The Recruit: A Taskforce Story

by Brad Taylor

  Knuckles blew out air, sagging in his seat behind the wheel.

  Decoy said, “What? It’s the same damn thing!”

  Knuckles said, “No, it’s not. It will never be, but one thing is the same.”

  Confused, his argument deflated, Decoy said, “What?”

  Knuckles smiled and said, “You’re still the same badass that saved me in McP’s.”

  5

  Javier Flores—aka Comandante Zero—threw the truck keys on the table and said, “Transfer complete. She accepted the money.”

  Felipe Alvarado, his deputy, said, “Can we trust her? If she took our money, who else is paying her? Suppose someone offers her more money. Suppose we’re outbid.”

  Zero shook his head. “We can trust her. She has been down here a long, long time. She was working the revolution in Nicaragua and El Salvador before coming here. Money isn’t her motivation.”

  “And the additional men?”

  “They’re coming. Did you get the delivery vans?”

  “One. There was a problem with the other, but I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

  Showing a spark of concern, Zero said, “How soon? We have to prepare it. We only have a twenty-minute window.”

  “I’ll get it in the morning. Worst case, we use the real caterer’s vans.”

  “I don’t want to do that. Too many steps. Preventing them from arriving is bad enough. Capturing one, then outfitting it for the attack is putting too much on a fragile timeline.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t worry. I’ll get it in the morning. We can begin outfitting as soon as I have it. When do the men arrive?”

  “They come in tonight. I’ll transfer them after dark.”

  “To her house? Will that not raise suspicion?”

  “No. La Molina is the last place the authorities will look.”

  “Remember Tupac Amaru. They were caught because of food delivery to their safe house. Much, much more food than was needed for a single woman living alone.”

  “I know. It’s only for one night. They can eat bread.”

  The door to their crumbling shack was opened and a boy, barely a teenager, spilled inside. “El Comandante, El Comandante, come quickly. Your men have been beaten.”

  Zero turned and said, “What men? What do you mean?”

  “Arturo. He stopped a truck of gringos. He tried to rob it.”

  Zero grinned, turning back to Felipe. “And did he say he was working for me?”

  “Yes. But the men did not understand. Instead of fleeing, they fought.”

  “Serves them right. We are not bandits, and I’m sick of them using my actions as justification for their own. We do what we do for a greater cause. And we certainly don’t try to rob more rich gringos than we can handle.”

  “There were only two.”

  Zero turned around. “How many men did he use?”

  “Four.”

  “Four? Two gringos took out four?”

  “Yes, yes, and they need a hospital. The gringos hurt them bad.”

  Zero looked at Felipe. “What do you think?”

  “I think Arturo has learned a good lesson. Let them fend for themselves. We shouldn’t be drawing attention to this place at a delicate time. He’s robbed enough on the back of your name.”

  Zero leaned back and said, “Yes, I suppose. But I can’t have gringos spitting on me in my own town. Bad perception. Bad precedent.”

  Felipe smiled. “Well, tomorrow night, you’ll be spitting in the eye of all of them. Tomorrow night, Sendero Luminoso rises from the ashes.”

  • • •

  On an outdoor patio in the Barranco art district, Knuckles watched Decoy on the phone, wondering what lack of judgment had led to this meeting. Decoy hung up and said, “She’s on the way. Remember, I introduce you without using her name. You get it out of her.”

  Knuckles rolled his eyes and said, “This has got to be the worst decision I’ve ever made. I can’t believe you don’t even know her damn name.”

  Decoy looked at the entrance to the patio and said, “No, no. I did. I just forgot it. Come on. Don’t make this hard. You’re the mean boss, and I’m the guy trying to get in your good graces. It’s all cover stuff, right?”

  They’d gone back to their hotel after the fight, and Knuckles had called the Taskforce about the name on the envelope. When he’d hung up, he’d said, “No spike. Taskforce doesn’t know who she is.”

  Decoy said, “So what now?”

  “Now we continue with the deployment. Watch and build a pattern of life. And get you involved with the embassy. Working your cover.”

  “Seriously? Come on. I’ve spent my entire life lying about what I do in bars all over the world. I think I’ve got this cover thing down. We should go back to the house. Build a pattern from there. Screw all this beacon shit.”

  Knuckles smiled, appreciating the fact that Decoy prioritized the mission, but that wasn’t the point of this deployment. He said, “I hear you, but you still think you’ve got the might of the US government behind you. You don’t. We screw up here, and we’re going to be hung out to dry. Get used to it. For every deployment I’ve been on, only a fraction end up in high adventure.”

  “And you want me to join? That’s your recruiting pitch?”

  “Well, you could go back to riding carriers on a float. Doing nothing for months on end and staring at gray steel.”

  “I have a better idea. Let’s get my date to check her out. She works in the Consular Section, helping out expats. She’ll know something about her. A thread we can use to neck it down with the Taskforce.”

  In a fit of apparent insanity, Knuckles had agreed, and now was sitting on the back porch of a bohemian café at noon, drinking coffee that was like tar and wondering when, exactly, he’d let Decoy lead him astray.

  The door opened, and an attractive woman came through. Short, about five foot three, red hair cut shoulder length, and with an upturned nose that looked sexy for no damn reason whatsoever, she gave off a tomboy vibe. She was wearing a tight shirt and a flowing skirt that went all the way to her ankles, raising a little concern in Knuckles’s mind.

  She works for the embassy? Wearing that?

  Decoy tried to kiss her cheek, but she pulled away, giving him a handshake, causing Knuckles to laugh. Way to go, lover boy.

  Decoy said, “Like I told you on the phone, this is my boss, Nathaniel Bridgemaker.”

  Knuckles stood, getting ready to use the alias he had for this deployment. He said, “Nice to meet you. You can call me Knuckles. And you are?”

  She said, “Nice to meet you too.” Nothing else. Then sat down.

  Decoy looked like he was going to explode.

  She said, “So Mr. Righteous here tells me you guys are in-country doing a survey for disaster preparedness, and you need my help.”

  “Yeah, well, your entire city is built on a fault line, and it’s only a matter of time before you have an earthquake of epic proportions. All we’re doing is making sure you’re ready.”

  She said, “And how can I help?”

  Decoy said, “We have to get down a hillside, but the house is owned by an expat. All we want to know is how to approach her. We want to set up some equipment in her yard, which extends quite a ways. We want to survey the cell signal for a duration of time, see if it fluctuates. If it doesn’t, we may ask her to let us establish a base station there.”

  “So? Go ask her.”

  Knuckles pushed back his chair, done with the conversation. Decoy said, “Well, that’s just it. We will, but we were hoping you’d tell us something about her. Like what’s she doing here? Is she friendly? Will she want to help us? Just something before we cold-call her.”

  She said, “What’s her name?”

  “Linda Devoire. We think she’s American.”

  “And y
ou want me to check her out? Unofficially?”

  “No. It’s official. Well, sort of. We work for the embassy. We just want to make this painless.”

  The waitress came over, and she said, “Get me a salad. I have to use the ladies’ room.”

  She started to walk away, then turned, saying, “Watch my purse.”

  They ordered, and as soon as the waitress was out of earshot, Knuckles said, “What the hell is she wearing? She doesn’t work for the embassy. They’d never let her in the door wearing that. She looks like she’s out leading a bunch of granola eaters on an expedition. Who is she?”

  “She’s who she says she is. A state department flunky. How do you know the dress code?”

  “I’ve been in plenty of embassies, and they don’t wear that. Especially if they deal in public relations, working with civilians. Maybe in the mail room, but not with her job.”

  Decoy began digging through her purse, and Knuckles rose up, “What are you doing?”

  “Getting her damn name. I mean, really, she doesn’t give you her name and you let that slide?”

  He ripped open a wallet, read the name, and said, “I was right! Carly! A C and a Y!”

  Knuckles saw a reflection from the glass of the door and said, “She’s coming. Get it back.”

  Decoy shoved the wallet home and said, “What now?”

  “Now I have some questions.”

  The woman sat back down and Knuckles said, “I’ve worked in a few embassies but have never seen the dress code you’re wearing. What do you do?”

  She tossed her hair and said, “I’m on the street a lot. I have to deal with locals. I dress the part.”

  “Deal with locals? I thought you worked in the Consular Section? Dealing with AMCITS?”

  She took a sip of water, saying, “Yeah, that too. It’s a wide portfolio.”

  Knuckles had a nagging sense he was being played. He said, “Okay, well, can you help us with the name?”

  She looked at her watch and said, “Oh, man. I lost track of time. I forgot about a meeting I have to attend. You guys want me to pay for the meal? I can’t wait for it.”

  Decoy looked completely lost, trying to come up with something to say, but failing. Knuckles said, “No. We got it. Thanks for the lack of help.”

  She stood up, scrunched her nose, and said, “Well, it wasn’t a complete waste. I think jerk boy here finally figured out my name.”

  She walked away with a long gait, eating up the ground, her dress billowing around her steps. She reached the door and said, “We still on for tomorrow night?”

  Decoy stuttered, “Yeah . . . yes, of course.”

  She said, “I’ll call about the name.”

  And was gone.

  Knuckles said, “What. The. Fuck. You are worthless. You embarrass even me.”

  Sheepishly, Decoy said, “She’s going to run the name. We got what we wanted.”

  Knuckles watched the door slowly close and said, “Yeah, she might. I have to admit, I like her. Reminds me of someone else I worked with in the Taskforce.”

  Wanting the accolades, Decoy said, “Who?”

  Knuckles put the coffee cup down and said, “Nobody you want to meet. You try your man-whore ways with her, and her friend will rip you apart.”

  6

  Decoy came out of the bathroom and heard, “Sir, you sure about this? I’m on an orientation deployment. This is pushing it big-time.”

  Decoy paused, not wanting Knuckles to see him, unsure of what was being discussed. He heard, “Yeah, Decoy’s solid. Like I said he was. But this is a little much. We don’t even have a team. It’s now four o’clock in the afternoon here. Not a lot of time to plan.”

  Decoy slid back inside the door, stretching his ear. “Yeah, yeah, we have the kit. I can do it from a technical perspective. But I have no backup. This cover you’ve given me is so shallow that all it will take is a cursory Google search to expose us. We get caught and we’ve got nothing to fall back on.”

  Decoy came out and closed the door loud enough for Knuckles to hear. He looked up and said, “Okay, sir. I got it. I’ll get it done.”

  “What’s that all about?”

  Knuckles rubbed his forehead and said, “Your best intentions have put us in a world of shit.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “The Oversight Council wants us to go in. They want to implant stay-behind listening devices. Get some intel for future operations. Thanks to your little booty call.”

  Carly had called back less than two hours after lunch. Knuckles had answered the phone. A little exasperated, she’d said, “Linda Devoire is an alias for a German national who’s been tied up in revolutions all over the damn southern hemisphere. She’s not American.”

  Surprised, his mind spinning over the news, both because of what it represented and because the girl on the other end knew it, he kept to his cover. “Whoa. Good thing we talked to you first. So I guess we won’t be using her backyard.”

  “No, you won’t. And I want to know how you found her. People have been looking for her for ten years.”

  “Ten years, huh? How do you know that? Working in the Consular Section?”

  He heard a little steel come through the phone. “Don’t fuck with me. I don’t dance. You are not a cellular infrastructure company.”

  “And you don’t work for the Consular Section, do you?”

  He heard nothing for a few seconds, then, in a much calmer voice, “Yes, I do. And I made a huge mistake running this name. I did it unofficially, tainting the computers. The search criteria are all logged, and now I can’t bring it higher without getting fired. I’m praying it gets buried in a ton of other searches while I figure out a way to get it in the system. You guys have screwed me. Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry. We had no idea who she was. We’re exactly who we say we are. We’re down here at the behest of the ambassador. Doing cellular infrastructure research for disaster preparedness. I appreciate the help. We’ll look elsewhere for a suitable site. I want no part of some fight with a German revolutionary.”

  She’d hung up, and Knuckles had fed the information into his own proprietary Taskforce system, which had spiked. The combination of a bunch of guys associated with the Shining Path entering the house, an envelope of greenbacks, and a German revolutionary—all within spitting distance of the US embassy—had caused their mission to go from orientation to operational.

  He put the phone on the nightstand and looked at Decoy. “We’ve been given a B&E mission. Tonight.”

  Trying for nonchalance, but feeling the pressure, Decoy said, “How hard can that be? Sounds like fun.”

  “No way will it be fun. It would be a cakewalk with just the female, but we know there’s a bunch of indig there. It’s mission impossible now.”

  “So we don’t go. You keep talking about the cover; surely the Oversight Council sees that.”

  “Yeah, they do. I told Kurt I’d give it a go, then pull back if it was looking bad. Apparently, this is dovetailing with some OGA reporting. Something’s up, and the confluence of reporting has got their panties in a knot.”

  “OGA?”

  “Other Government Agency. Meaning CIA. Jesus, do I have to spell it out like you’re a civilian?”

  Decoy bristled and slapped the wall, saying, “Enough of that shit. I don’t get your secret acronyms and I’m now an idiot? Fuck that. Give me the damn tech kit and I’ll get in. What matters is skill, not your knowledge of the black-arts secret language.”

  Knuckles saw he was genuinely aggravated and backed off, a little ashamed at his superior attitude, knowing Decoy was right.

  He said, “Okay, okay. I’m with you. But we’re going to need some serious skill here. In and out without a blip. You saw the house. We can’t get through the front gate without compromise. What are your thoughts?”


  Slightly mollified, but not completely, Decoy said, “Bring up the SD card from the camera. I’ll show you how to get in. It won’t be through your stupid cover crap. No bullshit ice-cream truck charades. It’s going to be straight SEAL. A stalk from the beach.”

  Knuckles pulled up the photos of the terrain and said, “What beach?”

  Decoy sat down on the couch next to him and said, “Okay, no real beach, but the only way into that place is the exact spot we were faking for our cellular survey. Down the valley, through the scrub, then up past the swimming pool.”

  He pointed to the outside wall on the lower half of the terrain.

  “We get over that, then stalk to the inside. Look at the terrain. Look at the cover. We can do that.”

  Knuckles liked what he saw, the bushes overgrown and choppy, the terrain sloping down and giving anyone concealment to approach.

  Decoy said, “Or we could dress up like meter maids and knock on the front door, pretending to be Peruvians. Maybe rub a little shoe polish on our face and hunker down so we look the type. Your call, Mr. Top Secret.”

  Knuckles took the dig and said, “I think your first course of action is better. But don’t get all high and mighty about the acting. You apparently can’t see it when it’s staring you in the face.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Carly? Your booty call? She’s no consular employee. She works for OGA. You want me to spell that out for you again?”

  7

  Knuckles turned around, the Night Observation Device on his head making him lean back as he craned to see Decoy without bumping the window. He saw a single flash of infrared and pushed the truck farther into the brush. He felt the tires grind against a stone and stopped, turning back around. He was rewarded with two flashes. Meaning it was hidden.

  He exited, dragging a small rucksack full of audio devices. Decoy met him on the rocky track. Really a goat trail.

  “About a half-klick walk. Straight up.”

  Knuckles looked past his outstretched arm, the night a hazy mix of green from the NODs. He saw the lights of the house on top of the ridge, beacons that caused a whiteout when caught directly in the tube. Below it, only about two hundred meters away, was the wall that skirted the compound.