He’d written: “Check?”
Briggs felt faint, the color rushing from his face, barely able to keep his knees from buckling beneath him. It was the same feeling he’d had when he was buried in the dark basement of the building, clutching the Jordanian who had spoken in perfect English: “Please don’t kill me.”
The confusion of that moment in the basement during battle came rushing back to Briggs as did all the questions.
What have I done?
Who is the bad guy?
Why was Blake asking about Check now?
“What the—?” was all he could think to say aloud, taking a step back as if Blake were ablaze.
What parts are we all playing in this game?
How many games are we playing?
The questions kept rolling in his head.
Blake motioned to Briggs; he wanted the cell phone in Briggs’s pocket. Briggs froze in confusion as Blake took it, returned to the rack, and removed his own cell phone from his pocket, placing them under the pillow on his bed. He motioned to Briggs to move to the other side of the small room, sat down very close to him, and spoke in a low voice.
“I am working for Shelby, but not in the way you seem to think I am. You have to let me get out of here. Shelby is working for the government just like Check is, and if those three dudes take me out of here, they will all wind up missing, along with me. My uncle will see to that.”
“What the hell is going on Blake? Is it the WMDs? Have you found them?” Briggs whispered.
“WMDs? You have got to be kidding me. Is that what Check told you?”
Briggs nodded. “I’ve seen one of the underground stashes of goods that Saddam Hussein has hidden away. Is that what this is all about?”
“Check is playing you for a fool, Scott. Shelby doesn’t give a shit about all that stuff or WMDs. He is looking for something far more important and valuable than a bunch of junk in an Iraqi shithole. And I’ve got a hunch that Check is looking for it as well.”
It.
“You have to tell me what it is,” Briggs said, grabbing Blake’s arm tightly and shaking him.
Blake seemed to be weighing his options. Briggs warned, “Don’t fuck with me now, man. It is not the time.”
Blake nodded. “Okay, but I just don’t want you dead, okay? If you tell Check what I’m about to tell you, and I’m right about Check like I think I am, you will wind up dead. Because I’m sure Check is after what my uncle is after, and Check will stop at nothing to get it.”
“What about your uncle?”
Blake did not answer. An uneasy silence followed.
Briggs gritted his teeth and shook Blake again. “Tell me. What is it they are looking for? Just tell me. I’ll make my own decisions from there.”
Blake blurted, “Gold! Not just a little gold, but thousands of pounds of gold. All that crap hidden away and all the oil that was sold before the embargo and even after the embargo, Hussein turned into gold. Any cash he received, he had converted to gold on foreign trading markets. He wasn’t paid in cash. He was paid in gold. More gold than you could move with a bulldozer. And I’m telling you, Check wants it for himself. If you let the cat out of the bag, you will find out exactly where Check’s loyalties lie. Think about it, Scott, if you tell Check about this conversation and you’re wrong about him, you’re dead. If you keep your mouth closed, you live, and you can help us—me and my uncle, the good guys—recover the gold. Check thinks you’re some type of uneducated backwater hick and you won’t question too much what goes on. That way he can use you to get what he wants. And it’s working so far.”
Briggs’s mind reeled. If everything Blake said was true, his family was at risk now for sure. His home was still being monitored by Check; his life was being controlled by Check. He had no idea what to do. What was he? A Marine? Or a secret operative? Whom did he work for? How would he ever know for sure . . . until it was too late?
“What the hell am I going to do?”
“You’ve got to let me go, Scott, and you’ve got to keep your mouth shut. You can help us if you like, or just stay out of it. That’s up to you. But if you talk to Check, you’re as good as dead. Do you understand?”
“How . . . ?” Briggs couldn’t even get a question out. He gripped his head in his hands, trying to contain all the information and formulate a plan.
Blake said, “I can’t tell you any more, okay, except that the signals you and Check thought you were blocking were not blocked. And without a doubt whatsoever, Shelby has activated an extraction for me. He has a lot more power and pull than you can imagine, and I don’t mean just with the American government.”
For the first time in his life, Scott Briggs was lost. No strategies or game plans popped into his head, and all his thoughts were blank. He just stood there motionless, waiting to see what would happen next. In just about thirty seconds, Check’s men would return and there would be no stopping them this time. They would take Blake away, probably him as well, and an entirely new game would start with no leeway or tolerance for unanswered questions.
“All I am asking is for you to let me go before Check’s men come back. I will be out that window and out of here in three seconds.” Blake pointed to six Iraqi soldiers who were standing by a panel truck forty feet away. “Look. There is my ride. No one will get hurt. Just let me go.” The extraction team was made up of Iraqi soldiers loyal to Trust, and it would not take them long to get him off the base. Blake walked over to the rack and reached under the pillow.
“Don’t move, or I’ll drop you Blake!” Briggs said in a low, commanding voice. Briggs had swung his rifle from around his back and sights were leveled on Blake.
“Be cool. I just need my phone.” Blake slid his hand from under the pillow with just his cell phone. “Relax. I’m going now.” He slowly walked over to the open window that had a thin eight-inch ledge with a twelve-foot drop to the ground. “I’m going now, so don’t shoot me. I swear to you, I’m not a bad guy.”
“No!” Briggs yelled. Blake had swung his legs out of the window and was standing with his toes on the ledge beneath the window, his chest against the barrel of Briggs’s weapon. Briggs stood rigid, rifle firmly pointed at Blake.
Blake’s voice was calm. “We still have a lot to talk about, man, but right now I have to go. This will all work itself out, if you let me go. Just be cool.” He then turned to look at the ground so he could see his landing spot, and glanced once more at Briggs.
Briggs could hear Check’s men running down the hall, their boots stomping on the floor like a staggered drumbeat as they approached. He was frozen in his thoughts, but his finger had cleared the trigger guard and was poised in position. One quick pull and Blake would be dead before he completed his drop to the dirt below.
“Damn you, Blake! Get your ass back in the room, or I swear I will drop you!”
Briggs was angrier than he had ever been in his life because he was in the precarious position of threatening to kill a friend. But his voice was controlled and direct. He was capable of pulling the trigger if he had to.
“I gotta go now,” Blake said and wiggled his fingers in farewell. “Oh, and the next time you see Check, ask him how your old man died. The answer will change your perspective.”
Blake’s last statement caused Briggs to jerk in confusion, lifting his head from the sights.
“Cancer! He died of cancer!” Briggs yelled as Blake jumped from the ledge.
Just then, the door was forcibly flung open, striking him in the shoulder, and causing him to discharge his weapon. The round bounced off the side of the window, sending brick and splinters of wood flying into the street. Briggs lost his balance and fell to the floor where the first of Check’s men dove on him and removed his weapon. The second man covered both Briggs and the man who was holding him down. The third man ran to the window and turned back to Briggs. “Where the hell is he?”
Check’s men quickly looked around the room and in the closet before they turned their attenti
on to the street. There was no one there. Blake had disappeared along with the truck and armed Iraqis.
“Sir, our man has gone out the window and disappeared.”
A truck, with Blake tucked safely inside, made its way off the compound unimpeded, fading into the early-morning traffic of automobiles and people.
CHAPTER TWENTY
October 2006
Briggs had been disarmed and was zip tie cuffed to a chair that had been slid into a corner. The chair legs were lashed to a pole so it could not be flipped over or moved. His legs had also been lashed to the legs of the chair. There was a cut below his left eye on his cheekbone, still oozing blood onto his collar. Check’s men stood back from Briggs with their weapons trained on him, and no one spoke a word when Check entered the barracks.
Briggs watched Check survey the situation: two of the three men had bloody faces, and the third had his arm pushed into his half-zipped jacket up to his elbow. Without a word to them, Check picked up a handheld radio and called in to base ops.
“Base, this is Victor 3. I’m calling in a Full Court Press, over.”
Full Court Press was the code name to lock down the entire base and muster all personnel that were in the perimeter, as well as to secure all VIP and visitors in the command bunker.
The call came back to Check. “Victor 3. Verify Full Court Press, over.”
This was simply a formality; the lockdown had started.
“Roger, base, this is Victor 3. Full Court Press verify, over.”
The call came back quickly, and Check informed them that they were looking for Jeff Blake who was AWOL, armed, and dangerous.
In his gut, Briggs knew Blake was long gone.
Briggs could hear people scrambling all over the base. He knew every door and every window was manned after the troop musters. All secure buildings were locked and tagged with a double guard standing at each and every post.
“What the hell happened to you?” Check turned to the man with his arm in a makeshift sling.
“Broken rib or two, thanks to him,” he replied, pointing the M-4 he was holding toward Briggs, who was taking deep breaths and trying unsuccessfully to hold in his anger.
“And when I get out of this chair, I’m going to go to work on the other side!” Briggs spat.
Check’s radio sounded off just then. “Victor 3, Victor 3, Charlie Oscar needs you at command center, over.”
“Roger, I am on my way,” Check said into the radio. He turned to his bloodied men and told them to report to their mustering point as he retrieved Briggs’s weapons from one of them. “You’re lucky he didn’t get his hands on this,” he said as he held up Briggs’s twelve-inch K-bar.
After they left the room, he turned to Briggs and used the knife to cut his hands loose from the chair.
“Are you all calmed down now?”
“Yes, sir,” Briggs replied as he took the knife Check held out to him and leaned over to cut away the lashings at his feet. Check grabbed a green towel from the end of the rack and offered it to Briggs. It was the only object in the room that had not been scattered on the floor during what had been one hell of a fight. Briggs took it and pressed down hard on his cheek to stop the bleeding.
“Thank you, sir.” Briggs concealed his confusion with military protocol. After his conversation with Blake, Briggs’s senses were on high alert. More than ever, he was unsure of who could be trusted.
“Damn, Scott, you just beat the shit out of three of my biggest badasses. Two of those guys are former SEALS. You probably hurt their pride more than their bodies.” Check let out a chuckle as he pulled Briggs’s hand away in order to inspect his cut.
“Well, their egos can’t be bruised that much. I still wound up tied to this chair.” He turned his face toward the ceiling in order for Check to get a better look at the cut.
“Yep, that’s going to need stitches, my friend. Tell me what happened with Blake.” Check’s demeanor was calm as he sat on the edge of the rack.
“I’m sorry, Colonel. I just couldn’t shoot him,” Briggs explained matter-of-factly as he searched the bed for his phone. “He made it sound as if he were on some kind of parallel mission to mine and distracted me by saying something about my father’s death. He told me to ask you about it, said it would change my perspective, whatever the hell that means.” He realized his phone had fallen to the ground and snatched it from the floor. “What did he mean, sir?”
Before Check could respond, the radio sounded off, requesting Check’s presence at the command center again. He ignored it.
“Yes, Scott, there is more to your father’s death, and I will tell you all I know later. Right now, you have to give me all you can about Blake. I know it will be hard to do, but please concentrate on your last conversation with him. We will have all the time in the world to talk about your father when this is over.”
Briggs frowned, his eyes narrowing as anger surged through his body. Damn it! It was his father they were talking about. He was sick of waiting for answers. He wanted to know now. But his military training kept him silent. He nodded his head and did his best to relay everything about Shelby Trust and the operation that Blake had told him. However, he left out the conversation about the gold. He would have to figure out what to do with that tidbit later.
“Are you pissed at me for letting him go?” Briggs asked with sincerity.
“No, don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t want you to kill him. Besides, he can’t go far. We’ll pick him up. Right now, you need to come with me to the command post so we can tie this all together. Now you know this changes things, right?”
“How’s that, sir?”
“This operation, as far as you’re concerned, is over. We have to get you out of the country and back home so you can start your training at Quantico.”
“So I screwed it up.”
“Not at all. You performed exceptionally, and the information you’ve gathered is going to help us immensely. I’ll be talking to you later. The only thing that’s over is this part of the operation.”
A few days later, Check had Briggs removed from the base and flown to Camp Geiger, North Carolina. Check told him that he would be sent to Quantico in a month or so to start his training in the finer arts of surveillance and espionage in order to fulfill other missions with the Service. His first training session would take a little longer than eight months, and from there he would spend another three months training in Florida. How Briggs would explain his drastic change of plans to Anita swirled around in his head like a slowly approaching hurricane.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
November 2006
When Briggs arrived at Camp Geiger, North Carolina, he spent a week being secretly processed out of the Marine Corps. His biggest secret was that he had a friend of his take his car out of storage and get it ready for him so he could drive home and surprise everyone. He didn’t want to give his mother the opportunity to plan a big welcome home reception. He would simply slide in under the radar and meet his friends and family one at a time. Secrecy was part of his life now, and he didn’t know if he would ever get used to it, because secrecy meant lies.
It was an extremely underwhelming and sterile operation. There would be no band, no retirement ceremony, no grand parade, no speech made in his honor. He was simply handed a stack of papers, an envelope with his new orders, and a note requesting his presence in the sergeant major’s office.
On the designated day at 1200 sharp, he arrived at the battalion office dressed in his short sleeve Charlie uniform. He entered the foyer at the base headquarters and announced himself to the duty sergeant. The duty sergeant then invited him to have a seat. He had his pick of several chairs and ornate sofas that surrounded the entranceway to the base commander’s office. They were all lush and looked very comfortable.
No way, Briggs thought to himself. I am going to stay on my feet in case I have to make a break for it. It was a little personal joke that helped him relax.
As soon as the thought flas
hed in his mind the base sergeant major Bradley Prafke appeared with his hand extended and a huge grin painted across his face. Shit, this guy is tall, Briggs thought.
“Good afternoon!” He said as he quickly closed the distance between the two of them and extended his hand to Briggs. “It is the afternoon, isn’t it?” He lifted his left wrist and checked his watch. “Yep it is.”
“Good afternoon, Sgt. Major.” Briggs replied as he reached out and clasped the sergeant major’s hand in his.
Prafke towered over Briggs at better than six foot two. His legs were so long it had only taken him three or four strides to close the distance between the two of them from his office to where Briggs was standing. Briggs noticed that part of his right ear was missing. He had several jagged scars on his shaven head that reflected so much ambient light it was almost blinding. He was in such awe of him that he forgot to let go of the sergeant major’s hand until he focused on the enormous stack of ribbons above his left breast pocket. Prafke sensed he was uneasy.
“Nervous?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Why are you so nervous?” he questioned.
“I’m nervous because I don’t know what to be nervous about.”
Prafke cocked his head to one side and flashed a mischievous grin, this time with his eyes squinted. “That’s good. You will do just fine.”
What is he talking about? Briggs head was spinning with confusion and apprehension at the same time.
“Everything will make sense in a few minutes. I don’t want to steal anyone’s thunder here, so come on and find out.” He motioned for Briggs to follow him down the corridor that led to the base commanding general’s office.
Briggs felt as if the walls were closing in on him as he followed the sergeant major and tried to keep up with his massive strides. His mind was in full spin as he kept his eyes focused on the shoulders of the sergeant major.
A short distance down the long hallway, the sergeant major turned back to Briggs and said. “By the way I served with your father. He and I worked together.”
Shadows at War Page 19