Saber Down

by Harrison Kone

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?” His frantic questioning drew a slight laugh of relief from Kathryn’s lips. She pressed herself into his chest, and he kissed the top of her head. Immediately, sobs issued forth uncontrollably, and her knees buckled. Wyatt caught her and slowly guided her down to the floor. He sat with her as she cried.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” she managed. She pulled away and inhaled sharply to clear her nose. Wyatt curled her hair behind her ear and kissed her. She threw her arms around his neck, and her tears saturated his face. Wyatt found himself breathless as they parted, and relief swept over him in a way he had never before experienced. Anger followed on a riptide of emotion, and everyone heard the searing hate in his voice when he asked, “Who did this?”

  “A man named Griffin Carney,” Detective Edwards stated. His words drew Wyatt’s attention. “If you’ll accompany me into my office, I can go over everything with you and Ms. Byrd.”

  Once in the office, Wyatt listened as Kathryn repeated the story she had shared with Edwards, and Edwards filled in the gaps regarding the cases to which his department had tied the villain.

  “It’s a pretty cut and dry case. No charges will be pressed against Ms. Byrd, and therefore, there is nothing more to do. It’s closed,” Edwards explained.

  “Thank you, Detective,” Wyatt said. “I appreciate your assistance. Is Kathryn free to go?”

  “Yes, I can show you both out,” he replied. He stood and motioned toward the door. Wyatt helped Kathryn to her feet, and the two followed the detective.

  Before he saw them outside, Detective Edwards presented Kathryn with his card should she need his assistance in any way. Wyatt led her down the stairs to an awaiting beige Chevrolet Suburban.

  “Who’s is this?” Kathryn asked.

  “It’s a rental,” Wyatt replied. “We’ve already got a plan. We just need to know everything you know,” he said. “The stuff you didn’t tell Edwards.” He opened the rear door for her, she scooted in, and Wyatt followed her.

  “Hi, Kathryn,” Shaw greeted from his seat behind the wheel.

  “Hi,” she greeted back.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as Shaw started the engine. She briefly flashed back to Yemen.

  “Your place,” Wyatt replied.

  “What for?” she asked, alarmed.

  “To pack you a bag and retrieve your vehicle,” Shaw answered. “It’s too coincidental that they tried to kill you.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know,” Wyatt said. Kathryn didn’t agree, but she didn’t press the point.

  Shaw followed Kathryn’s directions, and they soon found themselves sitting idle in the parking deck of the Post Centennial Park apartment complex.

  “Stay here. I’m going to head up with Shaw and be right back,” Wyatt said to Kathryn. He presented her with his issued Glock 19 pistol. She gripped it confidently.

  “Alright,” she replied with an accompanying nod. She handed him her key and offered him a kiss before he exited the vehicle.

  Shaw and Wyatt worked fast once they entered the bloodstained apartment. Shaw watched and remained alert as Wyatt rummaged through the studio packing Kathryn a bag. He retrieved ample clothing and toiletries for an extended duration away and made sure to grab one of her wool, winter coats. Lastly, he snatched up the keys to her CR-V before turning to face Shaw.

  “You got everything?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I can pick up anything else that we might need,” Wyatt replied. Shaw nodded, and the two men left and made their way back to the parking deck.

  Wyatt found the CR-V in the parking deck and tossed Kathryn’s bag in the back seat as Shaw moved to retrieve Kathryn from the SUV. Wyatt returned, unloaded his weapons case from the rear of the SUV, and stowed one section of the CR-V’s back seats in order to make room for it. Satisfied, he led Kathryn to the passenger’s seat and closed the door before turning toward Shaw, hopefully not for the last time.

  “And you’re sure about this?” Shaw asked, “I want you there with me.”

  “I know, but I can’t explain it. I’ve never felt this way before. I can’t lose her,” the Raider explained.

  “You keep your head on a swivel.”

  “You too.”

  “Tell Natalie that I owe her big for this,” Wyatt stated.

  “Just keep her safe.”

  “I will,” Wyatt said. He moved to embrace his dearest friend before moving toward the driver’s seat. He paused before he opened the door. “David,” he started, pausing to muster his next words, “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize, John. I know you’re doing the right thing,” Shaw replied. Wyatt rolled his lips inward and nodded. It felt strange choosing Kathryn over Shaw, but the feeling was more natural than any other he had experienced. Was he betraying his fallen brothers by not seeing this through? The thought unnerved him, but he quickly realized that protecting Kathryn was just as much part of the mission as finding Weber. York and Reyes had died to protect her, and he couldn’t dishonor their sacrifice for revenge. “Hey, Boss?” Wyatt started again. Shaw having made his way back to the SUV stopped and turned to face him. He recognized the shift in Wyatt’s tone. He was addressing his captain now. “Kill that bastard.”

  Shaw offered him a nod before he disappeared behind the SUV. Wyatt turned toward Kathryn’s CRV, and as soon as he closed the door, Kathryn’s first question spilled out, “where are we going?”

  “Shenandoah,” he replied. “Natalie secured a cabin for us to wait this thing out.”

  “She owns a place in Shenandoah?”

  “No, it belongs to a senator she knew from her time in the Navy, or something like that,” Wyatt explained. He pressed the push-start button, threw the car in gear, and left the parking deck and Atlanta behind them.

  Shaw sat in the driver’s seat of the Suburban, having watched Wyatt and Kathryn leave in the rearview mirror. He checked his cellphone.

  Natalie had not checked in.

  And that alarmed him.

  42

  Natalie’s head rolled to the side as she fought her way back toward consciousness. What had happened? She remembered riding in the vehicle with Roark on her way to see Director Caldwell, when …

  Her eyes widened.

  She recalled Roark’s quick movement and the needle stabbing into the side of her neck. She had attempted to fight back, but the dizzying darkness came too quickly.

  The operations officer glanced around the room. Cream-colored tiles lined the floors and walls, and the ceiling above her matched. She tried to move her hands but found them bound together. Her legs, in like manner, lay fastened tightly together. On what was she laying? She turned her head from side to side. It was a glass and metal gurney of some sort, and she suddenly noticed the intense heat radiating from behind the square metal door to her right. Dread suddenly gripped her throat.

  She was in a crematorium.

  The door at the far end of the room opened, and Roark strode in pushing another cart upon which rested a rudimentary coffin. He paused when their eyes met, and he smirked.

  “You shouldn’t be awake,” he stated. He contemplated his options then grinned. “But since you are … ” He wheeled the cart forward, parked it next to the cremation chamber, and approached her. His loins stirred as he looked at her. Natalie attempted to wiggle away, but his rough hands seized her.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, her alarm evident in her tone. His hand stroked her hair, and his eyes traced down her body.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Ms. Hale,” Roark said, his breath hot on her face.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’ve got my orders,” he replied casually. Natalie attempted to remain as calm as possible as Roark’s hands fiddled with her shirt’s buttons. She knew she would likely get only one chance to resist and had to pick that moment carefully. Roark threw her button-down shirt open and glided his fingers over her cle
avage before squeezing her breast. Natalie immediately tensed but fought against her impulse to flinch. His hands snapped to her pants and began to undo the button and zipper.

  “Please, Connor, no,” Natalie pleaded. Her words brought a smile to his face, but a frown immediately replaced it when he realized he could not spread her legs since he had bound them together. He jerked her around and produced a pocketknife. He flicked it open and flashed it before her face.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded. Natalie, her fear nearly stifling her, nodded sharply. He popped the zip tie around her ankles with the blade before closing the knife and stowing it in his pocket. His hands immediately snapped to his belt, and his fingers worked furiously to undo the buckle.

  With her legs free, Natalie seized the moment and exploded into action. Roark couldn’t react in time to stop Natalie’s booted heel from slamming into his face. He careened backwards and slammed his head against the furnace door. Natalie didn’t hesitate, she shot upward from the gurney and sprinted for the door. She threw it open quickly and slammed it shut.

  She tore down the hallway, her hands still bound in front of her. Light poured in from the window centered on the door at the end of the corridor, and Natalie burst through, stumbling into a parking lot. She felt groggy, sluggish, and her limbs felt distant. Whatever Roark had given her still negatively affected her body, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  Roark’s SUV sat nearby, but she didn’t possess the keys and doubted they would be stowed within the vehicle. She heard passing vehicles nearby, and she took off in that direction around the corner of the brick building.

  “Hey!” she shouted as she sprinted toward the group of vehicles that slowed for the traffic light. She focused on the black pickup truck with Marine Corps and Colt stickers on the back window. Whoever drove was bound to be armed. She caught the eye of the elderly man at the wheel and received an urgent nod. She threw open the passenger door, and he slammed his palm into the horn and stomped on the gas as soon as she was safely inside. He steered into the opposite lane and accelerated through the intersection.

  Natalie, after glancing back through the rear window, exhaled heavily and slumped into the passenger seat. Trembling, she quickly covered her exposed torso with her shirt and worked the buttons closed.

  “You okay?” the old man asked. His heart raced and pounded in his ears. The seventy-four-year-old Marine veteran hadn’t experienced that level of adrenaline since his time in Vietnam.

  “Thank you,” Natalie replied. “I’m alright.” He noted again her bound hands.

  “There’s a knife in the center console,” he said. Natalie opened the console and noted the cocked 1911 pistol. She looked up at him, and he nodded her a guarantee. If Roark pursued, her savior was ready to fight. She fished the pocketknife out of the console, opened it, and carefully sawed through the zip tie. The plastic snapped apart, and Natalie folded the knife before rubbing her wrists.

  “You were a Marine?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, and I’m going to take you right to the police station.”

  “No,” she quickly replied. Her response concerned him.

  “Look, I don’t want to get mixed up in anything. I’m just doing the right thing here.” Natalie inhaled deeply and looked at him. His gaze shifted between hers and the road.

  “I work for the government, and am on an important mission,” she explained. The words sounded so farfetched coming out of her mouth, like something from a cheesy movie. Her savior chuckled.

  “I’m going to need a little more than that,” he replied.

  “Did you hear the Pentagon’s statement about the Marine helicopters crashing in Yemen due to mechanical failures?’

  “Yeah, I don’t buy that for one minute,” he said. Natalie nodded.

  “They were shot down with United States weapons, and I work for the CIA and am tracking the provider of those weapons.” It felt strange telling a complete stranger the brief details, but she saw no other course other than drawing the man’s own weapon on him. “I need a phone to contact my partner. I’ve already missed my check in window.” The Marine veteran kept his gaze forward as he contemplated her words.

  “You got any ID?” he asked. Natalie almost laughed at the absurdity of that question.

  “I was kidnapped, almost raped and murdered, and then cremated to cover it up. I’m lucky I’ve got clothes on,” she retorted. The old man felt stupid for asking such a question. “Your phone.” She was no longer asking, and he could see that well enough. He shifted his weight and produced an iPhone from his left front pocket, which Natalie graciously took from him.

  Natalie had committed Shaw’s phone number to memory after they had connected while he was in Cape Town to go over Wyatt and Kathryn’s safehouse location. She tapped the correct numeral sequence on the screen and lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “David, it’s me,” Natalie greeted.

  “What number are you calling from,” he asked. She heard the concern in his voice. She looked at her savior.

  “It’s a long story. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it in time to see Wyatt and Kathryn off,” she said.

  “They’re already gone. Can you meet me in Jacksonville, North Carolina?” he asked.

  “You sure are hopping around all over the place, but yeah, I can.”

  “Good, here’s the address.” Shaw provided her the address.

  “Got it,” she confirmed. Natalie lowered the phone and turned to the man driving, “Where are we?”

  “Just outside D.C., in Clinton, Maryland,” he replied. Natalie raised the phone to her ear again.

  “I can be there in six hours,” she said. Shaw nodded his head on the other end of the line. Silence spread between them.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “A little banged up, but I’ll be alright,” she assured.

  “Okay, stay safe. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Alright, bye,” she said. Natalie ended the call and handed the phone back to the Marine veteran. “What’s your name?” she asked. He cracked a grin.

  “Bernie Bannin,” he replied, “and you?”

  “Natalie Hale,” she said, extending her hand. He gripped her palm lightly. “Well, Bernie, can you take me to get a rental car?” He shook his head.

  “Going to Lejeune?” Bernie asked, having overheard their conversation.

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  “I’ll take you there.”

  “Bernie,” Natalie protested, but he glanced over at her. His gaze silenced her. He swallowed before speaking. She could see the conviction spread across his face.

  “I lost my boy in oh-four and my daughter in oh-nine. Both were phenomenal Marines and taken before their time.” His voice wavered, but he continued, “My sweet wife died last month; complications from pneumonia.” He paused and exhaled. “I’ll take you to Lejeune. All I’ve got left is my country.” Natalie nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “I appreciate that, Bernie.”

  “Just tell me you’re telling the truth, and you’re not in the drug business or anything.” Natalie smiled.

  “I’m telling the truth.” He grinned.

  “Alright, let’s get going.”

  • • •

  Connor Roark threw open the door to his SUV and kept a white rag pressed against his bleeding nose. He crawled into the driver’s seat and slammed the door closed. He fumed with anger and hatred toward Natalie Hale. At the same time, he scolded himself for allowing his desires to get the better of him. He vowed to finish what he started. He would have his satisfaction. His cellphone rang, and he cursed as he pulled it out of his pocket. He knew who was calling.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  “What happened in Atlanta?” Weber asked calmly.

  “A minor setback,” Roark replied. “The case is closed. No one can trace Carney back to me.”

  “I surely hope not, Mr. Roark. What’s the situation wi
th Natalie Hale?”

  “I’m still working on it. I’ll get it done,” Roark replied.

  “For your sake, I hope so.” Roark didn’t respond. “That, however, still doesn’t solve the issue with the journalist.”

  “I’ll find her,” Roark promised.

  “The Pentagon has already released that the events in Yemen were due to mechanical failures and nothing more. The American public bought it, as I knew they would, and I can’t have CNN publishing otherwise.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Roark reiterated. “Anything else?” His annoyance steadily grew. The line ended, and Roark tossed his phone on the passenger seat next to him. He glanced at his bloodied nose in the rearview mirror and cursed again.

  43

  Jacksonville, North Carolina

  Shaw directed the SUV onto the driveway, killed the engine, and looked upon the two-story house with longing. Just months ago, everything had seemed so much simpler. Had the helicopters not gone down in Aden, Shaw might have spent his days fishing and boating until his retirement came to fruition, but now death loomed over them all. If Kathryn had been targeted for what she may or may not know, then Natalie was surly on that same hit list. If Weber knew Shaw and Wyatt were alive, he might try and have them killed too.

  Shaw turned his attention to his house and noted the deep blue siding and white shutters in the waning twilight. He opened the door and stretched his legs. The drive from Atlanta had been long, especially considering the gravity of his thoughts. Again, Wyatt was alone, and Shaw worried for his and Kathryn’s safety. Natalie had assured that no one would think to look at the cabin for them, but Shaw knew they were all vulnerable until this thing ended. He turned as he heard a vehicle approaching.

  A black Toyota Tacoma pulled up and stopped on the street in front of the house. Shaw didn’t recognize the old man as he stepped out onto the asphalt, but he smiled wide as Natalie rounded the front of the vehicle.

  “You must be Captain Shaw,” Bernie Bannin stated. Shaw looked questionably at Natalie.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “Private First-Class Bernie Bannin,” he stated proudly, offering Shaw a stiff salute. Shaw grinned.