The man was gone now, leaving me to sit, still bound, in my jail cell. I thought I was alone.
But then I heard a sound.
I quickly snapped my head around to the side, toward the voice I was so sure I heard.
There, in the middle of the room, hanging from the ceiling by his wrists was a man, a tall, man, a strong man, a bleeding man, a hurt man… my man.
“Charlie?” I whispered. “Charlie. No.”
Chapter Nine
Charlie
Seventeen Months Earlier
“Mr. Anekwe,” I shook the hand of the man who agreed to help us. “Thank you for offering to take us in. Your generosity will not be overlooked.”
“No,” his voice was strong, “thank you for allowing my family to help.”
Mr. Anekwe was exactly whom he claimed to be. He wasn’t an insurgent and he wasn’t a traitor. He was a good man. We stayed with him and his family for about a month the first time around, gathering intel on our enemies that we couldn’t have gathered while still in the states. We watched, we listened, and we learned. And by no means did we rock the boat. The rebel forces had our original plan of action. They knew everything they needed to know about our team. We had to start from scratch; it was the only way. So, each day, we split into small groups, disguised ourselves in the local garb, and then set off into the streets, determined to find their weak spot.
The rebellion grew. We now knew that their leader, the man who I thought to be a ghost, had moved on from the area, but had appointed leaders for each territory. There were over fifty different factions, just in southwest Nigeria alone. Our goal was to develop our own little map of the neighboring factions, get a sense of their schedules, and then with the help of the local police, take down one group at a time.
But none of our new plan could be accomplished with the rebel forces still on our tail.
So first, we had to fake our own death.
We planted the bomb that went off in Ikeja. No one was hurt; we had evacuated the hospital before we leveled the building. But, we had to make it seem like it was part of a terrorist attack and we were among the casualties. To do that, we had our allies in the Nigerian government spread the exact story to the news outlets that we fed them. There was a bomb, thousands of casualties, the hospital destroyed, and the American Special Forces Group aiding in the war on terrorism was presumed dead.
It was the only way to get the ghost off our scent.
Unfortunately, I knew that everyone at home would see that story.
I knew that Hannah would see the story.
I tried to reason with myself, saying that she might actually be better off thinking I was dead. Maybe she could move on with her life find someone more stable than me, more able to give her the relationship she deserves. I told myself that when I eventually came home, things would be different, and we would have to be able to live with that.
Hell, we had only been together a few months before I left. Why would it make sense that she would wait eighteen subsequent months for me to come home. She was young and vibrant and beautiful. She was bound to find someone else.
And, at least if I was the one who set that separation into motion, her absense would be easier to handle than if she just left me on her own accord.
Selfish, I know, but necessary to consider in my current state.
And so we went through with the fight, the bombing, and the lie. All communication with the United States was officially suspended. We had gone dark.
We were on our own.
We spent the next few months moving from town to town, village to village, and taking down the groups within each territory. Every mission became a glorious win for the Nigerian government, because they received full credit for every raid. We were simply the puppet masters that no one knew existed.
And we were fine with that.
But everything changed when I returned to check in on Mr. Anekwe and his family. We had made our rounds, circling the entire southwest quadrant of Nigeria, and leaving nothing but destruction of the rebellion in our path. It was working. Our on-the-fly plan had legs, and was honestly better executed than anything we had come up with the previous six, or now seven, years. Our contacts in the government were bowing at our feet, thanking us for leading the charge so successfully.
But we had yet to find the ghost.
I received a tip from a trusted informant that the ghost and his initial group of followers had made their home in a dilapidated warehouse about twenty miles east of where we had started this whole off-the-grid journey. I’m sure their thinking was that the government had already raided the area and cleared it of any insurgents, so they would be unlikely to circle back around. It was good thinking on their part. They just didn’t know there was a leak in their group, or that the Americans were still part of the party.
If the information I received was good, this could be our very last bust.
So, with only about a month left of our targeted tour length, we decided to come back to our starting point. We would take turns visiting the village closest to the warehouse, making sure that we knew the lay of the land, and had an escape route ready.
“Madison, make sure you wear this.” Pierce threw a hood at me before I first ventured to the town.
“What for?” I assumed he was going to give me some answer regarding the rebels being able to recognize me.
But he didn’t. Instead, my communications officer showed me why he’s paid the big bucks. “We have satellite imagery over this neck of the woods. Unless you want one of our own figuring out we’re alive and yelling that over the air ways, for the terrorists to hear, we have to keep our disguises up during this round.”
“Fuck.” I happily accepted the hood. “Good call Pierce.”
If we had come this far, only to be outed by our own people before we got our hands on the ghost… well, I wouldn’t have been the happiest of campers. The Army wasn’t aware that the insurgents were listening in on their lines, and in order to keep up the appearances that we were dead, we couldn’t be the ones to tell them.
We just had to take our chances with Pierce’s little disguises.
After about two weeks of recon, when we were content with our findings, we made a plan to rendezvous at the house of Mr. Anekwe over the course of the following few days. I would get there first, to ensure that we were still welcomed and that everything was in order for my crew’s arrival.
As expected, Mr. Anekwe and his wife welcomed me with opened arms and a full plate of dinner. It was nice to be back with a household I trusted and had grown to love. It felt comforting to know that even though my family back home believed I was dead, I had somewhat of a family- a mother, father, and even a little brother- here in this godforsaken war zone.
“Where is the little guy?” I questioned as I looked at his empty seat.
“Oh.” Mr. Anekwe waved his hand. “The boy is not feeling well. He’s in his room.”
“Well, maybe I’ll go and check on him, then.” I winked at Mrs. Anekwe before excusing myself from the table.
I moved down the hall to the room I knew to be his, and quietly knocked on the door. His meek voice replied, asking what the person behind the door wanted, but as soon as I made my presence known, he called me inside. I smiled and offered my arms out for a hug as I found my spot on the edge of his bed.
“Your mother says you’re not feeling well.” I relayed, hoping it would spark a conversation. To my sight, he looked fine.
He rubbed his eyes and shrugged. “I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” It was kind of adorable to find this kid who shouldn’t have a care in the world telling me that he was stressed over some things spinning through his brain.
“Neh,” he shrugged again, this time pulling his gaze away from me.
“Is it school?” I prompted.
“Kind of.” He inched.
I laughed, throwing my hand on his shoulder. I explained that sc
hool, especially other kids, could be a tough thing to deal with, but he should try to enjoy the little pleasures while he could. I told him that he’ll grow up fast and miss the days when he could play ball with his friends.
He thanked me, but I could tell I hadn’t eased his worry. Something else was bothering him.
I almost left the room, telling him that I would leave him be, but I would be there if he wanted to talk, until I heard the muffled static coming from under his pillow.
“What’s that sound?” I moved closer again to the bed.
“Go away!” He screamed, as if I was attacking him.
By no means did I want to scare him, but that was the sound of a radio…
Why did he have a radio?
“We’re outside.” The gruff voice boomed from under the pillow. “Confirm that the target is still there.”
His eyes begged for forgiveness as he reached under his pillow and pulled out a walkie talkie. Staring directly at me, he radioed back. “Confirmed.”
The sound of gunfire erupted from outside the house. It was a trap.
“Nkomo,” I cried out. “What did you do?”
Chapter Ten
Hannah
“Charlie?” I called again, not yet ready to believe I was not dreaming. I had seen him with a bone sticking out of his leg and even a hole in his chest, but nothing compared to seeing him strapped up by his wrists, his near lifeless body dangling from the rafters.
I was weak and dizzy, but somehow I made my way to my feet, jumping over my still-bound arms in order to get them in front of me. Using my teeth, I gnawed at the rope, desperate to free my hands so that I could quickly find myself at Charlie’s side. It wasn’t easy, as the ropes were thin, wiry, and tied tightly, but my will was strong. In almost no time at all, they had fallen to my sides and my hands were free to reach out to my beloved.
I raced across the dirt covered room, calling his name louder and louder with each step, until I finally fell to my knees in front of him. I speedily examined his feet, his legs, his hips, his back, his stomach, and his chest for any sign of infection from the still-bleeding lashes covering his entire body. They were still fresh, but in this room, with the dirt and dust, they were bound to become infected if they weren’t soon properly cleaned and dressed.
I seriously doubted the rebel soldiers would allow me to see to his healing. The only real option was to break him out of there.
His feet were only inches from the ground, so I looked around to see if there was anything I could put under him to support his weight.
Nothing.
I acted fast, digging a hole in the dirt next to him, and mounding up the ground underneath of him until the packed pile was high enough to touch the bottom of his feet. I hoped that relieving some of the pressure on his shoulders would allow him to regain full consciousness.
The problem… well, one of the many problems, was that I didn’t have a way of pulling him down off the ceiling. I’m sure his arms were numb from lack of bloodflow.
How long had he been like this?
“Charlie? Can you hear me?” I saw his eyes flutter. “Charlie. It’s Hannah.”
“Hannah?” His dry voice cracked with confusion.
And then his eyes opened, wide awake.
“Hannah, no.” He pulled hard on his bindings, struggling to free his trapped body. His anger at seeing me sharing his jail cell was forcing a rush of adrenaline through him, and allowing his muscles to do things that his weakened body shouldn’t have been able to do. The transformation in his state was astounding.
“Charlie, please calm down.” I warned, a little frightened by his outburst.
But he didn’t heed my warning, too determined to find his way to the ground. With another pull, a twist, and a yank, his right hand was free. He then used that hand to pull the rope from his left.
“Wait!” I called out, seeing exactly what was about to happen.
As the rope released, Charlie fell to his knees, and then to his hands, allowing his chest to hit the ground in the process. All those lashes across his body were certainly likely to sting from the dirt he had just landed in.
“Fuck me.” He pushed himself up and then back, finally finding his way to his rear end.
I wanted to help him, to heal him, but he was consumed and angry and not ready for the reunion I had pictured only the day before. As soon as he settled into the pain of his wounds, his fiery eyes flashed at me.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Hannah?”
Sure, it wasn’t a great situation. I had found myself in an enemy prison cell, completely separated from my group without any way of reaching out to them. But really? After a year and a half, that was all he had to say to me?
“Fuck you, Charlie.” I pushed back, angry at his way of showing concern.
I think that woke him out of his daze.
“Hannah, no.” He shook his head, looking down at his roughed up arms, and then back at me. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect…” He took in the room. “I’m so happy to see you, Hannah… I just wish the circumstances were…” He stopped himself, not wanting to go in that direction. Instead, he swallowed hard and lowered his voice. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I forgave him quickly enough, as I really just didn’t want to be mad at him. I had fought for so long to find him, and here I was sitting in front of him… I found him. I had achieved the impossible.
I mean, sure, I had hoped to find him hiding out in a sweet little village rather than tied to a ceiling in an enemy camp, but hey, you take what you can get, right?
“I had to be here.” I shrugged. “I had to find you.” I inched back toward him. “How long have you been in this place?”
He racked his brain for a minute before asking if I knew the day. I told him, and his reply was “a few days. Four? Maybe?” He told me about the family he had been hiding out with, and then about the son who gave him up to the rebels.
“He was such a sweet kid. A little awkward, but sweet.” He groaned, trying to talk, but still in intense pain. “I don’t know how they got a hold of him to turn him. His parents are saints.”
But I knew how. “The rebels made him feel like he fit in, like he had a purpose… he’d do anything for them.”
For a moment, I understood why I had become so consumed with the Army. Before joining, I was lost. Sure, I knew I wanted to be a doctor, but that was the extent of it. I isolated myself from groups and teams and friends and families. But my fellow soldiers were forced upon me. They trusted me and they loved me.
I suddenly sided with Nkomo.
“The kid… the son.” I ventured, knowing my assumption would be correct. “Nkomo?”
Charlie looked stunned at first, but soon, a sense of serenity soothed his hardened face. “You too?”
“He got me.” I hummed, hating to admit defeat. “He told me about you and what you said about me.”
Charlie might have been embarrassed, but with his bruised and swollen face, it was hard to tell if he was blushing. He told me about his first encounter with Nkomo, over a year earlier, and how he just wanted to know everything there was to know about Charlie’s life. He told him that he had always wanted a brother, and he felt that Charlie was exactly that. They exchanged stories about girls, and dreams, and gross things like what it would be like to eat a raw frog.
“I really liked the kid.” Charlie sighed. “But then I left him. He must have felt as though I abandoned him.”
“This is not your fault.” I perked him up, begging that he not spiral into a guilt ridden trance.
“The stories he told you.” Charlie was much more alert now. “They were fabricated. The whole finding him in the town and teaching him about fish. They weren’t real. I heard them coaching him over the last few days. I just didn’t… I couldn’t have assumed he was doing all of that to get to you.”
It all made so much sense now.
Before another word could be said, the metal door behind us creaked open.
“Get behind me.” Charlie whispered, and I did not argue. “Hannah,” Charlie gently spoke back to me. “You’re going to have to do what they say. Do you understand me?” His hand reached back and rested lightly on the side of my hip.
Technically I did understand him, but what I didn’t understand was why he seemed to know exactly what was going to happen after the handful of machine gun holding men finished piling into the prison cell.
“The girl, now.” One shouted at Charlie.
“Don’t do this to her.” He called back, still keeping his hand on my side. “Just let her go and kill me yourself.”
After that simple request, I was smart enough to piece together the rest of the puzzle. He said ‘kill me yourself’, and that could only mean one thing. The reason I was alive… the reason Charlie was still alive… was to force me to do the unthinkable. They wanted me to kill him. I felt my stomach drop. There was no way I would ever hurt him.
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