It only took the three twenty minutes to come back with Jafar’s pack loaded. They stripped off their breathing apparatus, enjoying the fresh air for a moment. We had given Lynn’s helper an outfit too, because the air below decks still hadn’t cleared all the way through the ship’s ventilation system. Lynn pointed at Jafar’s pack with obvious relish.
“Wait until you see what we got, Cheese. Denny will probably want to promote you to Cheeseburger Supreme with tomato and relish toppings.”
Another gem. “My face is all healed up. I’m ready to lose the nickname.”
Lynn tilted her head as if examining me, and then shrugged with the rest of the monster squad enjoying the show. “If you say so, Cheese.”
“It is as Crue says though,” Jafar popped in with business. “We have everything imaginable. This man, Aalim Shamon, is the leader. We must keep him away from his cohorts.”
“Outstanding. No need to overload the Venom. Keep Shamon between you and Clint, Lynn. Gag the others on the flight over to the Boxer. They should be closing in on us so it will be a short ride. I’ll meet our relief crew, and show them around. We’re supposed to be getting some people who can stop and anchor the ship along with an initial group to open and prioritize what happens with the containers. I don’t need to pat you monsters on the back, but today was a good day in the neighborhood. Take off.”
“Want me to stay with you, John? You know they’ll have that Seal guy’s team fly on to guard the ship.”
“We have results, Lucas. I want as little as possible said about our burials at sea. Denny will be on with me monitoring. I’ll clam up, and if questioned, I’ll let him speak to Denny.”
“Damn right,” Denny said in our ears. “They have their orders to secure the ship, and the containers. There is to be no other debriefings. Lock our prisoners down in a hold where no one can reach them until I arrange a place in the Philippines for interrogation. We’re not leaving the area until we find out where the nest is that instigated this threat. If we can do a surgical strike with a Reaper, then fine. Something has to be done fast before the target scatters. If this Shamon guy is the leader, he can be made to buy us some time if they have preset contact intervals. I’ll be on the Boxer in three hours with the details.”
Lucas patted my shoulder, making a fist. “Recon! Don’t take no shit!”
“Ooh RAH!” I barked back. Lucas chuckled and motioned for boarding.
I watched them fly off a few moments later. I kept my equipment bag with my breathing apparatus in case below decks was still bad air, and shouldered my MP5. A Seal strike force team arrived first. They would make sure there were absolutely no security blunders when the shipping containers were checked. These would be killers with no peer. They could be counted on to be less than enthusiastic about guard duty, but with a threat like this, every precaution had to be taken. They landed like a Seal team would land in an open, unknown situation. I remained in plain sight, hands behind my head. The Seal team deployed around the containers, and my buddy from the USS Boxer strode over in full battle gear, as their ride flew off.
“Sit-rep, Harding?”
“All clear, Sir. Some haziness below decks, but the ventilation system was undamaged, so it may be breathable when we go down.”
“Casualties?”
“None, Sir… on my team.”
“Enemy casualties?”
Denny came on in my ear. “Wait one, John.”
I made a motion as if I were receiving a message, which I was. Then my buddy got updated on his com. I could tell because he looked like he was about to explode. He spoke tersely about understanding the orders. After it was obvious his conversation was over, he still stared at me with rancor. I decided to clue him in.
“Sorry, Sir, but my boss was on with me at all times. My team is monitored from beginning to end, Sir.” I could see it took him a minute to process the fact his questions caused an instantaneous response from higher up.
He grinned. “I know when I’m out of my league. Show me below decks. One of my team can check air quality. The experts are due in soon, along with people to anchor this floating hazard.” He gestured up at the blown out bridge windows. “Was that really necessary?”
“It was if we wanted no word sent out to warn the people responsible for this.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m Tom by the way. I’ll get my guy and meet you over at the hatch.”
Twenty minutes into the below decks inspection, Tom was less than pleased. The air had been deemed clear, even in the engine room. They would have to change those filters, I thought absently.
“There’s a hell of a lot of blood spattered in all areas, but no bodies. Care to comment?”
“My team flew off with six prisoners. Please don’t say anything else that gets you reprimanded, Tom. We need you and your guys. Our teams do different work. I understand your thinking, but without the people on my team, we wouldn’t even know about this threat. Countless American lives were saved. Why not ring it up as a victory, and move on? You and I can be considered separate departments, all working toward the same goal. I even know something that bonds us together for all time too.”
Tom looked doubtful, but he took the bait anyway. “What in the hell could that possibly be?”
I moved closer to him than was necessary with Lucas’s ‘Marine Recon’ ringing in my ears. “I’ve never left a man or woman behind… ever. I never will… ever.”
A slow smile spread over Tom’s face. “Ooh RAH, Marine.”
Just like that we had an understanding deeper than any bureaucrat could give us.
I shut off my com. “If you ever have a problem you need a solution for out of the norm, please give me a call. Just Google John Harding, and you’ll get twenty damn ways to get through to me outside military channels, Tom.”
That offer stunned him a little. “I may just do that, John. I don’t approve of what you do, but damn sure can’t argue with your results.”
“We don’t let our brothers in arms go down for any reason either, Tom. If we hear of it, we take a hand in the game, and we are better than you could ever dream possible at fixing things.”
I could tell he was imagining a hundred different circumstances where such backup would be a relief. “I think we need to stay in contact, John. Thank you.”
“By the way, I shut off my com. Let me add this. My team can launch at a moment’s notice anywhere without sanction. We are privately funded. If anything misfires on your team, or anyone else’s, and the talking heads write you off… we won’t. Get the word out to anyone you trust.”
“I was wrong about you, John… and I’m not often wrong about anything. You ever need extras in a play, let me know, and I’ll arrive with volunteers. We do get bored.”
I held out my hand which he shook. “Deal.” Just like that an alternate set of warriors became part of our network. I liked it. I might have some trouble with Pappy though.
* * *
“You did what?” Lucas was not pleased. “You had a chance to stomp all over that damn shavetail’s butt, and you pussied out. What the hell is there about the words ‘Marine Recon’ and your acknowledgement didn’t you understand?”
“We have a Seal team commander on our side, and he obviously understands there are situations beyond his control or understanding. I can tell he commands his team, and no one else. He’s one of us, Lucas. I know you can imagine what it would mean to be able to count on a Seal team, who knows we’re the out of the box monsters, right?”
Lucas hesitated as we stood on the USS Boxer deck, where I’d just exited a return flight over from the Queen. My team stood huddled around me. We answered to no one. We owed allegiance to the United States of America, not the political wing that ignored the Constitution at every instance it conflicted with covering their asses, or didn’t buy them votes. We were the answer to the question of who do you call when nothing works.
Lucas gripped my shoulder. “Sorry, John. That was uncalled for. I shoul
d have gotten my damn head in the game before I let my mouth make a fool out of me.”
“You never, ever have to qualify anything you say to me, Lucas. I need all the hard points shoved in my face. It’s what makes us different. Anyone of us can take the lead in an instant. Mostly, we follow Crue’s orders lately, because she hit the mother lode. Tom’s commitment to something even he doesn’t understand… well… I’ll take anytime it’s offered. I’m not the only one on this team of misfits. Anyone else’s take on this is gold with me.”
Clint looked around with a wry smile. “I think you did real good, Cheese. We’re nearly in a place to start training you for the next Rattler debacle, right,”
“That’s just mean!”
Of course I drew laughs from my mostly insubordinate crew of misfits. “Denny has a place for us to get back to work in, away from the sensibilities of our more squeamish comrades. We will leave no one behind here on the Boxer. We’ve left a small footprint for now. Let’s get the hell off of the Boxer for the next step.”
“I’m ready,” Lynn said. “This at sea life is a bit too rolling for me and the unborn offspring of the man from nowhere.”
Clint hugged Lynn. “They’re flying us off on an Osprey, so you won’t be in close quarters. It will be much more pleasant.”
“I’m fine. I have a want list now of information. Anyone up for another game show?”
Groans and gagging noises were the only feedback she received at the mention of her newest information gathering method. “You know what? Maybe all you Snow Whites need to stay here. I’ll take the man from nowhere and the Cheesburger, get the info, launch the Reapers, and you little sucklings can all go home to Momma.”
That comment elicited hand claps, small dances of celebration, and statements of ‘you go, Crue’. Lynn tried to hold her seventh level of hell stare, but gave it up and started laughing. “Okay… okay… you guys got me. It’ll be fine, and won’t wreck your tender sensibilities.”
No one stayed on board the Boxer. It didn’t matter what Lynn was prepared to do. Lynn owned the new guy, Aalim Shamon. The Brotherhood made a mistake sending an upper echelon guy like Shamon on the anthrax mission. He couldn’t wait to spill his guts about every detail Denny had in mind, including the hideout of the Syrian Muslim Brotherhood outfit responsible for the threat outside the Port of Latakia. Like a few others I’d seen lately, Shamon knew Lynn did not bluff, and when he looked her in the eyes, he saw the unimaginable. Lynn worked over Shamon’s unhappy cohorts when we reached the Philippines, old school. They only provided backup for what Shamon had already given us. Shamon admitted they were not to contact anyone until after the transfer. That had made Denny very happy. They were in communications blackout.
Now, here I am with Denny in a command room at Kaneohe Bay Marine Corps Base, Hawaii. We have Shamon with us, while watching real time satellite images of the suspected hideout near the port of Latakia. The rest of his pals went the ‘rendition’ route to Egypt, where Dennie had a special deal with some Egyptian intelligence types who were not fond of The Muslim Brotherhood. Shamon had already identified three of the ones pictured entering the compound building. Less than a minute later, a huge flash heralded the end to those leaders ever doing another anthrax shipment. After the third strike, there was nothing there but a burning crater.
“Nice. Where to now, Den?”
“Home. Aalim will be going with us. I have alerted the Cosco Shipping Line about the terrorist infiltration and plot to use their container ships. We are to hand carry all intelligence taken from the Queen Zanubiya back to the Mainland. I have Laredo and Jafar working on our own edition we can still use. Aalim gets a Gitmo vacation as long as he’s cooperative, and won’t go through a nasty ‘rendition’ to Egypt, right Aalim?”
“Yes, Sir.” Aalim kept his eyes on his shoes now that his identification part was over.
“I offered your crew a chance to hang out in Hawaii for a couple weeks, but they all wanted to fly back with us. Lucas said something about taking The Lora out on some training and fishing cruises before you took off to see the in-laws over Christmas. What’s that all about?”
Damn it!
* * *
Coming home after our business concluded overseas meant tying up some loose ends. I visited the kid who had helped us with Diego Reyes. The reattachment of his finger joint was a success, and his nose slice healed well, which Lynn enjoyed hearing. I covered all the expenses, and met Miguel’s Father, Frank Romero. I made sure to build up Mig’s stellar help, and we spent an afternoon together. I left after receiving Mig’s promise to call me if he had any trouble before he went in the service, from the surviving gangbangers.
Our Command Central maintenance crew, Quays Tannous, Gus Denova, and Silvio Ruelas, chose to continue on with us. We settled them into their own places away from Pain Central, but they would be monitored during their probation period. Their probation officer, Lynn Montoya, would have them on a short leash. They were a welcome addition to our crew of ‘misfits’. Having our detention department in good condition was a must for future guests.
The mid December weather, usually raining gales in our wet season, combined nothing but blue cloudless skies, and mild temperatures in the high sixties on the Bay. It looked like drought season for us San Francisco and East Bay inhabitants. Even the wind stayed at gentle breeze mode until late afternoon, making the early afternoon jaunts on the Bay by the crew of The Lora a pleasurable fishing experience.
Lucky me. I swam the waters of the Bay alongside the happy boaters. Tommy presented me with a new dry suit upon my return from wonderful Hawaii. It was a setup, with everyone present to watch me open my early Christmas present, Lora and Al of course in attendance to watch the Cheeseburger get grilled once again. The conversation put a smile on everyone’s face but mine.
“A real Recon Marine would train in just swim trunks,” Lucas punked me.
“You’ll be warm now, Dad,” Al announced. “Uncle Tommy said the water’s just too cold in a wetsuit for the length of time you needed to train every day.”
“How thoughtful,” I replied through clenched teeth, holding up the full body yellow dry suit. “I’m going to look like a giant banana in this thing.”
Complaining did no good. My friends and family were of course laughing their asses off. “Gee… I’ll bet it fits like a banana peel too. You really outdid yourself, T. I hope you’ve learned how to swim from Dev, because I have a premonition for a major boating accident coming on.”
“This is for your own survival, Cheese,” Lynn reprimanded me. “Blaming your trainer for trying to save your life is frankly ungrateful.”
“Yeah, and in more ways than one, you ungrateful sloth,” Tommy added. “With this color, Clint will be able to distinguish the sharks better when they decide to join your training regimen. We don’t want those rowdy kindred spirits nipping at you. The black wetsuits you were training with were just too attractive. They made you look like a walrus.”
“Seal,” I corrected him for who knows what reason. I was still glaring at my banana suit.
“You’re too big to be a seal,” Tommy replied. “You looked like one of those huge walruses the polar bears eat on the nature channel in black. Now, you’ll be cruising along in the water, blinding your finned buddies with your new workout togs. That way they won’t interrupt our progress. Plus, you’ll be warm and toasty.”
“Tommy had a slew of new pine poles made up too,” Lynn informed me. “He has the perfect rubber bumper so I don’t leave marks that would turn off my girlfriend Lora here.”
“Dad,” Al gripped my hand with both hers. “They are trying to save you.”
“They just want to make you think that, Al. They’re evil. All they want is to torture me. I can hit the heavy bag, work out in the gym, do some sparring with Dev and Jess, and I’d be all ready for the Rattler.”
After the laughter died down, Jess spiked me. “Try on the suit for us, ‘Mellow Yellow’.”
&nb
sp; I pointed at Jess with a big grin. “Keep talkin’. I don’t like your chances of surviving a training mishap, Jess.”
“We learned from Crue, Mellow Yellow,” Jess replied, waving me off. “Tommy will have a Taser ready at all times.”
Damn it!
* * *
Into the beginning of my third week of torture, I began wishing for death. The ‘Mad World’ song lyrics ‘the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had’, constantly pinged around in my head. I began having waking daydreams where the Rattler had killed me, and I liked it. The stroke changes at Tommy’s discretion, coupled with the expert jolts into my body Lynn provided with expertise had driven me to the point of insanity. Yeah, it was working.
Along with the banana suit, I wore a perfectly gauged weight belt for control in the water, along with an eye protection mask, but nothing else. My cheeks, mouth, and lips actually burned by the end of each workout from the cold saltwater. I also sweated inside the dry-suit because I wore a thin layer of Thinsulate inside the dry-suit. Mellow Yellow was no longer a survivor. I entered the water with rage, and exited it in a rage. I kept silent, as did my crew. I chopped pieces out of poles now almost without thought.
It was beyond imagining to rotate in the ocean instantaneously with side hand strikes, anticipating the pole pokes administered by a decidedly psycho Lynn. Yet I did so. The pole became a horrid force of nature, seeking me out with devastating accuracy, because no matter how enraged my concentration became, I could not whip around on them all. Today’s jaunt into training hell ended finally with Lynn aiming one at my head as a feint. It didn’t work. I rolled like a damn seal, my right hand side strike snapping the pole with a crisp and satisfying shatter of wood.
“Damn, Cheese,” Lynn exclaimed, pulling the maimed pole out of the water, and looking at the rough end.
“Shut her down, Lucas,” Tommy called out.
That order meant my training was done. It’s a lot like that old cliché about the boy hitting himself in the head with a hammer. When he’s asked why, the boy states ‘because it feels so good when I stop’. Mellow Yellow heaved aboard the fantail, probably looking as idiotic as I felt. I was not in any way, shape, or form, mellow. My companions knew instinctively to stay the hell away from the giant banana. I peeled off my dry-suit, which I immediately turned inside out and doused in saltwater. I rinsed it in fresh water set out in a sealed jug, before leaving the pathetic thing on the deck. The warm shower cascaded over me in heaven sent bliss, where I both washed my Thinsulate undergarment, and myself. Only then did I emerge from below deck, sullen, but human.
Hard Case IV: A Violent Life (John Harding Series Book 4) Page 32