by L. T. Ryan
I exhaled loudly. Cool, calm and collected when others would panic. Now, I felt my hands trembling slightly. A deep breath reset me to normal. Typical reaction.
“Christ, Bear. What the hell was that about?”
He chuckled. “I think they’re on our side, Jack.”
“What makes you think that?” I used my sleeve to wipe a layer of cold sweat from my brow.
His smile widened.
“They didn’t shoot.”
“What did you say to them… ah, forget it. You’re a crazy SOB. You know that, right?”
He shrugged. Pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Lit two. Handed me one.
I leaned back against the wall again. Took a deep drag.
“You think this is what Keller had in mind when he shipped us off to the CIA?”
I had kept in touch with General Keller since he took us out of recruit training and placed us into the CIA sponsored program. This was not what he had in mind.
“Beats what we’d be doing otherwise.”
I threw my head back and nodded over my shoulder toward the door. “You sure about that?”
Bear shrugged. His big head shook slightly. He wiped his face, then looked at me.
“I’m not sure of much anymore, Jack. This is what I know. They ship us somewhere. We do our job. Pretty simple.”
I nodded. It was pretty simple. Eight years now and we knew the routine. We do our job. Only here, our job had been castrated down to nothing but a security detail while they did the work that would get the glory. Hopefully they’d get it soon and ship us back to the U.S.
I said nothing. We stood in silence, smoking our cigarettes. I stared at the orange glow of the smoke cloud that covered half the sky.
“Noble. Logan.”
The voice ripped through the air like a mortar arcing over our heads. The door whipped open. Bealle stood in the doorway.
“We need you two inside.”
I turned to face Eddie Bealle, fourth man on the totem pole of the four man CIA spec ops team. I took a deep drag on my cigarette. Exhaled. Dropped the smoke on the ground and stubbed it out with the heel of my boot.
“We’re ready to go, Bealle.”
* * *
We followed Bealle through the narrow doorway and down an even narrower hallway. The smell of burned bread filled the house. I looked over my shoulder and saw Bear shuffling sideways behind me. His broad shoulders too wide to fit square between the thin plaster walls. We turned a corner to another stretch of hall that opened up to a dimly lit room.
“What’s the deal here, Bealle?” I asked.
Bealle said nothing. Kept walking. His rank on the team was too low to justify acting like a prick. I had wanted the opportunity to beat it out of him for weeks now. He stepped through the opening, walked across the room and rejoined his team.
I followed, stopped and stepped to the right. Bear stepped to the left.
Scott Martinez looked over and nodded. He said something in Arabic to the Iraqi man sitting on the floor. The man’s arms and legs were bound with the thick plastic ties we carried. Martinez rose from his crouching position and walked toward me. He ran a hand through his sweat soaked short brown hair and wiped blood spatter off his cheek. He stopped a few feet in front of me. Like most spec op guys he was a good four inches shorter than me and a head shorter than Bear. There were exceptions. My eyes drifted across the room and locked on Aaron Kiser. He stood six foot two and could look me directly in the eye.
I scanned the room. My eyes inched along the yellow stained walls and ceiling. Paintings and family photos hung crooked in obvious spots. The furniture had been pushed to the far end of the room. The captive family huddled together at the other end. The man stared blankly at the floor between his bound feet. His wife sat behind him. Her black hair frizzed and disheveled. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Her hands rested in her lap, bound at the wrists. Two small children, one boy and one girl, hid behind her. Their scared faces peeked over her shoulder. Their eyes were dark with fear and darted between the men holding their family captive.
I hated this part of the job. If we had something on the man, fine. He likely did something to bring us here. But why keep the family held up like this? Seemed to be the MO over here. And I had no choice but to go with it.
“Your job here,” Martinez said, as if he had read my mind, “is to provide support. No different than any other day. I give an order, you follow. Understand?”
I shifted my eyes to his and said nothing.
Bear coughed and crossed his arms across his chest.
Martinez dropped his head and shook it. A grin formed on his lips, but his eyes narrowed. We’d butted heads more than once and I figured he had become as sick of me as I was of him.
“I’m so tired of you two Jarheads.”
I looked over at Bear and mouthed the phrase “Jarheads” at him. He laughed.
The bound man on the floor looked up. His glassed over eyes made contact with mine. I felt my smile fade and my lips thinned. The man’s eyes burned with hatred and desperation. He took a deep breath, looked back down at the floor.
“Follow, Noble.” Martinez turned and held up his hand while gesturing toward me. He walked across the room and stopped in front of the Iraqi man. Kicked him in the stomach.
The man fell forward into Martinez’s legs. His face contorted into a pained expression while he struggled to fill his lungs with air.
“Get this sonovabitch off of me,” Martinez said.
Kiser stepped forward, grabbed the Iraqi by the back of his head and dragged him to the middle of the room.
Martinez moved to the middle and crouched down. He looked the Iraqi man in the eyes.
“I want you to see this. See what your failure to give us any information has led to.”
Martinez stood and walked over to the man’s wife. He reached under her arm and yanked her to her feet. She gasped and her children cried out. They grabbed at her with their tiny hands. Bealle and Richard Gallo led the woman by her elbows to the wall across from me. Martinez followed. He stood in front of the woman, leaned in and whispered in her ear.
Her eyes scanned the room and met mine. A tear rolled down her thin face. Her mouth opened slightly. Her lips quivered. She bit her bottom lip and then mouthed the word “please” to me. Martinez brought a hand to her cheek and she started crying.
Martinez moved to his right and looked over his shoulder at the man on the floor.
“Isn’t your wife worth it?” His face lit up as he said it. Eyes wide. The corners of his mouth turned upwards. His breathing picked up. The spec ops leader appeared to find the exchange exhilarating.
The Iraqi man said nothing. He held his head high and his shoulders back. He stood defiant on his knees.
Martinez brushed the woman’s hair back behind her ears. Leaned again. Whispered. She let out a loud sob and then took a deep breath to compose herself. She looked toward her children and said something in Arabic. Then she turned to Martinez and spit in his face.
He stepped back. Wiped his face. Struck her with the back of his hand. Her head jerked back and hit the wall with a thud. Her body slumped. Martinez reached out with one hand and grabbed her by the neck. With his other hand he pulled his pistol from its holster. He pressed the black gun barrel against the side of her head. His hand slid up from her neck and squeezed her cheeks in. The pressure of his hands against the sides of her face jarred her mouth open. He jammed the barrel of the gun in her mouth.
“Is this what you want, bitch?” He paused a moment. “Huh? Want your kids to see your brains blown all over this wall?”
I felt rage build. This was wrong in every sense of the word. I took a step forward. Bear’s large hand came down on my shoulder and held me back.
“Get the kids out of the room, Martinez,” I said.
Martinez straightened up and cocked his head. His arms dropped to his side and he turned to face me. He stared at me for a few seconds and lifted a
finger in my direction. The woman slid down the wall and crawled on the floor to her kids.
“Noble,” he said. “I told you that you follow my orders. Not the other way around. You got it?”
“Let,” I took a step forward, “the kids,” another step, “leave the room.” I kept moving forward until we met. Chest to chest. Eyes to chin.
I heard weapons drawn around the room. The floor creaked behind me, a sign that Bear was moving into position.
“Gallo,” Martinez said.
“Yeah?” Gallo said, stepping out of the shadowy corner he had occupied.
“Move the man to the corner, then the woman,” Martinez said.
Gallo did as instructed. The family huddled together in the far corner of the room.
“Now stay here, Gallo” Martinez said. “Rest of you, outside. Now.”
I felt the barrel of a gun in my back. Didn’t turn to see who it was.
“You two leave your weapons behind,” Martinez said.
We moved back through the narrow hall to the slightly wider doorway. Bear stepped outside first. Me second. Kiser came out behind me with Bealle and finally Martinez in tow.
The moon now hovered directly above the street, beyond the cover of the orange smoke. I scanned the street and spotted a group of men hanging out a few blocks away. Were they the same men from earlier? Perhaps a new group of men not as friendly as the last. Their chatter stopped and they turned to face us. A few stepped forward. Were they planning to attack? That wouldn’t be a bad thing. Might give us and the CIA spec ops something in common to fight instead of each other.
“You guys keep an eye on him,” Martinez said.
I swung my head around and saw Kiser and Bealle aim their guns on Bear. Like us, they carried Beretta M9 9mm pistols. Weapon of choice, it seemed. I followed Martinez’s movements as he paced a five foot area in the middle of the street.
“Noble,” Martinez said. “Step on out here.”
I looked at Bear. He nodded, winked. I crossed the packed dirt yard and stepped into the street.
Martinez lunged at me the moment my foot hit the pavement.
I ducked his blow and followed up by pushing his back. His momentum sent him into the side of the house. He reached out with his arms and came to a grinding halt. He turned, rolled his head. His neck and shoulders cracked and popped.
Kiser and Bealle kept their weapons pointed at Bear, but their eyes were fixed on Martinez.
I made the next move and engaged Martinez. We danced in a tight spiral, trading blows of fist and foot. Every connection sent a cloudburst of sweat and blood into the air. The two of us struck and countered with the precision of two highly trained prize fighters. We were equals now.
Martinez threw a flurry of punches. One landed on the side of my head. The blow knocked me to the ground. I knew his next move would be to kick me in the midsection. I quickly rolled and got to my hands and feet.
Martinez backed up.
I looked to the side. Saw black combat boots less than four feet away. I didn’t have to look up to know the boots didn’t belong to Bear. He wore brown boots.
Martinez started toward me. I had to time my attack just right. If I struck too soon Martinez would be out of my reach. Too late and he’d be upon me before I would have a chance to react.
I took a deep breath. Time slowed down. Martinez’s boots hit the packed dirt. Heel then toe. Left then right. Ten feet way. Eight feet away. Six feet away.
I launched into the air to the right and twisted my body. Kiser didn’t have time to react other than to turn slightly toward me. His outstretched right arm moved too slow. My body continued to twist to the right and I whipped my left arm around. My hand wrapped into a fist and struck Kiser’s windpipe hard and fast. He let out a loud gasp. Dropped his gun. His hands went to his neck as he stumbled backward and fell to the ground. He tried to suck air into his lungs, but his crushed throat wouldn’t allow it. His lungs shriveled. His face turned red then blue and scrunched up into a contorted look of agony.
Martinez closed the gap between the two of us. Dumb bastard. He should have pulled his weapon. Again I ducked and slipped to the side, letting his momentum carry him a good ten feet away.
I cast a quick glance toward Bear who held Bealle’s limp body against the building with his left hand while his right delivered punch after furious punch.
With Bealle and Kiser out of commission, I turned to deal with Martinez, who had just scraped himself off the ground and was approaching. I still couldn’t figure out why he didn’t pull his gun on me. End it quickly. He stepped over Kiser’s limp body. Stopped a few feet away from me.
I heard a body hit the ground behind me. Bear stood next to me.
Martinez lunged toward me. I moved to the side and brought a fist down across the bridge of his nose. He went to the ground. Bear picked him up, drove two hard blows to Martinez’s face and tossed him next to Bealle.
We reentered the house, guns drawn. Confronted Gallo. He gave up without a fight.
“You people should leave,” I said to the family. “Tonight. Now.”
Bear removed the thick plastic ties that bound their arms together.
The family huddled together. Each parent scooped up a kid.
“Follow us out and then go.” I grabbed my M16 from its resting spot on the wall. Led the family down the narrow hall. Stuck my head outside. Deserted. Even the group of men down the street had bailed. Flashing lights reflected off surrounding buildings and colored the sky. Sirens filled the air.
“Bear,” I called down the hall. “We need to get out of here.”
Chapter 2
Martinez and the others peeled away in the van we had arrived in. That left Bear and I searching for a way back to headquarters. But before that, we had to get away from the house before the police arrived. We managed to slip around the corner before a squad car arrived.
“You pay attention on the ride in?” I asked.
Bear nodded. “I’ve been out here before.”
I scanned the street. Empty, except for a few small cars parked on narrow strips of dirt between the road and houses.
“Take your pick.”
He pointed at a blue two door that didn’t look like it could fit one of us, let alone both of us. He started toward the car parked a half block away. The sound of driving slowly echoed from behind.
“We better pick it up,” I said.
We reached the car. Both of us were ready to smash in the windows. I checked the door handle. Unlocked. We got inside just before white light flooded the street. I looked back and saw a police car at the end of the road with its spotlight pointing in our direction. Bear pulled at the cheap plastic underneath the steering column and ripped it free. He touched the ignition wires together and the little car buzzed to life. He put the car in first gear and we rolled to the end of the street. Anticipation and anxiety filled the front of the car. We stopped at the end of the street. The floodlight still illuminated the street. It didn’t get closer, didn’t fade away.
“Turn left,” I said.
“We need to go right.”
“I’m sure we can pick it back up, Bear. But let’s go left, circle back and see what these guys are doing.”
He nodded, eased the car forward and made a left turn. The shift from bright light to darkness messed with our vision and we almost didn’t notice the group of men in the road.
Bear hit the brakes. “Really?” He pounded on the horn. Short bursts of high pitched honks filled the air. “Doesn’t anybody hang out in a bar in this damn country?”
“Flash your highs and move slow, Bear.”
He did.
The group of men split in the middle, just enough for us to pass between the divided group. They leaned over and peered through the window. A few pushed against the small car, rocking it on its chassis.
“I got a bad feeling, Jack.”
“Just keep going.”
I clutched my Beretta M9 tight against my chest, read
y to fire on the first man to punch through the window. The M16s were lying across the back seat. A chill washed over me at the thought of one or two of the men getting into the back of the car and getting their hands on the fully automatic weapons. One squeeze of the trigger and they could take us and half their group out before they realized they had fired.
The car slowed to a stop.
“What the hell, Bear?”
“Want me to run him over?” He flung his arms forward.
I opened my mouth to say yes. Turned my head to look out the windshield. A small kid, maybe seven or eight years old, stood directly in our path.
“Put it in reverse.”
Bear’s eyes darted to the rear-view mirror.
“They’re blocking the path.”
I turned in my seat to get a look at the gathering of men behind us. Three silhouettes blocked the moonlit view of the street.
“Run them over.”
“What?”
“They put themselves there,” I said. “They have a choice. That kid didn’t.”
Bear’s hand moved to the shifter. He slid it over then down, into reverse. Hit the gas. Three quick thuds filled the car. Two men fell to the side. The car bounced as we rolled over the third.
The rest of the men separated and we sped backward. They regrouped and huddled around their injured friend. A few turned their attention toward us and then bottles and rocks rained down on the little car.
Bear whipped the car around in a tight circle. Threw it into first then sped away in the opposite direction. I kept my head turned and watched through the back window for nearly five minutes.
“I think we’re good.”
Bear nodded, checking the rear-view mirror every three to five seconds. “Shit’s getting too hot, Jack.”
“I know. I don’t like this any more than you.”
I leaned back in my undersized seat. Rubbed my eyes with my thumbs. I turned my head and stared out the window. We were outside the city, past the suburbs. The barren landscape was a welcome respite from the hordes of roaming vigilantes and anti-American Iraqis we encountered on a daily basis.