by C. G. Cooper
"East coast or west coast?" the Marine questioned.
"Sorry?"
"Hollywood or sand fleas?"
Top finally got the Marine’s inference. He was asking where Trent had gone to boot camp. Hollywood for MCRD San Diego and sand fleas for Parris Island.
"Sand fleas, Gunny."
"And your friend back there?"
"Aw, he's harmless. He's just a dirty dogface who is proud to call a United States Marine his best friend."
Top thanked his lucky stars that the Marine Corps chose their best and brightest to become Marines on embassy duty. The gunny standing next to him was no exception. The only thing he wished was that the Marine would move things along.
Top had seen some motion in the ranks behind them and could only assume that the soldier he first talked to had called back to headquarters and was now being told there was no prisoner exchange and, no, he did not have to speak English.
"I assume you gentlemen have identification?"
Trent went to reach in his pocket, but the Marine stopped him. "Just wait until we get inside. Your friends over there look to be suddenly paying more attention to our little powwow. Let's wait until you're inside, and I can have my Marines give you a full cavity search."
Top didn't doubt it by the gunny's tone, but was more than a little relieved when the Marine called out to the corporal behind the barricade, "Please move it aside."
Top didn't allow himself to breathe sweet relief until he parked the Humvee in a spot labelled GUEST. The barricades closed behind them. He tossed the handcuff keys back to Gaucho who undid them with a little forced effort and disembarked from the vehicle.
"How much trouble am I going to get in for this?" the Gunny asked after he checked their identification.
"None, as far as I'm concerned," Top said. "If anybody gives you a hard time, you just tell them to come talk to me."
The Marine shook his head and actually smiled.
"Top, do you ever find yourself mystified by the fact that there is no place too strange or situation so bizarre that you cannot and will not meet a United States Marine?"
MSgt Trent grinned. "Tell me about it, Gunny."
The good gunny, Gunnery Sergeant Whitaker, found Top a just-too-snug set of workout gym shorts and shirt. He then escorted Gaucho and Top to the CIA head of station located within the embassy.
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather see the ambassador first?" Gunny Whitaker asked.
"We'll visit him next," Gaucho said. "We've got to tell this guy he's a man down."
"I hadn't heard."
"We're the only ones who know," Trent explained.
"If I can ask, Top, who was it?" the Marine implored.
"Elliot Peabody. Did you know him?"
The Marine nodded. "He didn't spend much time around here, but when he did, he always made the effort to stop by our after-shift poker games. He always won too, although he always gave the money back to the Marines, and I'm sure he gave them a little bit extra, at least that's what I’ve been told. He sure was a good man. I'm sorry."
"Me too," Gaucho said.
"Well, here we are." The Marine pointed at a door with no visible markings other than a few scratches from use. Gunny Whitaker introduced him to the station chief whose name was Lane Wiley. Wiley didn't get up from his desk nor did he even offer them chairs until Gaucho gruffly announced that they had news concerning Elliot Peabody.
"That will be all. Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant."
The Marine took one last look at Top and Gaucho as if to ask, "Do you really want me to go?" But Trent nodded, and the Marine left.
Wiley had the bland look of a man you could meet and forget thirty seconds later. Even his voice sounded like drone monotone. It sounded like a teacher who had been teaching the same lesson for fifty years and along the way lost the gift of inflection.
"Where is Elliot?" Wiley asked. "For three days, he hasn’t checked in.”
Three days, Gaucho thought, that couldn't be right. "Sorry, did you say three days?"
"Not that it's any of your concern, but yes. The longest I let my coworkers go without checking in is two, so you can imagine my concern when two days slipped by, and now it's a third. So let's have it. Where is Elliot?"
The way the man had said coworker instead of subordinate or man struck a wrong chord with Gaucho. Something was wrong, Gaucho thought. "Elliot Peabody is dead, Mr. Wiley," Gaucho said readying himself to judge Wiley's reaction.
"I find that very hard to believe. There have been no reports of fatalities in the city, and Elliot is quite an expert at his craft."
Gaucho had to hold himself back from slapping the smug station chief’s mouth.
"I'm telling you, he's dead."
It was obvious that the man still didn't believe him.
"So you come in here hoping to catch my ear, concocting this story, for what purpose? For money? Is that what you want? Well good try, gentlemen, but I'm not buying."
Before Gaucho could stop himself, he blurted aloud, "He was my friend, goddammit. And you want to know how I know he died? Because we were right beside him when he was shot. My friend here," he pointed to Top, "carried him two miles after he died."
Now Wiley sat back in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap. "He was your friend, you say. Then how was it that you encountered your friend on the streets of Djibouti in the midst of a coup?"
Gaucho had had enough. "We'd like to speak to the ambassador," he said through clenched teeth.
Wiley nodded and reached for the phone.
"Yes, would you come to my office, please? I have two men who require an escort. Thank you." He hung up the phone and he met Gaucho’s reproachful stare. "I'm sure we'll continue this conversation later."
"Of course. Thank you for your help, Mr. Wiley," Top said, obviously wanting to act as an intermediary before Gaucho launched himself over the station chief’s desk.
A moment later there was a knock on the door. Wiley said, "Come in."
Gaucho turned to see who was at the door. Instead of the Gunnery Sergeant, he found himself facing three men clothed in business suits and holding MP5s.
"I'd like these two escorted down to the holding area,” Wiley said. Before either man could protest, Wiley added, “Have them shackled, gagged, blindfolded, and prepped for the move to the interrogation facility."
"What the hell is this about?" Trent growled.
"Oh, don't play coy now. You know why I’m doing this. You're both wanted for the murder of Elliot Peabody."
Chapter 21
They had time for a couple hours’ catnap, not that anyone really slept soundly, except for Christian’s grandfather. While Daniel slipped into a peaceful reverie, the grandfather fell into a contented slumber.
In fact, when Daniel awoke, the old man was still asleep. For a few minutes Daniel listened to the gunfire in the distance. It beckoned to him. Old memories percolated up through his subconscious, not in an undesirable attack, but as a reassuring reminder. He’d learned to disregard the draining power of evil, instead allowing it to serve as a warning that there always lurked impending danger. It reminded him to tread with caution, lest fate carry him and those he cared about down the wrong path.
Daniel sat quiet, in the empty apartment they had been taken to, pondering how best to escape their current predicament. He watched as Christian attempted to get comfortable lying on the concrete floor. Cal sat in a corner, napping with Liberty’s head resting comfortably in his lap. He wondered what Cal might be dreaming about and wondered how much longer his friend would continue to serve in this capacity. Daniel knew, with 100% certainty, these missions would forever be his life's pursuit because out here he felt whole. He enjoyed the perks Cal provided his operators, and he truly appreciated the fancy housing in Charlottesville. It was just that Daniel was cut out for the simple life. He was most content with focusing on people, and had no real need for gathering things. He felt most comfortable, and authentic, while he was out on the roa
d. Especially when he was the only one awake, protecting his friends.
Every operation was a new adventure to Daniel. They provided him with opportunities to learn about new cultures and expand his already broad knowledge of the world and its people. He felt himself inexplicably drawn to both Christian and his grandfather, not necessarily because of anything they had either said or done. He admired the grandfather’s way in which he took measured steps, as if he were taking an extra half second to ponder things, whereas the majority of people just plodded ahead, always in a hurry. Then there was the way he looked at Daniel. There was no judgment there, just a silent acceptance as if he was saying, “You're one of us, aren't you?” He had taken to calling the old man “grandfather,” just like the grandson, and the man had seemed both pleased and honored.
There had been few times in Daniel's life when he'd encountered a person who seemed to understand the intricate weavings of the universe as he did. He'd accomplished this in a roundabout way. First, through service to his country followed by a period of time in which he found himself stumbling through life, and finally finding himself and where he fit in this vast world.
The last time he’d encountered “his kinfolk” was when he'd met the brothers of St. Longinus, the secretive order tasked with doing the Pope's bidding. They'd been a wonderful surprise. They were warriors as elite as any on earth and were blessed with an absolute faith in a higher power. This seemed to enhance their abilities and guide their steps. It kept them grounded and elevated all at once.
It wasn't that Daniel had envied those men, and he didn't envy the grandfather, but he strived to learn from such friends. Now that he thought about it, surely there were women with the same insight, who were a blessing to everyone they came across.
The grandfather stirred and opened his eyes as if he sensed that Daniel was thinking about him. He turned, looked at Daniel and gave him a small smile. Daniel smiled back, desiring to know what the man was thinking.
Now they were all beginning to stir. Liberty hopped up from the ground and shook herself off.
“Here, girl,” Christian said.
Liberty trotted over and was happy to give Christian a few licks on the cheek. For all the boy's bravery, he was still just a kid, and Daniel prayed that no harm would befall him.
The grandfather said something to Christian, and the boy looked over at Daniel, confused. There was a quick banter between them before Christian said, "My grandfather wants you to go with him. He says Cal, Dr. Higgins and I should go to the camp west of the city, with Liberty, of course."
“Camp,” Cal asked. “What camp?”
The grandfather rattled off a few sentences which Christian translated.
“He says the military has taken the prisoners there, and we might find some answers.
“What about them?” Cal asked regarding Daniel and the grandfather’s plans.
“They're going to see his nephew, the president.”
“That's a great idea and all, but I really think we should get to the embassy. Maybe they’ll have a way for us to contact our friends.”
“No,” Daniel said. “I think we should do what he says.”
The grandfather nodded in agreement.
“Are you sure about this?” Cal asked.
“I am. Now,” Daniel said, rising from the floor, “why don't we get going while we still have the cover of dark?”
Daniel and the grandfather wound their way through the city after leaving everyone else at the apartment. The old man led the way. He looked like a marathoner in his prime, never slowing except to look around corners and to stop when patrols neared. No words were spoken. They climbed atop buildings and hid behind cars.
Daylight was coming, and Daniel sensed the gentleman’s pace quicken. Daniel had expected to arrive at either a modest mansion or a presidential palace, so he was quite surprised to find themselves slowing as they approached a narrow street lined with modest homes.
Daniel felt completely exposed as they walked right down the middle of the street, but the grandfather strode with confidence, as if he owned the place. When they reached the end of the block, the old man tapped his chest and pointed to the end unit and said, “Home.”
“I thought we were going to help your nephew,” Daniel said.
The man repeated the gesture. “Home.”
They entered the unlocked front door. The interior was simple and tastefully decorated, as if ample money had been put into the place to make it comfortable, but not so much to make it appear ostentatious. The grandfather locked the door behind him. He stood in the middle of the living room when he called out. Daniel heard shuffling from the back of the small house.
His weapon was ready, should the need arise, but the grandfather stood calmly, and Daniel wondered if maybe he had a servant or family hiding in the back.
The first man to step out glanced around, cradling an automatic weapon. His face was slick with sweat. He looked alarmed when he saw Daniel. The grandfather said something to put the man at ease. There was a brief exchange, and then the big man motioned for the two to follow him to the back of the dwelling.
When they reached the kitchen they were met by two more men. One wore a blood-soaked bandage over his forehead and right eye, and the other bodyguard held one arm in a sling. They both carried weapons and had cast off their suit coats and wore loosened neckties.
The man with the bandage on his head walked over to Daniel. He was missing one eye, but he leveled his one good eye at Daniel and asked, “Who are you?”
The grandfather said something to the man, but that one good eye never took his gaze from Daniel.
Who are these guys? Daniel thought. Friends, local security?
And then his question was answered when a gentleman in a blue suit limped into the room. He didn't even seem to notice Daniel, but moved over to the grandfather and gave him an embrace. Then the grandfather grasped the man's head. The two touched foreheads and the old man said something softly so only the wounded man could hear. Then they separated, and the man looked at Daniel.
“My uncle tells me that you are American and can be trusted. Do you know who I am?”
“You're President Farah,” Daniel said.
The president nodded. “I would say welcome to my country, but this is a very sorry welcome. These men are my bodyguards, and as you can see, only Ali has come away relatively unscathed.”
“What happened to your leg?”
“It turns out that I am not quite as limber as I used to be. I took a fall as we were running away. Ali had to carry me when we ran for the car. I am sorry, how rude of me, I didn't catch your name.”
“Daniel, Mr. President. My name is Daniel Briggs.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Briggs, and if you are a friend of my uncle, I consider you good company. Now, may I ask what is it that you are doing in my country? You don't look like regular military, and I would assume that if you were Embassy staff, you would be there.”
The grandfather turned to face Daniel and gave him a look as if to say, “You can tell him everything. Trust.”
Now was no time to hold back. Daniel gave President Farah the highlights of their journey, starting from the emergency message sent by Vince and finishing with their meeting at Camp Lemonnier.
“Where is Christian?” the President asked. “I know he's a resourceful boy, but I would hate to see anything happen to him.”
“He is with my employer, Mr. President, and I'm sure they'll be fine.”
The president of Djibouti shifted from one leg to the other, wincing as he put weight on his injured knee.
“As providence would have it, I believe we are on a similar mission, Mr. Briggs. It just so happens that before I had to flee my own presidential quarters, I had a conversation with President Zimmer. Would you like to guess what we talked about?”
“Our missing friends,” Daniel said.
“You are correct. My only regret was that before I could tell your president more our
connection was severed. Would you like to know what I was about to tell President Zimmer when I was unceremoniously chased from my very home?”
Daniel nodded with fervor.
“I believe I know where your two men are being held.”
Now we're getting somewhere, Daniel thought.
The grandfather turned around suddenly, his hands held out wide, his palms pointing to the ground as if he were expecting to fall. He murmured something to his nephew who turned to his bodyguards and barked some commands. They scattered to opposite points in the house while Daniel stand firm.