by Laura Acton
“Yeah. They did.”
“Team debrief?” Dan glanced at Bram, hoping they did so he wouldn’t need to deal with that tomorrow.
“Yeah. You know, it’s always unpredictable when young children are involved. They don’t think like adults.”
Huge understatement. “No, they don’t.” Dan grabbed his bag, wallet, and keys before shutting the locker.
Bram stood. “I guess I should be getting home. Just wanted to make sure you were alright. You can call me if you want to talk.”
Slinging his go bag over his shoulder, Dan said, “Not my first kill.”
Nodding, Bram realized this was undoubtedly not his first time. “Yeah, right. I forgot Special Forces. This must be old hat.” Bram wished to withdraw his last remark when he glimpsed the same brief flash of a lost kid in Dan’s eyes, but the impression evaporated before fully forming.
“Something like that.” Dan clamped down the reaction to the words which implied he didn’t value life. Never would killing become easy or routine for him. The two strode out of the room without further comment.
Dan’s Apartment – 9:00 p.m.
Dan unlocked his door and after clearing the room, listening and scanning for anything that did not belong, he entered his new apartment. He only moved in a week ago, after doing an exhaustive search for an apartment to find one which met specific safety criteria. He closed and locked the door behind him.
At ease moving in the dark, Dan didn’t bother to turn on a light as he walked to his kitchen cabinet. He retrieved his only tumbler and filled it with water from the sink. Draining the glass in haste, he refilled and drank two more cups before sating his thirst. Dan rinsed, dried, and put the glassware away.
Making his way to the bedroom, he shifted the bag from his shoulder. Holding it in his hand, he removed his dirty clothes, depositing them to the laundry bag which rested on the floor of his small closet. He repacked his bag with clean clothes, including three extra pairs of boxers and socks. Dan undressed and placed those clothes in his laundry sack too. After closing the closet door, he set his go bag by the door and shuffled to his bathroom.
Dragging big-time, Dan half-way considered going straight to bed, but washing away the day’s grime was necessary. He turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up. Stepping in, he sighed as the warm water cascaded down his back. Making short work of washing, Dan shut off the tap, dried off, and wrapped the towel around his waist.
Reentering his bedroom, Dan eyed his empty space. Well, not entirely bare. His makeshift bed consisted of a blanket on the carpet. Not the most comfortable but he had slept in more unpleasant places. His two boxes sat near the sheet and on top of one lay his great-grandfather’s pistol.
Not bothering to dress, too tired to do anything, Dan lay down in only his towel. Putting his arms behind his head, Dan stared at the ceiling. Sleep would be elusive tonight even though utterly wiped out. He couldn’t shut down his brain. The interview—no, not an interview—the interrogation by Agent Dick broke the lock on the special box in which he kept all his pain, and now things best not recalled ran rampant.
Dan needed to put them away one by one again and repair the bolt so it would remain closed. However, he found it odd that thoughts of Bram waiting for him tonight came to the forefront. Why would Bram wait for me? I overheard Bram voice his negative opinion of me joining the team while I sat outside the briefing room three weeks ago. Could Bram be changing his opinion? Maybe.
After pondering the possibility for several minutes, he closed his eyes but immediately opened them when images of the kids’ faces covered in blood invaded. He hated being the one who caused young ones to witness something so horrific. Dan concentrated on putting away those visions. Sleep would probably not come tonight.
Once tucked away, his mind shifted again. Dan comprehended his team would assume his scarred torso was the result of his worst wounds, but in reality, the scars of the cruelest and most severe ones were not visible to human eyes. Memories and images tormented him. His emotional wounds, resulting from all those he failed to protect, caused uglier and more painful scars than the terrorists’ whips and needles.
His soul-deep wounds never healed. Infected with guilt they scabbed over for a time, but invariably something came along, like Dick Donner today, and ripped the scabs off. The pus of all his hurt, shame, culpability, insecurities, weaknesses, and failures would ooze out. He became extremely vulnerable when that happened, and he wanted to die. Dying would be the only way to stop his pain. But every night, Brody told him ‘not tonight’ and he put down the gun.
Will Brody release me tonight? Dan glanced at his ivory handled revolver. Too wiped out to even lift the weapon, his heavy lids closed. No, not tonight. Dan’s exhausted body pulled him into an uneasy sleep.
Malevolence and Migraine
16
September 15
Outside May Complex Office Building
Jon forcefully rammed Broderick’s back into the brick wall. “Just what the hell were you thinking, Broderick? Wait, you weren’t thinking. Again! This is the second time today! I ought to kick your ass, right goddamned now! When I give an order, I expect you to follow it! We are a team, but I’m in charge. You will do as you are told. Do I make myself clear?”
Dan squinted at the raging officer who pushed him. Sounds and tones registered, but words were incomprehensible. Everything around him lacked coherence, perceived through a haze of pain. He wanted to close his eyes against the light stabbing his retinas, but a sense of self-protection and fear kept his eyes partly open.
Jon glared at Broderick. Characteristically, a consummate professional, losing control of his emotions on scene and in front of the public unnatural for him, but after two months of stress combined with the situation caused him to behave irrationally. His fury only grew as the rookie didn’t answer him and continued to squint at him like he didn’t understand.
The ever-present blank, unreadable countenance, so like Alejandro’s, grated on Jon’s raw nerves. It had been eight weeks of nothing but undecipherable expressions and reckless actions from the damned rookie. “Get in the truck and don’t you dare move until NRB arrives!” Jon pointed to the team’s SUV.
Turning slow, to keep his stomach contents inside as nausea crept in, Dan followed the direction of the finger. He noted a police SUV. Flicking his eyes back at the angry, bald man, he attempted to comprehend, but nothing connected. Everything remained jumbled, fragmented, and disorganized.
“Move now or I’ll cuff you myself! That’s an order!” Jon desired to do more than handcuff Broderick. Resisting the urge to slug him, he shoved Dan towards the SUV when he didn’t move of his own accord.
Dan stumbled when pushed, but managed to recover his balance. Gradually he moved to the black vehicle deducing that must be where the man wanted him to go. Everything lost demarcation as objects began to blur around him. He bumped into a metal object, and his mind registered a place of sanctuary—someplace small and secure where he could escape the chaos circling. Opening the back door, Dan slid into the backseat.
Once the door closed, sounds from outside became somewhat muted, bringing minor relief to the thundering in his ears and throbbing in his head. A magnitude-ten earthquake reverberated in his skull with every beat of his heart. Dan slumped down in the seat, slammed his eyes shut, and put his head in his hands as intense pain engulfed him.
A fragment of his brain registered he was experiencing another migraine—one of his worst. Only a few others had been this severe. Patch, please make the pain go away. Brody, help me. Blaze, where are you? Where is everyone?
Nick halted his conversation with Inspector Pope at Jon’s yelling. He strode over and his voice contained a note of censure, “Jon, calm down.”
Jon whirled on Nick. “You want me to calm down?! Broderick disobeyed my order. Ray is on the way to the hospital now because of him. Why the hell did Gambrill put that cocky soldier on our team? Huh? I told you his soldier ways wo
uld get one of us hurt or killed, just like burl. Broderick is a menace!”
Nick took deep breaths in and out to compose himself. Anger flowed deeply through him too. He had never been more infuriated with an officer under his command than he was with his rookie. He agreed with Jon, but he must maintain the equanimity his position demanded regardless of his personal viewpoint. This was neither the time nor place to deal with team issues. Nick must preserve order in this situation. Jon’s normal self-discipline and restraint tended to fly out the window when dealing with their rookie. The two were like dry grass and a lit match. One spark started a wildfire.
Scanning all the gawking bystanders behind the police tape, Nick ordered, “Not here, not now. Let NRB take it from here. We do not debrief in the street.” He eyed Jon until he received a curt nod of compliance.
Lexa ran up to Boss and Jon, fury flashing in the golden flecks of her hazel eyes. “I want him off the team. Now! He shot ray! Broderick deliberately shot him.”
His unflappable profiler coming unglued on scene highlighted the severity of dissension within his team. Using a rare stern tone with the daughter of his heart, Nick said, “Lexa, stop! We’ll discuss this later.”
She blew out a harsh breath and continued in a quieter voice but with the same infusion of bitter heat, “Loki’s a wreck. Broderick’s lucky Ray’s still alive, or he’d be dead. It took Bram and me both to hold Loki back. We cannot work with Broderick. Whose bright idea was it to put a soldier on our team?”
Arriving after being delayed by traffic, NBR Agent Barry Thornbuckle sought out the sergeant in charge. Pope pointed out a man with brown hair with a bit of white at the temples standing with a short female constable and a tall bald one. He strode with purpose to him. “Sergeant Pastore, where is the subject officer?”
Nick pointed to their closest vehicle as he focused on the agent. “Constable Broderick is sequestered in our SUV. Take him. I’ll be there shortly.”
Without further delay, Thornbuckle went to retrieve the officer. Opening the door, he found the constable slumped over apparently distraught over shooting a teammate. “Time to go. Hand over your weapons. I must remind you that you are sequestered so no speaking to anyone.”
Disoriented by the sudden increase in sounds which sent shards of glass stabbing through his brain, Dan lifted his head blinking against the bright light. His unfocused eyes made out a blurry image of a man with lips moving. When he didn’t respond, the man grasped his arm and pulled him out.
Pain increased as he stood trying to make sense of things. Confused when an MP5 and Glock were taken from him. Not my weapons. Where are my C14 Timberwolf and Sig Sauer? Bewilderment grew when the unknown man gripped his bicep again and hauled him toward a dark sedan with the letters NRB emblazoned on the side.
Sitting in the rear seat, Dan stared out the window at an incongruent world. As the automobile began moving, he saw the bald man and a woman glaring at him. He closed his eyes, dropping his head, and burying his face in his hands again as his migraine raged.
NRB Office – Interview Room
Pulled from the sedan after the car stopped at a tall building, Dan was led to a windowless, ten-by-ten room containing only a table and four plastic chairs. Complying with an order to strip down to his t-shirt and boxers, Dan removed a foreign uniform. Not my desert fatigues. Why did they put it all in bags? A man brought in a small duffle bag with clothing for him to put on and placed a bottle of water on the table. Then they left him alone in the room.
After dressing, Dan eased himself into a chair, crossed arms on the tabletop, and lay his head on them. The silence of the room helped minutely with the thundering migraine. Where the hell am I and how did I get here? Well … how is simple, a car drove me. But wherever here is, I have no friggin clue?
Focusing as best he could, which wasn’t well, Dan struggled to recall his last coherent memories. Recon completed. Blaze gave me the all clear to fire. I began taking out targets in the village …. What next? Here, pain, confusion. Was I injured? Am I hallucinating?
This didn’t feel like a hallucination. The agony in his skull and throbbing ache of his side felt all too real. Honestly, his muddled thinking scared him. How can I protect my unit or myself if I can’t distinguish reality? A truly terrifying thought crept in. God no! Was I captured again? Have I been drugged? Is this some form of interrogation designed to disorient me and make me give up classified information?
The door opened, and a different man entered, sat next to him, and began speaking to him. Again, he didn’t comprehend words and the sound caused his pain to spike exponentially. Do pain levels exceed ten? Yeah, they do. Laboring to focus, knowing his very life might depend on escaping, Dan stared at his potential captor.
Dale Gibbson entered the room and studied Dan as he took a seat near him. He appeared dazed. Who wouldn’t be in this circumstance? “Dan, I got here as fast as I could. Appears they followed protocol, this time.”
He grew concerned when Dan only regarded him with half-closed, unfocused eyes. “It will be fine. Relax and let me do all the talking if you have any concerns. Okay?” Still no answer. Appraising him closely, Gibbson asked, “Dan, are you injured? Did you hit your head? Are you in pain?”
Dan scrutinized the middle-aged man, with graying hair and hazel eyes. He noted he dressed as a westerner in jeans, a blazer, a yellow shirt unbuttoned at the top, and a tie hanging loosely at his neck. No middle-eastern accent, just like the green-eyed traitor. The man didn’t appear angry like the others—his expression more one of concern.
Instantly, Dan distrusted him as recollections of another time and place flooded in. The One gazed at him in the same caring manner, but the evil bastard tortured him as he laughed malevolently. Nausea increased as he swallowed hard fighting the rising bile and burning in the pit of his stomach. I can’t go through this again. Brody, Blaze, Winds, Patch, where are you? You promised not to let them take me again. Oh God, what if you’ve been captured too.
The pulsing migraine hiked up another notch. His eyes wanted to close against the daggers stabbing them, but as a member of the Special Forces Guardian Unit, he must be vigilant and resist. You won’t make me talk no matter what you do to me. I’ll die first.
Dale reached a hand out to the young officer. Though it had only been six weeks since Dan’s first interview, he had come to regard him as a friend. Dan had been treated so poorly by Donner. He raised a stink and submitted a formal complaint to NRB regarding Donner’s actions.
This became the third time in Dan’s short two months tenure with the Tactical Response Force where he had been involved in a use of lethal force. As Alpha Team’s sniper, the frequency of occurrence was understandable. However, with Dan’s lack of response and guarded mien, Dale wondered if three times in five weeks unhinged the constable. His demeanor in no way resembled the self-assured and genial man he knew so far.
As the hand reached for him, Dan jerked away as he stood, shoving the chair back causing it to tip over. He stumbled backward needing to escape before his captor brought out the burning needles. No, I can’t go through torture again.
He crumbled to the brown ceramic tile floor as red-hot pokers rammed holes in his brain. Curling into a tight ball, he gripped his head to keep it from shattering, squeezing his eyes shut as his overwhelmed senses threatened to send him to oblivion. Patch help me.
Aghast at Dan’s reaction, fear shot through Dale causing him to bolt from the room yelling, “I need a medic in here!”
Agent Thornbuckle and Dale Gibbson both reentered the room a few moments later, after alerting the receptionist of the problem in the interview room. Dale noticed Dan hadn’t moved an inch in the interlude.
“What the heck is going on?” Thornbuckle asked.
“I’m not sure.” Dale crouched near Dan, afraid to touch him. “Help is on the way. Dan, can you tell me what’s wrong?” He received no response. All he could do was helplessly watch as Dan moaned.
Thornbuckle tried
to discern if this was an act to avoid being interviewed. Unfamiliar with this officer, he withheld judgment for now.
Several minutes later a paramedic rushed in, knelt down, and leaned in close. “Sir, what hurts?” Juan Carita waited for a response but got none. So, he began to scan his patient searching for any overt signs of trauma.
Gibbson, who remained close, asked, “What’s his status?”
The word ‘status’ cut through Dan’s pain. Patch always asked for his health status when treating him. From his curled position, Dan automatically reported, “Migraine, level ten plus. Patch, stop the pain, please.”
Dale stared at the medic for a second. “Can you help him?”
“Yes.” Opening his case, Juan withdrew a syringe pre-filled with migraine medication. He swabbed an exposed part of his patient’s upper arm and injected the medication only to be astounded with the speed at which the patient pulled away.
Dan never saw the needle coming, but he reacted to the jab by yanking his arm away and rapidly crawling to the corner of the room. He hugged his knees close to his chest. His eyes wary as they darted between three men. Who will attack next? Who has needles?
No one laughed like last time he had been tormented with needles. Though he didn’t see any syringes, Dan’s breathing became erratic. His stomach roiled, on the verge of hurling as he fought for control over his terror.
Experienced in dealing with people who had a phobia to needles, Juan judged this man’s fear much more drastic than the classic presentation. He decided to stay frozen in place until his patient calmed. The crouching man next to him started to rise as if to move forward. Juan placed a staying hand on him “Wait. Give him a moment.”
As Juan’s partner, Meiying Chang, entered the room with their gurney, Juan whispered, “Migraine. Gave him meds. Let’s hold here a bit and see if it works for him. If so we might not need to transport.”
