Black Flag: A Taskforce Story (3 page)

Dylan knocked on the hotel door and dreaded what he was about to report, even though it wasn’t his fault. Why Nickolae brought the damn reservation confirmation with him was a mystery, but it certainly wasn’t because Dylan had ordered it. And it wasn’t Dylan’s fault that the Romanian, instead of trying to talk his way out of it, had turned immediately to violence. Like they always did.

It’s amazing they get anything done. What idiot would want to put up with this?
Then he remembered that he was one of the idiots. He had gone to them, looking for muscle as insurance after he’d come across a man willing to sell U.S. military-grade semiconductors and microprocessors used in ballistic missiles. Something worth a great deal to the right buyers. The original plan had been fairly routine, with the contact placing the chips in with a batch of vanilla ones being shipped by the same corporation. Ordinarily hand flown back to the Department of Defense contractor working with the ballistic missile technology, these would now cross the ocean as boring, normal cargo. After all, who could tell the difference just by looking at them? Certainly not anyone who inspected shipping containers.

When they arrived in Charleston, Dylan was simply going to receive them in exchange for money. After the contact had placed the chips into the shipping system, he’d gotten greedy, threatening to back out and go somewhere else, and Dylan had learned what a mistake it had been to use the Romanians as muscle. Intending to cut the contact out and leverage his partners, they’d sabotaged a boat the contact used, and it had exploded right on time. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to either Dragos or Dylan, the partners had no idea where the chips were located on the giant ship and had no ability to make the transfer in Charleston. All they’d known was that the container information was in the boat Dragos had conveniently destroyed.

Dylan shuddered at the memory of that meeting, sure that Dragos was going to kill all of them out of sheer rage, projecting his own failure as their mistake. In an attempt to keep Dragos from going on a rampage and butchering everyone in the room, Dylan had come up with a plan to steal the chips, and things had slowly but surely spiraled more and more out of control.

He tapped the PVC pipe against his leg, waiting on someone to answer the door. At least they had the container location now. At least he could show
some
good news.

He heard the chain slide and felt his pulse increase. The door opened and he found himself facing Dragos’s right-hand man, Costin. He swung the door inward, allowing Dylan to enter. Dragos saw the PVC container and clapped his hands, “So the plan is proceeding as you said. Good. Very good.”

Dylan said, “Well, yes and no.”

“What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath, then let it out. “We had some complications with the academic company. They got suspicious and we had to take them out.”

“What do you mean?”

Dylan relayed what had occurred on the boat, leaving out the part about how scared he had been to pilot the vessel home to Kingston Harbor by himself.

“So my men are on this island? Right now?”

“Yes. It couldn’t be helped. We have other preparations to make. We’ll just have to switch out the container crew.”

“It’s not that easy. The three men with you were specially selected for the ship takedown. I can’t just throw in three different ones.”

Dylan held up his hands, not wanting to trigger the well of anger that he knew Dragos kept bubbling inside of him like magma under the earth’s crust. He said, “It couldn’t be helped. The container is being loaded on the ship in three hours. The men need to be inside it before it goes through customs. I didn’t have time to wait on them to track down the academics.”

Dragos said, “What of these ‘academics’? You were going to use them to place the drugs on the ship.”

“All of them are certified scuba divers. I made sure of that. We’ll just have to use the ones doing the research here.”

Dragos continued as if he hadn’t heard. “And you were going to use them as bait to cover up our theft. What of that now?”

“Same answer. Instead of four bodies on the ship, it’ll be two. It will still work. You said Stefan had planted evidence in Charleston, correct?”

Dragos said, “Yes, but I don’t like all of these changes. Every time you return, it’s with a different story and a change to the plan.”

Because you don’t like negotiating, you murderous thug. There would be no complex “plan” if you hadn’t blown up my contact.

“Dragos, you’re the one that said we couldn’t steal the chips while they were in port. There’s just too much security. That leaves doing it at sea. All I did was come up with a way to divert attention, and it’s working very well. When the authorities start looking, they’ll find that Grolier Recovery Services has rented scuba equipment, boats, hotel rooms, and, thanks to my forethought, four rooms on the container ship with the chips. Once they find the drugs, it’ll be case closed.”

Dragos turned from the window and said, “You make it sound simple. The ship sails tomorrow. When will you emplace the drugs?”

“Tonight. The Trojan horse container will load today, and you, me, and Costin, posing as oceangoing passengers of Grolier Services, will board tomorrow morning. Tomorrow night, the ship will be ours. I’ll get the chips, your crew will bring up the remaining man and woman from Grolier, and we’ll all head back to Kingston on the boat Grolier rented. Easy.”

Dragos grunted. “If it’s so easy, how come my men are running around a deserted island chasing a couple of ‘academics’?”

We reached the interior of the island, with the cliffs on the coasts now lost from view, and the foliage growing tall enough so that we could walk without highlighting ourselves. I signaled a halt and pulled a waterproof bag from the cargo pocket of my swim trunks. I brought out my Taskforce phone, a unique piece of kit that looked like an iPhone 5 but in reality did a lot of black magic. Provided there was a cell signal.

Knuckles whispered, “You have your phone? Shit, call the Taskforce and get us some air support.”

I turned it on and said, “No service out here.” Then what he’d said registered. “Where the hell is your phone?”

“On the boat. I didn’t want to dive with it.”

“You left a controlled item on a boat with a bunch of foreign nationals?”

He said, “Hey, come on. What were they going to do, steal it while I was underwater? It’s the first thing I checked when I got back to the boat. They didn’t take it.”

I waited a beat, staring at him deadpan, then said, “Really? Did you just say that? Where’s your phone right now?”

“Okay, okay, let’s get moving. What’re you thinking?”

I initiated the compass application and said, “There’s a lighthouse on the south end. I figure we’d head to it, get inside the tower for early warning, then come up with some half-baked assault plan. All we need is one weapon and we’ll have the edge.”

I let the digital needle settle, then began walking south, gingerly trying to save the soles of my feet from the cacti and rocks. We’d gone about a quarter of a mile when Knuckles grabbed my arm, then pointed at his ear.

I stopped, hearing the scattering of rocks in the distance. They were on our trail and moving quicker than we were.
Probably because they’ve got that little bit of technology called “shoes.”

I picked up the pace, ignoring the damage. Five minutes later, we ran across some old train tracks built for Lord knows what. I really didn’t care, except they were heading south, and they allowed us to start jogging in our bare feet, avoiding the rocks and cacti by using the railroad ties in the bed. Now we were moving faster than our quarry.

We crested a low rise, and we could see the old lighthouse about five hundred meters away. Reaching it, we found an abandoned keeper’s residence in addition to the tower itself. It was slowly being reclaimed by the island, with no roof and crumbling walls, but we could use it for a little cat and mouse.

I said, “They’ll most likely take the same tracks we did to get here. I can’t see them busting brush, which means they’ll come down the west side of the residence.”

I glanced around, seeing the distance from the house to the tower, and came up with a hasty plan. I said, “You get up in the lighthouse. I’ll get inside the residence. Take some rocks up with you. What I want to do is get them in close. Negate the firearms advantage to the best extent possible. Make ’em shoot within arm’s reach. Hopefully, your arms will reach them before they can do that.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“When you judge they’re close enough, toss a rock down at me. I’ll take off, letting them see me and becoming the rabbit. I’ll cut diagonally, using the walls to block any shots. I’ll come screaming right into the tower, so you need to be moving down as soon as you throw. I pass you, and you clock the first one in the doorway. Find a piece of rebar or a club. I get his gun, and we start returning some favors.”

Knuckles glanced up to the top of the tower and said, “I’m not sure I can get down that fast.”

“Yeah, well, Brett’s cheetah ass ain’t here, so you’ll just have to do. The trigger is key. You throw too early, and they may not run in behind me. They may take it slow and easy, in which case we will be terminally fucked. You wait too long, and they’ll be close enough to shoot me.”

“This doesn’t sound like that great of a plan.”

“You got a better idea? It’ll be just like the end of
Saving Private Ryan
where they use that motorcycle half-track to suck the Germans into their ambush.”

He said, “Didn’t everyone die in
Saving Private Ryan
?”

“Private Ryan didn’t. And that’s who I’m pretending to be. You can be Tom Hanks.”

He began walking toward the tower and said, “I have no idea why I listen to you.”

I moved into the residence, straining my ears and glancing up through the ruins at Knuckles’s position. I’d barely started to go through the usual second-guessing before a rock smacked into the wall behind me and Knuckles gave me a signal that he had them in sight. I nodded, waiting to hear them.

Instead, another rock smacked the wall, scaring the hell out of me. I glanced up, about to start sprinting, when I saw Knuckles leaning out of the window and trying to tell me something. He gestured with his right arm going over his left, and I knew what it was.
The assholes are coming down the east side of the residence.
Which meant I was going to have to cross open terrain instead of using the building to block their shots.

I then heard a shout, followed by a cracking of three-round bursts. Because Knuckles was forced to warn me, forced to hang out of the window, they’d seen him.
Now he’s the
rabbit
.
Only he’s got nowhere to run.

I heard the movement and realized there was one good thing about this: I was on the east side of the residence, and I thought maybe I could let them pass by me and play a little Sergeant York. In World War I York annihilated an entire squad of Germans rushing his lines with only a pistol by shooting the last guy first and walking his way up the squad as they assaulted. I intended to do the same thing, only I had a hunk of brick instead of a Colt 1911.

They fired one more time, then seemed to realize that they had Knuckles trapped and by sitting outside taking potshots, they were giving him time to get away. I heard them shout at each other in what I assumed was Romanian; then they took off running, right in front of me. I let them get five feet away and followed suit. They weren’t in a perfect line, but in more of a lopsided V, with the right leg longer than the left. I took the man on the right, hoping the one on the left stayed focused on the run to the tower. I closed the distance and my target finally heard me. He glanced over his shoulder and I brought the brick down, hitting him squarely over the bridge of his nose.

He crumpled to the ground, tumbling with the forward momentum he had generated, his weapon flung sideways into the dirt. His partner to the left heard him fall and turned to assist, his eyes going wide at the sight of me.

I was preparing to continue my assault when I saw him shout and bring up his gun. I knew I couldn’t reach him fast enough. I jerked left, scooped up the dropped weapon, and slammed into the brick of the tower, hearing rounds pocking the cement around me.

I brought my own weapon up and saw I had the manufacturer right, but not the model. It was an H&K MP7 personal defense weapon, and I immediately began using it for its intended purpose. I fired a double-tap at the second man, getting him to dive to the ground, then circled the tower trying to interdict the third man, who had ignored my fight and continued after Knuckles.

I wasn’t quick enough. By the time I reached the door, he was inside. Now I had a choice. Go after the second man I’d just fired at, or go after the man inside.

The man outside was the logical choice, since entering the building would put an enemy to my front and to my rear, but Knuckles had no weapon. No way to defend himself, and he was in critical danger. I kicked in the door and heard a round smack into the brick next to my head.

The man outside had moved more quickly than I’d given him credit for, showing a little skill. They weren’t just some thug pipe swingers, and now I would have to deal with him before I could help Knuckles. He was on his own for the time being.

The tower itself was just that: a tower. Outside of a small anteroom, all I saw was a circular stairwell leading up through the gloom. I flicked on the light attached to the rail on my PDW and aimed it up, seeing nothing. I returned to the front door, waiting on the man to make a move, feeling the time ticking by, my conscious mind screaming at me to get up the stairs. To get to Knuckles.

When another two seconds went by without the man outside committing, I turned to the stairs and began to climb, the barrel leading the way. I went one turn and heard a three-round burst above me, then a man scream. I started sprinting and something large flashed by me in a window. I leaned out and saw a body crumpled on the ground. A Romanian body.

I reached the top and shouted, “Knuckles, Knuckles, coming in,” then popped onto the lighting platform. Knuckles was on a knee, holding the heel of his hand up against his nose, a trickle of blood running down his face. In his other hand he held an MP7.

“Great fucking plan.”

I smiled and said, “I know, right? Worked out beautifully. There’s still one more outside. You ready to go?”

He nodded, and we descended the circular staircase much slower than I’d gone up it, our barrels leading the way. We reached the anteroom and had no contact. Knuckles took a knee, his weapon focused on the single entrance door, far enough into the gloom that he couldn’t be seen from outside. “Why don’t you take off running back to the residence. When he stands up, I’ll clock him.”

I said nothing, thinking through our options. We were in a little bit of a pickle because there was only one way out of the tower, and he’d have that covered for sure. He hadn’t come in before, so it wasn’t likely he was going to come in now. He had the edge. All he needed was patience.

I needed to get him to move.
Or I need to find out where he is—and I’m in the perfect sniper’s nest.

I said, “I have a better idea. Why don’t you go back up top and see if you can spot him. Put some suppressive fire on his position; then I’ll flank him. He’s going to have a view of this door, so it shouldn’t be hard.”

Knuckles grinned and took off again, climbing the stairs. I took up a position on the near side of the door and peeked out. Five minutes later, I heard the first shot, a single round. Then another. And another.

Then I heard return fire, about fifty meters away on the right side. I slid out the door going left, circling around the tower while he was still focused on Knuckles. By the time I reached the far side, he had taken a knee and was trying to suppress Knuckles, a losing proposition considering he was out in the open and Knuckles was behind the bricks in the tower.

He got Knuckles to duck, then stood up and began running toward the front door, and I took aim. I squeezed off a double-tap and he tumbled. I raced out from cover and kicked his weapon away, seeing him straining to draw a breath, his lungs punctured like a whitetail deer’s. He tried to sit up, his eyes wide, his left arm clawing the dirt.

I did nothing but watch, knowing he was slipping into another place. There was nothing I could do, even if I wanted to. He raked his nails through the earth one more time, then relaxed. I saw his eyes roll, and I knew he was done. Not for the first time, I wondered when someone would stand over me, waiting on my life to drain into the dirt.

It won’t be today.

The entire engagement had taken less than ten minutes. By the time Knuckles was back down the stairs, I was stripping the guy of his boots. Knuckles began doing the same to the man he’d chucked out the window when we heard movement. We both whipped our weapons up and saw a crusty-looking old man with almond skin coming out of the brush.

Knuckles said, “Doesn’t look like he’s from Romania.”

I stood up and waved, saying, “Nope. Looks more like a ride off of this rock. I think he’s a fisherman.”

The man waved back, then sat on a hunk of limestone, content to watch. Like he’d seen a shoot-out on this island every other week. I waited for him to engage us, and when he didn’t I went back to work. We continued searching the team’s belongings, trying to find some clue as to what was going on, and two more Haitians emerged from the brush. They talked among themselves, looking at us like we would do something else to provide entertainment, but did nothing to interfere.

We finished searching the bodies, finding precious little to explain what was going on. Little to enlighten how a simple contract to find a pirate treasure had evolved into a hunting team armed with the latest killing weapons available.

Knuckles waved a fixed-blade stiletto he’d pulled out of a sheath from the man he’d chucked out the window. He flicked it into the dirt, the blade spinning once before stabbing into the ground, and said, “What the hell is going on here?”

I unzipped the window jumper’s backpack, finding a walkie-talkie that was of little use and a notebook in Romanian. I said, “I don’t know, but one thing’s for sure. It’s got nothing to do with Blackbeard.”

Knuckles said, “Actually, I think this whole thing had a lot more to do with Edward Teach than we know.”

“What? You still believe there’s some treasure out here that caused all of this?”

He stood up and waved the old man forward, saying, “Did you put your wallet in that waterproof bag with the phone?”

“Yeah. Unlike you, I didn’t trust a bunch of foreigners with my personal stuff. Answer the question. What do you think is going on?”

He shook the man’s ancient hand and said, “I think these fuckers are modern-day pirates, and Jennifer and Brett are walking into a shit storm.”