Sabotage (12 page)

Gaucho squeezed his hand as if to ask, "What the hell are you doing?"

Trent squeezed it back hoping that his friend would just stay cool.

"Come on, honey," Trent said to Gaucho, "Let's show them a little
Ring Around the Rosy
."

Finally, recognition registered in Gaucho's eyes, and he reached around and grabbed Trent's other hand. The three soldiers stiffened.

Trent said, "Don't worry, we're not armed. We’re not the type, I promise."

Gaucho raised their clasped hands to show their empty waistbands.

"Now, here we go. Are you boys watching?
Ring around the rosy, pocketful of posies
," Trent sang as he and Gaucho started to turn slowly, gradually increasing their speed as Trent continued singing. He spied, out of the corner of his eyes, the three soldiers were watching, but he wasn't sure if they were mesmerized or incredulous. Trent kept singing and the dynamic duo kept twirling.

"
Ring around the rosy, pocketful of posies
."

Trent squeezed Gaucho's hands hard and his friend hung on. The huge Marine took three more hard planted steps and suddenly Gaucho was airborne. Trent flung him with all his might toward the three soldiers who, as Trent expected, raised their muzzles to the sky to block the incoming missile. Gaucho slammed into them, and there were yelps from the downed soldiers. Trent was quick to pounce, slamming one in the nose with his left fist, quickly followed by knocking the other one in the temple with his right elbow. Gaucho had already taken out the third. The two friends rose to admire their handiwork.

Trent motioned down the alley and said, "Why don't we drag these boys out behind that dumpster over there? I'd love to know what they have to say about this mysterious general who's hell-bent on kicking America's ass."

They dragged the three bodies to the end of the alley and waited for them to regain consciousness.

Chapter 15

The interrogation had been short, but fruitful. Top and Gaucho learned that the three soldiers weren't soldiers at all. Only one man could actually speak English, thus the most MSgt Trent could gather was that the three men were some kind of low-level militia. Thus they knew how to take orders, and that's what they'd been doing. They'd been paid to put on the uniforms in order to augment the military presence on the streets of Djibouti City. A bonus had been promised for every foreign military-looking man brought in. Priority was given to English speakers. Top and Gaucho had just been in the right place at the right time.

Top might have felt bad for them except earlier in the day he was standing on the wrong end of an automatic weapon. At least now he felt like things were going somewhere. They didn't have a name, but they did have a location. The English-speaking man in uniform had described it as a warehouse or storage facility that was serving as their assigned center of operations.

After they'd gotten what information they could from the fake soldiers, MSgt Trent ordered them to strip down to their underwear.  Using the men’s handcuffs and gagging them with their T-shirts, they were restrained.

Top tossed the restrained men into the dumpster and told them to be quiet. Then he promised that they would return to release them out of the makeshift cell, but only if the captors behaved. While Top would have loved to take the weapons with them, there was no way they could carry them inconspicuously on the streets. So he ejected the magazines and rounds in the chambers and tossed the weapons into the dumpster. They took the ammunition, of course, and deposited it in various trash cans on their way to the warehouse.

"You think it's a good idea to leave them back there?" Gaucho asked as they left the alleyway.

"Not much else we could do with them. As Gunny Highway used to say, "We must improvise, adapt, and overcome."

Gaucho shook his head. "How come you Marines have so many one-liners?"

Top grinned down at his friend. “Oh, you know, it's just practice for when we steal all the pretty girls from you dog-faced Hoo-ahs.”

Gaucho rolled his eyes and they walked on.

It was getting darker now, but in MSgt Trent's estimation the temperature hadn't dropped a single degree.

They kept going until they reached the roughest section of the city that they'd visited yet. There were more curious glances now because the ranks of the foreigners had thinned out blocks before.

“What's your plan, Kemo Sabe?" Gaucho asked. "Just you and me against the world?"

"Naw, I thought that maybe we could play like door-to-door salesmen. What do you think we should sell, encyclopedias or those knives that you never have to sharpen again?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see." Then, after Gaucho had a moment to digest that morsel, Trent said, "But seriously though, let's play this by ear, get eyes on, and see what we can find out. I mean, if they'd really wanted to do us some harm, they would've shot us."

"Is that what that whole
Ring Around the Rosy
thing was about? I know you Marines are crazy and all, but that one took the cake, Top."

"Just don't go around saying it was your idea, Hombre."

"You don't have to worry about that. Nobody would believe me anyway."

Top was about to reply when Gaucho pointed with a motion of his head.

"That looks like the spot."

It matched the description the soldier had given. The only problem was, there didn't seem to be any activity occurring around the rusted out building. They did one full loop around the property, half expecting to be ambushed by a platoon at any point. The only person they encountered was a little old lady with gray hair that cascaded down her chest, mumbling to herself as she shuffled along. She didn't seem to notice them so they walked on. There was a small truck court on the other side, but the only thing it contained was an old two-wheeled beater up on concrete blocks.

"Place looks deserted," Gaucho said. "You think they told the truth?"

Top shrugged. "Maybe, anything's possible. I believe those boys believed they were telling the truth."

"Yeah, I think you're right."

"Well, I've taken it up to this point. What do you think we should do?" Top asked.

“Since we're here, why don’t we take a look inside? That door on the other side shouldn't be too hard to jimmy open," Gaucho said, motioning back the way they'd come.

"See? I knew you'd find your sea legs."

As they made their way closer to the door, there was still no noise. The night suddenly felt eerily quiet, and Top wondered if he should call his friend off. Gaucho was already examining the lock on the weather-beaten door when the skin on the back of his neck started to tingle. He looked in every direction, but didn't see anybody watching. He was just about to ask Gaucho if he was feeling the same tingling sensation when off to the side someone said, "Psst."

Both of them snapped their heads in that direction; it was the little old woman with the white stringy hair.

"You think she's talking to us?" Trent inquired.

"Who else?" Gaucho whispered.

"Psst," the old woman said again, this time motioning with her hand for them to come over.

"It could be a trap," Gaucho said.

"Come on man, she's just a little old lady. You think they'd put her out here to lure in unsuspecting Americans? Maybe she's seen something. Let's go talk to her."

Trent waved back to the old woman, who shuffled backwards into the shadows, almost but not completely disappearing into the gloom. When they reached the small alcove, the woman was waiting, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Ma'am, can we help you with something?" Trent asked politely.

The woman didn't say anything, her face obscured by her hair. Without saying anything, she was starting to give Top the creeps.

"We should go,” Gaucho insisted.

The old woman's head turned. She must've been taking in both men behind that curtain of hair.

"Didn't anyone teach you not to talk to strangers?" the woman asked in a low Southern drawl.

"You son of a—Peabody, is that you?" Trent asked.

The old woman's hands reached up, parted her curtain of hair, revealing Sergeant Elliot Peabody's grinning face.

"Surprise, ladies,” he said.

Top was at a loss for words. First the shifty character he'd met at the hotel and now the old woman – he felt he was losing his tactically trained mind.

Peabody answered his unasked question. "Didn't Gaucho tell you that I was a drama major at NYU?" He stood up to his full height and bowed regally. "Thanks to the powers that be, now I get to act full time. You want to tell me what you two are doing here?"

"Same thing as you," Gaucho said.

"How did you find this place? I had to spend close to twenty grand just to get into the neighborhood."

Gaucho pointed to Trent, and Trent quickly explained what had happened with the three soldiers. Peabody let out a low whistle.

"Hey diddle diddle, right up the middle. Isn’t that what they say in the Corps, Top?"

"You got it."

"Well, those crack troops were only half right. Your timing's pretty good though; I was about to call to give you an update. Here's the deal: This building is just a temporary collection point. From what I’ve gathered, they've got a couple of these scattered around the city. This is the only one I've personally had eyes on, but I've got some friends watching the others. Same deal with each building. They bring in people, two to three at a time, for questioning, but they never really question them. They just load them on a bus and when there's enough to go, they take the bus to a different locale."

"Where does the bus go?" Gaucho asked.

"I was just getting to that, if you’d let me continue,” Peabody stated in mock annoyance. “Turns out that someone's established a hasty army campground just outside the city. As it was described to me, it looks more like a POW camp, so my best guess is that that's where they're doing their “questioning.” It all seems to be pretty cordial. No fights that I’ve seen, and everybody came pretty willingly. But the compliance was mostly due to the guns pointed at their backs."

"But why round up foreigners?" Top asked. "They've got to know word's going to get out, and the Djibouti government's going to have ambassadors breathing down their necks."

"I've had some a while to ruminate on that question," Peabody said. "Shuffling up and down this street will give you time to do that, and the best I can figure is this is a preemptive strike. What if they're just clearing the streets of suspected operators like us so they can get about their business without worrying about someone messing with their plans from the inside?"

"Couldn't they just declare martial law or establish a curfew?"

"Sure, but that wouldn't give them real control. Just think about it. If you were about to pick a fight with the biggest dog in the yard, wouldn't you rather have that dog's puppies held on the sidelines as insurance, just in case?"

Trent wasn't buying it. It sounded like a whole lot of hassle with very little reward.

"Listen," Peabody continued. "I don't know who you all really work for, but I suggest you all watch your backs."

"What do you mean by that?" Gaucho asked.

"I've got a bad feeling about this one. You know when you think you're doing the right thing, but you're convinced that someone is manipulating your actions?"

"Do you think the CIA is in on this?"

"I didn't say that. What I
did say
is there are powers in play that we might not even know about, and we all need to be careful."

"Roger that," Trent said, taking a step back in his mind. He was, as if on a chess board, mentally arranging the figures he knew to be in play. They included the mysterious general, likely the Djibouti government, the US, and maybe even the Chinese. Top didn't know what it all meant, but he knew how Peabody felt. The situation was like a cauldron of hot water; it kept getting hotter and was about to boil over. That's the feeling he'd had all day but hadn't been able to pinpoint until that very moment.

"Okay then," he said. "What's our next move?"

Before Sergeant Peabody could answer, four quick shots rang out from the end of the street, and Top felt rounds fly by. When he turned to ask Gaucho if he was okay, he saw that his friend was looking at the ground. Top's eyes followed Gaucho’s gaze, even while trying to pinpoint exactly where the shots had come from. Sergeant Peabody was laying on his back, the old woman's hair parted neatly down the middle. His eyes were wide open, and it was obvious he was dead.

"Jesus,” Gaucho said.

Trend didn't think; he just moved. He scooped up the thin, lifeless body and threw Peabody over his shoulder.

Without any other options, Top and Gaucho did all they could do; they ran for their lives.

Chapter 16

The transient housing turned out to be rows of shipping containers converted into housing units. There was a strip of masking tape on most of the doors indicating exactly who was occupying each air-conditioned unit.
Gonzales
.
Davis
.
LeFleur
with the “F” crossed out and rewritten. They kept looking until they found one marked
Guests x 2
.