Enter the Headhunters Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Many months had passed since the terrorist organization had relinquished control over the Marine outpost in the African country of Kenya. The recent endeavor had been little more than a training exercise for the previously covert Cobra organization; a ploy to make the rest of the world aware of their existence, and to expose the fact that the United States military had gotten soft.

The supreme Cobra Commander’s abandonment of the mission made it appear as if they had been defeated and forced to retreat into the shadows, but in reality, the whole operation was aimed at allowing the head snake to infiltrate the top-secret military unit.  The organization’s resident hypnotist, an eccentric knockoff of Vincent Price known only as Crystal Ball, had succeeded in providing the commander with top-secret military intel he desired. 

After contemplating the best use of this information, the Cobra Commander had decided to recall his best field operatives to the compound for an important face to face meeting.  For many of them, this would be the first time they were all together in the same room.  Some of those in attendance had not been in contact since their retreat into Somalia from Kenya. The commander had successfully reassigned that group of unique specialists, but now with the recent uprisings in Egypt, Syria, Turkey and North Korea, he felt it was high time to get a handle on some of his assets, and to once again embarrass the United States military in the process.

“Greetingssss essteemed Cobra loyalistsss.  It is ssso good to see all of you again.” 

The room erupted in loud applause as all those in attendance cheered the appearance and words of the head snake.

“It has been quite some time since we have all been together under the same roof, and although I have remained in clossse communication with many of you over thisss time, I felt the need to arrange this pressstigious homecoming.” 

The room once again erupted in cheers.  Cobra  Commander took a step back from the podium in order to revel in the admiration and respect of his compatriots. In his mind, their applause and loyalty were well placed.  After many seconds, he stepped back towards the dais and raised his hand to silence the crowd.  The members of the room promptly complied.

“It has recently been brought to my attention that many of the world’s leadersss have been overstepping their boundaries and neglecting their obligationsss to the Cobra nation.  Thisss… cannot! and will not be tolerated!  I have requested this audience with all of you, my pressstigious field commanders and generals in order to make some important changes.  Consider these to be promotions within the hierarchy that is Cobra.” 

The room once more responded with applause. The large ballroom in front of the commander’s balcony was filled with Cobra’s most cunning and ruthless agents.  Individuals recalled from six continents and over twenty countries had happily returned to heed the call of their supreme leader.  Although the Cobra nation was still in its infancy, the promises of world domination, free healthcare, and equalized power had gone far in creating a wide array of supporters.  The commander made sure that each of them was well compensated and provided with all the necessary supplies each required in order to assure his ultimate ascension to worldwide power. 

Many of those in attendance had never met one another before, but each of them shared in the vision of their leader.  Thus, uniting each of them with a common cause. 

As he scanned the room, his eyes fell upon Laird Destro, or James McCullen, the president and CEO of MARS Industries and the commander’s chief supplier of weapons and armaments.  The man stood nearly six foot four inches tall and had a physique reveling that of a professional wrestler in his prime.  His most notable characteristic took the form of an opulent silver, reflective, full face mask that entirely enclosed his head.  Originally designed to shame his family for making a profit by dealing arms to both sides of a great past war, Destro had turned his family’s curse into a badge of honor and a beacon of power. Few would dare to challenge the power of Castle Destro and his Iron Grenadiers or survive militarily without dealing directly with MARS industries.

Some other noteworthy attendees were the co-CEOs of Extensive Enterprises, the Corsican twins known as Tomax and Xamot.  Their international law offices are located on the six main continents and they have represented hundreds of thousands of corrupt corporations worldwide.  In their spare time, the two men were responsible for training and outfitting an elite group of Cobra operatives known as the Crimson Guard.  These specialist soldiers were all prestigious lawyers and served as private bodyguards to the supreme Cobra leader.  Each guardsman answered to the name Fred and was allowed to live amongst the general population, holding jobs, raising families and in the process secretly extending the reach of Cobra.

To the far left, the commander took note of several of his most gifted and trusted doctors.  Dr. Mindbender, Dr. Venom, and Scalpel had served his organization well by not only providing medical care for the troops, but also by conducting valuable research in the fields of genetics, neuroscience, robotics, and surgery. Each man possessed the intelligence quota of a genius and in their own right were capable of Nobel Prize recognition if only their dark hearts would allow them to devote their lives to the preservation of mankind. 

Up front and center stood some of his more eccentric egomaniacs.  Big Boa and Croc Master, two hulking mounds of testosterone were pivotal in training all the grunts and ensuring the security of the Cobra Island.  Few dared to stare too long at either in fear of physical confrontation.  

The bird-like man known as Raptor had been pivotal in laundering money through a worldwide network of trust funds and offshore accounts. The gifted accountant made Bernie Madoff look like an inexperienced rookie.  As strange as he appeared dressed in the feathers of a hundred red-tailed hawks, few would dare question his keen financial prowess.

One of his greatest assets and key reasons for this assembly took the form of the fur-collared, red-eyed Gypsy hypnotist known only as Crystal Ball.  With a Ph.D. in psychiatry and hypnosis, this man was currently manipulating the mind of the G.I.Joe operative known as, Pathfinder.  Their mission in Kenya had succeeded in providing the Cobra leader with an insider on the G.I.Joe payroll who didn’t even know he was a Cobra informant.  The good doctor could probe the man’s mind while he slept and continue to extract valuable intel about the current plans and assignments of the Joe team. 

The commander had done well in surrounding himself with competent and physical generals capable of accomplishing his worldwide mission while he pulled the strings safely behind the scenes, amassing a huge wealth.  Many influential leaders who previously rebuked his offers for protection, now stood in allegiance before him.  Leaders like the Black Major, who headed the European Red Shadow organization, Zartan and the Dreadnoks with their international biker gang, Mortal, de’Aco and Invasor from the South American Cobra chapters now all heeded the words of the charismatic commander.  Those who opposed assimilation had been swiftly disposed of and never seen again. The terrorist group was an expert at making people disappear.

“Dear friendsss. It has been brought to my attention that some of the independently operating terrorist cells in the middle east near Trucial Abysmia, have been interfering with some of my trade routessss.  Connectionssss that are imperative to the success of Cobra.  I will need several of you to form a task force that will first infiltrate and evaluate this threat. After careful scrutiny, we will need to decide upon whether to eliminate or incorporate the dissidents.” 

There was some grumbling that went out across the floor. The steely gaze of the commander’s reflective face mask gave little indication of his emotion, but his unyielding stance quickly silenced the hall.  Satisfied with the respect shown, the commander spoke again.

“I will entertain any thoughts or suggestions now in a public forum. Who would like to speak?”

The chrome-headed leader of the Iron Grenadiers, Laird Destro, was the first to speak out. 

“My dear Cobra Commander, MARS industries cannot afford to jeopardize trade relations with the leaders of the Middle East at this juncture, so I must graciously and regretfully decline.”  The commander held up his hand and acknowledged that he understood the situation.

“Surely there are otherssss in this room willing to take up the challenge and the opportunity for the advancement of Cobra.”  His reflective faceplate once again scanned the room, but many of his operatives were secretive individuals who would not want others in the organization to know about their current exploits or ambitions.

 “Fair enough. No need to answer me now.  I will expect to meet with some of you of your own fruition.  If not, I will simply choose my representatives.  However,  I prefer like-minded, willing volunteers over assigning operatives.” 

The room once again erupted in cheers.  One of the commander’s characteristics that had attracted many in the room, was his willingness to share his leadership with them.  Unlike other tyrants, who merely hired muscle and made demands, Cobra Commander shared his visions and allowed his operatives to choose missions that they were the most passionate about.

The commander had ascended to his powerful position simply by his choice of powerful words and propaganda.  He made his constituents feel as if matters were in their hands when in reality, he was controlling it all.  This form of subtle manipulation had worked well for him thus far. Some outsiders would consider him an absolute genius.

The officers of his upper command were content and loyal. This attribute attracted many prospective new members.  These new recruits started off as a grunt, the lowest entry level position, and were introduced to a rigorous, structured life that involved scheduled paid work, mandatory patrols, and various aspects of military training. In addition,  attendance at nightly simulcasts given by the commander himself was required.  These broadcasts contained Cobra propaganda as well as subliminal messages strategically inserted by the famed Doctor Venom, to instill absolute loyalty to the cause.  Afterward, soldiers would leave these seminars feeling empowered and confident about their decision to join the Cobra nation.  The enigmatic Cobra Commander was a true military mastermind.

“I will be back in my private chambers should anyone require an audience. I look forward to your continued enthusiasm.”  The room cheered once more as the commander disappeared through a red velvet curtain which concealed his egress from the balcony. 

The white ninja, Storm Shadow, who was the personal bodyguard of the commander, stood guard on the other side of the curtain and accompanied the commander on his walk back to his personal quarters.  The Arashikage leader was a newer recruit, but his loyalty was unquestionable. Cobra had offered him a place to secretly train his red ninjas and claimed to hold valuable information concerning the murder of his uncle and previous head of the Arashikage clan, the Hard Master.  The commander had charmed the ninja with promises of revenge and in turn, the ninja had pledged to defend him to the death.  As he approached the doors to his private chambers, he requested that the assassin enter first.  The white ninja bowed respectfully and obliged.  After securing the room, he bade the commander enter.

“Thank you good Storm Shadow.  I bid you leave me for a moment while I tend to some persssonal matterssss.” 

The ninja master once again bowed before exiting the room.  As he departed, he was greeted by two armed Crimson Guards assumed their post outside the commander’s main door. Their presence would allow the ninja to see to other matters.

The commander logged onto his private server which took him onto the secrecy of the dark web, where he could retrieve his electronic messages.  The inbox contained nothing out of the ordinary, just a few updates from two absentee operatives serving as the current heads of state in two foreign countries. These individuals offered their sincerest apologies for not being able to attend the meeting due to political obligations.  After sending off an acknowledgment of their current situations, he clicked on his television and proceeded to watch the BBC world news as it sprawled across the seventy-two inch HD screen.  The news agencies had done well in whitewashing many of the events transpiring around the globe.  Some events, like the current coup in Algeria and the initial overtaking of the marine outpost in Kenya, never got reported to the public.

Big brother is always telling the world what they can and can’t be privy to.  I intend to change all that.

The commander was pulled from his private thoughts as the door swung open and the mercenary known as Firefly stepped inside. He wore night camouflage military fatigues and a ski mask similar to the ninja.  He was a dangerous and mysterious acquaintance, who had a proclivity for fire and explosives 

“Greetings Cobra Commander.  I am here to take care of the problems in the Middle East.  It feels like this is a matter in need of my special touch.” 

The head snake held up his hand.

“My dear Firefly, I really do so appreciate the offer and your enthusiasm, but I am in need of someone for this mission with a little more disssscretion.  Please don’t be offended your work is second to no one, but I would like to seek some a more diplomatic sssolution before resorting to your particular line of tacticsss. I will definitely seek out your services should thissss mission go south in any way.”

 The saboteur’s head nodded indicating that he understood the commander’s position at the moment.  However, since he wore a ski mask to protect his identity, the commander found it difficult to fully gauge the arsonist’s level of disappointment.

“Well do keep me in mind should things change and you are in need of making some people or places go boom!” 

“Oh I will dear Firefly, ressst assured that you will be the firssst person I call upon should that need arissse.” 

The world-renown mercenary bowed and subsequently exited the commander’s private quarters.

At least fifteen minutes past between the saboteur’s exit and the next time the door opened.  This time the commander was greeted by a familiar face.  One he had come to know and trust over the past decade or so.  This man, like so many of his other associates, was a well-known mercenary and had orchestrated some of the world’s most notable government and military coup d’etats.  Capable of influencing military plans in plain sight, or from the safety of the shadows, Major Sebastian Bludd was probably the most qualified candidate for the mission in the Middle East. 

“Sssebastian Bludd, so good to sssee you again.  I take it your mission in Libya is complete?” 

With the collapse of the Libyan Arab Jamahiriya in 2011, the commander felt it necessary that the major vet a Cobra Sympathizer and install him as the country’s next head of state. 

“Things have not been easy Cobra Commander, the country is still in extreme political disarray.  I have positioned some promising prospects, but as of now, we will have to wait until some organized elections take place.  Things like this take time.  It could be a few years before Libya achieves both economic and political stability.  But rest assured Cobra Commander, that when the dust finally settles, the candidate in power will be loyal to our cause and the people who vote him into power will be none the wiser.” 

The major offered a salute in the form of a clenched fist held upright in front of his face. This elicited a similar gesture from the supreme Cobra leader.

“Pleassse Major Bludd, do have a seat.  I trust you are here to dissscuss to prossspects of the Middle East.” 

The major’s facial expression revealed little.

“Actually commander, I am here to recommend another for the mission, if I could be so bold.”

The commander’s posture changed a bit as he put a hand to his chin indicating a level of intrigue.  

“I have had the privilege over the past two years of working with an individual Cobra sympathizer, who I feel would serve you well in the hostile environment of the Middle East. He is a uniquely talented individual who has experiences on the Russian tundra and other unforgiving regions.”

“Well do get to the point already Major, or at least show this candidate in.  Anyone that you would speak so highly of isss worthy of my attention for at least a few moments” 

Major Bludd walked back to the door and escorted in a younger man who had a darker complexion similar to an Inuit or possibly a Middle Easterner. He possessed an average physique and height and wore a necklace of what appeared to be small animal skulls around his neck.  His most distinguishing characteristic was his full head of bright orange colored hair. 

“I present to you the man known only as Ghost Bear.”

The commander gave him a once over and signaled for the man to approach him.

“Kneel before me.”

The man immediately complied. 

“Welcome Ghost Bear. Please tell me, what power do you serve?”

Making sure that he kept his eyes averted from the powerful man, Ghost Bear replied. 

“I live to serve the power and glory of the Cobra World Order.  My goals are your goals, oh supreme leader of snakes!”

“Exssssellent! Please stand up.  You may gaze upon your leader.”

The man once again did as instructed.

“Major Bludd speaksss very highly of your skill set. What experiences have you had with the Middle East?” 

The candidate rose and began speaking in an unfamiliar tongue.  The commander could only make out one or two words, one of which was Allah.  The man then switched mid-sentence back to English in order to complete the conversation. 

“I speak Arabic, Pakistani, Urdu as well as Russian, Ukrainian, and Inuit. All fluently.  I have served in the Spetsnaz, Russia’s version of special forces. I have also worked with the various freedom fighters in Jordan, Iraq, and Syria.  My most recent infiltration was among the YPG, a Kurdish militia translated as the People’s Protection Units.”

“That is really quite impressive, but I feel you might have to do one thing for me first.”  Ghost Bear gazed at his leader with deep admiration and anticipation

“Anything, supreme leader.  Anything you ask.”

“You sssimply must lose that ridiculous hair color before you go.”

“Right away my liege.  I will dye it much darker to appear more Middle Eastern. I will even grow a beard if the supreme leader so desires.” 

The commander held up his hand, and the subservient man immediately stopped speaking.

“I will consult further with the good major and if he and I are in complete agreement, I will assemble a small team of loyalists to take you into the region.  Once there, you will serve as my eyesss and ears and report back all the intel that you gather.  If I deem it necessary, you will be my voice in the region as well. Now go.  I will have sssomeone summon you once I have made my decision.”

Ghost Bear bowed low and expressed his gratitude before leaving the room.  “Thank you most supreme Cobra leader.  I live only to further the cause. I vow that if you allow me this responsibility I will serve you like no other.”

He bowed once more, then closed the door behind him on the way out.

“He is quite humble and a bit meek.  Wouldn’t you agree, Major Bludd?” The major shook his head immediately.

“I can assure you, commander, he is anything but meek on the battlefield and loyal to a fault.  He is merely showing you the deepest reverence.  He was terrified to come to you on his own, but I see promise in the youngster, or I wouldn’t have brought him to you.” 

The commander sat pensively for a few moments.

“Present me with his full dossier, and I will take it under consideration.  However, I would honestly prefer your presence being in the area.”

“I could stay with him for a week to ensure that he is fully capable if necessary, but then I simply must return to my previous duties in Libya and Egypt.  There is still much that requires my attention, and if I take on the Middle East, I fear I will be stretching myself a bit thin.  I am only one man, and the boy is not only fluent in the languages of the area, but he is physically more suitable for the part than I.”

The commander released his chin from the grip of his hand and nodded in approval before signaling for the major to leave the room.

“Leave me now and return with the information I requested.”

“At once Cobra Commander.”  The Major saluted his leader then turned to leave, but instead of exiting, he turned around to address the commander again.

“Might I share my latest prose with you, sir? It’s been quite some time since I’ve had your ear for these things.” 

The commander reluctantly complied.

“Thank you, sir. I very much value your critique of my work.”

He retrieved a small notebook from his pants pocket then cleared his throat as he flipped through the pages. Satisfied with his selection, he began to read aloud.

“The pigs of war squeal with delight.

Content that today they are not a mere bite.

For tomorrow, they may be nothing more than bacon.

Or perhaps, I prefer a cheeseburger.”

“I must say my dear Major Bludd, your latest work has left me desiring a ham and cheese sandwich. Pleassse send for the chef on your way out.” 

And with that, the major proudly placed his poetry pad back into his pants pocket, and contently exited the room.

Enter the Headhunters Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The S.S. Chameleon had been out of port and halfway to her destination on the other side of the globe.  Her destination was Sydney, a bustling port city on the eastern coast that was also the capital of New South Wales.  The city, one of Australia’s largest, is home to many famed attractions including the Sydney Opera House, with its distinctive sail-like design, the arched Harbour Bridge, the esteemed Royal Botanic Gardens, and the outdoor platform of the Sydney Tower, known as the Skywalk, which offers a 360-degree view of the city suburbs and shoreline. It was a popular tourist center and filled with danger all at the same time because, it is also the home to one of the largest international biker clubs in the world, the Dreadnoks. 

The pirate Zanzibar stood behind the wheel of his ship his eyes trained on the emerging coastline.  He had been out at sea for nearly a month since docking at the Newark shipping yards and an additional month since his latest stops in Indonesia.  Dreadnok protocol required the vessel to maintain radio silence for anything other than shipping information.   The Chameleon’s previous stop at the Bangladeshi port of Chittagong had depleted some of its cargo while adding other products.  It was a risky stop due to the recent liquid cocaine raids, but a necessary venture for the prosperity of the Dreadnok empire.  It would only be another few hours before he could finally take a short respite from his travels, and reunite with his patch brothers and his commander, the infamous master of disguise, Zartan.  There was much that the two needed to discuss in regards to the recent events that transpired between the pirate and Danimal Gristle. The Homeland Security Officer was long known to be on the payroll of Declan H. Mann and his criminal drug organization, the Headhunters. 

Captain Teach had had an uneasy feeling about this last encounter and would need to fully disclose the details to his boss.  It was not necessarily an urgent matter, but one that would need to be discussed in length.  With Darling Harbor coming into view, it felt good to be home again, but the pirate still knew that he had other matters to attend to before he could get in some well-needed R and R.

“Captain, shall I tend to the cargo manifestos before we make port?”

The younger pirate, who went by the name Sea Dog, cautiously approached the ship’s captain.  Zanzibar pulled himself away from his thoughts briefly to acknowledge the underling. 

“Yes, make it so Sea Dog.  I have much to attend to after we unload, but be sure to handle these matters as discreetly as possible.  I don’t need everyone on board knowing the true nature of our voyage.”

The veteran captain made sure to emphasize the words “true nature,” before returning his gaze to the open sea.  Truth be told, most of the cargo on the seafaring vessel was being legally transported, but the hull was also transporting more than its fair share of contraband items.

 “Now, be gone and leave me to my thoughts.” 

“Aye, aye Captain!”

The younger pirate immediately disappeared from sight and attended to his assigned duties, as the Australian shoreline emerged with nothing but fair currents and skies ahead for the remainder of the voyage.

Zanzibar had chosen wisely in allowing the stowaway to stay on board and become an active member of his crew three years back.  He was trustworthy and loyal to a fault, but it was these characteristics that also worried him, as he wasn’t sure if the youngster had it in him to be a full-fledged member of the Dreadnoks.  But nonetheless, if he didn’t end up eventually being sworn in, the captain definitely had a permanent place for him amongst his crew.  He allowed his gaze to shift to the waters off the starboard bow.  The carcass of a large sperm whale had surfaced and was being torn apart by three or four great white sharks.  The creatures were strong, mysterious and typically solitary.  So, the spectacle of several of these large sharks being in close proximity to each other and devouring the whale intrigued him. 

“Even the sharks know when to call a truce and work together for a common goal.”  He could only hope that his business associates in the states would see things the same way.

A short time later, the captain cut the main engines. As the ship continued to drift closer to the harbor, a small vessel from the AMSA, Australian Maritime Safety Authority, pulled up alongside the port bow.

“Ahoy! Mates of the SS Chameleon.  Toss us your towlines so we can wrap you up and guide you in.”

 It was customary for the smaller government tugboats to escort the larger freighters safely into the harbor.  They would wait for the boat to come to a stop,  then hook her up and tow her to port. The practice was designed to help cut down on damage to the Great Barrier Reef by carefully guiding the larger ships along a path through deeper waters.

After docking, the AMSA members would conduct a thorough investigation of the ship’s cargo hull.  This was customary as it was not unusual for immigrants to try to gain access to Australia as stowaways, or illegal cargo.  As the ship slowed substantially, the pirate had his deckhands throw the tow line down to the crew of the much smaller vessel. The SS Chameleon had been scheduled to arrive today and since all had gone accordingly, she was well within the parameters of her arrival window.  The tow into port was slow, and the crew was instructed to drop anchor several hundred yards before making port.  As the large freighter ground to a stop against the rubber bumpers of the steel pier, Zanzibar’s crew immediately tied off and secured the seafaring vessel at her assigned dock. 

“Aye G’day Cap’n.  Permission to come aboard?”

The crew tossed down a rope ladder for the AMSA agents to scale in order to board the freighter.

“Of course, welcome aboard mates!”

The two officers from AMSA made quick work of the rope ladder and boarded the ship. 

“Might you be so kind as to show me your shipping slips?”  The veteran officer in charge inquired.

“Absolutely.  I’ve got my ship’s recorder gathering them up for you as we speak, he can be a bit of a bludger.  Please feel free to have a look see in the meantime.  But, please make it quick as I got me a certain sheila standing by, and she’s expecting me to stop over at the old Bottle-o for lunch.”  The Australian custom’s and border security agents snickered, then flashed him a knowing smile and a nod. 

“No worries cobber! We shan’t be long.” 

He then headed off towards the containers and ascended the ladder to the upper deck.  His partner descended a ladder into the ship’s hull. The ship’s recorder caught up with him a few minutes later carrying a clipboard stuffed with the necessary paperwork. 

“G’day mate. Here are the forms you requested.” 

Sea Dog handed over the forms bound to a clipboard which the AMSA agent readily accepted. 

“Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”  He stood patiently waiting for a response but wasn’t given one.  He cleared his throat indicating that he was still standing by.  The AMSA agent tossed him an irritated glance and waved him away.

“You don’t need to stand there like a drongo! I can handle my job just fine.”  The young pirate flashed a scowl, but only after the government representative turned his back, then returned to the lower deck.  The AMSA agent compared his list to the containers on the ship.  Sea Dog had previously unlocked them all for easy inspection, and since the SS Chameleon had never been caught shipping illegal wares, the search would be cursory at best.  Satisfied that the fifty-six occupied cargo containers were carrying safe materials, the AMSA official filled out his paperwork and proceeded over to the captain’s quarters.  He was met along the way by his accompanying officer who flashed him an all-clear sign for the lower decks and the hull.  Marking the forms for the cargo hull, he entered the captain’s cabin.

“Alright, then Cap'n Teach.  You and your cobbers are free to unload and hit the shore.  How long will you be staying in port?” 

The pirate thought for a moment, but without talking to Zartan, honestly didn’t know the response.  It was customary for a ship to stay 3-5 days at most, but if it was going to be longer, she would have to tow the ship to a different area such as Middle Harbor or Castlecrag.

“As far as I know now, we should be no more than four days.” The AMSA agent checked the appropriate box, initialed the bottom of the form, then handed the completed paperwork over to the captain.

“Well, just remember if you’re going to be any longer than that, that you’ll have to relocate this ship to a more remote pier.” 

Captain Teach nodded, clearly indicating that this was not his first rodeo in Darling Harbor.  He thanked the AMSA agent and retrieved his clipboard.  The agent remained in the office while the captain looked over the approved paperwork, then held out his right hand.

“What is it with all you border patrol agents? Always looking for a bloody handout!”  The AMSA agent flinched at the pirate’s apparent outrage.  “I should run you and all your kind through with me cutlass!”

The agent allowed the pirate to vent his frustrations and once he was satisfied that there was no imminent threat, composed himself once more to offer a reply.

“Really Zanzibar? I’m sure that would do you and your many unscrupulous business partners little good.  Now, pay up! I’m sure you’re making a killing on some of this cargo, and I’ve got three more ships to check today.”

  The pirate narrowed his eyes and knew full well what the customary procedures were both here and away, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t much like it.  In his mind, he wondered. What’s the point of being a part of this organization if we’re constantly wasting our profits by paying people off?  It’s high time we get someone on the inside to help cut costs. He pondered the situation for only a moment until he remembered something that his wise employer had once said.  It’s easier to dispose of a body with no affiliation to our organization than one that has already made a name for himself. 

The sentiment made sense, and the longer he thought about it, the more logical it seemed.  A patch brother on the inside would end up costing them more, demanding a higher cut for each job.  By having random unaffiliated associates taking bribes, they were actually safer, because those individuals would be more secretive and careful about their illegal activities, not wanting to lose their added income.  Anytime someone started getting squeamish about taking the bribe, there would always be someone just as corrupt, willing to take their place.  He laughed about the vicious cycle that made up the operation.  He opened the top drawer of his desk and retrieved a yellow envelope stuffed with cash, which he handed over into the grubby mitts of the AMSA agent. 

“There you go, mate. Should be enough in there for you and your mate.”

“Rightly kind of you Cap’n Teach.”

After the agent collected his bribe, Zanzibar was once again alone in his quarters.

“And they have the nerve to call me a pirate.” 

He scoffed, then walked to the other end of the room in order to retrieve a long beige trench coat.  As flamboyant as the pirate could be, there were times he needed to simply blend in.  He removed his eye patch, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and tucked his ponytail up under a non-distinct black baseball cap.  He looked at his reflection in his mirror before leaving and realized that he had left his cutlass attached to his waist.  He unclipped his scabbard and instead stuffed a pistol into his inside coat pocket. 

“Never can be too careful, seems like everything in Australia is trying to kill you.” 

He chuckled to himself as the statement couldn’t be truer.  Australia was home to twenty-one of the world’s twenty-five most venomous snakes and several deadly fish, like the stinging stonefish and the lionfish.  If the fish and snakes didn’t get you, the blue-ringed octopus or the box jellyfish could.  Everything from bees, to spiders to the somewhat docile platypus had venom.  And this wasn’t factoring in all the cutthroats and criminals walking around on two legs.  He grimaced a bit, then turned up his collar as he exited and secured his cabin.

He walked down the gangplank and turned right on Bridge Street where he hailed a cab in order to take him to the Soda Factory on Wentworth Avenue in Surrey Hills. The livery driver stopped to pick up the rather common looking pedestrian. 

“G’day! Where to mate?” 

The undercover pirate entered the back seat and made himself comfortable before replying.  He thought he knew this particular driver and scanned the back of the driver’s seat for his name.  Sure enough, he did.  When he wasn’t driving his cab, he was a two-bit pickpocket and street charlatan, preying on unsuspecting tourists and the like.

“Could you drop me off at the Soda Factory in Surrey Hills?” 

The cabbie looked in the rearview mirror at his passenger, nodded, flipped the meter, and began to drive in the direction of the requested destination.

“So, what brings you to Sydney mate?  How do you even know about the Soda Factory?  That’s a place for the locals.”

The pirate raised his eyebrows then lowered his sunglasses so the driver could better see him.

“Listen, Willy, stop being such a dronger before I promptly scuttle your hide!” 

The cabby immediately recognized his voice and swallowed hard.  It had been quite some time since the salty sea captain had made port, yet here he was in his, of all cabs.  The pirate’s eyes flashed his contempt and he immediately dropped the pleasantries and moved to a more respectful tenor.

“Aye Captain, I’ll get you there straight away.”

“I would think so.  Bother me no more with your worthless banter! If you have no pertinent information to divulge, then do me a favor, and shut yer worthless hole!” 

The cabby knew better than to argue with the likes of his passenger and continued driving.  The remainder of his ride was silent and within nine minutes, the driver pulled up to the curb outside the Soda Factory.  As the cab came to a stop, the pirate tossed the cabbie some cash, without even asking about the fare.

“Keep the change mate.”

And with that, he was out of the car and standing on the curb outside his favorite restaurant.  It felt good to be back home as the smell of hot dogs on the barbie wafted into his nostrils.  His stomach growled loudly as he entered the restaurant. The place was always a bustle of activity and well-visited by locals and tourists alike. 

“Can I get you a table mate?” 

The hostess was new and someone he didn’t recognize, which meant she didn’t know him either.  He removed his sunglasses and smiled at her. 

“Now aren’t you a pretty sheila! I would much prefer a seat with you at the well, dearie.”

 The pirate’s Australian was a bit rusty, to say the least, and the hostess flashed him a scowl. 

“Not today mate. Seat yourself then.”

She promptly turned to greet the next patron standing behind him.  The privateer made his way to an open stool at the far end of the bar.  The man behind the counter was someone he recognized immediately. 

“What can I get you, mate?” 

The bartender was a muscular bloke wearing a sleeveless shirt that exposed multiple tattoos.  He had a full black beard and mustache, and the hair on his head was shaved into a mohawk. The pirate recognized him as being Zartan’s third in command, one Harry Nod or Ripper.

“G’day Harry. Let me get the Kickass Buffalo Wings, some Fat Bubba’s Poppers, waffle fries, and a cold grape soda.  I’m famished.” 

The barkeep turned to yell back the order, then scooped some ice into a tall glass, cracked open a can of grape pop and placed them both down in front of him.  As the pirate reached for the soda, the bartender grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him in close.

“Do you really think that disguise is fooling anyone, mate?!”

The pirate’s instincts were to reach for his pistol, but this was a fellow patch brother. Zanzibar barely flinched and Harry promptly released his shirt, and instead pulled him into a headlock over the bar and administered some noogies. It was short lived and a few seconds later he released him back to his bar stool. 

“Blimey Zanzibar! Where have you been? We haven’t seen you in a dingo’s age.” 

Both men shared a hearty laugh.

“I’ve been tending to some important shipping routes out west, and after I fill me belly, I need to be speaking with the boss.” 

Ripper’s eyes narrowed a bit at the comment and the pirate’s face contorted in response.

“Well, ain’t you heard? He isn’t here mate.”  He leaned in close then to whisper. “He’s been out on some super secret covert mission for the past nine months.  No one’s seen or heard from him since.”

“Then who’s been running the show here? You?” 

The barkeep shook his head in response.

“No, not me, mate. I don’t want that responsibility. I just run the bar and help out at the bike shop. The other one’s been here.” 

The pirate’s face once again indicated that he didn’t quite understand. Ripper leaned in a bit closer and whispered.

“You know… his brother.” 

The pirate had never directly dealt with the brother of his boss, in fact, he didn’t recall ever meeting the mysterious man, who had a reputation for vanishing in plain sight.

“Is he here now? I’d like to see him as soon as possible. I need to make him aware of a recent incident back in the states.  It’s not urgent, but I fear it could turn into a potential situation.”  

From behind the bartender, a bell rang signaling that an order was available for pick up.  Harry turned around and retrieved the order.

“He’s here, that one. A bit strange if you ask me, but eat your grub.  I’ll take you to him once you’ve finished.”

 The pirate nodded in agreement then started to sample the hodgepodge of gourmet grub laid out before him.  In addition to being the front for the international biker gang’s secret headquarters, the Soda Factory was also known for having some of the best bar food on the western coast of the country. A few years prior, one of the famous television foodies had reviewed them on the Travel Network, and now blokes came from all around to sample their world famous cuisine. The place was a bustle of activity from open to close, and as he ate his food, the pirate began to realize just how much he had missed the greasy goodness. 

He watched the local news on the oversized television above the bar as he devoured his lunch.  The international stories spoke of mounting tensions between the United States and North Korea, a recent uptick in opioid-related deaths, and a terror attack on a mosque in Egypt.  It seemed as if the world was at war with humanity and the pirate smiled, knowing that the Dreadnoks would be there at the forefront trying to reap some of the spoils.

As he finished his food, he washed it down with his final gulp of warm grape soda. The bar had no air conditioning so his ice had long ago melted.  Zanzibar was full and the food had only given him a slight case of heartburn.  He placed his utensils and napkins on top of his empty plates then made his way to the loo.  He passed several strangers along the way but paid them no real attention. After hitting the head, he returned to his bar stool to find that Ripper had already removed his used dishes, and was waiting patiently to escort him over to the boss.  

“Ready to go then are you?”

The pirate nodded then belched loudly.  The sophomoric act elicited a laugh from both men.  The Dreadnoks were known more for their brutality, not their maturity. Many of the members with the exception of Buzzer, had never attended high school let alone a university.

“Alright then mate, try to keep up with me.”

The bartender nimbly hopped over the bar and landed gracefully on the floor next to him.  The large man’s agility caught the pirate by surprise.  Zanzibar followed him to the back of the restaurant where Ripper pressed a hidden button on the back wall which opened a secret passageway. 

As the two men entered, the wall closed silently behind them.  The corridor was dimly lit and led to a flight of descending stairs.

“Follow me.”

Both men made short work of the distance to the bottom of the staircase.  As his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, he determined the layout to be that of a small sitting room.  Two large leather couches with a coffee table and ashtrays were arranged strategically around a large locked wooden door.  Ripper knocked and a somewhat muffled voice answered from within.

“Come in.”

The bartender opened the door which revealed a spacious office with a large desk and some other sparse furniture.  The pirate scanned the room, but could not find the owner of the previously heard voice. The room was completely devoid of any people other than the two of them. 

“Hey! What gives?”

Ripper took a seat in the large leather chair behind and desk then motioned for the pirate to sit in the chair before him. 

“Please sit down.  I understand that there is a matter we need to discuss.”

The captain complied but did not take his eyes off of the man seated in front of him, as he was still confused by this strange turn of events. 

“I thought I was meeting with Zandar.”

The other man smiled.

“You are.” 

“But you’re Harry Nod.  The bloke I know as Ripper.”

He narrowed his eyes leaning in closer as he scrutinized the man, who continued to sit comfortably behind the desk.

“Am I now?”

As the man continued to speak, it became evident to him that the man’s appearance was all a ruse. The pirate watched as his host began to peel away the layers of his latex face mask, and the wig used to create his black mohawk.  When he was finished, a red-haired man with a chiseled jaw, and what appeared to be blue tribal war paint sat before him.

“Allow me to introduce myself Zanzibar.  I am Zandar, and you my swashbuckling friend, have been completely duped by my disguise.  I’ve been watching you ever since you entered the bar, listening to every word that you’ve said and watching every move that you’ve made.  I really must insist that you be a little more respectful of the restaurant staff, especially the hostesses.  Sexual harassment will not be tolerated within the Dreadnok organization.”

The man’s expression indicated his disdain for the pirate’s recent actions.

Zanzibar’s eyes grew wide and he nearly fell out of his chair.  After picking up his jaw and composing himself, he began to process the performance put on by the second in command.

 “I...I’m sorry Zandar.  I was merely commenting on the sheila’s good looks. I meant no disrespect.”

Zandar’s scowl only slightly diminished, and so the pirate shifted his conversational strategy to one of flattery.

“Bravo! Well played sir. I honestly would never have known.  It truly is an uncanny talent that you’ve got. It’s clear that thespian blood runs thick through your veins.  I’ve only ever been fooled by the likes of Zartan himself.” 

The pirate applauded the acting leader of the organization, who stood up and took a cursory bow, but he quickly switched back to the business at hand.

“You said you have some---possibly troubling news?  So do spit it out.”

Zandar leaned back in his chair and opened a small fridge on the floor behind him.  From it, he removed two cold cans of Grape-ade and handed one to the pirate.

“Why thank you, sir.  I’m afraid there was a bit of a confrontation at the Newark piers during my latest visit.”

“I see. Please, continue”

  “I noticed that Declan H. Mann and his street organization, the Headhunters, had nearly doubled their shipment of the raw materials used to manufacture the poisons they sell on the streets.  When I questioned his---how shall I say it? Phoney Cronie in Homeland Security clothing about the shipment,  that imbecile had the nerve to voice an open threat against me and our organization!  I mean---it’s probably nothing for us to be concerned about, since Danimal Gristle and the Headhunters are little more than a gang of drug-pushing street thugs, but regardless.  A threat is a threat!”

The second in command of the Dreadnoks held up his hand to calm the pirate, then carefully considered his words before speaking. 

“You did well in alerting me to this matter, and I trust you handled it with tact?”

“I did sir.  I swallowed my pride and paid the bribe with little more than a firm warning.”

“I had hoped that you had simply dismissed it, but oh well. It seems we may have to pay Mr. Mann a visit to assess his loyalty, or perhaps other measures may need to be taken to suppress this new found arrogance.  I thank you for bringing this to my attention and assure you that any threat made against one of us, is a threat made against all of us!  Now drink up. All those months at sea may have given you the scurvy, and as we all know, grape soda fixes everything.”  The two men toasted cans and downed the contents.

“Can never have me too much of that there citrus!” 

“Here, here!”

“Here’s to me and Vitamin C!”

The two men toasted each other again while enjoying a hearty laugh. Zandar reached back into the fridge to procure another two cans of grape soda and placed them on the desk.  The leader’s pensive face revealed that he was still analyzing the recent event in his mind.  He opened the second can, took a sip then placed it down in front of himself.

“Upon further review, I’m thinking a visit might do little to curtail his actions. We may need to prepare a little gift for D.H.Mann and his aspiring criminal organization.”

Zanzibar cast a curious look upon him. 

“Don’t get me wrong, we’re all criminals, but there are certain practices that even the Dreadnok nation cannot condone. I will need to set up a meeting with some of our---consultants to discuss the matter further. In the meantime, enjoy a little R and R.  I’ll send word to you in two days.”

Zandar’s tone had once again become sterner and clearly indicated that he meant business.  His vengeance would be anything but swift, as the second in command savored the art of the game much more than enacting the judgment.