If there was any rhyme or reason to the organization of this little pirate village, Frank couldn't see it through the high powered optic on his SR-25. Huts and longhouses built sometimes of lumber, other times bamboo or even corrugated metal panels were built on the shore in a haphazard fashion. Additional structures were set on raft like devices supported by pontoons floating in the river, including what passed for a dock. Several river going boats were moored there, including a few with machine guns mounted to their superstructure.
Hard, lean looking Malay, Chinese and others moved among the predominantly one-story structures. Here a trio of smugglers loaded crates into a small boat. There a knot of men and women sat on empty oil drums, talking animatedly. By what Frank took to be a bar, made of a heavily repurposed shipping container, more people sat or stood, drinking, arguing, or just glaring. He'd already noted that the only ones carrying weapons larger than a knife or pistol had a yellow cloth armband, and received some measure of deference from the others. Guards or militia, perhaps. Maybe locals directly loyal to The Ambassador.
Frank himself was in the trees and undergrowth on the bank opposite of the village, lying among the wreckage of a fallen upuna borneensis. With his face obscured with camouflage paint and a veil of dark green netting over his boonie hat, Frank was invisible to the inhabitants of the village from this distance. While the remainder of the team rested during the sweltering early afternoon, Frank kept watch. Taking turns, he and Davies had managed to get the lay of the village, note where the concentrations of more heavily armed individuals were, and so on. They'd also quickly located the building being used as a house by The Ambassador, at least according to their intel. It was protected by no less than ten of the arm band wearing people during the day.
What they hadn't seen so far was any sign of The Captain. Ignoring the desire to wipe the sweat from his face, Frank continued his vigil. All of the information they'd received indicated The Captain would be here, either this day or the next. As he watched the village through his scope, Frank thought about his encounters with the secret society known as the Phoenicians.
The first time was in Dagestan, in the middle of a wild five-way running gun battle through an abandoned village. The Dragon, Illuminati, Templars, Phoenicians and the Cult of the Harvester all in place battling over some crates of artifacts the Phoenicians had attempted to sell to the Cult. The 'Purples' had ended up being shot to pieces by all involved. Later Frank had learned the operation was the result of ARTEMIS intelligence.
The second time was also as a result of ARTEMIS. A group of Phoenician mercenaries led by Rohit Patel had been hired on as extra muscle by the spy organization to assist with the final take-down of the Zamfir syndicate in Romania. The suave, bearded Patel had led his men and women with flair and panache, no doubt helping to bring the affair to a more swift resolution. As it turned out, Patel's small company of personnel were on a long term contract with ARTEMIS, to provide ready hands and the occasional maritime transport.
Frank then worked with the man again in the Thousand Islands region of Indonesia, even spending time aboard the Phoenicians heavily modified submarine Waverunner, based on the Norwegian Ula class. Then, a final time near Croatia, recovering an artifact held by the remnants of the Zamfirs. Both missions, again, were instigated by ARTEMIS, though the latter through their front company, 'Orion Logistics.'
Frank zeroed in on a swaggering Malay with a RPD light machine gun, wearing belts of ammunition around himself in bandoliers, tracking his movements until the olive drab and khaki clad pirate jumped onto a speedboat with several of his fellows. With a cough the engine was started, and the group left, destination unknown.
Patel had been a professional, Frank thought as he re-centered the rifle on the village itself. Sure, he was a fucking pirate—Frank had grown fond of telling him so—but he'd stuck to the contract, and had not double crossed them or hung them out to dry, despite many opportunities. He'd even saved Frank's life in Indonesia—and Frank had returned the favor on the same night. Patel hadn't had to risk himself over the ARTEMIS agents, but he had.
Could such a man work for people who helped bring about the Kaidan event? Given who some thought was ultimately behind it...could such a man work for her? Even in his mind, Frank was careful about saying the name. Once upon a time he'd have thought it foolishly superstitious.
He'd learned better since then.
Maybe Patel could work for such people. Maybe he really was a monster, maybe all of the Phoenicians were. It was likely whoever The Captain was, he probably wasn't a saint either.
“Badger, Hotdog. Coming up.”
Frank cocked his head to the side as he heard Patton's voice in his earpiece, looking slightly behind him. Slithering on his belly, greenery rustling, the magi from Chicago joined him. He'd brought a pair of binoculars. Like Frank, he had his face camo'd up and his face concealed with netting.
“Anything yet?”
“Pirates,” murmured Frank back dryly.
“Oh, ho ho. Not the one we're looking for though, huh?”
Frank didn't bother to shake his head, back to looking through his scope.
“Nope. So, binoculars. Figured you'd use magic t' observe.”
At his side, sheltering in the ruins of the downed tree and other plantlife, Patton had brought the binoculars to his eyes.
“Ah, nah. See, that uses up my juice—I don't have the same supplies of anima you do. 'Sides, divination and other observation magic can show up to another magi who knows what to look for. Giant finger of God pointing down saying 'magi too fucking stupid to live here.'”
“Mmm. Don't have that happen. I'm right here next to you an' I don't wanna get poked by a giant finger.”
Their information said that The Captain arrived one of two ways: one in a rather expensive river yacht that operated out of some other part of Borneo, or in a flying boat. They had memorized visuals of both. Additionally, he was one of the few visitors to the village The Ambassador would greet in person.
Naturally.
They had few usable pictures of The Captain, however. All had his face obscured with a wide brimmed hat. It was strange they had so much detail for his visits, but so little for the man himself. Whoever he was, he had to be doing quite well for himself to visit his lady in style.
Then again, Phoenician captains typically didn't take vows of poverty or give their paychecks to charity. If one had risen to the rank of captain within the Phoenician navy, one wasn't poor.
“Hey. Got something.”
Frank repositioned the rifle and aimed once more, following Patton's instruction. A dart-like river yacht was moving serenely through the water, approaching the pontoon docks of the village. Slowly sweeping the boat with his rifle scope, Frank noted several armed men on the deck and superstructure. A mix of individuals that looked like Europeans and South Asians.
“Purple stripe on the side? Really?”
Patton snorted to himself as he informed Frank of this, noting the armed men in suits as well.
“Uh huh. Almost too obvious.” Frank continued to pan the rifle as the boat slowed. The pirates Frank had seen lounging on the oil barrels jumped up to moor the craft.
“That, or our Captain is one cheeky motherfucker.”
At this, Frank did briefly look over at Patton.
“Now where th' fuck did you learn to say 'cheeky?'”
Patton grinned as he kept watch through his binoculars.
“Templar, man. Spend all our time around Brits.”
A retractable gangplank was lowered onto the dock and two of the immaculately dressed—but surely sweating—guards marched down onto the pontoons, submachine guns slung across their chests. Phoenicians in civvie dress? Maybe. Frank shifted his aim as a welcoming committee came to meet them. Six of the armband wearing locals, led by a woman in a yellow knee length blouse and a wide, voluminous skirt of the same color. Both were decorated with complex embroidery.
The group stopped ten feet from the gangplank and waited.
“Madam Ambassador, I presume,” whispered Patton, binoculars to his face. Frank grunted in the affirmative. It matched the information they had been given.
As the group stood at attention, facing the two suit wearing guards, three more men came down to join them. One had a wide brimmed hat, and was carrying a bouquet of flowers. As the trio stepped onto the pontoons, the man with the flowers and The Ambassador moved to greet each other, their respective guards holding their positions. To Frank's eye, the Malay woman looked genuinely happy at the flowers, accepting them with a wide smile. The man in the hat leaned low, and The Ambassador stood on tip toe to kiss him on the mouth.
Frank chuckled dryly under his breath. It was a little odd to watch. The fact that Phoenicians, the organization who had delivered the device that triggered the Kaidan event could have romantic relationships made them seem almost normal. He'd thought Patel and his crew were relatively 'normal.' They weren't though, were they?
“Okay, yeah. I'm thinkin' that's th' Captain.” Frank keyed his mic.
“Mastiff, Badger. We have visual on th' target. Our friend th' Captain has decided to join us.”
“Acknowledged. We're on our way.”
Soon enough the entire team was in concealment, binoculars, monoculars or rifle scopes observing the scene. There was some exchange of pleasantries between the two security details, then all of them started to leave, headed for the building they took to the The Ambassador's residence. The other pirates and thieves that populated the village watched them, but otherwise stayed out of their way. The yacht, which was easily the largest vessel currently docked, still had a few guards aboard. The locals stayed away from it as well, now that it was moored.
“So. The lot with the Dragon from her little mansion?” Stewart voiced the question, arching an eyebrow curiously even as she started through her monocular.
“Nope. That bunch stayed put,” Frank replied as the party was met by the aforementioned guards, and then went inside The Ambassador's large, handsome bungalow. The house detail remained outside, along with four of the honor guard and all but one of The Captain's retinue.
“That's sixteen of the armband crew at least, then.”
“Yeah, and we count six for The Captain.”
Davies growled sourly.
“And a village full of pirates. Not great odds...but not unworkable. Intel says he stays for three to four days, usually. Gives us time to adjust and execute this properly.”
“The boat,” muttered Bouchard. “The boat is a better place. Even if the bungalow is only one floor, it is still situated among buildings providing interlocking fields of fire. Too many guards, too many pirates to deal with quickly or quietly if the alarm is raised.”
“While the yacht has less guards, and from their the opposition would be coming from one direction, instead of every direction. Problem is when this bugger is going to be on the boat.” Davies sounded thoughtful, having moved his attention to the boat itself.
“Maybe displace from here, set up a new spot, then take down the boat when they're on their way out at the end of his stay? Few thousand yards from the village, say?” Patton rubbed a hand over his chin, contemplating the problem.
“An' jus' pilot th' thing t' th' rendezvous site.” Frank agreed with the others. Anything sounded better than walking right into the center of a pirate village.
“Perhaps. We'll continue to observe for the rest of today and tonight. Let's see where they go, what they do.” Davies glanced over at Frank, a darkly painted face amidst the foliage.
“Go get some rest. I'll take my turn behind the rifle now.”
Day gradually turned to night, though the heat only barely slackened, and Frank once again had his stint on observation duty. A night vision imaging unit mounted in front of his scope allowed him to continue watching over the village even in the dead of night. Men and women continued to move about the area: repairing weapons or their precious boats, going to the 'cantina,' getting into drunken arguments and so on. All was seen in varying shades of green or black through the optic. Lanterns and a few floodlights set up near the boats to make it easier to work shone like burning stars.
On the yacht, the few men left behind patrolled lazily, weapons slung low, or sat in their shirtsleeves, jealously watching the denizens of the village as the sounds of drinking, arguing and tinkering rolled out over the water. Frank remarked on this to Davies as he arrived to join him close to midnight.
“They're guardin' coz that's what they're paid t' do, but their hearts ain't in it. They feel safe here. Wonder how long these visits been goin' on?”
In the blackness, Frank could hear a slight rustle as Davies shook his head.
“The intel was spotty on that, but, long enough. Long enough that their instincts are dulled. This is a relaxed duty for them. We can take advantage of that if we can just get the bloody Captain out of the village proper.”
One by one, the pirates—Malay, Chinese, Vietnamese and others—receded towards their dwellings, like the tides they rode. Even those posted around The Ambassador's residence turned in. Lanterns and flood lights turned off. Soon, there was only the sound of the river and of the night animals: insects, bats, and so on. Stewart relieved Frank just before morning. The Captain had not emerged from The Ambassador's bungalow a single time.
