by Carr, Jack
“That the president resigned over this whole thing.”
“What? That’s crazy!”
“Yep. The fact that he was letting the SECDEF run DOD like it was her own kingdom and piggy bank was too much for even the media. How could you not have heard about that?”
“Guess I just wasn’t looking. You can really lose yourself out here,” Reece said, gesturing to their surroundings. “The only news comes in over a radio in the main office, and most all of that is local. This is the land that time forgot.”
“Well, the long and the short of it is the media loved a good story even more than they loved the administration. The Republicans in Congress had all of the wives and kids of the dead guys from your troop on TV demanding his resignation, and it worked. He stepped down and Roger Grimes, the VP, took over to finish out his term. He’s a good guy, old Army O-6 that they put on the ticket to keep Middle America happy. He never really fit in with the old boss, and he’s already said he’s not running for reelection. The parties are going nuts. Hartley was the Dems’ chosen one and, with her gone, they’re slashing each other’s throats trying to posture for the job. The Republicans smell blood and half the governors in the country are now looking to run. It will be a crazy primary on both sides—anybody could win. Fun to watch for a political junkie like me. I still can’t believe you haven’t heard any of this.”
“Look around,” Reece said. “No Internet, no newspapers. Main concerns here are the environment, the animals, and poaching.”
“Well, whether you wanted to or not, you changed the course of U.S. political history.”
“I wasn’t trying to take down the system. They just needed to pay for what they did to my troop and my family. They got what they deserved.”
“I agree. We were part of the investigation, since they had us out looking for you on domestic soil. The entire Command had to stand down. I had twenty-two years in and the option to take this job, so I made the leap.”
“So, you’re with the Agency now?”
“Yep. And that’s why I’m here, even though I’m kind of a new guy. You ready to hear my sales pitch?”
Reece nodded. Strain took an iPad from his backpack, entered a long passcode, and selected an icon on the screen.
“You came to Mozambique to show me a PowerPoint?”
Strain laughed. “High-tech, Reece. Our manila envelope days are over.”
Strain held the screen so that Reece could see it. It was a file image of Kingston Market, fully decorated for Christmas. Strain swiped the surface to advance to the next photo and a close-up picture of a deceased eight-year-old girl in a pink winter coat filled the screen. The next image was an aerial view of the market post-attack.
“Kingston Market on the outskirts of London. They hit a Christmas event with a VBIED and bottlenecked the crowd here at the other end. Two guys with PKMs opened up on the survivors from these two rooftops and then blew themselves up with s-vests. It was bad, really bad. They killed close to three hundred people outright, with more dying later in the hospitals. Total dead was three hundred and seventy-eight. Hundreds more were wounded. A lot of amputations. More than half of the victims were kids.”
Reece looked away from the screen.
“Yeah, man, bad stuff,” Strain continued. “Not only did they kill and wound all those innocent people, they crippled the brick-and-mortar retail economy all over the West. People were scared to go Christmas shopping. The malls were empty despite tons of beefed-up security. The stock markets got spooked. The global impact of these attacks was enormous.”
“I’m honestly surprised that we don’t see this kind of attack more often,” Reece said solemnly.
“I agree with you.”
“Who’s behind it? ISIS?”
“They took credit, of course, but every jihadist organization in the book is calling themselves ISIS now. This is actually a little more organized than the typical ISIS-inspired attack by a bunch of lone-wolf types affiliated through social media. This is a real network—AQ in Europe. Check this one out.” Strain moved to another series of images. “Right after the market attack, they hit a formation of British Paras with a mortar barrage during an awards ceremony. Poor guys had just returned from Afghanistan and got ripped up right before their Christmas leave. Only reason they didn’t kill the Prince of Wales is that his motorcade arrived late.”
“So this isn’t a one-off.”
“No, as a matter of fact, they just killed the NATO commander in Brussels. An Army four-star. They blew him up in front of his wife. He was all set to retire, too. Good guy, from what I understand.”
“Bastards,” Reece said, shaking his head, “but what does this have to do with me?”
“The charge that killed the general, it was delivered via drone.”
“What?”
“That’s right. Defeated the armor in his vehicle by putting a drone on the roof with a shaped charge. An EFP sliced him in two. Same way you killed that Jaysh al-Mahdi lieutenant in Iraq back in ’06.”
“That was an Agency deal, buddy. And that drone was huge. Experimental CIA bird, if I remember correctly.”
“You’re right. Technology has come a long way since then. UAVs are smaller, more powerful, GPS programmable, but the idea is the same, so we started tracking down everyone involved in your op in Baghdad. We think you know the cell leader responsible for the NATO attack.” Strain swiped to display an image, obviously taken by a surveillance team with a long telephoto lens.
“No way! Is that Mo?” Reece asked, unable to contain his surprise at the photo of his old comrade.
“That’s right, your buddy Mohammed Farooq from Baghdad. The Agency trained him to build mini-EFPs and taught him how to fly a drone to deliver an explosive payload. He fell off the radar back in the summer of 2014 when ISIS started sweeping across Iraq. He’d worked with the Coalition and would be a dead man if they caught him, probably tortured first. He was rumored to be in Syria working with the al-Nusra Front, an anti-Assad group now called Jabhat Fatah al-Sham. Next thing you know, AISI spots him in Italy, which is where this photo came from. They lost track of him after that and no one thought much of it until these attacks.”
“What makes you think he was involved? Why wouldn’t he just disappear? Mo’s no terrorist.”
“MI5’s assets point to a network that is pulling the strings on a lot of the radical elements that have come in as asylum seekers. There are so many newly arrived refugees from Muslim countries that all the European security agencies are overwhelmed chasing down jihadi elements. We think they’re hiding in plain sight.”
Strain advanced to a new image. “This is Amin Nawaz. He’s a Saudi but hasn’t set foot in the Kingdom for close to twenty years. He’s original muj: Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and now Europe. He’s running the show while UBL’s son Hamza bin Laden prepares to take the reins.”
“Wasn’t bin Laden’s son killed in the raid in 2011?”
“That was a different son. Hamza was off at a terrorist training camp studying the family business, so he lived to fight another day. Until he’s ready, Nawaz is the number one terrorist on our list and the mastermind of these recent attacks in Europe. Multiple independent sources with reliable reporting histories confirm that Mohammed Farooq and Amin Nawaz worked together in Syria. We think that your buddy Mo runs one of his cells in Europe. He would be highly trained courtesy of the program you ran with the CIA in Iraq and his follow-on experience in Syria with Nawaz.”
Reece shook his head. “I can’t believe Mo is involved, but nothing out of Iraq should surprise me, I guess. Still don’t understand what this has to do with me. Mo and I were friends but that was a long time ago. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in at least ten years.”
“We know. I’m here because you are the only one, as far as we can tell, left alive who worked with him.”
“How can that be?” Reece asked. “A lot of SEALs rotated through that position over the years, not to mention the scores of Agency
people.”
“It’s really not as many people as you think. I’ve been through the documents. Brent got killed in Khost, and Eckert had a heart attack in freaking Vegas, of all places. He was at SHOT and somebody joked that the president had signed an executive order banning ARs and thirty-round mags; he just fell over dead. Weirdest thing. The last guy is Landry, who just also happened to be working with you and Mo on the drone op in Iraq. No one knows where he is.”
“That’s probably for the best. I had a run-in with him in Iraq when we were both working with Mo. He liked the interrogations a little too much. Caught him going off the reservation on the Iraqi side of camp. I reported it up the CIA chain. Never heard anything after that and I was rotated out soon afterward. I never liked that guy. But I don’t think he’s bright enough to build an EFP without blowing himself up.”
“That very well may be. The Agency is trying to track him down. They have some questions for him.”
“Why do you need somebody who knows Mo to take him out? Can’t the Brits just pick him up? They’re great at this sort of thing.”
“That’s the catch: we don’t want him dead. We want someone that he knows and trusts to flip him, use him to track down Amin Nawaz and dismantle the network. If he’s already swapped sides once, we know he’s not an idealist. We just need to make him an offer he can’t refuse. We need Nawaz’s head on a spike, Reece. It’s kinda like a shark attack; the public isn’t going back into the water until we show them a dead shark.”
“You’re not going to start playing Lee Greenwood and tell me that my country needs me, are you?”
“Nope, you only fall for that once.”
Reece sat in silence, staring past Strain. Then, “You know I’m dying, right? The tumors that the Hartleys’ medical experiment gave me and my Team, they’re terminal.”
Fred grinned. “Funny that you mention that. You are going to want to hear this.”
He closed the slide show and selected an audio player icon, tapping it twice to make it play.
A voice from the past filled the African air.
“Um, hello, Mr. Reece, this is Dr. German. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you. We usually don’t leave messages like this but I wanted you to hear this as soon as possible. Your biopsy came back and, under the circumstances, it is the best news that we could expect. Your tumor is what’s called a cerebral convexity meningioma, which is a very common and slow-growing lesion. Based on the type and location of the mass, I am very confident that I can remove it surgically. We are talking a seventy-five percent or better survival rate. It could be causing you headaches, which is nothing to be alarmed about. Please call us back and my assistant will schedule you an appointment for a follow-up. We can speak in more detail at my office. Again, sorry to have to leave this on your voicemail but I didn’t want you to worry needlessly. Have a great day, and enjoy your new lease on life, Commander.”
Reece’s entire body flushed. Whatever Freddy said next came through as complete nonsense, like he was underwater.
“It’s real, Reece. You’re going to be fine, bro. Welcome back to the world of the living.”
“What the . . . how did you . . . where did you get that?”
“It was on your voicemail, man. It was just sitting on your voicemail.”
Reece stood and walked away from the table, fighting a sudden smothering sensation. He found himself by the stone fire pit, overlooking the river below. Was it possible for him to live again after all he had done? His family was still dead. Dead because of a conspiracy to monetize a war by those who had never spent a day in combat, content to sit back immune to the consequences of their vile decisions. Or so they believed. He stood there alone for several minutes until he heard Strain’s footsteps behind him.
“I’m done working for the government, Freddy. I’m done with that life.”
“I understand, Reece, and I know this is a lot to process. It’s not just about you, though. I’m not even gonna lay the line on you about protecting civilians and all that, even though it’s true. Remember what I said about DOJ being ready to prosecute Liz?”
“Yeah.” Reece’s jaw tightened in anger.
“That’s the stick, Reece. If you don’t play ball they’ll go after her: aiding and abetting, conspiracy. They’ll try to ruin her. Raife and his sister, too . . . Marco, if they can find him . . . Clint . . . everyone they can find who helped you. When the government sets its sights on destroying you, all the lawyers in the world won’t stop them. Might slow them down but that’s it.”
Fuck. Nothing in Reece’s makeup would allow him to stand by while those who stepped up for him had their lives destroyed by a vindictive government. The Agency sure knows what buttons to press.
“So, what’s the carrot?”
“You get your life back. You and all your accomplices will be given presidential pardons. Little-known fact: you don’t need to be convicted of anything to be pardoned. It’s like immunity, but it’s preemptively coming from the president. All is forgiven. Flip Mo, take out his boss, and go on with your life.”
“What life? Go back and pretend that my wife and daughter weren’t murdered in our home? Will the president bring them back, too?”
“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean it like that. All I’m saying is that you won’t be a wanted man.”
“And Mo? What happens to him?”
“He goes down, buddy. After what he did to those kids in London? He goes down, and he goes down hard.”
Reece shook his head. “There has got to be something we can offer to make him flip. The way this is set up, he gets the same deal regardless if he helps us or not.”
“What are you saying, Reece?”
“I’m saying I’ll need leverage. Unless you have his family in Gitmo, we are going to need to offer an option. Maybe take the death penalty off the table and offer up life in something other than solitary confinement.”
“I’ll take that back to the bosses.”
Reece paused again, looking out toward what was turning into a beautiful African sunset and thinking of those he had put in the ground on his crusade to avenge his family and the lives of the men killed under his command in the mountains of Afghanistan.
“Why would they let me go free after all I did?”
“Two reasons, I think. First of all, there’s a sizable chunk of the American public that thinks you’re a hero. No one is looking to keep this story going any longer, especially with the election coming up. Second, and this may be the bigger reason, the U.S. and Eurozone economies are in the toilet with a new terror threat on the horizon. You’ve got retailers about to go under en masse. They were just coming out of the recession and now the public and the markets are scared shitless. The EU is on the verge of breaking up. This mass influx of refugees certainly hiding a percentage of current and would-be terrorists is part of that instability. The whole system is a house of cards that relies on the public trust, and right now we’re losing that. We need a dead terrorist, and we need him now.”
Reece sighed. “So who’s my handler?”
“You’re looking at him.”
“Could be worse, I guess.” Reece smiled. “How does this work logistics-wise?”
“Pretty simple, really. Your early retirement from the Navy will be approved instantly. You were never indicted or arrested, so there are no actual charges to worry about. DOJ has made it clear to all of the state and local agencies that this is their show, so you won’t have to worry about any local DAs deciding to make a name for themselves. You’ll come to work for us as a contractor, which will give you and the Agency maximum flexibility.”
“Terrific,” Reece said sarcastically.
“It’s a contracted position. You won’t pay taxes on most of it as long as you’re working overseas. Added to your retirement pay and benefits and it’s better than the dollar a day you’d earn making license plates in prison.”
“That does sound a bit better. Where does the brain surgery fit into all
this?”
“That’s a bit of a catch. As soon as we can, we are going to scan your brain and compare it with the scans you had done at the clinic in La Jolla to give us a better idea of what we’re dealing with. With the latest three attacks in Europe, this thing is time sensitive. We’ll do a quick work-up before attempting to make contact with Mo. Unless things have taken a drastic turn for the worse, the surgery will have to wait until he’s been flipped and Nawaz is in the ground.”
“That’s the government I know. Where are Mo and Nawaz now?”
“We’re not sure. The analysts are working it. In the meantime, we’ve got to get you tuned back up. There’s a compound in XXXXXXX where we can train and plan. You’re still a recognizable face, so we need to keep you off the grid until this op kicks off. Once we know where Mo is, you and I will move in and get to work.”
“The government sure knows how to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
“Art of the deal, buddy,” Freddy said with a smile.
“When do we leave?”
“As soon as I make the call.”
“Any chance we can take off in the morning? I have to settle up around here.”
“Yeah, we can make that happen.”
“Thanks, Freddy.”
Strain rose to retrieve his Iridium satellite phone and placed a call to Langley, letting them know he had successfully recruited America’s most-wanted domestic terrorist.
CHAPTER 32
Niassa Game Reserve
Mozambique, Africa
July
RICH TOOK THE NEWS like a man who knew it was coming. Though he obviously wasn’t surprised, he was visibly saddened. Hastings had come to look at Reece less like his nephew’s friend and more like his own blood. With little family left in Africa, it pained him to see Reece leaving. He could see that Reece had found both peace and purpose here in Mozambique, and he was worried that with the appearance of the new American in camp he was now destined for neither.
Though Rich understood Reece’s reasons for leaving, he was inflexible on one point: ever the gracious host, he insisted that Reece and Freddy join the camp in a final farewell dinner. Reece gave his friend a tour of the camp before watching a breathtaking sunset over the river. Beer was flowing by the time Rich Hastings made his appearance at the lodge, leaning his heavy double rifle against a chair and hanging his worn leather ammunition belt next to it.