One Rough Man pl-1

by Brad Taylor

  Jennifer asked, “What’s that telling us? Do you understand any of that?”

  “No. The normal human language is at the bottom.”

  I scrolled down the screen until I saw “source.” I felt Jennifer leaning over my shoulder, reading the screen:

  Country: Norway

  City: Oslo

  Lat: 59.54.45

  Long: 10.44.19

  “You’re a genius!” she exclaimed.

  She got a stranglehold on my neck, giving it a hug. She pecked my cheek with a light kiss.

  What the hell was that? I leaned away from her.

  “I can’t believe you just did that! It’s like black magic or something. Why don’t you raise your hands and say, ‘Behave, and I’ll bring back the sun’?”

  “Hold on. All this really says is that the message went through Norway as a first gate. It doesn’t mean it came from Norway. There’s a good chance of that, but it isn’t absolute proof. It’s easy to fool this type of thing.”

  “All right, all right. It’s still pretty cool. You’re a walking library of cool stuff.”

  I didn’t let it show, but I was secretly pleased with the attention. If I’d had a tail, I’d have been wagging it like a dog getting a pat from his owner. I’m pathetic.

  “I’m going to delete this completely. If nothing else, it’ll slow down the terrorists.”

  Making sure the message was gone from both the in-box and the trash file, I said, “I got a couple of rooms in D.C. Tomorrow, I’ll give a friend from my old unit a call. He’s an Arabic speaker and can decipher both this message and the one before. Sound like a plan?”

  “Sounds like a good plan.”

  We headed back to our rooms to rack out. Jennifer opened her door, then turned around.

  “Hey, Pike?”

  I stopped working my key. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry for that thing in the business center. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  She couldn’t have made me more uncomfortable if she had asked to borrow a condom. Why bring it up?

  “That’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just still a little touchy about that sort of thing, I guess. Not your fault.”

  “That’s what I mean. I could tell I made you uncomfortable. I wasn’t trying to… to… make you think of your wife. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure we’re still on the same sheet of music. I shouldn’t have done that.” She broke into a smile. “But you do have some neat tricks.”

  * * *

  Abu Bakr awoke before Abu Sayyidd. He could feel the endgame in his bones and was itching to bring it about. Quietly setting up the M4, he logged on to the Internet and checked the next address on the e-mail list. Two messages were in the in-box, both supposedly from Nigeria telling him he had been named in a rich man’s will. All he needed to do was wire some money to get his inheritance. Disappointed, Bakr checked the other addresses. None contained the message he was looking for. This was getting a little annoying. Working at a snail’s pace was fine when one had that luxury, but they needed to get moving. It had been over forty-eight hours since their last message.

  He woke up Sayyidd.

  “We have no new message.”

  Sayyidd rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, secretly happy that his desire to go to bed earlier had proved to be the right call.

  “How long should we wait? What do we do if he never contacts us?”

  “I think we should send another message to The Sheik. If that doesn’t work, we head out on our own. I think I can get some SEMTEX explosives from some helpers in the Balkans, but we won’t be able to implicate the Persians. God willing, we’ll still accomplish our mission.”

  Sayyidd was pleased that Bakr was now getting impatient, and was willing to strike out together with or without the message.

  “Let’s send the e-mail,” he said.

  Bakr turned back to the computer and typed a simple message:

  We have successfully entered the country of Walid. He hasn’t contacted us. We wanted to ensure that he knew we were ready to meet. God willing, please give us the path to take.

  Bakr closed the laptop. “Now we wait.”

  66

  Lucas leaned back from his computer with a new appreciation for his adversary. His research/administration assistant had sent him a data dump on his assigned targets. On the screen was the enlisted record brief for Nephilim Logan, the man he knew as Pike. The ERB was a one-page document used by the U.S. Army to encapsulate a soldier’s career. In Pike’s case, his assignments read like a who’s who of the military elite. Initial assignment to the 3rd Ranger Battalion, on to Special Forces, with two years in Okinawa in 1st Bn, 1st Special Forces Group, followed by eleven years in 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment — Delta. His last assignment had been as some do-nothing communications technician on Fort Bragg. Retirement job.

  His military schooling had produced more badges than he was allowed to wear at any one time on his uniform, to include a Combat Infantryman’s Badge with a star, indicating combat in two different conflicts. He would clearly not be an easy target. Another time, another place, and we’d be drinking beers together.

  Jennifer Cahill, on the other hand, had proven to be exactly as advertised: a college student. The only thing remarkable about her was her picture, since even the passport photo couldn’t hide her good looks. Other than that, she had spent most of her adult life as either a student or a housewife.

  Lucas was a careful, meticulous planner. He would become obsessed with the research on his targets prior to conducting a mission. It was what made him successful on assignments that were way outside the bounds of U.S. law. In truth, it was no different than what he’d done while in the military. Learn about the enemy in the hopes of exploiting a weakness and avoiding enemy strengths. To this end, he’d found it useful in his work to subscribe to various data mining Web sites available on the Internet. It never failed to amaze him how much information was free for the taking to someone who wanted to look.

  He was broken out of his thoughts by the phone ringing. Looking at the caller ID, he saw it was Standish. Shit. Just what I need.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. Standish here. Have you heard anything yet?”

  Why the hell is he bothering me? Standish had no expertise at all in man-hunting. His skills were in personal destruction from the shadows. Cowardly stabbing people in the back. The truth of the matter was that Lucas respected the target Standish had given him much more than he did Standish himself. But Standish was paying the bills. I just need to cut out this micromanaging bullshit.

  “Standish. Listen to me. You gave me the phone less than twenty-four hours ago. I’m not sure what you think’s going to happen, but your target is a hard, hard man. This isn’t going to be easy. I’ll get it done, but I won’t be answering to you every five minutes. I’ll call you when the mission’s accomplished. If you don’t hear from me, assume it hasn’t been done. You got that?”

  “Whoa. I’m the one paying for this. If I want information, you’ll give it to me. I’m not going to throw money at you just to have you blow it without oversight. Do you have that?”

  “Yeah. I got it. Fuck this. I quit.”

  “What? You can’t quit. You owe me.”

  Lucas snarled, “I owe you nothing. You push that button one more time and you’re going to see firsthand what I owe you. Understand? I don’t want to hear that ever again.”

  Lucas waited a few seconds, hearing nothing but breathing.

  “Call me when you have something.”

  “Fine.”

  Lucas was sick of hearing what he owed Standish. Fucking politician. A weasel like every other politician. No honor. No belief in something greater than himself. Just whatever favor could be gleaned based on which way the wind was blowing. Yeah, Standish had possibly helped him out, but the truth of the matter was there wasn’t any proof that he had done anything wrong. The only people who could prove he had killed civilians were dead in an IED a
ttack. He’d eventually have gotten off anyway.

  He regretted having killed his teammates, but they had lost their way. It was war, Goddammit. He had killed the civilians to get information on terrorist attacks. It had worked. The team broke up a terrorist cell that had murdered at least thirty Americans and would have murdered thirty more. He didn’t understand why his teammates had chosen to turn him in, but he couldn’t let it stand. He had done the right thing. Two noncombatants for thirty Americans. How could that not be seen as a good thing?

  He had been working the civilian side of the defense industry for over a year now, and was beginning to hate it. Everything was about the almighty dollar. Nothing was about a cause, a goal greater than the individual. It disgusted him, and he wanted out. Even his actions in Afghanistan, while others might not understand them, were for something larger than money. At the least, it saved American lives, even counting the two who had died at his hand. The sacrifice was for a larger effort. Now his work did nothing but cause money to exchange hands.

  It wasn’t that he disliked the work. Truth be told, he’d never minded killing, any more than the average big game hunter. He didn’t draw any particular pleasure from the act itself but did enjoy the hunt. Now, though, the purpose was gone.

  Since he had started contracting out, most of his employment had been nothing more than gleaning sleazy information for Standish, the greatest “success” coming when he found a political rival with a young boy. It disgusted him. He’d done only one violent act since leaving the Navy, on behalf of a foreign corporation looking to gain an inside advantage on a classified defense contract. Their only competition was a small outfit at Fort Bragg, something the foreign entity should have been able to outbid. The problem was that the competition was U.S. based, and thus the foreign company was convinced they were going to lose. Lucas had smoked the CEO of the U.S. contractor, securing a foreign win. The money had been extremely lucrative. Worth the woman and child he’d been forced to kill as well. The money Standish was throwing around was even better. Enough to quit this shit forever. He looked at this target as a blessing. The fact that two people would die caused him no angst at all. It was just work.

  Lucas returned to the problem at hand. He had a pretty good background on both of his targets now and began to build a plan of attack. He would need his best folks for this one, as he was fairly sure a mistake against Pike had the potential to be catastrophic. He ran through his Rolodex of employees — all of whom worked for him on a contract basis — picking ten that fit the bill. He purposely left out the two who had worked with him at Fort Bragg. When push came to shove, they had balked at killing the woman and child. He had no idea where this would go and didn’t need anyone who might hesitate.

  He gave each of the men a call, telling them he had a job and the time to show up at the office if they were interested. He then began building a target package on both Jennifer and Pike. In the back of his mind, he thought about the money he’d make and the chance to get out. To get away from people like Standish. Maybe I’ll get my check and smoke him for free. Help out the country.

  67

  I waited until I was outside of Fredericksburg, on Interstate 95 about forty-five minutes south of Washington, D.C., before I made the call. I had Jennifer dial the number on our new TracFone, then hand it to me. A man answered on the third ring.

  I said, “Ethan, hey, it’s Pike Logan. How’re you doing?”

  There was a pregnant pause. I’m sure he was getting over the initial shock of hearing my voice. I looked over at Jennifer, raised my eyebrow, and tilted the phone so she could hear.

  “Pike? What’s up? How’re you doing?”

  “Hey, nothing like a call from the past. I’m fine. I’m going to be in D.C. tonight, and I thought I’d drop by for a visit.”

  Ethan was an analyst inside the Taskforce. As such, he was support. Ordinarily, there was an unofficial separation between operators and direct support personnel, but I had always thought the distinction was bullshit, and had hit it off with Ethan. Being a geographic bachelor whenever I was in D.C., I had dinner with Ethan’s family about twice a month. The last time I had seen him was in the mission brief for the operation in Tbilisi.

  Since my implosion, Ethan hadn’t said two words to me. It would do him no good to take sides on my demise, and so he had taken the route of discretion being the better part of valor. I didn’t blame him, although I could hear the wariness in his voice as I finally convinced him to let us come by.

  Jennifer, having heard my end of the conversation, said, “That’s a friend? Don’t get mad, but out of curiosity, how bad were you when you left? What happened?”

  “About as bad as I was when we first met. You can expect everyone to look at me funny, like a cancer patient who might or might not be in remission. Everyone will be afraid to ask how I am.”

  I was surprised to find I was comfortable talking about it. That was a first.

  “There wasn’t any big blowout, like a drunk finally killing a carload of kids or something. I just sort of… fell apart. The Force did everything they could to help me, but it was all based on me wanting to get better. I didn’t. Eventually, I just left.”

  Jennifer appeared lost in thought. She finally said, “You ever think about fate, or destiny? You ever think that God makes things happen for a reason?”

  “I think about that all the time. In fact, it tears me up. Why’d you ask?”

  She suddenly looked embarrassed and uncomfortable. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I just sometimes wonder.”

  I let the silence go for a second, then prodded her. “Wonder what? What were you going to say?”

  “Well, what’re the odds of me picking you up at the Windjammer? Me, someone who’s about to get killed, picking up you, the one person with the skills to prevent it? Think about it, what are the odds that we’d collide at all? Given the entire United States? Shit, given just the city of Charleston? It’s just weird, is all. It’s a perfect storm. It makes me think.”

  “So what’s the reason for this? Besides my company, I mean?”

  “Maybe saving a lot of lives.”

  68

  Later, after the settling in at the hotel, I decided it was time to get moving. “It looks like we have a few hours before we need to link up with Ethan. I’m going to the Taskforce Headquarters to leave a note for Kurt along with our cell phone numbers.” I paused, not wanting a fight. “No offense, but I can’t take you there. I have to go alone.”

  She smiled. “Come on. I’m not that big of a jerk, am I? I understand. I’ll just hang around here. No big deal.”

  No way was I going to resist that opening. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. Jerk isn’t what I’d call you. Anyway, what you could do—”

  “What’s that mean?” She flicked her hand and backhanded my stomach. “Would you like to see me be a jerk? I don’t think you’d enjoy it.”

  “Oww. Jesus. I don’t like it right now.” I snatched her hand out of the air to prevent her from hitting me again. “I was just kidding. What I was going to say was it would help if you went out and bought a laptop. One with wireless so we don’t have to keep searching for Internet business centers. Can you do that?”

  She squinted at me, the touch of a grin on her face. Waiting a beat, she said, “Sure. Gives me something to do, anyway. We’ll just meet back here?”

  I realized I was still holding her hand and dropped it like a piece of hot iron. “Yeah. I should be gone no more than an hour. Get your stuff. We can walk to the Metro together. If you get off two stops after Reagan National you’ll be at a pretty big mall. The stop’s Pentagon City.”

  When she saw my embarrassment, Jennifer’s little grin threatened to break into a smile, causing a clash of confusing feelings. I dealt with it the usual way — by getting pissed off.

  “What? What’re you grinning about? Can we go?”

  She rolled her eyes, holding her hand in front of my face and making me feel like an ass. “Yeah. Le
t me get my purse before your head explodes.”

  We headed to the Metro station and hopped on the first train in, the Blue Line. We sat in the back, away from anyone else, and rode silently past the first two stops. One minute out from the Pentagon City stop I remembered what we were doing, and the fact that Jennifer wasn’t a professional. I kicked myself for having taken her precautions for granted. She was going out by herself, into a world where someone wanted both of us very badly. A world full of invisible predators.

  “Hey, the next stop is yours. Look, I don’t want to scare you, but please be very, very careful. I’ve racked my brain about the Homeland Security alert, and can’t come up with any reason whatsoever for that to have occurred. One name might be a coincidence, but both our names together is outside the realm of believable. I think that the alert has something to do with what we know.”

  “You said that was just a mistake. Why would anyone do that on purpose?”

  I held up my hands. “I don’t know it was done on purpose. On the one hand, it could simply be a mistake, some crossed wires from our visit to the embassy in Belize. There is also the very, very slim chance that it was sent by Kurt, and once we were in the interrogation rooms they would have simply put us in contact with him.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  “Well… the other reasons aren’t that good. It could mean that someone knew we were traveling together, and so knew why we were traveling. Whoever that someone is wanted us to get arrested so that we’re out of the picture.”

  Jennifer pondered a bit, asking a question softly: “You really think that alert was done intentionally to get us out of the way?”

  “I honestly don’t know. In my heart, I don’t believe that, but I want you to act as if it’s true. Treat the entire mall trip as if you’re walking through a crack slum. Check out anyone coming near you. Avoid any contact with strangers. Someone stares at you the wrong way, get the fuck out. Go back to the hotel room. You tracking?”