Fury

by Llewellin Jegels

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” still calm, still relaxed. Just let it play out. She’ll come round.

  Her voice trembled. “I don’t care how you meant it, Tom,” she replied. “I’m coming with you, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me.”

  I took a slow breath. “I could leave you here.”

  Bad move. I realized it as soon as the words left my mouth.

  “So fucking leave me here, you son of a bitch,” she yelled at me. “And you know what I’ll do? I’ll report this kidnapping to the cops, the FBI, Interpol! Let’s see how smoothly your covert operation will go then?”

  Her verbal tirade arose from her sense of helplessness coupled with an obvious rage. And I would be too if my kid had disappeared in the middle of the night and some ex-military bastard told me I had to sit at home and watch TV while he went all gung-ho.

  Except I loved Rachel too.

  No, she had every right to be pissed off. And the combat experience remark I’d made wasn’t the reason I didn’t want her to come with. Truth be told, I work faster alone.

  At the moment speed mattered, and she would just slow me down. Of course, I would never say it to her face.

  No bloody way.

  Not unless I wanted to be standing on ground zero when the nuke went off. You think she felt rage now? She hadn’t even started yet.

  I continued to keep my cool, knowing the only way in hell I’d get her to understand would be if I remained calm. Something I found hard to do.

  “Shel, be reasonable,” I said in the most ingratiating tone of voice I could muster under the circumstances. “It’s safer for you this way. Safer for you and Rachel.”

  “Safer for Rachel?” She didn’t buy the whole calm vibe. “Don’t be thick, Tom. My involvement doesn’t influence your chances of getting to Don, one way or the other. But I won’t just sit around while you do what you need to do.”

  “Shel-”

  She held up a hand, “Don’t. Just… don’t. I’m coming with you, Tom. Best you get used to the idea. Besides, I have enough cash to buy an island. So unless you want to travel to Lebanon in the cargo hold of a cattle plane, you’ll get the fuck out of my way and let me pack.”

  She had a point.

  Damn.

  Ah hell, I thought, at least we’d get there in style.

  Shelley had her own ideas about packing, which involved going to the mall. I didn’t bother to ask her why she needed to buy new clothes and other assorted items for our impending trip to Lebanon.

  I already expected one of two things, or maybe both.

  Either she didn’t want to be seen any longer in a house that had surveillance equipment trained on it, with the possibility of the monitoring being done by her husband’s own people being the nail in that particular coffin. Or she simply didn’t want to be in a place where only the previous night she’d kissed her little girl good night.

  I understood both of those reasons, and even though we needed speed right now above all, I’d agreed to a brief trip to the mall, her getting whatever she needed for the trip, and me arranging to meet with a friend once we’d touched down in Beirut. Someone who could arrange certain hardware for me. Someone discreet.

  “I’ve already made contact,” Mel said over the phone. “I’ll give you his number along with your documents when we meet.”

  Mel would pick us up at the mall entrance in an hour, provide perfect fake IDs and passports for the both of us, along with documents containing information he deemed useful, and drive us to the airport in his vehicle.

  Since 9/11, we had to assume any place even associated with an airport would be monitored to some degree. So no meeting at the restaurant at the airport and handing over fake IDs and passports. Simplicity itself dictated our need for fake documents. If they monitored Shelley, as we suspected, they’d be looking at passenger manifests. Another reason for us not to fly commercial.

  Shelley had already hired the jet which would take us to Lebanon, under the names Mel had given us on the drive to the mall.

  Even as we spoke I presumed the technical crew busied themselves with prepping and fuelling arrangements.

  “Thanks man,” I replied, watching while Shelley threw clothing into a bag almost at random. She understood time played a big role and took it to heart.

  “Sure thing,” he replied.

  A pause.

  It stretched out just a little too long.

  “So let me get this straight,” Mel replied. “You’re not taking a war buddy and ex SEAL on this extraction which may involve the use of lethal force, but a housewife sounds like a good call to you. Did I get it right, because, Tom, I cannot see the logic here?”

  I felt disinclined to have the same conversation with Mel.

  “Her anger knew no bounds, Mel,” I said. “You have some idea of her temperament, man. I did my best but she’s as hard as nails when she wants to be.”

  “Jesus, Tom, I’m standing right here,” Shelley chirped in.

  “Consider it a compliment.”

  She raised her left eyebrow. “Sure.”

  I lifted my hands in resignation. “I’m sorry, Mel,” I said. “This is how things need to play out.”

  “I understand,” he said, letting out a gruff sigh. He meant it. “I get it, Tom. It’s her little girl, and she wants in. I’d feel the same way.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you would.”

  “I understand your preference to work alone,” he continued. “But another gun would not be a bad idea,”

  “Yes, I do,” I replied. “Should I screw up, I shoulder the entire blame.”

  He kept his gaze on me. “For covert ops, we’ll rely on you Tom, okay?”

  “Yeah…” Sensing something coming.

  “But you’ll be in another country pretty soon,” he continued, undeterred. “With no backup, Tom. And I don’t like it.”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps, Mel…”

  He looked at me through narrowed eyes. “But what if this mission you’re on suddenly becomes… not covert?”

  “I’ll deal with it if and when the time comes.”

  “Whatever happens,” he said, by the sound of his voice finally giving in. “I’m a phone call away.”

  I let out a small sigh. “Thank you.”

  “Okay, I’m done,” Shelley said. “Let’s get moving.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Who told you about my birthday?” Shelley gushed as Mel handed her the documents after we’d gotten into the car.

  “Your husband here,” he replied with a grin. “Mister and Missus Sullivan, good to make your acquaintance. Aren’t you two the picture of marital bliss?”

  “Ha-ha,” Shelley said. “You always were a wit.”

  “I try,” he said with not nearly as much modesty as the statement would usually require.

  “Thanks, Mel,” I said, glancing at my new ID and passport. “Very nice job.”

  “Always a pleasure to aid and abet,” he replied with a grin.

  “Will they be, you know…” Shelley asked, a bit concerned about airport security, I suspected. Suddenly worried we’d both end up in an airport security room, being interrogated by some tin pot tyrant with an inferiority complex and the will to use it.

  “I’ve got the best team in the business at my disposal, Shel,” Mel replied, mock hurt all over his bearded face. “This isn’t some back street job. Give a man some credit, huh?”

  “I’m sorry.” she replied. “I just don’t know. Just paranoia, I guess.”

  “One can expect that, given the circumstances,” Mel replied. “Hell, I’d be concerned if you weren’t paranoid.”

  “This documentation would get you into the Pentagon, Shel,” I said, genuinely impressed, despite myself. “There’s a reason why I called Mel in on this.”

  She nodded, and although I could see she understood, and believed what Mel and I said, she seemed to have finally woken up to the fact we were doing something illegal. It scared her
. Her chest tightened, and she forced herself to breathe slowly as if the documents in her hands finally made everything tangible. At least the first steps. And now she could no longer look back to find comfort in the known.

  About time, I thought. The mission at hand represented no walk in the park, and as much as I’d tried to emphasize it back at my apartment, in the end a few documents in her hands achieved what my words and charm could not.

  Ah well, I thought. Better late than never.

  “You still sure you want in on this, Shelley?” I asked, hoping against hope she’d finally see the light and allow me the freedom to ride solo.

  She looked at me in disbelief. Her face turned crimson, which heralded the coming riposte. “Not a chance I’m backing out of this, Tom,” she screamed, her voice shrill, piercing the air like a siren. “Don’t fuck with me.”

  I interrupted her, palm turned toward her before she went nuclear and took me and Mel out with her. “Okay, stand down, soldier.”

  “My God,” Mel piped up from the front seat. “The two of you have been around each other for such a short time and already you’re arguing. It took my wife and me years to get to the point you’re at now.”

  I laughed, “What can I say, Mel? We love over-achieving.”

  Shelley laughed, and the tension in the car evaporated like mist in the wind. Mel put on some music and with the strains of some pop song blasting us from the speakers, we pulled away from the curb.

  The terminal seemed quieter than I would’ve expected for an airport this size, even on a week day.

  Mel parked our vehicle as close to the entrance as possible to avoid the rain, but it didn’t help much, despite the awning above. He turned around. “Looks like it’s time to go.”

  “What’s up, Mel?” Shelley asked. “Everything okay?”

  “He hates flying,” I answered, giving Mel a pat on the back.

  “No, I hate airports. There’s a difference. I’m fine with flying.”

  “Ah, yes, right,” I replied. “That makes even more sense. Sorry.”

  “Smart ass.”

  “You’re afraid of airports?” Shelley asked him, amusement painted all over her pretty face. “Seriously? Airports?”

  “Some people hate hospitals,” Mel replied, trying his best to shrug it off. But Shelley would not let go.

  “Yes,” she agreed, nodding. “But people die in hospitals. It’s rational. But airports?”

  “Planes crash all the time,” Mel said, looking defensive against the Shelley Onslaught.

  “Planes do indeed crash all the time,” Shelley mused, then. “Yes. But I’m not sure I can remember the last time an airport crashed. Just thinking out loud here.”

  I laughed, and Mel just looked at me.

  “Sorry Mel,” I said. “But she’s got a point.”

  “Let’s just say I don’t like the amount of surveillance going on in this place,” he said. “It’s like Big Brother times a thousand. Makes me uneasy.”

  “I can relate,” Shelley replied, no doubt thinking about her own home, and the phantom monitoring going on there.

  But that seemed unfair.

  Shelley prided herself on rationality. Even now, with her little girl out there in the world, she kept a cool head. I started thinking it best to take it as a given that someone set up a monitoring device in or near her home. For sure.

  The next question. Who?

  And, of course, the ever present “why”?

  Clearly, a conversation for the trip. It would serve me well to listen to her opinion on the topic, and to listen well. Perhaps a little piece of Intel could pop up out of the blue.

  “You too are a jolly bunch,” I remarked, moving us toward the private lounge, reserved for chartered or personal jets. “Shel, could you check on the status of our plane?”

  “Yeah,” she pulled out her phone, and I realized with a sudden jolt it looked like the same phone she’d used to call me the first time, and had no doubt been using it since.

  I casually took it out of her hand, slipped off the back cover and removed the battery and sim-card before pocketing it and handing her my burner phone.

  “You should’ve discarded the thing,” I said softly. “If you thought you were under surveillance.”

  “Great,” Mel piped up. “Awesome. Exactly what I need right now. Thanks.”

  “What?” Shelley and I asked together.

  “More paranoia is what.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mel,” I replied. “She switched off her GPS and Wi-Fi. I’m sure we’re in the clear. Nothing to worry about.”

  “They could have still tracked her through cell towers, Tom,” he replied, shaking his head slowly. “Triangulated. Or listened in. You know better than most exactly what the high and mighty are capable of.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But I don’t think we’re dealing with anyone with that kind of clearance, Mel.”

  “Why not?”

  “If they did, they would’ve already brought us in. Not strolling around a high security airport terminal.”

  “Bit of a leap of faith there, Tom,” he said. “You sure, man?”

  “We need to keep moving, Mel,” I replied. “Rachel needs us. No time to waste. And yeah, Mel. I’m sure we’re fine.”

  “Well, what a relief,” Shelly said. “You’re sure we’re fine.”

  “It could be worse,” I said.

  “Yeah,” she replied, flipping my phone open.

  “Like you said, we could be detained by now.”

  “Yup.”

  We entered the well-decorated, tastefully lit private lounge and took a seat around a coffee table, Shelley speaking briskly into the phone. All business. I then realized Mel was still around.

  “Mel?” I asked innocently after the waitress took our order of three coffees.

  “Yeah?” he replied, just as innocently. “What’s up?”

  “Not to be rude,” I said with a smile, “but what are you still doing here?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, looking genuinely offended. I didn’t buy it. I knew the bastard too well.

  “You hate airports. I mean, really hate them. And yet here you are, having a cup of coffee and kicking back.”

  He looked away, “Just wanted to see you guys safely on your way. Is that so bad?”

  “No, not at all. It’s very sweet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s also bullshit.”

  “Can’t a guy see his buddy off anymore? Come on, Tom.”

  “Uh huh,” I said, nodding. “Show me the documents.”

  “Which documents?” he looked at me with a look of fake confusion. “I already gave you the documents, Tom. You going senile on me?”

  “Nice try. So, show me the documents.”

  Shelley hung up. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before we need to board. Pre-flight checks and so on.”

  “Ok,” I replied. “Good. Now, Mel-”

  “Alright fine,” he grumbled, throwing his ID and passport on the table.

  “Why do you have your passport with you?” Shelley asked, genuinely surprised.

  “He thought he’d try a last second plea to come along,” I answered for him. “Right, Mel?”

  Mel sighed, and set back, “Yup. You got me.”

  “Hamish McTavish,” Shelley said, looking at his ID and almost exploding with laughter. “Hamish for real?”

  “I thought it had a ring to it,” Mel replied with a sheepish and highly endearing grin.

  I laughed, and the tension seemed to ease out of them, for the time being anyway. But I couldn’t shake my uneasiness.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “What?” I said, hoping my face gave away nothing of the fear which gripped me the instant Mel’s cell phone went off.

  Mel held up his hand, listening intently to the conversation on the other end of the line, nodding slightly and given no outward sign of distress either. All good. And as a fellow SEAL, I recognized the signs, the ‘tells’
some people call them. Something seemed wrong and Mel tried his best not to freak Shelley out. He’d probably figured already he wouldn’t be fooling me.

  “Okay,” he said into his phone at last. “Good work, man. Nice timing even if the news isn’t.”

  He ended the call and took a sip of his coffee, looking at neither of us. Perhaps he wanted to stretch out the moment, or keep the both of us in suspense. I think he just didn’t know how to break the news. Or maybe he didn’t want to.

  “What?” Shelley asked this time. “Mel, what is it?”

  “We have a problem,” he said, looking off into the distance. The look of bewilderment on his face unsettled me.

  Shelley kept going. “What sort of problem?”

  “It’s about the earlier flight, Shel,” he replied. “The one your husband and Rachel boarded.”

  “What happened?” she asked, hysteria boiling just below the surface. “Mel, what the hell happened?”

  I kept quiet, just doing my best not to think about the burning wreckage, dismembered body parts on the side of some God forsaken cliff.

  “My people hacked into the airport surveillance system,” Mel said, looking up now. “I’d given them the orders hours ago, but their robust security systems thwarted our best attempts until just now when they managed to access the data. And analyze it.”

  “So?” Shelley’s breaking point loomed large on the horizon now, I had to do something.

  “Take it easy, Shel,” I said, my voice low. “He’s about to tell us.”

  “Fuck you, Tom.” Nice try.

  “Guys, I don’t how to tell you this,” Mel continued. “No passengers boarded the flight.”

  A vein bulged in my neck. “What?”

  “How the hell is it possible, Mel?” Shelley yelled, drawing some unwanted attention from the staff of the passenger lounge in the process. “You told us their flight left for Beirut.”

  “Yes,” Mel replied, keeping calm in spite of the onslaught. “But the security footage my team reviewed showed no passengers boarding the plane, something we couldn’t have known unless we’d gotten some eyes on this place. It took longer than it should because of the security in this place, but we got there in the end. And at least we have the Intel.”