by J. M. LeDuc
They all acknowledged the orders.
Brent and Tag said their goodbyes and broke camp.
“Why the deception back there, Colonel?”
“In my experience with the Brotherhood of Gaza, I have found them to be extremely resourceful. They have infiltrated most governments. I’m not taking any chances on whether or not they have infiltrated the outer circle.”
Tag quickened his step in order to keep up. “You think that’s possible?”
Further from camp, Brent removed his hood. “Not probable, but anything is possible, Lieutenant.”
Tag nodded and continued to walk beside Brent.
“We need to double time it back to the airstrip if we don’t want Q dropping missiles on our boys,” Brent said.
“Then, what are you waiting for? Get moving old man.”
Brent smiled. “Shadow me.”
At zero two hundred hours, Q had the helicopter warmed up and was ready for departure. He ran through a safety check and was about to take flight when he spotted Brent running toward him. He was confused because he expected two men. As Brent approached, suddenly he split in two. Q squeezed his eyes shut, thinking he was seeing an illusion.
Brent and Tag bordered the Black Hawk.
“You look confused,” Brent said. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Q replied, “just seeing things. I guess I’m just a little tired.”
Brent looked over at Tag and back to Q. “Yeah, you must be,” he said.
Three hours later, the two of them had donned their jumping gear and Q was ready to drop the chopper to seven hundred feet.
“When I drop this bird, you will have no lag time,” Q said. “You need to jump without hesitation and you can’t deploy until you reach three hundred feet.”
Brent and Tag stared straight ahead.
“It’s a death drop,” Q said. “You won’t have much time to slow your descent. Be ready for a hard landing.”
He looked over at the two of them. They remained motionless.
Suddenly the helicopter dropped out of the early morning sky.
“Go, go, go,” he yelled.
Q looked out the window and only saw one body dropping and only one chute open. He looked back to yell at whoever was still on board, but no one was there.
He shook his head. “I really need to get my eyes checked when this is over.”
Brent and Tag dropped as planned. Tag had connected his jump suit to Brent’s with a carabiner before they jumped. He was strapped to Brent’s back. Tag deployed his chute at three hundred feet and readied himself for a hard landing. The chute was small for one person and definitely not built to take the weight of two men. Tag instinctively reached up and grabbed hold of the handles at the end of the toggle lines: The brakes on the chute. He pulled down as hard and as fast as he could and was able to slow their descent enough to relieve some of the impact. The landing was hard, but they were in one piece.
Once they buried their parachutes, they were ready to move out.
“Stay in my shadow until we reach point A,” Brent ordered. “We can’t risk being spotted. We will camp there until nightfall and then make our way to the party.”
After they reached point A, both men grabbed some shuteye.
Brent woke before Tag. He had been unable to get much sleep because something Maddie had said was gnawing at him.
Falcon, he thought. Why is that familiar?
Brent dropped into a squat. As he relaxed, he went into a deep meditative state. He flashed back over the past few days. He saw nothing that threw up a red flag, so he drifted further back in his past. Back to Chloe’s death and then back further. He retraced his life all the way back to his Phantom Squad training. He found himself standing at the base of the Grand Teton Mountains with the other trainees. He flashed through his days on the mountain.
Why am I here? He thought.
Suddenly he saw something that made his blood pressure start to rise. He slowed his breathing and maintained his meditative state.
His mind flashed forward and he saw the tape made by the captors. He concentrated on the stranger standing alongside Omar. Son of a . . .
Someone shook him from behind. Instinctively, he dropped his shoulder, grabbed the person’s arm and flipped whoever was behind him. In blinding speed, he was sitting on top of the man with his knife pressed up against the person’s jugular.
“Colonel, it’s me,” Tag yelled.
Brent stared down at him, muscles taut and blade ready.
“Colonel,” he whispered as the knife pushed against his skin, pinching his flesh, “it’s Tag.”
Brent rolled off, sweat dripping from his skin and hair. With a quivering hand, he replaced his knife in its sheath. Hyperventilating, he said in a staccato voice, “Whenever you see me like that, don’t
. . . ever . . . touch . . . me. I’m not responsible for my actions.”
Tag rubbed his neck. “Noted.”
Brent stood and drank from his canteen.
“Where where you just then?” Tag asked.
Brent swallowed. “It’s too hard to explain right now.”
Tag pointed to his watch. “We’re five minutes behind schedule.”
Brent gathered himself and reached into his backpack and pulled out the pieces of tarp Q had acquired. He took his knife and cut a hole in the middle of both. “These are our new robes.”
Tag took his and looked at it. It was sand colored camouflage. He laid it on the ground and saw that it blended in perfectly. “Nice.”
Brent put his over his head and reached into his backpack and pulled out what looked like a piece of wood, about eighteen inches long and two inches in diameter. “It’s time we put these into service.”
Confused, Tag reached into his pack and took out an identical piece of wood. “What are these?”
“They are what I had the weapons department back at SIA develop for us,” Brent answered.
They held their respective ‘sticks’ with one hand and depressed a hidden button. The eighteen-inch-long block of wood instantly became a six-foot-long staff—a carbon fiber staff.
Tag turned his staff in his one hand, spinning it like a baton. When he stopped, he held it in both hands. “I still can’t believe how lightweight these are,” he said. “Amazing.”
“We will leave our other staffs here,” Brent said. He then depressed another button on his staff and a six-inch blade sprung out of each end.
Tag smiled and did the same.
Brent had him push the button again causing the blades to become recessed in the staff.
Brent eyed Tag. “We act and fight like monks—until we can’t.”
Tag shook his head and laughed. “More riddles.”
Brent allowed a slight smile to penetrate his demeanor. “You shadow me until we reach point B. We will bunk down once again until dark so we’re not spotted and then we split up. We will meet back where the Brotherhood is keeping the president.”
Tag’s mind raced through their plan. He grabbed Brent’s robe as he started to move. Brent stopped and looked back at Tag. “Are you sure of this plan, Colonel? I’ve been thinking that there has to be another way.”
Brent shook his head. “They need to think they have won. It’s the only way. We need them to let down their defenses. Once they are vulnerable, we show our hand.”
Tag nodded.
“Let’s move,” Brent said.
CHAPTER 60
Omar stomped around the cave, kicking every rock in his path. “You said he would come!” he yelled.
Falcon eyed the prisoners and spit at the feet of the old man. “Do you really think the Americans will let their president die at the hands of terrorists?”
Omar stepped into Falcon and backhanded him across the face. “I told you before, never spit in
my home.”
Falcon drew his weapon and cocked the trigger. Before he could say anything, all of the men inside the cave drew on him.
“Did you really think the Brotherhood would follow you and not me?” Omar said.
Falcon released the trigger and holstered his weapon. “This isn’t over,” he growled.
“The message from your insider told us that no one was able to reach Colonel Venturi. He said that if we don’t release the president and these men unharmed they would bomb us.”
Falcon stepped in so that he was standing nose to nose with Omar. The old man’s fetid breath pierced his nostrils as he spoke through gritted teeth. “He also said that the U.S. didn’t know our exact location. They aren’t going to send a massive air strike possibly killing thousands of civilians.”
Omar stared back at Falcon.
A Mexican standoff.
“Get the camera setup,” Falcon said. “I’m sending another message.”
Omar waved for the task to be completed. “You better be right or you will die.”
“I’m always right.”
Falcon pulled Seven to his feet. “You are going to send a message to the United States.” He handed him a piece of paper. On it was written hogwash about how the U.S. had killed civilians throughout Afghanistan and how President Dupree was personally responsible for their massacre.
Seven read the message silently, snarled and spit on the paper. “I ain’t reading nothin’.”
“If you won’t read the message, I will get the message across another way.” He called over one of the Brotherhood and told him to stand up the other prisoners and remove their blindfolds.
“I want them to see what happens when someone disobeys an order.”
Without hesitation, Falcon began to beat Seven with his fists until his face was bloody and his eyes were just swollen slits. Seven lay on the ground in the fetal position, spitting blood and teeth.
“It’s a shame to have ruined all that pretty dental work,” Falcon laughed.
“You,” he pointed at Jefferson, “You will read the message.”
“Don’t think so,” Jefferson replied.
“You’re just as stupid as you were fifteen years ago,” Falcon said.
He then spun and side kicked Jefferson in the gut, causing the big man to drop to his knees. “I’ve been waiting a long time to take you apart, nigger.”
“Screw you, Peck—”
Before he could get the word out, Falcon kicked the big man square in the mouth.
With an evil, satisfied smile, Falcon looked at the others. “Who’s next? I’m just warming up.”
Falcon eyed the rest of the prisoners. When he looked at Alana, she was staring back at him. He swung at her, pulling his fist back just before striking her face. She didn’t flinch. Her eyes constricted and she scowled, matching his hatred with her own.
Falcon snarled. “What have we got here?” he drawled. He turned and kicked Seven in his injured shoulder causing him to moan. “How the mighty have fallen,” he laughed. “It looks like the toughest member of your squad is a Bitch.” He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her to her feet.
Her expression was stone cold as she continued to stare straight at him.
Falcon pulled out his knife and slid it down her cheek. “It would be a shame to mess up that pretty face.”
Alana stiffened. A guttural growl came from her pursed lips. “There is nothing you could do to me that hasn’t been done before.”
Falcon grabbed a fist full of her hair and yanked her head back. “Wha’daya say, I try.” His bile-filled breath made her flinch. With his free hand, he grabbed his knife and sliced open her front of her shirt exposing her bra.
“Maybe your friends back home would enjoy watching me screw you on film,” he said.
Alana refused to show fear and swore at him in Hebrew.
Falcon’s anger got the best of him and he cut her along the top of her bra line. Blood began to trickle down her left breast.
“Enough,” yelled Omar.
Falcon snapped his head around as he stared into the old man’s eyes.
“I think you’ve made your point.”
As he turned to talk to Omar, Scarlet looked at her father. He mouthed for her not to let on that she was his daughter.
“I’ve got one more message to send the American government,” Falcon said. “Roll the video.”
With the video playing, Falcon grabbed President Dupree and made him stand front and center.
“As you can see,” he said into the camera, “your elite squad is no match against me and the Brotherhood of Gaza.” He pulled his semi-automatic pistol from his holster and placed it against the president’s temple. “Find Venturi and get him here,” he screamed. “You have twelve hours before I start taking lives.” He flipped the gun in his hand and cold cocked the president with the butt of the pistol. The president slumped and fell to the ground. With the film still rolling, he kicked the president in the back with the steel toe of his boot. “This is not a game!” Falcon screamed. “If I don’t see Venturi walk into this camp by zero two hundred hours tomorrow, I will kill each and every one of these scumbags.” He pulled Alana towards him and roughly fondled her. “We will save the women for last.” He kicked her in the back of her knees forcing her to drop in front of him. “These two,” he pointed to Alana and Scarlet, “will be begging for death when my men finish using them.”
He walked closer to the camera, so only his face could be seen in the camera. “That will be the next video I send.” As the video ended, all you could hear was the laughter of the Brotherhood echoing off the walls of the cave.
Maddie, Bishop Jessop and Chloe sat silently as they watched the video feed.
Maddie couldn’t take her eyes off of her husband. He was bloodied and unconscious. She was a mixture of anger and sadness. So torn up by what she witnessed that she had a hard time speaking.
“We can’t just sit here and let this animal get away with this,” Bishop Jessop said. “Can’t we call in reinforcements?”
Maddie shook her head. “We don’t even know their location.”
The bishop went to say something else when Joan interrupted.
“Look at Seven’s left hand,” she said. “He’s not unconscious and he’s giving us a sign.”
They all looked at the video again and watched Seven give a hand signal.
“He’s telling us to stand down,” Maddie said. Watching her husband signal them, gave her a bit of renewed strength. She stood and began to walk out of the control room. “We have to wait and hope that Brent knows what he is doing.” As she turned to go into her office, Joan and Bishop Jessop could hear her say, “We do nothing unless the colonel sends us the distress signal.”
CHAPTER 61
Brent and Tag went over the plan one more time as the sun set on the second day. Tag pulled out the rough drawing of the cave system and they reviewed the points of egress from the caves. Brent remained silent as he viewed the diagram.
“Once we set the explosives, we wait until the planned time.”
He looked over at the lieutenant. “No matter what you see or hear, you stay black. At zero two hundred hours on the dot, you trigger the C4.” He stared at Tag with the eyes of an assassin. “Then, we rain down holy hell on everyone in the Brotherhood.”
Tag swallowed hard and nodded. “Damn right, we do.”
At midnight, the two split, each dropping into the maze at different points. Tag set the first trap and was making his way to the next point when he heard two men speaking in Farsi. He hugged the wall, gripped his staff and waited. As the men turned the corner, he spun out of his hiding place and struck them as he had been taught by the brothers of Khor Virap. He struck with such speed that they didn’t have time to react. As he stood over the unconscious men, Tag was surprised at how wel
l the centuries-old method of fighting worked. He quickly bagged and tagged his prey and ran to his next destination.
Brent had dropped into the cave system at the other end and set his explosives in their designated spots. As he made his way from one location to the next, he couldn’t help but marvel at how accurate Tag had been with his drawing.
The nearer he came to the room where the Brotherhood was keeping the president and his squad, the more voices he heard. He braced himself against a dark corner as the voices neared. Brent closed his eyes to block out his sight and try to heighten his sense of hearing. He was able to disseminate the sounds until he could clearly distinguish among three separate men.
Silently, Brent slid down the wall and closed his eyes. As he did, his sense of hearing amplified. He could tell from the sound of their footfalls that the largest man was in front and the other two were walking behind him in a side-by-side formation. He also heard the one in the front strike a lighter repeatedly. The man’s voice rose in its inflection as his frustration grew at his malfunctioning lighter.
Brent rose to a standing position, eyes still closed. The sound of the enemy’s footfalls became almost deafening as the men neared his position.
In one long second, Brent took a deep cleansing breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He opened his eyes and depressed the button on his staff. He stepped out of his hiding place as it sprung to full length.
A cigarette hung from the man’s mouth, his eyes wide with shock. Brent struck with such speed that the other two men had no time to react. Within seconds all three were out cold, lying on the hard stone of the cave floor.
Brent eyed his victims. The cigarette was smashed in the mouth of the one. Tobacco littered his bloody lips. Brent couldn’t help but smile. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you smoking was bad for your health,” he muttered.
A vibration on his wrist brought Brent back into the moment. His watch’s alarm. Only thirty minutes until zero hour, he thought. He looked again at the map and began to run to the other spots where he needed to set the charges.
