Down Range

by Taylor Moore

  “A bit before my time, but they were the reason I joined the army. When I read about what they did, I knew exactly how I wanted to serve my country. So, I made up my mind I was going Special Forces and I did everything in my power to make it happen.”

  “I admire the hell out of those guys.” Kim’s face registered a genuine appreciation. “Tip of the spear.”

  She was heading down a path, but to where Garrett didn’t know. Feeling as though she was buttering him up right before she went for the jugular, he cut to the chase. “But you’re not interested in horses or history, are you, Kim?”

  She shook her head. “What I want to know is the next part of your story. The part where you left Colorado, came over here, and started running and gunning with a specialized unit near the Pakistani border. The part where your whole team was wiped out and you became a candidate for the Medal of Honor.”

  Garrett had been the only survivor of a specialized JSOC mountain unit operating on horseback. While mounting a raid against an ISIS cell in Pakistan, Garrett’s team was ambushed, and all but he and one other were killed. Injured by shrapnel, Garrett managed to escape with his comrade, who later succumbed to his wounds during the harrowing escape.

  Of course, Kim probably already knew all this. Or at the very least, she knew that digging into his work with the Joint Special Operations Command was off-limits. Even for someone with her security clearance it was a big no-no. She was testing him for a reason.

  But Garrett figured he’d play along to see where she was going. “What about it?”

  “The review process for the award was over before it ever began.” She looked a little frustrated. “Who shut it down?”

  He nodded at the file. “Why don’t you tell me.”

  Kim thumbed through the papers. “Doesn’t say.” When she got to the last page, she focused in on something. “My guess is you were either operating somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, or you were doing something you weren’t supposed to do. Which was it?”

  Garrett let her statement hang in the air for a while. When it was clear she wasn’t going to let it go, he gave her a little nugget. “Maybe a little of both.”

  She cocked her head and smiled. “Good enough for me.”

  It was clear to Garrett she was driving toward something. Kim already had leverage given what happened in Nasrin, so it wasn’t blackmail. It was as if she was looking deeper, wanting to know how far he’d push the boundaries to get the job done. “Is there a problem here?”

  “Not at all.” Kim looked as though she’d gotten what she wanted. “I’ve made an entire career being in places I wasn’t supposed to be and doing things I wasn’t supposed to do. Off-the-books is where I live. The key is being able to keep your mouth shut—which, given our conversation here, you’re clearly able to do.”

  Garrett let her words sink in carefully. A few minutes earlier she was reading him the riot act over breaking the rules of engagement and being in a restricted zone, and now it appeared she was opening up. It was exactly what CIA operations officers do when they’re evaluating a potential foreign asset for recruitment. She was seeing if he could be trusted and gauging his willingness to be brought into the fold. Garrett decided he wasn’t going to make it easy.

  When he sat like stone without a reply, Kim continued. “The group who massacred those villagers today. This isn’t the first time they’ve done it.”

  Now she was offering a secret to get information in return. Garrett decided he’d play along. “Okay, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. Although I know ISIS, the Taliban, some of the traffickers take—”

  She waved him off. “It’s not any of those groups. Nothing to do with Islam or drugs. It’s something completely different.”

  Garrett was tempted to ask more questions but decided to get to the point. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “The boy you brought back here. He’s the only witness to what happened today.”

  “So?”

  “We think they might come after him.”

  “Who might come after him?”

  Kim clucked her tongue. “That’s what we’re looking into.”

  “But you think he’s in danger?”

  A single nod. “We need somebody to look after him until we can get to the bottom of what’s going on. And we need somebody who can keep quiet about it.”

  Garrett could finally see what she was angling for and he didn’t mind. Discretion was his middle name. And if watching over the boy would make all his problems go away, what she wanted was an easy fix. “Protective-custody assignment?”

  She leaned back in her chair looking satisfied. “You could handle that, couldn’t you?”

  The truth was, Garrett didn’t know much about kids, but whatever it entailed was bound to be easier than any backlash he’d receive for the mess in Nasrin. Knowing he could put the boy in front of some video games or cartoons and feed him hamburgers, the notion gained some appeal.

  “How long we talking? Couple days? Week?”

  “I’ll let you know more once you get there.”

  Garrett cocked his head, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “Get where?”

  “Back to the States.”

  “Whoa, wait.” He pointed toward the right wall of her office, the direction he imagined the U.S. might be. “You want him out of Afghanistan?”

  “He’s not safe here.”

  Garrett raised his hands to his sides, palms up. “We’re in the middle of a heavily guarded U.S. military installation surrounded by HESCO barriers, razor wire, and some of the most elite war fighters in the world. Where on God’s green earth could we be safer?”

  “Anywhere else,” she answered, without elaborating.

  “So, back home?”

  “We don’t know exactly who we’re dealing with yet. But we think it involves corrupt factions within the Afghan government who are making a territory grab in the restricted zones. If we can prove it, the men behind these massacres will go to a war crimes tribunal, which means we’re going to need a witness. And it looks like he’s it right now.”

  It wasn’t a huge surprise. Although things in Kabul had gotten better, there was still a fair amount of tribalism. And if someone high up in the government was diverting money and resources to their own hit squads, it would explain the upgraded equipment in the hands of the men who butchered the villagers.

  In fact, it raised another question. Had the equipment been purchased with U.S. tax dollars? Is that what all this was about? Before he wasted too much time on the subject, Garrett let it go. International intrigue was the CIA’s department. His job was to stop bad guys from doing bad things. The Agency could clean up its own messes.

  “What about me? I saw everything.”

  “Let’s not forget, you were never there. And we’ve got your own war crimes to sort out. On top of that, I think a ten-year-old village boy will generate a hell of a lot more sympathy than a machine-gun-wielding narc who looks like the Rob Zombie version of Jeremiah Johnson.”

  Garrett took a moment to ponder the comment. Jeremiah Johnson he’d heard before, and he didn’t necessarily mind being reminded of his resemblance to the legendary mountain man played by a young Robert Redford. However, Rob Zombie was a new one. And he couldn’t say he was pleased. Suddenly he didn’t feel so bad about Contreras’s Dragon Queen comparison.

  “What about the photos?”

  “They’re exactly what we need,” Kim conceded, “but we’ll have to find someone else to claim credit. One of our assets can fill that role when the time comes. Aside from keeping the shootout off the front pages of the New York Times, you’re not going to want anything to do with this, Kohl. As soon as we mention your involvement, consider your cover blown and your career over. No matter how many assurances you get, some politician somewhere will sell you out. Trust me. CIA has learned that lesson the hard way.”

  She was right. No point in arguing. Last thing he wanted was more attention. In fact, too much att
ention was the reason he’d taken the assignment in Afghanistan. There’d been a rumor floated among DEA sources that he was in the crosshairs of a Mexican cartel. And true or not, Garrett’s superiors didn’t want to take a chance. Despite his protests, headquarters forced him to pull up stakes and move on—leaving a lot of unfinished business south of the border.

  There was a part of Garrett that wondered if Kim was being truthful. Was there really a tribunal or was this some made-up story to buy time before the CIA started making craters? If the boy wasn’t safe at Camp Tsavo, it meant this whole thing went deep and was about to get ugly. And if Kim was worried these Afghan officials could carry out a successful hit inside a secure base, that meant it went high up the political chain. Possibly to the top. There were more than a few local contractors who would do the bidding of some bad actors for the right price.

  Of course, there was another alternative Garrett had to consider. The U.S. had historically used surrogates to take care of some nasty business—the Contras in Central America, SAVAK in Iran, and the Mujahideen right there in Afghanistan to name a few. These organizations used methods that were not for the fainthearted. Imprisonment. Torture. Even executions.

  Hell, his own organization had its skeletons. The takedown of Pablo Escobar in Colombia was just one example. Shadow wars like that had been waged by most world powers at some point in time. Garrett didn’t necessarily have a problem with it. Years undercover with drug dealers, gangs, and cartels had taught him that sometimes you have to get your hands dirty.

  But those endeavors were never without collateral damage, and more times than not, they left a bloody wake. If this poor kid had seen something he shouldn’t have, then maybe someone back in Washington didn’t want him talking. And if that were the case, this boy would never live to tell the tale. Of course, he too was in the exact same boat. As loose ends go, he was a big one, which meant he might be standing in the CIA’s next crater.

  3

  Before Garrett could dig further, Kim had sprung from her chair and was heading for the door. Without so much as a word, she left her office. It was as if she knew he had reservations and wanted to get the process started before he could back out of the deal. He was contemplating whether Kim had a touch of psychic ability when she returned to the doorway in a huff.

  “You coming or what?” She had a manila folder clamped under her arm.

  Against his better judgment and curious as hell as to what was in that file, Garrett rose from the wobbly chair and followed her out into the SCIF. She was nearly halfway through the maze of desks and filing cabinets by the time he caught up. He could tell they were headed toward the office belonging to Bill Watson, deputy chief of base.

  As Garrett walked beside her in silence, he couldn’t help but dwell on the negative, still thinking about what might happen once they left Tsavo—if they’d ever be heard from again. Kim wasn’t a monster, but she was as ruthless as they come. And he’d known some bad hombres, so that was saying a lot. He also knew paranoia was getting the better of him. Year after year of deep-cover work with the cartels had instilled a strong distrust of most people. It wasn’t spiritually healthy, but it kept him alive.

  As Kim approached Watson’s office, she slowed her pace, almost tiptoeing, and Garrett followed suit. He was about to ask what was going on when she put her finger to her lips and spoke in a voice just above a whisper. “He’s asleep.”

  Garrett’s first thoughts were of the deputy chief. “Watson’s still here?”

  Kim shook her head and laughed. “No. Asadi.”

  “Who?”

  She looked at Garrett like he’d lost it. “You know. The boy.”

  Garrett walked forward and peeked inside. There was a small out-of-season plastic Christmas tree in the corner being used as a night-light. He scanned to the left, to an old tan couch missing the back cushions. The boy, Asadi, was lying atop it, zipped tight in a royal blue sleeping bag. His breathing was heavy enough to hear from the door.

  Garrett adjusted his voice to match Kim’s whisper. “He’s living in the SCIF?”

  “For now.” She gave a curt nod, pulled the folder from under her arm and thrust it at him. “A list of safe houses in Virginia and Maryland.”

  Safe houses? This thing was getting weirder by the second and Garrett had the same sinking feeling he’d had earlier when he was climbing that ridge before the massacre. Time to end this goat rope before it went any further.

  Garrett waved her off. “Don’t need it.”

  “Why?”

  “Not doing it.”

  Kim hurled the same question, this time with more indignation. “Why?”

  “Because there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “There’s a whole hell of a lot I’m not telling you. But even if I could, would you really want to know?”

  It didn’t take long for Garrett’s curiosity to give way to self-preservation. He gave a shake of the head.

  “I’m in a dirty business, Kohl. You know that. And with it comes collateral damage. I just don’t want him to get caught in all that. Do you understand?”

  As Kim’s eyes rested on the boy, her face softened. She looked kind, almost maternal. Apparently, the Dragon Queen had a soft spot after all. There was even a slight curl to her lips. “I just need you to keep him safe and out of sight until I have a solution. That’s all.”

  Garrett pulled the cap from his head and ran his fingers through his hair, looking around the empty SCIF for some reasonable person who would jump in to save him. But he had no one in his corner and no real option but to comply with what was essentially extortion by guilt. “Well, God help you if I’m your solution.” Already regretting his decision, he let out an exaggerated sigh. “If I do this, Kim, I’m doing it my way. Not staying in some roach motel in West Baltimore.”

  Kim cocked an eyebrow, as if she could sense his reservations about getting into her world any deeper than he was already. “DEA digs that much better than ours?”

  He shook his head. “No, I just got a place in mind.”

  Kim returned the map to her folder. “I don’t care where you go, so long as you keep him out of sight until this thing blows over. Just check in and let me know how he’s doing.”

  At first, Garrett had fully expected her to argue, but the truth of the matter was that spies like her respected good tradecraft. She’d be tracking him wherever he went, so trying too hard to stay off the CIA’s radar was an exercise in futility.

  Kim tilted her head in Asadi’s direction. “While you’re gone, we’ll get to the bottom of who was behind the massacre and clean things up.”

  There was that phrase he’d heard her use in the past. Clean things up. Garrett shifted his stance, uneasy with the ambiguity of the phrase. Did she mean clean up his role in the incident, clean up the bodies, or clean up the ones responsible for the massacre? Garrett would have asked, but figured it was probably better not to know.

  Still though, there was a question nagging at him. “So, what’s going to happen to him?”

  Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . when this is all over. Once you’ve cleaned up. There weren’t any survivors in the village. My guess is his whole family was murdered.”

  “Oh.” Kim was clearly caught off guard, as if she hadn’t thought that far in the future. But that couldn’t be the case. She was always a few steps ahead. “I’m sure he has relatives in the village over or something. If they’re out there, we’ll find them.” Her face lost any luster it might have had before. “If not, there are other options.”

  He didn’t want to ask but felt compelled. “Like what?”

  “You know. Organizations that look after kids like him.”

  “You mean an orphanage?”

  Kim seemed amused by his concern. “A place to help him get resettled.”

  “Oh.” Now, Garrett’s face fell. He focused on the word resettled. The government had a dolled-up term for eve
ry bad circumstance you could imagine.

  Kim leaned against the wall and rubbed exhausted eyes. She dropped her hands, studied him, and asked with genuine compassion, “You sure you’re up for all this, Kohl?”

  The truth of the matter was that Garrett hadn’t thought her offer all the way through. He was fine with a protective-custody assignment. Watching over the kid wasn’t a problem. The problem was that he hadn’t had time to fully process the fact that Asadi might’ve been better off had he not intervened. He hated to think that way, but it was the truth.

  Even if Kim made it safe for Asadi to come back, what the hell was there to come back for? His family was dead, and his home destroyed. And the best alternative was some rat-infested orphanage where he’d live a miserable life until he was released into a world with no opportunity. It would make him a prime candidate for the extremist madrasas, which meant there was a good chance he’d be strapped into a suicide vest before he could even shave.

  Garrett’s heart sank at the realization he was snakebit, doomed to move from one tragedy to the next, ruining everyone’s lives. First, his family, then his team, and now the boy. If this was a curse, it was one he had to break. And the only way to do it was to return to the place he’d been running from for years. His only option was to head back home.

  4

  Garrett put an arm around Asadi and pulled him to his side. Although the doors and windows on the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter were closed, it was still brisk. Fortunately, the hop from Tsavo to Bagram was a short one—less than half an hour, tops.

  Kim had done her best to scrounge up a fresh set of clothes and a thin jacket for Asadi, but something warmer was definitely in order. The Texas High Plains got bitterly cold in January, and to blend in, the boy would need something a little less refugee and a lot more down-home on the ranch.

  By the look on Asadi’s face he was scared, exhausted, and utterly traumatized. The plan was to keep him good and distracted. The kid may be grieving, but boys were boys, and Garrett himself still broke into a smile every time he heard the whine of the engine spooling up and felt the thumping whomp of the bird’s massive rotors, beating through his body like a bass drum.