Chapter 38
space. Knuckles assumed the number-two slot, holding up the Flipper Max and looking back at Veep. Veep withdrew a syringe
full of milky fluid from a cargo pocket and nodded. Knuckles nodded back and returned to Brett, catching his eyes. Brett exhaled
and flicked his head in a barely perceptible movement, returning his focus to the red dot on the slide of his pistol.
On the net, Knuckles said, “Pike, this is Knuckles, breach, breach, breach.”
Pike came back, saying, “You have positive ID?”
Knuckles said nothing else, knowing that Pike wouldn’t pester him in the middle of an assault. He bent down, held the Flipper
Max against the RFID pad on the hotel door, and waited. It flashed green, he heard the lock disengage, and he pushed the handle
down, swinging the door wide, then bending backwards out of the way.
Brett entered the room, the darkness chased by the beam from the light on his pistol. Knuckles rushed in right behind him,
seeing Brett swinging the weapon looking for a threat, the light painting the room in a jagged glare wherever the barrel aimed.
He was their initial security, his mission to eliminate any lethal threats they hadn’t planned against. It was up to Knuckles
to find the target. He heard Veep slam the door closed behind them and saw a shadow rise on the other side of the bed, next
to the sliding door for the balcony.
Brett swung the pistol to the movement, pasting the figure in the harsh beam of the weapon light.
Knuckles slammed into him, bringing the shadow to the ground in a linebacker tackle.
The man began fighting and Knuckles wrapped up his arms, slapping a hand over his mouth.
Brett joined the fight, holstering his pistol and cinching his arms around the figure’s legs.
The man began to buck, both of them fighting to keep him from coming free, Knuckles shouting louder than he intended, “Hit him, hit him!”
Surprised to find the target fully clothed, Veep jabbed the thick syringe through the cloth in the man’s leg, then punched
the plunger home. The man continued to fight, Knuckles and Brett controlling him, the time for the drug to take effect seeming
to pass in slow motion. Gradually, the man grew weaker, his attempts becoming feeble. After about another minute that seemed
more like a year, Knuckles released him, letting him flop onto the floor.
He said, “Man, that shit took forever. What the hell.”
Brett let go and said, “I told you that wasn’t going to be like Hollywood. Hit him with a needle and him falling over in a
second doesn’t happen in the real world. Intramuscular injections take a while.”
Knuckles said, “Next time I’ll just use a club.”
Veep hit the target’s face with a light and said, “Uh-oh.”
Knuckles followed the beam and thought, Shit.
It wasn’t the Ghost.
Brett said, “What do you want to do?”
“Continue the mission. Veep, conduct SSE and collect everything we left behind from the recce today. Get all receipts and
anything else you think is of value. Brett, let’s get the harness on him.”
Brett lowered his own pack and said, “You sure about this? We could exfil and call it a day. Leave this place and just let
him wake up and wonder.”
“We might end up doing that, but I don’t want to waste any time. Let me call Pike while you get him ready. Get pictures of
him first and send them to Pike.”
He let the two men get to work and clicked on the net, saying, “Pike, this is Knuckles.”
“This is Pike, go.”
Knuckles gritted his teeth and said, “Target secure, but dry hole. I’m packaging now, unless you want us to exfil.”
In a voice as calm as someone buying ice cream, Pike said, “Understood no jackpot on the Ghost. How secure is the target AO?”
Knuckles was grateful that Pike didn’t waste time trying to figure out what had happened. He only wanted the facts to make
a future decision. The past could be dissected later. He breathed a sigh of relief, saying, “Our heat state is good. No compromise.
We can remain until daylight if we need to. The only concern is the real jackpot returning. We can Charlie Mike, or break
contact.”
Pike said nothing for a second, then, “Did you find anything useful in the room? Something that points to the Ghost?”
Knuckles turned to Veep, and he clicked on the net, saying, “Got some receipts and a touristy maté drinking kit. Nothing else.”
Knuckles said, “Blood, what about you?”
“Got a wallet with some credit cards, a passport, and an old-school flip-phone. Other than that, he’s clean. No pocket litter.”
Knuckles went back to Pike saying, “We could leave now and call it a robbery. He’ll know three men entered and he was drugged,
which is a little extreme for just a wallet and some credit cards, but it is what it is.”
Pike said, “What do you think?”
“I say we take him. We’re eating a shit sandwich with the Oversight Council as it is. Might as well get something out of it.”
“Okay. I agree, not the least because Shoshana will kill me in my sleep if we captured him and let him go. Exfil him. I’ll
turn him over to the Israelis, let them interrogate.”
That made Knuckles smile, something he was sure Pike intended. He said, “Roger all. We’ll meet you at the RV in less than
twenty minutes.”
He turned to the team and said, “Status?”
From outside on the balcony, Veep said, “I’m complete. Ropes are set.”
Putting on a climbing harness, Knuckles said, “Blood?”
He rolled the target onto his back and said, “He’s ready. Veep, give me a hand.”
Veep came inside and Knuckles said, “I’m going over. Let me get down and clear the area, then start to lower him.”
Knuckles exited onto the balcony and peered over the ledge, seeing the earth only thirty feet below. He double-clipped a kernmantle
climbing rope into the carabiner at his waist, crawled onto the concrete ledge, rotated around and leaned out until his body
was at a ninety degree angle. He pushed off and let the rope run, cinching down just before he hit bottom, the rope snapping
tight right above the ground. He released again and landed lightly on his feet. He ran the rope out until he had enough slack,
disconnected, and took a knee, listening and searching with his eyes.
He was behind a row of shrubs and could see the small pond to his front, the outer edges traced by a walking path illuminated
by ground lights. On the north end, between two small trees, was a park bench facing the pond, the center of the water bubbling
from a small fountain.
Knuckles waited thirty seconds more, hearing and seeing no threat. He whispered, “Bring him over.”
He heard a scraping above him and saw the target lying on the ledge, his arm flopping over the side, Veep at his shoulders
and Brett at his knees. Brett pushed out until his legs were over the ledge and Veep lowered him with Brett holding the belay
rope. Veep took up a position at his head, making sure it didn’t bash against the concrete pillars of the ledge while Brett
fed out slack. The body jerked down six inches at a time.
The body cleared the ledge and was hanging in open space when Knuckles heard movement. He hissed, “Halt, halt, halt,” and
scanned for the noise.
Across the pond he saw a couple walking down the path, giggling and rubbing shoulders. He cursed under his breath, thinking,
Who the hell takes a walk this late?
They sat on the park bench, and within seconds were embracing each other, kissing loud enough to be heard at his position. Knuckles felt like a voyeur. He clicked on the net and whispered, “Hold what you got. Two lovebirds across the lake.”
Veep said, “We need to move them along.”
“How? You want me to jump in the water waving my arms?”
“I don’t know, but that tranquilizer is going to wear off in about twenty minutes.”
Shit. “Just hold what you have for a second. They aren’t going to screw each other on a park bench, and they’re getting hot enough
that that’s the outcome. They must be staying here and their bed will be calling.”
No sooner had he said it than the woman slid off the seat onto her knees and began working the man’s belt. Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?
Through his earpiece he heard, “Better hope that man is quick on the draw.”
The couple continued their tryst, Knuckles checking his watch every thirty seconds, feeling the time drip away. He heard the
man grunt and glanced at the bench, as the man buckled his pants, stood, and then sauntered off, hand in hand with the woman.
He clicked on the net, saying, “All clear, lower him down.”
He heard what he thought was the slide of the rope and glanced up, shocked to see their target moving around like a spider
hanging from a thread.
He hissed, “He’s up. He’s awake! Drop him!”
The man reached into his waistband and pulled something out, then dropped a foot before stopping. Knuckles said, “Drop him,
now!” and the man raised his hand, sawing at the rope. It split and he fell, hitting the ground on his feet and rolling forward.
Knuckles scrambled towards him, diving on his body and wrapping the target’s neck in his arms. He rotated to the man’s back in an attempt to choke him out, his right arm circling his neck, the left pushing the head forward.
He missed sinking the hold, the man squirming around like a python, his right arm flailing.
The target’s hand brushed his ear and he felt a bite like a bee sting.
He flinched down and saw a small push dagger poking out from between the second and third finger of the target’s right hand, the blade held in a clenched fist.
The arm swung wildly again, flitting by his head. Knuckles pressed his skull forward, pushing the target’s head down and cinching
his forearm and bicep tight against the target’s carotid arteries. The knife whipped closer, and the man broke the hold, sliding
his left hand into a small gap between Knuckles’ arm and the target’s neck.
The man managed to rotate a half turn, giving him the leverage to stab down with force instead of flailing blindly, and Knuckles
realized the danger.
He hissed, “Don’t, don’t! Stop!”
The knife whipped by the back of his head, grazing his shoulder, and Knuckles stopped trying to render him unconscious. He
rotated as well, now using his forearm as a fulcrum against the target’s throat. He planted his feet in the dirt and drove
his body weight forward, snapping the man’s neck with an audible pop.
The arms went limp immediately. Knuckles dropped the body, rolling to the right. Brett hit the ground next to him, followed
by Veep. Brett turned to the target and Knuckles said, “Don’t bother. He’s gone.”
Bret said, “What the fuck happened?”
Knuckles stood up and said, “He had a knife. Didn’t you search his ass?”
Brett started pulling off the climbing harness from the body, saying, “Of course I did. He was clean.” He unclipped the leg
straps, pulled the harness free, and they saw the target’s belt open at the waist, the buckle an odd, hollow square of metal.
Brett slid the belt free of the loops, took the small push knife from the dead man’s hand, and matched it to the hollow part,
the blade hidden behind the leather, the buckle complete with it in place.
He shook his head, saying, “I didn’t expect him to have a James Bond rig.”
Knuckles said, “Let’s get him to the transfer point. Dead or not, he can’t stay here.”
Veep finished repacking the ropes and harnesses in their packs, shouldering the one Knuckles had brought and handing Brett’s back to him. Knuckles bent down, taking the man’s arm and Brett helped hoist the dead weight over Knuckles’ shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Veep shook his head, saying, “We’re in a world of hurt now. Not only did we not catch the Ghost, we killed the target we were
told not to chase.”
With a grim face, Knuckles said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They started a slow jog, Brett whispering, “Why the fuck couldn’t that have been the Ghost? Where the hell is that guy?”