by J C Ryan
Digger’s ears pricked up at the word work. He turned and padded to Rex, then sat down and cocked his head.
“Hey, what do you know? You do understand, don’t you?”
Digger smiled. That was how Rex thought of it, the only way he could think of it. He took it to mean, “Yes, you idiot, of course I understand.”
“I think we’re going to get along okay,” he said. “But I still don’t like you.” He was only half-kidding. Digger gave him a disdainful stare and then padded out of the cave. Rex was going to have to watch what he said to the damn beast from now on. Maybe he was a demon.
Or maybe, just maybe, Rex thought, I could learn to like him.
17
Koh-e Shir Darwaza, Kabul, Afghanistan June 23, 2:59 a.m.
IT WAS ABOUT 3:00 a.m. when Digger set off in a direction away from the caves and the mud hut, clearly following the scent of at least one of the men who slept on those bunks in the mud hut. Relieved, Rex followed. He was tired and hungry and still a bit unsteady from his concussion. His emotions were playing havoc on him. The explosion and death of the team brought back all the memories of his family being killed in the same way more than ten years ago.
Following the dog mindlessly, trusting it to warn him of any approaching danger, he turned to trying to figure out who betrayed him. He strongly suspected someone either in the CIA or controlling the CIA, but how did it all fit together – who were all the players? Where were they? Most of all, he wanted to be confident that John Brandt, his mentor and leader, had nothing to do with it. Could he trust his judgement on that? He thought so, but his thinking was muddled right now. He had at least a minor head injury, and he wasn’t sure he was firing on all cylinders. He was going in circles - his initial reasoning was all he had to go by – someone in America, that much he was sure of. Either someone who’d fed the DCIA false intel, or it could be the DCIA himself, although that was hard to believe, but not impossible. More than likely, others were also involved, no matter which it was with the DCIA. But who and how?
Did the CIA get wind of his actions over the past few months and decide to stop him? If so, then why didn’t they just force Brandt to recall him? Otherwise, they would have set this up by conferring with the drug lords. Or the drug lords had contacts in high places in America, which he knew had to be the case, or the policy would have been different from the beginning. Maybe the whole thing was initiated from the Afghan side. Maybe the drug lords got in touch with the US contacts and persuaded them to stop the destruction of their business.
In the end, Rex realized it didn’t matter much who initiated it – there was a network of high ranking corrupt people in Afghanistan and the US. They were working together, and they were all responsible for what happened tonight. All of them were guilty, and he was going to pay all of them a visit – not right now – not in the next month or year or maybe a few years, but a visit from him was in the cards for each and every one of them.
Rex was so lost in his musings that he barely paid attention to where he was going, just keeping Digger in sight and stumbling along, tolerating his hunger and thirst because he was trained to ignore them. His injuries would heal, so he ignored them as well. But when he almost tripped over Digger, the jolt of adrenaline brought him back to full alertness.
“What the hell?” He started to go around Digger, but he just stepped forward and barred his way. When Rex simply reversed his course and started around in the other direction, Digger bared his teeth and growled at him. That stopped Rex in his tracks.
“Hey, boy, I didn’t mean it. Well, I did, but I’m trying to like you. Why are you trying to scare me?”
Digger stopped growling and smiled, then looked away and growled softly, backing up. Rex took that as his cue to back up as well, and he’d gone only a couple of feet before sixty pounds of black beast leapt at his chest, knocking him to the ground. Rex barely suppressed a shout of alarm, while covering his head with both arms. None of that prevented him from hearing the whine of a bullet as it passed above him where his upper body was a second before.
Suddenly, the dog’s weight pushed off him, and Digger became a shadow blacker than the surrounding night. With deadly silence, the dog crept in the direction from where the bullet had come. Rex stayed down, army-crawling along the uneven ground. He could no longer see the dog, but an unearthly scream told him someone had.
How many of them were out there? Did they have night-vision scopes? Rex had lost his night-vision goggles in the scuffle with Digger, so he stopped and turned around. For all he knew, he was fully visible to an army of hajis, but no one was shooting. All he could hear was the screams and begging that all of a sudden started from somewhere in front of him. He felt for his goggles, found them, and pulled them on.
Turning around again, relying for direction on the sounds of the dog roughing up the tango, Rex stood. He’d have heard more shots if there’d been anyone else. Maybe they’d run away when the tango under attack had screamed his first shocked, “Alshaytan!” From the sound of it, Digger wasn’t going to let him live long. If Rex wanted to interrogate him, he’d have to get there quickly. But he didn’t dare command Digger to ‘leave it’ until he arrived on the scene to see what was going on.
Rex ran forward in the direction of the sounds until, through his night-vision goggles, the situation was revealed. Digger had the man’s right arm in his teeth, clamping down, growling, and violently shaking and jerking his head as if he wanted to tear the man’s arm off. The rifle was several feet from the struggling haji. As Rex approached, he saw an arc of blood sail away from the mangled arm.
He supposed he should stop the carnage, but he was in no mood to show mercy, definitely not to anyone who shot at him. This had to be one of the men who’d rigged the explosives at the house. He strolled over and picked up the rifle. He pulled out his Sig Sauer and pointed it at the man’s head before giving his makeshift command. “Digger, leave it.”
Digger let go of the arm, but he stood over the man with one paw on his chest, drooling into the terrified face. Rex noticed the haji was staring at the dog rather than the gun pointed at his head.
“Who are you?” he asked in Arabic.
“I am no one, effendi,” he said. “I heard an explosion. I live over there.” He tried to lift his injured arm to point but moaned in pain. “I came to see if my neighbors were all right, but I saw this demon. I’m sorry, I did not know you were there.”
“Yeah right, and you’re the kind of neighbor that shoots first and asks questions later.” The story was full of holes, but maybe there was some truth to it. “You knew that house was unoccupied.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, I knew. But sometimes poor travelers use it as shelter. I swear it by Allah!”
“Don't worry, you and Allah will momentarily have the opportunity to talk about your lies,” Rex said.
Rex gestured for Digger, who had backed off a few feet, to come closer and threaten the man, just to help him remember better and stop lying.
“Now listen carefully, this demon works for me. He knows when people are lying. So, I am now going to ask you a few more questions. If you lie the demon will know, and this time I am not going to stop him from eating you.”
The tango nodded.
After more questioning, Rex was satisfied this guy hadn’t been one of the two he was hunting. That didn’t make him innocent. “You’re Taliban, are you not?”
The man started to shake his head in denial. Digger growled and bared his teeth. That quickly made him change the motion of his head in another direction and start nodding.
Rex raised his silenced gun and shot the man between the eyes.
He dragged the body into some nearby rocks. If someone discovered it, they’d find a Russian weapon and hopefully assume a rival terrorist group had killed him.
He sat down to take stock. He was tired from going on three days with no more than a few hours’ rest, hungry from his exertions, still feeling a bit fuzzy in the head, and he’d almost walked
straight into an ambush.
Digger had saved him.
He looked around. Where was Digger, anyway? “Digger, come.”
The dog appeared in front of him and sat without being told. A normal person would hug the dog, Rex thought. He began speaking, slowly, letting the emotion pour out.
“Thank you for saving me, boy. I sure wish we’d let you in the house. You’d have smelled the C4, wouldn’t you? I’m so sorry. You lost your best friend, but so did I.” He sighed deeply. “You and I, we need to learn to get along. I never thought I’d say that or trust a dog again. You know you’re a dog, right?” Rex laughed as Digger broke out one of his signature smiles. “I fully believe you can understand everything I say. So, let me tell you why I don’t like dogs.”
Digger closed his mouth and stared into Rex’s eyes. Rex had heard that was meant to dominate, and that he shouldn’t stare back, but somehow, he knew it meant Digger was paying attention. He began to tell the dog about that long-ago attack on him by a pitbull, and that he didn’t know what he’d done to provoke it.
Before long, he was telling Digger about his family, how much he’d loved them, and how devastated he was to lose them. He’d wanted to die, too, overcome with grief that he alone had escaped. And now it had happened again. Why him? Why was he saved, when those he loved weren’t?
As he poured out his grief, Digger stood and came closer. He leaned against Rex’s shoulder. When Rex tried to put an arm around him, Digger put his paw on the arm and pushed it down. Rex didn’t understand it, but he knew that he’d have to let Digger teach him about dogs – or at least about this one.
“Have we done enough for tonight, boy? Let’s go get some rest.”
18
CRC Headquarters, Arizona, June 22, 5:30 p.m.
BY LATE AFTERNOON, Brandt was a seriously worried man. There was no question now that something had gone very wrong. Without a team nearby, he was forced to wait for news from the CIA, and that galled him. How did it come to this? It was supposed to be just an information-gathering mission.
When the phone rang, he jumped and picked it up with shaking hands. A quick look at the caller ID made his heart sink even lower. Not Rex… Carson.
“Brandt,” he snapped.
“John, I’m sorry to have to tell you this. I’m afraid we were wrong earlier. Seems maybe… well…”
Brandt snarled. “My man’s dead, isn’t he?” In the few seconds of silence that followed, he pictured the offended expression on Carson’s face, but he wasn’t sorry.
“You’re right. I mean, it was a major disaster, it seems. No conclusive information, though. There was an explosion, all right, and people were killed, but…”
For the love of God, Brandt thought, stop pussyfooting around and give it to me straight! But what he said was, “Have they been able to make identifications?”
“That’s the thing,” Carson said on a sigh. “Information is still coming in, but no, they haven’t identified anyone for sure. The bodies are… somewhat damaged.”
No shit. Probably in pieces, Brandt thought. “What’s the holdup?” he asked.
Carson seemed a little more comfortable now that he’d said the worst. “The problem is, it’s a Taliban-controlled area. The government, I mean the Afghan government, is reluctant to send any officials in there.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me!” Brandt exclaimed. “What are you doing about that?”
“It’s a sticky situation,” Carson said. “It wasn’t an officially authorized mission, so we can’t really put any pressure on them to do anything for us. When and if they identify the bodies and demand an explanation why armed Americans were in that area with explosives, we’ll have to disavow knowing anything about it.”
“I want my man’s body back,” Brandt growled.
“We’ll do our best, but don’t hold your breath.”
“Why not?”
“Well, eventually, the Afghans did send in police, backed up by their army, to go and search the place. But the locals gathered en masse and started chanting and throwing rocks at them. If the army or the cops had shot back, people could’ve been killed, and it would have caused a civil uprising. They wouldn’t do that, so they left.”
“Who left, the army?”
“Yes. And then the police, because they had no backup. The police reported that the locals collected all the rubbish they could find and all the gasoline they could get and... I’m sorry to tell you this, they poured the gas all over the site and set it on fire.
“My COS said it was a statement, something about burning infidels who’d attacked them.”
“A statement? What kind of statement is that?” Brandt was steaming. “The damn towelheads only give lip service to their religion. Infidels? That’s bullshit.”
“I’m only relaying what my COS said, Brandt. Don’t shoot the messenger. He is of the opinion it was a symbolic gesture. You know – infidels now and for all eternity burning in hell.”
“I’ll show them what burning in hell means!” Brandt shouted.
“Cool your jets, Brandt. This is already an international incident. We don’t need to pour any more fuel on the flames, so to speak. Let me give you the rest of what we know.”
Brandt had thought there was nothing more. Now he stopped sputtering and swearing to listen. “Go on, then.”
“The Afghan forces found remnants of what they thought were eight bodies. There was no time to collect DNA, take many photos, or gather proper forensic evidence before the locals overwhelmed them and drove them off the site. I’m afraid, now the site has been burned, that’s all we’ll ever know.
“I’m sorry. I know you valued your man.”
Brandt was too heartsick to answer. Valued my man. I loved that boy. He clicked the End key and set the phone down. He’d never had a mission go so badly, though he’d lost men before. At least they’d always had a body to bury, or a reliable witness who saw what happened, some closure – they’d never left a man behind, dead or alive. He’d never cried over a loss before, but now he gave in to the grief and let the tears come.
After ten minutes of stunned inaction, Brandt pulled himself together. If nothing else, the others had to be informed. He called Rick Longland in to help him plan what to tell the others and how to commemorate the best agent CRC had ever had. Rex Dalton might have been prickly and difficult, but something about him inspired great loyalty among his teammates, and a paternal feeling in Brandt. He deserved a memorial, at the very least.
Longland was there in minutes, and he saw the devastation in Brandt’s face. “Dalton?” he asked.
Brandt nodded. “It appears he and the team he took with him may have been ambushed.” He repeated what Carson had told him.
“What makes them think it’s our men, and not the drug lords Dalton was supposed to dispose of?” Longland asked. “Isn’t there any hope?”
“Right number of bodies, according to the operational plan Rex submitted before he and the others headed out. Rex is dead. He’d never leave me hanging like this if he weren’t dead or worse.”
“What’s worse?” Longland asked.
“Do you need to ask? Worse would be if he were in the hands of the terrorists. Remember, the Taliban were supposedly at that meeting. I pray if the team was ambushed that they were killed rather than captured.”
“John, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“What are we going to tell the others, Rick?”
Together they decided that there was no point in waiting to inform the camp about the tragedy. There would be time to have a memorial when the team Rex had operated with most often were back from their mission in Syria, but the rest should be told immediately. They’d all be together at the mess hall for dinner, and that would be as good a time as any.
Brandt prepared a few remarks, and then he abandoned them when the time came. For the sake of the entire team, he had to be as strong as he ever was in these situations. As soon as it appeared that most of the men we
re finished with their meal and about to go, Brandt stood up. Everyone went quiet and every eye turned toward him.
“Men, I have some unhappy news. Rex Dalton, whom most of you know, has been killed in action in Afghanistan. He was a brave man, a great agent, and an excellent soldier. We will all miss him. He wouldn’t want you to grieve. Dalton was a man of few words, but those words spoke of his devotion to this country and the missions we take on. The incident was such that there is no body to recover.
“You all know that shit happens, and in our line of work some of us get killed. Nonetheless, Dalton, like you, signed up for this. He knew the risks and never hesitated to take them. None of us is invincible. We bleed and die like any other human. Rex has paid the ultimate price, and I can tell you I know without a doubt he paid it willingly for the safety and betterment of our country.”
He turned and left abruptly and with the certain knowledge that Rex had not willingly given his life. Not in that sense. He’d willingly gone into danger, he’d willingly gone to the battlefield to fight, but he’d never willingly gone to be betrayed. If he’d failed, it wasn’t because he hadn’t given it his best shot, he’d failed because of treachery.
Brandt returned to his office, determined to make a start on getting to the bottom of the disaster, but once he was there, he felt so desolate that he locked his door and gave in to the tears again. This time the tears were for his country.
This was the first time he’d lost someone because of betrayal, and that hurt more than any other loss in the past. Partly because he felt this time he had failed. He’d failed to spot the discrepancies in time to save his man. He still didn’t know who to blame, but he vowed to find out. The only way to redeem himself was to seek out every last one of the betrayers, root out the poison that was consuming his country, and kill them. On behalf of Rex and of the US.
19