Never Bloodless

by Steve Richer

  “What is it?” Embry listened and then rolled his eyes. “Now? He wants me to arrange security at the presidential retreat now? That’s an hour away.” A beat. “Okay, I’ll get on it.”

  He hung up and turned to his visitor.

  “Hello, Mr. Embry. My name is Colonel Chikaba. Well, I should say it was my name.”

  “I remember you. You were with the secret police.”

  Without any immediate threats, he nodded to the soldiers who left the two men alone.

  “Yes, sir,” Chikaba said. “And I was rather proficient in my duties.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “I was hoping you could find a place within your organization for me. I have a rather unique set of skills.”

  Embry glanced at his watch. “Maybe we could discuss this at a later time. I have to get going right now.”

  He made a move to get into his car but right then the African stepped forward and positioned himself between him and the Mercedes, effectively cutting him off.

  “I brought my record of service as well as my CV for you to read. It will only take a few minutes.”

  He conjured the documents from a back pocket and presented them to the American contractor. The message was clear, he had no intention of leaving until his dossier had been analyzed.

  Embry could have sidestepped him but two things made him stay put. First, Chikaba was huge, not the sort of person whom anyone wanted to confront. And second, he did remember him as a torture specialist. It might be handy to have such a person on the payroll.

  He looked at his watch one last time and decided to give him a few minutes.

  Chapter 65

  The sun began to set over the virgin mountains of southern Katoga. Preston was dressed in camouflage, as was everyone in his party: four mercenaries and Hewitt.

  They had marched through the thick vegetation for almost an hour after having parked their vehicles just off a hidden trail.

  They stopped at the tree line and kneeled. They had to rest before proceeding. The march had been tiring but more than that it had been stressful. There had been the possibility of running into army patrols and booby traps.

  In the end, all they had encountered was a ten-foot chain-link fence which had been easy enough to cut through.

  Preston looked at the scene before him. The presidential retreat was a formidable villa which was halfway between a modern glass-and-steel house and an African hunting lodge.

  It was only one story high but it sprawled elegantly. It sat atop a hill in the middle of manicured lawns. It was less ostentatious than the presidential palace and as a result much more luxurious.

  “Ready?” Preston asked.

  His men nodded.

  “Good luck, lad.”

  At once, Preston and his mercenaries emerged from the trees. They rushed toward the mansion with their M-4 carbines at high-ready.

  Hewitt remained behind some bushes. For the moment, his job was to guard two duffel bags.

  It was a gamble to run 100 yards across open space but a frontal assault was mandatory from Preston’s point of view. That was how the greatest battles in history had been won.

  Instead of going to the front of the house, they went to the rear. The service entrance was unlocked and they stopped moving once they were in.

  The area was utilitarian but otherwise empty. He motioned for two of his men to follow him as he turned into a narrow corridor which had a vague bakery fragrance. The two others took off in another direction.

  His nose hadn’t played tricks on him; they were going to the kitchen. They burst in and found two cooks and two servers. All four were men and were frozen in fear.

  “Get on the floor! Get down on the ground now!”

  Preston’s voice was clear, slow, but also utterly firm. The kitchen employees were scared out of their wits and hastily complied.

  “Good, now you will take off your clothes and everything will be all right.”

  As scared as they were, they couldn’t help shooting a dubious look at their captor’s instructions.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Less than five minutes later, everyone was out of the house. The kitchen staff was down to their underwear and the mercenaries were putting on the white clothes. Preston came closer to the prisoners. He didn’t point his weapon at them but he was no less threatening.

  “You will now walk into the jungle and go down to the valley. You will not make yourself known to anyone until midnight. Is that understood?”

  The cooks and waiters quickly nodded, most likely more out of nervousness than true understanding.

  “If I see you around here in the next five minutes, I will kill you. If you alert anyone before midnight, I will kill you. Do you understand me?”

  This time their nodding left no doubt as to their comprehension.

  “Good. Now go.”

  They took off the same way Preston had arrived and in next to no time disappeared into the jungle. Once they were gone, Hewitt came out from behind the bushes. The duffel bags he carried were heavy but he was surprisingly spry.

  “Any resistance?” Hewitt asked as he reached his partners.

  “Just these four. The retreat isn’t used often, it’s barely staffed when the president isn’t here.”

  “Right. Let’s get on with it then, we don’t have much time.”

  The six of them returned to the house, Preston carrying in one of the bags. Once they were inside, they split the contents evenly amongst each other. Plastic explosive. Even though they had previously rehearsed the maneuver, it was nerve-racking.

  They didn’t have much time. They went about placing C-4 charges everywhere around the house: under couches, behind the refrigerator, inside potted plants, behind desks.

  If they had their way, nothing would be left of the beautiful house. However, if was a dangerous word.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The sky was completely dark now. A Mercedes and a jeep sped up the winding road, engaged the paved driveway, and stopped right in front of the mansion. Without wasting a second, the passengers unloaded from the vehicles.

  Embry was in the German car and he looked on as five soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders entered the house. He gave a cursory look around, his hand on his sidearm, and followed them inside.

  He let them invest the house, looking for intruders or anything unusual. One after the other, they shouted “Clear!”

  The American produced a small device fitted with a rubber antenna. He switched it on and a low-frequency hum was emitted. Without further ado, he swept the walls with it. He was looking for unauthorized radio signals such as bugs.

  Or bombs.

  Chapter 66

  Preston and Hewitt reached the tree line just in time. The younger man let go of his submachine gun and let it fall at the end of its sling. He pulled out binoculars and looked at the house.

  For his part, the Englishman glanced at the wireless detonator to make sure it was off. The explosives were hidden well enough so that they could only be found through a signal detector. So far so good.

  “See anything?”

  “I think they’re getting to the kitchen.”

  This meant the plan hinged on their mercenaries not losing their nerve.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Embry followed the soldiers into the kitchen. The four mercenaries stood side-by-side, not quite at attention because they were pretending to be staff members.

  The American looked them over. He was disgusted by what he saw. He approached a lieutenant and spoke in hushed tones.

  “This is the type of security you’ve been dealing with in this country? Starting tomorrow, I want photo records of all military personnel. I want photo IDs for every government employee. You people will have to take this seriously.”

  He tried to forget about the lackluster security and switched on his detector once again. He started sweeping the cabinets hoping the stainless steel appliances wouldn’t create interference.

  ~ ~ ~ ~


  Deep down, Carver was aware that his colleagues had the more delicate – more crucial – part of the operation. It was as if they were operating with a scalpel during a bumpy flight.

  Carver and his men were using a sledgehammer. There was nothing subtle about it. On the one hand, it was refreshing. This was what he was trained to do as a Marine.

  On the other hand, his life, and the life of his men, wasn’t guaranteed. In fact, there was a very good chance few of them would come out of this alive. Then again, that’s what he loved so much about this job. It was the ultimate form of gambling.

  The military base was officially called the Katoga Military Hub and it was located on the outskirts of the city. There were a number of scattered buildings and vehicles within the fenced-in enclaves although it was a far cry from Fort Benning. There were a few outposts around the country but this was the main military command center of Katoga.

  Carver led a group of 50 mercenaries to a hedge of bushes about 300 feet from the base perimeter. They scampered silently.

  “All right, we’re almost ready to rumble,” he told his second-in-command. “If we all stick to the plan, this should be as easy as a two-dollar nympho whore.”

  He set his radio in front of him and lifted his binoculars to observe the scene. After dark, all activity on the base grounded to a halt. So far, their only real opposition was the yawning guard at the main entrance.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  In the presidential retreat’s sumptuous living room, Embry finished sweeping the furniture. He turned off his device, pocketed it, and produced his phone.

  “It’s Embry. The place is clean, there are no bugs anywhere. You can bring him in.”

  They had been lucky not to find any threats, he thought. He intended to reform their whole security procedures. He hoped Wyatt would allocate some serious money to implement a new system. They needed metal detectors, handprint readers, retina scanners, not to mention magnetic key cards.

  He knew people in the industry and hopefully he’d get some major kickbacks.

  Moments later, a Rolls-Royce and two Land Rover SUVs wound up the driveway and came to a halt in front of the mansion. They had been waiting down on the main road for the security check to be performed.

  Five bodyguards exited the vehicles, looked around, and signaled for President Arly Traore and Jasmine to come out of the Rolls. The coast was clear. They all entered the house.

  Jasmine followed the head of state into a library in the back of the house. It was decorated in a flashy manner which contrasted with the rest of the more sober decor. There were purple drapes and velour couches. She imagined that if Elvis had had a library it would’ve looked like this.

  “We are now in private,” he told her as the bodyguards left them alone. “Please tell me what is on your mind.”

  Jasmine looked around instinctively and was about to speak. She closed her mouth, hesitated again, and finally spoke. She had rehearsed this dithering for half an hour the night before. The appearance of sincerity was everything.

  “My government has learned about your plans.”

  “What plans?”

  “The plans that involve you selling defense systems to hostile regimes such as the Iranian government.”

  “Your intelligence service is indeed the best in the world. It can learn about things I know before I even know them. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “No? You weren’t put in power by Ward Wyatt? Didn’t he put you there so you could broker his technology to Iran, maybe North Korea?”

  Traore’s eyes hardened. “I don’t appreciate these accusations, miss.”

  “I’m just the messenger. My government wanted to make sure you knew that we knew so there would be no misunderstanding.”

  Just then, Embry walked into the library. He stopped short when he recognized Jasmine.

  “You!” he said in accusation. “You were with McSweeney. What’s going on here?”

  “Nothing. I’ve delivered my message and now I’ll be going.”

  She smiled politely. Her part was over and now it was time to make her exit. She started for the door but she didn’t make it.

  Embry drew his pistol and aimed it at her head.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Behind the house, Preston was sweating. He had one hand on his carbine and the other on the binoculars. Both were slipping out of his hands because of the perspiration. Suddenly, there was movement.

  “They’re coming,” Hewitt announced.

  The younger men trained the glasses on the service door. The four mercenaries dressed as kitchen employees sprinted toward them. Preston speedily raised his weapon to cover them. But they were alone, there was no one else.

  “What’s taking Jasmine so long?”

  The soldiers of fortune took cover behind trees and took possession of their own M-4s.

  “Where’s Jasmine, did you see her?”

  They all shook their heads. He didn’t blame them. They had completed their task, passing off as cooks and servers after the real ones had been sent away.

  Nevertheless, Preston was starting to get a bad taste in his mouth. He cursed himself. He never should’ve allowed himself to feel something for another human being.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Jasmine tried to make abstraction of everything around her. She tried to pretend she wasn’t afraid. She told herself this was the only way she would ever survive. She looked around, maybe she could use a lamp or a candlestick as a weapon.

  But no, there was nothing she could do.

  She was escorted out of the library and into the living room. If she tried to run away, she would be gunned down. She had pretty powerful feminist views but she was realistic enough to know that she would never win in hand-to-hand combat against Burt Embry. The man was bigger, stronger, and he benefited from a lifetime of military training.

  “Sit on the couch,” he ordered.

  He pulled out his phone as she sat down. He dialed and waited until he got transferred to one of his trusted underlings.

  “Wake General Tombo, something is going on here. I want the Army mobilized right now.”

  The federal agent watched him hang up with fury in his eyes. She was nervous, worried and discovered that her preferred method of relaxation, removing lint from her pants, had no effect whatsoever.

  Chapter 67

  Although Carver was prepared for it, he couldn’t have imagined the electric current that shot through him and his men. It was more than trepidation or run-of-the-mill nervousness. It was genuine fright.

  A deafening alarm blared through the military compound. Floodlights came on everywhere, illuminating both the inside and the outside of the perimeter.

  Within seconds, half-dressed soldiers poured out of the barracks and started running around haphazardly. Some were armed, others were not. While they might have practiced this emergency situation, they were far from having mastered it.

  “Get ready, men.”

  In spite of the fear, Carver forced himself to watch the chaotic scene. The one piece of knowledge that made him breathe easier was that these soldiers wouldn’t have air support tonight.

  Earlier in the day, he had personally acted on information gathered from Pontus Herngren, the Swedish subcontractor Hewitt had met weeks before.

  He had met Major Balufu Kabongo and had asked to speak to him about an interview. This was the way a foreigner could rent the military’s helicopters for 250 euros for each flight hour. He had rented the five Gazelles, effective an hour ago.

  Two of his sergeants and three others of his most trusted mercenaries had made them fly to the northernmost part of the country, as far away from the capital as possible. If everything was going according to plan, Carver reflected, they were currently having a drink with the pilots at a bar that usually catered to foreign workers.

  That was still only one element taken out of the equation. It would have been great to remove the entire Army out of the equation.

  The matter
had been discussed with Preston and Hewitt. After all, they were the ones who had put Brigadier General Tombo in charge of the country’s military, they could have appealed to him to help them out one more time.

  But they couldn’t take the chance, not this time. All it took was a seed of doubt, a sudden feeling that he would be deposed as well with the new regime to blow the entire operation.

  So they had decided not to involve him. Instead, they would try to contain the armed forces just long enough for the new dictator to be taken out.

  Carver’s work was cut out for him. He was ready to use deadly force against anyone trying to impede the revolution but he didn’t want to. The military was a tool of the ruling party.

  As soon as someone else was in charge, the Army would be given new marching orders and would become harmless once again. In the meantime, Carver didn’t want to make enemies.

  The base was still a mess. Leadership was severely deficient, soldiers didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t even muster correctly, Carver observed with disgust. That meant it was time to put the plan in motion. He brought his radio to his lips.

  “Red Leader, initiate Plan Alpha. I repeat, initiate Plan Alpha.”

  Ten seconds later, two large 2.5-ton trucks turned the corner and barreled toward the base. They were painted a neutral green of a vaguely military hue. They headed directly for the main entrance and came to a halt side-by-side right in front of the gate.

  The guard on duty was gripped with panic and started to shout at the drivers. He wasn’t sure if they were intruders or part of the Katogan defense forces. The ear-piercing siren was still shrieking and turning him insane.

  “Come on, come on,” Carver muttered under his breath.

  A man came out of each truck. They were some of the less seasoned mercenaries but they were young and experienced runners. Without further ado, they ran away from the trucks and toward where they’d come from.

  The guard knew something was wrong.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  The suspects didn’t comply. The guard turned around and screamed again for his colleagues to come help him but no one heard him over the alarm. He grabbed his rifle, lifted it to a shoulder, and began firing at the men running away.