The Operative

building and a van drawing into the crowded drive bore a sign on its side advertising ‘Event Productions Fireworks’. In among all this and surrounding the building were dozens of security guards and the ever-present suited thugs watching all. Several of them stood on the first-floor balconies that surrounded the building, from where they could survey the scene.

Stratton walked back to the cab of the pick-up and dug into his pack for the overalls he had bought in the army-surplus store days before. He pulled them on and filled the pockets with long nylon zip-ties. In a side pouch of his pack he dug out bits and pieces of facial disguises from his first day’s shopping in LA and put on a pair of glasses. His face was already darkened by several days’ growth of facial hair. The last item was his baseball cap which he pulled down low over his forehead before walking around to the back of the pick-up, unhitching the cherry-picker and loading all the sandwich boxes onto the mobile platform itself.

The rig pushed along easily on its four wheels. Stratton waited for a break in the traffic before crossing the intersection to the corner of the square where a metal lamp-post stood, a banner hanging from its top celebrating the opening of LA’s newest and most exciting business centre.

The platform was sturdy enough to be raised without stabilisers as long as it was moved directly up and down. Stratton climbed aboard and pushed the up lever. The system, which was electrically operated and would last for hours before it needed recharging, jerked into action as the hydraulic pumps hissed and the platform hummed skywards. He toggled the ascent lever on and off, getting used to the controls.

Stratton took a moment to look at the goings-on from his vantage point. His first observation was that every entrance of the pyramid was guarded by at least three guards and all personnel going into the building – florists, waiters, event staff – were directed to the main entrance only. Here they were searched by hand as well as by metal detector.

Stratton’s thoughts had never strayed far from Josh since the day he’d arrived in LA. His heart suddenly began to ache as he wondered where the little boy might be at that moment and how he was being treated. If the Albanians’ history was anything to go by they would care little for his well-being and there was no doubt in Stratton’s mind that they aimed to kill him eventually – if, heaven forbid, he was not dead already. Josh was insignificant to them and simply a possible means to an end. Life had no value to those animals other than the pain its loss caused others. He doubted that the boy was being kept in the office building since that would be stupid and Skender was anything but that.

Stratton had at one time considered attacking Skender’s home, not that he expected Josh to be there either, but had decided against it because the place would be well protected and it would be difficult to guarantee when the man himself would be in. In many ways the office building was an easier target because of its size and the amount of traffic in and out of it. But the main reason for going after it was that it embodied everything Skender was attempting to do in America: his change from drug, arms and human trafficker to legitimate businessman. The edifice was more than a symbol and headquarters of his new empire, it was a homage to himself, to his own vast ego. Most absurdly, it was meant as a snub to the civilised, to those who for centuries had pursued justice, who had fought against wrong for what was plainly right. Stratton was going to hit Skender where he believed it would hurt most and, more importantly, impress upon him that there were lines that he could not cross with impunity, that a single human life had a value, and that, despite a corrupt bureaucratic and judicial system, one man could make a difference.

Stratton picked up the first sandwich box, removed it from its cardboard container, attached the loose wire to the battery and then, using a couple of the zip-ties, fastened it securely to the top of the lamp-post. He adjusted it so that the face with the ball-bearings packed beneath it was aimed squarely at the building.

The operation took less than a minute, once he got started. On completion he toggled the descent lever, climbed off the plat-form as it came to a final stop and pushed the cherry-picker along the street, conveniently cleared of cars for the event, to the next lamp-post.

By the third installation Stratton had the working of the plat-form down pat and was able to increase the speed of attaching the claymores. It took a little over two hours to arm all thirty-two lamp-posts that surrounded the building. He did this without drawing any attention from the several cop cars that passed. Even a security guard who watched him for several minutes as he prepped the lamp-posts in front of the driveway entrance obviously wasn’t suspicious.

On completion of the final claymore installation Stratton crossed the road back to the pick-up and pushed the platform in to the kerb behind it.

The pick-up was a concern to him: he needed to take it some-where soon and abandon it. But the next phase of the operation weighed heavier on his mind. His original plan had been to get inside the building as a contractor. The file he had taken from the engineer’s car revealed that a cable company had yet to wire in an audio/visual system and Stratton had contemplated posing as a technician. But that would have meant making an appointment and there was the risk that if his credentials were checked he could find himself in a trap. Stratton was once more contemplating the prospects of postponing the operation until he could come up with a new idea but more delay meant more suffering for Josh. His anxiety level rose in proportion to his frustration.

A car screeched to a halt behind the platform and Stratton spun around, adrenalin pumping. It was a beat-up old Lincoln town car and the driver’s door burst open as a young black guy pulled himself out. He was wearing a red waistcoat, white shirt and black slacks, the same uniform worn by the dozens of staff in attendance at Skender’s building. Stratton instantly saw a way through his dilemma.

As the man slammed his car door and hurried towards Stratton to pass him by, Stratton jumped out in front of him with his hands up as if he was a basketball referee stopping play. ‘Hey, hey, wait up, wait up,’ Stratton said.

‘What?’ the man said in surprise, adjusting his forward momentum to move around Stratton. ‘Outta my way, man. I’m late for work.’

‘No, wait. Just one minute. One minute,’ Stratton said, shuffling backwards to keep in front of him. ‘I’ll make it worth your while,’ he said in an American twang, not wanting to confuse the issue further by appearing to be a foreigner.

‘What’s your problem, man?’ the black man said, slowing a little. ‘I gotta get to work.’

‘How much you getting paid for this gig?’ Stratton asked, his accent now the Southern slur that he seemed to feel more comfortable with.

‘What?’ the man said, bemused by the question. But the lure of easy money was powerful and even anindirect hint of it could shift a person’s focus.

‘You’re part of the catering staff for this opening ceremony behind me, right? How much you getting paid?’ Stratton asked. ‘I’ll pay you what you’re getting just for telling me.’

The offer, although bizarre, blunted the man’s enthusiasm to get away quite so quickly. He took a longer look at Stratton. ‘Say what?’

‘Tell me how much you’re getting paid and I’ll pay you the same, right now, right here.’

The temptation then gave way to suspicion since the man had been brought up to know that there was easy money and then there was too-easy money. ‘You a crazy motherfucker?’

‘I’m not crazy. I’ll prove it. How much are you getting paid?’

The man looked Stratton up and down, knowing there was only one way to finish this conversation. ‘Hunnerd and fifty bucks.’

‘Hundred and fifty?’

‘That’s what I said. Let’s see the money, then,’ he said with a contemptuous, doubting smirk.

Stratton reached into his back pocket, took out a wedge of bills, counted a hundred and fifty and handed them to the man who was frankly stunned. ‘You sure you ain’t crazy?’ he asked.

‘Not at all,’ Stratton said. ‘How would you like to earn another five hundred? In fact, make that a thousand.’

‘What?’

‘You heard what I said.’

‘What I gotta do, kill some motherfucker?’

‘Nope. Nothing illegal. Just a favour.’

‘What favour?’

‘See that platform? I need you to take it back to the place I hired it from, drop it off, and that’s it.’

‘Take that back to the hire company?’ the black man said, glancing at the platform.