Tod Goldberg by Burn Notice 03 - The Giveaway (v5)

Author:Burn Notice 03 - The Giveaway (v5)
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2010-05-17T04:00:00+00:00

12

When you ambush somebody, it’s not merely about surprise and suppression. You can only surprise someone once in a given situation. You can only suppress someone for as long as they feel you hold the upper hand in terms of power. With deficient manpower and against a worthy opponent—which is typically the scenario that would necessitate an ambush—that isn’t a very long period of time.

A proper ambush surprises, suppresses and then creates institutional control.

Provided the goal of the ambush isn’t to kill every single person, the result of a successful operation is to strike fear into the enemy, to make them think you know their every move and already have a counter in place. This creates fear and suspicion in the rank and file, which leads to paranoia in the leadership.

In an organization like the Ghouls, where by definition the membership is made up of felons, a successful ambush will act like a magic pill. Suddenly everyone is looking over their shoulder. And the big boss man in the gold Lincoln? He’s looking for a scapegoat just to quiet the troops.

I already knew that was his specialty.

The man in the gold Lincoln burned down the stash house and killed the men who ran it. He also killed Nick Balsalmo (or likely ordered the job), probably just for having the Ghouls’ drugs and for not being forthcoming with the information on Bruce Grossman.

Or, well, allegedly he’d done those things. Anyway, I couldn’t help but assume that life was not looking particularly rosy for Clete, Skinny and the Hobbit now, either. At the moment it wasn’t my largest concern, as Sam, Fiona and I were busy prepping the Grossman house for the eventual arrival of the Ghouls. We were in the process of moving most of the Grossmans’ furniture out into the backyard when Sam asked me an important question.

“Tell me something, Mikey,” Sam said. “What creates that old-lady smell?”

“Palmitoleic acid,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“A fatty acid found in your skin,” I said. “Old people make more of it. Their skin sloughs off and suddenly everything smells like a wet book.”

“In this context, what’s old?”

“Over forty-five.”

We set the sofa down outside, next to where Fiona was working on her arts and crafts. She had several small sheets of plywood that she’d cut into the shape of cat’s heads. Beneath the head of the cat, the plywood descended into a spike. The plywood was painted black and glass beads, inlaid into tinfoil, were placed along the face to form reflective eyes. She’d made ten of these cat heads. The plan was to plant them throughout the house—in the living room, the entry hall, and since the kitchen was inexplicably carpeted, the kitchen, too. In the dark, they would reflect any ambient light and give the impression that the house was filled with wild, or, preferably, feral, animals.

If you want to scare someone, anyone, make them think they are surrounded by animals. The mammalian brain does not like this. The mammalian brain will ask you to flee.

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