“You have to pay for your sins, Cain. Once you started all this, you became just like them. You lost the fight as soon as it began. You’re no better than they are.”
Cain trembled with outrage.
I’m pushing him over the edge. Maybe I’ll force him to make a mistake.
“I may be disgusted with some of the things our government does,” Logan went on. “How it shies away from making the hard choices, sticking with an unpopular course of action out of political expediency. To be honest, it’s one of the reasons I left the Marine Corps. But even though I don’t wear a uniform anymore, I took an oath. And that oath stated that I’d act ‘against all enemies, foreign and domestic.’ Like you, Cain. Even though you may see yourself as some kind of patriot, you’re not.”
Logan saw the veins on the side of Cain’s neck pulse with rage, reaching a crescendo in concert with his elevated heart rate.
“You asked me why, and I’ll tell you.” Logan paused one more time. “Because you have to be held accountable, and I happen to be one of the few men on this planet who can do it. Justice has to be served, and I intend to see that it is.” Then he added, “Which is why I’m taking you back to expose you to the world for what you are—a traitor and a murderer.”
Logan steeled himself for what was coming. He knew the moment was upon them both.
Cain hissed at him, “Then I guess there’s really nothing else to talk about.”
“I guess not.”
“Then let’s get this over with quickly,” Cain said as he glanced at the suitcase, his prize waiting to be reclaimed. “I have a ride to catch.”
Cain immediately dropped into a low fighting stance, his left foot forward, his left hand open in front of him at chin level, right hand cocked in a fist. He moved forward in a zigzag pattern toward Logan, his movements fluid and effortless. The anger on Cain’s face turned to something else Logan recognized—fierce determination.
This isn’t going to be easy, Logan thought.
He stepped backward into his own conventional fighting stance, hands raised in front of him. Give him a few more feet.
Cain switched stances, his right foot forward, and moved within striking distance.
Logan lashed out in a low roundhouse kick intended to knock Cain off balance. But Cain lifted his right leg, causing Logan’s kick to sail through the air between them.
Crack! Crack! Cain delivered two powerful punches with his left fist, striking Logan first on the side of his nose and then the right cheek.
Logan’s eyes watered from the blows, and a jolt of pain flashed through his head.
My God, he’s fast.
Unlike most people when struck violently in the face, Logan fought through the initial shock and allowed his momentum to carry him past his nemesis. As he turned, he lashed out with a spinning back fist with his left hand. Cain dodged it easily.
Logan regained his footing and faced Cain once more. Cain smiled, a sadistic, confident look in his eyes. Cain sensed Logan’s surprise at his fighting skills.
“What did you think, Logan? That this would be easy? That I’d fall over and beg you for mercy?” Cain shook his head from side to side. “Rule number one, Logan. If you plan to attack a fundamentalist Islamic nation, you’d better be able to defend yourself. You’re not the first person who’s opposed me, and from the looks of it, you’re not going to be the last.”
Logan knew he was right. For the first time during this entire ordeal, legitimate doubt crept into the back of his mind. It wasn’t panic. Logan was trained not to panic, knowing he couldn’t afford to no matter how dire the situation seemed, but he instinctively realized that he might not emerge victorious. Cain was—apparently—that good. Logan hadn’t even sensed his strikes coming.
I’m going to have to switch tactics somehow. He has to have a weakness.
That was as far as his thoughts progressed before Cain launched a vicious assault at him. Several blows struck Logan in the ribs and face in blinding succession as he tried to defend himself. He tucked his arms in to his sides, leaving his face exposed.
Cain lashed out with a hammer fist to Logan’s left temple. The blow staggered Logan backward. Logan shook his head to clear the thrumming sensation inside his skull.
The onslaught would’ve incapacitated any other man, but Logan’s fitness and training saved him. He was battered and bruised but still standing.
Cain stood back, appreciating his handiwork. He looked fresh and ready for more.
Logan immediately knew his only chance of winning lay elsewhere. There’s no way I can beat him on his feet.
Without wasting another moment, he lowered his head and launched himself at Cain, executing a double-leg takedown, his chest slamming into Cain’s lower torso. He lifted Cain off his feet and propelled him to the hard dirt below. He was rewarded with a guttural exhalation as the wind was knocked out of Cain’s lungs.
As fast as Cain was, the maneuver surprised him. He struggled to push Logan off his chest. Logan responded by raising himself up and away from Cain, which provided him with enough space as he punched Cain on both sides of his rib cage. Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Cain, realizing he couldn’t withstand a continued onslaught of ferocious body shots, brought his right leg up between their bodies. He snaked the leg around the right side of Logan’s torso and twisted, gaining enough leverage and momentum to send Logan sprawling to the ground next to him.
Logan rolled away to avoid any further counterstrikes. As he scrambled to his feet, he watched Cain kick his legs straight up into the air, the momentum lifting his upper body upward. He landed squarely on both feet and faced Logan.
Motherfucker thinks he’s Bruce Lee.
The men faced each other, both fueled by adrenaline. Cain breathed hard as a warm wind kicked up the fine sand and desert dust, coating both men with it.
Logan remained motionless. Cain moved forward, a predator stalking his prey. The smile was gone, leaving only a mask of unadulterated hatred. Logan expected another assault of punches.
Instead, Cain spun around completely on his left foot and delivered a back kick that caught Logan squarely just below the sternum. The kick knocked the wind out of him, and the force of the blow partially doubled him over. He knew he had to move away, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Cain smoothly transitioned into his normal fighting stance once again. He lashed out with a roundhouse kick from his right leg that struck Logan on the left side of his face, sending blood from the wound splattering across the dirt. Logan crashed to the ground like a fighter on the verge of being knocked out.
Logan struggled to regain his balance, but his equilibrium had been destabilized by the kick. He managed to lift himself up on both hands and knees. Have to get away. Can’t take much more. He willed himself to move, but it wasn’t enough.
Cain delivered a powerful kick that cracked two ribs on Logan’s left side and flipped him onto his back, where he lay broken and in pain. He coughed and tasted the copper flavor of blood. Might’ve punctured a lung. Fantastic . . .
He focused his eyes on Cain, who stared at him from only a few feet away.
Cain sensed victory at hand. He stood directly over Logan. “I told you, but you didn’t listen—you can’t beat me. Now it’s time to finish this little dance once and for all. I’d be half-tempted to let you live if I thought you’d go back to drinking yourself into oblivion, but I don’t think you’d let this go, and I don’t need you or anyone else coming after me. So it’s lights out.” He paused for a moment and looked down at Logan one last time. “Good-bye, Captain West.”
Come on. Get it over with. Logan waited for the final blow to come, knowing it would be fast and lethal. He was right on both counts.
Cain raised his right leg and viciously brought it downward toward Logan’s throat, intent on crushing his windpipe.
Although in excruciating agony from the broken ribs, Logan summoned enough strength for a last-chance defense. He brought both hands up an
d caught Cain’s boot inches away from his face, then violently twisted his hands 180 degrees to the right.
He felt something pop in Cain’s ankle, and Cain shouted in pain as Logan jerked his foot down.
Cain was thrown off balance and fell forward across Logan’s body, landing at an awkward angle on top of his already damaged ankle. There was a loud crack as at least one bone broke. This time Cain shrieked in pain.
Now it’s my turn! Logan’s mind roared in fury.
Logan rolled toward Cain, who writhed in agony from the shattered bone. He sensed Logan near him and tried to hit him with a left-handed back fist. Logan caught the arm in both hands. You just sealed your fate. Thank you.
Logan maneuvered his body so that he held Cain’s left arm—fully extended—between his legs. His right leg lay across Cain’s chest and pushed him against the ground; his left, across his stomach. Logan’s feet were interlocked. There was nowhere for Cain to go.
Stand by, asshole. Here comes the real pain.
Logan leaned back and pulled Cain’s arm with all his strength, the megalomaniac’s elbow now past the point of normal flexion. Cain screamed louder; Logan only pulled harder. A cold fury filled his head. Cain’s screams dimmed in intensity. Logan lurched backward one last time. It was enough.
Crack! The humerus in Cain’s upper arm snapped like a rotten tree branch. The tendons in the elbow ligament ruptured, and the cartilage tore away from the bone. Cain’s left arm was rendered useless and permanently damaged.
I hope it hurts like hell. You deserve it.
Logan released the arm and closed in on Cain as his adversary coughed in agony. Cain’s world had become nothing but blinding pain. All rational thought and reason fled his mind. He babbled incoherently, but Logan didn’t care. He wasn’t done with him just yet.
Logan positioned himself behind Cain and snaked his right arm around his throat. He locked his left hand behind Cain’s head and his right hand inside his left elbow. Cain couldn’t resist. Logan squeezed.
As his arms cut the blood circulation to Cain’s head, Logan thought, This is more merciful than you deserve.
The chokehold sliced through the panic in Cain’s head, and he realized too late what was happening. He resisted, flailing at Logan with his remaining good arm.
Logan only squeezed harder. Cain’s attempts to free himself subsided. Almost done . . .
He felt Cain’s body go limp as he finally passed out. He was about to remove his arm from Cain’s throat, but he never got the chance.
From across the soccer field, two Iraqi men with AK-47s appeared from one of the dark walkways, pointed at him, and began to run. Logan hadn’t seen the two men before, either with Ahmed or his friends, which meant they were likely here to help Cain.
You’ve got to be kidding me, Logan thought. After all this . . .
He knew as soon as they reached him they’d shoot him in the head and take both Cain and the bomb. His mind searched for options, but it seemed that his had all run out.
The two men closed the distance, weapons raised, shouting in Arabic.
Logan did the only thing he could think of—he used Cain’s body as a human shield, trying to prevent the inevitable for as long as possible. He knew they wouldn’t shoot him while he held their valuable asset.
The shouting grew louder. Both men were now only twenty yards away and realized what Logan was doing. One of the men said something in Arabic Logan didn’t understand. The two men split up and moved away from each other, intent on flanking Logan from both sides to get a clear shot.
Nice. At least I won’t be killed by stupid men.
Logan tried to keep Cain between them and him. His ploy wouldn’t last much longer. The man on Logan’s right was now only ten yards away, close enough that Logan had nowhere to hide.
Logan realized it was over, and the finality of it slammed into his chest like one of Cain’s strikes. There was nothing left to do. He prayed that he’d done enough to give the US time to hunt these men down after he was dead. He’d done everything he could, but the game was now out of his hands. His thoughts drifted toward Sarah. I’m sorry, babe. I love you.
The man raised the rifle and pointed it directly at Logan’s head. At this distance, he couldn’t miss. He said something to Logan, but it didn’t matter.
Logan opened his eyes, looked at his would-be killer, steadied himself, and replied, “Fuck you too.” He closed his eyes and waited for the end to come.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Three shots rang out across the soccer stadium.
Logan realized none of them had killed him, and he opened his eyes. The gunman pointing the AK-47 at his head was in the midst of crumpling to the ground, the rifle dangling from his right arm.
Logan spun his attention to the second attacker, who looked past Logan and began to raise his own AK-47. He was too slow.
Crack! Crack!
Two bullets struck the second gunman in the center of his chest. Logan watched as the man turned toward him, looked down at his chest and then back at Logan, an expression of confusion on his face. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell forward, dead before he hit the ground.
Logan lay back against the dry Iraqi earth. Thank you, God. I really didn’t want to die here today.
He looked up at the sky, exhausted. The daylight was finally starting to wane as the sky turned a deeper shade of blue. His ears registered more sounds. Men shouted as nearby vehicles skidded to a halt. He heard rapid footsteps and then the sky was blotted out by the looming figure of John Quick. Logan couldn’t speak.
John looked down and quickly assessed the situation, figuring out what had transpired on the soccer field of battle.
Logan finally pulled himself back to the moment. “Could you have seriously cut it any closer, John? A few more seconds and you’d have been speaking at my memorial . . . Christ . . .”
Logan heard more men approaching, but he didn’t look to see who they were. It was over. That was all that mattered.
John smiled at him. “Better late than never. Jesus, Logan. You look like shit.”
“Thanks, John, I feel like it too,” he said, trying to smile before his breath caught in his lungs as his broken ribs sent pain coursing through his body. “But I think our good friend Cain here is the worse for wear.”
“Good. Just between us, looks like you let him off easy. He doesn’t deserve to live.”
Logan nodded. “I agree, and I thought about it, but as I told him, I want him to pay for what he did. Killing him would’ve let him off the hook.”
Logan finally shoved Cain Frost’s unconscious form away from him. John reached down and helped him up.
“Now the entire world will know what he did. He’s a traitor, John, and I want everyone to see him for who he is.”
John nodded. The sound of rotors grew louder in the desert air. A faint vibration shook the ground beneath them.
“You got helos?” Logan asked.
John was still grinning. “Absolutely. Only the best for you.”
Logan tried to laugh, but it hurt too much.
“Sorry. No more jokes,” John promised.
“I’m going to hold you to that. Will probably last all of two minutes,” Logan said.
Logan carefully walked over and picked up the briefcase.
All of this death for something so small.
He blinked in disbelief, the enormity of what he held in his hands becoming a reality.
“At least it’s finally over,” John said, gently clapping him on the back. The helicopters grew closer, and Logan saw two CH-53Es appear on the horizon. “Now, let’s go home.”
“Amen to that, brother. I’ve had enough of Iraq for two lifetimes.” He shook his head, adding once more, “Amen to that.”
EPILOGUE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Logan drove west on Route 40. His AA meeting had lasted a little longer than he’d expected. He’d finished his “ninety in ninety”—the newly recovering a
lcoholic’s goal of attending ninety meetings in ninety days. Old-timers said it built a foundation of sobriety, and Logan knew it to be true. He just hoped his foundation didn’t crumble to pieces this time around. He didn’t think it would. The hunt for the flag had fundamentally changed him, and he’d begun to fill the void that had slowly gnawed away at his soul. But only time would really tell. Which is why it’s only one day at a time, he thought.
He looked at the dashboard clock. It was almost five o’clock. He was going to be late. Sorry, hon.
He was only twenty minutes from Sarah’s house. He’d stopped calling it his place after he returned from Iraq. Something inside him had finally accepted the fact that their life together could no longer exist in its former state.
His relapse, the events that had transpired, the loss of Daly—all of it had forced them to evaluate their lives through a different lens. Their love was strong but shaken. It would take time to rebuild.
And I’m the one responsible, Logan thought.
He shook his head. Blaming himself didn’t help; it only added to the guilt he still struggled with on a daily basis. What did matter was that there was still a chance. Both he and Sarah were committed to it.
Logan reached for his wireless earpiece and inserted it into his right ear, but before he could dial Sarah’s number, his cell phone rang. He wasn’t expecting any phone calls.
He looked down. It was Mike Benson. What could he want?
He hadn’t talked to Mike in two weeks. They were as close as brothers, but it was common to go as long as a month without speaking to him. Cain’s trial wasn’t scheduled to begin for another two months. So it must be something else.
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