CHAPTER 5
After eight hours, Kyle simply woke up. His body just couldn’t see sleeping longer than that, after years of training. They hadn’t closed the curtains the night before, and it was sunny out. That took a moment to adapt to. He ran through a mental checklist and got started. First, he fumbled for his cell phone and called the number provided.
“Cafferty,” was the answer.
“Monroe. We’re at the hotel.”
“Fine, you need to get a taxia and come to the location where we can talk. I’ll email you directions and address. Two hours, if that works?”
“Sure,” he replied.
“Right. Bye.”
“Bye,” he said to a dead connection. It had been a really terse conversation.
“Come on, Wade, time to wake up.”
“Yeah, I’m awake,” Wade said, and dug fingers into his eyes, screwing up his face against the coming day.
They dressed and cleaned up, wearing slacks and shirts as a good compromise between business and tourist.
“I never realized how important wardrobe is,” Kyle said. He had a full suitcase of clothes in different styles for this.
“Clothes make the man. Or make him something else,” Wade said. “I could handle being a beach bum. Surfboard, chicks, piña coladas . . .”
“Doesn’t take much clothing for that. It takes attitude.”
“Damn.”
“Let’s get breakfast. Maybe our next mission will be somewhere with sunny beaches.”
“More likely sons of bitches,” Wade complained.
The nice thing about an expense account was that international chain hotel food was adequate. If you weren’t paying for it, it was far easier and less adventurous than going out on the street. They had bacon, eggs, and some pastries, washed it down with Turkish orange juice, and were ready to tackle the day.
“We should be in the lobby waiting,” Kyle said.
“Okay, let’s go get the stuff,” Wade said. In ten minutes they were heading back downstairs. He wasn’t a bad photographer, so he carried a camera. Kyle was halting with the audio, but could do well enough to fake it.
A taxia pulled up outside and waited. The snipers rose from their seats and walked out casually, making sure not to hurry or look around. Kyle still felt as if they were obvious. He knew it was just nerves, and he’d dealt with them before, so he stuck it out, waiting for the feeling to pass.
The driver looked at a paper he carried and said, “Monro?”
“Da,” Kyle agreed. “Monroe.”
They loaded luggage and climbed in. This vehicle, a VW van, had rates painted on the sides, a meter, and radio. The driver set the meter and off they went.
A fifteen-minute drive took them out of downtown, past a business district of older shops, into a residential area with small businesses to a panzione—a house with rented rooms. The driver pulled up in front and stopped, then helped them with their bags. He smiled and tipped his hat, accepted money from Kyle, then jumped in and sped off.
An elderly lady waited at the door. She was dark haired, slightly rounded, and short.
“Is this the place?” Kyle asked.
“Address matches, and she looks as if she expects us.”
“Okay,” Kyle sighed. At least she didn’t look equipped to be a mugger.
At the door, she waved them into a cozy parlor and closed the door behind them. Two men were sitting waiting, both Westerners. Kyle and Wade both stiffened just slightly, in anticipation rather than because of a threat.
The closer man stood and approached. “Kyle and Wade? I’m Mick,” he said.
Mick Cafferty was medium height, about fifty, slightly balding and barrel chested under his nondescript suit. Age was obviously catching up to him, but he wasn’t giving in without a fight. They looked him over as he gave them a quick glance, then they shook hands all around. “And this is Sam,” he said. Sam was barely shorter, pale and freckled and with reddish hair. He was dressed in common local clothes and his smile revealed slightly crooked teeth.
“Gentlemen.” He nodded, then rose to shake hands. He sat back down again.
“You hear the news this morning?” Cafferty asked, giving them a deep gaze.
“No, what?” Kyle asked. Mission change?
“Bombs,” Cafferty said. “Nine hundred pounds of blasting gelatin on a train in southern France, and four huge car bombs totaling another thousand in Bosnia. That’s the stuff that’s coming through here.”
“Jesus,” Kyle said. Wade was silent.
“Yeah, you got here just in time. Looks like close to twelve hundred dead or injured in a couple of hours. Statistically not that important, unless you’re one of the statistics. But it’s a tremendous issue politically and socially.”
“I thought the French and Spanish were safe from attack, since they stayed out of the new round in Iraq?” Wade asked. The sarcasm was obvious.
“Yeah, that’s what bin Laden is alleged to have said. Now we see what happens when you give a terrorist what he wants.”
“More terror,” Kyle said.
“Right. So we need something concrete fast—a kill, a bust of explosives, positive intel to avert something with lots of camera time. The good news is you’ve got more budget if you need it.”
“Thanks,” Kyle said. “Though I’m not sure what we need, besides a target and a place to shoot.” Dammit, he wasn’t a spy. He was a soldier. He watched the battlefield, broke things, and killed people. Tracking down political intel was for computer geeks or skulky sleuths.
“Well, let me know. I’m trying to get more of a free hand from State if I can,” said Cafferty. “This working across agencies is a pain in the ass. Everyone has a form to stamp.” He grabbed a mug of coffee, took a gulp. “I don’t want to be seen too much, so you’ll be talking to me by phone and dealing with Sam in the field when needed,” he said as he put his cup down. “Let’s show you around.”
The house was owned and run by the CIA. It was small but modern enough, and they had a lockable room. The bathroom was shared, meals provided, and there was a phone line. “Dial-up modem only, to stay discreet. Make sure you use the local phone a few times to order taxia or food or whatever. Use the encrypted cells to talk to me.”
“Understood,” they both agreed. Kyle tapped the deep pocket where his phone was. It was a habit he had.
“You can stay here and at the hotel. Keep your special gear here,” Cafferty said, which they understood to mean the weapons. He grabbed another mug of coffee from the kitchen as he led them through. The lady, the housekeeper, smiled at him and refilled the pot. He waved behind him as they walked back through the front, down the short hallway, and into the bedroom they’d use. “Only the government suspects this place that we know of, and they think it’s strictly a waypoint for SEALs and such heading south and east. They shouldn’t take much interest in you for a few days. Even after that, any investigation will take time.”
“They’ll make us eventually?” Wade asked, sitting on the bed. Kyle dropped down next to him. The mattress was a lot softer than he expected. Or maybe it hadn’t been designed for two heavy soldiers to use as a chair.
“They make everyone eventually,” Cafferty said. “As long as you get some shots or we have intel to share with the Romanians at the end, it’ll be fine.”
“That assumes we get either. For that we need you to get us in place,” Kyle said, barely frowning. “We’re just shooters. The spy bit is not something we know.”
“No problem. We’ll have you something soon. We’re just waiting for one of our observers to find one of them again. It’s never longer than a week, and it’s been three days since the last sighting.”
“Good, then.”
“So how was your trip in?” he asked.
“Ah . . . exciting,” Kyle said.
“Exciting, how so?”
Kyle and Wade looked at each other, then gave him a complete brief with observations and the plate number. “It didn’t seem targeted at us specifically,” Kyle said to Cafferty’s wrinkled brow. “Are we wrong?”
“No, it was random,” he reassured them. “They were fishing. Hotel is what tourists expect, and the Marriott is a common choice. But that’s a bad sign, and I’ll hint about it after you leave. The driver lucked out. Or didn’t, this time.”
“You seem to mean it’s common. I’m surprised,” Kyle said.
“Common enough. All part of the background here. You need to call the taxia service and ask for ‘command,’ which puts them on government notice and makes them honest. You got the low end. The middle end speak English until you’re inside, then they don’t speak it until you’re twenty miles away. Twenty-five euros or a million lei and two hours later, you’re where you wanted to be in the first place.”
“Charming.” Still, Kyle thought, it was better than Central Asia, where they shot at you or sold you out to another tribe or used you to settle local scores under the guise of fighting a war.
“It’s been like this since the Wall came down?” Wade asked.
“Pretty much. Gypsies,” Cafferty said. “Lots of them homeless and without family, from Ceaușescu’s reign.”
“How?” Wade asked.
“You read about all the orphans left from his forced breeding program?” The two snipers nodded. “Well, they grew up. Almost none have social skills, most aren’t very bright—they never got any input as infants. Some can’t talk. Most are illiterate. Almost all are unemployable. They sleep in the sewers, steal and rob to eat, and snort paint to pass out so they don’t feel the cold and hunger. A worse nightmare than any stupid Dracula movie.”
“Damn,” Kyle said. “What can we do for them?”
“Nothing,” Cafferty said, grimacing and sipping at his coffee. “There’s not enough millions anywhere to deal with it. Some were adopted, the rest are abandoned, and there’s still another few years’ worth in orphanages who are kicked out as they turn eighteen.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, and something we can’t help with. Close your eyes, grit your teeth, do your job, and pray for them. That’s all there is.”
“Roger that,” the snipers agreed together. It was the standard response to a situation one had to deal with, no matter how disgusting it was.
“As for you gentlemen, the taxia isn’t the only thing to watch out for.”
“Crime’s bad?” Wade asked.
“Yes and no. Lots of scams you need to watch out for. Don’t trust the hotel housekeepers—use a safe or keep your stuff with you. If you leave before cleaning time, leave the Do Not Disturb sign. Locked cases are probably safe, but any cash left out or in clothes or open luggage might wind up as a tip. Assume all teenagers and large kids are pickpockets, and keep cash split among pockets, ID up front and high. Don’t eat anything unless prices and an actual menu of food are posted. Same for services—always assume they’re screwing you and offer them one quarter what they ask. Settle for one half. Don’t drink. The drinks are watered, overpriced, bad liquor that can give you a hell of a hangover, and they’ll bring them until you say to stop. As soon as it hits the table, BANG! you’re charged for it.
“Watch out for fake cops. Real cops wear suits and carry badges. So do frauds. They’ll whip out a badge, demand to inspect your currency to ensure you complied with the exchange law, then peel off a couple of big bills for themselves. So will the real cops sometimes.”
“Goddam,” Kyle muttered.
“Oh, it’s worse than that,” Cafferty said. “Drunk driving can be settled on the spot for a million lei. That’s twenty-five bucks. If you’ve had a drink, you’re drunk. Either pay up or go to jail. You don’t want to go to jail.”
“How bad are the jails?” Wade asked.
“You’ll need SERE training to survive them,” Cafferty said, not smiling. Survival Evasion Resistance Escape was not a fun course. It involved bugs, snakes, and being tortured by the “enemy.”
“Damn,” Kyle burst out, surprised.
“We take MREs to the poor American bastards who get nailed over here, so they’ll at least survive the ordeal. And God help a woman in jail. Not as bad as Turkey. But not good.” He scowled deeply. “We’ve got one now State is trying to beg out. Her family is trying to come up with a bribe. I rather hope it’s not taken, because she’ll need that money for therapy afterwards.”
“Fuck me,” Kyle said.
“As bad as that,” Cafferty confirmed. “Most people here are honest. But assume otherwise, because there isn’t ‘always one in every crowd’ here. There’s always a dozen. And you better be very discreet with your firearms.”
“That’s the plan,” Wade said. “We shoot when and only when we have a target. Otherwise, cased.”
“Good,” Cafferty nodded. “The police will bust you in a second, and even diplomatic means here might not get you out. Might take DoD and State to do it.”
Or a platoon of Rangers, blown off-course in a parachute drop, Kyle thought. But that would really create an incident. Even with Robash’s assurance, Kyle’s blood was running cold. The worst he’d faced in life was being shot and killed. He was starting to realize there were worse things, and that even with his combat experience, he was very naive and vulnerable to certain cultural issues.
Coming back to the core of the mission, Kyle asked, “So you don’t think they’re going to be hard to find?”
“Actually, no. We have good intel. The problem is the local government leaks. We can fix them to a couple of regular places, but once away from the coast and the capital, no dice. We need to get on them and stay on them. That’s why you’re here.”
“How do you mean?”
“Anything my people do is known. We need people who can shoot, aren’t known, and don’t drag a lot of paperwork with them. That’s you. We don’t want the Romanians knowing, we don’t want them wondering why I’m breaking my routine tasks, and we don’t want to try getting too close. Shootings happen. Up-close brawls with foreign officials don’t.”
“I’d hoped to have all this before we arrived,” Kyle hinted.
“So did we,” Cafferty nodded. “But as I said, we’re still building the database. That’s the key here—we’re trying to get them before they do anything.”
“Are you sure these are the right guys, then?” Wade asked. “I’d hate to wait for a bomb to go off, but we do want to nail the right people.”
“Oh, it’s them,” Cafferty nodded. “They were involved in Chechnya, and some attacks in Georgia. That was more the Russians’ problem, and they gave us some intel that is solidly corroborated. But it got too hot there, so they moved to the Middle East. With the current screwup there, they’re moving this way. Have moved this way now. Gutless freaks won’t ever stand and fight.”
“That sounds like the right people, then,” Wade said.
“Yeah, fits the pattern, doesn’t it? Anyway, here’s the dossiers so far,” Cafferty said as he handed over five folders. Wade opened them, Kyle read over his shoulder, and Cafferty narrated.
“They’ll have probably twelve to twenty lower people with them, to do hauling, security, and buying supplies so they aren’t seen. If you get a chance to bag them, they’re gravy, but don’t hit a pawn and miss the bishops and kings. Underlings are only a symptom.”
“Right,” Kyle agreed. Though killing enough underlings would still cramp operations, there were enough suicidal idiots that it was only a temporary fix.
“So, from the bottom is Vahtang Logadze. He’s Georgian. Not directly al Qaeda but a fellow traveler. He blends in locally, and we suspect he’s their expert on shipping, which local officials to bribe, et cetera.
“Enis Altan is Turkish. He’s facing death if he goes back there. He was ‘helping’ the Kurds, but somehow they kept getting ambushed. We figure he was helping Iraqi intelligence. On the other hand, the Kurds aren’t popular in Turkey. He may have been working for a private group. But both the Kurdish movement and the Turkish government want him dead. If you kill him, we get some good bargaining points.
“Number Three, Anton Florescu is Romanian. He’s helping get the stuff out of here into the rest of Europe, likely through the woods and north into Hungary or Slovakia. He’s also seen a lot in the Carpathian Mountains and near Sighișoara. We’re looking for a base there, but haven’t pinned it down yet. But it’s there, we’re sure. So he’s only a target of opportunity, and hold off if you think he might lead us to more. Like whoever orchestrated Bosnia and France.” Kyle and Wade looked up from the binders and nodded.
“Number Two. Behrouz Jalali is Iranian, and a very bad boy. He’s definitely part of al Qaeda, orchestrated several attacks on British troops in Nasiriyah, and has now moved up here, figuring he just might get a lungful of cannon fire from a chopper there, but can kill babies at random in Europe, where no one is armed. He’s come in twice, but we don’t know where he is now. Shipped back out, gone to ground, hiding in Europe, who knows? Keep an eye out, and we’ll snatch him if there’s a chance. If not, just kill him on sight. There’s nothing we want from him bad enough to risk letting him get away.
“And that just leaves our prime target, who you’ve heard of if you’re following the news.”
“Dammar al Asfan,” Kyle said.
“Synagogues, Shia mosques, buses . . .” Wade recited.
“And a standing reward of fifty thousand dollars to the family of anyone who kills Americans or Israelis,” Cafferty said. “Again, we’d like him alive, but if there’s any doubt at all, shoot him. Shoot him twice. Run over him. Drag him down a gravel road. Stake him through the heart. Whatever it takes. You can even walk up to him in front of the police station in Bucharest and shoot him dead on the steps and we’ll cover for you. The headlines alone would get you out. But discreet is better.”
“Roger that,” they replied.
“We don’t expect you’ll get all five,” Cafferty said, answering the question before they asked it. “Just get one. If you find one, there might be another nearby. Get him, too, and then as many minions as you can.”
“Terrorist Poker,” Wade joked.
“Pair, three of a kind, four of a kind, full house?” Kyle smiled back. He turned to Cafferty and said, “We’ll see what we can do. We’d rather find them in the woods, or some quiet little burg where we can disappear in a hurry. An urban kill that’s not in a dedicated war zone . . . you really need a police sniper for that.”
“I know,” Cafferty said with a twist of his lips. “But we don’t have one. So it’s up to you to make the call. Don’t create an incident if you don’t think it’s worth it. Except for al Asfan.”
“What about military support?” Kyle asked. “Near the sea we’ve got Air Force and Navy, you say, and a possible exercise to cover for us. What about inland? Is there someone with a chopper or a truck who can come get us?”
“Truck. Sam. Me, if it comes down to it,” was the reply. “Anything more than that is going to get us seen. And we can’t trust the government at any level—city, county, or national. Too many leaks, too many moneygrubbers. They’re worse than dedicated idealists, because they don’t stay bought.”
“Right,” Kyle nodded. Behind him, Wade started singing, “It sucks to be meeeeee.” Kyle ignored him. Wade sometimes went too far when he was stressed. He understood it, he just wasn’t going to feed it.
“There’s no way to get the Romanians involved?” He really preferred the idea of local backup.
“To do what? Unless one of them commits a provable crime here, any kind of local activity only serves as a warning to the bad guys that we know they’re up to something. And to be honest, the Romanians wouldn’t be able to round them all up. The local police are used to petty crooks and thugs, not international rings with cutouts and multiple IDs. Their military arm might manage it, and I’m still trying to get a hint through to the right people, but it has to be the right people or all I have is more leaks.”
“I just wanted to check.”
“Yeah, your ass is in the sling. I understand,” Cafferty shrugged. He took another drink of coffee. He’d gone through three cups already. He wouldn’t have a stomach left at this rate.
“Do you have our luggage?” Kyle asked.
“Oh, yes,” Cafferty nodded vigorously and smiled. “It was still sealed. And nobody said I shouldn’t look, so I hope you don’t mind that I peeked but didn’t touch. You gentlemen have unique tastes.”
“Just what we need to get the job done,” Kyle said.
“Wait here, I’ll get the bags,” Cafferty said and turned.
Before he left, the two snipers were conferring.
“Definitely the .22 in urban settings,” Wade said.
“Yes, and pistols. If we get close, we might set one of us with a rifle to cover, and one with a pistol as bait or beater, and do it that way.”
“We might,” Wade agreed with what was almost a frown. “Though that’s not something we’ve trained in. I don’t worry about one of us shooting the other. I do worry about getting in the way and spoiling a shot, or taking a piece of it, or being ID’d.”
“True,” Kyle nodded. “We were hired to do it from a distance.”
Cafferty came back with Sam, dropped three cases on the bed, then went for another load of bags. “All sealed when it arrived,” he said. “It was transported in a lead-lined box, which we do all the time. No one has questioned us, and things are usually undisturbed. So we’re copasetic unless you get seen.”
“The weapons are safe here?” Kyle asked to confirm. Wade reached for the AK104 and started checking it over.
“Yes. The lady, Mrs. Cneajna”—whose name Kyle knew he’d never be able to pronounce—“works for us. This door locks. No one else comes in here. If the weapons are seized, there’s nothing to tie them directly to you. Which doesn’t mean someone won’t try to rope you in.”
“Right.”
“It’s up to you if you keep them with you at the hotel, keep them here and have to drive over and get them, or carry them on your persons. Try to avoid the latter, but I don’t want to tell you how to do your jobs.”
“Thanks,” Kyle said. He wasn’t sure if he knew how to do this job. “Are we going to have a car at our disposal? We can’t carry these things on the subway or buses.”
“Right. Get a rental car tomorrow. Go for something a couple of years old, not flashy, and that can take a bit of abuse. An Audi four wheel drive, maybe. SUVs are too obvious, and most of them are useless in this terrain.” Most SUVs were built for looks only, as everyone who drove real military vehicles had figured out years ago.
“That means we’ll have to actually use it a bit.”
“Yes. I can recommend some restaurants that are worthwhile, there’s the museum, and anything locked in the trunk should generally be safe. We’ve got to get you up into the mountains soon, though, because that’s your cover, and that’s where we expect some of the action. Small villages. You can shoot there?”
“We can shoot anywhere,” Kyle said. “Open terrain is easier, woods make for better concealment, and in any urban setting witnesses and hard cover are problems. But with that,” he pointed at the Ruger, “the AK and pistols, we can nail targets from five meters to four hundred.”
“Good,” Cafferty said. He sounded confident and reassured. “I’ll get you the targets and try to get you in range, and run interference over anyone who might see you. Meantime, you can go. There’s nothing to do but wait.”
“Great,” Kyle said. He hated hurry-up-and-wait.
“It shouldn’t be so bad,” Cafferty smiled. “You can be real tourists on tax dollars for a couple of days. You’ll earn it.”
In theory, they could play tourist. They had cell phones and could be reached anywhere. But they needed the weapons close at hand, didn’t want to confuse a pursuit by having to get unlost from where they were before getting lost following anyone, and they were antsy about more of the local color. It hadn’t taken much to convince the two snipers to stay at the hotel, no matter how boring.
The kicker had been lunch. They’d called the same taxia they’d used earlier. The driver was an elderly man who gave them a quick tour on the way to the car rental, which was a familiar Western chain.
In short order, they had a recent Audi Quattro in a tan color, that was nondescript and, once dusty over its shine, would be invisible in almost any terrain. It hadn’t taken much asking for the tan. Apparently, most customers wanted a brighter color.
“You want to drive?” Kyle asked.
“Sure, I’ll give it a whack. It’s not far, anyway.”
They were only about five miles from the hotel and they could see its silhouette from several blocks away. Just down the street from the Marriott was a Mexican restaurant. It was a little hole in the wall, looked clean, and had a bright awning in green.
“Worth a try?” Wade asked. It wasn’t one Cafferty had mentioned.
“Why not?”
The restaurant had prices posted, they nodded agreement that it was honest and took seats outside, it being a modestly warm noontime. The menu was clear enough, and they ordered quesadillas and tacos. Ten minutes later, plates were set in front of them. Wade nodded and said, “Mulţumesc,” and dug in.
His face told all. “Paprika?” he said, confused and shocked. “And something like sage? In Mexican food?” Mexican did use paprika, but not at the same proportion as ghoulash.
Kyle agreed with his assessment. The stuff was greasy, overcooked, weirdly seasoned, and of low-quality ingredients to start with. They forced it down and headed back for the hotel.
“Christ, that’s worse than stringy goat and beans in Pakistan,” Wade muttered on the way.
“Disgusting,” Kyle agreed. “Let’s stick to American staples or real local food, not their attempts to internationalize.”
“Yeah. We got anything in the room to get the taste out with?”
“I have cookies and chips,” Kyle said. “I can share, this once.”
“You’re my hero.”
After expensive sodas from the hotel and some cookies, they felt better. “Damn, it burns me to pay that much for a drink,” Kyle said.
“Uncle Sam is paying for it,” Wade reminded him.
“Damn, it burns me to help people screw over my dishonest uncle, who nevertheless gives me a job and a roof and a chance to risk my ass over stupid things.”
“Yeah, well. When in Romania . . .”
They tried to watch TV, took turns surfing the Web for games, news, trivia, maps, and anything of interest. It was a long, slow day, and they left early for dinner at the nearest restaurant Cafferty had recommended. It was walking distance.
“Local food, which hopefully they can manage to cook properly,” Kyle said. He was still feeling a bit odd from lunch.
Wade noted, “You know, I see the international appeal of McDogfood’s now.”
“Yeah. You know exactly how bad it will be, and it’s cheap.”
They arrived at the restaurant and were shown in. They were seated shortly, in a smoky corner. Eastern European cigarettes, pipes, and cigars all clashed. There was a stale acridity to the green plastic curtains near them. The floor was linoleum and the tables were plastic and worn chrome. “Points for atmosphere,” Kyle said.
“Hey, the food smells good,” Wade replied.
It did. Aromas of real meat and potatoes, vegetables and fire combined to flush the queasiness from Kyle’s stomach and make him hungry again.
The waitress was young, lacked curves and had the classic cheekbones and deep eyes of Slavic ancestry. Her English was very broken and accented, but the menu had some English and Kyle recalled his Spanish. She had a cute smile which she flashed when she understood him.
“Salata de Creier. Brains salad?” Wade read from the menu. He looked more than a bit bothered.
“No, thanks,” Kyle replied. “Is that a vampire thing?”
“Veal brains,” Wade said. “I’m not sure they’ve heard of Mad Cow. And it doesn’t sound appetizing, anyway.”
“Yeah, what else is there?”
“Salata Primavara. Lettuce, radishes, carrots, potatoes, green onions, sour cream.”
“Okay. Anything weird in it?”
“A bit of sugar.”
“I think I can deal with that,” Kyle agreed. “And here’s an entree: Biftec Rusesc. That’s Russian beefsteak. Sirloin with onions. That sounds good. Sprite or whatever to drink instead of alcohol, and Prajitura cu Zmeura, cake with raspberries.”
“Just no brains.”
“No. We should just not ask, let them serve us, and enjoy it.” It was common advice for soldiers going to exotic locales.
“I’m not that brave anymore,” Wade admitted.
The food started arriving at once, and they ate quickly, trying to enjoy the food for its cultural differences.
“Not bad,” Kyle said. “Steak’s a bit tough, but not bad.”
“Needs more seasoning,” Wade replied. “And the portions are a bit small.”
“I think we’re just pigs who eat too much.”
“That could be it.”
The crowd was building as evening grew later, and it was boisterous and cheerful. Drinking and talking, talking and drinking. Entire families were out together. It seemed weird. There were what appeared to be couples on dates, dragging parents and younger siblings.
“They seem happy at the decline of communism,” Kyle said.
“Yup. No matter how bad things are now, they were worse fifteen years ago.”
“That’s depressing.” Kyle had known that intellectually, but to actually see it was shocking.
They polished off dessert, paid, and left a tip, which neither of them was sure was considered appropriate. But they wanted to be remembered as dumb but friendly tourists if anything. The waitress smiled gleefully and waved as they departed.
It was a cool spring evening. It had drizzled while they ate, but then cleared slightly. They tucked their collars up as they headed for the car.
Wade turned his head slightly and asked, “So what do we think?”
“I think it’s riskier than last time politically,” Kyle said slowly, “and safer as far as military threats go. For some reason, that doesn’t reassure me.” Kyle didn’t like military threats, but he understood military threats. This was new territory. They reached the car and he waited while Wade unlocked it.
“Yeah. Watch it,” Wade said in warning, nodding very slightly. “I’m sure Robash is on our side. I’m equally sure other people would just throw us to the wolves and claim it wasn’t their problem.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. And we keep volunteering. I ask myself why.”
“Why did we volunteer to get our asses kicked, frozen, drowned, abraded, and burned in Ranger School?”
“Same reason,” Kyle admitted. “Because we can, and others can’t, and the job needs doing.”
“Yup.” Wade started the engine and screeched into traffic. He’d picked up the local style quickly. Or maybe that was just how he drove.
“I dunno. I think if I’m second-guessing myself it means I’m getting too old.”
“Well, you can retire at thirty-eight.”
“You know, that seems old now. But I know it won’t then.” Kyle mused.
Back at the hotel, they took turns playing computer games and reading intel. There was a great time waster that involved computer representations of little plastic toy soldiers, complete with breaking them in pieces and melting them in puddles from the effects of weapons. The only problem was, every stage had an “objective.” That was too much like work. Kyle just wanted to kill things for a while, mindlessly. The usual backpack-of-weapons-and-hundreds-of-mindless-ghouls-to-kill game was less fun without a network of participants, and was too simplistic. After two hours, Kyle figured out he wasn’t going to enjoy anything.
“Look, I’ve got to take a walk or I’m going to go nuts. This is a Western hotel, it’s like being down the street but with no TV. Once around the block should be safe. I can even hang out with the bellmen. But I need some more outdoor time.”
“Let’s both go,” Wade said. “We’ll keep it short.” He grabbed a camera just to maintain appearances. Coats, knives only, though Kyle really wanted to carry his pistol, considering the trouble so far, and they took the elevator down. They were staying among crowds, and didn’t want an incident, but Kyle still felt naked.
Downtown Bucharest was alive in a gritty, trashy way. There were surface trams and a subway, taxia vying for parking spaces and passengers, and lots of people. The people were dressed in every style from working-class pants and shirts with sturdy shoes to Euro-chic leather coats with Italian-made shoes and silk shirts. A few stood out even in that spectrum as unkempt bums.
“Like parts of Bosnia, only classier,” Kyle said.
“They had less problems here. Which is still pretty frightening, when you think about it,” Wade replied as they walked around the Central Market Square. “There’s ‘The Harp’,” he said. “Irish pub, owned by a real Irishman. Good place for food and intel, he said,” referring to Cafferty.
“Right, we’ll note it,” Kyle agreed. “Food should be of at least British standards.”
“Is that a good thing?” Wade asked.
“Compared to here? I . . . don’t know. I’d say yes,” Kyle said. He was joking, and tried very hard to keep a blase expression.
“Smartass.” Then they both chuckled and kept walking.
As they turned a corner, there were the signs of nightlife. Two or three late restaurants and a club or two lit the street. “I think we should avoid those,” Kyle said.
“Yeah. If we get mugged in a taxi, I’d hate to see a bar brawl.”
They let their eyes wander briefly. It didn’t do to look like tourists, but they were obvious foreigners. They’d have to convey confidence, to hint that they weren’t the kind to be messed with. If that failed, words or hands would have to get them out of trouble.
Kyle turned back around and almost bumped into a girl. She was almost as tall as his chin and was skinny. She also had worn jeans and an oversized shirt and lanky, unwashed hair. She was caressing his chest through his shirt and saying what could only be an offer of temporary romance for a few euros.
He wondered how she’d react to a counter offer of a shower, dinner, and a place to sleep? Or maybe that was part of the deal. He wasn’t familiar with that aspect of the local customs and didn’t want to be. But he knew what she was offering at her end, and said, “Nu,” forcefully enough to make it clear he wasn’t negotiating, hopefully not strongly enough to scare her.
She simply gave him a look of disgust and turned on her heel. She pulled up short to Wade’s hand on her wrist. He twisted it and Kyle’s ID folder appeared.
Kyle said, “Buen intento, pequeñita.” Nice try, little girl.
He saw what looked like a cop, decided he didn’t need any kind of scene, and let her go.
She spat on his jacket and ran.
“Charming girl,” Wade murmured.
“Yeah. I’ve had enough fresh air. Let’s go be bored.”
“Suits me.”
A few minutes later, they crashed gratefully onto boring, hotel-standard beds. “You know, boredom means no excitement. No excitement means no danger. No danger means no compromise of the mission before we get a chance to screw it up the Army way. I think I can live with that,” Kyle said. He breathed hard and sighed.
“I think I agree. We must be getting old. Or wise.”
“Let’s say it’s wisdom,” Kyle suggested.
“Wisdom it is.”