“Agent 00Zero, with all due respect, it sounds like something a Volkswagen gets at high altitude.”
“Operation Banana Hammer?”
“Best suited for Central America.”
“Operation Matador?”
“Getting warmer, I think.”
“Operation Broken Donkey?”
“I don’t much care for animals.”
“Me neither. Operation Open Wound?”
“Interesting, but disgusting.”
“General, I don’t give two shits, wait, wait for it, make that three shits, what you call it. Are you in or are you out? I have SEAL Team Six on standby, if you’re incapable.”
“In, we’re definitely in! But my men need leadership, and leadership means showing them the path before they walk down it. You can’t keep the map to yourself. You have to give your subordinates an idea of where they’re headed, for the sake of morale, even if it’s off a cliff. Esprit de corps is the deciding factor in most engagements. I beg you. The name of the mission is critical.”
“General, we don’t have time for this. Jesus Christ, do you want to bring in focus groups and do surveys, maybe a media consultant? If so, you’re paying for it.”
“Of course not. Agent, may I be so bold as to suggest a name for our mission?”
“Will it get you moving any quicker?”
“Yes.”
“Then go ahead.”
“Operation Mexican Shadow. We’ll be in and out before anyone notices.”
“Whatever, fine. Now assemble your men and anything you need, and get the hell to Austin!”
“Agent 00Zero,” the General said as tears welled in his eyes. “Thank you for this opportunity. STRAC-BOM won’t let you down.”
“Well, see that you don’t. Good day, General.”
The phone line went dead. The General hung up and called for his men to reassemble in the main room.
“Boys!” the General announced proudly as he strapped his pistols back around his bloated waist. “We’re back in business. Call in sick for the next few days — we’ve got new orders.”
“What about being bust-ass broke?” Fire Team Leader Alpha asked.
“We have a new benefactor, one with money. Now I know Operation Gold Miner didn’t exactly go as planned, but we’ve been given another shot. The only catch is we’re going to have company this time. Two civilians willing to pay for our services.”
“Don’t that make us like mercenaries, General?” Private Foxtrot asked.
“No, it just means we’re employed.”
“With benefits?” Private Foxtrot asked hopefully. “’Cause this back tooth of mine has been leaking puss like crazy.”
“No benefits!” the General shouted. “It’s contract work. Now pull your crap together, men. It’s time to get frosty. Fire Team Leader Charlie!”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“Take your private and requisition some transportation big enough for seven men, plus two.”
“Requisition?” the Team Leader asked. “You mean, like, rent something? I thought we were out of cash.”
“No. Steal something. Private Zulu’s only real value is that he can hotwire anything. Isn’t that right, Private?”
“You bet, General,” Private Zulu proudly replied. “Screwdriver and a sharp knife, and I can light the fire and spin the tires on anything Detroit ever made.”
“Outstanding, Private. Now, Team Leader, get to it. I want you back here with ground transportation by twenty-three hundred hours and not a minute later.”
“Yes, sir,” Fire Team Leader Charlie replied. “Come on, Zulu.”
“And remember,” the General added. “Something that blends in.”
“Right, sir.”
“Now, the rest of you men. Put away those gall-darn cleaning supplies and start organizing the gear. I want a full shakedown in less than four hours.”
Fire Team Leader Charlie and Private Zulu headed to the Team Leader’s pickup while the rest of the men rushed to pack their gear and gather supplies and provisions.
“You got something in mind, Team Leader?” Private Zulu asked. “I’m pretty good at starting up cars, but I never actually stole one before. Well,” he said sheepishly, “I stole a dirt bike once, but it was on a dare from a girl.”
“Let me think on it a spell, Private. I’ll come up with something.”
The two men drove around Tornillo for a while, looking for a suitable target. Over the next hour, they spotted sedans, minivans, station wagons. The only problem was that loads of people around the small town recognized them and waved as they passed by. Pretty soon they both decided that El Paso might have a far better selection of cars for theft and most certainly a whole lot fewer people that they went to church with. After they made their way up the interstate, the outskirts of the big city appeared on the horizon.
“Where should start looking?” Private Zulu asked.
“I don’t know. Got any ideas?”
“How about the impound lot?”
“Naw,” said Fire Team Leader Charlie. “Too much security. Folks coming and going all the time.”
“What about the mall? It’s got a pretty big lot.”
“Same thing, too many people around — plus, they’ve got cameras. Hey, wait a minute, look over there.”
“At what?”
“That school bus lot.”
“The one with the big fence?”
“Sure, I’ve got some bolt cutters in the back. A bus would be perfect for all the boys and our gear.”
“Don’t seem right somehow. It’s like stealing from the kids.”
“For the love of Sam Hill, you’re the one that suggested sticking up lemonade stands. Hell, the kids will love it. It’ll probably give them a day or two off from school. Beside, the government is cutting back school budgets all the time. They’re the ones really stealing from kids. We’re small time. Nobody will notice.”
“All right, good point, but the General said something low-key. Big and yellow don’t spell low-key to me.”
“Of course it does. Buses are downright common. Plus, you ever see a cop giving a school bus a parking ticket?”
“No.”
“Then, there you go.”
“Sounds good to me. Then let’s check it out.”
The two men pulled off the highway and slowly drove around the fenced lot, examining it for weaknesses in its defenses. “You sure we should be doing this in broad daylight?” the private asked. “The General, he says covert operations are best executed under the cover of the dark, with overwhelming manpower, treachery, or all of the above.”
“Good point, but it means we’ve got some time to kill. What do you want to do?”
“How about a movie?” Private Zulu suggested. “It’ll be cool inside. This heat is killing me.”
“Sorry.” The Fire Team Leader apologized for his truck’s clunky air conditioning. “You want to go to that big movie cinema across town?”
“The SuperMegaJumboPlex? You bet, they got all the new stuff,” the private said as he picked his nose and flicked the findings out the cracked window, only to have it blow back in. A bit later, the men arrived at their destination and approached the ticket counter. “What should we see?” Private Zulu asked as they dodged a throng of teenagers.
“How about that one?” Fire Team Leader Alpha suggested as he pointed to the top of the board.
“The Artist?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it about?”
“Don’t know, but I heard it was up for all the awards.”
“Okay by me. Hope it’s got a car chase.” The men purchased their tickets, went inside, and hit the concession stand. Taking their seats, they crammed fists of popcorn into their mouths as the previews rolled. The next several hours left the men rather confused, but less sweaty than before. The movie wasn’t exactly what they expected.
“Well,” Fire Team Leader began as they left the theater. “What did you think?”
“I think I’m never coming back to this place again. We got swindled. The dang audio was busted for the whole movie, and nobody even bothered to fix it. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying.” The two disgruntled men climbed into the pickup and headed back to the bus lot. The sun was going down, and they had to get to work. Pulling up to the depot, Fire Team Leader Charlie pulled over on the side of the road. They could see the gate was locked. “Which one should we swipe?” the private asked.