by Camden Mays
Capps ran through the equipment list. “Desert tiger camos and night vision gear, along with the M4s and two grenades each. And extra water.” Cole dreaded hauling the extra weight for what was bound to be at least ten miles of hiking.
Cole looked at his watch. It was 1921. He wanted to connect with Hannah but knew she would not be home with the seven-hour time difference. “Sara, have the CTC cover us so we can get some sleep. They can call us if they spot something from the drone. Let’s plan on getting back online at zero thirty.”
“On it,” Wang said.
✽✽✽
Washington, DC – Capitol Hill
Congressman Scott Shepherd’s chief of staff whispered in his ear that the media was ready. Shepherd looked to his communications director, Jennifer, to review the list of reporters that he should field questions from.
“Is Regis out there?” Shepherd asked.
“Yes, sir. She is,” the communications director responded.
“And you still have no idea where she’s getting her information from?”
“No, sir, but it must be someone very well connected.”
“Why is that, Jennifer? Anyone can make up fallacious claims. If you want to ride to the Senate’s office with me, you better get the job done here first.”
“Certainly, sir. I didn’t mean to imply the claims were founded in fact. I’ve pushed her editor hard and offered several exclusives on the government cover-up that you’re investigating. He’s held back a couple of other articles but has not firmly committed yet to deter Regis’s reporting,” Jennifer said.
Shepherd looked her up and down, casting his eyes in disgust at what he perceived as her ineptitude. He didn’t have time to deal with her incompetence. He needed to make his announcement for the Senate race so that it would make the evening news. He turned and walked from his crowded office, and his small entourage followed him, placating his ego as he strode to the steps of the Capitol building to his favorite spot. His chief of staff walked beside him, rehearsing the sound bites.
The congressman interrupted him. “Thomas, I want Jennifer gone by the end of the week, and find me someone who can get the job done.” He put on his politician’s smile, stepped to the podium with protruding microphones, and made his announcement to run for Senate in the election sixteen months away.
Shepherd felt his announcement lacked the spark he had hoped for. It was as if the reporters gathered were just doing their job. Perhaps because everyone knew it was coming. It had been teased for weeks. Now all the speculation was over, and it looked like they just were going through the motions, recording sound bites to air on the evening news. After responding to each of the questions he had been prepped for, a few reporters drifted away to generate their version of the story, leaving Darcy Regis once again front and center.
“Sir, do you think it is the right time to run for the Senate office when you still have not addressed the allegation that you continue to use your authority to serve a personal vendetta against the CIA and specifically Officer Cole Cameron?”
Shepherd ignored her and pointed to another journalist for a question.
The reporter said, “I’d like for you to answer the Post reporter’s question, sir.”
“Baseless allegations.”
Darcy jumped in again. “Sir, what about the campaign donations from Haslet Securities, which was just awarded government contracts for assessing the cybersecurity of the country’s power grids?”
“Ms. Regis, the Department of Energy awards many contracts, and I have many donors in my campaign. As far as vendettas, it sure seems that you have allowed your personal feelings for me to taint your reputation for integrity and fairness.”
“Sir, what about the investigation into Haslet’s alleged connections to Iran? Is that who we should be trusting with our cybersecurity?”
“Ms. Regis, please. Those are unfounded accusations from conspiracy theorists who bombard the internet and media with doomsday scare tactics to grow their audience and improve their ratings.” Shepherd addressed the others. “Thank you all for coming and standing in the heat today for my announcement. No more questions. Thank you.”
As Shepherd walked away, he turned and gritted through his teeth to his chief of staff, “Where is that bitch getting this information?” He stopped and pulled the chief’s arm. “I need you to set up a meeting with Beecham.”
Thomas sighed, not wanting to get the congressman’s old friend involved again. It was Allen Beecham that suffered the broken nose from Cole Cameron’s punch at the Charity Gala. It was the classless Allen Beecham whose comments were recorded, and in his drunken and wounded state, the man indicated to police that he was doing his friend, Congressman Shepherd, a favor. Beecham was an ignorant hothead that Thomas had tried to separate from the congressman since he took his position. But the congressman felt loyal to his former college roommate who had helped Shepherd rise from a geek to one of the more popular students.
The chief of staff had fired Allen Beecham after the Gala incident and tried to put a moat around the congressman for his own good. Beecham had repeatedly called, sometimes leaving hostile messages. Shepherd had promised to help him find work but had been unable to deliver because no one wanted to touch the toxic waste. The immature sycophant was a ticking time bomb, and Thomas knew that Shepherd was playing with fire. He also knew that once the congressman had made up his mind, there was no reasoning with him. Still, he tried, but to no avail.
✽✽✽
Al Hudaydah, Yemen
Capps and Cole arrived without incident at the cover, a small ditch with scattered bushes. It had been a hike, and Cole laid his gear down while Capps found a bush about ten feet away for cover. “Base, this is Tiger One. We’re in position.”
“Copy. We’ve got you on the monitors on infrared and marked,” Wang said.
“Has the bird been fed?” Cole asked to verify the drone had been refueled in the air. He didn’t want to lose surveillance over a stupid error. It seemed ridiculous to have to ask, but mistakes like that had happened and proved costly.
“That’s affirmative. She ate before nightfall. We’re good for another ten hours or so.”
“Copy.” Cole looked through the night vision goggles for movement at the camp just over half a mile away. “Looks pretty quiet,” he whispered to Capps.
“Yeah, I was expecting more people on guard or patrolling.” As if on cue, a door to one of the buildings opened and over half a dozen men toting AK-47s meandered out. Cole zoomed in the lens of his monocular device.
“Base, this is Tiger One. I’m counting eight enemy combatants. Can you confirm?”
“Copy. We show eight on infrared moving to the west gate,” Wang said. She turned to Sinha. “Let’s hope they keep heading that way and don’t turn south.”
“Base, can you relay to the den? We’re suggesting a green light on the air strike. I repeat—green light for the air strike.” Cole didn’t want any additional personnel leaving the camp before the strike.
“Copy, One. Message relayed. Standby.”
The USS Independence had steered its course to provide the right wind angle and speed for flight operations, giving the two F-18s loaded with deadly ordinances the headwind on their takeoff. Within a few minutes, the pilots of Strike Fighter Squadron 27 were burning their engines and airborne toward the target.
“Tiger One and Two, this is base. You have the birds inbound. ETA seven minutes.”
“Copy.” At the rustle of wrappers, Cole looked over at Capps. “Dude, are you eating another MRE?” he whispered.
“Man’s gotta eat.”
“Dammit,” Cole said, looking the night vision device. “That patrol is working its way south toward our position. You better put that away.” Capps covered the remainder of the packaged food. “Base, keep eyes on that patrol.”
✽✽✽
Wang was pacing the floor in her usual fashion, eyeing the camp, the patrol working toward the two men’s position, a
nd the clock. “Copy, we’re watching them.”
Just as her transmission finished, Sinha shouted, “Sara!” He stood up and pointed to the faint images. “Behind the guys, maybe a hundred meters.” Wang saw the faint gray images emerging from a narrow gulley like ants crawling out along the ground.
“One and Two, be advised you have multiple tangos coming up on your six, less than a hundred meters out!” Wang shouted over the radio.
✽✽✽
Cole and Capps both flipped around to see the enemy close.
“This is Three. Do you want us to engage?” Robinson called out from the van positioned three miles away.
“Negative, stand down,” Cole whispered over the comm. “We’ve got two minutes before the birds light up the camp. See if you can get us air support for the tangos on the ground, quick!” Wang had anticipated the move and was already on the horn with the CTC.
Cole looked through the night vision monocular. “Looks like thirteen or fourteen to the south. We’ve got to hit them before the explosion gives away our position. I’ll work right to left. You take left to right.”
The squad was only forty-fifty meters away now. “Three, two, one.”
Capps and Cole both laid into the enemy with their assault rifles. They each took down two or three before the others knew what had happened and hit the ground. Now return fire was peppering the sand all around them. They heard Arabic shouts and screams from the south, but gunfire was coming from the north as well.
A minute later, it seemed the enemy considered that they were engaged in friendly fire as the shooting stopped. More Arabic shouts. Cole looked to the north to see the eight from the camp trotting toward the other group, waving the guns over their heads. Back to the south, the ten or so remaining climbed to their feet. They were closer than the ones to the north.
Then a thunderous roar rocked the earth as one blast after another rained upon the camp and lit up the night sky. The illumination revealed Capps and Cole to the enemy. The two men quickly put down a few more of the ones to the south. Cole changed mags and rolled over to take on the ones charging from the north against the backdrop of the inferno at the camp and repetitive concussing explosions.
For several minutes a steady stream of deadly bullets was flying at both of them from the north and the south. Cole lay prone, taking aim in his sight on the rifle when a round landed inches in front of him, sending sand into his face and eyes. He cursed himself for taking off his goggles and spit out the grit in his mouth.
“They’re moving to our left to flank us. Base, air support?” He changed out his magazine and continued firing. Bullets pelted the sand all around him.
For another three minutes, the team at the nest and the den were holding their collective breath, watching the two warriors fend off the attack. Before Wang could respond, an MH-60R Seahawk helicopter opened up its guns on the enemy to the north, zoomed over, banked right, and opened up its weapons on those to the south.
“Danger close! Danger close!” Cole shouted over the comm.
“They’ve got you marked.” He heard Wang’s response.
The last few rounds left the strike helicopter’s guns, and it hovered for a minute, surveying the outcome of its fury, then banked left to return to its ship.
Cole sat up and wiped the sand off his face with his kafiya. He thought it was a miracle they had survived. He looked over and saw Capps on his knees. “Darryl, you OK?”
“Can’t find the MRE. I think they shot it up.”
✽✽✽
Washington, DC – Wharf District
Hannah placed the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and checked the tablet that laid charging next to her. No indication of a missed call. Assuming Cole was in Yemen, she wouldn’t be hearing from him at two in the morning. They were in a committed relationship. But what kind of relationship is it if you never even talk to the person? It would be another lonely night in her condo.
Cole Cameron in some ways had ruined her life. She was accustomed to single life and didn’t mind the solitude. She was even prepared for that lifestyle long term, choosing to be alone rather than with the wrong person. But when Hannah and Cole connected, it ignited something in her, stirring a passion and opening her soul to intimacy that she had never experienced before. But the intoxicating influence of love came with side effects for her. She craved his touch, his attention, his presence, but all she had was his absence. A cruel and unjust exchange for the commitment she was willing to make.
After stocking her provisions, Hannah escaped to the couch to surf the channels and drown her self-doubt and confused emotions. On a typical Friday evening before Cole came into her life, she would have been out, but there didn’t seem any point now.
Her cell vibrated. A friend from the Bureau, Abbey, texted that she and a couple of other girls were meeting up for drinks at McClellan’s Retreat, a cozy bar near Dupont Circle.
I’m in. See you there. Hannah texted, ready to cast away the feeling of loneliness. She tossed the remote and scrambled to find something to wear.
Before long, Hannah was arriving in the Uber at the lower-level bar named after the Civil War general. The place was known for its funky atmosphere and well-done cocktails. She quickly spotted her friends seated in the back corner. The two on the end of the bench seat scooted around the corner to give her room to join. She ordered an old fashioned from the attentive server.
“I can’t believe you came out,” Abbey said.
“I know, now that you and that CIA guy are together,” another girl added.
Hannah chuckled. “His name is Cole. Everyone calls him ‘that CIA guy.’ Anyway, he’s out of town. I’m here and really glad you invited me to join you guys tonight. Cheers,” she said, lifting her glass.
“Alright,” another friend said, “Hannah’s in the house and our odds of getting lucky tonight improved dramatically.” They laughed.
“Shut up,” Hannah said, slapping her arm.
“You know you’re the bait, right? They’ll come over here, buy us drinks, hit on you and you’ll reject them, and we’ll be content with your sloppy seconds.”
“Well, then here’s to free drinks tonight!” Hannah raised the glass again, and the girls shouted in agreement.
Chapter 15
Washington, DC
The girls ordered another round of drinks at McClellan’s Retreat. The bar was at near capacity, and Hannah wore a short, black sleeveless dress and her black kitten-heel sandals accentuated her leggy look on the hot August night. As her friends predicted, she drew the attention of men like moths to a flame. There was a steady flow of callers that were gently rejected.
Hannah thought this would be her last round. There was another set of stories and laughter when up to her table walked Tom Anderson.
Shit.
“What are you doing here?” Hannah asked, surprised.
“Geez, glad to see you too,” Anderson said, sounding a little offended as he gave Abbey a hug.
“No sorry, I just . . .” Hannah was feeling disoriented from her buzz.
“I’m friends with Abbey here on social media and saw her post. I was a few blocks away and thought I would come by and see if you all were still here.”
“Uh-huh.” Hannah circled the straw around in her glass. She wondered if he would have come by if she had not been in the picture.
Anderson chatted with the other girls for a while. Hannah felt she was at her intake limit and told the group she was going to leave. They begged and pleaded for one more round. Anderson said it was on him since Hannah was coming to speak to his NAT group on Tuesday. She relented.
I have nothing to run home to, so might as well.
Somehow one more round turned into a few more rounds, and at some point, Anderson had sat down between Hannah and her friends, and the two shared stories and caught up on each other’s history. She enjoyed his company and in her inebriated state became slightly flirtatious with him.
To better hear one anoth
er over the bar clamor, they moved closer. He placed his hand on her bare leg, and in her condition, she didn’t react. Abbey raised an eyebrow and gave her a look, and it finally registered for Hannah what was happening.
“Excuse me, I have to go to the restroom,” she muttered, removing his hand. She managed to get there and had to wait in a line in the hall. She leaned against the wall and figuratively kicked herself for drinking too much. Finally, it was her turn. After she was finished, she splashed water on her face and looked in the mirror.
What are you doing?
As she left the restroom, Anderson approached her in the hall. She backed up against the wall to let him pass and instead, he kissed her. It was long enough to taste like betrayal. She pushed him back.
“Hannah,” he said, reaching for her.
She just held her hand up and left. She staggered out of the bar to Florida Avenue. She fumbled with her phone, swiping for the Uber app. Anderson followed after her and held her up as she swayed. “Here,” he said, “let’s just take this taxi.”
✽✽✽
Washington, DC – Wharf District
After the air strike, Cole had been whisked away from the operation in Yemen on a private jet flying home. All because a sleazeball politician wanted a closed-session meeting. Cole had barely cleaned himself from the gunfight when he was informed that he was needed in Washington and had to leave his team behind to diagnose and report on the bombing of the AIJB camp. He was not happy about the jerk around, and couldn’t believe the waste of resources, but the bright side was that he could have a few days with Hannah.
It was Saturday just past noon when he arrived at Hannah’s condo. He had gained seven hours. Finally, the time zone difference worked in his favor. He thought about going home first to clean up and invite her over since Jess had already left for California, but his desire to see Hannah was too strong. He couldn’t wait to see the look of surprise on her face.