by Chase Austin
“Where is it?” The boy looked around, not listening.
“Go away.” The gunman made a shooing gesture, but the kid was unyielding. The man finally gave up and lifted his right boot. The ball rolled forward. The boy saw it. These men were toying with him and he didn’t like it one bit. The ball rolled slowly and stopped in front of the man, but the kid remained in his place, waiting for their move. His stance indicated that he did not want to take the ball from the man’s feet.
The man was in no mood to oblige the kid. He raised his right leg and swung it forward, kicking the ball away from the boy. The ball spun in the air and hit the second SUV, bounced once, spun away from the child, hit the SUV again and then rolled beneath the vehicle.
“That’s your ball. Now get lost.”
The boy gave the men an angry glare. He bent again on his knees and extended his left hand to grab the ball but despite his best efforts, the ball remained elusive. He then lay on his stomach and rolled beneath the SUV, smearing his clothes. This time the ball couldn’t escape his grasp. He rolled back out. Soon he was on his feet again, staring back at the guards. Then, he was off, laughing.
The unexpected laugh surprised the gunmen, but they had no way of knowing what was going on in the mind of that little devil. They went back to their conversation, the boy forgotten. Eddie had been watching the whole scene unfold before his binocular-enhanced eyes. Finding the boy’s behavior strange, he kept the binoculars trained on the kid.
Instead of returning to the game, the boy went to a shop near the house. Eddie augmented the magnification to 8X. The kid walked up to a man in the shop. The man extended his hand and gave the boy what looked like a currency note. Eddie shifted focus to the man’s face and a smile came on his face. It was Wick behind heavy makeup.
The game was on.
Chapter 11
“Wick, is that you?” Eddie whispered in the earpiece to confirm.
“Yes,” Wick whispered.
“Was that Wasim?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Any movement?” Wick’s vision was hindered by the stationary SUVs, he knew Eddie had a better vantage point.
Eddie saw the guards straightening up. “Yes. the door has opened.”
The man they knew to be Wasim came out. Eddie checked his watch. He had spent exactly forty minutes in the house. One of the two guards hurried forward and held the door of the second SUV open for him. The driver was already alert behind the wheel, and the minute Wasim settled into the passenger seat, the three vehicles sped away.
Eddie saw the convoy moving. He then looked at Wick whose eyes were following the SUVs down the road.
“Eddie.” His earpiece crackled with Wick’s voice. “I have sent you the coordinates. Meet me there.”
Eddie threw the binoculars in the bag, zipped it up and sprinted towards the stairs. The location was a mere five-minute run from the building. An old Ford was waiting for him, its engine running. Wick was behind the wheel, Eddie opened the door and settled down in the seat beside him. The Ford rolled forward. There was a military grade GPS device on the dashboard with a moving red dot. Eddie recognized the device— it was a standard DoD product. The location on the screen was accurate up to eight meters with a 0.01% lag time—the closest thing one could get to real-time location tracking.
“The red dot is Wasim?”
Wick nodded in affirmative.
Eddie grinned in understanding. “How much did you pay the boy?”
“A couple of hundreds. Anyway, there is something for you in the back.”
Eddie turned in his seat and found his own duffle bag on the passenger seat. He grabbed its handle, pulled it closer and opened the zipper.
“You brought my sweetie. When did you get the time?”
“One of my contacts stationed at your Army base delivered it to me. Everything’s there?”
Inside was a .300 Win-Mag—a bolt-action sniper rifle. Unlike other snipers, Eddie preferred this beauty because of its superiority over others. Being a heavier weapon by design, it drilled its deadly payload into its targets like a laser. With this in hand, anything from a thousand yards and out was toast. Even on closer targets, Eddie didn’t have to worry too much about correction for the come-ups.
The red dot moved at a steady speed and was soon out of the city. Wick glanced at the map—one of the likely destinations was Panjwai, a district in the Kandahar province, also the spiritual home of the Taliban. Their fears turned to reality very soon as the dot moved towards the Panjwai and then took a turn towards Zangabad, a village in the Panjwai district and one of the four villages considered the birthplace of the Taliban.
Wick stopped the vehicle and stared at Eddie. They both knew Zangabad’s history. It was the burial site of hundreds of NATO soldiers, murdered at the hands of the Taliban. If Josh Fletcher was in Zangabad, then there was almost no chance of his survival.
Chapter 12
Oval office, Washington
President Greg Hancock had been in office for almost twenty months and, in those months, he had rewritten history books by being one of the most unpopular presidents in the modern era. His latest weekly approval ratings languished at thirty-five percent, far below that of any of his predecessors. That wasn’t too surprising, given the fact that when he had assumed office twenty months ago, he had had the lowest approval rating of any incoming president, having won the election with anemic numbers.
Before being elected President, Hancock had been the CEO of a casino enterprise. The man from Cincinnati had been elected to the highest office in the land largely because of his divisive policies and his hardline approach towards immigrants whom he proclaimed a threat to America. He had berated previous administrations for being soft on immigration, and that was the main reason he now sat in the Oval Office.
Personally too, Hancock was going through a rough phase. His third wife, an ex-Playboy model, had decided not to appear in public with him, thanks to the allegations of his affairs with his campaign secretary. His three children from his previous marriages had already disowned him. All in all, Hancock was very lonely at the top.
Now with the US midterm elections approaching, he was under extreme pressure to deliver on his campaign promises of making the country safer and getting better returns on the aid the U.S. gave various countries. Worse, he suspected that parts of his administration were actively working against him; God knew there were enough people in D.C. and beyond who would love to see him crash and burn. Topping his list of potential adversaries was William Helms.
Hancock saw the NSA director as a threat. The overt reason was the latter’s neutral response to Hancock’s political ideology which Helms’ considered as being against American values. The other, and more disturbing, reason that only a few people knew—and Helms was not one of those people—was that the President suspected him of putting together a file on him through a covert ops team, TF-77. The contents of that file, Hancock worried, could be used to indict and impeach him. The problem was that Hancock had no access to the team or what it does because of the way it was created by his predecessor in the first place. The rationale behind this had been that the team was involved in things that could lead to congressional hearings and even indictment if the President was found to be aware of its mission specifics.
Hancock thought it was bullshit. Maybe his predecessor wasn’t very certain of his own political acumen, which was why he had needed this veil, but Hancock was no moron. If he could be the President of the world’s strongest economy, then he was smart enough to know how the missions that no other team could do were executed by TF-77. But unfortunately, it was Helms who always acted as a shield against his attempts to gain control of TF-77 by using legal terms. That uneasy equation between them was the reason why Hancock’s paranoia of being backstabbed was noticeable in his dealings with the NSA director, but he had so far found no evidence of Helms having gone against him. Maybe Helms was waiting for the right moment, and Hancock
had sleepless nights trying to guess what that would be.
Now, as he sat at his desk in the Oval Office, waiting to be patched into a video conference with Helms, his mind raced with various calculations.
Helms was surprised when he got a call from the White House just an hour after his chat with Raborn.
President Greg Hancock had a decent working relationship with both the Pentagon and the CIA, but with NSA it was a different story altogether. Helms was aware of that.
Helms, despite his opinions on White House policies, had invariably adhered to the professional courtesy expected of him while dealing with the Oval Office. He had no dreams of a political career or a future place in the White House. He was happy being in Maryland as long as they allowed him to be there, and that made him state his opinions fearlessly every single time.
It took Helms an hour to reach his office after the call from the White House. He checked his watch. The video conference was due in fifteen minutes. Helms sighed. His day off was turning out to be very different from what he had planned.
The screen lit up right on time. Hancock was in his high-backed leather chair, talking to someone on the phone. The walls of the room were paneled with dark wood except for a white square section behind the president’s chair. In the middle of that section was the familiar circular seal of the President of the United States. And that’s when Helms saw Raborn in the room with the president. His sense of unease soared, and he knew in that instant that he had walked into a trap.
“Good afternoon Mr. President,” Helms said, maintaining his composure.
“Afternoon, Bill.” President Hancock placed a hand over the mouthpiece and said, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Helms said nothing. He did not understand what the agenda of this impromptu meeting was, but he knew the suspense wouldn’t last long.
“It has come to my attention that one of the CIA assets in Afghanistan is missing. I want the Task Force-77 to take a lead on this,” Hancock came right to the point as soon as his call was over.
“Mr. President, with due respect, I already had a chat with the CIA director on this and we are still mulling over our options on how best to approach this situation. Without a go-ahead from my men in the field, I cannot authorize this mission.”
“You cannot authorize this mission?” Hancock’s condescending tone boomed through the speakers. “No one here has asked for your permission to authorize this. As far as I know, TF-77 was created to take up missions exactly like this one so that our critical assets can be shielded. Based on the intel, this is a mission tailor-made for that team. I just want them to do what they signed up for. And Helms, let’s not forget I am not only your boss but also the President of this country, and I want the best people on this job.” He paused to watch Helms’s reaction. He had hoped to see the man squirming but all he saw was a steely determination. He decided to continue. “I’m green-lighting this mission and I don’t want to hear any bullshit about policies and procedures. Get it done.”
“Mr. President, with all due respect, I am not bullshitting anyone here.” Helms was standing now, with both hands on his desk and his eyes piercing the screen. He had to protect his assets, Wick and Eddie. “Without significant information about the situation, I cannot commit to an action that may have further negative repercussions. The CIA also has agents placed in the region and if Raborn is so keen to go ahead with the mission, he already has enough resources at his disposal.”
“Raborn has already briefed me on what his agents can and cannot do. These men are deeply entrenched in the Taliban network and, thanks to the information shared by them, many of the current U.S. operations against the outfit have been so successful. We are not going to compromise their positions because you don’t want to send your men in there. And what has the NSA or this task force of yours done to secure our borders or our men on the battlefield since I have taken charge of this office? Are you suggesting we should blow the covers of our invaluable assets because you care more about red tape over the life of a man? Is that just because he is not from your agency?” Hancock got to his feet too, mimicking Helms posture, his eyes fixated on Helms.
The accusations aroused a deep rage in Helms. Everyone in the room knew they were nothing but the result of a scheming mind.
“Bill, I want this man free within the next twelve hours. Tomorrow morning, I am tabling an amendment to pull American forces out of Afghanistan. We cannot afford this man’s death and you cannot afford to get on the wrong side of the President of the United States. Make sure this man lives. If you cannot, or will not, then I want your resignation on my desk in the next ten minutes. Do you understand me?” Hancock thundered. Behind him, Raborn gave a sly grin.
“Mr. President, if we carry out these orders, chances are that we not only will lose the CIA agent, but also our other assets on the ground. Won’t it hamper the amendment then?” Helms kept his face calm, keeping a lid on his anger.
“Let me take care of the politics of that. Your job is to carry out my orders.” Hancock stood and pulled on his cufflinks. “I will be at the Kennedy Center. Keep me updated.” With that, he disconnected the live feed.
Chapter 13
WICK TOOK a sharp turn to his right, driving the Ford away from the red dot. In regular circumstances, he would have planned his moves on the go, but this was different. He needed to have some sort of blueprint before he could take the next step.
Eddie looked at him and shared his dilemma. The same thoughts were in his head. Despite his stellar record as a sniper, he had never been in this section of the country largely due to NATO’s reluctance. They had lost enough people to have a go at it again.
Wick drove the Ford for a couple of miles in the intense heat before he found a safe place to park and apprise Helms about the situation. He picked his satellite phone and dialed the number from memory. Helms picked up on the second ring.
“Yes, Wick.”
“They are possibly holding the target at Zangabad,” Wick said and paused. He wanted Helms to grasp the gravity of the situation before giving his take on things. Helms knew what Zangabad meant. This mission was doomed from the start and that was why Raborn had gone behind his back to get the President on his side.
“What do you suggest now?” he asked.
“Two options. One, after assessing the situation and knowing the terrain, Eddie and I go in and try to extract Josh. The probability of success is less than one percent. Two, we do not go ahead with the mission, and instead ask the CIA to engage with the Taliban and we’ll back them up.”
Helms heard him out without interrupting. He knew he had to deliver the bad news now. “Two is not an option anymore.” He spoke firmly.
“Not an option!” This time it was Eddie.
“Raborn has gone behind my back and convinced the President that the TF-77 needs to lead this mission on its own. We either do this now, or I will have to resign from both TF-77 and NSA to pave the way for someone who would not hesitate to give the go-ahead. I have already decided to resign, so if you do not intend to go ahead with the mission, I’ll respect your choice.” There was a long silence on the line. It was a betrayal of the highest order that no one had seen coming, but the it was Wick and Eddie who would bear the brunt of it.
Eddie spoke first, “But it was never our headache in the first place. The CIA came to us for help.”
Helms couldn’t see Eddie but could sense his anger and disappointment. He said nothing.
“This is a bunch of bull!” Eddie continued. “How the hell did he convince Hancock? Why couldn’t you do something about it?” The accusation was directed at Helms. Raborn and Hancock were not in charge of TF-77, Helms was. The buck stopped at him.
All this while, Wick’s silence was conspicuous. He was mentally calculating the various options they had, now that the die had been cast. His mind swirled with possibilities and reasons why Raborn would do something like this.
“The President is planning to table an ame
ndment to pull American forces out of Afghanistan. For that to happen, Josh Fletcher needs to come out of that hell alive. His death means there will be no amendment of any sort because people won’t forgive the death of an American hostage on foreign soil. The pullout plan will be a bust, so he wants us to keep his plan on track,” Helms explained.
“I knew he’s an idiot, that’s why I never voted for him. Bloody motherfucker.” Eddie was livid. “And he cares about one life over two lives here. What if we die in there? Will the CIA then go and save Josh? What does he has to say about that?”
Helms had no answer to that. He had asked the same question to Hancock and got nothing much in return.
It was a valid point. If, instead of one life, America lost three, it would be all the more difficult to recall US troops out of Afghanistan. How was Hancock planning to handle such a situation?
“What’s his take if we die in there?” Wick asked finally.