Exfiltration
Page 7
“Alpha one, this is TOC. Hold your position. Something’s come up,” Bradburn says, not sounding too confident.
“Copy.” Dalton turns to the rest of the team, who’s sitting on the floor along the wall. Kimberly’s curled up in a ball, using one of the tactical backpacks as a pillow. Al-Rahman’s positioned in between Storm and Brock. He’s not going anywhere. “When it rains,” he mutters, shaking his head.
“What do you think’s up, Cap?” Miller asks him, standing.
“Could be anything at this point,” Dalton sighs, pacing around the small space.
“Problem with the helo?” Perry wonders aloud as he scratches Storm’s head.
“God, I hope not,” Spencer grunts, checking the ammo in his rifle’s magazine.
“Does this happen a lot?” I ask Dalton, who continues to walk in circles.
“Happens enough,” he admits. “Remember the time we got stuck in Tehran for three days?” he asks his team.
“Longest three days of my life,” Miller mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“What happened?” I ask the group as I lean against the wall.
“Well, Bravo team was supposed to come and exfil us, but they got stuck,” Perry answers with a chuckle. Storm barks as if to agree.
“Stuck?”
“Yeah,” Dalton says shaking his head at the memory, “Their helo had mechanical trouble and crash landed in the middle of an enemy hot spot. We had to go and exfil them.”
“Hoofin’ it through Iran in the middle of a war in the middle of the night wasn’t on my to-do list,” Spencer agrees as he chambers a round.
“Alpha one, this is TOC. Got a bird heading your way. Too hot to land, so it’s coming in with SPIE rigs. Five minutes to exfil,” Bradburn announces.
“TOC, this is Alpha one. Copy,” Dalton answers. “Get your gear. We’re going home.”
“What are SPIE rigs?” I ask, not liking how that sounds.
“Oh, they’re fun,” Perry says, tightening his vest.
“It’s a fancy term for one hundred-foot sections of line dropped from the doors. The line is rigged with loops where we hook carabiners,” Dalton says, handing Noah and I a metal hook. Connected to the line are climbing harnesses, and we’re lifted out. Up to eight men to a rope.”
I look the C-shaped carabiner over.
It reminds me of the hook I use for my keys.
Doesn’t seem all that safe . . .
“It’s exhilarating,” Spencer teases. “You dangle hundreds of feet off the ground, but it’s the fastest way to get the hell out of dodge.”
“Wait. Don’t they pull us up?” I ask, horrified yet excited.
“Negative. You hang there and pray the rope doesn’t break,” Dalton teases.
“The ropes only broken, what, twice, Cap?” Miller quips.
“Agent Witt, it’s perfectly safe,” Spencer assures me.
“So, we dangle from a moving helicopter held on by this metal thing and a piece of rope, fly over buildings hundreds of feet in the air, and stay there until we reach base?”
“Exactly,” Miller says with a wink.
Boys and their toys.
I may have to rethink my career choice.
I squat next to Kimberly, giving her a gentle shove. “Wake up. We need to go now,” I mutter. She opens her eyes and smiles.
Helping her stand, I walk her over to Dalton, who hands her a carabiner. I explain how we’re going to be exfiled. She nods. “I’ve gone mountain climbing. This will be a piece of cake.”
One of the many reasons why I love this girl.
In the distance, I hear the faint thud of the rotors of a helicopter. “Move out,” Dalton commands. With their assault rifles raised, we leave the building in single file and move to the back.
The CH-47 Chinook comes in low, scattering any debris from the artillery shelling under the double rotors. It hovers over us as the SPIE rigs are tossed out. Using the carabiner, I hook myself to the rope. Kimberly attaches herself above me. Miller drags an uncooperative al-Rahman to a line, then secures both al-Rahman and himself.
Dalton comes over to make sure I’m attached correctly while Spencer checks on Noah. Brock fastens Storm to the line, and he doesn’t flinch. Seems he may have done this before.
Someone from the helo comes down one of the ropes, then checks that everyone’s carabiners are closed and locked. Dalton snaps into the last loop next to me. “You ready?” he asks, smiling.
“I’m ready for anything,” I answer, smiling back.
Once the mystery guy clips in, Dalton flashes a thumbs up to the helo. The crew chief answers by pointing straight up.
The head of the rope goes up first, each of us moving slowly forward as the man ahead is lifted from the ground. Out the corner of my eye, I spot movement from the building next to us. “Dalton!” I scream, pointing to the hostile about to fire on us.
“Got him,” he shouts, and fires. “Bravo one, this is Alpha one. Hostiles on the ground,” he tells the SEAL in the helicopter.
“Alpha one, this is Bravo one. Hostiles in sight.” As the last word comes over the comm, hostiles appear out of nowhere.
Again.
The helicopter thrusts upward, jerking us off the ground. Bullets fly from above, taking out the Taliban insurgents that threaten our safety. One by one, they fall as we float higher and higher.
“Alpha one, this is Bravo one. Gonna find a safe place to land this bird and get your straps up.”
“Copy that, Bravo one,” Dalton replies, the wind whipping around us, making him almost unintelligible.
Before long, we’re too far above the hostiles for their bullets to reach us, and the Chinook sails over rooftops. Glancing down, I notice holes in building after building, and some residences reduced to piles of bricks. The higher we get, the worse the view becomes, until all that’s left is a layer of dust.
We soar toward the C-17 cargo plane waiting for us in Pakistan over three hundred and fifty clicks away. Once Bravo team has determined it’s safe, they lower us down.
Very slowly.
One by one, we unhook ourselves from the ropes and climb into the Chinook. Two men on either side of the small opening sit at a machine gun, watching for any sign of movement. The medic on board looks over Noah’s broken leg as members of the Bravo team secure al-Rahman. I collapse on the jump seat next to Dalton. “Excellent work, Agent Witt,” he says over the drone of the rotors.
“Please, call me Deloris,” I answer, smiling. “And you too. It’s amazing to see a team work as well as yours.”
“This team’s been together almost three years,” he informs me with pride. “We can practically read each other’s minds.”
“Well, it shows,” I admit as I hand him back the comm.
Dalton glances around the helicopter, checking on each one of his men.
Spencer’s talking and laughing about something with Buckley.
Miller’s already fast asleep.
Brock has Storm on his lap, stroking his back.
Perry’s talking with another one of the men from Bravo team.
“I see you’re checking on everyone. Who’s checking on you?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” he tries to answer, but his eyes tell a different story.
I know.
I’m trained to read people.
“You so sure about that?” I challenge.
He sighs, then smiles. “We’re family. We always will be.”
I know the feeling.
I look over at Noah lying on a stretcher. The medic’s placed a saline IV in his arm and wrapped his leg as much as he can. From the look of the break, he’s going to need surgery and probably a few pins. He’s out cold, no doubt from the pain meds they injected him with the minute he set foot on the helicopter. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s like family too, which is why we can’t do this anymore.
I need to make a clean break.
I can’t afford to get close to him, then lose him.
> I almost did today.
The hour flight is smooth, and we arrive in Pakistan. Kimberly and I disembark the helicopter and walk up the ramp to the C-17 cargo plane. The SEALs bring in al-Rahman behind us, then take him to awaiting agents. Noah is wheeled on by the medic.
Before I do anything else, I pull out the Sat phone and call my mission director.
“This is Agent Witt,” I announce.
“Deloris,” Mission Director Champlin answers. “Is Noah all right?”
“He’s a little banged up, but he’ll be fine,” I inform him.
“And Kimberly?”
“She’s great.” I say, running my hand through my knotted hair.
“That’s fantastic to hear. You’re scheduled to land at Langley. Al-Rahman will be taken to a dark site to be questioned.” He pauses, as if waiting for me to ask him something, then speaks. “Get some rest, you deserve it,” he adds before clicking off.
I know I’ll be debriefed when we land, so I decide now is the best time to sleep. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be in a room filled with suits wanting to know what happened. I’ll need the rest to deal with their repetitive questions.
Lying down on the uncomfortable cargo netted jump seats, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
The End.
Epilogue
August 15th, 1999
I’M CALLED TO THE WHITE House early Sunday morning. I try to back out of it since I’m on a two week leave, but to no avail. The woman on the phone didn’t tell me why, just that I was being summoned. Not twenty minutes later, a car arrives outside my door.
After my three-day debriefing, Deputy Director Hayden told me to take a vacation.
I should have listened.
I’d be somewhere in the South Pacific and not stuck in Pennsylvania Avenue traffic.
It’s Sunday, why is there traffic?
The town car skirts through security and drives to the side entrance of the White House. An older gentleman in a suit is awaiting our arrival.
“Somebody want to tell me why I’m here?” I demand as I exit the car.
“You’ll find out in time,” the man in the suit murmurs, guiding me through the entrance.
I’m taken down a series of hallways—left, then right, then left again. It feels as if we’re going in circles. I’m growing more frustrated with each step we take.
Finally, we reach a door. The gentleman knocks three times, then opens it. With a wave of his arm, he motions me inside.
I step through the door and gasp.
Holy shit!
It’s the oval office!
Standing in front of the presidential desk is President Bartlett, Kimberly, and Deputy Director Hayden. He’s holding a small, blue box. “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” the president says, smiling.
“Of course, Mr. President,” I answer, awestruck.
“Deloris, he wanted to keep it a surprise,” Deputy Director Hayden says with a shrug.
Kimberly rushes over and pulls me into an embrace. “It was my idea,” she whispers, then releases me.
“What?” I ask as Kimberly takes her place next to her father.
“Agent Deloris Witt, for your voluntary acts of courage performed under hazardous conditions and your outstanding achievements with distinction under conditions of grave risk, I hereby present you with the Intelligence Star for Valor,” Deputy Director says as he opens the box. “This star is the third-highest award given by the Central Intelligence Agency, awarded for acts of extraordinary heroism.”
“Only a few dozen people have received this award, making it one of the rarest valor awards awarded by the US government,” President Bartlett adds.
Deputy Director moves toward me, presenting me with the box.
I’m floored.
I was doing my job.
I don’t deserve a medal.
“Mr. President, I don’t des—”
“No arguments. You do, and you will accept this medal,” President Bartlett cuts me off. His voice is stern, but has that fatherly edge to it. “You brought my baby girl home safe, as well as brought back a terrorist.” He places his arm around his daughter and Kimberly leans her head on his shoulder.
“The SEAL team did all of the work, I was just—”
“You were there. You helped assist. I read the after-action report,” he says, lowering his brows.
“Yes, sir. Th-Thank you, sir,” I stutter, not knowing what else to say as I take the medal. It’s circular with a star taking up much of the space. A shield with the head of an eagle is in the center of the star, and the words “Central Intelligence Agency for Valor” is written along the rim. I flip the medal over, and my name is inscribed on the back, in between the words “United States of America.”
“You may look at it, but I need to take it back,” Deputy Director Hayden says with a shrug. “Once the mission is declassified, you may have it.”
“Agent McGuire will be receiving one as well,” the President assures me, releasing Kimberly as he steps forward. Extending his arm, he says, “I appreciate everything you’ve done, and will do.”
“Thank you, sir,” I utter, still in shock as I shake his hand.
“Now,” he says with a wink, “go enjoy your time off.”
“I will, Mr. President. Thank you,” I say, turning to leave.
“Just a second, Deloris,” Deputy Director Hayden calls out from behind me. “Let me walk you out.” As we exit the oval office, he murmurs, “You’re going to have to put that vacation on hold. I have an assignment for you . . .”
About the Author
Jillian Anselmi resides on Long Island with her husband and teenage daughter. She studied pharmacy, but decided it wasn’t the right fit for her and instead pursued a degree in chemistry. After receiving her master’s in education, she pursued a career in teaching, but there was always something missing.
As a young girl, she read an incredible amount of books, devouring over a hundred during the summer of her third grade year. After that, she would write poetry or dabble in short stories. Now, she writes romantic fiction, with some small amount of truth hiding behind her words. If you want to make her happy, surprise her with dark chocolate, a Starbucks Caramel Macchiato, or a good Sauvignon Blanc.
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Acknowledgements
THIS TYPE OF STORY IS a step outside my comfort zone, but something I thoroughly enjoy writing. I want to thank Mikey Lee, for all those questions about technical terms I’d message him about at all times of the day—and he’d answer them no questions asked. I appreciate all of the help you gave me, more than you know.
My beta readers—I gave you guys bits and pieces of this story, and I thought you were going to string me up. Thank you for making it better!
Aleatha Romig—for allowing me to share my view of Deloris as the bad ass agent. I have so many ideas, and I can’t wait to share them.
My cover designer, Judi Perkins, who I thought for sure was going to put me in the tee-pee of shame. The cover came out perfect. Thank you for being patient with me.
Monica—you always make me panic, I swear you enjoy it . . . but you always come through with an amazing edit. Thank you for all your hard work.
Christine—my books can never look their best until you get your hands on them. Thank you for making my words look beautiful.
The readers—thank you for taking a chance on me. I hope you enjoyed my spin of Fidelity. I look forward to bringing you more of Deloris.
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