by David Berens
“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,” snapped Harry reflexively.
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 gettin’ checked out.”
“Got it, bro,” Harry fist-bumped him, “be careful out there.”
“Always am,” Troy bumped him back, “always am.”
6
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, pardner,” 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 had 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.”
7
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.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Harry picked himself up and gave Troy a confused look.
“The gunfire,” Troy said, “didn’t you hear it?”
“Aw, for cryin’ out loud, Troy,” Harry tugged on a sore shoulder, “I didn’t hear anything. You must’ve been dreaming again.”
“Dangit,” Troy inhaled slowly, calming his racing heartbeat.
The dreams had started after his chopper had taken some serious fire on a mission just outside of – well, the location is classified, but suffice to say, it was a dangerous mission. The fuel tank of the Apache had been hit and caught fire. There wasn’t an explosion, but Harry and Troy dragged a swath of flame behind them all the way back to the base as more and more bullets pinged against their helicopter. Troy had been sure the flame was going to set off one of the warheads strapped to their bottom and make them into a flying bomb. But, it hadn’t happened. Thankfully, they’d survived even if their chopper didn’t. It was retired and they were reassigned a brand-new model. But the dreams had stayed.
“I’m goin’ for a smoke,” Troy stood up, “want one?”
“Dude, it’s three-thirty in the morning,” Harry climbed back up to his bunk, “I’m not getting up for another hour at least.”
“Alright,” Troy sniffed, “suit yourself. I ain’t tired no more.”
He walked out the door and into a mild night. He was worried about Aasif and hoped the boy was okay. Maybe after the sun came up, he’d make the trip out to the boy’s house and tell them Sedra had passed away.
He took the crumpled pack of cigarettes from his thigh pocket and thumped them a few times. His eye caught the warning label and he paused. Cancer. In the middle of a bombed-out city in Afghanistan, cancer had taken the old woman down. Didn’t seem fair.
“Mister Troy?” a small voice brought his eyes away from the pack.
In front of him stood Aasif.
“Hey, Aasif,” Troy tucked the cigarettes back into his pocket, “you okay?”
“I am,” the boy nodded.
His eyes began to well with tears.
“You went to the hospital?” Troy asked.
Aasif gave one quick nod.
“And they told you about Sedra?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry, Aasif,” Troy started, “It was worse than we thought. She didn’t stand much of a chance.”
The boy shrugged his shoulders.
“Why don’t we grab some grub at the mess?” Troy put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Aasif wiped his eyes.
The two walked down the empty street in silence. Finally, Troy spoke.
“So, um…,” he started in a quiet tone, “Your Uncle knows?”
Aasif snapped his head up, “Oh, Mister Troy, I almost forgot.”
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small box. It was exactly like the others he had delivered with the finger and toe bones.
Troy shuddered to think what might be in this one. He took the box from the boy.
“Aasif,” he asked, “where do you get these?”
“My Uncle,” he said matter-of-factly.
Troy wasn’t shocked by that. He had expected that Uncle Ramin was involved in the kidnapping somehow, but the implication that he was dismembering an American diplomat was disconcerting. He stopped walking.
“Aasif,” he knelt down to look the boy in the eyes, “is your Uncle a member of the Taliban?”
“No,” he said, “he runs a grocery store.”
Troy held the box up, “then, what’s up with these packages? Where is he getting them from? Why is he sending them to us?”
The boy shrugged, “I do not know. He only tells me to bring them to the embassy.”
Troy stood, “Okay. I’ll take this in. Grab yourself a quick bite at the mess. Tell them Troy Bodean sent you and they’ll wrap something up for you to take with you. Then get back home and stay there. Okay?”
* * *
General Buff Summerton opened the box and spat. He pulled a piece of paper out of the box and then tossed it on the desk. Several bones rattled and bounced out of it.
“I knew this was going to happen, dammit!” he eyeballed Troy, “you don’t negotiate with these bastards. They get all high and mighty and start getting more and more dangerous. We shoulda cut our losses a long time ago.”
He unfolded the piece of paper and looked at it, his lips moving silently as he read. He slammed his fist down on his desk.
“Three goddamn million,” he growled, “Now the bastard wants three goddamn million.”
Troy stood at attention saying nothing. The general stood and walked around his desk.
“You know where this kid’s Uncle is?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Troy answered.
“Good,” Summerton poked his finger in his chest, “You and Harry get your chopper down there and blow this guy away. No questions, no interrogations, no nothing. End this today.”
Troy was taken aback for a second and said nothing.
“Is that clear, soldier?” the general snapped.
“Um… sir, yes, sir,” Troy stuttered, “but, what about the Ambassador. Don’t we need to run this by him before…”
“The Ambassador is out of country. And his payoff-the-terrorists plan failed miserably. Now, we get to implement my clean-up-the-trash plan.”
Troy didn’t know what to say so he snapped a salute. The general returned it and waved him out of his office.
As he turned away he heard Summerton pick up the phone. Walking into the hall, he overheard him say, “it’s plan B time. Yes, it ends today.”
Troy ran. He burst into his bunk to find Harry lounging in the bunk with a book open on his chest. He was snoring loudly.
“Harry,” Troy shook him, “get up, man. I need your help with something.”
“Huh, what…?” Harry was clearly disoriented being shaken out of a deep sleep, “what�
�s going on?”
“I need your help with something,” Troy nearly dragged him off the bunk.
“Okay, okay,” Harry rubbed his eyes, “what do you need help with?”
“Saving a terrorist’s life.”
8
Taken
The Apache landed in the bank parking lot across from Aasif’s apartment building. The scree flew in all directions sandblasting everything within a few hundred feet of the helicopter’s rotor wash.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Harry said through the mic as Troy took off his helmet and jumped down.
He jogged across the lot with his head low in the rushing air. He took the stairs three at a time and ran down the hall toward the boy’s apartment. He didn’t knock. He just shouldered his way into the door. It flew open with little protest.
Ramin jumped up from the kitchen table.
“What the hell is this?” he yelled.
Troy held his hands up, “I need to know what’s going on with the boxes.”
Ramin said nothing, he just stared at him.
Troy jerked his pistol from its holster and pointed it at him, “I’m not joking around here, Ramin. I’ve been sent to blow you away, but I think something funny is going on here.”
He shook the gun, “now start talking, or I’ll follow my orders.”
Ramin sat back down. He sighed and rested his hands on the table.
“It started with a letter. I was told that my brother and sister-in-law had been taken by the Taliban and that they had a job for me to do.”
Troy lowered his gun.
“I was to have Aasif deliver packages to the embassy or his parents would be murdered. And then the first box came.”
“And you don’t know where they come from?” Troy asked.
“No,” Ramin said, “I have no idea. But they have my brother and his wife. I had no choice.”
Troy thought for a minute, “and you have no idea who’s putting them there?”
“No.”