Three Days to Forever (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 9)

by Lauren Carr

  “Then there was Syria, when he was on the road home from a party—”

  “I get your point,” David said while covering his ear so he could hear the colonel picking up the call.

  “What’s your status, Major?” Colonel Frost said in a tone that concealed his concern for his team’s safety.

  “The camp just received two truckloads of weapons, sir,” David reported, “delivered personally by Jassem al-Baghdadi.”

  “Are you kidding me?” The colonel sounded as excited as a schoolboy about to take down the playground bully with his secret weapon.

  David peered through the scope on his rifle. “I have him in my sights right now. Permission to use lethal force to terminate the target, sir?”

  “Here it comes,” Dean muttered.

  The colonel grumbled. “I need to contact central command.”

  David sat up from behind the rifle. “Excuse me, sir? Jassem al-Baghdadi is on the list of terror—”

  “Protocol, Major,” the colonel explained with increasing agitation about the situation. “We have been given orders to check with central command in Washington before using lethal force against any of our targets, even one identified as a high-ranking enemy target who killed innocent marines while they were sleeping.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, David bit his lip to keep from saying what he was thinking.

  “Told you, sir,” Dean whispered.

  “I’ll have to contact command,” Colonel Frost said into David’s ear. “If they give me the go-ahead, use lethal force at will on my word. Code word Zombie.”

  “Zombie,” David repeated. “I roger that. Zombie.”

  “Hold on tight, Major.”

  David continued peering through the scope on his rifle and reporting to each member of his team, some of whom were around him, and some of whom were at their posts around the perimeter. “Okay, team, here’s the plan. If we get the go-ahead, I’m going to take out the head of this dragon. Once I take him down, you’re all going to need to be ready. Gamma and Charlie, use the grenade launchers.”

  “Aim for the trucks,” Gamma said.

  “Got to take them both out,” David said. “I want all snipers ready. Identify the leaders. These pawns aren’t anything without someone to give them orders. Take out the instructors and those in command first.”

  “If Washington gives us the go-ahead,” Hallie said.

  “They will,” David said with as much confidence as he could muster to pass on to his team. “We’re at war. We can’t win it if we don’t neutralize the enemy, no matter how nasty killing might be. I don’t like shooting people, but in situations like this, there are two options. Kill, or have my brothers and sisters in arms—or even innocent civilians like those in the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and flight ninety-three—murdered.”

  “We may not have forgotten,” Lieutenant Dean said, “but Washington sure has.”

  “Not everyone in Washington,” Hallie said. “Not the Phantoms.”

  “Phantoms?” David chuckled while cocking his head and pressing his radio to his ear to make sure he got the order when it came.

  “It’s a myth.” Dean was laughing as well. “You know how people in the military talk.”

  Hallie was shaking her head. “A friend of mine who works on the top floors at the Pentagon says it ain’t.”

  “What’s a Phantom?” David asked with a grin. “Do they run around wearing black capes?”

  “According to what I was told—do you remember the untouchables from Al Capone days?”

  “That was before my time, but yes,” David said. “A group of federal agents and cops who banded together to take down organized crime in Chicago. They couldn’t be bribed or intimidated. They were untouchable.”

  “Well, this is the military version,” Hallie said over Dean’s quiet laughter. They were all aware of the camp full of men who would think nothing of torturing and killing all of them if they were discovered.

  “This team is made up of members of each branch of the government and military, more highly trained than special ops and Navy SEALs,” Hallie said. “You don’t apply to be a Phantom. You’re hand-picked. They have the top equipment and training, and their sole mission is to protect our country and citizens without the influence and intimidation of politicians and deal-makers with their own personal and political agendas.”

  She jerked her chin at the chief terrorist down at the bottom of the mountain. “Twice we’ve had that man in our sites, and twice we’ve been told by someone high up in Washington to let him go. Why?” She scoffed. “Because killing him would hurt those poor terrorists’ feelings. Like he didn’t care about hurting our feelings when he planned and coordinated the jihad attack in Afghanistan?” With a knowing expression on her face, she said, “It’s going to take a Phantom to terminate him.”

  “They’re a myth,” Dean said.

  “Do you remember that mansion that al-Baghdadi had in Syria?” Hallie asked.

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “Huge mansion,” Hallie said. “They say that the downstairs was a command center for ISIS. Well, that mansion is no more. It’s an eighteen-foot crater in the desert.”

  “Caused by an accidental explosion from their own weapons,” Dean said.

  Hallie whispered to David. “That’s the hallmark of the Phantoms. When they strike, it’s never traced back to us. You’d be surprised by what I heard—”

  “Major O’Callaghan …”

  Sucking in a deep breath, David pressed the button on his radio. “Yes, sir?”

  “Zombie, O’Callaghan. Zombie,” he heard the colonel say with a smile in his voice. “Terminate target at will. Wipe that camp off the face of this earth. See you when you arrive safely back home.”

  “Thank you, sir!” Chuckling, David bumped fists with the two lieutenants. “You owe me a hundred bucks. We’ve got zombies.” Into the radio, he directed, “Everyone into positions. This is for our brothers and sisters in Afghanistan.”

  He focused in on Jassem al-Baghdadi, lining up his broad chest in the middle of the crosshairs in his scope. Even if al-Baghdadi was wearing a vest, the armor piercing bullet would still end his reign of terror.

  “I’m putting the first shot right through his black little heart,” David said while waiting for his heartbeat to slow. “Second one is going right between his black eyes.”

  Between the beats of his heart, he pulled the trigger.

  “Drinks are on me tonight, ladies and gentlemen!” David announced after his team hopped off the helicopter that had returned them to the camp.

  The sun was rising on what promised to be another blistering day. Amid fist bumps and high-fives, the special ops team woke up the camp with their celebratory cheers of success. They had not only taken out the whole terrorist camp and two fresh truckloads of weapons meant to be used against them and their allies, but they had also taken out the number-two man, the leader of the terrorists’ military council who had successfully engineered the murders of their brothers and sisters in arms.

  “O’Callaghan!” a voice rose above the cheers.

  When David turned around, he saw that Colonel Glen Frost was not jubilant like his other comrades were. The hard look on the older man’s face was not what he had expected to see. His face was red all the way up his forehead and across his bald head. His white mustache was stretched taunt across his upper lip.

  “Yes, sir!” David stood at attention and raised his hand in a salute.

  “My tent immediately, Major O’Callaghan!” The colonel turned around and disappeared into his tent.

  The noise of excitement immediately ceased.

  “What’s going on?” a member of David’s team asked. “You’d think al-Baghdadi rose from the dead.”

  “Maybe we were supposed to read him his rights before the major put that
bullet through his chest,” Lieutenant Dean said.

  “Put our equipment away and get some breakfast,” David ordered before stepping away. After taking a few steps, he turned back to his team, who was watching him with concern on their faces. “You all did great out there. I’m proud of each one of you.”

  When David arrived at his commanding officer’s tent, he found the colonel pacing around his desk instead of sitting behind it. Immediately, David stood at attention and rose his hand in a salute. “Major O’Callaghan reporting as ordered, sir.”

  The colonel returned the salute before closing the door.

  David sensed Colonel Frost circling behind him. Compared to the marines who served under him, Colonel Glen Frost was short. The top of his head came up to David’s chin. But he made up for what he lacked in height with his commanding presence.

  Having known the colonel for more than a dozen years, David was both at an advantage and a disadvantage. He knew how Colonel Frost operated, so he was rarely caught off guard by his actions. David knew what was expected of him. The disadvantage was that the colonel knew David equally well and set his expectations for the young officer very high.

  Suddenly, Colonel Frost stepped into David’s space. David felt his hot breath on his neck when he asked, “What happened out there?”

  The colonel’s anger confused him, and David responded while staring straight ahead. “Target was terminated as ordered, sir. We wiped the whole camp off the face of the earth as you directed.”

  Colonel Frost’s blood shot eyes grew wide. “Ordered? Directed?”

  “Yes, sir, as ordered.”

  “Whose orders, Major?”

  “Yours, sir.”

  Colonel Frost stepped back and peered closely into David’s face. “Major O’Callaghan, when did I give the zombie order, and to whom?”

  “Me, sir,” David answered. “After I requested permission to terminate the target using lethal force, you reported that you needed to contact central command. A few minutes later, I received a radio call from you stating that permission had been granted—using the code word ‘zombie,’ sir.”

  “I said ‘zombie,’ Major?”

  “Twice, sir.” Standing at attention, David wished the colonel would give him permission to stand at rest. His feet and shoulders were getting tired after a night of hiding on the rocky mountainside. “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “Yes, Major O’Callaghan, there is a big problem,” the colonel said. “The order was to stand-down!”

  David felt his stomach drop to the floor. It took all of his control to not drop his jaw in a gasp. His whole body broke into a cold sweat. “With all due respect, sir, I did not receive a stand-down order.”

  “And I did not issue the code word to terminate the target,” the colonel said through gritted teeth.

  Beads of sweat forming on his forehead and rolling down his cheek to his neck, David searched his mind for a solution. “Could the radio signals have gotten mixed up, sir? Your message went to a different team, and I received my message from someone else?”

  “Using our code word of zombie?” the colonel scoffed. “I referred to you by name, Major. I requested a confirmation from you—Major O’Callaghan—that you understood the order was to stand-down, and you and your team were to return to base ASAP. You rogered that you understood.”

  “That is not the order I received, sir,” David replied. “Sir, I have worked under you for years. Have you ever known me to disobey an order, sir? If I had received a stand-down order, I would have stood down and directed my team to do likewise, sir.”

  “Yes, O’Callaghan, I know that.” The colonel turned to go back to his desk. “That is why I am so confused by what has happened.”

  “What now, sir?” David swallowed.

  “General Thurston Affleck at central command went through the roof at the news that Jassem al-Baghdadi had been killed and the camp had been destroyed.” The colonel allowed a slight smile to form at the corner of his lips. “Good job, by the way.”

  “I expect an inquiry, sir,” David said.

  “Of course,” the colonel said. “You and I are both ordered back to the states immediately on military transport for an inquiry as soon as we arrive. Then, they will make their recommendations about disciplinary action.” He added in a low voice, “Dishonorable discharge is the least of your problems. Court-martial for disobeying a direct order is on the table.”

  David blinked. “I understand, sir. What about my team, sir?”

  “Captain Fellows will take over as team leader.”

  “I mean as far as disciplinary action towards them, sir?” David said. “They were following my orders.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep them out of this mess,” Colonel Frost said. “You are dismissed, Major. Go to your tent to pack. We are leaving in one hour.”

  “Yes, sir.” David turned around on his heel and stepped toward the door. He stopped. “Permission to speak, sir?”

  “Yes, O’Callaghan.”

  David turned back to him. “I know what I heard, sir.”

  “And I know what I said.”

  It was a long, physically tiring and emotionally exhausting flight back to the United States on a military transport, which was not made for comfort. The short time he was given to pack did not give David time to shower and change out of his desert fatigues.

  Colonel Glen Frost barely spoke to David, who had considered his commanding officer a mentor and friend. During the long flight across the ocean, David would steal glances over at the Colonel—when he was not replaying the radio conversation over and over again in his mind.

  “Zombie, O’Callaghan. Zombie. Terminate target at will. Wipe that camp off the face of this earth. See you when you arrive safely back home.”

  Could I have misunderstood? How could I have mixed up “zombie” and “terminate at will” with “stand-down” and “return to base?”

  “Liquid courage?” Colonel Glen Frost held the flask out in front of David’s face.

  Grateful for the good will gesture, David took the flask, wiped off the mouth of it, and took a large gulp of the scotch. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re going to need it.” The colonel pushed the flask back to him. “Just because I’m PO about this whole thing is no reason for you and I to stop being friends. I do consider you a friend, O’Callaghan.”

  “I’m still trying to figure out what this thing is,” David said. “I know I’m not imagining—”

  “Forget that,” Colonel Frost said. “Forget about what happened out there.”

  “That’s what the inquiry is about,” David said. “I need to know what happened.”

  “Like they’re going to believe that I told you to stand-down and you heard zombie?” Colonel Frost chuckled. “We might as well tell them that aliens from outer space gained control of our radio waves.”

  He grabbed the flask out of David’s hand. “Here’s what we’re going to tell them. I did tell you zombie. I did order you to terminate the target.” He took a drink from the flask. “I disobeyed that idiot Affleck’s orders to stand-down. You were following my orders.”

  “But you’re only three years from retirement,” David said. “They’ll court-martial you. You’ll lose your commission.”

  “General Affleck is looking for a scapegoat,” Colonel Frost said. “Better me than you. You’re young, David. You have so much to offer to this country—if they’ll let you. I don’t know what’s happened to this country.” He took a drink from the flask. “Actually, I do, but don’t get me started. I told Affleck exactly what was out there. I told him exactly what had to be done. He knew as well as all of us what Jassem’s history was, what he had done, and to whom. You had him right in your sites. He was on Homeland Security’s list, damn it. But Affleck ordered you not just to stand-down, but also to scrub your whole operation. L
eave all those weapons that were going to be aimed at us next—do you know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because Affleck’s loyalty is not to the military or his country,” Frost was on a roll. “He may be a Marine General, but he’s not military. He’s a suck-up. He’s been kissing butt and playing political games since his first day in boot camp.” The colonel gritted his teeth. “Last night, before I hung up from talking to Affleck, I ended up saying something to him that I have never said to any commanding officer before in my life.”

  “What’s that?” David asked.

  “Whose side are you on?” He turned to David. “He didn’t answer me.” After nudging David in the arm, he handed him the flask. “So they’ll buy that I gave you the zombie order—no problem. The best leaders are willing to take a bullet for their team.”

  His heart pounding, David took a drink from the flask. The scotch burned all the way down his throat and to his stomach.

  “Repeat after me,” Colonel Frost said into his ear, “My commanding officer gave me the order to terminate the target. I was obeying his orders.”

  By the time they returned to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, David was wishing that he had refused the flask of scotch. Physical and emotional exhaustion—encased in what felt like two layers of dried sweat—accompanied by alcohol made him feel physically ill.

  Following Colonel Glen Frost down the stairs to the runway, David noticed a limousine resting on the tarmac. A statuesque woman dressed in a black skirted suit with stiletto heels stepped up to Colonel Frost. On his way down the stairs, David noticed that she possessed the longest, sexiest legs he had ever seen in his life—and he had seen more than his share of women’s legs. A black fedora hat covered her hair so that David couldn’t tell its length or color. Her eyes were concealed behind dark sunglasses. She held a leather binder under her elbow like a clutch bag.

  She offered a long slender hand to the commanding officer. “Colonel Frost,” she said in a sultry voice, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I was sent to meet you and Major O’Callaghan.”