Core of Steel

by J. B. Havens

  Riley was just entering the small bathroom near the cabin door. It was larger than those found on a commercial flight, but when you are tall, wide, and trying to put on gear, it quickly becomes a tiny box. I didn’t envy him the experience, but we didn’t have time for anything else. I walked down the center aisle to the seat I always sit in. I didn’t have to duck around overhead storage bins, there was none of that here. In fact, this plane was completely a special order; it was taller than most so that these giants coming in behind me wouldn’t hit their heads on the roof. Standing room was an underrated commodity. I, of course, didn’t ever have to worry about hitting my head anywhere.

  Right across from the bathroom, or head as they called it on these planes, was the crew compartment which was basically a tiny room with a chair and TV. It was intended for a stewardess or relief pilot to use, but more often than not, one of us ended up decompressing in it on the way home. Unless we were going to cross the Atlantic, we didn’t bring any additional crew with us. Continuing down the center aisle were four pairs of bucket seats, two on each side of the plane facing each other. Then things got really interesting. Instead of a fold-out couch that was the standard, there was a long bank of computers on a gleaming wooden narrow table with monitors mounted to the wall and an office chair that moved back and forth in a metal track on the floor. Having Uncle Sam foot the bill had allowed for some serious modifications. The toys in this plane rivaled Air Force One. We have satellite thermal imaging, joysticks for flying drones, and a communications system capable of tapping into any phone call anywhere in the world, with a few simple strokes of the keys. Along with other things, that even I didn’t want to know about. I just knew that I could point to Jones and ask for information and he would get it without too much fuss, be it crashing an enemy drone, listening in to a phone call on an untraceable phone, or hacking into any computer anywhere. It was scary, the technology that was available to us. This same computer system in the wrong hands could fell entire nations and topple governments.

  Just past the impressive sprawl of modern day technology was a small table with two chairs on each side. I took my seat, which was the last chair before the computer station. At the back of the plane was an impressive galley. We didn’t cook in it much, but it made a nice first aid station when necessary. All the guys loved it when we got to go in the plane. Big leather seats, flat screen TVs, and a bar that would be available once we were on our way home. What was there not to like?

  The men had all filed in behind me and were following suit, stowing gear in the luggage compartment and clipping their rifles to the brackets attached to the fuselage next to their chairs. Jordon came on just as Riley was exiting the head. Riley looked like one of them, black tactical clothes and covered in weapons. I was pleased to note two knives that I could see. If he had two out in the open, I knew he would have at least two more where I couldn’t see.

  They stared at each other for a second. Sizing each other up like fighters in the ring. I let them do it. Part of my job was not just keeping them in line, but also knowing when to step the fuck back and let them do their alpha male thing. I didn’t understand it, but I knew they were all happier if I just let it happen.

  The pilot stepped out of the cabin. He was a retired Air Force test pilot, so he was on intimate terms of what classified meant. He was also a bad ass pilot that could get us and our plane in and out of anywhere we wanted to go.

  “Gentlemen and lady,” he said, with a small smile and nod to me. “Please be seated and buckle in. We will be underway in a moment.” He was one of those men who had aged very well. In his younger years he probably wasn’t much to look at, but as he got older he turned into a total silver fox. He and Jackson went way back, actually.

  “Thanks, Captain. You heard the man, boys, sit down and strap in. Let’s get this show on the road.” Belts clicked all around me as the engines started up. This plane was so well built with such good acoustics that we could hardly hear the engines as we began to taxi down the runway.

  “When are you going to explain the new guy, Mic?” Jones asked. Flynn would normally be the one with all the questions, but he was in the cockpit with the pilot. He didn’t trust anyone to fly him, no matter their credentials or qualifications.

  “Let’s get into the air and when Flynn comes out, I will explain.” Although we were not able to hear the engines I could feel us speeding up, going faster and faster until finally we achieved lift. My stomach dropped to my feet, my ears popped and we were in the air. We continued to climb sharply for a few minutes until finally leveling out.

  Flynn came out of the cabin and took a seat next to Pierce at the table. I swiveled my chair so I was facing them. Jones also turned in his computer chair. Just one big happy family.

  “Ok guys, just before we were getting ready to leave, Jackson got some new intel. I didn’t have time to go over anything with anyone. We have an added target.” I paused, waiting for their reactions. After they got the shouting and cursing out of their systems, I continued. “Jones, bring up the plans of the mansion on screen, please.” He hit a few buttons and the monitor lit up with the floor plans. It even had little red X marks where we were supposed to be. “Now, we know where Jordon and I are going to be and what we are going to be doing. While we’re getting Linc and taking out Mateo, I need you, Phillips, with us near the guest rooms.”

  “Doing what, Mic!” Phillips barked at me.

  “You are going to be taking out the Frenchie. MI-6 added him as a target at the last minute. Our boy Linc got some new intel that changed their objective.” At my nod, Jones brought Linc’s picture up on the other screen. “Linc says that two of Mateo’s men are planning a palace coup of sorts; they plan on taking out Mateo and handing the entire operation over to this Frenchie person. The problem here, Phillips, is that we don’t know who the Frenchie is or what he looks like. But if there is already the workings of a coup in the wind, it will make it more believable when we stage one.”

  “This is fucked,” Pierce stated unequivocally.

  “I know, guys, I know. That’s why I brought in Riley here. He’s going to take your place, Phillips, covering our asses. We needed an extra man.” I stood and pointed to the red X that represented Phillips’s position.

  “Riley, you will be here. Your job is to help provide cover fire if needed and create confusion when we exit. I want you popping off guards left and right.” I pointed to the ridge where Jones would be and explained everyone’s positions to Riley.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” That was all he had said so far. No questions about why we were going into this particular mansion and killing these people. Maybe he didn’t care or maybe he was smart and figured the less he knew, the better. I was giving him enough information to do his job effectively without burdening him with all the details he would have to keep quiet about later.

  “How am I supposed to know who the Frenchie is, Mic?” It was an excellent question and one I was dreading answering. Phillips wasn’t going to like it.

  “We have to wait until Jordon and I make contact with Linc and he will tell us. No one other than Mateo knows who this fucker is. He’s a ghost. But Linc got invited into a dinner meeting with Mateo and the Frenchie last night. He’s supposed to be getting a picture for us and identifying the room where he is staying. Provided all of our transport goes smooth, we should be hitting the compound around zero four hundred hours local time. We’re counting on most of the party guests to be asleep.” I looked at Riley; he was standing now, studying the map of the mansion and surrounding area carefully.

  “Fuck me.” Phillips spat, jerking his hands through his hair. I knew the feeling.

  “Listen, I know this sucks giant monkey balls.” This got a round of laughter from the men. “But it’s all we’ve got, okay? We are Steel. We can do this. We will do this. There is no other choice, that’s why they send us. Because we can take these shit storms and make something out of it.”

  “So we get in there, whack these tw
o, and then get Linc out before letting our presence be known?” Jordon asked.

  “Exactly. We are beyond outnumbered and outgunned. Only way we all get out of there is if we use every element to our advantage. We need to surprise them, and then you guys be ready to create a diversion if needed. If they figure out that there are only seven of us, we’re dead. Everything hinges on us taking care of Mateo and the Frenchie before anyone knows we are there.”

  “Affirmative, boss,” Flynn grumbled. This was not our typical mission. Usually we had everything planned to the second. There were too many unknown variables here. But we are Steel. If anyone could pull this off, it was us.

  Chapter 15

  We had just landed in Panama and were waiting for the MI-6 contacts to show up. They were late. Typical for them. They viewed us Americans as beneath them and figured we’d wait around for them. They had five more minutes and then we were leaving, with or without a final pow-wow.

  “What the fuck, Mic? Why are we waiting around for these fuckers?” Phillips groused. There was definitely no love lost between our nations, allies or not.

  “Five minutes, boys, then we leave.” We were milling around outside the plane, stretching our legs and getting some air. If smoking had been allowed we’d have been doing that. As it was, Captain was having a cigar, casually blowing the smoke at Flynn, who was covertly inhaling.

  The thick heat of Panama hadn’t dissipated with sundown. If we were going to reach the mansion on time, we needed to leave very soon. This was going to be the fastest covert meeting in the history of special operations.

  Pierce and Flynn were joking and pushing each other. Phillips was sitting on the plane steps, glancing at his watch every minute or so. Jordon was standing a few yards in front of the nose of the plane, his rifle held in a relaxed position, though he was alert, and scanning for threats in this hostile area. Riley was in a similar position at the rear of the plane. The small runway we were standing on was showing its age. Cracks had formed all over, with scraggly stunted weeds growing up out of them. All around us were strange night sounds. The forest we were surrounded by was as alive at night as it was in the day. Insects of all types were calling and screeching; nocturnal animals were rustling through the brush. I held my own rifle close, but kept my hands relaxed. I didn’t like sitting out in the open like this. It made the hairs on the back of my neck crawl with awareness.

  Just as I was about to order everyone back on the plane, two sets of headlights came speeding down the runway toward us. Riley stepped up with Jordon, striding out to meet the large SUVs. They stopped at Jordon’s signal and the rest of us stood in a loose formation behind the two of them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jones melt into the shadows of the plane, no doubt working his way around behind the SUVs.

  The back door on the lead vehicle opened and two hands appeared. Smart move. Jordon and Riley both shouldered their rifles, and aimed at what they could see of the man slowly inching his way out of the vehicle.

  “Oi, don’t shoot me, mates!” A thick, barely understandable voice shouted out at us before he exited the truck fully. Standing in the headlights it was hard to make out his features, but I would recognize that thick Yorkshire accent anywhere. The skinny black man standing before us had been my contact in MI-6 for years, and I hadn’t expected to see him here today.

  “You’re late, my friend,” I shouted back, stepping forward and letting my rifle drop down on its sling. I brushed Riley and Jordon’s rifles down and walked toward the last man I ever expected to see tonight. He was in his characteristic suit and tie with a vest, though he’d call it a waistcoat. He was not handsome in the conventional sense; bald with a trim goatee, his nose was too large for his face, and his eyes were too small and close together. What he lacked in looks he made up for in personality.

  “Don’t get all wound up, luv. You knew I’d be here, eventually.” He smirked at me.

  I could feel the men’s confusion. They didn’t know him like I did. We had done a mission together soon after Steel formed. We’d infiltrated a German militant camp. The group we had taken out had been falsely claiming to be the descendants of Hitler and were determined to carry on his legacy. The only thing they carried now was the earth on top of their unmarked graves. At the time I thought it was strange that a black British man was able to be of any help against the Nazis. He shocked me with his silence and technical abilities. I was a poster child for WASP breeding so it had been easy enough for me to get in. I snuck him in at night and we took them all out.

  “If I had known you were my contact on this, I would have expected the tardiness. I don’t have time to dick around, my friend. Spit it out so we can be on our way.”

  “Now that is no way to greet an old friend is it, luv?” The men were unusually silent; just turning their heads back and forth like they were at a tennis match or something.

  “Stop with the luv crap, you know how I hate that shit, Liam.” I stepped forward and shook his hand.

  “I’m Linc’s handler, Mic. I was the one who took his call when he came forward that he had information worth sharing.” He handed me a folder that I hadn’t even noticed in his hands. Sloppy of me.

  “What’s this?” I don’t know why I bothered asking. He wouldn’t tell me. He liked the big reveal too much.

  “Open it and see for yourself, luv.” I rolled my eyes at him, but did as he asked. I opened the folder, using the headlights from the trucks to see by. Inside was a note and a small black and white picture. Of a woman.

  “What the fuck…….?” My voice trailed off in disbelief as I read the short note.

  Enclosed is the film with the picture I was able to get from the dinner party. This is the Frenchie.

  The photo was of a statuesque beautiful woman. In black-and-white, it was hard to guess what her coloring was. Something light. She was classically beautiful with high cheekbones and a small mole next to her lower lip. I was unreasonably shocked. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t had female targets before. It was just very much unexpected. There aren’t many international female crime lords.

  “I didn’t think I would have this photo until we were on the ground in Colombia. How did Linc get it to you so fast?”

  I got a smirk for a reply. We were friends, but not that good of friends, I guess.

  “Anything else I need to know before we leave?” I handed the folder off to Phillips. He opened it and just stared at me. I shrugged in response. I didn’t know what to make of it either.

  “Nope, that’s about it, luv.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Liam, if you call me luv again, I’m going to shove my boot up your skinny ass.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  “See you around my friend.” I flipped him the bird before shaking his hand again.

  “Not if I see you first, mate.” With a final smile and wink he climbed back into the truck, and they were gone. By this time, Phillips had passed the folder around to the rest of the men.

  “Let’s talk on the plane, boys. We’ve screwed off enough for tonight.” Without a backward glance, I got on the plane and resumed my seat. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and wished for my music to distract me. The twisted feeling in my gut was getting worse with every mile we traveled. Every detail that could be mapped out had been mapped out. Every preparation possible had been made. So why couldn’t I shake this feeling of foreboding? Was this how Julius Caesar had felt when he crossed the Rubicon? Going past that point of no return, where the only way on was forward and damn the consequences? The thoughts ran around and around in my head as we taxied and took off once more. The only thing I could do was buckle up and hope for the best; do what I knew and trust my men to do the same.

  ****

  Jordon settled back into the cushy soft seat again. Not a bad ride all things considering. He looked over at Mic who had her head back and eyes closed. This mission seemed to be rattling her. Too many changes too close to mission time; it was enough to make anyone nervous. He though
t maybe the others were more on edge than normal. Being the new guy, he didn’t know if this was the norm or not. He fucking hoped so; otherwise they were fucked.

  He looked around the plush cabin, noting the tension on all of their faces. Riley was the hardest to read because other than seeing him around base or on duty at the gate, no one knew him. Having him along didn’t sit well with any of them, but Mic hadn’t asked for their opinions. Which was fine, since she was the NCO. She didn’t have to ask or explain fuck-all to them. He was realistic enough to know that she was in a tough spot; unable to go forward without making a decision. Maybe when this was all over he would ask her about it. Not that he expected an answer from her, but it was worth a shot.

  He was jittery and wound up. This was his first mission as a member of Steel, so he couldn’t fuck this up. They needed him and Mic needed him. He couldn’t fail; he needed to do this for Mattey.

  ****

  Phillips clutched the folder in his hands; staring at the face of the woman he was ordered to kill. She was beautiful in that timeless way of movie stars from the 1920s, with short hair swept up and over, framing a delicate, but strong heart shaped face. A small mole sat near the corner of her mouth, drawing the eye to the perfect shape of her lips. Everything he had been through with his brothers in Steel, everything that he had done on orders from commanders they never saw, he had never questioned. It was only since hazing in Jordon that Phillips began to rethink everything he stood for. Did he still want to be part of this? What evidence did they have that this woman was the Frenchie? The word of one man who was working for the cartel? He didn’t want to kill her; he didn’t want to sneak into her room and slit her delicate throat. He didn’t want to feel the spray of her blood hitting his clothes or running over his hands. He didn’t want the coppery, penny-like taste of blood in his mouth, and fuck him if he wanted her face haunting him in his dreams with the others. He could live with himself at this point, but adding another face, another death, might just be his undoing.