Choke Point

THIRTY-SEVEN

The plane rolled to a stop, and while Takana shut down the engines, Kozak counted eight GSIC loaders who looked a lot like FARC troops. Even here, in Sudan.

‘If anything happens,’ 30K said quietly, ‘I got your back. Stay close.’

Kozak took a deep breath. ‘Me, too, bro.’

Pepper shot them a warning glance. ‘Calm down.’

30K returned an ugly smile. Kozak just nodded.

Despite Pepper’s admonishment, Kozak’s heart still hammered against his ribs as he hopped on to the pavement, the asphalt seeming to bubble beneath his shoes, the heat haze stifling. The stench of diesel fuel and natural gas came up strong on the wind.

He kept his head down and moved off, swinging his weapon around, acting as though he were securing the area. The tension had already found its way into his hands, and he gripped the rifle a bit too tightly. He knew this feeling all too well, and if he didn’t keep it in check, he’d get off a round before he knew it, as though his hands had a mind of their own.

The others mirrored his movements while Takana strode over to the truck and spoke with one of the men, assumedly the leader, definitely an Arab.

From the rear of the truck came three more forklifts similar to the ones they’d used at the hangar. As some of the men began to unload the plane, one of them keeping watch walked over and said in Spanish: ‘I don’t see Carlos or Juan or any of them. You guys are all new, huh?’

Kozak just nodded and stared over the man’s shoulder.

‘So what happened?’

With a snort, Kozak lifted his rifle and blew the bastard’s brains out.

Or at least he did so in his mind’s eye.

In reality he took a deep breath and answered, ‘I don’t know what happened.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

‘We got orders from Valencia,’ Kozak snapped.

The man drew back his head. ‘Oh, okay. Sorry I asked.’ He turned and marched back toward the trailer, hollering for his buddies to load faster.

Interesting. The mere mention of Valencia, the FARC leader they’d identified back at the Tobruk warehouse, had stuck fear in this guy.

And that was good because only seconds prior –

Kozak had felt his heart stop, his veins ice up, and his head begin to spin. Now he breathed a sigh of relief so powerful that his knees buckled.

‘What did he say to you?’ Ross asked quietly.

‘Just wondering where the other guys were.’

‘We cool?’

‘Hell, yeah, we going hard in the paint.’

Ross frowned, obviously unfamiliar with basketball slang terms, then he grinned awkwardly and moved away.

Within two minutes the GSIC guys had transferred the pallets to their trailer. Sans any formal good-byes, the men climbed quickly into their truck and were on their way. Takana returned to the plane and said, ‘They told me I have another week off. I’m supposed to refuel the plane now, then I can go home to my family.’

Ross extended his hand. ‘Yes, you can.’

A yellow airport taxi barreled around one of the buildings and turned toward them, trailing a chute of smoke.

Kozak and 30K took up positions on either side of the pilot, while Pepper started toward the car, making a face over all the burning oil.

‘What is this?’ asked Takana, shifting back from Ross and finding himself blocked.

‘You’ll have your immunity. But we need to ask you some more questions.’

Behind the taxi came another vehicle, a late-model sedan with tinted windows.

‘You lied to me?’ screamed Takana.

‘No. They’re here to keep you and your family safe,’ Ross said. ‘That’s no lie.’

‘I don’t believe you!’

Standing there, watching the pilot’s face knot in anger, was for Kozak a powerful moment of déjà vu:

He thought of his cousin Sergei, of how the FBI had come to him while he was still in high school, of how they’d coerced him into eavesdropping on his cousin. Kozak had been forced to go through with it, to send Sergei to jail for running drugs with the Russian mafia in Brooklyn. It was the only way to save his mother’s business, which the Feds had threatened to close. How can you do something like that to your own blood? he’d asked himself. It made him feel dirty, as though he were as bad as his cousin — only he didn’t have that killer instinct. He’d been a coward hiding behind wires and a weak will.

‘It was you!’ Sergei had cried. ‘I know it! It was you!’

Kozak had wanted to say, ‘Yeah, it was me — because I’m saving you from yourself.’

But he had just stood there in the kitchen of his mother’s restaurant, watching as the agents dragged Sergei through the back door while his mother wailed. A pot on the stove boiled over, the water hissing loudly, the pierogies getting overcooked. Kozak had turned and couldn’t take his eyes off all that steam.

With a heavy heart, Kozak leaned in toward Takana. ‘Hey, bro. Don’t worry about a thing. It’ll be okay.’

Takana turned, eyes narrowed in anger. ‘No, it won’t.’

‘Don’t waste your time,’ said 30K. ‘He made his bed.’

Kozak tightened his lips and sighed. It was just sad. They didn’t know what had driven Takana to this moment. No opportunities at home? The burdens of trying to provide for a family? Maybe he was being blackmailed or threatened by Hamid himself? 30K would say he was just a greedy bastard like the rest of them, but Kozak sensed there was something deeper here, something more painful. But no matter the motive, Takana was a proud man who would never admit his weaknesses.

‘Come on, bro, let’s go,’ said 30K. ‘Don’t blow another second thinking about this scumbag.’

Kozak wished it were that easy, that he could be that cold. Other times he’d look at 30K and hate what he saw: a dark vacuum in the man’s eyes that allowed him to operate without feeling, passion, or judgment.