Behind Enemy Lines

by R. J. Patterson

  “From where I’m sitting, you don’t look like a robot,” Miller quipped. “You should still be able to use some amount of discretion.”

  “And I do. But I can assure you there’s nobody operating on the up-and-up that’s firing RPGs at reporters.”

  “Exactly. And that’s why I want you to find out who it is and stop them.”

  “So I can stop them? Or so you can write about them?”

  Miller shrugged. “What difference does it make? These people need to be exposed. But for the record, I already told you I’m not looking for another story. I’m just trying to figure out who wants me dead.”

  “Well, if I could help you, I would. This is just as much of a mystery to us as it is to you. We’re attempting to piece things together and figure out if there’s more to tell.”

  “What do you mean? Like background information that I omitted?”

  “Something like that.”

  Miller shook his head. “I told you it was all in that first story. Just a forgotten pilot who wasn’t actually dead like the military initially told his family.”

  “And it’s an intriguing article that I wished I’d read earlier.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “There was one detail that I found interesting and would’ve liked to have known before I debriefed the pilot. You said that he managed to sneak a letter out of prison to his parents. Did you see this letter?”

  “Well, no, I didn’t verify it, but they told me about it.”

  Black smiled. “I don’t think he ever wrote a letter. I think that was a family suspicious about their son’s death, and they got you to take the bait. Do you know how difficult it would be to get a stamp, write a letter, and mail it to the U.S. while in a Russian prison?”

  Miller shook his head.

  “Let’s just put it this way,” Black said. “It’s easier to extract a hostage from there than it is to sneak out any type of correspondence.”

  “So you’re saying the family fooled me?”

  “Look, I know you might think that’s some black mark against your journalistic integrity, but I’ll never tell. And the end result is what you wanted, right? Bring a man back home? Can’t argue with the results.”

  “Yeah, but now someone wants me dead. That’s definitely not a result I intended.”

  “Hopefully you’re safe now,” Black said. “They might be counting on the fact that since you survived, you probably got the message.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Black shook his head. “Not at all. I’d look into some self-defense classes and purchase a firearm for personal protection. If they send a professional after you, it may not matter, but at least you’ll stand a fighting chance.”

  “So I’m screwed.”

  “If whoever is after you wants you dead, I’m not sure you can do much stop it. Just don’t write a big exposé on military conspiracies, and keep your fingers crossed.”

  Miller sighed. “That’s not real comforting.”

  “Would you rather me lie to you or shoot you straight?”

  “There’s no one else I can go to about this, is there?”

  Black shook his head. “I’m afraid not. The police will think you’re loony. And the military isn’t exactly going to want to be your best friend after uncovering their lies. Besides, who knows how many organizations are connected to this attempted cover up of a missing pilot? It’s best to let this sleeping dog lie.”

  Miller stood and offered his hand. “If you learn anything, please tell me. Blunt knows how to contact me.”

  “No promises, but if I learn who’s behind it all, I’ll tell you.”

  Black stepped outside and watched Miller walk away.

  That’s a dead man walking, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.

  CHAPTER 6

  J.D. BLUNT GRIPPED the leather steering wheel of his BMW Series 8 coupe and headed north on I-95. He turned up the radio, blaring Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 over the speakers. With all the turmoil he sifted through to make sense of his team’s missions each day, the music soothed his mind, if only for a moment. He tried to relax but found it next to impossible as he pondered why the NSA director summoned him for an urgent meeting.

  After flashing his credentials, the guard at the front of the facility waved Blunt through. Once inside the building, Blunt went through the standard security protocol before he found his way to the office of Sgt. Maj. Robert Besserman.

  Besserman was relatively new to his appointment at the NSA and was one of the few people who knew about Firestorm, Blunt’s secret black ops program. However, the agency’s freshly minted director had an extensive background in intelligence while serving with the Army’s Special Forces.

  Blunt was ushered into the room by one of Besserman’s assistant, who closed the door behind him after announcing Blunt’s presence.

  “J.D.,” Besserman said with a wide grin as he strode across the room to greet Blunt. “It’s so good to see you. I appreciate you coming down here on such short notice.”

  “Of course, anything for you, Bobby.”

  Besserman pointed to the chair across from his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  Blunt sat down and glanced over at Besserman’s wet bar in the corner of his office. “Still drinking scotch, I see.”

  “Of course. I’m just wondering when you’re ever going to come around to drinking the good stuff.”

  “Kentucky makes the best liquor.”

  “My bottle of Macallan 1824 series begs to differ.”

  “This is why we can’t ever decide on a good bar around here,” Blunt said. “So, I know you didn’t invite me out here to persuade me to drink scotch over bourbon. What’s this visit all about?”

  “Well, I’ve got a situation I wanted to read you in on and see if you might be able to help.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Besserman opened up a folder on his desk and glanced at it before looking up at Blunt. “Here’s the deal. As you might know, Capt. Trevor Watkins is going to be speaking at a welcoming home ceremony tomorrow downtown. The president wanted to host it in the White House rose garden, but he’s got some other business to attend to. So, he’s asked Gaither to host the event.”

  “Senator Todd Gaither? That blowhard from Missouri?”

  “That’s the one. He’s always causing trouble for somebody.”

  “So why did the president ask him?”

  Besserman threw his hands in the air before leaning forward. “Don’t ask me. I’m just the messenger here. Gaither certainly wouldn’t have been my first choice. But maybe the president is attempting to show how he can bridge the partisan divide; I don’t know.”

  “Meanwhile, Gaither is setting fire to every bridge he comes across.”

  “And that’s sort of why you’re here today.”

  “Gaither?”

  “Well, I figured that you’re still keeping an eye on Capt. Watkins since he returned from Russia, are you not?”

  Blunt nodded. “He’s staying in a secure location while he gets debriefed by every agency that wants a shot at learning something from his incarceration in a Russian military prison.”

  “From what I hear, nobody is getting much out of him.”

  “Yeah, he’s a tight-lipped fellow. A little paranoid, if you ask me.”

  “So, Gaither has been getting a rash of death threats lately, a few that actually look somewhat credible. And I was hoping that you might have one of your agents scope out the location for the ceremony this afternoon to make sure there aren’t any blindspots we’re missing.”

  Blunt furrowed his brow. “There are other agencies who handle this sort of thing.”

  “I know. The FBI has several agents on the scene already, but your guys are the best. And since your agents might already be there . . .”

  “Would it be so bad if Gaither got taken out?” Blunt asked with a wry smile. “Let’s face it: the guy has made five times as many enemies as bills he’s s
ponsored.”

  “Joking aside, our intelligence agencies don’t need a black eye like this in what’s already an embarrassing situation for the military. Besides, if Watkins is paranoid for good reason, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check it out so he has peace of mind as well.”

  Blunt stood and offered his hand. “If this request were coming from anyone else, I’d turn it down. But you know I’d do anything for you, Bobby.”

  “I appreciate it,” Besserman said as he shook Blunt’s hand. “I’ll let the FBI know one of your agents will be putting another set of eyes on the site so they don’t get jumpy.”

  “Excellent,” Blunt said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  Blunt lumbered back to his car and wondered if Besserman was getting paranoid too. An on-site meeting at the NSA? Blunt could count on one hand the number of those he’d had.

  Maybe there’s more happening here than I know about.

  CHAPTER 7

  Two years earlier

  Undisclosed location

  TATIANA HAD NEVER been more self-conscious in her life than she was in the moment. Teens—both boys and girls—all about her age stood in single-file lines, exactly five feet apart from everyone to their left and right, front and back. She never considered herself good with estimating crowds but guessed that the group numbered somewhere around three hundred. Wearing just a white t-shirt and a white pair of shorts, she remained still, hands at her side, while the man in charge meandered his way through everyone, randomly looking each person up and down, sizing them up. Tatiana averted her eyes when he drew near to her.

  “I like this one,” he said in Russian, running his finger up Tatiana’s neck and gently lifting her chin.

  Seconds later, two men grabbed her by the arms and whisked her away. They stopped to speak with one of their superiors. Tatiana seized the opportunity to break away and make a run for it. She only got a few meters away before one of the guards recaptured her.

  Crack!

  The man belted her across the back with his cropping stick. “Demonstrate some respect,” he said. “These men are here for your benefit. Don’t treat them with contempt.”

  Tatiana grimaced and stood upright before continuing on, matching their pace. As they led her across the room, she heard the man everyone referred to as the “General” issue marching orders for several of the other teens.

  After walking down a long corridor, she was escorted into a bunk room with two dozen beds. One of the men told her to find the bed with her name on it and to change into the clothes lying on the pillow.

  Tatiana shuffled along and searched for her name. Apparently, she’d already been picked and the general was simply making a show of his selection process. She got dressed and was summarily joined by twenty-three other teenaged girls. Once everyone was situated, they lined up at the door in the order that they were chosen. Across the hall, there were two dozen boys following the same protocol.

  One of the guards led them to a cafeteria and asked them to sit down and wait further instructions. Tatiana hadn’t had a warm meal in three days, and she could barely take her eyes off the scrumptious feast of fresh vegetables and meats piled high on each plate. A boy on the far end couldn’t suppress his hunger any longer and picked up his eating utensils. He was about three bites into his meal before the general entered the room.

  The only noise she could hear was the ominous clicking of the general’s heels on the concrete floor and the scratching of silverware on the porcelain plate of the ravenous boy. He froze as the general strode right up to him.

  “Is it good?” the man asked.

  With bulging cheeks, the boy looked up and nodded.

  “That makes me happy,” the general said, pausing as the barrel-chested man with a neatly-cropped beard pulled out his gun from its holster. “At least you’ll die having eaten one final good meal.”

  Without hesitating, he stuck the gun to the boy’s head and pulled the trigger. He fell over backward and hit the ground with a sickening thud. As blood pooled around the kid, the general picked up a napkin and cleaned off his handgun before stepping nonchalantly over the body and pacing around the room.

  “I saved that young man a lot of heartache,” the general said. “However, I’m not a cruel person. The world is cruel—and it’s my job to make sure you can handle all the evils you will encounter once you get out in it. Shooting poor Nicolai here also serves as a reminder that paying attention to your instructors’ commands and obeying my direction is the only way you’re going to survive, both in here and outside these walls.”

  One boy raised his hand, his lips quivering as he waited for permission to speak.

  “Boris,” the general said, pointing at the boy, “do you have a question?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Proceed.”

  His voice quaked as he spoke. “Why exactly are we here? Are we being punished? Have we done something wrong?”

  “Not at all. You’re here because you’re special, all of you. We’ve culled the best young people that our country has to offer and brought you together to make you better, to make you the best. You’re going to make your country proud.”

  Boris raised his hand again.

  “Did I not answer that sufficiently enough for you?” the general asked.

  Boris swallowed hard. “Sir, I still don’t know what you want us to do or our purpose for being here.”

  The general leaned down to get right up in the boy’s face. “Did I stutter?”

  He shook his head as he wrung his hands.

  “Then what do you have a problem with?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I guess I’m wondering what you intend to do with us.”

  “Perhaps if you’re not bright enough to figure that out from my previous reply, you’re not as intelligent as we were led to believe,” the general said before pulling out his gun again. He placed the nozzle against Boris’s forehead and locked eyes with him.

  “Would you like to ask me that question again, Boris?”

  Boris took a deep breath, refusing to break eye contact with the man who could take his life. And instead of responding verbally, Boris leaned to his right while using both hands to swat at the weapon, pushing it away to the left. The sudden move caught the general off guard and knocked the gun free.

  Not wanting to see any more blood shed, Tatiana dove for the gun, snatching it off the floor. She rolled over and popped up on her knees as the general pulled out a knife and put it to Boris’s throat.

  “That’s enough,” Tatiana said, training her gun on him.

  The knife bounced when it hit the ground. It was a plastic prop.

  The General smiled and offered his hand to Tatiana. She eyed him cautiously before taking it and rising to her feet.

  “Mikhail,” he said over his shoulder, “your role is complete. Please get up.”

  The boy who’d had his head shot stood and waved both his hands. “I’m fine.”

  “That’ll be all,” the general said, nodding toward the door.

  Boris and Mikhail quickly exited the room while the lunatic leader paced around the tables. Tatiana sat down, her gazed fixed on the man now commanding the room’s attention.

  “Are you listening now?”

  No one made a sound.

  “The point of that little exercise was to test you on several fronts, see if any cream rose to the top,” he said as his eyes sparkled. “And I must say that young Tatiana here was very impressive. Her instincts were to end a threat, and she reacted quickly and decisively. She knew what needed to be done the moment the gun flew out of my hand. And that’s exactly why she’s here. It’s why all of you are here. But instead of ending threats, you’re here to create them. You’re here because your country needs you.”

  The general tightened pulled his gloves taut as he stared out across the room.

  “I think that’s enough of an introduction for now,” he said. “You may eat.”

  Tatiana starred at the plate in front
of her.

  She wondered if everyone else was as confused as she was. But for the moment, she didn’t care. Her hunger overruled everything.

  My country needs me?

  CHAPTER 8

  Washington, D.C.

  BLACK NESTLED INTO the recliner in the safe house apartment assigned to Capt. Watkins. Knocking would’ve been more polite, but Black wasn’t here to be polite. The more he learned, the more he believed the debacle in Russia was more than some personal vendetta by Col. Roman. Watkins knew more than he was telling, and Black was going to use one of his favorite approaches to find out what really happened.

  Watkins’s alarm squawked right at 6:30 a.m. Black heard the pilot slam his hand down, silencing the noise.

  Thump, thump.

  Black smiled.

  Two feet on the floor. Even on his days off he can’t escape the military rhythm.

  The door creaked as it opened before Watkins stumbled into the living room. Black turned on the lamp next to him.

  Watkins reacted quickly, training his gun on Black.

  “What the hell?” Watkins said. “I almost shot you.”

  Black didn’t move. “Do you always stumble into the kitchen with your weapon?”

  “I do these days.”

  “You don’t have anything to worry about from me.”

  “Then what are you doing here, sneaking into this safe house? You could’ve knocked.”

  Black chuckled. “Where would the fun have been in that?”

  “Look, I know you spooks are—”

  “I’m not a spook,” Black said. “Not anymore, anyway. And I’m on your side, so stop treating me like the enemy.”

  “I’m not sure I know who to trust anymore.”

  Black stood and walked into the kitchen. “I’m squarely in your corner, Captain. If someone was trying to kill you, I want to know why before I address it. And your hunch that your base commander didn’t like you for some reason doesn’t cut it. There’s more to the story that you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”