The Forgotten Soldier

by Brad Taylor

  Haider made his decision. “Billings says there is a threat against me. He stated he didn’t know from where, but it had to do with Afghanistan.”

  Khalid said, “The man last night.”

  “Yes. Secretary Billings is lying. He knows exactly who it is but is playing like a spy. He’s too worried about our partnership to let it go but too stupid to realize I can see through him. It was the American from the restaurant, and apparently, he’s hunting me.”

  Khalid said, “Does this have anything to do with Ahmed?”

  Haider hadn’t considered that. He thought about it, then said, “I don’t see how. That was in Key West, Florida. The American is here, in Greece.”

  “Maybe it’s not just a single American. How well do you trust Secretary Billings?”

  “Enough. The logic makes no sense. If Billings had anything to do with it, why on earth tell me? No. He knows what it is, and he’s afraid of anything happening to me because it will hurt him. It’s no different than the tribal politics in Qatar.”

  Khalid nodded and said, “What do you want to do? You want me to interdict him?”

  “Secretary Billings? No, no. That is the last thing I want. Call Nikos. He found the man once. He can do so again. We will fight fire with fire.”

  27

  I sat back in disgust. “Are you telling me the greatest hackers in the United States inventory can’t get me a lead on Guy George? That he’s dropped off the face of the earth without a trace?”

  My favorite computer geek, Bartholomew Creedwater—Creed, in Taskforce parlance—said, “Pike, I can’t see into the guy’s head. As much as you think I’m God, I can’t penetrate the time-space continuum. I need a handle.”

  He glanced at Jennifer, making sure she knew that he was on his game and it wasn’t his fault.

  Creed was currently detailed to some computer operation involving North Korea, but when I’d been given this mission, I’d demanded his release, and Kurt had agreed. Creed was the best we had, and not averse to bending the rules, something I was sure I’d need on this shitty assignment. But he also had an unremitting crush on Jennifer, which annoyed the hell out of me.

  She treated him like a little brother, and he responded to the attention. A couple of years ago, he’d seen her do some pretty incredible commando stuff on a mission in Colorado, and he’d fallen head over heels for her, thinking he was looking at the incarnation of the Black Widow from an Avengers movie. It was a little pathetic, but when I’d made a joke about it to Jennifer, she’d taken offense, calling me a bully. So now I had to endure his clumsy attempts at getting into her pants if I wanted his help.

  Okay, that’s not entirely true. I was willing to dangle Jennifer to get what I wanted. It’s called leadership.

  I said, “Come on, we own every bit of data on the guy. Surely you can find something. He’s had to use a credit card, cell phone, bank account, or something.”

  “Pike, he’s not using anything associated with his identity. Outside of that cash withdrawal over a week ago, he’s done nothing. He’s a ghost.”

  “How in the hell do you guys manage to find terrorists with nothing but a name but can’t find this guy when we have his biometric data and every detail of his life?”

  Creed looked at me and said, “He’s well trained. He knows exactly what we’re looking for.”

  Which scared the hell out of me, because it told me he wasn’t just on a bender somewhere. If he had gone this far to hide his tracks, he was doing something bad. Stepping into the abyss. Once that path was crossed, it was very, very hard to come back. I knew, because I’d been there. And now I was supposed to put him down.

  I kept thinking of that Clint Eastwood movie from the ’90s. In the Line of Fire. Where the ex-CIA man and would-be assassin of the president says, “What you didn’t see, Frank, what you couldn’t possibly know is, they sent my best friend—my comrade-in-arms—to my home to kill me.”

  I’d always wondered who the real bad guy was in that movie. If maybe the assassin hadn’t been justified. Now I was going to find out. The hard way.

  I said, “Okay, okay, then we go to square one. Guy’s smart, I get that. Let’s use it against him. He’s got to operate, and we know he’s not using Taskforce kit, so what is he using? He’s going to have a drop phone, but it’ll be a smartphone. He’s going to use apps. He’s going to leverage COTS stuff—and we can track that.”

  Creed sank back, not wanting to give his answer, but he did. “Pike, you’re right. With the spyware embedded in most apps sending data to the host, we could find his location, but even with commercial stuff off the shelf, we have to know the name he’s using to sign in. We can’t hack an account without it. I can’t just dig into Apple and find a ghost. I have to know what I’m looking for. Or, in reverse, we have to know his phone IMEI so we can crack the app, but if we had that, we wouldn’t need the app.”

  I bunched my fists, and Jennifer stepped in, saying, “What about Taskforce apps? Has anyone downloaded those in the last few days?”

  The Taskforce had its own cloud, with a bunch of apps that could be downloaded in a pinch if an Operator had lost some Taskforce kit and was forced to use an in extremis capability. They were definitely more robust than anything on the civilian market, but Guy hadn’t used any of them. It was just one more backup to the backup in the Taskforce arsenal, and I’d already checked on their use.

  “No. Nothing downloaded in the last few days, but he knows we can track that stuff. All of them have malware embedded, waiting to be initiated in case of loss on an operation. He wouldn’t want the tether.”

  Jennifer nodded and kept at it. “Travel history? If he goes overseas, he’s got to use a passport, and that will be tied biometrically.”

  Glad for the break away from tech stuff, Creed said, “He hasn’t left the United States. At least not with his passport. And we know he hasn’t used any aliases from the Taskforce. They’re all accounted for.”

  Jennifer looked at me and said, “That’s something. At least we know he’s in the United States.”

  Creed beamed at the supposed compliment from his statement. I glared at him and said, “Bullshit. We know nothing. I’m telling you, this target is the worst we’ve ever seen. He’s smart, and he’s skilled. An absence of data is proof of nothing. Creed, build me a list of off-the-shelf spy apps for both Android and Apple. Not the stupid baby-cam crap. The good stuff. That’s what he’s going to use.”

  Jennifer said, “Pike, let’s not make this into something it’s not. He’s just an Operator. He’s not Creed.”

  Creed looked at her like a high schooler gazing at a woman in a cosplay outfit who’d deigned to say hello, completely undone by the compliment.

  I straightened up from staring at the computer and said, “Both of you listen to me, because it needs to be said. Guy George is every bit as good as me, and if he’s truly on the hunt, he’s going to figure out how to do it. Just like I would. Don’t underestimate him. Especially his capacity for violence.”

  Jennifer looked unconvinced.

  I said, “What did you think when we first met?”

  Trying to deflate the atmosphere, she said, “I thought you were a drunk.”

  I locked eyes with her and said, “What did you think in Guatemala? When the blood began to flow?”

  She got the point. I’d slaughtered many men to keep her alive, and I was sliding into the abyss even as I did it. Jennifer was the one who’d saved me from falling in completely. She kept her eyes on mine, then slowly said, “I thought you were death. But you were killing for a reason.”

  I nodded and said, “Yes, but he thinks he’s killing for a reason. That’s what we’re stopping, and I want to do it before Guy crosses a line he can’t come back from.”

  Guy had come in brash and strong to my old Special Mission Unit, with a background from both the Ranger Battalions and S
pecial Forces, walking up the military ladder of every unit worth a damn. He was one of those guys who just knew he was right, and was always fighting decisions because he had a better idea. You said left, he said right. If you had said right, he’d have said left. But he backed up the bravado with brains, strength, and skill. Not unlike me, before I knew better.

  After that, I’d recruited him to the Taskforce, knowing Kurt would never put him on my team because we were too much alike. I knew he’d feel that that much unbridled arrogance on a team could cause a catastrophic event, so my team got Decoy, and Guy had gone to Johnny’s team. In the end, it had been the right choice, as both teams flourished.

  To me, the obvious decision was to have Johnny tracking down his own man, but Kurt hadn’t seen it that way. The excuse was that Johnny’s team was already deployed, and pulling them back would endanger ongoing operations, but I knew better. Johnny was too close to Guy, and Kurt feared his emotions would prevent him from doing what was necessary. Left unsaid was just what that might be. Kurt could give excuses, but I understood I was chosen because I had served with the target as well, yet I wasn’t close enough to be clouded.

  I told myself that, though I wondered if Kurt, having seen me at my worst, believed I was the only person capable of solving the problem because of my past. Like I had crossed a line once before and because of it, I was capable of returning there if he asked for it.

  It was a thing I didn’t want to even think about, but it hovered in the room like the stench of a dead animal. I wondered if Kurt thought I’d execute because I was the best at this and he trusted me, or because I had no soul.

  It hurt.

  Yes, I knew the target, but that only increased my fear. Guy George had been born fighting. A towheaded, rangy guy from a broken home in a small town in Montana, he was raised on bull riding and beer drinking. Not exactly what the Taskforce was searching for when they wanted someone to blend in in Amman, Jordan, but then again, neither was I. We recruited for diversity, trying to find men who could swim among various populations without leaving a ripple, but skill outweighed any other consideration. I had seen him operate in hostile lands all over the globe, finding ways to get the mission done regardless of his pure American looks. He had proven to be a cunning predator. Just like me.

  And now I was hunting him. Possibly the only one in the room who knew the danger he truly represented.

  28

  I heard the door open behind me and saw Kurt enter, ripping down my little sign. He was followed by someone else.

  He held out the computer printout, which read ALEC STATION, saying, “I don’t see the humor. No jokes on this one.”

  Jennifer glared at me behind his back. When I’d hung the sign, she told me it was in poor taste, and, as usual, she was right. We’d been given our own top secret office to work our wonders searching for Guy, and I thought it had needed a name in case anyone came looking. Alec Station was the code name for the CIA’s counterterrorist cell that tracked Osama bin Laden before 9/11. Given our mission, I’d thought it was funny.

  Sheepishly, I took the paper and said, “Got it, sir.”

  He said, “Where do we stand?”

  “Well, in the ‘confirm or deny his location’ department, we’ve done a lot of denying and very little confirming. He hasn’t been to either his home of record in Montana or his condo in DC, and hasn’t used anything associated with his identity. No checks, credit cards, E-ZPass toll use, car rentals, plane tickets, nothing.”

  “And we’re sure he hasn’t stolen one of his alias documentation packages?”

  “Yep. Positive. He’s moving, but we don’t know how or where. He’s just disappeared.”

  The man behind him stepped out. When Kurt had entered, I naturally thought it was George Wolffe, his deputy, and now did a double take when I saw who it was. Nicholas Seacrest, looking lost, and hesitant to even be in the room.

  I said, “Well, well. If it isn’t Veep.” He grinned halfheartedly at his callsign, letting Jennifer hug him and awkwardly kiss him on the cheek. He freed himself from her embrace and shuffled from foot to foot. I looked at Kurt and said, “So he’s a go? You’re giving me permission to take him and show him the ropes?”

  Kurt said, “That’ll depend on whether you have any reason to use him or not.”

  I’d returned to DC about six hours after Jennifer’s little award ceremony. Kurt had told me about the death in Key West and then dropped the bombshell that he wanted me to form a cell and find Guy. He still didn’t believe that Guy would perform an extrajudicial killing, but he was covering his bases. I could tell a part of him was scared. Really scared.

  He told me whatever assets I wanted were mine, and I’d given him my requirements. He’d relented at Creed but had balked at the mention of Veep.

  Nicholas Seacrest was a Combat Controller—Air Force Special Operations—who had been taken hostage and held for ransom by a terrorist group. My team had been the one that had rescued him, and then he’d been instrumental in helping us rescue another hostage who meant a great deal to both me and Kurt. He’d performed very well under pressure, both in captivity and out, and when it was over, I’d subtly recruited him for the Taskforce, not saying anything to Kurt and never thinking he’d bite.

  He had, and the Oversight Council had gone ballistic—because he had a little bit of a pedigree. He was the vice president’s son. Which is why he was slapped with the callsign Veep.

  After some wrangling, he was allowed into Assessment and Selection, which he passed with flying colors, something I’d never doubted he would do, because I’m a scary judge of talent. Just ask Jennifer. He was now in the training pipeline, learning all sorts of Jason Bourne tradecraft to survive as an Operator in the Taskforce. It had been sort of an unspoken agreement that he was coming to my team when he finished his training, but because of this mission, I’d asked to pull him early. Kurt had drawn the line at that, or so I’d thought.

  A day ago, Kurt had said, “No way. He’s not even on probation status. He has to finish training first, then go through all the alias documentation procedures, and still has to deploy for his check ride on an orientation mission before even walking across the hall to a team. Three or four months easily.”

  I said, “Sir, one of the reasons you gave me this was because Johnny was too close to Guy. That cuts both ways. He couldn’t track Guy on the ground because Guy knows every one of his team members on sight. The same goes for me.”

  Kurt said, “Don’t build this up into an Omega mission. All I want you to do is talk to him. Bring him back to the Taskforce.”

  “I get that, but I might have to track him to do it. Find him on the ground and determine his state of mind. We’re not talking about a high school kid playing hooky. He failed to show up at his own brother’s memorial. Something’s not right, and you know it. I’m not going to run up to him at a bar and slap him on the back the first chance I get. I want to observe him first, and I need a clean team to do that.”

  “He doesn’t know Jennifer. He hasn’t met her, has he?”

  “No. I’ve got both Brett and Jennifer, who are clean, as far as I know. Knuckles is no good, but he’ll help when I approach him. I want to go two on one for that. But I need at least one more. Nick is squeaky clean, and he’s worked with me before. I don’t want someone from another team who I don’t know.”

  “Pike, I’m having a hard enough time just keeping him in training. The Council only agreed to let him attend the course. They still haven’t given permission for him to go operational. I’m taking it one step at a time, and broaching this now might mean he’s never coming to your team.”

  “What’s Hannister saying about it?”

  Philip Hannister was the vice president, and an Oversight Council member. While in the Air Force, Nicholas had taken his mother’s maiden name of Seacrest as a security precaution.

  “He’s good, from w
hat I can see. He’s not super comfortable with his son coming here, but it’s no worse than he was when Nick was in white SOF to begin with. He’s okay as a father. He’s never fought what his son wanted. It’s the professional connection that’s got the Council concerned.”

  “Go talk to Hannister. Him and the president. You can get them alone and get concurrence. When you first gave me this mission, you talked about the changes coming to the Taskforce because of the presidential election. Start planning for it. Hannister is running and very well might win. What better way to set the tone for the Taskforce under a new administration than having the son of the president inside it?”

  Kurt had raised an eyebrow and said, “I thought you hated the politics of the Oversight Council? Never want to get your hands dirty with the crap I have to deal with. That whole ‘all I want to do is operate’ thing is bullshit, huh?”

  I’d smiled. “No, I do hate it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. All I want to do is operate.”

  29

  Even after that conversation, I thought my idea had maybe a fifty-fifty chance of coming to fruition, but Kurt asking me if I had information worthy of employing the vice president’s son could mean only one thing.

  Nick looked slightly more relaxed after Jennifer pecked him on the cheek. I understood how he felt, given he was still in training. It didn’t matter how big a badass you thought you were, when you came into the Taskforce for the first time, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat inadequate. Especially if the commander of the entire organization pulled you from training. Nick probably thought he was getting fired.