Black Angel

by Jack Dayton

  Dahl pulled his climbing goggles down around his neck. The dark circles around his eyes were clearly evident and for the first time, Vance noticed the fading remnants of the blotching and red breakouts on Dahl’s thinning face. He had aged 20 years in the five since they had been at Faizal.

  “What’s going on, Aksel?”

  “I was struggling, Vance. I was in constant pain. It started so easy . . . just enough to block the pain, just enough to keep up with the job.”

  “What are we talking about? Painkillers? What? Why?” Vance knew the answer but had to find out how bad it had gotten. He had seen the gallon zip lock bags of drugs handed out by medical but this went beyond pharmaceutical drugs.

  “It started out like that. I was taking anything they’d give me. Oxcycodone, Oxcycontin . . . all legal, all prescribed. I wanted to stay in the Army and I didn’t know if I could do it without the drugs. But then it kept getting worse. I needed to keep taking more and more. I knew it was a dead end. I tried so many times to get past it. To just quit. But I couldn’t do it, Roscoe. It was just more than I could handle.”

  “Was this from Faizal, the RPG?”

  “Some of it. Some of it was from that. Some of it was just the nightmares, the fog. A way out of the stuff in my head, the memories, the stuff you want to go over again and again so you can punish yourself for what you missed.”

  “Aksel, we all have that. Why didn’t you reach out?”

  Dahl met his gaze, eyes welling. “Ya, my friend, I wish it was that easy. I was a coward. Afraid of what everyone would think. Afraid they would see the lie my life was.”

  Vance knew exactly what Dahl was struggling with. It’s easy to say ‘reach out.’ But the risk was real. The risk of revealing the what was haunting you kept you quiet. If it got out you were facing the battle within yourself, it was easy to get labeled weak. Maybe weak enough that you could not be depended on. Maybe the next patrol, the fire team wants someone else or when you stop to think, the squad exchanges looks, hesitates when you give direction. The pressure to deny that anything was wrong and push it away, at least until there was space to deal with it, was always there. Beneath everything was the hope that it would go away and not come back, just heal on its own. But it didn’t go away. It lurked on the edges, just out of view, until it crashed on you like a wave.

  Vance feeling of helplessness was real. But so was his bond with this man with whom he had faced moments of doubt, moments of fear, moments of desperation. He was here now and he wouldn’t flinch. The thought that he might be the only person who could make a difference for Aksel crossed his mind. He was the only one who knew what Aksel was confronting and now was the time to pull it out and face it together.

  “Aksel, I’m here now and we are together, no matter what. We are going to climb down from this mountain and walk wherever this path leads.”

  Dahl smiled ruefully. “Wouldn’t that be an ending. I am beyond being able to walk a path out of this. It is worse than just my weakness.”

  “What are you talking about? How can it be?”

  “I wasn’t just out of control with pills, Aksel.”

  A cold chill ran through Vance, fearful of what he would say next.

  “Eventually, medical couldn’t keep up. I needed more and the supply was coming like a trickle. I was desperate, starting to get dope sick. So I had to go someplace else.”

  “Where? On the street?”

  “Not really on the street, but close to it.”

  Vance was beginning to chafe at the riddles but knew he had to let Dahl tell it. He resisted the urge to question and sat quietly. After a pause, Dahl continued.

  “You remember our friend from Faizal,” Dahl laughed bitterly. “'Our friend,’ that’s funny. Our co-worker . . . Kool? Anton Kulyak?”

  “Yeah. He was working the farmers, wasn’t he? A contractor . . . trying to get them to plant wheat instead of poppies? Yeah, I remember him. He was a sort of mascot to most of the Marines. I don’t think we ever thought he was going to change centuries of poppy growing traditions.”

  “That is so wise, my friend. You have no idea. I don’t think Kulyak had any intention of turning the farmers. As a matter of fact, I think he saw it as an opportunity. He made some valuable connections that he uses even now to bring heroin into the country.”

  “What? How? How do you know about it?”

  “Trust me on this . . . I don’t know any of the details. I do know that he has a path from Afghanistan through Pakistan where he buries the heroin in shipments of cottonseed, sunflower seed. He brings it in on containers to Norfolk or New Jersey, trucks it to a warehouse in Maryland. From there he distributes it to places in West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio . . . places where he avoids challenging the big city drug networks.”

  “You have got to be kidding . . . Kulyak. This is hard to swallow. How did he get here and get set up? Why did you get involved with him?”

  “He used his contacts with the contractor who hired him in Qatar to get a visa, then a green card. He came here with the contacts from Helmand, Karachi.” He paused, remembering. “He was small-time, fine tuning his system.” He shook his head. “I am ashamed to say that when I was at the end of my rope, he was there. He could tell how desperate I was and took advantage of that. He didn’t even make me come to him. I called him and within an hour a package was dropped at my door. A nice clean-cut young man in a white tuxedo shirt. ‘With Mr. Kulyak’s best wishes for your recovery.’ That’s what he said. It was lost on me . . . I was that bad off.”

  Vance closed his eyes trying to imagine the desperation his friend faced. It must have been dire. “How bad was it? Were you shooting?”

  “Thank God, I hate needles or who knows how far I would have gone. Besides, I was still telling myself I was going to get off, just snorting was not so bad. I could hide it. No kit, no tracks. But it was over for me at that point. He had me. I never had to worry again about facing the worst of withdrawals but I knew there would be a price. And it came . . . He called me one day and asked me to come in.”

  “In where?”

  “Oh, he is more than just a drug peddler, Vance. He is a diversified entrepreneur. A restauranteur, if you can believe that. He has a sad little café in DC, near Logan Square. Le Vizit Kafe. He asked me to come in and I met him there. He was very sure of himself, wasn’t he? To invite me to his cover for money laundering his drug profits? He knew that I was in no position to disrupt his operations. I am ashamed now. God knows, I was ashamed then but I was still trying to fool myself that I could handle myself and drugs . . . and Kulyak.”

  “What did he want, Aksel?”

  “He said that he understood my situation and was happy to help me but that there were situations in which I could be a help to him.”

  “Help to him? How?”

  “My diplomatic passport, the diplomatic pouch . . . I was attached to the embassy so I was untouchable. Immune to any investigation, any prosecution. No risk . . . except to me, of course. I would lose everything if caught but so what? I didn’t know it at the time but I had already lost everything.”

  “What was he expecting you to do for him?”

  “Nothing routine. He has a host of assets for that. No, it would be the unique situation in which he needed someone no one would think to question. Someone who could access places his regular assets couldn’t go, someone who could be a courier for the unique customer.”

  “Like?”

  Dahl snorted. “You don’t want to know that, Roscoe. Just know that there are people who you would least expect that need his services.”

  Vance shook his head. All this was a lot to take in.

  “Who killed Siggordson? I mean, he was Chechen. So was Kool involved?”

  Dahl shrugged and shook his head. “Truthfully, I don’t know. Siggordson found out about me using. I got careless and left a pouch with some packets of heroin in the trunk of the car I had checked out. They were left over from a party I was taking them to in Great
Falls. Security found it when I checked it back in and that was it. I managed to convince Siggordson it was my heroin but it was over. I was put on detox to get clean but I was going back to Oslo.”

  Dahl stood up, inhaling deeply, gazing out at the expanse of the valley below. “You know, honestly, I was relieved. Maybe I left the pouch in there for a reason. I don’t know. I know Kulyak was pissed about me going back to Norway, he wanted to buy Siggordson off.” He laughed a little at the notion. “I knew that was impossible. Siggordson could never be bought. He cared about me, Gunny. He wanted me to get clean and find a way to stay in the Army. That was why he sent me to rehab here instead of shipping me out right away. Of course, he didn’t know about all the rest, the runs I made for Kool and I vowed he never would. If he had found out about that, it would have changed everything.”

  Vance shook his head. “So are you clean now?”

  Dahl eyes drifted to the clear sky and his face broke. “I’m off the worst of it. Just taking some maintenance doses . . . Naltrexone. It keeps the hunger down. But It is scary, you know? The things that started it are still a struggle. I still have pain and the guilt . . . I am empty inside and ashamed, Gunny.”

  “Hey, Aksel, it is a long road back but you’re much closer to home than you were a year ago. Siggordson believed in you.” He paused, “And I’m here.”

  “Siggordson didn’t know who I became. He was trying to help the old Aksel Dahl. Not the lying coward Dahl.”

  “Yeah, but I know who you are, Aksel and I am not going away, okay?”

  Dahl turned back, eyes welling. “You believe in me even when I don’t, ya?”

  “Ya! I climbed this damn rock to be here with you so ya!” After a pause he added “Hjertesar, right? The wounded heart?”

  Dahl brow knit but he laughed. “Your Norwegian sucks, you know?” They both laughed.

  Vance stared off into the trees at the foot of the mountain. After a few moments, he pressed Dahl. “So, the guy who killed Siggordson was Chechen. Who killed him? What were they trying to hide? There has to be a link to Kool.”

  Aksel shrugged. “Kool may have been in this up to his neck but I swear to you, Roscoe, I don’t know why. I was waiting to go back to Oslo and would never have done anything to hurt Siggordson, his family, the embassy. I know that sounds childish since everything I was doing was damaging but I was clear and wanted to go back. I still do.”

  Vance buried his face in his hands. “You know, I was with Les Guidry when he died. He and I chased the shooter but we split up. I will never be able to forget the moment I found him bleeding out.”

  “My friend, if there was anything I could do to find out who killed Les, you know I would.” Dahl’s face was etched with pain.

  Vance stood up. He knew more now but it only made things more confusing. He looked at Dahl and nodded. “Okay, I think I know where to go next.”

  Dahl’s squinted. “What are you going to do, Gunny?”

  “I am going to find out what the fuck is going on.”

  Dahl faced him squarely. “Don’t do it. Let it go, Vance.”

  Vance walked away and started to gather his gear. “There is no way I am walking away from this, Dahl.”

  Dahl grabbed his arm then. Vance looked at his arm gripped in Aksel’s gloved hand and then back at his friend’s pained face. “Be careful, Roscoe. This is a dangerous thing you are doing. Let me see what I can find out at the embassy.”

  Vance returned his gaze without blinking. “I’m ready for whatever happens, Aksel. If you can help, I welcome it. But there is no way I stop before I find out who killed Major Guidry and why.”

  Chapter 10

  A quick rappel down the face of the Best Climb and they were on the ground. Vance was still trying to digest everything he had learned from Aksel. The hike back to the cars was quick and as the sun began to approach its zenith, they decided they would stop back in Culpeper for a last lunch. ‘Last’ because Aksel was still leaving for Oslo on Wednesday. This would be the chance to connect away from the trauma they were both still managing.

  The drive to Culpeper went quickly and within the hour they were seated in Shawn’s Smokehouse BBQ ready to order everything off the menu. This was Aksel’s last chance to enjoy American barbeque so it was a lunch to be savored. Vance was ready for the Burnt Ends Sandwich, which was still available but Aksel took his time finally deciding on the pulled pork and rack of ribs. After the server had brought their drinks and taken their orders, Vance eyebrows gave away his surprise. “Hungry much?”

  “Don’t judge me, Gunny. Whatever I can’t eat, I am taking back to the embassy for tonight. You know that this will be the last time I get to gnaw on a bone like this for a while.”

  “No judgment from me, sir. You enjoy every bite. It will make up for the missing Jack Daniels.”

  “Ya, I am totally clean now.”

  Vance had just taken a long pull on his Coke and had to swallow before he spit it on the table. “Yeah, I gotcha.”

  They enjoyed the food, a taste of country cooking and laughed about their time at Bridgeport and again at Faizal.

  Vance chuckled as he remembered the knots at Bridgeport. “I will never be able to thank you enough for the knots. That week was one of the worst for me as a Marine. Humps, confidence courses, you name it, ooh rah. But those damn knots . . . Seriously, I almost considered getting out because of the knots.”

  Aksel laughed out loud. “Gunny, it was my pleasure. It was easy for me compared to the running. Running was never my favorite form of PT. But you always encouraged me. You wouldn’t let me quit.”

  “Ha . . . Don’t get me wrong. I like you fine, Aksel, and if you had been cut I’d have missed you being around but my week of knots testing would have been a disaster if you had dropped out.”

  They both laughed and then were quiet, acknowledging wordlessly that the person who’s name they didn’t mention was a part of those memories.

  “Faizal was a mess, ya?”

  “Yeah, it was a mess but Guidry made it work. I swear I never knew what he was going to come up with.”

  “You? He was always doing something crazy to me. The popcorn . . . that was the worst.”

  “That was inspired. There was no way you could have avoided lifting that box with the popcorn without spreading it all over your rack. I’m surprised you didn’t fall on your ass from the strays that were all over the floor.”

  “Well, they weren’t ball bearings but, ya, it was a mess . . . for months.”

  They both laughed again. Vance was serious now. “I’m going to Guidry’s funeral Monday.”

  Dahl pressed his hands to his forehead.

  “Yeah, they released his body. I think Annie is taking him home to New Orleans.”

  Dahl shook his head, his eyes welling. “How did we get here?”

  “I wish the hell I knew.” Vance’s answer was more acknowledgement of his own confusion about what they had been caught up in. “Aksel, you okay?”

  Dahl nodded. “Ya, Gunny, I’m okay. I’m lucky really. Clear, going home, eating barbeque. Just burying two good men.” The bitter irony wasn’t lost on Vance. At this point, neither of them knew whether they truly were okay or not.

  They finished their lunch, packed up the full rack for Aksel, and headed for their cars. They were splitting up here. Aksel going north and Vance straight east. They stood outside in the cold, drawing out their departure.

  Aksel braced himself from the west wind that blew against his back, blowing his sandy hair. “Gunny, don’t follow this. I am asking as a friend.”

  Vance shook his head. “Don’t worry, Aksel, I’m not going to do anything that makes things worse for you. I’m just going to ask some questions.”

  “Don’t go to Kulyak, Vance.”

  “Major, at this point, I don’t know where this is going. But I’m not afraid to follow where it leads.”

  Aksel looked ruefully at Vance. “Gunny, when will we see each other again?”

&nb
sp; Vance tried to lift the burden of their farewell. “We always find each other, Aksel.”

  Aksel Dahl smiled then. “Fair winds and following seas, ya?”

  Vance offered his hand and Dahl ignored it, grabbing him in a final good-bye hug. “Ya,” Vance answered. “Fair winds and following seas, my friend.”

  * * *

  Dacey Dunn waited in the control booth watching Serge Kovak expound about the threat of immigration and the insidious foreign “invasion.” Out of the corner of her eye she caught the director rolling his eyes, glancing sideways at the sound technician. She knew that even some of the on-camera talent enjoyed imitating him for laughs behind his back but Dr. Kovak had a following. His rhetoric was catnip to those who never missed his spots. Each new nugget of vitriol he served up bounced back and forth like a pinball from Twitter to Facebook to YouTube every time he was featured in prime time VisionNet programming.

  Even as she found his philosophy questionable, she had to admit he’d done well for himself. He had used his position to present himself as a legitimate scholar. From there he’d moved to contributor at VisionNet, then a regular commentator on the ideological food fights of the weekend shows and then a daily radio show on VisionNet’s internet radio channel. Quite a trajectory. One that might be enviable if it were not so nakedly self-serving.

  Dacey had no illusions. She was not an expert voice. She was a journalist. That was all she had ever aspired to be. She was relegated to the feature spots, the feel-good fillers like the little boy who gave his allowance to send cards to the VA residents for Veterans’ Day or the Go-Fund-Me account that pays for an injured soldier’s trip home to be reunited with mom. The stories had meaning but she was ready for something else. A fresh story, something meaty, above-the-fold.

  She watched as Kovak finished his segment and the team went to break. He removed his mic and swung his chair around to exit the set. She stepped from the booth. Now was her chance.

  “Serge?” She tried to get his attention even as he continued to the door of the studio. She trotted after him now. “Dr. Kovak!”