The Recruit: A Taskforce Story (6 page)

Comandante Zero showed his newly acquired pass to the local national guard, waiting for the man to finish scrutinizing it. The man radioed a command and the gate began to roll to the right.

Zero drove to the search area and killed his headlights. Another guard approached and told him to exit. He did so, ordering his men out of the back.

They stood in a cluster while one guard went underneath the vehicle with a mirror and another shone a flashlight into the interior of the cargo area, seeing nothing but trays and racks of cleaning supplies.

The guard waved at him, and Zero ordered his men to load up. He thanked the guard, took back his pass, and put the van in drive, moving at a slow eight kilometers an hour until he was inside the loading bay. He did a three-point turn and backed into the bay, one of his men guiding him to the rubber bumpers. He stopped, watching out the windshield until he saw the search area guards return to their little booth and sit down, stiflingly bored.

He opened the door, flipped a lever exposing a compartment in the hollow of the metal, and pulled out a pistol. He went to the back and said, “Take out the weapons. Hide them in your uniforms.”

The men passed out pistols and magazines, shoving them in their belts. Zero surveyed them, seeing commitment staring back.

He said, “Follow me.”

Five men slipped into the back entrance of the kitchen.

•   •   •

Knuckles said, “Sir, what are you talking about?”

“Leave through a back door as soon as you can. We translated the feeds you sent. It’s Sendero Luminoso, and they’re planning an attack on an embassy tonight. We don’t know which one, but it’s a pretty good bet that it’s yours. You’ve got a treasure trove of hostages with you, just like the Japanese ambassador when Tupac Amaru took over his embassy in ninety-six. We think it’s a copycat.”

“Sir, I can’t just leave. If what you’re saying is true, I need to get everyone out of here.”

“We’re working that now. Messages are going out as we speak. The president and the Oversight Council are aware.”

“What the hell does that mean? ‘Working it’? Shit, everyone needs to leave here, now.”

“I get that. How do you propose to accomplish it? Tell the ambassador that you, as a cellular technician, know of a nefarious plot by Sendero Luminoso? You have no cover. I know it sucks, but it’s the best we can do. Hell, we might even be wrong, but if we are, I want you to find that out in your hotel room. Get out.”

“Maybe I can set off a fire alarm. Get ’em out that way.”

Knuckles heard nothing for a moment, then, “You see one? Do the Bolivians have them on the wall like the US?”

Knuckles looked around, hissing to Decoy, “See if you can find a fire alarm.”

Decoy said, “What the hell is going on?”

“Go!”

Decoy disappeared, coming back seconds later. “I can’t see any. Nothing the average person could pull down.”

Knuckles relayed and Kurt said, “Get out. Now.”

Knuckles said, “I’ll start a fire.”

“You going to set one large enough to cause a panic? Come on. You’ll need something larger than a local fire extinguisher can put out.”

“All right, all right. Shit. We’re moving.”

He hung up, yanking out the Bluetooth earpiece and telling Decoy the situation. Decoy said, “I’m not leaving Carly.”

Knuckles said, “Yes, you are. Come on.”

“No. I’m not. I put her here. It’s bad enough we’re running. No way am I leaving her in place. She gets harmed, and it’s my fault.”

“You want to get into the Taskforce, you’ll follow me to the kitchen right fucking now.”

Decoy said nothing, but also didn’t move.

Knuckles cursed and said, “Go get her ass. Quickly.”

They returned, Carly clearly aggravated. She said, “What is up with you guys? Are you nuts?”

Knuckles said, “Yes. Probably are. But we’re leaving right now.”

“Why?”

Knuckles knew if he told her, she’d demand to go get the US dignitaries, and end up exposing the Taskforce.
Jesus, this sucks beyond belief.
The dilemma was excruciating.

“Look, we’re leaving. Mr. Hormone here wouldn’t go without you. You coming?”

She saw his expression and realized something else was in play. She nodded, and they went running down the hall, entering the kitchen and searching for an exit.

They saw the loading bay and the double doors leading to the embassy grounds. Knuckles went out first and saw two white vans, the one on the left’s brake lights flickering as it finished backing up. The driver’s door swung out. A man exited, flipped open a compartment in the panel of the door, and pulled out a pistol.

The situation crystallized instantly.

Knuckles dove off of the dock, seeing Decoy doing the same on the far side. The man saw Knuckles coming, his eyes comically slapping open in surprise, his hand not moving nearly quickly enough to bring his weapon into play.

Knuckles slapped the barrel upward and slammed a sledgehammer fist into the man’s temple, driving through it as if he were trying to hit the van behind him.

The man bounced against the quarter panel and slid to the ground, unconscious. Knuckles heard noise on the other side and chambered a round in the pistol, saying, “Decoy?”

“Yeah. Got mine.”

“Back door.”

“Roger.”

Knuckles crouched, duckwalking to the rear. He reached it and saw Decoy at the same level, Browning automatic in his hand. Knuckles nodded, and Decoy swung open the door.

Knuckles brought his weapon to bear on three individuals, all shocked at what they were seeing.

In short order, they were all on the ground, hog-tied. Knuckles was wondering what to do. Flee, and let the police find them later? Call the police first? But how to explain what happened? Fake it? Act like it was a miracle? Say a guy in a cape appeared, then flew away?

They heard a squawk on a radio coming from the man Knuckles had knocked out. Carly said, “Someone’s calling. Asking questions.”

Knuckles had forgotten she was there. She stepped forward, ripping the radio from the man’s belt. Before he could stop her, she untied the man to her right and rattled off something in Spanish. The radio squawked again. The man shook his head.

She said to Knuckles, “Give me your gun.”

He did so. She put it to the man’s head and rattled off more Spanish. He keyed the mike and said something. The radio squawked again. She hammered him in the temple with the barrel, knocking him out.

“They’re already inside. That was the leader asking if these men were set. I told him to say they needed more time. He said to attack.”

Knuckles tied the man back up, wondering how much time they had before the party erupted into disaster. Carly handed back the pistol and said, “Who are you guys? For real?”

“We used to be military. We’re a veteran-owned company.”

“That’s it? Shit, I thought you were SEALs or something.”

Knuckles heard gunfire from inside, then screaming. He cursed and kicked the van.

He looked at Decoy, and Decoy nodded. “You know we can’t leave now.”

Knuckles said, “Yeah, yeah. Best intentions.” He saw Carly thinking and said, “What? What’s going through that little steel trap?”

“Are you guys any good? I mean like SEAL good?”

Decoy said, “SEALs are a bunch of prima donnas living off of the Bin Laden mission.”

She looked at Knuckles, and he grinned. “Yeah, we’re good. Better than good. Now, what are you thinking?”

“We can get to the women’s restroom on the other side of the main ballroom. They’re doing renovations and there’s an air duct from the kitchen that leads right to it.”

Both Decoy and Knuckles looked at her, waiting for more. She shook her head, then said, “I helped some special guys plan a mission inside here. Planting things in the walls while they did the construction. We had the blueprints. The air duct was a contingency hiding location.”

“And this was from your consular duties?”

“About as much as your damn cellular contract. There are five men here, so there are probably five inside. Three on five isn’t bad odds.”

Knuckles said, “Two on five. You aren’t fighting.”

“I’m weapons-trained. I can help.”

“You ever shot anyone? When they were trying to kill you?”

She snorted and said, “Have you?”

She saw the intensity on Knuckles’s face, then went to Decoy, seeing the same thing. He said, “It’s not easy, and we don’t have time for a weak link. You get us in. We’ll do the rest.”

She slowly nodded, then said, “Follow me.”

They slipped inside the kitchen, Knuckles taking the lead from her, his gun up and ready. Decoy took the rear, saying, “Man, this is going to be hard to explain to Kurt.”

She said, “Who’s that?”

“Our boss. I’ll probably never go on another cellular contract again.”

They reached the back of the kitchen, and Carly pointed to a large air duct grate. In short order, Knuckles had it open, seeing nothing but darkness. From the main ballroom they heard shouting, then more gunfire, followed by shrieks.

Knuckles snaked inside the duct and began crawling upward, using his hands and feet to give him enough friction to climb. He reached a bend and slithered inside far enough to allow the other two to follow. He heard Carly cursing about her dress and slid his leg out, whispering, “Grab it.”

She did, and he crawled forward, dragging her inside. They waited on Decoy, then began moving, as the sounds of shouting continued.

They reached the far side of the duct and repeated the maneuver, ending up on the floor of the bathroom. Carly said, “The ballroom is just outside, down a small hallway. It leads right in.”

Knuckles thought a moment, then said, “We need intelligence. You still want to help?”

“Yes. Of course.”

He pulled out his Bluetooth earpiece and said, “Pair that with your phone. I want you to walk into the ballroom, then act like you were in here. Show panic or whatever, but feed us the locations and number of the guys in there.”

She hesitated, then took the earpiece. He said, “Hey, there’s one thing here you need to know. You get in there and see ten or twelve bad guys, you’re theirs. We aren’t coming in after you.”

She looked from him to Decoy. He said, “Sorry. We can’t take on twelve guys.”

She pulled out her phone and paired the earpiece, saying, “You are
really
working hard at not being able to leave your clothes on my floor.”

To Knuckles, Decoy said, “Maybe this is a stupid idea. Maybe we should wait.”

She shoved in the earpiece and dialed Knuckles’s phone. It connected and she said, “You want it, you have to come get it.”

Then slipped out the door.

Knuckles said, “Wow. She’s a piece of work.”

“Yeah. I know. I might go in even if there are twelve guys.”

They waited, and Knuckles heard the noise grow in his phone, then a shriek loud enough to cause him to pull the phone away from his ear, followed by shouting. In a raised voice, as if she were hysterical, he heard, “Five men, five men, all dressed like waiters. People are on the floor blindfolded. All are on the floor. Near-end of the ballroom. Men are there. Standing with pistols.”

Knuckles thought,
Perfect
.

He said, “Collapse on the floor. Lay down. We’re in.”

To Decoy: “Five hostiles at the near end, armed with pistols and dressed like waiters. Hostages are on the floor, blindfolded. Shoot anyone standing in uniform.”

Knuckles saw a grim smile, the same one he’d seen before a hellacious firefight in Haditha, Iraq, when they’d been outnumbered and needed to break free. A long time ago.

Decoy said, “Let’s get some.”

They broke the plane of the door and moved at a fast crouch to the end of the hallway, seeing the light from the ballroom ahead. They stayed just inside for a split second, Knuckles catching Decoy’s eye. He nodded, and Knuckles flowed into the room, sighting down the barrel of his weapon.

He saw the red of Carly’s dress, a man above her in a waiter’s uniform, holding a weapon. His own spit fire and the man went down. He heard gunfire from his right, a rapid double-tap from Decoy, before he’d even lined up his next target.

He saw a man go down, then the remaining three, one looking at him slack-jawed. He squeezed the trigger seeing a red blossom smear the man’s face, hearing Decoy’s gun spitting death. The final man got off one round before both Decoy and Knuckles rained fire on him, pummeling his torso with rounds.

In the span of three seconds, it was over.

Without a word, both men began clearing the room, kicking out weapons and searching under tables. A minute later, they were done. Carly sat up, eyes wide, a little stunned at the violence that had just erupted around her.

Decoy pulled her to her feet and said, “You okay?”

She rapidly nodded, the voltage of the fear still flowing through her. She said, “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. That was some scary shit, though.”

At the far end of the ballroom, away from the hostages, Knuckles felt the adrenaline subside. He said, “Now what? How are we going to explain this?”

The hostages began tentatively to stir, craning their heads to see, wondering if they were okay. Decoy said, “What do you mean
we
? You’re the damn team leader. I have a date.”

One hostage began to pull off his blindfold. Knuckles said, “Not quite yet. Carly, shout in Spanish. Tell them to leave the blindfolds on. Act like a terrorist.”

She did so, and Knuckles said, “Grab a blindfold. We’re going to become hostages.”

Decoy said, “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

The plane hit the runway of Charleston International, and Decoy turned on his phone, saying, “Remind me why we flew down here again? Selection starts in DC.”

It had been two weeks since the debacle at the embassy, and Knuckles’s cockamamie plan of pretending to be hostages was holding up. Nobody knew what or who had stopped the attack, and theories ranged from an inside disagreement—a possible female terrorist the hostages had heard—to someone from the overflow room attacking them before fleeing for his life.

Since the terrorists had only half of their forces, most of the diners in the overflow room heard the gunfire in the main ballroom and immediately fled out the front, screaming and yelling. This had brought a rapid police response, and a standoff as they tried to communicate with the dead terrorists from outside.

The police had added to the confusion by taking credit for capturing the van in the loading bay, crowing about their incredible prowess. They’d also captured the German national, describing an intense, months-long investigation. They’d interviewed everyone who’d managed to get out, but none owned up to taking out the terrorists.

It was a mystery, but one thing was sure—it wasn’t any of the blindfolded and mewling hostages in the main ballroom. They were all just grateful to be alive.

Kurt had chastised them for disobeying orders, but his heart wasn’t in it. Knuckles knew he was secretly pleased and was just going through the motions, blathering on about the integrity of the Taskforce and the risk of compromise. He’d then told them he’d made a fateful decision on a particular candidate going through Assessment and Selection, and had detailed Knuckles and Decoy to help run it.

Standing up to exit the aircraft, Decoy repeated, “Why’d we come here? And what are we doing getting detailed to A&S? Turbo’s team is running it this rotation.”

“Kurt wants us to meet the candidate. It’s a special case.”

Decoy’s phone vibrated, cutting off the conversation. He saw the number and his face lit up. “Hey, it’s Carly.”

Walking down the aisle, Knuckles said, “I thought you were the love ’em and leave ’em type.”

Decoy held up his index finger, answering the phone.

Bringing only carry-ons, they went straight to the rental counter and, within minutes, were on the road to Mount Pleasant. Halfway across the Ravenel Bridge, Decoy finally hung up.

Knuckles said, “Wow. That sounded a lot more serious than a one-night stand.”

“She’s okay. The reprimand’s been pulled. Thanks for getting Kurt to help out.”

Knuckles had told Kurt the help Carly had given, along with the punishment she would receive for doing so. He had in turn talked to his deputy, George Wolffe, a career CIA officer now working with the Taskforce. George had made some discreet inquiries, and apparently it had been enough.

“And the story in Lima?”

“Getting more ridiculous. Moving away from the truth. We should be good.”

Knuckles pulled off Coleman Boulevard, into a small office complex next to the marsh at Shem Creek.

Decoy said, “What’s special about this candidate?”

“It’s a civilian. In fact, the company is civilian.”

“You have got to be kidding. You assholes go nuts because I wasn’t in a SMU, and Kurt wants to give a civilian a tryout?”

“Well, the candidate’s partner used to be my team leader. A guy named Pike Logan. Don’t make him mad. He’s got a little problem with anger issues.”

“Never heard of him. A SEAL?”

Knuckles opened the door and said, “No. He’s Army. But he’s a predator, trust me. You don’t want to get into a pissing contest with him. You
will
lose.”

They walked up the stairs, stopping on a small porch, and Knuckles knocked on the office door. Decoy said, “And the candidate? What’s his story?”

The door opened and Decoy found himself facing a very attractive woman wearing running shoes, Nike shorts, and a simple T-shirt. She said, “Hey, Knuckles!” and held out her arms. Knuckles gave her a hug and kissed her cheek, astounding Decoy.

Knuckles said, “You ready?”

“I have no idea. But it’s not for a lack of Pike’s training. Hang on, I’ll get him. He’s packing, which, you know, means he’s telling me what to pack. Because he’s so smart.”

Knuckles said, “Not as smart as you.”

She smiled and walked away. Decoy tracked her movement back into the office, staring at her bottom and saying, “Who on earth is that?”

“Jennifer Cahill. She’s the candidate.”

Decoy’s mouth dropped open. He exclaimed, “You have got to be shitting me!”

The door jerked wide, and Decoy found himself staring at a man two inches taller and about forty pounds heavier. Sporting close-cropped brown hair and a wicked scar on his cheek, he was staring intently at Decoy as if he were deciding whether to throw him off the porch.

The man said, “You got a fucking problem with that?”

Knuckles grinned and said, “Decoy, this is Pike.”