1. One For The Money, Two For The Show...
"What if he doesn't talk?"
Two teenagers walked down a street in Bilbao, their lazy stroll projecting an air of calm. Moonlight guided their journey as the stars twinkled above them, the crisp winter's night air biting at exposed skin as they navigated the dim paths. The hoods of their sweaters were pulled up and their hands buried deep into their pockets, though this wasn't an uncommon sight for one o'clock on a January morning. A dark rucksack adorned each boy's back and they talked back and forth to each other in Basque; their hushed tones the only noise following the pair.
"He will."
Outwardly both appeared confident, but in reality only one was as calm as he appeared. If it wasn't for the Walther P99 he had shoved down the back of his jeans or the balaclava stuffed into the pocket of his hoody, he may well have been taking a trip down to the local corner shop for some milk.
"And what if he doesn't? They're moving in less than four hours and I really don't want to have the death of thousands on my conscience. I mean what if he doesn't tell us where they're stashing all the gear, or where they're moving to, or..."
On the other hand, the second boy, the younger of the two, was a jumble of nerves. His heart was going nineteen to the dozen and the verbal diarrhoea erupting from his mouth would be enough to piss off even the most collected of agents. Fortunately, the one he was with knew exactly how to deal with this; he just let him talk. The flow continued until the boy realised he wasn't being listened to.
"...saw enough fucking explosive to level an entire block. Shit, what if that's what they're planning? Lu? For fuck's sake Lu, are you even listening to me?"
"Nope," came the blunt reply, "But Rafa, please tell me you're gonna snap to once things start kicking off."
"Oh, yeah," the smaller boy replied, nodding his head, "I'll be fine. Just pre-game nerves, y'know? Like you get before a big football match. I'll be fine once the whistle blows, just I like to talk it out a bit."
"Good, so you can calm the fuck down. He'll talk, trust me. There's a reason he's only part of the logistics team; dude's softer than fucking marshmallow. He wants to aid their noble cause but is too much of a pussy to get his hands dirty so sticks to sorting out their housing and storage. Won't take more than five minutes, entry to exit."
With that, silence descended between the two make-believe brothers. Lu and Rafa, full names Luis Fernando Rodriguez and Rafael Abalos, had been in Bilbao for a little over four weeks and were now at the business end of their mission – trying to prevent an all-out war between the Basque nation and the Spanish Main it was trying to separate from.
The two boys, sixteen and fifteen years old respectively, had moved into a low-income area of the city with a Spanish Centro Nacional de Inteligencia agent posing as their mother four weeks ago. In that time they had successfully infiltrated Euskadi Ta Askatasuna, a terrorist organisation that was the driving force behind the impending violence. With a death toll nearing five-figures, the Spanish government wanted a solution to the problem and CHERUB had stepped in.
The silence continued until they ducked into an alley between two rows of houses. Tiny gardens backed onto the alley and as they made their way down it they pulled the balaclavas out of their pockets and slipped them on over their heads, adjusting them until they were comfortable. The two boys easily identified their target house and silently clambered over the four-foot wooden fence that served as a wall for the alley.
The garden they dropped into was entirely covered with a mosaic of broken and crumbling patio slabs and two bikes leaned up against a tiny shed that was tilting precariously to one side. Creeping up to the backdoor each boy pulled out his pistol, ensuring the silencer was correctly attached and ammunition properly loaded. Luis dug into his rucksack and pulled out a small lock-gun, a handheld device specifically designed to quickly and easily pick simple locks.
"Remember, we only talk in Spanish. No Basque."
The lock clicked as Luis deftly worked the lock-gun, slowly pushing the door open, minimising any squeaking the old and rusty hinges gave off. The two boys moved carefully into the house, Rafael pulling the door closed behind him, and they began sweeping through the ground floor.
Finding the ground floor clear, they proceeded upstairs. Knowing that their target didn't have any immediate family – no wife, girlfriend or kids – it was unlikely there should be anyone else home, but their training forced them to check anyway. Encountering nobody else they arrived at the doorway of the only room not yet visited.
I'll hold, you silence. Luis acted out what he wanted to communicate to Rafael, not risking speaking this close to the man they were about to jump. The younger boy nodded in response, a steely determination in his eye having replaced the butterflies in his stomach from minutes earlier.
Luis gently lowered the handle on the door, silently swinging it open as the two crept into the almost pitch black bedroom. The single window had black-out curtains strung over it, but the two boys' eyes had acclimatised to the darkness throughout the house so their night-vision was as good as it got. Faint light also spilled in through the open doorway allowing them to easily identify the sleeping mass piled underneath a duvet to the left-hand side of a double bed.
Rafael picked up a discarded t-shirt from the floor and snuck around to the left side of the bed, Luis following right behind him. The two exchanged nods as the younger boy held up three fingers, silently counting down. As the final finger fell the two sprang forward, Rafael shoving the t-shirt into the sleeping man's mouth while Luis leapt onto him, his heavier bodyweight effectively restraining the terrified mass underneath him.
As Rafael crammed as much of the t-shirt into the man's mouth as he could get, Luis gently pressed the tip of his gun against the man's temple.
"Hello Marcelo." The man's eyes grew even wider as terror gripped him, "We need to have a little chat. Unfortunately, for that to happen, we need to take this out of your mouth, don't we?" Luis used the barrel of his gun to nudge the t-shirt crammed into the man's mouth. He left it pointing at the t-shirt as he continued speaking, "Now, when I remove this, you must promise not to scream like a girl, otherwise I might have to put another hole in your head, you understand?"
A shaky nod was Luis' response, and so Rafael pulled the t-shirt from the man's mouth.
"Who-" Marcelo started to speak but Luis lashed out with his hand, smashing his face with the butt of his gun.
"I thought I told you not to squeal?" growled Luis, grinding the barrel of his gun back into Marcelo's temple, "That is what I said, isn't it?"
A soft whimper emanated from Marcelo as Rafael leaned in to his face, "That is what he said, Marcelo, you should be happy he didn't just put a bullet in your skull. I know I almost did."
Luis grabbed the man by the scruff of the tatty shirt he was wearing, dragging him up from where he had fallen and pushing him down into the centre of the bed, "Now, you must understand that you will only speak when I ask you to. Is that clear?"
Marcelo was way too scared to risk speaking again after such an ambiguous and obvious trap question. Instead, the response he gave was somewhere between a squeak and a whine, accompanied with furious nodding of the head.
"Good. Now, you are Marcelo Feliciano, aren't you?"
"You can speak this time," laughed Rafael as the man nodded again.
"Yes," Marcelo finally spluttered, blood spitting from his mouth from where Luis had pistol-whipped him, "I am."
"Excellent, that's what we like to hear," replied Luis, encouragingly, "Now, we only have a few questions. Firstly, you are part of the ETA, yes?"
Silence descended, as Marcelo furiously tried to figure out the best way to respond to the question and reduce any pain that would be coming his way. Unfortunately, he waited too long and was rewarded with another hit to the face with the butt of Luis' gun.
"You really should answer his questions," Rafael added, "It will save you a lot of pain."
"I-I am part of the ETA, yes," Marcelo finally replied, spitting up blood onto the sheets, "But I've never hurt anyone! I've never even held a gun, I don't do any of that, please... You must believe me, please..." Marcelo was on the verge of sobbing as tears welled in his eyes.
"Oh, we can believe that," Luis grinned, pushing the gun against his temple so that it forced his head around and into the pillow, "But if you aren't part of the militia and you're not part of the political party..."
"Trust us, you aren't, we checked," added Rafael, poking Marcelo's nose with the barrel of his gun to emphasise his point.
"...then what are you a part of?" Luis continued, "Oh, that's right. Logistics. Organisation. That's what you do, isn't it? You make sure all the members you're responsible for are housed safely and securely, don't you? And one more thing... Oh shit, what is it again?"
"Weapons."
"Ah, that's it! You help organise where all the weapons and vehicles are stashed, don't you?"
"No, I have no idea what you're talking about, please..." whimpered Marcelo, bringing his hands up to his face, "Please don't hit me again... Please..."
Sobs were racking his body now as tears flowed down his face, mingling with the blood coming from his mouth and the small cuts around his face.
"Oh, I don't think I'm going to hit you again." Luis shook his head before turning to Rafael, "Get the lights." The younger boy nodded before he walked across the room and flicked the light switch, activating the dim, shade-less bulb in the centre of the ceiling, harshly illuminating the room.
The light picked out a man in his late twenties, curled up on the bed with streak marks from his eyes and blood spilling out of his mouth and down his chin, staining the pale blue sheets of his bed linen. His dark hair was dishevelled and poked out in random directions, the pale t-shirt in which he slept was already dirty to begin with but now it had added streaks of blood to the collection.
As Luis pulled the gun away from the man's temple, Rafael brought his up and pressed it firmly into his forehead, ensuring he always felt the steely touch of a pistol. Luis reached down to his leg and pulled the bottom of his jeans up slightly, exposing a knife strapped to his calf. He pulled it from his sheath and held it in front of Marcelo's face, twisting it so it caught the light.
"I imagine you've seen one of these before," started Luis, "There must have been enough of them come through with the deliveries. Personally, I love them, combat knives, they're so versatile. The tip, great for stabbing, very sharp." As he spoke he lightly pressed the tip into the exposed arm of the man lying beneath him, drawing a small drop of blood, "This edge, very fine, great for slicing," Luis drew the edge of the blade across the man's arm, causing a shallow gash that oozed red and produced a sob from Marcelo, "But this edge, the serrated edge, this is my favourite. Do you know why? It's great for sawing."
As Luis made to bring the blade towards Marcelo again, he sobbed heavily and cried out, "Oh, God, please no! Stop! I will tell you... Everything, just please... Do not hurt me anymore..."
"Good decision, Marcelo," added Rafael, "You tell us what we need to know and you don't have to suffer any more pain. It's a win-win!"
"Exactly," nodded Luis, "All you have to do is answer our questions and I promise there'll be no more pain. So, you have been handling weapons shipments for ETA, haven't you?"
"Y-yes."
"Good. And all of these weapons have to end up somewhere, like some sort of storage area, don't they?"
"Yes. We can't just keep them around the house."
Luis and Rafael both let out low chuckles as the elder boy spoke again, "Exactly. You're doing well, Marcelo, just one more question now. So where is this storage area, this stockpile of weapons?" The man was silent again as his brain worked overtime, "Don't make me use the knife again, Marcelo."
"No!" he squealed, "Please, I was just thinking... we have a few stockpiles."
"Oh, a few?" commented Rafael, "ETA has been busy, haven't they?"
"There are a few places we store weapons, but there is one main area."
"And, where might that be, Marcelo?" Luis asked, taking his combat knife and pressing the flat of the blade against the man's cheek.
"At the port." Marcelo squirmed, trying to rid his cheek of the blade's touch, but it followed him. "There's a cargo ship there, the Euskaldunak, all the weapons are stored in containers aboard that ship."
"Ah, naming it after the Basque people," Luis chuckled, amused. The name of the ship, when translated, literally meant 'the speakers of the Basque language'. "A nice touch."
"You speak Basque?" Marcelo was shocked, as the conversation up to this point had taken place entirely in Spanish.
"Shh," Luis brought the knife off of Marcelo"s cheek and placed it across his lips, bringing his gun up to the side of the man's head. He muttered the final three words of the man's life in Basque, "Don't tell anyone."
There was a soft *PLIP* as Luis pulled the trigger of his weapon, the silencer on his gun masking all but the smallest of sounds as it fired a round into Marcelo's temple, killing him instantly. Blood burst from the entry wound, splashing up and around the pillow, but it was the other side that caused the most mess. When someone inevitably found the body and went to move it, the right side of Marcelo's head would be a mixture of brain matter and shattered skull, the bullet having caused much more destruction on its exit than entry.
"Harsh," commented Rafael as he stood up from the bed, straightening out his hoody and inspecting it for blood.
"We don't need him alerting anyone the minute we're out the door."
"Could have knocked him out and tied him up. Much less messy."
"And risk him waking up at some point?" Luis shot back. Even through the balaclava the gaze on the elder boy's face was intense, almost scary, "Besides, that fuck deserved it. Starting shit in his own country, pitting his own people against each other..."
Luis let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished, as they descended the stairs and retraced their steps towards the back door. Although Rafael had only begun to interact personally with Luis for a little over six months, he knew enough about him to not push the issue. Instead, he focused on the developing mission.
"So how are we getting to the Port? We're down in fucking San Ignacio of all places, it's over ten kilometres from here, we'll never make it in time." Rafael's mind clicked into gear as they stepped out of the backdoor and gently pulled it shut behind them, "Of course, we can steal a car! Little bit of grand theft auto never hurt anyone. Plus, we just killed a dude, so I guess we might as well add that to our list for tonight."
"No." Luis shook his head slowly, "We don't need to risk that, we've still got over three hours 'til they're on the move and we can't afford the extra attention. We're taking those."
Rafael followed where Luis was looking as he pulled off his balaclava before gazing back at him with an exasperated look on his face, "Fucking bikes? You serious Lu?"
"Serious as a heart attack. Move it, Rafa, the quicker we get there the better."
"Which is why we should be taking a car," the younger boy huffed as he grabbed one of the bikes.
Luis hopped the fence and Rafael passed the two bikes over to him, trying to make as little noise as possible. The two boys wheeled the bikes out of the tight alley before hopping on to them and setting off at a furious pace towards the port in the northern part of town.
They covered the eleven or so kilometres to the port in just over half an hour, pedalling the bikes as fast as they could to give themselves as much time as possible at the other end. As they rode up the main carriageway that ran parallel with the dockyards, they spotted the ship easily.
"You reckon that's it?" Rafael asked as the two boys pulled their bikes to a stop.
"Without a doubt. Name's on the side."
Rafael's eyes scanned the rusting hull of the ship before they came to rest on a set of large white block captials, "Euskaldunak. That's our baby. Doesn't look like it's moved in years, the damn thing's near on falling apart."
"They don't need it to move. Just a big storage area hiding in plain fucking sight. Besides, as soon as that left Basque waters it would have so many Spanish officials crawling all over it searching the damn thing, it would look like an ant's nest."
"Which begs the question, how the fuck has ETA managed to smuggle all their weaponry into Basque country?"
"That's not our problem. We just need to make sure we destroy as much of it as possible before another civil war explodes on this shithole continent."
Rafael was a little surprised at the harsh edges to Luis' tone, but he couldn't really argue with the older boy; it seemed as though the world was unravelling at the seams lately, and anything they could do to stop the rot would go a long way.
"So how we gonna do this?"
"First, we've got to dump these bikes."
A five minute detour into a housing estate rid the two boys of the bikes and they were soon strolling back down the road bordering the port. Their heads might have been buried deep inside the hoods of their tops, but their eyes constantly scanned into the dockyard. They walked for another ten minutes, picking out every detail they could. Suddenly, Luis nudged Rafael's arm as he bent down and fiddled with his shoe, pretending to fix his laces.
"You see what I'm seeing?"
"There's security fucking everywhere, no way we're gonna just stroll in the front gate and peel off from there."
"Exactly. We need to get off this road, way too many cars rolling past, even at this time."
"There's a junction another five minutes up the road. Break off there and find a spot to jump the fence?"
"Lead the way Rafa."
Rafael led the two of them at a brisk pace further on up the road towards a large roundabout. A small road led into the port while the main road continued on past it, curving away from the compound. They dropped off of the pavement and started walking across the grass, passing the entrance and carrying on for another ten minutes, putting distance between themselves, the port entry and the main road.
"It's not exactly a big fence, is it?"
Rafael gently slowed his walk to a stop and turned to face Luis before glancing up at fence. Ten feet of chain-link topped with a few strands of barbed wire was all that separated them and the dockyards inside of the port.
"It's not like they really need it," shrugged Luis, "Guards with AK's tend to put off most trespassers." He hitched off his backpack and took off his jumper before looking back at Rafael, "Ready?"
The younger boy nodded, doing the same and removing his backpack and hoody as Luis began climbing the fence. The two boys laid their jumpers across the barbed wire when they got to the top, allowing them to easily roll over it and drop to the other side, snatching their tops back on the way down.
They sprinted to the nearest available cover, the start of a large collection of shipping containers, making their way deeper and deeper into the rows, staying in the shadows before they stopped and put their jumpers and rucksacks back on. Both boys removed their pistols from the back of their jeans and checked the silencers were still firmly attached before confirming a round was chambered.
"Let's fucking do this," Rafael grinned, as he pulled his balaclava back on, Luis doing the same, "Lead on, Reaper."
Luis let a smirk creep over his face at the mention of his nick-name. Luis Fernando Rodriguez, The Grim Reaper. It had a nice ring to it and he'd grown to appreciate the nick-name over the couple years it had been in use, even if Malakai still occasionally called him Bodycount.
They nodded to each other and Luis took point as they worked their way through the maze that was the stack of shipping containers. The inside of the arrangement was dead, but once they reached the edge and took a look across the open expanse of the rest of the port, they made out more than a dozen AK-47 toting guards.
"You think they're ETA?" asked Rafael as they retreated a few steps back around the corner of a container stack and out of sight.
"I'm not gonna be asking them, put it that way. Remember, if they spot us, aim two for centre-mass and finish with a head-shot when you're close enough to not miss."
"What if they've got Kevlar?"
"Still gonna knock the wind out of them. But let's hope it doesn't come to that."
Rafael nodded back at the older boy, calming his breathing before they stepped out and began to venture through the dockyard proper. The Euskaldunak was anchored out a little way across the bay with a thin access road leading out from the main land of the port and wrapping its way around the far side of the ship. A loading crane stood disused on the deck of the massive container ship and more freight containers were stacked on it, creating the appearance of a high-rise city skyline that was formed out of the dull coloured metal blocks.
To reach the access road they had to navigate back past the entrance, past the security buildings just inside of that and then across an open expanse of roadway that provided easy travel around the port. The two boys crept slowly and quietly through the warren of small hut-like buildings that comprised the security checkpoint near the entrance, deciding this was the lesser of two evils when compared to the open roadway. There might be a greater chance of bumping into someone here, but there were also a lot more shadows to stay hidden in.
Having made it to the far side of the little complex, they were still faced with more than five-hundred metres of open roadway between them and the access road leading down to the ship. Even if they somehow made it across the roadway without being seen, the access road leading out across the bay and towards the ship still contained zero cover for them to hide in.
"How the fuck are we getting across this," grumbled Rafael, his eyes scanning for a solution. It was a low mumble, more for his own benefit than anyone else's, "We'll be spotted the second someone looks our way. Could we swim for it? What about if we..."
"We're gonna drive."
While Rafael had been looking out across the small expanse of water between where they were hidden and the side of the boat, Luis had been retracing a few steps back into the small complex of buildings. He'd been back, figured out his plan and returned all without the younger agent knowing he was gone.
"Say what?" Rafael spluttered.
"Drive," repeated Luis, "There's a couple of jeeps parked up back by the main hut, we're gonna take one of them. It'll look just like a couple of guards doing the rounds and checking up on shit."
"You got a set of keys to go with this plan?"
"I will in two minutes," Luis replied, pulling off his balaclava and pushing it into the back pocket of his jeans, "Stay hidden; make your way to the jeeps when you hear one start up."
"Why do I have to stay hidden? And why have you taken your balaclava off?"
"Because if someone sees me walking around in a balaclava they'll definitely know something is up. Just stay hidden for two more minutes, Rafa."
As Rafael slunk back into the shadows of the compound, Luis casually strolled back towards the main security hut. It was a small two-storey affair made out of converted shipping containers, stacked on top of each other and connected by removing the doors at the ends of them. The bottom of the stack housed a small generator and doubled as a little supply room, while the top level of the stack contained a small office, reached by going up a metal staircase attached to the side of the containers.
There was nobody in sight as Luis walked lazily across the compound towards the light spilling out of the two small windows set into the side of the office container. He knew he was taking a giant risk, but they weren't going to be able to sneak across to the ship on foot, so this was the only viable option. He jacked his hood up and pulled it tight over his head as he reached the steps, shading his face slightly as he slipped the hand gripping his pistol into the front pocket of his hoody.
He walked lightly up the metal steps leading to the door, trying to cause as little noise as possible as his trainers rattled the staircase. Even so, there was enough noise to alert the two people inside the office and they were both turned to the door as Luis opened it and strode in.
"Sorry I'm late guys," Luis announced, in Basque, "You wouldn't believe the traffic out there, even at this time."
"What are you talking about?" one of the men replied, "Who are you?"
In the brief seconds between walking into the office and the little conversation Luis had scoped out every corner of the small room. There was one man sitting on a plastic chair behind a little desk pushed up to the side of the office and the other was standing to one side of it. There was a bunch of papers spread out across the desk and the two must have been studying them just before he came in.
Instead of words, Luis' reply was to quickly draw the pistol from the front pocket of his hoody, grasped in one hand as he spread his feet, settled his balance and fired. His first target was the man who was standing, as he was closer, providing more of a threat. The round left the gun with a soft *PLIP* smashing into the centre of the man's forehead. Even though Luis had told Rafael to aim for centre-mass, i.e. the chest, and then finish up with a head-shot from touching distance, he was automatic from this range, a little over five metres away, with no wind to speak of in the enclosed office.
Even before the first man had hit the floor, Luis was turning, the grip on the gun relaxed and easy, as if it were an extension of his body rather than a foreign object. There was just enough time for the man in the chair to begin rising as Luis fired, the bullet ripping through the dead centre of his face, throwing him backwards as it killed him.
Both men were dead before they knew it and Luis stepped around the rapidly expanding pools of blood as he searched for a set of keys to one of the three jeeps parked out in front of the stack. Within seconds he found what he was looking for; rings of keys hooked onto bits of metal protruding from the side of a notice board. He snatched the first set, taking note of the registration plate printed in small black letters above the hook and strolled back out of the office, hitting the lights as he went.
The jeeps looked like they were old army models, with open sides and canvas coverings, useful in a hot country when there was no air-con in the car. Luis identified the one that matched his set of keys and hopped in, starting up the engine. Within seconds Rafael had appeared at the other side of the car, climbing in and pulling his balaclava off.
"Much trouble?"
"Nope." Luis shook his head as he lightly gunned the engine and rolled the jeep out and through the complex onto the open roadway, "But we'll have to move quickly because I spilled some coffee."
"How many cups?"
"Just the two."
Rafael chuckled lightly to himself at their little exchange, "The Grim Reaper strikes again."
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Luis keeping the jeep at a normal pace to avoid arousing any extra attention and they reached the cargo ship in a few long minutes, stopping the jeep at the bottom of an access ramp leading up to the deck. The two boys got out and Luis yanked the keys from the ignition, the other hand snatching up the gun from the dashboard.
"Follow my lead," Luis told Rafael as they began up the ramp, "I've only seen one guard on the deck, but if you see any others, shoot first and ask questions later, got it?"
"Got it," nodded Rafael as they reached the top of the ramp. They emerged onto a deck filled with shipping containers, some stacked on top of others up to six high, while a few remained on their own.
Luis spotted the guard wandering along the deck around twenty metres away, his back to them as he strolled slowly, an AK-47 strung on a shoulder strap balanced in his hands across his chest.
"Hey!" Luis shouted in Basque to attract the guard's attention. He turned to face them, confusion showing on his face, "We're here to relieve you, got an early shift change, jeep's down by the ramp."
As Luis finished, he flung the set of keys towards the guard, lofting them up to make them easy to catch. When the guard's attention shifted to the keys in an attempt to snatch them, he brought his other hand up and fired off two quick shots to the man's body, knocking him down. The guard hit the deck before the keys reached him and they rattled with a metallic clink as they dropped onto the deck behind the downed man. He wore no body armour, but Luis took no chances and walked over to him, firing a round into the man's head, leaving no room for error.
Rafael watched with a mixture of fascination tinged with horror that was in turn drowned out by intrigue, similar to how he had reacted in the house with Marcelo. Rafael himself had killed two people while out on a mission, but they were in the middle of a fire fight with adrenalin coursing through his body, reacting more through instinct than anything else. The way Luis had calmly dispatched his fourth kill in the span of an hour intrigued him. He knew plenty of agents now that had killed on missions, but he knew many of them admitted that they thought about it much more than they let on.
Luis on the other hand, it didn't seem to affect him in any way at all. He was unfazed by the dead body at his feet and the pool of blood that seeped from it as he snatched the keys back up off the ground and turned towards Rafael. He wanted to ask him how he did it, but he knew that it was a conversation for another time and also that Luis never really liked to discuss details like that, especially with a new agent he had known properly for less than a year.
"We need to start searching these crates," Luis announced as he stepped back over the body and walked towards Rafael, "Make sure the weapons are actually on board."
"No time like the present," Rafael breathed as he turned to the nearest crate, raising the two levers that secured the door and twisting them, unhinging the locks. He pulled on the handles and the door swung slowly open, dimly revealing the contents.
"Jesus, Mary and motherfucking Joseph."