68, Filming

“She was pointing a gun at me, so that was my first clue that she wasn’t happy in the relationship anymore.”  Special agent Bradley McVandalay stayed out of the wind as he stood behind a wall made of cinder blocks.  He kept his camera pointed straight at the front door of the seaside resort and waited patiently in the hot Mexican sun.  “It was a tiny revolver, but I got the point.”

“I did that to an ex of mine once to scare him, but I used the biggest hand cannon I owned at the time.  I didn’t like him.  Actually, the more I think about it, I hated him.”  Special agent Death examined her nail polish leisurely.  “I’m talking, pure hate.  As in, I wanted to eviscerate the mother fucker with a wooden spoon.”

“Damn, lady.”  McVandalay focused his camera and asked, “Did you shoot him?”

“Nah,” Death admitted.  “I had sex with him, then gathered my shit and left.”

Without flinching from this confession, McVandalay calmly asked, “Is he still alive?”

“To be honest I don’t know,” she paused, then added, “but I hope not.”

“It’s a shame that the assholes are always good in bed.”

Death nodded with a slight smile as she looked away from her hand.  “The sex was unfuckingreal.  It’s the only reason I let him live,” Death said with deadpan honestly.

“Nice.  Yeah, the gal that pointed the gun at me was a freak in bed too.  She didn’t sleep with me again after threatening my life.  Not that I would’ve wanted to.”

Agent Death turned her hand back and forth to examine every part of her finger nails.  “Oh Bradley, you’re such a romantic.”

“That’s what all the crazy bitches at church say about me.”

The joke got a grin out of Death.  “Well obviously you’re standing here with me, so she clearly didn’t shoot you, leading to your untimely demise.  How’d that situation work itself out for you anyways?”

McVandalay said without passion, “She was pissed because according to her, I didn’t show enough emotion.”

“She clearly never observed you when you’re watching a fucking Cubs game.”

“I love that fucking team,” McVandalay admitted plainly.

“More than her, obviously.”

McVandalay shrugged nonchalantly.  “Don’t get me wrong, I hate them too.  But I do love them.”

Death raised her hand to her face and used her teeth to bite off a loose cuticle.  “Would you say that you love the Cubs more than anything else in your life?”

“Well, Team Whiskey comes first for me, but then yeah, I’d say it’s the Cubs.”

“Again, what a romanic.”  

McVandalay waved it off as if he were a slow motion sloth waving off a bug.  “It wouldnt’ve have worked out.  Look at the shit we do and how we live.  She was in the Navy as a ship crewman, but she had the daydream of being a SEAL.”

Death’s face recoiled in disgust.  “Why in the fuck would she want that miserable job?”

“Daddy issues.”

Nodding in understanding, Death responded, “We’ve all got ’em.”

The wrist watch communicators on their wrists beeped simultaneously with a group call from their friend Yen Roar.  McVandalay and Death clicked on the call and a few seconds later they heard Roar say, “Hey friends, your camera signal is coming in perfectly.”  Roar was in a goofy mood and added, “You’re both professionals of the highest caliber.”

“Dammit Yen, that was a nice compliment,” Death muttered.  “Do I owe you money or something?”

The comment caught Roar off guard and the emotion she replied with in her voice was unsettling.  “Um, no, why would you even say that?  I didn’t piss you off, did I?”  Yen Roar was a fucking wizard when it came to understanding computers, coding and hacking, but to the core of her soul she was a people pleaser.  She could easily read computer code but couldn’t read sarcasm.  “I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to upset you!”

Agent Death still was getting to know the computer expert.  Death wasn’t used to anyone in her inner circle being a sweetheart.  Her closest friends for the past decade were hardened killers of bad men, and all of them were wired with the same lack of remorse from their violent deeds.  Sarcasm, self deprecating humor and a complete disregard for anything sacred were the preferred coping mechanisms of her military tribe.  Death was very self aware.  She took a deep breath and said, “No, Yen, you haven’t pissed me off.  You’re just being really nice to me, so it makes me feel guilty because I’m not intrinsically a nice person, therefor making me think you’re emotionally manipulating me into feeling bad for you because no one could be nice to me naturally without having an ulterior motive.”

After ten seconds of pause, Roar sheepishly had no reply to anything she’d just heard, so she genuinely said, “Um, the footage looks great, agent Death.  That’s all.”

Rather than reply like a bitter soldier, Death decided to be nice in response.  “Thank you, Yen.  You’re pretty damn awesome.”

With fire in her voice, Roar seemed to regain her spunk.  “We’re gonna get this fucker!”

McVandalay had been silent the whole time and finally spoke up.  “That’s the spirit, Roar.”

The call terminated and McVandalay kept his passionless poker face as he spoke to Death.  “She hasn’t figured you out yet, friend.  Don’t worry, she’ll come around.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time since I needed to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings.”

For the first time all day, McVandalay had to hold back a laugh.  “Oh, Roar has told us some shit that she’s done to folks online, so don’t you worry.  She’s one of us.  She just gives genuine compliments, unlike us.”

Death pulled her cell phone from her pocket and without making eye contact with McVandalay, she said, “You smell like a Mexican family reunion.”

“Corona with lime and taco meat?”

“That’s racist.”

McVandalay went right back to speaking with no emotion as he looked through his camera lens again.  “You’re the mother fucker who said I smell like a Mexican family reunion.”

Even though Death kept her eyes on her phone screen and didn’t reply, she couldn’t fight the grin that spread across her face.

The two agents were positioned outside of the same seaside resort they’d been in and out of for the past two months.  Other agents were also stationed outside at various exits, and all of them had cameras pointed at every door going into and out of the place.  Owens and Boothausen had placed hidden cameras all around the inside of the resort.  Yen Roar sat in front of twenty video monitors in the safe house a few miles away.  She was in charge of making sure twenty separate camera feeds were transmitting correctly while all of the footage was being broadcast to CIA headquarters back in the United States.

McVandalay’s wrist watch lit up with a phone call from demolitions expert, Dale O’Connor.  “I’ve got you on speaker, and Death is with me.  Talk to me, Doc.”

O’Connor could speak perfect Mexican Spanish.  He’d been listening to a wire tap of the conversation going on inside of the resort, and he was now sharing intel.  “Hey Death, you two are gonna wanna hear this.  They’ve decided that their gonna use the Mexican media to start their propaganda process this weekend and then they’re gonna make their move on Monday.  The Russian assholes have made a deal to take over certain oil fields while drilling for new ones, so they’ll make a fortune, and the general is gonna be the new dictator, of course.  It’s actually pretty cool seeing and hearing corruption of this level so up close and personal.”

McVandalay said, “I don’t know if it’s disturbing or fascinating that we’re a part of this.”

Death had been listening and she spoke up.  “Our Ivy League boys in Langley had better have their shit together and get our propaganda out before they get theirs out.”

“First mover advantage wins the day,” O’Connor said in reference to being the first voice in the information race.

“Now what?” McVandalay asked.

O’Connor was his normal passionless self.  “When we’re done with this, I wanna get drunk at a Mexican fútbol game.  You in?”

Clearly his best friends’ brain wasn’t in the here and now as he talked about getting drunk at a soccer match.  McVandalay expected nothing less.  “Sounds good.”

“Sweet.  I call dibs on buying the first cool sombrero we see.”  O’Connor terminated the phone call.

Agent Death looked at McVandalay.  “You call that man your brother.”

“Him and Murdock.  Best friends since we were little kids.”  McVandalay took his mirrored sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes.  “It’s a not a dull life, Death.”

“Do you ever wish you’d have chosen friends what weren’t so useless?” she asked with snarky sarcasm.

McVandalay replied with no emotion.  “Do you ever regret being best friends with Von Stryker?”

The question put things into perspective.  “Good point.”

“You could hang out with Doc and smell like Jameson all of the time, or you can smell like gin.  I prefer the smell of fermented grain to juniper berries.”

“Again, good point.”  Death exhaled impatiently.  “Bradley, I’m half tempted to scrap this mission and walk into that god damned resort with my guns blazing.  Tell me you have my back if I go berserker on these fuckers.”

Always the rational thinker of Team Whiskey, he said dryly, “I’ll speak at your funeral but I won’t testify for you at your court martial.  Do what you must.”  A second later, his body tensed up as he looked at the camera screen.  “They’re coming out, Death.”

Agent Death popped her head up from her cell phone and looked through a spotter scope.  A handful of well decorated Mexican military men walked out of the front door of the resort together with the corrupt general in the rear of the pack.  A few moments later, a group of Russian oil tycoons walked out surrounded by half a dozen goons who were clearly guarding them.  In the center of the walking Russian convoy stood Gosavich, their primary intel target.  “I see them, Bradley.  Eight military, and nine or ten white guys in suits.  They gotta be the Russians.”

In response to Death’s earlier accusation, McVandalay didn’t let the moment pass as he quipped, “That’s racist.”

“I hate Russians, including my best friend.  No apologies.”

A smile creeped across McVandalay’s face.  “Things look good here.  The camera is working and the footage is broadcasting.”

The group of men walked towards a group of military jeeps that were parked not far from the entrance.  The skin on Agent’s Death’s arms popped full of goose bumps and she got emotionally edgy for the first time all day.  “Fuck.  Bradley, something’s going on.”

“I feel it too,” McVandalay replied with emotional intensity.  “This is not good.  I don’t know what’s about to happen.”

“It won’t be pretty,” Death said instinctively.  Her reflex was to grab her hand gun from her side holster, and she noticed McVandalay doing the same.  They kept their guns at their side as they looked around.  “Where’s the threat?” she asked.  Their combined intuition was alerting them that something was about to happen.

At that moment, an unmarked windowless van parked next to the jeeps roared to life as the rear doors opened.  Four armed Mexican soldiers jumped out and pointed their automatic rifles at the group of military officers.  The decorated men started to scramble and reach for their side arms but they were caught off guard as bullets flew.  In the span of just a few seconds, all eight of the Mexican officers were shot down, including the corrupt general.

In that space of time, the Russian thugs had pulled out their hand guns and returned fire.  Two of the men with automatic rifles had fallen as the other two shifted to shoot at their new targets.  Gosavich stepped forward from the center of the pack and thrust his palm forward, as if he were pushing an invisible door open.  The two Mexican shooters went flying backwards and smashed down hard on the concrete.

“You’re filming this, correct?” Death said.  Her body was on high alert as she looked around searching for other vehicles or possible concealed shooters.

“All of it, and I know the rest of the team will have cameras on this too.”  McVandalay kept moving the camera to catch as much of the action as he could, but his instinct was to take cover and look for danger instead of film the massacre that was unfolding in front of them.  His watch rang and it was O’Connor.  He answered, “Doc, this is fucked.”

“Gosavich just used magic.  I’m scared.”  Dale O’Connor was a grown man and killed hundreds of bad men in his ten year military career.  He’d fearlessly thrown himself into situations that normal men would cower and run from, and he’d narrowly escaped death dozens of times.  Currently, he was well hidden and behind a camera, filming the carnage from a different angle, but his fear was real.  O’Connor was superstitious as fuck.

“Don’t engage.  Stay where you are,” McVandalay responded softly.  He wanted to yell at O’Connor and tell him that there’s no such thing as magic, but it was a waste of his breath.  “Our mission is to film, not get entangled.”

As McVandalay’s camera recorded, Gosavich again pushed his right palm out in the direction of the unmarked van.  A second later, the rear van doors blew off their hinges while the contents of the rear came blasting out of it in a large explosion.  McVandalay couldn’t believe his eyes.  It was as if Gosavich had hit the van with some sort of spell.

O’Connor’s frantic voice came over the speaker again.  “I told you!  Magic!  If he looks in my direction, I’m fucking out of here.”

The Russian thugs ran to the van and found no one in the drivers seat.  It was empty.  Gosavich was looking around, trying to locate more enemies, but it seemed whomever was trying to kill them had only used four poorly trained soldiers.

A block away, a car roared to life and peeled off.  Gosavich heard the noise and pointed in the car’s direction.  Russian thugs jumped into a jeep and tried to give chase, but the car had a solid head start.

McVandalay was trying to be patient with his best friend but he couldn’t help it.  “Doc, lay low.  If these Russian assholes see us, they’re gonna think we set them up.”  After a moment of thought he added, “Fuck, maybe we were set up from the top down.  This aint good.”

“If Gosavich sees me, he’ll crush me like a pop can, Bradley.  This isn’t how I’m supposed to go out,” O’Connor said frantically.

“Just keep your camera rolling and fucking lay low.  Don’t do shit.”  McVandalay terminated the call.  A moment later, his wrist watch lit up again with another incoming call.  “Miller, report.”

“I’m guessing you and Death are ok, right?”

“We’re good.  You and Lorenz good?”

“We’re good.  I’ve gotten ahold of everyone and we’re all hunkered down.  This is fucked,” Miller said with exasperation.  “Are we being set up?”

“I thought the same thing, but right now we need to wait this out.  Any news from Rice?” McVandalay asked.

“Washington is processing this in real time with us, and if we have been set up, we won’t hear shit.  In the meantime, we need intel.”

McVandalay’s watch lit up with another call.  “Hang tight Miller, I’m gonna add Roar to our chat.”  A second later, the calls connected.  After assuring Roar that he and Death were good, they got to business.  “We’re just filming and waiting, Yen.”

Roar had new intel for them.  “The car that just peeled out a few blocks away from you is currently driving down the rivera byway and Blitz is parked down there.  She’s gonna tail it after it passes her.  We got the license plates but I’d wager they’re fake.”

“Keep us posted.  We’re laying low until this clears up.”

“Affirmative.  Be safe!”  Roar terminated her end of the chat.

Miller spoke quickly.  “I don’t wanna be here when the cops and media show up.  As soon as the Russians leave, we’re out.”

“Us too,” McVandalay added.  “See you back at the safe house.  Over and out.”  He terminated the call.

In the distance, special agent Blitz expertly drove at a perfect distance without raising suspicion as she followed a sports car that was driving way too fast down a crowded Mexican ocean highway.