Moral Imperative

by C. G. Cooper

  The dirt bikes were the only mementos they’d brought back. Stolen from a youth hostel just outside Adana, Turkey, the two men in their mid-twenties continued their adventurous journey home. Some nights they slept under the stars. Others they begged for a warm pile of hay in a barn.

  They’d made it across the Mediterranean in a modest fishing boat, helping the captain and his sons in exchange for food and a ticket home.

  Eduardo was glad to be home. He’d seen and done things that still brought terrors in the night, jolting him awake, hands clenched, heart racing.

  As he sped along the empty stretch of road, all the memories seemed to wash away, leaving his heart light once again.

  They stopped at a small rise overlooking the valley below, their motorcycles purring as if to say they wanted to keep going forever. Eduardo smiled at his friend.

  “Almost home,” he said.

  Hugo nodded. “Yes, it will be good to—”

  The coming words were shattered by a loud crack followed by an endless red. Eduardo almost fell back off his bike, just managing to reset his foot. His face felt wet.

  “What…?” he looked down at his dust stained t-shirt that was now covered in crimson. His heart raced as he looked back at his friend. Hugo was no longer sitting astride his motorcycle.

  The bike lay on its side, its rider toppled over, half a bloody head oozing life onto the dirt and rocks beneath it.

  In a split second Eduardo’s mind flashed SNIPER, and he went to gun his motor, but the round of the .50-cal Barrett sniper rifle was too fast. It tore through Eduardo’s body like a scythe through a stalk of hay.

  +++

  Owen Fox took his time stowing his new weapon. His fellow Aussies swept the area for any signs of their passing. By the time they left, no one would know they’d been there.

  Fox dusted off a blade of grass from the barrel of the high caliber weapon as it went back in its case. In less than a month since he’d acquired the American-made weapon from Cal Stokes, the Australian sniper had ninety two confirmed kills.

  The ex-surfer smiled as he set his prized weapon in the back of the open-top jeep. It was time to head back for a well-earned beer to the hotel where they were staying.

  Chapter 35

  Sofia Airport

  Sofia, Bulgaria

  6:43pm, August 18th

  Much of Cal’s responsibility had now been passed to other private operators setting up in theatre. He and his men had been the tip of the spear, but their follow-ons were the ones who were now tasked with the ongoing game of terrorist whack-a-mole.

  After leaving Iraq, Cal’s men had chased fleeing ISIS troops across the Middle East and Europe. They were killed in airports, taxis and in their hometowns. Now that Neil and the CIA were coordinating with sister agencies around the world, it was almost easy to track down the recruits who’d run to ISIS’s rally call.

  Cal knew they’d missed more, but he hoped word was still spreading. Neil was in the process of putting the finishing touches on a video compilation depicting the deaths of foreign fighters. It would go live at midnight, posted in all the usual places that wannabe jihadists trolled online.

  The president and Cal were in complete agreement as to the message: It doesn’t matter where you are or where you hide, we will find you and kill you.

  Cal and Daniel stepped off the airplane and made their way down the long gangway. Stojan Valko and his men were waiting at the ticket counter.

  The former rivals shook hands, the respect between them apparent. They’d run through fire and lead together. In a bizarre string of events, they’d become brothers-in-arms.

  “Welcome to my country,” said Valko.

  “Thanks for the invitation,” said Cal. He’d been anxious to get home and take a much-needed week off, but he couldn’t ignore Valko’s invitation. It had surprised him, and once again proven that warriors, men of proud hearts and limitless courage, could rise above petty misunderstandings and come to respect one another.

  The plan was to meet the heads of the Bulgarian government on behalf of President Zimmer tonight, then fly out the next morning. Valko promised to send them home in good cheer, which probably meant there would be a lot of celebratory drinking at tonight’s dinner. What better way to cement the new relationship between allies?

  The dinner was as informal as a dinner can be when it’s given in the Bulgarian president’s home. The president was an eloquent man who’d risen first through the ranks of the army, then through the echelons of politics to attain his current post.

  Cal learned that the president had been Valko’s sergeant when the gruff Bulgarian had first enlisted. Cal couldn’t help but laugh as the politician told them stories about young Private Valko’s first days of service to the motherland. Luckily Valko laughed along with them, the endless supply of Bulgarian booze no doubt helping.

  By the time dessert was served, everyone but Daniel had had their fair share of drinks and food. One of the president’s ministers was snoring loudly in the corner, and another looked like he was about to fall out of his chair. Cal wasn’t drunk, but he was sure he couldn’t put another bite in his mouth. He was stuffed.

  “Which way’s the bathroom?” he asked Valko.

  The Bulgarian pointed to an ornately carved wooden door in the corner.

  “Do not fall in,” said a visibly inebriated Valko.

  Cal chuckled and slid back from the table. Maybe a little walk would make room for dessert.

  +++

  The guard checked the visitor’s identification again. Something seemed familiar, like deja vu. Hadn’t this man already come into the presidential compound? Maybe he’d left while the guard was on break and was now returning. He checked the visitor’s list and there was the name.

  He handed the military identification back to the impatient man sitting in the idling Mercedes Benz. Supposedly he was a friend of the president. It said so on the list, and the list had never been wrong.

  He shrugged off the unease as the man drove into the complex and found a parking spot in the third row.

  +++

  Daniel watched the revelry with silent amusement. It was good to see Valko letting off some steam. The Marine knew what it was like to have so much pent up anger simmering inside. For years he’d battled his own demons after leaving the Marine Corps. He understood Valko’s torment, and hoped this was a sign of things to come.

  The sniper glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. While he didn’t mind the late hour, he’d hoped to get a couple hours of sleep before morning. By the looks of the men around the expansive table, the festivities were just getting revved up.

  Daniel smiled and took another sip of his water.

  +++

  Bulgaria’s Minister of Foreign Affairs tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. His wife would not be happy that a) he was coming home so late, and b) he was so drunk. It didn’t happen often, but his wife, a strict religious type, always gave him the cold shoulder when he arrived home in such a state. No sex tonight, he thought. Unlike the majority of his colleagues, he found his wife extremely alluring. Maybe it was because, in direct contrast to her pious public lifestyle, she was a lioness in the bedroom.

  As he neared the stairs leading down to the foyer, the minister heard footsteps coming up. His vision blurry, it took a moment for his eyes to focus. I must be seeing things, he thought, chiding himself for drinking too much.

  He raised a hand and smiled. “Valko, didn’t I just leave you in the dining room?” the minister asked, his words slurring.

  The man didn’t answer, just kept coming closer. The minister tried once again to focus by shaking his head. When he opened his eyes, the man who looked like Stojan Valko was pointing a long pistol at his head. Rather than be alarmed, the minister’s face scrunched in confusion. He’d known Stojan since taking office three years before. The Special Forces soldier was a personal friend of the president. Maybe he was drunk too and playing a prank. The minister giggled.r />
  “Stojan, why are you—”

  The two silenced blasts from the Makarov pistol quieted the minister forever. Stepping over the dead foreign minister, Valko’s twin walked toward the dining room.

  +++

  Cal checked his email after washing his hands in the expansively luxurious bathroom. He was sure the first house he remembered living in when his dad was stationed at Camp Lejeune could’ve fit in there. Why did someone need that many benches and sinks in a private bathroom?

  Cal skimmed the messages and smiled at the sound of renewed laugher from the dining room. I better start drinking water, he thought as he deleted a message from Neil and then opened one from Diane. They’d kept in regular contact despite his hectic schedule. It was odd to be on the battlefield and still have the ability to connect back home. The luxury was something old veterans never had in Korea, Vietnam or even the First Gulf War.

  He read the short note from Diane, imagining how her face might’ve crinkled as she wrote it.

  Cal, I’m sorry I missed your call this morning. It’s been crazy around here. I can’t wait to see you when you get back. This time dinner’s on me. Let me know when you can talk on the phone.

  - Diane

  He reread the note and then tapped on the reply icon. Just as he went to type his response, he heard a commotion from the dining room. It sounded like someone had knocked a plate or a platter off the table.

  Cal went to the door and reached for the handle.

  +++

  It was easier than he’d thought. There wasn’t much that money couldn’t buy. A new suit. A fresh haircut and shave. A duplicate military identification card.

  Kiril Valko had found out about his brother’s involvement in Iraq soon after the elder Valko fled to Syria. While jets flew overhead and bombs rattled the ground, Kiril found his brother.

  He’d kept periodic tabs on his twin brother. For example, he’d known that Stojan was a Special Forces soldier and that he’d served with the current Bulgarian president. Kiril didn’t know the extent of his brother’s military experience, but he’d found everything he needed once the millions were spent.

  The man who’d become The Master had always kept distant contacts within his mother country. There were Islamic sympathizers in almost every government around the world, and currency could always be counted on to loosen their atrophied tongues. If money didn’t work, threats always did.

  So he’d connected with an old friend from his time in jail who now worked as a private cook for the Bulgarian National Assembly. Then there were the guards he’d bribed and the assistants he’d blackmailed. Luckily, the president of Bulgaria was inferior to its prime minister, and this allowed easier access for the leader of ISIS. Years of practice honed his craft. Getting to his target was child’s play for the master tactician. Besides, he had a secret weapon.

  Kiril didn’t hesitate when he slipped into the room, shooting three of the six men sitting with their backs turned. They fell to the floor, taking stem wear and platters with them.

  Those left saw what he held. In his right hand was the pistol. In his left was a trigger, a thin blue wire running from his half unbuttoned shirt where a vest of explosives was strapped to his chest.

  The president stared in his drunk stupor much like the minister he’d killed on the landing. His brother glared at him from across the table, the veins in his neck bulging. There was a third. A man with a calm face and snake-like eyes, whose blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. Kiril didn’t know who he was. It didn’t matter.

  “Come with me, brother,” said Kiril, grinning at Stojan.

  “The guards?” asked Stojan.

  “Dead,” lied Kiril. “Come. If we go now, your president may live.”

  His brother wasn’t stupid. He might not be as smart as him, but the Bulgarian warrior could see that his older twin meant what he’d said. Besides, the men squirming on the floor had limited time. They would die if they weren’t given medical attention soon.

  Stojan rose from his chair, slowly making his way around the disheveled table.

  “What do you want?” asked Stojan.

  “You will see,” replied Kiril.

  +++

  Cal listened from the door. He couldn’t understand what either of the men was saying, but he saw the trigger in the man’s hand through the cracked bathroom door. Cal couldn’t see the man’s face, and figured the stranger was some nut job who wanted to kill the president. That was just their luck. Come to Bulgaria for dinner and end up in a life or death confrontation.

  Cal quickly examined his options. If the explosive were rigged with a dead man’s switch, he surely had enough to level half the building. That meant Cal couldn’t shoot the guy without risking his life and the lives of the six men in the room.

  He bet Daniel was thinking the same thing, and that was why the sniper hadn’t moved. Without another alternative, Cal watched as Stojan Valko approached the intruder.

  Chapter 36

  Private Home of the President of Bulgaria

  12:03am, August 19th

  Kiril kept his pistol trained on his brother, his opposite hand maintaining pressure on the dead man’s switch. He’d set the sensitivity level himself, ensuring a detonation should he be disabled by an attacker.

  He watched his brother come closer, tried to read his face. As children, they’d often stayed up late trying to read each other’s minds. He’d once read a scientific report that said twins, especially identical twins, had certain intertwined abilities that science didn’t completely understand.

  Kiril had not only spent his years away becoming a deadly terrorist, but he’d read anything he could put his hands on about twins. It was a passion he’d never given up, and never told anyone about.

  So as his brother inched closer, he tried again to read his brother’s thoughts, to feel his emotions. He’d always wished that someday they’d be reunited and find a common cause to fight for, to die for. He dared to believe. Maybe this was the day.

  +++

  A whirlwind of emotions swept through Stojan as he approached his brother. Images of his mother and father sneaked from the depths of his memories and into his subconscious. He remembered the anger he felt toward his father, the pain caused by his death. He remembered the despair of his mother and how she’d withered away until death finally took her.

  Above it all, he remembered the closeness he’d always felt with his brother. Even when he’d seen him last, banishing Kiril from his sight, he’d felt like his heart had been ripped out as his brother left through the door.

  Every raw emotion and moment of bitter angst came screaming back. He was a child again, yearning for the love of his brother, wanting to be one.

  His eyes pleaded as six feet, and then five feet sat before them.

  +++

  Kiril saw the change in Stojan’s eyes. He suddenly felt the familiar feeling of having his brother close. The years had not changed a thing. They were one. The thought gave him hope.

  “Come, brother,” he beckoned.

  He saw tears in Stojan’s eyes. Tears! This was his brother, the tough warrior, the son who’d wanted to be like their father, the one with no emotion. Surely this was a sign. This was Allah granting him a gift amidst his loss, the death of thousands of his loyal brothers only to regain his true brother.

  Tears came to his own eyes as Stojan spread his arms. The two brothers embraced.

  +++

  Cal watched in shock as Stojan Valko hugged the man who was wrapped in explosives. Then he understood. This was the brother. The Master. The murderer.

  Regret and anger flooded Cal’s chest. His mind seethed. How could he have been so stupid, so naive? He’s been in on it all along.

  Cal gripped the pistol in his hand, and waited for the right moment to kill the two together. Maybe he’d get lucky and the explosives wouldn’t go off. But then maybe they would and he’d be screwed for good.

  He didn’t care.

  +++


  The flood of feeling was like a torrent, filling Kiril’s heart. This was what he’d always wanted. He’d killed his own father for his brother. He’d left to build a new world, a world for twins bonded for all time. Deep down he knew why, but he’d never admitted it until now.

  He loved his brother despite their disagreements, despite their time apart. Kiril was whole. He wondered if it had all been about the journey, some adventure crafted by Allah simply for the union of two brothers.

  All was right. All was good. Allahu akbar, he thought. God is good.

  +++

  Cal eased the door open. Neither brother seemed to notice until he stepped one foot out. Stojan’s eyes snapped open and they met Cal’s glare.

  Stojan blinked, but didn’t move and he didn’t say anything to his brother. Then, just perceptibly, Stojan nodded to Cal and made his move.

  +++

  Kiril felt his brother release their embrace until they stared at each other, faces inches apart. They looked so much alike, true identical twins. One the mirror reflection of the other.

  “I love you, brother,” said Stojan, the words filling Kiril’s heart to bursting.

  “I—”

  Kiril’s eyes widened as Stojan’s hands snapped out and grasped both of his own.

  “What are you doing?” Kiril growled.

  “What I should have done long ago,” Stojan said evenly, his strength far surpassing Kiril’s.

  The pistol clattered to the floor, and suddenly Kiril was moving, not by his own power, but carried by his powerful younger brother.