Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1)

by Rafael Hines

  “Hey guys,” Brian said.

  “Heard you were back in town,” said Jimmy.

  “How you guys healing up?” John asked as they all shook hands.

  “Ah, you know. Feels better each day,” Brian said, gently moving his arm.

  “Can’t wait to get back into the shit,” Jimmy said. “Wish we could roll with you Johnny.”

  “Me too, brotha,” John said.

  “You hurt ‘em before you put ‘em down. You hear me man? You hurt ‘em. The major died in pieces and DC got burned alive. That’s no way for good men to die,” Jimmy said.

  “We’re on it,” Bunny said.

  “Alright, we’ll leave you to it. Headed over to the CP to see if there’s anything we can do. Man the comm gear or something. Anything.”

  They said their goodbyes and were turning away when Jimmy stopped and gently hit Brian with one of his crutches. They came back looking very uncomfortable.

  “Look Johnny, we just want to say how sorry we are about your family.”

  “Thanks guys, I really appreciate it.”

  “Any word on how he’s doing?”

  “Chris? No, uh, he died from his wounds. We buried him on Wednesday.”

  “Yeah we heard. Our condolences. But, what about your uncle? Is he going to make it?”

  “My what? Jimmy, what are you talking about?”

  “Ah fuck! Man, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

  “Say it.”

  “Your uncle Gonzalo man. He was shot a few days ago. We read it in today’s paper. It’s right here.”

  “Tio? He was…” John didn’t finish the sentence. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking while he gripped the newspaper. He blinked away the tears so he could read the article describing the assassination attempt and the details of the head wound. When he was done he looked up at his friends, nodded his head and then stumbled away. Jimmy and Brian called after him, but he never stopped or turned back.

  “Damn, Bunny. We just assumed he knew.”

  “He didn’t, but I did. Just couldn’t bring myself to tell him after all the shit that’s gone down and everything we still gotta do.”

  “What now?”

  “He needs to refocus.”

  “How’s he gonna do that?”

  “I’m gonna give him something to get mad at so he can keep going.”

  “What’s that?

  “Me,” Bunny said.

  Bunny trudged along following his friend’s trail until he caught up to him. He gently put his hand on John’s shoulder to hold him in place. John kept his head down. The paper was still gripped tightly in his right hand.

  “They shot my Tio in the head Bunny.”

  “I know.”

  “They say he’s in a coma.”

  “I know.”

  “Doesn’t say when or how.”

  “It happened at Calixto’s house the night we left. Sniper was in that big tree a mile out.”

  “How do you know? It doesn’t say anything about that here,” John said, finally looking up at Bunny.

  “I already knew.”

  “You knew? You knew?”

  “Yeah. I’ve known for a few days now.”

  John launched himself at Bunny, punching him over and over again in the face. Bunny kept his hands at his sides while John battered him to the ground. John knelt over him. Bunny lay there unmoving and made no attempt to avoid the blows that kept on coming until John finally ran out of gas. His rage purged, he suddenly stopped hitting the big man and collapsed down onto his friend’s chest. Bunny wrapped his arms around John and let him cry it out. There was no shame or embarrassment. They were friends and brothers.

  “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You know why, Johnny. We were heading into the shit. We still are. You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah man. I’m okay.”

  “Then you better let me up. This ain’t a “don’t ask don’t tell” Army anymore, but we’re lying here hugging it out in broad daylight.”

  “Asshole. Let’s see how bad it is.”

  John got up and helped Bunny to his feet. He had a split lip, blood was dripping from his nose, and there was a big cut above his left eye.

  “Damn, I’m sorry man. That’s gonna need a few stitches.”

  “Glad you still hit like a girl.”

  John smiled. He knew what Bunny had just done for him. How do you thank someone for being that type of friend?

  “You going to be alright?”

  “Yeah, yeah, no worries. Go call Maria.”

  John nodded and took off running. Bunny dabbed his face with a handkerchief to keep the blood out of his eyes.

  Ouch. That little man just kicked your ass dude.

  Yeah, but we love that little man don’t we?

  Yeah we sure do.

  Gladly take a beating to help him get his head right and keep him in the game.

  We promised to get him back home safe.

  We did and we will.

  Way to take one for the team, Bunny Rabbit.

  Yeah, yeah, I’m a legend in my own mind.

  Let’s find a medic.

  You know I’m scared of needles.

  Then tighten up your panties boy.

  Chapter 38

  Macho

  Khost Province, Eastern Afghanistan

  Macho hadn’t slept in the two days since his armed escorts had picked him up on the Pakistani side of the border. As expected, his clothes were taken and he’d endured an invasive search where they’d roughly examined every crack and orifice of his body. There were numerous starts and stops, car switches, and directional changes. Eventually he was locked in the back of a minivan without rear seats or windows and driven on what must have been the bumpiest roads in the world. They traveled for hours and sweltering mid-morning sun turned his confined space into an oven. The metal floor and roof were hot plates. For most of the ride he tried to keep himself balanced in a painful squat with his hands at his sides to avoid touching anything.

  He felt sick to his stomach and he knew what it meant. The CIA doctor had told him to expect it. It meant he was running out of time. It meant he was dying. He just had to stay alive and on his feet until he reached Aziz.

  After nearly cooking to death in the van they began the long uphill march. His guts were on fire, his legs were cramping, and his tongue was thick from dehydration. He dismissed the nausea, pain, and thirst by thinking of his son Chris. Willing himself up higher and higher into the mountains, he thought only of Chris. Forcing each foot forward one step at a time he thought only of Chris. He traced back every memory, every image of his baby boy from birth to death. In the end, after mentally burying his son once more, he thought only of Aziz Khan.

  Macho knew they were getting close. The mountain region they were traversing was harsh and barren, but they weren’t alone. There were sentries on the slopes above them and the attitude of his security detail had suddenly shifted from relaxed and bored to tense and alert.

  The shadows were growing long when Macho spotted a plateau farther up along the steep trail and he assumed that was the meeting place. He was looking up at it when he was suddenly yanked off the path and pulled through a hidden crevice between two massive boulders. Immersed in total darkness, he stumbled forward blindly until an unseen hand grabbed him by his wrist and another roughly shoved him from behind. Barely wide enough for a man, the passage twisted and turned taking them deep inside the mountain. Macho bumped and scraped his way along the narrow rock walls until they gradually widened and then opened up into a huge high ceilinged chamber.

  Bright lights strung along the walls illuminated the massive cave that looked like an ant farm with many smaller side chambers and numerous tunnels branching off in different directions. Standing at its mouth Macho could see that it served as a barracks for the insurgents. He estimated there were at least sixty armed men moving about and sensed that there were many more beyond his line of sight.

  His escorts marched
him to a rough wooden table in the center of the room. Although everything he was originally wearing had been confiscated and replaced with the dirty clothes and old sandals he now wore, he was thoroughly searched again and scanned for electronics. Satisfied that he posed no threat, the men stepped back, but AK-47’s remained pointed at him from three sides.

  Macho noted how well trained and disciplined his guards were. They never took their eyes off him. Not even when a curtain was thrust aside and Aziz Khan stepped out of a side room. Macho had carefully studied the CIA case file and the few pictures of the man he came half way around the world to see. From where he stood twenty feet away there was no mistaking the fearsome face. Aziz’s forehead was creased and scarred, his dark eyes were deeply set under a heavy brow, and his long hooked nose reached down towards his thick full beard.

  As always, Aziz wore simple clothes and dressed all in black. His frayed turban, torn shirt, loose dusty pants and old boots exemplified his meager lifestyle and his fanatical commitment to his cause.

  I get it. You want everyone to know you’re the bad guy and you dress the part.

  Aziz walked towards him with several men in tow. He stopped on the opposite side of the table and stared quizzically at Macho. Macho held his gaze, giving nothing away.

  “You are a boxer,” Aziz said.

  “Was. A lifetime ago.”

  “Once a fighter always a fighter. The fire may grow weaker with time, but it never truly dies. Is this not true?”

  “It is. You speak good English.”

  “And Russian. A true soldier must always know his enemy.”

  “Good policy.”

  “It seems I now have to learn Spanish,” Aziz said with a slight grin.

  “Not after tonight,” Macho replied with an easy going smile.

  Aziz snapped his fingers and two of his soldiers raced over with chairs. He gestured for Macho to sit and he did the same. The rest of his men remained standing.

  “Coffee?”

  “Why not.”

  Macho had been told to expect this ritualized greeting before any meaningful discussions took place. He was happy that Aziz adhered to Afghan custom. It gave him time. While he waited and watched the brief pouring ceremony he repeatedly ground his right front incisor against his bottom tooth until the new lead-lined cap came off. The liquid that had been stored in it gently slid down his throat and he immediately felt the heat as his body temperature begin to rise. He had to focus to keep his hand steady when he reached for the cup of thick, sweet, scalding hot coffee.

  “Good?”

  “Very.”

  “Excellent. Now tell me Mr. Valdez, how do you plan to kill me?”

  The question caught Macho off guard, but he kept his cool. “Kill you? I’m only here to negotiate.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m alone and unarmed. How could I kill you Aziz?”

  “Yes, how? That is what I have asked myself.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  “Curiosity. And my weapons of course.”

  “We have them. It was the only way to get your attention.”

  “You have it. What do you propose?”

  “Do your men understand me?”

  “No. None that are here.”

  “Then what I propose… what my family proposes is a trade.”

  “I checked. Your family is no longer involved in drugs.”

  “We’re getting back in. We see inefficiencies and weakness in the global heroin markets. My family, and me personally, have suffered a great deal from the events of the past week. We’ve suffered, but we’re strong. Our eyes are dry, our minds are clear and we see a great opportunity. An opportunity for us both.”

  “You lost a son?”

  “I did.”

  “Your only son.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you claim you are only here to discuss business?”

  “That’s the truth,” Macho said shrugging his shoulders.

  Aziz had an uncanny ability to see the hidden truths that people tried to hide, but he found the small dark skinned man in front of him hard to read. Confounded, he continued to stare, casually stroking his beard while looking for any signs of deception.

  Could it be? Could it be?

  He didn’t think so. Aziz knew that very few men in the long history of men could be ruthless enough to sacrifice their own blood for the greater good. Men who could take control of their own destiny by placing personal gain above the violent death of those they held most near and dear. He knew because he was one of those rare few.

  He reflected upon how he had betrayed his own family so many, many years before. His older brother Aman had been the leader of their tribe, but he was born a hundred years too late, looking back in time for all his answers and blind to the changing world around him. Despite being the second son Aziz always knew in his heart that he was the chosen one and it was he alone who must lead. He had the vision to take his people out of the Dark Ages and the cunning to defeat their enemies. He would rule his tribe and one day, with Allah’s blessing, the entire country.

  Aman was reckless, and with so many hunting him his reign should have been brief. He was a fearsome fighter who led from the front lines, but a man who just wouldn’t die. Aziz had tried to be patient. For years he watched and waited for his turn. Many times he had come close to shooting Aman himself. Staring at his brother’s back he reached for the pistol time and time again only to withdraw his trembling hand and sneak away in shame.

  Ultimately Aziz had known that he could never pull the trigger. When he secretly met with the Russians the Colonel had assured him that they only wanted Aman. No one else was to be harmed. In the end the Russians had betrayed him just as he had betrayed his brother.

  Aziz remembered standing high above the Korum Valley with his two young sons and his nephew Amir looking down on the clan. He remained strangely detached when he watched his mother, his wife and his daughters executed along with every person he had ever known and loved. Did he take his sons and Amir to scout in the mountains because some deep dark part of him had suspected the Colonel’s intentions? He didn’t know and it didn’t matter. In the end it was Allah’s will. His sons didn’t survive the war with the Russians and now Amir was dead. Killed for his own stupidity and failure.

  When Aziz looked inward into his heart of hearts he knew that the massacre at Korum had set him free. A cruel blessing from God. With all the hard work ahead there had been no time to mourn. He had accomplished so much since then and there was still so much more to do. He would beat the Americans. Then all of Afghanistan would lay down before him. But first he would kill this little man and his entire family for stealing his weapons.

  “Tell me what you propose,” Aziz said. He felt like a cat toying with a mouse.

  “We will give you back your weapons as a sign of good faith. You will sell us uncut heroin at twenty percent below your market rate for the next two years so we can solidify our position. After that we will pay you ten percent below market.”

  “What else?”

  “As we are giving you a sign of good faith we will need one from you in return.” Macho looked cautiously up at the lieutenants that were standing nearby.

  “Speak freely. They cannot understand your words.”

  “First, call off the assassins who hunt my nephew.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “And then we will need you to turn some of your people over to us.”

  “To be killed?”

  “Of course. We have taken losses that demand a very public display of vengeance. Give us one or two key people and a few soldiers so our enemies will see our power. Then we can start our business without any bad blood between us.”

  “Before we get to that let us go back to the twenty percent. That is too much. More coffee?”

  “Please.”

  Macho Valdez and Aziz Khan continued negotiating and making promises that neither man intended to keep.
>
  Khost, Afghanistan

  FOB Lone Wolf

  John felt awful for losing his cool with Bunny. He’d let his emotions take control and he’d used the big man as his personal punching bag. It was unacceptable behavior, especially in a war zone where clear thinking was the key to survival. More importantly, it was contrary to everything that his uncle Gonzalo had ever taught him. He promised himself that no matter what else life had in store for him never again would he lose focus by having such an infantile public meltdown. He also swore to somehow make it up to Bunny after all this was over.

  When John finally called Maria they both knew they had to keep it short. He’d prepared himself for the worst, but during their brief conversation he was faced with a whole new set of conflicting emotions. At first he was relieved and beyond happy when Maria told him that Gonzalo was in fact unharmed. That relief was quickly erased and a dull pounding began at his temples and then spread across the front of his head when he learned that his uncle Sesa was the one barely clinging to life from the assassin’s bullet.

  After the call he hit the showers, geared up and headed over to the mobile Special Operations Command center. General Marcus Palmer, Colonel Steve Masters and three A-Teams were already there for the briefing. Bunny came in a few minutes later, stitched up, swollen and bandaged.

  “Okay, listen up. Our man is in these mountains here,” said General Palmer pointing out an area on the wall map that they were all familiar with.

  “How are we tracking him, sir?” asked one of the Special Forces sergeants.

  “He’s radioactive.”

  “Sir?”

  “The man that is leading us to Aziz Khan ingested a small dose of a radioactive isotope. It gives off just enough of a signature so that we can track him by air from long range.”

  “Don’t we expect the meeting with Aziz to take place in a mountain cave? How do we track him then?” another sergeant asked.