by L. T. Ryan
Martinez closed the gap between the two of us. It was the right move at the wrong time. What he should have done was pulled his weapon. Again, I ducked and slipped to the side, letting his momentum carry him a good ten feet away from me.
I cast a quick glance toward Bear, who held Bealle's limp body against the building with his left hand while his right delivered punch after furious punch.
With Bealle and Kiser out of commission, I turned to deal with Martinez, who had just scraped himself off the ground and was approaching. I still couldn't figure out why he didn't pull his gun on me. End it quickly. He stepped over Kiser's limp body, coming to a stop a few feet away from me.
I heard a body hit the ground behind me and then Bear appeared next to me.
Martinez lunged forward. I moved to the side and brought a fist down across the bridge of his nose, sending him to the ground, hard. Bear picked him up, and then drove two hard blows to the man's face and then tossed him onto the ground next to Bealle.
We reentered the house with our guns drawn and confronted Gallo. He gave up without a fight.
"You people should leave," I said to the family. "Tonight. Now."
Bear removed the thick plastic ties that bound their arms together.
The family huddled together. Each parent scooped up a kid.
"Follow us out and then go." I grabbed my M16 from its resting spot on the wall and then led the family down the narrow hall. I stopped by the door, took a deep breath and then stuck my head outside. It was deserted. Martinez and his men and even the group of Iraqi men down the street had bailed. I saw flashing lights reflecting off the surrounding buildings as sirens filled the air.
"Bear," I called down the hall. "We need to get out of here."
Chapter 2
Martinez and the others peeled away in the van we had rode in. That left Bear and I searching for a way back to headquarters. But before that, we had to get away from the house before the police arrived. We managed to slip around the corner before a squad car arrived.
"You pay attention on the ride in?" I asked.
Bear nodded. "I've been out here before."
I scanned the street. Empty, except for a few small cars parked on narrow strips of dirt between the road and houses.
"Take your pick."
He pointed at a blue two door that didn't look like it could fit one of us, let alone both of us. He started toward the car parked a half block away. The sound of driving slowly echoed from behind.
"We better pick it up," I said.
We reached the car. Both of us were ready to smash in the windows. I checked the door handle and found it to be unlocked. We got inside just before white light flooded the street. I looked back and saw a police car at the end of the road with its spotlight pointing in our direction. Bear pulled at the cheap plastic underneath the steering column and ripped it free. He touched the ignition wires together and the little car buzzed to life. He put it in first gear and we rolled to the end of the street. Anticipation and anxiety filled the front of the car. We stopped at the end of the road. The floodlight still illuminated the street. It didn't get closer, didn't fade away.
"Turn left," I said.
"We need to go right."
"I'm sure we can pick it back up, Bear. But let's go left, circle back and see what these guys are doing."
He nodded, eased the car forward and made a left turn. The shift from bright light to darkness messed with our vision and we almost didn't notice the group of men in the road.
Bear hit the brakes. "Really?" He pounded on the horn. Short bursts of high pitched honks filled the air. "Doesn't anybody hang out in a bar in this damn country?"
"Flash your highs and move slow, Bear."
He did.
The group of men split in the middle, just enough for us to pass between the divided group. They leaned over and peered through the window. A few pushed against the small car, rocking it on its chassis.
"I got a bad feeling, Jack."
"Just keep going."
I clutched my Beretta M9 tight against my chest, ready to fire on the first man to punch through the window. The M16s were lying across the back seat. A chill washed over me at the thought of one or two of the men getting into the back of the car and getting their hands on the fully automatic weapons. One squeeze of the trigger and they could take us and half their group out before they realized they had fired.
The car slowed to a stop.
"What the hell, Bear?"
"Want me to run him over?" He flung his arms forward.
I opened my mouth to say yes and turned my head to look out the windshield. A small kid, maybe seven or eight years old, stood directly in our path.
"Put it in reverse."
Bear's eyes darted to the rear-view mirror.
"They're blocking the path."
I turned in my seat to get a look at the gathering of men behind us. Three silhouettes blocked the moonlit view of the street.
"Run them over."
"What?"
"They put themselves there," I said. "They have a choice. That kid didn't."
Bear's hand moved to the shifter. He slid it over then down, into reverse. Hit the gas. Three quick thuds filled the car. Two men fell to the side. The car bounced as we rolled over the third.
The rest of the men separated and we sped backward. They regrouped and huddled around their injured friend. A few turned their attention toward us and then bottles and rocks rained down on the little car.
Bear whipped the car around in a tight circle. Threw it into first then sped away in the opposite direction. I kept my head turned and watched through the back window for nearly five minutes.
"I think we're good."
Bear nodded, checking the rear-view mirror every three to five seconds. "It's getting too hot, Jack."
"I know. I don't like this any more than you."
I leaned back in my undersized seat, rubbed my eyes with my thumbs, then turned my head and stared out the window. We were outside the city, past the suburbs. The barren landscape was a welcome respite from the hordes of roaming vigilantes and anti-American Iraqis we encountered on a daily basis.
"I'll call Abbot and Keller after we get back. See about getting us out of here."
Bear didn't say anything. His big hands wrapped around the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the empty road. We rode in silence the remaining twenty miles back to base.
* * *
We shared a single room on base. Two single beds, a small kitchenette with a stove, mini-fridge and microwave, and a wooden table with two matching chairs. Frankly, we didn't need much else. We ate, slept, trained on our own and performed missions with the CIA ops teams. Outside of the missions, the operatives had no interaction with us. It wasn't a written rule or anything like that. They didn't want anything to do with us. These guys looked down on the Marines in the program. A stark contrast from the operatives based in the U.S. and Europe. They welcomed the help and our point of view on the missions. Christ, they pulled us eight weeks into recruit training, and we were then put through CIA training. It's not like Bear and I were hard core Marines.
Bear returned to the room carrying a twelve pack of piss warm beer.
"Get anything to eat?" I asked.
He held up the twelve pack. "Figured it's a good night to drink our dinner."
"Only problem with that," I said, "is six beers doesn't make a meal."
He stepped through the doorway and into the room then lifted his other arm. "That's why I got you your own."
I laughed, then grabbed the cardboard box holding my dinner and cracked open a warm one, taking a long pull from the bottle.
"God, this stuff is awful," I said.
Bear chugged three quarters of a bottle then set it down on the table and let out a loud exhale.
"I don't know, Jack. It's not that bad." A loud belch followed.
I finished my beer and pushed back from the table. "And with that, I'm going to get a shower."
/> I exited the room into the dimly lit hallway. It was quiet. I checked my watch and saw it was only ten p.m. It was too quiet for ten, though. I shook my head to clear the thoughts and shrugged off the anxiety. I entered the bathroom and shower facility at our end of the hall, finding the communal shower room empty. I quickly washed the sweat, dirt and blood off and then moved to the far end of the row of sinks. I looked into the mirror and smiled at the growth of hair on my face. It had been almost two weeks since I had last shaved. I pulled out a can of shaving cream and my razor, but opted to keep the short beard, for now at least. I liked it.
I couldn't help but think of how bad that night had gone. Everything was routine until the group of men showed up a few blocks away from the house. People never approached us unless they meant trouble. And lately we found plenty of trouble. A quarter of our assignments in Iraq ended up with us getting into an external conflict apart from our primary target. And it always ended up being a mistake on the part of the men who engaged us. Not just our group either, this was the standard for all ops teams. The men who tried to take us on had no way of knowing who we were. And they had no chance of living long enough to find out. Despite that, they always engaged us. It was like they had nothing to live for.
Or maybe they had everything to die for.
On this night, though, those men hung back, like they were waiting for something. Maybe they were playing games with Bear, the false advancement and the tall man yelling at us. That would have been enough to throw us off, make us think that they were a group of regular guys. Of course, they could have just been a group of regular guys. Maybe they were waiting for us to do something. It'd give them a reason, at least.
Then there was Martinez. He was in rare form tonight. Bear and I worked together, but we weren't always assigned to the same CIA team. We floated between four different groups. We'd spent enough time with Martinez to know he was a high strung, high motor midget. His guys weren't any different, either. This incident wasn't the first time that we'd squared off. It had happened three other times, including once on base. But this time he seemed to be daring me to make a move. Every time we got into it, it was because he pushed the limits on acceptable treatment of detainees. He pushed further than ever before with the woman, and in front of her kids, nonetheless. For a moment, I thought he'd pull the trigger. He might've had I not said anything. His guys sure wouldn't stop him. Pussies.
The gauntlet would come down on me over this. I knew that. It was their word against ours. There were four of them and two of us. Their bosses wouldn't bother questioning the family for their account of what happened. My bosses were in the U.S. in the Carolinas. I needed to call Abbot and Keller. Give them my side of the story before anyone else talked to them.
I got dressed, exited the restroom and walked back down the empty hallway to our room.
I pushed the door open and called out to Bear from the hallway.
"What do you say we go grab something to eat?"
No response.
"Bear?"
I stuck my head in the room. The back door stood open. I figured he'd stepped outside for some fresh air and decided I might as well join him. I grabbed a beer and found my jacket. My hand reached inside a pocket, searching for my cell phone. Oddly, it was missing. It had been in that pocket all night long. I hadn't even taken it to check the time.
"Bear, have you seen my phone?"
Still no response.
I stopped moving things around on the table and looked toward the back door and took two steps toward it. I saw Bear standing on the back patio, and he looked at me, but he said nothing.
"Bear?"
He clenched his jaw, but did not respond.
"Jack Noble," a voice said from behind.
I stopped and turned my head and saw two men, both armed, standing in the back of the room. I knew them by face, not by name. They weren't friends of mine. I dropped my beer and clasped my hands together behind my head. I looked at the floor and saw fizzing beer wrapping around the soles of my boots.
Two other men led Bear inside. He looked at me and shook his head. Pretty obvious what he was thinking. Same thing I was.
"What's going on guys?" I said.
"Shut up, Noble," one of them said from behind me.
"You can't just detain us without a reason," I said.
The man laughed. "We're in Iraq, Noble. We can do whatever the hell we want."
They grabbed my hands, forced them down and behind my back. I felt the thick plastic zip ties close around my wrist and draw my arms close together. The hard plastic dug into my skin the more I moved.
"If we want you to disappear," he continued, "there are thousands of miles of deserted land where we can bury you."
"That a promise?" I said.
"Keep talking." He grabbed my wrists and forced them upward. "And it will be."
"Jack," Bear said, his voice was low and trailed off at the end.
I looked at him.
He shook his head and looked down at the floor.
I followed his gaze and saw my cell phone on the floor, crushed.
"You know, I already talked to Col. Abbot about what happened tonight." I paused. "He's sending a team to investigate Martinez."
The four men laughed.
One behind me said, "You think we're worried about Abbot? He has less say here than he does in America." He walked around me, stopped with his face inches from the side of mine. "He doesn't have crap for pull with us. Our chain of command moves up a hell of a lot faster and farther than yours."
I cleared my throat but said nothing. I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach but didn't let my external expression change.
"Are you getting this, Noble? You're screwed. Nothing is going to get you out of this."
For what, I thought. Kicking that douchebag Martinez's ass? Hell, the other ops teams we worked with all said they couldn't stand him.
"Let's go."
They led us through the front door, down the hallway, and outside to a Humvee parked in front of the building. We climbed in through the back passenger side door. Bear and I sat in the middle. Two men sat in back with us, guarding the door. They held their weapons firmly pressed into our sides.
"Make sure you avoid the potholes," I said.
Bear chuckled. The four men didn't. These guys had no sense of humor.
"Shut the hell up, Noble," the driver said.
I did.
We drove on in silence across the base. Stopped in front of the building we used for detaining persons of interest. Guess that was what Bear and I were now.
Chapter 3
We waited in a gray concrete room. Mold covered the plaster ceiling and the rank smell of mildew overpowered my senses. There were no windows, only a single steel door, and just one table with two small wooden chairs. We were not in a cell, it was an interrogation room. We hadn't spent much time in this part of the building, as the CIA had specialized agents on site to handle the interrogations. Even if they used the field agents we were attached to, they wouldn't allow us in the room with a prisoner. We had been trained in interrogation techniques, though, and I had a feeling that training was about to come in handy.
Bear paced the room along the walls. "You believe this garbage?" He said it flatly, shaking his head.
I shrugged. "We knew it was coming."
"Yeah, but…" He threw his hands up and resumed pacing.
"Just sit back, nod your head and don't admit anything."
"You know I can't stand that suck up crap, Jack."
"Me either, big man, but we've got no choice. Let's just take our slap on the wrist, get out of here and get Abbot on the phone."
"Abbot," he said, shaking his head. "Who knows what they've filled his head with by now?"
I agreed. Chances were he and Keller had already been briefed and given Martinez's side of the story.
"He'll listen to us. Don't worry about that."
Abbot would listen, I felt sure of it. He had known b
oth of us since we were eighteen years old. He oversaw our training and our placement within the agency.
"I still can't believe he agreed to these garbage orders," Bear said.
"Yeah, well," I said. "I don't think he had much choice."
Following the attacks, the agency pushed hard for all of Abbot's men to deploy to the mid-east. Most of the guys went to Afghanistan to join in the hunt for Bin Laden and the attack on the Taliban. The remaining twelve of us were sent here. The best of the best is what Abbot had said, and that meant our talents were being wasted away guarding frigging doors and doing grunt work for guys like Martinez while he and his team botched opportunity after opportunity. These guys weren't operators, they were baboons.
"What the hell are you smiling at?" Bear said.
"Didn't realize I was."
He stopped in the corner opposite the door and leaned back against the wall. "I'm done with this."
"The team?" I said.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready to get out."
Bear and I joined the Marines at the same time. And even though I only had a few months left until my enlistment ended, he still had two years to go. When the topic came up, neither of us could make a good argument for or against doing another two to four years. I didn't know what I would do next, though. I'd spent enough time dealing with CIA operatives that I knew I wanted nothing to do with the agency, even though I had an open invitation after my enlistment was up. The FBI wouldn't talk to us without law degrees, so they were out, not that they were ever really in. There was local law enforcement and government agencies like the DEA, but after everything I'd done, I didn't take to the idea of having to follow laws in order to do my job.
"I'm starting to feel the same way," I said.
I leaned my head back, resting it against the top of the wooden chair back, studying the mold patterns on the ceiling that started in the corner near the door, spread out evenly across the ceiling and then turned to the right, stopping before it reached the opposite wall. I wondered what was above the room.
