Saber Down

by Harrison Kone

  A moment of silence passed between them, but Natalie remained unaffected. She kept her poised posture despite his downward gaze. The director stared at her disapprovingly, but only confidence radiated from the woman before him. He flattened his lips before continuing, “Considerable intelligence was recovered, and Al Amiri is confirmed dead. I also recognize that there was no way you could have anticipated such an attack, and I do applaud your flexibility. It is unfortunate that we lost so many talented officers. What I want to know is, how at fault are you, and did you respond to your situation in a way that is consistent with the agency’s policies?” Natalie firmed her resolve and readied herself.

  Caldwell knew that had he been in her shoes he would have chosen the same option. He liked to think that any field operative would have. It was only the benefit of hindsight that urged officials within and outside the agency to crucify her. Caldwell felt differently toward Natalie’s situation, and his harsh probing had confirmed his suspicions.

  She was worth keeping, but that decision wasn’t up to him.

  Caldwell felt Natalie held all the traits of a Cold War era officer. She displayed ruthless aggression toward her enemies. Caldwell recalled the drone footage; he and others held the belief that those insurgents were retreating, but Natalie had ordered their execution regardless of their intent. She also appeared to keep her cool in immense danger, returning fire and fighting alongside her security team, Marine Raiders, and SEALs during their extraction. At the same time, Caldwell could see she cared deeply for her fallen teammates, but that even now, she did not allow their deaths to cripple her. He saw immense value in her, and he wondered if the review committee would as well.

  Caldwell closed the reports and laced his fingers together. Natalie noted his worn hands.

  “This decision isn’t up to me, but know that if it was, I would keep you around,” he started. Natalie didn’t break his gaze, and he admired her for it. “However, your little trip to Dubai wasn’t as discrete as you had likely hoped.” Natalie’s palms moistened, and she resisted the urge to dry them on her pants. In that moment, her sweaty hands frustrated her. How had she endured Aden with such confidence but found herself nervous before her director? Deep down, she knew the committee held the power to end her career, a notion that seemed far worse than dying in service to her country.

  Caldwell studied her expressions, mentally interrogating her. He knew what she had sought in Dubai. “What were you doing there?”

  “Vacation, sir,” she replied.

  “Vacation,” he murmured. Natalie immediately knew he wasn’t buying the ruse. “Whether you are aware of this or not, Ms. Hale, your good reputation did not survive Yemen. Your actions in Tehran heralded you as an agency hero, but Langley is fickle, staffed by too many who have never borne what we have endured.” His eyes glimmered as he recounted his covert past. Natalie knew Caldwell’s biography all too well. The vast majority of the redacted reports on his fieldwork listed operations in East Berlin before the wall fell and Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation. “We are a unique breed, Ms. Hale, willing to do and sacrifice everything for the mission.” A lump formed in her throat; she did not place herself in that same fraternity.

  “What happens now?” she interjected. The left corner of Caldwell’s mouth curled upward. Was she nervous or simply apathetic? He couldn’t tell, but he hoped for the latter. It showed strength.

  “There will be a frustratingly long review process. Our agency will review the case, and SOCOM will review the case, the Senate Intelligence Committee will likely want to get their hands on it as well. We’re looking at months, if we’re lucky, but in the interim, I have no choice but to place you on administrative leave,” he said flatly. Again, her expression didn’t reveal anything he sought. It almost frustrated him, but he found himself more impressed than anything. Although collected on the outside, Natalie swirled in turmoil on the inside.

  She had left the Navy for the CIA solely for the ability to do more than the military allowed. As she recounted her decade long career with the agency, she recalled her training at what was mysteriously termed “The Farm,” her first assignment in Belarus to her narrow escape in Tehran, and her most recent operations in Yemen. She hadn’t lived stateside in nearly eight years. Natalie had heard the stories of the CIA tossing their people aside in such a manner as she now experienced, but she never thought that it would happen to her. However, she would endure the humiliation with grit and determination. Before she could think about future options, Caldwell spoke again.

  “I know you went to Dubai seeking Francisco Silva. File an expense report, and I’ll see to it that your bill is covered,” he said. Natalie studied him and then slowly nodded.

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied.

  “Of course, Ms. Hale,” he paused a moment, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it; this looks bad for you. I would encourage you to begin your job search now.”

  “I understand, sir,” Natalie replied. She hid the defeat that attempted to fill her tone.

  In a brief moment, she reflected on her career. Like many, she was at first disillusioned with what operations officers were. Hollywood had taken many liberties with the so-called CIA agents in their productions. Natalie later found out that as an officer she would recruit, manage, and support foreign agents in the effort to gain vital intelligence to protect the United States. She herself wasn’t an agent but a case manager of sorts at the highest level of risk and reward, life and death.

  “Do you have any questions?” Caldwell asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you’re free to go,” Caldwell stated. Natalie calmly rose from her chair, squared her shoulders, and moved toward the door. “Ms. Hale,” he called. Natalie turned. “You’ll not want to miss any of your hearings.” The message was clear enough. This was her last chance, and she knew that all too well.

  “Of course, sir,” she replied before she exited through the open door.

  Natalie’s thoughts whirled as she walked the halls of the Central Intelligence Agency Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Nothing had changed for her. Silva was out there, and Natalie had already resolved to go after him regardless of the meeting’s outcome. She knew a man who would jump at the opportunity to help, and she needed to move fast to secure assets before word of her administrative leave blocked her from doing so.

  22

  Arlington, Virginia

  The green grass softened under his feet as the man strode across the field. Marble headstones rested in meticulous rows, standing at attention within the strict and solemn formation. Fog hung low, and the moisture sparkled as the morning sun cut through the mystical haze. The man stopped in front of an impeccably shaped tombstone. The dark letters honored the man beneath the consecrated soil. He beheld the cross before his eyes traced down the rest of the writing.

  KYLE E

  REYES

  CPL

  US MARINE CORPS

  AFGHANISTAN

  JUNE 26 1994

  AUG 8 2020

  OPERATION ENDURING

  FREEDOM

  Shaw immediately snapped his eyes upward as they watered. He placed his hand atop the stone.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he lamented. “I should have been.” The fall breeze picked up, prickling Shaw’s skin. He glanced back at Reyes’ name and removed his hand. “I’m working on something though,” he continued, “Francisco Silva is the name of the arms dealer who sold Al Amiri the Stingers that shot down your helicopter. I’m going to get him. For you, for York, and the rest of the guys. I promise.” He paused, allowing the weight of his promise to permeate the air around him.

  “And there’s this woman, Natalie,” Shaw continued. He grinned as he thought of her. “You’d like her. She’s tough, like your Sara, and she’s smart; a real fighter. I can’t seem to keep my mind off her, you know?” He hesitated for a long moment as he remembered the day in Afghanistan when he risked his own life to save Reyes. How he wished he could trade
places with him now. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I guess I know that she may be the only hope I have at finding Silva, or maybe I’m just into her, I don’t know.” Silence radiated from the headstone, and Shaw didn’t speak for a long time.

  The Raider inhaled sharply. “Your son was born. Sara wanted me there at the hospital; she let me hold him.” Tears rolled down his face and into his beard. “He’s a healthy little man,” Shaw managed. His mind arched back to that day.

  “What will you name him?” Shaw had asked Sara as he gazed upon the boy’s face. He had slept soundly in Shaw’s arms with one small hand pressed against his bronze cheek.

  “David,” Sara Reyes replied without hesitation. Shaw’s face had whitened.

  “No,” he had answered, not sure of what else to say. Sara had smiled at him as he held her son.

  “It’s what Kyle wanted,” she had said. When Shaw had met her eyes, it was the first time she had seen him cry. As he gazed upon Reyes’ child, he had smiled.

  “Hey, David,” he had greeted affectionately. The Marine had never been so honored as in the moment he held David Kyle Reyes.

  As Shaw’s mind returned to the present, a wave of emotion rolled over him. He fell into a crouch and put a hand on the grass to steady himself. He wept for a long time. All the emotions he had buried while in Yemen and buried again to remain strong for the families of the fallen exploded from his chest. He cried for them all: York, Reyes, Beasley, Adams, Neeman, and the others he had the honor to serve beside.

  Shaw recovered and wiped his face. Mucus ran into his mustache. He exhaled and turned his red eyes back to the headstone. The Marine pressed his palm against the cold marble.

  “I love you, bro, and I’ll take care of Sara and little David for you.” He waited a moment, hoping Reyes had heard his words, before he stood and turned away. His eyes widened in surprise, and he rocked back on his heels as he gazed upon her. A smile broke across Shaw’s face as he beheld the woman standing in front of him. He immediately wondered how long she had been standing there.

  Her green eyes gleamed against her tanned complexion, and a myriad of freckles dotted her face in mature and dazzling beauty. The woman’s dark hair, highlighted with streaks of light brown, tumbled down her shoulders in thick waves, and her slender facial features all dwelled together in perfect proportion. Her neck sloped softly into a foundation of defined collarbones that also appeared decorated with the alluring freckles.

  She wore a form-fitting, black pantsuit with flared legs, which almost touched the grass, and an olive blouse with a scalloped neckline, which made her eyes glow even greener.

  “Hey, Natalie,” Shaw greeted. In truth, he had to catch his breath upon seeing her and hoped she hadn’t noticed.

  “It’s good to see you again, David,” she said. “I thought I might find you here.” She offered him a consoling smile before shifting her eyes to the tombstone. Shaw half turned and followed her gaze.

  “How did you know I was here?” he asked.

  “I called Major King.”

  “I’m glad to know he’ll just give my location out on a whim,” he joked. Natalie smiled again. She noted his puffy, red eyes, and her heart ached for him. She knew the feeling all too well.

  “Well, I did tell him I was on agency business regarding a matter of national security,” she replied.

  “Of course you did.” Natalie felt a bit vulnerable under his gaze. It was the look of a man who beheld something of great worth. “So, is this a social call or business?”

  “Both,” she replied. Shaw nodded his head.

  “How much of that did you hear?” he asked.

  “Enough,” she answered, wearing an excited and knowing smile.

  23

  Atlanta, Georgia

  The morning sun breathed through the apartment window, and rush hour traffic honked below as commuters navigated their usual routes. The previous evening’s clothes lay strewn about the small studio apartment at Post Centennial Park. The sun kissed Wyatt’s eyelids, and he awoke, inhaling deeply. Kathryn lay nestled next to him, and his arm, fully numb, lay underneath her head. The limb slowly came back to life as he moved his fingers, and the intense tingling radiated up the extremity with each movement.

  Careful not to wake her, he slid his arm out from underneath her and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked affectionately upon her and stroked her cheek tenderly. The Raider then stood and stretched his arms over his head. He moved lazily over to the large windows and gazed upon the Atlanta skyline. He really couldn’t believe the location of Kathryn’s apartment. From her top floor studio, Wyatt beheld the entirety of Centennial Park, the home of the 1996 Olympics. His eyes fell on the Georgia Aquarium, the World of Coke, and the Center for Civil and Human Rights. Not far in the distance, the CNN headquarters loomed, its bright red letters easily visible. He had only been to Atlanta once before and couldn’t deny the energy and excitement that seemed to radiate from the city.

  He turned around and smiled as his blue irises again dwelled on her. He could not deny the beauty of the Atlanta skyline, but the beauty before him stirred his heart like nothing else he had ever seen. A strand of her wheat hair lay draped across her face, which now lay directly on the mattress. Her full lips seemed to call to him. He returned to her, cupped her chin in his hand, and gently kissed her. Kathryn smiled as he pulled away.

  “Hey, you,” she said. Her words, like a warm melody, stirred his heart, and he found himself out of breath.

  “Hey,” he managed. She kept her eyes closed but offered him a wide smile.

  “What are you up to?” Kathryn asked.

  “I was thinking of taking a shower,” he replied. Her large, blue eyes opened and gazed into his.

  “That sounds nice,” she said as she stretched and inhaled before yawning.

  • • •

  Later that morning, the two strolled through Centennial Park arm in arm. Kathryn beamed while at his side. The last two months had been surreal, and they were both delighted to find their relationship had not diminished upon returning to normalcy. They both enjoyed much needed leave from their employment. Wyatt, having lost his entire team, was placed on mandatory leave and instructed to check in weekly with an assigned shrink. He supposed the Marine Corps feared he might hurt himself, but no thought had once entered his mind.

  CNN had provided Kathryn all the support the company could muster, not only did they offer Kathryn three months of paid leave, they more than compensated her for the trauma she had undergone. In addition to monetary compensation, they paid for her to see a private psychiatrist on a weekly basis. No doubt they felt she sat on the story of the year and would do all they could to keep her happy.

  After Wyatt’s debrief and evaluation at Camp Lejeune, Kathryn had invited him to stay with her through the duration of his leave. Thrilled, the Raider had accepted without another thought. Together, Kathryn introduced Wyatt to the best Atlanta had to offer, and so far, his favorite attraction was the Beluga exhibit at the Georgia Aquarium.

  “What would you like to do today?” he asked her as they strolled. She didn’t immediately answer but bit her bottom lip. “What?” he probed, wearing a smile.

  “It’s dumb,” she answered.

  “Tell me,” he insisted. Kathryn smiled as she fought through the sheepish feeling. She didn’t know why she felt that way; it just seemed strange to ask for such a request.

  “Will you take me to buy a gun?” The question took Wyatt by surprise, but the Marine nearly jumped for joy when she asked.

  “What kind of Marine would I be if I didn’t?” She laughed and hugged him tightly. “Let me find a good place, and we’ll head that way.”

  • • •

  “What’s this place called?” Kathryn asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

  “Stoddard’s,” Wyatt replied. The gun store and range, found on Bishop St NW in between the Atlantic Station and Berkley Park neighborhoods and just south of Loring Heights,
had met all of Wyatt’s criteria. Their professional appearance, great reviews, and a large selection of self-defense firearms proved them to be the best option in the immediate area, and, to top it off, it wasn’t a far drive from Kathryn’s apartment.

  Kathryn parked, and the two entered the brick building. Upon entry, Kathryn’s eyes popped.

  “I didn’t know places like this existed,” she said. Wyatt grinned.

  “Yeah,” he replied, marveling at what the store had to offer, “this place is nice.” The industrial interior impressed him, and he especially enjoyed the exposed metal joists and trusses. The spacious layout pleased him as well, and the lighting highlighted the space in all the right places, which made it feel much larger. Kathryn, although a bit intimidated, found the establishment warm and inviting.

  “Good morning,” a man greeted from behind the gun counter. Wyatt returned a grin and headed his way. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “My girlfriend would like to purchase her first gun,” the Marine answered. Kathryn’s face lit up at the mention of the term.

  “Awesome,” the man said. He turned his attention her way, “you looking for a rifle, a pistol, shotgun?” his voice trailed off as he awaited her response.

  “A pistol,” she replied. She didn’t look at Wyatt for confirmation; she knew what she wanted.

  “Right this way,” he said.

  “So I’m your girlfriend now?” Kathryn whispered in Wyatt’s ear.

  “If you want to be,” he replied. She blushed.

  “I do.” She slid her hand into his as they followed the salesman to a section of the gun counter.

  “I’m George, by the way,” the salesmen said.

  “Nice to meet you, George. I’m Kathryn. This is John.”

  “Great, well what kind of pistol are you looking for or should we just run through them?”

  “I want a Glock 19 Gen 4,” she replied. George’s eyebrows snapped upward. She noted his surprised expression. “What?” she asked.