by L. T. Ryan
"Yeah," I said.
He nodded at one of the others, who then removed our handcuffs. "Let's go."
We followed him through the terminal, down the escalator and into the train. We sat in the back. They stood in front of us. The train stopped at terminal A. We all exited and followed the signs to the escalators that led to the empty Arrivals gate. It seemed that nobody had any loved ones arriving that early, or maybe they just didn't care at four a.m. We passed the baggage claim and walked through two sets of tinted automatic doors, coming to a stop outside.
The air felt cool and refreshing. Orange light flooded the sidewalk and six lane divided road between the building and the parking garage. A dark van with tinted windows idled nearby.
One of the men pointed and went over to it and opened the back door. He gestured toward us, and Bear and I followed and got inside.
"Middle row," he said.
We sat in the middle. I didn't recognize the driver. He must have been waiting in the van the whole time. One of the men joined him up front, in the passenger seat. The other three sat in the row behind us. The van pulled away from the curb, followed the curved airport road and merged into the early morning traffic heading northbound on I-85.
* * *
Half way through Atlanta we merged onto I-20, heading east. After leaving the city, the drive felt long and pointless. Our escorts didn't talk. We had no idea who they were. No names, ranks, or affiliations were given. Although, I had a feeling these guys were CIA.
When I tried to talk to Bear, it was met with a command to shut up. I resigned myself to staring out the window at the redundant scenery.
Darkness faded, and the gray clouds gave way to the rising sun. The sun painted the sky shades of orange and red. The sight held me captive for half an hour.
I leaned forward and stuck my head between the driver and passenger seat. "Where are we going?"
The man in the passenger seat turned his head to look at me and said nothing.
I sighed, sat back.
We reached Florence, SC around nine a.m. I asked if we could stop for breakfast. We didn't. Instead, we merged onto I-95 northbound. I hoped that meant we were heading to Camp Lejeune. I feared it meant we were heading to Langley, which would be bad.
Our CIA command was held deep below the Air Force base. We'd be under their command down there.
Camp Lejeune was located on the coast of North Carolina. It was home to several Commands, including the Marines Special Operations Command, and was often used for amphibious assault training. Camp Lejeune also served as our unofficial command under Colonel Abbot. We weren't stationed there, though. We weren't stationed anywhere. However, we did have to report quarterly if we weren't on an extended deployment.
I leaned forward again, looking at the driver and then the passenger.
"Where're we going?"
The man in the passenger seat turned his head. "Lejeune."
"That's where we were heading, anyway. You guys saved us the cost of a rental."
He turned away. Said nothing.
I sat back and took a deep breath. Only one thing bothered me.
"Lejeune," I said to Bear.
"Yeah," he said then paused for a moment. "Brig's there."
That's what bothered me. The Marine Corps Brig was located there, and it was capable of housing up to 280 inmates.
* * *
Four hours later the van rolled past a red brick sign that read, "CAMP LEJEUNE: HOME OF EXPEDITIONARY FORCES IN READINESS," and stopped in front of the base's main gate. The man in the passenger seat stepped out of the van then opened the side door. Two of the men in the back seat got out. They ordered us out and walked us to the corrugated steel guard rail that surrounded the guard house in the middle of the road.
We stepped over knee high guardrails. A baby faced MP waited for us. He nodded to our escorts and they turned and got back in the van.
"Move to the front," the MP said. He pointed past the red stop sign and extended red and white gate crossing the road. "They'll be up to get you soon."
We moved to the other side of the building. I leaned back against the brick exterior and stared down the deserted tree lined street that led to the main base. Things hadn't changed much since the last time we were here. That was six months ago. Just before our deployment to Iraq.
Bear leaned over. "This garbage stinks." He kicked one leg up, placing his heel against the brick wall behind us. "Abbot should have met us out here."
"I thought he would," I said. "He's the reason we're here, though, and not the island."
"Think he knows we're here right now?"
"I hope so, Bear. I honestly do."
A dark sedan approached from the base, slowed down and made a U-turn in front of the guard station and stopped in the middle of the road, and then both front doors opened.
"Turn around," an MP said as he emerged from the passenger side. "Hands on the wall."
I turned to Bear, rolled my eyes, then continued around to face the wall.
The MPs were on us a few seconds later. They were cautious and calm. They didn't shout or use force with us.
"Just a formality," one of them said. "Nice and easy. Let's get this over with."
I didn't resist when they pulled my arms down behind me and handcuffed me. Neither did Bear. A few minutes later we were in the backseat of their cruiser.
"Take us to Colonel Abbot," I said.
The driver looked up and made eye contact with me in the rear-view mirror. "He's not here."
My heart sank. Abbot was our only contact on base.
"Know where he is?"
The driver shook his head.
"I'll need to get in touch with General Keller then."
"You realize you're detained, don't you?" the other MP said.
I exhaled and shrugged.
"Just take it easy. You guys will be settled in soon."
I kept hope up that they were taking us to the barracks and putting us up for the night. But the further we drove, the more I knew that wasn't going to happen. The car finally stopped in front of the brig. The MPs got out. The back doors swung open.
"What are we being held for?" I asked.
"Not our concern," the MP said while pulling me out of the car by my elbow.
I pulled back.
"Let's not go down that route. OK, Noble?"
I eased up, swung my legs out of the vehicle and planted my feet on the ground. The MP pulled me up and dragged me over to where Bear and his MP escort waited by a door that led inside the brig.
"Let's go," the MP said.
He led me through the door into the building. We walked down a wide, dimly lit industrial gray painted hallway past several administrative offices. Signs next to each door indicated a name or division. We passed through two sets of security doors then stopped in a cold square room, painted white with a foot wide gray stripe about four feet off the ground. A pale, skinny MP stood behind a counter at the far end of the room. He looked me up and down, did the same to Bear, then disappeared from sight.
"Strip," one of the MPs said. "We'll worry about your hair and beards tomorrow."
Bear and I removed our clothes.
The skinny MP reappeared a few minutes later and handed us a pair of green sweat pants and a gray shirt, slippers for our feet, and some toiletry items. We quickly dressed and gathered up the other items. The MPs led us out of the room, down a darker and narrower hall and through one more set of security doors. We entered one of the housing areas. They split us up, leading Bear up a set of stairs and me down a set.
It was quiet, eerily so. The air was sterile and smelled of disinfectant. The place was everything you would expect a Marine prison to be.
We stopped in front of a cell. The wall was solid except for a small hole cut in the middle of the door. I held my breath in anticipation.
"Don't move." The MP let go of my arm and unlocked the cell door. Opened it and turned to me. "Go in."
I stepped through
and heard the door close behind me. The walls of the room were painted gray and a single light fixture was fixed in the middle of the ceiling. A toilet and sink sat in the back left corner. In the middle of the room was a small table with two permanently attached chairs. A small window in the middle of the back wall allowed sunlight to flood into the room. On the other side of the room, next to the window, sat a metal bunk bed. The top bunk was empty. A man with a shaved head lay on the bottom bunk, ankles crossed, one hand behind his head, the other on his bare stomach. A colored tattoo of a phoenix covered his hairless chest. His eyes shifted from the crossbars of the top bunk to me.
"Who're you?"
"Noble."
"Never heard of you."
"That's the way I like it."
"What're you in for?"
"Murder. You?"
He shrugged.
"How'd you get to keep all that crap on your face?"
I scratched at my short beard. "It bother you?"
He swung his feet over the side of the bed, planted them on the floor and stood. He was about the same height as me with a similar build.
"Yeah, it bothers me."
"It won't for long," I said. "They're shaving me tomorrow."
"How bout I take care of it now?"
I held my ground, prepared for him to attack. Turned out, I didn't have to wait long.
He took a step and reached out with a wide right hook intended for my face.
I ducked the blow and exploded upward, driving my right fist into his jaw. A crack confirmed that I had either broken or dislocated his jaw, perhaps both.
He hit the ground like a bag of sand and his head smacked against the concrete floor with a thud.
I waited a few seconds to see if he'd regain consciousness. He didn't. I picked him up and dumped him on his mattress, positioning him the way I found him. Then I walked over to the door, stuck my face dead square in the center, which was open to the outside except for four iron bars.
"That all you got?" I yelled through the hole.
Chapter 6
The adrenaline wore off, and I dozed off, managing to sleep the rest of the afternoon. I awoke to the sound of my cellmate moaning. I opened my eyes. It took a few minutes to remember where I was and why. I looked around the cell. The reddish orange light of the setting sun filled the room. I swung my head over the side of the bunk and looked at the injured man below me.
His eyes darted to mine. He held his hand to his jaw. Guttural sounds formed in his throat as he tried to speak. His wide eyes teared over.
"Shut the hell up unless you want the other side broken too," I said.
He fell back onto his pillow, looked away and said nothing.
I continued to stare at him, driving the point home. The cell became quiet again.
A knock on the cell door broke the silence. Someone shouted something through the hole in the middle of the door, then a key clanked into the lock. The door swung open and an MP entered carrying trays of food. He stopped when he caught site of the man on the bottom bunk.
"Jesus Christ," the MP said. "What the frig happened to him?"
"He slipped," I said, "and hit his chin on the sink."
The MP put the trays on the table then clicked a radio on his upper chest fixed to his shirt. "I need medical in echo wing, first floor, cell four." He fixed his brown eyes on me. "Tell me what happened. The truth."
I sat up. "I told you already. He fell and hit his chin on the sink." I leaned over the side of the bed and looked at my cell-mate. "Ain't that right?"
He grunted then moaned.
I smiled.
"Yeah, well, we'll figure this out," the MP said.
"You do that," I said.
"Why don't you get down and stand in that corner for now." He pointed toward the toilet and sink.
I swung my legs over the side and hopped down and moved slowly to the corner of the room without taking my eyes off the MP.
He didn't take his off of me, either, keeping his palm rested on the handle of his tear gas gun.
I sat down on the stainless steel toilet and placed my hands on my knees. The MP seemed jumpy, and I didn't want to give him a reason gas me.
Two medics followed by two more MPs entered the cell a few minutes later. The medics attended to the injured man on the bottom bunk while the MPs focused their weapons on me.
"Jaw's broke," one of them said. "Bruised to hell on the left side."
The MPs looked at me.
"He fell," I said.
The short medic left the cell then returned a moment later with a wheel chair. They helped the man off the bed and into the chair and wheeled him out of the room. I found myself alone with the three MPs.
One closed the door and leaned back against it. His wide frame blocked the hole in the middle of the door. The other two approached me and boxed me into the corner. Their names were affixed to their uniforms, Bates and Sanders.
Bates spoke first. "Like to beat up on our prisoners?"
I didn't respond.
Sanders reached down and grabbed my shirt and pulled up on the collar, presumably trying to lift me to my feet.
I didn't move.
"Get up," he said.
I didn't.
"Now," he said.
I still didn't.
They both reached down and pulled me from the toilet and slammed me against the back wall. I turned my head and caught a glimpse of the final sliver of the orange sun before it set behind the expanse of trees that ringed the brig.
The MPs jammed their elbows into my chest as they leaned into me, taking turns punching me in the stomach, making sure to avoid my ribs. I kept my abdominal muscles tight as long as I could. Eventually the blows wore me down and they landed successive shots that knocked the wind out of me.
They backed off, and I slid to the floor. I clutched and dragged my nails across the concrete in an effort to get to my knees and fill my lungs with air. The edge of my vision darkened. Finally, my lungs expanded and air rushed in through my mouth. I gasped and exhaled several times.
"We'll be back for you later, Noble," one said.
The last one left the cell, and the door slammed shut. I knelt on the floor until the sick feeling in my stomach subsided. Then I pulled myself off the ground and checked the trays on the table. Chicken, green beans, bread and lukewarm coffee. I hadn't eaten in nearly a day and it had been at least that long since my last cup of coffee. It ended up being one of the best meals I'd ever had.
There wasn't much to do in the cell, and the nap combined with the attack by the MPs left me too amped up to sleep. I paced the space between the bed and the table, walking from the door to the back window. Stopped and stared out the window. A few lights flickered in the distance. Other than that it was dark and quiet and serene.
A bang at the door jarred me back to reality and I spun around with my arms held in a defensive position. The door opened, just a crack.
"Noble," a voice called.
"Yeah," I said.
The door opened further and General Keller stepped in, stopping just inside the entrance. His close cut grey hair gave way to a face that looked like it was cut from steel. There were deep lines etched into his forehead, thinner lines spread out from the corner of his blue eyes and from the sides of his mouth.
I nodded at the man and felt relief wash over me.
He smiled, looked to the ground then back up at me. "Christ, Jack, what did you get yourself into?"
"We didn't do anything."
Keller looked over his shoulder. "Leave us."
"Sir, that man physically injured his cellmate earlier. It's not safe for you-"
"Dammit, I said leave us. Do you want me to kick your ass, Corporal?"
"No, sir."
"Then get the hell outta here."
The MP disappeared from sight, and the cell door shut and remained unlocked.
I cast a glance toward the door.
"Don't think about trying to run, Jack," Keller said. "Not no
w, at least."
"OK," I said.
"And what is this mess all over your face? And your hair?" He shook his head. "I remember when you were a clean cut kid. Now you look like… like one of those bums my daughter used to bring home."
"With all due respect, General," I said, "I've seen your daughter. Do you think she'd be interested in me with my present look?"
Keller tried to look stern, but gave up and laughed. "Sit the hell down, Jack."
I sat across from him and waited for him to continue.
"I don't know where this is coming from," he said. "But I'm having a bitch of a time getting you two out of here. Did you piss anyone off over there?"
"Other than Martinez?" Jack said. "Not that I can think of."
Keller nodded. "Someone is issuing this order." He looked over his shoulder, then back at me. "I talked to someone, someone up high, who admits you had nothing to do with the murder of that family. Off the record of course."
"Of course," I said. "You think it's the CIA then?"
"It'd have to be, wouldn't it?" he said. "Who here would do this? I run the damn show and it's not me. There's no one between us."
I nodded. "Have you spoken to Abbot?"
"Yeah. Haven't been able to talk to him about it yet. But I'll keep trying. I'm not as connected as I used to be, Jack. That's what everyone says, at least." Keller stood. Reached into his pocket then threw a pack of cigarettes on the table. "You keep those, Jack. Maybe you can trade them for something."
I thanked him and rose. He stuck out his hand, palm facing me, indicating I should stay where I was.
"I'm working on getting you out of here. Stay alert, you got it?"
"Yes, sir."
* * *
The light in the cell cut off at ten p.m. The lights outside the cell dimmed and didn't provide much illumination through the square hole in the door. I climbed into my bunk and tried to get some sleep. It didn't happen. My face hurt. I tossed and turned most of the night, replaying the events of the past forty-eight hours, trying to figure out how I got from Baghdad to Camp Lejeune, from a free man on a mission, to an imprisoned soldier.
Every fifteen minutes a patrol passed the door. I'd hear them approach with deliberate steps on the walkway. They'd reach the door, stop and look in. The room would darken for five seconds, and then the patrol would back up and move to the next cell. I thought about getting up, standing at the back of the room, to see what they'd do. In the end I stayed in bed.