Fire and Forget

by Andrew Warren

  Josh looked around the room. A squad of rebel soldiers herded a group of men through a door into the room with the glass window.

  “You think I am a monster. A … what did you call me, a psychopath?”

  “If the shoe fits,” Josh snarled.

  Takuba nodded. “We all have our scars, Mr. Galloway. But today, the life of these men is in your hands, not mine. Let us see what decision you make.”

  A woman’s cries echoed from down the hall. Josh tensed as a pair of soldiers dragged Aya, Nhial’s wife, into the room. Her sarong was torn and bloody, and angry bruises marked her face. She was sobbing, muttering in her native tongue, but when she saw Josh, she shouted in English. “My son, they have my son! Please, don’t let them hurt Buri!”

  More soldiers entered the room, dragging the young boy by the wrists. He looked up at Josh with wide, terrified eyes as they led him towards the prisoners in the other room.

  “What the hell is this, Takuba? Look, you’ve already beaten me senseless. I don’t have your missing property, whatever it is!”

  Takuba sighed. “A shame. That is too bad for the boy then.”

  As Aya continued sobbing, a group of men wheeled in an industrial dolly, carrying a large, blue steel barrel. The men opened a valve on the lid of the barrel and clamped on a metal hose. The hose ran along the floor and up to one of the larger tanks. One of the men turned a dial on the valve. A needle on the tank's pressure gauge began to climb.

  “What is that?” Josh asked, his eyes darting to the glass window and the men behind it.

  Takuba stared through the glass at the beaten, hunched bodies of the prisoners. “That is crude oil, Mr. Galloway. To the rest of the world, that is all my country is worth. They poison my land, and kill my people, all to extract her black blood. Now, the land shall fight back.”

  A low electric hum rose in the room. The needle on the tank shot higher.

  “This building was once an oil refinery," Takuba said. "Just a small one, Canadian-owned. A few years ago, they claimed they could no longer tolerate the human rights abuses the Sudanese government inflicted on us here in the south. They divested all their holdings here. It was acquired by a small Malaysian petrochemical company. That company has changed hands several times now. But they had a small problem … all the men who worked here died.”

  Josh watched as Buri's wide eyes darted left and right behind his glass prison. The noise of the machinery grew louder.

  “What the hell are you doing to them?”

  Takuba turned and stared at him. His face was frozen and emotionless, as if carved from black onyx.

  “I thought you would enjoy seeing a test of what you stole from me, Mr. Galloway. When the oil in that barrel finishes cycling through the tank, it will be pumped up there.” Takuba gestured to the ceiling. “To the fractional distillation column, where it will be refined into various products. Gasoline, kerosene, tar … I must admit, I don’t understand the science behind it all. But I do know that the process will happen quickly. It will only take a few minutes."

  Takuba turned and stared into Josh's eyes. "And I think you know what happens then. It will not be the pollution that kills these men. You know as well as I, something hides in the oil. It is just waiting to be set free. Gemini …”

  Josh grabbed Takuba’s shirt. “Stop it! He’s just a kid!”

  The soldiers behind him clubbed his head and shoulders with the butts of their rifles. As he fell to the ground, Yiel stomped towards him. The big man snarled and lashed out with a powerful kick. Blood spattered the floor as Josh’s head snapped back.

  Takuba nodded, and Yiel hefted Josh in the air. He grabbed his hands and pinned them behind his back as the other men covered him with their rifles.

  Takuba stood next to him and whispered into his ear. “I had to face death when I was but a child. Now, everyone in that room must do the same, Mr. Galloway. I told you, you cannot stop me. The spirits are with me. You are nothing, a mosquito nipping at a hyena. And that boy will pay the price for your interference. But I will give both of you one last chance. Where are the samples? Where is my property? Who did you give it to?”

  Aya threw herself against the glass. She raised her hand to the window. On the other side, Buri looked up and raised his hand against hers. The woman looked back, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Doctor Vasani … This man, Galloway, he came from Malakal.”

  Josh glared at her but said nothing. He couldn’t blame her. What else could she do?

  One of the men stormed over to her and spun her around. “Tell us what you know!”

  The woman looked back at Buri for a second, then turned to face Takuba. “There is a doctor, Nena Vasani. She lives in the north, in Khartoum. She has a clinic in Malakal. She sometimes comes to Kanfar to treat the sick and injured. When we found him, he said he had seen Doctor Vasani, in Malakal.”

  Takuba smiled and gestured to his men. They opened the door and beat back the crowd of prisoners as the desperate men rushed towards the exit. One of soldiers grabbed Buri and pulled him out. Then shut the door to the room, sealing the others back inside.

  The child ran to his mother and embraced her.

  “Get them out of my sight,” Takuba hissed. A pair of soldiers dragged them from the room and down another dark hallway.

  Takuba turned to Yiel. “Find this Doctor Vasani. Check Malakal first, but alert our people in the north. Go there if you have to, but find her. Anyone who has come into contact with the samples must die!”

  “Yes sir!” The big man bowed, then threw Josh back to the ground. “What about him?”

  Takuba glanced down at the battered man. “We no longer need Mister Galloway. Take him outside. Let the men use him for target practice. Shoot him down like the dog he is.”

  “Negative,” a gruff voice called out from above.

  Josh looked up. A tall Caucasian man stood above, leaning against the railing of the catwalk. He glared down at Josh, peering over the rims of a pair of wire-framed glasses. His features were gaunt, and a spidery burn covered one side of his face.

  Josh squinted at him. "Allan Bernatto?”

  Bernatto ignored him. “We may still need him. Keep him alive for now," he said to Takuba.

  Takuba glanced up at the catwalk. “I don’t take orders from you, old man.”

  “They’re not my orders,” Bernatto snapped. “I think we both know I speak for the man who’s funding this operation of yours.”

  Takuba stared up at him for a moment, then looked away. “Do it,” he muttered. Yiel nodded and dragged Josh back towards the hallway.

  “Bernatto!" Josh shouted, struggling to free himself from Yiel's meaty fists. "You Goddamn traitor! What the hell are you doing here! Takuba’s a madman, you can’t—”

  But Bernatto had already turned around and stalked away from the railing. As he disappeared into the shadows above, Josh heard the hiss of gas. He turned and saw the men behind the window begin to choke and cough.

  As Josh was pulled out of the room, he saw a gray mist fill the test room. A bloody hand reached up and slapped against the window. It left a crimson print where Buri’s hand had touched minutes before. Then it slipped away, leaving a streak across the glass.

  Chapter Nine

  Seconds after the yellow taxicab pulled out of the motel’s parking lot, Caine felt a familiar tingling on the back of his neck. Years of living in the shadows had honed his senses to perfection. He knew when something was off, when something felt wrong. In his line of work, the smallest detail could mean the difference between life and death.

  He glanced up at the rearview mirror and scanned the road behind them. A dusty blue pickup truck and a rusted white Toyota sedan followed them down Highway 498. To either side of the old cracked pavement, farmhouses and grasslands stretched into the distance, until the lonely flat terrain met with the brilliant blue sky at the horizon. There was no sign of pursuers. Nothing to explain the nervous energy that crackled through his body
.

  The cab’s tires thumped a soothing rhythm over the sun-bleached pavement. Everything seemed fine, peaceful. Quiet.

  But Caine knew better.

  He knew it was usually the enemy you could not see who fired the bullet with your name on it. He knew this because for many, he had been that invisible enemy.

  He also knew the capabilities of his pursuers. Drones, satellites, helicopters … just because he didn’t see them, didn’t mean they weren’t watching. It could be paranoia, maybe he was being too cautious. But whatever it was, that tingling sixth sense of danger had kept him alive so far. Now, as always, he would trust his instincts.

  He leaned forward in his seat. “Hey, you know what?” Caine asked the driver, putting a slight drawl into his voice. “I never did make it to see downtown. Is it far from here?”

  The driver cocked his head and looked up at him in the mirror. His skin was pink from sunburn, and beads of sweat dripped from his wrinkled forehead.

  “Downtown Alexandria? Nothing there to see. Airport’s only a couple miles down the highway, I can have you there in five.”

  Caine peeled a twenty from the money clip in his front pocket and handed the crumpled bill to the driver.

  “I’m in no rush. Plenty of time to see the local sites. Let’s turn around.”

  The driver shrugged and took the bill. “Whatever you say, mister.” He stuffed the money in the front pocket of his t-shirt and turned the wheel. The cab made a U-turn across the empty highway and headed back the way they had come.

  Caine looked out the rear window. None of the scattered cars behind them matched the turn. They continued down the highway, disappearing in the distance. Caine was about to turn away when he spotted a cloud of dust to their right. A black SUV pulled off a dirt road and kept pace behind them on the highway.

  Might as well have an FBI bumper sticker, he thought.

  He faced forward and hunched lower in the seat. So far, only the lone vehicle pursued them. There had to be others. Caine was a rogue CIA operative, believed to be a traitor. He was in the country illegally. And now he was linked to the disappearance of the Director of National Intelligence. That would fall under the jurisdiction of FBI Counter Intelligence.

  And that meant things were going to get messy.

  The SUV maintained a discreet distance. When Caine's taxi turned back onto the I-49, it continued straight. It sped off, appearing to leave them behind.

  But Caine was not fooled.

  Another car pulled out of a nearby gas station and took up the tail position behind them. The new car was a white Toyota with a dent in the front bumper. The same car that had been behind them earlier.

  They were rotating vehicles. But why the Toyota? He had just seen it only a short time ago.

  The airport was only a couple miles from the motel, he reasoned. They anticipated my exit point. Set up there to take me down. Now, they need time to re-deploy. They sent the closest car they had to keep tabs on me while they coordinate.

  Another question flashed through his mind: If they followed me to Louisiana, why didn’t they intervene when Blayne was killed?

  The answer came just as quickly … They didn’t follow me. Someone must have tipped them off. Someone tried to take me off the board.

  He had to keep them off balance. The longer he stayed in the taxi, the more time they had to communicate with local law enforcement. They would position road blocks, lay down spike traps, add tail cars. He could only flee in one direction at a time. They could come at him from all sides and force him into a choke point. He had to change the dynamics of the situation before they got that chance.

  Caine watched the exit signs rushing past them. He saw the turnoff for Route 71 growing closer in the windshield. He thought over the map of the area that he had committed to memory.

  “Hey, is there a mall around here? Someplace I can pick up a present for my wife?” he asked.

  An annoyed look flashed across the driver’s face. “Now you want a shopping mall? Well, Alexandria Mall isn’t too far away. Route 71’s coming up, but we …”

  “Do it!” Caine snapped. “There’s an extra hundred in it for you.”

  The driver swore and jerked the wheel to the right. The wheels of the cab chirped as they skipped over the ridge of the divider. The yellow cab wobbled, then straightened out and pulled into the exit lane. Caine turned his head and watched the white Toyota speed by.

  He slipped the driver a hundred dollar bill. “Let’s stick to surface streets from now on, if you don’t mind.”

  The driver shook his head. “You spend a little too much time in the titty bar or something?”

  Caine tilted his head. “What are you talking about?”

  The driver spit out the window, then looked at Caine in the rearview mirror. “Man who wants to buy his old lady a present that bad is a man who done fucked up.”

  Caine forced himself to laugh as he turned to look out the rear window once more. “Yeah. I’m sure she’d agree.”

  Caine's taxi cruised through the mall parking lot. It was still early, and although a few cars dotted the expanse of pavement, the lot was far from full. Caine’s eyes darted left and right behind the gray lenses of his aviators. He had hoped for more people, a larger crowd to throw off pursuers.

  As they drove past a row of department stores, Caine spotted a blur of motion at the other end of the parking lot. Two more black SUVs, identical to the model he had spotted earlier, swerved into the lot. They were coming from the opposite entrance, off North Mall Drive.

  Must have followed us onto the 71, Caine thought.

  Time to move.

  “This is fine, you can let me off here.” Caine shoved a wad of bills at the cab driver as they slowed to a stop. The driver looked out the window as Caine opened the door.

  “Sears? You think that’s gonna cut it with the missus?” he drawled, a crooked smile plastered across his sunburned face.

  Caine ignored him and slammed the door shut. He strode towards the store entrance, keeping his head down. He doubted his pursuers would have tapped into the mall's surveillance cameras yet, but best to be sure.

  The stale air conditioning of the store blasted his face as he stepped through the sliding doors. The scent of cheap perfume and floor wax was overpowering, compared to the earthy, humid smell outside.

  He kept moving, making his way deeper into the store. A few shoppers ambled around him … housewives checking out the sales, some old timers traversing the hardware aisle. Mirrored columns rose up from the floor. As he walked past, he kept an eye out for the shifting reflections of pursuers, but he saw no one.

  He knew that would change soon.

  Walking at a swift pace, he darted towards the sporting goods section. As he made his way through the aisles of football equipment and hunting gear, he spotted movement to his right. He clocked a man in a blue blazer, walking towards him. Thick legs, broad shoulders … he looked like he worked out. As Caine eyed him, the man veered off to the next aisle. He could hear the man’s footsteps, clicking across the floor. He was keeping pace with him.

  Here we go.

  As he walked towards the end of his aisle, Caine snatched a basketball off a nearby rack. He listened for the footsteps on the other side of the shelves. He could hear the tapping of the man’s heels, moving in time with his own.

  Cradling the ball in his left hand, Caine stopped short, just a couple feet from the end of the aisle. The other man’s footsteps continued. As he rounded the corner, Caine slammed the basketball down to the ground.

  “Catch!” he bellowed. The man’s arm darted towards his jacket. Before he could draw, the sudden, erratic movement of the ball and Caine’s booming voice distracted him. He froze for a split-second, hesitating. His eyes tracked the ball as it bounced off the floor towards him.

  As the ball flew past, he slipped a pistol from a shoulder holster under his jacket. Caine was already moving. A look of confusion crossed the man’s face as Caine stepped c
loser, rather than running away. As the gun rose up, Caine pivoted his body to the right, moving out of the line of fire. Continuing his fluid motion, he reached out and grabbed the barrel of the gun. He jerked it up and back, twisting it around in the man’s hand. He heard the loud crack of the snapping bones … The sudden twist broke the man’s trigger finger.

  The man yelped in pain. His other hand flew up as he struggled to regain control of his weapon, but Caine was not finished.

  Reaching across the aisle, Caine grasped the hilt of a field hockey stick. He yanked the pistol from the man’s weakened grip and swept low with the hockey stick. The curved head of the stick hooked round the man’s ankle, sweeping his foot off the ground.

  He spun around in the air and tumbled to the floor. Caine dropped the hockey stick and kneeled down beside him, then clubbed the back of the man's head with the butt of the pistol.

  The man groaned and lay still. Frisking the body, Caine slipped a leather badge case from the inside pocket of the man’s blazer.

  The card inside identified him as “Special Agent Greg Brown.” The gold badge, stamped with the embossed wings of a bald eagle, left no room for doubt. The Federal Bureau of Investigation was pursuing him. Caine slipped the badge into his pocket and examined the pistol. He recognized the chunky black polymer frame of the weapon as a Glock 23. Standard issue for FBI special agents.

  He stood up, tucked the gun into his waistband, and continued down the aisle.

  Turning left, he stepped onto an escalator and began climbing up the moving steps. He stopped behind an exhausted-looking mother dressed in a loose t-shirt and jeans. Caine smiled at her as she did her best to comfort the crying infant she cradled against her shoulder. She gave him a wary glance, then hurried off the escalator as they reached the second floor.

  Caine moved in the opposite direction. He left the department store and headed into the open area of the mall. He had to keep moving, keep changing things up. They had tagged him inside the mall, so now it was time to leave.