by Aaron Gwyn
“The captain was after something in that compound,” said Fisk. “We’d like you to tell us exactly what.”
“What compound?” said Russell.
“Corporal,” said Serra, closing his eyes momentarily and giving a brief shake of his head.
“There’s no need to make this hard,” said Fisk.
“Yeah,” said Russell, “I’ll just bet.”
“What did the captain find in the compound?”
“Why do you think he found anything?” Russell asked.
“We don’t ‘think.’ We know.”
“You don’t know shit,” said Russell. “You wouldn’t be here if you knew.”
“We know more than you might think we know,” Fisk told him.
“What are you—CIA?”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with that,” the major said.
“NSA?”
Serra shook his head.
“ISA?”
“You’re turning this into something it doesn’t need to be. We’re just here to talk.”
“Then talk,” Russell said.
“Listen.” Fisk told him. “We know the captain led a team into the compound. We know—”
“What compound?”
“You know what compound,” Fisk said. “We believe he exited the compound. We—”
“I never saw him exit nothing,” said Russell, and he was sorry as soon as he did.
The men looked at each other. They looked at Russell. The one called Agent Fisk—who might have been neither an agent nor a Fisk—gripped his chin between his forefinger and thumb.
“Is that true?”
Russell looked back toward the door.
“Is that true, Corporal?”
“It’s what I said, ain’t it?”
“You never saw him leave the compound?”
“What’d I say?”
Fisk said, “What’s the last thing you saw? Before you left?”
Russell drew a breath and released it. He drew another. He thought if they were going to clap the cuffs on him, they should just go ahead and do it. He shook his head.
“Where were you?” asked Major Serra.
“Where was I when?”
“During the assault, Corporal. Where were you during the assault?”
“I grabbed Brett and left.”
Fisk said, “Corporal Grimes?”
Russell nodded.
“Why’d you leave?”
“He was shot. I was trying to get him out.”
“You didn’t leave with the captain,” Serra said, his voice almost a whisper. It wasn’t a question, and Russell looked back over at the man.
“Did you see the captain exit the compound?” Fisk asked. “Did you have eyes on?”
“It was more like a cave,” said Russell.
“Did you see him exit the cave?” Serra asked.
Russell stared at him a moment. He shook his head.
“Is that a no?” Fisk said.
“No.”
Fisk’s face darkened. He said, “‘No’ you didn’t see the captain exit, or ‘no’ that isn’t a no?”
“I didn’t see him,” said Russell. “Captain Wynne.”
“Didn’t see him leave,” Serra clarified.
“Affirmative,” Russell said.
“What was the item?” Fisk asked. “In the compound—”
“Cave,” said Serra.
“Cave,” Fisk said. “What was the captain trying to get out?”
Russell lay there. The pain in his back was hot and sharp. He felt it travel up from his tailbone, creeping along the muscles at either side of his spine, up into his shoulders and neck. The pain pump was lying over the rail next to his hand, a beige length of plastic like the handle of a jump rope, a button on one end, a slender tube threading out the other, running up to a box on his IV stand. He went to reach for it, but he caught himself and curled his hand into a fist.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You don’t need to protect him,” said Serra.
“What is it you’re trying to protect?” Fisk said.
Russell thought at this point he was trying protect himself, but it certainly wasn’t working.
“Why don’t you just go ahead and tell us?” said Fisk.
“Why don’t you kiss my ass?” Russell said.
Fisk didn’t flinch. His face remained impassive, pale and bloodless.
“Corporal,” said Major Serra, “we’re just here to determine what happened. People are dead. Your friend is dead. Your commanding officer ordered you to take part in an unsanctioned operation on the soil of a country that is supposed to be an ally.”
“Unsanctioned,” said Russell, trying the word.
“Illegal is more like it,” Fisk said.
“Somebody sanctioned it,” said Russell. “We went out with thirteen men. We had support from a Bravo team out of Third Group’s shop, and there was an entire platoon from the 82nd providing security. They had Afghan spotters and scouts. If you’re trying to convince me this was some kind of audible, you’re full of it.”
Serra leaned back in his chair. He nodded a few times.
“Some of this is debatable,” he said.
“I hope to God it’s debatable,” Russell told him. “I hope we didn’t get sent into Pakistan just because someone got a wild hair up their ass.”
“Not what we’re saying,” Fisk told him. “I think what the major is suggesting is that while this mission might have received approval at some level, it’s currently what you might call under review.”
“So why’re you here?”
“We’re reviewing it,” Serra said.
Russell looked back toward the door. He looked at the pain pump. His eyes were beginning to water, but he didn’t want these men to think they’d broken him. He told them if they wanted to charge him with something, to just go ahead and do it.
“Charge you?” said Fisk.
Serra regarded him a moment through narrowed eyes.
He said, “Are you under the impression you’re in some kind of trouble?”
“Ain’t I?”
The men looked at each other and then they looked back at him.
“Corporal,” said Serra, “I’m going to make a recommendation that you be promoted.”
Russell felt his world shiver. It seemed to have actually moved, and he placed his palms on the rails to either side of the bed.
“Promoted,” he said.
“He’s prepared to make that recommendation,” Fisk told him.
Recommendation, Russell tried to say, but the word came out “Recadation.”
The men sat staring at him.
“Listen,” Serra said, “we need you to tell us what the captain took out of that compound.”
“Cave,” Fisk corrected.
“Cave,” Serra said.
“I don’t know he took out anything.”
“What was he trying to take out?”
“It was a chest,” said Russell.
“Chest,” Fisk said.
“What was in it?” asked Serra.
“Gold was in it,” Russell said.
“And you saw this?” said Serra. “This is something that you saw?”
“What kind of gold?” Fisk asked.
Russell closed his eyes. When he opened them, Fisk had stood from his chair and was gripping the bed rail, knuckles white like he was gripping the rail of a balcony.
“Listen,” the man said, “I don’t think you fully understand the importance of this.”
“I think I understand plenty,” Russell said.
Fisk studied him. His face was red now. His cheeks and his neck and the backs of his hands. His entire body had flushed.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said.
“Tell me what I’m thinking,” Russell said.
Serra cleared his throat. “We’re getting off track,” he said.
“He needs to tell us,” said Fisk.
“He is telling us,” Serra said. He gestured to the chair his partner had just vacated. “Why don’t you have a seat.”
Fisk turned to look at the major, but the major was no longer looking at him. The pain in Russell’s spine was like a presence. An actual second person. He slipped his right hand under his thigh and pinned it against the mattress.
He said, “Why don’t you just tell me what you want. If it’s the gold, I ain’t got it on me.”
“What we want,” said Fisk, “is to know exactly what you saw. Did you see it?”
“The gold?”
“The gold,” Fisk said.
Russell lay there. He heard himself say, “It wasn’t, like, in blocks.”
“Bricks?” asked Serra.
“Ingots,” corrected Fisk.
“Jesus,” said Serra and gave Fisk a look.
Russell studied Fisk. He wondered why, if they were going to send someone, would they send someone like him? Then he remembered they’d sent Wynne as well.
Serra told him to continue.
“There were all these coins,” said Russell. “Bracelets and things.”
“And this was where?” asked Fisk. “The cave?”
Russell nodded.
“You went inside?” Serra asked.
“Yes.”
“With the captain?”
“With the captain,” Russell said.
Serra said, “Then what happened?”
“All hell broke loose,” Russell said.
“Tell us,” Fisk said.
“The Talibs,” Russell told him. “They waited until we got inside. Then they came up behind us. We laid up on this sort of ledge and engaged them. They killed our terp and they killed Sergeant Morgan. We’d already lost Sergeant Perkins. There was a gunfight back over where we’d left the horses, and that’s where Wheels took one through the leg. We went down to check on them, and Sergeant Hallum was dead. Then the captain ordered me and Sergeant Bixby back inside and we had a disagreement. I guess that’s what you’d call it.”
“What was it about?” Fisk asked. “The disagreement.”
“I said we needed to get Wheels out while we still could, get ourselves out for that matter, but all’s the captain cared about was the goddamned—”
“I want to show you something,” Fisk said. He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out two photographs, each the size of playing cards. He handed the first to Russell. It was black and white and he stared at it for several moments, blinking.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Satellite photo,” said Fisk. “The mountains where this took place. That one was taken six months ago. You see that small black area?”
Russell lifted the photograph closer to his face and squinted.
“This right here?”
Fisk nodded. “That’s the entrance to your cave.”
“If you say so,” Russell said.
Fisk passed him the second picture. “This one was taken yesterday.”
Russell studied it. It looked the same as the first.
“What am I supposed to be seeing?” he asked.
“The entrance is missing,” Fisk said.
Russell looked again. So it was. He looked at the first photograph, then back to the second. Same shot or almost the same. The only difference was the lack of the black speck that Fisk claimed was the opening to the tunnel. How he could know that for certain, Russell didn’t ask.
He said, “I don’t get how that’s possible.”
“We’re not concerned with that. What we’re trying to figure out is what the captain did with the package. I need you to see the importance of all this, Corporal. This is treasure we’re talking about. It belongs to the people of Afghanistan. It belongs to their government. If Captain Wynne thinks he can waltz out the door with millions of dollars, then he’s—”
“No way he waltzed anywhere,” Russell said.
“Why do you say that?” Fisk asked.
“It just ain’t no way. He and Ox—”
Serra said, “Sergeant Boyle?”
“Sergeant Boyle,” said Russell, nodding. “I doubt four of us could’ve gotten it back up the tunnel, much less down the side of that mountain, and there was only the captain and Ox and Sergeant Bixby.” He looked back and forth at the pictures. “I don’t know what else—”
Then the hairs on the back of his neck rose and a chill ran up his spine. Something welled up inside him, and he began suddenly to laugh. It was excruciating, but he couldn’t stop. He gripped the photographs in his left hand and the bed rail in his right.
“What is it?” Fisk said.
Serra said, “Corporal, what the hell?”
“He blew it,” Russell said, tears beginning to run from his eyes.
“Blew what?” Fisk asked. “What are you talking about?”
“The gold,” said Russell. “He blew it all to hell.”
Fisk and Serra looked at each other. The major told him to explain himself.
“Me and Wheels heard an explosion, but we didn’t know what it was. We were down the trail a few klicks, and we thought maybe it was mortars, but it didn’t sound like mortars, and we—” He broke off and started coughing. His stomach felt like it was on fire.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Fisk said.
“Makes perfect sense,” said Russell. “He wanted to keep it out of the Talibs’ hands. He couldn’t get it out, so he went with the next best option.”
“I don’t buy it,” said Fisk.
“Buy it or don’t buy it,” Russell told him, chuckling.
Serra said, “What—C-4?”
“Sure,” Russell said.
“He had enough to do that?”
“Had more than enough,” said Russell. “Just what Sergeant Perkins carried could’ve blown that cave. And there were crates of demo stacked yay high. Artillery shells. They could’ve brought down the whole mountain. That’s why your photo’s all wrong.”
Fisk looked ill. The blood had drained from his face.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re saying that the captain, instead of moving a chest full of Afghan treasure that was worth mill—that was basically priceless—you’re saying he wired it with C-4 and blew it up?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“You don’t think it’s a lot more likely that they got it out?”
“Nope,” said Russell. “I think it’s a lot more likely that he blew it the fuck up.”
“It’s lunacy,” Fisk said.
Russell shook his head. “Did you not have any idea who it was you sent?”
Fisk sat for several moments studying his lap. Then he looked up at Russell. The nauseated expression had turned to fury. He said, “Corporal, you’re being awfully cavalier about this.”
“I don’t even know what that word means,” Russell told him.
“It means this operation was of vital importance to our coalition. It was meant to—”
“Well, which one is it?” Russell said.
Fisk just stared. “Which one is what?”
“When you thought the captain ran off with your gold, the operation was ‘illegal,’ but now that he blew it up, it’s of ‘vital importance’?”
“Listen, you hayseed. Do you have any idea the kind of shitstorm that’s about to hit? We’ve got a Special Forces officer unaccounted for and the better part of an ODA missing or dead. Not to mention the whole reason for this clusterfuck is, according to your expert opinion, blown to smithereens.”
Russell looked at Major Serra, lifted a finger, and pointed at Fisk.
“Can you get him the hell away from me?”
“Corporal,” said Fisk, “I don’t think you realize what’s—”
“Mr. Fisk,” said Serra, “I’d like for you to wait outside.”
Fisk turned and stared at the major. He opened his mouth to speak. Then his lips tightened into a small red button, and he rose soundlessly from his chair and wal
ked across the room. He turned at the door and studied the two of them. Then he opened it and went out into the hall and closed the door behind him.
“What’s his deal?” Russell said.
“His deal,” said Serra, “is he’s an asshole.”
“Are you for real about the promotion?”
Serra nodded. “How much time you have left?”
“On my contract?”
“Your contract,” Serra said.
Russell did some calculations, but his back hurt and his head was foggy and he was likely doing them wrong.
“I would’ve been stop-lossed sometime in March. I’d need to sign on for another go.”
“Then you sign on for another go,” Serra said.
Russell pointed down at his legs, as though that was where he was wounded. “Depends on all this.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Russell felt his brow crinkle. Even that hurt.
“I mean,” said Serra, “you wouldn’t exactly be running and gunning.”
Russell asked what exactly he’d be doing.
“Training for us.”
“What—” said Russell, “Fifth Group?”
The major nodded.
“What would I be training?”
“Horses,” Serra told him. “We’d like to implement the model you helped establish.”
“Model,” Russell said.
Serra nodded.
“I can’t see this was much of a model for anything.”
“We disagree,” Serra said. “Regardless of what our friends at the Agency might think. I think that what we’re really looking at is an operation that was flawed in its execution, but conceptually speaking, it was very sound. Think about it for a second.”
“I done thought about it,” Russell said. He realized he’d yet to call him “sir.”
The man said, “You’re looking at a way of transporting our operators across some pretty impossible terrain. You don’t have to worry about engines or mechanical parts or even mechanics. You don’t have to worry about fuel. Or gasoline, anyway. You’re able to maintain noise discipline. You can carry more equipment than you ever could on an ATV. And there’s a psychological effect on the locals. They’re way more likely to be sympathetic. They know horses. They use horses. It’s our gear and technology they don’t understand.”
“I heard all of this before,” Russell said.
The major sat there looking at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he stood and squared the beret on his head and extended his hand. Russell wasn’t sure, at first, what he was doing. Then he lifted his own hand and took the major’s, and the major gave it a gentle pump.