Forgotten

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Dawson swallowed a piece of bacon. “Yes, you have, and I think I know why.”

  She eyed him. “Oh you do, do you?”

  “Yes.” Dawson got up and went to the hall closet, grabbing a bag off the top shelf. He returned to the table and sat, pulling the contents out and placing them next to her plate.

  Tears filled her eyes at the sight of the bridal magazines and the binder she had been keeping to plan the wedding. She stared at him, her eyes pleading forgiveness. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Her shoulders slumped, her chin dropped. “I was so depressed and miserable, and we’ve been waiting for so long, and then this happened.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You need to work through this, I understand that, but you have to realize you’re not alone. I just want to help you. And you need to tell me what’s bothering you.”

  A tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. She wiped it away and let go of his hand, placing it on the binder. “You know why we’ve been waiting.”

  He nodded. “Because you wanted your hair to grow back from Paris.”

  “Right. And it was getting there. Next year and everything would have been back to normal. We could get married and I could look back at those photos for the rest of my life and not be reminded of what happened to me. But now, this”—she gestured toward her head, once again shaved where she had been shot—“and I’m right back to square one. It will take another couple of years to grow back.” She looked up at him. “And what if this happens again before that? We might never get married!”

  He reached out and took her hand, clasping it in both of his. “If it’s that important to you, then we’ll wait. I don’t care if we get married tomorrow or ten years from now, as long as we’re together.”

  She sniffed. “Really?”

  “Of course! I’m not in this for a piece of gold wrapped around my finger, I’m in it because of you. If we never get married, that’s fine, as long as you’re at my side. Look what happened to Red. Do you think Shirley cares whether or not she lost her husband or her common law husband? She lost the man she loved.”

  Maggie frowned. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “And I don’t have any plans of getting killed, but if it happens, it happens, and we’ll have had the time we did. But let’s not waste it worrying about wedding photos, let’s just enjoy our time together, get you healthy again, and get back to living our lives.”

  Maggie sighed, her head slowly bobbing. She eyed the binder then looked up at him. “Let’s get me back to rehab. It’s time I stopped feeling sorry for myself.”

  Dawson smiled. “Sounds like a good idea.”

  She leaned forward and gave him a kiss. “And I want you to stop worrying about me.”

  “You know that’s not going to happen.”

  Her lips touched his ear, her breath hot on his skin. “I want you to go back to work.”

  He leaned back and stared into her eyes. “No, I want to help you.”

  She smiled at him, patting his cheek. “I know you do, but I also know how you love your job, and it kills me to see you not doing it. Go back to work so I can stop blaming myself for making you miserable.”

  He smiled at her, gazing into her eyes. “You’re the best damned thing that ever happened to me.”

  She squeezed his chin. “And don’t you forget it.” She pushed her chair out. “Now, do you want to go stretch me out some more, or should I just leave that to Deacon?”

  63 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  “Easy…easy…”

  Chris Leroux glanced over to see Randy Child moving an imaginary joystick between his legs as if controlling the two drones now descending slowly toward the roof of their target building. UAV footage had revealed the roof was never visited, at least not in the past several days, so their special deliveries should hopefully go undetected. And if they didn’t, they had self-destruct sequences built into them so the ultra-top-secret technology wouldn’t fall into enemy hands.

  For this was bleeding edge tech being inserted into the battlefield—Stepped Frequency Continuous Wave Radar-based systems capable of penetrating over seventy feet through walls, enough for them to see all the way down to the main floor, get the layout of the rooms, and watch live footage of the occupants of the building going about their business.

  “Monitor One in position,” came the voice of the drone pilot over the speakers, the video from her drone showing it rapidly gaining altitude, the miniaturized package fading into the dark and distance.

  “Monitor Two in position,” came a second voice.

  Leroux turned to Child. “Activate Monitor One and run a systems check.”

  Child tapped a few keys and Leroux watched a display showing the activation sequence successfully completing. “Monitor One active.”

  Leroux stepped closer to the screen. “Activate Monitor Two.”

  The process repeated. “Monitor Two active.”

  Leroux smiled. “Okay, let’s put them to work.” His smile spread as the software interpreted the signals, three distinct levels mapped and merged together, red, blue, and green patterns appearing, representing human beings moving along the corridors and inside the rooms, faint shadows with distinct lines showing the furniture and other objects they were interacting with.

  “This stuff is amazing,” muttered Child.

  Leroux had to agree. It was. Finally, the spy world had caught up with what the movies had been erroneously saying was possible for decades.

  We can see through walls!

  64 |

  ISIS Held Territory Al-Raqqah, Syria

  The revelation they knew who she was had Alia Monroe pacing the far wall of her small room, a man’s screams of agony too loud when she neared the door. She cringed as the light dimmed once again, another howl of pain following it.

  I have to get out of here! This place is insane! They’re all insane!

  She had thought it might be to her benefit to tell them who she was, to use her father’s connections to get her better treatment, perhaps even to gain her freedom, though the fact they already knew had her rethinking everything. If they knew who she was, yet were still holding her captive, then they were planning something. The fact they were treating her better suggested they had only recently discovered who she was, and the fact she had not yet been forced to record some sort of ransom demand for her father, suggested they had other plans for her.

  The lights dimmed again.

  They’re going to torture you on camera and send it to your parents.

  She shuddered.

  They’re going to kill you on live TV.

  Now that the roles were reversed, she couldn’t believe she had smiled as she watched the Jordanian pilot burned alive, caged prisoners in orange jumpsuits lowered into the water to drown, the beheadings, the shootings, the mass executions. Now that she realized one of those horrendous methods was to be her fate, she found herself reevaluating everything she had seen.

  She was innocent.

  She had done nothing wrong.

  She was here to help them, to join the cause, and yet they would kill her like the infidels, like the other Muslims who refused to pledge allegiance to the Caliphate.

  These weren’t brothers at all.

  These men were nothing but a murderous horde hell-bent on chaos, not the Caliphate, and she couldn’t let them use her to further their cause. Her pace quickened, her eyes darting about the room as she searched for some way to escape, there only minutes before they would return to collect the remains of her meal and handcuff her once again to the bed.

  Her eyes came to rest on the plate that had held her last meal.

  She strode over to it, picked it up, then slammed it back down on the corner of the rickety wood table. It shattered, leaving one good-sized piece in her hand. She sat on the bed and closed her eyes, bowing her head.

  For
give me, Allah, for I have no choice.

  She opened her eyes and slid the broken edge over her wrist, gasping at the unexpected intensity of the pain.

  The door flew open and Mary Todd jumped to her feet, terrified of what condition Pete might return in. But he wasn’t there, his screams echoing down the hall as they continued mercilessly torturing him.

  “You! You came to serve Allah?”

  She stared at Marwan, puzzled.

  “Well, did you?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “And you are a Muslim?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “But not always.”

  “No.”

  “Do you still want to serve Allah’s cause?”

  She trembled, knowing there was only one answer she could give, despite the fact she no longer believed in the cause, or Islam. “Y-yes?”

  “Is that a question or an answer?”

  “A-an answer?”

  “Very well.” A smile spread across his face, his entire demeanor changing, his voice gentle. It was the type of voice she had expected when they first met at the border, though had never been treated to. “We have another sister here who could help our cause very much. Her name is Alia Monroe—”

  Mary’s jaw dropped. “She’s here!”

  Marwan’s eyes narrowed at her excitement. “You know her?”

  “Yes! She’s my friend! She’s why I came here!”

  Marwan paused, pulling at his bearded chin as he paced the room. He stopped, spinning toward her. “This is good. Allah be praised!” He stepped closer. “She just tried to kill herself, and we need you to convince her not to try again.”

  “Why?” She immediately regretted the question.

  “Why? Because it is a sin to kill oneself unless in the service of Allah, and we need her.”

  “Need her for what?”

  “That is none of your concern. Are you willing to talk to your friend?”

  And again, there was only one answer she could give, though this time it was willingly. “Yes.”

  65 |

  The Unit Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Dawson walked into the briefing room and everyone leaped to their feet, smiles on their faces as they rounded the table to greet him.

  “Hey, look who’s back!” Atlas grabbed him, giving him a thumping hug, others doing the same before returning to their seats.

  “So you’re back in the rotation?” asked Spock, sitting to his right.

  “Yeah, Maggie and I discussed it, and decided this was the best thing for her.”

  Niner snorted. “I think she just got sick of your company.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Niner glanced at Jimmy. “It has been nice not having him around, so I can see how she could grow accustomed to that.”

  Dawson gave Niner a look. “For the life of me, I can’t remember why I missed this.”

  Niner lifted his shirt, seductively rubbing a hand over his chiseled abs. “You were missing these, weren’t you.”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  Dawson drew a knife from his belt and placed it on the table. “I’m under a lot of stress.” He flicked the hilt, the knife spinning. “Are you sure you want to piss me off?”

  Niner covered up. “I’m genuinely hurt.” He leaned over and grabbed Jimmy’s shirt, dabbing his eyes. Jimmy cuffed him as Colonel Clancy entered. Everyone jumped to their feet, shoulders shoved back, asses clenched.

  “As you were, gentlemen.” Everyone returned to their seats, Clancy sitting at the head of the briefing room’s table, placing a folder in front of him. He looked at the men gathered, his eyes coming to rest on Dawson. “You boys want a shot at getting back at the bastards that killed Red?”

  66 |

  ISIS Held Territory Al-Raqqah, Syria

  Alia Monroe lay curled in a ball on her bed, her wrist bandaged, her other chained to the bed frame once again. The woman who had warned her that her captors knew who she was had entered to collect the dishes only moments after she had slit her wrist. The struggle for the broken dish had been brief, the woman’s shouts for help quickly answered by guards outside her room. She had been subdued, her wound treated, her room emptied of anything that could be used to fulfill her desire to die.

  It was hopeless.

  They were going to do to her whatever it was they had planned, and she was powerless to stop them.

  I think I’d rather drown than be burned alive.

  She sat against the wall, leaning her head back. She felt her throat, then the back of her neck.

  Beheading might be fine.

  It would be quick, almost instantaneous.

  But she had seen the videos. It was never one blow to take off the head. There were no humane guillotines used here, just machetes wielded by madmen. It would take at least several hacks to remove her head, and she’d feel every one of the blows.

  Is drowning painful?

  She couldn’t imagine it being.

  I wonder if they’ll give me a choice.

  She grunted, shaking her head.

  You’re an idiot.

  A sound at the door had her pushing further into the corner as it swung open.

  She gasped.

  “Mary!”

  She leaped toward her friend, only to be yanked back by the chain binding her wrist, but Mary was in her arms moments later, the two friends hugging each other tight as the door slammed shut, sealing them both inside.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Mary sat on the bed, holding her hands. “I came to find you.”

  “To rescue me?” Alia could hear the hope in her own voice, a wave of relief washing over her. If Mary were here to rescue her, then surely there were others. But her heart sank as Mary’s face clouded over.

  “No. I came to join you, but instead they turned me into a slave. They’re going to sell me at auction any day now. They tried to sell me the other day but there was some sort of attack that shut everything down.”

  Tears rolled down Alia’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

  Mary reached out and put an arm around her shoulders. “No, it’s not. It’s their fault. We were both lied to.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Stay alive.”

  Alia looked at her. “Why? What’s the point?”

  “If we’re alive, we have a chance of escaping, or being rescued.”

  “Yeah, but we also have a chance of being raped every day for the rest of our lives.”

  Mary sighed. “I know. I don’t know what I’m saying. They want me to convince you not to kill yourself.”

  Alia’s chest tightened and she pushed away from her friend. “You’re working for them!”

  Mary shook her head vigorously. “No! God no! That’s what they want me to do, and if I didn’t say I would, they would have killed me.”

  Alia relaxed slightly, realizing Mary was right. These barbarians wouldn’t hesitate to kill either of them if they thought they were of no use. And right now, she was of use to them because of who she was, and Mary was of use as long as they thought she was keeping her alive. And it was her fault Mary was here. If she killed herself, she’d be killing Mary, and she couldn’t let that happen.

  Unless…

  “Do you want to die?”

  Mary’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you fail, and I do kill myself, then they’ll kill you. That way we’re both out of this hell.”

  Mary stared in horror at her, her mouth agape, her eyes wide. “They won’t just kill me, they’ll torture me to death!” She shook her head. “No, you can’t kill yourself.” She paused, her eyes widening even more. She leaned in close, lowering her voice. “But maybe we can kill each other.”

  67 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  “So what have you got?” asked Director Morrison as he entered the operations center. Chris Leroux pointed at the screen, an image disp
layed of the compound where Alia Monroe had originally been brought. A single room was highlighted.

  “We think this might be her.”

  Morrison glanced at him then back at the display. “Might? We need better than might if we’re going to send a Delta team in to extract her.” He turned back to Leroux, his eyes narrowing. “Tell me what your famous gut is thinking.”

  Leroux’s mouth went slightly dry and he took a sip from his water bottle. He rose, tapping at his tablet, an exterior image of the building displayed. “It’s a three-story building, about three thousand square feet per floor, with one basement level. At any given time during the day, there are at least one hundred people in there.”

  “That could be a problem.”

  “Yes, but I’ll address that in a minute.”

  Morrison held up a hand, bowing slightly. “Go on, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Morrison gave Leroux a bemused look, Leroux’s jaw dropping at his unintended gaffe. “Umm, sorry, sir, ask any questions you want.”

  Morrison chuckled. “Continue.”

  “Yes, sir.” Leroux took another sip. “We’ve determined the top two floors are most likely used exclusively by enemy personnel.”

  “How?”

  “They leave at the end of the day. At night, both floors have minimal personnel, and they all seem to have free rein over the entire complex.”

  Morrison’s head bobbed. “Okay, so no way they’re hostages. Good. So you’ve narrowed it down to the main floor and the basement.”

  “Yes, sir. We can’t really get any readings on the basement, but Mossad had an operative in there several months ago, and in briefing notes I read, he indicated it was purely storage. Weapons and supplies.”

  Morrison drew in a breath, staring at the four images, one showing each floor. “Okay, if we assume that’s still accurate, then she’s on the main floor, if she’s there at all.”