Backdrop

by C. G. Cooper

  He approached Andy. “We need to talk, son.”

  The Marine’s breath came sharply as he cranked the drill. He stopped for a moment, massaging his arm. “What about?”

  “The dead,” Cooper said plainly.

  “What about them?”

  “It’s a sin to leave them in that room.”

  “You got a better idea, Jack?”

  “Don’t get snippy with me, son. Marine or no Marine, I’ve got a few dozen years on you before you can start taking that tone with me. Goddammit, what is with you people today?”

  The frustration in him boiled up to his throat. He felt it burning his esophagus.

  “Jack, take it easy.”

  He looked at Andy. Incredible how much the young Marine reminded him of himself at that age. “I’m sorry, Major. I lost my tongue. You deserve more respect than that. I’ve never been surrounded by so much death. Is this how it’s going to be? I mean, are they just going to lie here and rot in this godforsaken place?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  The old man looked around the cave. Winding up here of all places, at this age... he eyes caught sight of a spot against the wall. He could vaguely see the outline of a ghost, sitting with knees pulled up to his chest and that haunted stare on his face.

  “He’s got a fiancée, you know.”

  “Who?”

  Cooper motioned toward the wall with his chin. “The kid. O’Brien. He’s got a fiancée. I overheard him and Caine talking. She’s not a Hollywood girl. She’s from Utah. Her family’s from Chile. Can you believe that? What makes a family move all the way here from Chile and decide to settle in Utah?”

  “Don’t know,” said Andy.

  “You know I was married four times?”

  Andy smiled. “And you’re still alive. You’re tougher than I thought.”

  Cooper shook his head. “Don’t get cute. I’m serious. Up until just a little while ago, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what the hell went wrong with any of them. Then I remembered. It was something the kid said. ‘I should kill you, but I love you.’ Son, in those words, I heard the echo of every relationship I’ve ever had. If a guy chooses the same type of woman over and over again and refuses to learn the lesson, it’s not the woman’s fault, is it?”

  “I would say it wasn’t.”

  “Doing something over and over again and expecting different results. That’s the definition of insanity.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Yeah, well, I may be the most insane old dog you ever met. I had the unmitigated gall to choose women that were in need of major repair work, then throw up my hands when I realized I couldn’t fix them. Then I chased them away. Cheated on them. Lied to them every hour on the hour. I never hit them. Hell, I never even raised my voice to any of them, but I broke them in half when they were already cracked.”

  “Jack, come on. Are you blaming yourself?”

  “I’m just feeling like I could have been a little nicer to them by never taking that first step toward roping them in. ‘I could kill you, but I love you.’ You won’t believe this, and I don’t care if you don’t, but it’s true: my first wife said those exact words to me the day she found me in bed with her sister-in-law. Oh man, the tabloids sure had fun with that one. We called them ‘dish rags’ in those days. But it had a strange effect on my career. It toughened my image. I was the bad boy of Hollywood. And so I guess I’ve been playing that role ever since.”

  “So what do you want to do now, Jack? Hm? Cash it all in?”

  Cooper dismissed the Marine with a wave of the hand and walked away. The sound of a revving drill filled the empty spaces in the room.

  Jack Cooper took a seat on the floor next to Caine.

  “You’re gonna be fine, kid,” he whispered. “You’ll make it back home. And when you do, just remember to be kind.”

  In another room of the castle was a makeshift morgue. Cooper looked in its direction. Looked away.

  He’d be damned if he was going to see one more get dragged in there.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  A woman’s heel dug into Chris Caine’s chest. Goddamn, it hurt. Especially when she twisted her foot like that. Bachelor parties like this were fun only up to a point. And he was quickly reaching it.

  “Chris!”

  Who’s that? Frankie?

  “Chris! Come ‘ere!”

  I’m coming, you little shit.

  So it was just a dream, the bachelor party. Thank God. He did have a helluva pain in his chest though. The football had beaned him there the day before. Man, one of those points getting you right in the chest, especially when chucked by Garcia—the Colombian Cannon, they called him. The best arm in the Central Plains School District. Of course, he would stop playing with the neighborhood kids as soon as the colleges started wooing him.

  This was interesting: He, Chris Caine, could see the future. It was easy. It was as if all time were on a flat table before him, and he could read it like a map. He would become an actor like he always wanted to ever since grade school. He’d go to Hollywood and be cast wherever they needed a fresh-faced American youth. His mother would be proud of him. His father too.

  “Chris! Come ‘ere already”

  He rose from bed and padded out into the hallway. The smell of biscuits. Mom must have hit the farmer’s market this morning and bought marmalade. She always made biscuits when she bought marmalade.

  Where the hell are you, Frankie?

  “Hey, you little skunk,” he said upon eyeing the boy trudging through the house with a bucket.

  “I need you to help me carry this when I fill it.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “It’s too heavvvyyyy.”

  “I’ll do it if you stop whining. I hate that. You got a voice like a dentist’s drill. What are you doing with that bucket anyway?” God, his chest was killing him. Damn Garcia and his power arm.

  “I wanna play in it with my guys.”

  “Which guys?”

  The kid paused. “My guys.”

  “You’re lying, liar. You’re gonna put my Star Wars figures in there, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Yes you are, liar. I see it in your face.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t whine. Put them back and I’ll help you with the bucket.”

  Frankie, with his thin blonde hair and his chubby little face and his pants that hung off the butt.

  “Come here,” said Chris.”

  “No.”

  “Come here. I’m not gonna hit you, skunk.”

  The kid shuffled over slowly.

  Chris smacked him on the ass.

  “Owwwwww-ah! You said you wouldn’t.”

  “That’s what you get for lying.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Yes you did. Let’s go. You want to fill that bucket?”

  “Nooooo.”

  “Yes, you do, whiner. Come on.”

  Time on a table.

  Christ Caine saw the bucket overturned. Saw Frankie running toward him, screaming hysterically.

  Spider! Spider!

  Where? On your hand? It’s gone, skunk, relax.

  The kid’s face buried in his leg, hot tears and breath against his thigh, muffled screaming.

  He bends down. His chest feels like its caving in.

  “Hey, relax.”

  The face is red. Frozen in a silent scream. Only the voice continues in Chris Caine’s head.

  “You let him get me. Why did you put him in there?”

  But I didn’t. I just filled the bucket.

  “You put him in there. I hate you so much!”

  Frankie! No! I swear!

  “I’m never talking to you again!”

  Frankie—the tears are coming, the pain in his chest increasing, spreading—I’m so sorry, Frankie, oh God, I’m sorry!

  “I hate you, Chris!”

  No! Don’t hate me, Frankie! I tried. I really tried.

 
He looks down. His chest is bloody. God...

  Frankie’s face is covered by a shemagh. He pulls it down. The lower part of his jaw is gone. Muscles and sinew hang in bloody shreds.

  The table of time is laid out, fully visible.

  He is in fatigues. He’s marching. Blood pools at his feet. He tramps through it. It splashed up onto his shins.

  Mom is going to kill me for getting these dirty. Why is there a bullet inside me?

  “Chris!”

  I’m coming, skunk...

  Chapter Forty

  Andy worked the makeshift crank on the drill. Drops of sweat splashed onto his wrist as he rotated the thing for all he was worth.

  Just a little more. Just a notch above minimal power is all I need.

  All his frustration. Coles. His life up till now.

  He was turning the thing in a frenzy.

  He’d sworn to do his duty to his country. And where had his country placed him? He was merely a speck of dust in the desert now. Everything he did now was to combat the forces of a system that didn’t work. Embryonic American values versus ancient religious extremism. How did anyone expect it to give?

  The people in the helicopter: Gibson, King, O’Brien, Ashburn and Mansour gone. Thompson a traitor. All had slipped away. Cooper and Caine still fighting, with him, to survive

  No good. That’s what his old man would have said. Sure, he was a big man talking to O’Brien, the poor little shit. Play the wise old sage for the kid. Let him think you know what you’re talking about. Let him think you’re over it.

  He’d never be over it. The old man hitting the bottle. Laying into his mother. The cold meat slap in the middle of the night, followed by a tender sob. After a while, his mother had become an expert at hiding the pain.

  He cranked like crazy, the sweat pouring from his face.

  No good, Bart. You’ll never amount to anything.

  The old man was right.

  One bar of power. And the second bar flickered.

  He cranked it up to two and stopped.

  “There!” he shouted. Tears were streaming down his face. “Take that, you old piece of...”

  He panted. Licked his lips. The taste of salt (sweat or tears?). He wiped his face with his shirt. Picked up the phone and dialed Coles.

  The call was direct and terse, with none of the routine probing or scrutiny.

  “Two hours,” said Coles. “Can you hang on for that long?”

  “We’ll try.”

  He hung up and let the phone drop to his sides.

  It buzzed in his hands. A text had come through. A video clip.

  “Good afternoon,” said the grizzled face of Al-Salakhi. He stood before a white sheet and spoke directly to the lens of the camera, piercing it with a malicious stare.

  “To the current holder of this phone. I am proud of you so far. You’ve managed to defeat my most loyal soldiers. For that, I commend you. It is not an easy thing to do. However, in killing my men, you have committed a grievous sin: the sin of overconfidence. In this regard, my friend, you are just like all the others. The Western world has such a clouded view of itself.”

  The video cut abruptly, and took on the shaky, cinema vérité quality of the found footage film, from the POV of the camera-holder.

  The ground wavered and trembled. Smart of Al-Salakhi not to show any other part of his surroundings...

  Except for a dirt floor encased in shadows. And the ambient noise of resonance off rocky walls.

  Al-Salakhi was in a cave, Andy was sure of it.

  The video footage slowed, and the camera came up slightly to reveal a tarp spread across the ground.

  A soldier in a shemagh, any one of a generic dozen copies they’d encountered, stepped in and removed the tarp.

  A tortured figure in a hole. His tailored suit ripped and befouled with God-knows-what. Bound and gagged. Beaten, bruised. One ghastly eye swollen shut. The head turned skyward.

  “Smile for the camera, Your Highness.”

  The soldier reappeared on the side of the screen, holding a red plastic gas can. The prince yowled as the soldier doused him.

  Gagging, spitting.

  The fumes must have been unbearable.

  “I wanted you to see this, my friend,” said the voice of Al-Salakhi.

  “For your crimes against Allah and His only prophet, for your heresy, I hereby condemn you. I want you to think about the life you’ve led, Your Highness. And the life you’ve chosen to ignore.”

  The soldier lit a match. The prince whined in terror.

  The match came up into the camera, the flame dancing, pornographically tantalizing the viewer. The soldier brought it to his face slowly... and blew it out. He then threw the tarp back over the pit.

  The footage cut once again, revealing Al-Salakhi before his treasured white sheet.

  “We try to do that once an hour to the prince. We don’t very much like to go near him. He is always reeking of gasoline. Not to mention the stench of his own filth. One of these days, we will toss the match in.”

  The video ended.

  He shuddered. Ashburn was probably next, if they hadn’t killed her already.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Cooper was bent over Caine, silent when Andy approached.

  “A tiny bit of good news,” Andy said. “The cavalry is on its way.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “Depends on how you look at it. They can’t exactly teleport over here.”

  “How long till they arrive?”

  “About two hours. We have to make it two hours while surrounded by enemies in a backwater small town in the middle of a foreign country with a known terrorist at the end of the line. And there’s a secret entrance in the middle of our camp that we can’t access but the bad guys can.”

  “You alright?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You look...”

  “What?”

  Cooper tilted his head. “Like you’ve been battling a ghost.”

  “I’m fine,” said the Marine.

  “Alright,” said Cooper, rising, “as long as you’re fine, what’s next, Major?”

  “I’m going to go out and try and find them on foot.”

  “Well, I’m coming with you.”

  “No dice. Someone needs to stay here with Caine.”

  “I’m not as inoperative as you seem to think I am, son.”

  “No offense, Jack. Really. I just need you here.”

  The old actor’s face twisted. He looked at the craggy walls. “You know, there was once a time I was the biggest name going. They wanted actors like me. Guys who had lived the life. Three presidents had me over for dinner.” He turned back to Andy, his face full of self-pity. “When did they stop caring?”

  “Jack, you’re still aces in my book.”

  The old actor huffed. “And when you’re gone? Who’ll give two shits about me?”

  “You’re gonna outlive me, Jack?” Andy asked with a smile. He wanted to hug the man. They were bound by more than just their circumstances. Something about this cave summoned up the demons.

  Cooper smiled back, but the smile was short-lived. “Dear God...”

  “What is it?”

  “The tunnels,” he said. “Nobody knew that there were tunnels down here, but Thompson has them in the movie.”

  “What?” Andy thought for a moment. “It could just be a coincidence.”

  “I read the script, Andy. The good guys are driven out of new town in Al-Ula over to the old town by the terrorists who are trying to kill them. When the good guys retreat up here, scaring all the tourists off, the terrorists come up on them from behind, using the tunnel that comes up in the middle of the castle. God, how could I have been so stupid.”

  “No one would think of blaming you, Jack. How could you have known it would play so close? Anyway, it wasn’t your job to notice stuff like that. I was hired for that very purpose. To scrutinize things. It would have been nice to take a gander at the script. I’m
just gonna go out on a limb here and guess that the bad guys have read it.”

  Cooper stared at the boulder, then walked toward it and put his shoulder against it.

  He grunted, “I think it’s starting to budge.”

  Andy ran over and braced himself against the edge of the stone.

  It gave a groan, then rolled, revealing the entrance to the escape.

  “I’ll be damned,” said Cooper.

  “You mean to tell me we could have done that this whole time?”

  Something gleamed at their feet. Andy bent down. A glittering metal object was jammed underneath the partially rolled stone: a pair of scissors.

  “What the hell?” He studied them from every angle. “It looks like they’re wedged there to keep the stone from locking in place. But...”

  His mind raced.

  “The prince had a pair of scissors when he was tending to Caine. He’d gotten them from the first aid kit. He must have jammed them in here when he left with Serena and the kidnappers.”

  “Huh,” said Cooper. “Who woulda thunk it?”

  Andy shook his head. “I guess I underestimated the little so and so.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. “Let’s get me some ammo.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The best defense is a good offense. At least in theory. Of all the things that Andy had studied in the Marine Corps, he wished that he’d spent a little extra time reading up on Medieval sieges. Not that it would necessarily solve his problems at this point, but he felt like there was something he was still missing.

  Caine was floating in and out of consciousness. Cooper had fed him some Tylenol, but the first aid kits hadn’t held anything much stronger, and the actor was having to face the pain on his own. Aside from having a hole in his lung, the sheer amount of pain he was facing was wearing him down. If he stayed conscious and had the strength to aim the rifle, great. But Andy wasn’t going to count on Caine as anything more than bait. They’d dressed him as best they could with trappings from a dead enemy soldier. It was, however, impossible to completely erase Caine’s western identity.

  “You know that if they have much more than a rifle that you’re a sitting duck, right?”