by David Rich
“I requested it,” I said. He couldn’t curse me out so he walked away.
So many opportunities to kill me by accident passed by that I stopped trying to guess when the mistake would happen. An Afghan National Army sergeant and I were working our way up the back side of a steep hill to get an angle on enemy fighters who were bombarding our patrol as it passed through the valley. Our 120 millimeter mortars were set up on the opposite hillside, but they were having little effect. The sergeant and I moved into position almost level with the enemy, only fifty yards from them, and the trap fell quickly. By the time I spun around, the crossfire was thick. The first mortar hit near us and I was thrown about five feet. My helmet blew away and my radio was crushed. Somehow I held on to my weapon, but it only accentuated the futility of my situation. Instantly, the enemy spotted us and turned their fire our way. I crawled to a spot between two large rocks. One faced the enemy, one faced the Marines, like bookends. The mortars kept coming from the opposing hillside and then they started coming from down below, too. All of it directed at us. Except there was no us anymore. The ANA sergeant was on his back, eyes open. He wasn’t bleeding, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he were: he would not need the blood anymore.
The enemy slowed down their firing after a few minutes. They didn’t have ammunition to waste and must have noticed they weren’t being fired on. I turned my back to the Marines so I couldn’t see the fire coming in. The mortars and tracers continued and all the fire was friendly. And relentless. I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. No one to fire at. No thinking to do. No tricks to play.
I’m often scared. I assume everyone is. It would be inaccurate to say I like it. I don’t crave the rush the way some people do. But I do seek fear, test it, tease it. Stuck there between the rocks, something else happened, something I wish I had never experienced. When I’m afraid, I can try to be smart. I can be aggressive or unpredictable. Even reckless or defiant. I can try things that push the fear away, make it secondary.
None of that was possible on that hill with the shells and bullets falling like lethal raindrops, marking a mysterious pattern too quick and dense to comprehend. The betrayal that launched the onslaught wasn’t important because it was only the fulfillment of my expectation. This was far worse. I lost hope, so nothing was left to hold my veneer in place. My guts burned with a concoction of helplessness, fear, and rage. The sky was a giant mirror: all I saw was myself, stripped. And it was no consolation that I was the only one seeing it. I had always held a disdain for hope and the people who clung to it. Hope is what Dan used against them, slathering on the false kind, and since no one could tell that from the real thing, therefore it must all be false, I thought. But I learned that hope had one important purpose: it protects us from hell.
There was no decision, none that I am aware of. I was standing, facing the fire, back to the enemy. I remember my hands being clenched. Shells burst around me, though it couldn’t have been too many. I walked down the hill, steadily, slowly, oblivious to the shells. The firing stopped. None came from behind me. The enemy must have slipped away. I didn’t turn to check on them. If this was bravery, I never want to be brave again. It felt more like surrender.
Captain Overton said, “I’ll find out who gave the wrong coordinates. I’ll find out how it happened. I think it went on so long because they didn’t know. They genuinely thought they were shelling the enemy position.”
“How long did it go on?” We were in a corner of the trench where we thought we could have an absolutely private conversation.
“Forty minutes.” He looked away.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It doesn’t matter who said what or who got fooled or who wanted to be fooled. Someone else is behind it. Everyone has to follow orders.”
“No one ordered that you be murdered.”
“There’s all kinds of orders. We know who is behind this. Don’t blame the grunts.” My thoughts turned to revenge and General Remington. Maybe I should have been thankful to him for the knowledge gained, but I wasn’t.
“The supply helicopters are coming in at oh nine hundred hours. You’re going out with them. I can’t protect you.”
“I can protect myself. Please let me stay.”
He was a good man and I knew I was pushing him to a place he did not want to go. He nodded and walked away. But three hours later he called me in.
“You’re going home.”
“I thought, sir…”
“New orders came through. Seems you’re the subject of an inquiry. There was a questionable death. A Captain Ballard.”
I didn’t know I would see General Remington at Camp Pendleton. It’s odd that we didn’t embrace, because he must have been happy to see me there, within his clutches, and I was even happier to see him. He was a big-deal general, but he looked out of place. Smart, dumb, selfish, vain, proud, lazy, foolish, cruel, timid, or bold, you could find every trait and more in any company, even most platoons. Marines might hate one another, screw each other’s daughters or wives, hate someone’s race or religion or who someone liked to go to bed with, but we all shared one trait: we all fought the enemy, all put ourselves aside when facing the enemy. But not Remington and not Junior. They were fighting their own war in their own corps. The general was another kind of enemy. He had to be defeated. Junior, too.
36.
At last the exaggerated, loud whisper from a woman, “Up here,” woke me. I jumped up and grabbed my rifle. When Jessica saw me, she started to scramble down the hillside, but she stopped when I told her to.
Shaw was on his way up, moving casually, as always. He looked like a golfer strolling over to get a better view of the pin position. “Hey, Rollie.”
“Stop there.” He stopped and raised his hands about shoulder height. Jessica was between us.
“Thanks for not killing Jessica,” he said. “And congratulations. You got what you wanted. Found the money and killed McColl and his gang. Not what I wanted, but good work. What do you plan now?”
“I’ll give you the money. No tricks, if you’ll tell me who is involved. I want to know how far the conspiracy goes.”
“It’s a federal investigation. I can’t reveal that information.”
“Okay. No money. You can leave now.”
“Not that simple, Rollie. Now that we have proof you have the money, we’ll go to court. You’ll go to jail until you produce it.”
“I’m a Marine. They’ll have me. Not you.”
“You don’t want that.”
I screamed: “‘You don’t want that. You don’t want that.’ Why? Who’s involved? I can get him. He’ll want me. I’m the bait. He’ll believe I’m coming after him. Let me do it. I can bust him.”
“Who are we talking about, pal?” Shaw said. His voice was low and cautious, as if a mistake would ruin everything.
“You know damn well. Remington. General Remington.” I wish I could say I was faking the anger for show or to trick Shaw, but it was real and I did not like it.
Dan said, “Calm down.”
Shaw said, “Put the rifle down and we’ll talk about this.” Which meant the same thing. I wasn’t going to shoot him, so I put the rifle down.
“Let’s get out of here before dark,” I said.
I wanted to fly, but Shaw reminded me that the choppers were easily traceable.
“By whom?”
“You’ve already decided.”
We ate in Tucson at a diner on Speedway. There was no use rushing up to Arrowhead; the bakery would be closed by the time we got there. Shaw relaxed next to Jessica in the booth. He ordered coffee, but he should have had a martini. He had the posture and manner of a crooner. Jessica ordered a steak and I asked for a burger.
“I’ll try a piece of that pumpkin pie,” Shaw said.
“Ain’t got no punkin pie,” said the waitress.
Shaw smiled at her. “How about a piece of that pie smiling at me in the mirror, the one that looks like pumpkin pie?”
“Ain
’t got no punkin pie,” she repeated.
“I bet you say that to everyone who asks. I bet you do it just because you like saying it.”
She loved him. Her smile lit her face, making her attractive, probably for the first time in a while. Shaw sipped his coffee and looked at me. The waitress scooted away. “We know of eight active and retired senior officers involved in the plot.”
“All great fighters, I’m sure, but not enough to take over Kurdistan.”
“They have promises from many others. For when the time comes. But they haven’t done anything but talk up to now, so the money is a big deal. It gives us a crime.”
“So you’re going to bust them for receiving stolen goods?”
“Right now, the only person who is going to be busted is you. You still haven’t given me the money.”
“Remington was McColl’s commanding officer in both Iraq wars. Remington is one of your eight.”
“And you killed all the main witnesses against him.” I looked at Jessica, indicating that she should have the goods. He shook his head. “We need more. A lot more.”
“Let’s give him the money,” I said, and I watched Shaw closely. “Then you can bust him for having it. He’s not going to say no. You can use that to get him to lay out the whole plan and everyone involved.”
The waitress brought our food and waited to make sure Shaw liked the pie. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s worth bothering about.” I moved my water glass out of the way because I was sure she was going to launch herself at him. Even Jessica, who rarely found a worthy rival, and certainly couldn’t be threatened by this woman, snarled a bit. Shaw said to me, “Keep going.”
I looked the waitress off while Shaw savored the pie. “I’ll take the money to him. All you have to do is find him for me.”
“Sounds so simple. Why is Remington going to see you? And why are you so charged up to see him?”
“It was his son I busted in Afghanistan. Remington has been after me ever since. He’ll see me.”
“So we find him, send you in there…”
“You don’t have to find him. Let him know where I am, with the money, and what I’ve done, killed McColl and his gang. He’ll find me.”
“He’ll bring reinforcements. Better if you surprise him.”
“Where is he now?”
Shaw turned to Jessica. She said, “If I told him to meet me at the ranch, he probably would.”
“He has a crush on you.” I said it as a statement and she did not refute it. This was her burden and she bore it the way tall guys bear remarks about the air up there. Talk of Remington and his vulnerable spot made me ache to get out of there, get moving. We still had to go all the way to Arrowhead for the money and my mind raced for ways to get Remington without the money. There were none. Dan was bothering me, but I shut him out and gobbled my burger and thought about how I would handle General Remington.
Shaw was taking forever with his damned pie. If that waitress poured him any more coffee, I was going to dump it on him.
Dan rode in the back of the car with me. He wanted to discuss Shaw. “Smooth,” he said. I did not want to discuss Shaw. He had let me slug him and escape, and had talked the cops in Phoenix into letting me out. Incompetence usually included some measure of officiousness, or at least formality, but Shaw had neither.
“He’s matched every move you’ve made,” Dan said.
“He’s giving me what I want,” I answered.
Jessica shook me awake just as the first pale light was sneaking around the mountains. “Are you okay?”
I nodded.
“Where to?” Shaw wanted to know.
The town was asleep, as still as Christmas morning. A fisherman flicked the end of his cigarette out the window as he went past us. One old car sat in the lot at the Miracle Diner. As color seeped in, so did activity. I was glad we arrived before the place filled up, before Loretta would be there. From inside the bakery, a woman unlocked the door and took down the “Closed” sign.
Outside I paused, remembering that first day, before meeting Loretta and wondering if I could deal with the smell on empty pockets. “There’s a key here for me,” I said when the woman came out from the back.
“What name?” she asked as if she had rehearsed it, expecting a wrong answer.
“No name,” I said. Her jaw fell and her face jutted forward as if she could not believe I gave the right answer. She hustled to the back and returned in a moment with the envelope containing the key. I ordered muffins and three coffees to go.
We parked outside the self-storage facility. “All together? Or you want me to wait here?”
“No, pal, you come along, too.”
If he was going to kill me, this was the best place for it. He could stuff me in that locker and it would take days for anyone to notice the smell. I led them down the walkway to my locker, number seven. As I put the key in the lock, I started to smile because it occurred to me that Loretta could have taken it all.
“This is not another trick, is it?”
“If it were, I wouldn’t give it away with a smile,” I said. And I held the key but did not put it in the lock. “And I don’t see you smiling.”
Shaw shrugged. “We came this far, might as well find out.”
I opened the door, flicked on the light, and stood aside. Shaw waited for Jessica to enter, then followed her in. He kneeled next to the body bag and unzipped it and pulled it open wide for Jessica to get a look. “How much is it?”
“Never counted it.”
“Mind if I do now? They’re going to ask me someday.”
He counted the money. There was $23,990,000. Shaw looked up at me.
“Expenses,” I said. “If you want to take a cut now, I’ll never tell.”
I watched him carefully as he zipped the bag and hoisted it on his shoulder. I didn’t see where Jessica could be hiding a gun, so it had to be Shaw’s move. I went out first. Jessica followed. I held the door for Shaw. But there was no move. We loaded the money into the trunk and headed down the mountain to make our move on Remington.
37.
I handed Jessica my knife. “Tear your jeans, too,” I said. The plan was for her to rush back to the ranch, torn up, breathless, and helpless, and inform Remington that I had killed McColl and company and that I definitely had the money and I was headed for the ranch. Then I would go in and get Remington, distracted by Jessica, to confess on the digital recorder we had stopped to buy. Shaw would secure the outside.
Shaw and I huddled low in the backseat while Jessica drove up to the gate and punched in the code. Cameras covered every angle. There were no lights along the driveway, which curved left through sparse pastureland for a half mile before the house came in sight. Jessica slowed and we tumbled out. The wind was strong and after a moment the sky showed the glow of the security lights that switched on when Jessica’s car pulled up to the house. We hustled to the far side of the corral and crouched against the posts.
We could see Remington comforting the distraught Jessica through the living room window. He sent her to slip into something easier to tear and he strode out to alert the troops in the barn. A few moments later, three men carrying pistols raced out of the barn. Two took the driveway toward the gate. The third man was the cook with the white hair. He drifted toward the front door of the house and slunk away from the lights near the bushes and waited there.
We waited. Shaw, propped against the post, looked like he was missing a guitar and a piece of straw to chew on while he sang about the moon over the desert. I watched him, then turned to the cook tucked into the shadows next to the house as if it were shade. Shaw still puzzled me. I could not fit him into any mold, no matter how much I altered it. Not cop, not soldier, not conspirator. I felt disappointed that he had not tried to kill me at the locker. He confused me by seeming to be just what he said he was.
“Only three of them?” As soon as I said it I was sorry. I knew the answer. I just asked so I could hear his voice, search f
or something new in it. I hoped he didn’t sense my intention.
“If there are more, you’ll hear the shots. Just send Jess out when you’re ready for me.”
“He’s in your head now,” said Dan. “Get him out of there.”
“Look who’s talking.”
The door of the warehouse opened and General Remington strode out toward the house. A moment later another man, younger judging by his gait, joined him. The second man was partially blocked by the general. They marched in lockstep past the stable, where a light burned, then into darkness. “He’s got someone with him. I’ll go with you,” Shaw said.
“I need you out here.”
“Plans change. You didn’t count on him having help.”
“I got it.” I was too sharp, too eager.
“Who is he?”
“The general’s son. Junior.”
The cook saw them approaching the front door and stepped out to show he was on guard. Remington and Junior ignored him with the casual arrogance that was infuriating but earned in the general and just comical from Junior. By that time, I was on the side of the house so that the cook’s back was to me as he watched Remington enter. I hit him hard on the back of the head with the butt of my gun and yanked his long hair to take him down faster. I kicked his head a couple of times for good measure. When he had a chance to think about it, he would probably decide it was better than dying. I peeked through the big window. The living room was empty.
The money was in the trunk of our car. I slung it over my shoulder so it sat in two fat lumps like engorged saddlebags, and gun in my right hand, I slid through the door. A half-filled glass of scotch or bourbon with ice almost melted sat on a coaster on the coffee table in front of the cowhide couch. I set the money down in front of the couch. The dining room was also empty, clean and in order. I pushed into the kitchen. A pan sat on the electric burner, but it was empty and cold.
