Fire and Forget

by Andrew Warren

  Danny staggered backwards, but he was hopelessly off balance. Caine exploded forward, stamping down on the inside of Danny’s left ankle. The bone snapped, and Danny yelped. The leg buckled, then went limp. He crumpled to the ground.

  Caine released his hold on the man’s right leg and let the body collapse. His left arm swept back and grabbed the chair he had been sitting in. Swinging it above his head, he grasped it in both hands and powered it down into Danny’s face.

  Danny tried to throw up his hands and block, but Caine moved too fast. The metal seat clanged against his skull and blood spurted into the air. Caine raised the chair again.

  “That’s enough!” DuBose shouted. Caine heard the metallic click of a pistol being cocked. He turned and saw DuBose standing on the other side of the table, aiming a gun at him in a steady, double-handed grip.

  Suddenly, a brilliant white light filled the room. Both Caine and DuBose looked up as a series of overhead halogen bulbs blazed to life. A woman’s voice echoed through the chamber.

  “Nice. I can’t say I’m surprised. Disappointed, yes. But not surprised.”

  DuBose lowered his pistol as a shadowed figure moved into the room. Danny groaned and began crawling away from the table.

  As his eyes adjusted to the harsh glare, Caine could make out the fiery highlights of Rebecca’s long red hair, backlit by the pools of light. The motors in her chair hummed as she rolled towards them.

  “I don’t know which smells worse,” she said. “The rat piss or the testosterone overload.”

  Caine looked her up and down. Her designer suit, expensive shoes and brand name handbag were all par for the course. But something about her seemed different somehow. He continued to stare, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then he looked at the bloody chair he held in his hands, as if noticing it for the first time. He lowered it and set it on the ground.

  He said nothing.

  She eyed him for a moment, an uncomfortable frown marring her porcelain features. Then she turned to DuBose. “We’ll consider it a training exercise. Clayton, give us the room, please.”

  “Director, are you sure—”

  “And take him.” She nodded towards the younger operative, sprawled out across the floor. “Tape up his ankle. We’ll get him medical attention later. After we discuss his future career options.”

  DuBose holstered his weapon and helped Danny to his feet. “On it, Director.”

  He shot the young man a rueful glance as he carried him outside to the waiting SUV. He left the heavy door open behind him. Rebecca and Caine stood alone among the rotting boat hulls and cobwebs.

  “Clayton, he’s one of yours, right? I’ve seen him before,” Caine said.

  She rolled close to the table and pivoted her chair to face him. “Clayton’s acting head of my security detail. I trust him with my life. He’s good. Professional.” She looked up at him and cocked her head. “Reliable.”

  “And the kid?”

  She shrugged. “Good help is hard to find. I had to move fast. Seeing as you’re a wanted man.”

  Caine exhaled. He sat down in the chair and stared across the table at her.

  “So. Here we are again,” he said.

  She stared into his eyes, drumming her fingers on the table. “You’re in trouble,” she said.

  He met her stare head on. “You want something.”

  “I wanted you to come in. To debrief the CIA, tell the truth about what happened with you and Bernatto. Instead, you broke a Chinese assassin out of my custody and ran off on your private vendetta.”

  “You should be thanking me,” Caine snapped.

  Rebecca’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared in anger. “How do you figure that, exactly?”

  “I kept you from making a mistake. Lapinski was using her for his own purposes. He kidnapped her daughter. He used a six-year-old child for leverage. If you had detained them, what would have happened to the girl? After everything they went through, you really want that on your conscience?”

  “Maybe you’re right. But that wasn’t your call to make. That woman was a killer, a double agent who executed American and Chinese assets—”

  “That woman had no choice,” Caine said, cutting her off. “She was a victim of the same people who burned me. The people who left me and my partner to die, and set me up to take the fall. And the same people who put you in that chair!”

  “Bernatto,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Caine clenched his fist, so tight his knuckles turned white. “Not just Bernatto. He’s working with others in the intelligence community. Lapinski confirmed that. And don’t forget, the only reason you have Lapinski in custody is because Jia and I tracked him down.”

  Rebecca nodded. “All right. What’s done is done. So what do Bernatto and these others want? What are they planning? Do you have anything actionable?”

  Caine paused. The events of the last few days raced through his mind. What did he really know? How dangerous would it be for her to get involved?

  “I don’t know,” he said, his voice quiet and defeated.

  She squinted at him. She knew he was hiding something. He could tell by the look in her eyes.

  “What happened in Louisiana,” she asked. “You followed the Director of National Intelligence there. Is he involved?”

  “Lapinski indicated that Blayne might be part of … whatever it is Bernatto is working on. I can confirm that now. Blayne was definitely compromised. He was being followed by some hired guns. I think they were working for a private security company called Delta Blue.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Past tense. I’ve known you long enough to know what that means.”

  Caine nodded. “Yeah. Blayne’s dead. More Delta Blue men followed us into the swamp. I tried to get him out, but …”

  “The FBI considers you a person of interest in his disappearance.”

  “Rebecca, come on, you know—”

  “What, Tom? What do I know? You lied to me, and then you disappeared. Not the first time you dropped off the grid, I might add. I don’t know where you went. I don’t know what you did. I sure as hell don’t know if I can trust you anymore. The only thing I do know is that you were illegally surveilling the DNI, who is now missing and presumed dead.”

  Caine leaned back in his chair. A shadow cut across his face, but his emerald eyes blazed in the darkness. “Then why are you here? Why didn’t you let the FBI take me in? What do you want from me?”

  Rebecca set both of her hands flat on the table. She stared down at her manicured nails. “Blayne isn’t the only one who’s missing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Clayton took over as head of my security detail for a reason. Josh Galloway transferred back to field ops. A couple months ago, not long after you disappeared and followed Blayne.”

  “Wait, are you saying Galloway is MIA?”

  Rebecca nodded. “He was on a mission. Recently, a U.S. drone strike in Syria took out a medical facility. We believed the facility was being used as a lab, to produce a new biological weapon agent.”

  “What kind of weapon are we talking about?” Caine asked, surprised by the sudden shift the conversation had taken.

  “We don’t know. Ground forces inspected the wreckage. They confirmed the laboratory equipment was consistent with a bio-weapons program. But no sign of the weapons themselves were recovered. SIGINT revealed that someone warned Russian forces at a nearby airbase, twenty-four hours in advance. Before the Russians cleared out, satellite imagery showed trucks leaving the medical facility. Whoever they were, they loaded something onto a civilian cargo plane at that airfield.”

  “So someone tipped off the Russians, and the Russians tipped off someone else. Who?”

  “That was Galloway’s assignment. To track down the materials, identify the sellers, and any potential buyers. He traced the plane to a transport company connected to the Rudov family. They’re a Vor family, they—”

  “Thieves in Law,” Ca
ine said, his voice low and hard. “Old school Russian Mafia. I’ve crossed paths with them.”

  Rebecca blinked, then continued. “Why am I not surprised? At any rate, Galloway reported that the suspected weapon changed hands several times after that. According to his last report, he traced the materials to a Chechen arms dealer. They were last sighted in Sudan.”

  “Sudan?” Caine stiffened.

  Puff Adder … the voice hissed in the back of his mind. It seemed impossible, but the coincidence was too large to be ignored. Could it all be connected somehow? He felt dizzy. The swirling vertigo of memories threatened to engulf him. He set his hands on the table to steady himself.

  Rebecca noticed his reaction and leaned forward. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she continued speaking. “Yes. Galloway believed the arms dealers were trying to sell the weapon to one of the rebel factions in the south, but he couldn’t confirm the buyer. He believed the weapon had already been used in a limited capacity, a test of some kind. His last report said he was working with a local asset, a doctor named Nena Vasani. She’s based in Khartoum. That was two weeks ago. After that, he went dark. No response to messages. Local contacts report no sign of him. His hotel room is empty, and he hasn’t checked his dead drop locations.”

  “Rebecca, look. I know you two are close. But he may have had to go dark for a reason. He may be under surveillance, or he—”

  “No. Something is wrong. I sent him a message. Something … personal. He would have responded. And I can’t help but feel it’s my fault he transferred in the first place.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He saw a tremor cross her face. A quiver of her lip, a slight flush to her cheeks. A momentary chink in her emotional armor.

  “That’s … that’s not important right now.”

  “All right. So you’re the D/NCS. You run the Special Activities Group. Send in the cavalry.”

  “The situation on the ground … it’s complex. South Sudan is teetering on the edge of collapse. They’ve been mired in an endless civil war, fueled by weapons and oil money from countless other states. Civilians massacred by the thousands, refugees in the hundreds of thousands … The President is pushing the United Nations to intervene. He's ordered my boss to suspend all operations in the area until further notice. The South Sudanese President has agreed to talks with the rebel leaders. Our President is convinced any covert activity in the region is going to blow up in his face, and endanger the ceasefire.”

  “More like his donors don’t want to miss out on any oil rights if a coup sends the Chinese packing,” Caine muttered.

  “You’re familiar with the area. And as of right now, all the CIA knows about you is that you evaded the FBI Counter Intel team. As far as they’re concerned, you could be anywhere right now.”

  “In other words, I’m a deniable asset,” he said.

  “I can get you out of the country, provide you with the intel we received from Josh. If he’s still alive, you’re my best shot at finding him. Tom … you’re all I’ve got.”

  “So that’s what this is all about? First you want me to turn myself in. Now you want me to go chase down your boyfriend?”

  Rebecca stared at him for a moment, then turned her chair around. “Forget it. I’ll have DuBose drop you off on the state line. I won’t report your location to the FBI, but after this you’re on your own.”

  Caine watched her fiery hair cascade down her shoulders. Her chair carried her across the concrete floor, away from him. He clenched and unclenched his fist, thinking. Remembering. He stood up.

  “Rebecca, wait.”

  She stopped and turned the chair around. Caine saw fleeting hope flicker behind her eyes.

  “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just … hard.”

  She brushed a copper strand of hair from her face. “Tom, what do you want me to say? Even if you did come in now, the things that have happened to you, to both of us … There’s this wall you’ve built up inside. You've cut yourself off from everyone. What did you think was going to happen?”

  He nodded. “I made my own decisions, I have to live with that, I know. But I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you.”

  She sighed. “I’ve made my own mistakes as well. Whatever happened to Josh, I’m responsible.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He left because of me, that’s all I can say. I need to make things right. Before … before it’s too late. You told me once you trusted me more than anyone. Please. Can I trust you now?”

  Caine stood up and walked over to her. His footsteps echoed across the cracked concrete floor.

  “Yeah. You can trust me. I’ll go. But Rebecca, there’s something I need to know. What exactly is the priority here? Galloway? Or this bio-weapon?”

  She looked up at him. Her eyes were soft and damp. They glinted in the harsh overhead light. Then they hardened and met his penetrating gaze head on.

  “That’s why I need you to go, Tom. Because right now, I don’t trust myself to make that call.”

  She turned her chair around and rolled towards the exit.

  “Clayton will bring you all the intel and make arrangements to get you out of the country. He’ll get you an encrypted satellite phone. I’ll be in touch.”

  She stopped next to the door. “And Tom?”

  He looked up.

  A tiny smile crossed her lips. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The door rolled shut behind her. He was alone.

  PUFF ADDER … The name echoed through his mind like the high-pitched cry of a wild animal. Laughing, mocking him.

  Shadows surrounded him, clawed at him. For a while, he had actually believed he might be able to leave the nightmares of his past behind him. But now he knew better. He had been a fool to think he could escape the darkness. Blood still stained his hands.

  The past, it seemed, was not finished with him.

  But Rebecca … why didn’t he tell her? If PUFF ADDER was active, if Josh had crossed paths with him in Sudan … Things might be even worse than she imagined. Despite all they had been through, or more likely, because of it, he knew he trusted her. Trusted her more than anyone alive. So why had he kept this crucial bit of intel hidden from her?

  It’s like she said, he thought. You trust her. You just don’t trust yourself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Buri’s heart thumped louder than a stampede of gazelle. He panted for breath as he raced through the grass and brush. The thin brown reeds bent and snapped under his bare feet, but he pushed himself forward. Behind him he heard men shouting, stomping after him. The grass rose almost to his shoulders, and he ducked low, trying to keep out of sight. He knew there was a dirt road to the east, but he was afraid to use it. These American men fought for money, and they were loud and clumsy. But he knew even they would be able to follow his tracks in the soft muddy surface of the road.

  Instead, he kept to the grasslands. He had lost track of how far he had gone … his legs were tired, and covered with cuts and scrapes from the rough foliage. He had stopped to catch his breath a few times.

  He remembered that the sun had just come up when he escaped. His friend, the American that Takuba called Galloway, helped him slip underneath a gap in the fence around the refinery. The hole was tight, barely a few inches wide. It looked like it had been dug by a small animal seeking the warmth of the buildings inside the fence. Buri was a slim boy, and his wiry frame was able to slide underneath. The sharp edges of the fence had gouged at his flesh, but he had made it through.

  “Go!” Galloway hissed when he was on the other side. “I’ll tell your mother what happened. Get help if you can, but get far away from here!”

  Buri looked back and saw one of the American guards turn and run towards them.

  “Hey!” the burly man shouted. “Get your ass back here!”

  Galloway gave him a wink. He turned and walked towards the guard.

  “Hey, the kid needed to take a leak. Give
him a break.”

  Before the soldier could react, Galloway attacked. Buri remembered how fast he had moved … He dipped down, scooped up the soldier’s legs, and tackled him to the ground.

  Buri stared in shock, certain the soldier would shoot Galloway. But instead, they rolled and struggled on the ground. More men rushed over to them.

  Galloway looked up, his face flecked with blood and dirt. “Run!” he shouted.

  Buri ran.

  As he sprinted away from the camp, he heard the men shouting. Galloway grunted as they beat him with their rifles, but he said nothing.

  Now those same men were after him.

  He knew his friend, the man called Galloway, was probably dead. Galloway had brought medicine to their village. Galloway had told him stories, showed him pictures of America, places Buri dreamed of visiting someday.

  Galloway helped him escape.

  He forced himself to run faster. He could not let the men catch him. He could not let his friend Galloway die for nothing.

  Suddenly the brush ended and Buri found himself in a vast clearing. A few patches of dried grass and scrub dotted the dusty plain. Groves of gnarled, blackened trees sprung up here and there, but they were too sparse to hide in.

  Buri wrinkled his nose. A rancid smell drifted towards him. The air reeked of death.

  He stumbled out of the grass and walked towards a large pit, a sinkhole that led down into the earth. The stench grew worse … He peered over the edge of the chasm.

  White plastic bundles littered the floor of the pit. He had seen men loading them on the trucks the day before. He knew what was wrapped in the translucent sheets.

  He heard a buzzing rise up from the pit. A fly settled on his arm. He blinked and realized the air was full of gnats and flies. They were all around him.

  He heard the men shouting … they were moving closer. They would find him any minute now.

  He rubbed his head, hesitating. He heard the grass moving behind him.