“We are gathering up the other men involved. I want everyone here for a debrief of this story. We need it straight before you leave. Another front is coming in and we are expecting torrential rain. The weather is going to keep you guys here awhile — maybe another twenty-four hours. After that you are not to come back, understand, Grover?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll work it out with your CO, Grover, don’t sweat it. Now for Pete’s sake, make master chief so we can get you back.”
“I’m trying, sir.”
Tracy looked at Jazz a moment. Even in the dim light of the tent, he thought he saw him wink just before he turned and left.
There were at least three other cases that Elena worked with Kilkenney and his surveillance team. She knew them to be very good at their specialty. The last of her bagel lunch was swallowed quickly as she saw Kilkenney walking toward her desk.
“Hey, Elena, how are things?”
“Oh fine, George, you?”
“Great,” said Kilkenney taking a seat on the desk across from Elena’s. “My report is short. We did all the normal stuff; mail, internet, phones, cameras, and finally the house internal.”
“The vents again?”
“For sure, it is becoming my signature.”
“I see,” Elena said sarcastically.
“Anyway after the setup we were at it for one week. We’ve got nothing so far. I can continue to watch the house, but I recommend that we back off. I can use tape on the cameras and bugs to be picked up weekly and continue to get weekly reports on mail and internet. For my money, you’re not going to get anything, not until the husband comes home.”
“You are probably right, I’ll take that under advisement.”
Kilkenney handed Elena a manila envelope.
“Here is the first report. I’ll standby for your decision.”
“I’ve already made up my mind.”
“Oh?”
“Let’s go with your instinct. Continue to monitor, but back the team out. We’ll get in place when Jascinski gets home.”
“You got it, and reports?”
“Give me your weeklies regardless of what is in them.”
“Done.”
THIRTY-FOUR
The tent sagged, heavy with water. In a few spots the rain began to drip in on them. Still, they were warm and dry.
Tirane was the perfect place to hide. The International Red Cross provided everything and even paid for their way. They had warm clothes, rain ponchos, and the best tents and sleeping bags money could buy to keep them cozy at night.
Guido smiled to himself. He was sure there must be steam lifting from the abode he shared with Renata. It was more than cozy, Renata had been a vixen since they arrived. She was always passionate after they took violent action, but this time was different. Perhaps she liked the fact that their neighbors could hear her yelp with delight while they… made love?
No, he thought. We’re fucking. Morning, noon, and night.
The volunteers in the tents next to theirs would grow silent as he and Renata began to move together. He imagined them smiling and pointing to their tent while he and his woman copulated.
Later the two would emerge, acting as if they had no idea the others could hear them. After two weeks of living in tents, Guido and Renata were not the only ones who were having loud sex. He thought it was interesting how quickly shame disappeared and base instinct took over when the higher needs like privacy and bath water were not available.
The aid work was not unsatisfying. Guido had no love, but no hate for the people they were helping. They certainly were not enemies of his cause.
Each morning after breakfast he and Renata helped the others load helicopters, then trucks with humanitarian aid. Some days they would fly in the helos to Kukesh or some other remote town to hand out the foodstuffs and materials donated by the Red Cross and the European Community. Most days they would ride in the back of a military truck and hand out items to those who made it to a village on the coast.
Just as Nasih predicted, it was a perfect retreat for them. They escaped, all their needs were taken care of, and he was enjoying his woman. Guido’s only real task was to provide information through Nasih’s henchman, Ayman. Ayman told him that that a prime objective for them was to get back into Nasih’s magazine and destroy its contents, whatever they were.
He varied the time of day that he would take his trip to the base of the mountain. Guido was trained to both change his routine and to watch the routine of others. The Americans were predictable. They changed the guard at the same time each day, they never altered the number of personnel watching the magazines, and they rarely questioned foreigners. Guido thought that it was fortunate that he was not the only aid worker who liked to stroll through these woods and up to the mountains.
Renata threw her leg over him. She put her hand on his chest and kissed him softly on the ear.
“Again,” she whispered.
“I must go have another look.”
She reached down and rubbed him gently a moment. He continued to look at the ceiling. His lover gave up and rolled over pulling the covers off him.
Guido disappeared in plain sight yet again. Nobody noticed the civilian with a camera bag walking along the runway in the rain. The guards on the airfield were all huddled in and under the aircraft to keep as dry as possible.
Poor bastards, he thought.
He crossed into the woods by the fuel farm and headed toward the mountains. As Guido stepped into the first clearing he crouched down and looked back toward the field. The low brush was thin enough here that he could observe the flight line opposite the tent city and the international airport.
The Apache attack helicopters looked frightening even on the ground. He counted them twice and wrote the number down in the notebook he kept in his pocket. The number did not change for four days. He noticed them flying in pairs from time to time, but they always returned.
“Probably training missions,” Ayman had surmised.
“Why does Nasih want to know these things?” Guido asked.
“I do not think he cares,” said Ayman shrugging his shoulders. “I think he is selling the information.”
Guido and Ayman met sporadically. Guido would give him information and film. Ayman provided him with light supplies that were not readily available in the aid camp. Guido sold as many cigarettes as he smoked.
He worked his way through the woods to a spot at the base of the mountains north of the magazines. The road running along the base of the mountain and the last magazine were visible from here. Guido climbed the mountains, circling above and around the last two magazines. He sat in the mud at his observation position and waited. Within two minutes he was soaking wet and cold.
Who’s the poor bastard now? he thought. And to think I could be shagging right now.
The tail section of the Sea Dragon provided pretty good protection from the torrential rain for Jazz and Ashland as they ate their MREs. They were the only men in or near the two helos parked on the grass at the far end of the airfield. Everyone else had made their way to the mess hall or one of the other tents of Camp Tirane.
One of the concrete airstrips stretched out from their left toward the tent city and the international airport. They could just barely see the lights of the tower through the curtain of water. The tents disappeared into the landscape. Every now and again they would see the lights of a military vehicle driving toward them, dropping off watch-standers or aircraft maintenance personnel.
The weather grounded all the NOBLE ANVIL aircraft for hours now. The man who identified himself as “Tracy” was right, there was even talk of staying overnight. Jazz had not thought to pack a sleeping bag.