“And now,” she said as she turned back to Troy, “let us talk about why you are really here?”
Troy took a couple of swigs of his warm glass of water. He relayed the story of the boxes and the bones and that Aasif had been the one to deliver them.
Sedra pursed her lips. “Aasif is not a bad boy. How is he getting involved in all of this?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.” Troy looked out the window at the complete dark of night, “But if I don’t get back soon, I’m gonna be travelin’ through dangerous waters.”
“No, no.” Sedra looked confused. “You are far from the nearest water.”
Troy opened his mouth to explain metaphor, but she stopped him.
“I am kidding,” she said, smiling. “Come back in two days. Give me a chance to talk to Aasif. I will find out what is going on.”
“Thank you,” Troy walked to the door. “Now, um, which way should I head out of here?”
Sedra shrugged. “Back the way you came, I suppose.”
Troy nodded, “Yup. Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”
He closed the door behind him. Two hours later after at least twenty wrong turns, he crawled into his bunk and fell into a deep sleep.
4
Drop
General Buff Summerton dropped the last stack of hundred dollar bills into the army green duffel bag. He snorted around the unlit cigar jutting out of the corner of his mouth.
“Okay,” he huffed, “it’s all there. One point five mil. I still say this is a goddamn shame.”
A younger man, gangly and freckled, held out a small black box no bigger than a stack of fifteen business cards. He toggled a switch on the side of the box and handed it to Ambassador Bill Williams. He, in turn, tucked the box into a cutout carved into a stack of twenties and then covered it with a portion of whole bills. When it was wrapped with the currency strap, it looked like any other stack of bills in the bag. Williams dug it into the bag and stuffed it halfway down. It was gone. Disappeared. Undetectable until the stack was disturbed.
“There won’t be any shame when we track this money to their hideout and retrieve Mr. Phillips,” Ambassador Williams said, clapping the dust from his hands.
“My granddaddy is probably turnin’ over in his grave,” Buff harrumphed and shook his head. “No way his generation woulda stood for this crap.”
“Buff.” Williams looked at him incredulously. “They sent us a toe. So, presuming he’s still alive, Phillips is now fingerless on one hand and they’ve started on his foot. We can’t let this go on.”
“It’s a goddamn pinky toe!” Buff grunted. “Who needs a damn pinky toe anyway?”
No one responded.
“Are we guaranteed this contraption is gonna work?” Buff asked clearing his throat.
Williams nodded his head to the young tech who’d produced the box. He pulled a tablet from his briefcase and clicked it on. Tapping the screen a few times, he opened an app. The screen flickered and a satellite image of the surrounding area came into focus. A few more taps made a flashing red light appear in the center of the screen.
The tech handed the tablet to Ambassador Williams. He pinched out with his fingers on the screen and the image zoomed in. After a second, the resolution increased and a building came into focus. It was a picture of the roof of the embassy they were standing in. Williams smiled and handed the tablet to Buff.
The general took it and huffed. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Pretty impressive,” Williams beamed as he spoke, “isn’t it? It’s based in part on the systems used to guide our missiles to their targets. The box simulates the laser marking that we used to need a man on the ground to produce. By translating that into a microwave—”
Summerton clapped him on the back of the shoulder interrupting him. “Don’t need a goddamn science lesson, Bill. Just glad to see it works.”
Williams swallowed and opened his mouth.
The general turned away, still holding the tablet. When he got to the door, he turned around.
“By the way,” he took the moistened cigar out of his mouth, “who the hell we got on this drop?”
Troy Bodean tamped the pack of Morven Gold cigarettes on his palm. He’d wanted Winstons, but the corner store was sold out. The owner said all the American soldiers kept buying them, but he recommended the Morvens and promised they were just as good, if not better. Harry Nedman poked his head out the door and nodded him into the building.
“Briefing time, brother,” he said to Troy.
Putting the unopened pack of cigarettes into his thigh pocket, he walked in. He and Harry both snapped to attention when General Buff Summerton stuck his head out of his office.
“At ease, boys,” he waved them into his office.
Cigar smoke wafted in the air making Troy’s mouth water. The general obviously had a better stash than his Morvens. Summerton dropped heavily into his chair.
“Shut that,” he pointed to his door and Harry complied.
He ran his hand through his salt and pepper flat top and unfolded a map on his desk. Troy recognized the terrain of Kabul.
“Okay, boys.” The general started with a finger pointed at the map. “Here’s the deal. These bastards want us to helicopter over this area.”
Troy looked at Harry. It was a no-fly zone, known for heavy anti-aircraft fire.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Summerton looked up at them, “but we’ve been assured that there won’t be any resistance when you make the drop.”
Troy cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak. The general didn’t let him.
“You boys can fly in high, drop down low, throw out the bag and skee-daddle outta there before anyone knows you’re coming,” he said.
Harry Nedman inhaled sharply to protest. “But dropping a bag from that height and that speed … it’ll be dang near impossible to hit that target.”
Buff Summerton stood and slammed his fist on the desk. “These are goddamn orders, son.”
Harry stifled his retort. Troy held up a hand to the general.
“Sir,” he smiled. “We’ll drop this bag on the money. Heck, I used bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home.”
Neither of the other two men got the reference.
When no one spoke, Troy asked, “When’s the drop?”
“Oh four hundred hours.” The general sat back down. “The bag will be in the Apache before you leave.”
Troy and Harry both saluted in unison and the general returned it without much enthusiasm.
“Boys,” he said in a low voice, “I doubt you need to hear this, but … this is a shoot with extreme prejudice kind of mission. Don’t wait, don’t ask questions, don’t tell. Just kill anything that moves before they kill you.”
“Yessir,” Harry snapped reflexively.
As they walked out the door of the embassy and headed down the street, Troy pulled out his cigarettes.
“Want one?”
“Nah,” Harry frowned. “Those things are shit.”
“Yeah,” Troy replied. “But it’s better than nothin’.”
Harry looked at him. “You sure about this drop?”
“Should be a piece of cake, why?”
“Cause if they told us they weren’t gonna shoot, why is it an extreme prejudice kind of mission?”
Troy thought about it for a second. “Cause we’re in a war, man.”
The drop did not go as planned.
The AH-64 was met with heavy machine gun fire. As they swooped in low to try and make the drop, a massive round blasted past them clipping the tail and sending them into a spin. Troy was able to wrestle control back, but they were wobbling bad enough to send them running home.
Summerton met them as they exited the smoking chopper, tugging the bag of cash with them. Troy and Harry snapped to a rigid salute, sure that a furious barrage was going to come from the general at any second.
“At ease,” he said calmly. “Bad guys knew you were coming eh?�
��
Harry was surprised at the question. “Sir, it appeared that way, sir.”
“You did the best you could, boys,” he held out a hand to shake. “I expected this might happen.”
Troy reached down to shake the general’s hand … expected this might happen? What the hell?
Summerton apparently saw the questions on Troy’s face. “S’happened before. They demand some cash, shoot down the chopper. Take the cash and then demand more.”
Troy blinked. He couldn’t remember this ever happening before. Most ransoms were pretty straight forward. We either gave them money or traded them a prisoner for the safe return of the kidnapped person. And Buff didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the failure of the drop.
“Get some rest, boys,” he sniffed. “I’m bettin’ we’ll be doing this again, but with more money. That’s the way these bastards work.”
“Yessir,” said Harry flatly.
They turned away from the general and Troy whispered, “Something’s up, dangit.”
“What are you talking about?” Harry asked.
“I’ve never heard of a ransom drop going bad … ever.”
Harry said nothing.
“Summerton asked if we thought the bad guys knew we were coming,” Troy jabbed a finger at Harry. “’Course they knew we were comin’. We were droppin’ ‘em a bag of cash.”
Troy could see the look on Harry’s face. He just couldn’t accept that something fishy was happening.
“It’s a war, man,” Harry retorted half-heartedly. “There aren’t any rules anymore.”
“Maybe not,” Troy looked over his shoulder. “But I’m gonna find out what’s going on.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna go see Aasif and Sedra.” Troy motioned toward the chopper. “See if they know anything about the people who shot at us.”
“Dude, you’re crazy,” Harry replied.
“Not as crazy as a bunch of kidnappers shootin’ down the guys bringin’ ‘em a million bucks.”
“True.”
“Run a screen for me.” Troy nodded at Harry. “If anyone asks, I’m down at medical getting’ checked out.”
“Got it, bro.” Harry fist-bumped him. “Be careful out there.”
“Always am.” Troy bumped him back. “Always am.”
5
Death
Aasif opened the door and let Troy into the living room. The smell was different … it was worse. Something had changed. It seemed darker too, more foreboding than before. Troy took a step toward the bedroom door and noticed a man sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. He was older than Aasif, but younger than Sedra, middle-aged. The man was clearly a local with dark skin and dark eyes. His long beard was jet black with one odd streak of grey on the left side. The pale patch of hair grew out of a long scar that trailed up the man’s chin and ended at his bottom lip. Basically, he looked like the poster boy for the Taliban. He made no move to get up. He drew a long, steady drag on his cigarette.
“Aasif?” The man asked in English. “Who is this man?”
The boy didn’t answer.
The man slammed his fist down on the kitchen table making Troy flinch and reach toward his sidearm.
“This is my house,” he growled. “Why have you brought this filthy dog into it?”
Aasif was shaking in fear.
“I came here on my own.” Troy raised a hand to indicate calm. “The boy didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.”
“He is American, Uncle,” Aasif spoke timidly. “He can help Aana.”
Troy didn’t know who Aana was, but the man Aasif called Uncle jumped up from his chair sending it skidding backwards. Troy flinched back from the screeching sound and drew his pistol a short way out of the holster.
The man sneered at him. “So, you will barge into my home, brandish your weapons and shoot us? Typical American filth.”
Troy sized the man up. He couldn’t see any weapons on the guy, so he slid his gun back into its holster … but he didn’t click the strap to hold it in.
“Listen,” he spoke smoothly, “I don’t know who this Aana is, but —”
“It means Grandmother, you imbecile,” Aasif’s Uncle spat.
The details clicked together in Troy’s mind. This was the boy’s Uncle, Sedra’s other son and Aasif was calling her Grandmother. Troy kept one hand raised to keep the calm and motioned toward the bedroom with the other.
“Is she … gone?”
“No,” Troy thought he saw a brief flash of pain in the man’s face. “But it won’t be long.”
“I may be able to help,” Troy said. “If we get her back to the medical—”
The man raised his voice again. “Sedra will not receive any treatment from American dogs!”
“But Uncle,” Aasif protested, “they can save her.”
Troy shook his head. “Well, hey, I don’t know if they can save her, but they might be able to make her feel better until—”
“She will not,” the man said in a low, dangerous voice. “And it is past time for you to go.”
He stood and pointed at the door. Troy nodded his head.
“Alright, partner,” he drawled. “I gotcha. I’m leaving.”
Aasif ran over to him and grabbed his arm. “But, mister, my Aana will die. She needs the medicine from your doctors.”
Troy glanced up at the boy’s Uncle and shook his head.
A chirping sound rose from the man’s pocket and he pulled out a phone. He turned his back to Troy and spoke quietly into the phone. When he turned around, his face was ashen and afraid.
“You need to go,” he said quickly to Troy as he tucked his phone into his pocket.
He walked toward the door and grabbed Aasif by the shoulders. “Stay here. I have to go out for a bit.”
The boy started to protest, but his Uncle interrupted him. “No. Your Aana needs you. I have business, but I will be back.”
He stood and pointed a finger at Troy’s chest. “And you will be gone. I do not wish to see you again.”
Troy nodded as Aasif’s Uncle rushed past him and out the door. He leaned out into the hall and watched as the man hurried down the hall through the apartment building and disappeared out the front door.
He stuck his head back into the room. “Okay, Aasif, let’s get Sedra back to town and see if my guys can fix her up.”
“But what about Uncle Ramin?”
“No problemo, Amigo.” Troy walked to the bedroom door. “We’ll have her back before he knows she’s been gone.”
Aasif’s face brightened into a smile. “This is wonderful news Mr. Troy. It will be good to have my Aana back into good health.”
“Mmhmm,” Troy didn’t have the heart to tell the boy this wasn’t likely to happen.
The two of them picked up the old woman and eased her out of the apartment and down the stairs. When they got outside, Troy picked her up, cradling her like a small child. She was light … too light and Troy could feel her sharp bones pressing into his arms.
Sedra wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, “Thank you.”
Troy didn’t feel much like he deserved to be thanked, but they trudged the long walk back to the embassy and he carried her into the medical facility.
Upon seeing them, the nurse on call immediately grabbed a wheelchair and rushed to them.
“What’s the story?” she asked.
Sedra was sleeping and her breathing was more ragged than Troy had heard before. “Emphysema or something like it.”
He eased the woman into the chair and motioned toward the door. “Aasif, can you wait outside for a bit. I’ll be right here. Don’t go far.”
The boy nodded. He kissed his Grandmother on the cheek and brushed her hair back. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. She spoke something in Arabic and then fell back asleep.
The nurse wheeled the old lady through a set of double doors and Troy waited. He paced the floor until he thought maybe an hour h
ad passed.
When she finally returned, her lips were pursed tightly. She had an x-ray in her hands.
“Well?” Troy asked. “Is it bad?”
He knew the answer, but wanted confirmation.
“It’s not emphysema,” she said quietly. “We had her on oxygen, but it wasn’t helping. She started coughing and … well, she’s coughing up blood. So, I ordered an x-ray.
The nurse held the film up to the light motioning to a hazy section in the middle. Troy didn’t know what he was looking at, so he shrugged.
“It’s lung cancer,” the nurse inhaled deeply. “And she’s apparently never been treated.”
Troy nodded.
The nurse put her hand on his arm. “It’s not bad … it’s over. She’s not likely to make it through the night.”
Dangit, Troy thought, wondering how he was going to explain this to Aasif and his Uncle.
“Okay, thanks,” he said to the nurse, and turned to the door.
He stepped out into the night wondering how the boy would take the news, but there was no sign of him. He looked left and right, but saw no one.
“Aasif,” he called into the dark.
No answer. He pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and tamped the packet. He stopped short seeing the Surgeon General’s warning printed on the side: Smoking Causes Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, Emphysema, and May Complicate Pregnancy.
“Dangit,” he muttered to himself, stuffing the pack back into his thigh pocket.
The door behind him opened. It was the nurse that had admitted them.
“What is it?” he asked her.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “she’s gone.”
6
Demand
Troy woke to what sounded like gunfire. He jerked up in bed and bumped his head on the bunk above him. Harry Nedman dropped from that top bunk and fell hard on the floor.
“What in God’s name is that?” Troy asked him, rubbing his forehead.
The Complete Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Collection Page 3