Deployed

by Mel Odom

  “The girl’s getting railroaded?”

  “Yeah. And I don’t know why. In a town that small, she should be some kind of hero.”

  Towers sat in a chair in front of the desk and crossed his arms. “Not trying to say that I know more than you—”

  “Of course not.” Heath waved a hand to get the gunney to continue.

  “—but maybe when it comes to small towns, maybe I know more than you.” Towers grinned. “Heroes are particular things in small towns. Most people believe in them, and they support them because generally they know them. But sometimes jealousy gets in the way.”

  “Jealousy?”

  Towers nodded. “You take this little slip of a girl that’s become a Marine. Probably not many in her hometown joined up in the military. Got too many responsibilities at home. Got a family. Got a better job than the military pays.” He paused. “Or maybe none of them boys wants to run the risk of catching a bullet. A girl like Lance Corporal Bekah Shaw would stand out in a town like that.”

  Heath sat back and listened.

  “You’ve experienced it yourself anytime you’ve been in public in your fatigues or your uniform. Sometimes people give you respect. A nod. A hello. You might be in a restaurant and somebody picks up your dinner tab. And sometimes other people fight shy of you, look anywhere but at you.”

  Heath knew that was true.

  “I don’t know what our lance corporal has got going on back home, but I’m betting that part of it is the fact that she don’t quite fit in no more. She makes people uncomfortable. She’s been out in the world. The big world. And she’s seen more trouble than them people are ever gonna see. The problem is, they don’t know her no more—if they ever did—and they ain’t sure they want to be on her team.”

  “Because she’s an outsider.” Heath understood that. He was an outsider in his father’s world; that had been apparent since he’d become a man.

  “Bingo.” Towers smiled.

  “Do you think that’s what’s going on here?”

  “Me?” Towers smiled again. “Wasn’t me come in here full of questions.”

  “You asked me first.”

  “Only if you had indigestion. You brought up the rest of it.”

  Heath grinned and leaned forward again. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

  “Yep.”

  “At any rate, I got the paperwork filed for her.” Working through military channels was easier than dealing with his father’s law firm. That was one of the things Heath loved about being a Marine. “She’s good to go till she gets back.”

  “At which time she’s still facing whatever charge she left behind.”

  “We’ll see.” Heath picked up his iPad. “In the meantime, we’ve drawn a new assignment.”

  “Something more than street sweeping?”

  “Yeah. Command wants Indigo to accompany a medical relief effort to the southwest. There’s an IDP facility a few days out that’s in desperate need of resupplying and medical personnel.”

  Towers thought about that for a time. “We’ve still got a lot of green Marines attached to this unit. That ambush set us back.”

  “I know. We’re also supposed to do some recon while we’re in the bush.” Heath pushed the iPad toward Towers to reveal the face of the man on the screen.

  Towers picked up the iPad and studied the scarred face of the man revealed there. “Who’s this?”

  “Rageh Daud. He’s running what appears to be an independent operation out in the bush.”

  “What kind of operation?”

  “He’s been taking down medical shipments. A few weeks ago Daud attacked a medical convoy, killed several military guardsmen, took all the cargo, and kidnapped a doctor.” Heath motioned for Towers to scroll through the pictures he’d gotten with the file, showing the burned remains of two jeeps and corpses littering the ground.

  “Man knows his business.”

  Heath nodded.

  “What happened to the doctor?”

  “Daud took him to a small village, had him treat some of the people there who needed an actual doctor, not just medicines, and later let him go outside of Mogadishu. Marines around the city found Dr. Brandon Sykes stumbling around in the wilderness and brought him back into our care.”

  “Was he hurt?”

  Heath shook his head. “Totally freaked by everything that happened, but otherwise in good health.”

  “Sounds like Daud is running his own care package.”

  “If you don’t count the people he killed to take that cargo.”

  “Well, that’s a fly in the buttermilk.”

  “Command didn’t quite put it that way. They want us to find Daud. If we can, we’re supposed to bring him in or put him down.”

  “They care which?”

  “No. Interestingly enough, it appears the al-Shabaab is also hunting Daud. In particular, Haroun is tracking him. Or trying to. Evidently Daud is a ghost out there somewhere. He’s got a small team, keeps it moving, and doesn’t step into anything he can’t handle.”

  “Chasing a fox.”

  “Haroun is, and so are we. Command is of the opinion that we might be able to find Daud and Haroun somewhere close together out there. CIA intel from assets in those areas seems to point to the same eventuality.”

  “I take it Command is thinking we can take out two birds with one stone?”

  “They are. When we find one—or both—we’re supposed to call in a drone attack and try to put them down.”

  Towers passed the iPad back. “Sounds easy enough, but you and I know things don’t really work out that way.”

  The search for Haroun’s underground bomb-making factory had been a grim reminder of that.

  Towers leaned back in his chair with his hands in his lap. “How did we get Daud’s picture?”

  “One of the CIA assets had a digital camera. Dropped it in the city to his handler, and it filtered to us.”

  “We know anything about Daud?”

  Heath frowned. “Not much. The CIA and military intelligence managed to track him back nine years, which is surprising given the state of records and bookkeeping in the area. Until a few months ago, Daud was a stand-up guy. He went to work, had a family, and kept his head down.”

  “What happened?”

  “His family got killed in an al-Shabaab attack. Daud lost his wife and son. After that, he disappeared.”

  “Until he reappeared and started boosting medical cargoes.”

  “That’s right. The CIA’s asset also stated that Daud is actively recruiting from among the groups he helps.”

  “He’s trading medicines for young men.” Towers stroked his massive chin. “Be an easy thing to do. Roll into one of those groups living hand to mouth, show them how they could be living if they followed him, and he’d have a lot of young boys flocking to him. Selling the dream.”

  Heath nodded.

  “So what’s Daud’s endgame? What does he want out of all this?”

  “CIA thinks maybe Daud’s in it for revenge.”

  Towers shook his head. “Then what? This guy is old enough to know that revenge isn’t going to be enough.”

  “For the moment, that may be all he has. I think he’s out of control. He’s hurting, and he’s going to hurt people back.”

  Towers’s eyes narrowed. “Got some experience with this, do you?”

  “Back in the real world, I’ve represented a lot of guys for my father’s firm who were exactly like this. They live in small worlds, places only they can go to. A guy like Daud builds himself a prison of grief, and he can’t get out of it by himself. He’s got to let someone in.”

  “Surrounding himself with a bunch of greedy guns and people mad at the world isn’t going to provide that person.”

  “No. That’s why prisons don’t work for the most part.”

  “Felons I’ve run across in my life don’t ever change their ways. They start out a bully or addict or killer, they generally die that way. You ever seen a convi
ct change on the inside of a penitentiary?”

  Heath thought of Darnell Lester and heard the man’s gentle voice inside his head. “Then I’ll be askin’ God to look over you too.” Heath had heard that promise again and again over the last few weeks. It wouldn’t leave his mind.

  “I have, Gunney. He’s a good man who just got caught up in a bad situation.”

  “Then we’re talking about different men.” Towers spoke softly. “I’m talking about truly evil men. Do we have anything else on Daud?”

  Heath flicked through the files on the iPad. “The CIA made a connect to another name, but there’s nothing concrete that links Rageh Daud to this other guy.”

  “Who?”

  “A man named Parvez Daud.”

  “No relation?”

  “None that can be found, but the CIA has picked up whispers that there is a connection through a man named Afrah. Parvez Daud was an ex-Somali soldier turned bandit. He abandoned the military and began looking out for himself. Judging by the file on him, banditry suited him well.” Heath paused. “Until he got himself killed ten years ago.”

  “About the time Rageh Daud showed up in Mogadishu.”

  Heath grinned. “You caught that.”

  “I’m smarter than I look.” Towers grinned back. “So Rageh Daud walked away from his father’s business, found himself a straight civilian life, lost his family, and returned to what he knew.”

  “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “What about the CIA?”

  “The agent I talked to believes that Rageh Daud was working some kind of angle. They’re looking into a link between Daud and Haroun to see if Daud was working with the al-Shabaab and got caught with his hand in the cookie jar and that was why his family was targeted.”

  “Anything to support that?”

  Heath shook his head. “Nothing that I can see here.”

  “Then they’re playing guessing games. Doesn’t sound like Daud was hiding.”

  “He had a job and stayed with it.”

  “The al-Shabaab could have found him there easily enough and taken him off the board.”

  “I agree.”

  “The way this shapes up, we’ve got one really bad man out there and a loose cannon gunning for him.”

  “And Indigo Rifle Platoon is going to be in the middle of it.”

  Towers toasted with his coffee cup. “Good times.”

  “We’re going to have our jobs cut out for us keeping everybody alive.”

  “That’s why they’re sending Marines.”

  28

  TWO DAYS AFTER the attack on the clinic, Bekah sat in the passenger seat of an armored Humvee and watched the countryside while Pike drove. Trudy and Tyler were in the back, with the latter on the M60 machine gun mounted on the rear deck. The heat beat down on them, and Bekah’s fatigues were damp despite the air circulating through the vehicle. The MBITRs kept up a constant chatter between the fire teams responsible for reconning the area for the medical convoy a hundred yards to the left.

  Most of the platoon was on edge. Two hundred plus miles out from Mogadishu and nearer to Kenya now, they were a long way from help if something went bad.

  Pike looked totally at ease, though. He sat solid and calm behind the wheel as he steered through the uneven terrain. His eyes were hidden behind his dark sunglasses, and Bekah had no idea what he was thinking. She remembered how he had run toward her when the grenade had spilled out onto the ground at the medical clinic, arriving within a heartbeat instead of running from the danger. That had impressed her.

  He was a hard guy to figure and didn’t talk much. But he was there when she needed him. An interesting thing she had noticed was the tattoo that coiled around his neck, barely meeting Marine standards. The Corps was the strictest military branch for tattoos. She wanted to know what the tattoo depicted, but she knew she wasn’t going to ask him.

  Pain pulsed on the right side of Bekah’s forehead. She’d caught a piece of flying shrapnel when the grenade had gone off. Other people had been wounded as well, but no one except the terrorist had died. She didn’t know what had become of the boy who had tried to take the grenade into the clinic, but she hoped he was all right. The wound from the shrapnel had taken eleven stitches to close, but Matthew had told her he’d put them in close enough that there shouldn’t be much of a scar left behind.

  Bekah didn’t worry about the scar. She still had two eyes, and she was still alive to go home to Travis. That was all that mattered.

  She opened the Velcro tab on her left sleeve pocket and looked at the man’s face there. Rageh Daud looked haunted and tired in the picture, and the white, uneven burn scarring stood out proudly against his dark skin.

  “I don’t think you’re gonna memorize that face any more than you already have.” Pike glanced over at her, and his lips twitched a little in a maybe smile.

  “I know. I’m just trying to figure him out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bekah thought about the briefing Lieutenant Bridger had delivered the previous night, detailing the mission’s objectives and parameters. “This guy was on the straight and narrow till he lost his family.”

  “Then he went back to his old ways. It happens to a guy who doesn’t have anything else to hang on to.” Pike looked back at the terrain and concentrated on his driving. “A bad guy is a bad guy, Bekah. You don’t change from that.”

  Bekah thought about Billy Roy and silently agreed. He’d never been responsible, and he never would be.

  “Just stick to the program.” Pike downshifted and eased through a gully. “Don’t try to overthink this. Daud is a guy we gotta put down.”

  That left Bekah feeling unsettled. “Do you think people are that simple, Pike? Just black or white? No gray areas?”

  “Yep. I know bad guys. I’ve been around them all my life.”

  Trudy leaned forward from the back. “How is it you know so much about bad guys?”

  Pike flashed her a cold smile in the rearview mirror. “Because I’m a bad guy. Don’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise. You’ll only get disappointed.”

  Trudy didn’t know what to say to that and leaned back in the seat. She went back to looking out the window.

  A small chill crept over Bekah because she knew Pike was speaking the truth as he saw it. She’d sensed the darkness in him, but she didn’t think he was as bleak as he believed he was. She turned her attention to their surroundings as well and absently listened to the chatter over the MBITRs, responding when she needed to check in.

  The IDP camp sat near a slow trickle of water that wound through a small valley. According to the map Bekah had, the tributary was seasonal, probably only there now because of the rains a few days ago. On both sides of the stream, dome-shaped huts stood covered in colorful blankets, cargo tarps, and scraps of cloth. They looked like misshapen mushrooms that had sprouted up in wild abandon.

  As the Marine vehicles approached, the people squatting outside the huts stood uncertainly, not knowing for sure what to expect. All of them wore ragged clothing and looked emaciated. A few men came out of the huts carrying single-shot rifles and machetes. None of them looked eager to fight, but they stood ready.

  “Wow.” Trudy leaned between the seats and gazed through the bug- and dust-encrusted windshield. “I don’t think anyone was anticipating quite so many of them.”

  Looking out over the huts, Bekah estimated there were between three and four hundred people settled in the area. She knew there was no way the camp could have supported so many people if they were depending on foraging for food. There wasn’t enough game and no crops to speak of. If it hadn’t been for the routine deliveries of supplies, they would have all died of starvation or sickness by now.

  “I guess the success of the camp has brought more of them here.” Tyler stood beside the machine gun. “Others must have found out these guys were on a regular delivery schedule and decided to migrate.”

  They found hope here, and ho
pe is a very powerful thing. Bekah knew the truth of that, and it was one of the things that kept her going—hope that Travis would turn out happy and healthy. But hope was something that threatened these people even more than the hardships they’d faced on their own. Whatever the numbers had been before the recent migration, the present population was putting even more of a strain on the camp’s resources.

  Bekah got out of the Humvee with her rifle in hand and watched as the scout vehicle rolled on ahead to meet with a small group of men coming from the camp. Two Marines and a Somali interpreter got out of the vehicle and talked to the camp representatives.

  After a moment, Lieutenant Bridger’s calm voice came over the MBITRs. “Okay, Marines, let’s move in and get squared away. These people are depending on us.”

  The Marines took turns standing guard and unpacking some of the supplies they’d brought. In short order, the camp women turned out, laid fires, and hung large pots to cook an evening meal. Some of the children ran around and talked to the new arrivals, chattering away like magpies. Other children lay in the shade, stricken with disease and malnutrition.

  Bekah helped set up the big tent Matthew Cline was going to use for his treatment center. One of the nurses organized the distribution of the medicines and medical supplies. Matthew and the other doctor, a younger guy named Keith Reilly, walked among the sick and injured, organizing them into groups to separate the more severe cases that needed immediate attention.

  Once the tent was set up, Matthew moved his efforts inside. The sound of crying children and worried mothers filled the air. Bekah had just stopped to take a drink of water when Tyler approached her with a grim look on his face.

  Bekah turned to face him. “Something wrong?”

  “Yeah.” Tyler looked pale. “Doc asked if you could come give a hand with one of the patients.”

  “He’s got three nurses.” Bekah had been looking forward to sitting down and catching her breath. The smell of the beans and rice and stew floating up from the cook pots was enticing. She was also looking forward to rack time later that evening. She and her team were going to be standing early watch the next morning, so getting to bed early was important.