The Shield

by Ken Fite

  It was five in the morning and already hot in Afghanistan. It was always hot. I was an hour away from taking over lookout duties from my partner, Dallas Webb. We were both snipers at Camp Rhino. Webb had been working since ten last night. I’d be on watch from six until around two in the afternoon. I’d slept. Now I needed to eat and get some coffee in me. I sat up in bed and moved my legs to the floor. I stayed on the edge, trying to wake up. Miller was five feet away, putting on his camouflage BDU, chuckling quietly.

  “What?” I asked.

  He just kept laughing to himself and shook his head. “Nothing, man. Just never seen anyone sleep like you do. Nothing wakes you up.”

  I nodded and yawned. Got to my feet and found my BDU and got dressed. I stepped back and let my feet find their way into my boots. Bent down to tie my shoelaces and couldn’t find the ends to pull on. I reached for a light and sat down on my cot and stared down at my shoes, half asleep as Miller laughed even louder. A few other guys came out of hiding. I smiled. They’d cut my shoelaces while I was sleeping.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  The guys laughed together and disappeared. I watched them as they left; then I turned to face Miller.

  “Sorry, man, you’re just too easy to prank,” he said and threw me a new pair of laces and sat on his cot.

  I pulled my boots off one at a time and started pulling the old laces out so I could put the new ones in. Someone stepped into our tent. I turned and watched as our commanding officer stepped in and stared.

  Greenberg looked at me. His gaze moved slowly downward. He saw the cut laces in my hand. Miller stood. “Need you both to meet me in ten minutes for a meeting with the entire unit,” he said. “My office, okay?”

  He turned and left. Miller and I stared at each other for a brief moment, and then we finished getting ready. I laced up my other boot, and he finished getting dressed. Silence in the tent. I saw Miller looking at a picture of his wife and son pinned over his cot. “What do you think that’s about?” he asked.

  “I need coffee before I can answer that,” I said.

  Miller and I arrived five minutes later. There were eight empty chairs spread out in a semicircle in front of Greenberg’s makeshift desk. Miller and I were the first to sit down. We’d gotten there a few minutes before the others. The best way to be late is to have plenty of tim e, my dad always told me. The other guys were showing up behind us. Everyone except Dallas Webb. He’d have to keep watch up in the tower a little longer, but I’d fill him in on whatever Greenberg was updating us on as soon as I started my shift. I glanced at my wrist and checked the time. Figured I’d be skipping breakfast today. The rest of the guys arrived, laughing and cracking jokes as they entered.

  Then Greenberg walked in. He was holding a file folder and looking more intense than he had earlier. The guys quieted down. I could hear the faint sound of an airplane in the distance, somewhere high above Afghanistan. Greenberg opted to remain standing with the file in his hand. His eyes scanned his men slowly before he began. He lifted the folder. Opened it up and thumbed through it and came out with a single piece of paper and glanced down at it.

  “I received a phone call twenty minutes ago,” he began as he kept his gaze down on the paper in his hand. “My superior told me one of our informants tipped us off that this man arrived in the area late last night.”

  Greenberg dropped the file on his desk. He held the paper with two hands and flipped it around to show us; then he moved to his right and handed it to the guy in the first chair to look over and pass down.

  “Who is he?” I asked as the sheet of paper made its way down the row of men.

  Greenberg returned to where he was standing and crossed his arms. “His name is Omar Malik,” he said. “We don’t know much about him, but understand from our informants he’s involved with the Taliban somehow.” He shrugged. “They think he’s being groomed for a leadership position one day, maybe. Either way, the man has murdered a number of Afghans, including women and children. That’s for damn sure.”

  The photocopy was passed to Miller. He looked it over and gave it to me. The guy in the picture had a huge scar on his face. Like he’d been cut with a knife once. I looked up at Greenberg. “He’s American,” I said.

  He nodded once. “Former military. We don’t know how or when he made it over here, but the man is fluent in Pashto. We believe he’s providing the enemy with information detrimental to our success here.”

  “Who is he?” I asked again as I passed it on to the next couple of guys, who looked at the picture quickly.

  Greenberg didn’t answer immediately. He watched as the last guy to my right finished looking at the photocopy and was extending his hand out to our commanding officer. Greenberg reached for it, then went back behind his desk and opened the folder and set the paper on top before closing it back up again.

  “Former private in the Army,” he finally said and made his way back in front of us. “You don’t need to know any more details, Jordan, other than he’s in the area, less than ten miles from our camp.” Greenberg paused for a long moment. Looked at each of us in turn. “And I have orders to capture him.”

  Miller glanced at me briefly. “When?” he asked, turning back to Greenberg.

  “I’ll let you know,” he said. “As soon as we confirm where he’s staying.” The room grew quiet. Greenberg scanned his men again. “Any other questions?” Nobody spoke. Greenberg looked at his watch. “Jordan, I need you to bring Webb up to speed at the change of your shift. Then send him down to see me.” He moved to his desk. Looked like he was getting ready to sit and work. He grabbed hold of the folder and held it up to make sure I understood. “Take it. Show him the picture.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  He nodded and sat down. The other men made their way outside. I took the folder from Greenberg and left. Miller and I were headed to the mess hall when I checked the time. I had to relieve Webb in thirty minutes. I didn’t want to wait. Figured Greenberg wouldn’t want me to. “I need to get up there,” I said.

  Miller said nothing. I slowed and stopped as he continued to walk away from me toward the mess hall.

  I asked him to bring me coffee later. He said he’d bring me decaf.

  I stood there for a second, hoping he was kidding. Then I turned and made my way to the tower. I thought about Miller as I moved. We were both in our twenties. Similar background, only he had a family back home and I didn’t. A wife and a little boy. The ones from the picture. I couldn’t imagine being a father. If I ever had a family, I knew I couldn’t do this job, too. I climbed up to the top of the tower. Dallas Webb was waiting for me. I brought him up to speed on what Greenberg had shared with the rest of us. Gave Webb the file folder and told him to return it to Greenberg. He left and I started scanning the horizon.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ROBERT HAYES SAT at a desk in front of a laptop with the override device connected to it as the kidnapper was in another room speaking to his men urgently. He heard the name of one of them—Jackson . Hayes wondered where his wife and daughter were as he tried to make the device functional.

  He’d tried to pay attention to the roads as they traveled away from the building he’d known as one of his new client’s offices. He remembered Elizabeth telling him before he’d left work that something was wrong. Their equipment was offline. He thought about how he’d dismissed her and told her not to worry about it. The kidnapper had planned on using the location for the White House and Marine One attacks. But they failed to kill the president, so the man in black had ushered everyone into a black Suburban with dark, tinted windows, and had brought Hayes to a new location. He’d heard them call it a safe house.

  Hayes became present when he noticed the men outside the room had stopped talking. He looked over his shoulder and saw the kidnapper appear. The man wearing black looked at his watch.

  “Mr. Hayes, are you finished?” he asked as he stepped closer and stood behind him.

  “Something’s wrong,”
he said and pointed to the device that had been slotted into a large motherboard housed within a steel briefcase next to him. “The way it was designed, whoever did it missed something.”

  “Why do you think I have you here?” said the kidnapper.

  Hayes shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what’s wrong with it.”

  “Mr. Hayes, you designed the original device,” he said. “There’s no one more qualified to make it work.”

  “That was years ago,” he replied. The kidnapper became silent. Hayes turned and looked up at him. Then he glanced back and stared blankly at the laptop screen. “I haven’t programmed in a very long time.”

  Neither man spoke. Silence filled the room.

  Then Hayes finally said, “But if you let my wife and daughter go from wherever you’re keeping them, if you prove they’re safe, I promise I’ll get the device to work.”

  He turned back. Saw his kidnapper smile. “Mr. Hayes, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” The man in black stepped closer. “My name is Omar Malik. Your government was responsible for killing my family fifteen years ago.” Malik paused again. “You will help me and you’ll help me now.”

  Hayes stared up at the man. Said nothing.

  Malik turned and called for one of his men standing nearby. Said something fast in a language Hayes didn’t understand. A few seconds later, his wife was brought out of another room. Her arms were bound and her mouth was gagged. Her clothes were drenched in sweat.

  “Patricia?” said Hayes, relieved to see her. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  She made no sound. Just stared at him blankly as the kidnapper barked another order. The man who brought his wife out pulled a knife and cut the zip tie, freeing her hands, then removed the gag from her mouth. The man pulled out a chair and forced her to take a seat. Hayes watched as Malik moved closer.

  “Now where’s my daughter?” Hayes said.

  “Make it work,” Malik replied, but it was clear he’d have to convince him somehow.

  At that, Omar Malik turned to his man who was standing by Hayes’s wife and nodded. The man grabbed her hand as Malik helped restrain her other arm. Malik took his knife and set it on one of her fingers. His wife screamed. The shrill sound echoed throughout the empty building as Hayes stood from his chair.

  “Stop!” yelled Hayes as he moved closer, but Malik moved to stand between him and his wife. Hayes saw the knife pressed hard against his wife’s ring finger. It pierced the skin, and dark red blood began to flow.

  “Make it work,” Malik said again, pressing harder against the finger.

  Hayes shifted his gaze between the men and the knife with wide eyes. “I’ll do it. Just stop.”

  Malik removed the knife from her finger. He nodded at his man, who forced the woman to her feet and spun her around. Malik told one of his men to move her to the other building. She was pushed forward and taken out of the room quickly, leaving drops of blood on the floor as they moved. Malik turned back and stared at Hayes and watched him carefully as he slowly made his way to his chair and sat back down.

  Hayes faced the monitor and put his hands over the keyboard. Took a deep breath and let it out, then got to work. It only took him five minutes to do it. He’d been faced with the same challenge ten years prior when he built the original override device. The first time, he’d spent countless hours staring at the code, trying to make the device he’d been commissioned to program work. Now it was all coming back to him.

  When he was finished, he pointed at the screen. “The device itself is fine. The software had the issues,” he said. “Whoever you had write the code had some of the strings backwards. I just made the corrections.”

  “It will work now?” asked Malik, reaching for his gun.

  Hayes nodded. “You already had it almost working before. Like I said, the code just needed tweaking.”

  Malik stepped closer. Hayes kept his eyes on the weapon in the man’s hand, then looked up at him.

  “Where’s my daughter?” he asked.

  Malik made no reply. Just stared at the computer screen, thinking.

  “Mr. Hayes, I assure you that your daughter is safe. But we’re not done yet. We’re just getting started.”

  Hayes furrowed his brow. Said nothing.

  “Now you need to prove to me that it’s working.”

  “Prove how?”

  “A demonstration,” continued Malik.

  Silence in the room. All he could hear was humming from the equipment. “What do you want me to do?”

  Malik shifted his gaze from the screen back to Hayes. A slight smile crept across the man’s face. “I want you to access the United States drone fleet.”

  Hayes shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. If you want access to the drones, it requires an authentication code. It’s like a two-way switch. You’re not going to gain access without approval from one of the agencies operating the drones.”

  Malik’s smile broadened. He used his free hand to dig into a pocket and came out with a phone. The man used his thumb to unlock the screen and navigated to what he wanted to show him. Malik set the phone on the table and spun it around for Hayes to see. A ten-digit alphanumeric code displayed on the screen. “There’s your authorization code,” said Malik. “Now give me a demonstration and prove that it works.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I STOOD IN silence, staring at the image of Omar Malik while Morgan and Simon worked on getting the unique identifier from the phone Malik was using. They thought maybe they could ping the cell towers to find the man. I glanced across to Willis. He was on his phone again and looked worried about something.

  “Okay,” said Morgan a minute later. “There was one cell phone used in the area where Omar Malik was controlling the drones that targeted the White House and Marine One . Unfortunately, it’s not online.” There was a pause and I heard him typing furiously in the background. “Pretty sure it was a burner, though. Going to be difficult tracking the guy, mate. Simon and I will monitor it the best we can.”

  Willis stopped pacing. He ran a hand across his face.

  “What are you thinking, Willis?” I asked as I heard what sounded like a car door closing out on the street.

  Willis shrugged and stepped closer to the phone. “I’m thinking you made the right decision about stopping the database search,” he said. “But I’m not sure where you think this is all going. We got the guy who attacked the White House and Marine One .” He glanced around the apartment and pointed at the drones scattered everywhere. “That much is clear,” he continued. “And maybe this guy, Omar Malik, put him up to it for some reason. I say we head back to DHS. Meet up with Parker and bring him up to speed.”

  I heard the sound of a man clearing his throat. “I’m here listening, Curt,” said Parker from Simon’s phone.

  “How much did you hear?” I said as I went to the window and looked out into the parking lot.

  “The whole damn thing,” he replied. “Stepped away to look into Malik. Not much in the DHS system on the guy. Presumed dead fifteen years ago.” He paused. “You sure it’s him, Jordan?”

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  That was when I heard it.

  Someone approaching outside the apartment. They knocked on the door three times. I disconnected the call and stuffed the phone into my back pocket. Willis and I were in the living room, just past the kitchen. I motioned for Willis to get out of view. He drew his weapon and stepped into a side bedroom. I reached for my Glock and moved into the kitchen and ducked behind a wall. Gripped my weapon tight with two hands and leaned back, hidden. I felt my heart beating hard in my chest, and I held my breath as I waited.

  The door was pushed the whole way open. Someone stepped through. They moved carefully. I tried to look around the side without being seen. I waited for them to come into view, but they moved left, toward a back room. I stepped out and aimed my weapon at the back of the guy’s head. “Don’t move,” I said.

  He froze.
Said nothing. I saw a weapon in his hand. He slowly turned and stared at me blankly. The guy was standing outside the foyer. I had a clear shot. I waited for Willis to step out and join me, but he didn’t.

  “Drop the weapon,” I said.

  The guy looked confused. His eyes scanned the room.

  “I said drop it. Now .”

  He continued to grip his weapon tight. He furrowed his brow and stared at me. “Who are you?”

  “Federal agent,” I said, my voice rising. “I’m not going to tell you again, drop the weapon on the ground.”

  Willis stepped out from the room where he was hiding, with his weapon extended and leveled at the guy. The man turned to face Willis as I kept my Glock trained on him. The guy looked even more confused. His eyes flicked over to me. Then back to Willis. Without any warning, Willis fired two rounds into his chest.

  “No!” I yelled as the guy fell backward and hit the carpet. The weapon dropped out of his hand as he fell. I moved fast and kicked it away from him and kept my Glock trained on the man. I glanced back briefly. Willis remained where he was with his arms extended and his weapon still leveled. I looked back down and saw the guy’s shirt stained red. Blood was flowing fast and started pooling around him on the carpet.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” I asked Willis as I started checking the guy for other weapons.

  “He was going to shoot us,” he said.

  “I had the situation under control.”

  “Us or them, Jordan,” he said.

  I glanced over my shoulder and looked up at Willis as he lowered his weapon.

  “Not taking any chances with these people. Us or them,” he said again as I turned back, breathing hard. Willis said nothing else. Just stood back as I made a cursory check for additional weapons on the guy.

  “What’s your name?” I asked as I leaned in close to the guy, waiting for a response.

  He made no reply.