by Anthony Tata
She whipped onto I-485, then I-77, and shot like a rocket into Dilworth, finally screeching into the parking lot of Riley Dwyer’s office building. She took a moment and gathered herself, checking her makeup in the visor mirror, eating her rage as she did so. Still simmering, she stepped outside of her van and gained her composure, pulling down on her turquoise top, straightening her shell necklace, and smoothing her satin white Capri pants.
She then marched into the building, found the office, and breezed into Riley Dwyer’s office as if she held the deed.
Riley, Jake, and Amanda all looked up from the sofa, tissues littering the floor like peanut shells in a bar.
“We’ve had about enough of this nonsense. Amanda, get your things. Let’s go,” she barked.
“I’m sorry,” Riley said, standing and placing herself between Amanda and Nina. “This is my office, and I don’t believe you’ve got an appointment.” Riley was moving slowly toward Nina, who stood her ground.
“Don’t give me any of that crap, lady. Amanda doesn’t have to be subjected to this. You will be hearing from an attorney in the morning.” Nina was trying to look past Riley, but the therapist was doing a good job of cocking her head, blocking Nina’s view.
“He’ll have to make an appointment, too,” she laughed.
Nina stood motionless, years of poison and Old South genetics boiling around inside her. Always get what you want. Damn the torpedoes. Leave no prisoners. If the truth doesn’t give you what you want, create a new one that does. A lie is simply a truth waiting for the right opportunity.
The aphorisms rushed from her calculating mind like horses from the opening gate at the Preakness. They were off and running, racing toward a destination that only she knew. Nina Hastings had sniffed a vector from the moment she read the will and every other document related to Zachary Garrett’s death she could obtain. She had taken them from Melanie, spent an hour at Kinko’s, and made two copies of the will, the survivor benefit plan, the life insurance, the death gratuity, and the statement of action that Zachary had outlined in the event of his death.
Nina had not been prepared for his thoroughness. Having spent the better part of the morning combing over the documents, she became alarmed as she read the details. Her expectation had been that the $500,000 would go to Melanie with some weak provisions about her having to partition some of the money to Amanda over the years. With Amanda’s eighteenth birthday nearing, she had believed Melanie would be able to get control of the money immediately.
Yet, Zachary had outmaneuvered them, at least for the moment. How hard could it be to do an end run on a dead guy? She had already energized her attorney to file a motion to stop the counseling sessions with the enigma standing before her. And she had hired a private investigator to begin digging into Riley Dwyer’s background. She needed to know her enemy. That spade work had already produced one pearl, one juicy nugget.
“Listen you little tramp, I’m not sure what your angle is here, but just because you had an affair with that loser, Zachary, before Melanie’s divorce was final doesn’t mean you can lay claim to the insurance money.”
Nina could see she had gotten the attention of the group. Riley Dwyer was speechless. Amanda Garrett shot up out of her seat, grabbing at Riley’s shoulder.
“Is that true?”
Riley looked at Amanda, and then she looked back at Nina, who was wearing the smug, satisfied look of an attorney who had just introduced surprise, damning, and irrefutable evidence in a capital case.
“Is it true?” Amanda demanded again.
“Amanda, it’s complicated, and I was going to—”
“You bitch!”
Amanda stormed out of the office, her boyfriend racing behind her.
Nina Hastings remained behind. This was the opportunity she was seeking. She walked a step closer to Riley, pouring stale breath into her face. “You have no idea who you’re messing with here. Your life is about to become hell unless you decide to give up this little pop psychology garbage with Amanda.”
Riley had regained her composure. “Lady, it’s clear to me that you are a domineering, selfish woman. You only want what is best for you in this life. Your life is an alternate reality that somehow has placed you at the center of the universe. You do only enough good to fool people into thinking that, as they begin to see the real you, maybe there’s hope that you’re not the evil bitch that you are.”
“Don’t you ever talk to me like that, slut, or I’ll take you down!”
Riley’s slender arm lifted and pointed toward the door, like an arrow poised on a bow. “I think you better leave now, before you do something you regret.”
“I can’t remember the last time I regretted anything.”
Nina Hastings’s wicked smile gave the brief impression of a haunting jack o’ lantern. None of the information she had announced was true, but she knew that the best lies were built around a kernel of the truth.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“I’d be looking over my shoulder, if I were you,” Nina squawked before turning and departing.
***
Riley closed the door behind her and pressed her back against it. She so clearly envisioned first meeting Zachary that the images seemed almost lifelike.
Zachary had been leaving the courthouse after the hearing. Wearing his class A green uniform, he looked like an Army recruiting poster. Riley was coming down the steps of the courthouse, two loads of papers and books carelessly stacked in her arms after completing testimony as an expert witness in a different case. Without even looking at her face, Zachary instantly offered her some help, which Riley readily accepted. After getting everything into her car, she insisted on buying him a Starbucks, which he accepted.
Zachary had been up front with her. He was devastated about the divorce and could only focus on his daughter. Riley totally understood, gave Zachary her card, and said, “If Amanda ever needs anyone to talk to, you have her call me, no charge. I prefer doing pro bono for the right cause.” She had shrugged and smiled. “I’ll never get rich, but my soul will feel good.”
Pulling out of the memory, Riley stared through her window, watching the old woman shake her finger at Jake. She saw Nina grab Amanda by the arm and pull her out of Jake’s truck. This might turn uglier than it already is, Riley thought.
Jake came around the front of the truck and confronted Nina. The young man, she figured, had courage in confronting a woman who had so ferociously laid down a marker. There was no scenario where he could wind up the victor. Amanda was already in the passenger seat of the minivan, and, frankly, Riley believed that Nina would welcome Jake getting physical. More ammunition for the image, the big lie, the alternate reality.
She watched Nina step toward Jake, who wisely backed away and returned to his truck. There it was, Riley figured. Nina had provoked Jake, and the young man was able to keep his cool enough to walk away from what she knew to be an unbelievably frustrating situation.
Riley turned away from the window as the minivan pulled away. She crossed her arms, her bracelets rattling against one another. What could she do? What would Zachary want her to do?
She lifted the photo of her and Zach.
“Please help me,” she whispered to him.
CHAPTER 16
Northwest Frontier Province, Pakistan
Early Wednesday Morning
The whipping rotor blades from the MH-47 helicopter pushed warm air against Sergeant Eversoll’s face as he stood on the airfield tarmac. Next to him was Matt Garrett, dressed in army combat equipment. Eversoll had on his standard army combat uniform, body armor, and helmet. He carried a rucksack full of radios, batteries, and ammo. Matt held an M4 carbine in one hand and a ground position locator in the other. He wore clear Oakley sunglasses and a small, form-fitting helmet that cut above his ears.
“Ready?” Matt said.
“Roger that, sir. Born ready.”
They boarded the Special Operations helicopter as the sun dip
ped below the mountains to the west. Inside the aircraft they removed their headgear and donned communications headsets. Two other men, Army Special Forces commandos Hobart and Van Dreeves, were already seated in the back. Matt gave them a wink.
“Team, how we doing?”
“Good to see you, Matt.” Hobart was first.
“Rog’.” Van Dreeves was second, and always a man of few words. Matt, Hobart, and Van Dreeves had participated in the Ballantine takedown in Canada two years ago along with then-Colonel Jack Rampert. Matt looked at Eversoll, who was watching the three comrades. He could see that he might feel like an outsider.
“Okay, Sergeant, you know we’re going into Pakistan, right?”
“Roger that.” Eversoll turned toward Matt from across the helicopter.
“Our plan is to land and hit a cave complex where we picked up some communications intercepts. The helicopter will circle while we do our mission. We are to be on the ground for no more than thirty minutes.”
“Yes, sir, I understand.”
“And, Sergeant?” Matt’s eyes drifted from Eversoll back to Hobart and Van Dreeves, who were both staring at Eversoll, and then locked onto the sergeant.
“Yes, sir?”
“We are going in light, because the Pakistanis don’t know what we’re doing. And they will never know. They’ll just know something happened. We’ve got no air cover and no way out except this helicopter. These bastards killed my brother. I want to kill all that we find. You are rear security. Hobart and Van Dreeves have left and right, respectively, as we go into the tunnel. I have the center.”
“I understand, sir.”
The helicopter climbed and banked for an hour. They flew mostly in silence. All lost in their own private thoughts, each with their own rituals for preparing for combat.
Matt closed his eyes and thought about his brother, Zach. Was he going out purely for revenge? Maybe. But he could defend the decision under the guise of an intelligence-gathering mission. He wasn’t having second thoughts at all. He was just making sure he could cover for the others if things went bad.
The aircraft bucked and swayed heavily once as they did the first in-flight refuel. The MH-47 yawed as it was tethered to the refuel aircraft before it.
“Five minutes!” The crew chief hollered. He was wearing an oxygen mask and helmet. They were attacking a cave complex fifteen thousand feet high in the Hindu Kush Mountains just across the Pakistani border in an area called the Northwest Frontier Province.
The four men pulled back the charging handles on their M4s. Sergeant Eversoll licked his lips. For all the time he had been working with Colonel Garrett, he had never been on a mission like this. He had always minded the store. Sure, he’d been in a few firefights, and had acquitted himself well. He was a good shot and a brave young man, but this was different. They were launching into the heart of Al Qaeda territory. He was glad to be in on it, for sure.
The two men to his left looked like mercenaries, even though they wore subdued American flag patches on their right shoulder. Hobart had dark hair, a long face, and broad shoulders. Van Dreeves was blond, more boyish looking. He could fit in on Sunset Beach in Hawaii.
“One minute!” The helicopter began to flair. Eversoll could tell the pilots were struggling with the altitude as the Chinook yawed back and forth. A loud bang rapped into the side. They were hit, but they kept going.
The ramp to the back of the aircraft opened. The crew chief shouted, “Go! Go!” as he pointed to the yawning hole. He was on one knee, holding an M240B machine gun on his hip. Suddenly the machinegun roared to life, spitting flame and lead at the enemy.
Sergeant Eversoll let Matt Garrett, Hobart, and Van Dreeves exit the aircraft, in accordance with the plan, before he charged out the back. They were in thigh-deep snow with green tracers whipping all around them. The MH-47 shot straight up, pushing snow everywhere, obscuring the team on the ground, and providing them a moment to maneuver. Eversoll watched as two rocket-propelled grenades left smoking trails on their way toward the helicopter.
“The fight’s down here, son,” Matt Garrett shouted to him. “Let’s go.”
The Chinook dove quickly as the grenades missed their mark, exploding into the mountainside.
The four men ran to the rock wall, shuffling as best they could through the snow. When they reached the entrance to the cave, Hobart and Van Dreeves tossed grenades into the opening and then peeled around the corner, firing their weapons.
Hobart broke left while Van Dreeves broke to the right, their shoulders rubbing the sides of the tunnel. Matt Garrett stayed about ten feet behind Hobart, aiming his weapon between his lead team.
Sergeant Eversoll turned his back to Matt, reaching with his hand to ensure he was close. Walking backward slowly, Eversoll saw two men run into the mouth of the cave, one holding a rocket launcher, the other an AK-47. Weapon at the ready, he fired two quick shots at the Al Qaeda carrying the rifle, and then he trained his weapon on the man with the grenade launcher.
He squeezed the trigger, knocking the enemy backward, but not before a rocket-propelled grenade launched from the tube. Eversoll yelled, “RPG!” The entire team ducked as the grenade flew high over their heads into the top of the cave. Smoke filled the tunnel to their immediate front.
His heart was pounding, adrenaline surging through his body. His mouth dry, he counted out, “Two AQ down!”
“Good job. Keep moving,” Garrett said calmly.
The team reached a four-way intersection. Hobart peeked around his corner at the same time Van Dreeves looked to the right. Green tracers flew from left to right, chipping the rock around their heads.
Eversoll turned briefly and saw Garrett motion to the left. They were there to kill the enemy. Move to the fire. He calculated in his mind that, as the team turned to the left, he would have to quickly cover in three directions for a few seconds. He committed to watching the long axis to the right.
Quickly, they were already moving into the left section of the cave. They moved in a tight-knit diamond, like synchronized swimming, Eversoll thought. An RPG flew past them, this time from right to left, before anyone could say anything. Eversoll hit the dirt, sighted his weapon, and fired repetitive bursts into the darkness. He flipped on his night-vision goggles and saw one body on the ground, a rocket launcher next to him. Looking to his rear, the team had continued to move. They were about fifty feet from him now.
He was out of the four-way intersection and gaining on the team, quickly looking back. He kept his PVS-14 night-vision monocle on. Hobart and Van Dreeves were using flashlights which cast enough light to allow his goggles to work better. More shots from the front of the team echoed through the cave. Those sounded like M4 muzzle blasts to Eversoll.
Eversoll had caught up with Garrett. He was about ten feet from him.
“Doing good, son.” Garrett’s reassuring words were a boost. He continued to scan the rear of the formation. More shots from up front.
“RPG!” Hobart called out. Again, the team dove into the dirt. Eversoll felt the heat from the rocket lick at the back of his neck. He quickly pushed his goggles atop his helmet to prevent whiteout. The explosion was deafening. In its brightness, Eversoll saw three men running toward them. It was one flash of a strobe light. They were there, and then they were gone. He flipped his goggles back down, but his eyes were having a hard time adjusting. Smoke was billowing and pieces of rock were falling everywhere.
There they were, coming right at him. He resisted the urge to spray in machine-gun fashion, and instead fired well-aimed, double-tap shots at the enemy. His PAQ-4C laser aiming light shone directly onto the chest of one of the Al Qaeda as he pulled the trigger. He hit the next man as well.
The third was on top of him, screaming. Eversoll rolled to his left, pulling his knife from his boot. Arcing it upward, he caught the man in the stomach and felt warm blood pour across his hand. The man’s face was close enough for him to see it in the dark. It was the face of an insane zealot. His
eyes were wide open, a toothless grin locked on his face, stale breath engulfed him. Blood began to seep from his mouth as the man muttered, “Die.”
Eversoll looked down and saw a grenade roll from the man’s limp hand. The spoon popped off, flipping into the air in what seemed like slow motion. Eversoll shouted, “Grenade!” He suspected, though, that the team had continued to move and was safely away. He mustered his strength and rolled toward the grenade, holding tightly onto the Al Qaeda zealot. As he completed his roll, the grenade exploded, sending him five feet into the air.
He waited. He was still alive. The man’s body had absorbed most of the grenade. A few flecks of burning metal protruded from his body armor.
“Eversoll, you okay?” It was Matt Garrett. “Let’s move.” Garrett’s hand was under his arm, lifting him.
“Yes sir. I’m good.” Eversoll got to one knee, took a second, and then stood, Matt’s steady hand helping him up.
They continued to move, catching up with Hobart and Van Dreeves.
“We’re at an open area,” Hobart said. “Looks like a circle. A fire is still smoldering.”
“Okay, we’ve been here long enough. It’s time to call in the aircraft. Everyone put on their SPIES seats.” The team took a minute to wrap a twelve-foot section of rope around their chests and then insert a metal climbing snap link into the loop.
Hobart moved left while Van Dreeves went right. Machine-gun fire pushed them back into the tunnel. Van Dreeves loaded a grenade into the M203 grenade launcher, stowed beneath the muzzle of his M4.
Stepping into the circle, he fired directly at the muzzle of the machine gun and stumbled back. He was hit. A flurry of machine-gun rounds had pelted him in the chest. The only question was whether his body armor had dissipated the bullets’ energy at such short range.
The grenade worked its magic, silencing the gunner. Hobart took a knee next to Van Dreeves while Matt and Eversoll trained their weapons upward at the lip of the opening. One man looked over the edge, and Matt quickly fired into his forehead. Then another came from the other direction. Eversoll shot him.