by Brad Taylor
I thought about what I knew of Charleston, and it clicked. “He’s already off the freeway. Into the spaghetti section where I-26 goes into downtown. He’s underneath a bridge somewhere. Check the map. Where would that be?”
Bull came on. “Meeting Street. He got off at that exit. Everything else is up high. Meeting goes underneath.”
“Retro, how long does that thing take to lock back on?” I asked.
“About five minutes. Once signal is broken, it goes through a ridiculous self-test. He’s in the open now, but we won’t get signal.”
Kranz replied, “Understood, but let’s not assume the beacon failed because of a sky-view. Reaper, keep going straight into the crosstown. Bull and Pike, get off at Meeting Street. Bull, go south on Meeting; Pike cut left to East Bay and troll south, paralleling Meeting. Jesse, take King Street to the west and go south as well. I’ll back up Reaper on the crosstown.”
I was surprised by the call. Actually impressed. Maybe he does have some skills on this shit.
I said, “Roger,” and exited the freeway.
Heading toward downtown, I began to review the hit we’d planned. The meeting itself was supposed to occur at the old city jail, a historical landmark that was now home to some sort of architecture school. We’d conducted a reconnaissance earlier and figured we could get out clean because the area was smack-dab in the middle of a government welfare housing area, with little to no foot traffic. There were no other commercial establishments in the area, and the building was just as advertised: a jail from the eighteenth century, deserted and dilapidated, with parking and easy access. No cameras or other surveillance systems, which worked both for the target and for us.
I continued down East Bay and found myself reflecting on how cool the city was. I’d never been to Charleston before, but it had grown on me in the week I’d been there. I was at that stage in my military career when you start thinking about where you want to end up, and this place looked pretty good. Heather, my wife, wanted to stay in North Carolina, but I was having none of that.
Need to get her down here for a weekend. See what she thinks.
My thoughts were broken by Retro.
“East Bay it is. Got the beacon stopped close to Market Street. Corner of East Bay and Pinckney. Looks like a parking lot near the carriage barns.”
I immediately slowed and began scanning, wanting to get eyes on the target. Kranz began calling in the box.
“Pike and Reaper, get ready for an intrusion. See what’s around there, where he could have gone. Bull, set up on Pinckney. Jesse, set up northbound on East Bay. I’ll set up southbound.”
I trolled south down East Bay and saw the vehicle inside some pay parking lot adjacent to a doctor’s office. Next door was a dive bar called Big John’s. Nothing else around.
Chapter 6
I called it in and parked, waiting on Reaper. It was clearly a local’s-only place and not a tourist trap. I knew anyone breaking the plane of that door would get a stare, and I’d look strange as a singleton. Better to go in together.
Reaper pulled around and parked, and I asked his opinion.
“Well, he didn’t go to the doctor. He either walked toward Market Street or he went in. My bet is in. There’s nothing else around here.”
We moseyed up to the front door, past a couple who were smoking cigarettes and going through the dating dance. The interior was dim, with a bar on one side and a row of booths on the other. The ceiling was adorned with women’s bras and other bric-a-brac. My kind of place.
It was crowded but not unduly so. After the people at the bar turned away from us, I took a seat. Reaper asked the bartender for the bathroom and used that excuse to do a cursory search. When he returned, he said the target was in another room in the rear, sitting by himself.
“Can we get back there?”
“Yeah. There are a couple of pool tables. One’s open.”
I ordered two beers and got some quarters while Reaper updated the team.
We were on our second rack, playing against a couple of college kids, when an unknown sat down with the target. Which caused us no small amount of concern. The intelligence indicated that he would meet someone at the old prison. The unknown meant either he was conducting two meetings or our ambush location was no good.
Nothing we could do about it. Reaper went to the bathroom again for some privacy to relay the information, letting Kranz sort out the implications. By the time he came back, the meeting was over and the target was leaving the bar, while the unknown stayed in place.
I alerted Kranz, triggering the box, then kept playing. We’d stay there until the game was done so as not to spook the unknown. I was no longer concentrating, instead listening to the calls on my little Bluetooth earpiece as the surveillance picked up the follow. Five shots later, the college boys sank the eight ball. Reaper told them good game, and we racked our cues.
One college kid said, “That’s twenty bucks each.”
I said, “What are you talking about? We didn’t bet.”
“This is the betting table. You play here, you bet.”
For the first time, I sized them up. The one talking was fairly big, with a shit-eating grin and a ball cap. The other was a little smaller but didn’t look soft. He had a buzz cut that looked military.
“I didn’t know that before we shot. Sorry. I’ll buy you a beer.”
Ball Cap said, “Fuck that. Pay up.”
Reaper came over, put his back to them, and said, “We should just pay. Don’t give the unknown any reason to remember us. And we need to get back into the hunt.”
I thought about it, then said, “Just so you know, if this was real, I’d do it. But it’s an exercise that’s going to be over in about two hours, so I could give a shit what that unknown thinks. I’m not paying them a dime.”
I knew I was forcing a bad position, what with the exercise going on, but this sort of thing just set me off. Pushed my buttons in the worst way. Which was a fault of mine that I needed to work on. Tomorrow.
Truthfully, outside of the chance to bully the bully, I also wanted to see how Reaper would react. Would he fight, or would he do the smart thing?
I could tell they’d sized us up and didn’t think we’d be much trouble. Reaper stood about five-ten, with longish black hair that made him look a little bit like a sissy—but that was just my opinion. Well, mine and apparently these guys’. He didn’t appear to have a lot of muscle, but I knew that was a ruse after the combatives training I’d done with him. The only thing remotely threatening was the size of his hands, which weren’t abnormally large, but were bigger than they should have been.
Reaper grinned and said, “Remember, this was your call.”
He turned to Buzz Cut and said, “Sorry. I’ve conferred with my friend, and we’ve decided that you’re full of shit.”
Then he began walking to the front room, toward the exit. I smiled at Ball Cap and followed. I heard them say something, then felt them right behind me.
We made it halfway down the length of the bar before Ball Cap shouted, “Hey, stop! You fucks owe us money.”
I pulled abreast of Reaper to allow him to get into the fight and kept walking. Ball Cap said, “You hearing me?” and then made the mistake of lunging forward and grabbing Reaper’s shoulder.
I’m sure they both expected a little more shouting, then maybe some chest bumping, before it elevated into anything physical. What Ball Cap got instead was a dose of controlled violence that he would never forget.
Reaper clamped his hands over Ball Cap’s and whirled around, locking up the kid’s elbow. He levered Ball Cap to his knees, holding his hand inverted, palm facing the ceiling and wrist folded as far back as it would go without breaking, then lashed out with his boot, catching him on the chin. The hat flew off, and the man sagged to the floor.
Buzz Cut jumped into the fray, knocking Reaper onto his stomach. He circled his arm around Reaper’s neck and began punching the back of his head. I stood by and did nothing, simply watching my squid’s technique.
Reaper writhed like a snake, and in less than a second, he was behind the man. He put Buzz Cut in a headlock and hammered his face into the nearest booth, full of college girls who were screaming and trying to climb the wall to get away.
Not bad. Not bad at all. He’ll do in a gunfight.
Reaper let the guy fall and turned to me with an incredulous look on his face.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I gave an expression of innocence and said, “I’m not going to jail for assault.”
He stood up muttering, then shoved me out of the way and stomped to the door.
The bartender was dialing a phone, probably calling the police. I said, “Sorry. Here’s some cash for your trouble.”
I threw forty dollars on the bar, figuring the bartender deserved it more than the two punks on the floor. He hung up the phone without saying a word.
I turned to leave and found myself facing one of the college girls. A brunette showing more cleavage than was necessary. She said, “Hey. I know those guys, and they deserved it. I’m Skeeter.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Heather will never believe this.
I said, “Nice to meet you. I’m gone.”
Then I practically sprinted out of the bar.
I reached the car, mentally preparing myself for some verbal abuse from Reaper. Instead he was all business, the bar fight completely forgotten.
“Target just entered the old prison. We’re late for the dance.”
Chapter 7
I got the positions of the vehicles while en route and, now that we were at an endgame, took over control of the team from Kranz, coordinating for the assault.
The plan was pretty simple: Kranz, Jesse, and Reaper would provide early warning down Magazine, Franklin, and Wilson Streets while Bull, Retro, and I would collapse into the courtyard of the jail for the capture. Once complete, Jesse would bring the van he was driving into the courtyard for a transfer; then we’d move to the marina in convoy, with Kranz leading the way and providing blocking for any trouble en route.
The assault team composition wasn’t random. I had worked with Bull and Retro for years; we’d been under fire in Iraq, Afghanistan, and other places. I knew their capabilities. Reaper was turning out fine, but there was no way I was going to take a couple of CIA guys on an assault without more training and rehearsals. They might be perfect on surveillance and with other spy stuff, but when it came to breaking heads, I’d stick with what I knew to work.
The jail itself was a three-story stone structure in the shape of a castle on the corner of Magazine and Franklin streets, the road actually curving around it. Outside of a forbidding tower, it held a small courtyard surrounded by large brick walls. To the east was a parking area. Intel stated the target would park there before entering the gloom of the courtyard to accomplish whatever this meeting was about.
The only variable was the unknown coming to the meeting. We didn’t want to take down two people and would prefer to hit the target while he was waiting alone. Unfortunately, it wasn’t our call. The decision was in the hands of the target and whatever plan he had created.
Waiting to hit him after the meeting was a no-go, because we didn’t know who would exit first or how long either of them would stay, which left us with no choice but to take them both down during the meeting itself. That was okay, though. We were prepared for that contingency.
I slid into my slot behind Bull’s vehicle, killing the lights. “Status?”
Bull came through the earpiece: “Kranz and Jesse are set. Nothing spiking at this time. Target is sitting in his vehicle. Hasn’t exited yet.”
“Reaper,” I said, “you set?”
“Yeah. On Wilson. Nothing moving. You’re clear.”
I pulled out my night-vision goggles and strained to see the target vehicle. There were three in the small parking area.
“Bull, which car?”
“Farthest south. The one that’s a little crooked.”
I focused on the vehicle he’d described and saw a dim shape inside. “Got it.”
My watch read twelve thirty a.m. If he waited too much longer, we were going to miss exfil. I toyed with the idea of taking him now, but I didn’t like that his car could be seen from multiple angles. We were in a poor area, with government housing all around, and I needed the cover of the compound walls to mask our actions.
At 12:55 the target exited the vehicle and moved into the courtyard.
“All elements,” I said, “target is hot. Give me a status.”
I saw Bull and Retro working kit in the car in front of me and heard, “Franklin clear,” then “Wilson clear.”
Jesse came on and said, “Magazine not clear. I say again, Magazine not clear. There’s a minibus coming. Give it fifteen seconds.”
The bus passed my location and stopped in the parking area. Upward of twenty people exited and gathered around a single person standing on a small stone parapet, his back to the jail.
What the hell?
“Retro, you got your game ear with you?”
“Yeah. Standby.”
The game ear was nothing more than an off-the-shelf directional microphone that could pick up noise from a distance. I waited about a minute and was about to call him back when he reported.
“You’re not going to believe this. It’s a ghost tour.”
“A what?”
“A ghost tour. There’s a guide describing all the evil shit that went on in the jail. They’re here to tour the prison.”
“At one in the morning?”
“Yep. Apparently that’s when the ghosts come out. What do you want to do?”
The group moved to the front of the jail and disappeared, most likely going inside. I was now leaning toward taking the target down in the parking area when he returned, which had become the more viable option since I had a group of people possibly viewing the courtyard for poltergeists. The parking area was outside the wall and thus outside their view. I was considering the pros and cons when Reaper called.
“Got a walker coming down Franklin. Moving with purpose.”
The damn unknown.
“Alright, here’s the plan—”
Kranz cut in. “I’m on the walker. Reaper, close from behind. We’ll take him, leaving the target free. Moving now.”
What the hell?
“Negative, I say again, negative. Keep the outer cordon. Do not assault the walker. Let him go. We’ll handle it. All elements acknowledge.”
Bull and Retro said, “Roger.”
Reaper said, “Kranz is on the street, moving to the walker.”
“Kranz, Kranz, acknowledge.”
He said nothing. Reaper came on. “He’s closing on the walker.”
That son of a bitch.
“Get out and help him. Keep him from getting his ass kicked. Bull, get in the courtyard. Spook the target. Act like a cop or whatever you want, but get him back to his vehicle. Retro, you and me on the car.”
Ordinarily the only time a target would see any of us was when we were behind the barrel of a gun, but this had turned out to be anything but ordinary. I figured Bull running him out was better than taking him down in front of a bunch of ghost hunters.
Bull exited, and I met Retro. He immediately began bitching.
“What the hell is going on? Whose team is this, anyway? He pulls this shit overseas, and we’re all going to jail.”
I silenced him with a glare and said, “You take front bumper. Let him get to the door. I’ll stand up—then you hit him with the taser. Any questions?”
&nbs
p; Retro could smell my rage and simply nodded.
We waited on Bull to enter the courtyard, then melted into the shadows, me in the rear and Retro in the front. I keyed my Bluetooth, saying, “Reaper, we’re set. Status?”
“Kranz is talking to the guy. No idea about what. I’m not sure it’s the unknown. I’m still clean. What do you want me to do?”
“Read it. Make a decision. If he makes a move on Kranz, take him down. If not, you need to judge. If he’s the unknown, we need to take him now that Kranz has engaged. We’re compromised. But if he’s not, then he’s a civilian and taking him down will compromise us for real.”
I heard nothing for a moment, then, “Roger.”
Bull keyed his mike, and I heard a bunch of BS about not being here after dark, and then I heard a different voice. A female voice.
“What are you two doing? This is my area. My tour. You can’t be here. I have permission from the owners.”
You have got to be kidding me. What else can go wrong?
Bull transitioned seamlessly, saying, “Yes, ma’am. I’m with the park service. I was just asking this guy what he was doing here.”
I heard the target say, “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m leaving.”
Then the woman asked, “Park service? This isn’t a park. It’s a privately owned building. Let me see some I.D.”
The microphone went mute, and I staged for assault. I caught a shadow exit the courtyard, then saw the target fumbling for his keys. I called Jesse as I rose. “Exfil, I say again, exfil. Get the van here now.”
The target looked at me in fear, giving Retro his full back to fire upon. The taser required both leads to connect, and it wasn’t that accurate, which is why I’d wanted the target focused on me. If one contact missed, we’d be in a fighting, screaming mess with Miss High-and-Mighty about fifty meters away.
I heard the dull whine, and the target whipsawed onto the ground, massive voltage going through him. I saw headlights splash behind me, then go dark. Jesse pulled the van in, and we threw the man into the back. Retro went in after, flex-tying and gagging the target.
