Chapter 20: Sneak Peek

Time: 1457. Location: New York City.

Christmas Eve and where am I? Having a gourmet dinner with some nameless bimbo? Having sex in a swanky hotel with said nameless bimbo? No. I'm in a god damn New York City Police station. I'm sitting in an interrogation room. Been here for the last two hours waiting. These damn cops. I know they're just doing their job, at least they think they are, but did he have to eat the burger with onions? It's your typical interrogation room. There is no giant two-way mirror, no window, no room for a camera crew to walk around to get that perfect shot.

No, it's the stereotypical interrogation room. Ten by ten. Gray walls pealing showing the older gray paint underneath. A small metal table bolted to the stained concrete floor. Metal chairs. One of the legs on mine is shorter than the other three. I guess it's supposed to make me uneasy. The fluorescent light flickers. Smells of vomit, piss, and stale coffee. Great place.

These guys have been grilling me for two hours about some "assault" I committed. It never crosses their mind that they may be in over their heads. There is no way they know. I look normal enough. It's my job to blend in. To gather intel. Today it's ratty blue jeans and a faded black Stones tee. You'd think the spec ops boots would give me away, but what the hell do these guys know about boots.

They keep yammering on about this attack in the park, positive ID. Yadda yadda yadda. I don't say anything. Don't want to feed their already bloated egos. Yeah, they're New York's Finest, all right but for me. I'm a Real American Hero. At least that's what the Newspapers say when something leaks out about us. They don't stop for a moment to think how easy I was to apprehend. How quickly I was IDed by the brunette from the park.

Don't get me wrong, I respect them. They are good at catching the "bad guys" most of the time. Sometimes though, they're just playthings for guys like me.

I made my phone call. Same as before. Sometimes it's from a police station. Sometimes a seedy diner. Never anywhere respectable. Would it kill them to let me sit and eat a steak? Probably the damn bean counters worrying about budget costs. Hell, you'd think I was Chuckles or Faces the way they treat me.

I sit and wait, listening to these two go on. Then comes the knock. One of the detectives steps outside. I can hear the muffled argument, probably about me being his collar, the park being his jurisdiction or some other insignificant bullshit. The other guy tries to play good cop while his buddy is in the hall. I just smile. I know what's next. The door opens. The bad cop comes in whispers to his partner. There is a back and forth then they both leave.

In walks two men. Both in suits. I recognize one of them immediately. He's tall, 6'3". Blonde hair tightly cropped, middle-aged. His black pinstripe suit is perfectly pressed, I guess they're playing the Feds today. His shoes are gleaming. Polished to a mirror finish. Not patent leather. No, his are the shoes of a lifelong soldier. We nod as he un-cuffs me from the chair. He takes a seat across from me.

The other is the typical DOD gopher. Black suit, white shirt, black tie, patent leather shoes. Jackass has seen too many movies. Thinks he's hot shit with his six-figure salary, but the dick's never seen action before. Hell, he's probably never even shot the Glock he has under his left arm anywhere but the range. Man needs to go to a tailor if he's going to pack. Take a lesson from Clayton here and get his suit altered to hide the firearm. He stands all holier-than-thou arms crossed over his bloated chest.

"As you know this meeting, never happened." Is he really trying to sound like Dirty fuckin' Harry?

"I understand."

"This mission does not exist." He is. The jackass really is. Fuck me, where does the government find these guys?

"I understand."

"You will be in the field indefinitely. If you are caught, there will be no attempt at rescue. Your association with the Joe team, your citizenship, your records, everything that makes you you will all be erased."

"I understand."

"Very well. General, you may begin."

"Thank you, Sir." The DOD douche doesn't hear it, but I do. The contempt. Clayton really doesn't like this guy. "As you may or may not know, we have had an operative deep inside Cobra feeding us information for some time. Our mole in Cobra has provided us with Some very… Interesting intelligence.

This intel concerns a listening post somewhere along the Amazon River. We have reason to believe that this particular location is of great importance to Cobra. From what we've gathered, it is a fallback position for the upper echelons of Cobra should a major attack on Cobra Island take place. We also have been provided information that it is storing some very high-tech, very high-level armament. Dangerous stuff. Stuff we haven't seen yet. Stuff that, if what we have is true and Cobra uses it, it could shift the outcome of the War on Terror in Cobra's favor.

This combined with the information we've received about Cobra Commander taking General Eisenkopf into his trust, and the reports being gathered on the reemergence of the Red Skull and his minions, leads us to believe that something major is in the works and that this outpost may be a key."

"Do we have a location?"

"That's a negative." Dirty Harry again. I want to strangle this cheap government flunkie. Instead, I go for the hard stare. He looks away first. Clayton picks up on this. A slight smile on his face as he continues.

"That's what you're for. You'll travel to Brazil as a tourist, we've booked you a jungle expedition. This expedition will become lost. You will slip away at that time to be reported missing. The search will last 72 hours, at which point it will be reported that your body was found." He slides a sealed manilla envelope across the table. "This contains coordinates for an airdrop of supplies. You are not to open this until the 72-hour search window has closed. You will then have 18 hours to reach the supply drop. If you don't reach the coordinates within the allotted time, the supplies are rigged to self-destruct. You are to complete the mission with or without the supplies."

"Typical."

"Sneak Peek, I don't have to stress to you how important this mission is. This has come from the very top. You need to find this post. You need to send us any and all info you can. We strongly believe in the safety of the United States. No. The safety of the world depends on what you uncover."

"General Hawk, you can count on me."

"That's what I wanted to hear, son. Now let's get you out of here. I swear next time we'll meet somewhere where we can sit and have a steak."