Barett picks up and speaks back in Korean.
"It is good to hear your voice Younger brother. I too have drunken from the bitter water and chewed the salted meat, but not eat the dessert. However the princess is safe with me, and desires to meet her husband to be. (Time to deliver the package)
“Remember that the snake in the grass is sometimes the pregnant water-buffalo at your door. (He suspects everyone, even Maria) Sometimes it's best to eat an egg Mc Muffin at L'efes, but keep the big bird with small wings to yourself. I prefer the Calais in the North, A3 to A1 sauce at least a kungfu movie away. (He has a plane in Calais, meet at L'efes at breakfast 3-4 hrs away from Paris) You will see me soon, dressed as the bridegroom on his horse."
The line goes dead and Rick can tell Barett is not having the time of his life either, but these things always sound better when retold a few months later at least that is his belief. The pain-meds for PMS Maria gave him were starting to work (they were the only thing she had), and he was starting to breathe without as much pain now. Interestingly though, he was feeling an urge for chocolate and cupcakes.
Rick walked back into the living room and saw a large suitcase and several other bags by the front door. By the looks of them, both Maria and Monica had raided Carla’s closet as it was apparent that the only thing they could find were too small. Maria was in the middle of changing into gray sweat-pants that came up to her knees and a matching pullover jersey which must have been extra baggy on little Carla. Monica was wearing black spandex pants, jogging shoes and a gray and red jersey with a colorful college logo on the front.
Carla came into the room, dressed in a fancy black leather outfit that looked like it was a Paris’s socialites attempt to model motorcycle crash armor. It was obviously more runway fashion than anything that could be considered practical on the racetrack.
Carla handed Rick an armful of bags filled with food, then grabbed her suitcase and led the small group down to her car to stuff everything in. They left in a hurry but Maria convinced Rick and Carla that they need to swing by her hotel to pick up her other stuff and check out how things are shaking down at the club from a distance. Conveniently the hotel was the same place Rick had used to hide his gun and the rest of his equipment. The club area was such a mess with activity that it was easy for Maria to get in and out of the hotel. Rick was amazed that at her ability to slip out unnoticed with a load of shopping bags, his assault rifle tucked safely and hidden away from prying eyes.
It was now 1:50 in the morning and before long the four of them were out of Paris and heading North, Rick in the front passenger’s seat, Carla driving fast as usual behind the wheel, with Monica behind Rick, sleeping peacefully using the bags piled on her lap as a pillow. Maria was mostly quiet, smiling at Rick when he turned to see how she was doing. After thirty minutes or so, she too fell asleep.
The motor hummed its forgotten song and lolled Rick into some much needed sleep. Less than two hours later, with the back seat occupants snoring lightly Carla touched Rick’s cheek gently, waking him with a start.
"Senior Rick, perhaps we should talk about what we are going to do? Yes?" She said in a soft voice not wanting to wake the others.
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The quiet and dark of the early morning surrounded them. Rick could smell the delightful and distinctive smell of the ocean and rolled down the window enough to feel the cold breeze on his face. It was refreshing and invigorating. Within seconds he was totally awake, feeling a hundred times better. The PMS medicine he got from Maria must still be doing its wonders on him.
He could see the lights of a small city on his right
“Where are we?” He asked softly in Spanish.
“We just passed Coulogne and will be in Calais in 5 minutes.” Carla replied back in her Italian accented English and gave Rick a wink and a smile. “Those lights are of Calais and the darkness beyond is the Strait of Dover.”
“So England is just beyond the horizon?”
“Yes, but on a clear day you can see the white cliffs.”
Rick checked his watch. It was 4:30 AM Sunday morning. They were a little late. “My brother is waiting for us at a restaurant in town. A place called ‘L'Efes’. We will have breakfast there and then move out.”
“Are we too early?” She asked hopefully.
“No, I am guessing we have kept him waiting for about an hour.”
“Oh.” She said quietly, almost to herself. She said it in a way that made Rick think that she was disappointed and wanted to spend more time with him. But Carla was quick as always.
“So I guess you are going to try to get out of France before the sun comes up.”
“That is the plan.”
Carla rolled her window down a bit and took out one of her thin cigarettes and lit it. After blowing out a puff she looked back at the two sleeping girls through the rearview mirror and sighed.
“She is lucky you know,” then added, “Both of them.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I think you just saved the one from a miserable life and I suspect you did the same for Maria earlier. Look at them. They seem happy and at peace sleeping back there. I have watched them this night and they both look up to you as a savior of sorts.”
Rick looked back without saying anything. Maria had pulled up her legs and was cuddled up against the crock of the door and the back seat. Monica was still bent forward, using the bags as a makeshift pillow. It looked uncomfortable and she would probably wake up stiff but she looked serene.
“How are you going to get over to England?”
“Can’t say yet, I’ll let you know when I get there.”
Carla blew out another puff of smoke and flicked her cigarette out the window and their conversation was cut short as she crazily overtook a particular large and slow moving lorry bringing in the morning milk. The two beauties in the back slept on despite the maneuver. They had arrived to the last city of France. The wine red BMW with the yellow racing stripes headed down the morning streets of Calais. Few people were up and there was little traffic. Carla stopped at a gas station and filled up her car while Rick went to a phone-both and searched for the address of the restaurant.
It was still very dark out. As Rick sat back down and Carla took off, she looked sideways at him, a long and hard look, and then turned her attention back to the road quickly to avoid hitting a building. “Can I come with you guys?”
“That may be complicated.” Rick said thinking if he should trust her and her intentions. He didn’t really know her at all. He thought about the way she asked it. It wasn’t a pleading question or one asked of emotion. It was just a question of interest. “Let me ask you something first. We just met and we know nothing about each other. Why do you want to come? What about your work and life here in France?”
" Ah mr. Rick, that is the question isn't it !"
She states, holding the tension a little beyond comfortable. Breathing in deeply she exhales slowly then smiles.
" It seems Paris has always been a place of secrets, .....yes,.... a place of learning, and wealth attracts that sort of thing you know,......... people who want to keep thier secrets. This is the home of secret societies and cults, as you have seen. And that is where I come in, I like to know thier secrets.
I like Music more, but some how if you don't look like a threat they don't treat you like one. So here I am a simple musician hanging out with very wealthy, very powerful people, and they tend to talk when drinks and other things start flowing. I hear, I remember, then if it's important I tell the right people. We learn what we can, but do not share or manipulate, just compile. I was asked to meet you as your name came up in some high class papers, from what I understand. But you proved more interesting than what I think anyone could guess. "Ugly American" is what you were classed, so when I meet you it was a surprise to me as well."
She looks in your eyes, like she is reading something there. Then back to the road.
"I am no spy mind you, that is not what I am. Empathetic to peoples feelings and moods, perhaps some not so hidden thoughts,..... yes. But a spy no that is not me. No .....just a recruiter in a very ......comfortable position."
" So yes, I want to stay with you as long as possible, because that is what I haft to do, need to do.....and perhaps I am just a little bit intrigued by you, a crush if you will. That and due to the Russians it would be better if I wasn't around for a little while, till things calm down."
She smiles, then crinkles her nose in this 'samamntha from bewitched' move. She has a charm to her you think Utah would like, it is something that you like. If it wasn't for Maria, getting involved with Carla would be a big go.
"Is there something that you need to know ? I can sense you have questions, I will answer what I can."
she leans back in the seat, waiting for you.
Rick sat quietly for a few minutes, just giving out directions; “Turn right here; left at the next block; and we are getting close, it should be on your left somewhere around here”.
He was a sucker for a pretty face and he knew it. If Carla wasn’t so good looking he wouldn’t have a problem taking her out right now. Even though she claimed she wasn’t a spy that was what he saw her as. This could be dangerous. Who did she answer to? What was their real motivation in gathering information?
But on the other hand, he was guessing she and her organization could be very useful to the brothers. In fact, she could become invaluable to them. They needed information, the kind that wasn’t filtered down through the file and rank, but raw, straight from the source information that wasn’t tainted or spun into some political slant. If he brought her along they could really gain an advantage that they needed. But who was the “we” Carla spoke of? Would they share their information with the brothers? Would it be worth the risk of exposing themselves to their organization? And how could they be sure that they wouldn’t be waking up one morning with a knife sticking in their back?
The car had reached the center of Calais. The yellow and red morning rays of the sun were just beginning to lighten the eastern skies. Carla turned left around a large stone wall and came to a stoplight. Carla was acting a bit uncomfortable, as if she was debating if she had said too much.
“Look Rick.” She pointed out at the wall. “There is La Tour du Guet , the Watch Tower. It is said to be one of the oldest monuments of Calais. It is even older that that Church you can see over there, Calais’ Notre-Dame.”
Rick looked out and up into the dark morning but said nothing. Stone wall turned out to be a huge tower in the middle of the town. It looked like a medieval rocket of sorts, looming brown and darkly over the city like a long forgotten giant frozen in time to stand as mute sentinels. The church of the Dame that was down and across the street looked just as old and oppressive, hovering like another frozen companion warrior turned to stone and forgotten.
Rick said nothing.
Carla hurried on attempting to improve the silent mood that had built up like a pressure cooker. “Some think the tower was one of the fire towers that Charlemagne built to protect the Francs against the Norman invasion.”
The streetlight turned green and Carla drove the remaining few yards to the L'Efes restaurant which could be seen with its lights on immediately to their left.
“Carla, you certainly have proven how useful you are tonight.” Rick said as she parallel parked next to the shop. “However you could have been doing that merely to get me to trust you. But with what you said to me a few minutes ago, I don’t think that is the case. Thank you for being honest with me.”
“You’re welcome.” She said as she killed the engine and looked at him.
“I think we can both see how we can benefit from a partnership here. But there is an element of mystery to you and I and my brothers don’t like to be taken by surprise as I am sure you can understand.”
“Yes, I have seen that. You are very unpredictable with a real sense of danger, yourself if I may say so. I am not in a hurry to cross you.”
“True. There is much that you don’t know about me.” He smiled. “Secrets need to be kept, I understand that. But I think you know things that would be invaluable for me to know; things that need to be hidden from certain political driven people and such. I guess what I am trying to say is that if you are willing to be upfront and honest and share information with me and my brothers, helping us out and being free with what you know or maybe able to get your hands on, retaining only that which is reasonable then I think we may be able to form a mutual alliance here.”
Rick took her hand and squeezed it, looking deep in her eyes to watch her reaction.
“We are looking for someone like you with your talents and information for our team. But before we go any further, what type of guarantee can we reach to trust each other?”
Carla's large eyes stare back at him, a soft purse to her lips. She grips his hands passionately, and shifts in her seat.
"Oh Rick, You can trust me, I owe you my life......There is nothing more that I can do to show my dedication to you. I have given up all now to help you, I am here at your disposal, to go or stay, it is in your power."
She almost pleads with you, passion in her eyes and a quiver in her voice.
There is a deep moment here, something more than just physical. It is different then what he has with Maria, though its good with her it lacks depth, a sort of superficial paint that hides other agendas, or colors. But Carla seems to awaken a side of Rick he has buried deep in himself for some years now.
The dark street is quiet, the street lights are sparse in this old part of town. Squares of light from the store fronts, light the sidewalks up better. Ricks attention is drawn to a dark figure in an alley across the square from them, sitting on a motorcycle, in leathers and full facial helmet. He would have missed him if it wasn't for the headlights of a small fiat uno that drove by at that moment. Carla follows your eyes to the alley, but the darkness hides the figure now.
The backseat occupants stir as the lack of noise and vibration create a strange bubble of silence. Carla lets go of your hands and pulls out another cigarette.
"What do we do now Mr. Rick, it is up to you ?"
“Lock the doors and be ready to bolt out of here.”
Rick reaches back and turns off the overhead light that automatically turns on when the door opens then he has a second thought and changes his plan.
“Start the car and drive down the street.”
As Carla starts up the car, Rick opens the door and acts as if he rolls out but he only hid himself low in the seat and shuts the door as Carla starts driving away. As the car enters a shadow in the street, he hits the automatic window opener and leaps out of the car into the dark morning beneath the buildings on the opposite side. He waits until the BMW turns a corner and is out of site. He feels confident with his prowl. Unless the person in on the bike has night vision technology, then his little ruse should have worked and distracted the figure Rick is guess is Barett. But Rick has seen too much go wrong during the last three days. He begins his prowl over to the alleyway where he saw the man on the bike.
Rick is going to attempt to climb up and over a one of the two story buildings and come up on the man from the back.
Rick sneaks to the ancient brick wall, and climbs the heavy drain pipe on the outside. Moving low on the pitched clay tile roof, he works very hard to keep his balance, the morning dew making them extra slippery. The cool morning air helping to clear his battered head, he thinks that he should have Barett check him over once they are free from prying eyes.
The slight clicking of the tiles under your feet is the only sound you hear. Sliding down the power pole at the back of the building he sneaks up on the Motorcycle rider.
" Your Late, but quiet."
Says Barett in Korean, as he turns to Rick a mere 30 feet from him.
" That's quite the Harem you have there, I'm surprised that you have the energy to move around like that."
He slides the small nightsight scope into his leather jacket pocket, as he rolls off the Bike, a sleek black and red design, single seater, track style, very european. The black nylon commuter bag over his shoulder slides heavily to his left, hinting at its heavy weight.
" You look like hell in the light, what happened to you ? ....never mind,
Look I have a small diversion planned, but that will need to be modified now. I took the canisters and replaced the shot with lead sinkers from a fishing store. The real stuff is in a lead lined box I soldered shut. The plane is ready for us now, what is our plan to be ?"
“Nice bike, where did you get it? What is happening with Sabrina, Spanky, and where is Bridget?”
~ Barett’s reply ~
“It looks like I am bringing along a baggage of two extra people and have an issue with hiding that nice BMW for a while. How big is the plane? Do you have clearance to fly out or are we going to be going in low below radar?”
~ Barett’s reply ~
“I am thinking grabbing a quick order to go of breakfast and head on out before the city wakes up. I am kind of making things up as I go along and adjust as problems present themselves. This weekend has been one curve ball after another.”
Barett smiles at him.
"Yeah, its hard to miss that car, perhaps we can use this to our advantage. I was thinking of sending the fake cannisters with someone, Maria or Bridget and see what happened. I am interested in who is watching who, because someone is telling all sorts of things we don't want them to, of that I'm sure."
He looks around again and pulls out a pilots map and some papers.
" The bike is just a rental, but I may get me one, very nice. The plane is a rental to, we can't fly out till first light anyway. It is a registered flight, moving from country to country and the like I had to. It's only a legal two seater, you could put one other person in the cargo area, but it would be uncomfortable. I saved and repacked two Parachutes, the plan was to fly out, have Bridget jump out with the cannisters and have Shelia and Spanky pick her up. But that has changed, I don't think I can trust her....I know that Spanky and Shelia are out of my personal trust circle to. That leaves just you and me. What we should do is send all the girls out with the fake cannisters, hidden in the BMW, without them knowing, to cross on the ferry. You and I take the plane, one of us jumps with the cargo and weapons, the other lands and meets up with them later. What do you think ?But first lets get some good breakfast, we have a little time."
Barett locks the bike and heads towards the Cafe.
The L’Efes’ restaurant became their impromptu morning meeting building. The place was comfortable, clean, private, and the food was unbelievably good. In fact, L’Efes’ pound-cakes, Éclairs and baguettes were famous all over the north of France and Southern England. The brothers learned after a few minutes in talking with the somewhat flamboyant young host, who was conveniently fluent in English, that it wasn’t unheard of for British citizens to take a trip down the Eurotunnel just to dinner here at Calais’ famous restaurant.
After talking with the tall young host and taking a few samples of the pastries, Rick and Barett decided the food was so good that they bought two boxes for express delivery for their chief brother, Utah. They liked young host and gave him a healthy tip and asked him to run a few errands for them after they had order a number of breakfast plates.
L’Efes’ was mostly earth tones, off-whites, light greens and muted yellows. The walls were a cloudy cream-brown color framed with rich dark woods, matching wooden blinds on all the windows and large square dark-brown panels painted to look like star-filled night skies. All the chairs were upholstered in a brownish-gold with clean white table cloths hanging heavily on each table. The brothers retreated to the back of a long narrow section of the restaurant. Barett checked out Rick’s eyes for any sign of a concussion with his pocket light and uncompassionate as any brother is to another, told him to “walk it off”.
Rick had called Maria and Barett, Bridgett. As they waited the two put their heads together and planned their next move. Rick’s three ladies arrived first, looking famished and bedridden, but that didn’t stop Barett from jumping up and slicking back his hair while gracelessly knocked the table and spilling some milk as he smiled brightly while Rick introduced him to Carla and Monica.
The tall young host showed up next with a large brown paper bag. A few minutes later, Bridgett arrived and took a seat next to Maria. With everyone now together, Barett pulled out the items from the bag and outlined the plan.
“We are going to do another shell game.” He said as he pulled out three identical metal boxes. “We are going to break up into three teams. Carla, Bridgett, and Maria will take two boxes and go in the ‘bimmer’ over to Coquelles to catch the Eurotunnel train to England. We have talked the young host here to go along with you disguised as Rick. Once on board, the three of you will trade of boxes during the ride and see if you can flush out any tails you may have. Maria will be point. If you get searched, don’t worry about it. All you will be carrying are rocks.
Meanwhile, Rick, myself and Monica will take off from here in the plane I have waiting for us with the real package. Rick will bail out with the near the coast of England and rendezvous with Spanky and Shelia who are waiting to finish the final trek. He will give them the hot package and then bust over to London to meet up with you three.
We are a bit worried about Monica getting out safely so I am going to get her all the way to home base.”
After a few minutes of questions and reviewing the plan, the group broke out into the early morning light. One very happy looking young man dressed in Rick’s clothing and in the company of three very attractive women headed over to the wine-red BMW and drove south to Coquelles.
Ten minutes later, three figures sneaked away out the back service door of the restaurant, dressed in white L’Efes’ deliverers outfits. The left the story with one of the largest tips they would every record.
Barett is amazed at the Quality of women that Rick is able to attract. It seems he has come out of his shell and learned some things when he was in South America. He realizes that he is no longer the lanky teenager he remembers from simpler times on the base growing up.
Even in the white uniform the girl emits sexuality, she will be trouble he can tell. They crawl into the small delivery truck, more like a really tall geo-metro to Barett than a real van, but" when in France". The Sun pokes over the horizon as they pull up to the small airport rental office. One lone employee sips black coffee as he reads the paper, not even standing up as they walk in. The Sunday holiday skeleton crew is one guy, an older Racoon, he still wears the old flight jacket from his military days, the leather worn around the edges.
Having changed in the van Barett is sporting a clipboard and maps in his hands,button down shirt, with brown leather hiking boots make him look all the part of the weekend pilot type. Throwing his messangers bag over his shoulder and jumping out of the van, he heads toward the office door. The old man peers over his paper, looking Barett over.
" Ah, you must be the Yank that wants to fly over the channel......guessing that you want to get on your way quick then like all yanks do, eh?"
He speaks english with a strange dilect, not french, but more german than english.
Slapping a clipboard with forms and a pen on the counter, and pointing with his finger.
"You'll need to fill these out first, then make any flight path details out on the map at the end. Since I'm the customs agent to, I'll need to do a search of your bags and anyone else that is flying with you, Take your time, I'm not going any where."
Sitting back down he picks up the paper and starts reading again.
Barett fills in the paper work and flight plan, detailing the path he wants to take. Asking a few questions about the weather and wind over the channel to the old racoon.
Stepping back outside he slides into the van.
"So the plan goes like this, Monica rides with me in the copilot seat. Rick you take the van and ditch it at the end of the runway, and hide in the tall grass down there, with the parachutes and package. I will make a false run down, act nervous and spin the plane around. You run up and jump in the plane as I turn it around and retry a take off. That should keep the record straight and not cause us any extra grief."
The old man eyes Barett carefully but makes no indication that there are any problems. As he is looking over Monica, he turns and winks at Barett. A sort of 'Nudge, nudge , wink wink, likes to take photo's does she' statement. Thirty Minutes later they are airborne, Monica now sits crammed into the small cargo area behind the two seats, her knees in her chest with a parachute bag as a backrest.
"Time to call spanky and make the drop plans, You ready to jump from the plane my brother."
Barett nods to Rick as he begins to dial up spanky on his cell phone.
" Any last changes before we make contact." he says, pausing to wait for Rick's reply.
“Yellow eyes to Blue Ridge . . . Do you copy?” Rick said as he pressed the talk-key on the sat phone. The waited for a minute and repeated the call.
“Loud and clear.” The disembodied but obviously feminine voice of Shelia answered back. Both Rick and Barett looked at each other wondering the same thing. Where was Spanky?
“I have a package at the office that needs a FedEx pickup.” Rick sent. The call was encrypted but it was still over an open frequency and they both knew they needed to give the coordinates for the drop in code.
“We are out at the office but we can be back by ten. Will that work?” Shelia responded.
“Ten is fine. Do you have the cash up front to pay?”
“Yes. I have 39 Euros and 53 dollars. Need to keep an extra 15 for the movies tonight.”
“What do you plan on seeing?” Rick asked back, needing to know the general direction they were facing.
“Old movie classic: North by Northwest.”
“Enjoy.” Rick sent the final confirmation. But he was mad and so was Barett.
“Why don’t we just drag a giant (blanking, blankity, blank) sign behind the plan that tells everyone what we are doing?” Barett said with an infuriation at the sat-phone in Rick’s hands. “Dude, you’re hosed. You sure you want to go through with this?”
“No, but I will anyway. We need to play along and play like we have our blanking blank heads shoved up our pie holes. This mission has been on FUBAR after another.”
He turned and smiled at Monica and gave her a wink. “Watch out for my brother and don’t let him smooth talk you.”
Then Rick checked his watch, looked at the plane instruments one last time to get another reading and then he opened the door of the plane and rolled out.
Monica, cramped up in back watched in surprised fascination. She had no idea of what just happened with the radio call or why the brothers were upset. What had gone wrong? She wiggled herself forward and sat down next to Barett, being careful to avoid touching any of the controls. She looked back to see if she could see the figure of Rick parachuting to the ground but she couldn’t see anything other than the blue morning sky, water and the island nation of England. She guessed Barett was looking at her the way most men did. But she didn’t mind.
“What a fascinating collection of people.” She thought to herself as she turned and smiled her best smile at him.
The cold wind beat againest Ricks face, the snapping of his clothes like high velocity rounds, cracked in his ears, total bliss. He was doing a low altitude, low opening move, the most dangerous he had done, yet. Forcing his limbs out straight he guided his fall down the coast to the pick up spot, the morning sun at his back. Opening the chute at the last minute and feeling the hard pull back to a slow desent, he guided the rigging over a small fishing boat floating in the open water about 1200 yards from the coast, right where is was supposed to be. Cutting loose the rigging he free fell the last 20 feet into the cold water, letting the parachute float over him and sink into the dark waves. Swimming to the boat with the backpack strapped to his chest, he grabs the hand poking out the side of the boat,Shelia helpes him in. Rick was surprised to see Spanky sitting in the back, running the motor.
Rick smiled as he tried to get as much water off him as possible, using the towel Shelia handed him.
"It's good to see you guys again, looks like we did it. Just this last little run and we are done."
Rick says, faking excitement and confidence.
" Say did you get any....Shadows trailing you two, that is ?"
Shelia nods and looks out across the bow of the boat at the shore. Spanky just sits stiffly in the back of the boat, gunning the engine and steering the boat to a small dock on the coast, just south of the large resort. Keeping mostly quiet in the back.
"So do you have the packages then?"
Shelia asks with some concern, looking at the backpack more than at you.
"Yeah it's all here, we put it in one container and sent the others along with the girls. Barett should be landing in another 30 minutes at the airport, the girls should pick them up there in another hour or so, then off to the beach. We are Going to enjoy the last of the weekend, relax and eat some good food. Whats your plan ?"
Shelia looks at Spanky then back to Rick.
" About the same, looks like the weather held out for us. I'll take the container now, ....so you don't have to worry about it."
Rick holds on to it for a minute extra, hoping to create some extra tension. This last leg is getting sloppy he thinks. Knowing that running a good plan means having endurance, and focus he is surprised to see her get so sloppy. The boat slows down and coasts into the dock, bumping along the old tires bolted to the sides, a few minutes later. Rick takes the guns he just finished drying out and puts them back into his backpack, slipping the pistol into the small of his back. Jogging up the dock he looks around, then back at the boat.
"Which car is ours, they all look the same to me ?" he yells back at Spanky.
" Orange is GO !!!"
yells someone from the tall grass, as several swat looking guys climb from the undergrowth, thirty feet from him.
Rick spins and draws out the H & K pistol, leveling it at the closest guy, training taking over his actions. The Beanbag hitting his chest would not have knocked him down normally, but he decided to play it up, seeing as they were not even going to play the game out any longer.
Rick was disappointed, in Spanky, in Shelia but mostly in who ever was running this "exercise". It was a total farce, this was all show, designed to make the generals feel good about what they were doing and not to really test the security at all.
Rick lay on the rough wood dock face down, hands behind his back. Eight assault rifles pointed at him, Spanky and Shelia were in the same position farther down the dock.
They tied his wrist and elbows together with zip ties and placed him in the back of a small white van, next to spanky and shelia.
"What the HELL...this is a joke right, which one of you turned us in?"
Rick spat between clenched teeth, the anger was real, the questions staged.
" Sorry mate, out of our control, the whole thing, a complete FUBAR, never had a chance."
Says Spanky as you bump along a backroad. That is all he can say, over and over again. Shelia says nothing, she seems surprised that they have tied her up to, looking more concerned then scared.
After a 45 minute ride you arrive at the base you were to infiltrate. They take you into a small building by the armory, and sit you down in a small room with a two way mirror and hard metal chairs. Still tied up Rick breaks the bands and streches out his hands and legs, but no one enters to change things. A sure sign this is all a staged show, but for who wonders Rick.
About five minutes later a staff sargent enters the room with hot tea and coffee, some muffins and toast.
" The 'Generals' sent this for you, we are just waiting for the others, then all things will be explain."
He leaves the food on the table and leaves before taking any questions. Cutting the bands on Shelia and Spanky before going.
About 15 minutes later, Barett and Monica are pushed into the room, followed by Maria, and Bridget. Rick looks but no Carla and the waiter from the restarant. Everyone is talking and pointing at each other when the door gets slammed open. A tall burly Man stands in the doorway, over six feet tall and decorated with medals across his large chest he smiles at the group.
" Welcome 'Task force yellow', you did an excellent job, made the french look even more stupid then usual. But you were no match for the English secret service."
Smiling like a 1920's big game hunter, his grey mustache pushed up into his large red cheeks. The Bear traits in his bloodline becoming more noticable. The same staffer as before brings in the containers and places them on the table.
"Well you had us going there, even lost you a time or two, the boys at the base said you Yanks were good, they were right. But the plane was a major mistake, our man at the airport had you pegged the whole time, good show though, good show. But as you can see, and the reports will show. The Depleted rounds were stoped at the shore....never really threating the English people."
He pats the top of the cylinders and smiles.
Barett looks at his watch then starts laughing, loud and annoyingly..everyone stopping to look at him.
The Generals face reddens, as Barett continues to laugh.
"WHat do you find so funny Yank ?"
He seems to find Barett annoying but not offensive, yet.
" You should check the cylinders, before you get to excited.....Don't you think Rick ? "
Barett points to Rick, signalling him to tell the story of where the real Depleated Urainum was.
The cold wind beat against Rick’s face, the snapping of his clothes were like high velocity rounds that cracked in his ears; total bliss. He was doing a LALO (low altitude, low opening) move, the most dangerous he had done, yet. He forced his limbs out straight to guide his fall down the coast to the pickup spot. The morning sun was at his back. He opened the chute at the last minute and felt the hard pull back to a slow descent. He guided the rigging over a small fishing boat that was floating in the open water about a thousand yards from the coast. It was right where it was supposed to be. Pulling out his combat tanto, he cut loose the rigging and fell the last 20 feet into the cold water, letting the parachute float over him and sink into the dark waves. Rick swam over to the boat with his backpack strapped to his chest. As he approached the boat from underwater he saw the feminine face of Shelia looking over the edge, searching the water. Rick surfaced directly under her and she instantly grabbed out her hands to help him in. Wet as a drowned rat, Rick sat down for a minute to recover. He looked up and was surprised to see Spanky sitting in the back, running the motor. He was half expecting to find Shelia alone.
Shelia handed him a towel.
"It's good to see you guys again,” He said. “It looks like we did it. Just this last little run and we are done. By the way, did you two get any . . . shadows trailing you?"
Shelia did not answer but nodded the affirmative and looked out across the bow of the boat at the shore. Spanky just sat stiffly in the back of the boat, gunning the engine and steering the boat to a small dock on the coast. His happy-go-lucky attitude was perceptibly missing.
"So do you have the packages then?" Shelia asked with some concern in her voice. She had turned back to look at him but Rick found she was dead locked on the backpack more than at him.
"Yeah it's here. We had to change containers and started up another shell game. Maria and Bridget have a canister on the train and Barett has another. It will be harder for them to track down who has what that way. Barett should be landing in another 30 minutes at the airport. I am not sure when Maria and Bridget will make it in but we are planning to meet at the beach and enjoy the last of the weekend, relax and eat some good food before tomorrow morning. What are your plans for getting the package delivered?"
Shelia looked at Spanky again and then back to Rick.
"Bury the thing until tonight and then sneak it in is what we were thinking. Hang out the same as you guys to keep a low profile, I guess. It looks like the weather held out for us didn’t it?” So, I’ll take the container now . . . so you don't have to worry about it."
But Rick held on to it, thinking to create some extra tension. Sloppy was all he could think. She hadn’t even thought through what she could do. He was sure Shelia was playing both sides of the fence now.
“This last leg is getting shoddy,” he thought to himself. “What is she playing at? She should know that we plan on running to the end at that means endurance and focus.” Her overtly carelessness was surprising. He began to wonder if she was trying to tell him something.
The boat slowed down and coasted into the dock, bumping along the old tires bolted to the sides of the cement docks. Rick took his assault rifle he just finished drying out and put them back into his backpack and slipped his pistol into the small of his back. He was the first to jump out of the boat and jogged quickly up the parking lot. Oddly, or maybe not so odd, there was no one in around. He could see the set up but played along.
"Which car is yours?" he called back to Spanky and Shelia.
But they didn’t have a chance to reply.
"Orange is GO!" Someone yelled from the grass.
Several individuals jumped up and out from the all their hiding places dressed in the Sunday best SWAT gear. Rick was impressed. There were more than he had guessed; enough that it would be a big challenge for him to get out of quickly. Maybe they were taking the brothers a little bit more seriously now.
He had seen this trap coming but he played along with spinning out his H & K9mm pistol, leveling it at the closest guy. Training almost took over.
A beanbag hit his chest. I wasn’t anything that would have knocked him down normally but he knew when it was time to play things up and it was time to get serious. They weren’t even using live ammo! It was obvious that they didn’t want to play a real game any longer.
Disappointed set in. He was disappointed in Spanky. He was disappointed in Shelia. But mostly of all he was disappointed in whoever was running this little ‘exercise’. It was a total farce. They weren’t learning anything but how to stroke they own ego: ‘generals feeling good about what they were doing game.’ This was no test the security at all.
Another beanbag hit him. Rick laid down on the rough wood dock face down, his hands conveniently placed behind his back so these guys would have to go to any trouble cuffing him.
Eight assault rifles shoved into his back as someone heroically slapped on the zip tie. Rick watched as Spanky and Shelia were also shoved down and tied. They tied his elbows together next and then moved him over here a number of white unmarked cars came screeching into position. Rick, Spanky, and Shelia were shoved into a white van for the ride to the interrogators.
"What the hell was that? It was a joke right? And which one of you two turned us in?" Rick spat between clenched teeth, the anger was real, the questions staged.
"Sorry mate, out of our control, the whole thing, a complete FUBAR, never had a chance." Spanky said.
It was all he could say, over and over again.
Shelia said nothing. She seemed to have been surprised that she was tied her up too, looking more concerned than scared.
After a 45 minute ride the three arrived at the base they were to infiltrate. They were taken into a small building by the armory and sat you down in a small room with a two way mirror and hard metal chairs. Still tied up Rick stretched out and easily broke the bands on his hands and elbow. He kicked back in the chair and kicked his legs up on the table. Spanky and Shelia just stared at him but no one entered the room to reprimand him. It was a sure sign this all was a staged show. But for who?
About five minutes later a staff sergeant entered the room with some muffins, toast, hot tea, and coffee.
"The Generals sent this for you.” He said as he put them on the table and went and cut the bands on Shelia and Spanky. “We are just waiting for the others to arrive."
He was gone before any questions could be asked. Fifteen minutes later, Barett and Monica were led into the room. Ten minutes later Maria and Bridget arrived.
Rick waited but Carla never showed up; nor the waiter from the restaurant.
Everyone was talking and pointing at each other when the door slammed open. A tall burly man over six feet tall and decorated with medals across his large chest, stood in the doorway. He smiled at the group.
"Welcome task force yellow. You did an excellent job. You made the French look even more stupid than usual. But you were no match for the English Secret service." He smiled like a 1920's big game hunter. He had a grey mustache that pushed up into his large red cheeks. There were dear traits in his bloodline that became more noticeable. He moved his bulking frame inside the door and moved to the right allow the same staff sergeant as before bring in three metal containers that were placed on the table.
"Well you had us going there, even lost you a time or two. The boys at the base said you Yanks were good and they were right. But the plane was a major mistake. Our man at the airport had you pegged the whole time. But good show though; bloody good show. You can all see the reports later but it will show that the depleted rounds of radioactive Uranium were stopped at the shore. It never entered Britain nor was it ever really a threat to the English people."
He patted the top of the metal containers and smiled triumphantly, as if he had just beaten a bunch of wild dog into submission by the mere use of his dominating presences.
Barett looked at his watch then started laughing. It rang out loud and clear and was obviously very confusing to the general. The general’s face reddened as Barett continued to laugh.
"What do you find so funny Yank?!" He seemed to find Barett’s outburst annoying but not offensive yet.
"You should check the cylinders first before you get too excited . . . Don't you think Rick?" He said with a spiteful tone.
Rick smiled and looked at Maria while giving her a wink. “You see, while Maria and I were trying to infiltrate into Sete, my lovely friend here had . . . What can we call it? How about a slight wardrobe malfunction? Yeah, that word works. She had this wardrobe malfunction just as I was helping her down from the cargo ship we stowed away on. Well, to say the least I was so satisfyingly shocked at her unfurled bosom of beauty that I forgot about what I was doing and dropped your precious cargo. It sank like a torpedo heading straight for hell. It is sitting at the bottom of the Mediterranean as we speak.”
Maria, like a trained actor, blushed and covered up her front with her arms.
Shelia’s, Spanky’s and Brigdet’s eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets with shock as if to say: ‘All that work for what? Nothing!”
The general nearly coughed up both his lungs! His face went beet red under his bushy gray mustache. It was quite a show. He yelled and kicked and hammered the table with his big fists ordering the staff sergeant to get in there with a (blanking, blanked) can-opener and open the (blanking, blank, blanking) containers. Shelia yelled at everyone. Spanky seemed to have found some reason to be mad and yelled back at her. Bridget just stared stunned and looked at Barett who simply winked back at her, causing her to color slightly. Barett joined in the fun and started yelling at Rick who Rick yelled back. Both were switching between languages and curse to see who get the most horrible, most offensive string of descriptive flung at each other.
Monica sat in total confusion.
In the end, the seven of them were ceremoniously reprimanded for being total screw ups and escorted out of the building to find their own way back home. Shelia cornered Rick and asked him about the other French woman he was with and what had happened to her. Rick yelled back at her for spying. It was quite the scene in the parking lot that drew a number of looks. The two weren’t happy with each other.
Barett, knowing the relationship was over nevertheless ended up taking Bridget out on a nice and exceptionally romantic dinner date. There was no commitment between them which they both enjoyed. After dinner the two ended up on a quiet walk down a part of the Thames northern bank and just talked. This was followed by some recreational sheet wrestling afterwards at a local hotel. They left each other on great terms Monday morning.
Rick and Maria took Monica with them and disappeared into the London suburbs. They used the underground to get lost, or as Rick said it, “not lost so much as to lose any more tails.” They found their way to in a little London borough called Newham. Ever street looked the same, it was the perfect place to get lost in. The houses all looked the same and most shared at least wall with another house, many shared two. Each street brought row after row of two-story homes each it seemed with a fire chimney and a ground floor white bay window. There was rubbish here and there next to a few trees lining the one-way streets. Up the one-way street of Ladysmith Ave the three stopped at number 28. It was a newly renovated and fully furnished brownish grey stucco building with white trimming with a new oak and glass door, and it was for rent. It had four bedrooms, a modest kitchen, two bath rooms, and with a quant front room. There was also a park very close by with a tennis club for Monica and Carla to use and cause the locals boys to drool.
Maria and Monica contacted the landlord and secured a lease by paying cash up front for 6 months from a little briefcase that Rick had come into position with. Meanwhile Rick walked the neighborhood and then called Carla from a Pizza shop’s phone. Her wine red BMW arrived and hour later.
Rick stayed with them until early evening then left the three to some much needed girl time. Besides, he was tired. Each girl kissed him as he left. He was satisfied that the location was in such a place that the military or anyone else looking, would have a hard time finding them. He would come back and set up some cameras and extra security later.
He worked his way back to the barracks and slept the whole night without dreaming. He woke alone in the morning wishing that had someone with him to warm is bed.
A rainy Monday morning came and a young French man the general’s chief secretary had never seen before delivered a box of pastries from L’Efes’. She had heard of the place and thanked the man. The box was a bit heavy but she didn’t think much of it. Knocking on the General’s door and entering, she saw that he was in a good mood. The pastries would just add to it she thought as she slid the box on his desk while the general continued to talk on the phone. She quietly let herself out.
All the blood drained from his face when he opened the box, expecting a nice morning treat. There sitting on his desk were the depleted rounds of radioactive Uranium and a little note with a colored little yellow radioactive symbol that was made to look like a happy face. The note was signed XOXO, the Coontail brothers.
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