Recruited

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  Rogers and Dailey clambered up the stairs while Rayna and her team scrambled down. Rayna took a quick look at the dead insurgent who fired at her—he couldn’t have been more than fifteen. The one that shot at Rogers was probably twice his age. Pained moaning echoed from one of the second floor rooms down the hall, the only room with a closed door. The coalition team cleared the other empty rooms with open doors in seconds.

  Stepping to the side of the closed door so that he would not be hit in case of an ambush, Rogers opened the door and pushed it open.

  No one fired, but the moaning intensified.

  Rogers crouched down and heard a dreaded sound—the pressing of numbers on a cell phone.

  Rogers kicked the door in. He stormed inside, and was greeted by a hail of bullets coming from a young girl wearing a suicide vest. In one hand, she held the cell phone. In the other, she leveled a smoking gun.

  Rogers stumbled before toppling at her feet. “You don’t want to do this,” gurgled Rogers.

  “Yes, I do, American pig!” She fired again at Rogers’ head as he tried to claw at her.

  Rogers stared the girl down. There was a hole in his right cheek and his nose was blasted off—he was a literal bloody mess. She pressed the final button on her cell phone.

  “No!” yelled Rogers. Summoning some final strength from who knew where, he leapt up and tackled the girl. His momentum carried both of them out the window just as the explosion rocked the building. Had Rogers not sacrificed himself, the whole second floor would have blown up. Instead, it was only the one room.

  Rayna was numbed by the sight of all the dead hostages.

  “We gotta go,” yelled Barrows, pulling Rayna out of the room. They turned and raced down the stairs, dashing outside just before another explosion brought the building down.

  * * *

  The coalition forces spent a bleak hour trying to find any pieces of Rogers’ body. Tromping among the debris, Rayna caught sight of a glint on the ground. She leaned over and picked up a heart-shaped locket. She opened it and broke into tears. Inside was a simple picture of Jon, his wife and two sons.

  None of the team chastised her for being soft. They had a hard time controlling their feelings as well. For the SEALs, Rogers had been their team leader on several hundred missions.

  Back at the base, with three weeks left until the end of the term of her contract, Rayna asked if she might leave early to attend the funeral of the man who had saved her life.

  Not even the most callous of bureaucrats could deny her that request.

  Chapter 2

  San Francisco

  Rayna was given permission to accompany Jon’s remains to San Francisco on an American C-17. Once stateside, she was joined by Jon’s wife, Nancy, as well as his seven-year-old son, Jacob and three-year-old Conrad. Jon’s parents flew over immediately, just to join Jon on his journey back home. Nancy recognized the locket when Rayna handed it to her. Neither woman could stop her tears from flowing.

  The family had decided there would not be an extended time of grieving. They would go directly from the plane to the church to hold the service, taking a short hour break for all to freshen up and change.

  Jon was to have a hybrid memorial, including military and family. The military would preside at the graveside and the church would provide the family service.

  The Palo Alto Presbyterian Church was the spiritual home of six generations of the Rogers family. The august stone structure close to Stanford University had been part of almost a hundred weddings, three hundred baptisms and five hundred funerals for the Rogers dynasty. Thirty-one years ago, Reverend Jamieson conducted Jon’s infant baptism. Eight years ago, he presided at Jon and Nancy’s wedding. More recent celebrations included the baptisms of their two boys.

  It was a rare blustery day in Silicon Valley, but there were still a hundred and seventy mourners who braved the elements for this final goodbye at the park-like cemetery.

  At the graveside, Rayna was an honorary pallbearer who carried Jon’s coffin. There was the folding and presentation of the American flag to the Rogers family.

  Reverend Jamieson intoned, “For as much as it has pleased our Heavenly Father in His wise providence to take unto Himself our beloved Jonathan, we therefore commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, looking for the blessed hope and the glorious appearing of the great God in our Savior Jesus Christ.”

  A bugler played Taps before the Honor Guard raised their rifles high to fire three volleys in the air.

  Rayna stepped over to Jon’s grieving parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, thank you for allowing me to be part of this service.”

  Diana, Jon’s mother, spoke up first. “Thank you. How is it you came to know Jon?”

  “I met him when he trained me in jungle combat three years ago in the Philippines. Then we connected at CANUS-ETF. Jon and I were co-leaders on his last mission, he for the SEALs and me for JTF2. I’m Rayna Tan. He was… a really good man. Saved many lives at the end, without hesitation.”

  “Thank you, Rayna.”

  This was the girl whose name Jon texted to me just before the mission. Barry Rogers, Jon’s dad sniffed. “We should be better hosts to our guests, Diana. Can you join us for a cup of tea… or glass of wine after the reception? I’d love to find out more about… the end.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, after a reception at the University Club, Rayna followed the car she wished she were in any time she was on the road in Iraq—a $1,400,000 Armored Mercedes S600 Guard. Not only was the vehicle bulletproof, but its own internal air system guaranteed fresh oxygen in the event of a gas attack.

  Her curiosity about Jon’s family only intensified as the limo led them into an area where every home seemed to be situated on five acres or more. Finally arriving forty-five minutes later, they entered a gate into the estate of one particularly large house. The one belonging to the Rogers.

  Rayna noted that the Rogers’ mania for protection extended to their home as well. There were security cameras covering every inch of the grounds, plus bulletproof glass on the windows and iris and retina readers by the front door.

  Barry walked over and opened the car door of Rayna’s rental Hyundai. “I guess you noticed that we are careful about security.”

  Rayna got out and Barry closed the door after her. They trudged to the front door.

  “It means you’re either very important or very nasty.”

  “Well, I don’t have many friends if that’s what you’re implying.”

  Rayna’s mind boggled as she entered the home’s foyer.

  Rayna took a quick look around. A hand-blown Italian glass chandelier hung from the thirty-foot ceilings. A full size concert grand piano graced the custom designed hardwood floors made from six kinds of oak, maple and mahogany.

  “Is that a…”

  “Yes, that’s a Picasso. One of my clients gave it to me.”

  Barry’s perfect teeth gleamed at Rayna’s unvoiced question. “Yes, it was from Hitler’s collection.”

  “But don’t worry, Rayna. We’re not criminals or anything like that,” said Diana with a smile. “Although some of Barry’s clients say he robs them.” Diana stifled a tear. “Excuse me, Rayna. I’m hoping you can answer one question.”

  “I…”

  “I know you can’t give details but as a mother, I have to ask… Did Jon suffer? Did they torture him? Was it a long time?”

  Rayna blinked, then faced Jon’s mom directly. “No, Mrs. Rogers. It was very fast. One shot and it was over. He never saw the end coming.”

  “Thank you,” sighed Diana. “I couldn’t bear the thought that he might have suffered.”

  Barry’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number and picked it up. “Hey, Jack. Give me a moment.” He turned to Diana and Rayna. “Excuse me for two minutes. I’ve got to take this call.”

  Diana and Rayna walked down the hall in silence. She opened the door to the
den. “Excuse me, Rayna. I need a moment alone. Barry will be here in a moment.” She turned and walked out.

  In addition to a meticulously clean desk with an oversized computer monitor, there were two large glass cases, each with its own large air and heating system. She gasped as she recognized the precious artifacts. In one of them was a Gutenberg Bible in near flawless condition. In the other, a large piece of ancient parchment—one of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

  Rayna’s eyes fixed on the Bible.

  “This one was printed in 1455. There are fewer than fifty of these still around. Are you a book lover or biblical scholar?” said Barry, walking into the room.

  “Neither. Dad’s the pastor in my family and he loves to teach us unwilling victims everything he knows.”

  “He’d probably like this too, then,” said Barry, shifting focus to the scroll. “This is one of the Psalms scrolls. It’s about nine inches tall and a yard long.”

  Rayna tried to be the polite guest but her curiosity—and worry about who was in front of her was killing her. “Mr. Rogers… did you steal these?”

  Barry, amused by Rayna’s discomfort, replied. “You’re very direct. Have a seat and let’s have a drink. What’s your pleasure?”

  “Eighteen-year-old scotch.”

  “Tell you what. Let’s make it fifty.”

  Barry reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle and two glasses. As Barry poured a finger for each of them, Rayna recognized the label as one that cost more than half a dozen of her rental cars.

  Rayna took a sip out of the amber-colored liquid delight. It was a treat she never thought that she would experience—especially on a military salary.

  “How did you come to North America, Rayna? If I’m not mistaken, you were born in Guangdong. Right? And if I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of a Yankee accent as well Canadian. Eh?”

  “You can tell?”

  “I can. Your English is good, but a bit studied.”

  This guy is good. “Which is true. I was born in China and adopted at birth. My mom was from Hong Kong and my dad from Beijing. The first couple of years, we lived in Asia so I spoke English, Cantonese and Mandarin at home. And yes, so I learned English from non-native speakers. Dad was a businessman and his family sent him to Seattle so when I was seven, we all moved to Seattle. Dumb luck. He invested in Starbucks, Microsoft and Amazon. Within five years, he retired and did what he always wanted to do.”

  “Which was?”

  “Become a pastor. He went to seminary and then got a job in Vancouver. So that in a nutshell is how I got dual US/Canadian citizenship.”

  Rayna scrunched her face in curiosity. “How could you tell that about me? Everyone thinks I’m Canadian through and through.”

  Barry chuckled. “It’s my job to be able to figure out people fast. Did you always want to go into Special Forces?”

  “Hardly. My mom was a black belt in judo, Tae Kwan Do and Wushu martial arts. While he could afford it, I didn’t want to rely on Dad for university tuition so the only way I could go without being totally in debt was to join the Canadian Army after I graduated. Toward the end of my term, my CO suggested I apply for Special Ops since, thanks to my mom, I could kick the ass out of everybody on the base. It was more of a challenge than a desire to join. But once you’re in… ”

  “Well, we appreciate you making the time to come. When do you go back?”

  “I’m not. My term is just about over and, with accrued leave, I don’t need to return. Told them that before I left.” Rayna shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the people, I love the team but I can’t stand the bureaucracy and I hate that the government ties your hands so you can’t get any real work done. I mean, you got some terrorist kid sitting in front of you and you know that all you have to do to get the answer is to squeeze him hard, but because of bullshit rules, we gotta ask the government if we even want to slap his hand. No, it’s time to move on.”

  “JTF2’s loss is someone else’s gain.”

  “I wish it were that easy to decide… there’s this private group of soldiers that will let you do anything to get the job done… “

  “First Militia Enterprises. The private army made up of a lot of disgruntled soldiers who think like you.”

  “You know about them?”

  I helped put it together. Barry glanced away and finished his glass. “Not really. Just what you see in the papers. A bunch of wackos who want to shoot up the world.”

  Rayna laughed. “Oh, that’s harsh but maybe you’re right… The other thing… I’ve been going with this guy for a few years and on my last leave, he laid it out straight. It was him or the Army. I chose the Army, but after seeing Jon’s wife Nancy and his kids, well… You and Mrs. Rogers… Look, I’m twenty-six and I don’t have that many years left.”

  Barry burst into laughter. “Sorry, Rayna but with technology today, you’ve got another fifteen or twenty years to become a baby maker. The other thing? If you’re still thinking about this boy, just make sure you’re not wondering in ten years whether you made the right decision or not.”

  Rayna laughed joylessly. “I don’t know, Mr. Rogers. Hey, if it doesn’t work out, maybe I can work for you. Looks like it pays a lot better than the military.”

  “Money’s not everything.”

  “Easy for you to say. The closest I got to having any is my mock portfolio.”

  “Never heard of anything like that.”

  “Some play poker, some hang at the bar. Me, I play ‘pretend.’ I pretended I had twenty thousand dollars when I first joined. Found out in the Philippines Jon was the same. We traded notes on stocks and trades whenever we had a chance, which wasn’t that often but was always a lot of fun. I’ve tripled my money in seven years. Too bad it wasn’t real.”

  Barry gave a little grin. “A junior Warren Buffet?”

  “No, he’s too safe. Safe, nice and boring. I’m more like Donald Trump or Bill Gates when they were young. Go big or go home.”

  “I like that.” Barry leaned in as she stood up. “If you are ever in any kind of trouble, and I mean any kind, call me.” He handed Rayna a piece of paper with a handwritten phone number on it. “Please memorize and then destroy.”

  Rayna shook Barry’s hand. For the tiniest of moments, she saw something that she had not seen before. Not the soft look of a successful businessman, but what she had seen of the faces of certain men in the field—both friend and foe. The eyes of a person who would do anything to get what he/she wanted. The eyes of a killer. It was gone in less than half a second and Rayna wondered whether she actually saw it.

  “Can I give you a little advice?”

  “As long as you don’t quote the Bible. My dad does that enough.”

  “I shall pass this way but once; any good that I can do or any kindness I can show to any human being…”

  Rayna joined him for the last line. “Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”

  Barry stood with Rayna at her car.

  “Thanks, Mr. Rogers. My genuine condolences… Jon was a good man. I can see where that came from.” She nods slightly.

  “Thank you, Rayna. And for not telling Diana the truth about Jon’s death.”

  “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The person I was on the phone with when you came in? That was Jack Humphries, the Minister of Defense for Canada. I got him to pull a favor for me and do a little digging. I know what really happened.”

  “Oh.”

  Rayna slipped into her car and Barry clicked the remote for the gate to open. After she drove off, he made a call. “Julio, find out what you can about Rayna Tan from JTF2.”

  Chapter 3

  NEW YORK - Three Years Ago

  When Rayna got the email information on JTF2, her inclination was to delete it. However, the job prospects for someone who had a three-year-old degree in philosophy and psychology were dismal. So on a lark, she applied.

  To her amazement
, she was accepted and for the last seven months, she had been training at the Dwyer Hill Base in Ottawa, preparing to battle elusive, sophisticated and determined enemies on many levels. In other words, she was good to go wherever and whenever the Canadian government wanted her to go for the next four years.

  It was her last few days of freedom and Rayna was getting ready to be deployed to Afghanistan. Knowing that night life for her was going to be non-existent in less than a week, she and Marnie Westland, the only other female Special Ops trainee, decided to go to New York for a final “girls adventure weekend” before Marnie deployed to Somalia and Rayna to Afghanistan.

  No point in shopping—no clubs where they were going, but a couple of Broadway shows and plenty of drinks were definitely on the agenda.

  First on the ticket was Les Miserables. They both fell in love with George Stephenson, the actor who played Jean Valjean, the peasant hero who was jailed for nineteen years for stealing a loaf of bread to feed a starving nephew. Like schoolgirls and not the trained killers they were, they oohed and aahed as Valjean tried to redeem himself as he battled the injustices of the suffering of the French poor after the defeat of Napoleon. Once the musical was over, they tried to sweet-talk a security guard into letting them go backstage to get the actor’s autograph.

  “Please. We’re going on a mission after the weekend and we just want to say hello.”

  “A mission?” The skeptical guard gave the girls the once over. “To where?”

  “Um… we’re not allowed to say.”

  “So who do you work for then?”

  “Uh, that’s classified.”

  The guard rolled his eyes. “Right. So you two sweet sexy ladies are going overseas, but you won’t tell me where and you won’t tell me what force or operation you’re with.”

  Even Rayna and Marnie realized how bogus that sounded, but the truth was they really couldn’t reveal their mission.