12, Escape
“The last time I was this nervous was the first time you took your shirt off in front of me.” Agent Jack Miller could feel his heart pounding and wiped away the sweat on his forehead. He looked through the scope of his sniper rifle and tried to make sense of the situation. “I wanted to act, but my heart was beating too hard.”
“I was nervous that you didn’t like my boobs. Or worse, that maybe you were gay.” Special agent Laura Lorenz heard her boyfriend laugh and knew she’d cracked the tension. “You performed just fine that night, just like you will tonight, dear.”
“Thanks babe,” Miller replied. He loved his girlfriend and especially loved that they got to work together. Usually it was his job to calm her down, but their roles seemed reversed tonight. “When the team contacts us, I’ll take out the driver side tires. You keep an eye on the front door.”
“Affirmative.” Lorenz looked through her sniper scope and took a deep breath. Twenty soldiers carrying machine guns had just exited out of an army truck and were running into a high end night club owned by a terrible drug czar named Tiberon. Bogota, Colombia was hot, humid, and tense.
“I will never understand South American fashion, honey,” Miller joked. People were running out of the front door of the club screaming and panicked. “For being as hyper religious as they all pretend to be, they wear very limited clothing.”
“You’ve never complained when I wear skimpy outfits for you?”
“You’re not religious, and if I complain, it’s only that you’re wearing too much, dear.”
“Touche.”
Even in the heat of the moment, their flirting was never ending.
General Rice’s voice filled their in ear communicators. “Agents, report.”
“The club is emptying fast, no sign of the team, or of Tiberon,” Miller answered.
Special agent Emerald Blitz’s voice spoke in their ear pieces. “A lot of people are pouring out of the back door of the club but no sign of Tiberon or his captains just yet.” Blitz was stationed a block away in a get away car. She fired up the engine but kept the lights off. “If I see that fucker, I’m gonna shoot him.”
“Don’t miss.” General Rice was all business. “Any word from anyone in the team?”
“Not yet, but they’ll either sneak out or shoot their way out,” replied Blitz.
“I hope they sneak out, dammit,” replied Rice. “So much for avoiding an international incident.”
Miller spoke quickly. “When we get word, Lorenz and I will shoot out the tires of their transport truck. That’ll paralyze them but then they’ll know we’re up here, so we’ll have to evac immediately.”
Rice was all business. “Satellite recon shows that safe house alpha is quiet. If you can get there, prepare to hunker down for a few weeks. Porter will have to get us out in waves, I fear.”
Lorenz spoke. “Blacktide, are you receiving us?”
“I am, forgive my silence. The target still hasn’t shown sign that he knows he’s being followed.” Special agent Alexi Blacktide was tailing a bad guy by walking quickly and quietly in the shadows down street corridors and back alleyways. The bad guy had stolen a trench coat belonging to special agent Dale O’Connor and was walking quickly, almost at the pace of a slow run. Alexi Blacktide used every bit of her six foot tall frame to take huge strides to keep up without jogging.
“You’re on your own, Blacktide,” said Rice. “Doc will be heartbroken if his trench coat disappears, but fuck him, it’s his god damned fault he took it off to begin with. I’m sure the drunk fuck had his reasons. Listen to your instincts and get to one of the safe houses when you’re done. I don’t like this shit at all.”
“Copy that,” Blacktide answered. She saw the bad guy jump over an eight foot concrete wall and disappear. Blacktide was a block away and was able to sneak up to a part of the wall where she could jump up and look over. “Dammit,” she muttered to her ear piece. “The fucker is heading into the docks by the river. He could end up in any one of those boats.”
“Keep us posted, Blacktide,” replied Miller, “and remember, that guy still has Doc’s watch, so we can keep an ear and eye on his location as long as he doesn’t break it.”
Miller watched through his scope as wave after wave of party goers came frantically pouring out of the club. He switched to the private channel with his girlfriend. “I always liked the band, Panic at The Disco, but now I’m rethinking that band name.”
Lorenz laughed easily as she kept an eye through her own scope. “Good point. The reality of the word panic actually sucks.” She took a moment. “Yup. This sucks.”
Inside the club, the music had come to a screeching halt. Soldiers were spreading out throughout the room with their rifles raised. They clearly knew who they were looking for because they ignored the masses. They were all agitated and looked like they were ready to pull the trigger at the first sight of their targets.
Special agent Death pulled out a small hand gun from a hidden holster inside of her skirt. She was hiding behind the door to a liquor store room where her friend and fellow special agent Trent Murdock was loudly snoring next to a bartender who was also knocked out. Murdock had been drugged by a con woman while the bartender had been knocked out by a punch to the jaw by Death herself.
“Check the bathrooms!” yelled one of the soldiers in Spanish. Death knew she had less than a minute before they would find her in the stock room.
“McV, Doc, Schuman, come in!” she whispered loudly into her wrist watch. “The club is full of heavily armed soldiers and Murdock is passed out. I need help getting him out of here!”
Special agent Bradley McVanadaly’s voice answered, “we’re on our way up the stairs. Schuman is hurt and Doc’s chest is injured. We’re gonna be no help to get Murdock out. We’ll have to come back for him!”
“Fuck,” muttered Death. “Ok, I’ll meet you at the secret back door in the kitchen.” She slipped out from behind the swinging door and crouched low as she bolted for the kitchen door.
The soldiers didn’t see her amidst the chaos and she was able to sneak through the door. She hoped her friends were close. “Status, report!” Death said to her wristwatch.
McVandalay’s voice spoke behind her as he finished walking up a long staircase. “We’re here, Death. Time to bounce.”
McVandalay looked massive with his six foot tall frame holding up a five foot six skinny woman. Even in the dim light of the dark kitchen, agent Death could see that Sergeant Schuman was in rough shape. Despite her smashed nose and black eyes, she was smiling ear to ear.
“Death!” said Schuman, “I met the man I’m going to marry! He’s beautiful!”
Agent Death’s eyes opened so widely that she wondered if her eyebrows would fly off the top of her forehead. “Ah, Sarge, you look like shit… but congrats on being in love or whatever. We gotta get out of here, now!”
Special agent Dale O’Connor was breathing heavily as he climbed up the stairs behind the other agents. “Hey Death,” he said as he panted, “I’m out of booze. Got any on you?” He was holding his chest tightly and she could tell he was injured.
“Jesus, Doc,” she answered without showing concern, “you need to do more cardio, you fat fuck.”
He grinned as he opened the back doorway into the alley. “Tell me about it,” he said with exasperation. “But I still want a fuckin drink. Let’s get out of here.”
“Murdock is still in the room over there. I’ll get Schuman and Doc to Blitz. McV, can you get Murdock?” She explained Murdock’s whereabouts as the other two agents stepped into the alleyway.
“On it.” McVandalay turned towards the kitchen door but instinctually stepped aside as a solider came blasting into the room. McVandalay threw a fast jab at the jaw of the man and dropped him with a violent thud. “No way we’ll get to Murdock,” he said, “we’ll come back for him if he’s still alive.”
McVandalay had almost lost his friend Dale O’Connor earlier that evening, but O’Connor’s flask had stopped a bullet from penetrating into his lungs. McVandalay had realized that for the first time since he was a kid, he’d been scared. He was again scared at the thought of losing Murdock and he made mental note of the unknown feeling. He had no fear of losing his own life, but losing his friends terrified him.
The four agents snuck out the back door and closed it quietly as more soldiers could be heard thrashing into the kitchen. Their shouts in Spanish became quieter as the agents hobbled down the alleyway. Blitz pulled up in the darkness and the four agents struggled to get into her large getaway car.
“Where’s Murdock?” asked Blitz.
“Passed out in the liquor stock room snoring like a bitch,” Death answered. “He’s got enough drugs in him to keep him passed out for the night. We should try and rescue him before breakfast. Any word from Blacktide, Miller or Lorenz?”
Blitz filled them in as she lifted her wrist watch communicator to her mouth. “Murdock is unconscious in that building, we’ll have to come back for him. Miller, Lorenz, do your thing.”
“Roger that,” answered Miller. A moment later, the four agents heard two gunshots from the opposite side of the building as they drove off in the dark alleyway. Screams from onlookers could be heard as the army truck’s driver side tires blew out from the bullets. Miller spoke quickly. “Their transport truck is grounded. See y’all back in the safe house, or stateside, whichever comes first.”
“Good work,” Blitz replied.
Special agent Alexi Blacktide’s voice popped into their ears. “Y’all are having all the fun over there… Shit,” she said, “the thief just stepped out from around the corner and he’s with several men.” Her voice paused and then said, “and they have guns! Shit, they spotted me!”
Gun shots could be heard through her communicator, then the agents heard her return fire. “I got two of them but there are too many. Shit, I’m trapped!”
“On our way!” said Blitz.
Blacktide heard a man’s voice yell from the dark end of the dock, “hey lady, get over here if you wanna live!” The man spoke with a midwestern American accent. “Those guys won’t stop shooting until you’re dead, lady!”
Without thinking, she ran towards the voice as gunshots behind her spurred her on. She ran down a dock and saw a flashlight turn on and off a few times, guiding her to the voice.
“Over here!” the man’s voice said. “Watch out for that bundle of rope right there!” The flashlight illuminated a bundle of rope that was on the docks and Blacktide jumped over it. His light again went dark and he yelled, “My boat is right up against the dock. Jump over the railing and get in!”
Alexi Blacktide saw the man light up his flashlight one more time to illuminate the boat railing. She jumped onto the craft as the sound of bullets around them echoed through the dock. “Nice work, lady. We’re outta here.”
She saw the shadowy man step into the captains cabin and she could hear the sound of an electric motor getting cranked up to high speed. “Hold on, this boat is faster than it looks,” he said from inside the cabin.
The boat jerked to life quickly as the man steered it towards the open water of the river. He scraped the side of another boat and yelled, “sorry about that!” to no one in particular. They were in the dark end of a poorly lit dock, and the quiet boat headed down the dark river like a ghost sneaking off into the night.
“Thanks for the lift,” said Blacktide as she got to her feet. “I was in a bit of a pickle back there.”
“I’ll say,” the man replied. “I hate those guys, and when I saw you creeping up on them, I figured you were done for when they started shooting at you. I could tell that you’re military by the way you shot back. I’m former military, so I figured I’d let you know I could help. Damn nice shooting, by the way.”
“I try,” she said. Throwing caution to the wind, she introduced herself. “I’m Blacktide.”
“Good to meet you, Blacktide. My name’s Derek, but call me Dirt. I hope you like rural Colombia, cuz we’re not going back to the city tonight. Too much heat, thank you very much, and I aint talkin’ about the weather.”
Blacktide couldn’t see his face, but in the faint evening’s light, she could see that Dirt was wearing incredibly white leather shoes that looked very, very clean. “Thank you for the ride, Dirt.”
“You bet. I didn’t intend on helping one of my countrymen escape a shootout tonight, but then again I didn’t move to Bogota for a quiet life either. Those men back there work for a scum bag cocaine king pin that I’ve had my eye on for a long time.”
“You don’t say…” but Blacktide didn’t finish the thought. The battery powered motor was quiet compared to a gas engine, but the sound of the boat ripping through the water was still loud and made any meaningful conversation difficult. Blacktide sent a message to her team giving them a synopsis of her situation and that she’d meet them at the safe house when she could.
In the distance, four agitated but well paid Colombian soldiers carried a snoring white man out of a high end night club and hauled him to a seedy warehouse controlled by a ruthless drug dealer to be interrogated and tortured.
