The general’s lungs were already filling with his own blood as his body slid down the front of the stove, his knees buckling beneath him.
Did I kill him? Please God, let me have done it right.
Whether or not God approved of the general’s actions was uncertain, but given the result, the general had certainly done it right. A single bullet hole marked its entrance in the middle of Agent Bronson’s forehead, killing him instantly. The general had correctly guessed Agent Bronson was wearing a protective Kevlar vest, and so had aimed for the agent’s head. Able to see he had in fact killed the man sent to kill him, the general devoted his energies to standing back up onto his feet and making his way to his study on the other side of the house. The task took nearly ten minutes, the general’s breathing becoming more labored, his legs increasingly weak. By the time he slumped into his study chair behind his desk, he was coughing up significant amounts of blood.
General Vannatter slowly turned the chair to face the window looking outside to the pastures so he could watch his beloved horses. As luck would have it, all three were gathered in front of the window, seemingly looking back at the dying general.
Got to go out like a soldier, and do it in my own home. Not such a bad day after all…
XX.
Ray Tilley needed a drink. Hell, he needed a dozen drinks. With Mac and the team trapped in Benghazi, with Mardian refusing to give either help or real answers, and now the knowledge that the assignment was likely always intended to have been a kill mission against Americans, it all left Tilley with a terrible headache and far too much uncertainty about what to do next.
We are so screwed.
That thought kept running itself through Tilley’s head, and now as he sat on a bar stool inside some hole in the wall roadside bar just outside of Washington D.C., Tilley knew it was likely to get worse with less chance of ever getting better. He had not done his due diligence, and Mac, Benny, Minnick, and Jack were all paying the price for his stupidity in trusting Mardian and Dasha Al Marri.
“What can I get you, boss?”
The man behind the bar had the look of one who had lived a life that had taken much and given back little. Nearing sixty, with long lanky grey hair and a deeply lined, almost gaunt face, the bartender had most certainly seen countless examples of men at the end of their rope stumbling into this bar looking for alcohol’s promise of temporary respite.
Guys like me who know too damn much but can’t do shit about it.
Tilley gave the bartender a half smile and muttered back his order.
“Whiskey – no ice.”
The bartender paused.
“Got a preference, boss?”
Tilley shrugged.
“Whatever you prefer, just keep it coming.”
The man offered Tilley a knowing nod of the head as he placed a shot glass and began pouring from a bottle of Wild Turkey.
“Ah, one of those days huh?”
Ray Tilley placed the shot glass to his lips and emptied the contents, feeling the warmth of the liquid light a small fire inside of his throat.
“You could say so. This world is in one hell of a mess, and I’m about done with it. Give me another one.”
The bartender refilled Tilley’s shot glass and watched as Tilley emptied it.
“Oh, nothing can be all that bad can it?”
Ray Tilley closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying again to force his mind to come up with a viable plan to get Mac and his team back safely to the United States.
You really think any of you are safe here? You’re probably in almost as much danger as they are.
Tilley opened his eyes and nodded back at the bartender.
“Another one.”
Before Tilley could put the shot glass to his lips for a third time, he caught an image of a familiar face flash across the flat screen TV that hung from the right corner of the bar.
It was the face of General Vannatter, the man whose house Tilley had left not more than five hours ago. A dull pain began to knot deep in Tilley’s stomach.
“Can you turn that up?”
The bartender turned to locate the remote, slowly moving the volume up so the news report could be heard over the din of the inhabitants of the small bar.
“General Martin Vannatter was found dead in his West Virginia home this afternoon, the victim of what authorities are describing as an apparent robbery. General Vannatter was a highly decorated member of the U.S. Military, and in the final years of his career, a well regarded fixture at the Pentagon. General Vannatter retired from the military a decade ago. Pentagon officials have already released a statement indicating their sorrow at hearing of the general’s death, indicating he was a fine solider, and an even better man.”
He was killed for talking to me. Who would do that? Mardian? Dasha? The White House?
Tilley’s phone rang. He had forgotten he left it on. It was Mardian.
He wants to know where I’m at, so he can kill me too. I got to call Mac, let him know what the general told me. Let him know he’s on his own…
Tilley stood up from his bar stool and began walking toward the exit door.
“Hey, boss you gonna pay me for the shots?”
Tilley turned back around as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a twenty dollar bill, which he then placed gently onto the counter.
“Sorry about that.”
The bartender smiled back as his eyes glanced behind Tilley.
“Hey, a little heads up for you. Guy came in a few minutes ago, sitting in the back left corner of the room. Hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he came in. When you’re phone rang, his eyes were burning a hole in your back.”
Ray Tilley stood at the bar counter, forcing himself to focus fully on getting himself out of the bar and away from whoever it was who appeared to be following him. The call from Mardian was likely a way for the man to confirm who Tilley was. Now it was only a matter of time before that man made his move.
So you gotta move first.
“You have a back exit?”
The bartender nodded.
“Sure, hallway to your left, past the restroom. The door says an alarm will sound, but it won’t - been broke for years.”
Tilley nodded and then moved quickly toward the hallway, running past the restroom before pushing the rear exit door open and emerging into a small alleyway in the back of the bar. It was still daylight outside, allowing Tilley to see if anyone was watching him from the alley. He appeared to be alone, for now.
A large dumpster sat to the right of the exit door. It had wheels, allowing Tilley to push it in front of the door. A few seconds after doing so, Tilley felt the door bang against the dumpster as the man who had been watching him from inside the bar attempted to get outside as well.
The man yelled out from behind the door.
“Mr. Tilley, I’m with Mardian! I’m supposed to help you!”
Tilley was about to run down the alleyway in an attempt to make it to his car, but paused after hearing the man’s claim.
“How the hell you find me here? You been tailing me all day?”
The man pushed the door open a few inches more.
“Yeah, Mardian said you were in danger. I’ve been watching you since you left his office yesterday. Please, Mr. Tilley, I’m just trying to do my job. I’m just trying to protect you.”
That means he knows of your meeting with the general.
Tilley took out his phone and called Stephen Mardian who then picked up on the first ring.
“About time you called me back, asshole. Where you been?”
Tilley moved away from the blocked door and whispered back to Mardian.
“Did you send someone to follow me, Mardian? I need an answer right now.”
Mardian paused on the other end before he spoke very slowly, but very deliberately back to Tilley.
“Ray, if there’s someone after you, they didn’t come from me. Get the hell out of there. Wherever you are, run.”
“Were you talking to someone, Mr. Tilley? Can you please help to open the door?”
Ray Tilley was already gone from the alleyway, moving quickly to the front of the building where his BMW was parked. As he hit the ignition button Tilley caught sight of a man emerging from the bar’s front entrance. He was of average height and build, with darkish skin and darker hair, possibly Middle Eastern. The man glared back at Tilley through the windshield as his right hand moved to the inside of his cream colored summer jacket.
He’s gonna shoot my ass dead right here in the parking lot.
Tilley slammed the BMW into reverse as a single bullet hole ripped through the right side of the windshield. The gun had made almost no sound when it fired, indicating the man was using a silencer.
The man moved smoothly toward the front of the BMW as it backed into the street, firing off another round that ripped another small hole through the windshield and moved just inches past the right side of Tilley’s face, causing him to flinch and move his body against the driver’s door.
What the hell would Mac Walker do in a situation like this?
The thought made Tilley smile. He wasn’t sure why it popped into his head, but it made him pause inside of the BMW as he watched the man continue to move forward with his gun raised, preparing to fire yet another round at him.
Tilley moved the BMW into drive and mashed his foot down onto the accelerator. The car’s twin turbocharged V8 pulled Tilley back into the seat as the car lunged forward toward the armed man, whose eyes grew wide as his mouth dropped open in shock. He managed to fire his weapon one last time, though the bullet glanced off the BMW’s right pillar as the car’s hood struck the man’s upper legs and groin, sending him flying back against the outer wall of the bar. The man’s head slammed into the building’s exterior with a sickening wet crunching smack before his body crumpled onto the paved entrance.
That’s what Mac Walker would have done.
Ray Tilley backed his car onto the road and sped off as people began to emerge from the bar wondering what the loud thud was that was both heard and felt from inside.
Call Mac and get to Mardian’s.
Tilley was smiling again. He still didn’t know how he would get Mac and the team out of Benghazi, he didn’t know who killed the general, didn’t know if Mardian could be trusted, and didn’t know who was trying to kill him, but he had a plan, however short term, and that sure as hell made him feel better.
For now…
XXI.
Mac Walker looked back at his men as they sat in the early morning darkness of their Benghazi safe house. They had made certain to not use any of the interior lights, wanting the place to appear vacant to anyone passing by. Even the just stolen Hummer parked outside was well hidden under a low hanging palm tree on the side of the large two story house.
“Jack and me are going into Benghazi to meet up with Ella at her office. At least, we’re gonna try. Minnick and Benny, you two are to stay here and continue doing surveillance on the house across the road. Not really sure who we trust to report to at this point, but I still want an idea of who and what is coming and going from over there.”
The features of Benny’s dark skinned face were difficult to make out in the gloom of the home’s main room as he asked Mac about contacting Tilley.
“What about Tilley? He’s supposed to get back to you, right?”
Mac nodded, but his face betrayed his uncertainty over any information coming from Ray Tilley.
“Yeah, that’s what he said, but it’s been a while now and not a word back from him. Don’t know why the delay, but until I hear back, I’m gonna try to get some answers on my own, and that Ella woman is the only one I can think of around here who might have them, and be willing to speak with us.”
“Don’t forget Mac, she was sent our way by Tilley. If you can’t trust him, you might not be able to trust her.”
Mac had already considered what Minnick pointed out, but at this point, he had decided they didn’t have a choice. Plus, his instincts told him she could be trusted and to this point, it was instinct that had kept him alive in this business.
Jack was already making his way to the door as Mac followed behind him. Both men were again carrying one of the fifty caliber sniper rifles that had been left for them at the safe house and two additional boxes of ammo. Mac paused to speak briefly to Benny and Minnick before closing the door behind him.
“Lay low, gentleman. We should be back this time tomorrow, hopefully with some idea of where we go from here.”
Minutes later, with Jack behind the wheel, the black Hummer H2 was travelling toward the main area of Benghazi at nearly eighty miles an hour.
“You in a hurry, Alabama?”
Jack’s eyes were focused on the quickly passing road in front of him as he looked through the night vision binoculars that allowed him to drive without the headlights on.
“If we can get there before daylight, seems like the way to go.”
Mac nodded. Jack was right. Cover of darkness was always a preferred mode of transportation.
Soon they were parking the Hummer a block from Ella’s office building. Both men moved as quietly as possible from the SUV and began making their way down the road, Jack looking ahead as Mac kept watch for anything behind them. Sunlight was now peeking out from behind some of the taller Benghazi buildings. The city would be waking up soon.
Mac and Jack stood outside the entrance to Ella’s building, trying to determine if anyone was inside.
“What the hell are you two doing here?”
Mac whirled around with the fifty caliber rifle pointed out in front of him. Behind him and Jack stood Udi, the one Ella had drive them to the safe house the other day. He was holding his own handgun, though as soon as he recognized it was Mac and Jack, lowered it.
Mac lowered his rifle as well.
“I need to speak to Ella.”
Udi glanced at Jack and then back to Mac.
“She’s in a meeting right now. I thought she told you not to contact her again.”
Mac nodded.
“Yeah, she did. Our situation has become…more challenging than we anticipated. I need her help, Udi. I’m hoping she has some answers for me.”
Udi’s eyes scanned the street.
“You do a better job of not being followed this time, or did you bring the mob with you again?”
Jack stepped toward Udi, the big man looking down at the Israeli.
“We’re good, but I think it’d be better if we get inside.”
Udi offered Jack a dismissive smirk as he turned toward the steel framed entrance door.
“C’mon.”
Mac and Jack followed Udi past both security doors and into the building, Mac finding himself in the same reception area he had stood in just days earlier.
“Take a seat and wait here.”
Jack appeared ready to say something back at Udi, clearly not appreciative of the Israeli’s dismissive tone, but a look from Mac caused the big man to hold his tongue.
The two sat down in one of the art deco chairs that sat against the wall of the reception room, waiting for Udi’s return. Jack was looking around the room, trying to figure out what the place actually was.
“The sign outside says this place is a media center? I don’t think so. They Israeli intelligence, maybe private contractors like us?”
Mac looked over at Jack and then leaned his head back against the reception room wall.
“Something like that. Tilley vouched for them, which is pretty much all I know. Not that that means shit to us anymore. They are well trained, well armed, and seem to know how to handle themselves, so hopefully they’ll be on our side. We could use the help about now.”
Mac turned his head to the right as he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway that Mac already knew led to a conference room. It was Udi.
“Mr. Walker, please f
ollow me.”
As Jack rose from his own seat, Udi pointed back down at him.
“Not you, just Mr. Walker.”
Jack wasn’t pleased, and let the Israeli know it.
“Bullshit, I’d like to see you try and stop me.”
Udi’s eyes flashed momentarily, showing no fear in the prospect of taking on Jack. Mac turned to the Alabama native and gently pushed him back down into his seat.
Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection... Page 39