by Brad Taylor
He saw Knuckles’s eyes snap open and said, “What?”
Decoy turned to Carly. “Look, I don’t want you to get in trouble. Surely you get stories all the time from people in the ‘Consular Section.’ Even from Americans. Right?”
“Yeah. I suppose.”
“Then tell them exactly what happened. But leave out the date part. We met, struck up a friendship, and I asked about the name. For our cellular survey, just like what happened. We’re on the embassy cleared list. It’s not that big of a deal.”
She nodded vaguely and said, “They might dig into your company. You good with that?”
Knuckles said, “No. Screw that. NO.”
She smirked and said, “Why’s that a big deal?”
“Because I’ll get in trouble with my boss, damn it. You know what happens when someone gets questioned by the country team? I don’t care how innocuous it is, it causes a shitstorm back home. It’s the worst thing that could happen. It’ll be interpreted as though we screwed up. How else did we reach the level of an official inquiry?”
Decoy was impressed with Knuckles’s vehemence and apparent knowledge of embassy operations. It almost sounded real, and he figured he’d better join the party.
“I didn’t think about that.”
“Because it’s your first trip, dickless. And probably your last.”
Knuckles was glaring at him with a death stare.
Carly said, “Hey, hey, hold on. I think the idea’s got merit. I think I can get it done without putting you guys under the microscope. Like you say, nobody really gives a damn about Germany’s problem. I’ll go back and read the report, then ‘remember’ something that happened before, with some American contractor that had asked for help. I’ll sell it as a useless bit of info until I made the connection with the intel report, leaving you out of it.”
Decoy smiled and reached across the table, grasping her hand. “Okay, then. I guess we’re still on for tonight. Where’s this great tailor you keep talking about?”
She pulled her hand away and said, “Really? After all of this? You think it’s that easy?”
Knuckles said, “He’s incorrigible. You should have seen that going in.”
She raised an eyebrow and said, “Yeah, well, he is a little sexy.”
Indignant, Decoy said, “What the hell are you two talking about? I’m right here.”
Carly said, “I’m trying to imagine what to put you in for tonight. What would look best on my floor in the morning.”
Usually cocksure about anything to do with the opposite sex, Decoy stammered, trying to find footing. Sizing her up, Knuckles read the words for what they were: hard edges developed from working in a man’s world. He was unsure if it was the true Carly or just a shell she’d grown from the day-to-day interactions of her job. A shield she wore to fend off the bigotry about her sex.
He said, “Wow. I’ve never seen that in my entire history with this guy. At a loss for words.”
Carly said, “Huh. I thought it was his first trip with you?”
Knuckles smiled and said, “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“No. I most definitely don’t.”
10
Sitting in the sweltering van, the sun long gone from the sky, Comandante Zero said, “It’s past the dinner hour. Are they ever going to leave?”
The Bolivian embassy took up the better part of a block, with construction scaffolding from ongoing building renovations running the entire length of the road to their front, yet they had a clear view of the service entrance and the local national guards posted there. So far, nothing had moved. Which had been the case for more than four hours.
Zero had insisted on being early enough to see the real caterers arrive, and Felipe had made sure the men were ready. Though dressed in the clothing of the company, they still bore the stink of the jungle, and he knew they wouldn’t last more than a few minutes inside before being questioned, having no idea how to behave. But that was the best he could do.
Watching the vans enter the embassy grounds, Zero had been perversely pleased. Each one had been thoroughly searched, meaning his precautions were not without merit.
Felipe saw the gate begin to move and the guard step out of the way. “This is it.”
A white van, exactly like the one they were in, exited the premises, taking a left and driving right in front of them. The gate began closing and Zero said, “Where’s the other one?”
“I don’t know.”
“Call your contact. Now.”
Felipe did so, staring at the receding taillights. He spent about a minute on the phone, then hung up. “The security force makes them leave one at a time. And return one at a time. They don’t like the grouping.”
“What’s the gap?”
“Five minutes.”
“Shit. Okay. You go to the other van. Wait for the second vehicle. I’ll get this one. When are they set to return?”
“Quick round-trip. The first van will be loading before the other one leaves.”
“Fine. That’ll be okay. We’ll have to blend into the workers for five minutes. Pick the best of the men and get them into this van. Anyone who’s worked in a restaurant. Or at least lived in a city. Make sure they know that they must act as they were trained. Clean dishes and serve food. We will take in pistols only. Move all of the AK-47 rifles to your van. You will bring them in. No change to the original plan. We’ll take the main room. You take the overflow. Understood?”
Felipe nodded, shouting orders. The men began shuffling about, both vans a buzz of activity. In two minutes it was done. Zero said, “Remain on the radio. Tell me when you’re past the gate. I’ll call when I’m ready.”
“Yes, El Comandante. It will be done. What of the men inside the caterer vehicle? What do I do with them?”
Zero said, “Use the machete. Leave something for the police to find and realize who has done this. Failure isn’t an option. Remember that. These pigs have had their last dance with Sendero Luminoso. Tomorrow, our men will be freed from their jails, or everyone inside will perish.”
• • •
Watching Carly mingle with the crowd of diplomats, Knuckles had to admit she cleaned up pretty nicely. Wearing a red dress that ended modestly below her knees, complemented by red nail polish and ruby lipstick, she looked nothing like the bohemian backpacker that he’d originally met.
As Carly dragged Decoy along behind her, introducing him to everyone she could find, Knuckles was finally glad she’d been invited. Left to his own devices, Knuckles was sure, Decoy would either make the mistake of hitting on a diplomat’s wife or spend the evening sipping beer in the corner. Not exactly this night’s intended purpose.
The dinner bell rang, and the couple came back to him. Knuckles said, “We’re not in this room. We’re in the overflow.”
Decoy smirked and said, “You mean like the kids’ table at Thanksgiving?”
“Yep. Pretty much.”
“Fine by me. I’m sick of meeting people.”
The Bolivian dining area was split in two, with a main ballroom housing the true dignitaries—ambassadors, heads of departments, and other diplomats worthy of the regal space—while mere invitees were in an adjoining ballroom. Less regal but fully decorated like the larger one next door, it was where their party would spend the evening after the cocktail hour.
They wandered to their table, Carly saying, “How did you guys manage to get invitations to this thing anyway? There aren’t any nobodies here.”
Decoy said, “Meaning we’re nobodies?”
Carly smiled and said, “Well . . . yes. You are.”
Knuckles said, “The big boss knows the ambassador from somewhere. I don’t know where. It’s how we got the contract.”
Carly let that slide past her, not bothering to question it, but they both knew it was bullshit.
“You mean for you? Fine. Nobody cared where the information came from.”
“That’s not what I meant. For you.”
“Best as can be expected, I guess. I told him the story, then that I didn’t think it mattered until I saw the intel feed. My boss was ticked that I didn’t report it immediately, and has chalked it up to me being flighty or undependable. I’ll probably get a letter of reprimand, but that’s it.”
“Will that hurt you?”
She tried to make light of it, but he could see she was seething. “Yeah. It’ll hurt. I’ll just have to work harder to overcome it.”
They reached their assigned seating and he pulled out her chair. They spent the next thirty minutes meeting the other guests at their table, two dignitaries from the Brazilian Embassy, with Carly surprising them by speaking fluent Spanish.
Halfway through dinner, the dessert trays being delivered, Knuckles’s phone vibrated. He looked at the screen and saw it was a priority call, encrypted, from Colonel Kurt Hale.
He said, “Excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom.” He looked at Decoy and said, “You need to go too.”
Carly looked confused, but let it ride. Walking away, Decoy in tow, Knuckles shoved a Bluetooth into his ear and answered the phone, “What’s up, boss?”
“You at the Bolivian Embassy reception?”
“Yeah. Decoy’s doing pretty well. Hasn’t stepped on his crank yet.”
“Get out. Now.”
11
Comandante Zero showed his newly acquired pass to the local national guard, waiting for the man to finish scrutinizing it. The man radioed a command and the gate began to roll to the right.
Zero drove to the search area and killed his headlights. Another guard approached and told him to exit. He did so, ordering his men out of the back.
They stood in a cluster while one guard went underneath the vehicle with a mirror and another shone a flashlight into the interior of the cargo area, seeing nothing but trays and racks of cleaning supplies.
The guard waved at him, and Zero ordered his men to load up. He thanked the guard, took back his pass, and put the van in drive, moving at a slow eight kilometers an hour until he was inside the loading bay. He did a three-point turn and backed into the bay, one of his men guiding him to the rubber bumpers. He stopped, watching out the windshield until he saw the search area guards return to their little booth and sit down, stiflingly bored.
He opened the door, flipped a lever exposing a compartment in the hollow of the metal, and pulled out a pistol. He went to the back and said, “Take out the weapons. Hide them in your uniforms.”
The men passed out pistols and magazines, shoving them in their belts. Zero surveyed them, seeing commitment staring back.
He said, “Follow me.”
Five men slipped into the back entrance of the kitchen.
• • •
Knuckles said, “Sir, what are you talking about?”
“Leave through a back door as soon as you can. We translated the feeds you sent. It’s Sendero Luminoso, and they’re planning an attack on an embassy tonight. We don’t know which one, but it’s a pretty good bet that it’s yours. You’ve got a treasure trove of hostages with you, just like the Japanese ambassador when Tupac Amaru took over his embassy in ninety-six. We think it’s a copycat.”
“Sir, I can’t just leave. If what you’re saying is true, I need to get everyone out of here.”
“We’re working that now. Messages are going out as we speak. The president and the Oversight Council are aware.”
“What the hell does that mean? ‘Working it’? Shit, everyone needs to leave here, now.”
“I get that. How do you propose to accomplish it? Tell the ambassador that you, as a cellular technician, know of a nefarious plot by Sendero Luminoso? You have no cover. I know it sucks, but it’s the best we can do. Hell, we might even be wrong, but if we are, I want you to find that out in your hotel room. Get out.”
“Maybe I can set off a fire alarm. Get ’em out that way.”
Knuckles heard nothing for a moment, then, “You see one? Do the Bolivians have them on the wall like the US?”
Knuckles looked around, hissing to Decoy, “See if you can find a fire alarm.”
Decoy said, “What the hell is going on?”
“Go!”
Decoy disappeared, coming back seconds later. “I can’t see any. Nothing the average person could pull down.”
Knuckles relayed and Kurt said, “Get out. Now.”
Knuckles said, “I’ll start a fire.”
“You going to set one large enough to cause a panic? Come on. You’ll need something larger than a local fire extinguisher can put out.”
“All right, all right. Shit. We’re moving.”
He hung up, yanking out the Bluetooth earpiece and telling Decoy the situation. Decoy said, “I’m not leaving Carly.”
Knuckles said, “Yes, you are. Come on.”
“No. I’m not. I put her here. It’s bad enough we’re running. No way am I leaving her in place. She gets harmed, and it’s my fault.”
“You want to get into the Taskforce, you’ll follow me to the kitchen right fucking now.”
Decoy said nothing, but also didn’t move.
Knuckles cursed and said, “Go get her ass. Quickly.”
They returned, Carly clearly aggravated. She said, “What is up with you guys? Are you nuts?”
Knuckles said, “Yes. Probably are. But we’re leaving right now.”
“Why?”
Knuckles knew if he told her, she’d demand to go get the US dignitaries, and end up exposing the Taskforce. Jesus, this sucks beyond belief. The dilemma was excruciating.
“Look, we’re leaving. Mr. Hormone here wouldn’t go without you. You coming?”
She saw his expression and realized something else was in play. She nodded, and they went running down the hall, entering the kitchen and searching for an exit.
They saw the loading bay and the double doors leading to the embassy grounds. Knuckles went out first and saw two white vans, the one on the left’s brake lights flickering as it finished backing up. The driver’s door swung out. A man exited, flipped open a compartment in the panel of the door, and pulled out a pistol.
The situation crystallized instantly.
Knuckles dove off of the dock, seeing Decoy doing the same on the far side. The man saw Knuckles coming, his eyes comically slapping open in surprise, his hand not moving nearly quickly enough to bring his weapon into play.
Knuckles slapped the barrel upward and slammed a sledgehammer fist into the man’s temple, driving through it as if he were trying to hit the van behind him.
The man bounced against the quarter panel and slid to the ground, unconscious. Knuckles heard noise on the other side and chambered a round in the pistol, saying, “Decoy?”
“Yeah. Got mine.”
“Back door.”
“Roger.”
Knuckles crouched, duckwalking to the rear. He reached it and saw Decoy at the same level, Browning automatic in his hand. Knuckles nodded, and Decoy swung open the door.
Knuckles brought his weapon to bear on three individuals, all shocked at what they were seeing.
In short order, they were all on the ground, hog-tied. Knuckles was wondering what to do. Flee, and let the police find them later? Call the police first? But how to explain what happened? Fake it? Act like it was a miracle? Say a guy in a cape appeared, then flew away?
They heard a squawk on a radio coming from the man Knuckles had knocked out. Carly said, “Someone’s calling. Asking questions.”
Knuckles had forgotten she was there. She stepped forward, ripping the radio from the man’s belt. Before he could stop her, she untied the ma
n to her right and rattled off something in Spanish. The radio squawked again. The man shook his head.
She said to Knuckles, “Give me your gun.”
He did so. She put it to the man’s head and rattled off more Spanish. He keyed the mike and said something. The radio squawked again. She hammered him in the temple with the barrel, knocking him out.
“They’re already inside. That was the leader asking if these men were set. I told him to say they needed more time. He said to attack.”
12
Knuckles tied the man back up, wondering how much time they had before the party erupted into disaster. Carly handed back the pistol and said, “Who are you guys? For real?”
“We used to be military. We’re a veteran-owned company.”
“That’s it? Shit, I thought you were SEALs or something.”
Knuckles heard gunfire from inside, then screaming. He cursed and kicked the van.
He looked at Decoy, and Decoy nodded. “You know we can’t leave now.”
Knuckles said, “Yeah, yeah. Best intentions.” He saw Carly thinking and said, “What? What’s going through that little steel trap?”
“Are you guys any good? I mean like SEAL good?”
Decoy said, “SEALs are a bunch of prima donnas living off of the Bin Laden mission.”
She looked at Knuckles, and he grinned. “Yeah, we’re good. Better than good. Now, what are you thinking?”
“We can get to the women’s restroom on the other side of the main ballroom. They’re doing renovations and there’s an air duct from the kitchen that leads right to it.”
Both Decoy and Knuckles looked at her, waiting for more. She shook her head, then said, “I helped some special guys plan a mission inside here. Planting things in the walls while they did the construction. We had the blueprints. The air duct was a contingency hiding location.”
“And this was from your consular duties?”
“About as much as your damn cellular contract. There are five men here, so there are probably five inside. Three on five isn’t bad odds.”
