Hidden Threat

by Anthony Tata

  Eversoll saw the second MH-47 come hurtling in toward the very same landing zone the first helicopter had tried. As the aircraft slowed and flared in its descent, the ramp was already down. Four men spilled out of the aircraft to the left and three to the right. About the time Eversoll noticed two men running straight off the back ramp, snow enveloped the entire helicopter.

  “That has to be Colonel Garrett and Sergeant Honeywell,” Eversoll said with conviction.

  “I agree. Honeywell’s the biggest soldier we’ve got, and Garrett’s the kind of guy who would go get Jergens. The radio transmissions tell us that Colonel Garrett ordered Rampage to continue to isolate the enemy. We heard the MH-47 pilots from Garrett’s aircraft tell the pilots from the first aircraft that they were recovering Jergens and then aborting the mission.”

  The video streams continued. The AC-130 was clearly focused on destroying the enemy, though they seemed to be able to find good cover and then rush for a few seconds, finding good protection again. The UAV video was solely focused on the helicopter. The blurring white snow would fade just a second and then become thicker than before. Eversoll could clearly see Colonel Garrett emerge from the whiteout with Honeywell at his side.

  Honeywell stopped to shoot as the colonel rushed toward a dark spot in the snow—the man that was probably Jergens. The UAV operator must have zoomed in during this section of the film, because Eversoll could see Colonel Garrett clearly now, yelling and shaking something near his chest. Suddenly a suicide Al Qaeda slipped through Rampage’s wall of fire, leaping over the rock providing cover for the two Americans. Eversoll clenched his fists in pride as Colonel Garrett whipped out his knife and impaled the would-be attacker on its sharp edge. Colonel Garrett quickly slipped Jergens into a fireman’s carry. Jergens was firing his M4 as best he could. They ran past Honeywell, who then began to backpedal.

  “Way to go, sir,” Eversoll whispered. He noticed he was sweating now. The film was coming to the part he wasn’t sure he was ready to see. He remembered seeing replays of the Challenger shuttle explosion, and even though he had only been one or two when the tragedy had occurred, he still found it hard to watch. There was something unsettling to him about the confirmation that comes with witnessing the moment of tragic death.

  Honeywell, Jergens, and Colonel Garrett all reentered the snow haze around the aircraft. The AC-130 tape remained focused on the Al Qaeda fighters. Eversoll could see about twelve dark masses lying on the ground, presumably dead. On the UAV video, the whiteout had ebbed enough for him to see Honeywell leap up onto the ramp, pulling the wounded Jergens from Colonel Garrett’s shoulders.

  Eversoll found himself thinking, What could go wrong; the hard part is over? Just take off. He was clutching the table now with both of his hands. He felt Rampert’s hand on his shoulder.

  The whiteout reappeared in full force, blocking any visibility from the video feed as the MH-47 throttled up and began to torque straight up into the sky. The video followed the aircraft up, watching it nose forward over the ledge and speed off, ramp still open.

  “They’re away—”

  The UAV video suddenly erupted with a billowing, grey and white image when the MH-47 exploded just above the landing zone. Burning pieces of the debris wafted into the deep crevice beyond the mountaintop.

  Eversoll pushed away from the table and stood up. “Where did that come from?”

  Rampert looked at him. “Do you really want to know, son?”

  He was afraid for his commander. He was personally devastated. “Yes, sir. Damn right I do.”

  “Rerun it, VD,” Rampert said to Van Dreeves, sitting in the dark corner of the room.

  The video picked up again where Eversoll could see Honeywell on the ramp, Jergens being flopped onto the ramp, and Colonel Garrett on one knee in the snow. The operator had enlarged the picture. It wasn’t great, but it was good enough to see the three men through the snow tornado created by the rotor blades. As the aircraft lifted off, the whiteout thickened, and there was no way to tell what happened next.

  “Stop it,” Rampert ordered. “See there. That’s got to be Colonel Garrett getting on the aircraft.”

  Eversoll followed Rampert’s green laser. Through the snow, it was possible to make out a dark mass moving quickly onto the aircraft. As the video played in slow motion, the aircraft took off, nosed over, and then two streaks of light cut across the feed from right to left. Then the helicopter exploded.

  “Those could be RPGs or maybe even surface to air missiles,” Rampert said. “We’re not really sure. There could have even been an explosion inside the aircraft.”

  Eversoll sat speechless for a moment. On one hand it seemed undeniable. Colonel Garrett was on the aircraft, and it exploded, killing him and the rest of his friends.

  “Sir, does the UAV ever go back to the landing zone?”

  “No. It follows the aircraft into the gorge. Why?”

  “How about Rampage?”

  “Watch it,” he said, motioning.

  The AC-130 video continued to focus on the enemy that seemed to come pouring from nowhere. There were at least thirty on the mountaintop, cheering wildly as the helicopter exploded. Rampage’s 105 rounds expedited their meeting with Allah.

  “So, nothing ever gets back to the landing zone? The UAV and the AC-130, they never look at the LZ? Rampage couldn’t have killed everyone up there.” Eversoll’s mind was in high gear.

  “No, but we killed about forty AQ. Rampage had to break station about five minutes after this. They were out of gas. The team that went in Saturday afternoon saw some blood trails and a lot of shell casings from the firefight. That’s about it, son.” Rampert paused, then continued. “We never kill them all, that’s for sure. And there’s a cave complex up there. That’s where all those guys came from. I think we were onto something.”

  “But we don’t know for sure that Colonel Garrett got on that helicopter, General.”

  “We know it, son. It’s hard for me to accept, too, but we know it.”

  “The last image in the video that we know for sure is that of Colonel Garrett was on the ground.”

  “We found his dog tags in the wreckage, son.” Rampert stood. “We’ll talk more about this later. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  Eversoll stood, thanked the general and walked out.

  As Eversoll departed, Rampert looked at Van Dreeves and said, “The real question is did he leave behind what he needed to?”

  Van Dreeves looked at the general and said, “Actually, we can be pretty sure of that. What we really need to know is if the bad guys found it.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Spartanburg, South Carolina

  Sunday Evening

  The major sitting across from her had a serious tone. They had returned from their earlier visit in the morning in accordance with military protocol. He was now there to tell her about what her father had left behind, facts and figures that she really didn’t care about. But when Amanda Garrett heard him say, “Five hundred thousand dollars,” her heart skipped a beat.

  “Surely that’s not all for me?” she said.

  “Ma’am, Colonel Garrett left you that much money. It was every bit of his life insurance. He had savings accounts out of which we are paying for things such as his mortgage in North Carolina and other expenses. This money is yours.” The major looked away briefly.

  Amanda was dressed in a black pantsuit that her mother had purchased. “You’re in mourning and we need you to appear to be,” she had said. Amanda and the major sat in the dining room, papers spread out between them. Nina Hastings watched from the living room, while Amanda’s mother sat pensively at the other end of the table.

  Amanda looked at her mother, whom she caught eyeing Nina at the sound of the words “Five hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Why would he do that? I hated him. I couldn’t even stand for him to be around, and he leaves me all of this? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, clearly, ma’am, he didn
’t hate you,” the major said.

  “I think what Amanda is trying to say,” her mother chirped, “is that relations between her and her father had been strained in recent years.”

  “Strained? You wouldn’t let me—”

  Nina Hastings raised a hand and said, “Child, we’ll have none of that. Your father’s dead, and it isn’t right to talk about him like this.”

  Major Blair and the chaplain exchanged glances. Perhaps they had seen it before; Amanda didn’t know.

  “When does Amanda get the money?” Melanie Garrett asked.

  “Well, there’s one catch,” Major Blair said.

  “I knew it,” Nina muttered under her breath. Amanda turned and looked at her and then back at the major.

  “Amanda, you’re not eighteen yet.” The major clearly preferred talking to her as opposed to her mother or grandmother. She watched her mother out of the corner of her eye as the major began to speak. Her face was twitching, as if she was trying to not smile. Interesting. The major reached across the table and touched Amanda’s hand lightly.

  “Your father put a stipulation in his will that if you were under eighteen when he passed, you’d have to talk to someone before receiving the money. And then, on your eighteenth birthday, the insurance would be paid out to you. Because he passed before you turned eighteen, this stipulation endures. You must comply with it to receive the death gratuity. In other words, even after you turn eighteen, you have to follow the instructions as detailed by your father if you wish to receive the money.”

  “What is this?” Melanie Garrett spat. “Some cruel joke from beyond the grave? He has to manipulate Amanda even when he’s gone, is that it? I’m getting a lawyer here now!” Amanda’s mother jumped up from the table, knocking some of the papers onto the floor.

  “Just goes to figure,” Nina Hastings said, shaking her head.

  Amanda sat in her chair and looked at the major. “I turn eighteen the day after graduation. That’s two weeks. Who do I need to talk to?”

  Major Blair handed her an envelope. “The name and address are in here with some other instructions. This has all been thoroughly checked out by our judge advocate general. That’s a military term for a lawyer. Colonel Garrett obviously put a lot of thought into this, ma’am. The least you can do is to follow it through.”

  “And if I don’t?” Amanda removed her hand from the major’s light grasp.

  “He has named a secondary beneficiary, whose name I cannot disclose.”

  “I heard that!” Melanie Garrett was back now, pointing her finger at the major. “I heard that bullshit. He’s breaking his court order. He was supposed to always keep at least one hundred thousand dollars life insurance on her until she was eighteen.”

  “Ma’am, I don’t think this is helpful. Our lawyers, as I mentioned, have looked at this. His last child support payment to you was at the beginning of this month. He used that date as the date to—”

  “The effective date is her birthday!” Nina Hastings had joined the fray. “He can’t do that!”

  Amanda watched her mother and grandmother circle like hawks around the major and chaplain. Each would take turns diving and swiping their talons at the two uniformed officers. She let it go on for about two minutes, then stood and screamed, “Stop it!”

  She stared at her mother and then turned toward her grandmother. “Stop it!”

  Amanda Garrett took the envelope the major had passed her, turned and bolted up the stairs, leaving the others frozen in time, as if in a wax museum, staring at her as she fled.

  She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. This is crazy. Five hundred thousand dollars?

  She found her cell phone, dialed, and said, “Hey, can you come get me. I need to talk to you.”

  ***

  Nina Hastings looked at her daughter, Melanie Garrett, from across the dining room table with a purposeful stare.

  “Well, what are you going to do?” Her voice had the tenor of a high-pitched fire engine alarm, both pleading and accusatory at once.

  “About what, Mother?”

  “What do you mean, about what? You have no idea what’s going on with this situation, and you know you stand a good chance of getting screwed out of that money. Probably Amanda, too.”

  “I know, Mama. I have a plan.” And she did. Melanie quickly conjured an image of the mansion at The Cliffs on Keowee Falls. The idea had been careening around in her mind for months, and she figured that this was the last best chance to do something about it.

  “I’ve been right all along about him. Ever since Amanda was born. I knew he was bad news. Thank God I was standing right there when she came into this world.” She looked away through the window as if staring at an apparition. In a lower voice not necessarily directed at Melanie, she continued, “God sure gave me what I wanted.”

  Melanie shot her mother a glance. Whose life was she living, Melanie wondered, hers or her mother’s?

  “You’ve got to remind Amanda who raised her. You’ve got to keep repeating it so that she understands. She needs to know in her heart that it was us.” Nina was punching her chest with a wrinkled finger.

  “Mama, just let me work this, okay? It will all be under control. Things are moving fast, and I’m just trying to sort everything out. I’ve got my eye on a few things, so trust me when I say that the insurance money will work itself out.”

  “Work itself out? How dare you! How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t get anything out of life that you don’t take? Everything’s already been had; it just moves around, and you have to go after it.” Nina uncrossed her arms and hovered next to her daughter. “I spend my entire life raising you and then raising Amanda, and you have the nerve to challenge me at this time?” She leaned across the table. “The money is the only thing that loser will have ever produced for you or Amanda. If you don’t get that, then what was it all for?”

  “What was it all for, Mother?”

  “What are you talking about? Wasn’t it me that encouraged you to move back here instead of uprooting every two or three years? Wasn’t it me that supported you when we had to go to court to get more child support? Wasn’t it me that wined and dined the judge of your divorce case so that you could get the best deal? Who did you live with after the divorce? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Melanie dropped her head. She had heard it all before so many times.

  “You’re right, Mama, you’ve been there for me and Amanda.”

  “You’re damn right I have. Now is not the time to forget it. We’ve got to make sure we get that money . . . for Amanda’s sake.” Nina then changed her inflection, having won her point. “Poor, innocent Amanda. No father to take care of her. Just like me and you,” she cooed in almost mocking tones.

  Melanie could relate. Gabrielle Hastings, her mother, had been married to four different men. Her big takeaway from those years was that each time her mother divorced, they somehow wound up in a bigger house and with a new car. In the confusing world of a teenage girl, one thing was very clear: feelings were fleeting, unimportant, while material things and status were enduring. Her mother’s comment made her think about her own father.

  Jack Clarke had been raised in South Carolina the son of a farmer, land merchant, and general businessman. Jack had graduated from the University of South Carolina with a business management degree and had fallen in love with young Gabrielle Williams, also from a small Southern town. As a Gamecock freshman, so the story went, her mother had made herself popular with the boys early in her college career. Having neither the interest nor the patience for college, she trolled the fraternity houses and found a willing graduating senior in Jack Clarke. Before long, she was pregnant, and she married quickly soon after.

  Melanie had been about ten years old when suddenly her father had disappeared. It was a few months later that she learned her parents had separated. She later heard from her mother that Jack Clarke, which is how she referred to him now, had had a male pa
ramour. While Melanie had never seen her father with another man, the rumor had taken flight and was generally accepted as fact in Columbia, South Carolina, where they were living at the time.

  She had no relationship with him today, nor did she care to. Adapting well to the lifestyle for which she had been trained, Melanie Garrett had discarded long ago any notion of what a father might be.

  Likewise, she had watched her mother rotate through husbands the way some people flip real estate for profit. Melanie mused that it was not a bad gig if you could remove the emotion from the situation; everyone had to be a means to your end.

  So, in the final analysis, Melanie viewed men, whether they were fathers or husbands, through a sterile prism devoid of any emotion. In a way, she had inherited the family business and had proven herself a worthy heir.

  Coming back to the moment, Melanie sighed. “Maybe I can call Mark Russell, the lawyer that I arranged to help out Kimmie Carpenter,” she said absently.

  Her mother stared at her a moment, indicating she was unclear on what Melanie was discussing.

  “You know, the case where her ex-husband lost two legs in Iraq, and the Army reclassified his retirement pay as disability pay, which meant she didn’t get her fifty percent.”

  “Yeah, I remember, but I thought it was because they were only married a few years.”

  Melanie chuckled, back in stride. “Well, that’s the law, but it doesn’t matter. There’s plenty of ways around that. And the nerve of those bastards to try and steal that money from her.”

  “Who won the case?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Russell took them to the cleaners. He argued that the Army had world-class medical care—her ex would be able to enjoy that for life—and prosthetic limbs were so high tech today that most people could hardly tell the difference anymore. Kimmie told me that they were trying the old whiplash trick where, instead of wearing the fake neck brace, every day in court her ex would show up in a wheelchair or using crutches. The nerve.”

  “Who was the judge? That’s what makes the real difference. If we could get Russell and that judge lined up—”