by Michael Todd
“From your file, you were subjected to three in total,” she replied. “Could you raise your arm for me, please? Right, then left.”
He did as he was told. This doctor was apparently comfortable dealing with men and women who had come out of the field from dubious operations around the globe. She was also accustomed to answering questions in ways that didn’t provide any unnecessary information, all while being as pleasant and as professional as a doctor could be.
“I have all I need,” she said after a few more checks obviously brought no negative results.
“That’s nice to know,” Johnson replied.
“She wasn’t talking to you.” Another unfamiliar voice brought his attention to the door of his room as a tall, lean man in his late thirties stepped in. He had light-brown hair and deep-set brown eyes which didn’t seem to miss much. Smiling politely, he watched the doctor beat a hasty retreat. “It’s good to see you in the land of the living, sergeant.”
He nodded. “Is this a debriefing?”
“I’m afraid so,” the man said and placed a hard copy of a file that Johnson was sure would be submitted with a horde of redactions on the movable bedside table. “I work with the intelligence unit that ultimately caused your team to be sent into that village, so I thought that it would be appropriate if I did this myself.” The man stared into his eyes as if judging how bad his reaction would be.
Johnson felt something cold and angry drop to the bottom of his stomach. It had been bad intel that got his squad killed, for the most part, but it was hard to feel angry when he realized that the man he now spoke to wore a lieutenant colonel’s oak leaf. Light birds didn’t conduct debriefs. Ever.
He gripped the sheets under him as tightly as he could as his body began to shake with frustration and residual sorrow. But he needed to control himself, he knew that, so he took a deep breath and willed himself to calm.
“Forgive me for saying so, sir, but that was some shitty intel your unit gave us,” he said finally and tried to keep his tone as respectful as possible. He wanted to shout and throw things around and lay all the blame on the man standing in front of him. The need was instinctual, even though, as squad leader, he knew the life and death of his comrades lay heavily on his shoulders.
“Agreed, Sergeant,” the LC said with a firm nod. “The insurgents expected our attack. They moved your target out and brought in a battalion’s worth of men a few hours before you boys set foot in that village. They knew you were coming and waited until it was too late to give you a heads up before you entered. You’d gone dark before we found out about it.”
Johnson gritted his teeth and dragged in another deep breath before he nodded. His stomach jolted and for a moment, he felt dizzy and nauseated.
“All your men will be given full military honors,” the LC continued. “Although, since the operation was off the books, of course, there won’t be any mention of it. A complete blackout was approved. We sent another team to intercept the target while he was in transit to another location and they pulled it off. We believe that they didn’t anticipate that we would be willing to bring another team in that quickly.”
“That sure showed them,” he responded and struggled to keep himself still on his bed. “What happened to Evan Lee? Corporal Evan Lee, the one whom I managed to get out? Is he still in surgery? Will he be all right?”
The LC looked away for a moment. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, I wish I had better news for you. The systemic shock included a nasty infection that made him septic. The surgeons tried their best, but he didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”
Hot tears welled up and he fought them back savagely. “I don’t need your fucking apology.”
That was no way to address a superior, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t feel particularly charitable toward the man, despite knowing that he was there because he felt equally as guilty as Johnson did.
“I understand,” LC said with a small nod. “I hope you understand that you were declared dead to the world as well.”
“What?” he demanded and shoved himself up from the bed. He regretted the precipitous action almost immediately.
“I’m sorry, but it was necessary to keep complete control of the narrative in the Pentagon,” LC replied. “That mission was the last that you will run with the US Army, as well as the last time that you will be referred to as Sergeant Jeremiah Johnson, do you understand?”
Johnson breathed deep and tried to harness his thoughts. Of course, this was standard procedure for operations of this kind. They usually didn’t have survivors when things went this poorly, but when there were, complete control was necessary. If news of these kinds of casualties reached the wrong Senate committees, it would result in heavy investigations into black operations. That, in turn, meant a shitload of media coverage that could cost operatives still in the field their lives. At least, that was what he was told when he signed up for the covert operations.
“I hope they made my funeral nice, anyway,” Johnson said finally.
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” the other man replied with a small smile. “Your ex-wife was in attendance, her fiancé, and your daughter. I can’t imagine what that must feel like.”
“Andy’s a good guy.” He smiled because that was the truth. “Did you think I would let someone spend so much time with the two people I care the most for in the world without vetting him personally?”
“Right,” the man replied and lowered his head. “That said, I think it goes without saying that you can’t go back to your old life. None of your friends or family can know that you’re alive. You are dead to the world, for all intents and purposes.”
“If it goes without saying, why did you say it?” Johnson asked. Rage and respect for rank fought a pitched battle in his heart, and only extreme discipline—and his weakness and discomfort, of course—kept him from rearing up in his bed and placing his hands around the man’s throat.
“It needed to be stated,” the LC replied. “My superiors would prefer that all details of what’s about to happen be laid out without any room for error, as it were.”
“Right.” Johnson leaned back in his bed.
The LC closed the file he’d brought in with him and tucked it under his arm. “Arrangements are already being made for transfer into your new life. They should be ready for you to assume your new identity once you’ve finished your physical therapy. Until then, you should focus on recovery. It’s the only way to get through this.”
He smirked. “You would know, right?”
“You have no idea,” the LC replied with a serious glint in his eye that informed Johnson he had also suffered loss—maybe even extreme loss. The man cleared his throat and said, “Rest well, Sergeant.”
He exited the room and closed the door behind him and abruptly, the smell of cinnamon receded to leave only the tang of bleach and rubbing alcohol in its wake. Johnson let his body sag on the bed with a ragged sigh. There wasn’t anything that he could look at, so he simply stared at the sheets that covered his battered and broken body. He felt the world close in and the grief in his heart threaten his sanity.
They were gone. His teammates were dead and now, his ex-wife and daughter might as well be too. In addition, his life was in the hands of the same men who had issued false information and gotten every member of his team wiped off the face of the earth.
“Fuck,” Johnson griped and dragged in a deep, shaky breath. He closed his eyes as he brushed his hand over his cheeks. Hot, fresh tears trickled down his face. He pulled the sheet up to dab them away.
Chapter Three
Physical therapy was one of the most frustrating experiences in his life. He’d spent almost a full month of his life lying on his back. Recovery from multiple life-saving surgeries always came with a price, and one of the most overlooked was muscular atrophy. His mind and central nervous system knew what it needed to do, but his body needed time to catch up.
It was beyond frustrating. He had been at the top of his physical f
orm when he’d stepped onto that damned helicopter. While he knew that he was lucky to have walked away from that situation alive, there was still a hint of guilt that piled onto all the shitty feelings he experienced when he had to teach his body how to walk again.
Still, despite the struggle, a month and a half were enough to make his body work again. A couple of hours on the treadmill every day had done wonders, and even though the doctors told him that he would have to be eased back into the shape that he’d been in, a part of him would always push, always strive to be good, better, and best. It wasn’t even a macho thing. It was simply how he was raised. To stay in the same place all the time—to settle—wasn’t what he’d been made for. It was what had driven his wife away. When she’d brought his divorce papers, it had been what had driven him to accept another couple of tours after he’d promised her that he would stay home to help her raise their kid.
A real “type A” personality, he thought with a mental shrug. His own inclination had saved his life more than once, but it had cost him, too. Too many injuries to count, a life on the drift from one engagement to another, and a lost family. Right now, he wished he was more laid-back and could actually settle down to be a dad and a good husband. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head because he knew that like any leopard, he couldn’t change his spots, no matter how much he wished differently.
Johnson frowned and stared around the gym. On top of everything, he thought with a grimace, I’m not even Jeremiah Johnson anymore. He’d decided that he would keep the given name, Jeremiah, since that was his grandfather’s name on his mother’s side, and he’d loved that man. The old marine had gotten him in the mood to join the armed forces all those years before. It was the family name, Johnson, that would be sacrificed. He still hadn’t decided which name he would assume. There weren’t many out there that fit with Jeremiah.
He rubbed a starchy white towel over his face, neck, and arms and walked away from the weight room. As he moved, he rolled his shoulders and felt the comfortable burn in his muscles. It was good to be back in the saddle, figuratively speaking. There weren’t combat training facilities in the hospital, which was more than a little annoying, but he would get past it. He’d begun basic combat training practices in his room. It wasn’t like there was much else to do around there. The whole hospital was an information black spot, with no cell reception and all the Wi-Fi connections encrypted to the point where accessing them was nigh on impossible. And he had tried, although his knowledge of cracking encryption like that was somewhat lacking.
Jeremiah walked into his room, shucked his clothes, and moved into the bathroom. He let the shower run as hot as he could stand it before he stepped into the cubicle. The steaming water, almost to the point of scalding, rushed down over his newly healed scars and he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the painfully pleasant experience. It was difficult to identify why this little ritual made him feel…well, a little better. Not much, but these days, he needed to take any good he could get.
He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off quickly before he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped into the tiny room they’d given him. Old habits had begun to reinstate themselves in his patterns, which showed him that a part of the old him had returned. Sure, the future looked bleak for a man who walked out into the world with a new name and a history of government-sanctioned violence, but it wasn’t like there weren’t jobs out there for a man of his particular talents.
The thought remained unexplored as he stiffened momentarily before he tilted his head at a jaunty angle and smiled. “You know, if they allowed me a gun in here, I would turn and aim it at you in a very menacing manner right about now.”
A tall, lean man in an expensive-looking suit sat in the chair that had been placed in the corner of his room away from all the lights.
“Well, maybe I should consider myself lucky that they don’t allow guns in a hospital ward,” the visitor said with a small smile as he pushed himself from his seat.
“Something about not trusting your average combat soldier who is hopped up on a cocktail of medications with firearms,” Jeremiah said with a smirk and folded his arms. “Call me crazy, but there’s a serious lack of trust in these parts.”
The man chuckled softly. “I read your psych profiles, Jeremiah…no last name at the moment. Every man who made an analysis of you said that you had an interesting sense of humor. I’m pleased to see it wasn’t exaggerated. It gives me a good feeling about the rest of your psych profiles.”
“Yeah, there were a lot of them,” he admitted. “Those folks always insisted that I needed to be brought in to inspect my feelings after a mission to see if I was ready to get back into the field.”
“My guess is that you don’t look forward to the profiling that’ll be mandatory with your release from this hospital, then?” the man asked. He took a step forward and placed a piece of paper on the bed. Jeremiah moved in closer to pick it up. Release papers, he realized, merely waiting for his signature. He turned to face the man, who had returned to his seat in the corner of the room.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked and put the paper down.
His visitor wore a small smile. “A potential employer.”
“Jeez, your parents must have hated you,” Jeremiah said with a chuckle. “I mean, judge not lest ye be judged, but that borders on child abuse.”
“What?” the man asked, tilting his head.
“Your name, genius,” Jeremiah snapped. “John Doe? Come on, I won’t make any deals with someone who isn’t up-front with me about who they are and what they want from me. I think I’ve been around long enough to know a military man when I see one, so why don’t you do us both a favor and cut the crap? One pro to another.”
The man nodded. “Fair enough. My name is James Anderson. Formerly a full-bird colonel in MARSOC and an operative before that. I’ve since gone into the private sector. Due to some…hostile circumstances, I find myself in need of a man with your particular talents and disposition.”
“I’m not an assassin for hire,” he responded. “You can find more than enough of those working in the private sector.”
“I know.” The other man nodded. “That’s actually the point. While I was still with the Pentagon, I oversaw operations run by a company whose people…well, they don’t have the morals God gave a goat, and we eat goats.”
An odd metaphor, Jeremiah mused, but he didn’t comment and simply let the man continue.
Anderson narrowed his eyes as he watched him closely. “Tell me, Jeremiah, what do you know about the Zoo?”
The now former sergeant took a deep breath and tilted his head as he circled the man in front of him. “Officially? It’s a military experiment gone bad, with all the pros and cons that come with it. It’s called Kudzu by the locals and nicknamed the Zoo. No official word was shared, of course, which means that I ‘officially’ don’t know that the source of the damn jungle that has begun to cover the Sahara Desert is some goop that was found on a meteorite or missile that may or may not have alien origins. Remind me, what is the government’s official stance on aliens again?”
Anderson smirked. “The jury is still out on that one.”
He nodded. “No worries, I merely want to make sure that our stories match on this one. But I digress. You were talking about a company that I assume has made a metric fuck-ton of cash on the riches to be found in this enigmatic Zoo-place.”
“That’s a good guess, and through some…less than pleasant means, an acquaintance has recently taken over a majority share of the company in question,” his visitor continued. “It’s called Pegasus and trust me, these guys are not the kind to take an aggressive takeover lying down, which is why she brought me in. It’s also why I need someone like you to watch my back for the duration.”
Jeremiah sighed and scratched his jawline. “That seems like the kind of job that doesn’t have an end date, especially if you don’t want me killing these assholes pre-emptively.”
“And that’s where I come in. Your muscle, as it were.”
“Look, I’m not usually this kind of guy. I was only retired to the Pentagon because one of the jobs I was on went badly. While they knew I wouldn’t be much good in the field after that, they put a lot of money and effort into training me. I was willing to still serve my country when it came down to it, so they sent me to the Zoo to oversee and handle weapons testing that this company, Pegasus, was running.
“At first, things weren’t too different than what we were doing at the Zoo. But they used the soldiers they brought in as guinea pigs, dressed them in half-tested suits, and sent them out into dangerous locations to be killed. After a while, they stopped even trying to pretend that it was about testing. They brought stuff out of there—untested—and it was all for profit. And people died for it, good people. Well…not all of them were good people, I guess. Either way, I plan to take them down with my dying breath or all my money, or both. I’ve hooked up with a team from the Zoo that’s committed to helping, but I still need someone on my side to make it happen.”
Jeremiah wanted to crack a joke about what else Anderson expected when he got into bed with a corporation. They were filled to the brim with psychopaths who cared a hell of a lot more about quarterly figures than the lives it would cost to get them there. And yet, it didn’t seem like the kind of thing someone should joke about. There was too much blood involved to make it a laughing matter.
Well, I might need a few hours to settle into it, but I’m sure I can make a joke about almost anything the world throws my way. I’m simply a little out of practice.
“So,” he said finally, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still dressed in only a towel. “You were in the Zoo, huh? I’ve heard a lot of rumors coming out of that place. Lots of bad, some good, but very little that’s been officially confirmed. The only guys I know for a fact went there always come back with a horde of NDAs to sign and a different look in their eyes. I’ve been around long enough to know that there are only a couple of places in the world that make that kind of change in a man, and none of them are good. It wasn’t like we needed any more of them, but hey, here we are.”