by Scott McEwen
The insertion teams stashed the SubGravity RS scooters along the edge of the cliff with the rebreathers and their neoprene wetsuits and flippers for collection after the mission. They would exfiltrate the area the same way they had come. From their kits, each team member drew out the hoodie and sweatpants worn by the visiting Canadian Junior Olympic team and put those on. They also donned night vision goggles, and each slung an athletic bag over their shoulder. In his bag, Wyatt had the Heckler & Koch submachine gun, ammunition, glass cutter, and lock picks. He tucked the 9mm into the waistband of his sweatpants.
It had been decided that Wyatt would run point on the ground, so at the appropriate time, when the group was ready, he moved ahead and crept up over the cliffs to sweep the surrounding area with his night vision goggles. All was clear. He signaled and proceeded carefully, making his way toward the dorm and training facility with the rest of Group-C following close behind.
As he neared the buildings, Wyatt signaled the rest of the team to stop and kneel. Over to his right, he identified the outline of two bodies. Security, he thought. He edged closer and saw it was teenagers necking behind shrubs. Recognizing that this was not a threat and that they were at no risk of detection—after all, the two were fairly lip-locked—Wyatt simply guided the team in a wider arc around the couple and crept up close to the buildings.
When they were close enough to be seen from inside the building, they removed their night vision goggles and put them in their bags, proceeding toward the buildings along a path as if they were any other Junior Olympians visiting the facility. Since they were approaching the building from the rear, they did not encounter any of the actual athletes. As rehearsed, they eventually came to a fork in the path, and at Wyatt’s signal, Insertion Team One moved quickly toward the dorms, while Wyatt and Hud approached the training building from the rear.
Through an earbud, Wyatt communicated with Rory, Hallsy, and the Old Man.
“Insertion Team One is en route to the dorms. Team Two, head to the boxing gym.”
“Roger,” Rory said. “I have you on infrared. I can see your movements. Nothing ahead of you.”
As they made their way toward the basement windows—the designated entry point to the building—Hud clicked off his radio, indicating he wanted to talk without others listening. He motioned for Wyatt to do the same.
“What’s up?” Wyatt said.
“You tell me what’s up. What’s up with you and Dolly?” Hud had an edge to his voice. “You got to cut that out. That type of stuff has no business in Valor, or on these missions, or at the level at which we are operating. That’s why Dolly and I cut it off. You gotta get wise.”
Wyatt’s temper flared, and he wanted to tell Hud that was none of his business, tell him to butt out. If they’d been back in Millersville, Wyatt might have even taken a swing. But he suppressed his anger. “Hud,” he said calmly. “We can’t discuss this now. Leave it for later. Stay on mission.”
Instead of calming Hud, this seemed to make him even angrier. “That’s exactly why what you’re doing has no place. It’s already affected the mis—”
Wyatt stopped Hud, “—It hasn’t affected the mission. It’s affected you. You need to get your head straight. You read me, Hud?” Wyatt looked deep into his eyes, seeing the same hollowness from the Ready Room. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t there. “If you can’t get your head straight right now, I’m aborting this.” Wyatt reached for his radio.
“Wait.” Hud shook his head, the old Hud now coming back, smirking again. The arrogant Hud returned. The guy you didn’t love but wanted on your side. “You’re right. Forget Dolly. Who cares? It’s game on.”
Wyatt didn’t take his eyes off Hud’s. “Are you sure? Are you good?”
“I am gold. Let’s cut this powwow short and go take the Bamm-Bamm brothers down.”
“All right. Let’s move.”
Back on mission, Wyatt and Hud approached the building, the classic sounds of a boxing gym wafting down from the open windows on the third floor, fists thudding against bags, feet shuffling, a crowd quietly chatting, whistles, instructions, and the rhythmic ringing of the bell.
Wyatt had planned to use his glass cutter to cut a section of a ground-floor window, but one of the basement windows had been cracked for ventilation, so they simply had to open it more and slide in.
The basement was, in fact, a crawl space with a sump pump and a humidifier, little more than five feet deep of head space and smelled of mud, earth, and wet concrete. Grit and rodent scat on the ground under their feet. Working from a blueprint, Hud quickly found the trapdoor to the first-floor storage room. Wyatt leveled his 9mm as Hud pushed up the floorboard. The moment of truth. Thankfully, the room was empty, filled with boxing equipment and cans of powdered sports drinks.
They climbed into the building, replaced the floorboard, and moved to the door of the first-floor hallway. There was no one in the storage area, though through windows to the west, they could see several security personnel prowling outside, roaming the grounds.
Wyatt and Hud moved quickly to a staircase in the rear of the building and followed it up to the third floor. There they paused outside the door. Now, the sounds of training were loud and close, and the familiar smell of a gym—sweat and must and the faint odor of cleaning products—seeped into the stairwell. Hud nodded, they tucked their weapons into their clothing, and pushed open the doorway.
They stepped out into a hallway casually, as if they were simply arriving late to the gym for a workout. Down the hall, two double doors opened to the training floor, where the young Junior Olympians worked out, the training staff coached, and observers milled around watching. People were scattered around the large, open floor of the gym, shadow boxing, jumping rope, shooting the breeze.
A small crowd had gathered around one of the boxing rings, watching a boy Wyatt recognized as Chokar sparring with an American, the two fighters completely focused on one another, moving like cats, jabbing, ducking, stalking each other. Chokar’s younger brother, Jawad, watched ringside, consumed by the spectacle. A couple members of the press snapped photos. As Wyatt and Hud made their way to the locker room, Wyatt noticed one of the coaches from the American team staring at him.
Wyatt smiled and nodded. The coach waited a beat, then nodded back and returned to watching the match. Wyatt and Hud pushed open the door to the locker room.
“We’re in the locker room,” Wyatt whispered into his comms system. The room stunk of sweat, moldering clothes, and uric acid. They quickly checked to see if the locker room was empty. They rounded the corner to the shower area near the entrance, and Hud saw a pair of feet with pants at the ankles in one of the stalls. Someone was taking a dump. Then, the familiar sound of a page turning. This guy was going to be there a while.
Wyatt signaled Hud to stay in a lookout position, keeping eyes on the bathroom and the entrance to the training facility.
Hud held up his hand, signaling “OK” with his pointer and his thumb.
Wyatt entered the locker area, swiftly locating Chokar’s locker, his name written in tape along the top. The lockers in this facility were not the typical kind of narrow lockers found in a high school or men’s room. It was an Olympic facility, and the equipment was similar to what you might find in a Major League Baseball locker room, with grates for ventilation. Almost all of the lockers were unlocked, except for Chokar’s, which was secured with a big brass Master padlock.
Wyatt set his bag down, removed his pick, and went to work. He had the lock open in about thirty seconds, and whispered into the comms, “Have access to locker, now performing search.” Wyatt wore a body camera, so not only was his point of view recorded, it was also broadcast to the Old Man and Hallsy back at Valor.
Wyatt dimly heard a toilet flush. “Hud,” Wyatt asked. “How are we doing?”
A second or two passed as Wyatt rifled through several pairs of shoes and gloves.
“All clear, Wyatt. He’s still on the can. Looks like
it was a courtesy flush,” Hud said, his voice a quiet whisper. “Take your time.”
Wyatt found rolls of tape and wrist wraps, along with the Koran, bandages, aspirin, tins of creams and ointments, a pile of dirty jock straps in the corner, wet boxing shorts, and several pairs of nylon workout suits on hangers. The locker smelled like a wheel of old pungent cheese. Wyatt quickly searched the loose items, but found nothing. He turned his attention to the two gym bags that had been placed at the center of the locker.
The first gym bag Wyatt opened belonged to Chokar, the standard bag used by the Canadian Junior Olympian boxing team. A quick peek inside and Wyatt saw nothing suspicious. Wyatt zipped up the bag and unzipped the dingy backpack, which he recognized from an earlier photograph as belonging to Jawad. It was the kind worn by millions of students across the world—smallish, slightly frayed, unassuming.
Wyatt unzipped the bag and looked inside. He immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “I think we have something,” he said. “I’m seeing electronic equipment, an iPad, loose wires, and a heavy, cylindrical object. Taped to the top of the cylinder is what looks like a blasting cap connected to a … phone detonator.”
“Is the device armed?” the Old Man’s voice broke in over the radio.
“I can’t tell. I don’t think so. And I see a box of ammunition in the bottom of the bag. But no gun,” Wyatt said, reflecting on what this meant. Jawad was likely armed.
“Secure the device,” the Old Man said but Wyatt zoned out, hearing footsteps approaching down the row of lockers.
Wasn’t Hud guarding the entrance? He hadn’t signaled.
“Hud?” Wyatt whispered.
But the feet took big steps, running now. Wyatt had no time to think. Wyatt drew the 9mm just as Jawad rounded the corner, his own gun drawn. Zero hesitation on Wyatt’s part. He aimed and pulled the trigger twice. Jawad fired back at the exact same time.
* * *
Neither Wyatt nor Jawad stopped pulling his trigger. Each unloaded his weapon into the other, and the room filled with the sound of gunfire and the smell of smoke as shells were ejected from the weapons. Still, neither boy fell. They just kept firing, point-blank into one other. Wyatt imagined the wall behind him was riddled with bullets and blood splatter and that any second he would topple over and die. A question pinged in his mind. Where was Hud?
Had Wyatt’s mind and body not been flooded with adrenaline and sensory overload, he might have noticed that his 9mm did not recoil. And while there was plenty of smoke and sparks, there was no blood.
Wyatt and Jawad stared at each other, puzzled. Then Hud came running up, screaming, “Wyatt, get down!”
Hud fired at Jawad’s back in rapid succession, emptying his clip, screaming “Ahhhhhhh!”
Again, Jawad did not fall. Now Wyatt knew something was off, like the way someone recognizes that they are dreaming.
“A little late, aren’t you, Hud?” Hallsy’s voice broke through the silent locker room as he entered with the Old Man.
Wyatt’s mind raced, his heart jack-hammered, and his ears rang. Then the realization hit him. “This was a training exercise?” he said, his voice tight and dry, conflicting feelings flowing through him.
The kid, Jawad, was snickering now, tucking his gun in his pants. “Yeah. Blanks. Feel like you got punked, huh? That was how I felt my year as a Group-C.”
“Who … are you?” Wyatt asked.
“Wyatt, meet Jawad Mossa, or Jo, as we call him,” Hallsy said, and instantly Wyatt knew where he had seen the boy before. “Jo was a member of last year’s Group-A.”
“Yeah. And he was Top Camper. I knew I had seen him. I just couldn’t place it,” Wyatt said, recalling the photograph of last year’s Top Camper. In the photo, Jo had a scraggly beard and wore sunglasses, but now was clean shaven. Still, Wyatt kicked himself. He should have figured it out. “Can’t believe his photo was right there on the wall and I didn’t put it together.” He shook his head.
“Neither did I when I was in your shoes.” Jo patted Wyatt on the shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard.”
“None of you made the connection and saw the obvious,” Hallsy said. “Shows me just how much we all have to learn about being observant. As well as the power of suggestion. Jo came back for the end of the summer to help with training. Same goes for all the boxers you saw out on the training-room floor, in the boxing gym. Even the kids you saw making out outside.”
Wyatt steadied himself against a locker, still floored, still processing. “It was all fake. A total setup.”
Hallsy nodded again. “Yes. A test. Elaborate, but completely necessary.” Hallsy turned and glared at Hud. “Especially after what we saw you do today.”
Hud took a step back, looking cowed and pale.
“Yes, Hud,” Hallsy said. “We were watching.”
Hud swallowed a few times, put his head in his hands, and sat down.
“Saw what?” Wyatt asked. “What happened? Hud was exactly where we rehearsed.”
“Wyatt,” the Old Man said. “I want you to leave with Hallsy. He’ll take you to your debrief. Hud, you’re going to leave with me.” The Old Man’s voice was firm but heavy with sadness.
Hallsy stepped to Hud and placed handcuffs on his wrists.
“What do you mean?” Hud stammered. “Like Wyatt said, I … I … was covering him. I was distracted by the person in the bathroom. They were getting ready to leave when Jawad entered. It was a mistake. I missed him. He got past me.” Hud seemed to collapse in on himself, shrinking as a human. His chest heaved as he cried, and he looked at Wyatt. “I’m so, so sorry, Wyatt. Please. Please forgive me.” And then he looked at the Old Man, “Let me stay at Valor. It was a mistake. I don’t know why it happened.”
The Old Man’s voice took on an edge. “Wyatt, you are dismissed.”
CHAPTER 24
August 2017,
Predawn Camp Valor
They did not know where Hud had been taken. Group-C returned to base camp and was debriefed on the mission back in the main lodge over a breakfast made by Mum. Wyatt’s body was starved. Pre-mission jitters had killed his hunger leading up to the insertion. The swim alone was ninety minutes. They had been tested emotionally and physically. Every cell in Wyatt’s body screamed for calories.
And yet, Wyatt couldn’t eat. Nor could anyone else in the group. They’d lost a man. The rumor circulating through Valor was that Hudson Decker was being washed out.
Heads hung low and piles of biscuits, eggs, sausage, and bacon were picked over. Mostly coffee and water were consumed. Hallsy lowered a screen, a video projector was brought in, and he played footage from the training exercise. The debrief covered and critiqued all aspects of the training exercise—the insertion, the beach landing, crossing to the dorms and boxing facility—all but what everyone was thinking about—what happened in the locker room.
On Screen: As Jawad continues his approach toward the locker room, Hud retreats into the bathroom area and appears to hide behind a corner as Jawad enters.
Wyatt says, “Hud.”
Jawad breaks into a run. Wyatt draws his weapon and the two fire upon each other as Jawad rounds the corner. Hud emerges after shooting has begun, comes up behind Jawad, and fires.
The video goes to black.
Finally, Hallsy spoke: “The Old Man and I have determined that Hud intended to put Wyatt in danger. This intent—not mistake—is cause for removal from Valor. The only way Hud stays is if you, his fellow Group-C members, unanimously choose to have him return.” Hallsy added flatly, “So what do you want to do?”
The question dangled in the tense air in the room. No one dared touch it for a long time.
“I know Hud rubbed a lot of people the wrong way here, but Hud is one of my dogs,” Ebbie broke the silence. “So I hate to be the one to admit it, but this looks bad. Looks like Hud hung Wyatt out to dry.”
“Hallsy asked about intent,” Wyatt jumped in. “Clearly Hud made a mistake. But the video
can’t show you what’s in Hud’s mind. We have no way of knowing what he was thinking. I don’t think it’s fair to speculate.”
“Whatever was going through his head,” Samy said, “had that exercise been in the field, Wyatt’s brains would have been sprayed all over that locker. That kid Jawad would be dead. And we’d have to take Hud’s word for it ’cause we wouldn’t have had anything else.”
“But we weren’t in the field,” Wyatt said.
“He didn’t know that,” Rory said. “None of us did.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Wyatt said. “Our instructors didn’t put us out in the field because we still needed training. This was training. We needed to learn the lesson. We have all made mistakes that might have cost lives in the field. Now Hud has learned.”
“But what does it say about character?” Rory asked.
“Character?” Wyatt laughed. “We’re all criminals. Every one of us has lied or cheated or stolen. Betrayed ourselves and others. That’s how we got here. If character isn’t something that can change, then we all should leave.”
“Ok”—Ebbie looked at his comrades—“Hud stays, right?” Wyatt nodded and everyone followed suit. Everyone except Dolly.
“I think I know him better than anyone else in this room,” Dolly finally piped up. Her eyes moved from face to face. “I don’t know if he wanted Wyatt dead, I don’t think so. Hud is not that type of a person. He’s not an evil person. But I do think he wanted to see what would happen if Wyatt were alone with danger. He wanted to test Wyatt. That’s what I think. Wyatt drew first. Wyatt would have survived, in my mind. But Hud failed. As much as it hurts for me to say this.” Tears welled in Dolly’s eyes. “Hud is strong, maybe the strongest of us all here. But he needs to go. Let’s never lay eyes on him again.”