by C. G. Cooper
Cal looked up to see them both smiling and he turned to where Daniel's mangled body should have been. But he wasn’t dead. Daniel was leaning against the wall, tossing the grenade, without pin or spoon, up in the air repeatedly. He sauntered over and Cal watched the projectile go up and down. That's when he saw it, and Cal joined in the chorus of laughter.
Whoever had painted over the original coat of the grenade hadn't finished or it had gotten scraped off, but the light blue stripe going down the side of the Mark II’s pineapple-like grids was now apparent.
“It was a practice round.” Cal breathed. Daniel nodded, his smile grim. "Then why did you shoot him?" Cal asked.
Daniel shrugged and said, "I had to be sure."
+ + +
After they'd had a couple minutes to take a breather from their near-death experience, Cal put in a call to his contact at the Egyptian Intelligence Service. The man assured Cal that he had nothing to do with the unfortunate incident. He apologized profusely while promising to escort some men over to fetch the two men who were badly wounded, yet still alive, and in addition they would clean up the rest of the mess.
When the intelligence operatives arrived it took all of thirty seconds for them to confirm the dead men were associates of the financier Cal and his men had been in Egypt to interrogate.
"How do you think they found us?" Daniel asked the scrawny intelligence colonel.
The man's jaw clenched and he kicked one of the dead men in the side. "I think it's obvious that someone spoke, and I can promise you that the leak will be found and plugged."
Cal could tell by the man's tone that the fiery colonel would leave no stone unturned, but that still didn't mean that Cal had to let him off that easy. "Colonel, I was wondering if you could do us another favor."
The man nodded quickly. "Name it, and I will take care of it."
Cal had already been thinking that this stupid incursion by the terrorist thugs was a blessing in disguise. If what was about to happen actually did, and their travel plans were scrapped, Cal and his men would need another way in. "Colonel, is there any way you can get us into Djibouti without anyone knowing?"
The man thought for a moment and then nodded, his tone all business. "Yes, I have the perfect man for you. Come and let us talk on our way to the airport."
Cal took one last look around the room at its blasted windows, the hole in the side of the building and the blood-spattered floor. He motioned for Liberty to come to his side and wondered how much the hotel bill was going to be. And then he happily realized he wasn’t the one who would have to pay for the damages.
Chapter 11
The lights above the camera intensified and the producer counted down. The whole affair was much more casual than his recent interviews. It had been orchestrated that way. Focus groups said they wanted to see the softer side of McKnight. They wanted to see him as a person rather than as a politician.
When presented with those concepts, the news network was more than happy to comply. The LIVE sign on the side of the stage flickered on.
"Welcome back," the female host said in a tone that was somewhere between cheery and serious. "This morning's guest is Congressman Antonio McKnight, who is a three-term Republican representative from the state of Florida and a current contender in the national presidential election. Welcome Congressman."
McKnight nodded. "Thank you, Joy. It's a pleasure to be here." The host glanced at some papers on her lap as if she really needed to and then asked, "Congressman, it's been an exciting two days for your campaign. You went into California a ten-point underdog and then managed to squeak out a two-point victory. How much of that do you attribute to the recently released information concerning your opponent’s past?"
"I'd like to think that the people of California got it right, that they didn't need any prodding one way or another."
The hostess chuckled dutifully and then said, "But seriously though, Congressman, the recent allegations about the governor's past are troubling, don't you think?"
"If you mean the alleged, and I would emphasize the word alleged, accusation that the governor was linked to racially motivated hazing at West Point, well that's just outside my purview."
"But, Congressman," the hostess pressed, "exit polls clearly showed that this news swayed a significant number of voters in your favor. To make things even more interesting, now there are reports that the allegations actually originated from your campaign."
McKnight shook his head sadly. "I have not and will not comment on the governor's situation. She's led a distinguished career in the army and in public office, and I will not add to the smear campaign that is trying to take her down."
"But Congressman, this is a presidential election. To make matters worse for your opponent, no less than five witnesses are prepared to testify against her. What do you have to say about that?"
McKnight's face was stern now. "That's up to the courts to decide, not me.
"But Congressman—"
McKnight cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I've said from the beginning that I am prepared, and all my people know this, to wage a clean campaign. If these five witnesses want to accuse my opponent of something, that's their prerogative. Look, Joy, presidential elections can get pretty dirty. We've already seen that. I’m proud of my camp. We're staying above the fray and doing this the way our founding fathers would have wanted. We are a land of free people, and it's up to those people to decide who should be elected. Now I believe they're smart enough to look past lies and see the truth. In fact, I have to believe that or what is this all for?"
The hostess seemed momentarily mollified. Then she gave a little smile and asked, "Let's just say hypothetically, Congressman, that a candidate had a proven record of racist comments and actions. Would said candidate get elected today with our society being intolerant of racial division?"
"I see what you're doing there, Joy,” McKnight wagged a finger at her, “and I'm not taking the bait. The governor is a good person and has conducted herself in an exemplary manner during this election cycle. However, on the topic of racism, you know my record. As a man of Hispanic descent, I've felt the crack of the racist whip. Our job as government officials, elected by the people and for the people, is to stamp out bigotry wherever it rears its ugly head. If I'm lucky enough to be elected president, I'll continue to do the same." McKnight's last words were the obvious end of his commenting on the topic and the hostess took the cue.
"Let's switch to another topic, Congressman. Foreign policy."
McKnight rubbed his hands together, and gestured to the hostess with a give-it-to-me gesture he was ready for the fast ball right down the middle. "Rumors are currently circulating about a Chinese complaint that could soon be sent to the U.N. Security Council. Do you have any knowledge of this, Congressman?"
"I do," McKnight said.
"And would you like to share with our audience what you know about the complaint?"
McKnight smiled. "Why don't you tell me what you know, Joy? Then ask me whatever question you'd like."
The hostess glanced down at her papers and stated, "Our sources confirm the Chinese plan to accuse the United States of industrial espionage and illegal covert operations in and around the Horn of Africa." When McKnight didn't say anything, the hostess continued. "Our sources go on to say that the Djibouti government is prepared to enforce a no-fly zone over their entire country and will soon ask the president to remand all U.S. troops to their current locations in the country of Djibouti. Congressman, were you aware of any covert operations happening in and around Chinese facilities within Djibouti?"
"Joy, I'm sure you and our viewers know that Djibouti is a very important strategic partner in that region. We've recently extended our lease to use Camp Lemonnier and expanded our support services in the region. As far as any specific operations, it's impossible to comment further due to national security protocol."
When it was obvious that McKnight wasn't going to address specific operations, th
e hostess swerved to the left.
"Would you say that this is an indication of the failed policy of the Zimmer administration with regard to the Chinese?"
"Joy, you really are trying to get under my skin today, aren't you?" But McKnight was smiling like he was enjoying the whole thing.
The hostess gave him a tight smile back. "Congressman, if you would please answer the question. I'm sure America would like to know your take on President Zimmer's diplomatic plans for the People's Republic of China."
“As I've said many times before, President Zimmer and I are very close. I'm proud to be considered a valued member of his inner circle. We've worked together through some very trying times, and I fully support everything he's done regarding China and Djibouti. I'll even go further by saying that some of those very ideas were my own, although I won't tell you which ones because—well—I don't really need credit for that, do I?"
The hostess couldn't help but give him a sarcastic look as if she was saying Are you freaking kidding me?
"But Congressman, this is an election year - a presidential election year. If things continue to go your way, you will more than likely be standing face-to-face with President Zimmer on election day in November.”
"Well, Joy, I really hope you're right and if you've got a crystal ball back in that dressing room of yours, I sure would like to borrow it sometime. As for the election, I would be proud and honored to go toe-to-toe with my good friend, President Brandon Zimmer. I will tell you that it will be a fair and honest contest. I'm sure if you asked the president, he’d say the same thing."
The producer waved a hand above the camera, signaling that their time was almost up. The hostess looked across the table and said, "Thank you so much for stopping by, Congressman." She turned back to the camera. "Next, I'll be talking to a former State Department official who will give us the full rundown of what a no-fly zone over Djibouti could mean.”
The LIVE sign went dark, and McKnight rose from his chair. The hostess rose too, and she moved in close, so close that McKnight could smell her perfume. Or was it her shampoo? She was pretty. She had the look of someone who was more bookish than outgoing. Maybe at one point she wanted to be a college professor, but she had been lucky enough to have the good looks to put her in front of the camera. Her star was on the rise and McKnight made a mental note to ask her out for a cup of coffee or maybe a cocktail, off the record of course.
"Congressman," the hostess said quietly so only he could hear, "are you sure there isn't anything else you'd like to tell me about your opponent's current predicament, say that maybe your people were behind it?"
McKnight raised his right hand and smiled. "Joy, I swear from the bottom of my heart that those pictures, that video, and those witnesses did not originate within my campaign." He lowered his hand and stuck it out to shake hers. "Now, if it happens to benefit me down the road, like in our upcoming primaries, who am I to tell America that they shouldn't be fixated on that disgusting scene?"
The hostess' smile warmed like they were finally on the same page. She shook his hand. It was soft, but her grip was hard. "I look forward to our next chat, Congressman. Feel free to contact the station at any time. They'll patch you through to my private number."
McKnight nodded and then made the rounds, making sure to thank the cameramen, the lighting specialist, and the producer for their good work. Then his handlers were back, and he was whisked off to the waiting motorcade.
Once safely ensconced in the Chevy Suburban, he looked over at his greasy moneyman. "Please tell me that bitch is going to concede before the end of the week."
"My sources say it's going to be more like the end of today," the man said, not even cracking a smile as McKnight would have expected.
He was right. Just as Primetime launched across the nation that night, the governor of Texas announced that she would be suspending her presidential campaign in order to deal with the very serious accusations levied against her.
And just like that, Congressman Antonio McKnight was once again the overwhelming frontrunner with a straight shot to the White House.
Chapter 12
Gaucho kept pinching his nose and rubbing it on the back of his hand as they exited the airport cargo terminal. "Man, I don't think I'll ever get that smell out of my nose,” he said, rubbing his nose one last time on his arm before he gave up.
MSgt Trent chuckled. His friend was one of the toughest bastards he'd ever met, but man, did he have his dislikes. His first pet peeve was cold; not an issue right now. Djibouti City felt like it was on top of the frying pan. His second pet peeve was disgusting smells, which had been their own personal hell for the last three hours. The Egyptian intelligence colonel had been true to his word and arranged a flight to Djibouti for them. The only problem was the flight had been in the cramped confines of a sweltering cabin filled with dyed leather which smelled more like rotting animal flesh than whatever purses or wallets it was destined to become at some point.
"Come on now," Trent said. "It can't be nearly as bad as that sewer you told me about in Baghdad. How many nights did you say you spent in there?"
Gaucho made a face like he was going to vomit. "I told you not to bring that up again, Top. They were probably the two worst days of my life."
MSgt Trent shook his head and laughed again, slapping his friend on the back. "Then come on. Let's see if we can't find a couple beers to make that stink go away."
The mismatched pair took a meandering route through the city. The place was bustling as natives and foreigners intermingled around brand new cafes, hotels, and even a shiny new office building sprinkled here and there. Trent had been in the city only once before, but that had been before all the foreign investment hit the streets. Back then it had looked much like any other third world city trying to keep itself going. But now, outside investment had wriggled its long tentacles into the region, quickly making Djibouti and its open ports an important hub for the surrounding area.
Gaucho, on the other hand, seemed to be right at home. He was the one who flagged down taxi cabs and instructed the drivers exactly where to go. They’d go up and down a few streets, always checking to see that they didn't have a tail, and then hop in another cab and go off to another location. By the time they reached the rundown hotel, Trent was completely lost and told Gaucho so.
Gaucho just shrugged and said, "You tend to get to know a place when you have to scour a city to find a decent beer."
Trent had to duck under the sagging hotel awning to follow Gaucho into the hotel. They checked in under fictitious names and then paid the toothless man who was only too happy to take the cash out of the hands of the two foreigners.
The only people they encountered on the way up to their room were three nearly identical bespectacled men chatting away in German. They didn't even look up from their conversation as Trent and Gaucho passed.
They found their room easily. There was a tiny bed in the middle of the cramped room and a ratty couch set against the window. The window-mounted AC unit sputtered like it was trying to chug up a mountain. When Trent put his hand in front of the mold-covered vent, the only thing he was greeted with was more warm air.
"You want the bed or the couch?" Trent asked.
"Neither," Gaucho said.
"Neither? You planning on sleeping on this floor?" Trent shuffled from one foot to another. The carpet actually crunched under his step as if there were 30 years’ worth of guests’ crud soaked into the material.
Gaucho shook his head and walked over to the mini fridge. A waft of cool mist breathed into the stifling room air, and Gaucho pulled out two beer bottles, handing one to his friend. Trent popped off the top using the corner of the chipped and mangled metal headboard of the bed. He took one sip, nodded appreciatively, and then chugged half of the rest.
"Not bad, right?" Gaucho asked.
What Trent really wanted was a gallon of water, but a half a beer would have to do, so he pounded the rest before answering, “You want to te
ll me what the hell we're doing here? Because if we're not going to get any rest, maybe we should just hit the road."
Gaucho took his time savoring the beer and then gave one final throaty sigh of appreciation. Then he held up his own bottle top as if that would explain everything.
Trent looked at his top and said, "Okay? A lion and a giraffe. You want to tell me what that means?"
Gaucho tossed the bottle top to Trent who caught it and looked again at the beer maker's logo. "Turn it over," Gaucho said.
"Well I'll be damned," Trent said. On the other side of the bottle cap was an address written in neat permanent marker.
"Can't say I've seen that trick before," Trent said.
"You're just a Marine," Gaucho said. "You can't expect to be an Army of One just yet." He was grinning and Trent threw him a disgusted look.
