Chapter One

Chapter One

"There's a time to fight, and a time to run away!"

-any Frenchman

"Andar! Andar!" the head waiter blurted out as he made his way past Hector and into the ship's hold. This bit of Spanish fervently reminded him of where he was and why he was dressed like a waiter. When Virginia had told him he would be needing his tuxedo for this assignment, he thought he was finally out of the doghouse with Bishop...no such luck.

Trying to keep on schedule, Hector (know by his government moniker as Rook-5) grabbed a plate of hors devours and headed topside trying not to be noticed. The sea air was refreshing compared to the dishes being cooked up downstairs and probably kept him from blowing chunks and his cover. Licking his thumb, Hector smoothed a rogue hair behind his ear and leaned over a scantily clad woman, sunbathing on the deck. Offering up his tray of dead sea creatures and cheese, fluent baja Spanish flowed from his lips as he offered up compliments like he did the brie. Hector's eyes meandered across the tan backs of several ladies when his earbud microphone crackled to life.

"Rook! It's time to get moving! You're behind schedule!" the booming voice of Bishop was unmistakable.

Hector walked and smiled as he mumbled into his sleeve. "Tell me again Bishop why I was chosen for this mission...it's because I look so good in this tux isn't it?"

Bishop's reply was to the point, "Cut the small talk and get to the distraction!"

Hector sat down his tray of fish and cheese on a sunchair and knelt beside the entrance to Shige Nishiguchi’s office. Shige carried out all of his ‘business proceedings’ at sea. International waters made legality a bit more ‘hazy’ as well as offered him the protection of miles of water in all directions to prevent being listened in on. He also made sure to surround himself with two things. Beautiful women and Yakuza. Hector had been trained in international terrorist organizations and how to recognize them, but it didn’t take an expert to recognize that these three-piece suits in ninety-eight degree weather were Japanese mafia.

As he knelt next to the port cabin, Hector feigned a loose shoelace while waiting for one of the ‘decorations draped in suntan oil’ to turn over on her stomach. This would give him more than enough time to carry out his distraction also.

Moving with the efficiency that originally won him this job, Hector released the rubber seal on the heel of his shoe that held his distraction in place. Owing to the deviousness of company minds, Hector’s right shoe sole had been hollowed out and filled with simple vegetable oil. Also, the standard heel had been replaced with a more pliable plastic so that, when he walked, the oil would be ejected rearward. Now, normally, this would not be considered a highly useful item in the field of espionage, but when one tied the meticulously waxed deck with the added vegetable oil, it quickly turned into the fifth force of nature.

The simplicity of it all is what really appealed to Hector. Less moving parts just meant less likely to malfunction.

After adjusting his tie and giving the initial outflow time to form a serious obstruction, Hector slammed his right shoe down once for good measure and quickly made his way starboard to await the next anxious waiter.

Since being topside, Hector had made a circuitous route around the top deck sizing up the number and position of all the important people. Checking the sides of beef guarding Shige’s office once more, he silently prayed that these guys weren’t as good as they dressed. Shige and his business associates had made their way to the rear deck, most likely to enjoy their very expensive dinner. Which meant the main course should be being pushed out via a sterling silver push cart … any… second.

A sound akin to a windchime factory exploding may be the only thing you could relate to what happened next . Counting on the waiter to not see the near-invisible oil accompanied by his due speed to impress his host, the two thugs guarding the office watched as half of the first course accompanied the waiter overboard. This, as expected, caused the metal and muscle in Armani’s to investigate… exactly as Hector had hoped.

To be continued...