Otra vez! (Again)

Where the hell am I? Memory is blank, wiped, scrubbed clean. The only thing I’m sure of is that my nose is broken. Again. But the pain in the center of my face is nothing compared to the apparent oblong clockwise rotation I felt. Clockwise. Definitely clockwise. No putting a foot on the floor to make sure but it feels as if I am trapped on a defunct county fair tilt a whirl with a greasy coverall clad carny at the controls showing no signs of slowing.

Why are we naked? And tied to a chair? What happened to us?!

Calm down. We’ve trained for this.

But! What happened?

Shut the hell up and let me think.

Two conversations occurred. Both inside my head. Both nestled deep into my psyche for as long as I can remember. One rational, well trained, calculating. The other oblivious, distracted, inattentive.

Doc Proctor believed it was critically problematic having more than one voice in my head let alone two.

I disliked the narrow shouldered bulbous headed man from the get go. Peering over his spiral notebook while tapping a pencil against his immense forehead. Feigning concern for my well-being. Reporting to my superiors whether or not I was a potential risk or a valuable asset. Glazing over my potential multiple personality disorder as a result of compensation for everything I’ve seen and done. A glancing side effect from what I’ve become.

Get in the Goddamn game man!

Yes! What happened?!

Evaluate the situation. Know what you know.

Clothes are gone. Ropes around my ankles, wrists, and trunk. Metal chair. Complete darkness except a barely discernable pin pricked red light, elevated, to the right. Smell is gone more than likely to my benefit. Something secured to my right arm just below the elbow. Water dripping behind and to the left. Air is calm and musky. Complete. Dark. Silence.

Remember when the neighborhood kids dared you to go into the open manhole then closed the lid?

You’re not helping.

I do remember the storm drain more specifically the slow eclipse of light as they slid the metal cover. High pitched laughter drowning my screams. Cutting my hands on the rough underside. Unable to lift the heavy plate and whoever was standing upon it.

Given the certain circumstances, I can only conclude we are dealing with some serious if not professional hard asses.

Remember that one time you found that dead cat?

Ignore that asshole and concentrate. We’ll get out of here just like we got out of that storm drain. We’ll take care of things here just like we took care of things back then.

You found it but it wasn’t dead…yet. Remember?!

Focus. What’s the last thing you recall?

We were going dark. No trace. Plausible deniability of our existence. Target was cleared for elimination. Extraction was limited to a narrow window both in location and time. Simple in and out. Four-man team. Two I’ve worked with before and one unfamiliar. Marco. Tall lean twitchy bastard with a high-pitched laugh even when nothing was remotely humorous.

I didn’t like him. He wasn’t like Davis.

Good. You got it now. I didn’t like him either by the way. Keep going.

We were 5 kilometers south of Carapachibey, Cuba in a zodiac millpro. Zero two hundred hours. Black seas indistinguishable against the dark night kept our advance under 5 knots. Marco was at the helm handling things as if he had done it before. Davis and I were forward port and starboard shrugging off the salty spray as the 14-foot inflatable slammed into the waves towards the target. Cal was covering the stern but mostly monitoring his watch as the extraction window was slowly narrowing with every passing second.

You noticed something odd.

My stomach doesn’t feel good. I told you that whiskey tasted funny.

Marco kept reducing speed.

It wasn’t a noticeable decrease, however; Cal caught my attention pointing a hard finger towards his watch. We were slowing our advance and our chances to make the rendezvous point on time.

We had no other option other than to hit ’em hard and fast. Target was eliminated. Collateral damage was minimal. Mostly unimportant low levels. We shoved the whores off in one of the dinghies. Secured the 20-meter yacht and acquired the secondary objective.

Davis covertly pulled me aside. “Somethin’ just ain't right.” He had the same look in his eyes as he did in Fallujah. Just before the skies opened raining hell down upon us. “It’s just an easy job. Let’s get the hell out of here before we miss our extraction.” Davis loosened his grip slightly before letting go.

Where is everybody else? Are they in here with us?

Quiet. I’m trying to figure out how the hell we got here and besides, they’re not in here with us.

How you do you know?

This is a professional’s situation. They’ll keep us separated until…

Someone’s coming!

Footsteps. Three sets. Heavy.

We should see if they know where Davis is!

The door is on the right, see?

Bad things are going to happen again, aren’t they?

Shut up and keep quiet. Focus on what you see.

Three. Dark silhouettes. Two standing on either side of the door’s frame. Can’t see clearly yet. Eyes un-adjusted to the transition of light. A soft wave of condition air reveals the stink we’ve been sitting in. Figure tall lean. Twitchy? A single bulb illuminates overhead revealing the shadow’s features.

Hey! It’s Davis!

Shit… We are not going to get out of this one.

“Welcome to Mexico Major.”