Topless Agenda
Page 35
“Then, I guess I’m the luckiest man alive. So, Corn—what should we do now? Call in the Tunisian authorities?”
“I’m afraid that might put my brother in danger,” Sarra said.
“Good point. I’ll have the Agency send a clean up team and take care of it all very quietly,” Corn said.
“Sarra, do you have any idea when the others are expected back?” I asked.
“No—but I don’t think they’re coming back. They took all of their things with them when they left.”
I was getting a bad feeling, and it quickly turned into a very troubling revelation.
“Goddammit! They had no intention of making the trade. I think they planned to kill us all and are very likely on their way out to the Sozo right now to finish the job.”
I keyed my Mic.
“Pete, you there?”
“I’m here, over—what’s up?”
“We’ve got Letizia, but I think there’s a really good chance that these assholes are going to make a run at the Sozo. Any traffic out your way?”
“Not much, just a couple fishing vessels a little ways off towards the southeast.”
“You should get the Sozo out of there.”
“What about you guys?”
“We’ll catch up.”
“Oh shit. Wait a minute.”
“What is it?”
“It looks as though one of those boats just changed course and is headed in our direction. I’m not sure if we have enough time to weigh anchor before it reaches us.”
“Do what you can. We’re coming.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Pirates of the Mediterranean
IT WAS TIME to get back to the Sozo, so we said goodbye to Sarra then raced across the street to our Jet Skis and pushed them into the water. Once free of the shore we started the engines and headed for the narrow slough that would take us out to sea. The Sozo was only about ten minutes away but a lot of bad things could happen in ten minutes. Luckily, the water was fairly calm, and we were able to open up the throttles all the way and fly across the water at nearly eighty miles per hour. Letizia was practically glued to my back, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist while beside us Babs clung to Corn like a baby koala bear clung to its mother. I would have given anything to take a picture, but, lacking an iPhone or camera, I’d just have to store it away in my mind for posterity. I turned my attention back to the open expanse of water ahead and soon spied the Sozo and, more alarmingly, the fishing boat Pete had mentioned. It was rafted up to the stern, and my thoughts instantly went to how my friends were faring against their unwelcome visitors.
As we got closer, I could hear shots ringing out from the upper decks of the Sozo, and I could see crew members running around the main super structure. It kind of reminded me of the original pre-1997 Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland which had featured animatronic women being chased by animatronic scurvy pirates in and out of the doorways of a miniature oceanside city. The problem here was that the pirates were real, and the crew members being chased were our friends and loved ones.
We throttled back as we approached the stern, careful to look for any tangos that might have remained behind to watch their boat. Fortunately, it was all clear, and we tied off our Jet Skis and climbed up onto the deck. I told Letizia to wait in the dive room while Babs, Corn, and I moved towards the forward stairwell that would take us up and into the crew section of the yacht. We’d make our way from the bow to the stern, clearing the Sozo room by room until the terrorists were neutralized and our ship was safe. Suddenly, the radio crackled and Billings’s voice came through.
“Tag, do you read me?”
“Yeah, Pete, we’re on the Sozo and heading up into the crew’s quarters.”
“Thank God. Bridgette, Tiffany, and I are armed but pinned down behind the bar in the main salon, and they’re holding Kip and the others on the opposite side. We’ve got a bit of a Mexican standoff here, and we’re going to need a little help.”
“Where’s Lux?”
“Don’t know.”
“Shit.”
Corn looked at me, the concern obvious on his face.
“Hold tight, Pete! Bud, Sandy, and Flubber are on the way.”
“Roger that,” Pete said, with a chuckle, thus confirming that he had seen the old television show Flipper.
We moved up the stairs, weapons at the ready, each of us covering our own area of fire until we reached the main deck. Suddenly, a figure came running from around the corner, practically knocking us all over like a bunch of bowling pins. To our surprise, it was Lux, and she was breathing hard and looking a bit frantic.
“There are two assholes right behind me,” she said, as she tried tried to catch her breath.
Just then, two men carrying AK 47s appeared from around the corner. They immediately stopped in their tracks and stared, wide-eyed in shock. I guess they were expecting an unarmed woman instead of two well-armed men and a pregnant dolphin holding a nine millimeter pistol. They made a move to bring their rifles up into firing position, but it was too late, as we were already on them, taking hold of their rifles and wrestling them into submission. They put up a decent fight, but Corn put his bulk to good use and forced them down onto the floor so that we could secure them with duct tape and stow them in one of the nearby guest cabins. Shooting them would have been easier, but a dead man told no tales, and these two terrorists would probably have a lot to tell us about their organization and its various other members.
“Do you know if there are any more towards the bow?” I asked Lux.
“I don’t think so. The rest are mostly holed up in the main salon, but there might be a few upstairs.”
We moved farther down the passageway and into my room, where I gave Lux a pistol and had her put on my bullet proof vest. From there, we made our way aft towards the main salon, taking it slow to make sure no one popped out or snuck up behind us. Now, more than ever, it was important to maintain the element of surprise, as it would give us the best chance at rescuing our friends and taking back the Sozo.
We reached the main salon, and I did a quick visual sweep of the scene and saw that it was exactly as Billings had described. He, Tiffany, and Bridgette were all hunkered down behind the bar while the tangos were on other side of the room with the crew strategically placed as human shields. Standing in the middle of that mess was none other than Mr. Ahmad, the big cheese from the bar in Davos, and he was holding a gun to Kip’s head. It was too bad he survived our previous encounters, but, at least this time, I would deliver some final payback.
“Give us Babineux and we will let you all live,” Ahmad yelled, across the room.
“Fuck you!” Billings yelled back from behind the bar.
There were a lot of friendlies in the line of fire, so this was going to be particularly difficult. But, luck was on our side, for, as I did a quick inventory of my tactical vest, I realized that I had one flashbang leftover from my shenanigans on Soft Taco Island. Booyah! I pulled it out and smiled as I held it up for Corn and Babs to see.
“Our ace in the hole,” I said.
“Cool, now what’s the plan?” Corn asked.
“Count to three, toss this fucker, and…”
“Let me guess—tag and bag?” Babs interjected.
“Yeah, how’d you guess?”
“I’m psychic.”
“And sassy, but remember…”
“We know—don’t shoot each other,” Babs and Corn said at the exact same time.
“Or any of the crew,” I added.
Billings looked my way, and I showed him the grenade. He nodded and turned to warn the people around him, and they all ducked down and covered their ears as they waited. I hazarded a quick glance towards the other side of the room and, thankfully, made eye contact with Kip. I showed him the grenade and signaled that I would count to three and then he should be ready to close his eyes and cover his ears. He winked and smiled, and I had to admire his courage. Not many peopl
e could muster that kind of resolve with a gun to their head, but he was a West Point graduate and a bad motherfucker when he needed to be. It was now officially go time, and I pulled the pin and used my fingers to count down from three. At one, Kip threw a glorious spinning elbow to the side of Ahmad’s head, allowing him to break free and dive onto the surrounding crew members, telling them to close their eyes and cover their ears. I tossed the flahbang into the center of the room, and it exploded with a burst of blinding white light and an ear piercing sound that sent all the bad guys onto their knees. We moved in quickly, the idea being to use overwhelming force and firepower to psychologically diminish any thoughts our targets might have of fighting back.
First on my list was Mr. Ahmad, because it was always a good idea to take out the leadership and leave the remaining troops operating in disarray. He was rolling around on the ground holding his ears, but, just as I arrived, he unexpectedly twisted and kicked out with both of his feet, catching me behind my ankles and knocking me to the ground. As I landed, he slammed his fist into my midsection, but, as he tried to do it again, I managed to trap his hand and respond by throwing a back-fist to his face. He went slack long enough for me to slither around ninety degrees and trap his arm between my legs and bar his elbow joint up across my groin. This orientation placed my my calves across his throat, and his eyes went wide as I applied more pressure on his elbow. He started digging his fingernails into my leg, making it nearly impossible to keep him under control, but, thankfully, Corn and Babs finished up with their tangos and came over to help me.
“Having a little trouble securing your man?” Babs asked, smugly.
“Yeah, do you need a little help?” Corn added.
“Clearly, I got the biggest one, so yes, I’d appreciate a little help from you pricks.”
Corn and Babs joined in, and together we managed to get Mr. Ahmad secured, though his mouth was another matter entirely. He was spouting all number of peculiar vulgarities, many of them involving me, my penis, and a goat, so I decided to grab the duct tape and place a piece across his mouth. It brought peace and quiet to the room, though Mr. Ahmad continued to struggle and direct a rather unpleasant gaze in my direction.
“I get the feeling he doesn’t like you very much,” Babs said.
“He just hasn’t had enough time to really experience the Finn charm.”
“Oh, I believe he has, which is obviously the problem.”
“Come on, Babs, you have to admit that even you have grown to like me.”
“More like tolerate, and I believe your friend there wants to tell you something,” Babs said, pointing at Ahmad.
I turned to see that Babs was correct and Ahmad was staring at me, trying his best to speak from behind his taped mouth. I yanked the tape off, taking several of his beard and mustache hairs in the process, and it caused him to cry out in pain.
“Did you have something you wanted to say?” I asked.
“Yes. I am going to enjoy watching you die!”
“That’s it?” I asked, as I pulled a fresh piece of duct tape off the roll and stuck it over his mouth.
He started murmuring and shaking his head as though he had more to say, so I ripped off the new piece of tape, again eliciting another painful sounding scream.
“Something else you want to get off your chest,” I asked.
“Yes, there is, so listen very closely. I am a very connected man and come from an extremely powerful family.”
“Well, hopefully your extremely powerful family will come visit you at Guantanamo Bay.”
“No, they will never allow me to be incarcerated, and, when your government sets me free, which will happen very soon, I’m going to find you and kill you. But, before I let you die, I will castrate you like a goat, shit in your mouth, then piss down your throat and…”
“That’s enough pillow talk for now,” I said, as I pressed the tape back down over his mouth.
This time he remained quiet, but a sudden thought crossed my mind, so I tore off the tape again.
“Stop doing that!” he screamed.
“I will, as soon as you shut the fuck up.”
“But, I wasn’t even making a sound.”
“I know, but I just realized that I should have used a fresh piece of tape,” I said, taking one off the roll and pressing it over his mouth.
He made one final complaint that sounded a hell of a lot like fuck you, then he finally relaxed. That was it. We had all of the bad guys wrapped up and ready to go under the tree. Merry Christmas, free world.
“Is this all of them, Pete?”
“I think so, but I can’t be sure. There might be a couple stragglers upstairs.”
Corn, Babs, and I headed up the aft stairs and into the upper lounge to find that all was quiet except for the ticking of the antique ship’s clock on the wall. We moved across to the bridge and, finding no terrorists, decided to go back down to the main deck. As we reached the top of the stairway, we stopped, as there at the bottom was my apparently indestructible terrorist nemesis Stinky. He had miraculously survived both the bullet in Davos and the Lake Como boat crash, and he was now sporting a very unstylish neck brace in addition to the bandage on his right forearm. Still, he was able to precariously brandish his Steyr AUG A3 submachine gun, which he now held pointed in our general direction.
“You! Toilet paper salesman! I will kill you this time!” he screamed at the top of his lungs as he began firing.
Unlike our last meeting at Babs’s lake house, he had decided to actually use his weapon, but, fortunately for us, his aim was wild as all hell. Still, the three of us ducked and took cover, and, as we waited for a break in the shooting, I noticed Corn and Babs were looking at me curiously.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Why in the hell did he just call you toilet paper salesman?” Corn asked.
“Obviously because Finn is full of shit,” Babs interjected, looking pretty pleased with his mediocre joke.
“While that might be the case in certain circumstances, in this instance it’s because I told him I was a toilet paper salesman the night we met in the bar in Davos.”
“Why would you do that?” Corn asked.
“I was undercover, though I also figured that it would one day give Babs the opportunity to finally make a mildly funny quip at my expense.”
Suddenly, Stinky stopped firing, and I took a second and peaked down the stairwell and saw that his weapon had jammed.
“Having a little trouble, Stinky?” I called down to him.
He looked up at me, his eyes blazing with anger as he threw down his rifle and reached over his shoulder and drew out a scimitar sword that had been strapped to his back. Sweet mother of goats! This guy never gave up, and, strangely, was starting to remind me of a shorter, hairier version of the Jaws character from the James Bond movies. Like his taller and far more intimidating movie counterpart, he had an unparalleled ability to survive whatever terrible events I perpetrated against his person. Now, with the ancient weapon held high over his head in his right hand, he suddenly bellowed an ear piercing war cry and began running up the stairs with all his might. I really had to give my swarthy menace some credit. Here he was, in spite of all of his travails, managing to summon a glorious last burst of energy, but what on God’s green earth made him bring a sword to a gunfight? I could only speculate that it was a family heirloom, and he now considered killing me to be avenging a great dishonor to his family—which would explain why he had so much unyielding courage in the face of superior numbers and firepower.
“Well, are you going to kill that fucker?” Corn asked, as Stinky drew closer.
“No, I”m just going to wound him. I’d rather he live at this point.”
When Stinky was only ten feet away, I brought up my pistol and shot him in his right shoulder, and it sent him tumbling backwards down the stairs, blood curdling screams erupting each time one of his damaged appendages touched down. It was a horrible spectacle to watch, and once my arch n
emesis came to rest at the bottom, Corn looked over at me with a rather skeptical look on his face.
“Dude, I think you might have done a little more than wound him.”
“Yeah, unfortunately I didn’t really have time to factor in the whole tumbling down the stairs part.”
We headed down to the bottom and found Stinky splayed out on his back, and he was miraculously still alive. I raced to the main salon, grabbed the first aid kit from behind the bar, then returned and knelt down to tend to Stinky.
“I still don’t get it. Why did you spare his life? He was just about to try and chop off our heads with that fucking sword,” Corn said, as he and Babs stood with their weapons at the ready.
“Stinky and I have a lot of history. He’s kind of my arch nemesis, so I have to make sure he lives.”
Corn frowned and looked oddly confused as I cleaned and bandaged the shoulder wound. The bullet had luckily passed clean through and missed most of the important stuff. Stinky would, of course, need surgery, but he would survive in the meantime. I checked his pulse and deep tendon reflexes then performed a neurological exam. He had feeling and movement in his fingers and toes, so it appeared that his spine was still intact. Overall, he’d lost a little blood from the wound and likely had a few broken ribs, but he’d live to torment me another day. I took a moment to look back up the stairs and realized that the fall he had taken could have easily broken his neck, but I imagine his neck brace had probably saved his life. I pulled out a vile of morphine and a syringe, and he looked up at me, his once manic expression now replaced by one of quiet curiosity.
“Why do you not kill me?” he mumbled.
“Who is Superman without Lex Luther? What is soft without hard, dark without light, or yin without yang? You, my husky bearded friend—complete me.”
He didn’t understand, but then I didn’t expect him to. I gave him the shot, and, soon thereafter, he fell asleep. With our terrorist infestation problem solved, we grabbed Letizia from the dive room and rejoined the others in the main salon, and I told Billings we had officially taken back the Sozo and should weigh anchor and leave before any more unwelcome visitors arrived.