“It means these devices only put out a signal for a very short distance, say a maximum of a hundred and fifty feet. If we use any type of interrogation device to pick up the signals, they shut down. All you get is one little ping, faint enough to sound like all the other little pings you get from a multitude of false signals.”
Briggs was trying to make sense of everything he was hearing. How could he have been so fooled by Trust? Then his thoughts shifted to Trust’s nephew. “So how does Jeff Blake tie into all of this?”
“He has had a passive tracking device on him ever since he’s been in country. It gathers location data everywhere he goes, and he has been damn near everywhere, walking, riding, and flying.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know he has it,” Briggs said hopefully.
“Oh, he knows he has it, all right. It looks just like a cell phone. Just like the new one you gave him as a gift from his uncle. Every couple of weeks, Blake hands it off to one of his uncle’s guys, and they download the data from it. But we discovered that Blake stopped handing off the phone a few weeks back. We think they found it. That is why they stopped the handoffs.”
“Well, he must be pretty slick with the handoffs because I’ve never seen him do it.”
“Neither have we, and we have tried to catch him at it, believe me. There is a good chance that he has been sending them wirelessly, but we’re not sure.”
Check’s eyes were wide with excitement as he picked up the tracking device from the desk and handed it to Briggs, who rolled it around in his hands thoughtfully. He wished the old guy would get to the point of exactly what he was doing there and what it was they wanted him to do, but he also knew there was an art to delivery and Check thought himself a master narrator. Check was on a roll and had started to drop little hints of information, clues that Briggs filed away in his brain.
Information is power.
Such as the power in the one little word that Check had let slip out during his storytelling. The word “it.” He’d said, “We think they found it.”
The burning question now was: what was it?
Check’s song and dance about finding the WMDs in order to justify the war and vindicate the president was a beautifully orchestrated expression of patriotism. But something was going on just under Check’s words.
It. What could “it” be?
Whatever it was, Briggs was getting the sense that it had turned into a personal obsession for Check.
Briggs pointed toward a pile of boxes. “How did Trust get his shipments in here in the first place?” he asked, a frown deepening the lines on his forehead.
“He knows how Hussein operated. A lot of the boxes are old, from more than ten years ago when trade was a wide-open market. Most of the large crates are spare parts that support oil drilling and other oil-processing operations. You see, Trust’s people who worked here long before the war started knew Hussein was skimming off the top and blatantly stealing. I told you—Trust is smart.”
Briggs nodded his head, chewing on his lip.
“And here is a testimony to how smart Trust is.” Check spread out his arms and motioned to all the items in the room. “He knew Hussein was hiding away everything he could steal, and he also knew he was amassing enormous amounts. Now you can never get a squirrel to tell you where he hides his nuts, and if that squirrel sees you watching him bury the nut, he’ll just dig it up and hide it somewhere else. So, Trust started bugging the nut.”
Check rubbed his eyes and spoke in a slower, more controlled fashion. “I need you to confront Blake and ask for his help. He is the connection to Trust, and if Blake will help us, we will wash the whole thing.”
“Wash?”
“We won’t put Blake in Leavenworth for spying.”
Briggs head spun.
Spying? That’s what Check is asking me to do, Briggs thought. Good God! Is this what I have to look forward to? Would prison time be my thanks for working for the Service? Living in a dark rat hole, questioning everything to the point of total paranoia? Briggs didn’t want to be like Check, like this.
Out of all the spy novels and action thrillers he’d ever read, not one of them had gotten even close to the real truth behind the business of the military. Briggs was beginning to feel that a steady flow of lies—constant lies about everything—was the norm. “Need to know” was a mantra, a sign of superiority over those who did not “need to know.” The phrase made Briggs sick—with anxiety, with disgust, with frustration—every time he heard it.
But he had gleaned one thing finally: he was quite certain that this mission was for Check’s benefit. Somehow, “it” was all about him.
Briggs took a deep breath and tried to put on his best poker face. “Okay, so how do you suggest I approach Blake?”
Over the next thirty minutes, Check ran through the particulars of what Briggs could say to Blake. Briggs was then taken back to the base in a different vehicle. His weapon was lying on the seat.
On the ride back, his mind swirled with the information he had been given about Trust and his growing suspicions of Check. What exactly was he in the middle of? Whom could he believe? At this point, he wasn’t sure.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
October 2006
Briggs arrived at the base just before what would have normally been reveille, but it was the weekend, so all those off duty were sleeping in. The chow hall was open, so Briggs made his way over to it, following the smell of freshly made coffee and bacon. After last night’s ride in what he now called the “gut wagon,” he had his doubts about the bacon, but he was hungry so he filled his plate and walked across the open dining area. There was only a handful of Marines scattered about. Jeff Blake was eating alone at the end of a sea of empty tables.
Briggs’s steps slowed as he walked toward Blake. How deeply was he embedded in his uncle’s business? How much did he know?
“You’re up early,” Briggs said as he placed his tray across from Blake.
Blake glanced up at Briggs and smiled. The table was next to one of the industrial-sized ice machines in the far back corner. The noise from it was deafening at times, as the compressor constantly hummed and the cubes of ice clattered in the collection bin every few minutes.
“Couldn’t you have found a better place to sit?” Briggs asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard.
“I could have, but this is the best place for us to talk right now. No one will sit with us here.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Briggs asked. Does he know?
Blake pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped it with his fingers, indicating that the noise of the ice machine would make it difficult for them to be heard. As he slid it back into his pocket, Briggs drew in a short, choppy breath. The ice was broken for their unavoidable conversation, in an appropriate place, and Briggs hadn’t even had to start it.
“Are you sure?” Briggs asked, tapping his finger on his pocket that held his own cell phone.
Over the last several weeks Briggs had been feeling that the phone had become a tether to his master, and when the leash was jerked, Briggs obeyed. Now he was ready to exercise more control, his “need to know” space having been significantly increased by Check’s recent revelations, both intentional and unintentional.
“Yes, I have tried it from my end. He hates it when I sit here.”
He. Briggs assumed it was Trust, and in a flash of realization, he knew that Blake was getting tired of his master as well.
“So, we can speak freely?”
“Pretty much. Just don’t get too loud, and when the icemaker cycle ends, start eating. It will start up again in about forty-five seconds. Whatever you do, don’t take the battery out of your phone. They will know what we’re up to. I’ve already tried that too.”
“What are we up to, Blake?” Briggs asked.
“We are saving the world from the axis of evil. Don’t you know that? You and I are pawns in a game that is so big, it is mind-blowing. After we kill all the people her
e, we are going to go somewhere else and do the same thing. You get that, right?”
The ice machine finished its cycle, and the ice fell like thunder. Then the noise dwindled to a soft, low hum. Blake picked up his fork and began to eat his scrambled eggs without breaking his gaze from Briggs. Briggs returned the stare for a brief moment and then stood. He walked over to a large, glass-front refrigerator and removed two small containers of milk. He returned to the table and passed one to Blake.
“Thanks, man.” Blake took a long drink, until a loud thump announced the beginning of the next cycle of ice-making.
“What are you doing for Trust, Blake?”
“The same thing you’re doing for your people—helping to end the war, of course.”
“That’s the standard answer, Blake. I need something more specific.”
“You need? You don’t need anything! It’s whoever is pulling your strings that needs. Let me put a little question in your head that you need to answer for yourself. What are you getting out of this roller-coaster ride? You see, I know it has been harder on you than it has been on me. That is one of the reasons I never wanted any authority to deal with. I’m just along for the ride. The only person I worry about is me. It’s less complicated that way.”
“I thought all you cared about was getting your ass stuffed into a body bag?”
“I’ve had a change of heart. I guess you could say I’ve set a new goal—one I’m looking forward to attaining.” Blake drank the rest of his milk. “Your food is getting cold. What’s wrong, not hungry anymore?” he said sarcastically.
Briggs glared at him.
“You see, this doesn’t bother me at all. I have a healthy appetite, and Trust doesn’t give me a hard time. I shoot bad guys during the day and sleep well at night, unlike you. I don’t have to sneak off the base at night to attend clandestine meetings and get orders from my master.”
The fact that Blake knew he was working for someone and he’d spent the night off base talking to Check could only mean one thing: someone in Check’s confidence had informed Trust, who let Blake know. It was obvious that Blake’s network of information was larger than Check’s; however, Briggs did not let it faze him. At this level in the game, certain things were not important. But some things were. And Briggs had had enough.
“Bullshit! Blake, you’re a fool. In my pocket, I have a picture of my girlfriend, her daughter, and my entire family, along with the first letters she ever sent me. All neatly tucked away in a Ziploc bag behind the hard plate on my body armor, so if it has to be returned to my family, it won’t be soaked in blood. I have one of my dad’s dog tags on my keychain that I am never without.” Briggs stopped abruptly as the ice machine ended its cycle again. This time, he ate his eggs and what he hoped was bacon.
Blake twisted uncomfortably in his seat and adjusted the sling on the weapon on his back. The noise started again and so did Briggs.
“All you have is an enormous amount of guilt for a heinous sin you committed and that damn journal with a bullet hole in it. Your life is all about death, man. Hell, you’re not even brave enough to seek forgiveness for your sin. You’re just going to die with it and let your soul drag it around for eternity. Here is something you need to think about, Jeff Blake.” Briggs stabbed at his eggs and held the forkful in the air. “I care enough to make sure those who love me don’t have to suffer any more than they have to—particularly if it comes to my death—by the simple act of placing these items I know will be returned to them in this fucking Ziploc bag. That little act goes a long way in the form of compassion for those who will mourn my loss. That’s my moral compass. I look out for the people around me. Blake, are you trading your moral compass for a promise of part of your uncle’s dynasty?”
Briggs’s words seemed to strike a nerve in Blake, who slowly pushed himself away from the table and stood.
“I can see this conversation is going nowhere,” Blake said, then turned and headed toward the barracks.
Briggs followed, a short five strides behind him. The conversation was not over. Blake’s next move, however, was somewhat drastic. Briggs watched as Blake pressed the reset button on his phone several times. If Trust’s people were anything like Check’s, this probably meant that he was activating some kind of emergency signal or that Trust’s team of men was now tracking Blake’s location via the cell phone.
Briggs caught up with Blake in the rec room of the barracks.
“Tell me, what’s going on?”
“Why should I tell you anything?” Blake asked.
“Because I am your friend and this has gotten out of hand. If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t help you.”
Blake sat down and fidgeted nervously in his chair. Briggs guessed that he might really want to talk, but he was fighting it. He wanted to give Blake a little more time to come clean, but Check had pushed him hard to gather information.
“I know that Shelby wants you to do something for him, and knowing him and how he is, it has got to be something big. So, tell me what it is.” Briggs’s voice was stronger and more demanding now.
“What? You don’t know my uncle. Just because you went fishing with him a few times doesn’t make you an authority on Shelby Trust, so don’t come off like I owe you. I don’t.” Blake stood up again to leave the room.
“Sit your ass down!” Briggs ordered. “This conversation is not over.”
“Oh, what, you’re pulling rank on me now, Sergeant?”
“Yeah, if that’s what it takes.”
“It’s not that easy,” Blake replied as he began to pace back and forth.
Now that the two of them were away from the cover of the noisy ice machine in the chow hall, Briggs knew Check had heard every word through the cell phone in his pocket. He knew his options were gone, and now he would have to pull Blake out of play. Hoping he would give up Trust was all they had left.
Briggs’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He quickly reached in and silenced the rattling. He knew it was Check calling him with orders on what to do with Blake, but Briggs’s blood was boiling and the pressure from Check set him off even more. He was on the verge of losing his temper. The thought of throwing the phone on the floor and stomping it into silence crossed his mind. He turned to focus his anger back on Blake, but he had walked out of the room. He screamed for Check’s benefit, “Give me a damn minute, will you?”
Blake had returned to his room in the barracks and closed the door behind him. Briggs needed time to think, so he did the same just a few doors down, but not so far away that he couldn’t hear if Blake’s door opened. He knew Blake could not use his phone because Check’s satellite block was still in place, so he would not be able to get word to Trust that they were on to him.
Again, his phone vibrated. “Damn it, get off me, Colonel. I need time to think, and I swear if you don’t back off, I will take the butt of my rifle to this phone.” The phone stopped vibrating immediately and Briggs responded, “Thank you,” into the dead air. The answers that Check wanted were all locked up in Blake’s head, and Briggs had just shown his hand. There wasn’t much more he could do if Blake wasn’t going to come clean. He reached into his pocket and dialed Check.
“It’s time to bring him in, Scott,” Check said quickly. “He’s not going to tell you anything, so we’ll have to do this my way now.”
“What do you mean your way?” The question was rhetorical of course. Briggs knew Blake would undergo interrogation and possibly worse. Because they were in Iraq, Check would turn Blake over to the Iraqi intelligence division, and they would perform the task of interrogation. If they got the information they wanted, all the better. But either way, it was a sure bet that Blake would wind up dead. He would be just another Marine captured in a firefight, killed in battle. It could all be arranged so quickly and easily, and no one would be the wiser. Check also had all the proof he needed to label Blake a spy, which meant that if he did survive, he’d have a one-way ticket to Fort Leavenworth, or worse, Guantan
amo Bay. No matter how it went, it was obvious to Briggs that Blake would never see the light of day again unless he helped Check right now.
With those thoughts in mind, Briggs asked for one more try at Blake. But the wheels were already in motion.
“It’s too late,” Check said firmly. “I have three men on their way.”
Briggs flung open his door just in time to see three men, each over six feet tall and dressed in light-brown cargo pants with matching shirts and ball caps, armed with short M4 automatic weapons, Glock side arms, and sling-style cartridge belts, force their way into Blake’s room.
“No! Hey!” Briggs shouted down the long hall of the building, void of people except for Check’s three goons. It was too late. Check’s men disarmed Blake and forced him down on to his rack to place zip tie cuffs on him.
“Get your damn hands off him! You can’t walk him out of this compound in cuffs like a damn criminal.” Briggs shook with anger.
Blake was totally motionless with his hands hanging down by his side.
“Just give me a damn minute with the Marine,” Briggs said, almost pleading, as he pulled Blake from the rack and to the other side of the room. Check’s men stood with their weapons trained on the two of them. He noticed that they were wearing earpieces with radios strapped to their backs. “Tell him to give me a few minutes, okay? Just tell him.” When no one moved, he yelled, “Tell him!”
One of the men nodded at Briggs and acknowledged the radio call from Check. “He said you have two minutes.”
“Fine, go down to my room and close the door. I don’t want anyone to see you hanging out in the hall. You obviously don’t fit in.” Even though all three appeared to be Marines, their gear and weapons were not standard issue. They would raise suspicions if they were seen in the hallway. Check apparently told his men to cooperate because they exited the room after some long glares.
Briggs looked at Blake. His eyes were wide and bright; his expression had changed. Blake lifted his index finger to his lips, pulled a pen from his pocket, and wrote something on the palm of his hand. He held it up for Briggs to read, then just as quickly, he wiped it off by rubbing his palm vigorously on his pants leg.
Shadows at War Page 18