by L. T. Ryan
“Don’t think about trying to run, Jack,” Keller said. “Not now, at least.”
“OK,” I said.
“And what is this mess all over your face? And your hair?” He shook his head. “I remember when you were a clean cut kid. Now you look like… like one of those bums my daughter used to bring home.”
“With all due respect, General,” I said, “I’ve seen your daughter. Do you think she’d be interested in me with my present look?”
Keller tried to look stern, but gave up and laughed. “Sit the hell down, Jack.”
I sat across from him and waited for him to continue.
“I don’t know where this is coming from,” he said. “But I’m having a bitch of a time getting you two out of here. Did you piss anyone off over there?”
“Other than Martinez?” Jack said. “Not that I can think of.”
Keller nodded. “Someone is issuing this order.” He looked over his shoulder, then back at me. “I talked to someone, someone up high, who admits you had nothing to do with the murder of that family. Off the record of course.”
“Of course,” I said. “You think it’s the CIA then?”
“It’d have to be, wouldn’t it?” he said. “Who here would do this? I run the damn show and it’s not me. There’s no one between us.”
I nodded. “Have you spoken to Abbot?”
“Yeah. Haven’t been able to talk to him about it yet. But I’ll keep trying. I’m not as connected as I used to be, Jack. That’s what everyone says, at least.” Keller stood. Reached into his pocket then threw a pack of cigarettes on the table. “You keep those, Jack. Maybe you can trade them for something.”
I thanked him and rose. He stuck out his hand, palm facing me, indicating I should stay where I was.
“I’m working on getting you out of here. Stay alert, you got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
The light in the cell cut off at ten p.m. The lights outside the cell dimmed and didn’t provide much illumination through the square hole in the door. I climbed into my bunk and tried to get some sleep. It didn’t happen. My face hurt. I tossed and turned most of the night, replaying the events of the past forty-eight hours, trying to figure out how I got from Baghdad to Camp Lejeune, from a free man on a mission, to an imprisoned soldier.
Every fifteen minutes a patrol passed the door. I’d hear them approach with deliberate steps on the walkway. They’d reach the door, stop and look in. The room would darken for five seconds, and then the patrol would back up and move to the next cell. I thought about getting up, standing at the back of the room, to see what they’d do. In the end I stayed in bed.
I dozed off a couple times, each time the sleep lasted longer than the last. By six a.m. I was fast asleep when banging erupted against the door, waking me up.
I sat up, shaking the sleep away.
The door swung open and two MPs entered the cell while a third remained firmly planted in the doorway, his taser aimed in my direction.
“What’s going on, guys?” I said.
“You should’ve been up an hour ago, Noble. Get the hell out of bed.”
They pulled me down and dragged me out the cell and down hall.
“Where are you taking me?”
They pushed and pulled me along and said nothing.
Prisoners hanging out on the walk parted to the side and ducked into open cells to make way for us.
We stopped outside the head. One MP opened the door, and the other two pushed me inside. All the showers were running, and the room was steamy. A group of four men stepped through the cloud of warm mist and walked toward me. They wore the same uniform as every person who wasn’t an MP, and had to have been the four biggest guys in the place.
I looked back over my shoulder. Two of the MPs had followed me in and now blocked the only way out. I assumed the third was positioned on the other side of the door, blocking the only way in.
The largest of the men walked up to me. He had to be six-five, maybe six-six, and had forty to fifty pounds on me. He licked his lips and grabbed my shirt and leaned in close. I mentally flinched at the smell of his hot, foul breath as it washed over my face and invaded my nasal passage.
“You like attacking my friends?” he said.
I shrugged. “Depends.”
His lips curled as he grinned, revealing two missing front teeth, one up top, one on the bottom. As fast as his smile faded, he brought his forehead down into mine.
Tears flooded my eyes, and I felt a rush of blood flow through my nose and trickle down across my lips. I spun around and reached out for the wall so I could brace myself and get my bearings. I found the wall, steadied myself and blinked away the tears. My eyes refocused, and I saw the four inmates forming a semicircle around me.
“Guys, look,” I said. “We don’t have to do this.”
The big man laughed.
I swung my foot as hard and fast as I could in the direction of his crotch. It connected with a thud. He dropped to the floor, a huddled mass gasping in pain. I twisted sideways and drove my elbow into the nearest man’s face. Blood sprayed from his nose upon impact, a crunching sound preceded his scream. I blocked a punch by the third man and countered with a shot to his neck, just above the sternum and just below his Adam’s apple in the soft fleshy spot that offers little to no protection. His eyes bugged out and his face went pale, then turned a light shade of blue while he gasped for air.
The fourth man landed a blow on the side of my face. I wasn’t expecting it and the force of it spun me. I regained my footing and charged him as he lunged at me. We met somewhere in the middle where a grappling match ensued. We rolled on the floor, fighting for position. I ended up on my back where he managed to get his arms wrapped around my neck in a choke hold. I arched my back and squeezed an arm between his, loosening his grip.
I caught sight of the MPs. They were leaning back against the wall, laughing at the action.
I scanned the room and spotted the big man on his knees, trying to get to his feet. The other two prisoners posed no immediate threat.
My legs climbed their way up the man I was wrestling with until I managed to get my shin across the front of his neck. A quick shift of momentum and I spun around, coming out on top with his neck in a death grip between my legs. I arched and twisted. His mouth opened and his face turned pale and his neck was close to snapping. He slapped and clawed at my legs. I felt like a savage, yelling as I neared the moment when I planned to lurch and end his life.
The MPs intervened, one hitting me over the head with a blackjack. They pulled at my legs and freed the man from the death grip. His loud gasps for air filled the room as he crawled across the slick floor on his belly to the row of sinks.
I felt my body pulled from the floor and flung through the air and pinned against the wall. The MPs held me there while three of the four men stood.
The door opened and the third MP stuck his head in. “What the hell is taking so long?”
No one said anything.
He entered the room.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “What the hell happened in here?”
I caught his eye and smiled. “You guys got no idea who you’re messing with, do you?”
“Shut up.”
The MP with the blackjack slammed it across my stomach.
I grimaced against the pain, forcing a smile even though I couldn’t breathe.
“Just end him, and let’s get out of here,” the third MP said.
The big man stepped forward. “Let me do it.” He bared his teeth at me.
“No,” the MP said. He grabbed the big man by his shoulder. “You guys need to get the hell out of here.”
The big man spun. “Like hell, man. He’s ours.” His large arm stretched out toward me. He took two steps forward, looked back at the MP. “Just try and stop me.”
I knew the MP wouldn’t, so I did. I lifted my leg toward my chest and drove my heel down and into the side of his knee. Popping s
ounds filled the room as his ACL and MCL tore upon impact. He went down hard, his head slamming into the tile floor, a pool of blood forming under him.
All hell broke loose after that.
The MPs quickly took care of the two standing prisoners, restraining them and piling them near the door. Easy work, considering I’d already beaten them. With the prisoners out of the way, the MPs turned their attention to me. I stepped forward and was met with a quick strike to the side of my head by the blackjack. Searing pain traveled from the spot of impact, and then around my head. The impact knocked me off my feet. I landed hard on my side. The MPs pulled me off the floor. Two of them pinned me against the wall. They leaned in with all their weight to hold me still. The third took the blackjack and placed it across my throat. He leaned on it in an effort to force my windpipe to close shut. My oxygen starved lungs screamed out in pain. The edge of my vision darkened while flashes of light filled the center. The last thing I remembered before passing out was the sound of the door opening and a deep voice yelling my name.
Chapter 7
A hard slap across my cheek jarred me from my unconscious state. I opened my eyes. Bear stood over me. His eyebrows pushed down over his eyes. He helped me to my feet and steadied me against the wall. I tensed and checked over the room. Empty. Trails of blood led from the middle of the floor to the door.
“What the hell happened, Jack?”
I shook my head. “They wanted to cut my hair.”
“What?”
“Retaliation,” I said. “For breaking my cell-mate’s jaw.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.”
“He swung at me first.”
Bear took a step back. His lips thinned as he looked me over. “Christ, they did a number on you. How do you feel? Can you walk?”
I pushed away from the wall. Took a step, steadied myself.
“Yeah, I think I’m good.”
I walked to the row of sinks and looked at my reflection in the mirror. Blood trickled from a small gash on the side of my head. My nose was red and swollen, but not broken. That was the worst of it, though. There were no broken bones and no major lacerations. I came out it OK, all things considered.
“Where’d everyone go?” I said
“They scattered when I came in.” Bear said.
“How’d you know?”
Bear hiked his shoulders. “Word spread pretty quick down there,” he nodded toward the door, “that they were fixing to do a number on you.” He shook his head. “Damn, they sure did. We’ve got to get out of here, Jack.”
“It’s not that bad.” I ran cold water over my face, grabbed a handful of paper towels and cleaned out the cut on the side of my head. It’d probably needed stitches, but it’d heal without them, leaving a scar behind of course. Scars were good for my line of work, though. They added an element of intimidation.
“I’m with you, Bear. Lead the way, and I’ll follow.”
At that moment the door swung open and a middle aged man dressed in his combat utility uniform stepped in. He looked around the room, his gaze stopping at spots where a struggle had obviously occurred. His eyes set on Bear, then shifted to me. He shook his head.
“What a mess,” he said.
I looked at Bear. He nodded at me. We both moved to the center of the room, within arm’s reach of each other.
The man took a step forward, letting the door swing shut behind him. He pushed his arms out in front of him. “I’m a friend.”
We said nothing.
“Abbot sent me. I’m Lt. Col. McDuffie.”
“Sent you for what?” I trusted nobody at this point.
“To get you guys the hell out of my Brig,” he said. “Look, this is a mess. I don’t like it. I don’t know where it’s coming from, and I don’t like it.”
His eyes bounced between me, Bear and the bloody mess in the bathroom. He turned, opened the door and stuck an arm out. When he turned around again, he was holding fresh clothes. He tossed a shirt and a pair of pants to Bear.
“Noble, why don’t you get cleaned up first,” he said, clutching the clothes intended for me.
I nodded, headed to the back of the room and showered. The hot water stung as it washed over cuts and scrapes. I grimaced against the pain and hurried to finish. Then I put on the fresh clothing, which consisted of camouflage cargo pants and a plain gray t-shirt.
“I’ve got boots for you guys in the car,” he said.
“The car?” Bear asked.
“Yeah, the car,” he replied with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I told you I’m getting you out of here.” McDuffie turned and opened the door and stopped and looked over his shoulder. “The MPs outside this door are mine. They won’t do anything to you if you stick with me. They’ll follow us and keep you safe.”
We followed him out of the head without any further questions, heading toward the stairs. We took one flight up and then passed through a security door. We followed the narrow hall to the check-in room where McDuffie retrieved our belongings from the pale skinny MP at the counter. I wondered if anyone else ever manned it, or if Lance Corporal Skinny was the only one. We left the room and continued on, through the wider hall, past the two sets of security doors and all the administrative offices.
I had to shield my eyes from the sunlight when we stepped outside. As my eyes adjusted, I caught sight of a platoon doing their morning PT jogging by. Their rhythmic pace matched their cadence:
I know a girl dressed in Red,
Makes her living in a bed.
I know a girl dressed black,
makes her living on her back.
I know a girl dressed in green,
and she is nothing but a screwing machine.
Ooooorah up the hill, Ooooorah down the hill
McDuffie walked around the front of a black Ford Crown Victoria parked against the curb ten feet away. He turned to us. “Get in the back.”
Bear shifted on his feet and hesitated. He glanced at me, looking for confirmation that it was OK to get in the car.
I felt the same hesitation. At this point we only had McDuffie’s word. Neither of us knew the man, and Keller hadn’t mentioned him when he visited me the night before. There was the very real possibility that this could be a set up, and both of us knew it. We felt it, instinctively. But in the end, I decided I’d rather take my chances in the car with the middle aged Lt. Col., than with the prisoners and MPs in the brig.
“Go on,” the MP behind me said with a push to my back.
“Let’s go, Bear,” I said.
Bear opened the back door on the passenger side and got in the car.
I walked around the back of the vehicle and grabbed the handle, but stopped before getting in.
McDuffie stood with his hand on the open door to the driver’s seat. He studied me for a moment. “Go on, get in.”
“I can trust you, Lt. Col.?” I said.
“I’m on your side, Jack,” he said.
* * *
We left Camp Lejeune behind. Houses, fields and stretches of forest passed by in a blur. We drove for forty-five minutes without saying a word.
McDuffie pulled into the parking lot of a small shopping center near I-95, just outside of Fayetteville. He parked the car and opened his door. “Let’s grab something to eat.” He pointed toward a 24-hour breakfast diner.
We got out and crossed the parking lot. McDuffie walked in front, and Bear and I followed close behind.
We must have missed the breakfast rush because the diner was empty. A cute hostess warily greeted us and sat us in a booth then dropped off a carafe of coffee. Moments later a blond haired waitress with red lipstick and a name tag that read Jenny took our order.
Bear and I sat shoulder to shoulder, across from McDuffie. He said nothing to us. His eyes scanned the road in front of the diner. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one and dropped the pack on the table.
I followed his gaze, stared out the window, watched cars pass by on the road we had travele
d on.
“Glad you guys could make it,” a voice said from behind.
I turned and saw Abbot standing there, dressed in faded blue jeans, a white polo and a tan jacket.
“Sorry things got out of hand in there, Jack,” he said.
I hiked my shoulders. “Not your fault.”
“You should have never been in there.”
“Hear anything?”
He shook his head. McDuffie slid in toward the window and Abbot sat down next to him.
“No,” Abbot said. “I’ve called every contact I have.” He placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “Half of the bastards wouldn’t even take my call.”
“What about General Keller?” I asked. “Did he reach out to you?”
“Briefly,” Abbot replied. “After he spoke with you.” He grabbed a menu, looked it over, then poured himself a cup of coffee from the steaming carafe. “He’s looking into it, too,” he added.
“So what now?” Bear asked.
Abbot held the mug to his mouth and blew into it, sending ripples through the coffee and a puff of steam into the air in front of him. He took a sip and his mouth contorted in response to the aftertaste. He set the mug down then lowered his hand to his lap, returning a moment later with a set of keys that he tossed onto the table.
“D.C.”
“Washington?” Bear asked.
“Yeah,” Abbot replied. “Neil Delaney.”
He slid a folded piece of paper across the table toward me. I reached out, grabbed it and then unfolded the paper, reading the name and phone number on it. I offered it to Bear, but he shook his head, perhaps because he trusted me with the information, or maybe because he didn’t want to take his eyes off the men who sat across from us.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
Abbot cleared his throat and fidgeted with his scuffed gold wedding band. He brought his hands to his face and rubbed his chin with the tips of his thumbs, holding his index fingers inches from his mouth. His eyes shifted toward the window and he said nothing.
“Colonel—”
Abbot raised his hand and shook his head slightly. “He’s an old friend. He’s got contacts that I don’t. Delaney might not have any idea what’s going on when you meet with him, but give him a few hours and he’ll be able to tell you everything. Who’s behind it, why they’re behind it, how high it goes. Everything, Jack.”