“—is Muqtada al-Sadr, all around general-purpose Iraqi scumbag. He traces his paternal lineage back to the prophet himself—”
Jason looked over at Ahmed as Hess spoke, but if the interpreter took any offense to the Major’s words or tone it didn’t show. When Jason looked back at the screen Rudy’s face flashed in his head and he quickly closed his eyes, rubbing his fingers across the lids.
“—and since 2004 he’s been viewed by many in his country as a freedom fighter, with his Mahdi army actively fighting U.S. and coalition forces.”
“Muj faggot,” one of the mercs yelled out.
“Our next boy scout needs no introduction.” A third image appeared on the screen behind Hess. “This is Osama bin Laden. You all know why the U.S. government is interested in him…”
Jason focused on the picture of the man on the screen. His lean face and subdued eyes. His beard. When Jason blinked, an image of Vice President Sabian flitted through his mind and he couldn’t help himself, he blurted out, “Fucker.”
“Yeah,” Bronson agreed. “But he dead, ain’t he?”
“…but let me tell you something you might not know about Osama,” Major Hess’ voice boomed across the hall. “He himself has lost two close family members in airplane crashes. His father in ’67 in Saudi Arabia and his oldest stepbrother in ’88 in Texas. Osama is believed to have fathered somewhere in the vicinity of twenty five children.”
Jason was blinking his eyes rapidly and shaking his head.
“You okay, Jay?”
“Yeah-yeah. I’m fine.” He noticed how Deirdre and Hahn were both looking at him the way Mook had looked at him. “What?” he asked them, a little more loudly than he should have.
“…despite recurring kidney problems, despite reports of his demise at our hands, Osama is believed to be alive and well somewhere in the Pakistani badlands.”
Satellite photos began to appear on the screen.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, is Pakistan. And these…”
Jason blinked. The images in his mind had ceased.
“…are the caves of Tora Bora. It was widely suspected that Bin Laden was holed up in these caverns, but we know on authority—”
“Navy Seals!” Snork called out but the Major ignored him.
“—that he is not. In two days time, these three men will be meeting in one place.”
An aerial view of a middle eastern city was on the screen.
“This place.”
A quick succession of photographs took the viewers down into the streets of the city.
“They will be meeting in this city, over the Afghan border. Inside territorial Pakistan.
“And they’re not just getting together to trade war stories and praise the prophet.” Jason looked towards Ahmed again but the man appeared unperturbed. “Bin Laden,” Hess explained, “is brokering a deal between Khan and Al Sadr. Our intelligence indicates Khan is selling the Iraqis a plutonium weapon.”
A picture of a mushroom cloud appeared on the screen. The cafeteria was completely silent. Hess allowed the quiet to reign for a few moments before continuing.
“As you’re all probably aware, international law says we cannot engage the enemy in the sovereign nation of Pakistan. Buy you know what I say?”
“Fuck Pakistan!” shouted Snork.
“I say Fuck Pakistan.”
Jason’s mind briefly registered that there was something strange about the way Snork had yelled out and then Hess had repeated it. It hadn’t sounded like Hess was agreeing with the merc or reiterating his words. It was almost, thought Jason, like Hess hadn’t even heard Snork speak.
“You’ve each shown, in your own ways, what John Q. Public and the fobbits would consider a reckless disregard for international law and human life. But that is not how I view you. I view you as men and women who are willing to do what is necessary to see a mission through to completion. I view you as survivors, each of whom is willing to dish out a whole lot of pain in order to make sure you live.”
Jason didn’t consider himself a survivor. He’d done what he’d done because—he had to admit—something wasn’t right in his head. He’d destroyed an entire family for God’s sake. A little girl. And here he was watching this power point display and he was seeing more shit.
“In two days time these three men will be meeting and we will be there to intercept them.”
Snork and the young merc high fived one another.
“You all have something to prove. To yourselves, to your friends, to your countries. This is your chance to make right three wars and to rid the world of some truly nasty men.
“I will be accompanying you into the field. I will not tolerate any insubordination. I will not entertain insolence, nor will I countenance disregard of my commands. Is that clear? Good. This mission you are to embark on is of paramount importance to your countries. Perhaps you have some understanding of the significance of the contribution you’ll be making. Perhaps you do not.
“History will look back on each of you as a hero.
“Tomorrow we leave. The remainder of your day will be spent preparing, suiting up, arming yourselves. I suggest you all get a good night’s sleep. We’ll be disembarking at oh-five-hundred tomorrow morning.”
Once more, Major Hess did not ask if there were any questions. As he had the previous day, he turned on his heel and marched from the room with the two other men. When the door closed behind them, Hahn said something.
“What was that?” Bronson asked Ahmed.
“She said something is not right about this.”
“All these scumbags gathered in one place…” Jason mulled it over.
Deirdre agreed. “A veritable rogues’ gallery.”
“If this is true…” Ahmed’s voice quavered “…we are walking into—”
“A death trap,” Jason finished for him.
“Yes.”
“Yeah,” Jason sighed, resigned, “that’s it.”
“What’s that?” Bronson asked him.
“They’re sending us somewhere to die.”
“Fuck that. You don’t know that, main.”
“You’re right. I don’t. How’s that real nigga vision working for you?”
Bronson didn’t smile.
“Don’t be such a cynic,” Deirdre said to Jason. The way she said it and the look on her face as she said it, Jason thought she was trying to tell him something. He looked at her, but he had no clue what she might be alluding to.
“Payback time, motherfuckers!” Snork called out, pounding fists with his fellow mercenaries.
“Evil never sleeps, but nor does justice…”
The room with the flat screen television was empty, the game controllers resting on the folding chairs.
“And while the forces of evil are afoot in the land, the forces of good are on the hunt.”
The President was on the television, giving a speech.
“When I was a little boy, my granddaddy took me on my knee, and he told me this. Evil never sleeps.”
Jason watched the screen. The man did not look comfortable.
“And I stand before you today, and vow, to the best of my abilities, the United States of America will not be driven to its knees, but will be risen from the ashes like the proverbial bird.”
He turned his back on the screen and made for the doors.
“And seek and root out and destroy evil in all its evil manifestations. God bless America.”
The president kept talking, even after he thought the cameras had stopped filming.
“Everybody’s heard about the bird, right?”
Jason caught up with Fleegle on the gun range. He stood in the ante chamber and watched the mercenary leader speed firing a semi-automatic pistol.
They were alone on the gun range.
Jason had never seen anyone fire a pistol that quickly. Pop-pop-pop until the pistol emptied and Fleegle’s hand swiped up, replacing the magazine that had just dropped out of the well, the succession o
f shots continuing, nearly unabated, pop-pop-pop.
Snork might not have faired very well going toe to toe against Hahn, Jason thought, but Fleegle at least could shoot.
When he was done, Fleegle replaced the pistol and stepped through the sliding glass door into the ante-chamber. If he was surprised to see Jason, he didn’t show it.
“What’s your thinking on this?” Jason asked.
Fleegle scratched the side of his mustache. “I think we’re fucked.”
“You believe Hess?”
“I don’t believe in Hess.”
Jason thought it was a peculiar thing to say. Peculiar, but it made some kind of sense. “What do you mean?”
“You haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary about our major?”
“Like what?”
The corners of the other man’s mouth turned up briefly but he didn’t answer.
“So, what do you think we’re walking into?”
“Well, I don’t think we’re walking into a pow-wow for America’s most wanted.”
“Too convenient, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Pakistan?”
“Highly unlikely. Washington doesn’t have the balls to send us in there and get the job done.”
“Then what?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out. Aren’t we?”
“So we are fucked?”
Fleegle nodded. “That’s what I said.”
Later that afternoon, Jason was enjoying what he thought might be his last shower for a long time, if not forever. The hot water pounded his hair and rushed down his back, running in streams off his legs.
He heard someone enter the shower room with him but didn’t turn to look. Even if it was Snork, Jason didn’t think the man would attack him. He had no reason to. And Jason figured if he was Snork, he’d be questioning his combat effectiveness now, what with Hahn taking him out so fast last night. It had to eat away at a guy like Snork that a woman had choked him out.
“Jason.” Before he could respond, Deirdre pressed her body to the back of his. “No, stay there.”
What the…? She had her hands on his shoulders and he felt her naked breasts against his back. He immediately began to stiffen.
She took one hand off his shoulder and reached out to the tile facing them. Deirdre used her finger to draw a line and then another and Jason realized she was writing something, smudging it on the fogged tile. When she was done, there was one word.
Diogenes
Jason was considering what she meant by it when she used her palm to wipe it away. Deirdre stepped back, away from him, crossing the room to another shower stall. Jason stood facing the tiles, sporting a full erection, not necessarily wanting to turn around and let her see it.
Whatever her intent, it hadn’t been romance.
When the lights in the barracks dimmed that night, Jason lay on his mattress staring at the ceiling. Deirdre hadn’t said anything further in front of the others about the shower and he hadn’t been able to get her alone to ask. Diogenes she had written on the wall. Jason knew that Diogenes was one of the world’s largest and most powerful corporations. Also some character from Greek myth or history.
He remembered the aerostat in the sky above the checkpoint in Iraq. A Diogenes blimp. He knew the company had numerous deals with the Department of Defense, supplying everything from information and intelligence to food and firearms. Dr. Kaku—just thinking about the man made Jason feel unpleasant—had shown Jason photos from the aerostat. Hadn’t he?
Jason couldn’t remember if that part was real or imagined.
Everyone around him appeared to be asleep. Hahn had changed beds for the evening and Jason didn’t know where she was. He couldn’t hear anything from the mercs’ side of the room. He didn’t think a guy like Snork was going to let what had happened last night go, even though the fat mercenary had been the one who’d instigated it. If he were Snork, and if he wanted to get Hahn, he’d wait until they were out in the field. Easier there.
Bronson snored beneath him.
Jason was close to sleep. Sometimes when he was about to drift off, snippets of conversation entered his head. When they did, he knew he was going to fall asleep because he wasn’t willing the voices or what they said. They came on their own. And as he lay there in the barracks with no true clue to where he was, he thought he heard someone call his name.
Jason.
He sat up and looked around. He couldn’t see much because the room was dark, the feint glow of the recessed ceiling lights doing little to dispel the dark. Ahmed was facing in the opposite direction and Jason couldn’t make out his face. He leaned over, the mattress squealing slightly, and looked down on Bronson whose mouth was open, snoring.
Instead of succumbing to the lure of sleep, Jason swung his legs over the bunk and eased himself to the floor, trying to make as little noise as possible. He padded across the cool linoleum in his bare feet. The blinking green light of the camera on the wall above the double doors beckoned him. Jason walked to it, passing a group of bodies huddled on their bunks—the mercs—none stirring. The blinking light grew faster as he neared the camera. It was solid green when he was standing under it, looking up at it.
He looked into it, knowing someone was looking back at him someplace else. The camera appeared unremarkable. Black lens, a solid grey body. It looked like every other camera mounted on the walls in the complex, like many security cameras he’d seen before. And then Jason noticed it: a decal on the side of the body housing. A lantern with rays of light shining out into the surrounding area.
He knew the logo.
Diogenes Incorporated.
A few things clicked in Jason’s mind…Deirdre pressed up next to him naked in the shower, writing what she had on the misted tiles…earlier in the day telling him not to be such a cynic, Jason feeling at the time that there was something to the comment that wasn’t connecting.
Diogenes the Cynic.
Jason remembered what little he knew of the historical figure, the myth about him wandering the streets in Greece with his lantern, looking for an honest man. He was again left with the feeling that something was going on, that there were events unfolding and forces at play that he remained ignorant of. He couldn’t make sense of it.
Pushing through the double doors, Jason headed for the bathroom. He would urinate, return to his bunk, and try to sleep.
Redtide International, LLC
From Wakipedia, the subscriber-driven encyclopedia
Redtide Intl., LLC
Type: Private military security firm
Industry: Private military and security contractor
Founded: 2007
Founder(s): I. Egge
M. Palmer
Headquarters: Smithfield, North Carolina, USA
Area served: worldwide
Products: law enforcement training. Logistics, close quarter training, and security services
Services: Security management, full-service risk management consulting
Revenue: Unknown
Operating income: Unknown
Net income: Unknown
Employees: Unknown
…7 Litigation
7.1 Litigation over actions in the middle east
Redtide International has played a substantial role during the Iraq, Afghanistan and Iran wars as a contractor for the United States government. Redtide has also provided support personnel and security consultation services in Libya, Egypt, Bahrain, Tunisia, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. In 2011, Redtide attained its first high-profile contract when it won a $56 million no-bid contract for….
For work in the region, Redtide International has drawn contractors from their database containing “37,000 former Special Forces operatives, soldiers, and law enforcement agents,” including both U.S. and international talent….Between 2011 and 2013, Redtide security employees were involved in 323 shooting incidents; in 202 of these cases, Redtide employees fired first. 53 staff have been fired for
violations of Redtide’s drug and alcohol policy….
In April, 2013, Redtide contractors killed over thirty Iraqi civilians and destroyed a Mosque…
Evil Never Sleeps
Bronson was up on the .50 cal., Jason behind the wheel of the up-armored Humvee. Aguilera sat by himself in the rear, amid lashed-down crates and ammunition boxes. Their vehicle was the fourth and final in a convoy comprised of two High-Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicles and two Strykers. To Jason, it seemed two to three vehicles too many for fourteen men and women, but it was a mixed blessing. He didn’t have to ride with the four mercenaries—they had a Stryker all to themselves—and he didn’t have to ride with Letitia. She was in the other Humvee with Deirdre, Hahn and Ahmed. Lucky them.
There was a lot that didn’t make sense to Jason. He tried to concentrate on the road, to steer the Humvee safely among the trail that slalomed between boulders and stunted scrub pines. But, for instance, why hadn’t Hess made Ahmed ride with him in the lead Stryker? Did the Major and his guys have an understanding of the local language and thereby no need of Ahmed? And just what the hell might the local language be? Jason couldn’t glean where they were based on the surrounding terrain. Rocks, sand, sparse trees, mountains. He assumed he was somewhere in the Middle East, but for all he knew it could be the American mid west.
They’d come to in the cargo hold of a C-130, presumably after it had just touched down. Presumably because Major Hess and his men had done the rousing, yelling at them to get up and get at it. Jason figured if they’d all been sleeping—and they’d all been sleeping—then they must have been drugged. He could see himself nodding off on the flight over, but he couldn’t imagine a guy like Fleegle would sleep en route to a mission. As they’d been disembarking the Hercules, driving the wheeled vehicles down the cargo ramp, no one—no pilot, no crew members—emerged from the flight deck.
His eyes scanned the sides of the road beyond the ballistic windshield of the Humvee, looking for anything suspicious, anything out of place. They’d come off the plane in full battle rattle, armed and armored. Whoever was bankrolling this operation didn’t seem like they were trying to hide who Jason and the others were or where they were coming from. The digitalized camo fatigues they wore were standard issue.
Warlord: Dervish Page 10