Baroota- the Hunting Ground, page 10
part #1 of The Director Series
She was to act as the loadmaster for the flight, making sure the spare parts were well secured, the food and water were taken care of for the long flight. No one was to see her face or have any conversations with her. Once they were over the ocean and at the designated point, she would distribute the final bottle of water. That’s when things would get interesting.
Long ago when she’d taken an exam for her job with the Forest Service, she’d been told she’d failed. Her test results had been described as “concerning” by the HR representative. What the hell that meant, she had no idea; it was clear, however, “concerning” meant she wasn’t going to be able to fly for the Forest Service. What it did mean was she’d scored off the charts in an area called the dark triad. That was a disqualifier. She was out.
A couple of days later, a man had come to her apartment door and introduced himself. He said he was there to see if she was still interested in the job with the Forest Service as a pilot.
“Hell yes, I am, but I bombed the psych exam,” was her reply.
“What if I can get that aspect of the process to be overlooked? Would you be interested?”
“Sure, what’s the catch? You aren’t doing this because it’s ‘do a good deed day’ in Washington.”
“The catch is you would also be working for us on the side, flying missions that are, shall we say, off the books. Not exactly the kind of missions we want publicized in the media, or brought to the attention of Congress.”
“So that whole bullshit about concerning test results is gonna be swept under the rug?”
“The ‘concerning test results’ like yours are exactly what we’re looking for, so are you in or not?”
“Yes, but who will I be really working for? The N.S.A, the C.I.A, the F.B.I?”
“You’ll be working for the Forest Service. When I call, you’ll do what we ask, and then go back to work for the Forest Service. The rest is above your pay grade, understood?”
She understood.
And so she began a long and successful career with the Forest Service, until three years ago. The whole bruised peach program (her pet name for it) was scrapped, and suddenly she was out, no longer valued, no more secret missions, and she was banned from flying and posted to a desk, shuffling papers and answering the phone. There was no explanation as to why or what happened, and she didn’t dare ask. She’d seen too much by that point to know better than to ask questions. You didn’t ask; if you did, you would disappear. Literally.
That was then; now she was back in six-figure land, making the real money again. The call had come in, and she’d answered. She had a skill set that was valued in some dark circles, and apparently someone in one of those circles had mentioned her name. She was able to do what others wouldn’t, and she did it well.
At 1800, she was on the tarmac loading the aircraft. The squeaky clean flight crew approached the aircraft and waved to her before they entered the aircraft and started their preflight checklists. She watched, amused, thinking to herself, I bet these candy asses passed the psych exam, too bad they had no idea a graduate of the “Dark Triad Program” would be on board, carefully disguised as a lowly loadmaster.
The tactical crew arrived and loaded their equipment and ignored her. She watched as they loaded several large metal containers and then motioned to them she would secure them. They nodded and sat down, strapping into the jump seats. Too bad, really, she thought as she watched. She should have arrived a few days earlier and spent some quality time with a couple of them. They looked like they understood exactly what a woman like her was looking for in a party. That idea made her smile. Oh well, another time perhaps.
The rest of the team finally arrived, and she watched as Jay escorted a redheaded back woman and an older grey haired guy to the plane. The old guy walked like he was stiff, probably arthritis, she thought. The black girl looked familiar, but she couldn’t remember from where.
The plane finally took off. She went to the end of the row of jump seats and lay down. This was familiar territory for her.
After feeding the team and distributing water, she’d remained awake, waiting for the signal from Jay. At last, he nodded to her that it was time. She got up and went to a separate package of water bottles and began to hand them out to the teams. Then she went into the cockpit and gave the flight crew each a bottle. They were sheep; smiling, they accepted the bottles and gratefully drank the tainted contents. She went to the cargo area and began stretching, watching as one by one the team fell asleep.
Jay jumped up quickly as Nick fell out of his jump seat and landed hard on the floor. Seconds later he was secured with flex cuffs, and then Jay and Pat went to the cockpit. The crew was just nodding off. Pat motioned to Jay to help her remove the pilot from his seat, and she settled in. Taking control of the aircraft, she smiled; it was damn good to be back in the driver’s seat. Jay removed the co-pilot and navigator and dragged them to the rear of the plane. All three were lined up, sleeping and ready to go. He returned to the cockpit and motioned that they were ready. Pat opened a radio channel and began:
“Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is flight…” she continued as she pushed the nose of the plane abruptly downward, toward the ocean. It would take no small amount of skill to know exactly when to pull up. The plane had to level out just above the water. Too low, and they all die; too high, and it won’t look right.
At what she hoped was the right altitude, she leveled off. Excellent guess, she complimented herself.
As the plane leveled off, Jay was dumping the flight crew out the rear cargo door into the dark, cold water. Next came the aircraft parts and the garbage, and then he dumped two fifty-gallon drums of JP-8 into the ocean as well. For that special added touch, he’d removed articles of clothing from each of the tactical team members before he secured them all with flex cuffs. A shirt here, boot there, items to make the crash site look legit. All went out the cargo door into the nighttime waters of the ocean. Once he was done, he closed the door and secured it. Walking back towards the front of the craft, he realized he had to piss. A sly smirk came to his face, and he walked over to where Nick was lying restrained on the floor.
No better time than the present, he thought and began to empty his considerably full bladder into Nick’s face. Smiling, he couldn’t remember the last time taking a piss felt so damn good. To add to his sadistic pleasure, Nick actually turned his face up into the steaming stream. This was too good to be true; the cocky bastard actually liked the golden shower.
When Jay had finished with Nick, he crossed the plane to where Nõn was seated, hanging like a rag doll from the four point restraints of the jump seat. He dropped her onto the floor as well and restrained her arms and legs. He returned to the cockpit and motioned to Pat that it went well, the parts and bodies were in the ocean. She signaled a thumbs up and smiled. Jay was the kind of guy she could work with. Like her, he saw the bigger picture. Better to be a wolf than a sheep. Wolves survived. She saw herself as an observer, someone who stood in the eye of the hurricane and watched the chaos she created but was unaffected by it. She liked that feeling of detachment. It was comforting.
She flew on into the night; in another hour, she’d entered the Darien Gap. Soon after, she was circling Sambu Airfield. This was the easiest money she’d made in a long time.
Once they’d touched down on the airfield, they taxied to two waiting vehicles. Pat shut down the engines and completed the necessary checklists. Her instructions were clear; they planned on using the aircraft for future missions, so she had to take care of it. There was a future here for her, if all went according to plan. That was exactly what she wanted to hear. Once she was done, she went to the back of the plane and began the difficult process of unloading the equipment and still drugged tactical team, Nick and Nõn.
Pat had to admit, Jay had thought of everything. To remove the eight bodies of the team, he’d come up with the idea of using upright furniture dollies. Each team member was tied to a dollie and rolled off the plane with very little effort.
She smiled a yellow-toothed grin at Jay and said, “You watched Silence of the Lambs, I see. I loved that part where Lecter torments the senator.”
Jay laughed and replied, “It seemed to be a simple solution to the problem of loading, and it works!”
In no time, all of the people and equipment had been removed from the plane and secured in the two military surplus deuce and a half cargo trucks that had been waiting for their arrival. Jay left with the vehicles. Pat’s part in the mission was complete. She would now meet with her ride back to the states. The boat was supposed to arrive in one hour at a dock on the Atlantic side of the Darien Gap. From there it would be a nice, leisurely trip back to the Gulf of Mexico, and then home. Sipping mango flavored daiquiris the entire way is how she’d imagined the trip. She loved being recognized for just how unique she really was. Hopefully, they would need her services again soon.
After loading the team onto the truck, Jay jumped into the truck and began the bumpy journey to “Baroota.” He still had a lot of preparations left to do. He had two weeks to facilitate the mission: one week for the clients to complete their hunt, and one week to clean up the mess. Then it would be back to the states.
It had been 10 years since Jay had been on the safari in South Africa. Following his guide into the African savannah, he’d been promised a shot at an African lion. He scoffed as the guide guaranteed he would be taking his long awaited shot at his dream trophy kill. Two hours and one shot later, he was standing over his trophy African lion. It was almost too easy. He asked the guide how he had could have possibly been able to know for sure where the lion would be. At first the guide had refused to tell, but Jay had been persistent, and even the alcohol didn’t loosen the tongue of the guide.
Finally, Jay just gave up. Going back to his tent, he thought about the day; it had been hot, and dry. South Africa had been in the midst of another drought. Jay hadn’t seen much wildlife since he’d been in country. Every single species was hunkered down and just trying to survive the drought. As Jay slipped off to sleep, it came to him. The guide knew not only the area, but he’d studied the patterns of the animals. Bottom line, they had to have water! Simple as that. Every animal needed water, and the lions knew that as well; instinctively, the lion knew its prey needed water. The guide knew the lions were waiting for their prey at the water, and being the apex hunter, they didn’t expect that knowledge to be used against them. That was their weakness. They were as dependent on the water for survival as the animals they hunted.
The next day, Jay told the guide he’d solved the riddle. It was the water, right? The guide smiled and said nothing. Jay knew he’d figured out the secret. Once you understood your prey and its strengths, you also knew its weaknesses. He never forgot that lesson.
This new perspective had changed his perception of his enemies. He no longer saw their strengths as only strengths; he realized now they were simultaneously weaknesses as well. They formed a pattern of behavior that could be exploited, guided and manipulated. At work, armed with this knowledge he became a better hunter of his ultimate prey. Man.
His military career enabled him to sharpen those skills, and eventually his military successes came to the attention of the director.
It didn’t take much convincing from the director to get Jay on board for his “little project,” as he called it. The recent events worldwide had created a lot of potential customers for the project. People who were motivated to perhaps even the score against the no-name faces of military personnel who had invaded their countries en masse. Crimes were always committed in warfare. It was the nature of the beast. This created a market the director was keen to take advantage of. It was just good business, really. He provided a service where none existed before. He just waited for the perfect moment and then dropped a suggestion in the ear of an angry, wealthy father of a recent victim of a “signature drone strike.” That was eight years ago, and several successful hunts at “Baroota”.
Of course, there had been bugs to work out. For the most part, all the hunts had been profitable, and the word had quietly been passed around the dark circles of those few elite people who had been wronged by the winds of war. Wronged, and yet had the power and money to survive those very same winds, and they wanted vengeance.
Jay had been useful to the director. He’d been told to chose a location that was remote enough to be of practical use, and yet not so far as to be financially unfeasible. Jay immediately suggested the Darien Gap for the project. There were very few locations in the world that were still remote and untouched modern technologies. He’d supervised the construction of facilities at Baroota and had even named the compound after a short trip to the outback of Australia.
Jay had chosen a simple design for the home base of Baroota. It was a military design that was simple and had clean lines. It was functional and very basic. There were three main buildings, at the southernmost end of the home base. One was the command center, the other a multi-purpose building that served whatever need was required. Some days it was used to brief the incoming clients of the rules of the hunt; others it was used to celebrate another successful completion of a mission. The third building was a storage area, where the trophies were kept until their sponsors arrived. Behind the three main buildings were twelve small “huts”. Arranged in two rows of six huts each, they were actually large metal shipping containers that had been remodeled into small luxury cabins for the clients. They were secure, clean and buried under a mound of dirt, which surrounded the containers on all sides except the doorway. After six months in the Darien Gap, the containers had become invisible to any imagery taken from above. The local fauna had completely covered them. The only visible buildings from above were the three main buildings and the support equipment. A large diesel generator provided power to the camp, and water was obtained from local sources. At one end of the compound was a diesel-powered wood chipper.
To Jay, the camp was a reminder of military function and form at its best. Everything had a place and purpose. Squared, flush and grounded. The design appealed to his need to be in control and never, ever be surprised. Jay didn’t like surprises. To be surprised meant you hadn’t prepared adequately. To Jay, it meant failure. True success could only be achieved by being in control at all times. Both in his professional life and his personal life, Jay liked being in control. He never bounced a check, never received a parking ticket. He liked his coffee hot and his life orderly, his women submissive.
The Darien Gap is home to one of the most primitive people in the world, the Wounaan. The Wounaan were initially suspicious of Jay because they believed he was affiliated with the illegal logging crews that had been harvesting the forests and destroying their lands. Jay found them to be a simple people who wished for nothing more than to be left alone. They wanted nothing to do with the outside world. Years of dealing with narcotics traffickers and gunrunners had made them suspicious of the outside world. People outside the gap seemed to them to be filled with insanity and greed.
It took many attempts to negotiate with the tribal leaders before Jay was successful in negotiating and securing a couple men for labor around the camp. He explained he would provide the men with training, uniforms and supplies for their village if they would simply protect the camp and keep their mouths shut about the activities at Baroota. He needed guides that were dependable and trustworthy. For that, he would pay generously. He also hinted he had a surefire method of dealing with the logging crews, which turned out to be brutally effective. Jay secured a deal with the Wounaan leaders after demonstrating his sincere brutality in dealing with the loggers. He wanted them in the area of the Darien Gap even less than the Wounaan, but for much different reasons. Soon it was clear to the logging crews: leave the gap in peace, or face the wrath of the jungle people. Afterwards, Jay was a welcome face among the Wounaan. He explained he would return from time to time to keep up with the infestation of the logging crews, and occasionally he would bring others who would help. Strangers from far away who wish to protect the gap and the Wounaan. It was a ruse, but it explained to the Wounaan the occasional hunting parties’ arrival in the gap. The prey they hunted would be explained away as overzealous loggers who needed to be reminded of their place in the Wounaan’s jungle. The unsuspecting Wounaan welcomed the hunts, and their problems were solved.
The first hunt had been a challenge for Jay. He had no idea what to expect from anyone involved. He tried to anticipate any possible problem and then take preventative measures to deal with that problem. Running through several different scenarios in his head, playing devil’s advocate, he was able to have preventative measures in place for nearly every contingency. From that hunt, he realized he needed to have clearly defined rules for the sponsors. If they didn’t follow the rules, they were out and on their way back home. Things had gone south with one sponsor, and they’d wanted a little extra vengeance than the hunts allowed for. Extra vengeance wasn’t the problem; that was the point of the hunts, but it had to be planned for and organized. Jay was a professional, and the sloppy results of the day’s events on that particular hunt had made it clear to him, rules needed to be in place and respected by the sponsors.
Jay arrived back in Baroota with the team, Nick and Nõn. He and the two drivers unloaded the equipment the team had packed for their mission. What the team didn’t know as they packed was they were each packing their individual sponsors’ gift bags. Personal mementos of the hunt. Each sponsor would be given the equipment used by their chosen prey, provided they followed the rules of the camp and dispatched their chosen trophy within the confines of those rules. It had been an obvious benefit that had come to him after the first hunt, when one of the sponsors had requested the weapon used by his trophy kill. Jay had an epiphany at that moment, and after discussing it with the director, they had agreed to provide the token mementos at an additional price. Since then, every single sponsor had paid the extra cost for the equipment. It made the whole operation at Baroota more efficient, tidy and orderly. Jay especially liked that aspect, the efficiency of the whole operation.
