Direct Action - 03 Page 7

“Our rules here are pretty basic. We work hard; we play hard. Mandatory team party tonight just like after every op we do. PT is on your own, but we usually work out together. When our optempo slows down you can catch a plane to wherever you want until I recall you, but I'm not sure when that will be. Shit has been picking up the last month with no sign of slowing down.”

  “It's a dangerous world.”

  “And they need us to stop it from all coming apart at the seams. We'll work on getting you set up with a bank account here on the island later on so you can get direct deposits. Mauritius is a tax haven and we got a good set up here.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “Go do what you have to do and I'll see you in a few hours.”

  As Deckard turned away, Bill had one final item to add.

  “Deckard, remember that you are still on probationary status until I decide if I have any use for you or not. There are some pipe hitters out there that just don't have what it takes to be on a team like this. We'll see if you got it or not. In the meantime, we practice strict OPSEC. Say what you need to say inside our team areas. I have this place under 24-hour guard, and our houses are routinely swept for bugs. Ramon will hook you up with a secure cell phone tomorrow. Aside from that, nothing gets said outside these walls. Do nothing that will draw excess attention to our operation here.”

  “Goes without saying.”

  “I hope so.”

  Deckard shut the screen door behind him on his way out and walked over to his new crash pad. As he continued to scope out the area, he had to admit to himself that he could have done much worse. In fact, he had done much worse. Sleeping in run-down safehouses in Lebanon, crapping in plastic bags in a spider hole on the Iranian border, or sleeping in a jungle hammock in Colombia had almost became a way of life for him. This seaside secret agent stuff was a whole new world. There were some things that these former SEALs were definitely getting right.

  Turning the key in the knob, Deckard stepped inside his bungalow. It wasn't as big as Bill's place, but there was more than enough living space for several people inside. It was furnished with chairs, couches, a flat-screen TV, and everything else a guy would want at a beach house. There was a full bathroom and another shower stall outside with a hose for washing the sand off before coming back inside after a swim.

  Henderson.

  The Liquid Sky member that Nikita had killed in Pakistan.

  The operator whose corpse Deckard had picked over in the back of a van looking for intelligence information. Now he was in the dude's house, literally filling his shoes on the team. The other team members seemed resentful of Deckard, not because they took exception to him replacing their former team mate. They actually seemed completely ambivalent about Henderson's death. Liquid Sky was just pissed that they had to break in a new guy and didn't trust him any farther than they could throw him.

  It was still a surreal moment.

  Deckard found Henderson's iPod on the counter, where it had been laying with the headphones attached since he left on a one-way flight to Karachi. It was loaded with heavy-metal music like Slayer, Cannibal Corpse, and Megadeth. They were all sterile missions apparently. He had left everything behind. Deckard continued to walk around and examine the layout of the house, conscious of the fact that Liquid Sky probably had hidden cameras installed so they could keep tabs on their newest recruit.

  In the bathroom, Henderson's toothbrush leaned diagonally in a glass. The toothpaste tube was squeezed in the middle, the inconsiderate bastard. At least the cabinet was stocked with toilet paper. In the bed room there were some dress shirts. Deckard was still wearing the Walmart clothes that Liquid Sky had waiting for them on their way back through FOB Chapman. He found a shirt which was probably small on Henderson to show off his beach muscles, but would fit Deckard normally.

  Going through the dresser to find a pair of cargo shorts, Deckard found an envelope full of pictures. Inside was a whole roll of photographs of Henderson with a blonde. It looked like they were on the shore, maybe Virginia Beach. They were self-shot pictures, close-ups of the two of them kissing and smiling.

  Who the hell was this guy?

  Henderson, Bill, all these other guys aside from Ramon and obviously Nadeesha, had served in the SEALs as far as Deckard could discern. They were the Navy's most elite commandos. How had they drifted so far? Throwing the pair of shorts on the bed, Deckard shut the dresser drawer.

  Then the more important question.

  Who were they working for?

  He knew from the records he and his Samruk International mercenaries had seized that Liquid Sky were in business with G3 Communications somehow, but the full picture remained obscured. It would take time to uncover. Time he may not have.

  Undressing, Deckard stepped into the shower and began to scrub away days of sweat and grim. He didn't have a lot of time, because as he infiltrated Liquid Sky, they were also co-opting him and using his talent for their own agenda, to cure their own contracts, one by one. Sure, they would take him on a couple of righteous kills. Do some terrorists or narco-traffickers. First they warm him up, then they take him out on the real work, killing people like Al-Khalifa, and those who got in their way, like Al-Khalifa's wife.

  Toweling himself dry, he slipped into the cargo shorts and began buttoning the blue and white striped shirt over his chest. Deckard caught a glance of himself in the mirror. His eyes were open, even more focused than usual. Hyper vigilant. He put on a pair of Henderson's sandals. He was slowly transforming himself into one of them.

  Deckard's priorities of work were simple. Get away from Liquid Sky and beat their surveillance long enough to get a message out to Aghassi and Pat. Let them know he was alive, where he was located, and what he knew about Liquid Sky thus far so they could begin working on the problem sets. It was unlikely that he would be able to take out Liquid Sky by himself. He would need some backup when the time came.

  Next, before walking Samruk International into the target, he had to get to the bottom of who Bill was taking his marching orders from. Where were the contracts coming from exactly? Who were the puppetmasters behind the scenes? Only when that question was answered could they cut this head off the hydra and move on to the CEO of G3 Communications and whoever else Liquid Sky was in league with.

  As he headed out the door to attend Bill's post-mission beach party, he found he had another reason to be glad he had insisted on doing this mission himself, and not sending Pat, Aghassi, or one of the others. He was heading down a dark road. He was wearing a dead man's clothes and working for a kill team.

  Some people might find they liked this life. Some might not want to come home.

  7

  Zach was mixing the jungle juice.

  “Don't look at it,” Paul explained as Zach upended a handle of vodka into the pot. “If you don't look at it, then it is okay, it can't get you drunk!”

  Once he drained it, Zach dropped the glass bottle in the trash and began stirring his concoction of hard liquor and juice. They were in Bill's place for the team party. Mandatory fun in Deckard's eyes, but the alcohol would be flowing and would help him get a bead on the other guys. He stood off to the side drinking the local brew, Phoenix beer.

  Bill had to take a call outside. Of course Deckard wanted to eavesdrop, but he had to play it cool. Rick showed up with a fresh batch of hair gel in to keep his hair slicked back. Ramon walked in a few minutes later. No sign of Nadeesha.

  “Drink this, Deckard,” Zach said handing him a mug of the jungle juice. He was about six-foot-two with sandy blonde hair. Deckard took the drink.

  “Thanks dude.”

  Zach could have been a stand-in for a kid in an Abercrombie ad or the Hitler Youth. Paul had been right, he realized as he took a sip. If you didn't know there was alcohol in the drink, you'd never know what it was.

  “Nice shirt,” Zach commented. “Fucking Henderson was all into that Malibu Barbie shit.”

  “So you were in Army Special Operations?” Rick
started in. “What's up with that?”

  “I got around,” Deckard answered.

  “My thing with the Army is that all you guys know that BUD/S is the graduate-level program, and everything else you guys have going is just vanilla.”

  “You guys were with Dev?”

  “Yeah, in the same squadron together.”

  “TACDEVRON-what?”

  “Fuck do you care?”

  Deckard decided to back off. Rick suddenly got defensive when he asked which squadron he had been in. But he had confirmed that they were in SEAL Team Six, also known as Dev Group depending on which way the wind was blowing that day. Meanwhile, Bill walked back inside and picked up a pool cue. He had a couple billiard tables in the living area. Must be a hobby, Deckard thought.

  “I don't think you've got what it takes to be on this team. I don't care who you were back in the Army.”

  It was Deckard's post-Army career where things got really froggy but he didn't feel the need to mention that. Bill had before and knew bits and pieces. Nobody knew the full story of what really happened out there. Not even Deckard if he was to be honest with himself.

  “Give me some work. Anybody can put bullets in a muldoon jumping over the wall on the black side of an objective.”

  “You might get your wish sooner than you think.”

  “Have to ask you.”

  “Another question...”

  “A woman on the team.”

  “Not my decision.”

  “Wouldn't you love to splat a map of Hawaii on her forehead?” Zach yelled from the other side of the room. Paul spun up the stereo system.

  “Look,” Rick said. “It's not for any lack of trying.”

  Bill was racking the billiard balls and was about to break.

  “I would do things to her that I wouldn't do to farm animals,” Paul confirmed.

  “She's a bitch,” Rick continued. “A woman has no business on this team other than getting passed around the team room.”

  “You think she likes to scissor with girls?” Deckard said playing along. “Lez it out?”

  “Who the fuck knows? Maybe Uncle Bad Touch fingered her no-no place and now she's got some kind of fucking complex.” Rick rolled his eyes. “She just does intel shit for us, can go places and suck dicks that we can't. Bill recruited her and ordered us to leave her the fuck alone, so it is what it is.”

  “I understand. I was just wondering. We didn't have them anyplace that I worked in the Army.”

  “What?” Zach said. “Split-tailed females?”

  “Yeah, except when they got passed around our team houses.”

  Zach, Rick, and Paul laughed this time.

  “Yeah, well,” Zach said, “you would have better luck getting inside Margaret Thatcher's pussy. If you want to fuck Nadeesha you better slip her a Roofie-Colada.”

  “If this jungle juice doesn't do me in first.”

  “Man up,” Rick sneered. “PT tomorrow unless you're too pussy.”

  Rick was a hard sell. Didn't like Deckard because he wasn't from the right tribe. Ramon was on the other side of the room having a drink and messing with the TV.

  “You from the PI?” Deckard asked as he approached.

  “Born and bred,” Ramon answered in a matter-of-fact manner. Deckard was hoping he had built a little rapport with him up on the ridgeline.

  “You were there in 2006?”

  “Why?”

  “Because that is when JSOC had their target killing program going on over there.”

  “You got it all wrong man, I was a Warrant Officer in 1st Group. You?”

  “The Legion.”

  Ramon laughed as he flicked channels until he found a soccer game on one of the satellite channels. “Yeah, I was an intel guy for the CIF.”

  “How did you get tied in with these frogmen, then?”

  “Bill brought me on for a specific mission in a country where I had a lot of local experience and connections. I helped stand up Group 14 after I left the CIF. Ever been to Cambodia?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When you were with GB? The Agency funded all that.”

  “No. It was a commercial endeavor.”

  “If you say so. I don't know what to make of you, man. No offense, but people say some weird things about you.”

  “Some of them are probably even true.”

  That was when the door opened and Nadeesha walked in like she owned the place. She had changed into a spaghetti-string top and a pair of jeans that clung to her body in all the right places. Deckard found it impossible to avert his gaze as her hips gently swayed. She blew all of them off and walked straight over to Bill.

  Over by the billiard tables she started talking to Bill, her hands flying through the air.

  “That girl is something else,” Ramon said as he sank into the couch. “Maybe you should ask her about the PI. She was part of The Harem, or so I'm told. What do I know? I was just a Wobbly One straight out of the WOC.”

  Deckard noticed Bill nod his head towards him. Whatever he was talking about with Nadeesha involved him somehow. She didn't look happy. She had both palms up in the air and was having words with Bill. Despite the hardass SEAL persona that he ruled over Liquid Sky with, Bill seemed to take Nadeesha in stride. He never lost his cool with her and Deckard noted it. Bill was a thinker, he could think several steps ahead. He knew how to manage personalities and play the long game. He was a step above Rick and the others. That was probably why he was in charge.

  “It took you guys a while to get into the fight didn't it?” Deckard asked Ramon while pretending his didn't notice the conversation about him.

  “Yeah, it did. We finally got the CIF in-country and doing some good work. We had some other teams up north in Kurdistan, too.”

  He kept things going until he heard Bill call out for him.

  “Get over here, Deckard!”

  Setting down his drink, Deckard walked over to the pair.

  “You're going to Dubai,” Bill told him.

  “I don't fucking need him there,” Nadeesha cursed. “He will just get in the way.”

  “We are being hunted. We got hit hard in Pakistan. I'm not letting you go alone.”

  “This is my op.”

  “And it is my decision.”

  Nadeesha brushed her long dark hair over her shoulder as she shook her head and then crossed her arms under her breasts.

  “When can he be ready?” Nadeesha said looking at Bill.

  “I'm ready now,” Deckard interjected.

  “Good,” Bill responded. “This is Nadeesha's op. She leads, you follow. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Not this guy,” Nadeesha pleaded. “Why not Ramon?”

  “I need him for mission prep in the PI. Only he can do that job. All of my boys are assaulters, they are no good for Dubai and you know that as well as I do.”

  The female intelligence operative sighed. Deckard again wondered what her story was.

  “I have several other identity packages for Deckard that Sarah sent us from DC. That is good enough to get both of you to Germany. I will make a call tonight and have her overnight a new package for the two of you with the same surname to pick up once you arrive in Berlin. Your cover will be husband and wife. It's only for twenty-four hours and should hold up fine.”

  “What do you need me to do?” Deckard asked.

  “Watch my ass,” Nadeesha explained.

  Deckard's eyebrows shot up.

  “Oh?”

  Nadeesha simply turned and stormed out of the house. She was pissed at being forced to drag Deckard into an operation that she was going to run as a singleton.

  “I just want an overwatch element in case she gets into trouble,” Bill said. “On our last mission before we picked you up in Afghanistan, we got some unexpected resistance. That is how we lost Henderson. Whoever they were, they were good. I'm just sending you as a precaution. She should be able to handle the operational aspects of the mission on her own. You
are just there to get her out of trouble if shit really hits the fan.”

  “I'll be there.”

  “Finish your drink and then get to bed. Meet Nadeesha here at seven in the morning and I'll have flight confirmations for you to Germany, and then on to Dubai.”

  “See you then.”

  Finishing his drink and bullshitting with Zach for a few more minutes, Deckard realized that he would have no opportunity to break away and get a message out to Pat and Aghassi, not without breaking his cover and sneaking out in the middle of the night. It was doable, but if he got caught, his infiltration would be compromised. He'd be killed or on the run and be no closer to understanding who the power brokers behind Liquid Sky were.

  Shit.

  He was heading back into the fray.

  8

  Deckard and Nadeesha touched down in Berlin twenty-four hours later, met a courier outside the terminal who handed off their new passports, then rented a car and drove to Hamburg. Deckard made several attempts to ask his companion what their mission was and what would be expected of him, but she blew him off and made him drive while she worked from her iPad in the passenger seat.

  They were flying out of Hamburg because it would raise too many suspicions if they showed up at the Berlin International Airport again five minutes later with new names and passports. Nadeesha also seemed to know that the security in Hamburg was not utilizing biometric sensors, at least not today. Otherwise, they would get popped as they went through security. If their biometrics were recorded in Berlin, put onto a computer database, and then their fingerprints or facial features were again read in Hamburg but attached to different names, it was safe to say they would both be spending the night, and many others, in a German prison.

  Deckard drove through the cold overcast weather and drizzling rain until they neared the Hamburg airport.

  “What are you doing?” Nadeesha asked him.

  “Hold on,” Deckard said as he parked in front of a convenience store. A few minutes later he came back with a couple of disposable cameras. Getting back in the car, he shut the door and began tearing open the packages.