The Guardian

by David Hosp

  Saunders wiped the blade on Majeed’s tunic. ‘They were my friends,’ he repeated. He pulled himself away, and Majeed collapsed on the ground.

  The rest of the operation took less than thirty seconds. Saunders walked out of the cabin, his suppressed nine-millimeter drawn. The three militia members were smoking the hashish. Saunders put two rounds into Symia’s forehead first. The second soldier was holding the hashish pipe, and he dropped it as he fumbled at his side for his gun. Two rounds to his chest dropped him where he stood. The third was raising his Kalashnikov, shouting curses. Bashar put a single round into the man’s temple, then walked over and kicked him in the leg to see whether there was any movement. He put another round into the back of his head just to be sure.

  ‘It is done,’ Bashar said.

  ‘It is,’ Saunders agreed. He looked around. The sun had warmed the place considerably while he’d been in the hut, but the air was still crisp. The sky was bluer than any Saunders could remember.

  ‘We should pull the bodies inside,’ Bashar said.

  Saunders nodded and the two of them moved the corpses out of the sunlight.

  ‘I’m going to be leaving,’ Saunders said. He was following Bashar as they headed down the mountain trail.

  ‘I know,’ Bashar said without turning. ‘You are American. Americans always leave.’

  ‘There’s going to be hell to pay. My superiors didn’t authorize this.’

  Bashar said nothing.

  ‘You should leave, too. I can arrange for you to get out of the country.’

  ‘Where would I go?’ Bashar asked.

  ‘Wherever you want,’ Saunders said.

  Bashar shook his head. ‘I will stay here. This is my country.’

  ‘It will be dangerous for you.’

  ‘It is Afghanistan,’ Bashar said. ‘It is dangerous for everyone.’

  They continued walking down the mountain in silence for a while. Finally, Saunders said, ‘I’ll come back.’ Bashar said nothing. ‘Once I get everything straightened out back in the States, I’ll return.’

  ‘I know,’ Bashar said quietly. ‘You are American. Americans always return.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Charlie got back to the apartment later that afternoon. Cianna had given him a key, and she heard it turn in the lock. The door opened a crack before it caught on the chain. ‘What the hell?’ he said.

  ‘Coming.’ She crossed the room, closed the door, slid the chain off, and opened the door again.

  ‘What’s up with the chain?’ he asked.

  She shrugged, feeling like she’d been silly and paranoid. ‘Big city,’ she said. ‘Can’t be too safe.’

  He was holding several brown paper bags. ‘I’ve got lunch,’ he said, a big smile on his face.

  ‘It’s four o’clock,’ she said.

  ‘Fine, then I’ve got dinner. I haven’t eaten yet, and I’m starving.’ He set the bags on the table and started tearing them open. The aroma of Chinese food filled the apartment. He kept opening the bags until there were seven white cartons spread out before them. The last bag contained a six-pack of Heineken. ‘I splurged,’ he said.

  ‘I can see that. What’s the occasion?’

  ‘Isn’t my being back from war enough?’

  ‘You were in the Quartermaster Corps,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, not taking the bait. ‘How about us being together again? I haven’t seen my sister in nearly two years.’

  She let it go and forced a smile. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘That’s a good reason to celebrate.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, looking satisfied. ‘Let’s dig in.’

  Sirus Stillwell sat in a blue late-model sedan on the corner of Mercer Street. He was tall enough that his bald head brushed against the roof of the car, and there was barely enough room for him to stretch his legs to keep them from falling asleep. He watched Charlie walk into the apartment building carrying something in his right hand. The bag was just about the right size. He picked up the phone and made a call. ‘He’s back at her apartment,’ he said when the call was answered.

  ‘Does he have it with him?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Sirus said. ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Possible? Your time is up.’

  ‘I need another day.’

  ‘No. You’ve failed. Our friend from Afghanistan will take care of this.’

  ‘One more day. That’s all I’m asking.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ the voice said.

  ‘No!’ Sirus yelled into the phone. ‘It’s not too late! I said I’ll handle this!’ He clicked off the phone and stepped out of the car. He looked up at the apartment house for a moment, then crossed the street and opened the front door.

  Charlie put his fork down. ‘I was thinking,’ he started hesitantly, looking up at her as if to make sure she was paying attention.

  ‘What?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘I was thinking we should get out of here. Leave Boston. Leave the East Coast, in fact. Maybe go down to Florida.’

  ‘Florida’s on the East Coast,’ she said with a laugh. He still was a little boy to her in so many ways. Their father had left when their mother was still pregnant with Charlie, and their mother spent most of her energy after that trying to land another husband. She’d burned through a dozen candidates in a few years – in truth they’d burned through her – and always blamed the breakups on the fact that she was saddled with two ungrateful children.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘We should get out of here. Go someplace else.’

  She looked down at her plate and managed to maintain her smile. ‘You go,’ she said. ‘You don’t need me weighing you down. Besides, I’m happy here.’

  ‘No you’re not,’ he said.

  ‘Well, maybe not happy. But there’s something good in what I do here. I take some satisfaction from that. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll be okay.’

  ‘You don’t have to just be okay,’ he said. ‘You can be better than okay. We both can be.’

  She looked at him, and saw in his eyes an intense combination of optimism, excitement and desperation. There was something else underlying it all, too; something she couldn’t quite identify. After a moment, she recognized it. She’d seen it all too many times, lining the corners of the eyes and mouths of the men she’d fought with over the years. It was fear.

  ‘What’s going on with you, Charlie?’ she asked.

  He looked away, and his expression changed. The fear was replaced by shame. ‘I’m gonna be coming into money soon,’ he said. ‘A lot of money.’

  She shook her head in confusion. ‘What money? From where?’

  He still couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘You don’t need to worry about it,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I don’t need to worry about what?’ She heard in her voice the maternal tone she’d taken with him so often when they were younger.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about where the money is coming from,’ he said. He stood up and went into the tiny kitchen, threw his plate into the garbage. When he turned back to her, his face was bent in anger. ‘Look at this goddamned place,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘I mean, don’t you deserve better than this? Haven’t you put in your time? Haven’t we both? Everybody else out there has spent their lives breaking the rules, but you and me did the right thing. We served our country. And this is where it gets us? You babysitting other people’s fuck-ups, and me . . .’ His voice trailed off for a moment. ‘Isn’t it time for us to get a little something for ourselves? Haven’t we earned it?’ His thin face was bright red, his eyes wide and searching, begging for absolution.

  ‘What did you do?’ she asked. She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

  ‘Nothing!’ he shouted back at her.

  ‘What did you do?’ she asked again, more quietly this time.

  He was breathing hard, staring at her with anger in his eyes, but it wasn’t really directed at her; it was aimed inward. ‘I stole,’ he said. ‘Yo
u happy? I’m a thief.’

  She remained calm. ‘What did you steal?’

  ‘An antique,’ he responded. ‘A very valuable antique.’

  ‘Who did you steal it from?’

  He smiled bitterly. ‘That’s the beautiful thing,’ he said. ‘I stole it from another thief. A group of thieves, actually; people who were looting the whole damned country of Afghanistan.’ He turned and reached into the refrigerator, took out a beer, and opened it. He threw the cap at the garbage and missed.

  ‘Back up,’ she said, ‘and tell me everything.’

  He walked back and sat down on the couch. ‘They were running it out of the airbase in Kandahar,’ he began. ‘A couple of years ago, just after you went away, this guy comes to me and makes me an offer.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘His name was Sirus. Sirus Stillwell. He was a really well-connected officer over there. Huge guy, and known for a dangerous temper. He came to me because I could control the shipping.’ He looked up at her. ‘In a way, it was flattering – an important guy like that needing me, wanting help from me? No one had ever really needed me for anything. Does that sound fucked up?’

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘Anyways, Sirus comes to me a couple years ago and tells me that he’s got a bunch of boxes that need to get back to the States. He tells me that they’re labeled “Auto Parts”, and he needs to make sure they got through to Ramstein safely. I was in charge of materials transport at the depot. He tells me if I make sure it gets through, and I don’t inspect it, he’ll take care of me. He slips me a couple hundred bucks, and tells me that was just a taste. He tells me him and his partners are going to be shipping at least one box a month.’

  ‘What was in the boxes?’ Cianna asked.

  ‘I didn’t know at first,’ Charlie said. ‘I didn’t look inside them. I figured this was the way the world works, and the extra money was good. But I’m not an idiot, lots of guys talked about shipping stuff home. Hell, in World War Two it was legal. Now it’s illegal, but it still happens, so I figured it was no big deal.’

  ‘But eventually you looked?’

  ‘I got curious,’ he said. ‘So one night when one of the shipments was in the warehouse, I opened one of the boxes and took a look. I figured it would just be some trinkets – you know, the kind of stuff you can get in any bazaar over there.’

  ‘But that’s not what you found.’

  He shook his head. ‘They were moving some serious shit. I mean, there was more gold than I’d ever seen. Plus jewels and little statues – all kinds of stuff. The real stuff; not the crap that most people sneak out of there. This was high-end.’

  ‘Where did they get it?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ Charlie said. ‘But you know the rumors, right? They say that when the Taliban took over in the nineties they looted all of the country’s wealth. Some of it was destroyed, but the rumor was that they stashed a lot of it. Relics and gold and jewels. No one knew where for sure.’

  ‘And you think Sirus found the stash?’

  ‘Maybe. Truth is, I don’t know and I don’t care.’

  Cianna sighed. ‘So you took some of it,’ she said.

  ‘Not right then,’ he protested. ‘I was so freaked out, I closed the crate right back up and got the hell out of there. I mean, I knew Sirus was seriously connected, and it wasn’t gonna do my life any good to mess with him. Besides, he was paying me, so I figured I might as well keep my mouth shut and go along, right?’ He took a sip of the beer.

  ‘What happened?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘You were in prison,’ he said. ‘Nothing made sense anymore. I got tired of the dust and the heat and the cold and the boredom of every single fuckin’ day over there in Afghanistan,’ he said. ‘I still might have re-upped, just because I couldn’t figure out anything else I could do, you know? I couldn’t think of any way out. Then it hit me. It was staring me in the face. Sirus was shipping so much stuff out every month, I figured he wouldn’t miss a couple of trinkets. And with what I could get from that, I could get a little start. So I decided to muster out and take my chances. After that, every month, when the shipments went out, I took a few things. Not that much; just enough to get some money together.’

  ‘But I thought you said you’re coming into a lot of money,’ Cianna said. ‘A few trinkets won’t set you up for very long.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘The last shipment went out the day before I was discharged. And I figured I might as well take one more dip, you know? So I opened up one of the crates, and I was looking around, and I came across this antique knife, wrapped in an old ratty blanket. I mean, I’d never seen anything like it. I almost put it back, because I was afraid this was the sort of thing that someone would notice if it went missing. But then I realized, even if someone did notice it was gone, it would take a week or so – because the crate was being shipped. By then, I’d be long gone. And what was Sirus gonna do then? Go to the police? I don’t think so. So I wrapped it back up in the blanket and I took it.’

  ‘Is it here, in the apartment?’ Cianna asked.

  Charlie shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t want to carry it around.’

  ‘Where is it, then?’

  ‘The only place I knew it would be safe.’ He looked at her, and she stared back, uncomprehending. ‘C’mon Sis, you should be able to figure that out.’

  She frowned. ‘Where?’

  ‘I’ll give you a hint: if you wanted to feel safe, where would you go?’ She shook her head, and he laughed at her. ‘Jesus, it’s like we didn’t even grow up together. When I show you, you’re gonna feel really stupid.’ He stood up.

  ‘Can we go there now?’

  He looked at his watch. ‘Soon.’

  She said, ‘How do you plan to sell this thing?’

  ‘I’ve got that all arranged,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m fencing it through Miles Gruden. I met with him today.’

  ‘Christ, Charlie, are you stupid? Miles Gruden is a psychopath. You remember what he was like growing up? You remember what he did to Davey? This is a bad idea.’

  ‘Yeah, well there aren’t many Boy Scouts who have the contacts to fence stolen artifacts from the Middle East. Besides, what’s he gonna do? He’s making money off this, same as me.’

  ‘Guys like Gruden don’t want to make money same as you, Charlie, they want to make all the money.’

  ‘Relax, Cianna, like I told you, it’s all gonna be fine.’

  As he said the words, there was a pounding at the apartment door. Cianna looked at Charlie. She walked over to the front door and looked out the peephole, but could see no one. ‘There’s no one there,’ she said, turning back to Charlie.

  The knocking came again, harder this time. She put her eye to the peephole, but this time it was blocked. ‘Who is it?’ she called out.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jack Saunders rented a midsized Chevy sedan with a GPS and a full tank of gas from the Hertz at Logan airport. He typed Cianna Phelan’s address on the touch screen in the dashboard and a map popped up directing him. He turned the ignition and pulled out of the rental lot.

  The airport in Boston was a seven-minute drive from the heart of the city. Saunders took the Ted Williams Tunnel under the harbor over to Southie, exiting near the Convention Center. From there, he turned right and headed into the heart of the residential neighborhood. Southie had managed to maintain its blue-collar feel even as the areas closer in toward Boston proper had become gentrified. Young men dressed in workmen’s clothes covered in concrete dust smoked cigarettes on the narrow sidewalks, and cast suspicious glances at his car as it passed. The place smelled of greasy food and salt air.

  Saunders looked at his notes and scanned the addresses on the doors. The one he was looking for was easy to spot; it stood out on the street, separated from the rows of townhouses, the numbers writ large in chipped white paint on a black door that looked like it was being held together with rust.

  He pulled over to the sidew
alk and parked. There were no signs, and it was difficult to tell whether he was in a legal spot, but he figured he’d take his chances. He didn’t expect to be in the building for very long.

  One of the apartments on the third floor was apparently rented by Cianna Phelan, Charles Phelan’s only known relative. He’d left hers as a forwarding address with the Army when he’d mustered out two weeks before. Since then, he’d not been heard from. A standard check of his accounts revealed no use of his credit or debit cards that might have pinpointed his location.

  Saunders got out of the car and walked over to the door and gave it a try. It pulled open without resistance. With luck, he thought, the rest of the visit would go as smoothly.

  Cianna had her eye up against the peephole when the door was kicked in with such force that it threw her halfway across the room. She landed hard on the corner of the crate that served as a table. ‘What the fuck!’ she shouted, as her hand went to her face. She could feel the blood running down her cheek, and the vision in one eye seemed to be gone. She turned and looked through the curtain of blood back at the door. A giant man with a shaved head was standing at the threshold with shoulders broader than any she could remember seeing, and a neck that looked as though it was woven from steel tram cable.

  The man looked briefly at Cianna, then dismissed her and addressed her brother. His face was contorted in rage. ‘You’re a fucking moron, you know that, Charlie,’ he shouted. ‘You think your sister’s place isn’t the first place I’d look for you?’

  ‘Sirus.’ Charlie’s voice was quavering. ‘I don’t understand; what’s wrong?’ Cianna could see he was trying to act innocent, but it was a poor performance, and the guilt came through plainly.

  Sirus took a step into the tiny living room. ‘You want to know what’s going on? You want to know, you little shit?’ He moved toward Charlie. ‘You steal from me, and bad things happen. That’s what’s going on.’ There was nowhere for Charlie to go, and he tripped back against the sofa. Sirus’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat.

  ‘I didn’t steal anything!’ Charlie choked out, but it was barely audible. Sirus’s hand was crushing his windpipe.