Chapter 1.2

Door was knocked so hard that Arthur thought cops were doing a raid.

- Arthur! Goddammit, open the door! 

- What the fuck, Mike?! Do ya know what time it is? 

- Have grown old? Mike said and laughed. - Take your stuff! Hurry! I have booked us flight to New York. 

-New York... What the fuck you are talkin', man? 

- I called them. They take us both. So start packing, you idiot. 

- I have to tell my boss... 

- You can email him from port. You have a new boss now. So, are you coming or not? 

- Yeah, of course... I email my sister. She can take care of my stuff here. Wait a sec. 

---

Arthur raised M16 and gave a double-tap. 

- Good! Now, Mozambique Drill! 

He turned at the same time with the target. Two to chest, one to head. 

- Next post! 

Arthur ran. He had been lazying after the army. In everyday life, he hadn't noticed. But here, doing stuff again, he felt extra pounds and extra years under his belt. The instructor was former British paratrooper, in his 40s but still made of steel. He hadn't taken his days off boozing around and eating cheap pizzas, like Arthur. 

At the end of the course, instructor, Jake, laughed. 

- Very well for a Yankee. Bit more morning jogs and you will do fine. 

- Thanks. Too much civilian stuff. Beers and shit. 

- I know. But don't worry. You should see what kind of horizontally challenged personnel we time by time get here. They sweat already when getting off the bench. 

Arthur enjoyed informal atmosphere. Something else compared to army. No saluting and standing in attention when drill sergeant crushes your toes. No pretty boys balling around like peacocks thinking they were end all, be all. They all were doing important things as they should, but all that cockniness he had hated was away. They were professionals, not babysitters. 

- Have you any idea where we are gonna deploy? Arthur asked from Jake. 

- Hah, I'm not dealing with that shit. I just use whip here, he said and plinked eye. - But I heard in the news that there are increasing international pressure to calm the pirates in Somalia. Too bloody many ship nappings and ransoms per year. 

- You reckon we're gonna go there? 

- I've my itch. There's a good business opportunity, and I think our bosses are pretty good at that stuff. Smelling the whale carcass. 

They laughed. 

- I haven't been in Somalia before, Arthur continued. - I met some guys who'd served with those who were there but... It was too long time ago. 

- Were you even born then? 

- Around that time. 

- We attended in one cooperation training with some guys... who had been there. Tough guys, and even then... it ended to shitstorm. 

- How about now? 

- Hah. Don't think too much. We are not a superpower. We can't afford losing guys like flies. It's not gonna happen again.

Arthur regretted he had mentioned it. 

- Yeah, you're right. I just have to get this blubber off my guts. 

- That's the talking! Jake cheered. 

*

Chapter 1.1

Mike's Ford Raptor stopped at saloon. Black Mercedes SUV stood outside. 

- Fine carriage, Arthur said.

- Yeah, he has some money. Lots of money. Hopefully we can get our share.

- Let's hear him out, then.

They walked in. They knew the bartender. He looked at them and a worry shade glimpsed on his face. 

- I don't want any trouble, partner. 

- Don't worry, mate. We are here doing some business, and it seems there's no dickheads this time, Mike said and gave a telling look. 

- Ah, mister. Partner, these gentlemen are with me. Here, take what you want. Please, be my guests. 

Bald, Roman nosed man talked with British accent. He had a black suit and a striped tie. Arthur's hand touched instinctively boulge on his back. Personal guard was there, ready to shed some lead if necessary. 

- Sir, we are simple men. Even simpletons, kinda. So, we talk straight. You had some job opportunities for us? 

- Ah, yes, yes, I certainly have. Have you heard of security counselling? 

 - You mean private security? 

- Yes, some people call it like that, especially here in America, but we prefer security counselling. Less... Bad press, I suppose. 

- We don't care about bad press. Someone has to do the job. Even if it's dirty. 

Man smiled. 

- You sound just like men I need. More? 

- No thanks. We do business only sober. 

Man laughed heartily. 

- Of course, of course! Now, sir, if you don't mind, I suggest we move to my car. I have some... Calm place to discuss about business. 

Arthur and Mike looked at each other. 

- Fine, let's go. 

They started walking. Before front door Arthur grapped Mike's arm. 

- Listen. You think this is a good idea? 

- What other choices do we have? And you have that Austrian on your belt. Don't worry, mate. 

They continued and got inside car. When man was about to start the car, Arthur touched man's shoulder. 

- Lest go anywhere. Talk your business here. 

Man looked Arthur into eyes through backmirror. 

- Alright, sir. However you wish. 

Man leaned back and turned.

- You both were in the army? 

- Yes, in the same unit. We've been in Iraq and Astan. 

- For how long? 

- Three rotations. Both of us. 

- Why did you left the army? 

- I left because I got a good offer from my brother to join his construction company, Mike said. 

- And why are you here? 

- My brother's an idiot. He did some bad business... And angried wrong blokes. 

- Is there a price for your head? 

- For my head? No, not at all. My brother was in charge. He was forced to sell his company and I was fired. 

- How about your silent partner? 

Arthur coughed. 

- I was discharged because I didn't get the promotion in time. 

- Honorable or dishonorable? 

- Honorable. I wasn't just intrested to babysit idiots. 

Man laughed. 

- I like your partner. Honest chap. Although one has to wonder why he's carrying vest and gun. 

- He is a good soldier, Mike assured.

- I bet he's. But we are not doing just soldiering. We are operating in the shadows. Under radar. If you get into trouble, there will be no cavalry to save the day. You have to fend on your own. 

- We can do that, Mike smirked and laughed. - We have been in bad places. We aint some greenhorns. 

- Well, we shall see that. If you are still interested, contact this number after couple of days, man said and gave a plain card with only a phonenumber. - If you're answered, you've passed. Now, gentlemen, I wish you farewell. 

Mike and Arthur looked at each other. 

- Okay... we'll make a call. Thanks. I suppose. 

They hopped from the car. Man started the engine and drove away. 

- Quite a feller, Mike said. 

- Dandy little bastard, Arthur grumpled.  - Seemed a bit too fancy, if I'm honest. 

- Don't worry. We'll make it. Surely. 

They headed back to saloon to have some pints. 

*