by J. F. Smith
Randall sat up in his chair and said, “This is Eric Stillman.”
Matt shrugged his shoulders. He still had the feeling that this was some kind of ugly joke or something.
“This is the person that was killed in the room next door to yours, Matt. The body the team brought back with them? It was Eric.”
The confusion swept over Matt. He looked at the photograph again. That person had been in the room next to him? That was the person he heard pleading? That was who was killed by the single gunshot?
“Matt, the situation is such that we need to trust you with some information that we normally would never give outside the intelligence or military communities. In fact, we’ve already started the process of giving you a provisional security clearance and because of the extremely limited amount of time, I’m even jumping ahead of that, but the consensus is that you can be trusted with this.”
Matt heard the words, but his mind was caught on the fact that the person in the picture was the body lying in the boat next to him. The guy, Eric, looked so much like him. And Eric was dead. And Matt wasn’t.
Matt interrupted Randall and demanded, “Why did they kill him?”
Randall paused for a second and answered, “Based on what we can tell, we think it was an accident. A sloppy job at pistol-whipping him.”
Matt remembered how he had been hit in the head with a gun, too.
Randall said, “Let me back up a little, and I’ll explain. But you’ve got to understand, Matt, that what I’m about to get into is a matter of national security. You are not at liberty to discuss this with anyone not directly involved in it. Is that perfectly clear? No one. Under any circumstance.”
Matt nodded. Why did this guy have to be such an asshole?
Randall said, “Eric Stillman worked for the US Embassy in Damascus. But he liked to go over to Latakia every so often for some beach time. We believe that these people had every intention of grabbing Eric while he was there. But you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and happened to really look like him. You were just a mistake, Matt. They thought you were Eric. You mentioned that while the leader was asking you for information on your laptop, which they probably thought was Eric’s, he got a phone call and seemed to leave you alone after that. We think that he found out at that point that you weren’t who they thought you were. Apparently, they tried again and got the right Eric Stillman on the next try. That was the guy you heard them bring in. We also think that the leader guy wasn’t around at this point, probably busy with something else. The other guys, the flackies guarding you, decided to try to get access to Eric’s laptop and tried to beat it out of him, but killed him accidentally in the process. After that, they were probably just waiting for the guy in charge to get back to decide what to do. And by that point, we had already pinpointed where we needed to go in and were able to get to the scene before the leader got back. He wasn’t one of the ones the team eliminated when they went in. We’ve identified some information on Eric’s laptop, part of a project he was helping on, that we’re pretty sure they wanted.”
Matt had a hard time believing all of this. But it seemed to fit as far as he could tell.
Matt was hit by a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to. But he needed to know. “How did you find me there?” As soon as he asked it, he wished he hadn’t.
Randall said softly, “We didn’t locate you, Matt. We found Eric. Well, Eric’s laptop.”
Matt’s breathing got shallower. His hands were clenched together so tightly his fingernails were digging into his own flesh. They weren’t there to rescue him. He was just a lucky find. An accident. If the extremists, or whatever they were, hadn’t gotten the right person, he probably never would have been found. No one would have known what happened to him. He would have just disappeared. Just like that.
Randall added, “The SEALs, being the way they are, aren’t going to leave an American in harm’s way, Matt, if there’s anything they can do about it.”
Matt reeled. But still. They weren’t there for me. His skin felt clammy.
It took a few seconds, but Matt pulled himself together a little bit and said, “Well, I’m sorry about what happened to this Eric guy. I don’t know how I got to be the lucky one to make it through all this.”
He unconsciously pushed the lock of hair out of his forehead. As terrible as it was to understand now more about what had happened, he genuinely did appreciate getting at least this explanation for it.
Matt asked, “Was he… Eric… did he have a family?”
Randall replied, “No. Well, he wasn’t married. We are going to have to notify his parents, though, soon. For the moment, though, all information regarding this is on a stronger lockdown than usual.”
Matt nodded, but he was feeling a little weak. This was a lot to take in. He asked, “Thanks for telling me this. Can I go back to my rack now?” He just wanted to lie down.
Randall said, “No, not yet, Matt. I mentioned we have a limited period here. And we normally wouldn’t even have told you this information. But your involvement presents us with an opportunity. We need your help with something.”
Matt had no idea what else he could tell them that he hadn’t already. Even hearing the explanation didn’t jog his memory to any other details that might be important.
He said, “I don’t remember anything else that might be important to tell you.”
“No,” said Randall. “Some of these guys are still out there. They know by this point that you and Eric are gone, but there’s a good chance they don’t know Eric is actually dead. If we make them think Eric is still alive and that they have another chance to try and grab him, we may be able to actually get some of these guys. This is important. You don’t have any idea what we might be able to get if we could get some of these guys. This is really important, Matt.”
Matt wasn’t sure what this had to do with him. He couldn’t fit this together. “I don’t understand,” he said, his mind fogged.
“We want to set a trap, Matt,” explained Randall, his gaze fixed on Matt.
Shit, thought Matt.
Shit, shit, shit!
“You want me to be the bait?!”
Randall clenched his teeth slightly and nodded slowly to Matt.
Matt sat there for a second. The fact that he had been kidnapped at all was pure chance. The fact that he had been rescued was also pure chance. He was scared shitless of leaving any more of his life to chance.
Matt’s chest heaved. He felt cold and yet felt a drop of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. He said, “Hell. No.” He was supposed to be done with this and going home. Not dangling back out in front of these people so they’d have another chance to kill him. Hell. No.
“Look,” replied Randall, “I can’t… we can’t… force you to do this, obviously. But believe me when I say, if some of our other conjectures are correct, this would be very important for us, Matt.”
Matt shook his head. There was no way this was going to happen. He spat at Randall, “You asshole! You have no idea what I went through! I was bound hand and foot for three days and left naked in a dark room! Do you know what it’s like to go without water for three days, Randall? Do you?”
His skin was clammy and his eyes stung and he wiped at them at even the thought of winding back up in that situation ever again. Matt’s voice got steadily louder. “It burns! I actually wanted them to come in and shoot me to end the burning thirst! I was ready to die just to end it! You try it, Randall, and tell me if you’d be willing to risk something like that again!”
Randall actually pushed back in his chair and he was clearly uncomfortable dealing with the raw emotional reaction that Matt was having to this.
Matt put his head in his hands and tried to get the images out of his head that had reared up in the last few seconds, making him relive the most terrifying three days he had never even imagined someone could have.
Randall finally said, “Matt, if it weren’t for us, where would y
ou be right now? Huh? You’d be dead, Matt. Think about that! You’re on borrowed time the rest of your life because of us! You owe us something, Matt!”
Matt jumped up out of his chair. He couldn’t stand to be in that room any more. He screamed “Fuck you!” at Randall and pushed his way out of the room as fast as he could, his heart beating furiously and his ears ringing.
He ran down the hallway, pushing past a couple of people in red shirts coming his way, his mind spinning, trying to remember how to get back to his berth.
As he turned another corner, though, on his way, he saw four guys coming towards him. The one in front was the very last person he wanted see right now. Of all the fucking people to run into, it was Petey with the fire-red hair sauntering his way down the passage.
Petey lit up when he saw Matt and his face twisted up into a cruel smile. He said, “Hey little lady bug! You look upset! What’s the matter? Is your butt-plug all twisted up?”
Matt stopped a few feet in front of Petey and he boiled over in a way that was extremely rare for him. He practically exploded at Petey, “Fuck you, you god damn asshole! Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through! And now I have to deal with you bunch of homophobic shitheads!”
Petey’s smile immediately evaporated and it was obvious he wasn’t expecting this kind of a vicious reply. The scowl that replaced his smile made it clear he didn’t particularly like it, either.
“What? Lighten up, man! And we saved your fucking ass, you know?” he replied angrily. He took a menacing step forward towards Matt, which made Matt unconsciously back up a step. “You dipshit! We were there, remember?” Petey pointed at the four of them in a row in the passage.
Matt finally glanced at the other three. The second one behind Petey was the vaguely Middle Eastern looking guy he had seen with Petey before. The third guy was a little shorter than Matt, but much thicker and far more muscular, and looked Hispanic. The fourth guy, to Matt’s sudden realization and surprise, was the guy with the dark hair that he had been thrown into the shower with.
Matt stood dumbfounded as he took this in and realized he was now face to face with the group of guys that had saved him, and been so horrible to him, too.
Petey took another step towards Matt, who matched it by backing up another step. Petey continued, practically spitting he was so mad, “We were the ones that found you, right? You do remember us, right? You didn’t just walk out of there by yourself, you know. Christ! This is the thanks we get! I guess it doesn’t mean anything to you, but you know Travis carried you on his back for a fucking half mile to get you out of there. Shit! And now you’re all rainbow gay flag fired up at us?!”
Matt’s head was spinning. He was furious at this guy, and confused, and a lot scared. He was angry at how Randall had said he owed them all. He was pissed at how they were treating him. He was terrified of what they wanted from him. But they had gotten him out of that building alive, and been fucking assholes. He felt like the entire boat was capsizing violently around him and about to pull him down to the bottom of the ocean, drowning him. Why didn’t anyone else feel this? Why didn’t these SEAL people seem to notice this? He needed, absolutely needed, to be away from these people and everything right then. He pushed his way forward and past all four of the Navy SEALs, not even looking at them.
Even with his head spinning, Matt managed to get back to his cabin and clumsily collapsed into his rack again and faced the back wall. He broke down this time and the tears flowed out of his eyes. He just didn’t know what to think. How could they ask him to risk himself like that, like he was the property of the US military now because they had saved him? Why did they have to be so fucking juvenile about the fact that he was gay?
He just wanted to be home and away from all of this.
Chapter 12 – Vulture’s Row
Matt dreamt about being back in the empty room, alone and bound and scared. In this dream, though, the door to the room was open, and nothing was stopping him from going out through it. But he stayed in the room anyway, paralyzed by what might be on the other side. As bad as he wanted out, the fear of what was outside seemed worse. He also noticed there was a whispering sound from long ago, but he couldn’t understand what the whispering was trying to tell him to do. He didn’t know what to do, and so he just stayed. The dream then shifted, became more real, and yet not as uncomfortable. He was still in the room, but it felt more… immediate. He could hear a voice, more clearly than the whispers had been. It sounded like the one that had stayed with him in the room and helped him. In his dream he could hear the low voice saying his name, making him feel less afraid.
And for the second time that day, Matt realized there really was someone saying his name. He sat up, cracking his head on the rack above him yet again.
“Damn it!” he cussed to himself while rubbing his head. “I swear to God, these things are like a cruel joke!”
When he turned to his side to see who was calling him, he was surprised to see a person squatting right next to him.
The guy made a pained face when he saw Matt hit his head and said, “Ohh, ouch! You ok?” in a deep voice.
Matt looked at the guy blankly for a moment as things fell into place. Crouching next to him was the SEAL with the dark hair and ears that stuck out. But he recognized the squatting position, and the familiar voice, too, and it finally came together for Matt. This guy, this one, the one next to him right now… he was the one that Matt knew. He was the one that cut the ties off of him and helped him out of the room that he had assumed he would die in. This was the one that he had been thrown in the shower with briefly. He tried to remember what Petey had called him when he threw him in there. Mope? Was that it?
He took a moment to get a slightly better look at the guy. The dark blue t-shirt he was wearing showed that he was well-built, just like Petey and the others had been. His face had a strength and intensity to it, but not the severe, almost pissed-off look that Petey’s had. His ears did stick out a little too far, and his nose was a little bit crooked and probably had been broken at some point. Mope, or whatever his name was, had deeply etched smile lines forming parentheses around his mouth, but he wasn’t smiling. Mostly right now, he looked a little concerned about Matt hitting his head.
Matt finally replied, “I’m ok. I’m getting used to hitting my damn head on this thing. You’re uh… Mope? Was that it?”
Mope nodded. His dark eyebrows arched slightly and he said, “I didn’t want to wake you up, but I need to talk to you for a minute.”
Matt lay back in his rack, turning a little stubborn in the process. “You came to poke some more fun at the queer?”
“No,” said Mope simply. “I want to talk to you a little about what you and Randall Wickland discussed.”
That was worse. Matt pulled himself out of his rack, very clumsily, and stood to face Mope, who rose from his crouching position. Matt realized the guy was probably an inch or two taller than himself. His forehead creased in anger and he said, “I’ve got nothing to say about that. I can’t believe that Wickland guy even asked me to go back through that. I just want off this boat!”
He quickly corrected himself before this Mope character had a chance to, “Or ship! Or submarine, or whatever the fuck this thing is that we’re on! There’s no windows anywhere, so how the hell am I supposed to know?”
Mope looked surprised for a second. “Mmm… you really have no idea where you are?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
“It’s the USS Iwo Jima, which means absolutely zip to me! I’m not in the military.”
Mope looked thoughtful for a few seconds and said, “Come on. I’ll show you Vulture’s Row.”
Matt looked at Mope doubtfully. Why couldn’t anyone speak plain English around here? If Vulture’s Row had anything to do with food, it didn’t sound like he wanted to see it.
“C’mon, I promise you’ll like this,” Mope repeated.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to go. One, Vulture’s Row didn’t sound like an
ything he wanted to see. And two, he didn’t particularly want to be around any of these guys. But against his better judgment, Matt followed Mope out of the cabin and they started through a new route he had not been along before.
While they were walking, Matt cooled off enough to ask quietly, “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the first one that came in the room where I was. You were the one that cut my hands and feet free…”
Mope glanced back over his shoulder and gave Matt the most authentically sympathetic look he had gotten yet since arriving on the Iwo Jima. He confirmed, “Yeah, that was me.” They continued to wind through the ship.
“I think I should tell you thanks… for what you did for me,” said Matt.
Mope nodded while leading him farther along. Eventually, Matt realized they were going up. A lot farther up than he had been before. They finally got to a metal doorway, secured shut. Mope cranked the handle to open the door and stepped through.
When Matt followed through, the first thing he noticed was blinding, beautiful sunshine, the first he had seen in days. He looked around and stepped up to the railing while Mope secured the door again.
Mope swept his hands from one side to the other across the whole view. “This,” he said, “is the USS Iwo Jima LHD-7.”
And for a while, Matt forgot everything else that had been on his mind. He and Mope were standing on something of a balcony, several levels up in the air, looking out over the massive flight deck of the USS Iwo Jima. The sun was brilliant outside and the sky was blue. Down at one end of the flight deck, Matt watched as a large helicopter with huge rotors in the front and back was taking off and heading somewhere out over the Mediterranean Sea. There were several more helicopters secured out on the flight deck, as well as an odd-looking jet aircraft. Below them were a bunch of busy crew members wearing various colored shirts – red, yellow, blue and purple. The scene boggled Matt’s mind.
“I’ve been on an aircraft carrier this whole time?” he asked, shouting over the sound of the retreating helicopter.
