A tall, muscular man stepped out of the lead car and leveled a pistol at him. “Don’t even think it.”
Roger turned slowly and blinked at the man. He slowly raised his hands. “I-I’m Roger Wallace. FBI.” He swallowed hard and glanced again at the carnage. “I’m Bridger’s friend.”
“Bobby Bridger doesn’t have friends. Oh, it’s you.” Scott Evans approached the man slowly, handcuffs dangling from a free hand. “I don’t know what happened here, but you’re coming with me.”
Roger nodded slowly. “Gladly.”
Dallas, TX
* * *
JAY SCANNED THE area with binoculars before Gregg pulled the Suburban to the hangar. The men stepped out and entered their home away from home. Muhammed al-Abadi quietly worked his way to the rear of the hangar and pointed himself to the east, crawling again to his knees in preparation for prayer.
Steve broke out the alkaline cream and squeezed a large handful into his palm. He tossed the tube to Deric, who followed suit.
“Why do I feel like we lost the war?” Steve muttered as he rubbed the cream across his still reddened skin.
“Because we did,” Deric replied. He looked around the room and shook his head. “We lost Bridger and Wallace and gained a Muslim gun runner and a low-level CIA agent.
Chesterfield was pushed unceremoniously into a chair. Jay walked past him and turned on the coffee maker. He caught a blinking light on the corner of his desk. He leaned over and pressed the button.
“Hey guys, it’s Roger.” All heads turned and stared at the answering machine. “I didn’t know your cell numbers so I looked up your business number. I’m, uh…well, I’m at the Wood County Sheriff’s office. Alive and kicking but…I could really use a ride. Give me a call.”
Jay snapped his fingers and pointed to Jim and Gregg. “Go get him.”
Jim squinted at the man. “What did he say?”
Gregg pulled his sleeve. “He says go get sandwiches and you’re buying.”
Jim continued to stare at Gregg as he followed him out to the Suburban. “What? Okay…what?”
Jay fell into his seat and eyed the others. “What’s our next step?”
Darren Chesterfield cleared his throat rather loudly to get their attention. “I have a few ideas.” He shot Jay a winning smile. “But first, how about we remove these cuffs and get me a cup of that coffee?”
Langley, VA
* * *
ROGER SAT IN the back seat of the new Tahoe that the team now rode in. “I don’t like this. I’m telling ya, it’s going to backfire on us.”
Jay nodded. “Probably.”
“It’s going to backfire on us right in the face.”
Jay nodded again. “Probably.”
“It’s gonna—”
“Enough!” Steve reached across the rear seat and pointed at Roger. “I don’t care if you are a G-man, knock off the gloom and doom.” He glanced to Deric and nodded. “This is gonna work.”
Roger sighed and leaned his head back. “When it doesn’t, remember, I told you so.”
“So noted,” Steve barked.
“How much farther? I gotta pee,” Gregg whined.
Jay shook his head and stared at their driver. “How long?”
The driver shrugged. “Almost there. You should put on your game face.” He glanced in the rear view mirror and shot Roger a smile. “Glad you survived.”
“You too, Bridger.” Roger glanced out the window and cringed. “I hate seeing that building.”
Bobby pulled the Tahoe to the front gates and Darren Chesterfield rolled down his window, flashing his ID. “These men are with me.”
The gate guard checked each man’s ID then waved them in.
Bobby parked the Tahoe in the visitor parking and the eight men disembarked. Each man adjusted his suit coat and straightened his tie before allowing Chesterfield to march them through the front doors and across the lobby.
Each man stepped through the metal detectors and then mustered by the elevators. Darren paused and clenched his fists, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Okay. He’s on the fourth floor. He’s expecting me, but he has no idea you’re tagging along.” He paused and remembered how many times Colonel Nelson had warned him that nothing occurred in that building without his knowing. “Well, he didn’t, but he probably does now. Just remember, don’t react. If we show up and there’s armed security, do not engage.”
Jay pulled his sunglasses down and eyed Chesterfield. “Believe it or not, sunshine, this ain’t our first rodeo.”
“Right.” Darren poked the elevator call button and waited for the doors to open. The group stepped inside and had to adjust for the number of wide shoulders taking up the small space. Darren groaned. “What the hell was I thinking?”
Langley, VA
* * *
COLONEL NELSON DIDN’T stand when the men entered his office. Chesterfield paused when he saw the two gentlemen in suits standing near the window. He recognized them both immediately.
“You all must be goddam cats.” Colonel Nelson slowly came to his feet and glared at the Baba Yaga group. “I watched a hellfire missile destroy every damned one of you.”
Bridger held his arm up in its sling. “Not quite, but thanks for trying.”
Jay stepped forward and tossed a thumb drive on the man’s desk. “This is what we have.” He reached out beside him and Gregg slipped a manila folder into his hand. He opened the folder and removed a stack of papers. He placed them on the Colonel’s desk. “And here’s the bill.”
Colonel Nelson glanced down at the paper and shook his head. “You boys must be out your gawddamned minds.”
“The bill covers damages, expenses, medical costs, fuel, flight time, hours on our jet…” He glanced to Gregg.
Slippy stepped forward and continued, “Ammunition, weapons, uniforms, food, transportation, lost wages—”
“You boys are crazier than a shit house rat if you think I’m going to pay you for fucking up our operation.” Colonel Nelson sat down again, his face stoic. “You’re damned lucky I don’t have you hauled off to some black site military prison.”
Jay nodded slowly. “You could do that. But if you’ll look at the information on that thumb drive…”
“I know exactly what you boys did and what you have. I don’t have to look at it.” He jabbed a finger at Bridger. “You’re still wanted by Interpol. Hell, half the world wants a piece of you, son.”
Bobby nodded slowly. “And you’re going to make it all go away.”
Colonel Nelson finally smiled and leaned back in his chair. “And why would I do that?”
“Because if we don’t make a phone call in the next forty-five minutes, the information on that thumb drive will be sent out to every news outlet with an email address.”
Deric nodded, “Not to mention certain undesirables in the ‘stan. They do more than just stir up shit over there. They can change the direction that the people think. Allies today, enemies tomorrow.”
“You don’t have the stones.” The colonel reached into his drawer and pulled out his cigar.
The taller suit stepped forward and pulled it from his grip. He bit the end off the stogie and lit it, spinning it slowly in his mouth as he puffed. When he finally turned and faced the man, he dry spit a small piece of tobacco from his lips and eyed Jay. “What’s your price, son?”
“The bill comes to twenty-eight million.”
Colonel Nelson barked and came to his feet. “The hell!”
Gregg held a hand up. “I rounded it up to an even thirty.” He smiled at the two men in suits. “You know, pain and suffering and…whatnot.”
Colonel Nelson’s face turned beet red and he looked like he was about to start frothing at the mouth. “You’re all fucking traitors! You’ll not see one red cent of—”
“SIT DOWN, COLONEL,” the cigar smoking suit stated firmly. He puffed the cigar again then blew the smoke toward the other man, standing quietly behind him.
W
hen his eyes met Jay’s the group thought that it was about to get real messy, real fast.
“I’ll pay your price,” he said quietly. Colonel Nelson opened his mouth to argue and the suit held a hand up, stopping him. “Once you’ve all signed an NDA.”
Bridger’s brows knit. “A non disclosure? But…”
It was Jay’s turn to muzzle the dog. He held a hand up and nodded slowly. “The particulars of this NDA?”
“Anything and everything to do with what happened in Pakistan and Texas…whatever the hell I deem necessary.” The suit puffed the cigar again and smiled at him. “Basically, none of it ever happened.”
“And Bridger’s reputation?”
“Clean and clear.” The man stood up straight and eyed Bridger. “Hell, I’ll even redact his entire military career if he wants.”
Bobby shook his head. “Just clear my name.” He motioned toward Roger. “And full reinstatement for my buddy Roger there.”
William Jameson eyed the young FBI agent. He rolled the cigar around in his mouth then slowly nodded. “Done.”
Jay nodded at the man. “Viktor gets released now.”
Jameson sighed and nodded. “He’s being processed as we speak.”
Bobby stepped forward and narrowed his gaze on the older man. “And you personally oversee the fast track for a Visa for al-Abadi.”
Jameson snorted and shook his head. “No fucking way. The man is a wanted criminal. He sold—”
“We know what he’s done.” Bridger cut him off. “But it was you and yours that made it impossible for him to return home. If you hadn’t caused this fuckfest to happen, he’d still be selling small arms to wanna-be jihadists or freedom fighters or rebels or whatever the hell they call themselves.” Bridger pointed at the man with his good arm. “But you decided to piss in their Post Toasties so now…he’s your guest for the rest of his natural life.”
Jameson blew out another puff of blue-gray smoke and narrowed his gaze at the man. “Fine. Consider al-Abadi your new neighbor.”
Jay motioned with his hand. “Give me the papers.”
Jameson snapped his fingers and Ingram handed him the folder. He laid out the papers and handed the men a pen. He fought a sneer as he looked at Jay. “If you or any of your men go back on this agreement, you will immediately be transported to the darkest hole I can find and tossed under it.”
Jay nodded, a slight smile forming as he eyed the CIA director. “And if you or any of yours decide to backslide on your end, there’s not a force in heaven or hell that will stop us from getting to you.” He signed the paper and handed the pen to Steve. “Again.”
Gregg nodded absently his eyes locked in a thousand yard stare. “I’d hate to think what would happen if that information ever did make it to the public.” All of the heads in the room turned and looked at him. He suddenly sobered and glanced around. “Just saying.”
Jameson turned to Ingram. “Tell disbursing to cut these men a check.”
Gregg quickly caught Jay’s attention. “Gold! Tell him we only accept gold.”
Jay rolled his eyes. “I would say it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, but…”
“The feeling is mutual, I assure you.” Jameson turned and walked back to the window.
Bridger signed his paper then looked up at Ingram. “Tell me something. Was it really worth all of those people’s lives?” Ingram shook his head, not understanding. “Stealing your boss’s job. Was it worth killing all of those innocent people?”
Jameson turned slowly and glared at him. “Mind what’s yours. You don’t have the mental aptitude for politics.”
“If that’s your way of saying I’m not sleazy enough to play the politics game, I’ll take it as a compliment.”
The three men watched as Bridger and the Baba Yaga group exited the office. “Mister Chesterfield. I believe we have unfinished business with you.”
Darren felt his blood run cold and his face was visibly pale. He turned slowly and stood at attention. “Yes, sir.”
Jameson glanced to Colonel Nelson and gave a barely perceptible nod. “The end effect of the mission was still a success. The pieces are in play to remove the NSA director and, as planned, Deputy Director Ingram will be filling that void. Because of that, you are being promoted to Station Chief.” Nelson handed the man an overstuffed portfolio. “In Karachi.”
Darren swallowed hard and took the portfolio. He gave the men a curt nod. “I’d better get brushed up on—”
“You’d better get packing. Your flight leaves in the morning.” Jameson gave him a tight lipped smile then stuffed the cigar back in his mouth. “Goodbye, Mister Chesterfield.”
Darren nodded then slipped out the door.
The three men were silent for a moment before Colonel Nelson broke that silence. “We should have just disappeared them. It would save a lot of money and—”
“Colonel, you aren’t seeing the bigger picture.” Jameson stepped to his desk and crushed the cigar in the ashtray. “We have plans for Mister Bridger.” He glanced at Ingram and smiled broadly. “Big plans indeed.”
38
The Best Diner in Texas, Middle of Nowhere
* * *
THE MEN SAT around a large table at a greasy spoon diner. The waitress had just dropped off their coffee and was turning in their orders when Roger looked at Bridger. “Buddy, I saw your house…well, what’s left of it. It’s just a smoking hole in the ground.”
Bobby nodded. “I went by there before I came to the hangar.” Bobby sipped his coffee and shrugged. “I’ll find a place to crash.”
Deric scanned their copy of the “bill” that Jay turned in to the CIA director. “Man, somebody padded the hell out of this.” He looked at Slippy. “You sure you weren’t a government accountant in a previous life?”
Slippy shrugged. “Possibly.” He reached for the bill and scanned it. “Yeah, I might have been a little heavy handed but…hey, if they’ll pay five hundred bucks for a toilet seat…”
“And eight hundred for a hammer?” Steve laughed.
Jay snatched the bill from Slippy’s hand and looked at it. “In all honesty, we’re probably looking at pocketing…what? Somewhere between 1.7 and 1.8 million each?”
Slippy nodded as he sipped his coffee. “Somewhere around there.”
Jay tossed the bill on the table. “I know it’s not the lotto, but you could rebuild your house ten times over with that much, couldn’t you?”
Bobby shrugged. “The real appeal of the place was that nobody knew about it.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I think maybe I’ve been in hiding for too long.”
Jay’s brows hiked. “You ready to come work with us?”
Bobby shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.” He took another sip of his coffee and smiled at him. “I’m not ruling it out.” Deric tossed Bobby a set of keys. Bridger picked them up and eyed him cautiously. “What’s this?”
“The keys to my camp,” Deric shrugged. “With what Slippy has listed for compensation for damages? It’s all bought and paid for. You liked it, so…why not let you have it. You can rebuild it however you like.”
Bobby dangled the keys and actually looked like he might get misty. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem.” Deric wagged his eyebrows at him. “I have my eye on a missile silo now.”
Jay tapped his spoon on the side of his water glass to get the men’s attention. He held up his coffee cup and made a toast, his voice solemn. “We shall go our way into battle… And we shall be accompanied by the spirit of millions of our martyrs, our ancestors tortured and burned for their faith, our murdered fathers and butchered mothers, our murdered brothers and strangled children. And in this battle we shall break the enemy and bring salvation to our people, tried in the furnace of persecution, thirsting only for freedom, for righteousness, and for justice.” He held his cup higher and stated softly, “Menachem Begin, 1948.”
“Hear, hear,” the men called soberly.
Jim cleared his t
hroat and held his cup up. “George Washington once said, ‘You will, by the dignity of your conduct, afford occasion for posterity to say, when speaking of the glorious example you have exhibited to mankind, had this day been wanting, the world had never seen the last stage of perfection to which human nature is capable of attaining.’” The group looked at him with shock. Jim shrugged. “Google is your friend.”
Slippy quickly stood and held his cup high. “There once was a young lady from Wheeling, who would get a peculiar feeling—”
Groans and chuckles circled the table as Deric pulled him back to his chair. “Give it a rest, man.”
Bridger eyed the group of men that he had fought and bled with on far too many occasions. Men who were closer than any brothers could be. Men who would gladly lay their lives on the line for each other, and who would always have his back. He knew that he couldn’t keep hiding in a hole in the ground. There was more to life than just survival.
He held his cup up and looked to Jay. “I’m in.”
Thank you
From the desk of Heath Stallcup
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Also By Heath Stallcup
Flags of The Forgoten Page 33
