The Concert

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previously on The Concert: I usher both HLS agents—I'm gonna call them Smith and Jones for this op, they like that shit—back into the conference room and shut the door. This conference room is, well, discreet. Covert even...

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Chapter 8 The Plan [Boss, what plan?]

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Agent Jones

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Earlier today we worked with Carlos Manoso and Rangeman to coordinate the takedown of suspected terrorist Abdullah bin Hasheed. I sat with my colleague from Homeland Security, Agent Nathan "Smith". Manoso has decided to call us Smith and Jones—his only hint of humor thus far. Ha ha, see me laughing?—And around the conference table was an array of Manoso's usual thugs and misfits. Manoso himself sat silent and affectless while a tattooed young white kid called Vince read us the latest intell off his laptop.

"We have confirmed information that bin Hasheed has requested and been granted extended accrued vacation time from his place of employment."

Rangeman guys always did military/ cop speak—he couldn't just say: took time off from his job?

I said, "Still inconclusive."

Vince glanced at me, continued. "As you may know, in the NY/NJ metro area, concert venues require paper tickets. E-tix and on-line printouts are not acceptable here. bin Hasheed's concert ticket was delivered to him Monday via FedEx."

"So—okay, " I conceded.

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And now here we are. Project Stop the Asshole is a go tonight. I stood on the sidelines and watched Manoso and his hulking XO make a methodical circumnav' of the arena floor. From my vantage point I could see the empty twelfth row seat belonging to bin Hasheed and I picked out a few of Ranger's men in seats nearby.

Better them than me.

Surprisingly Manoso caused little reaction in the audience. I had figured it would be hard to blend when you look like that and are shadowed by a 6' 6"/ 275 pound guy who looks like that. The darkness of the room against the bright stage spotlights helped disguise Manoso's face as did the black Yankees hat, and only a few young women did double takes and tripped over their own silly feet. Maybe, well, a couple dozen or so...

Now Manoso and Tank slid up next to me and Smith. Manoso shrugged. "Nothing, nada."

"Nothing! We have a national security matter here!"

"Good for you," deadpanned Manoso.

"Hello? Mad terrorist bomber? Armageddon?"

"And?"

Smith intervened before I could pull my Beretta and shoot this jerk. Smith shouldered me aside and said, "What's your contingency plan, sir?"

Manoso raised an eyebrow. "Contingency plan?"

Tank spoke. "We're gonna hang out in the lobby and look for a demented guy with crazy eyes, dressed in a big winter puffer parka."

"That's it? But—your backup plan? You must have a backup plan."

Tank smiled. Scary. He said, "No, we don't have a backup plan. This is it."

I shoved Smith out of my way and yelled, "You're out of your fucking minds."

"Fifty kilos of C4 and whatever he can carry of the additional 150 kilos of dynamite aren't easy to hide, Agent Jones. We discussed this exhaustively at a prior briefing." I leaned in closer because Manoso talked softly and the music was loud. "Either the guy will be wearing a huge inappropriately heavy jacket or he'll be doing a Fat Albert in a XXXL t-shirt—"

Tank said, "Excuse me? I wear a—"

Manoso silenced him with a glance. "Just sayin', " mumbled Tank, looking forlornly at the XXXL concert t-shirt he held in his huge hand.

Manoso added, "These are just warm-up bands, Jones. The big names will be on after twenty-one hundred hours. Uh, nine-thirty-ish? And bin Hasheed will time his entrance for maximum effect. He's crazy but not stupid. And we will grab him and haul his ass off to our bombproof SUV. End of story." He then turned and faded into the still arriving crowd.

"But—" I said helplessly, watching him disappear.

Tank patted my shoulder. Bam. Bam bam bam. (ouch) He said, "Ranger wouldn't let Ms Plum come here tonight if he thought there was any danger. Don't worry, my man. It'll be cool. No problem."

And he disappeared too.

"Great," I muttered to Smith. "Fucking great,"

to be continued