Operation Zulu

by Ernest Dempsey

  “Good idea,” Phoenix agreed.

  They turned and waded through the snow, back down the hillside toward the valley.

  11

  “Sir?” A cute young brunette woman stood in Madic’s doorway. She was holding a black folder. “I think you need to have a look at this.”

  Madic was staring at his computer screen. The video he was watching showed a cat playing the banjo. He’d watched the video at least a dozen times, trying to figure out how the animal was able to pluck the strings in such a way.

  The second he realized someone was standing in the doorway, he awkwardly closed the window and stopped the video, as if he could get in trouble for goofing off at work.

  “Yes, Emily, please, come in.” He motioned to a seat across from him.

  She gave a single nod and then stepped into the room, walked over to his desk, and slid the black folder across the surface until it stopped in front of his chest. Then she slid into the seat and folded one leg over the other. He didn’t try to hide the quick glance he took at her smooth, slender legs.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said, catching him in the middle of his unsubtle peep.

  He didn’t even apologize. He simply turned his gaze to the folder and opened it, ignoring his guest for a moment as he looked over the photos in the file.

  “What am I seeing here?” he asked.

  “Those are aerial photos, sir.” Her voice was monotone, dry. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes, clearly they’re aerial photos, Agent Harper. But of what?”

  She crossed her arms. “Afghanistan, sir. The mountains where you sent Beta Force earlier today.”

  “And?”

  “We’ve lost contact, sir.”

  “Lost contact?” He didn’t sound disappointed, or even surprised, though he did his best not to sound like it didn’t matter.

  “Yes, sir. If you look at the sixth photo in the file, you’ll see there was some kind of explosion. One second, the truck was there, the next it’s gone. We fear the warheads on board somehow detonated. We’re about to send out a search team from Bagram as soon as you give the word.”

  “No,” he said, a little quicker than he meant to. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  “Sir, those two men could still be out there.”

  “Not if they were on board that truck when it blew,” he said with a thin measure of relief. “No one would have survived that explosion. It’s unfortunate, but it’s also part of what we do here. Every agent that goes into the field knows that they might not be coming back. We will disavow all knowledge of the situation. Standard protocol. Stick to the book on this one. And make sure, as always, that the media knows nothing, or is thrown off the scent.”

  She’d done so much of that already that she didn’t need to be told what to do in regards to sweeping information under the rug. Half of what the GIC did was covering things up that were better off unseen by the public.

  “So, you’re just going to leave them out there? No search and rescue?”

  “Emily,” he stood up and walked around the desk to the bookshelf behind her. He pulled on one of the volumes of a book he’d read by a Canadian author. It was called The Game, by Terry Schott. It was a story about how everyone lived in a virtual simulation or virtual reality. He’d enjoyed the tale so much that he bought a physical copy to keep with all his other favorites. That book, however, was connected to a lever. A secret panel opened next to the bookshelf, revealing a hidden bar stocked with bourbon, rum, tequila, and gin. He picked up a tumbler, removed the lid from a decanter of whiskey, and poured some of the amber liquid into it. “You need to relax.” He stepped to the door and eased it shut before moving back to the front of the desk. He spun around in front of her and offered the drink, extending his hand, so the glass was right in front of her face.

  “No, thank you, sir,” she whispered.

  He shrugged and took a sip, then leaned back against his desk, putting his butt right on the edge. He looked down at her long legs again, this time staring for much longer than a second. He swallowed the bourbon and let the warm liquid coat his throat before letting out a satisfied, “ah.”

  “You’re a beautiful young woman,” he said, eyeing her up and down. “I believe you could go far with this agency, Emily. We just have to make sure you have the right…tutelage.”

  She arched one eyebrow, appearing interested in what he had to offer. “Oh, really?” she said in a seductive voice. “Just what would I…have to do to get that kind of tutelage?”

  His lips creased slightly. The corners of his mouth stretched his cheeks. “Well, I’m sure we can think of something. You’re a smart girl.”

  He felt a tingling sensation course through his body at the thought.

  As she stood up from the chair, she slowly and elegantly uncrossed her legs and planted both feet on the ground, and then took a gradual, sexy step toward him. “Yes, I’m sure I could.”

  She stopped close to him and her perfume filled his nostrils, intoxicating him to a point that he thought he might burst. She put one hand on his right shoulder and pulled close. His anticipation was at breaking point. He was glad he’d closed the door before coming back to the desk.

  Suddenly, she pulled his shoulder toward her and lifted her left leg. Her knee connected with his groin, plowing deep into the soft spot between his legs. He doubled over, spilling his drink all over the rug and partially onto the hardwood floor. The glass landed on the rug with a thud and a clink, but it didn’t break.

  Pain shot up from his midsection. His eyes blurred and he dropped to his knees, red-faced, holding onto her skirt with one hand.

  She swatted the hand away and grabbed him by the back of the head, twisting it to make him look into her eyes.

  “Listen to me, old man, because I’m only going to say this once. The next time you make a pass at me, I’m not going to HR. I’m not going to kick you in the balls again. I’m going to cut them off and throw them into the Potomac. You don’t ever talk to me that way. Ever. Again. Are we clear?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding between sniffles.

  “What?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he corrected. “We’re clear.”

  “That’s better. I also expect a raise. If I don’t have it by the end of the week, you can expect to hear from my attorneys. Understood?”

  “Yes,” he whimpered. “Whatever you want.”

  “Good.”

  She shoved his head down again so his eyes would be on the floor as she strode toward the exit. When she flung open the door, she stopped and turned around one last time. “Oh, and Director Madic, you need to refer to me as Agent Harper from now on. Okay? Thanks.”

  She stepped out and slammed the door shut with a bang. The second the door closed, he toppled over onto the rug and grunted, grabbing his injured area. It took him another couple of minutes before he was back on his feet again. He didn’t bother cleaning up the spilled whiskey; he had people that did those kinds of mundane tasks for him. Now, he was overcome with righteous indignation, a wave of anger that burned deep inside.

  How dare she do that to him. And threaten him? The nerve! She would pay for this, oh yes, she would pay.

  Right now, though, he had more significant issues. He looked down at the photos and shuffled through them. From the looks of it, it appears that the M35 carrying the two decoys was completely destroyed. Due to the smoke, and what must have been distortion from cloud cover, it was difficult to tell. Still, the blackened blast zone was considerable. He analyzed the lines on the right side and along the bottom that indicated the measurement scale. The diameter of the blast covered, apparently, about eighty feet from one end to the other. It was a devastating piece of explosive tech. He could see the outline of a few bodies lying in the snow and concluded that everyone in or around the vehicle had been killed.

  He re-stacked the photos and placed them back in the black folder, closing it without thinking. He’d have to give a r
eport to Ortega and Tisdale, though he didn’t want to make that call just yet as he’d already spoken to the two of them earlier that morning.

  This was information that could wait until tomorrow. He would be sure to call them first thing and let them feel like they were getting in on breaking updates. Higher-ups like those two idiots fed on that kind of thing. They loved to think they were the first to get anything, especially top-secret information, although in this case, they were the only ones that Madic was reporting to. Still, he knew how they thought, how they processed things. He understood their egos. Some would say that was due to him having a big ego of his own. He didn’t care if that was true or not. You didn’t achieve his position by being a beta. You had to be the alpha dog.

  Soon, the missiles would be delivered to Zulu Base by the real team and he would get a nice little kickback from the deal. Of that, he was certain. He scooted the folder over to the base of his computer monitor and sat back down in his chair, then picked up the phone on his desk and dialed the number for his secretary.

  “Yes, I’ve had a little accident in here, Jill. Would you be a dear and get cleaning to come in and handle it? Thank you.”

  He set the phone back on the receiver and eased back into his leather chair. Soon, their forward base in Afghanistan would have a devastating new stock of weapons, and he would be a very rich man.

  12

  Jessica watched the monitor in horror. There was nothing left of the truck. She’d been concentrating on the blast area for the last fifteen minutes as the fire burned itself out and the smoke began to settle. There hadn’t been any movement, and now she could see several bodies strewn on the ground. It was impossible to identify the victims, even with the latest aerial surveillance technology.

  She and Gary had been monitoring Beta’s progress throughout the mission and had witnessed the avalanche and how the two men had barely escaped. Tracking them hadn’t been an issue, right up to the point when their cargo truck exploded.

  It was one of the fail-safes that were built into the mission. The M35 cargo truck was rigged to blow in case things got bad, and apparently, they’d gotten worse. It was unclear whether one of the guys from Beta detonated the explosives, or if the enemy did it.

  They’d lost visual contact briefly when the truck came to a stop at what appeared to be an impasse. It was difficult to tell what had stopped them, but she thought it looked like a snowdrift. With all the snow on and around the mountain, being able to discern such a thing was all but impossible.

  If Zeke and Phoenix had been in trouble, they would have radioed for help, or at least let Jessica and Gary know something was going on. They hadn’t said anything, which made her think that they’d fallen into a trap and been unable to seek help.

  Now their truck was destroyed and the men were probably dead, though something in her gut told her that they weren’t. They were alive. She knew it. But why did she care? Zeke was a tool, a jerk that she’d have slapped in the face if they’d met at a bar. Phoenix seemed to be okay, but he was friends with Zeke, which made him questionable.

  If they were dead, what did it matter? Her life would be largely unaffected. After all, she’d just met them the other day. She didn’t know them from Adam. What was the difference if they died?

  Jessica scoured her soul. She wondered if her concern was about the men or about the fact that she’d been lied to. The director hadn’t said anything to her about sending in decoys. She’d been given this mission under the guise it was a real operation. She was their handler and it was a chance for her to prove her worth in the organization.

  All of it had been an illusion. It was nothing more than smoke and mirrors. Jessica was still just a girl to the director. She’d known he was a real piece of work the first time she’d met him. He’d hit on her, blatantly, and would probably have fired her if he didn’t have such a big ego and thought that sooner or later she would cave into his pressure-packed advances.

  She rolled her eyes at the thought and brought her focus back to the task at hand: finding the two operatives.

  “We need to get a search and rescue unit out there right away, Gary,” she said, turning away from the monitor.

  She walked over to a map on the wall and circled the area where their truck had stopped. “I’ll call Major Paige and request it.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” The familiar voice popped in the room, startling both occupants. Gary spun around and looked toward the door. Jessica, too, twisted around to see the significant standing in the hallway just outside the room. He was holding his hat in his hands at waist level.

  “Major?” Gary said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to check on the progress of our B-Team. From the sounds of it, they’re not going to make it.”

  “That’s not necessarily the case, sir,” Jessica protested. “They might still be out there. We need to send a team out to investigate. At the very least, we know that there is a threat in that location. We might be able to round up someone who is a high-value target.”

  “No,” Paige said as he stepped into the room. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “What?”

  He walked over to the computer where Gary was sitting. The workstation was small and tidy, as would be expected of a military desk. It was designed for nothing more than function, with minimal aesthetic appeal unless postmodern industrial had an aesthetic appeal.

  The major reached behind the computer and flipped the off switch. The monitor blinked to black a second later.

  “Hey,” Gary said, far whinier than he meant.

  “They’re gone,” Paige said, “there’s nothing else we can do for them now. You saw the images. No one could survive that blast. At least they died heroes. They even took out some terrorists along the way. Eventually, we’ll send somebody out there to investigate, see who we took out. But right now, our sole priority is getting that package delivered to Zulu Base safely. We’re going to be focusing all of our energy on monitoring the real team. Once they confirm the package has been safely delivered, we’ll send someone out to clean up the mess.”

  “Real team?” Gary asked, confused. He turned his eyes from the major to Jessica. His expression pleaded for answers.

  She didn’t respond, not while Paige was in the room. Instead, she maintained a stoic expression. Rule number one, don’t show emotion. Don’t let anyone see emotion, or that you are being affected emotionally by something external. That was how mistakes happened. She’d been taught that very early on in her training. Now, it was coming in handy, but not with an enemy. It was with an ally or someone who was supposed to be an ally. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  “You two are relieved; your job here is done. I’ll call for your transport back to the airfield. You’ll be on a plane before the end of the day, headed back to the States.”

  He turned and started toward the door.

  “So that’s it?” Jessica asked. “You’re just going to leave them out there to die in a strange country? They’re Americans, sir,” she said with infinite derision. “We can’t just leave them there.”

  The major turned around, a menacing look on his face that was meant to both threaten and re-establish who was running this show.

  “Agent Benson, the operation, as far as you’re concerned, is over. B-Team is dead. That was their purpose. They were sent out as decoys so that we could deliver the real package safely. Their sacrifice, while unfortunate, was necessary. What they did here today will save thousands of American lives. It will help protect countless numbers of soldiers. I suggest you get real comfortable with that. Sacrifices like theirs happen every day over here. Don’t get too attached to anyone. That piece of advice is free. The next time, it’s going to cost you.”

  She didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. He struck her as the type that would be all too happy to place them under arrest and send them back to the States. They wouldn’t be court-martialed since they weren’t technically in the military. Their careers,
however, would be over. Gary would end up working in some tech store selling computers and video games or high definition televisions. Jessica would be blacklisted from every government agency in Washington. She’d never get a job again, not in that industry.

  Their hands were tied; there was nothing they could do. According to Paige, he was going to have them shipped out in the next few hours.

  This mission hadn’t been what Jessica had expected, or Gary either, for that matter. They were part of a ruse, a farce that had been designed by the higher-ups to deliver a truckload of powerful missiles to the northern border of Afghanistan. She still didn’t understand the significance of that particular base. It seemed to be so obscure, so out of the way. The only countries near there were Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan, which was the closest to Zulu Base.

  According to what she’d been told, which wasn’t much, the base was located in the Hindu Kush mountains, one of the highest and most vast mountain ranges in the world. Some of the peaks were over twenty-four-thousand feet, comparable to the highest mountains in the Himalayas.

  Why was there a base in that location? It didn’t make sense.

  Perhaps three or four decades ago it would have been useful. Back then, the Russians were engaged in a bitter conflict with the Afghani people. It was a war that went on for years. The conflict drained Soviet resources to the point they eventually had to simply give up.

  If it wasn’t the Russians they were worried about, who was it? Extremist groups and those loyal to the Taliban occupied several parts of that region, though many of them were scattered like snowflakes in a winter breeze. Their cells were largely unorganized, save for a few.

  Jessica steered her thoughts back to the conversation at hand. Major Paige was going to be no help with this situation. She knew he was just following orders, she’d seen that before with officers like him. Often, they didn’t think for themselves. All that mattered was the chain of command and doing as they were told. That wasn’t good enough. Not right now.