Dead Six-ARC

by Larry Correia

  I showed her to the spare room. There was no window, no phone, and the way I slept, she would have to be a ghost to sneak out, but I would rig the door with a motion detector after she fell asleep. The apartment had an alarm, and I’d arm the perimeter, too, just in case. “You’ve got a bed, pillow, and a minimal number of roaches. Sorry I don’t have any spare girl clothes, but I can come up with something tomorrow. The bathroom’s that door there, complete with actual toilet or squatty hole and spray hose. Personal preference, I guess.”

  Jill paused in the doorway. “I just realized. You saved my life, and I don’t even know your name.”

  I gave her a weak smile. “I’m Lorenzo. The skinny one you beat up is Reaper. The hairy one is Carl. And if you’re wondering, yes, those are all made up and won’t do you a bit of good.”

  “Good night, Lorenzo. And thanks.” She closed the door.

  Carl was waiting for me around the corner. “You’re an idiot,” he whispered.

  I nodded. “So what’s new?”

  The short Portagee folded his burly arms and glared at me. “You’re jeopardizing the whole job to take in some broad. You forget the part where Big Eddie kills everybody if we screw up? How does this help us?”

  “I take it you heard her story?”

  “I listened in. She doesn’t know squat about these Dead Six fodas. She’s useless.”

  “Helping her was the right thing to do,” I said.

  Carl snorted. “And since when did you start caring about what’s right? I’ve known you a long time, Lorenzo. You don’t care about right and wrong. When you meet people, they go in one of two groups: Are they a threat, or can you use them somehow? I was surprised you cared so much about this family of yours, that I’ve never heard you talk about, to risk your neck.”

  That was because the people in that folder were the only people who had ever been decent to me, but that went unsaid. “I like a few people.”

  “I shouldn’t count,” Carl replied.

  “Of course not. You’re unlikable,” I said. Carl nodded as if this was the wisest thing he’d heard. “Look, I’ve got other things in mind for the girl. Dead Six will be looking for her. She’s an in against them. And if they want her bad enough, they’ll trade us that damned box.”

  Carl rubbed his stubbly face as he thought about that. “That’s cold, even for you. I don’t know. I’m gonna have to sleep on that. Whatever you do, don’t tell Reaper. The kid will never go for it.” He turned and walked away, shaking his head.

  Sometimes it’s hard being the bad guy.

  ***

  The Fat Man picked up on the first ring. “Hello, Mr. Lorenzo.”

  Did he ever sleep? “We’ve completed Phase Two, but there’s been a complication.”

  “Our employer does not like complications.”

  “Adar is dead, but his box is missing.”

  “My goodness. That certainly is bad news. I do hope that this will not unduly hinder you.”

  “I need information. I need to know about an American operation being conducted in Zubara called Dead Six. At least, the operatives I saw were American. I believe they have the box. If any of Eddie’s people hear anything, I need to know.”

  “But of course,” the Fat Man said. “Is that all?”

  “That’s all. Is this the part where you randomly threaten children to keep me in line?”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Lorenzo.” And he was gone.

  Chapter 9:

  The To-Do List

  VALENTINE

  Fort Saradia National Historical Site

  April 16

  0900

  I opened my eyes to the sound of someone pounding on my door. My head throbbed with each blow. Using the wall to prop myself up, I struggled to my feet and answered the knock.

  It was Conrad, Hunter’s security man. Next to him was another guy I’d seen before but whose name I didn’t recall. They were dressed like twins in 5.11 vests and Oakley sunglasses. “Valentine, come with us,” Conrad said bluntly.

  I looked at my watch. “What’s happening?”

  “Just come with us.” Conrad put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me out of the room.

  “Hey!” I protested, groggily. My left hand reflexively reached for my S&W .44; it was still in its holster.

  “Hold it right there!” Conrad’s partner shouted, immediately producing a pistol from under his vest. He held the Sig 220 in a tight two-handed grip, pointed at my right ear.

  “Whoa whoa whoa!” I said, raising my hands, head pounding with each word. “Everybody calm down! What the hell’s going on here?”

  “Put your hands behind your head!” Conrad’s partner demanded.

  “Do it,” Conrad said. He yanked my .44 out of its holster and stuffed it into his waistband. I had little choice; I slowly laced my fingers behind my head. Conrad then shoved my face into the concrete wall. Pain shot through my skull at the impact. They kept me pinned as my hands were pulled behind my back and roughly zip-tied together. Conrad spun me around, and his partner punched me in the stomach, hard.

  I doubled over, gasping for air. Conrad was holding my zip-tied hands and wouldn’t let me fall. “Hunter is waiting for you,” he said. The two men shoved me toward the stairs and marched me across the compound. Conrad had his hand on my shoulder while his partner stayed a few paces away, ready to shoot me if I ran.

  It had been a long time since I’d been that hung over, and I wasn’t handling it well. The morning heat was oppressive. Once we cleared the shade of the covered hallway, it felt like the sun would burn my hair off. I squinted in the light, and my head ached with each step.

  Other Dead Six personnel watched quietly as I was paraded across Fort Saradia. I was furious. Beyond that, a small pit was forming in my stomach. As we grew nearer and nearer to the admin building, I began to wonder if Hunter was going to have me shot.

  “Wait, wait, we gotta stop.” I leaned forward and threw up.

  “Heh, looks like our boy doesn’t feel so good,” one of the security men said. Conrad and his partner had a good laugh at my expense before dragging me along again.

  As we approached the administrative building, Sarah stepped out into the morning sun, putting on sunglasses as she cleared the door. She froze when she saw me being pushed along by Hunter’s men, blood trickling down the side of my head, hands tied behind my back. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything. I just looked at the ground.

  A few minutes later, I was sitting outside of Hunter’s office, being watched by one security guy while Conrad was inside talking to the colonel. After a short time I was marched in and pushed into a chair in front of Hunter’s desk.

  Looking around, I realized I’d never actually been in the office before. It had once belonged to Fort Saradia’s commanding officer. It was under new management now. Several screens were mounted in various places, and bundles of wires were strung along the floor and ceiling. Maps of the city, of the CGEZ, and of the entire Middle East were hung on the walls. The air stank of cigar smoke. The two security men loomed over me as I sat there.

  Hunter regarded me quietly. His gaze was hard and unsettling. He had only one eye, but it could look at you twice as hard.

  “Colonel?” I began, choosing my words carefully. “What did I do?” I struggled to think clearly; my head felt like it was full of peanut butter.

  “Gentlemen, take a walk,” Hunter said, dismissing his two men. As they left the room, he turned his attention to me. “Miss McAllister informed me that you were drunk off your ass last night and seemed unstable. And now Conrad tells me you went for your weapon when they woke you.”

  Hunter paused for effect. “Mr. Valentine, we’re having this little chat to determine if you’re still fit to go on missions. So tell me, son, what the hell is your problem?”

  “It was . . . bad . . . last night, sir. I did things I regret. I was under a lot of stress. I took it out on Sarah, and I shouldn’t have. But I don’t understand why I got dragged in here a
t gunpoint.”

  Hunter studied me for a moment before speaking. “I know all about you and McAllister, by the way. I know you’ve been diddling each other like a couple of high-school kids. I don’t give a damn about that. I’m only telling you so you’re not under the impression that anything happens around here without my knowledge. What I do give a damn about is one of my best men trying to drink himself stupid after a mission, especially given the operational tempo we’re dealing with. I seem to recall telling you no alcohol until further notice. As a matter of fact, you’re supposed to go out again tonight.”

  “But sir!” I protested. “I’m—”

  “Hung over?” Hunter interjected. “I can see that. You look like hell, Mr. Valentine. You reek of alcohol. What the hell were you drinking, Av-Gas?”

  “I . . . don’t really know, sir. I don’t remember much.”

  “I bet,” Hunter said. “I’m asking you again, now, what’s your problem?”

  “There were some things we left out of our report, sir,” I said quietly. “About what we found in Umm Bab.”

  “Oh?” Hunter asked, raising the eyebrow above his eye patch. I spent the next few minutes recapping the grisly scene we discovered in Adar’s bedroom. My voice broke a few times as I talked about the mutilated girl.

  Hunter quietly let me finish. “Well, that makes sense now,” he said at last. He thought about it for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I guess you’re lucky.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me. My first inclination was to throw you in the brig for a couple weeks. Unfortunately, we don’t have time for that, and we’re too short on personnel. You will not jeopardize this mission. Another episode and I’ll send you home.”

  I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. “Send me home?”

  “Well, I’ll send you back to Gordon Willis. He’ll probably make you disappear. I doubt you’ll end up back wherever it is you came from. I’ve only sent one person back so far, and I don’t know what happened to him. If you follow orders until the project is over, you won’t have to find out. Am I making myself clear, Mr. Valentine?”

  “Perfectly, sir,” I replied.

  “Outstanding,” Hunter said.

  “Sir, can you untie me now?”

  “In a minute. Listen up. Your next mission is very important. So far, the project has been going well. Very well. We have the enemy running scared, and the rumors are flying. Many suspect Americans, but we’re too aggressive. Most think it’s the Israelis, or the emir’s secret police. The nice thing about shaking the bushes like that is that once in a while something good comes running out.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”

  “We’ve been approached by a contact that wants to make a deal. She’s willing to exchange information for protection. We’re working on setting up the meeting now. The name she gave us is Asra Elnadi. We believe she’s a former partner of one of the local arms dealers, Jalal Hosani.”

  “I’ve heard that name before.”

  “Mr. Hosani is on our to-do list. He’s been running guns to anyone in the region with the cash to buy them. As a matter of fact, we think he provided most of the weapons you torched in Ash Shamal. But he’s not the issue right now. Our contact says she left Hosani to go work with one of his competitors, a Russian syndicate run by one Anatoly Federov. He’s on the list, too, and he’s higher up on it than Hosani. He’s not only running guns but is providing explosives and advisers. The training he offers is a lot better than the Iranians.”

  “So what’s the deal?”

  “It’s simple, really. She wants to meet with our people. She’ll divulge everything she knows about both Federov and Hosani if we get her out of the country.”

  “Do you think she’s worth the trouble?”

  “I do. So here’s what’s going to happen.” Colonel Hunter spent the next few minutes giving me a brief rundown of his mission plan. I listened intently, despite being in pain and having my hands tied behind my back.

  It was simple enough. One of our people would meet Asra at a predetermined location. We’d screen her, make sure she checked out, and would then bring her to one of our safe houses. If she was legit, we’d get her out of the country. Hunter seemed reasonably confident that things would go smoothly, but operational experience had dulled my optimism somewhat.

  Half an hour later, I left Hunter’s office and headed down the hall to the security office, rubbing the raw spots on my wrists where the zip ties had been. My head still ached, and all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed.

  Conrad was sitting at a desk, clicking away at a laptop when I walked in. I spotted my .44 sitting on a shelf behind his desk. “I’m here for my gun,” I said simply. I really didn’t feel like having another conversation with this asshole.

  Conrad didn’t look up from his screen. “Well, if it isn’t Doc Holliday looking for his big shootin’ iron.”

  My head still throbbed, and I felt a surge of anger shoot through me. “Just give me my gun so I can go,” I said, stepping closer to Conrad’s desk.

  “The colonel thinks you’re hot shit. That’s the only reason you didn’t end up in the Gulf,” Conrad said, grabbing my revolver from his shelf. “You know what I think?”

  “I don’t really care,” I stated. “Just give me my gun.”

  “I think you’re just a dumb kid who’s in way over his head,” Conrad said, pretending to examine my revolver. He then set it down on his desk with a clunk.

  The muzzle was facing toward me as I grabbed the .44. As I stood up, I flipped the gun around in my hand and extended my arm. I aligned the sights on the bridge of Conrad’s nose. I’d had enough of these people.

  I pulled the trigger.

  Click! Conrad raised an eyebrow as the revolver’s hammer fell on an empty chamber. I pulled the gun in close to my chest and hit the cylinder release. The security man had unloaded it before giving it back to me. I could tell the moment I picked it up. Smart move on his part.

  He put his hand on the butt of his gun. “You trying to scare me or something? I’m with the organization,” he sputtered, like I knew what he was talking about. “You’re a fucking temp. You’re nothing.”

  “I’ll see you later, asshole,” I said. I holstered my gun, turned on a heel, and left the office.

  I made my way downstairs and out the front door, almost crashing into Sarah as I stepped back into the heat. “Michael!” she said, seemingly unsure of what to say. “What happened to you?”

  I almost laughed. “What happened? Hunter was ready to shoot me, that’s what happened!”

  “Michael, I didn’t mean for—”

  I cut her off. “No. Just stop. I learned a long time ago not to fish out of the company pond, and this is why. As soon as I piss you off, you run to the boss, and I get the shit kicked out of me. So just stay away from me, alright? I got a mission to plan.” I stepped around her and walked away, not looking back.

  It took me a few minutes to get back up to my room. Sweat was trickling down my face by the time I made it to the third floor of the dorms, and I thought I was going to pass out. I locked the door behind me, cranked the air conditioner up, and sat down on my bed.

  I noticed something shiny on the floor by the bathroom door. It had fallen out of the old Arabian puzzle box. The object was silver in color and had a silver chain attached to one end. I grabbed the chain and picked the trinket up.

  It was roughly cylindrical, a few inches long and maybe as big around as a ballpoint pen. Surprisingly heavy, the object was intricately carved and looked as it if had many moving parts. It also looked very old. The top of the object, where the chain was attached, appeared to be a knob. I gently tried to rotate it to see if anything would happen.

  To my surprise, the thing audibly clicked and more than a dozen tiny metal pins of varying lengths popped out of the shaft. Rotating the knob the other way caused the pins to disappear again.

  I sat back down on my bed, playing with the trinket,
wondering what it was. It seemed like a key of some kind, but that was only a guess on my part. Whatever the object was, it was still in my hand when I fell asleep.

  I told myself it was a coincidence, but I had the most macabre, horrifying nightmares of my entire life.

  LORENZO

  April 16

  I was wandering the local market when my cell phone buzzed. It was secure, encrypted, and not very many people had my number. Caller unknown. Glancing around, there was nobody close enough to eavesdrop, and there was enough background hum from the various vendors and customers that listening in would be difficult. Half the Arab world was on a cell phone at any given time anyway.

  “I heard you were looking for me,” Jalal Hosani said, cutting right to the point. I had been trying to reach him all week. If anybody knew what was really going on, it would be the local neighborhood arms smuggler.

  “I need some information.”

  “As do I.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Are you involved in what has been happening?”

  “Not my style. You know that.” I had the professional reputation of being a man of subtlety. “I was actually going to ask you the same question.”

  Jalal actually laughed. “Are you serious? I’ve been afraid to stick my head out in public for fear of losing it to these men leaving the playing cards.”

  I paused in front of one of the carts. They actually had good-looking chili peppers, and I was a bit of a connoisseur. Even the smell was hot. I gestured for them to fill a bag. “So, how’s business treating you?” I asked as I passed over a few riyals to the eager vendor and put the peppers with the rest of the supplies I’d purchased.

  “Well, half my customer base is dead or hiding, but the other half has been stocking up on guns in response, so overall it has been good. At this rate we’ll be in full-fledged revolution in a matter of months.” Jalal said that like it was a good thing, simply a business opportunity. “Why are you curious? I thought a patriot such as yourself would be glad to see such enemies of your homeland eliminated.”