Meanwhile, William was talking to his friends who all had nicknames, like Blade and Juice, and a few others she didn't want to acknowledge. They were instantly planning the strategy and tactics of a mission, and the game had many directions in which it could go. After two hours of explosions, rifle blasts, grenades being launched, and futuristic weaponry, Lara tapped out. Her character had been killed five times before she even figured out how to maneuver the controller.
William nodded to her as she left his room, but he was teeing up for a battle level far beyond what she had just experienced. As she padded barefoot back down to the living room, she sat by the woodstove and gazed out at the ocean, wondering where Ben was at that very moment. He was airborne, that much she knew. And, just through being observant she knew this mission was huge. She knew everything Ben did was top secret, but this time she had a sinking feeling he may have taken on more than he could handle.
Her phone vibrated and she jumped nervously. It was Monique, Bett's girlfriend. Lara listened to her halting words. It was obvious she had been crying and was at the end of a lengthy jag. Lara spoke softly into the phone and simply said, “Now you know the feeling.”
With her voice quivering, Monique ranted, “He just slipped a beautiful engagement ring on my finger. I was so happy. Now, the man of my dreams is off on the other side of the world. I don’t even know where he is. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”
Lara could tell she had lost all semblance of self-control. She was raw, terrified, and panic-stricken.
“Why don’t you come over tonight? You shouldn’t be alone. It is Christmas, after all. I’m here with William. Stay here tonight.”
Monique took her up on the offer. She had just spent the day at her parents’ home nearby. Lara sensed she needed to unload her pent up frustration. Her mother and step-father, Rusty, would be stopping by in the morning for pancakes to say goodbye to William. Maybe Monique would enjoy that diversion, even if for a few hours.
Little did Monique know how much her companionship would be welcomed, especially once William departed for Canada. Except for Einstein, the house would be empty. It would be a joy to have someone to keep her company. The dog was a wonderful comfort, but Lara was fighting the same feelings of fear, and lived with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach until Ben returned unharmed. Until then, she would put on a good front -- but when alone she’d crumble into a heap of tears at the slightest provocation.
Israel
~ Ben ~
Arrival at Hatzor airbase was routine for the team. Moshe’s men met them and helped to carry and load their gear into an armored vehicle. Not even Ben knew how many men Moshe commanded. It was a closely guarded secret and the forces were constantly shifting and modernizing to meet new demands. Every Israeli citizen served in the military, and Israel's Institute for Intelligence reserved the right to call upon the service of any Jew on the planet.
The United States could learn a great deal from this tiny nation with an innate instinct to survive.
Institute for Intelligence was simply known as “the Institute,” or simply “Mossad.” Mossad was the executive branch of the counter-terrorism unit, but it operated differently than the Central Intelligence Agency in America. There were off-shoots specifically trained and designated to perform intelligence tasks. These groups could turn on a dime. Their nimble readiness and high level of training was a thing of beauty. He felt fortunate to be this close to some of the greatest warriors in the world.
The war room was a short drive away and the Dark Horse Guardians got into the armored vehicles for transport to the place where they’d live for the next few days.
“Was the flight comfortable?” Moshe slapped Ben on the back. “It should have been. We just purchased a boatload of these J’s from the United States. They’re beautiful.”
Moshe was an aerodynamic junkie. He loved anything that had an engine and wings. Having been trained as a pilot in his earlier years, he was intimately familiar with every plane in the fleet. He should be; he ordered them.
“Yes,” Ben responded sleepily. “So comfortable, I slept for five hours. A big upgrade, I’d say. They know how to make them in Atlanta. Quality workmanship.”
Ben rode in Moshe’s private SUV, with enough armor to survive a nuclear attack. Inside the vehicle was a dashboard with a unique com system. Moshe lived with an earpiece and tiny microphone twenty-four hours a day. Ben imagined he made love to Rachel with it on. As the drive took them toward their destination, Moshe’s dark black eyes looked into Ben’s.
“You ready for this?” he mused. “I’m jacked.”
“You’ve had one too many espressos,” Ben joked with him. But then he became deadly serious. “Yes, I'm ready. I've been waiting to beat these guys to death with my bare hands ever since I heard of the first ones being released back onto the battlefield. After watching on YouTube what these jihadist-bastards have done, the heinous crimes against humanity – I don’t need any more inspiration. And, I think I just might sucker punch the next idiot who bitches about how awful it is to water board them.”
Moshe smiled. “Ah, you’re ready. I have the records waiting in the war room.”
“The more information we have, the better. We need it all, their habits, what they eat. You got the data from Gitmo, right?” Ben queried.
“Yes, and we even have footage of their activities while there. It’s very telling. We will watch some of that in the war room.”
Ben nodded. Rule number one, know thine enemy. Moshe would occasionally joke that rule number two was, kill them wherever you find them. Ben knew the verse was from the Quran, referring to Muslims being instructed to kill infidels. But, now this theory was turned upon the jihadists. Fighting fire with fire was Moshe’s strategy, and it was working.
The team scrambled to the plain white building, entered, and walked down a flight of stairs leading to a tunnel. Fifty feet beneath the ground was a steel-reinforced bunker the size of a city-block. Personnel of all stripes were gathering data, preparing for the briefing in the war room. The Dark Horse Guardians were led to their sleeping quarters. Moshe put his hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“We’re in this together.” He said with a defiant little smirk.
“Damn straight.” Ben smiled back. “Let’s do this.”
~ Lara ~
It was a good idea she asked Monique to spend the night. Her friend was exhausted from crying and worrying about Bettencourt on his first Dark Horse mission. Lara could only comfort her and listen. She was all too familiar with the fear and uncertainty. She knew it would be best to let Monique rant and rave for a while. She had to get it out of her system before she could speak sensibly.
At one in the morning, after two hours of listening to her ride the roller coaster of emotions, Lara said, “You’ve got to eat something, Monique. “You’ll just feel worse if you don’t.”
“Okay,” Monique acquiesced, “Maybe something.”
“Scrambled eggs and toast?” Lara offered.
Monique curled up on the sofa. Lara tossed her a blanket and switched the television on, finding a crazy late night show. Eventually Monique showed signs of watching it. Once she saw Monique smile, Lara allowed herself to laugh at some of the outrageous comments. Then Lara noticed Monique was shoveling scrambled eggs into her mouth.
Good, the distraction was working. After a night of sleep, Monique would begin to stabilize. Her spirit would start the process of strengthening. It was a sort of self-preservation that would take place one day at a time. But the waxing and waning was the difficult part. The reinforcement of one's soul did not take place overnight.
By 2:00 AM they were tucked into bed. Monique in the guest room and Lara in the big empty bed she shared with Ben. His sandalwood scent lingered in the sheets and she would not change the bed until he returned. It as a ritual, a crazy superstition. She slept on his side, inhaling his masculine smell and wept silently before falling asleep. She prayed to God to keep him safe, bu
t knew the evil forces Ben was fighting were strong and doing all that they could to blot out anything to do with God or goodness.
In the morning, Lara made pancakes for her mother, Rusty, Monique, and an extra-large serving for William. Driving William to the airport and saying goodbye was painful. But his face exuded happiness, and that was all that mattered at the moment. With a tear in her eye, she watched as William boarded the plane and it was cleared for take-off. She stood in front of the plate glass window at the Portland Airport wondering if he could see her waving.
Once William’s plane was airborne, she turned and embraced Monique. The two held one another as if they’d just been through their own internal war, holding back their real feelings, not allowing weakness or sorrow to register. Lara rubbed Monique on the back.
“We’re good. You know what we need to do right now?” Lara asked.
“What…” Monique asked with a bit of hesitation.
“We need to go to the spa and soak in a hot tub and get a massage.” Lara suggested.
“Are they open today?”
“Yes, I made the appointment last week, knowing I’d probably need it after Christmas. I’ll make sure there’s a massage therapist available for you.” Lara tapped her Bluetooth and spoke to the spa receptionist. “There you go. There was a cancellation this morning. You get a massage, and I’m paying.” Lara smiled as they got into the Mercedes.
“I’ve never had one before.” Monique confessed.
“Well, let me tell you this: once you get a massage, you’ll be hooked.” Lara giggled.
“I don’t have a swim suit with me.” Monique said.
“Don’t need one. They have disposable ones there,” Lara informed her. “It’s just the two of us in a huge tub of swirling 103 degree water. Not to worry.”
Lara thought she saw the beginning of a smile on Monique’s face. Good. She at least was thinking of something else for a few minutes instead of whatever horrible scenario her new fiancé might be experiencing.
As the Mercedes pulled up to the spa, the two jumped out and traced a path through the freshly fallen snow. Just what both women needed, a bit of pampering and a chance to talk about hair and make-up and clothing…ordinary things, really, but fun nonetheless.
The door to the spa stuck. As Lara attempted to close it, she caught a glimpse of a blacked out Mustang from the corner of her eye. The car whizzed by and didn’t stop.
How many Mustangs are there in this neck of the woods? Because I could have sworn I saw that one at the airport. There was a brief moment of paranoia, but she remembered that, usually, undercover law enforcement guys drove blacked out Mustangs. The thought flitted through her mind momentarily that Bettencourt knew many of the local law men in the area. It was possible that he’d asked one of the detectives to keep an eye on her while he was away. That would be so like him.
As they head for the spa reception area, Lara reached for her phone.
“Who are you calling?” Monique quizzed her.
“Bettencourt.”
Monique’s face became serious. “Why?”
Before Lara could answer, the familiar voice boomed over the speaker, “Bettencourt.”
“Hey, you – I have a question. Did you put a tail on us for safe keeping while you’re gone?” Lara asked. There was a long pause on the line. “Are you there?”
“I heard you,” Bettencourt said haltingly, “Let me check with Ben.” She heard Ben’s voice muffled in the background. “No. We didn’t. What does the vehicle look like?”
“It’s a blacked-out Mustang, brand new. You know, the type the undercover guys use.” Lara explained. She felt a chill run through her.
“Listen, Lara. Be careful. Someone might be following you, but I don’t know who the hell it is. Take precautions. See a guy named Paul Simpson at the station. Give him the description and license plate and details…mention my name. But, for God’s sake, watch your back. We’re taking off. I have to go….” And the phone went dead.
Israel
~ Ben ~
In the war room, Moshe gave his presentation on the targets. Ben had already read the intel reports on the Gitmo detainees and knew full well what their crimes were. The list went on for a while. It was long, horrific, and read like a valid argument for an official war to be declared on the jihadist bastards who called themselves the Islamic State. The victims’ photos were on full high-definition display in front of the men to help them wrap their heads around the level of evil these men had perpetrated. The screen was the size of a movie theater’s, and as the photos accumulated, they had to be shrunk to thumbnail size, just to fit them all on the screen. To describe these as crimes against humanity would be an understatement. Between the mass rapes, mass graves, and wrought-iron fences with decapitated heads on every single spike, this rivaled, and perhaps surpassed, the tyranny of the Nazi regime.
Fierce determination flooded through Ben. This was a job that had to be done, nothing more. Although, he hated these creatures who looked like men, he would not let emotion rule. He temporarily suspended his ability to feel as he got into the mission. He became cold and hollow, emptied of everything but the focus on what lie ahead. He was conscious of this necessary transformation. As his eyes glanced around the room, he noticed every one of his men were going through that very same process as they listened to Moshe’s detailed report. He watched as their eyes soaked in photo after photo. There was a palpable silence as he sensed their mental state harden.
Afterward, they filed to the dining hall and ate. There were a few hours of reading to do for mission prep. The men retired to their separate chambers to absorb detailed material regarding the mission. Ben took a moment, tapped his phone and glanced at the security system at Clearwater Farm. The house was empty. Einstein was asleep in his dog bed in the kitchen. He knew that his son was home in Canada by now. Ben scrolled through the photographs of William on his phone that he’d taken Christmas Eve. His son was turning into a man. He thought of calling him, but he was several time zones away. William would be sleeping. Instead, he sent him a text, Hi, it’s Dad. Thinking of you. Glad we got to be together for Christmas. Love you.
He couldn't even think of Lara. He would be too strongly tempted to get on the first plane back home. Ben flopped onto his bunk in private quarters and turned on a small reading light. He read for an hour, memorizing every detail. Mock-ups and work-ups were always the most important segment of the mission plan. The Dark Horse game was equally as important, as it presented elements of danger the men hadn’t considered during their practice sessions. Tonight they’d utilize the high-tech software to go through each scenario with enhanced satellite images and chats with human intelligence on the ground. Updates. They always changed everything slightly, sometimes for the better.
But something was gnawing at him. The hyper-vigilance kicked in, as it often did during mission prep. Restless, Ben grabbed Moshe out of the war room long enough to check the storage locker.
“I’ve already done this, bro.” Moshe smiled. “But we can double-check. I know how you like to do that, just a little bit obsessive-compulsive.”
Ben smiled. “Rule number 3, it's not obsessive-compulsion if it works.”
For the next hour Moshe and Ben went over every pistol, long gun, magazine, laser sight, night-vision equipment, body armor, black face masks and disguises, right down to the cigarettes they’d smoke. And, as Ben suspected, they were short on a few items. Sunglasses, for example. They needed a specific style, and Ben decided on more hypodermic needles, extras just in case one failed.
Once he exhausted the list and the additional items were packed, he felt he could relax just a little before the Dark Horse computer simulation began. He closed his eyes on the bunk for fifteen minutes to take a short nap. Too short.
Elvis woke him. “Hey Chief, let’s go.”
In the Dark Horse simulation, Ben’s team assembled with Moshe’s unit and they got down to business. Since September 11th, 775 detainees h
ad been brought to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Although most of those captured were released without formal charges, the American government continued to classify many released as enemy combatants, a nice phrase for bonafide terrorists. As of December 2014, 132 detainees remained at Guantanamo. Over 600 had been released, and their whereabouts were the subject of discussion. Many of these men were living in banana republics, such as Venezuela, Ecuador, Guatemala and Columbia. Some were back in Afghanistan, Yemen, Pakistan and Syria now running the Islamic uprising that the Commander-in-Chief refused to call Islamic. Some had been put into the ground by Ben and his men.
And, there was a new twist. Thanks to a group of disgruntled liberals on the Senate Intelligence Committee with a grudge against the current CIA Director, information was about to be systematically leaked to the press. Ben compared this betrayal to the rat bastard that worked for the NSA and fled to Russia. The leaking of classified information was earth-shattering to special ops and human intelligence assets on the ground, doing their jobs day and night -- risking their lives.
It was only a matter of time before the terrorists who were released would be informed of their impending demise. But the kill order had been given with a narrow window of opportunity specified. Thus, time was critical for this mission to succeed. There was plenty of killing to do, but it had to be done swiftly and with great precision.
Coordinates for the first hit were set up on the enormous screens before them. Ben dreaded working in the banana republic even more than Afghanistan. There would be Malaria to contend with along with Dengue and Yellow Fever, and Chagas. These parasitic diseases were common for workers in the forests of South America. He hoped the recent shipment to Moshe’s storage facility of protective combat undergarments would help protect the men, but it was no guarantee.
Hard Man to Kill (Dark Horse Guardian Series Book 4) Page 2
