by Brad Taylor
The European said, “If you want to do that, I must search you.”
She entered the suite, hearing Pike say, “Fine. We don’t have any weapons.”
The room was large, even by penthouse standards, with a full-length dining table, a sectional sofa, and a gigantic wide-screen TV tuned to an American sitcom. To the left was a bedroom, and deeper in she could see a small hallway leading to what was presumably the master suite. And her target.
Three men were on the couch, and a fourth met her at the door. She recognized him as the chief of security from the night before, a large Arab with a neatly groomed beard wearing a suit.
He said, “Leave your things out here.”
That was easy. She put the phone down but kept her small clutch. He said, “Remove your jewelry.”
“What?”
“No jewelry in the room. I’m sorry.”
She nodded and removed her earrings, a bracelet, and her necklace, setting them next to the phone. He said, “Your Bluetooth as well.”
Uh-oh. “Why? That can’t hurt anyone. I use it to talk to my security.”
“You don’t need security. Please. Remove it.”
She debated, then did as he asked. He said, “Thank you. Your purse as well.”
No way. Deal breaker.
She opened it, saying, “This is for the client.” Inside were a bottle of lubricant, a tube of lipstick, and several condoms. Hidden in the lining was the thumb drive.
He poked his finger around the inside, pressing the lining and causing her to hold her breath. He nodded. “Is okay. Follow me.”
She felt the eyes of the other three men on her as she walked to the main bedroom, the large Arab leading the way. He stopped and knocked on the door, saying something in Arabic. There was a muffled reply, and he opened the door.
She entered, seeing Panda lying on the bed in a bathrobe, the front open, exposing his erection, large folds of flab dripping onto the bedspread. About as disgusting a sight as she could imagine.
He looked her up and down and said, “Beautiful as always.”
She scanned the room and saw a laptop on the desk by the bed. Bingo. She heard the door close behind her, then felt movement, startling her. The large Arab had remained in the room.
Panda saw her reaction and said, “Don’t worry. He only watches.”
8
I saw Jennifer enter the room, feeling a little like a pimp. Disgusted with myself. As the door closed I almost wished Panda had been gay. Then I would have sent in Knuckles without any qualms. Hippie hair and pretty-boy face—he’d be perfect.
As we backed away from the door, Knuckles saw my grin slip out. We moved a respectful distance down the hall away from the two security men and Knuckles asked, “What’s funny?”
I said, “Nothing. Just thinking about the mission.”
Our earpieces came alive. “Pike, this is Retro. Camera’s in place, but they made her remove her earpiece.”
I glanced at Knuckles. “Why?”
“She had to remove all of her jewelry. Probably just a security precaution.”
Retro knew what I was going to ask next. “Don’t worry. I’m getting good audio from the laptop in the den. I can hear well enough.”
“Even when she’s in the bedroom? With a closed door?”
“Well, no. Not if she’s not shouting.”
Knuckles saw my face and said, “Don’t even think it. She made the call to go in. She could have aborted. Let her play it out.”
Retro came back on. “Uhh . . . Pike, the head of security went in with her and he hasn’t come back out.”
I took one step toward the door, and Knuckles grabbed my arm. “Don’t. She can handle herself. Don’t let your emotions get in the way here. She’s just a teammate. Let her solve the problem.”
What he really meant was I told you this fraternization would become an issue. Did I want to go in because a teammate was in trouble, or because it was Jennifer? I tried but honestly couldn’t separate the two. I locked eyes with him and he slowly shook his head. I knew if I went in, he would question my judgment forever. Just like I was questioning it right now.
I keyed my Bluetooth and said, “Retro, roger. Keep eyes on.”
* * *
Jennifer turned back around to the fat Panda and said, “I’d rather he didn’t stay. This isn’t a show. It’s all about pleasing you and you alone.”
Panda scowled and said, “He stays. I pay you well enough to do anything I want. In fact, when we’re done, you can pleasure him as a reward.”
Great. Well, he’s about to leave, you fat little Jabba the Hutt.
She turned on the megawatt smile and said, “Okay,” then motioned to the security chief. “Can you give me a hand with my dress?”
She kept her eyes on Panda, watching his own widen as the dress slipped over her shoulders. She said, “You must wear protection, you know?”
He said, “No, no. I paid extra. I’m not unclean.”
The dress pooled at her feet and she saw his breathing increase. She twirled around, wearing nothing but her bra and panties, still dressed in her Jimmy Choos, and said, “You want this, you wear protection.”
He said, “I don’t have any.”
She saw his lust and knew she held the cards.
“I have one,” she said.
She pulled out the poison-laced condom packet and tossed it to him on the bed, wondering how long the ABS took to work and beginning to believe the security chief had missed getting it on him.
Panda gave what he thought was a sultry smile and said, “You want me to wear it, you put it on.”
You have got to be kidding.
She winked at him, hiding the desperation building like a freight train picking up speed, and said, “I’m going to freshen up. You be ready when I get back.”
She started to move to the bathroom when the security chief doubled over, holding his stomach. He stood up and looked physically tortured, gritting his teeth so hard she thought she could hear the grind. He shouted something in Arabic and raced out of the room.
Panda said, “Looks like you got your wish. Something he ate.”
She flashed the megawatt and sauntered into the bathroom, feeling his eyes boring into her bottom. She closed the door and sat on the toilet, breathing heavily.
She waited for an eternity, fearing she would hear him call, ordering her to apply the condom. Just get it over with. How bad can it be? You still have on your gloves. They’re sterile.
She gathered her courage and stood up just as Panda came flying into the bathroom, robe trailing behind and limp penis flopping under his flabby belly, successfully encased in a condom.
He screamed, “Get out, get out!”
And she did, closing the door behind her. She heard an explosion of gas, and what sounded like someone pouring muddy water into the toilet, then a moan.
She grinned, racing to her clutch. She dumped the contents, tore open the lining, and pulled out Retro’s thumb drive. She leapt across the bed, jammed it into the port, and powered up the computer. According to Retro, passwords and other security were irrelevant. If it started blinking red, it was working.
The computer beeped and blinked, a small hourglass turning in circles on the screen forever, and she wondered if it had some protection against their exploit.
Come on, come on.
The thumb drive light blinked red, a rapid strobe. She smiled, and the door behind her burst open.
She whirled around, seeing the three remaining security personnel. One shouted at her in Arabic, another ran to the bathroom. The third charged, a tall African with long, ropy braids.
She screamed, “Buffalo! Buffalo, buffalo, buffalo!”
The African reached her and she raised her fists. She struck him once in the head and he bodily threw her across the room, slamming her into the wall. She fell to her hands and knees next to the contents of her clutch. She snatched up the lipstick tube and stood.
She kicked off her heels, ripped off the
lid, and jabbed it forward, waving it back and forth like a knife. The man laughed at her and said something to his partner. The first man returned from the bathroom and rattled off something in Arabic. Their faces grew grim, and they advanced on her.
Keep them off of you. Seconds. Only need seconds.
The African darted forward, and she slashed his face with the lipstick. He batted her hand away, the lipstick tube flying across the room, and he slapped her cheek with a glancing blow. She tucked her head and tried to knee his groin. The second man reached her and both began punching.
She drove through them, holding her hands against her head for protection, trying to reach the door. The African grabbed her around the waist and threw her onto the bed. The other two dove on top of her. She shrieked the code word over and over, and for the first time felt genuine fear.
Two things happened that restored her courage. One, the man on top of her explosively shit his pants. And two, she heard her name shouted.
From her personal wrecking machine.
9
I paced in a tight circle, waiting on either Jennifer to call or Retro to tell me she was coming back out. Neither happened.
Knuckles said, “Easy, slayer. No news is good news.”
“I know. I know. But this is killing me.”
Retro came on the earpiece. “Security chief just came running out holding his stomach.”
Knuckles smiled. “See. Told you. Let her go.”
The words brought great relief. Somehow Jennifer had managed to separate the two, and was driving on with the mission.
I paced about for another five minutes, then heard Retro say, “One of the three remaining went to check on the security chief. The other two are getting antsy. Standing up and pacing. Staring at the door. They don’t have the courage to go in yet, but it’s building.”
I looked at Knuckles and said, “Get ready. Which one do you want?”
“I’ll take the Arab.”
Brett said, “I’ll take the white boy. Kick some cracker ass.”
I said, “Okay. This goes bad and I’ll jump in to help either one of you that’s losing.”
Retro said, “He just came back out. He’s shouting in Arabic. They’re moving to the door.”
Knuckles understood the same thing I did. He said, “It just went bad.”
I flicked my eyes to the men outside and said, “Get to it.”
Brett and Knuckles started walking toward them, me falling in behind. They glanced our way and Knuckles said, “Hey, we got a question about the timeline here. We got some boozing to do. How long does your boss take?”
The Caucasian smiled and said, “He’s quick. Trust me. Even with the Viagra, he can’t last more than thirty minutes. Your girl will be making easy money.”
Through the earpiece, Retro said, “They’re in. . . . Buffalo, buffalo, buffalo. She’s calling buffalo.”
I said, “Execute.” And unleashed a little bit of hell.
Brett darted inside the reach of his target and drove his knee into the man’s groin before he could react. The European doubled over and Brett grabbed his hair and redirected his knee to the man’s face. He collapsed.
Knuckles’ man saw the movement and had a split second more time to react. His brain realized a threat, but his reaction time was nowhere near what was necessary. Knuckles came in full bore, forgoing any submission holds for total destruction.
The man snarled and snapped out with a jab. Way too late to do any good. Knuckles blocked the ineffectual blow and slammed his fists forward like a pile driver, one, two, three, four, snapping the target’s head back so hard it hit the wall and left a dent. I saw him slide to the floor, his face a bloody mess.
Doesn’t have the callsign Knuckles for nothing.
I moved to the door and said, “Get their weapons. Give me an up. Hurry.”
I held the keycard from Retro, ready to swipe. They ripped through the clothing and pulled out two SIG 226 pistols. They nodded and I said, “No killing unless necessary. We can still get out clean.”
I swiped the card and nothing happened. I swiped again. Nothing.
Retro said, “She’s screaming. Get your ass in there. She’s in trouble.”
I said, “You fuck! The card isn’t working.”
Brett went back to a body and started ripping through pockets. I felt the fear grow, my imagination running wild. He found a card and tossed it to me. I swiped, and the door light went green. We flowed in.
I entered on the run and saw the size of the room, a bedroom on the right. I said, “Brett, hit the bathroom with the security chief. Knuckles on me.”
We ran to the back bedroom, exploding in and seeing Jennifer on the bed wearing nothing but a black lace bra and panties, three men on top of her.
I lost my mind.
I reached the first man before he realized I was there. I snatched him by the collar and the groin, hoisted him in the air over my head with rage alone, and threw him directly into the mirror on the wall, shattering it. I turned to the next man and saw Knuckles applying a submission hold, the man screaming in pain, bent over with his arm in the air, his wrist locked up. I took a hop, gaining speed, and kicked him in the face as violently as I could. His head snapped back, a spray of blood blooming.
Knuckles dropped him, looking at me in shock. The mirror man was rolling around on the floor, and I returned to him. Giving out a little rage.
He held his hands up, woozy from the impact with the wall, and I whipped my leg, catching him just behind the ear and laying him out. I whirled to the final man and saw that Jennifer had wriggled out and was now standing on the side of the bed, breathing heavily.
The man rolled onto the floor, holding his stomach, groaning. Then I noticed the odor. The man farted, his bowels letting loose a wet sound. Jennifer said, “He’s no threat.”
Knuckles said, “What the hell was that? Why didn’t you just shoot my guy? Easier than beating him to death.”
I said, “Hey, like you said, she’s a teammate. You fuck with my team, you get my heat.”
He shook his head and said, “Uh-huh. Yeah. Right.”
I turned to Jennifer. “You okay?”
Brett entered the room, weapon at the ready. He nodded at me.
Jennifer said, “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”
Brett sized up the situation and lowered his weapon, saying, “Oh, you’re better than good. All sweaty and wearing lace. Pike’s not going to sleep tonight.”
I snapped my head to him, not believing what had come out of his mouth. He said, “What? Are you blind? Am I wrong?”
Knuckles gingerly picked up her dress and said, “No, you’re definitely not wrong.”
He handed it to her and said, “I’m not touching the zipper. No offense.”
Brett moved to the laptop and said, “I got green. We have it.”
Jennifer wriggled into her dress, using her gloves on the zipper, and I said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
We started to the door, with Jennifer still rummaging around the room. I said, “Jenn, get a move on. What are you doing?”
She looked up at me, in between one body with significant damage and another rolling around on the floor voiding his bowels, the odor almost overpowering.
She said, “I’m not leaving my Jimmy Choos.”
10
Kurt stopped his Oversight Council briefing at Kerry Bostwick’s outburst, not wanting to believe what the director of the CIA had just said.
The room went quiet, and Kurt’s triumphant update on the successful mission in Nairobi crashed against the very data that Pike had obtained. On the screen was a graphic uncut video of the beheading of the CIA source known as BOBCAT, found on the Saudi facilitator’s computer, but that wasn’t what had the room shocked.
President Warren said, “You’re telling me that the man holding the knife is LEOPARD?”
“Yes. I believe it is.”
“But their faces are blurred out. How can you be sure?”
>
“Before LEOPARD was inserted, he bought a shirt for the rock band AC/DC. It said ‘Back in Black,’ just like the one that man is wearing. He thought it was funny. And LEOPARD had a tribal art tattoo on his forearm. Just like that man.”
Kurt thought, That’s not good.
President Warren said, “So a source who was recruited, trained, and vetted by the CIA was inserted into Syria and never reported. Instead, he ends up beheading the one CIA source that was reporting? BOBCAT?”
Kerry swallowed and said, “It appears so. And that’s not the worst. He’s an American citizen.”
The room broke into a buzz, cut short by President Warren waving his hand for silence. He said, “Lose the crypt. You’re not protecting a source anymore. Tell us the story.”
Kerry took a deep breath and said, “We had no penetration of ISIS. No way to determine what was going on inside the organization. At the same time we were scouring the Middle East and finding BOBCAT and COUGAR, someone came up with the idea of inserting an American. I mean, we’ve had plenty of US citizens go over and join the fight, so we decided to cloak an asset in that mantle. We conducted research and found LEOPARD in Florida. His real name is Ali Jaafar Hussein, and he’s basically a hood. His father is Jordanian and his mother is a crack addict. The father left the family when Hussein was only four, going back to Jordan, then his mother went to jail. He’s been in and out of foster homes and reform schools ever since. He was perfect. No familial ties and he had handed us leverage in the form of some charges he was facing for shoplifting. We offered to get them dropped and he accepted.”
Jonathan Billings, the secretary of state, said, “And you thought this was a good idea?”
Kerry bristled. “It was a good idea. Actually, a great idea. Intelligence work is never perfect. We couldn’t predict this.”
“Couldn’t predict it? You sprung a guy from jail and expected him to become James Bond? Really?”
Kerry said, “We knew the risk of him fleeing once he was in Turkey, and we were comfortable with that. Worst case, we figured he’d just disappear, but best case, he reported, and that far outweighed turning free a small-time hood in Europe. We never expected him to join the fight. He had no jihadist background. He knows more about Christianity than Islam. We conducted a thorough background on him. He was vetted. He had not a shred of anti-American sentiment.”
