He bit back.
Mac’s mouth clamped down onto Mountain’s right ear and ripped through the cartilage, tearing half the ear off which he then spit out onto the floor. Mountain released his grip on Mac as he fell backward, roaring out from the pain. After he stumbled back out into the corridor, he pointed a finger back at the cell entrance.
“Kill him! All of you get in there and kill that son-of-a-bitch!”
The other men hesitated, half of them already barely able to move without significant pain.
“I said kill him – or I’ll kill you myself!”
Mountain’s threat was enough to motivate two more of the men to move toward Mac’s cell. Mac knew that in his weakened condition, he would likely not be able to hold out against another attack.
“Step away from that cell, assholes!”
Mac didn’t recognize the voice, but was grateful to hear it.
“I said move back!”
All of the men backed away as four other men took positions in front of Mac’s cell. Two were older, while the other two were similar to Mac in age.
Mountain, his hand still covering the remnants of his bleeding right ear, growled a warning to the new arrivals.
“He ain’t none of your damn business! Get the hell outta here, Chopper before I break your tired old ass across my pole!”
The man addressed as Chopper was one of the older men who had arrived. Of average height and build, his hair was pulled back in a long white pony tale which hung down onto his back. Mac watched as he removed a deadly looking, eight inch shank from the right pocket of his jumpsuit.
“Today he is my business, Mountain. You get out of here before I stick you, and you know I will.”
Mountain’s massive, jowly cheeks shook in rage as he glared at Chopper and then back into the cell at Mac.
“Why you care about this? That boy is MINE.”
Chopper shook his head, bringing the shank up from his side.
“I told you – not today. Today, he’s my business. Guards gonna be coming this way soon. I suggest you all get moving before they get here.”
Mountain slammed the bloody palm of his hand against a corridor wall and then turned and began walking away, the others in his group following close behind.
Chopper turned around to face Mac, his square, weathered face suggesting an age of sixty or older.
“Follow us – gonna head back to our cell. We’ll clean you up there.”
Minutes later Mac Walker found himself sitting on the bunk of Cell 122, home to Chopper, Wild Bill, Glass, and Tone.
Wild Bill was, like Chopper, a Vietnam Vet who had recently turned sixty five. Chopper had been a chopper pilot in the war, while Wild Bill was a gunner, a job Mac knew to statistically be the single most dangerous assignment of that war, with a life expectancy measured in weeks. Despite his age, Wild Bill’s brown hair was absent any gray, and hung over his shoulders. The mustache he wore, combined with the long hair, lent him the appearance of the cowboy legend, Wild Bill Hickok.
Glass was a man just a few years younger than Mac who had served as a Marine sergeant in the Gulf War, and then later during the conflict in Kosovo. It was in Kosovo he lost his left eye, thus the nickname Glass for the glass eye that replaced it. He was tall, though looked sinewy tough, and was the quietest of the four.
Tone was a black man, former Marine, and veteran of Iraq, having served three tours there. He was quick to laugh, while also giving off the aura of being one who would gladly meet the challenge of anyone or anything. Tone was also the youngest of the four men, at just thirty four years old.
Mac liked each of them instantly.
As Mac looked around the cell room, appreciating the American flag hung prominently from one of the three interior walls, Glass was cleaning the wounds on his hands and shoulder.
“So, you former military, right?”
Mac turned his head toward Chopper and nodded.
“Yeah – SEAL Team Six. Been a private contractor for a while now. That is, before getting screwed over by the same people who had been writing my checks.”
Chopper didn’t bother to ask Mac to clarify, but instead simply nodded his head.
“I hear that. Me and Wild Bill, we did Nam. We know all about how a government sells off a pack of bullshit. We both volunteered for that mess, dumb young assholes that we were. Took just a few days to realize they didn’t actually want us to win that war. They wouldn’t let us do it. Coulda had it wrapped up inside a few months, but they wanted it stretched out year after year after year. Guess whatever reasons they had for it, they were willing to give up almost 60,000 of us to make it go their way.”
Wild Bill stepped back into the cell from his position keeping watch just outside the entrance.
“You were the one on the news, right? Shot that black fella over in Kentucky. That was one helluva speech you gave at the trial. We didn’t get to see it all here inside the prison. They cut off the power to the TV about halfway through. Guess they thought your words might incite a riot or something. Kinda wish it would.”
Mac looked over at Chopper.
“Thanks for coming. Wasn’t sure you would.”
Chopper gave a very small smile back to Mac.
“I wasn’t sure I would either – you interrupted our Duck Dynasty. Nobody in here’s allowed to do that. Man, they had Uncle Si riding on one of those damn handicapped carts! Funniest damn thing! Lucky for you, I owed Shanks a favor. He got me out of a tough jamb in here years back. Told him he ever needed a solid, I’d be there. Guess he used you to call that in, and by the looks of things earlier, you’re one lucky bastard he did. That Mountain is one sadistic son-of-a-bitch, and he was looking to mess your shit up every which way.”
“You can handle yourself though, that’s for sure. You just about held off all those guys down there at your cell. I don’t know many dudes in here coulda done that.”
Mac looked over at Tone and raised his eyebrows slightly at the compliment.
“Guess I’ve had a lot of practice pissing people off.”
“Remain in your cells gentlemen! Stand back!”
Mac turned at the sound of footsteps, and the familiar clinking noise of a prisoner being walked down the corridor in shackles.
Chopper looked over at Wild Bill, who stood peering out from their cell entrance.
“They bringing in a newbie Wild Bill?”
Wild Bill answered while keeping his eyes on whoever was heading their way.
“Yeah – little guy. Darker skin but he’s not black. Maybe Middle Eastern. Looks older too. He’s walking like he ain’t got a care in the world. Just a Sunday stroll.”
Mac felt his internal alarm go off, his instincts telling him though it seemed impossible, he knew exactly who was being led down the A-Block corridor. It was but a few seconds later when his instincts were once again proven correct as the calm, smiling face of Allenwood’s newest prisoner turned to look directly into the eyes of Mac Walker.
It was Nigel.
XXXI.
Finn Neeson sat across the table from the trucker. The man was nervous, his wide set, brown eyes darting to the glass entrance door of the restaurant every few seconds. His face was covered in a thick, brown and grey beard, his head covered in green and yellow John Deere baseball cap. He had recently turned forty, had a wife and five children, all struggling to survive on his earnings as a long haul trucker.
His name was Darryl Bennington, and he had contacted Finn Neeson four days ago indicating he had video footage of the altercation between Mac Walker and the Christopher Brown, the man Mac had shot and killed at the Henderson, Kentucky truck stop. Finn had left advertisements throughout a number of truck stops in the area promising a reward for any information pertaining to the shooting. Though many had responded, Darryl Bennington was the only one that proved legitimate.
“Mr. Bennington, you can relax. I have two armed men outside watching everyone coming and going. Nobody knows you’re here.”
> Darryl looked at Finn and shook his head.
“Maybe you’re right Mr. Neeson, maybe not. You come with the money?”
Finn Neeson nodded.
“I did. I need to see the footage first, Mr. Bennington.”
The trucker’s eyes once again looked over to the entrance door.
“Yeah, I figured that. Got it right here. Just push play.”
Darryl Bennington handed Finn a cell phone. On its screen was the paused image of Mac Walker walking toward a man crouched over a woman.
“I had been filming the black guy beating the hell outta the woman for a minute or so when the other fella walked up and told him to stop hurting her. There was something about how calm he was, he had this look like he was doing something normal to him, you know? Like walking into that kind of situation was no big deal to him.”
Finn pushed play, and was thankful the quality of the video was as good as it was. He saw Mac stop about ten feet from the woman’s attacker and could hear him yelling for the man to step away from the woman. Finn watched and heard the black man scream obscenities back at Mac Walker as his hand reached for a weapon. Mac was repeatedly warning the man not to pull the weapon out. The man didn’t listen, attempting instead to aim a large handgun at the former Navy SEAL, and Mac Walker shot him dead.
Mac Walker never used any racial word during the entire altercation, and he clearly acted in self defense. The video footage was as good as Finn Neeson could have hoped for.
“So, that gonna work for you? I get my money?”
The trucker’s tone was increasingly agitated – he didn’t like sitting inside the restaurant this long.
Finn Neeson nodded back at Darryl Bennington.
“Yes Mr. Bennington, this is exactly what we need to help save an innocent man.”
The trucker gave a short laugh.
“Shit, the way this world is, seems innocent don’t mean much. If you can help that fella get out of prison with that there video, then that’s just fine. Nobody knows how you got it though, right? That’s what we agreed to. I ain’t giving any statements, no testimony – nothing.”
“That’s right Mr. Bennington, after you leave here today, I never saw you, per our agreement.”
Finn handed the trucker a manila envelope filled with forty thousand dollars. As soon as the envelope was in his possession, Darryl Bennington rose quickly from the booth and made his way back outside, not once looking back at Finn Neeson. The attorney was already transferring the video to his encrypted personal security documents system back at his Florida law office. If things went smoothly, he hoped to have Mac Walker released from Allenwood prison in a matter of weeks.
The attorney’s phone rang. It was Ella Lerner, the Israeli Special Forces member Mac had first met in Benghazi, Libya. Since Mac’s imprisonment, she had been working to assist Finn with finding any information that might lead to his release. Without asking her specifically, the attorney knew that Ella’s help was motivated primarily by her interest in, and attraction for, Mac Walker.
“Hello Ella. I just obtained the footage. It’s as good as we hoped it would be.”
Ella Lerner’s voice expressed her happiness at the news.
“That is wonderful Finn – how long before you are able to obtain his release?”
“Hard to say for certain Ella. I need to get the cooperation of the senator, then make sure we get the right judge to hear the appeal. If nobody fights us, it could be a matter of weeks. If we run into interference, it will be months. Maybe even years.”
Ella paused. Finn sensed her disappointment over the possibility of Mac remaining behind bars even one more day.
“It can’t be years Finn. He’s innocent. What kind of legal system keeps a man locked up despite overwhelming evidence he was falsely accused?”
“I have to make sure everything is done right Ella. I will push things as fast as I can, I assure you of that. Any luck locating Dasha or Nigel?”
Ella Lerner had been attempting to locate Dasha Al Marri’s former bodyguard ever since Dasha last been seen in Washington D.C. Both her and her powerful uncle, as well as Nigel, had not been seen since then.
“No, it’s as if he and Dasha have simply vanished Finn. Very odd. They have to be getting help from your government. Without that kind of help, my people would have located them by now. I suppose it’s possible the Saudi’s have them all hidden, but then why? And how did they get out of the country without our knowing?”
Finn Neeson was walking outside toward his rental car as he ended the call with Ella.
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll be in touch Ella, and if you hear anything new, you do the same. Like I said, we may have Mac out in a matter of weeks. That’s what I’m hoping for.”
Finn paused, his mind moving back to something Ella had said regarding Nigel’s disappearance.
They have to be getting help from your government.
The attorney wasn’t sure why yet, but that comment made him very uneasy.
XXXII.
“Hello again Mr. Walker.”
Nigel sat down in front of Mac inside of the A Block cafeteria during the lunch service. Mac was pleased to note the wound he had inflicted in Nigel’s neck was turning into a prominent scar.
“Yes, you managed to surprise me on that day Mr. Walker. I assure you though, that won’t happen again.”
Mac refused to act surprised by Nigel’s presence inside the prison. Other than the emerging scar on his neck, Nigel looked exactly as Mac remembered him – an older but very fit man of Middle Eastern descent, whose words rolled from his arrogant tongue in a high class British accent.
“You that hard up you gotta get yourself thrown into here Nigel? The errand boy business really that slow?”
Nigel’s eyes grew darker, his olive skin momentarily flushing in anger at Mac’s dismissive comment. He had expected more of a reaction from the American, but so far, Mac Walker appeared decidedly uninterested in his arrival inside the walls of Allenwood prison.
“I am here to kill you Mr. Walker. You already know that of course, but it does sound rather nice having said it to you.”
Mac Walker laughed so hard tears began to roll down his cheeks.
“Oh my god Nigel, you are a piece of work, man! I’m already dead in here! What a waste of a damn trip. And even if you’re able to kill me, you really think the people who put you in here will ever let you out? Maybe in a body bag, but that’s about it. I figured you for being a whole lot smarter than this. You sit on down here, looking all serious like, and tell me you’re here to kill me. Oh man, I needed a good laugh. Thank you Nigel – you can go now. I love your act man, it’s priceless!”
The man who had spent years surrounded by some of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful people was not accustomed to being laughed at. The sound tore through him, enraged him, and within seconds, sent him launching across the cafeteria table toward Mac Walker.
Mac sensed Nigel’s rage, and was fully prepared for it. He simply slid effortlessly on the bench seat to his right and then pushed Nigel down onto the floor behind him. The House of Saud’s assassin rolled onto his feet with impressive quickness and agility, turning as he prepared to launch himself once again at Mac Walker.
Two sets of hands grabbed Nigel from behind and pulled him back onto the floor. A size ten shoe planted itself on top of his throat and began to push downward, coming perilously close to crushing his windpipe.
“What do you think you’re doing with our friend? You must be new here. Suggest you pick yourself on up from there and be on your way.”
Nigel looked back up into the face of Chopper, the Vietnam War veteran who, along with his three other war veteran cell mates, befriended Mac several days ago after the confrontation with the massively proportioned prisoner called Mountain.
“Ok, now I’m gonna let go of your neck and you’re gonna get up from there and walk away. You understand me boy? You better, ‘cause if you don’t my friend over here is gonna
help me kick the living shit outta you.”
To Chopper’s right stood Tone, the Iraq war veteran.
Chopper’s foot lifted off of Nigel’s neck, who in turn then rolled over and pushed himself back up onto his feet. He contemplated killing the two war veterans, but decided against it, thinking it too early for such aggressive action.
Time enough later…
“It’s good that you have made some friends Mr. Walker. I like a full plate - makes for a much more interesting job.”
Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection... Page 61