Friday, November 18, 2011
Overnight they had changed their minds and were going without me.
So they thought.
“If you don’t want me to go you’ll have to shoot me with one of those.” I nodded at Mike’s SIG P229.
Of course, they were right; I should stay back at the villa. I felt weak. But this was more my fight than theirs.
Angus grinned. “I knew Marines were stupid but you don’t have to be the poster child.” He sighed as he reassembled his SIG P226 and screwed the compensator back on the end.
“I resemble that.” Mike groaned. Then he looked up at me.
“Seriously, you are in no condition to go.”
“Are you saying I’d be in the way?”
“Yes.” They both said together.
“Tell me how you really feel. … No, on second thought, don’t.”
The air was thick with the smell of solvent. Mike thumbed rounds into another magazine. Angus wiped the excess oil off the frame of his pistol and then placed the sidearm into his thigh rig. Then he took out his knife, a wicked looking Khukri, and began long slow polishing strokes to its curved blade.
“Okay, you go. And you stay behind us the whole time.” Angus spoke softly.
Mike glanced at him, and then shrugged. “You better clean that antique of yours.” He smiled as he tossed me his cleaning rag.
“Don’t be knocking ‘Moses’ This old boy has some mileage on him but he always goes bang.” I grinned and thumbed the slide release on my 1911.
“Moses?” Angus raised his eyebrows in my direction. His accent had serious cool factor.
“John Moses Browning – most prolific gun designer and genius ever in this man’s opinion. He designed the model 1911 pistol that yours truly …” I held the frame aloft “… carries.”
“Aye, I know about the much-loved 1911. But, can you use it?” he asked.
“Ask the two men you found in the room with me.”
“Fair enough.” Angus chuckled.
Mike coughed. “We need to go over the plan again – especially for ‘Gung Ho.’” He nodded my way with a laugh.
“Do you need a break, Lad?” By his expression Angus was reaffirming my intent.
“Too much caffeine, too small a bladder – sure, I’ll take five.” I looked him in the eye so he was clear. He nodded back.
I sat, Mike stood by the wall with a pen as pointer, Angus paced. Mike began by pointing to an enlarged photo.
“This is the target building. We’ll enter here.” He tapped the wall with his pen at a map of the block beside the photo.
“We’ll disable the alarm thus,” he pointed to the small calculator-looking device with wires that ended in alligator clips. “While Angus does that I’ll be here.” He tapped a spot on the building layout “and you” nodding at me “will be here. Clear so far?” Angus grunted. I nodded back.
“This should take no more than 10 minutes. Get in, get the hard drive off the server, get out.” Mike turned back towards us.
“Good. Your job” he jabbed his pen at me for emphasis “is to watch our six. You stand guard here and do not, I repeat, do not let anyone past.” He smiled at me but his eyes were humorless.
“Got it.” I responded.
“We're not expecting anyone, but be clear Jake – if you see anyone coming our way it won’t be the Welcome Wagon.”
Mike, Angus and I stared at the wall. Each of us visualized the process. Our eyes walked through the steps.
“I’d like a snort. Anyone else?” asked Angus. Mike and I both grunted yes.
Angus poured the amber spirits from his flask into our teacups. We raised them in silent toast and looked one another in the eye.
The scotch sobered me to my core.
Posted by Jake at 7:04 AM