Gator
Wednesday, Dar es Salaam, Tansania
“Here we go, this looks promising.” Blaze spun the wheel, squeezing their car into the tiny space between two scooters, leaving mere inches past either of their bumpers on a crowded road in Dar es Salaam’s up-scale shopping district. “Looks like we’ve got a front row seat. Are we laying bets? Restaurant or jewelry shop?”
“Restaurant if we’re lucky,” Gator said, scanning the other store fronts. Yeah, those looked like the only two choices Davidson would make.
Davidson’s limo had stopped in the middle of the road, the front door opened, and a man stepped out, adjusting his suit coat.
“It’s hard to figure out where to put your tie when you haven’t got a neck, just ears and shoulders.” Blaze said. “Kind of makes him look like a giant penis.”
“Steroid track marks and a micro-dick is more like it.” Gator said.
“You’re sounding a little jealous, princess.”
They powered their seats back, so they were less visible from the front window. The side windows were heavily tinted, adequately concealing their interior. It wasn’t likely this guy would make them.
“Roid rage ain’t no joke.” Gator released his seatbelt and put a hand on the door handle, ready for action. “We need that on our radar.”
“Roger that.”
With his head on a swivel, the bodyguard opened the back door to the limousine and used his bulk to hide Davidson.
“Davidson isn’t what I was expecting from looking at his photo in the newspaper.” Gator said.
Blaze scrolled his phone and held it up to take a picture and forwarded it to Nutsbe their support professional at Iniquus. “Up close, he doesn’t look like a titan on the world stage. Let’s just send a photo to be doubly sure we haven’t fucked up.”
Five-foot seven-ish, a hundred and fifty pounds, balding head. They hadn’t received those details - just the name and a passport photo. From the change in appearance, it must be an old passport photo.
Blaze turned his phone to Gator.
Nutsbe: That’s him.
“That’s him,” Blaze said. “No, ‘it’s go-time.’ No, ‘saddle up, boys.’”
“Maybe this ain’t the plan. Maybe they’re still watching and waintin’ for an opportunity.”
“I can’t see how an opportunity’s going to get much better than this. The whole family and their security are spending the day in Zanzibar. Davidson’s down to two protection professionals. No place to park a behemoth limo like that down here in the city. It’s going to split their team. One of them is going to have to circle the block while Davidson eats. It would be safer if they’d convinced the guy to have his lunch back at the hotel.”
“Look at this bozo-security. He’s feeling the pressure too. He’s puffed his feathers out like he’s a rooster lookin’ for a fight.” Gator’s eyes lit with amusement, a smile inched across his face. This was gonna be fun.
“I wonder if they teach peacock walking at the Acme Security School.” Blaze muttered under his breath as they watched Davidson stride toward the restaurant hidden behind the bulk of his close protection guy.
This was getting better and better. Davidson’s security looked like it was all flash and show. The guard used his body language to make sure that all eyes were on him. It was poor trade craft. It put a bull’s eye on their guy’s back. And brought too much interest to his principal. In East Africa, with a Rolex on Davidson’s wrist and his fat gold rings? Davidson made a mighty fine target. But the body guard’s lack of skills would make everything so much easier for Gator and Blaze.
Gator dialed the encrypted line at Iniquus’s Panther Force war room, and Nutsbe answered, “Yo, Nutsbe here. You’re on speaker phone, but I’m the only one in here.”
“Gator and Blaze here, can you pull us up on GPS? We’re looking at a restaurant. No street number on the face. It’s to our immediate right.”
“Two seconds,” Nutsbe said.
“Medium-sized restaurant,” Blaze said. “Chances are, if we go in, they’ll see our faces, once we’re made we’re made. It’s early for lunch, do you think he has a meeting?”
“He checked his watch twice,” Gator told Blaze. “I’m bettin’ he’s not only expecting someone here, but he’s anxious about it, too. Meg’s newspaper said he had a meeting today with the Energy guy. This place looks pretty high-falutin.” Gator squinted as he peered down the road at a group of men exiting a shop and heading their way. “If he’s chatting with someone from the Ministry of Energy, that might make this interesting. Especially if his lunch partner comes with his own security.”
“Alright,” Nutsbe’s voice rose from Gator’s phone. “I’ve got the street up on my screen. We have a ten-minute satellite time delay so while I have your location, you’re not in the picture yet.”
“Roger. Stand-by,” Gator said.
“This is unusual for a Tanzanian native. Noon until fourteen hundred hours, it’s impolite to do business.” Blaze adjusted his mirror keeping eyes on their rear. “They don’t do eat and negotiate.”
Gator nodded. “Good policy. It ruins the appetite.” The group was aiming toward the restaurant. If they were going in for lunch, that might be good concealment to slip in and gather some intel.
“I can’t imagine anything ruining your appetite.” Blaze laughed as he turned his attention to the front of the restaurant. He blew out a long breath. “Nutsbe.” He raised his voice and called toward the phone. “Can we get eyes on the back of this place? Maybe we can sneak in without pulling too much attention our way.”
Gator tapped into his phone. “While you’re lookin’, is there any word from the client? Is this our X?”
“We don’t expect to have any word from them until you’ve been offered jobs. They’re taking the hands-off approach in case you mess this up.” He had an obvious smile in his voice when he added, “You’ll let us know if you land in prison, and we need to drag your asses back to freedom.”
“Wilco.” Gator whipped his head around, looking for the limo to cruise back around the corner, he had the guy on a timer, so they’d have an idea of how wide their window was between passes.
“Hey, speaking of rescuing you from a prison, I just heard some crazy-assed story over one of them clandestine student radio programs in Syria. They said a US civilian got rescued by a military helicopter that flew down one of the main streets, hovered beside this guy’s fifth floor prison window, dragged his ass onto the copter, then took off. In the middle of the damned city. In the middle of the damned day. That’s some crazy assed shit! Those Delta boys have got balls.”
“Ain’t got time for that now, bro,” Gator shifted in his seat. “I need intel on this place.”
Nutsbe’s story had him back chomping at the bit. This wasn’t the time for galloping into some fray. He felt the same sensations he’d experienced when he was talking to Meg when they were pool-side. He needed to calm those waters. This situation called for a cool head and some finesse.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve pulled it up already. I’m in their public safety data base, looking at architectural drawings…”
“Everyone make it home from the mission okay? How’d you know it was Deltas out there?” Blaze asked.
“I was handing off some data to Tripwire from our Echo Force. He’s in that region on a close protection assignment. He said one of the Night Stalkers got back to base with the PC and five of the Deltas, the other team went down in a Black Hawk. Injuries were minimal, but they needed transport out of there. No word yet on the second crew getting back, and with Tripwire headed stateside, I probably won’t ever know unless they have a KIA count on the nightly news. So, I hope I never hear another damned thing. Here we go. I’ve got what you need. You have the standard set up: reception area, restaurant seating. Bathrooms to the back on the right. On the left, there’s a short walkway. Double door swings into the kitchen to the right. Keep going and there’s outdoor seating, protected by walls on three sides. There’s a drop off and then a road parallel to the one where you’re parked.”
“How much of a drop-off?” Gator shrugged out of his suit coat and adjusted his tie.
“Enough to give a nice view of the park across the street. Hard to be exact from this image. I’d guess it’s too tall for your average Joe to use as egress or they’d have some kind of gate and stairs or something. Looking at your weather report, looks like a nice day to eat outdoors—mid-seventies—especially if you’re meeting someone and want to have a quiet conversation,” Nutsbe said.
“Here he comes.” Blaze shifted in his seat. Just as they had predicted the limo had pulled around and now showed up in Blaze’s rear-view mirror.
“Three minutes, twenty-nine seconds.” Gator said.
Blaze set the timer on his watch. “After he turns the corner again, why don’t you go shoot some video of where Davidson’s seated and where he stuck the security Fire Hydrant. Then we can make a plan for how to keep eyes-on, in case this is where the CIA hits the go button?”
“Roger that. Nutsbe, thanks for the intel. Out.” Gator touched the button on his phone to end the call, then dialed Blaze’s phone with a video call. “Keep the phone on. I’ll feed you information.” Gator unfolded from the compact car. At six-foot-three with blond hair and golden-tanned skin, he had no way to blend in to the Dar es Salaam population. His muscles were, for sure, on the big side. Not crazy big like the human fire hydrant who was guarding Davidson. Those were “for show” muscles that were specially developed for their intimidation factor. Who would go up against a man with muscles like that? Truth was, men built like that didn’t have a lot of range or flexibility, their muscles were so big and tight, they couldn’t straighten their elbows, which made punching darned hard unless you got right up in their face and let them throw an upper cut or a hook. But no one was stupid enough to do that.
Gator built practical muscles. The kind of muscles he needed to survive when he was in the hot zone. But here in Tanzania the body frames were long and thin. There were no wide shoulders and bulging biceps and that wasn’t good. His being so different called undue attention in situations like this one here. Not much he could do about it, he thought as he pulled the brass handle of the carved wooden door. He’d just try to find a shadow and melt into it. Maybe next time he was back in DC he’d ask Lynx to give him some lessons on how she was able to stalk people without them ever knowing. For now, he slid behind that group of men waiting for the host at the front of the restaurant. He sidestepped to the right, next to a potted tree.
It was a jolt to his visual acuity coming in from the mid-day sun. As his vision adjusted, he picked up details. The walls were white. The room was done up in blacks and browns with bright streaks of vivid colors. It had the feel of money and privilege. Men only. They were dressed in well-tailored suits. Gator was wearing a dress shirt and tie. He’d left his suit jacket in his car. Gator hated to fight in a jacket. It held back his range of motion like the Fire Hydrant’s excessive steroids would hold him back in any real hand to hand.
Gator scanned for anyone who stood out from the rest, like he did. Someone from the CIA. If they did have operatives on site, they’d have to have known Davidson’s schedule. Did the operatives ask for a meeting? Like Blaze said, Tanzanian’s didn’t do business over lunch. From noon until two, business meetings were traditionally curtailed. It would make sense then that Davidson would have that time open to meet a non-Tanzanian, someone who said they were American or perhaps European. Nothin’ to do about it, though, but wait and see if the CIA hadn’t arranged for a surprise party.
Gator hung out in the corner, watching Davidson’s security walk around with his mirrored sun glasses and his ear comms dangling in plain view. Amateur hour. The two Americans were being escorted through the restaurant by what must be the host. Gator shifted around to see them heading down the corridor to what Nutsbe had described as the way to the terrace. This was looking more and more like a set up. Good. Gator moved in their direction, he’d slip into the bathroom if he caught their attention.
A waiter pushed backwards out of the kitchen door with a fully laden tray of dishes. He turned right into the Fire Hydrant, who had taken point.
The dining room erupted with a bang and clatter, the sound of shattering glass and gasps. The shuffle of chairs. People leapt to their feet. Gator had his back to the wall by the men’s room. He had his phone to his ear. The camera lens sent the images on to Blaze’s phone as Davidson moved back into the restaurant’s main dining room.
“Sparky got doused,” Gator whispered into his phone that was sending video images out to Blaze.
“With what?”
“Looks like the waiter tipped the food tray—hang on, can you hear them?”
“Nope.”
Gator took in the scene.
“You’re covered. You need to get changed.” Davidson growled, gesturing up and down Security’s filthy suit. “I can’t have you anywhere near me looking like that. Appearances are everything.”
“The primary is pissed,” Gator whispered to Blaze. Better and better.
“Call Gibbons to circle around, run out and change places with him.” Davidson gestured toward the front. “He can do security detail while you go back and get cleaned up then come back and pick us up.”
“Sir, I can’t do that. I can’t leave you without transportation,” His words were a bit hard to understand; his accent was thick.
“Fine. Then just change places and sit in the car. This is my only window to take this meeting. I can’t let your incompetence mess it up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go on, don’t just stand there. You’re dripping. I don’t want my guys to come in here, see a circus, and get spooked. Everything needs to be calm and cool.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gator crouched and pretended to tie his shoe, hiding behind the service station that held extra cutlery and napkins. He watched Fire Hydrant move to the front of the restaurant, too busy talking into his cuff like a wannabie Secret Services agent to notice Gator there in the shadow. What a tool. “You gettin’ this?”
“Every word. Sounds like it might be go-time,” Blaze said. “I’m in play. I’m driving around back.”
Gator imagined a CIA operations officer slipping that waiter the equivalent of a year’s salary in an envelope to make that accident happen. It felt good. Yeah. This was Go time. “Roger that.” Gator rose slowly to his feet. A swarm of kitchen workers busily flew about, getting the food and broken glassware off the floor.
“Here he comes, man.” Blaze chuckled. “What the hell is on him some kind of stew?”
The screech of tires, told Gator that the limo was rounding the corner. If things were going to throw down, this was the micro-moment of opportunity.