“Hot damn, son! You think just like I do. Now, there’s just one thing. Our commission. What sort of budget did you have in mind?”
“Two thousand U.S. dollars. Half now, half on completion of the mission.”
“Well.” The General scratched his pink, bald head. “That rules out air and naval support, not to mention armored columns, but it’s a start. My men can be ready immediately.”
“Speaking of your men, how many units do you command?”
“Three highly trained and battle-hardened Fire Teams. Each team consists of two men: one Fire Team Leader and one Private. Including me, the brigade’s total strength is seven elite and fearless warriors, but under fire, we fight like a hundred and seven.”
“Excellent. Are the men fit and well fed? Have they had their shots lately?”
“We haven’t had lunch yet, but my men can eat barbed wire and crap razor blades.”
“Nice party trick, but not relevant. Have their psych profiles been recently updated? I can’t risk anyone breaking under the pressure of interrogation if captured. Our mission is a dangerous one.”
“I can personally vouch for their mental fitness. Although we might want to keep an eye on Private Zulu.” The General cupped the receiver with his hand. “He’s a little slow on the uptake, not to mention the download, if you know what I mean.”
“Hey,” the perturbed Private Zulu said. “I can hear you. I’ve got feelings, too, you know?”
“Duly noted, General,” Avery replied. “How about undercover experience and language capabilities? We want to keep a low profile among the indigenous population.”
“Fire Team Leader Bravo speaks a little Russian. I had to a keep close watch on him in the early days, as I suspected he might be a Commie infiltrator, but he checked out pretty fine. Was the best man at me and my ex- wife’s wedding.”
“No Spanish?”
“All the boys speak a little Texican, plus a few Spanish swear words, but we do have an authentic, genuine phrase book in our intelligence center. Not exactly an Enigma machine, but it comes in pretty handy.”
“Not ideal, but bring it along anyway. What about transportation?”
“Only our private vehicles are available at the moment, mostly pickups. Our Humvees and helicopters are out being retrofitted with laser-guided rockets and new DVD players,” the General lied. Private Zulu rolled his eyes.
“Well,” Avery said. “Transportation is your problem, General. Acquire something suitable and inconspicuous. Something big enough to hold your men, my associate, and myself. The cost of the vehicle comes out of your end.”
“Hum,” the General muttered as he rubbed his chubby chin. “Okay, I’ll come up with something. You mentioned an associate. Does he have a code name, too?”
“Just call him moron.”
“Roger that.”
“General, how long before you can pick us up in Austin? We don’t have much time to stop this invasion.”
“We’ll expedite our load-out and leave this evening, hopefully by midnight. We’ll rendezvous at your base no later than ten hundred hours tomorrow morning.”
“Very well. Do you have something to write with?”
“Yes.”
“Take down these coordinates.”
“Excellent.” The General scribbled down Avery’s address on the cover of an old issue of
“General, don’t draw attention to yourself or your men. The agents in the black helicopters mean business. They’re probably armed with poison darts, most likely curare. It’s very nasty stuff. If captured, commit suicide. It’s less painful for you, and it covers my tracks. But once we’re across the border, we should be safe.”
“Outstanding, but just one question. What’s the mission name?”
“Name?”
“To be called, or rather, coded. As you mentioned, the landscape is fraught with interlopers and spies. We need a code name. All the best operations have one.”
“How about…?” Avery thought for a moment. “Operation Alpine Condensation?”
“Agent 00Zero, with all due respect, it sounds like something a Volkswagen gets at high altitude.”
“Operation Banana Hammer?”
“Best suited for Central America.”
“Operation Matador?”
“Getting warmer, I think.”
“Operation Broken Donkey?”
“I don’t much care for animals.”
“Me neither. Operation Open Wound?”
“Interesting, but disgusting.”
“General, I don’t give two shits, wait, wait for it, make that three shits, what you call it. Are you in or are you out? I have SEAL Team Six on standby, if you’re incapable.”
“In, we’re definitely in! But my men need leadership, and leadership means showing them the path before they walk down it. You can’t keep the map to yourself. You have to give your subordinates an idea of where they’re headed, for the sake of morale, even if it’s off a cliff. Esprit de corps is the deciding factor in most engagements. I beg you. The name of the mission is critical.”
“General, we don’t have time for this. Jesus Christ, do you want to bring in focus groups and do surveys, maybe a media consultant? If so, you’re paying for it.”
“Of course not. Agent, may I be so bold as to suggest a name for our mission?”
“Will it get you moving any quicker?”
“Yes.”
“Then go ahead.”
“Operation Mexican Shadow. We’ll be in and out before anyone notices.”
“Whatever, fine. Now assemble your men and anything you need, and get the hell to Austin!”
“Agent 00Zero,” the General said as tears welled in his eyes. “Thank you for this opportunity. STRAC-BOM won’t let you down.”
“Well, see that you don’t. Good day, General.”
The phone line went dead. The General hung up and called for his men to reassemble in the main room.
“Boys!” the General announced proudly as he strapped his pistols back around his bloated waist. “We’re back in business. Call in sick for the next few days — we’ve got new orders.”
“What about being bust-ass broke?” Fire Team Leader Alpha asked.
“We have a new benefactor, one with money. Now I know Operation Gold Miner didn’t exactly go as planned, but we’ve been given another shot. The only catch is we’re going to have company this time. Two civilians willing to pay for our services.”
“Don’t that make us like mercenaries, General?” Private Foxtrot asked.
“No, it just means we’re employed.”
“With benefits?” Private Foxtrot asked hopefully. “’Cause this back tooth of mine has been leaking puss like crazy.”
“No benefits!” the General shouted. “It’s contract work. Now pull your crap together, men. It’s time to get frosty. Fire Team Leader Charlie!”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“Take your private and requisition some transportation big enough for seven men, plus two.”
“Requisition?” the Team Leader asked. “You mean, like, rent something? I thought we were out of cash.”
“No. Steal something. Private Zulu’s only real value is that he can hotwire anything. Isn’t that right, Private?”
