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  Smoke and Shadow

  Gamal Hennessy

  Smoke and Shadow

  A Novel of Covert Warfare

  By Gamal Hennessy

  Dedication

  To Alysse:

  People could learn a lot from the fluid strength of our friendship.

  Definition

  Operator (noun): a soldier trained to perform unconventional missions, including covert operations, hostage rescue, intelligence operations, and the hunting of high value targets

  Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms

  Prologue: Unfair Fighting

  Summer 2014

  Nikki admired the two operators waging war down on the beach.

  Their fight struck her as graceful with brutal intentions, cunning with primal simplicity, and playful with lethal consequences. The scene made her think of wolf or tiger cubs in the wild, acting out playful kills on each other in preparation for a real hunt. But Harrison Trent and Hamilton Chu didn’t practice to kill innocent animals. They hunted soldiers, terrorists, and other men who made violence their profession.

  Chu and Trent manipulated the environment to increase the difficulty of their training. While Nikki sat on the balcony of Baker’s luxury suite, sipping white rum cocktails and basking in the afternoon sun, Chu and Trent struggled knee deep in the rolling surf. In one moment, waves knocked them off balance. In the next second, the sea sucked the ground out beneath them. The sun threw blinding rays and sweat into their eyes. The tropical heat tanning Nikki’s skin baked the men, and made their exertion painful to even imagine. But they didn’t shy away from the harsh conditions. Nikki watched them thrive in it.

  She didn’t know much about martial arts or any kind of fighting. She knew the difference between boxing and MMA. She had an idea of what karate looked like relative to judo. She knew hundreds of fighting styles evolved from various parts of the world, but she had no training or experience in any of them. Nikki faced violence more than once in her life. False friends and angry lovers often felt the need to threaten her with Tasers, guns or other tools of malicious intent. Nikki saw it as an occupational hazard, but she still didn’t have the same comfort and command of brutality as Chu and Trent.

  The moves they employed didn’t appear to fit any specific pattern or style she could recognize. They used their hands, elbows, shoulders, knees, feet, and heads to attack and defend. They grappled, pushed and pulled each other trying to gain an advantage. They attacked each other’s limbs, heads, bodies, and throats from the front, back and the sides. Even the ocean became a weapon for them. A new wave might be used to choke and drown an opponent underwater. Lost balance provided an opening for a throw into the wet sand. Anything and everything became a weapon for these two.

  But Nikki sensed something else in their chaos. Every movement contained a measure of control. Every strike, trip and throw revealed one man’s momentary advantage and the other’s vulnerability. But the blows didn’t do permanent damage. There was fierceness in their combat. At the same time, Nikki saw friendly encouragement between them. They didn’t spar to wear each other down. They tried to raise each other up. Nikki felt herself smiling at their violent expression of affection. Nikki thought she could sit and watch the men struggle for hours.

  “Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen?”

  Nikki looked up from her reverie to see Rose Mendoza slide into the lounge chair next to her. The operations manager of RSVP wore a vivid dress of sea foam green. It highlighted the rich color of her curly blonde hair, but her vacation image did nothing to improve her disposition. Nikki glanced back at the two men, forcing herself to engage the hostile woman without being defensive.

  “What do you mean? They look like they know what they’re doing.”

  “What they’re doing is a waste of time and energy.” Rose bent down to pull off her heels. Her grimace of pain in her movement made her look even more disagreeable. “Our business is intelligence. We gather and analyze facts for our clients. That business requires skills those two don’t possess. We need thinkers, not fighters.”

  “I have to disagree with you on two levels, Ms. Mendoza.” Warren Baker’s voice washed over their conversation with a smooth baritone in harmony with the laid back setting. Nikki turned to see him leaning on the door frame with a grace that ignored his injured leg and summer cane of blond rattan. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, admiring Ria Marlen’s ass as the small woman slipped past him and onto the terrace. He spoke without taking his eyes off his lover’s body.

  “First, our business includes taking advantage of actionable intelligence for the benefit of our clients and their causes. We need Smoke and Shadow to do things other people can’t or won’t do. Second, those boys aren’t fighters. They really don’t know the first thing about fighting.”

  “They look like fighters to me.” Ria plopped down in a chair next to Nikki, stuffing a lime wedge into her bottle of Corona and not bothering to toast with Nikki before she took a sip. “I certainly wouldn’t want to face them in the ring.”

  Warren took his time crossing the open space. His cane struck the hardwood deck with a slow even rhythm. The glass of whiskey in his other hand dripped with condensation. “You could face either one of those guys in a regulation match and win every time. It would probably take you less than thirty seconds to do it.”

  Nikki struggled to understand. The words didn’t match what she saw. “What do you mean?”

  “No matter what fighting sport you put them in, those two jokers would be disqualified before the first round was over. Their technique doesn’t adapt to rules. That’s not how their brains work.”

  “What’s the difference?” Rose shot up from her chair and stormed towards the bar. “A fight is a fight. We could get a dozen guys from any boxing gym and teach them to do the same moves in a couple weeks. It’s not that serious.”

  “The difference lies in application and mentality.” Warren didn’t sit. He leaned against the railing, looking down at the fight with a swell in his chest Nikki associated with pride. “Men fight as a form of social positioning, especially in combative sports. The goal is to display skill, establish dominance and earn the respect of their peers. Winning those games requires conforming to the rules and mastering them. Those two can’t do any of that shit because they don’t conform to any rules.”

  Rose turned her back on all of them, pretending not to hear him as she mixed her drink. Ria let the awkward silence hang in the air while she sipped her beer. Nikki took it upon herself to keep the conversation going.

  “Did you teach them how to do that?”

  Warren shook his head without looking away from the men. “No. Shadow spent two tours with a recon division in the Marine Corps Special Operations Command. Smoke worked as a close protection and counterterrorism agent for the Diplomatic Security Service.”

  “And both those units taught them the same kind of fighting?”

  “Yes and no. Both of them received formal combat training, but most of what they do now they stole and adapted from other systems. Chu spent some time learning Filipino boxing and JKD during his time in Manila. Trent studied more informal stuff like taijutsu and parkour. Once we started working together in the private sector, we stole each other’s moves and made it a part of our overall tradecraft.”

  “I bet you’d love to be out there with them.” Rose sat back down with an abusive grin on her face. Nikki understood the insult behind the bland statement. They all did. Warren didn’t have the option of training with his friends. The injury to his leg made it impossible for him to run or even walk without his cane. Combat with those two men would never be an option again. Nikki considered throwing her drink in Rose’s f
ace as payback for the insult, but Warren took the sting out of her attack.

  “Now why would I want to be rolling around in the ocean with those two knuckleheads when I could be spending an afternoon with you lovely ladies?” Warren’s words dripped with relaxed charm, but Nikki could see the anguish in his gaze. He stared down at the two men fighting in the surf like a dream he could never attain.

  Ria banged her empty bottle on the table either to get everyone’s attention or to frighten Rose. “So what the hell did you boys do together when you weren’t playing Enter the Dragon?”

  “We served in a fire team called Nightwatch. Officially, we were a Tactical Response Team tasked with both the investigation and acquisition of select persons of interest.”

  “What does that mean?” Nikki tried not to sound naive, but the military doublespeak made her head swim.

  “It means that they were a rendition squad.” Rose still soaked her words with acid, but Ria’s unsubtle gesture made the bite less severe. “They were tasked to find, fix and finish targets of the administration either by shipping them off to secret prisons or burying them in unmarked graves.”

  For the first time in the conversation, Warren looked over his shoulder at them. For the first time since Nikki met the smooth intelligence officer, he made her limbs shake and her breath stop. Baker didn’t say anything to deny Rose’s accusation, and the menacing look in his eyes told Nikki he could be just as cruel and just as violent as all those men who came after her with guns and Tasers.

  “War is Hell, Ms. Mendoza. It brings out the worst in people.” Baker glanced away from them to look back on his friends. “You’d be surprised what a man will do and where his mind will go when he’s pushed.”

  “Can’t it sometimes bring out the best in people?” Nikki tried to inject as much peppy optimism as she could into her question to relieve the growing tension on the terrace.

  “That depends on how you look at it, my dear. One man’s noble heroism is another man’s total clusterfuck.” Baker paused, looked down at his cane and let out a sigh Nikki found tragic. “The last mission I had in the field is a perfect example of what I’m talking about.”

  Book One: A Special Request

  Chapter One: The Principal’s Office

  Spring 2007

  Baker swirled the dregs of his coffee in the bottom of the cup, hoping the motion might turn the sludge into two fingers of Woodford Reserve. He imagined the color brightening from black to golden honey and the smell softening from burnt tar to hints of vanilla, fruit, and chocolate. But no matter how many times he flicked his wrist, he couldn’t make it better. He would have smirked at the symbolic parallels between his cup and his life if the pain in his leg wasn’t so awful.

  “All right, let’s try telling this story again. Maybe at some point it will make sense.” Shaw stood flagpole straight at the other end of the table. His urban battle dress uniform was immaculate. It signaled an attention to detail Baker found admirable. It also told him the man never spent any time in the field, which made him the most delusional and dangerous type of command and control officer. It was like Sun Tzu said; those who are ignorant of military affairs can only bring misfortune when they are placed in command of the army.”

  Carpenter sat to Baker’s right, closest to Shaw in more ways than one. He sat up straight too, mirroring Shaw’s body language. Chu and Trent sat across from him, like teenagers sitting in the principal’s office. They looked more annoyed at this charade than he felt. Trent's look of aggression when he glanced up at Shaw felt like a challenge. “The story isn’t going to change by telling it again. If you don’t like the results, fine. Do what you need to do. None of us needs an operational debrief to turn into a circle jerk.”

  “Don’t think that being in the private sector gives you the right to disrespect authority, you fucking fuck.” Shaw slammed his hand down on the table, but took a step discreet away from Trent. Baker understood the move, but he knew Shaw was still too close if his friend decided to jump up and crush his windpipe. In any event, he kept on talking. “I’ve got the State Department, the Provisional Government, and Langley up my ass because of your cluster fuck. You will sit here until I get answers that are acceptable to this company and its customers and fuck you if you don’t like it!” Trent didn’t say anything. Baker knew he was ready to respond with action, not words. He needed to diffuse the situation before the briefing turned into a brawl.

  So Baker spoke up, still staring into his Styrofoam cup and wishing it was whiskey. “Ladies, we all know how this story ends, so why don’t we just play it out and move on with our lives?” Shaw and Trent were still eyeballing each other, so Baker set aside his disappointing beverage and reached for the open file in front of him. “As Shadow said, we’ve been over this half a dozen times already, but one more time won’t hurt.” He shuffled the papers, but didn’t bother to look at them. He didn’t need any reminders of what happened. There was no way for him to forget.

  “This operational report concerns fire team Night Watch, which consists of Chris “Silence” Carpenter as the asset officer, Hamilton “Smoke” Chu as executive protection, Harrison “Shadow” Trent as close protection, and myself as field commander…”

  “I know this part,” Shaw growled. “Let’s get to the part where you fucked up.”

  “Yes, sir, but if you’d like to repeat the debrief, then I need to repeat it in its entirety,” Baker responded with a bright smile. “To continue: twenty-six days ago, at approximately twenty-two forty-five hours, fire team Nightwatch, traveled south on an unnamed road in the old city section of Karbala…

  Chapter Two: Meet and Greet

  “All right, let’s go over this one more time for the slow kids in the class.” Baker glanced out the window to admire the full moon and check the rooftops for snipers. The Humvee bounced through the darkened streets at a speed fast enough to make it a difficult target, and slow enough for Chu to avoid the random goats meandering down the side alleys of Old Karbala. Carpenter sat with him in the rear of the truck, staring out his own window and looking for threats. Trent rode shotgun next to Chu, his gloved hands resting comfortably on the barrel of his modified M4 and his eyes scanning the street in front of them as he responded to Baker.

  “We don't need to hear it again. You’re just repeating it because you like to hear yourself talk.”

  “True, but that isn’t the important part of the story. Silence was working under the name Charles Reed when he made contact two weeks ago with an Indian hawaladar named Singh Popanjar. He claims to have connections to Kata’ib al-Karbala, and he is interested in a little side action. Initial research confirms his backstory and his potential current influence. All we have to do tonight is have a face-to-face to check his bona fides, determine his utility going forward, and show him that Silence is actually connected to the American money he desperately wants to get his hands on.”

  Carpenter leaned in to insert himself in the conversation. “He can tie Bagdad to the ongoing insurgency. He’s one of the principal money brokers in the city. If we lock him down, the customer will have the political leverage to expose Iran and isolate them even further. We need...”

  “Hold on, Silence.” Baker nudged him with an elbow. “Let’s not plan our book deal yet.” Smoke and Shadow snickered. Carpenter sat back, annoyed. “This guy could be fantastic, or he could be useless. We’ll take it slow and see where it goes. No worries.”

  “What’s the potential opposition?” Trent asked without looking away from the street.

  “It’s minimal, based on my surveillance.” Carpenter went back to looking out the window. “Popanjar prefers privacy to protection.”

  “Why?” Chu spoke up for the first time. “Hawaladars often sit on substantial amounts of collateral, and their connection to the opposition makes them prime targets for guys like us.” He swerved the Humvee around a pair of motorcycles. Shadow tensed for a moment, ready to return fire if the men drew weapons. They didn’t.
r />   Chu continued. “All the hawaladars I knew about on Java had some level of security. It would be weird for Popanjar to not have any at all.”

  Carpenter shook his head without turning away from the window. “Some of his personal tastes don’t lend themselves to extensive interactions with his Muslim brothers.”

  “What kind of personal tastes are we talking about?” Chu asked with a glance into the rearview mirror at them.

  “Sorry, Smoke.” Carpenter grinned. “He doesn’t like men, so I’m afraid you don’t have a shot with him.”

  Chu didn’t share his mirth. He directed his next statement at Baker, slowing down to let traffic pass them at an intersection. Trent was coiled like a cat, ready to lash out in any direction. “What are we getting into, Ghost? Is Trident authorized to recruit potential sexual liabilities in this op?”

  Carpenter snapped before Baker could answer. “You’ve got a lot of balls, fucker! You know we’re not going to get any operational intel from saints and soccer moms! If we’re gonna do our jobs, we have to go where the action is and talk to the people who might not be your version of acceptable. Just because it’s OK for you to suck dick now doesn’t give you the right to look down on my asset!”