Love Lonely

by William C. Cole

  She dialed her husband’s number. It rang a number of times until she heard the robotic voice prompting her to please leave a message. She didn’t. She dialed the pilots who answered on the first ring and advised them of the delay. Once again, she tried David with the same result. This time she sent a text asking him to give her a call. It was unlike him not to answer. Over the years there had been numerous calls such as this. She could count on one hand how many times he didn’t pick up.

  David forced himself to regain his composure. He heard the cell ring but wasn’t in the right frame of mind to talk to his wife. The presumption was her calling to advise him that the trip was going to take longer than originally thought. Most of her recent calls were of the same manner.

  “Renée, are you okay?” he asked. “We need to talk about this. Find a way to move on. As callous as that may seem we have a large organization to operate.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she replied as she wiped her face with a tissue David handed her.

  “David, I believe the proper move here is for you to find a trainer with more experience than I have. There are some good people out there who have been in this game much longer than I have.”

  “Renée, Jacob and I have already made our decision. It is you we want to lead us into the future.”

  “But David,” she began.

  David cut her off, “Renée, do you trust Serge’s judgment?” he asked her.

  “Unconditionally, he is the best there is. I admire the man. I would have jumped off a cliff if he asked,” making her point.

  “His last request of Jacob was that the stable be led by you. He insisted. We believe he wouldn’t have left until we agreed,” he informed her. “But he didn’t have to delay his departure as Jacob and I wholeheartedly agree with him. You’re who we want. You’re the one Serge insisted we hand the reins to. Please accept this position.”

  She sat still needing a minute or so to get a grip on the proposal. She was confident that she would succeed. After all she was nurtured by the best in the business. Scared yes, but hesitating because of lack of skill, no, she would do it.

  “I will do it. You won’t hide on me,” she asked. “I need you around, promise.”

  “I’ll be right at your side,” he said trying to support her.

  “We can do this,” she asked, “can’t we?”

  “Yes we can.”

  “We need to get back to work soon. I would like to call a staff meeting when we are done here to inform every one of the changes we have put in place. We also need to advise them about Serge’s condition,” he said trying to get back to business.

  “Oh my god,” Renée raised her voice as she realized her initial reaction was way off base. “David I’m so sorry. I thought, well you know. I’m so sorry for doubting you. You deserve better. Can you forgive me? I promise it will never happen again.”

  “Nothing to forgive, your response was quite normal. I should be the one apologizing for not explaining properly from the beginning. Now let’s get to the work at hand. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Oui, I’ll be fine. We should talk to the staff now before they get the news second-hand,” she had composed herself.

  “We will but first we need to discuss your salary which comes along with the job. Now keep in mind you are now in charge of the most recognized thoroughbred stable in the country,” he was trying to justify the pay and ease the shock factor it brought with it. “So, Jacob feels you should be the highest paid trainer in the country. I agree. He insists you be paid the equivalent of what Serge made.”

  “David my current pay is sufficient,” she was content with her current sixty thousand dollar a year. It was more than other assistant trainers she was acquainted with made.

  “It’s not up for debate. Your annual salary is now,” he paused, “one million dollars.”

  Chapter 13

  The call came in two days. She spent a good portion of the past forty-eight hours feeling out contacts in Europe and the Middle East. Her hope was to establish a lead or two with regards to the fire before embarking on the assignment. Some trees were rattled and the feeling was some pertinent information was close at hand. That would have to wait.

  Fyad had not planned a honeymoon until later in the year. During their recent conversations he took an interest in the method used in the fire. He’d seen it before. Anyone taking aim at Sandy or her family would also have to answer to him. He accumulated a vast network of acquaintances being that he was in charge of his country’s security and intelligence. At his insistence Sandy shared her thoughts so he could continue investigating while she was absent.

  Fyad arranged for a military helicopter to transport Sandy to a USA aircraft carrier situated in the Mediterranean. She would rendezvous with a Special Forces team who would act as her backup. The Director insisted she be transported to the ship by an American aircraft. It was paramount to the success of the operation that her identity was not to be revealed to anyone, including the elite team. So she argued the fact that the less time she was observable by American personnel the less chance of being found out. Fyad knew she was involved in covert operations but never once asked about them, or who she reported to.

  They flew in a MI-24 Hind helicopter. A Russian made machine which was Fyad’s preference. It was nicknamed the fling tank, an attack aircraft that could inflict grave damage but also carry up to eight passengers. Being an accomplished pilot he took control of the flight, assisted by one of his most trusted colleagues. Sandy was the only other person aboard. It was a quiet ride.

  On the ship which was preparing for the landing, tensions were mounting. This was sacred ground. Authorization being given to land an aircraft operated by a foreign country on the carrier was uncharted waters for the Captain and crew. It was a top secret mission and no questions would be asked out loud. The orders were clear. Transfer the subject from one aircraft to one of their own, where the person would accompany the Elite Team on a mission. Follow orders. Ask no questions.

  ETA was one hour. In a small room Commander Miller stood in front of his Special Forces team. The squad consisted of five men including him. Each of the members specialized in a certain aspect of the group. All were smaller men. Not your weight lifting type. But that shouldn’t fool anyone who had the unfortunate pleasure of challenging them in combat. These guys were deadly skilled machines. They could take down men twice their size within seconds with little effort. The five men were the best of the best, which made it all that more curious to the Commander as to why they hadn’t been instructed to carry out the operation on their own rather than being designated as back up. He learned earlier in his career that an order was an order. They must be followed exactly as given. Any variation in them would most certainly jeopardize lives. Instructions filtered down on a need to know basis.

  “Gentleman, in one hour we will escort our cargo to the location on your GPS. At which point we will drop him into hostile territory for a solo recovery of an American hostage. We will then retreat until we receive one of two orders,” he began going over the orders.

  The men sat heads down in silence intently listening. These guys thrived on action. They would jump into a volcano if ordered to.

  “This is a recovery operation. Our cargo will extract a hostage being held one mile from the drop point. Once notified, we will return to rendezvous with them. If the retrieval fails our second order is to penetrate the location and retrieve our cargo. The attack will be aggressive utilizing whatever force deemed necessary,” he took a short pause then continued. “If required to do so, our solo task here gentlemen is to rescue only our cargo at all costs. That is our one and only responsibility. If our cargo is returned with so much as a scratch on him we have failed our duty. We have been ordered not to speak to our cargo. He will not respond to us.”

  The assumption was it would be a male they were about to transport and provide back up. There were no Special Forces females.

  “I do not have the answer to the
obvious question. Why not just send us in. We are the Corps d’elite. We are not privy to the reasons. The directive for this op has come from as high as it gets. It’s extremely secretive,” he informed them. “Gentlemen, pray for the best and prepare for the worst. We board in one half hour.”

  Similar to a sports team they gathered in a circle extended their fists to connect in the middle. They gave each other a quick jab then went about their groundwork. Each had his own pre-ritual preparation.

  Fyad was ten minutes out when he radioed the ship. He had been given a clearance code for landing. This was an awkward moment for him and the Americans. His country was not at odds with the United States. The two counties tolerated each other. He was not a fan. Distrust towards them festered inside him. There was an arrogance portrayed by them towards the Middle East. At least that is what he felt. But, this was for Sandy. That was his first and foremost concern.

  On the other side of the coin, the Captain of the aircraft carrier was ordered to allow the landing, once confirming the clearance code. He knew it was from a foreign country, but not which one. He had put the ship on General Quarters alert. All on board were readied for battle.

  Fyad received his authorization to land. As they approached he was being signaled as to where to set down. A spiteful thought crossed his mind. With one click of my thumb I could sink the carrier. He continued with the approach as instructed.

  The mere sight of this helicopter was intimidating enough. Add to the equation that it was being flown by pilots from an unknown Middle East country. All on board were on edge.

  The landing was accomplished as planned. Fyad sat the aircraft down just long enough for Sandy to disembark. As she walked away from the helicopter with her head down she stopped and turned to see Fyad peering at her through the side window. His expression was one of unease and distaste from sitting on the carrier. She gave the slightest of nods indicating she was fine. He lifted off into the darkest of the night. The landing on the deck of the carrier took less than two minutes. Once the aircraft was out of sight the tensions were eased, but the ship remained on full alert.

  Sandy made her way to the waiting helicopter. The rotor blades were already in motion spinning faster with each turn. The team was positioned inside. The instant she climbed aboard, the chopper was in the air. Nothing was said. She was dressed in camouflage battle fatigues, sporting a full balaclava over her face completely shielding her from recognition. Her eyes were covered by a pair of goggles. Sandy looked similar to the team in size so it was unlikely that she would be identified as being a woman. If absolutely necessary she would reveal herself. These men held an extremely high security clearance and would keep her identity under wraps to their death. Since her face was so recognizable, it was best to keep it isolated from them.

  She immediately knew the commander as Blake. He was one of the eleven who achieved the distinction of making it through that vicious year of training, as did Sandy and Fyad. There were originally thirty. Sandy had instructed him in the martial arts. She realized right there and then that her boss had provided her with a team lead by one of the best in the world. A reassuring feeling going into a not so friendly foreign country, where almost certainly one or more of their citizens would lose their life.

  They lifted off. During the flight the men checked and rechecked their gear. They fine tuned their arsenal in preparation of being directed into battle. Sandy rested her head against the vibrating wall. She closed her eyes, tuned out noise of the flight and began to visualize her actions once on the ground. No words were or would be spoken. All aboard knew their duties, so there was no need for any verbal instructions.

  They arrived at their destination within an hour. It was a remote, unpopulated piece of land, centered between two small hills where they anticipated not being seen or heard. The pilot positioned the helicopter stationary approximately fifty feet above the ground. Two of the men heaved a rope out the opened door. The commander gave Sandy a tap on the shoulder to indicate all was a go. She moved to the door giving the men a thumbs up. Turning to Blake she clenched her fists, touching them together with both pinkies pointing upward. The no conversation order now made sense to him. She had given him the sign of the final eleven. Only those knew the meaning. Eleven, together, always. Six of those were not Americans. He knew the whereabouts of two others and heard another had passed away. So that left Sandy. This made being designated as backup tolerable.

  She rappelled to the ground. The rope was quickly retrieved and the aircraft disappeared into the darkness. It was early morning. Her attack on the compound would take place at 4 am. It was a well known fact that at this time of day human senses were in their most fatigued state.

  Her destination was one mile to the north. She calculated the journey would take a half hour. The rugged landscape allowed for a brisk but cautionary walk. The moon shone brightly allowing her to navigate the unfamiliar terrain without the use of night vision goggles.

  The selected route would keep her far away from any road or path utilized for vehicles. The further she kept herself from them, the less chance there was of being noticed. However, this increased the chance of an encounter with a dangerous animal. The land was home to a variety of venomous snakes and spiders. It was habitat to leopards, cheetahs and a number of other treacherous species that could quickly ruin one’s day.

  The trek was uneventful. Everything seemed to be sleeping at this time of morning. Sandy eased herself onto a small ridge overlooking the smallish sized building believed to be housing the hostage. She put on her night vision goggles allowing for a clearer view of the property. It was a rundown square, white building. The fencing around it provided little in the way of security. It had been dismantled in a number of spots. The structure was nonthreatening. It was similar to many of the dwellings in the area, so it fit right in. Nothing about it would invoke any undue attention. She knew that was exactly the point of selecting a location such as this. They traded off security for being inconspicuous. Smart move she thought. One would not require gates and fences to protect them if no one ever knew they existed.

  Sandy’s position was well concealed. A person would have to be within a few feet before they even remotely had a chance of discovering her unless they had the technology she carried with her. The small unit she took out of her packsack was a computer tablet. Not your ordinary tablet. This unit had a direct link to a CIA satellite launched in recent years, identified as a state of the art weather monitor. That was the official word from NASA.

  At this minute, one of the satellite’s cameras was locked onto the subject building. What it was revealing to Sandy via the tablet was a look inside the structure. By way of infrared sensors, the satellite was able to locate any living creature within its view. Its advanced technology allowed it to not only sense heat patches, but read blood pressure, heart rates, then analyze the size of the subject. Sandy was staring at the result of this information. Her screen showed five men of relatively average size and one woman. The figures generated on her screen were close to accurate. The facial features would not be exact but their stature should be similar. The characters on the screen resembled those in a video game.

  The unsettling aspect of the surveillance was confirming her initial suspicions. All the occupants within the compound seemed to be moving freely. There were no guards posted on the exterior. Her best deduction from what she was viewing was that three of the inhabitants stationary, most likely asleep. The female and other two were moving from room to room. It was uncommon for a hostage to have such freedom.

  It was time. No more analyzing. In a crouching position, she made her way over then down the small ridge. Every inch of her body was on high alert as she methodically approached the outer portion of the fence line, following it to the opening closest to the structure’s side entrance doorway. Once at the downed section she stopped.

  Still in a tuck position, Sandy stayed stationary for five minutes, listening attentively. She was able to slow her heart
rate below forty beats per minute. Her goal was to achieve a meditative state of mind prior to her attack. Her awareness was at its utmost state at this point. Battles cannot be won by brawn alone.

  There was no one outside. She moved stealthily to the door designated for entry. It was unlocked. The room behind it was darkened but she could still see well enough to maneuver her way to the hallway. She stopped and listened. Not a sound.

  Sandy quickly and ever so quietly made her way to the room occupied by the three men who she believed to be resting. Strategically, the correct maneuver was to take out the three suspected of sleeping, easy prey. That would only leave two plus the hostage. She slowly turned the door handle. In a near to the ground position, she entered. There lay three averaged size men, fully clothed. All were out for the count. Each one was snoring. The advantage of surprise remained in her favor. One was on a single bed, the other two slept in the lower and upper of a bunk bed.

  She would neutralize the man in the single bed first. If the person on the top bunk was awakened and made any attempt to descend on her, he would be dead before his feet hit the floor. The one on the bottom bed would be met with a kick that would render him unconscious, should he make a move at her.

  Sandy approached to the head of the bed. With a forearm and her opposite hand she locked onto his head. In a split second he lay there with a broken neck. He was dead. No fuss, no sound.

  Next, her focus shifted to the bottom bunk. The other two remained fast asleep. There was no movement whatsoever. She leaned to her right grabbing a knife from her boot. One so sharp it would put those seen on the shopping channel to shame. Again she approached from the head of the bed. With one swift move she pushed his head into the pillow exposing his neck which she sliced wide open from one end to the other. He twitched a couple of times before she stabbed him directly in the heart. Two done, one left.