Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

Stamopolis sat beside Sykes, carving a piece of wood he had picked up at the Congo stop.

The wheels hit hard and they all grabbed the bench sides to keep from being thrown forward as Benjamin threw the twin props into reverse pitch. The wood and knife in the Greek’s hands vanished into a pocket, to be replaced with his assault rifle. Sykes pulled on his own night goggles. He checked his rifle and moved to crouch at the cargo entrance. His partners followed suit. The two Filipino kickers stood by the rear doors, waiting for a signal from Sykes to open them.

The events of the warhead theft and the speed of their escape had robbed Sykes of essential planning time. Because the job was contracted on such short notice, details for final receipt of goods had not been fully discussed. Details Sykes hoped the American pilot could supply him with were denied. The only information Benjamin possessed were these landing coordinates. What waited on the other side of the doors, Sykes had no idea. Visions of the Russians and Burghoff, their bodies spinning, broken and torn, into the bay, were still fresh in his memory. He gripped his assault rifle tighter and nodded to the two kickers. Both cargo doors were undogged and thrown open. Poised to jump, Sykes checked himself just in time. Harsh white light flooded the cargo bay through the open doors and uncovered windows that lined the sides of the fuselage. The sensitive optics in his night goggles were blinded. Sykes flipped the useless optics up, blinking rapidly, swearing inwardly as he tried to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. His heart hammered against the inside of his chest at the closeness of the last call. Verkatt had robbed him of his first plan, to dive out of the open cargo doors into the darkness and then assess the situation from a position of stealth.

“Mr. Sykes, so good of you to finally arrive.” Even through a bullhorn, Sykes knew that voice. The arrogance of Andrew Verkatt was a palpable thing.

“I’m here Verkatt, with your cargo. Kill that light and then we talk.” The light went out. Everything plunged back into darkness. Sykes flipped his goggles back into position. The violent changes of light and dark gave him a headache. He yelled out the open doors. “Our pay, the other provisions, have all been made?”

“But of course. The money has been transferred to Swiss accounts in your new identities. I also have your new passports. I am an honorable man of business, after all.”

“I doubt Burghoff and the Russians feel the same way.” Sykes grabbed the cabin intercom headset hanging close by. “What do you see, Benjamin?”

“Not much. Looks like it’s just Verkatt, a couple of men and a big truck.”

Sykes looked back at his two partners. “Benjamin, I’m going out there to talk to Verkatt. Do you have enough room to get out of here if you have to?”

“It’s not going to happen, man. I’m at the end of the strip now. I’ve gotta turn this bitch around to get out of here. Besides, there’s not enough fuel left to get us anywhere.” Benjamin leaned his head back against his pilot’s chair. “You think he’s going to try something?”

“At this stage in the game, I don’t know. You can’t see any more than Verkatt and two men?”

“Even with the goggles, it’s pretty dark out there.”

Sykes looked at Stamopolis. “If he kills me, you shoot the hell out of those crates.”

Stamopolis grabbed Sykes’s arm. “Don’t do anything rash, my friend. We will be waiting.”

Sykes gripped Petros’s forearm in return and grinned. “You worry too much. Back in a flash.”

Verkatt barely saw Sykes’s camouflaged form slide out the door of the transport and walk towards him. The harbor thug beside him moved his hand to the holstered revolver on his hip and looked expectantly at his boss. Verkatt shook his head and lowered the bull horn from his face. Frustrated, the man moved his hand away from the gun. As Sykes got closer, Verkatt could see that he was armed and wearing night goggles.

Sykes eyed the man beside the South African and positioned himself so that he could cover the two of them with his rifle. “You lied to us, Verkatt.” The accusation hung in the air between them.

“Mr. Sykes, after all of the business transactions we’ve conducted, I’m shocked at your accusation. In what way did I ever lie to you? All I ever wished to keep my identity and involvement in all of this a secret from certain governments. You knowing what you were smuggling was not in anyone’s best interests.”

Sykes chuckled, low and dangerous. “You’ve got that right. If I find out you’ve sold these to the Hadjis or anyone like them. I’ll be back to slot you myself.” One of Verkatt’s thugs started forward at the threat. Sykes pointed his assault rifle at the man’s chest. “Don’t be stupid. Keep your hands where I can see them.” The goggles turned back to Verkatt. “The same goes for you, Andrew. In case you have any ideas about shooting me in the back, my partners will shoot into the cargo. I have no idea what will happen if it comes to that, but one would guess, nothing good.”

Verkatt held his hands out from his sides. “Mr. Sykes, your lack of trust amazes me. I assure you, these devices are not destined for the Middle East or any of their proxy. Are all mercenaries as paranoid as you?”

“Just the ones who are still alive.” Sykes watched the green-white moon of Verkatt’s face for any inkling of what would come next.

Verkatt shook his head. “For the money I am paying you, I trust you will be discreet about these devices. It would be bad for all involved, myself included, if certain knowledge made it into the wrong hands now.”

“Discreet is my middle name. The papers?”

“Of course.” Verkatt extracted a heavy-looking manila envelope from his briefcase and handed it over.

Sykes checked its heft and took a step back. “You have more men than this?”

“Two more.”

“Get them to back the truck to the side of the plane. They’ll need the hoist. These things are heavy for their size.”

Verkatt turned to the still-immobile helper beside him. “You heard the man. Get the others and unload the aircraft.”

Through the goggles, Sykes saw the brief look of hatred in the man’s eyes. “I would watch that one if I were you.”

“Mind your own business, Mr. Sykes. This is my country, not yours. They expect nothing less from the likes of me.”

“We need fuel.”

Verkatt was dismissive. “The American knows where it is.” The truck beside him rumbled to life. “Mister Sykes, I would love to stand and chat all night but, as they say, time is money and you are a day late.” The truck started to back up towards the plane. Sykes walked backwards, keeping a careful pace. A few feet from the aircraft, the driver stopped long enough to let the other two helpers climb into the DC-3. Sykes stuck his head around the door to give Petros and Reoum a thumbs up. He moved around to the front of the truck to keep an eye on the driver.

The driver sat in the cab, smoking a cigarette. Sykes put the barrel of his rifle at the man’s throat and released the safety. “Put that bloody thing out, you idiot.” The offending cigarette was stubbed out with a shaking hand.

Sykes moved back beside Verkkatt.

It took forty minutes to transfer the cargo. It was a much different load from the usual guns or drugs. A thump on the back of the cab was the signal that all was finished. The driver restarted the truck and pulled away a short distance. Verkatt’s two other men jumped out of the DC-3, lifted the tailgate into place and climbed in the back.

Verkatt turned to Sykes and held out his hand. “A pleasure doing business, Mister Sykes.”

Sykes did not take it and, after a moment, the meaty paw was lowered and wiped on Verkatt’s pant leg.