Northern Sun: Book Four in The Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

  Conor gave the crew a hand signal to indicate that the cargo had touched down. The hoist operator pressed a control and the rigging dropped, the heavy steel cables falling onto the top of the container with a clang. Conor signaled they were clear and the chopper banked away. He was expecting a second container, the one Shani had promised, but had no idea when he’d be receiving it.

  He raised his radio and keyed the mic. “All clear.”

  Ragus stepped out from behind the power shed. By the time he fell in alongside Conor, the rest of the group was heading toward the container yard. Shannon, Barb, and Doc Marty all came along, each of them armed, each of them remaining cautious. They were all aware that every time a chopper visited their compound it had the potential to draw unwelcome attention from curious locals. People noticed choppers even in normal times. With so little else moving these days, they stuck out. Even on this remote mountaintop, it was possible that someone might come looking to see what was in the container that passed over their heads.

  Conor was wondering the same thing, always anxious to tear open the latest Christmas present and see if he’d gotten what he asked for. He checked the door to see if he needed bolt cutters or an acetylene torch and found that it wasn’t even locked. He threw open the hasps and dragged the heavy steel doors open.

  “Surprise!”

  The voice from within the container startled Conor so badly he stumbled backward and fell on his ass in the dirt. By the time he hit the ground, he figured out who it was.

  Shani.

  “Damnation!” Conor growled. “I wish Ricardo would quit using containers to ship me unwelcome guests.”

  “Hey, I resent that,” Doc said. “We’re paying guests. Don’t forget that.”

  “I’m glad to see her,” Barb said, running to the container to finish swinging the heavy doors out of the way. When they were open, she gave Shani a quick hug.

  Everyone in the compound was watching with curiosity. They’d never seen Barb extend such a warm welcome to anyone. This was her barnyard and she normally pecked at anyone who stepped foot in her territory.

  Shani was on crutches. Conor glanced into the container and saw that she’d been riding in an old wooden office chair bolted securely to the floor. She hobbled over and loomed overtop him.

  “Do I need to help you up, old man?”

  Conor scrambled to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants. “I can get me ownself up, thank you very much. At the risk of sounding rude, what the hell are you doing here? Please don’t tell me that you’re the next Doc Marty, here to sit out ‘the troubles’ at Chez Conor.”

  Shani laughed. “As pleasant an invitation as that is, I’m just here for a few days.”

  Conor shook his head adamantly, eyes wide. “Oh, it weren’t no invite, missy. I’m just bumfuzzled as to what you’re doing here.”

  Standing alongside the pair, Barb grew tired of their banter. She was blunt and these two could apparently talk all day without getting to the heart of the matter. It grated on her nerves and she decided they needed an intervention. “Shani’s here because you two have something to talk about. I suggest you shut your piehole and open your ears.”

  Chastised, Shani and Conor both looked at Barb in surprise. Conor was shocked that Barb seemed to know why Shani was there when he didn’t. Shani was taken aback at Barb’s directness.

  Barb wasn’t done yet. “We’re going to head up to the house and I’m going to fix you two some lunch. You’re going to sit down by the fire, eat your food, drink your tea, and have a nice conversation. The rest of us are going to go on about our business and leave you alone. And that’s fucking that. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Conor said, understanding now that he had no choice but to roll with this.

  “Yes,” Shani replied, smiling at Barb. “Thank you for...facilitating.”

  Barb grinned. “Anytime.”

  65

  Conor helped Shani find a comfortable spot in the living room while the rest of the crew started lunch. He added another log to the fire and took a seat across the room from Shani. It was as far away as he could sit and still be in the same room. He wasn’t comfortable with this situation. He bored into Shani with his eyes, looking for any hint as to what they needed to talk about. He didn’t like being caught off guard on his own territory.

  “I like your place here,” Shani commented.

  Conor rolled his eyes. “Being a smartass, are you? What was it you called it? A junkyard?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m completely serious. Not only does it suit you, but it’s quite impressive. The scale of it is surprising. I was expecting something smaller and more rustic.”

  “This was the headquarters of a coal mining company. They put a lot of money into the place and hauled out tens of millions of dollars worth of coal. When they’d mined out their ground, they sold the place off for pennies on the dollar. For me, it was love at first sight. I like the whole industrial look. All I needed to make it feel like home was a front porch and I took care of that.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “There are still things I’d like to do here that I haven’t gotten to yet. There are underground mines beneath the place that I can access but I’ve not really done anything with them.”

  “Are they flooded?” Shani asked.

  “No, on this high ridge they’re above the water table. It’s just that the infrastructure for accessing them requires a lot of electricity and I can’t make enough with solar. The mines require three-phase power to run the elevators and the ventilation. Maybe one day I’ll have it all fixed up as my subterranean lair.”

  Shani smiled at that. “If anyone deserves a subterranean lair, it’s the Mad Mick.”

  Conor loved his compound but out of security concerns there were few people he ever discussed it with. Despite his irritation at Shani, he understood that she was no threat to him. He could talk about his place as much as he wanted and not be concerned that she’d sell him out. For better or worse, they were on the same team.

  After twenty minutes of awkward discussion, lunch was ready. Despite both Conor and Shani’s protests, the rest of the crew took their lunch to Doc Marty’s cabin to eat. Barb understood that Shani needed privacy, even if no one else understood the need for it.

  Once Barb, Shannon, and Doc Marty were gone, Conor’s nerves began to get to him. He didn’t understand it. He’d stared death in the face hundreds of times. He regularly worked with explosives that terrified other men. None of it bothered him. Yet sitting alone in this room with Shani was eating at him and for the first time in living memory he had no appetite. He stared at the beautiful sandwich on his plate like it was a thing of tragic beauty.

  “What the fuck is going on, Shani? What the hell is so important that you came out here in the middle of nowhere to talk to me about it? And how does Barb know about it when I don’t?”

  Shani took a sip of her tea because she didn’t know what else to do. “You remember when we first met, Conor?”

  He sneered. He actually sneered. “How could I forget?”

  “You were so full of yourself. This brash Irishman who loved to hear himself talk, especially when he was talking about himself. You were full of bluster and blarney. You thought I was some little local girl brought in as your guide and translator. You didn’t talk to me like a person. You talked down to me.”

  Conor’s mouth grew tight. “It wasn’t intentional. I was raised by a woman for most of my life and I should have known better, but I didn’t. All I can say in my defense is that I’ve learned a lot about women as my daughter has grown up. Being a father has made me a better man. Barb was young then, back when we worked together in Jeddah. She hadn’t yet had time to set me on the right path. You can be assured she’s worked on that since.”

  “I can see the difference,” Shani said. “You’re not the same man.”

  Conor sagged back on the couch and glared. “So, what are you after? An apology? You still
pissed off over the way I treated you all those years ago? If anyone is owed an apology it’s me. You deceived me. We got...involved...under false pretenses. I didn’t know you were a colleague.”

  “Exactly. You thought I was a nobody and you treated me as such. I know what I did was wrong. I’m not proud of deceiving you, but I was hotheaded in those days. I’ve calmed down some too.”

  Conor grinned sarcastically. “Yeah? Where’d that come from?”

  “From raising your child.”

  Conor couldn’t have been more gob-smacked if he’d been hit in the head with a shovel. For a moment, Shani wondered if he was even breathing. Despite all the hairy situations he’d survived over the years, had she killed the Mad Mick with too much information? He couldn’t even speak, so she continued.

  “When I got shot, I told Barb she needed to tell you about our daughter if I didn’t make it. She made me promise that I’d tell you myself if I survived.”

  “Are you sure?” Conor said.

  “Sure it’s yours?” Shani asked. “Most definitely. There was no one else in my life at the time.”

  Conor looked devastated as the full weight of her words settle on him. “How could you not tell me, Shani? We’ve worked together since that time. You knew where to find me.”

  “I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t know how we’d manage it. It’s not like we were normal people, working normal jobs, and living a normal life. It seemed best to keep it to myself since it was my fault it happened.”

  “I wouldn’t have treated the child as a punishment. I’d have treated her as a blessing. What’s her name?”

  “Abela,” Shani replied. “She’s eight. When I’m working, she stays with my sister. That’s where she is now.”

  “Does she know about me?”

  Shani held a hand in front of her and wavered it in a so-so gesture. “A little. My sister knows the truth. She was supposed to reach out to you if I didn’t come home from a job.”

  “Can I meet her?”

  Shani let out a long sigh. “I don’t know how we’d make that happen right now, Conor, but I’d like you to meet her. We’d have to come to an agreement on what to tell her. I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

  “I don’t want that either, but I’d like to be a part of her life to the extent possible. Maybe at some point she could meet Barb, too.”

  “Are you angry with me, Conor?”

  Conor thought about it for a long moment. “I’m trying to be but the anger keeps giving way to the excitement.”

  Tears rolled down Shani’s face. “Seeing you react this way makes me wish I’d told you all those years ago.”

  “We can’t change the past, Shani. Take it from a man who spent years wishing he could go back and save his wife from a drunk driver. I even killed the bastard who did it and still found no peace. Spend your life walking backward, looking behind you, and you’ll find no joy. You’ll just trip over lots of shit.”

  Shani put a hand to her mouth and looked away, gathering herself. Natural light filtered through the window between them. The fire popped within the confines of the woodstove. A goat bleated in the distance. They remained silent while the world continued around them.

  “You’re a different person than I imagined, Conor Maguire. A better person,” Shani said after a long moment.

  “Eh, you never knew me well enough to know what kind of person I was. Two weeks of shagging like rabbits doesn’t tell you everything.”

  Shani raised an eyebrow. “Guess not.”

  “So, how long are you with us? When’s the next container out?”

  “Ricardo is sending a chopper in two days. I’ll head to DC, then to Mexico City, and I’ll fly home from there.”

  “I forget the world goes on,” Conor said. “It’s hard to imagine when we’re here stuck in the dark.”

  “You won’t be forever. The lights will come on soon. There are a lot of people trying to make that happen now. The big question will be which hand is on the switch when it happens.”

  Before you go…

  Please enjoy this sample from:

  Hard Trauma

  Book One in The Ty Stone Series.

  A Sample from Hard Trauma

  Two Years Earlier

  Tyler Stone was running a five-man team in the northern part of the Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Their mission was to conduct reconnaissance on a village where the Taliban was rumored to be stockpiling weapons. They’d been in position for three days and pinpointed a cave with a lot of suspicious traffic. Ty was fairly certain the crates being hauled into the cave didn’t contain cases of beer and bags of pork rinds.

  Sometimes their job was to find the weapons and call in an airstrike. They’d paint the target with an infrared laser and air support would blow it back to the Stone Age. This mission was different. They were there to collect photographs and coordinates, then transmit the data back to command. Supposedly, folks higher up the chain would use that data to extrapolate a more complete picture of the supply chain in the region.

  The mission was going smooth as glass, which made everyone jittery. Once they transmitted their data, they were ordered to return home. That was when they paid the price for the previous lack of complications. They were rucking out on a goat trail when their mission was blown in the same way so many other covert ops in the Afghan hill country were compromised.

  Shepherds.

  Up until that point, they’d done everything right. They’d gathered their intel, avoided detection, and sustained no casualties. The two teenage shepherds wore drab pajama-like clothing and carried herding staffs, looking like two kids who’d just wandered out of some biblical tale.

  "Keep moving," Ty ordered his team. “Kamran, handle this.”

  Kamran, their “terp”—interpreter—approached the boys and gestured wildly, warning the young men to remain silent or they’d be killed. Perhaps it wasn’t the approved, politically-correct method of requesting cooperation from locals but it was often the most effective. Ty kept his team moving while Kamran assured the shepherds that men would come back and wring their necks like scrawny desert chickens if they sounded the alarm.

  The terp made a good show of it but you never knew how those threats would work. Sometimes the locals resented the Taliban for some atrocity they’d committed on their village and they’d keep silent. Other times, more scared of the Taliban, they’d raise hell, sounding the alarm as soon as you were out of sight. Ty thought they’d actually pulled this one off until they hit open terrain and he chanced a look back at the village thorough his M151 spotting scope.

  "Son of a bitch,” he growled.

  “What is it?”

  Taco, a weapons sergeant, shaded his eyes and tried to make out what he was looking at. He was a tall dude, wrapped in tattoos and muscles, the man just as battle-worn as his gear. His nickname had nothing to do with ethnicity but instead came from his last name, which was Bell. “Please tell me that’s just a dust devil.”

  “That’s a negative, Taco. I’ve got at least two dozen armed riders headed in our direction. Those fucking shepherds sold us out.”

  Taco shook his head in disgust. “Why am I not surprised?” He threw up his rifle and studied them through the scope.

  Ty packed up his spotting scope. “We need to haul ass.”

  “Should we engage?” Taco asked. “If I can’t drop them, I can at least scatter them. Slow them down.”

  “Negative on that. While we’re engaging, the rest will close around us and we’ll get penned in. Then we won’t be going anywhere.”

  The two men ran to catch up with the rest of their team. Ty flagged down his commo sergeant, Hoot. “See if you can find us a ride out of here!”

  A chopper could light those Taliban cowgirls up and haul the team back to base. Command was expecting their request for exfil, anyway. Surely someone was monitoring their op and waiting for the call.

  Ty watched Hoot’s face while he talked, and after two minutes of ag
itated jabbering, he knew there was a problem. He started to get a sinking feeling in his gut. “What’s the hell’s going on?”

  Hoot whipped off his headset, looking pissed. "Everything is grounded. Major fucking storm on our ass. Could be tomorrow before shit settles down."

  “Great,” Ty mumbled. “You tell them we had our own storm to worry about?”

  “Affirmative. They suggested we request the QRF if we needed them,” Hoot relayed, referring to the Quick Reaction Force.

  “Bernie’s unit is on QRF now,” said Taco. “You know he won’t put anyone at risk. They’ll drag their ass and get here tomorrow so he doesn’t take casualties.”

  “Do it,” Ty said.

  Hoot got on the radio and passed on Ty’s request. Ty could soon tell Hoot wasn’t having any more luck with this than the exfil request.

  “QRF says they’ll contact command and advise us when they have their orders,” Hoot repeated.

  Ty shook his head in disgust. He scanned the horizon and in the distance found the storm Hoot was referring to, a dark mass emerging on the horizon ahead of them like some enormous beast. “There’s your dust devil, Taco.”

  “I still say we dig in and engage them. We got this. We can take them.” Taco’s speech was rushed. They were all huffing and puffing from humping heavy gear at a rapid pace, their adrenaline pumping. After sitting in those hills for three days everyone was jacked up and ready for a fight. Running didn’t taste good on anyone’s tongue.

  “Negative,” Ty said. “They pin us down and there’ll be a hundred of them surrounding us by tomorrow. They’ll pound us with rockets and there won’t be enough left to bury. We’re going to outrun them, or at least try to.”

  "You got to be kidding me," Hartsock said. He was MARSOC, or Marine Special Operations Command, and had embedded with Ty’s team before. They got a laugh out of it because his name was Hartsock, making him Hartsock from MARSOC. Sometimes that shit was funny when you had nothing else to laugh at, but at the moment, nothing was funny.