Fighting For Valor

by Patricia D. Eddy

“Don’t know how you can drink that sludge. It’s from yesterday, fucker.” A voice I know. One I hear in my dreams. A man. There’s laughter that might be mine. But then it fades away and I’m staring at Josephine’s picture again.

  Faruk won’t know how much money she had in the bank. Not if I’m quick. I can send it to an untraceable account. And then…maybe soon, I can send it to her family. It’s not enough. But it’s all I can do. Faruk will skim the security feeds, and the camera behind me captures everything I’m doing. But I can make it glitch for sixty seconds without him suspecting anything.

  All the cameras have these short outages. Because I put them there. My one small bit of rebellion.

  Sixty seconds. Starting now. Switching over to the website for the First National Bank of Boston, I quickly siphon the sixty thousand and change into an offshore account in a bank Faruk doesn’t know about. My fingers fly over the keyboard, and at the end of the transfer instructions, I enter a series of numbers and letters I can’t forget.

  94820RJT008000

  I don’t know what it means. Every time I enter those fourteen characters, I hope their meaning will come back to me, but in all the years I’ve been here, I’ve never been able to figure it out.

  My old, rudimentary digital watch—it has a single alarm and that’s it—counts down the last ten seconds, and I switch back to the Department of Transportation website.

  I’m frozen, my fingers locked, my heart pounding. When Amir Faruk saved me, I thought he was a good man. But the first time he ordered me to make a woman’s identity disappear, I refused. That earned me two weeks in the well. By the time he let me out, I was too weak to stand. That was followed by another month locked in my small room. At least…I think it was a month. I spent most days in a fog, and my only solid memories are of Faruk’s voice, Zaman’s fists, and my own fear.

  In my dreams, I hear a man’s voice. “Stay alive. We never leave a man behind.”

  But the name and face of whoever said those words—if this a memory and not a desperate desire to have someone, somewhere who cares if I live or die—must have left me. And even though Amir Faruk doesn’t lock me in anymore and I haven’t seen the bottom of that fucking well in three years, I have no hope of ever leaving this place.

  One letter at a time, I erase Dr. Josephine Taylor. I don’t have a choice. When I confirm the job is done, Faruk smiles. “You have done a good thing, Isaad. You may end your fast after midnight prayers.”

  My stomach twists in on itself, and I bow. “Thank you, sir.”

  Mornings are the only time I find peace. Amir Faruk insists I join the other men in the compound for prayers, but though I know the words, the actions that are expected of me, I don’t believe. My life has become nothing but guilt and self-preservation. I should be stronger. I should know who I used to be. And I should find a way out.

  After prayers, I walk to the far side of the compound. Faruk’s cameras don’t reach here, and though the men he has stationed in the watch towers can see me, I’m otherwise alone.

  Punishing myself with a brutal exercise routine of pushups, jumping jacks, burpees, and flutter kicks helps me feel normal and keeps my strength up, though today, I lose stamina quickly. The meager serving of banana curd I had last night to break my fast was nowhere near enough to keep me going. I have to rest often between sets, and it’s almost ten by the time I head back to the main house.

  A woman’s cry stops me. “I’ll go. Just…don’t push me over the edge!”

  Josephine.

  Sweat dampens my palms, and my heart races. No. Not down into the well. He wouldn’t. Not a woman. I have to force my feet to move, and I round the corner as Faruk calls out, “If you refuse to help Mateen, you will be moved here. At night, the scorpions come out. The particular species we have in this part of the desert are not deadly, but their venom is quite painful.”

  The panic attack sends me to my knees. Tiny little legs scurry across my naked skin, and when the stinger pierces my shoulder, my entire body seizes. Clutching my chest, I find my loose dark blue tunic, and the shock is enough to let me suck in a shallow breath.

  I’m not in the well. I’m outside. In the sun.

  “P-please,” Josephine begs, her tiny voice echoing off the stone walls. “Let me up. I’ll…do whatever you want. I’ll make the drug. I’ll take care of Mateen.”

  Pushing to my feet, I stagger towards Amir Faruk as Zaman throws the rope ladder down the deep hole. When Josephine reaches the top rung, she collapses onto the rocky ground wheezing and staring at the sky.

  “Get up, woman,” Zaman orders her, and she tries, but her eyes start to roll back in her head, and I rush forward, wrap my arm around her waist, and let her sink against me.

  “Breathe,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”

  “Isaad!” Faruk barks. “Step away from the woman. Now. Go back to your work.”

  I only risk meeting his gaze for a brief moment until I see the anger in his gray eyes. Looking down at the woman huddled against me, I keep my voice low. “Do not give him reason to throw you into the well.”

  She manages a single nod, and I step away, bow to Faruk, and head to my room.

  Hours later, I’ve only checked on a fraction of Amir Faruk’s investments. My thoughts won’t stop racing, pinging off the inside of my skull, jumbled, random fragments seemingly from another life.

  I know I’m American. I know I don’t belong here. I’ve always known that. But I’m trapped. Trapped by my guilt. Both an old, deep-seated guilt I can’t understand and the guilt over everything I’ve done for my captor.

  I used to think of him as my savior. Not anymore. Seeing him with Josephine, hearing the way he changes his voice, going from kind to vicious in a heartbeat, I remember bits and pieces of my first few days here. The drugs. The torture.

  Giving up on my work, I strip off my clothes and turn on the shower. The water runs over my too-long hair, the beard I know I never used to have.

  “Remove all of it. Make it hurt.”

  The doctor grabs my wrist, rests his knee on my forearm, and holds a hot poker to my bicep. I scream, but then the pain fades away as Amir Faruk gives me a cup of tea. “You are no longer that wanted man, Isaad. You are free.”

  Staring down at the shiny burn scar, I strain to see the remnants of the tattoo. “…iber.” The only piece left. It means something. Liber. Freedom. De Oppresso Liber. To free the oppressed.

  I used to be someone else. Someone good. Someone who helped people. And now…I work for a murderer, a rapist, a human trafficker.

  Loud, choking sobs echo off the shower walls as I mourn that man I used to be. Even though I don’t remember his name.

  Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

  The sound of the chopper blades lulls me into a trance, and I stare out at the desolate landscape. The Afghan hills are hauntingly beautiful at dawn—as long as you’re not getting shot at.

  Next to me, a hazy form moves, and an elbow to my ribs makes me curse. “What the fuck?”

  “Stay focused,” he growls, his voice deep, raspy, familiar. “Something’s not right with this mission.”

  “You’re one paranoid son-of-a-bitch, Ry.”

  “And you—”

  An explosion rocks the air around us, and we’re spinning, smoke filling the interior of the helicopter. I grab the radio, my hand shaking. “COMSAT, COMSAT, do you read—?”

  Jerking to my feet, my legs tangle in the sheet, and I crash to the floor with a grunt.

  My team. My Special Forces team. Ryker. Dax. Hab. Gose. Naz. Dead. All because of me.

  I can’t see their faces, but I know who they are now. And who I used to be. And that’s the worst part of it.

  I was Special Forces. Trained never to lie. To protect the innocent. To infiltrate and free the oppressed, to take on the missions few others could ever do.

  How can I live with my failures knowing who I used to be? How can I keep following Faruk’s orders? I can’t. I have to find a way to end him—
then myself. It’s my only shot at redemption.

  Chapter Five

  Isaad

  Days later, I trudge out into the courtyard for morning prayers, wondering how much longer I can keep up this act. Whenever I see Faruk, I want to wrap my hands around his throat and break his neck. But, he’s never alone.

  The American, Dr. Joey, is attempting to cure Faruk’s son. Mateen is a sweet boy. Last spring, Faruk let me teach him how to play soccer. But the kid started asking me all kinds of questions—where I was from, why I talked funny, why my skin was so pale, and when Faruk overheard me tell him I was from far away and couldn’t ever go home again, he put a stop to those blissful afternoons when I could let go of my guilt for a few hours.

  Mateen curls on his prayer mat, his arms around his belly, while Faruk yells at the petite American. But she doesn’t back down.

  “I told you he needed fresh fruits and vegetables, bland food, and only the bare minimum of meat. Liver? It’s full of iron—something he does not need more of. You just set him back weeks!” Joey snaps from her position on her knees next to Mateen.

  Faruk curses and kicks her in the stomach. The viciousness of his attack makes me draw in a sharp breath, and she curls into a ball as he continues to punch and kick her. Stepping forward, I force strength into my tone. “Amir Faruk, sir. The doctor cannot cure your son if you…break her.”

  Faruk straightens, panting, and Dr. Joey peers up at me from under her arm and gives me a tiny nod. Checking to make sure no one’s looking at me, I mouth, “I’m sorry,” and back up, my head bowed.

  I wish I could help her, but even if I could get her to the underground tunnel, where would she go? I can’t get into the garage—the locks aren’t computerized, and the keys are in the guard house, which is staffed twenty-four hours a day by two men. The gate, too, is manual, and patrolled.

  Zaman drags the doctor back into the main house, and Faruk carries Mateen after them. She’ll die here, and that’ll be one more red mark in my ledger.

  Tonight. After midnight prayers. If I can get him alone, maybe…I can kill him.

  The knife is heavy in my hand. Yet, somehow familiar. The loose tunic mostly hides the weapon, and I slip into the room off the kitchen with the bank of five computers.

  A quick check of the time, and I roll my head, letting my neck pop and crack. I know Faruk’s routines. In a few minutes, he’ll be back in his office for his weekly 1:00 a.m. call with his contact in the States. Some government grunt who feeds him information and helps facilitate the arms sales that provide much of Faruk’s income. He won’t be checking the security cameras for at least half an hour.

  With a few keystrokes, I prepare to disable the cameras but freeze. In the basement hallway, a man dressed in black pants and a black tunic leads Joey down the hall. He’s not one of Faruk’s men. Even if he’d brought in someone new without telling me, the way this guy moves…he’s been trained to do this.

  Quickly, I cycle through the other feeds. The camera trained on the front gate reveals another man, dressed similarly, fiddling with something under the hood of one of the Jeeps. The man outside touches his ear, then shakes his head. A moment later, he sprints for the west side of the compound, and…fuck. Runs right into Faruk’s wife, Lisette, and Mateen. Lisette grabs his arm, begging. They argue for a moment, and then the man picks up Mateen and motions for Lisette to follow him.

  They’re getting out. All of them.

  This is my chance to find some sort of redemption. I can help. I can protect them until they’re safe. Disabling the cameras is simple, but I only have fifteen minutes before an alarm goes off in Faruk’s office.

  Where the hell is the first guy taking the doctor? Shit. Down to the old storage rooms in the basement. The last time I was down there, Faruk beat me so badly, I couldn’t lie on my back for a week. Double-checking the cameras and locking the workstation with a new password no one else at the compound can crack, I grab the woefully dull kitchen knife, tuck it into my pocket, and take off at a run.

  Where the hell are they? I should have found them by now. They weren’t underground, and I hurry out the kitchen door.

  Fuck.

  “Stop,” I call out as two men and the doctor rush around a corner.

  The shorter one—the one I saw take Joey from her room—raises a gun. “Don’t move.”

  “I am no threat to you,” I say quietly as I hold up my hands and drop my gaze to the ground, “but you cannot go this way. I disabled the cameras, and in fifteen minutes, if I do not turn them back on, an alarm will go off and Faruk will…hurt me.”

  He’ll do more than that. But I don’t have time to explain why I’m helping them. I just hope they trust me. “Your other man is headed for the front gate, but there are too many guards between here and there for you to escape that way. Come with me. There is an underground tunnel that leads out of the compound.”

  “Fuck, no.” The shorter man lunges for me, but with a quick sidestep, I’m out of his reach, my hands still held high.

  “Please. Let me try to atone for my sins.”

  “For your sins?” The taller of the two men, who’s leaning heavily on Dr. Joey, winces as he tries to stand up straighter. “Your accent…you’re American, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

  Several of Faruk’s men shout from the opposite side of the compound, curses in Pashto and orders to find the invaders.

  The shorter man takes Joey’s free arm. “We have to go. Now.”

  “Wait!” I hiss. “The doctor is wearing a tracking device.”

  “What? Where?” Dr. Joey asks as her eyes widen in the light from the waning moon.

  “In the hem of your pants. He trusts no one. Not even his own men. Not even his wife.” Definitely not me.

  The first man crouches and runs his fingers around the bottom of Joey’s pants. With a curse, he pulls out a knife, then rips through the thin fabric. After he drops the tracker on the ground, he stomps on it and stares me down. “Why tell us?”

  Shame heats my cheeks. “Faruk took my name. And my honor. Let me earn a piece of it back.“ Falling to my knees, I bow my head and rest my palm over my heart. “I’ll kill him for what he’s done. Then…maybe my ledger won’t be so full of blood.” And maybe I can die in peace.

  The two men exchange a glance, then the shorter one says, “Get up. Show us this tunnel. But if you’re lying to us, I’m putting a bullet in each of your kneecaps before I shoot you in the head.”

  That wouldn’t be punishment enough, but if I can’t get them out, at least I know I won’t have to face Faruk and his torture ever again. With a nod, I lead them through the dark shadows to the rear of the compound and a wooden trap door.

  “The tunnel leads under the wall. I’ll give you a two-minute head start, and then I’ll send the guards to the opposite side of the compound. After that, I will have to tell Faruk the doctor is gone and the cameras were shut down. And if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to kill him before he kills me.”

  The men nod at me, and Dr. Joey whispers, “Thank you.”

  Gunfire explodes from the front gate as I duck into the main house and head for Faruk’s office. I’ve lost my best chance. Any hope of surprising him. But I can still fight, and if he’s not expecting the attack, maybe…the knife will be sharp enough to sever his carotid artery.

  But as I round the corner, Zaman is heading right for me. Fuck. He could still pass me by. Flattening myself against the wall, I hold my breath. As Zaman stops in front of me, I can almost feel death hovering over my shoulder.

  “Amir Faruk says the cameras are down,” he snaps.

  With the knife still tucked inside my sleeve, I lower my head. “I will check on them now.”

  “You will come with me. Invaders have taken the boy and his mother.” He grabs my arm and pulls me down the hall. “You will help find them.”

  Death would have been a blessing. Now…I’m trapped. When Zaman lets me go in front of Faruk’s desk, I quickly clasp my hands behi
nd my back. “What can I do for you, Amir Faruk, sir?”

  He leans forward, his eyes wild. In the years I’ve been here, in all of my fractured memories, I’ve only seen him this out of control once—when his son was diagnosed with Alpha Thalassemia, a rare blood disorder that is fatal without treatment. His hair sticks up in all directions, and he tugs at his tunic. “Infidels have kidnapped my son, Lisette, and the doctor. You will find out how they got in and where they are going.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” The words make my stomach turn, but maybe…I can send Faruk’s men in the wrong direction and buy his wife and son—and the doctor—some time to get far away from this horrible place. If I don’t get rid of the knife first, though, he’ll find it, and then I won’t be able to make good on my vow to end the life of the man who stole mine.

  “Take him to the computer room. As soon as you know how the infidels broke in, report back.” Faruk rounds the desk and grabs my arms. His thick fingers dig into my biceps, squeezing to the point of pain. “You will find them for me, Isaad. Or I will send you back to the well.”

  I stumble on the way out of Faruk’s office, banging into a tall plant and going down on one knee. I push the knife into the dirt as far as I can and hope it’s enough. Zaman growls at me in Pashto—something about being a clumsy idiot—and when I straighten, he shoves me down the hall.

  I can walk on my own, fucker.

  For so long, Faruk owned me. Not only my actions, but my thoughts as well. I didn’t dare challenge him, even in my own mind. But now…it’s like I’m awake for the first time in years, and if I’m not careful, my expression or my body language is going to give me away.

  Despite knowing who I am now, so many of my memories are fuzzy. I know I was trained to do this. Infiltrate. Blend in. Adapt. But my skills are rusty. Anyone looking at that plant will see the knife poking out a half an inch.