"And this is Eve's brother-in-law, Joseph Patters," Chloe introduced. "Milk's, er, I mean Jesse's older brother."
Corban shook the meaty man's hand. He was as white as Milk, but a little taller.
A look of worry mixed with frustration showed on all three visitors' faces. When they were seated, Corban sat down and folded his hands on his desk. Chloe remained standing to his left. Though he knew why they were there, Corban didn't know how to begin or what to say. Three different times he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He preferred to be in disguise in a Muslim extremist compound than face the stern looks on their faces.
"Mr. Dowler, maybe you'll allow me to begin," Eve offered.
"Please." Corban sat back.
"It's been six months, Mr. Dowler, since the incident in England. Every week, Chloe sends us the same letter, saying that you're still looking, but there's no news yet. And we appreciate even that much. It's certainly more than the government offers the women of lost service members. We've come to hear it straight from you, Mr. Dowler. Where are our men?"
Corban struggled to keep his face expressionless, even under the pressure. He didn't have time to coddle the wives of his missing operatives; that was Chloe's job. But these women had been more than patient; he had to give them something.
"Maybe you could tell us what you know so far, Mr. Dowler," Fon pressed. "We realize you have security concerns, but we can keep things to ourselves. We just need to know."
"So far…" Unfolding his hands, he rubbed the whiskers he'd missed on his chin that morning. He'd been feeling the stress, too—along with sleepless nights—even running two different operations alone in Europe to track down an old enemy, to see if that foe was responsible for the kidnapping of his men in England. All he had found so far were dead ends, but he couldn't share that lack of hope. "What I do know is that a trap was set for us in England as we returned from the Malaysian rescue operation."
"A trap?" Eve gasped. "But two of our men are missing! I thought you were with them!"
"Corban…" Chloe gave him another look, this one of stern concern. Even though COIL wasn't a government agency, they usually kept intel to themselves to protect those in the field.
"You want it straight and tough? It won't be easy." Corban stared at his three guests in turn. "I've been protecting you from the worst of it, trying to give you some hope."
"Mr. Dowler, I'm only a poor farmer," said Joseph. "When I have a hard year with the crops and I'm listening to the weatherman, I want him to be honest and open with me, even if it means the year's crops are going to get even worse. That's what we need from you right now, even if it hurts. Even if it's the worst."
"Okay. They were on a rescue mission in Malaysia and it went bad. Everyone on the team was injured, but we were on our way home afterward. Then there was the trap set for us in England."
"We understand that much now." Joseph set his jaw. "Miss Azmaveth has implied that they may not even be in Great Britain, anymore, where they were last seen."
"The intel we've gathered does support that, yes," Corban confirmed. "What happened was quite an elaborate scheme to ambush us. A communication was sent, making us believe it was from Chloe's cell phone. Then while our plane was being supposedly repaired, we stayed in a safe house that we now believe was part of our adversaries' plan to capture us. To some degree, we believe that those responsible for our Malaysian injuries were also responsible for the trap set in England.
"When Chloe and I discovered the trap, I tried to draw the enemy away from Jesse and Quin. But I fell off a building as they shot at me, and was knocked unconscious. After I came to, I returned to the building, but our boys were gone. The police were there, but whoever the men were that attacked us, were too slippery; they'd covered their tracks and disappeared."
"And someone sabotaged your plane to keep you in England," Fon said, nodding with understanding.
"You say you couldn't find our boys," Joseph repeated. "What does that mean? Do you think they're alive? Dead? You have a better sense of this enemy than we do. What are their intentions?"
Sighing, Corban looked out the window. That window was bullet and sound proof for a reason. COIL was always under attack by those who didn't want the Word of God shared in distant lands. He couldn't begin to explain the hundreds of foes and dozens of countries that had COIL in their sights. Though appearing to be a simple company occupying two suites on the fourth floor of a Broadway apartment building in Manhattan, COIL had a network that spanned the globe, a network based on his old CIA network.
"You should know that the leader of our primary field ops team was also kidnapped," Corban admitted, knowing already that Chloe was unhappy that he had disclosed intel that need not be shared. "He was wounded and bleeding from the Malaysian op. Quin and Jesse were with him. The last I saw—"
"Wait. There are three missing?" Eve shook her head. "The team leader? You're talking about Nathan? Nathan Isaacson? Does his family know? Why haven't they been in contact with Fon and me? Why have you kept this from us? This is what we're talking about!"
Corban stared blankly at Eve as she and the others waited for him to respond.
Most American Christians had no idea what measures Christians around the world had to go through just to read their Bibles, if they even had one, and the risks they took to get one. Just the previous year, an enemy he was still trying to find, code-named Abaddon, had hired an Italian assassin named Luigi Putelli to kill Corban. Luigi had chased Corban throughout Europe and Asia before Corban finally trapped the assassin. Thinking he was about to die, Luigi offered his life to Corban if he would only let him live. Corban had allowed Luigi to live, and Luigi had proved valuable to Corban, even assisting in the rescue of Corban's wife and daughter. But Luigi Putelli seemed to have gone rogue again, and was off the radar.
Suddenly, Corban wondered if he could find Luigi, the old assassin who chewed more gum than any human should—in an effort to give up cigarettes. If Corban could locate Luigi, then Luigi might be able to track down the missing COIL agents through the ex-assassin's European contacts. If only he had a lead as to where to find Luigi!
"Nathan doesn't have any family," Corban informed. "As you said, there are many things that are too sensitive about what we do to disclose everything. But you should know that Quin and Jesse were caring for Nathan, carrying him, when they were taken. They were doing what they were supposed to be doing: caring for one another."
"Nathan has no immediate family," Chloe voiced, "but we're his family. The team is all Nathan has."
"And to answer your hard question, we don't know who is alive and who isn't. Nathan's injuries from Malaysia were the worst—a wound in his side and leg. Quin was shot in the shoulder. Jesse had some superficial shrapnel in his back, which made him the most mobile of the three. But there is one other issue." Corban took a deep breath. After countless missions and many lost soldiers, this part was never easy. "We are certain that one of the three is dead. And we don't know the status of the other two."
"Wha—?"
Their mouths gaped.
"Well, which one died, Mr. Dowler?" Eve asked softly.
"We don't know which one. I couldn't stay long in the building to investigate. If I could've gotten a sample of blood, maybe. There was a lot of blood. Too much was lost for someone to survive. The police who arrived on the scene were more interested in who had caused the injuries, and catching them, rather than identifying who had been taken. And I couldn't tell them our agents' real names, placing all of you in danger."
"Maybe it was one of the bad guys' blood?" Fon asked hopefully.
"Not likely." Chloe shook her head. "You know our men don't carry lethal weapons. And traveling like they were, they didn't even have any of the NL weapons with them. We don't kill the enemy. They're always left alive."
Eve began to weep with one hand over her mouth. Joseph reached out and squeezed her other hand.
"So, who were they?" Joseph asked. "We know COIL has made a
lot of enemies when they extract believers from these dangerous countries. Maybe it's something to do with Malaysia, you said. You can't narrow it down?"
"We have some leads. Good leads. Yes, I'm narrowing it down, using every resource I can muster to find them and bring them home."
"You used to work for the government, Jesse said," Eve continued. "Can your old friends help us?"
"There are field operatives, even as we speak, risking their lives to find those boys. It seems so simple, but prayer is our most powerful tool. Even in the worst circumstances, God has His angels. Milk, as we call Jesse, used to say that about the team. None of us are going to give up on—"
Corban's intercom buzzed.
"Sir, you said to let you know when Johnny Wycke arrived."
"Oh, right, Kaylene. Thank you. See if he'll wait."
"He says it's good news about Operation Rahab, sir."
"Okay, Kaylene. Send him in."
"Should we come back later, Mr. Dowler?" Fon offered.
"No, you can stay. This concerns the boys. You know about everything now, anyway. It's important that you don't speak about the status of any of this, even at church. The devil knows how to use us against ourselves, unfortunately."
The door opened without a knock. Johnny Wycke's bulky frame came in and stepped around the three seated people without glancing at them. Even though he had prepped for Jesse and Quin's Flash and Bang Team, Fon and Eve didn't know him. Johnny bent down and whispered in Corban's ear. Corban nodded. Then, Johnny reached under his shirt and produced the package. It was a manila envelope, thick with bubble wrap, torn and stained.
"Thank you," Corban said with a nod.
Johnny didn't look at Chloe, even though he knew her. He simply walked out of the office, closing the door softly behind him.
"Operation Rahab? That's something to do with Jesse?" Joseph wondered aloud.
Corban didn't answer, which was an answer in itself. Turning the package over, he thanked God silently that it had arrived. Couriers had risked their lives to see it safely delivered.
He inserted a letter opener into one corner of the envelope and drew it across the top fold. After peeking inside, he dumped its contents onto the desk. Three photographs slipped out, nothing more. Each photo appeared to be exactly the same—a high-resolution image of Bucharest, the capital city of Romania, with its Danube River tributary in the background.
The Romanian view confirmed to Corban that the data encoded in the images was from Karol Ngolsk. When she was younger, the information specialist had been in contact with the one code-named Abaddon, but now as a Christian, Karol worked with Corban to fight the darkness.
"What is it, Mr. Dowler?" Fon pressed. Everyone, including Chloe, craned their necks to see his desk better. "What's in the pictures?"
"Nothing is as it seems." Corban studied the photographs for a few more seconds, then shoved them back into the envelope. "It's nothing that can be understood at this time, but I will have more news for you in a day or two. Chloe will be able to tell you then."
"But those pictures are…good news, right?" Eve asked with hope.
"Absolutely. The fact that I received them at all means that someone, at least one of the three boys, is still alive."
"But…you don't know who?"
"No. Not yet."
**~~~**
Chapter Four
Taath Merari shivered against the damp, rock wall. His scrawny fingers clung to his thin shoulders where a blanket ridden with lice was pulled tightly against his bare skin. Up the middle of his back, his spine protruded hauntingly, his ribs and other bones punctuating his malnourished state. Other than the blanket, the twenty-year-old man was naked, unless the sores that blistered his body could be counted as covering.
Hearing footsteps coming up the corridor, he scurried like a rat against the wall in the opposite direction. He'd never been in this part of the dungeon, but he'd heard screams coming from this level—screams like from the other levels. The fact that there were no windows in the walls told him he was still on an underground level. If only he could find stairs…
A hand reached out and clawed at Taath's blanket. Taath hissed and leapt clear of the cell door, ripping his blanket away from the stranger.
"Find the keys!" the unseen man said in German. "Move, you fool! Find the keys! Get us out of here!"
Once, on Oranienburger Strasse, Taath had been a student. That was a lifetime ago, though. Now, he didn't know where he was. He opened his mouth to speak back to the man, but no words came. They'd taken his speech long ago by cutting out his tongue. But they hadn't needed to do that since the cancer with which they'd infected him had long since eroded his throat.
He shrank away from the man in the dark cell. The man cursed Taath in whispers, and then was quiet. Taath followed a single line of light bulbs that illuminated the corridor, strung by thin wire where cobwebs and mold seemed to ooze from the rock. Stairs. There had to be stairs somewhere!
Then, he found them. Testing the first step, he stopped and sniffed the air, barely believing this wasn't a trap. Did they know he was loose yet? He sniffed the air again for some signal, but it was no use. His senses were too damaged to smell if that slight breeze was fresh air or re-circulated air. Fresh air or not, he had to move on. It was simply a matter of time before they locked down the dungeon and hunted him. Taath glanced at his hand where he'd cut it horribly when the scalpel had broken. The tool had been his lock pick. Then the door had opened, and he had stepped toward freedom—or so he hoped.
As quickly as possible, he ascended the stairs, but the simple act of breathing was difficult for him. The doctor had removed part of at least one lung for one of his experiments. Afterward, Taath hadn't healed from that surgery, and the raised, pink scar along his spine was still tender.
After a stumbling walk, he arrived at the next landing to discover yet another level, same as the last, cells lining the left side of the corridor, a stone wall to the right. There weren't as many screams emanating from these cells, which Taath figured might mean it was probably nighttime somewhere outside the walls. The screams were worse during the day, especially in the morning. That was the only way to tell the time. Their keepers kept the captives disoriented by an irregular feeding schedule.
Taath shuffled past the cells. They'd removed one of his Achilles' tendons, but he could still move quickly when he was feeling well. He hadn't felt well for a few months, though. If it was only physical illness, he thought he could live with it, but if he was permanently damaged psychologically from their cranial experiments, he didn't want to live. That was his most recent decision. At other times, when the misery had been so unbearable, he hadn't wanted to live at all. But right now, he was driven more by instinct than common sense. Animal instinct—that base impulse to be free.
"Friend!" a voice whispered.
Startled, he looked to his left. He wanted to keep moving and find the next stairs, but he knew what it was like to be inside the cells, looking out. Taath could imagine what the others saw out of their steel door windows. For countless days, they'd stared at the rock wall and occasionally glimpsed men who passed in full biohazard suits. Thus, Taath paused for a moment in his quest for freedom. In this cell, a bright-eyed tall man eyed him from the window that was only large enough for Taath to see a third of the man's face. This man was bearded and appeared to still be strong.
"How'd you get out?" the man asked softly. He seemed much friendlier than the last man who had tried to steal Taath's blanket. Since the man's German was barely accented, Taath guessed he was a foreigner, maybe an American.
Taath made the motion for reaching out of his cell window toward the door's lock. The man understood and shoved his arm out the window, but his arms were still too fleshy. It had taken Taath months to lose all of the sinew in his arms. Now, he was bare bones. Only when this man lost his weight would he be able to reach the lock. Even then, he would need a tool, like the scalpel Taath had had.
The cap
tive drew his arm back inside after scraping it on the edge of the window.
"I can't fit. Did you have a key?"
Taath shook his head.
"You used something? A piece of metal?"
He nodded.
"Do you still have it?"
Shaking his head again, he wished he had thought to pick up the scalpel to give to this man. But it was time to continue.
"Wait! I have something for you to take!" For a moment, the man disappeared. Taath heard a clang against a door from one of the lower levels. Someone was coming! The man was back, shoving a piece of cloth out his window. "Here. Take it! Tell others where we are. I'll pray for you." The man's voice choked as tears started. "Take it. God be with you, Friend."
Taath crept up and snatched the cloth. What was it? It was barely the size of his hand. If it contained a message, Taath couldn't see it. The lighting here was dim, but they'd nearly blinded him in one eye. He tucked the cloth into his armpit.
"Go," the man encouraged. "It's in your hands now. Hurry. Someone may come soon."
Nodding, Taath moved on, passing twenty more cells where others slept. Cautiously, he peeked into one to see if it was empty. A man was curled in the far corner with his own filthy blanket. These men hadn't been afflicted yet. Their bodies were still whole, still healthy. Taath had been there the longest. What they had learned after experimenting on Taath they would use on these newer captives. He pitied them all. They wouldn't be strong enough, as he had been. The doctor had spoken of Taath with satisfaction to the guards. For a time, pleasing the doctor who cut him and implanted germs had been Taath's only comfort. He had clung to even that small piece of attention and pride. Pleasing his doctor had been everything to hang onto besides the pain and his blanket. Other captives had died or committed suicide by swallowing their blankets before they had endured half of what Taath had experienced.
DARK HEARTED (The COIL Series) Page 3