I remember lying in bed with Shelley, staring at her while she slept, wondering if she’d ever consider me. I remember gearing myself up many several times to ask her.
I lost count how many. I hoped against hope our little unit could become a proper family, that I could settle down and do something less dangerous, hoping the kitchen stove would be the closest I’d come to a fire fight. But I never asked, never popped the question. I needed to find something safer with better income prospects before I could leave the SEALs.
I fantasized about the perfect home and making it happen rooted itself in two very distinct realities. It took patience and dedication, something both Shelley and I possessed. But it also took money. And I couldn’t leave the SEALs without my finances and work arrangements in order.
Not a damn chance.
So I never asked, but I intended to. Even though I felt terrified of Shelley saying no, and of things getting weird between us because of one little question.
I did not realize at the time, however, as a father to Rachel, she could lose me without my needing to die.
I should have popped the question and then figured out the rest afterward.
Should at least have tried.
But I didn’t, and I lost not only my relationship with Shelley, but beautiful Rachel too.
Even when we were still together I wondered if we’d last, or if I represented someone to be tossed away when no longer needed. Like a toy grown out of.
And the idiotic thing is I harbored such feelings years into our relationship. Call it insecurity or whatever psychological bullshit term applicable to my mindset, but those feelings kicked around in my psyche, just the same.
Perhaps because of the SEALs, or something attributable to my childhood, but somehow I seemed…
Dispensable.
Replaceable.
Well, perhaps she thought of me in that way. I couldn’t know for certain, and to be honest I no longer cared one way or the other, but Rachel…
She loved me.
She needed me.
And I intended to come running.
Shelley didn’t turn toward me as I took a seat opposite her in the little booth by the window. She just sat looking out at the rainy street, probably not even seeing it. Probably picturing Rachel’s face, wondering if she’d ever see it again, perhaps wondering what the hell she’d been thinking dragging me into this.
The scene felt surreal, like a painting.
Winter’s day.
As if the weather on this cold, rainy morning conspired to add a certain ambience to the scene playing out here in the diner. Like God playing a hand in the outcome of this meeting. A director, conducting the action through a heavenly lens.
I ordered a coffee, hot this time, and let her think. Figured I might as well do some thinking of my own. For a start, I inquired why she did not contact the proper authorities. Why she reached out to me instead. They possessed the resources, the technology, and the manpower. And, why the hell she did not report our little girl missing as soon as she found her missing. Explain the situation to them, what she believed occurred. Don was an important man, and the authorities would not have taken the situation lightly.
At the very least they could have been detained at the airport, held until things were cleared up. All nice and diplomatic.
But she came to me instead.
And I needed to understand why, apart from just being Rachel’s father.
Shelley turned to me, tears sliding gently down her cheeks.
“Hi Shelley,” I said, tenderly. Not taking her hand, because we weren’t close in that way anymore, but keeping one on the table near her just in case she needed it.
“My little girl’s gone…our little girl,” she said, her voice soft, almost flat, but her eyes containing a fiery glint, “My Rachel.”
“Not for long,” I replied, looking directly at her. “I have people. Fellow soldiers. And a number of them are good at finding shit out without making a fuss. And I, on the other hand, am GI Joe. So not for long.”
She shook her head, looked down at her tightly interwoven hands.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Shelley, I’m here now,” I replied, putting my coffee down and deciding to hell with it. I took her hands in mine. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll get Rachel back.”
At the sound of our daughter’s name, a fresh trickle of tears started to flow down her face, and she turned away from me, looking back out the window again. But she didn’t take her hands out of mine.
“You’re probably wondering why I called you,” she said to my surprise. “You probably assumed I did not call the cops right away.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling like an ass and kind of deserving to. “Sorry Shel, but I did. You’re right.”
She looked at me, with a fierceness in her eyes I didn’t remember having seen before. I’m pretty sure if I saw a similar look in the eyes of a loved one I would have remembered it. “Well I fucking did call them first, Tom. Out of some kind of misguided sense of procedure, of how things are supposed to go in circumstances like these…”
“Yeah, I see where you’re going,” I said quietly, finally realizing the truth.
“And guess what they said?” she continued, as if she didn’t hear me, as if the only thing she could hear was Rachel’s voice, ringing in her head.
“Her father has every right to take his daughter out,” I replied, finishing the story off for her. Of course he did, foreign national or not. And an argument, what amounted to nothing more than a domestic disturbance, didn’t mean the guy absconded with his daughter. Not in the eyes of the law.
Except, I thought, the son of a bitch did in fact abduct her.
She nodded at my remark, confirming, “And I can’t report her missing if he told me he’d leave with her. She’s not technically missing, they said. I’d have to wait, they said. He’d probably be home later, they said.”
I said nothing, just waited for her to continue.
“Well he’s not coming home later today. Or tomorrow. Or fucking whenever,” she continued eventually, flaring up as she spoke, as if the very intake of oxygen ignited the flames of anger within her, turning a smoldering coal into a roaring inferno. “She’s gone, Tom. And I can’t wait on a goddamn bureaucracy to get my little girl back. I just can’t.”
“You won’t have to,” I said quietly. “Rachel will be fine, I promise you. And it will have nothing to do with government intervention.”
She looked at me with hope and longing now in her eyes. “So you’ll help me?” she asked as if I’d ever say ‘no’ to something like this.
“Hell yes.”
She started crying again.
And I let her.
CHAPTER THREE
The man in the grey suit listened with interest. He remained unaware up until now the bitch suspected a thing. He had the micro-surveillance equipment discreetly installed.
Even if one of them stared straight at one of the devices, they wouldn’t have known of its existence. State of the art micro technology not available at your local electronics store. Even the bug monitoring their landline.
For crying out loud, it nestled outside in the phone cables in the street outside, sending all information from calls to internet use back to base.
Their cell phones were obviously a bit too difficult to get to, so he blue-jacked them, the devices themselves relaying all activity to a secure Bluetooth receiver within the house itself, which then transmitted over a secure internet channel.
Not to mention all the audio and video monitoring systems which he installed in the house itself, planted there when the family went on holiday for the weekend and without a soul noticing.
State of the art, the man in the grey suit thought to himself, and here’s this bitch calling it out.
How in hell did she get the notion into her head? One of his own team did the covert installations, and this guy wouldn’t screw it up.
Nonetheless, he m
ade a mental note to find out the name of the guy who’d set up the surveillance system, and have a few words with the fellow. Or perhaps just take care of him. Snuff him out. This he found entirely unacceptable. He’d think through matters again closer to the time.
The man in the grey suit could not abide sloppiness.
Her suspicion genuinely surprised him. He thought of her as an idiot who clearly couldn’t figure things out.
Unless she’s paranoid, he thought to himself. A conspiracy theorist, believing ‘the man’ imperiled everyone’s existence by virtue of some kind of covert surveillance. A member of the ‘Big Brother is watching’ clan, always watching.
Well, he couldn’t deny the truth. At the given moment, watching and listening formed part of his modus operandi. So perhaps the bitch wasn’t so crazy after all, just fucking clairvoyant.
He leaned back in the giant chair at his mahogany desk, wireless earpiece nestling comfortably in his ear, and listened with great interest to Shelley’s conversation. So her husband finally made a run for it.
No surprises there. He never allowed poor preparation to catch him off guard. This type of situation necessitated the development of covert monitoring equipment in the first place.
He nodded to himself. All to be expected, and everything in its place. No problem.
All except the call to GI Joe.
The intervention of Tom presented an obstacle. He didn’t think the guy would pose too much of a problem, assuming he chose to help her at all. He probably looked like any other guy, and the man in the grey suit understood very well ‘nondescript’ meant nothing. Military training though represented an obstacle of another kind.
A very deadly obstacle.
He was unsure of the exact nature of Tom’s training at this stage, but no matter. Presumably the man knew a thing or two about combat training.
Looks deceived. He, for instance, looked like an accountant. GI Joe probably stood a foot taller and bigger but that meant nothing in the end.
The man in the grey suit felt confident he could whip GI Joe in hand to hand combat. But such a situation would never arise. Other, far more effective ways existed of removing an obstacle from one’s path.
He sipped lightly on his tea while listening intently as Shelley explained the situation, imploring for help without using the words, playing on his feelings.
Manipulative bitch.
And what the hell compelled Abaid to take the eight-year old girl with him? An inept move, even for him. She’d only slow him down. Bloody stupid move, taking the girl. If the authorities took the situation seriously, things would’ve been a lot harder for him.
Dumb bastard.
But the authorities stayed true to their colors, forcing Shelley to look into other options, options outside of the control of the man in the grey suit, like using her charms on GI Joe.
The man in the grey suit shook his head slowly. This is what people resorted to, he thought.
Stupidity and manipulation. Modern society lacked innate intelligence.
No panache. Bunch of clowns.
But no, the average person on the street took more interest in the latest gadgets, sex, drugs, and any form of instant gratification than living a life of decency and respect. All in the name of Progress.
Let them all go about their sheep-like existence. It made a man with his resources all the more potent, his goal all the easier to attain. So yeah, let them walk around with their own personalized Dolce & Gabbana blindfolds on, clothing all neat and socially acceptable and matching the covers on their smart phones.
Socially…
Ah, the social networks.
Government agencies gathered Intel on the populace of the different countries of the world since the dawn of time. But now technology made their task infinitely easier. In the past they used cloak and dagger methods.
But now they resorted to espionage in the fullest sense, requiring huge amounts of manpower and technological resources. Which involved thousands of hours of work, in some cases very dangerous work, to gain greater knowledge, ever-increasing information.
But no longer. Nowadays people just gave all the information away on a silver plate. The photos, histories, likes and dislikes. And what they didn’t post online regarding what they’d eaten for dinner or some other random drivel, remained available with ease through their internet activity histories and the glory of something called GPS, which for the first time in history could tell him exactly where the hell they were.
All the time.
Yes, he mused. Things have moved on since the Cold War. They’ve moved on nicely, thank you very much
He sat up a bit straighter in his chair as the two on the phone arranged a meeting. Some coffee shop frequented by the well-heeled. The call ended, and he touched the tiny Bluetooth, caressing it almost lovingly.
Yes, he thought. So very easy.
People milled about, even at this time of the morning. His surveillance technology allowed him access to cell interception, allowing him to listen in on his target provided they were on the phone, but he’d need a wireless connection if he wanted to listen in closer.
He took a seat a few booths down from theirs and hacked into the bitch’s smart phone using a discreet Bluetooth program he’d gotten his hands on a while back, turning on her phone’s speaker as he tapped his own earpiece on. He felt fortunate.
If the bitch switched her cell phone’s Bluetooth off, he would resort to more extreme measures.
Like sitting closer to them, very much closer.
He couldn’t afford to be seen now, only to be recognized at a later date. Not until he held a gun to her head, and the idiot commando friend of hers lay dead at his feet.
He smiled. All in good time.
He ordered a pot of Earl Grey tea when the waitress arrived, admired her derriere as she walked away, then settled back to continue his recon on the bitch and GI Joe from his cozy little vantage point. They seemed worried about the girl, Rachel. And perhaps with good reason. But she represented no threat to him. As long as she stayed out of his way, she’d be fine. But if she intervened in some way, he would take the necessary steps.
He abhorred the killing of innocents, but for the greater good, some actions seemed unavoidable. Countless numbers of times in the history of the human race collateral damage remained an absolute necessity to retain freedom from oppression, or resulted in the expansion of an empire’s borders. World wars played a big role but nature itself stood head and shoulders above all as primal cause. The weak giving way to the strong demonstrated nature’s practice resulting in humanity’s evolution, in fact.
He brought his mind back to the conversation, mentally flogging himself for allowing his mind to wander at such a crucial stage.
So he listened. My God, people were a boring lot. The man in the grey suit wondered if people’s glands controlled them entirely, their brains being a very far second. Not with him. Logic ruled his life, emotions were for the weak.
When they started talking about themselves on a more personal level, the man in the grey suit listened with renewed interest. The Navy SEAL instigated it. He did it in a subtle fashion, but clearly the bastard worked an angle, even if the befuddled woman could not pick up on those first, tentative statements, those gently smoldering glances.
So, he thought to himself, they’re talking about their history together.
He laughed out loud, drawing a harsh glance from an elderly gentleman reading a newspaper in the booth beside his own. He looked the old man in the eye and smiled, but his eyes remained cold and its message:
Don’t fuck with me. I’m not what you think I am.
The reason for his mirth started when the bitch mentioned the word ‘love’, a thing the man in the grey suit found both absurd and completely illogical, except as a biological imperative, a physical and psychological manifestation for the procreation and perpetuation of the human race. Something he didn’t necessarily believe served the best interests of the plane
t.
The conversation carried on.
Complaints about their relationship and why it did not last because of the nature of his work. Navy SEAL, his tours in Iraq, Afghanistan. Covert Operations the rest of the time.
A real hero to his country.
Bastard.
The man in the grey suit shook his head. Typical woman. Everything always revolved around them, never around anyone else. He recalled a similar situation before, in his younger days when he felt perhaps a bit more idealistic than his older, slightly jaded self. Well it ended.
Quickly.
In fact, he mused, she met with her demise rather unexpectedly. He did not want her to suffer, he did not consider himself an evil man. He simply wanted her out of the way.
For good.
It would’ve been painless for her, the perfect kill.
Very neat if he did say so himself. The guy who took the fall found himself on death row, waiting for his turn in the chair, or the injection, or whatever the hell they used nowadays. And his cries of innocence and mercy fell on deaf ears.
Even now after all these years, it put a smile on his face.
He caught the old man looking at him again, and this time he held up his right hand, as if to wave, then made the gesture of a gun, pointed it at the old man’s head, and silently popped his thumb down.
Nighty-night.
His cell rang then, a delicate chiming coming through his Bluetooth earpiece, a sound inaudible to anyone else.
He glanced at the screen of his cell, rolled his eyes, and swiped a finger across the screen, answering the call.
“I’m busy,” he said calmly into the earpiece. “This better be damn good.”
“It’s your supervisor, sir,” his personal assistant replied, her voice equally calm and professional, one of the things he liked about her. “He’s asking for you. Something about the Madison case files.”
Shit. Ah well, this conversation held no more interest anyway. She remained clueless to her husband’s whereabouts, and if he attempted to make contact, well, the surveillance equipment covered every angle. Still, what if the damn SEAL found him first?
The damn SEAL knew how to make plans to solve their dilemma at all costs. It didn’t bother him overly much, yet he needed to take it into account.
Fury Page 2