Day of Reckoning

by G. Michael Hopf

  “Bioweapons, you’re fucking joking?”

  “That’s what we think their special missions were, but we don’t know for sure. What makes sense is Joram and the men in the photo were all part of this team that went missing, were presumed killed, then show up in Mexico over a year later, all flashing the hand gesture of The Bloody Hand, see look, they’re not waving, their fingers are outstretched. It’s the sign of The Bloody Hand.”

  “The Bloody Hand, really? The guy I’m talking to seems regretful, at odds over what he’s done, but again he does seem scared. He said they were looking for him. Maybe he ultimately defected from The Bloody Hand and is now being hunted by both,” David wondered out loud.

  “We need to talk to him immediately,” Grim confessed, his true intentions now confirmed.

  “You?”

  “Where is he?”

  “You’re going to rendition him?” David asked, his tone signaling his concern.

  “You sound hesitant.”

  “It’s just that I promised him that I wouldn’t jeopardize him or have him sent off to a black site somewhere.”

  “It’s critical that we interrogate him as soon as possible.”

  David ran his fingers through his hair and grunted.

  “Is there a problem?” Grim asked.

  “Yeah, I, um, I want to help but he’s just a kid.”

  “A kid? He’s in his late twenties and is a member of a notorious terror organization that just murdered hundreds of people and is plotting a major attack, according to all the chatter.”

  “What do you mean by a major attack?”

  “The chatter across all electronic gathering is off the charts. Something big, fucking huge, is coming and they’re behind it. We need to find their leader Israfil, cut the head off the snake and work our way backwards.”

  “What do you need to know? I’ll find out for you.”

  “No, just tell us where he is?” Grim insisted.

  David sat speechless.

  “You said you wanted to help and now you’re just sitting there. Where the fuck is Joram?”

  “I promised him that I’d assure his safety,” David insisted.

  “He’s a fucking terrorist, David.”

  “And he’s a source. I need to protect my sources.”

  Grim leaned in very close. He was inches from David’s face. “Tell me where he is or—”

  “Or what?”

  “Goddamn it, David, this is national security.”

  “This is also about protecting my sources from unwarranted interrogation, even torture,” David said in a righteous tone.

  “You’ve got to be joking, right? You’re fucking joking right now,” Grim exploded.

  Several people seated close turned and looked.

  Grim barked, “Turn back around. Nothing to see here.”

  A man approached the table. “Excuse me, is there an issue?”

  “Yeah, your being here is a fucking issue. I’m trying to have a conversation with my friend and you’re interrupting.”

  “I’m the manager, sir, and your voice is getting loud, too loud. Please calm down.”

  With the manager hovering, David saw his opportunity. He stood up quickly.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to think about this. You’re asking me to jeopardize my journalistic integrity.” David moaned.

  “Integrity? We’re talking about a life-and-death thing here.”

  “Sir, please keep your tone down,” the manager scolded, still present.

  Grim gave the manager a stern look and replied, “Go away or I’ll ruin you, do you understand?”

  The manager stepped back. He mumbled something unintelligible and marched off.

  David followed closely behind him.

  Grim shot up from the table and pursued him. “David, tell me where he is?”

  The urge to turn and offer up Joram was there, but David’s need for a hot scoop to help his career was stronger. He kept walking away.

  Grim caught up and took David by the arm. He swung him around and snapped, “You leave me no other recourse but to take you in.”

  “Get off me,” David protested trying to pull away from Grim’s firm grip.

  “You’ve given me no choice.”

  “You’re making a scene. You can end up blowing your cover,” David warned, referencing Grim’s official capacity in Ankara as a cultural enrichment liaison.

  “It doesn’t matter. This is too important,” Grim replied pulling David with him towards the door.

  Three large men appeared in front of Grim. They all were dressed in hotel attire.

  Grim stopped. “Get out of my way.”

  The men circled Grim.

  The manager rushed up. “That man right there. He’s causing a disturbance.”

  Seeing the best opportunity to flee, David pulled away from Grim and said, “He’s trying to hurt me.”

  The men converged on Grim, taking him forcibly by the arms.

  As they marched Grim out of the bar, he turned around and yelled, “You’re going to regret this, David! You hear me? This will come back to haunt you!”

  David watched as his old friend was taken outside. He didn’t like that it had to go that way, but David couldn’t allow anything to jeopardize his story, his one possible chance to get his documentary back on the tracks. He had no doubt this would come back to bite him, but he was willing to take that risk in hopes the dividends returned on this explosive exposé would boost him to journalistic glory.

  His phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He removed it and saw a text from Grim.

  “Since you won’t help, at least ask him about the twelfth imam. Who is he? Who is Israfil?” Grim texted.

  “I will.”

  “If he tells you, tell me, ASAP.”

  Seeing a compromise, David replied, “OK, I will.”

  No other reply came from Grim.

  A sense of paranoia came over David. He exited the bar and quickly shuffled down the street. After a few turns he slipped into a small side street. He let his phone fall from his grip onto the pavement. He stomped on it multiple times, picked it up and tossed it into a flowing storm drain.

  He hated having to destroy his phone, but he was given no choice. He just prayed this all worked out, because his life and career depended on it.

  Rancho Bernardo, California

  Mo didn’t even care what his father would do to him. After what he had just experienced, nothing his father could dish out would match it.

  He shut the front door and proceeded to his room slowly, a weary look on his face.

  “Where have you been?” Mo’s father barked from the kitchen.

  “Not now, Dad,” Mo said, his tone subdued.

  Mo’s father scurried towards Mo but stopped when he saw his son. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing. I’m tired. I need to go to bed,” Mo answered. He was tempted to tell his father everything in hopes his honesty could cleanse him of his part in what happened but fear of reprisals prevented it. He disliked his father, however not so much he’d want him hurt or worse.

  “Mohammed, where have you been? You didn’t come home last night and when you do, you look as if you’ve been up all night,” his father said.

  “Let the boy sleep. He can talk to you tomorrow,” Mo’s mother said, walking up beside his father.

  “But he disobeyed me. He missed school today,” his father said.

  She took Mo’s father’s hand and said, “I remember you being a bit of a rebel too at his age.”

  “Looking back now, I realize I was foolish. I don’t want him repeating my mistakes.”

  Mo stood watching his parents. His fatigue weighed on him like heavy chains.

  “Are you mixed up in anything?” his father asked.

  Mo sighed again. He was tempted to just speak honestly but stopped when he saw his mother ever so slightly shake her head, signaling for him to remain quiet. “No, Dad, I just went to a part
y. I messed up. I’m sorry.”

  “How dare you disobey me!” his father barked.

  “Dear, let him get some rest. You can deal with him later,” his mother said softly.

  “We’ll talk later, Dad, I promise,” Mo said and continued to his room.

  Mo’s head hit the pillow and he began to swiftly fall asleep until he heard his bedroom door open.

  He looked and saw his mother enter. She came to his bedside and sat down.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Fine.”

  She petted his arm and asked, “Are you doing as I asked?”

  “Meaning what, Mom?”

  “Have you found your holy purpose? Is that where you were?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Mo grumbled.

  “Okay, I just needed to check on you. And don’t worry about your father. Like I said before, I’ll take care of him.”

  “Thanks, Mom, now please go. I’m exhausted.”

  She stood but hesitated from leaving. She leaned down, gave him a kiss on his forehead and whispered, “I’m so very proud of you. You will restore honor to our family. You’re a man now. Just give me some time to convince your father of that.”

  “No, don’t tell Dad. He won’t understand,” Mo said, fearing she wanted to confess his actions.

  “I would never divulge that. It’s just time for him to recognize you as a man. I’m proud of you son… my mujahedeen,” she said and kissed him again.

  “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too. Sleep well,” she said, leaving.

  Mo lay there. The image of the woman’s face screamed at him in his thoughts. He could still see her pleading eyes so clearly, as if she were there. It was a moment, an event, he’d never forget. He was afraid, there was no denying it. However, he was committed. He had to continue because not doing so would most likely lead to his family’s demise.

  As he drifted off, one thought kept banging around in his head.

  What am I doing?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Wednesday, April 26

  Diego Garcia, British Indian Ocean Territory

  It took everything Brennan had not to laugh out loud. He sat with his arms folded, watching Owens get scolded by several people they had only met minutes before.

  “She was your responsibility. You had one job, one, and that was to get her here,” Tracy Dalton barked, her temples throbbing with each word she uttered. Tracy was a research biologist from the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. She and two others had flown from Atlanta to pick up Princess.

  “Ms. Dalton, we had no choice,” Owens said defensively.

  “It’s my understanding she was contained in ten-millimeter sheeting,” Tracy said.

  Brennan couldn’t hold back. After listening to Owens inadequately defend the team’s actions, he had to speak up. “She was dead anyway.”

  Tracy cut Brennan a hard look. “So what. We could have still conducted research on her body.”

  “And the baby’s too,” Mark Warren said. He was another biologist from the CDC.

  “Thanks, Mark, and yes, the baby too. We are dealing with something unique, some form of parasite that mutates the host, but you throw it out over the ocean. What were you thinking?”

  “All I can say is you weren’t there. We don’t know anything about those parasites, so we didn’t want to take a chance and get infected,” Owens countered.

  “Now we have nothing to study, you military boys are so quick to blow things up,” Mark said, referring mainly to the Tomahawk strike against the facility in Juula, which destroyed the underground facility.

  Tracy mumbled something unintelligible and walked off.

  Brennan looked at his watch and was shocked when he saw the time. He tapped Owens and said, “We’re wheels up in thirty-five. Let’s go.”

  Owens nodded at Brennan, acknowledging what he said, but he was more interested in finding a solution for Tracy, as he did understand their frustration. “Ms. Dalton, hold up,” he said, walking up behind her.

  “Yes, what is it?” she asked turning around, her hands on her hips.

  “How much do you know?”

  Shaking her head, she returned his question with one. “About the mutants? I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”

  “Have you been briefed on everything?”

  “I was told they, the mutants, came from a weapons research facility in Somalia, beyond that, nothing more and it looks like I’ll never know,” she lamented.

  “Did they tell you about Petty Officer Third Class Perino and Corporal Marzelli?” Owens asked.

  “No,” she replied, her lips pursed with curiosity.

  Owens looked around to see who might be listening. When he was sure it was just them, he said, “Both of those men were turned into droolers.”

  “Please stop calling them that,” she said.

  “What do you want me to call them?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What happened to those two people?” she asked.

  Owens told her what had occurred with both men and that their bodies, from what he knew, were still on board the USS Anchorage. Finishing he said, “I suggest you contact whoever you have to and get their remains.”

  “I will, thank you,” she said.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Owens caught Brennan waving him over. “I have to let you go. Let me know if I can help with anything,” Owens said and walked away.

  Tracy tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear and smiled as Owens walked away. She liked his swagger.

  “What did you tell her?” Brennan asked sensing something was divulged.

  “I told her about Marzelli and Perino. Apparently, she wasn’t made aware of them,” Owens answered.

  “Oh, okay. Um, we’ve been summoned to the headquarters building,” Brennan said.

  “Then let’s go see what’s up,” Owens said.

  Ankara, Turkey

  David had repeatedly gone back to Joram’s room after the encounter with Grim, but Joram didn’t answer.

  Fear rose in him. Is Joram gone? Did Grim find him?

  He banged for an extended period on the door. “Are you there? Open up, please.”

  Nothing. No reply.

  “Fuck,” David snapped. He looked both ways to see if anyone was coming. With no one in the hallway, he made a rash but decisive decision. He was going to kick the door down. He stepped back, lifted his leg and thrust it forward.

  His foot landed perfectly just to the right of the handle. The door exploded open.

  David rushed into the brightly lit room. “Joram, are you here?” David asked as he began to frantically look around. He half expected to find Joram’s body.

  Joram was not there.

  Frustrated, David walked to the table he had been sitting at hours earlier and sat down. He decided he would stay until Joram returned. Fatigue began to grow and his eyes soon started to close. Just as he nodded off, David caught a glimpse of a piece of paper taped to the screen of the television. He shot up, ran over and ripped it off the screen.

  The note read “Dear David, I called you because I thought I could trust you. You even sat here not long ago and told me that no one would know I was here. You lied. I know you met with your CIA friend. I can’t express how disappointed I am with you. You failed me. You failed yourself. Goodbye old friend. – Joram”

  Disheartened, David stepped back and let gravity pull him to the edge of the bed. He slumped over and crumpled the note in his hand. “Damn it!” he groaned.

  And just that fast, what he had hoped would be an interview that could reboot his career was gone. The opportunity had come and gone just as fast.

  He tossed the note on the floor.

  A tap on the door startled him. He looked up and saw Grim standing there.

  “Howdy,” Grim said with a grin.

  “You followed me, how?” David asked.

  “I can’t tell you that. I’d never compromise my sources and methods,” Gr
im replied stepping into the room.

  “He’s gone. He knew, somehow he knew I had met with you,” David said.

  “He’s a clever guy,” Grim said.

  “What now?” David asked.

  “I suggest you pack your stuff and put yourself on the next plane home, wherever that is for you,” Grim answered.

  “So that’s it, I go home?”

  “Yeah, I highly doubt he’ll raise his head around you again. You betrayed him, but if he ever does, please let me know,” Grim reminded him.

  “Let you know? It’s because of you that I’ve lost the best story of my career,” David spat, standing up.

  “Nice to see your patriotic colors shine. Now go pack your shit and leave before I have your visa pulled and you’re stuck in this Godforsaken place,” Grim said.

  David walked past Grim, brushing his shoulder.

  “Excuse you.” Grim laughed.

  “Fuck off,” David said as he exited the room.

  Rancho Bernardo, California

  Mo rolled out of bed, exhausted. The first few hours of sleep were sound but the remaining hours were nothing short of horrible. He couldn’t push the images from his initiation out of his mind. As he lay in bed during the wee hours of the early morning, his tormented thoughts turned to fear then panic.

  He jolted up, his breathing rapid and his heart pounding hard. He clutched his chest; a dull but intense pain was growing. Am I having a heart attack? he wondered.

  He swung his legs out of bed, his hand still on his chest. He focused on his breathing to control it, but the pain in his chest grew and was now emanating in his back and shoulders.

  I’m having a heart attack. I’m dying, he screamed in his thoughts.

  He stood up quickly and took a couple of steps but felt uneasy. His panic grew as his pain did.

  “Mom! Mom, help!” he cried out.

  The pain was now in his neck and jaw. It is a heart attack. I’m going to die, he thought.