Mamoon groaned and slumped back into his seat. “I am no baker. I run businesses. I do not bake bread.”
“You will do whatever is necessary for us to survive until either the truth comes out or people forget our names.” Balil tossed his cigarette butt out the window and glared at his former boss. “If you must bake bread, then you WILL bake bread.”
Mamoon nodded gently and laid his head against his shoulder, watching the world zoom by. “I would bake bread the rest of my life if it would bring back Tariq or Sameer.”
Balil rolled his eyes and wondered, not for the first time, if he would have to end his former boss to protect himself.
Baba Yaga International, Dallas, TX
* * *
BRIDGER HOPPED OUT of the panel truck as soon as the hangar doors shut. He marched to his Bronco and dropped the tailgate.
“Where are you going?” Steve asked.
Bridger tossed his go bag in the back of the truck and propped his rifle in the floor next to the driver seat. “I’m going home.” He slammed the passenger door and turned to face Steve. “While I still have one.”
Jay appeared beside Steve. “You should stick with us.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder and shot Bridger a grin. “Safety in numbers, brother. You know that.”
Bridger shook his head. “If they have my information, I can’t risk leading them to you guys. You didn’t sign on for that.”
“The fuck we didn’t.” Deric appeared behind Bridger and his face was stern. “We’re a team, asshole. If they target you, they target me. And if anybody targets me, I kill ‘em first.”
Jay nodded. “Eloquently put.”
Bobby pulled open the door of the Bronco. “I need to put as much space between you and me as I can. If I go back to my place, they’ll be looking for me there.” He shot Jay a grin. “I have a few surprises waiting for them.”
Gregg popped up behind Jay and Steve. “We have bigger surprises. Behold…the equalizer.”
Bridger’s eyes widened as he stared at the RPG Gregg hefted. “Where did you get that?”
Jim tossed a crate into the back of a Hummer. “Viktor has connections all over. If we want black market RPGs, he gets them.”
Jay nodded. “Where do you think we get half of our weapons?” He stepped away from Steve and reached for Bridger. “When I said that we had resources, I meant it.”
Bridger slowly closed the door of his Bronco. “I take it that you have more than just RPGs available.”
“You would be correct.” Gregg slid into his chair and rolled to his workstation. “We’re not just pretty faces here.”
Deric grinned at him. “Speak for yourself. I was hired for my looks.”
“What else do we have?” Bridger asked, his eyes focusing on the RPG on the table.
Jay motioned to the rear of the hangar. “You name it, we probably have it.”
“Or can get it,” Jim added. He stepped beside Bridger and turned him toward the rear of the hangar. He clicked a remote and a hidden door slid open. The rear wall had weapons mounted from floor to nearly the ceiling. “If it goes boom, we probably have one.”
Bridger felt himself smiling as he stepped toward the rear of the hangar. He shook his head, impressed. “I take it that whoever contracts you aren’t aware of your assets.”
Jay nodded. “Better for them if they don’t.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Remember the machine gun that Viktor stole? Yeah, that’s where we get most of our weapons.”
“Strip the dead of whatever they’re packing,” Gregg chimed in. “What the hell. They don’t need them where they’re going.”
Bridger beamed. “Something tells me that this shit storm just got a little less shittier.”
Wood County, TX
* * *
ALI BIN-HAMZA stared up the wooded driveway. “You are certain this is the place?”
The babyfaced man nodded. “Our best hackers and trackers found it through tax records.” He shuffled through a short stack of papers. “It’s in his mother’s name.”
“He lives with his mother?” bin-Hamza asked, his eyes squinting to peer through the dense foliage.
“No, Ali. She is long dead.”
Ali made a motion with his hand and his men split into three groups. Two went through the fence and into the woods to flank the property while the third group marched with him toward the front gate.
“If this Bridger is in there, he won’t be leaving without giving us al-Abadi.”
He marched to the front gate and watched as his men snapped the chain locking the drive with bolt cutters. The trio entered Bridger’s property with the babyfaced man following, his eyes scanning the edges of the drive.
“Ali, I think this may not be such a good idea.”
Ali bin-Hamza ignored him as they continued along the well-worn path.
“Our hackers have found little about this man but what they have found tells me that he is not one to be taken unaware.” He paused and stared into the darkening shadows. “He is a trained professional.”
“As are we,” Ali growled. He was just about to chastise the babyfaced man for the error of his ways when a muffled explosion sounded to their right. The men all froze in place and Ali heard the radio bark to life as men excitedly yelled in Arabic. He tapped the man to his right and pointed into the woods. “Go. Find out what has happened.”
The man disappeared into the woods; Ali yelled at his back, “Be careful!”
“Ali, I fear the entire grounds may be wired,” the babyfaced man stammered. “We were able to uncover that he has extensive military training.”
Ali turned and glared at his cohort. “I will not tell you again. We continue.” He grabbed the smaller man’s collar and half dragged him behind as they continued up the drive. He shoved the man ahead of them and added, “We cannot fail in our mission.”
An ear-piercing scream was heard to their left and Ali snatched the radio from his belt. “What is happening?”
A nervous voice came back over the radio. “There are traps. Everywhere, traps!”
Ali growled, his grip on the radio tightening. “Be aware!” He cursed as he handed the radio to his other man and stepped up his pace.
“Ali, should we perhaps go slower?” his compatriot asked.
Ali bin-Hamza turned and glared at him. “We no longer have the element of surprise. If he is here, he surely knows that we are coming.” He glanced off toward the sound of the screams. “As inept as we are, we are coming.”
He rounded the bend in the drive and saw the mound of dirt that covered Bridger’s home. He slowed and motioned to the remaining soldier with him. “The rear. Look for the others.”
He slowly approached the front of the steel quonset hut and aimed his weapon at the glass surrounding either side of the door. He hugged the edge of the fascia and glanced through the dust covered glass.
Staggering footsteps stole his attention and he turned to see two of his men approaching from the brush. One was limping badly, blood pouring from a wound above his ankle.
“There was a steel trap. It nearly severed his foot.”
Ali ground his teeth and felt his blood pressure rise. “Take him to the truck.”
He spun and kicked at the solid oak door. Dirt fell from the top of the door jamb, but the door remained firm. He backed up and kicked again, aiming his foot as near the knob as he could.
The door refused to budge.
The babyfaced man stepped closer. “Shall I try—”
“Stay back!” Ali fired at the doorknob twice then kicked again.
The babyfaced man reached out and took the remains of the knob in his hand and twisted it. The door pushed open and he stepped back to allow Ali entrance.
Ali bin-Hamza glared at him as he kicked the door the rest of the way open. He stood in the entrance, his weapon pointed into the interior of Bridger’s home. He stepped inside as another of his foot soldiers appeared. “We lost a man. An improvised explosive…”
Ali groaned and waved the man through. Together they went room to room, checking for any signs of life.
The babyfaced man stepped into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He quickly turned away and shook his head. “He has not been here in some time.”
“How can you know?” Ali barked, frustration shaking him to the core.
“There is dust everywhere.” When Ali glared at him again he pointed to the refrigerator. “And everything inside there is spoiled.”
Ali jerked the door open then quickly shut it. “We go! He’s not here.”
The babyfaced man fell into step behind him. “Where shall we try next?”
“His friends are not far from here. We shall visit this Baba Yaga. We will find Muhammed al-Abadi.”
30
Camp Deric, South of Dallas, TX
* * *
BRIDGER LET OUT a low whistle as they stopped at the entrance of Deric’s getaway camp. “I think I’m moving in.”
“I’ll charge you rent,” Deric laughed as he hopped from the other side of the Hummer. “Pull them around the back and lock them up. We don’t want to make it any more obvious than we have to that we’re here.”
Jim pulled the Hummer to the rear of the military style bunker and Deric waved Bridger forward. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“How the hell did you afford to build all of this?”
Gregg fell into step behind the pair, his computer boxes bouncing off his thigh as he followed them. “Being a merc has its perks.” His eyes widened. “I’m a poet and didn’t know it!”
Deric groaned as he pulled the heavy steel door open. “He’s right. Being a contractor pays well.”
Bobby took in every aspect of the place as they went through the first bunker. “Solar powered?”
Deric nodded. “With wind generator back up.” He waved him to the rear of the bunker. “We even have underground tunnels that connect the three bunkers.”
Bobby grinned as he pulled the door open and stared at the concrete steps leading below grade. “What about drainage?”
“Drain tiles surround the entire structure and we sprayed asphaltic rubber and expanding foam over the concrete before back filling.”
Bridger frowned and nodded approvingly then stepped back. “Dude, I’m in love.”
“Brother, I almost went off the deep end a few years back.” Deric leaned against the counter separating the kitchen from the work space. “I was certain that we were headed for Armageddon.”
Bridger nodded. “I’m with ya.” He turned a slow circle and stared in wonder at the upgraded military style bunker. “Show me the rest.”
Deric led him through the short tunnel to the next bunker. “This one is really just storage. It was supposed to be a bunk room but everybody kept passing out in the main room of the first bunker so I never completed it.” He pointed to the door on the opposite side. “That one leads to the garage and workshop.”
Bridger shook his head. “I want to live here.”
Deric grunted. “God knows there are enough MREs and freeze dried food stuffed in the attic spaces to feed you for the next few decades.”
Bridger’s smile widened. “I can live with that.”
“Well water with a hand pump backup in case of EMP.” He shrugged. “It’s a prepper’s wet dream.”
“I’ll say.” Bridger spun a slow circle, his eyes taking it all in. “What about defenses?”
Deric smiled and waved him on. “In the workshop.” He led the way through the final tunnel and Bridger stepped out into a fully equipped machine shop. “This is where we convert semi-autos to full auto. Over there is where we reload shells. Everything from nine millimeter to howitzer rounds.”
“You have a howitzer?”
Deric shook his head. “Not anymore.” He glanced back toward the tunnel. “Somebody left it in Nicaragua.”
“I heard that,” Jay shouted. “We were bugging out. It’s not like it would fit in the chopper.”
Deric lowered his voice and whispered, “He could have pulled it back with the Jeep, but he was all, ‘ooh, they’re shooting at me.’” He shook his head. “He had a damned howitzer for fuck’s sake. Shoot back!”
“Enough of the chit-chat.” Jay pushed through the door and set the heavy crate on the workbench. “We have to prep these for the surprise party.”
Bridger’s gaze narrowed. “Are we positive they’ll show?”
Jay sighed and shrugged. “I’m almost certain that whoever tailed Viktor set eyes on us.” He pointed to the sky. “Either satellite or drone.”
“What about the terrorists?”
He shrugged again. “If they’re coming from the ‘stan, we have time. If they have agents stationed here…maybe not so much.”
Bridger groaned again then reached for the wooden crate. “Time to make the doughnuts.”
Langley, VA
* * *
AGENT DARREN CHESTERFIELD jerked awake, his head snapping side to side. “I know what I gotta do.” He slid off the leather couch and staggered as he made his way to his computer. He caught a whiff of himself and nearly retched.
A quick glance to the mirror and he did a double take. He barely recognized the man staring back at him. He turned and reached for his phone. “I need a sitrep.”
He checked his watch and couldn’t be certain what day it was. He listened as the summaries came over the line. “Prep a team. Twelve men in full tactical gear. Two hours. Collate all of the reports, contact the eyes in the field and find out if they’ve popped their ugly heads up anywhere else.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached for the hours old cold cup of coffee. “I need verification of their current location. We can’t risk blowing this now. Use the damned drone if you have to.” He slammed the phone down and swallowed the cold, bitter liquid.
Darren pulled his locker key and headed to the gym facilities in the basement. They had showers, sinks and he had a grooming bag in his locker. A shower and shave would do him wonders. He had his tactical gear in the locker as well. He could justify wearing it by following the team into the field.
He wanted to be there when they took down Bridger and his buddies.
Multan, Pakistan
* * *
MAMOON STEPPED CAUTIOUSLY from the stolen Toyota and looked around. The neighborhood looked very much like a war zone. “Is it safe to be here, Balil?”
The slender man slammed the door of the car and stretched, his body protesting as his hands reached to the sky. “We are as safe here as we can be anywhere, Mamoon. My family will help to—”
“Keep your hands up, brother.”
Balil turned and stared at his sister holding a Kalashnikov rifle. The barrel was pointed at him and he could see by the set of her jaw that she would pull the trigger. “Ayesha, what are you doing?”
She jabbed the barrel at him. “I said keep your hands up, Balil.”
Mamoon turned slowly, hoping to disappear in the shadows. A steely jab to his kidney froze him in place. “Hands where I can see them, fat man.”
The voice was gruff and Mamoon fought not to wet himself. He slowly raised his hands and stared at Balil with wide eyes. “What is happening, Balil?”
“Men from the ISI have been here to speak to us, Balil,” Ayesha hissed. “They told us that you are the ones responsible for what happened in Karachi.” Her jaw tensed. “How could you?”
“It wasn’t us, Ayesha. I swear to you!” Balil pleaded, his eyes welling. “We could never do such a thing.”
“Thousands died because of your flags, Balil!” She tightened her grip on the rifle and pointed it directly at his chest. “They told us that if you came here, we were to stop you from leaving. Sana is calling them now.”
Balil felt as though he had been punched in the gut. His own sister was calling the ISI to report him. “We are blood, Ayesha. How could you turn on me like this?”
“How could you kill so many of our own people, Balil? For money?”
�
��No, Ayesha, no. We did not do this thing.” He turned to Mamoon. “Tell her!”
Mamoon slowly lowered his hands. “We did not do this.” He lowered his face and stared at the ground. “But I fear we are responsible.”
“NO!” Balil screamed. “You know we are not!” He turned frantic eyes to his sister. “Please, you know me! You know that I am not a fundamentalist. I am not even political. We only make those flags so that others can burn them. It is only a job.”
She nodded, her grip tightening on the rifle. “You tell me all the time how unrest fuels your business. How much money there is to be made by creating your flags.” She spat on the ground. “You will kill no more of our people to pad your purse, Balil.”
He slowly fell to his knees, his hands covering his face. Mamoon watched his friend wail as his own sister held a rifle on him. “We did not do these things.”
Mamoon nearly jumped when Balil sprung forward, his hand wrapping around the end of the barrel and pushing it away from him. The report of the rifle was deafening in the narrow alley and Ayesha screamed as her brother tried to wrench the rifle from her grip.
Mamoon didn’t realize that the punch to his back was a round going through his midsection. As he fell to the ground, he honestly thought that he had been struck or kicked. It wasn’t until he noticed the blush of red soaking through his shirt that he realized it was no punch.
He rolled to the side and watched as Balil’s face exploded from another shot fired from across the car. He watched the man who had been behind him step over his prone body and shoot twice more at Balil’s body, now twitching on the ground.
Mammon felt his legs grow cold and his body spasmed slightly as he saw the pool of blood around Balil grow. He barely noticed the sandaled feet that stepped around him and his vision slowly darkened as he was rolled over onto his back.
Flags of The Forgoten Page 27
