Sabotage (10 page)

Gaucho just shrugged and said, "You tend to get to know a place when you have to scour a city to find a decent beer."

Trent had to duck under the sagging hotel awning to follow Gaucho into the hotel. They checked in under fictitious names and then paid the toothless man who was only too happy to take the cash out of the hands of the two foreigners.

The only people they encountered on the way up to their room were three nearly identical bespectacled men chatting away in German. They didn't even look up from their conversation as Trent and Gaucho passed.

They found their room easily. There was a tiny bed in the middle of the cramped room and a ratty couch set against the window. The window-mounted AC unit sputtered like it was trying to chug up a mountain. When Trent put his hand in front of the mold-covered vent, the only thing he was greeted with was more warm air.

"You want the bed or the couch?" Trent asked.

"Neither," Gaucho said.

"Neither? You planning on sleeping on this floor?" Trent shuffled from one foot to another. The carpet actually crunched under his step as if there were 30 years’ worth of guests’ crud soaked into the material.

Gaucho shook his head and walked over to the mini fridge. A waft of cool mist breathed into the stifling room air, and Gaucho pulled out two beer bottles, handing one to his friend. Trent popped off the top using the corner of the chipped and mangled metal headboard of the bed. He took one sip, nodded appreciatively, and then chugged half of the rest.

"Not bad, right?" Gaucho asked.

What Trent really wanted was a gallon of water, but a half a beer would have to do, so he pounded the rest before answering, “You want to tell me what the hell we're doing here? Because if we're not going to get any rest, maybe we should just hit the road."

Gaucho took his time savoring the beer and then gave one final throaty sigh of appreciation. Then he held up his own bottle top as if that would explain everything.

Trent looked at his top and said, "Okay? A lion and a giraffe. You want to tell me what that means?"

Gaucho tossed the bottle top to Trent who caught it and looked again at the beer maker's logo. "Turn it over," Gaucho said.

"Well I'll be damned," Trent said. On the other side of the bottle cap was an address written in neat permanent marker.

"Can't say I've seen that trick before," Trent said.

"You're just a Marine," Gaucho said. "You can't expect to be an Army of One just yet." He was grinning and Trent threw him a disgusted look.

"What do you want me to do with this?" he asked, raising the bottle cap.

"Flush it down the toilet and take a leak if you need to. Then we'll go."

Five minutes later, they were headed down the back hall and took the rear exit into a back alley. Trent half expected to find overflowing dumpsters and poor beggars lining the thin strip of concrete, but the place was clean. Every scrap of trash seemed to be in its place.

"This way," Gaucho said.

After another thirty minutes of walking and two cab rides later, they arrived at their destination. From outside, the place looked like it was maybe five years younger than the hotel they'd left, but at least when they walked in the lobby, frigid air blasted down from oversized vent holes.

“Now that's more like it," Trent said, angling his face up to the stream of blissfully cool air.

"Come on, Top," Gaucho said without stopping. The Hispanic operator passed by a perfectly tailored man standing behind the welcome desk who barely registered their presence. There was a sign above a door at the other side of the lobby that said "BAR" in three different languages.

Trent noted the heavy sound of a roaring fan as they approached, and when he entered he realized there was a huge duct overhead that was sucking up the billows of smoke from the patrons below. Despite the empty hotel lobby, the bar was full to capacity.

The customers came in all shapes and sizes and only a handful looked up when Trent and Gaucho entered. They had to stand at the bar and have a drink before a table came
available . They made small talk until a waiter appeared to take their order.

"Two more of these, please," Gaucho said, pointing to their beers. The man nodded and disappeared.

"So when's your buddy gonna show up?" Trent asked, staring down a pair of particularly swarthy-looking patrons. Gaucho shrugged, completely unconcerned. "You really live for keeping me in the dark, don’t you?"

Gaucho grinned and shrugged again.

The waiter took his time coming back. Trent had watched him wander the room, depositing drinks, until finally they received the last two bottles on the well-worn tray. He set down two napkins upon which he placed the two beer bottles before walking away.

"Nurse that one, will you?" Gaucho said before Trent could pick up his new drink. The Marine gave him a quizzical look but Gaucho only answered by picking up his new beer bottle, laying his hand next to the wet-ringed napkin. Trent looked down, and just like before, what could've been in the same handwriting as the bottle cap, was the number 37. Gaucho crumpled up the napkin once he knew Trent had read it, then sat back to savor his beer.

They spent the next ten minutes each letting his gaze travel around the room as they chatted about nothing in particular. Finally, Gaucho polished off the rest of his drink, set it down on the table and reached into his pocket for a couple of bills. After laying them on the table, he stood and Trent followed. They made their way back to the lobby where the man at the desk once again ignored them.

They went up the stairs. The second floor had a sign that said, "Rooms 25-40 to the right." Trent pointed at it as Gaucho continued up the stairs to the third level. "Don't we want to go that way? Room 37, right?"

Gaucho shook his head. "Keep going, Hombre."

For some reason there were even more rooms on the third level and the numbering system didn't really make much sense to Trent, but he followed along, and soon they were at room 73.
Whoever Gaucho's contact was had switched the numbers
. Gaucho knocked twice. There was a moment before anyone answered.

The man who opened the door was about the squirreliest-looking dude that MSgt Trent had ever seen. He wore baggy clothes over his wiry form. He had the dark complexion of a native, but his hair was matted and caked with dust. His eyes darted every which way like he was looking for ghosts that weren't there.

He didn’t say a word, but let the two men in and then closed the door behind them. As Trent stepped deeper into the room, he watched the man out of the corner of his eye. Even the dude's body was shaking like he had some kind of palsy. Gaucho was watching the man too, but he was smiling, like he knew something that Trent didn’t.

And then, to Trent's complete surprise, the man's hunched form straightened, and where there had once stood a man maybe just over five feet, the guy before them now was probably closer to five foot six. More interestingly, his eyes were no longer twitching and his body was ramrod straight. He wore a sly grin matching Gaucho's.

"Top, I'd like you to meet Sergeant Elliott Peabody."

The man wearing baggy clothes walked over, stuck out a hand, and in an accent even deeper than Trent's own relatives said, "Pleased to meet you, Master Sergeant."

"Well I'll be damned," Trent said, shaking the man's hand that was surprisingly strong considering his size. Gaucho and Sergeant Peabody both laughed at Trent's discomfort.

“Sarge and I go back a long way, Top. He even carried me out of a firefight once. Where was that, Sarge? Panama?"

Peabody shook his head. "Poland, Gaucho. Are you getting that old? Startin’ to forget things?”

Gaucho shrugged. "Maybe, my friend. So, did you find out anything?"

Sgt. Peabody motioned them over to the table. It was a little rickety but still serviceable, and they all sat down. "Everybody's pretty tight-lipped around here right now," Peabody said. "Ain't seen that in a while. You been watching the news?" Gaucho and Trent both nodded. "Well, word on the street is, there's a little power struggle going on inside the Djibouti government. Now, I'm not officially supposed to know this, but a friend of a friend of a friend told me that a certain Djibouti general ain't too happy with the president cozying up to us Americans."

"And who is this general?" Gaucho asked.

Peabody shrugged. "I don't know yet. That's what I'm trying to find out. My boss thinks there's going to be a coup, and that's about the last thing we need right now."

"Your boss?" Trent asked.

Peabody grinned. "I'm a card-carrying member of the Children's Institute of America."

The CIA
, Trent thought. Who better to know what was happening on the ground than an operative from the Central Intelligence Agency?

"Has this general made any moves yet?" Trent asked.

"That same circuitous source mentioned they're going to start quietly rounding up foreigners. You know, because now there's suspicion considering what the Chinese have told the U.N., and said general is supposed to have the ear of the Djibouti president, even though the president doesn't know exactly what the general's going to be doing."

Gaucho grunted. "And you’re sure there's been no word about any prisoners yet?"

Peabody shook his head. "Not that I've heard of. I mean, there's the occasional kidnapping stuff, of course. That's to be expected in this part of the world, but for the most part, the government's kept that hidden, as you'd expect. No sense scaring off foreign investments, if you know what I mean."

Gaucho leaned further across the table. "Look, Sarge, I know I didn't tell you exactly what this was about before, but we're looking for two friends."

Peabody's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms across his chest. "Who are they?"

"Vince Sweeney and Karl Schneider," Gaucho said.

Peabody turned his head and spit on the floor. "Nobody told me about this."

"Nobody's supposed to know," Gaucho said.

Peabody shook his head. "I wish I'd known, because then I'd have been looking. Vince and Karl were good to me when us men of color weren’t especially liked in the Army. I'd hate to see something happen to them. Tell me what you need me to do and consider it done."

"Just keep your eyes and ears open. Don’t let your boss know what's going on, at least until I tell you. Also, we might need some of your assets soon."

Peabody nodded and put both of his hands on the table and looked at his watch. "I've been here too long. I need to go, but before I do, I want to tell you both to be careful. This may look like a cosmopolitan city now, but things are about to turn. I can feel it in my bones. So keep your heads down. If you're going to be in town for long, make sure you steer clear of the military. I don't like the sound of whoever this general is."

"Thanks for the warning," Trent said, and Peabody rose from the table and left without saying another word. When he was gone, Trent said, "Your friend is an interesting cat."

"Top, you have
no
idea." They waited another five minutes before leaving the way they'd come.

Chapter 13

So far the trip to Camp Lemonnier had been a total bust. Their plan had been to make contact with US forces without having to mention any of the strings they had back in D.C. Cal hadn't recognized a single Marine he'd seen walking by, and the only glances of a non-hostile origin they'd received were born of curiosity, staring at Liberty as she pranced along between Cal and Daniel.

They hadn't seen Dr. Higgins since they'd landed, but both Marines knew that the wily interrogator could take care of himself. Without any current options, and because all three of them wanted to get out of the heat, they headed to the chow hall. It was between meals, but like any military base, there was always someone manning the food stations for those coming off the watch or coming in after their patrols.

The only other people in the mess hall were a pair of airmen who looked like they might plant facedown into their trays of untouched food. Cal and Daniel both grabbed burgers, including an extra hamburger patty for Liberty and a handful of water bottles. They explained to the sergeant behind the counter that the German short-hair was a working dog, then they ate in silence, savoring their first American meal in over a week. When Liberty was done, she laid her head in Cal's lap and closed her eyes. It was her way of telling him it was time for all of them to take a nap.

"Half a day gone, and still nothing," Cal said. "You think Gaucho and Top found out anything?" Daniel shrugged and held out the last bite of hamburger for the dog. Liberty took it gently out of his hand, chewed it twice, gulped, and then she licked Daniel's hand in thanks. This time, she laid her head in Daniel's lap.

"Knowing those two, they'll find trouble long before we do," Daniel said.

"You sure about that? They say we are the trouble magnets, not them. Besides, I wouldn't mind a little trouble right now. You know me and waiting around. I don't have near the patience that you do."

Daniel nodded and polished off another water bottle. "When do you think we should bring Brandon into this?" Daniel asked, insinuating that they should use some of the president's clout to kick open some doors.