by Brad Taylor
The laptop computer on the desk beeped, causing Knuckles to whip his head toward it.
Decoy said, “What’s up?”
“Your damn beacon is on the move. I’ve written about half of your report, but I’ll be damned if I’m giving Colonel Hale the briefing. You’d better get up to speed if you want to get off probation.”
The culmination of the deployment was a briefing to the Taskforce Commander, Colonel Kurt Hale. Decoy would provide the operational report, and Knuckles would provide the final assessment on his status.
Decoy leaned into the screen and said, “He’s on the move toward the embassy. Toward La Molina.”
Knuckles sat up. “On the side streets? Or on the highways?”
“He just left Highway 1S. Now on Avenue Javier Prado. Headed east.”
For the first time, Knuckles’s aggravation subsided, the puzzle of their target piquing his interest. “What the hell is a Sendero Luminoso guy doing out there?”
The area surrounding the United States embassy, called La Molina, was very, very upscale, and completely different from the gutter slums of the Villa El Salvador, where they placed the beacon, which made him curious.
Sendero Luminoso—the Shining Path—was a Marxist/Leninist insurgency that had been fighting for decades. At its height, in the late 80s and early 90s, it had almost toppled the government of Peru, operating in Lima with impunity, but had since been decimated and pushed back to the deep jungles.
Even with its diminished capacity, it was still operational and still listed as a Foreign Terrorist Organization by the United States, and thus within the Taskforce charter for targeting. Its members posed no direct threat to the United States but were useful for these orientation deployments. The Taskforce could operate against them, gaining live experience with fledgling members, and not worry about tainting real operations in other parts of the world. When the deployment was complete, the Taskforce simply fed any information gleaned into the intelligence architecture, which would then make its way to the Peruvians through liaison services, if warranted.
And a suspected Shining Path member moving to the upscale area of La Molina would probably be warranted.
Knuckles said, “Grab some recce kit. We’re going for a closer look.”
Decoy began digging through a Pelican box, pulling out surveillance cameras and other items. He said, “I thought this was beacon only? No direct targeting?”
Knuckles opened the door, saying, “That was before you slept with the chick, leaving me with all the beacon work. I need another look at you.”
3
Decoy pulled higher into the driveway and said, “This guy’s got surveillance cameras. He’s going to see us.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m getting out with the engineer handset. I’ll hold it in the air, looking like I’m doing something important. You find a vantage point for a photo.”
They’d left the boutique hotel in Miraflores and driven as fast as practical to the beacon location, figuring the target would be gone, but he wasn’t. He’d sat out front for fifteen minutes, the covered truck just ticking in the heat. As soon as they’d rounded the corner in the upscale neighborhood, Decoy had seen it, and they’d immediately pulled off, circling around the neighborhood.
Knuckles exited, a laptop over his shoulder and a large device in his hands—something that looked like a scientific calculator but was really a fine-tuned cell phone, designed to determine the exact signal strength between associated towers.
He wandered about for a bit, taking readings, then entered the truck again.
“Well?”
“We can loop around the golf course. The mountains rise on the back side. We’ll be hell and gone from the house, but I should be able to pick something up with the lens.”
“Let’s go.”
The house in question, like all the houses in La Molina, fronted the street with foreboding walls and a short driveway. Past that was a large expanse of terrain, the construction spilling out into neatly landscaped lawns and a swimming pool. The trick was getting a vantage point above the walls.
Decoy put the truck into drive and circled, going farther away from the target, but also higher. He paused on a section of road that was overgrown, no houses. He said, “We’ll park here and go through the brush. We get on the edge of the ridge, and we’ll look right down.”
“And the truck?”
“Screw it. Just a technical survey going on. Take your engineer shit with you.”
Knuckles smiled and said, “Okay, but the answer isn’t always ‘Screw it.’”
Decoy rolled his eyes and said, “I got that. I’m trying to do the mission. You going to second-guess everything?”
Knuckles grabbed his kit and said, “Not as long as you realize the difference.”
Decoy opened the door and said, “You know me better than that.”
Knuckles was halfway out before Decoy got his attention. He said, “You do know better than that, right? You’ve been doing this top secret shit for a while. Has it messed up your ability to see what’s in front of your face?”
Knuckles paused at the door, wanting to project the attitude of a team leader trusted with determining whether a candidate had the capability to succeed. Wanting to say something profound. Instead, he couldn’t shake the memory of this man pulling him through his worst night in Hell Week. A brief moment in time when he thought about quitting, and had been prevented from doing so by the man in the cab. For no other reason than he thought it the right thing to do.
Knuckles caught his eye and said, “I haven’t forgotten. It’s why you’re in this truck.”
Decoy smiled, and Knuckles continued, “You get through the next few days without screwing someone and we’re good.”
Decoy’s smile faded, and Knuckles slipped out, carrying a Nikon D4 camera with a lens that dwarfed the body.
He lined it up into the backyard of the house in question and heard, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He zoomed in, seeing the cargo truck in jerky hyperdetail, and said, “It means you don’t understand what we’re doing.”
“Bullshit. That girl works for the embassy. Hell, she might help in this mission. If anything, I’ve used my skills to get an in. I’m sick of all you guys talking about me like I’m a walking penis.”
Knuckles looked away from the viewfinder and said, “The beacon went off this morning. You weren’t there.”
“So what? You were. I was working my cover.”
Knuckles returned to the viewfinder and said, “Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. Get something straight. We’re friends, but I’m the team leader. You mess with me, you mess with the beast. Period.”
“All right. All right. I screwed up. But it wasn’t catastrophic.”
Knuckles said, “This time. It’s the next one I’m worried about.”
Decoy started to protest, when Knuckles said, “Movement. Get another lens out here.”
Decoy began digging through his rucksack as Knuckles watched the target exit the truck and walk to the front of the house with a manila envelope. The door opened and a Caucasian woman with brown hair entered the stoop. She shook his hand and took the envelope, and Knuckles began recording, firing the camera on automatic, the snaps from the shutter sounding like a fluttering of pages, ten per second.
The woman stood for a moment, talking, then opened the door, holding her arm inside. The canvas tarp covering the pickup flipped open in the back, and four or five men jumped out, running inside the house. Knuckles continued pressing the button, digitally engraving the scene for posterity.
By the time Decoy had his binoculars out, it was done. He said, “What did you see?”
“I don’t know, but it didn’t look good.”
The truck began to back up, with only their target at the wheel, and Knuckles said, “Let’s see where he goes.
”
They scrambled back into their truck, Decoy saying, “What happened?”
“A bunch of guys exited. Peruvians. It looked like a damn clown-car convention. Take a look at the camera. He passed a manila envelope. I got the pictures, and they’re in sixteen megapixels. Expand it. See what you can see.”
Knuckles headed down to the highway, driving faster than was necessary, rocking Decoy back and forth and causing him to say, “You want me to see these things, or is this another damn test? Slow down!”
“I don’t want to lose him. I want to see where he’s going.”
Decoy slapped the laptop between them and said, “Did he remove the beacon?”
Knuckles slowed, chagrined. He wanted to say something to indicate that he’d been aware of the beacon but that he was afraid of losing it because of his extensive experience. He opted for honesty.
“Shit. I forgot about that.”
Decoy grinned. “I understand. You’re just trying to make me feel good.”
Knuckles shook his head and said, “No. That would be me setting you up for a couple of double Ds. Zoom in to that envelope.”
Decoy did and said, “I got a name on it. Linda Devoire. The next shot shows her pulling money out of it. American greenbacks. One-hundred-dollar bills.”
Knuckles entered Highway 1S and said, “Send that name to the Taskforce. See if they come up with anything.”
Decoy said, “Got no signal. You need to get back into the city.”
They drove for a bit longer, then Decoy said, “What happens if they do come up with something?”
“Nothing. It’s an Oversight Council call. We just execute.”
“Isn’t that a little stupid? I mean, leaving the call to a bunch of civilians? We just saw a known Shining Path guy drop off a squad of fighters at a house within spitting distance of our embassy. Why are we going to let a bunch of hand-wringing civilians make a call? Someone should hit that place.”
Knuckles exited Highway 1S into the slums of Villa El Salvador and said, “Don’t feel so special in your superiority. I felt the same way when I was in a war zone, but it’s different here. They provide an oversight that’s proven its worth. They’ve prevented a ton of mistakes. I trust them.”
Decoy leaned back. “If you say so.”
The roads went from asphalt to dirt, the buildings left and right crumbling brick, graffiti sprayed on the mortar. Knuckles said, “Get the laptop up. Where’d he go?”
They started working their way through the streets, dodging trash cans and sprinting children, the stares from the men less than charitable.
Knuckles said, “Don’t these kids have to go to school?”
Decoy brought the laptop to life and said, “He’s at the same location I emplaced it. That little shithole clapboard house.”
He looked up to see four men blocking the road. He said, “I don’t think we need to confirm it.”
4
Knuckles said, “Okay, okay, rest easy. I’m going to punch through them and head out.”
Knuckles rolled forward slowly. The men didn’t move. Dressed in rough slacks and torn sport coats, weathered faces as brown as betel nuts, they refused to give way. Knuckles stopped.
“Okay, listen, we can’t end up on an embassy blotter. We get out of here clean.”
Decoy glared at him and said, “Seriously? I’m all about living the cover, but getting my ass kicked is a bridge too far.”
Knuckles scowled at him and said, “Follow my lead. No violence.”
Knuckles exited the truck, stepping into the dirt and kicking away a plastic water bottle. He said, “Hey, sorry. We’re lost. Going to the US Embassy. Can you show us the way?”
The lead man pulled out a large blade, less than a machete but much, much more than a pocketknife. He pointed to the rear and said, “You go back. You not wanted here.”
Decoy sidled up to Knuckles and whispered, “I guess this place is in fact a Sendero Luminoso hangout. Good call following him here.”
Knuckles raised his arms and said, “Understood. No harm. No harm. Paz . . . Paz.”
They turned back to the truck and saw two of the men blocking the door. Knuckles turned back to the leader and said, “Paz, damn it, Paz. Let us go. No harm.”
The man grinned and said, “What you got in the car?”
Decoy hissed out of the side of his mouth, “Are we now going to get robbed because of our cover? Seriously?”
Knuckles said, “Yes. We are.”
“Jesus H. Christ. I cannot believe you recruited me to be a pussy.”
Knuckles glared at him and said, “The mission takes priority.”
The leader pointed the blade at them and said, “Speak louder.”
In a normal voice, Knuckles said, “We work for the US embassy. Don’t harm us.”
The man gave a smile of stained teeth and said, “Move away from truck. Maybe we won’t.”
Knuckles started shuffling back, Decoy right beside him whispering in his ear. “What the hell? Seriously? We’re going to get mugged out here?”
Knuckles said, “Yes, damn it. Let it go.”
The man reached the truck door, the others grinning around him, holding machetes and pipes. He opened the cab, and Decoy whispered, “The name of that woman is in the camera they’re about to take, along with the evidence of our recce. We’re busted when Sendero Luminoso sees it. I never got to send it to the Taskforce.”
Knuckles looked at him, and he nodded. “No shit.”
The leader said, “Shut up. No talking.”
Knuckles closed his eyes for a split second, then said, “Sir, sir, please, I’ll have to pay for anything you take. Please. Let us go.”
Rifling through the cab of the truck, the man said, “Not my problem.”
Knuckles drew a breath and said, “Sir, I’m asking you to stop.”
The man turned from the cab, raised his blade, and said, “You want me to take more than your things?”
Decoy said, “Man, what the hell happened to the guy at BUD/S? You remember that fight at McP’s? Because that idiot stepped on your foot? I think he’s still walking with a limp.”
Knuckles said, “Shut the fuck up. We cannot get compromised. Period.”
“Okay, boss.”
The man held up the D4 Nikon and said, “Very good camera.”
Knuckles said, “That has some technical pictures on it. Give me the SD card and you can have the camera.”
The man handed the camera to a kid next to him.
Decoy glared at Knuckles.
Against his better judgment, with a bit of sadness the men robbing him would never have understood, he looked at Decoy and said, “Okay. But no lethal action.”
Decoy’s face split into a wolf grin, and he turned to the nearest man—a child, really—holding a pipe and said, “You really don’t want to hurt me, do you?”
Knuckles got ready, the blood pumping through his veins, waiting on the gate to open. When it did, the men stood no chance.
The man raised the pipe, and Decoy said, “Guess you do,” then whipped a leg around, buckling the man to his knees. He wrapped his left arm around the pipe, securing it, then hammered the teenager in the nose, ripping the pipe out of his hands as he fell. Now holding a weapon, Decoy whirled around and clocked the first man in range in the jaw. From there, it was pure violence.
At the first hit, like a player on an NFL team, Knuckles was executing, reading the play and taking out men before they could affect the outcome.
In the end, it was easier than Knuckles thought it would be. A collection of bullies holding weapons, each one relying on the arrogance of the man beside him, the two SEALs cut through them, the assailants split open as surely as a melon crammed into the blades of a disposal.
Knuckles ended up on the ground, holding the arm
of the leader, the elbow torqued back, his men around him moaning in disarray. He drove the man’s face into the dirt, saying, “I didn’t ask for this, you fuck. All I wanted to do was go home.”
The man said something in Spanish. The only words Knuckles understood were “Comandante Zero.”
Knuckles heard the name and realized it wasn’t a simple robbery.
“Did he order this?”
“Yes, yes.”
Not good.
He said, “How many times have you robbed men? How many times has Zero ordered this?”
Eyes squeezed shut in pain, the man said, “Many, many times.”
Better.
“How many times did the men walk away?”
Now weeping, the man said, “Always. They always walked away. We never hurt anyone.”
Knuckles saw the lie and wondered how many innocents this man had killed. Sendero Luminoso was as bloodthirsty as they came, their calling card being a machete, and he had no illusions about what the man had done.
He looked at Decoy, an unspoken question. Decoy answered it by snapping out with a kick, catching the man just beneath the elbow and shattering his arm. The man screamed, then fell over unconscious from the pain.
Knuckles and Decoy got into the truck and drove in silence for a few minutes. Knuckles broke it, saying, “Send the name to the Taskforce. See what they get from that envelope.”
Decoy started working the laptop, saying, “What about those guys back there? You want to report that?”
“Hell no.”
Decoy grinned and said, “Best intentions.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you had the best intention to let it go, but they weren’t budging. Same as me.”
Knuckles turned to him. “Are you saying that us getting in a fight is the same as you getting laid? That it was inevitable?”
Decoy typed on the keyboard, getting a signal, then sending the message. He said, “Well, yeah, I guess. We had no control over what happened. Same as me last night.”
