K52 Locked

It wasn't a packed night in the bar. He'd been on standby since Friday when he arrived at Cayo Largo port. The Cuban island had been more congested than he'd thought it would be at this time of the year. It had a relaxed atmosphere, and if he said so himself, something out of a James Bond movie. Only he knew there would be no dramatic scenes where a military operation would suddenly break out, or the occasional mountain would open to reveal a base for some terrorist plot.

Raising the cigarette to his mouth, he shifted his eyes to the door for a moment checking to see if his acquaintance was coming. Hell, this is Cuba; he'd seen several of the locals smoking the odd cigar, maybe he should try one. Bah, it wasn't of importance now, he'd be off the island soon enough. Looking outside the port fifteen minutes ago he had found that Mr Quintana's yacht had arrived, it was much better-quality than he expected, in most of the encounters he'd had before, he found these kinds of people liked to keep a low profile, although it was no mystery that the man liked to use his money, in the literal sense.

Looking up to the brightly coloured lights that were hung around the bar area he raised an eyebrow and brushed some ash off his hawaiian shirt which made him kind of, how should he say, blend in with the people. Taking your mind off of cigarettes is bad if you want to keep shirts clean, he thought to himself in a reminding manner, lost one to many like that. Glancing to the entrance of the bar once more and seeing nothing, he placed the near finished cigarette in the tray and raised a pint of the local beer to his mouth, still keeping one eye on the door. There were some large windows, from which you could see out onto the beach, as it was a warm night they were open allowing a cool ocean breeze to drift across the room, a dark figure walked past at a swift pace, he recognised it at once as a little smile came across his face. Good, just on time, he lowered his eyes to a cheap digital watch on his wrist as it switched too a few seconds past ten pm. He seriously wondered if David done it just for the sake of being dramatic, never late, never early.

The bartender raised his head as the figure from outside entered, his loose jacket swaying slightly, a hawaiian shirt underneath. Placing the glass back on the unclean table and squinting across the room to his 'timed friend', he noticed a faint grey mark of cigarette ash on the collar. Goddamn, he'd stolen his shirt. He watched as "Mr on time David" exchanged some brief conversation in Cuban to the bartender and a glass of Vodka was placed next to him, money being exchanged. David's hand hooked around the glass and he turned to face the table in the far corner. David nodded as he started to walk over.

"Long time no see," a smile spread across David's face as he pulled a chair out opposite him. "Uh huh, first of all. Why are you wearing my shirt?" He quickly changed the subject before they discussed old times for a brief period. "Oh, I'm sorry. You know how it is," he lowered his tone a notch, "secret operations, need some tacky hawaiian shirt to blend in with the crowd, and where better to look than your wardrobe." Raising an eyebrow once more at David's comment he place a large brown envelope on the table in front of him. "For you," he stated, "thought you might like to intake some information on the lay out of the yacht before we get under way. Now if you'll excuse me I'll see you midnight." Standing up from the chair and moving around the table in sight of the door, he made his way past David. They could talk after the job was done and they had some money to play with, then of course they'd go their separate ways once more. "What no hug? No How's the kids? Some people," He smirked as he said it in an amused manner at his friends swift departure.

David turned his head as he watched his companion exit the premises. Turning back to the envelope on the table at the bar, staring at it for a moment he extended a hand and ran his index finger over the paper. He picked it up in his hand, leaning forward in the dark shadowed region of the room and concealing it with his arms and body. He flipped it on to the other side, unmarked. He wasn't going to open it now he thought to himself with a slight anticipation to know what was inside, I mean he knew what it would be, just he couldn't help but want to know what they were going to do. He leaned back away from the table and moved his other hand to open his jacket, slipping the information into it and closing it once more, as he took his glass in one hand and downed the vodka. Standing up and pushing the chair in, he made his exit from the building, placing his glass briskly on the bar as he went.

An hour had past since the meeting with David. Staring around the room of the poorly decorated hotel made him think even more about being paid for the job. An ex of his kind had taught him that thoughts like that were unprofessional and only stop you from performing to the best of your ability. A Russian chap, knew what he was talking about, and a hell of a chess player coincidently. From the window, he could see good ol' Carlos' yacht. A bit of movement on deck, nothing out of the ordinary. But he knew the lay out like the back of his hand already, doesn't take a master to be able to do it, of course, being ex-special forces helped. He turned his head slightly from his resting place on the bed. From the window, he had a perfect view of the dock, which was rather convenient for the sake of keeping an eye of Mr Quintana's yacht, which he had been watching with some persistence. If he saw fit the high power binoculars could come in extremely handy, he knew where on the yacht everyone would be at 12:15, if of course, Carlos happened to be where he was meant too. Things always go wrong like that in these sorts of operations, but it was a problem that you dealt with over time, and most operations went smooth as spreading butter on a hot hob. Then again if it went like frozen butter on a cold slab, he would be in a rather bad situation, whichever form that may come in.

He had a fair amount of time to prepare. David and himself would take a short swim to the yacht. They knew for a fact that it had a ladder leading down to the sea. If you're wondering why, which he was earlier, and cursed himself for not being forward thinking, it was for climbing back into the monster of a thing after casually diving off the edge for an early morning swim, which he had to say appealed to him. He could easily imagine himself, doing just that once he was paid for the job. One of these luxuries in life came at a fair price, but after being paid for this job, it would be a large stepping-stone towards it. If he saw fit of course, there were a lot more interesting things in the world that would be open to him with this lump sum of cash. Large things like this didn't happen to come along very often. It wasn't that high profile members of the criminal underworld weren't wanted dead. It was firstly, getting someone crazy enough to take the idea on board, second of all, getting someone with enough skill too perform the task, for the sake of insanity. If someone wanted a certain person removed from the equation, then he or she mainly had too know what he or she were getting their selves into. There was no way in hell that his employer was some homicidal fool with a death wish. In this case, you were looking at the top of the list in arms dealing and drugs. Though he had never actually met with the main man of this "Empire" shall we call it, he must have been big. These thoughts about employers took him back to the situation he was in exactly two weeks ago. "Fire arms?" the large bouncer stated in an unruly manner, with a harsh Swedish tone. Looking up to him, he raised an eyebrow as he usually did when agitated by something. Having to raise his head slightly to keep eye contact with the hired help, with his 'lovely' $1.95 suit, he reached inside his trench coat and produced a Colt .44 Classic DX. He loved that gun, a smile spread across his face, as he knew what was going across the bouncers mind, not to mention his expression. Oh yes, he knew exactly what was on his mind. Anyone with a weapon like this is serious, this isn't just a gun for your average down to business hit man, and it's for a person who enjoys guns. The long polished outer barrel of the magnum revolver was spinning up in the air by his chest for a moment as he caught it by that section and held the beast of a gun out to the Swede. "There you go old chap," he stated through a now concealed smirk. "Uh, thank you." "Oh wait a second I have another, out of interest does that include. sharp objects of sorts?" he again made the comment through a covered smirk. "I'm afraid so," replying swiftly as he half glances at the gun which was tightly gripped in his hand. Moving a hand behind his trench coat he pulled out a standard unmarked pistol, obviously a brand, but most likely specially made, now that was for business. At first glance to anyone who knew their her guns, this was a weapon, which most likely had a 15 shot capacity, moderate power, looked like a weapon which could have a silencer as a bonus. Yes, this was a business gun. Holding that in one he leaned down and pulled a combat knife out of his trouser leg, this was in a small black strap. Whistling he stood back up and held the to objects out to him. "Trust you'll keep good care of them," he smirked not hiding much this time and placed the pistol and the knife in one of the hands of the man. "Is that all?" The man asked in a slightly bemused but obviously 'semi- annoyed' manner. "Certainly, have you quite finished your removal of my items?" The Swede just glared at him and nodded firmly gesturing with his head to enter the large dark oak door behind him. Jesus he hated slobs like that, 'bad ass' big built hired hands that the big boys called in to do their dirty work. If he had a new car for every time one of those morons tried to pick a fight with him, he wouldn't be doing this job for sure, an amusing thought.

Ainsley Copeman turned on his imported leather chair, which he thought so fondly of, to face the door of his office. Raising his wrist and glancing at his Rolex for the time, he considered his appointment with the man whom Mr Metzger had spoken so highly of. He didn't really care though. He'd never heard of him, and frankly, that lazy son of a bitch Metzger annoyed him like a cheap suit. Speaking of cheap suits that new boy outside had the dress sense of some one pulled straight out of a brothel. Ainsley Copeman was a large man, more obsessed with money than the running of a business, if you could call this particular line of work business, in one word, legitimate, which of course it wasn't. He'd worked as a financial advisor for some major criminals before; don't ask how he got into it. This was a well-paid job, but thinking to himself, he wondered if he should stick around, this new assignment issued to him, was not in his usual line of work. Talking to hit men isn't exactly; checking the books now, is it? Frowning at the papers on his mahogany desk and fiddling with a pen, he heard some talking from outside his office. Ah! He thought to himself attentively, must be the guy. Pushing the papers on his desk to one side he reached into the lower drawer of his desk, pulled out a black plastic file, and placed it on his desk and opened it. It's not as if Copeman hadn't already looked through the file and left himself two minutes to glance at the pages. The file stated some important facts about the man he was going too meet in a few moments; the moron should be here by now! What was that man doing outside? He had strictly been told to pat down anyone for weapons, it sounded like they were discussing current affairs out there. The picture was place centred at the top of the first page of the paper. A man with pair of dark sunglasses covering his eyes and what he could only see as a moderate glare under them, almost black hair, a large collar, at the moment of the Polaroid, looked like the top of a trench coat. The man looked mid-thirties. Once more he looked to the door, hearing a hand grip round the handle, and made a slight sound. He quickly looked at the name on the sheet as the door opened and a tall man dressed in an extremely expensive looking suit stepped into his office and gently closed the door behind him. "Ah, Mr Copeman I'll assume," he enquired in a bemused British tone. Before Copeman could open his mouth to respond the man walled across the room taking off a large dark grey trench coat and promptly swinging it on the back of one of the two chairs on the other side of Copeman's desk, pulling out the seat he moved round and sat down in an intriguing manner.

It was an interesting office; he wouldn't say it was a poorly decorated office, just, not immensely tasteful. It had some lovely features though, nice wallpaper, a large bookshelf crammed with many books and what looked like hunting trophies. Though the bearskin rug was not the most wonderful feature of the environment, not to mention the large man sitting in a chair. It looked like he'd also been eating one to many pieces of junk food. He didn't seem to have much self confidence either, not replying when he asked him a question. Maybe he didn't take kindly to people not fearing his might, this would be a man he could get a lot out of, like for the joy of it, more money for this offer, that Ainsley was meant to inform him of, if the fool could spit it out. "Umm, yes. Yes! That's right," Ainsley cleared his throat briskly, "that's correct, I'm Ainsley Copeman, I'm sure you know why you are here Mr Greenway." Copeman blurted out in his light American tone, trying to rush his sentence so not to leave a silence. "Mmmm, indeed, well I wouldn't turn up here like a trained dog just for your benefit now would I?" he smiled in an undermining frame of mind. "Uh, quite. Anyway," he cleared this throat once more trying not to sound annoyed at Greenways line of questioning. He knew ex-special ops weren't to be messed with, mainly because they were usually aggressive bastards with a attitude and a immense amount of combat skills, "Now, to business. I know you have been briefly informed of the task, now we both know it's going to involve the death of someone." "Continue, I'm with you so far Mr Copeman," he smiled again. Copeman leant down to a drawer in his desk, a locked one with a key left in it, coming back up with another file, which he passed to the man on the other side of his desk. "This is a file containing all the information that you need on the assassination of one Carlos Quintana, international drugs and arms dealer. I'll inform you now, as well as having him. removed, we would like you to retrieve some information for us. If this information is not retrieved then the killing is pointless even though my. superiors want him out of their way. He has a small safe on his yacht, we presume in his private quarters," Copeman stated, trying to be as blunt as possible with the man, not that he would admit it, but he liked to at least try, and to make people like this, impressed with him, "Does that sound ok Mr Greenway?" "A Cuban island. Cayo Largo is the destination. is it not Mr Copeman?" Greenway inquired. "Yes, and may I just say, I'm sure you have used your common sense and worked out that, the information must be required by any means possible." "Heh, yes well." "By the way, this is a two man job, we were hoping you could use one of your associates to help you on this. of course, unless you feel you can handle it by yourself. Incidentally, take the file away and take a look at some of the information we have put together, we don't yet know much about the lay out of the yacht and times Mr Quintana is working to, so we ask that all plans of action are in your hands." Ainsley informed him, trying to read the blank smile on his face. "Don't call me. I'll call you," he smiled across the desk at Copeman, he liked to keep a certain aura about his character and he could see the man was trying to read him, also amusing. Non-military types were such fun to screw, in simple terms, entertainment, "Out of interest." Greenway stood from his chair brushing down his black trousers from the few particles of dust which had fallen on them, "Why didn't your friend outside pat me down for weapons?" He pulled out a small .44 revolver from his pocket. "What!? Ugh, it's so hard to find good help these days... Do me a favour and inform the incompetent fool he's fired." Ainsley stated in dismay running a hand down his cheek looking like he needed the air conditioning turned on. "My pleasure." Greenway smirked and adjusted his glasses as he slipped the file into his trench coat, turning to the door behind him.

Damn it, he knew that he should have patted down that fellow, Mr Copeman had strictly told him to do that. Nevertheless, he didn't like the look of him, the man looked seriously insane in some way or the other. What was this guys name, Mr Copeman has mentioned it earlier, Greenway, Phillip Greenway, ex-British special ops, trained in four forms of martial arts, explosives, sniper weapons specialist, terrorist situations. This man was a seriously pumped up in the flesh universal soldier, you know, apart from not looking like Jean Claude Van Damme and being um. a poor actor. He'd looked at Greenways guns, not knowing much about guns he was just confused when he came to looking at the unmarked colt product. However, the revolver was a different matter, a powerful piece of equipment. The Swede had got the job by being in the right place at the right time. His thoughts we're interrupted by the abrupt sound behind him, the door handle turning once more as it opened and Mr Copeman's 'business' associate exited nearly getting his coat trapped in the door as he slammed it behind him. "Mr Copeman regrets to inform you your position as door man as been removed," Phillip glanced at him through concealed eyes, "my guns please." "W-what!" the large man blurted out shocked by this piece of news, he didn't know what to make of it. He pulled the mans revolver out of his pocket and gave it to him, a look of unbelief on his face. Greenway took it in his hand with a firm grip and slid his finger round the trigger. "That's right friend, one might say. you were fired," he raised the gun in that instant and pumped a .45 calibre round into the large man's chest as he fell to the floor in a bloody mess. Greenway yawned and leaned down removing his knife and other gun from the corpse.

Greenway smirked to himself in the room. He didn't really think that much of people like that, they should get a real job. Just because he used to be on the side of the good doesn't mean he didn't like a bit of fun now and then. If you could call that fun of course, killing. Killing was trivial in the sense, had it's uses but it was part of the job to him, what's another life gone? Nothing, another to add to the pile of them, which die each year. Anyway, after that Greenway had left and looked over the files that Copeman had told him to, he found it quite interesting actually; he'd never been involved in this kind of procedure. Copeman happened to be spot on, it was a two-man operation, it wouldn't have been, but the fact of getting the documents off the yacht made it that way. If not would have been a nice clean shot when Mr Quintana was out on deck, from one of the taller buildings near the beach. Simple magnum sniper rifle shot, power, long range, gone, an easy job, could hire any washed up hack of a hit man to do that for you. After he'd worked out a nice little plan and talked with David they had agreed to go ahead with the operation and contact Copeman, he'd sounded rather pleased on the phone, probably because if the operation went as planned he would be getting a nice fat pay check in the post.

"Oh come on David! Let me in on the operation this time will you!" Eddie pulled on his shirt with his New York accent coming off to David as extremely annoying. "Damn it Eddie, what did I tell you about following us around!?" David glared at the short figure in a Hawaiian shirt. "Now I'm sure you said it was fine, and you were sure than you'd need me next time," he said with a smile. David pulled a pistol to his head and twitched slightly. "I swear Eddie, if you don't get the hell off my back, I'm gunna bust a cap in your head!" "Oh now Davey you don't have to get like that! I just wanna help; you know how good my surveillance skills are!" David gritted his teeth at the comment that reminded him of a little thing that happened the last time Eddie had attempted to help them. "what! what! The last time you helped, we ended up in eight foot of shit! Whoa whoa, let me rephrase that, we ended up surrounded by fifteen Russian guards with AKs to our frickin heads! Which is worse!" David's finger shuddered on the trigger as he screamed insanely at the infuriating man. "Oh come on, that was just a mistake, you Brits are so up tight, you know that?" he rolled his eyes at David, not noticing the immense anger of the former secret service member.

Eddie had followed David to this location of Cayo Largo. To put it bluntly Eddie was a surveillance expect, and damn good as his job. usually. He had worked for US intelligence for seven years and had quit after, a little incident involving an arms trade which he had said was going to happen in down town New York, turned out just to be a false tip-off and they just pulled in half of the New York police when they saw two guys casually talking. Eddie was a small man who in every sense was extremely naïve, and wouldn't know that a dog was angry if it was ripping off his leg. When he got to Cayo Largo he kept one eye on David and watched him enter a bar, after that he saw David's good friend Philip exit, like sheep, those two were. Wherever one was, the other was sure to be there, with a large gun to cover his back, but right now he thought it better to get back to the situation at hand.

It had taken Philip awhile to get ready for this, as he slowly clipped a magazine into his handgun and clicked the safety off with a satisfying snap of metal on metal. From the unmarked spot which could not be seen from the main coast of this section of Cayo Largo port, a small private beach, he could see the back of the yacht with the name in large italic letters, 'Puesta del sol', which roughly meant, as far as his Spanish skills could go, sunset. To the point, he was waiting for David; he turned to glare up the beach. Late, David late? Impossible! Even from the beach, he could see some guards wondering around on deck with their MP5s, rather classy weapon for just an arm dealer's protection. Greenway yawned still frowning at the thought of David taking his time, the possibility of him being in trouble was unlikely, maybe just some business, though it was still a slightly bemusing though to conclude that in the 9 years he'd known David, he had never once known him to not be on time. Reaching into his waterproof side pack on his black diving suit, he removed a silencer and screwed it onto the end of his gun efficiently.

It had been a long night for the Alarico on deck, peering off the side of the yacht every now and then to see how the tide was drifting, looking back at the wide ocean, which he had just sailed across. He liked his job, whatever business he may have been in it wasn't of importance to him, he liked to travel, see exotic places, and this was one way he could do it. Turning back to face the boat after smiling as he looked off the edge he was confronted by a, "Freeze!" a youngish woman, wearing all black, with her hair tied back holding a silenced pistol in both hands, pointing to his forehead, "Throw your weapon over the side, and raise your hands where I can see them. now." Alarico unhesitant, obeyed her command. "Don't move!" a Cuban accent came from behind the both of them, an MP5 now pointing at the women's back a few metres away. She turned, grabbing Alarico's collar and pulled him in front of her, raising one handed, the gun to the MP5 baring guard. The lightened sound of the semi-automatic echoed in Alarico's ear as a bullet hit his fellow guard in the eye, blood trickling down his cheek as he fell to the floor with a thud in a pool of crimson, the MP5 clattering across the deck and stopping at her feet. Alarico stumbled back, as the woman swung him to the side, he hit the metal bar of the end of the ship.

The woman pulled on the trigger with the slightest of effort on the second man, his head flying back at the power of the 9mm round pumping itself through his neck as he coughed up blood and fell over the side of the ship. The distant splash barely heard. The C4 had been planted she had 3 minutes to get the hell off there with those documents. Glancing at the watch she turned to the beach she had to make it too. The hell? She thought to herself a small figure on the beach in black, she squinted; there was no time for that, 2 minutes 47.

"Oh dear God." Philip looked to the yacht as he just saw the end of two men and what definitely looked like a woman. Patting himself down for some binoculars, he maintained total concentration on what was happening, finding the high powered equipment he raised them to his eyes and toggled the buttons of the top, zooming in on the raid. Female, armed with one handgun, silenced. "Argh! What the hell is this?" David gritted his teeth, with an extreme look of anger on his normally calm features. She was going to dive over board, her operation must have been complete, and he was too late, unless she hadn't taken the documents. He watched her hop over the side of the boat elegantly as shouts came from somewhere on the deck and rounds from an automatic somewhere, fired randomly into the water. He waited a few minutes as the screams continued from the deck. Scanning the water he saw a head pop up about half way from the boat, and half way from him, was she heading here? Then, she was gone, the guards didn't spot her. Looking back up at the boat, he saw some guards move round and inspect the blood on the back of the yacht. A mighty explosion roared from the centre of the yacht, a mass of fire and pure power tearing the middle section of the boat near in two, the sides collapsing as it instantly began to sink into the shallow port of Cayo Largo, metal and all flying off at various angles in a blaze. Philip breathed out heavily at the destruction that had just been caused, glancing to the water again with a rapid movement. Where was she? Little did he know, this was the start of one of the biggest failed missions he'd ever taken part in. Until he felt the cold metal on the back of his neck and a, might he say, happy female tone behind him, "Philip.did you miss me?" Philip's eyes widened as he swallowed hard, and knew he was really going to despise accepting this operation.