by Anthony Tata
Sergeant Eversoll laid his M4 carbine on his rucksack and walked across the room. As he neared the group, his eyes remained fixed on the civilian. He had seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t place him.
“And this is where we’ve been searching,” Rampert said, pointing at the location on the map of the gorge where Eversoll had spent two long days and nights.
“Well, I want to go right there,” the civilian said. The man pressed his finger on the map about two inches to the right and above the place where Rampert had just pointed.
Sergeant Eversoll looked at Rampert and then at the civilian.
“We’ve been down this road before, Matt.”
“And we’ll go down it again.”
Sergeant Major Palmen noticed Sergeant Eversoll standing behind them. He grabbed him by the shoulder. “Sergeant Eversoll, meet Assistant Director of the CIA Matthew Garrett.”
***
Matt shook Sergeant Eversoll’s hand and took measure of the young man, quickly surmising that he had served his brother well.
“Good to meet you, Sergeant.”
He turned to Rampert and said, “We need to talk in private.”
Rampert nodded, saying, “Follow me.”
They walked into a plywood paneled office with maps hanging all over the walls. Rampert sat behind his gray metal desk and Matt took a wooden chair opposite Rampert.
“Searing Gorge?” Matt said.
Rampert hesitated. “Yeah, they told me that was you.”
“Why’d you give it to Zach?”
“That’s a stupid question. He’s the best. That simple.”
“You put him in a bad spot. Going in daylight. What gives?”
“We needed a fight for it to work.”
“You got a bunch of men killed, General.”
“It was combat. We had it under control but Jergens fell out of the damned chopper.”
Matt backed off and changed his tack.
“Do you know what will happen if the enemy gets the report on these minerals that these State Department weenies made public?”
“You think I’m an idiot?”
“You sure you want me to answer that, General?”
Rampert paused. Matt knew that the man had a complex history with Zach and him. Just before the beginning of Operation Iraqi Freedom, Zach had fought a resurgent Japanese army in the Philippines and was reported as killed in action. Rampert and some of his Delta Force troops had been part of that fight and had rescued Zach, kept him alive, and clandestinely evacuated him to Fort Bragg where the special operations doctors nursed him back to health under a pseudonym. As Zach recovered from his coma, former Iraqi general Jacques Ballantine decided to attack the United States with the missing weapons of mass destruction that he had been stockpiling in Canada. The Canadians refused to allow U.S. military action on their soil, leaving Ballantine’s team free to operate. So Rampert had Zach Garrett, operating under the nom de guerre, Winslow Boudreaux, jump into Ballantine’s Canadian fishing hole where he dueled with the Iraqi general before being captured.
Complex, Matt thought, was probably an understatement.
“There’s definitely some things we don’t want them to get,” Rampert said.
“Well, all we can hope is that Zach and his team did what they needed to do.”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
Matt studied Rampert a minute, pushing his feet off the front of his desk and leaning his chair back. He turned his head toward the map that was a blow up of the Kunar and Nuristan areas.
“Biggest Lapis mines in the world right in there,” Matt said.
“A lot of timber, too,” Rampert added.
“Have you looked at that mineral map?”
Rampert paused. Matt could tell he had only scanned it with passing interest.
“You know what the term Searing Gorge means?”
“Like a hot valley,” Rampert said.
Matt grimaced and stood, the legs from his chair sounding like a gunshot.
“Searing Gorge is an online gaming name coined by World of Warcraft,” Matt said.
“Why do I give a rat’s ass about that?”
“The Searing Gorge is where the Thorium Brotherhood have their base of operations.”
Rampert shrugged.
“Check your periodic chart, General.” Matt walked to the map and pointed at the border between Kunar and Nuristan along the Pakistan border. “Thorium itself is not fissile, but it is a close kin to Uranium, but it doesn’t sterilize you when you handle it. Except for one kind—Thorium232—which is considered fissile.”
Rampert stared at Matt.
“That means the bad guys can make nukes out of it.”
“No shit.” Rampert stood and walked to the map.
“And the deepest, richest Thorium 232 mine in the world is right there,” Matt said.
He was pointing at a spot near the Kunar River where it scraped against the border of Pakistan.
“What was on that flash drive, Garrett?” Rampert asked.
“A two phased plan.”
“That we want the enemy to know?”
Matt nodded.
“Absolutely.”
CHAPTER 12
Charlotte, north carolina
Monday Afternoon
“Dagus is only trying to help you, Amanda.”
“I know, but everyone’s making way too big a deal out of this,” Amanda replied as Jake drove her into Dilworth to meet with Ms. Riley Dwyer for the first time.
“I don’t know him that well, but you’ve been working with him for a couple of years now. So, cut him some slack.”
She considered his comment. “Fine. You deal with him, then.”
Jake gave Amanda an amused look. “Well, I’ve got to turn in a review of Aerosmith for him. So maybe I’ll try to explain some things to him then.”
“I was being a smart ass, Jake. He’s fine. Let’s change the topic. So tell me again why I am doing this?”
“You know why.” Jake put his truck on cruise control at 70 mph as they sped along I-85, looped onto I-485, and then took I-77 south into Dilworth. They passed Charlotte Coliseum, which was nearly rebuilt after the bombing. A solitary crane arched over the north end of the sports complex like a heron in the marsh, the only indication that reconstruction was taking place.
“See that?” Jake said, pointing at the crane. “That’s why. Terrorists tried to blow up these malls almost exactly two years ago. Your dad was killed fighting those guys so they can’t do that anymore . . . or at least the bad guys will die trying.”
“Honestly, Jake, I have never felt threatened. Even when 9-11 happened, it was so far away. Even when this thing supposedly happened, I mean I felt bad for the families and everything, but it just kind of went away.”
Jake wore jeans and a black T-shirt that said “Gavin McGraw—Security” on the front and had a list of sponsors on the back. He had picked up an odd job working security for the McGraw concert at Clemson last spring. The T-shirt had been part of the benefits package. Since then he had been invited back as a regular.
The temperature was comfortably warm, a beautiful South Carolina spring day. Amanda was dressed in a tight pink T-shirt with the number 10 on the front and back, indicating her high school graduation year. Hip-hugger jeans belied the fact that she was en route to a meeting in a brick-and-chrome office building in Charlotte’s swankiest section. She still had her school books in her lap.
“Your dad is the kind of guy who makes those things ‘kind of go away,’ Amanda.”
“Was.”
“Was, what?”
“You said ‘is,’ and you meant ‘was.’ He’s dead, for real this time.”
“Right. Kind of a stupid point to make, don’t you think?”
He had parked in front of a tan brick building with a sign that said, “DWYER AND ASSOCIATES.”
“I’m not going in,” Amanda said with conviction.
“And I’m not leaving until you d
o.” Jake pulled the parking brake up, leaned back into his seat, and looked into her eyes. “Listen, Amanda. If you’re not going to do this for your dad, then do it for me. I’ve been troubled about this. Part of me just wants to hold you and support you, which you know I do all the time. Another part of me, though, feels like I need to lead you here. It’s like I’m with you for that reason. Like, your dad’s asking me to help you.”
“That’s good, because he never helped me,” she quipped. Amanda lifted the door handle, jumped out, and then leaned back in. “For you,” she said with a smile. Then she added, “Be back in a few.”
After taking an elevator to the fourth floor, Amanda found the restroom, went in, applied makeup and smiled at herself in the mirror. Don’t you look good, she said to herself. She pulled at the two strands of hair on either side of her face, sucked her cheeks in, and smacked her lips.
She exited the bathroom, found the correct office, and introduced herself to the clerk at the front desk. “Hi, my name is Amanda Garrett, and I’m supposed to meet Miss Dwyer now.”
“Miss Dwyer has a client in her office,” the clerk announced. “Fill out this paperwork and bring it back to me when you’re done, please.”
Amanda gave her a snobbish look then glanced at the paperwork. “I’m not filling out any papers. This thing didn’t mention any of that. It just said to be here at this time, and I’m here.” She shook her own paperwork in her hand.
“Young lady, if you don’t fill out this paperwork, I’m not even going to know who you are.” The woman, probably in her fifties, used a school-teacher’s voice to scold Amanda.
“I don’t need this crap. I didn’t even want to come today. See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya.” Amanda did a light-footed pirouette, waved nonchalantly over her shoulder, and strode for the door.
The office door to the side of the receptionist opened, producing two women who were casually chatting. Amanda looked back, briefly catching the eye of the younger of the two women. She looked vaguely familiar, Amanda thought, although she couldn’t place her.
Amanda placed her hand on the chrome door pull and was leaning backward when she heard, “Amanda Garrett?”
She dropped her head and muttered, “Busted.” She turned around, stepped to the side as the previous “client” brushed past her, and said, “That’s me. Who wants to know?”
Amanda watched a strikingly beautiful woman walk toward her. Auburn hair, light, almost sky blue, eyes, and a fresh, clean face. Slim figure, lots of thin gold bracelets on one arm, and trendy Chino pants with a tight-fitting light green blouse. An emerald necklace hung against the freckled skin at her neck.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” the woman said with a smile, reaching her hand out.
“Not particularly,” Amanda shot back, folding her arms across her chest.
“I’ll give you three guesses.” She put her arm around Amanda to walk her back toward the office.
“Don’t touch me, lesbo,” Amanda shrieked, pulling away.
The woman dropped her arm, then stuck it back at her, and said, “Hi, Amanda. I’m Riley Dwyer. Now let’s cut the tough-guy act and get this over with.”
“That’s more like it,” Amanda said, giving Ms. Dwyer’s hand a limp shake. Riley was walking slowly with Amanda following. “I’ve got things to do.”
“I’m sure you do. Graduation is just around the corner; college is coming up; your boyfriend is a football hero; swim meets going on . . .” Miss Dwyer was waving her arms in the air each time she mentioned an item.
“That’s right, plus I was voted most popular and best looking, so I’ve got responsibilities there, too.”
“Oh my, those are, like, the two best things,” Miss Dwyer mocked, though it was lost on Amanda.
“Yeah, I lobbied for it pretty hard. It was competitive.”
“All that and you’ve probably got a senior class trip on the way. I’m just so lucky you could fit me in.”
“Yeah, we’re going to the Bahamas.” Amanda looked at her watch and said, “Well, I don’t have much time, but I can give you a few minutes to check this off my list.”
“I’m fortunate.” Miss Dwyer gave Amanda a tight-lipped grin.
They were in her office. Three floor-to-ceiling windows were evenly spaced along the wall on the left. She had tastefully arranged a dozen plants, including two ficus trees and some elephant leaves, along the window wall. Splashes of light blazed through the glass, creating equally spaced rectangles along the floor. In the middle of the office was a large oak desk with papers on it. To the right were a sofa and two padded chairs. A smattering of pictures and degrees hung on the walls in no particular fashion or pattern. Several paintings of sand dunes and beach cottages were scattered throughout the office.
Amanda stopped and said, “Can you just sign this thing so I can get on my way?”
“And what thing would that be, dear?” Miss Dwyer came over to Amanda, again invading her personal space, to look over her shoulder at the paperwork.
“What is it with you? Really, are you gay?”
“No. Why would you think that?” Miss Dwyer took a step back. “You asked me to sign something. I just wanted to see what it was.” Again, her mock offense was lost on Amanda.
“Okay.” Amanda rolled her eyes warily.
“Why don’t we sit down, Amanda, and we can see what it is that you’ve got in your hand there.” Miss Dwyer motioned at the papers.
“Nah, I’d just rather you sign this and let me get out of here. There’s nothing here for me.”
Miss Dwyer walked around her slowly, sizing her up, looking at her with those pale blue eyes, and then sat down in one of the two overstuffed chairs.
“You’re creeping me out, woman. Maybe you’re the one who needs the shrink.”
“Maybe so. Why don’t you give me your analysis.” Miss Dwyer waved her arm toward the sofa.
“Well, this could be kinda cool, but only if you sign this paperwork saying I’m good to go.”
Miss Dwyer’s head popped up. She stared at Amanda.
“What? Got a problem with that?”
“We’ll see,” Miss Dwyer said absently, regaining her composure. “Why don’t you come down here and analyze me, young lady.”
Amanda sat down in the chair across from Miss Dwyer, crossed her legs, and laced her fingers together over her knee as she leaned forward.
“Let’s start with your childhood,” Amanda said in melodramatic form. She drew on her theater training, bugging her eyes wide open.
“Normal. Two great parents, an older brother who protected me and plenty of friends. I’m close with them all today.”
“Hmmm. Sounds like the famous African Normalcy Syndrome, or what we call ANS. It strikes in our sleep.”
“But doctor, I’m not complaining of any issues,” Miss Dwyer countered, smiling like a Stepford wife.
“Ahh, but therein lies the nastiness of this disease,” Amanda said, wagging her finger. “You just don’t know you have it.”
Miss Dwyer drummed her fingers on her knee, smiling inwardly. “Wow, you may be on to something.”
Enjoying herself, Amanda continued. “Now, the real test is how you have matured as an adult. So tell me about your relationships. I see no ring on your finger. You’re passably cute, and you’re probably only twice my age.”
“Oh, girlfriend, you flatter me so.”
“Tell me about your love life.”
***
Riley stiffened, even though she knew the teenager was just playing a game. It was a natural reaction. She had exactly one love in her life, and he was no longer available. Her heart had been crushed, perhaps her soul as well.
“Come on, come on, out with it now,” Amanda mocked.
“Your time is up, doctor. It’s my turn.”
“Oooh. Struck a nerve, did I? What is it, give him sex too early and he dumped you? That’s what happens in high school. You gotta tease the guys and manipulate them so they stick around.”
Riley smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. “Okay, young lady, I can see you’ve got a career in psychology ahead of you.”
“Please,” Amanda scoffed.
“Now that your father’s dead, tell me about him, Amanda.” Miss Dwyer’s words were a bolt out of the sky, a momentum changer. In an instant, the well-practiced psychiatrist had seized control of the situation.
Amanda stared at her for a moment then looked down, pulling at her pink shirt with one hand, as if picking lint. “Nothing to say. He’s dead.” Then she thought a moment and said, “But he left me half a million dollars. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Why did he do that?”
“What do you mean? I’m his daughter; he had to. Mom told me that she had to get a court order.”
“Really. When did your mom say this?”
“I don’t know, a few years ago. Dad was always missing child support payments, never helping with anything. He just ignored me.”
“I see. Why did he do that?”
“Just the way he is—was. A bastard.”
“Pretty strong word.”
“Pretty bad dad.” Amanda acted impatient. “How much of this do I have to endure.”
“None at all. You can go now. I’ve seen enough.” Riley stood, brushing her pants off.
“So you agree, then, he was a bad father? That’s cool. So we just sign the paperwork, and I’m good to go.”
Riley stopped. There it was again. “No. You can go, Amanda, but I’m not signing the paperwork.”
“What do you mean? I came down here to see you, and you’re not even going to sign it?”
“I don’t have to sign it, so why would I?”
“If you don’t sign it, I have to wait two weeks to get my half mil,” Amanda said, trying to act like she pulled off multimillion-dollar deals all the time.
“Oh, no, that’s not true.” Riley stood firm in front of her now. She was the dominant figure, not the pretending, aloof scatterbrain.
“Really! You mean I don’t need your signature?”
“No, you need my signature. Actually, what your father’s will states is that if I don’t sign off on your paperwork, your take of his insurance is fifty thousand dollars.”