Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star

by Nobody, Joe

  Six gunshots rang out, each of the three security men receiving a pair of 5.56 NATO rounds. Beckworth, still trying to regain his vision and senses, was pulled roughly from his seat onto the wet pavement.

  “What’s your name?” an angry voice screamed in his ear.

  “I… I… who the fuck are…,” the confused man tried to respond.

  A hard slap stung the major’s cheek. And then another. “What’s your name?”

  Nick and his crew had been following the SUV without headlights, unwilling to give the major’s security team any advanced warning of their tail. When the minivan had appeared, all three of the Alliance men had known immediately it was an ambush.

  “Pull over… now!” the ex-Green Beret had yelled at the driver.

  Grim, Moses, and Nick hadn’t even waited for the Humvee to come to a complete stop before they were opening the doors and piling out into the rain.

  Alastair reached into his pocket, producing a syringe of clear liquid. He slapped the man on the ground again, needing to be 100% sure they had their target. “What is your fucking name?”

  “Beckworth,” replied the recovering victim.

  Alastair nodded at Eris and then stabbed the needle into the major’s thigh. “He’ll be in la-la-land in 10 seconds. Let’s go.”

  The operative checked on his prisoner, noting the major’s eyes were now rolling white. “He’s out. Help me get this fat ass up,” he said without looking at his partner. Alastair lifted one of Beckworth’s limp arms, positioning his knees to take the weight. When Eris didn’t appear, he turned back toward his partner and looked right into Nick’s rifle butt as it accelerated toward his head.

  The world went black.

  The specialist escorting the consultants hadn’t been prepared for the evening’s activities. When his passengers returned carrying three unconscious, bound, and bloody men over their shoulders, his hands had started to shake. He was sure his short military career was over.

  After dumping their human cargo on the ground next to the Humvee, Nick searched each man’s pockets. Only the body identified by Grim as Major Beckworth produced any contents.

  Sorting through a ring of keys, a wallet full of now-useless credit cards and IDs, Nick finally focused on a folded letter removed from the major’s breast pocket. Using Grim’s flashlight, the two men began reading an order from the Commanding Officer - Memphis Regional Garrison, dictating one Danforth Cornwall Beckworth report immediately. It was signed by a General Husk.

  “Who’s General Husk?” Nick asked the specialist.

  “He’s the divisional commander,” the nervous driver answered, “He’s the top brass in this area.”

  Nick grinned, staring up at Moses and Grim. “Well, I say we don’t want the good major to miss his appointment. Let’s take our new friends to the HQ and see if the general can help us sort this all out.”

  No one could offer a better alternative.

  Thirty minutes later, the specialist pulled up to the outer ring of barbwire surrounding what had once been a federal courthouse, now occupied by the US military. After a quick exchange with the MP on duty, they were allowed to proceed to the second set of barriers where the security became more vigilant.

  The duty officer wasn’t going to let them pass, regardless of the letter Nick produced or their concocted story about an automobile accident. After a call to his superior and then another up the chain of command, they were finally given the go-ahead. After checking their weapons with the MPs, they drove into a dimly lit underground parking garage.

  Eris was coming around, his moaning indicative of a smashed nose and several busted teeth. The other two prisoners were still out cold. As Nick easily hefted Beckworth on his shoulder, four men approached the parking area, their boots slapping the concrete with obvious haste.

  “I’ve brought along a medic,” a voice boomed. “How badly are they hurt?”

  “Not bad, sir,” Nick responded to the man with two stars on the lapel of his fatigues. “I think they’ll all be coming around soon. This man had been sedated, not injured.”

  Before Nick could lay his cargo down, another newcomer moved a few steps into the light. Staring at Nick, he said, “I know you. What the hell is the commander of the Alliance forces doing in Memphis, Tennessee?”

  “Hello, Colonel. I was getting ready to ask you the exact same question.”

  There was quite the crowd standing outside what had been holding cells for the myriad of federal courtrooms on the floors above. Alastair and Eris were receiving medical attention while two burly MPs stood watch. Both men were surly and uncooperative, both refusing to even provide their names. Beckworth was still out, lying quietly on one of the jail’s sparse bunks.

  “Alright, would someone please fill me in on what the hell is going on?” General Husk asked after everyone had settled down.

  The Colonel looked up with a stern expression on his face. He put his hand on the general’s shoulder, guiding him a few steps away from the others. “Really, George, you don’t want to know. Trust me on this. I think you should let me handle this situation from here and go back to running your command. I’ll make sure none of this sticks on you.”

  The general officer started to argue with his old friend, but then thought better of it. “If you say so, Colonel. You’ve never been one to fuck anybody over.”

  “We go back all the way to West Point, George. These prisoners are just the tip of a shit iceberg, and I don’t want to see one drop stain your spotless record. I’ll cover it with the president – no one at the Pentagon even need know.”

  Nodding, the general signaled his agreement. “If you have time, stop by my office later. One of my aides rummaged up some pretty good brandy and a few so-so cigars. It would be good to revisit better times.”

  “George, before you go, one last favor. Can you send your best JAG investigator out to where this ambush took place and retrieve the major’s security men? I’m most interested in the bullets you’ll find in their bodies. I think forensics will match those to the ones taken from the massacre at Chambers Valley. The report should be labeled for my eyes only.”

  The general’s brow knotted, but he didn’t comment for a moment. “Sure thing, Colonel. And don’t forget those cigars – worth their weight in gold these days.”

  “Thank you, general. I’ll do my best,” the Colonel replied with a soft voice.

  And with that, the senior officer spun on his heels and headed off, never looking back.

  The Colonel watched his friend leave and then returned to the milling group of contractors. The medic was just finishing up on the two mystery men. “They’ll live. They will be sore as hell for a while, and the one guy could use a visit to the dentist, but other than that…”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. You’re dismissed,” the Colonel acknowledged. He then turned to the two MPs and said, “If you’ll loan me a sidearm, I’ll let you two men return to your duties.”

  Both of the military policemen understood the Colonel’s words weren’t a suggestion. Handing over the Beretta 9mm and a spare magazine, the two uniformed cops followed the medic out of the area.

  As the remaining men watched the last of the regular Army personnel leave, Beckworth moaned from his bunk. Nick and the Colonel exchanged a glance, and then the two moved next to the resting ex-major.

  “Son, I know what you told Grim about Chambers Canyon. I know you did so at the behest of one Mr. White,” the Colonel started, his calm voice resonating through the major’s foggy mind.

  He continued, “I can have you back running your little business in a few hours if you’ll tell me everything you know about that entire ordeal.”

  “I’m a dead man if I say a word,” Beckworth mumbled.

  “Mr. White has already ordered your demise, Major. If we hadn’t pulled you from their clutches, I’m sure you wouldn’t be so comfortable right about now. Do you remember the minivan… the flashbang… someone injecting your leg with the drug you’re feeli
ng right now? That wasn’t a traffic accident.”

  The narcotic-induced euphoria flowing through Beckworth’s body did allow him to recall the recent events. He managed a smile and nodded. “Yes, I know. It’s funny, isn’t it? I’m dead either way.”

  Nick stepped forward, “No, it doesn’t have to end that way. I know of a place where White can’t get to you. Where you can live out your days in safety. Fess up, dude. Have some honor.”

  The Colonel turned to Spider and nodded. The ex-contractor produced a smart phone and started video recording the major’s interrogation.

  Beckworth smiled again, his pupils dilated, words slow. “You’re correct about White. He visited the Circus after I sent a picture of some guy named Bishop to Washington for identification. He gave me the story to plant and was happy when Bishop left in a big hurry.”

  The Colonel’s head dropped, and he exhaled. He’d taken some huge risks to prove Bishop’s innocence, and now it was paying off. “Tell me the story, son. Take your time, everything you can remember.”

  Twenty minutes later, the Colonel stood outside Eris’s cell, Spider and Nick bookending the smaller man. Both of the recovering operative’s eyes were black and swollen, his nose three times its normal size, courtesy of the butt-stroke.

  “I know you’re a tough guy. I know you won’t talk to me freely, but you know I’ve got to try,” the Colonel stated, his voice low and calm.

  The prisoner didn’t react, his gaze and breathing steady.

  Turning to Spider, the Colonel raised an eyebrow. “Spider, do you remember that suicide bomber we caught outside of Kabul?”

  Spider grinned, “Yes, sir, I do. We were lucky that his vest didn’t explode. He was a hardcore fanatic as I recall. He was ready to meet those virgins in heaven. He didn’t want to give us the location of his handlers or where they were making the bombs.”

  The Colonel shrugged, “But we convinced him to tell us. I think we should employ the same method on this gentleman. I’m sure it will be productive.”

  Spider retrieved a fire extinguisher from a nearby wall, hefting the red canister and then holding it for the Colonel to read the label.

  Eris didn’t react.

  The Colonel finished and nodded, “Good.” Turning to the prisoner, he pointed toward the device and said, “This extinguisher uses a nitrogen cartridge unit. It basically sprays liquid nitrogen at minus 60 degrees Celsius, which if you aren’t up on your scientific nomenclature, is really fucking cold.”

  Spider chuckled low and evil. Eris still didn’t react, but beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead.

  The Colonel continued, “These two large fellows beside me are going to bend you over that bunk and tie you down. They then will remove your pants. I will insert this nozzle up your anus and discharge approximately two seconds worth of the fire retardant into your lower intestines. Your lower digestive track and surrounding organs will be frozen instantly. While excruciatingly painful, a well-disciplined man such as yourself still may hold out. There is a 50/50 chance mercy will visit you in that moment, and you’ll pass out. I would put the odds at one in ten your heart will explode first, but you look to be in reasonable physical condition, so perhaps not.”

  Eris blinked, and then his stare focused on the Colonel’s face.

  Spider grinned, playing the role of the eager, sadistic torturer. “Your balls will freeze off, dude. They’ll tumble across the floor like ice cubes.”

  All business, the Colonel resumed his dissertation. “In less than two minutes, your core body temperature will make every attempt to thaw your lower extremities. This is where the serious pain begins. Each and every damaged cell will protest the thawing, one at a time. I’m told the nerve endings themselves will be especially sensitive to the process. It’s a shame really, a waste - the destruction of tissue will be too extensive, and you’ll never recover.”

  Eris grunted, “So if I’m already dead, why should I tell you anything?”

  The Colonel leaned in close to the man, his voice a sympathetic whisper. “You’ll beg us to end it quickly, son. You’ll plead for me to put a bullet in your brain and end the pain. But I won’t. As a matter of fact, I’m probably not going to bother asking you anything at all. Your partner in the adjoining cell will be much more cooperative after listening to you scream for mercy. With luck, you’ll last at least a few hours before your brain seizes out.”

  Spider chimed in, appearing anxious to get started. “I’ll make sure and show him your frozen balls.”

  Eris shook his head, “Why? Why are you doing this? I was only following orders.”

  The Colonel stood erect and squared his shoulders. “That didn’t work at Nuremberg, and it’s not going to work here. First of all, you’re not military. Secondly, murder isn’t a lawful order. But what really pisses me off is that you set up another man to take the fall. A man who saved the lives of my family. So now, you and the other dipshit are going to pay… and pay dearly.”

  Either trying to honestly debate or buy time, Eris decided to argue his case. “Then you’re naïve. If a war had broken out, don’t you think the number of dead would have far, far exceeded those that died in that canyon? We were saving lives.”

  Grunting, the Colonel shook his head. “Justify it any way you want, young man. I’ll not debate alternative realities or forced consequences. The fact remains that we have your weapons and will be comparing bullets within an hour. We have a confession from Beckworth and the logistics Mr. White used to transport you and your friend to West Texas. The Army is going to hang you one way or the other. Make it easy on yourself – don’t let White get away with this.”

  Eris seemed to be thinking through the Colonel’s words. Finally, looking up with tired eyes, he said, “I’ll confess under one condition. After I’m done, I would like a shot of bourbon and a pistol with a single round.”

  “Done.”

  Mr. White saluted General Husk as the regional commander passed by. The captain’s uniform worn by the spook was perfect, tailored to fit his frame and accurate in every detail. The intelligence operative had chosen the rank on purpose; the sheer number of officers of that grade present in the building made it unlikely he would be questioned. In his briefcase were Pentagon-issued identification cards for a captain, major, and a colonel. The appropriate rank insignias were in the same attaché, allowing him the opportunity for self-promotion if necessary.

  His presence in Memphis was an insurance policy. While Eris and Alastair were competent enough, the stakes were extraordinarily high – the preservation of the union. When he’d discovered the Colonel’s plan to visit Memphis, it was only proper procedure to instigate both a primary and secondary course of action. When his two operatives arrived as prisoners, plan-B was immediately invoked.

  He knew the Colonel would solicit a confession from his men. Everyone talked eventually. It didn’t take a doctorate in mathematics to calculate that the admission would be videotaped. His goal now was to make sure that evidence never left this building. If the Colonel somehow suffered an accident during the process, so be it. Causalities were always a variable in the equation.

  He proceeded to the men’s room, the large facility equipped with a dozen stalls. He smirked at the nobility of mankind, the interruption of someone performing a common biological function such a taboo. As a result, stalls in restrooms were always an excellent place to conduct all kinds of business and remain unnoticed.

  His team was there, occupying three of the last four units. Men, when choosing a place to void, typically wanted space. It would have seemed odd for three seats in a row to be occupied.

  Moving to a sink, he began washing his hands and whistling, the signal to muster. One by one the three doors opened, each operative exiting the room without comment and heading for the stairwell. Mr. White followed them out.

  After making sure they were alone, his instructions were concise. “Loiter by the holding cells in the basement. The man whose picture I showed you will
have the video evidence. Take everyone’s cell phone and any other electronic devices. No record of their interviews is to leave this building. He has three associates with him. They are unimportant. Gunplay is not permitted. Go.”

  Without additional comment, the three operatives descended the stairs, heading for the basement brig. After watching them pass out of sight, Mr. White made for the exit. There was a small chance things would go wrong, and if it did, his presence wouldn’t improve the situation. There was no need to stay.

  The three operatives selected the main hall outside the detention area. Picking up a nearby chair, one of the men proceeded to break the light bulbs from each ceiling fixture. In moments, the walkway was plunged into darkness. They selected positions.

  Forty minutes later, Nick and Moses opened the door leading from the holding cells, the lack of lighting in the hallway causing Moses to pause. “Looks like the big Army is having generator problems tonight.”

  “Odd that it’s only out in the hallway,” Nick responded, following his friend through the opening.

  Something about Moses’ posture alerted Nick, his friend stiffening and then jerking with rapid vibrations. Before Nick could react, a shadow appeared from behind the door, and the ex-Green Beret experienced an electric fire surge through his torso. He never felt his body hit the floor.

  White’s men had touched both of the victims with stun guns, but not the normal civilian variety. The weapons used by police and for home defense were throttled in order to avoid permanent injury or death. The models issued by the intelligence community were significantly different.

  Unconcerned with potential deadly effects, the weapons wielded by Mr. White’s team were designed to be silent and to discharge enough current to immediately take down the target, regardless if the victim’s heart stopped or not.