by J. B. Havens
He tossed the folder onto the table in front of him just as they reached a safe altitude for Mic to come over and sit across from him. He tried to rearrange his face into his normal bored expression and was sure he’d failed.
“Phillips, spit it the fuck out. Let’s get this over with.” As ever, Mic went right for the throat.
“Nothing to spit out. I have to kill her. I know that. I just don’t have to like it.” He bit the words out, trying his damnedest to keep a modicum of respect in his voice.
“We can switch. You can take Mateo and I will take her.” It was a concession she didn’t have to offer. There was no reason why she shouldn’t just tell him to nut up and deal with his shit.
“No, Mic. I’ll do it. Where is she supposed to be in that monstrosity of a house?” He pulled out his copy of the blueprint from one of his many pockets and laid it out on the table before them.
“I wish I knew. You saw the same thing in the folder that I did. It’s just her picture. We’ll know what room in when we hook up with Linc.” She ran both hands through her hair, making the already fuzzy mess fluff out even more. She glared at him when she caught him staring.
“Listen Phillips, you and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye on things. But I’m serious, we can switch targets if you want. It won’t mess with the plan too much.” She looked unsure, which for her, wasn’t normal at all. Mic was usually a full on, in your face, take no shit, ball buster of a woman. He suspected he wasn’t the only one having issues with this mission.
“No, Mic, we’ll be there soon. The time for changes is past, as you well know. You’re worried about this mission, aren’t you?” Putting his own shit aside he really looked at her for the first time in weeks. Her mouth was drawn down and tight; there were worry lines on her forehead and dark circles under her eyes. She’d never taken too much care with her appearance, the military tends to wash that out of you, but for her to look this terrible was out of character.
“Understood. Yes, I’m worried. I know it’s cliché as fuck, but I have a really bad feeling about this whole cock-up of a mission.” She tapped her finger on the map in front of them. “Here and here are blind spots that even with Jones, we can’t cover. The mansion itself is a maze. We’re going to feel like Hansel and Gretel in there, needing to leave bread crumbs to find our way out again. Mateo is a psychopathic drug addict in a love affair with torture. Everything about this screams bad news to me.”
Just as she finished her sentence they began their descent.
****
Time was up, we were here. Ready or not, it was time to see our plan come to fruition.
“Time to rock and roll, boys. Strap it on; let’s do this,” I said, as we bumped down the short runway. I checked my watch and made sure it was set to the local time displayed on the big screen. Even as we were landing, Jones was bringing up infrared satellite feeds of the runway and the mansion. The mansion was a hive of activity. Couples dressed in designer labels were getting into luxury cars of every make and model. The party was breaking up right on schedule. We would be getting there and getting into the mansion during the chaos of cleanup. Perfect cover. No one paid any attention to the servants at parties like this anyway, at least that’s what I was counting on.
“Set your watches, ladies. I have zero three forty-seven hours. Sync them up.” I firmly put on my Staff Sergeant hat. Time to go to work. The plane came to a stop, and the Captain opened the door and lowered the steps. Everyone stood and strapped on their weapons. Jones, Flynn, and Riley put in their ear-pieces and slipped their Under Armour tactical hoods on, which covered their faces from the nose down. The full coverage material protected their identities in the event of security cameras and kept them cool in the vicious heat pouring in through the open cabin door. Then they smeared black face paint over what skin was left exposed, their eyes looking very bright in the sea of black. Normally we would all wear them, but Phillips, Jordon, and I were going inside. We would take the risk of being recognized.
I surveyed the men standing before me. With their rifles slung across their chests and faces blacked out with only their eyes showing, they were a terrifying sight. Heavy boots and wide stances accentuated their already intense physique. Good fucking thing we were on the same side.
We stepped out into the heat and the sounds of the jungle around us. Our plane had landed with only feet to spare. It was a damn small runway with just enough room for our jet and the Stealth Blackhawk waiting for us.
“Flynn.” I didn’t need to say more, he was already jogging to the bird, climbing in and flipping switches. This was a one-of-a-kind stealth helicopter. The technology used in stealth fighters had been applied to this bad-ass piece of machinery. The blades and tail had been modified to suppress noise, the biggest drawback of helicopters. While not completely silent, the noise was so minimal that no one on the ground would even notice it was there until it was right on top of them. It was nearly undetectable on radar or infrared. At its core, it was a Blackhawk, but with so many modifications it was nearly unrecognizable as one.
“Okay ladies, Flynn here is going to get us within two hundred yards, we’ll fast-rope down and take up our positions. Everyone know where supposed to be?” I scanned their faces again, looking from one man to the next.
Flynn came running over to join us. Gone was his cocky attitude; in its place was the focused pilot I knew him to be.
“We’re ready, Sergeant.” He jogged back to the Stealth Hawk, not waiting for my answer.
“You heard the man. Let’s go.” I followed Flynn and climbed aboard. Riley was the last to board and before he was all the way in, we were airborne. He was actually looking a little green around the gills.
“You gonna make it, Riley? If you need to puke, make you sure you do it out the door. You blow chunks in the chopper, you clean it.” I smirked at him and he glared back. He didn’t look so green anymore.
“Don’t worry about it, Riley. Pierce puked once. That’s when Mic started that rule.” I whipped my head over at Phillips. I didn’t want him sharing our war stories in front of Riley. The mission he was talking about was when Pierce had a bullet hole in his leg, a broken nose, and a stab wound that showed the wet bloody bone in his left arm. He was entitled to puke. It hadn’t been only vomit that needed cleaning that day, Pierce’s blood had covered the floor of the chopper. He nearly bled out before we got him to a hospital that was capable of patching him up. Phillips had been the one trying to hold his arm together and stop the bleeding from his leg at the same time. Why would he bring this up now?
“Stow it, Phillips. Now isn’t the fucking time,” I snapped.
Just then Flynn came over the radio, “ETA, two minutes.”
“Copy.” I gestured to the coils lying on the cabin floor like giant black snakes. “Get them ready, boys. Riley, ready to fast-rope?” I asked, as I kicked the ropes out the open cabin doors, one on either side.
“Yes, Staff Sergeant.” No further explanation. We would see. Fast-roping is the same concept as rappelling, but quicker. No holding the rope taut under your ass, just hook your feet and slide down. We would have boots on the ground in seconds. With no place or time to land, it was the best way to get us in.
I tightened my gloves and waited for Flynn’s green light to drop. I would be the first out and the last back in, just the way I did things. I doubled-checked that my weapons were secure; I didn’t want them catching on the rope or falling off on my way down. I had a grip on the rope at my feet, ready to swing out into the open pre-dawn air.
“Drop in three, two, and one…,” Flynn came through on the radio. Before he was finished, I was swinging my legs out and around the rope. In a rush of air I was on the ground and jogging away. I heard thumps behind me of the men following suit. My heart was banging and my chest felt tight. I got a rush from that every damn time.
Flynn dusted off and began his circle. What I could hear of the Stealth Hawk was minimal and was almost covered by the noise of the jung
le around us. Flynn would continue to circle until Pierce’s pyrotechnics went off and then he would move to the LZ.
“Jordon on my six; Phillips on my three o’clock, over.” I whispered into my radio. I jogged forward, not needing to look. I could feel them beside and behind me. Jones had melted into the darkness before Pierce or Riley were even out of the bird. I didn’t look back to watch Riley fast-rope. As long as he made it down in a timely manner, I didn’t care how pretty it was.
“Copy,” they said almost in unison.
“Pierce, Jones, Riley, radio silence until you reach position. Confirm position when ready.” I picked up the pace, keeping the road to the mansion on my left, staying down and in cover. We were ducking branches and jumping over fallen logs, the dense foliage around us muffling what little sound we made.
We traversed the five-hundred yards to the mansion in a matter of minutes. I stopped behind a giant tree to get my bearings before heading in. We were at the back of the estate. Just ahead was an expansive ornamental garden, dotted with statues and giant planters full of colorful flowers that I could just make out in the little bit of light afforded by the moon. Just ahead was the service entrance where Linc was supposed to be waiting.
“Moving into position. Over,” I said, pressing the button in my vest as I did so.
“Copy. Pierce in position. Packages sealed and signed. Over.” Pierce moved fast. I could just see his shadow moving from corner to corner around the estate. Each time he paused he was laying a charge. Those fuckers wouldn’t know which way was up when these babies blew.
“Copy. Hold position. Over.”
Jones was the next one to radio in. “Eagle in the nest.” So fucking cliché. There was no need for code and only a slim chance that anyone in that mansion was able to tune into the frequency we were using, a fact Jones knew better than most.
“Copy, Eagle,” I said, shaking my head. I heard Phillips chuckle softly beside me. I glanced over and couldn’t see him. Good. If I couldn’t see him, then I knew no one in the mansion could, either.
“Riley in position. Over.”
“Copy.” Everyone was ready to go. I kept my eyes trained on the door, waiting for it to open a crack. That was our signal that Linc was in place and ready for us. My palms were sweating, but not with nerves. I was anticipating this; ready for it, anxious to go to work.
The seconds ticked by, feeling like minutes. The minutes felt like hours, days, of waiting; waiting for the tiny sliver of light to appear around the door. I took breaths deep into my diaphragm, exhaling through my nose, calming my racing heart, and stilling my jittery hands. Oxygenating your blood works every time. I could hear Jordon behind me, shuffling from one foot to the other. Phillips was invisible and silent, the waiting not getting to him at all, it seemed.
The light appeared and stayed. I snapped into action. “Signal given. Moving out. Over,” I said. Glancing left and right, I ran forward in a crouch. I hit the garden and the smell of exotic flowers nearly overwhelmed me, clogging my nose with their heavy perfume. The grass was soft and plush as carpet beneath my heavy boots. I paused behind a marble Greek goddess and checked that we were still clear. Phillips kept to the side of me, also finding convenient cover among the statuary. I spared a quick glance behind me; Jordon was beside a hedge cut into the shape of a horse.
Flagging them forward, I ran to the door which opened wide at my approach. I entered into a short hallway and quickly ducked into the storage room indicated on the blueprints. Jordon nearly stepped on my heels trying to get in behind me. Phillips and another person followed him in and softly shut the door. Once inside, I took the time to look at the man who had made all of this possible.
Linc matched his picture exactly with the exception of heavy bags under his eyes and slightly shorter hair. He was in a black dress shirt and pants with a white jacket. No tie. He looked the part we needed to play.
“Hurry up and change. We are running out of time.” He tossed a laundry bag at our feet and turned around.
“I need information. Where is the Frenchie and what is she doing right now?” I propped my rifle against the wall and dumped the laundry bag. Tossing shirts and pants to the others I pulled a classic French maid dress out for myself.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Phillips was trying to stifle his laughter at my expression as I held the dress in front of me. It was heavily starched and slightly wrinkled from being in the bag. Its only saving grace was that it was about knee length; room enough to hide a knife or two and keep my ass from hanging out. There was no accounting for taste and apparently Mateo had none. I had even more incentive to gut him and let him bleed out on my boots. The men could wear their boots and go unnoticed, but for me there was a pair of black heels.
Great, just fucking great. I was never going to live this shit down.
The men were dropping their pants and whipping off their shirts. They left their vests on underneath the short sleeved button-ups that they were rapidly buttoning. I hadn’t even begun to change.
“Hurry the fuck up, Mic, we don’t have time for your modesty,” Phillips barked at me. I slid into action, pulling off my boots and working my way up from there.
“You’ll be the one in charge, then?” Linc asked me.
“Yes,” I said, as I pulled the dress on over my head. I had anticipated a dress and brought a sheath for my KA-BAR that strapped to my thigh. Very Tomb Raider of me, I know, but wearing a dress, limits your weapon concealment choices.
“Fine. The Frenchie is in the largest guest room upstairs. Across from Mateo’s room. I think he had hopes of fucking her. As per the norm, Mateo is high as a bloody kite. The Frenchie had a few glasses of wine with dinner and I expect she is asleep. If you are done fucking with your frock can we do this?” He whisper-shouted at me. I shoved all my clothes into the laundry bag and stuck it back in the corner. No way was I leaving my gear behind if I could help it. We would be exiting the same way we came in. I would duck in and grab my shit before leaving.
“Fuck you very much.” Jordon snapped at Linc.
“Shut the fuck up, both of you. We need two of Mateo’s men, preferably the two that were talking about the coup,” I snapped and slipped my thankfully low-heeled shoes on. Shockingly the dress had pockets, which I took full advantage of by filling them with my other knives. As suitably armed as I was going to get, I motioned for Linc to lead the way.
“I can get them, I just need to tell them that Mateo asked for them. Follow me, I will take you to Mateo’s room, then ring the other two.”
We walked down the hallway, following Linc and trying our best to pretend that we were supposed to be here. We passed the kitchens, which were a hive of activity. I glanced in quickly as we passed and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, just the clean-up you would expect to see after a large-scale party. Linc snuck a glance at us over his shoulder before leading the way up a narrow, steep set of stairs. They were wooden with nothing to muffle the sounds of our steps.
We stopped just before the door at the top. Jordon looked at me, then back to Linc, no doubt wondering the same thing I was.
Why the fuck have we stopped?
“What’s up, mate?” I said, in the best cheeky British accent I could muster. It earned me an eye roll from the Brit.
“Let’s get this over with. I’m sick to fucking death of Colombia. Which of Mateo’s men is going to kill me?”
Jordon moved to open his mouth but I silenced him with a slash of my hand. “You will die here today. Make no mistake. Unless you want to die for real, open the fucking door, mate.” I didn’t want Linc knowing by whom or how his death would be faked. It needed to look real; all the better if he thought we might actually off him.
He made the correct choice; he opened the damn door.
Chapter 16
Linc led the way down the red, lushly carpeted hallway. There were alcoves every few feet with yet more statues. Mateo had a serious god complex from the looks of i
t. The lighting in the hallway was soft and appropriate for the setting. At another time and place I would have paused to look at the statues and expensive art decorating the walls, but I was not here to sight-see or admire artwork. I was here to bring the reaper and leave a bleeding heap behind.
Linc stopped and pointed to a door to his left. “Mateo,” he whispered. Pointing directly across, he said, “Frenchie.” The doors were heavy oak, polished to a high shine and richly carved. Everything in this place was in direct contrast to the man who owned it, from the air conditioning to the fine arts. This mansion was built on the blood and tears of the dying. We were here to purge it and raze it to the ground.
I pointed to the wall beside Mateo’s door. “Linc, go make your phone call; get those two up here. One at a time, make damn sure they don’t come up together.”
Phillips looked me in the eyes and nodded before slipping into the Frenchie’s room. I palmed the door-knob and turned it slightly. Not locked. Curious for a man reportedly deathly paranoid. “Jordon, on me.” I pushed the door open softly and slipped inside quickly, not wanting the minimal light from the hallway to wake Mateo. The goal was to take out our targets and get the fuck out before raising the alarm. Jordon shut the door with a soft click.
We stood by the door, letting our eyes adjust to the near darkness. There was a speck of light coming from the partially open bathroom door. I motioned to Jordon and pointed, wanting him to clear the bathroom. I didn’t want company for this.
We waited, hiding in the shadows near the closed door as best we could, for our scape-goats to arrive. I counted my breaths to pass the time, slipping my gloves back on. It wasn’t long before the door began to open. I caught Jordon’s eye in the dim light, holding up three fingers and dropping them one at a time as the man came into the room. I drew my knife and saw Jordon moving into a balanced defensive stance. As I dropped my last finger, I lunged forward and grabbed the man creeping in. I sank my knife into the man’s neck to the hilt. Warm blood slid over my gloved hand and arm. He made a faint gurgling sound as he gagged on a little blood spilling into his throat. I kept my hand over his mouth until he went limp and still. I slid him down to the floor, not making a sound, pulling the knife out and watching blood spill across the carpet.
