by Steve Richer
All he’d done was replace one dictator with another.
He had taken this assignment because for once he’d wanted to do something worthwhile, something good. These bastards had used that against him.
Out in the hallway, he came face to face with someone. He was about to step around them but it wasn’t a guard. It was Jasmine.
“What are you doing back here?”
She looked up proudly. “I stopped asking and started bribing.”
“They let you down here? On your own?”
“You wouldn’t believe how far a smile, a cleavage, and a hundred-dollar bill can get you in life.”
She swiftly looked down, remembering that the top two buttons of her blouse were undone. She self-consciously buttoned them up. Preston was looking but his mind was elsewhere.
“Did you hear any of this?” he asked, pointing to Gervasi’s cell.
“Every word.”
Of a common accord, they both headed for the stairs.
“Did you know?”
She shook her head. “No, he never told me anything.”
She was as confused as he was about the whole situation. They walked up and out of the building silently. She felt betrayed. She’d spent months with Gervasi thinking he was with the ATF and all this time he had been using her for information and as a legitimate cover.
But as was her habit, she kept her rage for herself. It was useless to show emotion in public. She would never be top management if people could read her mood.
For his part, Preston didn’t give a shit about appearances. Walking toward his Land Cruiser, he violently kicked an empty beer can.
“Goddamm it! They played me.”
Jasmine surprised herself by saying, “It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it is, I organized the whole fucking thing.”
As they both reached the vehicle, a BMW from the presidential fleet rolled by. The window went down; Embry was driving. He buzzed down his window.
“Hey Mr. McSweeney, your friend Hewitt told me I could find you here.”
“Just checking up on things.”
“I wanted to drop by and tell you the plane will be leaving at seven tonight.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mr. Embry.”
The BMW drove off. Jasmine turned to the mercenary with her face scrunched.
“That’s Embry? Burt Embry?”
“You know him?”
“I think he’s the reason you got fired from MHU.”
Preston shook his head dismissively.
“You can put this one to rest right now, I’m the reason I got fired. It tends to happen when you accidentally shoot generals.”
“No, that’s it. I don’t think you killed Fairbanks. I have proof.”
Chapter 57
The Toyota was forgotten and Jasmine led Preston to her SUV. He sat behind the wheel out of habit but she didn’t protest. She sat in the passenger seat which would give her more room for what she had to do. She pulled her briefcase onto her lap and conjured up some documents.
“This is a copy of the CID report. Have you ever heard of a .479 caliber?”
“No.”
“Well, to make a long story short, it was designed for the SAF 479 rifle and we were able to determine that General Fairbanks had one of those rounds in his body. The Swiss only made sixteen prototypes of this weapon.”
“So it’s highly improbable that Iraqi insurgents would have this rifle.”
“We tracked down all the prototypes. Embry owns a SAF 479 rifle and he was there. You took the blame for what he did.”
He slowly understood the implications of what she was saying. His jaw tightened and his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. He not only had been played by Embry but the man had framed him for murder.
Without warning, without sharing his plan with Special Agent Needham, he turned on the ignition and sped out on the parking lot.
~ ~ ~ ~
The presidential office at the palace wasn’t used by the president, not anymore. Recognizing that he was at the mercy of a foreign billionaire, President Traore conducted most of his business by the pool for the time being. Said business involved reading notes and drinking cocktails.
The office had been taken over by Brown and Embry. While the country was officially under their control, nothing was completely certain and there was much work left to be done. They were bent over the executive desk looking at maps.
The door was abruptly slammed open. Preston burst in and the two other Americans looked up at him with a mixture of shock and annoyance.
“They let you in just like that?” Brown asked.
“These kids know they’re alive because of me. Now I wanna talk about Iraq.”
“What about Iraq, Mr. McSweeney?”
Preston got closer and Brown took a step back, visibly intimidated. Embry was unfazed.
“A year ago I got fired from the only job I knew how to do. I was led to believe I was responsible for the death of an American general.”
Embry smiled and sat down on the couch.
“So, someone has finally decided to do a thorough investigation. Was that the woman you were with? I believe she works for Homeland Security, am I right?”
“Did you kill Fairbanks?”
“I don’t know if I killed him but I did shoot him in the chest, yes.”
“You son of a bitch! And all this time you made me believe I did it!”
“Your guilt was convenient, Mr. McSweeney. How can we not blame you when you’re blaming yourself?”
The older man climbed to his feet again and slowly walked toward the massive desk.
“Why?” Preston barked. “Why did you do it? Did Fairbanks sleep with your wife, or something?”
“It’s a question of politics. It was important for the American public to realize the Iraqi problem wasn’t solved yet, that private military contractors were still needed.”
As casually as he could, Embry discreetly pressed a small button mounted under the desk.
“You’re a fucking lunatic!”
“Lunatic? Lunatics are those who send thousands of American young men to die in a foreign country for business interests. In this case, only one man had to lose his life.”
Right then, Wyatt entered the office and couldn’t hide his surprise at the sight of Preston.
“What’s going on here?”
“Mr. McSweeney was just telling me how much he enjoyed participating in this adventure.”
“Bullshit! I know all about what you’re doing here. I know about Iran and the embargoes and the madman you had me put in power.”
The billionaire’s face grew dark with anger. “I would be very careful with those accusations if I were you.”
“Or what?”
Wyatt didn’t have to answer. Into the office came a pair of armed soldiers, having been summoned by Embry’s signal. They were not Preston’s mercenaries.
“We won’t be needing your services in Katoga anymore, Preston. Have a safe trip back home.”
The soldiers came forward and each grabbed one of Preston’s elbows. They led him out of the office.
~ ~ ~ ~
Preston was under arrest even though no official paperwork was filled out. The soldiers escorted him out of the palace and four more armed men joined in to make sure there wouldn’t be any escape attempts. He rode in a jeep with them all the way to his apartment where he was supervised as he packed his bags.
The idea of overtaking them occurred to him. He was certain that he could have gone for Gervasi’s confiscated HK G-36 which was hidden in the back of a closet. He was certain that his training was far superior to what these soldiers had been submitted to. He could have disarmed them, killing them if they had to.
But then what?
He was now in a hostile country. They would put a price on his head. And what could he do anyway? All Wyatt and his people were asking was that he left them alone. He was a rich man, he could afford not to care.
So he didn’t do anything. He packed up his clothes and belongings and kept his mouth shut. Once he was done, the soldiers drove him to the airport.
When he got there at sunset, he noticed other military vehicles arriving. Soldiers had also escorted Hewitt, Jasmine, and Gervasi to their homes so they could pack up.
“So you found someone with a more charitable heart to let you out of prison, uh?”
The CIA officer flipped the bird at Preston. “Maybe I found someone who hated me more.”
They all climbed into the private jet and into their seats. Two soldiers came in to guard them until the plane was ready for takeoff.
~ ~ ~ ~
With the insanely long flight and the time difference, it was still night when they landed at JFK. Ever the gentleman, Wyatt had gotten plane tickets for everyone to get back home from New York City. So now, tired and depressed, they waited in the departure lounge.
Hewitt was thirsty even though he had doubled up his drinking on the plane in anticipation of this. He couldn’t wait to get on the airliner and order a cocktail.
“How long do we have to wait for the Los Angeles flight, dear?”
“Eighty-three minutes,” Jasmine answered after glancing at her watch.
He nodded and stood up.
“I’m going to get some...” He almost blurted his secret but at the last minute said, “... water.”
There had to be a bar somewhere and he stalked away determined to find one.
Jasmine lifted the armrest between her and Hewitt’s now empty seat. She turned sideways and used the extra space to lounge back. She put her jacket on her torso as a blanket and closed her eyes.
In the row just across, Gervasi stared at her until she fell asleep. Her deep breathing was unmistakable. He turned to Preston and waved him over to the seat next to him. The mercenary complied.
“So what are you going to do now that you’re a rich man?”
“I don’t know,” Preston replied honestly. “Find a new place to live, for starters.”
“You know, now that you’re back in America you’re no longer the king of the jungle, so to speak.”
“Meaning?”
“Overthrowing a country isn’t exactly legal.”
“Are you offering a deal?”
“I’m offering a chance to make amends.”
“By going back there? By doing this shit all over again? Forget about it, I’m not doing it.”
If this was how the conversation was going to develop, Preston preferred silence. He went back across the aisle and took a seat. Jasmine stirred as he sat next to her. She stretched back and put her head on his shoulder unknowingly.
Preston was so taken aback that he didn’t move. The fragrance of her hair was inebriating. God, he’d been away from women for too long. This was having too much of an effect on him. Doing his best not to wake her, he pulled up her jacket all the way to her chin.
Chapter 58
The cardboard box industry had to be rock solid. Preston was seriously thinking about investing some of his newfound money in box companies. Three dollars for one box? It was highway robbery which, if you were an investor, was also very good news.
He’d bought a dozen boxes since he’d returned from Katoga and wasn’t even close to having enough for all his belongings. He already could see that he would need at least three times as many.
How could that be? He lived in a damn trailer! He hadn’t known he had so much stuff. In the 10 days he’d been back, he had made up his mind to move out of Tujunga Sunset Estates. He had no intention of buying a luxurious home or anything.
No, he’d get himself a little bungalow outside of town, somewhere he could enjoy nature with no one around to bother him.
He had no prospects so far, hadn’t really started looking. Still, he figured he’d get a head start and be ready for the big day. So he was making boxes.
It was torture to do this in the middle of summer. The table fan whirred on the highest setting and Preston was convinced it would give out within a couple of days. He should’ve bought a more expensive model.
Mind over matter, he told himself. He grabbed his discarded T-shirt and wiped his sweaty face, arms, and chest. If you thought about a penguin in an ice cave, well, it didn’t cool you down but it kept your mind occupied.
He glanced at the TV. He had put on a Bob Ross show. The man’s voice was soothing and he hoped his painting instructions would act in a subliminal way, that he would pick up pointers subconsciously. He dug underneath the couch and found two tennis rackets. When in the hell had he ever bought tennis equipment?
Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. He turned around, his first thought always being an attempt on his life. He didn’t feel relief when the visitor standing in the door frame wasn’t actually an assassin. It was Gervasi.
“I think I would have remembered inviting you.”
Gervasi shrugged. “I was holding my breath for the invitation but then they had to give me CPR...”
He climbed the steps and sat at the table which was laden with boxes.
“If you want to arrest me, go right ahead. There is no proof I organized the coup. All you have are witnesses who would rather not be implicated. So you’re shit out of luck.”
Preston dropped the rackets on the sofa and went to the kitchen cupboards. He’d had no intention of packing them up today but now he needed the diversion.
“I’m not here to arrest you. I just wanted to ask you again to reconsider going back.”
“I’ve already made my position clear on the subject. And why me anyway? You’re the CIA. You guys overthrow governments for breakfast. You could have this thing wrapped up in a month.”
“Actually, we usually farm out this kind of work to people like you nowadays.”
The mercenary left the cabinets and went to face his visitor.
“So you’re talking about paying me?”
“Absolutely not. You fucked up, you have to make amends.”
“I don’t do favors. If you’re not paying, get out of my house.”
He pointed at the exit in case the open door wasn’t a big enough hint.
“You know what’s sad?” Gervasi asked as he stood up. “A girl has bigger balls than you do.”
“Oh really? What girl?”
“Jasmine Needham. She wants to go back to Africa.”
That threw Preston for a loop.
“She’s going back?”
“She’s man enough to realize Katoga isn’t going to be liberated by itself. She wants to go back.”
The CIA man dropped a business card on the table and took his leave. Preston watched him go but saw nothing. All he was thinking about was that foolish woman had a death wish.
~ ~ ~ ~
Two hours later, Preston was showered, shaved, and on his way to Long Beach. Gervasi’s jab about Special Agent Needham wanting to go back to Africa when he personally didn’t struck a chord. His pride was taking a beating.
He followed directions and stopped at Jasmine’s cubicle. His appearance startled her and she immediately frowned in that special way of hers.
“Who let you up here?”
“This guy,” Preston answered, pointing to Joe in the next cubicle.
The other agent shrugged innocently.
“What? He said he was your suspect. You’ve been talking about him for weeks, I figured it was important.”
Jasmine could barely contain a reproachful glare at her colleague.
“Not anymore. He’s no longer a suspect.”
“How can I know these things?” Joe replied with exasperation as he turned back to his desk.
Preston entered the cubicle and leaned back against a filing cabinet. Documents sitting on top got skewed and Jasmine winced.
“I’m no longer a suspect?”
“No, and the Rodriguez case has gone cold.”
At that, Joe turned back to her. This was news to him.
“Does this mean you won’t be getting the promot
ion in Washington?”
“Probably. Now get back to work, Joe.”
“Okay, okay...”
He swiveled his chair around again and put on headphones.
For his part, Preston stared at Jasmine. “Is it true?”
“It was a high profile case so yes, I won’t be getting the promotion now.”
“No, I mean about Africa. Gervasi said you were going back.”
“Well, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Why would you want to go back anyway? It’s not like you can single-handedly take the country over.”
“You know what’s going on,” she said, sighing. “If things continue this way there’ll be another Cold War within a year. Iran and North Korea against the rest of the world. Gervasi says the government can’t get involved over there so who’s left?”
“And you think you can prevent it by yourself?”
“I have to try. I’m a Special Agent with Homeland Security, it’s my job. I could build a case against Embry about General Fairbanks and threaten him with it.”
“Africa’s not your jurisdiction. You’ll wind up dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“What do you suggest then, Mr. McSweeney?”
“I’m coming with you,” Preston declared, surprised by how quickly the answer came to him. “And call me Preston. I usually let women call me by my first name after they’ve slept on my shoulder.”
He saw she had no idea what he was talking about. He had no intention of giving her details. That puzzled expression on her face made her so pretty.
Chapter 59
It’s not a favor, it’s not a favor, it’s not a favor. Yeah, Preston thought. Maybe if he kept repeating that he would start to believe it.
If he was smart, he told himself, he’d be in the Caribbean somewhere. He would unplug telephones, computers, and televisions and just try to forget what was going on in the world.
That was the sensible thing to do.
As much as he wanted to walk away something kept pulling him back. He knew better than to do favors for people. He swore that wasn’t why he was going back to Africa. Instead he recalled his teenage years when he’d joined the Army.