Higgins

by C. G. Cooper

  A man stood at a boarded-up window. He was using another crack to look through.

  “What’s it like out there?” Abrams asked.

  The man didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted his body and pulled the trigger, a loud pop, pop, pop-sounding off in reaction to his touch. He clucked his tongue and never took his eyes off his target, but spoke out of the side of his mouth.

  “Bunch of them hidden just over the ridge. Got two, and the rest are laying low. The surprise attack didn’t work, so chances are they’re gearing up for a full assault. We’ll get most of them, but my money says a few make it through the gauntlet. We’ll take care of them close up.”

  “We need to get out there. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “Are you crazy? You’ll never—” At that moment, he looked up and caught sight of Salhab. He immediately whipped his weapon around and pointed it at the whole group of them. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Spencer spread his arms wide, pointing his gun at the floor. “We’re here to escort Salhab back to the States.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. Higgins felt a bead of sweat drip down his face. He couldn’t blame the man for not trusting them, but time was of the essence. He opened his mouth to try to deescalate the situation when Baker charged into the room.

  “Ramirez, get your ass back to your post. We need to lay some cover for these guys.”

  Ramirez hesitated. “Sir?”

  Baker positioned his weapon behind an opening at the window and fired a few shots. “You heard me. Let’s go.” He took twenty seconds to scan the group at the door before turning his gaze back to the window. “I don’t know how you guys do it, but I guess if it was easy, anyone could, right?”

  “Actually,” Higgins started, “it’s just a matter of observing people’s actions then—”

  “Take the compliment and go,” Baker bellowed. “We’ll cover you. Get out of here.”

  York pulled at Higgins’s elbow to keep him close, and he tightened his grip on Salhab. There wasn’t even time to feel nauseous before they were through the door and out on the battlefield.

  Higgins spotted a couple of dead bodies off to the left, but averted his eyes. Half of him wished he had a weapon, but the other half was glad to be told what to do. Keep your head down. Don’t lose sight of the target. If one of us goes down, keep moving. Get Salhab to the plane at all costs.

  Spencer and Abrams spread out ahead of them to scout the area and take out anyone in their path. Johnson took up the rear, watching their back with York assisting. It appeared as though none of Salhab’s men were anticipating a group of agents making a run for it, so their initial burst of speed paid off. It wasn’t until they had the vehicle in their sight that they were spotted.

  Two men popped up on their left and started yelling in Arabic. A third man about a hundred meters away answered them. Gunfire was traded, and one of the two men was shot down. The other took cover. Abrams charged toward him.

  Salhab started struggling. Higgins, who still had a tight grip on the man’s elbow, turned toward their prisoner to see him trying to break free of his bonds.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I have to make it look like I’m trying to escape,” Salhab said between pants. “If they know I volunteered information, I’ll never be able to return.”

  “You’re never going to return anyway,” Higgins said, pushing him toward the sedan. It was a couple of hundred meters away now.

  “Neither one of us knows that for sure.”

  Salhab planted himself and froze. His eyes darted to the side, and after a few seconds, he threw an elbow in Higgins’s face. It connected enough to whip his head back, sending blood streaming out of his nose.

  When Higgins looked back at the man, York’s pistol was pointing at the back of his head.

  “Don’t move.”

  “I had to,” Salhab said. He was calm. “They had to see that I had no choice but to go.”

  York shook her head but didn’t respond. Instead, she looked over at Higgins. “You okay?”

  “I think so.” He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. “I don’t think it’s broken.” Surprisingly, the pain gave him focus.

  “Then let’s go.” York pushed Salhab forward, keeping the gun trained on the back of his head, but her eyes were everywhere else.

  Between Abrams and Johnson, the gunfire stayed away from the center of the group. Higgins felt certain it was so the men didn’t accidently hit their leader. Who knew the safest place at the moment was right next to a known terrorist? Higgins found a dark sense of humor in that.

  A sense of clean relief washed over him as soon as he grasped the vehicle’s door handle. Before he could pull it open, however, he heard the whizz of a bullet at the same time he felt the door shudder in his grip. Instincts drove him around the side of the van, pulling Salhab with him. Higgins wanted to put as much distance between them and the shooters as possible.

  York was on his tail, pushing him and opening the door. “Get in,” she yelled. “Keep your heads down.”

  Higgins complied with the first order, but his curiosity got the better of him. He lifted his head just enough to see Abrams making his way back toward the group, covered by Johnson and Spencer, who were drawing most of the fire. Higgins heard the distinct sound of York’s pistol firing from the back of the sedan.

  “Go, go!” Abrams shouted, now sprinting at full speed.

  Johnson and Spencer turned and dashed to the sedan at the same time Higgins’s door was wrenched open. For a split second, the scene before him sharpened with incredible detail. The air was full of smoke and gunfire. Shouts and screams. The heat of the day bore down on him, and that ever-constant nausea in his stomach reared its ugly head again.

  Then York was pushing him backward, squeezing in beside him as the side of the vehicle was riddled with bullets.

  “Are we safe in here?” Higgins asked. He couldn’t keep his voice from shaking. “Will the bullets go through?”

  “Yes.” York wiped sweat and dirt from her forehead, watching with keen and diligent eyes as Spencer, Johnson, and Abrams piled into the vehicle. It was a tight fit. “We need to get out of here.”

  “On it,” Spencer said, slipping behind the wheel and slamming his foot down on the gas pedal almost before he put the car into gear.

  As they sped off, the ting, ting, ting of bullets hitting the back of the car in a dangerous sort of rhythm, Higgins knew the first leg of their mission had been a success.

  He couldn’t help the doubt that rattled around in his mind. Would Baker’s team be able to get to Salhab’s wife in time? Would she agree to leave with them? Would Tariq Khan hold up his end of the bargain? Would Salhab honor the deal?

  Too many questions. Too many contingencies. To be sure.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Salhab was swept away as soon as the wheels of the plane stopped moving on the tarmac. The team had no expectations that they’d see him again. They got word that his wife would arrive within the next few hours, and while Salhab would be allowed to visit with her briefly to see that she was safe, they would be kept separate until their son and granddaughter arrived.

  Director Thatcher, Zyga, and Decker took the group aside and debriefed them for what seemed like days. Higgins wasn’t familiar with the sensation of jealousy, but when he was told their time with Salhab was over, he couldn’t help the anger that swept through his body. They had worked so hard to convince Salhab to give them information, then informed they wouldn’t be seeing it through to the end.

  Abrams slapped Higgins on the back as they headed out of Thatcher’s office and back toward their rooms. “I can see you’re pissed, Al ol’ boy. Makes me mad, too, but there’s nothin’ we can do about it. Part of the job.”

  Spencer moved to walk on Higgins’s other side. “Politics.” He shook his head. “Great when it works out in your favor. Not so much when you’re on the bottom rung.”

  “But you’re not on t
he bottom rung,” Higgins said, looking between them. “Neither of you are.”

  Abrams shrugged. “The program is, though. It’s not even official yet, is it? We got a win, and maybe that’ll work in our favor, but we’re not going to get the notoriety, not yet.”

  Spencer cracked a rare grin. “We know how much you like being the best at everything, Doc, but you’re gonna have to give up on this one.”

  Higgins felt a sense of loss that was followed by the smallest glimpse of hope. “You really think this will help the program?”

  It was Spencer’s turn to shrug. “Maybe. Can’t hurt. We’ll see what happens.” He let out a long yawn. “For now, it’s time to sleep until I can’t sleep anymore.”

  The whole group agreed to that and split off until they were all behind closed doors. Higgins knew he wouldn’t get up once he sat down, so he forced himself into the shower, convincing himself that it’d actually be less work. At least this way he wouldn’t have to wash his sheets when he eventually woke up.

  It took fifteen hours from the time he hit the pillow until the moment he cracked his eyes open for the first time, and even then, he slept for another two, drifting in and out. An hour later there was a knock on his door, and Higgins was up and ready to start his day. Too bad it was six in the evening.

  Abrams stood on the other side of his door. “They’ve called a meeting. Grab some dinner, then meet up in the classroom in an hour.”

  Higgins made his way down toward the cafeteria. By the time he made it to the common area, York, Johnson, and Spencer were already sitting at a table in the corner. The rest of the agents left them alone, but there were more than a few furtive glances cast in their direction. How much had the rumor mill spread about what they had done?

  Higgins grabbed a sandwich and a bag of chips, then made his way over to his team. Abrams had since joined them.

  “Al,” Abrams said, with a tip of his head.

  Higgins said his hellos. A grin spread across his face once he finally settled in. “This is strange.”

  “What is?” York asked. She bit into her apple, chasing a dribble of juice down her chin with a napkin.

  “I don’t think I hate you guys anymore.”

  Johnson guffawed. Spencer smirked. Abrams smacked Higgins on his back. “That’s mighty fine praise, Al. Thank you.”

  Higgins felt a blush creep up into his face. “I just mean—”

  “We know what you mean,” Johnson said. He took a bite of his sandwich and half of it disappeared, into his mouth. “The feeling is mostly mutual.”

  “Mostly?” Higgins quirked an eyebrow.

  Johnson shrugged. “Have to keep you at arm’s distance; otherwise you might get the wrong idea.”

  “What idea is that?”

  Higgins expected Johnson to crack another joke but was surprised when the man’s face turned serious. “That you’re not half as bad as I thought. Maybe you’ve got a future in the CIA after all.”

  “Going soft, Johnson?” Higgins asked. He bit into his sandwich, suddenly realizing how starved he was.

  It was Abrams’s turn to guffaw at the look on Johnson’s face. He reached over to slap the other man on the back but thought better of it. Abrams drew his arm back, a smile still playing around his face as he took a long swig from his water bottle.

  But Johnson recovered quickly. He pointed at Higgins’s sandwich with his own. “Just make sure that one stays down, Higgins. No one’s going to be cleaning it up for you if it doesn’t.”

  Abrams’s smile was wide. “I didn’t know the human stomach could hold that much. It had to have been three gallons of liquid.”

  Higgins pushed his glasses up his nose. “The human stomach can actually only hold about a liter.”

  His comment made Johnson and Abrams laugh harder.

  York rolled her eyes. “Any idea what this meeting is about?” She was looking directly at Abrams, who at least had the sense to show a little shame. None of them had forgotten he’d been a mole the entire time.

  The shame was short-lived, however. Soon the smile was back at the corners of Abrams’ lips. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Higgins’s stomach was a gurgle of nerves as he walked into the classroom for the first time in several days. It was only the five of them sitting in the chairs, and the room suddenly felt foreign without more bodies. He didn’t choose his usual seat in the back. Instead, they all sat side by side in the first row.

  Zyga and Decker stood at the front of the room, looking calm but stern. Higgins doubted Zyga had any other setting. Decker’s eyes twinkled, so Higgins knew they weren’t in trouble. At least not anything that would affect their time at the CIA.

  Decker cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Salhab has met with his son and granddaughter. He’s told us everything he knows about the second bombing. His capture should kill the operation. We know everything. So far, it adds up. We have a location and a detailed plan of attack. Director Thatcher is putting together a covert action force as we speak. But for all intents and purposes, this is a wrap. We’re ready for them, contingency plans or not.”

  “It should’ve been us,” Johnson said. Higgins felt better that he wasn’t the only one who thought that.

  Zyga shook his head. “Not your call and not your job, son. You belong here with the interrogators.”

  The name sent a shiver down Higgins’s spine. He sat up a little straighter. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “This is a huge win,” Zyga said, stepping forward, “for the people whose lives you saved as well as our team.”

  “Does this mean it’s official, sir?” York asked. “The program? It’s definitely moving forward?”

  “It is.” The five students exchanged grim smiles. Zyga waited until he had their attention again. “You are officially Team Alpha. Over the next several months, we will continue your training as you fulfill your duties for the agency. Eventually, we will add more members to the program and create a Team Beta. If you continue to bring in wins, we’ll continue to keep you busy.”

  A figure appeared in the doorway, and everyone’s attention turned to Director Thatcher. “Have you given them the good news?”

  “We have, sir,” Zyga said.

  “Good. Good.” A man was standing behind the director, just out of view. “And our other good news?”

  “I was waiting for you, sir.”

  “Wonderful.” Director Thatcher clapped his hands and entered the room, stepping to the side to allow the man behind him to come out of the shadows. “Then it’s my pleasure to introduce a good friend of mine, someone I hope you’ll get the chance to work with closely for the foreseeable future. It’s 1985, and we suspect the threat of Islamic terrorism will only grow over the next decade or so. We’re gonna need as many allies in our corner as possible.”

  There was a beat of silence charged with excitement. Higgins wasn’t sure if it was the man himself who caused the change in mood, or what he could represent for the program.

  “May I present your Marine liaison.” Thatcher’s hand swept out toward the man in an introduction. “Major Calvin Stokes.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The name didn’t ring a bell for Higgins, but when Major Stokes glanced around the room with a broad smile on his face, he felt like they were old friends. There was something about him that exuded confidence and power, but unlike other men, Stokes seemed warm and personable.

  He stood about the same height as Decker but seemed more significant somehow. In a fraction of a second, Higgins looked him up and down from head to toe and read him like an open book. Where York had always felt like a mystery, hiding all her inner workings from Higgins’s keen eye, Stokes put it all out there on display. Higgins thought it had less to do with an inability to keep it all in check and more to do with the fact that he didn’t mind wearing his heart on his sleeve.

  Stokes was in his service uniform with his cover tucked under his arm. The wall of green made hi
m look immovable which was entirely at odds with the gentle smile on his face. Pure confidence. Higgins was sure he was the epitome of what a Marine should be. The medals on his chest supported that conclusion. He reminded Higgins of Civil War generals, warrior poets, gentlemen.

  “That was quite the introduction.” Stokes chuckled and held out his hand to both Decker and Zyga, who each shook it happily. “You left out the part of how I’m a terrific dancer and racket ball champ. I’m almost speechless, gentlemen.”

  Zyga laughed. “That’ll be the day.”

  Higgins wasn’t the only one who exchanged a bemused look with the person sitting next to him. Had they ever heard Zyga laugh? Had they ever heard him crack a joke? Even Johnson, Zyga’s prized pupil, seemed bewildered.

  When Zyga looked at the group in front of him, his scowl returned and, for some reason, Higgins felt more at ease. At least this was familiar ground.

  Stokes stepped forward. “As the director said, I’ll be your Marine liaison. I know we grunts haven’t always gotten along with brains like you, but I’m hoping that’ll change. I’m sure we’ll need your help from time to time, and maybe one of these days we’ll be able to return the favor.”

  Higgins felt that bubble of word vomit rise in his throat and spill out of his mouth before he could help himself. “Beirut,” he said. There was a change in the atmosphere as soon as the word slipped out, but he hammered on. “You lost a lot of Marines.”

  “Higgins.” Zyga’s voice was sharp.

  Stokes’ voice was colored with sadness as he said, “I keep telling myself we could’ve done something to prevent it.”

  “That’s why you’re here,” Higgins said.

  “When Director Thatcher told me about this program, I jumped at the chance to help build a better relationship between the Marine Corps and the CIA. My colleagues aren’t thrilled at the idea of getting into bed with your lot, but I have a great deal of respect for what you do. That’s why I’m here. Like the CIA, some of us in the Marine Corps are planning for the future. Terrorism will only grow in the coming years. Beirut was just the beginning. Lucky for me, your bosses and I agree.” He looked from one team member to another. “I heard about your first mission, and I’m glad it was a success. I’m glad you all made it out of there alive.”