Playing Tyler

by T L Costa

  “Love you too, Mom.” I watch the guy load the bags in the car. Hope he drives slow. Hate those drivers that go too fast. Scares me thinking about Mom being driven around by some guy I don’t really know. Deep breath, Ty, she’ll be fine.

  I wait until the car drives out of sight, then I walk back into the kitchen. How soon can I get to Ani’s? The keys are on the counter, just like Mom said. Her car is nice. Rides real nice. But I have a lot of time. Sucks. Maybe I’ll drive it over to the bagel shop and eat some breakfast.

  It’s mid-afternoon. Ani’s at class, Mom’s gone and I’m flying. Following a bunch of trucks. Mostly I’m a traffic cop, really. Flying over a gazillion miles of road. Really dull. At least today there are trucks on the road. The ones for that Pakistani company Rick says brings in supplies for a few NATO bases in Helmand province, I guess. For the past two days it’s been nothing but roads. Roads and the damn trucks. Rick says it will get better soon. After the “big reveal” or whatever so he can put me in charge of a drone clan. Says it will give me someone to talk to. About what, though? I mean, should I tell them about the missions or the fact that my brother was in a hospital dying and my mother wouldn’t even call him? They’re gonna talk to me once and run away screaming.

  The trucks roll over the border, which is only marked on my screen with a big, yellow, superimposed line like the first down line in a TV broadcast of the NFL. They take forever to get through the damn checkpoint. I put the primary drone on a circle pattern over them and stand up. Have to stretch. I reach out behind me and go over to the iPod dock for a second. Getting bored with the same old songs. Need something new. Need something fast and hard that will keep me awake for a few more hours so I can see these trucks through the rest of their run. Hate to leave something not finished. Perfect. They’re through the checkpoint and moving again. I set the tail.

  Want Rick to get his money’s worth. They’re paying me so much. In cash. It’s weird. Cool as shit. But weird.

  I yank the cuff off my arm for a minute and roll down the hall to the kitchen. Grab a Pizza Pocket. Go back. Great. They’re on the road. I hook up the cuff again, sit down in the leather chair I swear is molded to my ass permanently, and watch.

  The delivery goes as it usually does. Takes a few hours. The trucks roll into the city and pull up to the building which I guess is like a hospital or distribution center or something. Maybe a NATO base: all buildings look pretty much like big concrete rectangles from the sky. Guys all wearing the same kind of uniform come out and meet the drivers. They sit and have tea or whatever after unloading all the trucks. The first time I watched I sort of freaked because the drivers just got out of the trucks and disappeared for a while.

  So boring. Seriously. Watching a bunch of empty trucks idling is about as exciting as watching rocks. Whatever. SKY comes through. Another drone needed for cover on a different road. Great, now I get two screens of nothing.

  I put the second drone on the surveillance route and give it screen two. Drivers on screen one are getting back into their trucks. They roll out, driving slowly through town. Back towards the border. Surveillance mission on second drone is clear. No activity, just empty highway.

  But the trucks. The trucks, once outside of the city, pull off the road, take a detour. Pull up in front of some building. The drivers get out. Greet the people on the ground. Then they all start loading up the trucks. Filling three trucks with crates. Crates that they’re going to drive back over the border into Pakistan.

  My throat itches and I take a swig of Dew. Doesn’t help. My stomach tightens. This is the fifth time I’ve seen them do this. I look at the latitude and longitude of the building. Just outside of Baram Cha.

  It’s not right. I’m supposed to make sure that supplies get into Helmand province. Bring soldiers food and medicine and good things. But what the hell are the trucks taking out?

  The drivers shut the back doors of the trucks and before long they are rolling through the border. Border guys just wave them on through. Do they see me? Up in the air, flying over trucks that are supposed to be empty? Hell of a thing, to have protection like these trucks have.

  It’s cool. It has to be cool. Rick would never be involved in something that wasn’t cool.

  Unless he doesn’t know. I pick up the phone, dial. “Ani?”

  “Hey, Tyler. I can’t talk, I’m walking into class.” Her voice sounds so good. Need to hear it. Need her.

  “Can I come by later? I need to talk to you about something,” I ask, leaning forward. I run my hands over my scalp, not wanting to watch the trucks anymore.

  “Not today, I have a test first thing in the morning. I can see you when it’s over, though. How about tomorrow night?”

  Sucks. “Yeah, fine. See you then.”

  “Perfect. Talk soon, OK?”

  “OK, bye.” I hang up. Stare at the phone in my hand. Look up at the screens. The trucks are rolling past the border, rolling through Pakistani territory. What the fuck are they doing?

  CHAPTER 27

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 1

  TYLER

  Think I just got overrun by a bus full of zombies. Doesn’t matter.

  “What do you know about the missions, about the routes?” I ask. Holding my voice steady. Level. Calm.

  Ani looks down at her controller, puts it at her feet. She looks better, feels better, but her voice is still a little nasal. “I help program the targets.”

  “Right, but do you program in the patrol routes? The ones Rick said were for a contract Haranco has with some Pakistani security firm?” I don’t watch the screen.

  “No.”

  “You know where I fly them, though.”

  “Everybody flies those routes.”

  “Ani, I…” I take the controller out of her hand. Put it down, look over my shoulder, making sure the door to her room is closed. “I need to know what’s in those trucks.”

  She looks distant, like her eyes go someplace else. “Why don’t you ask your buddy Mr Anderson?”

  Right. “He says that the trucks move supplies into Afghanistan.”

  Her face is hard, eyes set, looking at the game screen. “Well, then what’s your problem?”

  “They’re delivering the supplies like he said, but then they’re stopping. Stopping before they get back to Pakistan, picking up truckloads of… something. Then driving it back over the border to Pakistan. I need to know what that something is.”

  Silence. I’m looking into her face, angled away from me. Like she’s counting the specks on the tile of the floor. After what feels like forever she says, “How many times have you seen this happen?”

  “I don’t know, at least four or five times.” I don’t want to say it, but I do. “Twice yesterday, few times over the past couple of weeks. They can’t be moving the same type of supplies back out of Afghanistan.”

  She opens her mouth but doesn’t speak. Not right away, still looking at the damn floor. “I wouldn’t think so. This is in Helmand province, right?”

  “Yeah, just outside of Baram Cha.” I take my eyes off of her, lines of her face telling me nothing. I run my hands through my hair. “What’s in those trucks?”

  “Are you going to make me say it?” Her voice soft.

  “What?”

  “I mean, there’s only one obvious answer here, Tyler, and I think you know what it is.” Her words come fast now. “And if what you’re saying is true then I’m walking away. I know it’s all you’ve got and I know it means I’ll have to leave Yale but I can’t anymore. I can’t be a part of this.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t know, that’s why I’m here talking to you.”

  “Come on. You’re not stupid.” She stands up, eyebrows coming together. “You wouldn’t be here talking with me about this if you didn’t know the answer to your own question. He’s been lying to me from the start, but this? I can’t believe Mr Anderson would do this! I can’t believe that he would use my program to do this.”

  “Do w
hat?”

  “Drugs, Tyler.” She pushes at my chest, throwing me back against the base of the platform bed. “Helmand province. The only cash crop they have over there is opium poppies. Opium, heroin, morphine – call it whatever you want but I can almost guarantee you that that’s what is in those trucks.”

  “There’s no way. Rick would never agree to fly cover for them if they were running drugs.” Rick will kill them when he finds out. Have to tell him. Tell him what’s going on so he can stop it.

  “He knows about the drugs.” She stands up, wrapping her arms around her own waist. “It’s his business to know everything about Haranco and their contracts.”

  “No way. Those guys are shits. I mean, like, they just load up the trucks, out in the open, people just drive on by and they don’t even care. If it was drugs people would stop them, say something to the police.”

  “In Afghanistan? In Helmand? It’s one of the largest opium-producing regions in the world. Don’t be stupid here, Tyler. It’s drugs. It has to be drugs.”

  No. Can’t be drugs. Rick can’t take a job from a bunch of drug runners. He would never do that. He hates drugs. Believes in his country. Believes in honor. Believes in the war on drugs. He would never have me fly missions for some drug lords. Not ever. “Rick doesn’t know that they’re running drugs.”

  “Are you kidding me? He knows everything!” She stands right in front of me, taking my face in her hands. “I’m sorry he’s not the man you thought he was, but trust me, he knows what’s in those trucks. And he’s paying you to make sure they get to where they need to go.”

  I feel the touch of her hands on my cheeks. I hear her words. Hear the sound of her voice. But I can’t put them all together and make things fit the way I need them to go.

  “No.” I hold her hands in mine. Take them off of my face, gently. “No, he doesn’t know.” Because if he knows, then I’m a drug runner. And a murderer. And that just can’t be. That’s not who I am. Not who I want to be. “It can’t be true.” I kiss her. Kiss her on the top of her head. “I’ll talk to him about it. Tell him. He’ll cut them off. Take care of it. But trust me, he would never agree to work for those people. Not ever.”

  “Why do you keep defending him? It makes no sense. He knows everything about this program, he controls everything!”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “This is insane. Insane! I can’t, can’t do this anymore, Tyler. I just can’t.” Her whole body’s shaking as she backs away from me.

  “What?”

  Her eyes shine so hard they look like they’re on fire. “It’s him or me. Your choice.”

  Fuck. This. I turn around and walk out the door, slamming it behind me.

  Don’t have to wait for long. Rick’s in my driveway when I get back. I creep Mom’s car in behind him and turn off the car. Deep breath. He doesn’t know about the drugs. He can’t know.

  The day is warm for October, afternoon sun hanging low, painting the sky orange. Rick’s wearing a fleece pullover and jeans. Deep breath, Ty. I fidget with my phone, tucking it into my pocket. He waves his hand in greeting. “Hey, Ty, got your text.” He looks at me as I get out of the car. Then the smile leaves his eyes. Grabbing the envelope. My next envelope, he hands it out to me.

  I take it. Don’t want it, but I take it. Maybe I’ll mail it to a rehab center. Give it to somebody good. Somebody who helps people. Slip it in my back pocket. I shrug. Honest, Tyler, just be honest. This is Rick. You’ve known Rick for years. “Hey, yeah, come on in, I need to talk to you about something.”

  He follows me to the front door. Big guy, standing right behind me, smelling like a mix of aftershave and whatever the stuff is he has in that flask that he carries. Damn, I wish he’d stop drinking so much. I unlock the door and we go in. Go over to the fridge, open it. Take out my phone, fiddle with it, put it back in my pocket then grab a bottle of Gatorade. I offer one to him and he accepts. We move over to the dining room. I don’t want to sit in front of the sim. And the dining room has this great long window that lets in the light. Help me to read his face.

  “What’s your worry?” he asks, tone light.

  “Rick, I need to talk to you about the missions. The ones where I fly cover for the convoys.”

  His face becomes stone. Just like that. Shit. This is bad. “What about the missions with the trucks? I haven’t noticed you reporting anything having gone wrong. Do you have a question?”

  “No, well.” His face oh shit, his face. No. He can’t know. Tell him. Hear him when he gives a reasonable explanation. “It’s just that after the trucks deliver their cargo, they stop on the way out, before the border, near Baram Cha and load up again. They don’t go home empty.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a question.” His voice is cold, cast in steel.

  Now. Chest wound tight. Ask now, just say it. “Drugs, Rick. I think they’re running drugs. I know that this is probably shocking and all that but I think you need to know what the Pakistani company hiring us to fly cover for them is doing.”

  He takes a sip from the flask. Then another. Swallowing long, deliberately, like he’s weighing his options. Shit. Shit. If he was innocent he would be mad. Outraged. And he’s not. He’s drinking. Thinking of the best way to spin his lies. Are you fucking kidding me? Rick? Rick’s lying to me using me all this time the only person who’s been there for me tricked me into running drugs for him this has to be a lie has to be not true but he’s quiet too quiet. “Dammit, Rick. Are you paying me to fly cover for a company that runs drugs out of Helmand and into Pakistan?”

  He stares. Please say no, please. He looks me over, face unreadable. He stands up, moves over to the china cabinet, grabs two tumblers. Bringing them over to the table, he takes out his flask and fills the glasses, pushes one over to me. “I’ve known you for, what? Two years, three now? I’m asking you now, as a man, have a drink with me.”

  He takes the tumbler in his hands and brings it to his lips in a sharp motion made fluid by muscle memory, throwing the brown liquid to the back of his throat, banging the empty tumbler on the table. I feel acid leaching down into my heart, my lungs. I grab the tumbler, try my best to mimic his movements and feel the booze burn its way down my throat, hoping it can stop the rising tide of anguish. But all it does is make my throat blaze and my eyes water, leaving me gasping for breath.

  “Have I told you about the Ghouls?” He grins and refills the glasses, his eyes lost in the circling surface patterns of the liquid.

  “What?”

  “Ghouls are the HCNs that the intel team uses for BDAs.” Words leaving a bitter taste in the air.

  I cough. “Can you put that in English, please?”

  “After you hit that house we sent subcontractors, Host Country Nationals, local Afghan operators in to do a Bomb Damage Assessment. They always have some bullshit cover: aid workers, government officials, press credentials, but really they’re in the body count business. They go and make sure that we got who we wanted to get.”

  “You said I hit the target that day, you were standing right there.”

  “You did. Our terrorist target, Said Al-Jafar, was good and dead. He was on the roof, remember? You also got one of his associates as well, all known Taliban fighters. But the same strike also killed two of their wives, along with three children. Azar, twelve, Amir, six and Faheema, who was only three years old.”

  My throat’s dry. Nerves frozen. Sick. Children. I killed children oh my God I can’t have killed children there’s no way.

  “That three year-old girl, Tyler, was she an enemy of freedom? A Taliban sympathizer? I doubt it. These actions, on some level, are completely counter-productive to the mission objectives. The counter-insurgency doctrine of ‘clear, hold and build’ becomes ‘bomb, kill and make more enemies.’” He moves the glass up towards his lips and I blink back the wet in my eyes. “We just gave Faheema’s cousins and any other able-bodied man from that village a reason to join the insurgency. Now I don’t know how you may
feel about all this but I can tell you that I don’t enjoy this aspect of the job. A shit pizza is what it is.”

  Hand and head tipped back, the empty glass taps back onto the table. His eyes resemble the glass wrapped in his hand.

  “But you’re the math guy, right? Consider this for me: that missile you fired killed seven innocent people, women and children, who might’ve helped recruit another dozen or so insurgents. So what I need you to focus on is: how many lives did you save?” He fills his glass again. “As it turns out, you cut off the head of the snake. Without leadership, insurgent activity in that sector has almost completely evaporated. It’s been a week now and we’ve had zero IEDs, zero ambushes, zero mortar attacks on our forward bases.”

  “But how do you calculate something so…”

  “Abstract? I don’t know. Dead children are an unfortunate consequence of the business that we’re in. Some Pentagon press aide jerk-off comes up with some cute little phrase like ‘collateral damage’ and that’s bullshit. It’s bullshit, you and I know it’s bullshit because those kids had names, dammit. Azar, Amir, Faheema.”

  “And Brandon?” The words are heavy, loaded.

  Wrist, head, glass tapping down on the table. “Look, those little kids had the grave misfortune of being within the blast radius of a coalition airstrike. They were innocent because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I know that you care about your brother, but he made a choice. It’s a choice he would’ve made whether it’s the Taliban supplying it or our Pakistani partners.”

  “No.” I throw back the contents of my glass, wanting the burn.

  The expression on his face isn’t malicious, it’s soft, sad, like it hurts him, too. “Sometimes the real cost of freedom is allowing people the privilege to make bad choices, self-destructive choices. That’s the horrible reality of the world, Tyler, and I need you to come to terms with that. You think it’s wrong, but that’s the part that you’re not seeing. If we don’t profit from it, the terrorists will.”