Clear by Fire: A Search and Destroy Thriller

by Joshua Hood

  From the outside, the industrial gray building the DoD was renting stood unobtrusively within the confines of the commercial district. The massive window was coated with a shiny silver veneer that distorted her reflection as she walked toward the main entrance.

  Renee looked up at the cameras mounted along the apex of the overhang and felt a momentary jolt of self-consciousness. She scanned her ID at the front door and waited for the electronic lock to click open.

  Once inside the foyer, she gave her badge to the security guard, who scanned it before allowing her to walk through the metal detectors. Her pistol caused the machine to light up, and the guard dutifully wanded her with the handheld scanner.

  Everyone in the building carries a gun, but the poor security guard still has to go through the motions, she thought.

  “You have a good day, ma’am,” he said after completing the scan.

  “Thank you, Austin,” she said, smiling at the middle-aged man.

  Her shoes clicked across the shiny marble tile of the lobby as she walked to the bank of elevators. Pushing the call button, Renee waited for the shiny brass doors to slide open before stepping in and pressing the round button for the third floor.

  As the elevator gently rose, she looked up at the mirrored ceiling and ran her hands over her hair. She liked the way she looked, but it was a double-edged sword. Being a driven and attractive woman in an all-male world came with its own set of unique problems. If you were too direct, the boys thought you were a bitch, but if you were too sweet, they figured you were a tease. Her last mistake, Jonas, had liked the fact that she was independent, but as soon as it got serious, he wanted her to change. She had cared about him enough to ignore it at first, but if she was going to give up her career, it had to be for someone who accepted her just as she was.

  Stepping off the elevator, Renee immediately noticed the usually sedentary office was buzzing with activity.

  “What’s going on?” she asked the secretary sitting at her desk near the front.

  The secretary was a civilian and didn’t care about much besides her thirty-minute breaks and being able to talk to her sister on the phone. She shrugged and left Renee to figure it out for herself.

  The office space was set up in an open floor plan and was designed to promote productivity and teamwork. The only walls on the floor were made of glass and held a large meeting room to her left and a series of offices to her right. The offices belonged to the station chief and his underlings, and dark venetian blinds provided management with a sense of privacy, while everyone else sat in the open. A giant window took up the entire back wall of the office and framed the breathtaking California morning in floor-to-ceiling glass.

  Renee walked over to the desk she had been temporarily assigned and called her boss, General Swift. He was a busy no-nonsense man who got right to the point.

  “What the fuck happened?”

  “Sir, they went off script, there was nothing I could do.”

  “Damn it, Renee, you know better than to get pulled into a fucking firefight in an American city. I’ve got shit going on over here that you wouldn’t believe. I don’t need another fuckup.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  “So, what’s your plan now?”

  “I’m going to grab my stuff. I told them to close the airports and train stations last night, and I’m hoping to get a fix on Decklin before he leaves the country.”

  “Keep me posted and don’t fuck this up.”

  Renee hung up the phone and looked across at the conference room full of people in battle-dress uniform pants and ripstop shirts. They were having a briefing. But before she could join them the assistant agent in charge was staring at her from his desk, obviously pissed.

  “Renee, where the fuck are the rest of the photos?”

  “Jim, I released everything that was relevant.”

  “One of my agents is dead and you’re still holding out on me?”

  “Some of those photos are classified,” she said, biting back her anger.

  “This is bullshit. You’re here to assist us, not get my people killed.” He stood up from his desk, his face red with righteous anger. Grabbing a handful of papers off his desk, he shoved them into her hands as he stormed away. “That’s the operation plan for today. We’re hitting Dr. Keating’s house in about an hour. He didn’t go to work today and we want to catch him before he leaves the country.”

  “What about the airports? Did you alert them about my target?”

  “Renee, this thing goes both ways. You help me and I help you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I passed your request up the chain of command. I thought you were advised of our procedure before you arrived,” he said, mocking her.

  “With all due respect, sir—”

  He cut her off with an open hand. “Look, the doctor is the only lead that we have right now. If you want to come off of any intelligence that you might have, then we might be able to entertain some other options.” He stopped in the open area between his office and the conference room and stared down at her.

  Jim Green’s ability to ignore the fact that his actions, or at least the actions of the people he reported to, had directly contributed to last night’s fiasco didn’t surprise Renee the way it used to. People wondered why they were losing the war, but Renee knew that despite public promises no one was interested in working together.

  “I can assure you that I would hand over any relevant intel with or without clearance. Jim, I see what’s going on here, and I think it’s a huge mistake.”

  “Renee, I’m out of options. I have a dead agent and three dead bodies that I can’t ID. The director wants results and that’s what I’m going to give him. You really fucked us on this and now we’re cleaning up your mess, so you can either show a little gratitude and sit in on the briefing or go pout at your desk. You choose, because I don’t care.”

  Turning before she could answer, he walked into the conference room and pulled up a chair next to the station chief. “She’s not going to give us anything else,” Jim Green said as Renee walked into the room.

  Everyone turned to look as she stood frozen in the doorway. Renee could tell they were already laying the failed operation on her. She knew she should pack up her stuff and leave, but something inside her refused to admit defeat.

  The station chief turned in his chair and cast a dark look at her before telling the team leader to continue with the briefing.

  Renee slipped into the room and stood with her back against the glass wall. A large picture of the doctor’s house had been printed off the Internet and appeared to be the only imagery they were using. Random words and phrases were written haphazardly on the giant whiteboard that the image was taped to; the only thing tactical about the mission was the man with “Tac Commander” written on his shirt.

  Renee had been here before. As one of the first women to fight in a Special Ops unit, she was used to the smug egotism that most men wore like suits of armor. She had two strikes against her before ever stepping in the room. The first was the fact that she was a woman in a man’s world, and the second was that she was new. No one cared what the “new guy” had to say, especially if it was a woman.

  She might not have been welcome, but she still paid attention as J.T., the team leader, briefed the plan. He was dressed in the latest Crye Precision gear, and the five-hundred-dollar outfit had been freshly pressed. The man had his pants bloused over his hiking boots, which made him look like a mall security guard. Renee didn’t know the guy, but he looked like a total douche.

  “We’re going to approach the objective from phase line green.” He used his left hand to trace the route on the map, but Renee couldn’t see the tiny image and had no idea what street he was referring to. “Once we hit phase line blue we are weapons hot, and the plan is to stop short of the objective and set up an outer cordon. I want the breaching team ready, on my go, to hit the door, and I’ll need the red team arou
nd the back providing rear security.”

  Despite the fact that she had actually been inside the doctor’s house the day prior when she tapped his phones, no one bothered to ask for her input. So she slipped out of the room to call Swift again.

  “Jalalabad TOC, Sergeant Wilson speaking. How may I help you, sir or ma’am?” the sergeant on duty at the tactical operations center answered.

  “Sergeant Wilson, this is Razor 1 on an unsecured line. I need to speak with General Swift, right now.”

  “Ma’am, he’s not here.”

  “Where the hell did he go?”

  “He’s at Bagram, some kind of meeting.”

  “Shit. I need you to find him and have him call me back. He has the number.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The line went dead, and Renee stuffed the phone in her pocket and jogged to the elevator. She jumped into the crowded car, her mind racing as it made its descent.

  The elevator settled after completing its four-story trip to the basement, and the doors slid open with a ding. Renee could see that the door to the equipment cage was still open, and she slipped into the secure area with the rest of the agents. She didn’t have any gear, but luckily the army had taught her the importance of making friends with the supply and equipment personnel, and Renee always made it her mission to be on a first-name basis with them wherever she went.

  While the strike team geared up and checked their weapons, she went straight to the armorer. The entrance to the arms room had a heavy metal door, like a bank vault, which was open. Once the main door was opened, the armorer had another metal half door that prevented people from entering but allowed them to receive weapons and gear that he passed through the open portion.

  Renee leaned over the top of the door and peered in. She felt like a mother picking her child up from day care, but instead of a kid, she was trying to get a rifle.

  “Hey, Matt, sorry to bother you,” she said to the man seated at the metal desk set against the reinforced concrete wall.

  “Renee, I hear you had a shitty night,” the young, lanky man said as he bounced up from the desk.

  “Yeah, I need a rifle for the raid. Can you hook me up?”

  “No problem, do you have a requisitions form?”

  “Jim Green didn’t give me one, he told me to draw something from you.”

  After last night’s shooting, she technically wasn’t cleared to go out with the strike team until after her shooting review board. Even though she was in the military, she still had to follow the DoD’s policies, but Renee knew there were always ways around the rules.

  “I’m not supposed to give anything out without the form, but what the hell, you have the highest security clearance in the building. What do you want?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me as long as it’s been zeroed.”

  The inside of the armory had a large metal workbench and a red tool chest against the far wall. Every other inch was filled with weapon racks, equipment, and body armor. Matt grabbed a decked-out M4 from the rack and checked to ensure it was unloaded before handing it over.

  “I assume you need magazines and ammo too?”

  “Please.” She pulled the charging handle to the rear, even though he had just shown her the weapon was empty. It was rule number one and had been drilled into her head for the last six years of her life.

  The rifle was equipped with an Aimpoint micro battle optic, which looked like a toy but was rugged and extremely light. It could run forever on a single battery, but Renee checked it anyway. She turned the knob all the way up, and after ensuring the bright red dot didn’t flicker, she shut it off.

  The strike team was loading up and she needed to hurry or they would leave her.

  “Is the supply room open?” she asked, knowing she was pushing it.

  Renee hated using her feminine wiles to get men to do what she wanted, but there was no way she was sitting this one out. She stuffed the mags into the plate carrier’s pouches, which Matt had given her, and then with a look that was a mix between a pout and a promise said, “I need to get a flight suit and a radio too.”

  “Whatever you need, pretty lady.”

  “Thanks. If you’re still around when I get back, I’ll let you buy me a beer.”

  He blushed and handed over her helmet.

  Renee jogged over to the last van and opened the passenger door. Before getting in, she jammed a magazine into the rifle’s mag well and racked a round into the chamber. The driver arched his eyebrow as she pulled herself into the seat. “Rough morning?”

  Slamming the door closed, she settled her bulky gear into the seat. The driver’s name was Steve, and he’d been Joseph’s friend and partner for a long time. Renee was glad to be riding with him. “What makes you say that?”

  Steve had put in more than his share of “work” for the DoD and truly didn’t give a shit anymore. He had three years until retirement and was the most laid-back man at the office.

  The cargo door slid open as a squad of agents piled into the back of the van. He gave her a playful nudge on the shoulder as she put the helmet on her head and adjusted her ponytail.

  “Don’t worry about it. No one worth a shit blames you for what went down.”

  “Your boss does.”

  “Like I said, no one worth a shit.”

  He laughed and put the van in drive as Renee turned on her radio. The men in the back were psyching themselves up and basically dicking around as the convoy pulled out of the underground garage and headed for the street.

  Renee had been on more operations than she could count, but they had always been with a team she knew and trusted. Nervousness crept coldly up her spine and into her stomach. She didn’t know these guys, but she could tell they weren’t switched on. If things got bad, Renee knew she would be on her own, with no one to watch her back.

  She took a deep breath but couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was just over the horizon. Renee prayed that she was wrong but had learned long ago to trust her gut. She had to be ready for the worst.

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  Kunar, Afghanistan

  Sergeant First Class Jericho Harden was breathing hard by the time he made it to the ridgeline. The air in the Afghan mountains was thin, and the steep terrain made the five-kilometer movement seem like a marathon. He took a knee five meters short of the summit and adjusted his pack. The wide straps were cutting into his shoulders and a familiar tightness was forming at the small of his back.

  Sliding the strap off his right shoulder, he dropped the heavy rucksack to the ground and pulled a Nalgene bottle out of the top flap, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the view.

  The Hindu Kush Mountains of northeastern Afghanistan were awe-inspiring. As the cool mountain air rushed down from the snowcapped peaks above him and swirled against his sweat-soaked body, he wondered how many men had experienced this view.

  He was sweating now but was well aware that his body temperature could drop very quickly out in the open. Replacing the bottle in his pack, he slipped a black fleece skullcap over his head before grabbing his radio and laser range finder. Looking behind him, he ensured that the rest of his men were pulling security before continuing up to the summit.

  The night before, the colonel had received the green light on the operation, sending the team into a flurry of action. All the planning and time spent masking their movements had led to this moment, and Harden knew that they were about to show the world that the war was far from over.

  The Kunar province lay protected in the shadows of the Hindu Kush Mountains, like a lush jewel nestled in the craggy embrace of some prehistoric god. Harden had listened to his boss, Colonel Barnes, tell of ancient armies broken against its treacherous peaks and impenetrable caves. Many men had lost their lives here, and he had great respect for this sacred place.

  The mujahideen had broken the Russians in these mountains and had damn near done the same to the Americans. As Harden crept closer to the flat plat
eau, his eyes were drawn upward to the indifferent snowcapped peaks that marked the gateway into Pakistan. The treacherous mix of shale and granite crunched beneath his chest and elbows as he crawled closer to the edge and began setting up his equipment.

  Taking a small GPS out of his pocket, he hit the power key and waited while it tracked the satellites orbiting in the exosphere. Putting his eye up to the optic, he looked down the steep ledge and into the valley below.

  The fuzzy brown squares of the mud compounds came into focus as he twisted the knob on the back of the optic, and a moment later, he could make out the individual bricks of the target house. Two black and white goats tugged at the leaves of a small bush, while smoke rose lazily from the metal chimney.

  His enemy had no idea.

  Adieb Hakin stepped out of his house, his white headdress blowing in the light breeze. Walking over to the large woodpile stacked against the eastern wall, he grabbed an ancient ax and began splitting logs to feed into his bukhari stove. The stove was his family’s only source of heat, and for centuries the Kunar region of Afghanistan had supplied the rest of the country with wood for the winter. Smuggling timber was illegal, but like everything else in the country there were ways around that.

  He raised the ax high in the air and brought the iron head down on the log, neatly splitting it into two ragged sections. Harden hit a button on the top of the range finder, and the laser quickly calculated the distance.

  “Seven hundred meters,” he read off the digital display.

  Harden lifted the hand mike and depressed the rectangular button on the side.

  “Anvil 6, this is Anvil 7, target acquired.” He lowered his eyes back to the range finder and gazed across the village, which had been at the base of these mountains for hundreds of years.

  Adieb was a Taliban facilitator whose close connection with President Karzai had protected him while he helped kill hundreds of Americans. He was one of the president’s untouchables, but Harden’s mentor, Colonel Barnes, was about to change all of that. Harden had spent his career hoping for a commander like Barnes, someone who didn’t give a shit about the brass and just wanted to win. He knew that his boss could make general one day, if he cared about rank, but Barnes had much higher ambitions.