Corsair

by totallynotabrony

Chapter 7

The first meeting between Hawker and Jones was an entertaining thing to watch. Andy was on the bridge while the rest of us lounged in the galley.

“I hear you’re with the CIA,” said Hawker.

“That’s right. You make films, right?” Jones must have read the file on Hawker.

“Yes, ‘films.’ Believe it or not, I never had that career path in mind. You start out modeling and somebody offers you heaps of money to take your clothes off, and things just continue on from there.”

“I see,” said Jones politely.

“How did you start work with the CIA?” asked Hawker.

“I dropped out of medical school because I thought it wasn’t challenging enough.” It sounded like Jones may have been just a bit of an overachiever.

Just then, my phone rang. I excused myself to answer it. It was Nevis calling. “I need you to come to Norfolk, Canvas.”

“Why?”

“I’d tell you, but this isn’t a secure line. Navy encryption equipment doesn’t play nice with CIA gear.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

“No, but trust me, it’ll be worth your while. How fast can you get here?”

We weren’t that far from India. I figured the time it would take to get there and find travel arrangements. “Soon.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Well, if Nevis was calling me, I would bet that he wanted something. He did say it would be worth it, though.

I stepped back into the galley and explained the phone call. We weren’t currently on a job, so no one was too upset about changing course. I went up to the bridge and talked to Andy. He swung the wheel over.

I spent quite a while figuring how I was going to get back to Norfolk. I made a mental note to get Nevis to give us some Navy communication gear so I wouldn’t have to do this again.

When I eventually showed up at the base, Nevis’s office looked a little barren. There were some boxes that looked like they were full of personal items.

“You look like you’re moving,” I said.

“I’m putting on another star and going to chair the Procurement Committee.”

I whistled. “Not bad. I don’t think you dragged me all the way here just to tell me about your promotion, though.”

“No. I was already a good candidate for the choice, although I think your tip about the Chinese stealth boat helped.”

“How did that turn out, by the way?”

“Well, it was evidentially something interesting. A pencil pusher at Langley told me to go fly a kite when I asked. Normally they’re thrilled to be getting someone from the outside visiting them.”

“So you don’t have the information?”

“No, but I told someone about it who is more important than I, and they were probably able to wrangle the satellite photos out of the CIA.” While Nevis was an Admiral, there were still plenty of people he reported to, some of whom had impressive clout indeed.

I held up a hoof and ticked on it as if I were counting fingers. “You didn’t call me all the way to Norfolk to talk about your new position. You could have told me that I was right about the stealth boat over the phone. So what am I here for?”

“As Chairman of the Procurement Committee, I have to inspect various Naval Warfare production centers. I thought you might want to come along. If you want, you can call it thanks for giving me that tip about the stealth ship.”

“So, you get me tours of production facilities so I can figure out what my company should make and sell to the Navy.”

“You know me too well.”

“Yeah, and I know you wouldn’t do something like that without some kind of kickback. What’s in it for you?”

“I look good for finding the latest products for the Procurement Committee, which I’ll get you to agree to sell at reasonable prices.”

“Why should I agree to less money?”

“Because I’ll make sure you make it up on volume.”

I considered it. It had become increasingly clear to me over the time I’d known Nevis that he had bigger goals in mind than simply being in charge at Norfolk.

For whatever reason, Nevis and I worked well together. I knew he would screw me given the opportunity, and I would probably do the same to him. Still, we respected each other enough to attempt to make this joint venture work. I might as well. The company could use the extra income, as we were the little guy and General Dynamics and Lockheed-Martin needed more competition. It was none of my business how Nevis rationalized his actions.

“All right,” I said. “I can’t come on your trip, though. I’d feel bad if I spent too much time away from the boat.”

“I was just about to leave,” he said. “First stop is Crane.”

Crane Naval Surface Weapons Center was the Navy’s largest base. It was located in Indiana, for some reason. I had taken the public tour once, but going with Nevis was sure to be more in-depth.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll go to Crane, but after that I really have to get back.”

Traveling only halfway across the country, we were there later that day. Nevis had apparently never been to Crane before, so they showed us around. I was introduced as a civilian advisor. Having me along was an unusual practice, but nobody said anything.

We toured the various departments at Crane with a guide. Crane worked on ship parts and weapons, missiles, and small arms, among other things. The very first dimensional doorway had been opened there, in the research division.

We left the warehouse where old ship guns were kept and entered the facility that produced man-portable weapons. Since most weapons issued to sailors were just run-of-the mill M16 rifles and M9 pistols, they could be produced by outside vendors. Most small arms that came out of Crane were meant for SEALs.

“We’re getting a new batch of M416 experimental units ready to go out,” said the guide. “We’ll need to do some field testing before cranking up production, though.”

The M416 was intended to replace the M4 assault rifle. It had been improved, and was supposed to have less recoil and be more reliable.

“My company has a small arms testing program,” I said. Nevis looked at me. He knew it wasn’t true.

“Hang on, I’ll get the division head for you,” said the guide. He returned a minute later with a beefy man who had the look of someone not to be trifled with. It made sense that the head of the small arms division would likely be a former SEAL.

I had to be careful. The man would know firearms inside and out, and would be able to spot any bullshit I tried to feed him. I had the advantage that he probably wouldn’t know as much about business.

“I’m President of Canvas Shipbuilding,” I said. “We’ve been diversifying lately and getting into special warfare. I’d like to offer our services for product testing your new M416s.”

“How much is it going to cost?” The man clearly was no fool.

“I think we can make a reasonable deal. After all, we’re new to the business.”

He thought for a moment. “What kind of program do you have?”

“Our headquarters are in Virginia. We have facility with access to forest, sand, grass, fresh water, salt water, just about anything. We contract with facilities in Texas and Alaska for weather testing. There are some retired operators working for us.”

“SEALs?” the man asked.

If I said yes, he’d probably ask their names. “No, none of them. We have some Marines from the Force Recon days, and a couple of Coast Guard drug interdiction boys. There’s an Army Ranger or two.”

“I’ll talk to my people and see what happens.” His tone was neutral. He seemed wary that he hadn’t heard of our testing program before, but interested.

“I’ll talk to the Procurement Committee,” said Nevis.

All the way back to the boat, I was in negotiations for the deal. I figured since I’d set it up, I might as well be handling it. And with what I was planning, the fewer people that knew about the deal, the better.

I met the boat in Yemen with good news. Crane would be sending us ten M416s and paying us $1.8 million to test them for two months. There was nothing in the contract about the loss or theft of the weapons, and I was planning to make them disappear.

“How are we going to bring them aboard?” asked Andy as we sat around the galley table discussing it. “Are we going to pull up to the dock, and start loading suspicious crates?”

He had a point. “Maybe we could hire another helicopter.”

“Why don’t we get our own helicopter?” said Nika. “If you keep getting government contracts, we can more than afford it.”

“Somebody would have to learn how to fly it.”

“Andy can do it,” said Hawker.

“That wasn’t really flying,” he said. “More like a controlled crash. What about that guy in Korea? Think we can get him to come work with us?”

“Well, he was experienced with ships and it looked like he could use the money. Trouble is, he’s in Korea.”

“I’m sure he would come if we bought him a nice new helicopter,” replied Andy.

“If we can wait for him to get his shipped here, it would probably be cheaper,” I said. “And he won’t have to learn how to fly a new one.”

We found Shep’s information and contacted him.

“I’d like to hire you on a full-time basis,” I said on the phone. “You’d have to pack up everything you own and meet us in Egypt.”

“Either you’re kidding or you’ve got deeper pockets than I originally thought.”

“How much will it take to get you there? We can discuss salary after that.”

Shep thought about it for a moment, and gave me a number.

“Done.”

“Wha…okay. Alright, I’m on my way. One thing, do you need a mechanic? I’ve got a guy who works on my bird.”

“Bring him along.” We discussed a few more details and set up a time and place to meet. After that, I had to set things up so the weapons and everything we would need for the helicopter would also be where they needed to be.

The Navy was sending the ten rifles in a crate to the company warehouse in Norfolk. From there, they would be packed inside a larger, unmarked crate and sent to Italy. An affiliate of Canvas Shipbuilding would receive the crate and label it as galley equipment. It would be added it to other crates and placed in a container that would be transported to Egypt. Bringing it all aboard wouldn’t look suspicious, but to be sure, the helicopter would carry it away from shore where there were fewer people to observe us.

To “lose” the guns, paperwork would be created in a few weeks that would show they were placed aboard a railcar in Norfolk for transit to our fictional testing range in Texas. When nothing showed up at the other end, it would be assumed that the railroad either lost them or they were stolen. We would act very apologetic.

Thanks to the Suez Canal, the trip from Yemen to Egypt was much shorter than the distances that Shep and the crate of guns had to travel. We had a few days with nothing to do. Jones asked why we were laying over, and the rest of us kept her guessing. The CIA might balk at new people on board, and if she told anyone about the stolen guns, word might get back to the wrong people.

I got an acknowledgement from the shipping company that our package had arrived and a call from Shep on the same day.

“It took a Russian cargo plane, two solid days of mechanic work, and I don’t know how many bribed customs officials, but we’re here. Give us another couple of hours and we’ll be ready to fly.”

I set up arrangements for the helicopter to land in the cargo yard where our crate had been brought in. That was something that happened occasionally for shipments that had to be delivered as quickly as possible, and they had a helicopter pad for the purpose.

I took Andy and we got a taxi to the shipyard. After waiting around for a bit, Shep’s blue Huey appeared. He set down on the center of the pad.

Working together, Andy and I were able to get the crate in the back of the helicopter. It wasn’t very heavy, but the repackaged crate was bulky. There was already a lot of gear in the back of the helo. All the spare parts and personal items Shep had brought with him, I guessed.

The two bulkhead seats were just like before, with headsets waiting for us. Shep checked to make sure we were plugged into the intercom. When we were ready to go, he gently lifted off and made for the boat.

“I’d like to introduce you to my mechanic and copilot,” said Shep. “This is Jeff Douglas.”

The man sitting in the seat next to Shep turned and gave us a little wave. He was dark haired and broad shouldered, but the helmet and flight suit obscured more details. He appeared to be connected to the intercom, but didn’t say a word.

At the boat, Shep slipped the helicopter sideways and touched down delicately on the deck. He and Jeff went over the shutdown checklist as Andy and I strapped the helicopter down.

Before bringing the helo aboard, we’d agreed to keep Shep and his mechanic in the dark for a while to decide if we really wanted them to join us. It also gave us time to convince Jones to get background checks run on them.

We kept them away from secret equipment. The engine room and the galley were probably safest for that. Jeff seemed interested in the diesels, and Shep was content to drink coffee and read novels when he wasn’t flying.

Jones, as we suspected, was not pleased with new people on board. I reminded her that she was also our guest, and if she wanted to do background checks, she was welcome.

The results came back quickly. Both were former Navy, with Shep putting in twenty years, Jeff only four. Both had held security clearances. Neither had any suspicious activities on their records. Shep was divorced, Jeff unmarried. Once we had our information, the rest of the crew and I sat down with them to talk it out.

“For lack of a better term, we’re guns for hire,” I explained. “Most of our work is for the United States, specifically the CIA.”

“Black ops?” asked Shep.

I shrugged. “Some.”

“Does it pay well?”

“What do you think?” I answered.

“Sorry, stupid question. All right, so now that we’re here what comes next?”

“Well, since we’re in the Mediterranean right now, I thought we’d go over to Monaco to pay a visit to an old friend.”

The old Huey looked a little out of place among the sleek helicopters at the landing area in Monaco. That was all right. If everything went according to plan, we wouldn’t be there long. Hawker, Nika, and I departed. Shep stayed with the helo. Andy, Jones, and Jeff were back at the boat, waiting on us.

Hanley had sent us a packet of information about Mario Rossi. It included quite a few things we could use to find him. His name actually turned out to be real. I was impressed with the wealth of information. They have their faults, but never underestimate the CIA.

We tried his place, but he wasn’t home. Next, we tried at his mistress’s apartment. She answered the door after a minute dressed only in a robe.

“Allo?”

“English?” I asked.

“I speak it. What do you want?”

“We’re looking for Mario.”

“Well…I don’t know where he is.”

Nika caught the lie, and grabbed the woman, pushing her back through the door. I stepped in after them, drawing my pistol.

Rossi, hearing the commotion, appeared from a doorway. He wasn’t wearing very much. His eyes went wide when I pointed the gun at him. Through a mouth full of trigger twine, I said, “Freeze.”

He raised his hands and stood still. I glanced past him into the room he had come out of. It looked like a bedroom, with no way to escape. His only option for running was getting past me and out the front door. I moved so I could block his path. Behind me, Hawker shut the door so we wouldn’t attract a crowd.

Nika had his mistress immobilized and gagged with a hand towel. I trusted her to keep the woman from interfering. For extra security, I told Rossi to sit down.

He refused. “You wouldn’t dare do anything here. The noise of the gunshot would alert everyone around here.”

“So we’ll go to the kitchen and get a knife. Maybe we’ll work on your girlfriend first.” I didn’t think I actually would, but Rossi didn’t know that. “Sit down.”

He didn’t, so Hawker walked up to him, careful to keep out of my line of fire, and kicked him in the nuts. He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping.

“Been wanting to do that,” Hawker remarked to me.

“You’re lucky,” I said to Rossi. “Men usually pay her to touch them.”

“Why are you here?” he said between gritted teeth.

“I think you know.”

“Please be more specific.”

“You sold us out to James Herrington.” He nodded reluctantly. I went on. “Some of his men tried to kill Ms. Hurricane here, along with a few other people.” He agreed with that, too. I made a deliberate error. “After that, you tipped off the Canadians about our operations in the north. I want to know why.”

“I admit it. Everyone pays me well.”

Caught him. “Don’t try lying again. I’m going to ask you some questions. If I think you aren’t telling me the truth, bad things are going to happen to you. Now, tell me everything you told Herrington.”

Rossi talked for a few minutes. For a price, he’d sent every bit of incriminating evidence that he had to the man. He’d also given them information about how Hawker was being transported, which included a lot about me. It seemed like he didn’t know much about the rest of the crew.

“All right, who else did you sell information about us to?”

“The Germans.”

“Lie.” I was taking a guess based on the fact that Germany had never given us trouble nor had any reason to.

Rossi cringed. “China.”

“When?”

He told me a date shortly after we’d blown up things in the Chinese port. That fit.

“Who else did you tell?”

“No one.”

“Get a knife,” I said to Hawker. She nodded and went to search the apartment.

“I’m telling the truth!” said Rossi.

I shrugged. “Maybe. We still have to make sure you don’t do this to us again.”

“I can pay you.”

“You don’t have enough.” He had to have money to be living in Monaco, but the bribe would have to been several million before I would even consider it.

“Please don’t kill me.” His tone of voice had changed entirely. I suddenly realized how much I had scared him. There were tears forming in his eyes. I felt a little uncomfortable, but did my best not to show it. I couldn’t believe I could be so intimidating while speaking with a lisp caused by having the twine clenched in my teeth.

Hawker came back with a six inch chef’s knife. Rossi’s eyes bugged out at the sight of it.

“Eyes over here,” I said. “Look at me. In exchange for your life, you’re not going to tell anyone anything about us again. You’re going to help us with information if we ever need any. If you ever screw us again, we’ll come back and torture you until you die, do you understand?”

I must have been able to come up with enough confidence to back my strong words. Rossi agreed to the conditions earnestly. We left.

Back at the helicopter pad, Shep asked if we had gotten what we came for. I told him yes. We climbed in and Shep started the engines. All identification codes and markings on the helicopter had been altered before we arrived in Monaco. I had figured that Rossi might come after us and observe the helicopter. We might as well cover ourselves.

Back on the boat, we set a course out of the Mediterranean. Jones hadn’t been briefed beforehand about our little excursion. She learned about it soon enough. Her opinion was that it was an unnecessary risk using illegal methods. She also thought Rossi got what he deserved and that it was a smart move flipping him to work for us.

We stopped in Gibraltar for supplies. While we were there, the CIA ordered us back to Norfolk. It was an uneventful journey across the Atlantic. Almost boring, really. Andy and Hawker played more internet games. Shep had carried aboard a bag full of novels, and spent his time going through them. Jeff seemed to be spending a lot of time in the engine room, making me wonder just how interesting the diesels could be. Nika experimented with cooking and had some decent success. Jones seemed to do a lot of paperwork, perhaps catching up before we back stateside. All of the people practiced with the new rifles.

Being a Brit, Hawker was unaccustomed to guns, however she was quick to learn. Shep and Jeff were already reasonably competent due to their time in the military. Surprisingly, the CIA had taken the trouble to weapons-train Jones, and she was nearly equal to Nika’s level of proficiency. Andy wasn’t bad, but he claimed to prefer the old shotgun.

It was hard to miss the “Property of the US Navy” stamps on the rifles. I told Jones that the Navy had asked me to test them, and I had made up some artificial paperwork to show her to make that story seem more plausible. I didn’t need her asking questions.

We didn’t physically accomplish a whole lot by shooting at things we tossed over the side. It did act as a kind of teambuilding group cohesion exercise, though. That’s what it would have been called if it was a normal business I was running.

As things stood now, the boat was officially my private yacht. Unofficially, it was a CIA special operations platform. I was thinking about turning our little band of pirates into a legitimate business. Dealing with us on a professional basis would force the CIA’s upper level bureaucracy to work with us, instead of Hanley’s group. Putting us in front of more powerful people could get us more and better jobs. It could also spread our name to other customers, perhaps other intelligence agencies or other countries. I didn’t want to have to go through the CIA to get other jobs. If my lawyer could find some way to make that work to our advantage for tax purposes, so much the better.

I had first gotten onto this idea when I heard who we would be meeting with upon our return to the states. Nevis would be there, and at least one Army General. We had worked jobs outside the CIA before, but hopefully this would help our publicity.

It can be hard getting your name out there in the world of covert operations. After all, your employer keeps insisting that you don’t exist.

Comments

[Piquo Pie]

Edit please.

before we back stateside.

Also really liking this story.

[Riverwing]

I loved that last line.