by Liz Borino
“C-c-ome ‘ere.” Elliot’s words were faint and slurred.
“Are you at home?” Jordan asked, grabbing his coat from the hooks by the door and motioning Aaron out.
“Y-y-es. Pl-ease c-c-ome,” Elliot rasped.
“We’re on our way,” Jordan promised as he locked the door and hobbled to Aaron’s car.
“What’s going on?” Aaron asked he turned the ignition.
“I don’t know, but it’s bad,” Jordan answered. He contemplated calling an ambulance on the way, but had no idea what to tell them.
Aaron squeezed his hand as they rounded the corner to Jordan’s father’s home. “We’ll get through it,” he promised as he parked.
Jumping from the car, Jordan sped toward the house, cursing his boot the whole way. He would take ibuprofen once he sorted this situation out, to reduce the swelling if nothing else. Jordan used his key to unlock the door while thanking God that he had accepted it when his father moved closer. “Dad!” Jordan’s gaze shot around the living room, and, not finding his father, he advanced through the downstairs while Aaron went upstairs.
Elliot followed the same schedule every week. At three p.m. on a Saturday, he should be sitting in his recliner watching the History Channel. Jordan opened the bathroom door. Nothing. Kitchen was clear. He almost left, but spotted a note on the kitchen table, reading “STOP. NEXT TIME HE’S DEAD.”
His blood ran cold. “Angel!”
Aaron came to the top of the stairs, placed his finger to his lips, and pointed to the phone in his hand. “Yes, on 13 Mango Street. My father-in-law fell and appears to be having a stroke.” He started ticking off stroke symptoms: one-sided numbness, confusion, and blurred vision.
Jordan approached the steps, but Aaron shook his head.
“Someone has to let the EMTs in,” Aaron said. “I was talking to my husband.” He paused and added, “We’ll be here. Jordan will open the door.” Aaron hung up. “Your dad was in the master bathroom peeing when he fell. He’s conscious, embarrassed, and a little confused. The EMTs will arrive momentarily. I’m going to clean him up before they get here. Please stay there. I don’t want you to get hurt walking up the stairs.” Aaron turned away.
Jordan called, “Angel.” Aaron faced him again. “This was not a natural occurrence. Someone broke in.” He held up the note. “In case you can’t read it from up there it says, ‘Stop. Next time he’s dead’.” He and Aaron locked gazes for a long moment.
“Hide it,” Aaron said.
“What? These people aren’t fucking around,” Jordan protested.
“Neither are we, and neither is he. Elliot knows what we’re doing. He wanted to help.”
“Jesus Christ, Angel, not at the cost of his life!” Jordan waved the paper in the air.
“Jor, we’re so close. We can add it to the evidence.” Sirens rang out in the distance. “He’ll be safe in the hospital. You know he would agree.” Aaron sent him a last pleading look and jogged back to the bedroom.
Hide it? Hide the evidence that someone broke into my father’s house and attacked him? That was the most… logical course of action. Jordan sighed. The police would ask “Stop what?” and then Jordan and Aaron would be in trouble for collecting information illegally. But, God, what if the person who hurt him came to the hospital? Or where ever he went after the hospital? There would be an after… right? What if his father said something to the doctors? It’s not like I can stop him or ask him to lie… Shit. Shit. Shit! Jordan crumbled the paper up and stuffed it in his pocket, then opened the door for the EMT workers.
A few minutes later, they carried Elliot’s frail body down on the stretcher. Aaron trailed behind. “You go with them. I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Aaron whispered as he gave Jordan a hug.
“I’m scared,” he replied.
“He’ll be all right. We’ll make sure of it,” Aaron promised, rubbing his back while the EMTs loaded Elliot into the ambulance. “And it is not your fault.”
“But…” Jordan started.
Aaron cut him off with a finger to his lips. “Troy, and whoever he’s working with, obviously have a lot at stake.”
Jordan nodded, kissed Aaron, and followed his dad into the ambulance. He reached over and held the elderly man’s pale, wrinkled hand. “I’m here, Dad,” he said while the medical technicians set Elliot’s IV and oxygen mask in place. His blue eyes defied Jordan’s inclination to coddle. Yeah. Like Elliot would allow anyone to coddle him. After his car accident, the doctors and nurses nominated the most difficult patient to ever stay in the hospital. Jordan was fairly certain they threw a party the day of his release.
Once the doctors conducted preliminary tests and stabilized Elliot, he explained, through Jordan’s translation, that the left side of his body went numb while he was using the bathroom. He called Jordan, who called them. End of story. As soon as the nurses left, Elliot turned his head toward Jordan and Aaron. “… Masked man… broke in… hit me …” Elliot pointed to his temple and continued, “… said… you stop.” He drew in a breath. “Don’t.”
Chapter Twelve
Twenty hours later, the hospital insisted Jordan and Aaron go home. They put restrictions on Elliot’s visitors. Jordan had gotten maybe three or four restless hours of sleep at the hospital while the doctors tested his father’s neurological activity. Had they asked, Jordan could have told them that Elliot’s speech may be confusing, and the left half of his body paralyzed, but his mind was sharp. Any time Jordan and Aaron were alone with him, Jordan’s father had berated them for wasting time at the hospital with him.
“You have more important things to do than help me eat and use the bathroom. That’s what the nurses are paid for,” Elliot argued.
“Let them take care of the medical stuff,” Jordan replied.
“Bullshit. You feel guilty.” Elliot huffed. “Go home.”
The doctors reminded Jordan how lucky they were that Elliot was still able to communicate as well as he could. But no one had any idea what the future held for his father, beyond months of treatment and rehab. And Jordan could not accept the fact that he was not at least partially to blame. He reached into his pocket and grasped the crumpled paper. It sent a bolt of energy through him that propelled him to the kitchen to start coffee. “You can sleep,” he told Aaron.
“Right. I’ll heat up leftover lasagna. Please, please, take your ibuprofen,” Aaron said.
Jordan kissed him and agreed. Ibuprofen would not hurt his ability to think or move quickly, which was no doubt why Aaron suggested it. “Where did you get a computer virus?” Jordan asked.
“From one of my coding friends,” Aaron replied. “He told me, ‘only use this on someone you truly hate, because if they trace it back to you, your relationship is fucked’.”
“Fair enough.” Jordan poured two mugs of coffee and brought them over to the desk. He waited for Aaron to do the same with the lasagna. “How do you want to do this?” he questioned. “Each take half the files?”
“Let’s see how he has the files organized.” Aaron plugged the USB stick into his computer, copied the files onto the secure server and scanned them for viruses. “What he doesn’t know is that the virus destroyed all of the devices connected to the wireless router because then he can’t change passwords,” Aaron told Jordan.
“Unless he found another one in the last day,” Jordan said.
Aaron bit his lip and logged into one of Troy’s alternate accounts. “Nope. We’re good.” He logged out and started an incognito window before logging back in. “Paranoid, sue me.” Aaron swept his hair back as they exchanged smiles. “You take the address that he corresponded with Nadar from. I’ll try to piece together the Jalalabad story.”
Before Jordan’s eyes, the contents of Hart’s hard drive pointed to the root of the problems with the Middle East for more than a decade. “Holy shit,” Jordan muttered. The higher-ups promoted the man time and time again because of his congenial relations with the leaders of the Afghani government.
Hart told Nadar to kill the POWs Jordan had been sent to save. “He’s been lying to everyone.”
“Not technically,” Aaron responded. “He is on good terms with the foreign leaders.”
“Well, sure, that’ll happen when you’re supplying them with sacrificial soldiers.” Jordan shook his head as he read about the millions of dollars Hart accepted from the enemy for information on United States tactics. Not only the Afghani government, but the Taliban, as well. “He’s playing three ways,” Jordan told Aaron, who read the screen.
“Plus,” Aaron showed him his analysis, “he’s got Jalalabad here.” Worse than that, Hart had been trying to convince the rest of the government that Jalalabad’s disappearance indicated a terrorist plot in the making. If Jalalabad had not been on the Most Wanted list before, he was now. But… why?
The words on the screen shot the flame of anger straight from Jordan’s core. Hart took the Muslim leader as a POW in the name of the United States, and refused to notify anyone. Not the Afghani government, nor the United States government. “That bastard!” Jordan growled as memories of his imprisonment flooded his mind. Weeks of agony and isolation because Nadar disregarded the same rules as Hart. “Why is this acceptable in America?” Jordan forced himself to his feet for the first time in hours.
“It’s not,” Aaron replied. “Troy didn’t tell anyone.”
“But somewhere along the line, Hart was trained to believe that this is all right. Someone had to have told him that he could get away with this shit.” Jordan paced, Aaron’s gaze piercing his back.
“I don’t think anyone from our government told him to convene with terrorists,” Aaron said. “Did you get to the part on here about Foster?”
Foster… right. Jordan almost forgot about Aaron’s people-pleasing replacement. Jordan blinked and faced his husband. “No. What about him?”
“Troy hand-selected him for the sake of being a greedy idiot.” Aaron tapped the screen to enlarge the words. “Where was Foster the day you were captured?”
“He called in sick the day of the meeting with Nadar.”
“According to this, Troy instructed him to make sure the capture went off.”
“No. He wasn’t there. That’s one thing I remember well. Parks and I were relieved not to be babysitting during an important meeting.”
Aaron licked his lips, kept eye contact, and requested, “Tell me what the fidgeting security guard looked like.”
“I… didn’t pay attention,” Jordan confessed, thinking back in attempt to bring a picture of the man forth in his mind. “I can tell you that he didn’t catch my attention until we came back to the room after seeing the POWs.”
“According to this exchange, Foster reported back to Troy that he took the place of another American soldier while you and Parks talked to the POWs. He ensured that Parks was killed, the POWs freed, and you were captured.” Aaron paused, took a breath, and added, “Just as he ordered.”
“And how much money did he receive for this?”
“Twenty thousand.”
“He really should have upped the price for treason.” Jordan sank down again.
Aaron put his arm around him. “It appears to be part of a long-term agreement. That continued until breaking into your dad’s house yesterday.”
That fucker! The block letters on the note appeared before Jordan’s eyes as the reality became clearer. STOP. NEXT TIME HE’S DEAD. He could be dead now for all these assholes know or care. They’re all going down, he swore silently and leaned into Aaron to stabilize his spinning head. “Where is Jalalabad?”
Releasing a breath, he replied, “It doesn’t give a specific location.”
Jordan counted to ten in attempt to prevent himself from smashing the coffee table with his fist. He reached the number seven when an email from Adeela popped up on his phone. “Skype please.”
“Right now?” he questioned.
“Please, Jordan. It is an emergency,” she replied. The curt exchanges made the last sentence unnecessary. Her emails were normally pages long.
“Should you ask if she’s alone?” Aaron questioned.
“No. She wouldn’t be telling me to video call with her if she weren’t,” Jordan answered. “I trust her, Angel.”
Aaron nodded and motioned to the computer again.
Adeela rang in through Skype before Jordan even realized it had signed on completely. “Jordan, Aaron, have you heard any more news about the attack on Anwar?”
“No, we’ve been busy the last few days. Why? What did you hear?” Aaron asked.
“Anwar is determined to find Jalalabad and because his US government source insists that your soldiers know where he is, Anwar is escalating.” Adeela’s voice was hoarse, fearful.
“Escalating? Are they attacking the embassy in Afghanistan?” Jordan’s heart tripped, and sped up as she shook her head.
“Pentagon,” she whispered. “Anwar and Hart are no longer friendly when they speak. Anwar thinks Hart is playing with him.”
“Hart is playing with everyone,” Jordan said. “When is the attack taking place?”
“Only a few weeks from now. The Taliban is trying to take over the country again. I cannot survive that happening. Please, Jordan, you said you would get me out if I assisted the United States in their mission.” Adeela’s eyes were wild. “That mission will not materialize if he gets over there first.”
“No, it won’t,” Jordan said. Further she’ll be killed no matter what then. “Are you sure you want to help?”
“Yes, yes,” she answered.
I said I trust her. Now I have to prove it. “Okay, I’m going to give you the number of Colonel Bryant. Do you know how to make calls from Skype?” She nodded, and Jordan continued, “Okay, call him in two hours. I have a lot to tell him first. Things got bad here, too.” He answered her raised eyebrow with, “I’ll explain later. I promise.”
“Thank you.” She waved as she ended the call.
“Angel?”
“Yeah?”
Jordan turned toward him. “After this shit is over, how about a vacation?”
Aaron smiled. “Can it involve jumping out of a plane?” The question ripped a much-needed laugh from Jordan.
Chapter Thirteen
Jordan stood at attention by Colonel Bryant’s office when he arrived for work that morning. “Captain, did we have a meeting?” Bryant asked, unlocking the door and admitting them both.
“No, sir, but I have something to show you that cannot wait for our schedules to sync up,” he replied, extracting the binder containing the details of Hart’s crimes.
“What is this?”
“The proof you’ve been asking for.” Jordan took a seat at Bryant’s scrutinizing expression. “In that binder, Aaron and I have organized the irrefutable proof that General Hart is a triple agent, working with the US and Afghani governments, in addition to the Taliban.”
“Captain! That’s—”
“Insane? Terrible? Disrespectful? Open the binder.” Jordan let his commanding officer break eye contact first to scan the table of contents and flip through the pages. Yes, Aaron included a table of contents. Jordan took plenty of time to mock him for that while they showered together.
Bryant’s eyes widened and his face paled. “How did you obtain this information?”
“No way that you would approve of, sir. I can detail exactly how it happened, but in the end, it does not matter,” Jordan said.
“Humor me.”
Damn. Jordan really hoped that would work, though he did not count on it. “Aaron took his files and passwords from his personal computer when General Hart asked him to fix it. We’ve been going through it since we came home from setting my father up in the hospital.”
“A felony, Captain Collins,” the lieutenant colonel said without glancing up from the binder.
“The NSA disagrees,” Jordan countered. He could not allow his confidence to slip.
“That’s different… Fuck!” Bryant slammed his fi
st on the desk. “Is this forged?” he demanded, pointing to an email exchange between Hart and Nadar.
“Nothing in there is forged. The front page has all the user names and passwords where we accessed it,” Jordan told him. “You can confirm for yourself, but if I may suggest locating Jalalabad first.”
Colonel Bryant’s jaw dropped as he went to the tab labeled with the Alim’s name. He picked up the phone and ordered the police to arrest Hart. “Nice work, Captain,” Bryant conceded.
Jordan released the breath he had been holding. “Justifiable felony?”
“Yeah. I can think of a few more to commit while we’re at it,” Bryant said. “There are hundreds of pages here. What do I need to know at this moment?”
Jordan repeated who Hart worked with, his role in the death of the POWs, Jalalabad’s unlawful imprisonment, and then shared the details of the Nadar’s upcoming attack.
Bryant opened his mouth to reply, but a knock on the door cut him off. “What?”
Two uniformed military police officers entered. “Sir, General Hart was not at home,” one told him.
Flashing back to Saturday afternoon, Jordan thought about how easy it was for Aaron to access Hart’s hard drive. Was he trusting or setting a trap? Jordan had no doubt that the information they compiled was accurate. So… trusting. What would Hart do when he realized Aaron broke that trust? Fuck! Jordan jumped to his feet and winced at the pain in his ankle. Ibuprofen could only do so much, but he was grateful not to have taken the stronger medicine. “I need to go.”
“Captain, we are not even close to done,” Bryant protested.
“I know, but Hart is hurting Aaron,” Jordan told him. Not might. Is.
“You have no basis for that. He could be anywhere…” Bryant trailed off as Jordan tensed.
“Sir, would you please take my word for it? My intuition has not been wrong once since the President appointed General Hart. I will be damned if I allow him to harm my family any more than he has.” With that, Jordan strode out of the office and down the hall to the elevator.