Barcelona, Kabul or Bust

Croom Calls

Chapter 3

Chist Bandon sat down to his coffee and paper. The pine scented air felt cool and refreshing. The hot coffee mug warmed his hands. “This was a good place to be”, he contemplated. He had finally achieved his lifelong ambition. It didn’t start out this way. He rolled along on a wave of chance events. It started half way around the world on a dusty mountain path. The coffee warmed his insides. The caffeine stoked his mind. He thought of simple things. He was a simple man with a simple approach to life. That was how it was. The morning’s e-mail might have changed another man but not him. He was prepared for the unexpected. The electronic letter was from Croom. The coded message was clear. He was assembling a team. He forwarded it to Bronson and Stevns. He figured Croom would enlist a few others. It was enough for him to travel half way around the world. He would know more that evening in Barcelona.

　

Croom sat quietly, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. The smoke rose forming a mushroom cloud in the florescent lighting. Blandon acknowledged Bronson and Stevns standing along the back wall. Three other men arrived as he stood staring at the empty table next to Croom.

“Welcome”, Croom said as he rose from his chair, exhaling deeply distorting the smoke cloud above his head. He made eye contact with each of the men assembled in the room crushing his cigarette beneath his foot in a twisting motion. “I see we have all arrived”. Blandon knew the drill. He watched and listened.

“None of you are new to this sort of thing so I’ll spare you the histrionics. He glanced at a small, dark man no one would notice in a crowd even if he had a gun pointed at his head. Croom introduced the man.

“This is our benefactor. He is the reason we are at this union. We met in Germany a while back. Let me say under dire circumstances. You need to know that in order to define your limits of trust which won’t be totally reliable. None of us know any better. He was, and as we know as well, will always be KGB. He needs our help and expects us to help ourselves in return”.

Blandon watched the others still as clay statues in an earthquake attempting to avoid being toss about and smashed to smithereens on a ground shaking floor. Croom invited the small, dark man to continue.

“My name, and it may not be important, as in any business relationship, is Mikal Faraday”.

“Yeah and mine’s Tom Thumb”, joked Bronson.

“Quite right. As I proposed, my name is unimportant. In the mountains of Afghanistan, we hid weapons as we withdrew. The recovery of these weapons, however is very important to our mutual well being and perhaps to our very security”.

“Our mission is to recover these weapons”, Croom tactfully interrupted while he lit a cigarette.

Blandon knew there had to be more. Otherwise why not the regular forces? Why assemble a delta force of technical mercenaries? He had no questions. He was patient to listen to the others. In each man he saw signs of anticipation. He was content to let the others question and digest the answers.

“I don’t get it?” Bronson spoke first though Stevns might as well have beat him to it. “Why us and not the regular forces? For that matter, who is us? I know Blandon here and Stevns but these other guys?”

“I selected each of you, well at least Blandon, who in turn brought you and your companion”, Croom responded glancing at Stevns. For the benefit of the others in this room, the three of you are the cover team”. Nodding at two remaining men in the room, “Jamason is our weapons expert while Jenkins is demolition. I already mentioned Mikal as our guide. Regular army will provide transport. And yes, this mission is darker than even regular intelligence personnel are able to see. And that’s why I am in charge. Does that help?”

The lack of response was Croom’s green light to continue.

“With those preliminaries behind us, assuming we are all in, listen up. We have worked these cases, more or less before. This is nothing new to any of us. It’s a chance to walk in, have the grunts pack up and walk out. I might expect you to fall in for all the patriotic reasons. But we are no longer nineteen and full of that sort of piss and vinegar. We are all past that sort of thing. An advance is already in your accounts. Whether you continue, that’s yours. But that’s all you take from this room. Win, lose or draw, the balance will be paid, to you or your beneficiary. We leave in the morning. Tickets to either New York or Kabul are on the table. Whichever you take is your business, no questions asked”.

“What makes you think this will be a walk in the park, Croom?” This time it was Jamason asking the question.

“That was a planted question for our benefit,” thought Blandon. The take it or leave strategy was Croom’s style, not his. He didn’t like it. Nothing was that simple, even for him.

“It won’t”. Croom looked over at Faraday to respond. He knew why he needed Jamason. Jenkins certainly knew, having worked with him before and what he did didn’t have anything to do with conventional weapons.

“Do I level with them or should you?” Jamason looked Croom in the eye.

“The weapons stash is tactical”. Faraday revealed his cards. “That’s why you and Jenkins are here. No, it’s not a walk in the park. The mountains are your least concern. The area is unsecured territory. Our presence will bring lots of attention from the local tribal militia”. Croom looked at Faraday to see if he wanted to add anything.

“Drug lords”, sarcastically interrupted Stevns.

“Yes and perhaps others, remnants of Taliban, maybe even Osama himself on a kidney hookah”, piped up Bronson.

“What a pair”, thought Jenkins.

Croom was smiling. Buttons were being pushed. Blood and adrenalin pumping through veins, rust hardening back into steel, all but Blandon’s, as planned, predictable.

“Chist, we haven’t heard from you?” Croom sprung the question, gate keeping like they were discussing whether to purchase an automobile. Croom knew he needed Blandon to buy in on his own terms and now was the time for him and the rest to know what those terms were. So did Blandon.

“Far as I can tell, this is as good as it gets. Make a good book, even a movie. That’s the problem, too good. The seven of us, assuming you are going in with the rest of us?” Blandon looked for Croom’s answer.

Croom nodded affirmative.

“Drop in, locate and secure the goods, call in an air drop dragging transport and convoy cover. Then we all parade down the mountain for whiskey and dal bot in Kabul. I am close? Or am I a dead man?” Blandon looked at Faraday for signs of recognition.

“Both”, Faraday exhaled smoke, blue in the florescent light.

Blandon looked at Bronson and Stevns, then at Jamason.

“Is it settled?” Croom reached for another cigarette from his inside pocket almost as if he were pulling out a revolver.

Blandon stepped up face to face with Croom and selected the ticket going east and walked out of the room. The others followed suit.