by Jason Elam
As Riley walked, he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. It was Meg Ricci again. She had been calling at least five times every day, and her messages were becoming more and more frantic. Exasperated, Riley finally took her call.
“Meg, you’ve got to stop calling.”
Riley could hear the relief as the words gushed out. “Riley, it’s you! Finally! Are you okay? I was so worried about you. How’s your mom? When are you coming back?”
“Meg, listen to me. You have got to stop calling me. I’m in the middle of something really important here.”
“Are you in the mountains? I read you were in the mountains. Where are you? Can I help you at all?”
“I can’t tell you where I’m at. I really can’t tell you anything.”
“Of course, of course. That’s fine. You and your top secret stuff.” Riley thought he could hear irritation in her words. “I’ve just been so worried about you, and it seems like Alessandra is asking every hour for Uncle Riley. Are you all right up there? Is Skeeter with you?”
“Meg, please, listen. I’m in the middle of what is probably a life-and-death situation. Your calls are not helping matters. Please stop calling. I promise you that when this is all over, you and Aly and I will all go out to dinner or something.”
Riley could hear the hurt in Meg’s voice when she answered, “Sure, of course. We’ll do dinner. I didn’t mean to be a pain, Riley. I was just worried about you.”
Riley rolled his eyes. “You weren’t a pain. You were just being a good friend. I’m just in a weird spot right now.”
“No, sure. You just do what you need to do. I’ll be waiting for your call. Sorry to have troubled you.”
“Meg, that’s not what I meant. You didn’t do anything . . .” Riley realized that he was talking to dead air. “That’s why men become hermits,” he said as he thrust his phone back into his pocket. Shaking his head, he continued his search for the next wire.
TUESDAY, MAY 26, 10:15 P.M. CEST
ŽIŽKOV
PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC
Scott felt as if his head were on the rack of a ball return at a bowling alley, and every thirty seconds or so someone bowled another frame. He took a long swig of some brown carbonated drink that Kim Li had given him, then placed his forehead back on the cool Formica table. The only solace he took was that thanks to Hicks’s creative use of his gun butt, Abdalayev was probably feeling the same way.
At least everyone lived. That was the best thing Scott could say for the way the operation had gone down. Actually, it was probably more accurate to say that at least everyone from Team Velvet lived. Abdalayev’s driver and one of the men with him currently didn’t meet the minimum heart rate level needed to sustain life. I’m sure somebody somewhere will shed a tear for them, but I can’t imagine who.
Scott wasn’t the only one hurting in the CIA safe house situated in the largely Romany, or gypsy, district of Žižkov. Steve Kasay was feeling it after taking three rounds to his protective vest, and Jay Kruse had needed to have Carlos Guitiérrez do some fancy needlework on him after getting grazed on the thigh.
But at least they had their man, along with one bonus goon. The two men were awaiting their fates in adjoining bedrooms.
“How you feeling, tough guy?” Scott looked up to see Hicks standing next to him with a smile on his face.
“Like God confused my head with a Wiffle ball.”
Hicks laughed. “So, what I want to know is where’d you get that speed? I looked over and all of a sudden you were flying out of there like you had just heard there was a free all-you-can-eat at Wahoo’s Fish Tacos.”
“Dude, I’ve got skills you can’t even imagine.” Pain quickly turned Scott’s smile into a grimace. “I’m just glad you showed up when you did.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“Do you know in some Eastern cultures when you save someone’s life you must accept that person as your loyal companion for the rest of your days?”
Hicks scowled. “It’s a good thing we’re not in an Eastern culture, or I’d pull my gun out and finish the job Abdalayev couldn’t.”
Scott turned his face back to the table. “Right now, my friend, I’d welcome it. So when are we going to talk to Party Boy?”
“Soon as I hear back from Tara on his buddy’s identity. I want to know whether he’s worth using or if he’s just throwaway.”
Hicks left to check on the prisoners, and when he did, some of the other guys moved in. Matt Logan congratulated “Jackie Joyner-Ross” on his athletic prowess. Kasay leaned in very close to his ear and said loudly, “We like your version of the rope-a-dope, too! Very Ali-esque!” Kasay’s voice sent a painful rumble through the jungle of Scott’s muddled brain.
Before Kasay could pull back, Scott’s fist launched out, landing solidly on the other man’s bruised chest. Kasay cried out in pain.
The guys watching burst out laughing. This was part of the postop adrenaline cooldown. All that energy was still rushing through their veins, but the only ones they had to take it out on were each other.
“Scott, come here.” Scott turned to see Hicks waving him over. Easing himself out of the chair, he crossed the room.
“What’s up?”
“Just heard from Tara. That other guy in there is Doku Bakhmadov. It’s believed he’s number three in the Chechen Freedom Militia.”
“In other words, he’s probably a guy who knows stuff. Which means—”
“Which means we don’t have to put all of our eggs in Abdalayev’s basket.” Looking over Scott’s shoulder, Hicks said, “Hummel, Logan, Li, go help Johnson carry bad guy two into Party Boy’s room.”
“Yes, sir,” the three men said in unison.
“Let’s go,” Hicks said to Scott, and together they entered the second bedroom. “Stand down,” Hicks commanded Gilly Posada, who had been guarding the Chechen with a rifle pointed at his heart.
“Yes, sir,” Posada said, moving back but still keeping his weapon at the ready.
There was commotion at the doorway as the four men carried the other prisoner into the room still tied to his chair and cursing. As soon as he saw his commander, though, he shut up.
“Move him right behind Party Boy,” Hicks ordered. The men set the chair down on the dusty wood floor three feet behind Abdalayev.
The leader of the militia had seen his better days. His left eye was swollen, and blood from a gash in his forehead had traveled down his face and matted his long beard. When he noticed Scott, he asked in Russian, “How’s your head, boy?”
“Looks like it’s better than yours, old man,” Scott answered back in the same language.
A faint smile of surprise showed on Abdalayev’s face. Then, switching to English, he said to Hicks, “So, what brings you to me?”
“Al-’Aqran,” Hicks replied.
“Ahh, I should have known,” Abdalayev said with a nod. “He’s been busy, has he not? He was an angry, bitter old man. Not at all pleasant company.”
“Well, then, you shouldn’t feel that badly about telling us where you took him.”
Abdalayev slowly shook his head. “Tsk-tsk-tsk. Commander . . .”
“Hicks.”
“Commander Hicks, you know that is something I cannot do. Even mercenaries need to have their ethics.”
This time it was Hicks’s turn to shake his head. “Is that your final answer?”
“I’m afraid it must be,” Abdalayev said with a resigned smile.
“Too bad,” Hicks said as he pulled out his pistol and shot Abdalayev in the head. Blood and brain matter flew onto the militia’s number-three man. Bakhmadov cried out. Hicks placed his boot on Abdalayev’s chest and tipped his chair back until it fell into the other man’s lap.
Keeping his gun leveled at Bakhmadov, he said, “Do you speak English?”
The man looked at Hicks with huge, panicked eyes.
“I said, do you speak English?” Hicks asked again, drawing back the hammer on his gun.
“Little. Nemnogo. Little,” Bakhmadov blurted out.
“Scott, translate to Russian.”
Scott nodded and leaned in close to the man’s ear. The smell of fresh blood and flesh churned his stomach.
“You are not the one we are looking for, so I don’t care at all what happens to you. Thus, you have two choices: you will either live or you will die.” Scott gave a simultaneous translation. “If you choose life, you will walk out of here a free man. If you choose death, I will put away my gun, pull out my knife, and begin working on you until you change your mind. Do you understand your choices?”
Bakhmadov nodded his head vigorously.
“Do you choose life?”
Again an emphatic affirmation.
“Good choice,” Hicks said as he holstered his gun. He reached down and pulled his knife out of its boot sheath.
Bakhmadov said something to Scott. “He wants to know if we can move Abdalayev off his lap as a sign of good faith.” Scott was really hoping that Hicks would say yes. Abdalayev’s sightless, staring eyes gave him the creeps.
“Tell him that the fact that he is still alive is all the good faith he is going to get.” Hicks leaned in toward the blood-spattered face of Bakhmadov. “Now, do you have any more questions for me?”
Bakhmadov shook his head. “Nyet.”
“Good. Now I’m only going to ask each question once. Give me a wrong answer and I remove a part of your face.” To emphasize, Hicks used his knife to flick a little notch in the upper cartilage of the man’s ear. “Understand?”
“Da!”
“Very good. Now, where did your boss take al-’Aqran?”
Bakhmadov looked at the knife that Hicks now slowly twisted in front of his face and said, “Istanbul. It is where the Cause has made its home.”
“Very good, Doku. May I call you Doku?”
The man nodded. Sweat was pouring down his face in red rivers.
“Who hired you, Doku?”
“A Saudi named Hamad Asaf. He works for al-’Aqran.”
“Where did you meet to arrange the deal?”
“Beirut. The meeting was arranged through Hezbollah.”
Scott’s mind started racing, putting together all the connections.
But he pulled his focus back when he heard the dangerously passive-aggressive tone of Hicks’s voice.
“Hmm, that’s very interesting. So, Doku, you know there have been some bad things happening in my country, do you not?”
Bakhmadov nodded his head rapidly. “Da!”
“And you’ve known all along who’s responsible for it, correct?”
“Da,” the Chechen answered softly.
“You can understand why that would make me very unhappy with you, can you not?” Hicks asked as he slowly scraped the edge of his knife across Bakhmadov’s left cheek.
The other man winced. “I am so very sorry, sir.”
“I suppose you are,” Hicks said, reaching back to wipe the remnants of beard, flesh, and blood from his knife onto Abdalayev’s shirt. “So, that’s why you’re going to tell me if you’ve heard of anything else that your friends in the Cause have planned.”
Bakhmadov winced as Hicks laid the edge of the blade against his right cheek. “Please, sir, the only thing I heard Commander Abdalayev talk about in regards to the Cause was Beslan!”
The word Beslan echoed through the room. Immediately, the tip of Hicks’s knife was at the mercenary’s throat. “What about Beslan? You better tell me everything you know, or I swear I’ll slice you apart piece by piece!”
Bakhmadov cried out in fear and pain. “Please! Please! I’ll tell you what I know! It isn’t going to be like Beslan with the torture of the children. The Cause doesn’t have that type of army in your country. Instead, it will be martyrs going into grammar schools and killing as many children as they can!”
“When?” Hicks screamed out. “When?”
“I don’t know! I swear to you I don’t know!” Bakhmadov’s blood was beginning to stream down Hicks’s knife.
Hicks spun around and walked to the door. He stood facing it, then suddenly cried out and plunged his knife deep into the wood. For two minutes, Scott stood and watched his friend staring at the door. Finally, Hicks worked his knife out, then walked back to Bakhmadov. There was terror in the other man’s eyes.
When Hicks spoke, his voice was again calm. “Now here’s the most important question, and I want you to think very, very hard. Do you have any idea where in Istanbul al-’Aqran might be staying?”
“I do not know. I swear to you, sir! I would tell you if I knew! Commander Abdalayev met Hamad Asaf outside the city and made the transfer there! I promise you, it is the truth!”
Hicks slowly brought the knife up to Bakhmadov’s face, then tapped his nose twice with the flat of the blade. “You know what, Doku? I believe you. My friend here is going to ask you some more questions. I want you to be as cooperative with him as you were with me, okay?”
Bakhmadov nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Hicks leaned in close, and Scott could smell the faint odor of alcohol seeping out of his sweaty pores. He whispered, “Get what you can from him, then call in the CIA and turn this piece of trash over to them.”
“Yes, sir,” Scott said as Hicks left the room. There was little doubt in Scott’s mind that he was making a beeline to the bottle of Jack Daniel’s he had stashed away with his gear. Hicks was a troubled soul, and Scott knew that times like this were the reason why.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do to help him with his demons right now, Scott thought as he turned back to Bakhmadov. “Now, where were we?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 10:15 A.M. MDT SILVERTHORNE, COLORADO
The Micro Tavor assault rifle lay in pieces in front of him, and Riley attacked each element in turn with oil and a brush. Skeeter had been outside for the last half hour examining their defenses. With him were the only two weapons that were not next to Riley waiting to be cleaned.
Right now they’re in the linebackers’ meeting, Riley thought, visualizing the white room with its narrow tables and big black faux leather chairs. Simm is probably mouthing off to some rookie about a missed coverage during drills. And Coach Texeira is standing up front helplessly trying to get a word in edgewise.
Riley laughed quietly at the thought, but just as quickly, the smile left him. I should be there. Simm is great, but the leadership of the linebacker corps belongs to me. That’s another thing they’ve stolen.
One of the negatives of spending so much time waiting was all the thinking. And all that thinking was beginning to turn Riley bitter—bitter at the Cause for putting him in this situation, for taking his dad from him, and for keeping him from his mom. But he was also bitter at Scott for actually being able to go out and hunt the bad guys, bitter at Meg for constantly bugging him and reading more into their relationship than was really there, bitter at Keith Simmons for taking his leadership role on the Mustangs, bitter at the Mustangs for giving him a fake injury and sending him packing, bitter at Khadi for . . . well, for whatever it was that Khadi had done wrong.
Riley put down the barrel of the weapon, picked up the MEPRO 21 red dot sight, and began the polishing process. I wonder how Afshin is doing. I hope he and Simm are doing some sort of Bible study together. A twinge of jealousy gripped Riley’s insides, and he couldn’t help thinking, Although I should rightfully be the one teaching Simm about his new faith. But he knew that was whacked-out thinking, and he quickly left changing that attitude on God’s lap.
A sound caught Riley’s ear—a vehicle was coming! Riley rapidly reassembled the rifle as he had practiced so many times before and ran to the front window. He saw Skeeter running toward the door. Riley reached over and opened it for him.
“Stand down! It’s okay,” Skeeter said, his hand pushing Riley’s barrel toward the floor.
This put Riley more off guard than hearing the vehicle’s approach. “What do you mean it’s okay
? Who is it? Why didn’t I know about it?” Then a thought struck Riley. “No, Skeeter, don’t tell me . . .”
But when the dark blue Suburban turned into the steep driveway, Riley could see the driver plain as day. Angry now, he wheeled on Skeeter. “Man, this is so messed up! What do you think you’re doing? Or is that the problem? You finally decided to try thinking and this is what happened?”
Skeeter looked at Riley with anger in his eyes. “Pach, disagree, man, but don’t disrespect.”
That let some of the air out of Riley’s emotions. “Yeah, okay, you’re right; that was wrong for me to say. But still, this is just so messed up!”
So many thoughts and feelings were racing through Riley as he watched the SUV stop and Khadi slide down off the front seat. She walked around to the back and lifted the rear gate.
“Well, if you ain’t gonna help the lady . . . ,” Skeeter said and walked out the door.
Skeeter gave Khadi a hug, but while she was in his big embrace, Riley saw her shoot a quick glance toward the door. Anger, excitement, hurt, and hope all swirled through his brain. Why didn’t they tell me? That’s the most aggravating part! I feel like they just ran a double reverse on me, and I’m left standing here looking like a fool! Besides, what’s she doing here? She’s liable to get herself killed. Then another thought struck him. Right, and she knows that, and still she came . . . for you, buddy. You know it was for you.
Riley stood in the doorway watching until the vehicle was unloaded. Khadi came toward the door with an overnight bag over her shoulder. Skeeter was behind her, carrying two assault weapons and a large green duffel bag. As Khadi stopped at the front step and looked up at Riley, an awkward silence ensued with both Riley and Khadi caught up in their own thoughts.
Finally, Riley said, “Oh, hey, let me get your bag for you.” He leaned down and slid the bag off Khadi’s shoulder. She willingly let him take it. “Come on in,” he said as he walked back inside. Khadi and Skeeter followed.
