no telling what Durham would do and that scared her.

  She followed him for a good five minutes. The road was not only deserted but it was completely dark. She unsnapped the catch of her holster and accelerated. When she was right behind him, she flashed her highbeams.

  The truck slowed down and moved to the right as if to allow her to pass him.

  “Here we go.”

  She went to his left and rode alongside him. When she was stable, she lowered her passenger window and switched on the dome light as to not appear threatening.

  “Mr. Durham?” she shouted. “You forgot your wallet.”

  He lowered his own window and glanced at her.

  “What?”

  “Your wallet! You left it at the bar!”

  For effect, she waved a cheap leather wallet she’d gotten previously at a d
ollar store.

  “I can’t hear you!”

  She was hoping he’d say that. She pointed at the side of the road and picked up speed. Once she was in front of him, she put on her blinker, slowed down again, and crawled to a stop on the shoulder. Relief washed over her as he parked behind her.

  But now came the tricky part.

  She pretended to have trouble with her seatbelt while he got out of his vehicle. What she was actually doing was drawing her weapon. When his feet were on the ground, she opened the door and stepped out, letting her gun hang down along her thigh.

  “Did you say something about a wallet?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  He patted his back pocket and shook his head. “You must be mistaking, I got my...”

  Jasmine didn’t let him finish his sentence. She raised her gun and aimed it at his chest.

  “Don’t move, Homeland Security!”

  “Is that right? No badge, no backup?”

  “Take two steps back and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  He complied, putting his hands up nonchalantly, but a smirk grew on his face as if he wasn’t taking this seriously.

  “Is this a carjacking?”

  “Shut up.”

  As she said this, headlights became larger behind her suspect. It was thankfully low-beams and it didn’t blind her. The vehicle was slowing down, which wasn’t lost on Durham.

  “Friends of yours?”

  The car came to a halt behind the truck and Preston rushed out. He grabbed the Army officer from behind and slammed him against the truck. Very professionally, he spread his legs, held his hands behind his back, and searched him for weapons. All he found was a folding knife which he pocketed.

  Preston let go of him and he turned around to see his aggressor. Recognition dawned on him.

  “It’s you, the patron saint of free drinks. I knew it was too good to be true, that bar is always filled with assholes.”

  “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

  Hewitt joined the others while Jasmine produced her identifications.

  “See, I told you I was Homeland Security.”

  “That says immigration. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but my family’s been in this country for 200 years.”