“Okay, let’s try this again, with out all the hitting and shooting and stuff. Who are you, and why were you being held by Adar’s men?”
The girl was sitting on the loveseat, hands tied behind her back, and ankles tied together. The music was turned down, I had my suppressed 1911 in my hand, Carl had a beer, and Reaper was holding an ice pack against his head. “No wonder they drugged her,” he muttered.
She answered sullenly, realizing that she might as well cooperate. “My name’s Jill... Jill DelToro. I used to work at the American embassy here in Doha.”
“Used to? Who were you with? FBI? CIA? NSA?”
“Well... Department of Agriculture. Before they fired me.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Okay then. Please tell me that was some sort of cover, and you’re some sort of super spy or something?” I didn’t want to think that somebody from the Department of Cows and Plows had almost been the death of my team of professional killers.
“No, that’s Rob Clancy stuff. I was... well... I was an intern.”
“Tom Clancy,” Reaper corrected. “Intern? What the ****?”
“You got beat up by an intern,” Carl laughed.
“I’m working on my Masters, and was doing a tour of US aid programs around the middle-east. Did you know they actually have dairy farms in Saudi Arabia?”
“Fascinating. Stick to the subject.” I ordered, gesturing with my .45 for emphasis.
“I found out about something that I wasn’t supposed to. I kind of blundered into your group. Next thing I knew, some of you bastards were ransacking my apartment, looking for me. My passport was lost, the embassy guards tried to arrest me, had to beat one of them up to get away. I had heard of somebody that could help me get out of the country, and that’s when those crazy guys grabbed me and stuck a needle in my arm. I woke up here.” She sighed. “I swear, I don’t know hardly anything about Dead Six, but I know you plan to kill me, so let’s get this over with. I’m not going to beg.”
“Tell me what you know about Dead Six first.”
“I overheard some people arguing about it at the embassy. They had left the door to the quiet room open. All I know is that it’s some secret death squad that isn’t supposed to exist. Look, it isn’t my fault your boss is sloppy. He freaked out. Told me to keep my mouth shut, and I did. I promise I wouldn’t have told anyone. I guess he changed his mind just to be safe. So let’s do this you ***** **** *******.”
“Did she just call us what I think she called us?” Reaper asked.
“Spanish is close to Portuguese, so I think so.” Carl chuckled approvingly. “Nice.”
“Calm down. We’re not Black Flag, or Dead Six, or Ninja Force Alpha, or whatever, and we’re not going to kill you.”
“Really? Who are you?” sudden hope in her voice. She studied the pictures and maps on the walls, and the model building on the table. “Wait a second, you guys are criminals.” Jill was certainly sharp.
And I could see how she could come in handy. I was short handed for phase three.
“Yes.” I pulled out my knife and flicked it open. “And if you promise to quit hitting us and taking my people hostage, I’ll let you loose. But if you try to run off, I’m going to have to shoot you, okay?”
“I promise.”
“Jill, is it?” She nodded. I proceeded to cut the rope around her wrists. “The way I see it, you have a problem. You’ve been marked for death by some sort of black op. Official channels will only hurt you, not help you. Doha has gone crazy. There’s a war going on, and you’re in the middle of it. If the government finds you, then you’re dead. If the Qatari secret police find you, then you’re dead. And if you get picked up by the kind of people I saved you from tonight, you are worse than dead. You will need the assistance of, shall we say, a criminal element, to get out of this country alive. Preferably honest, and dare I say, charming criminals, versus the standard underachievers who gravitate towards that career field.”
She rubbed her wrists. “And you know where I can find some people like this, I assume?”
“Perhaps. We have a very difficult job to do, and I think that you might be helpful. You don’t have any moral qualms about helping us out, in exchange for us getting you out of the country, do you? Considering that the kind of people I rob are the kind of people who want you dead.”
“I’m morally flexible,” Jill answered after a long pause. “Promise to get me someplace safe, and I’m in.”
“You can’t be serious, chief.” Reaper stated. The side of his head was turning a nasty shade of blue and yellow.
Carl began to laugh, a deep, rumbling belly laugh. The mercenary did not laugh much.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“We got us an intern.”
#########
I came to a few conclusions about our mission. The shooters that had whacked Adar had not stolen the codebook on purpose. It was only through stupid chance that they had looted Adar’s open safe. They were killers, not thieves. A picture was beginning to emerge of what was going on behind the curtain in supposedly peaceful Qatar. It was either a black op, or a rogue op, but somebody had declared war on the terrorist supporters here.
It had started with the assassination of Al-Falal. Only through a whole lot of creative scrambling on our part had we saved phase one. Then murders and bombings all over the city, causing the police to tighten up security, and really messing up my job, the hit on Adar had been the culmination, and that massacre had driven the police into a frenzy. It was only by some damnable coincidence that this operation was taking place right here, right now, and really complicating my life.
Dead Six. So secret that somebody at the US embassy was willing to kill a twenty-five year old intern over it. And I had to find them. The clock was ticking. Big Eddie was a ruthless crime lord, and I knew that he was not bluffing when he promised to kill our families. And Dead Six was standing in my way.
This was really starting to make me mad.
The other conclusion was that Jill DelToro had a real future as a criminal. Reaper had hacked her file from the Qatari police database, and sure enough, she was on the To Do list. Under my tutelage, she had changed her appearance and public demeanor to look more like the local laborer population. You have to understand that in Qatar, most of the work is done by Indonesians and Philippinos. Using Reaper’s forged documents, Jill was no longer an easy mark, and after a few days of laying low, I had put her to work.
“Lorenzo, you aren’t going to believe what I found,” she whispered as she slid into the booth across from me. We were in some cheesy American style hamburger place called Johnny Rockets. I was dressed like a laborer too, and we had spent the day asking around, looking for clues about our mystery shooters. “The girl at the movie theater, she recognized the tall shooter when I showed her the picture.”
“Good work.” I had to admit. Jill had surprised me, and rather than reacting to the ruination of her life at the hands of an uncaring government, she was adapting rather well. At first I had been worried that she would try to run, but so far she had given no indication of that. I still made her wear a blind fold when we drove to and from our compound. Every time I let my paranoia down in this business, it inevitably came back to bite me. “Anything new?”
“He came in with a really pretty woman. The ticket girl said that she had very nice shoes and looked like an American movie star. They watched Alexander. She hasn’t seen them since.”
I shrugged. We were getting close. “He also bought her an expensive necklace. Some of the shopkeepers said that they remembered because they dared to have a public display of affection. You just don’t do that around here.”
“This still doesn’t tell us where he lives,” Jill said. She had a predatory grin as she spoke. The waitress left our food and quickly left. The Qatari’s didn’t encourage talkative help.
I took another bite of my burger. “You’re starting to enjoy this stuff, aren’t you?”
“Well, I have to admit. It is certainly different. So when are you going to tell me what your job is? I’ve proven myself, haven’t I? What is it that you need me for? I know it’s not just talking to people at the mall.”
“Not yet. If we don’t find the codebook, then the mission gets scrapped. Then we get you out of the country, and my crew tries to hide their families before Big Eddie finds out and kills them all. If that happens, you don’t need, or want to know what we were supposed to do.” I took a drink from the really bad milkshake, must be because of those Saudi cows. “So, question for you. Where did you learn to fight like that? Reaper’s face is still purple.”
She shrugged. “My dad was a Marine in the PI. He met my mom there. When he retired, he opened a martial arts studio in California. I pretty much grew up beating on people.”
“Cool. What’s he doing now?”
“They died. Car accident.”
“Sorry. You have anybody else?”
“Brother was killed by an IED in Iraq last year. That was everybody.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, it could be worse. Look at you guys. Maybe family is just a liability, something people can use against you.” She went back to her lunch. It was a sucky way to look at life, but in my current situation, I couldn’t think of a way to correct her. I changed the subject.
“We’re getting close to these shooters. Dead Six is getting sloppy. They’re being seen in public. Local tattoo parlors have been doing a bunch of grim reapers with sixes on muscle bound Caucasians. They’re spending money, and starting to talk. It’s only a matter of time before we find them. Stupid cowboys.”
“What are you going to do then? Kill them?” she asked hopefully.
“Look, just because they want to murder you, doesn’t make them bad people, its all just business. In the grand scheme of things, my life, your life, doesn’t mean anything to the big players. It’s nothing personal...” I trailed off. Like some bizarre scene from a Tarantino movie, there was the man, the tall shooter, sliding into a booth at the far end of the restaurant, next to a beautiful woman. He wore glasses, and looked way too young to be such a hardened killer. “It’s just business... Jill, act casual. Don’t be obvious, but our shooter decided he wants a burger.”
“No way.” She turned around slowly, as if she was stretching, then turned back. “He doesn’t look like much, does he? Oh, this is so neat.” She actually giggled.
So this was the face of Dead Six. I studied him, trying to learn what I could. The young couple was obviously in love, and I could see why they had been memorable to the Doha shopkeepers. Horrible field craft. Occasionally, he would look around, scanning the rest of the patrons, the automatic check of the hunter, condition yellow. I made sure he didn’t catch me looking.
After half an hour, they left, holding hands. Waiting until they were out the door, I stood, tossed down a pile of Riyals, and followed, already running scenarios through my head about how I could take this kid down and get my book back.
Nothing personal. It’s just business.
##########
We sat in the van, across from the unremarkable compound, that we had tailed the shooter to earlier in the week. The heat was like a stifling blanket, super heating the air in my lungs. I was dressed in non-descript khaki clothing. Sweat dripped down my back and pooled in my armpits. Tonight was the night.
We had taken turns staking the place out over the last few days, getting a feel for the routine. Security on the exterior was lax, but was to be expected, so as to keep a low profile. Traffic in and out was heavy, with an almost constant stream of vehicles coming and going. The vast majority of the occupants were Caucasian.
Reaper had procured satellite pictures of the compound. There were twenty-four separate apartments. His hacking into the Doha city databases told us which ones were using power and water, and a map began to form. The fifteen foot walls prevented us from using our parabolic microphone, and apparently there were no land phone lines in use inside the complex that we could hack into and listen through their receivers. We picked up multiple cell phones in use, but they were encrypted beyond our ability to crack in the amount of time we had available.
After a few days of watching, a plan began to formulate. Reaper had prepared the Little Bird for its flight, then set it free. The LB was a five foot wide, remote controlled, flying wing. Colored light blue, and actually illuminated from below by what looked like twinkling white Christmas lights, it was virtually invisible on a clear day and totally silent at altitude. Unless Dead Six was running active radar, which our snooping had not revealed, they would never even know we were there.
LB had cost me two hundred and thirty thousand dollars. It was a top of the line piece of surveillance equipment, and it was worth every penny. The cameras could read news paper headlines, and it could stay on station for hours at a time. It had taken four flights before we had gotten lucky and caught our shooter standing on a specific balcony. Building number Three, room Two. Got you sucker.
Now it was time, going in quiet and low profile. I chamber checked my STI Duty CT .45, with a 4.15 inch slide with an extended, threaded barrel. It rode on my strong side hip in a pancake holster. I had three spare 10-round magazines stoked with TTI 230 grain hollowpoints on my left hip. Under my armpit was a pouch containing my Advanced Armament Evolution SOF suppressor. I concealed it all under the same type coyote brown contractor vest that I had seen most of the residents of the compound wearing. I had my Benchmade Griptillian in my pocket, and an ASP collapsible baton in my vest. The concealable Pointblank IIIA vest I had on was killing me in the heat, but it would stop most pistol rounds. I live on a diet of paranoia, malice, and Thai food.
“You ready?” Carl asked from behind the wheel.
“Yep,” I cracked the vertebrae of my neck. This was it. “Radio check.”
“I’ve got you, chief,” Reaper’s voice echoed in my ear. “Little Bird can see the van just perfect. Nice and bright on thermal, and clean on NV.” Our tiny surveillance plane worked just as well at night, once you turned off the Christmas lights.
“I can hear you fine. I’ve got a clear view of the gate, and the guards don’t seem to be checking anything,” Jill said. “I think it’s too hot for them to care.”
“You gonna stick with the plan this time, Lorezno?” Carl asked.
“Walk into den of professional killers, find code book, start in shooter’s room and work out from there, try not to get killed, walk back out. Right?” I was nervous, but I tried not to let it show. The shakes would come later, now I needed to be cold and professional.
“Walk in the park. Large number of guys left the compound this morning, probably for a big hit, so it’s quiet. This is as good as it gets.”
“The truck is coming up the street. Go. Go. Go,” Reaper said. Carl started the engine and pulled out of the alley. I pulled a tan Molon Labe hat low onto my head and then placed my hand on the door handle. The metal was scorching hot to the touch.
“Have visual. Truck’s coming towards the roundabout. Distraction time,” Jill reported matter of factly.
“Good luck, everybody,” I said. The van pulled behind the Mitsubishi truck. We had observed this same truck driving into the compound almost every night for the last week. It was pickup style, with a tarp that covered the contents. Thermal told us that nobody rode in the back. One driver, one rider in the cab.
I opened the passenger side door. We had disabled the interior lights. The truck was slowing on the roundabout. We had one shot. Jill was dressed as a servant girl, weighed down with bags of groceries. She walked right into the path of the truck, playing oblivious to the hilt. The driver of the Mitsubishi hit the brakes. Red lights illuminated my world. I was out of the van in a heartbeat, Carl pulling it closed behind me. I could see the passenger’s profile in his mirror, his attention was on Jill.
The tarp was dusty with talcum powder sand. Trying not to make a sudden impact against the shocks, I slid under, and onto the burning heat of the truck’s diamond plate bed. The horn sounded, making me flinch involuntarily. I heard Jill shout back at the driver, and could imagine her shaking her fist.
“I’m in,” I whispered.
Jill heard, and continued on her way down the sidewalk. Carl pulled through the roundabout and headed in a different direction. I lay on the metal that was hot enough to fry bacon and tried not to cry.
“You’re coming through the gate,” Reaper informed me. “Interior guard is waving them past. You’re inside.”
The brakes whined as we rolled to a stop. The smell of diesel was strong in the air. The engine died with a gurgle, and the doors slammed. I heard voices speaking in English, and then it was quiet.
“They’re walking away from the truck. You’re parked under the overhang at Building One.”
Dead Six. I’m coming for you.
###########
To be continued...
