“Briefing’s in five. I’ve got a feeling the boss is watching you.”
“Yeah.” Mark turned his cell phone off as he followed. “Wish I knew what his problem was.”
“Aw, don’t let Alex get to you. He’s tough on new recruits. That’s all.” Ember turned her dazzling, green-eyed smile on him. “You’ll grow to love him. Just wait.”
“Right,” Mark answered sarcastically. “That’s got as much chance of happening as you showing up in your natural hair color.”
“Wow. Ember.” Harley rounded the corner with his usual big smile, surprise showing on his raised brows at his first glimpse of her hair color of the week. “You’re, umm, kinda orange today. Didn’t know it was Halloween.”
“Knock it off, you guys. It’s called golden umber.” She fluffed her hair like a movie star, her nose in the air as she modeled her new do. “I got tired of the blue. It made me look pasty white, kind of like a corpse or something.”
He reached his fingers for her head. Tall, slim, and tanned from running in the latest marathon, he delighted in teasing Ember as much as he teased everyone else.
“You touch it and you’ll die, Mortimer.” She shot him one of her best evil looks even as his fingers reached their target. As tall as they both were, it was an easy reach.
“And now I need a mirror,” she complained. “Wow. Thanks a bunch.”
“Really? You need a mirror for orange spikes? You’ve got to be kidding.” He linked his arm through hers as she pretended to push him away. “You’re gorgeous, darling. You don’t need a mirror. Trust me.”
“One of these days.” She pushed him off in mock anger. “Wait until you need satellite footage or a new computer. Then you’ll be sorry.”
“Umber Ember. Umber Ember,” Harley chanted, his head nodding back and forth as he kept the tease alive. “Sounds like a name for a new rock star.”
“Well, I like it,” Mother said as they entered the Sit Room. “How about you, Mark?”
Mark shrugged her question off. “You can all show up with orange hair for all I care.”
“Golden umber,” Ember corrected him sternly. “Not orange.”
“What did you do to set the boss off, Mark?” Harley asked “I noticed he was at your desk the other day. He didn’t look none too happy.”
“He was late for the briefing on the Homeland Defense operation,” Mother chimed in before Mark could answer.
“Gee, thanks,” he said. “Anything else you would like to share?”
“Well, now that you mention it ….” Mother’s bright blue eyes sparkled like sapphires against the background of her creamy skin and white hair. “There was that phone call with—”
“Never mind.” Mark cut her off sharply. As usual, she was too willing to share her vast wealth of computer knowledge, office gossip, and anything else the world might be interested in, the juicier the better. “Some guy named McCormack called to welcome me to The Team. That’s why I was late. That’s all.”
“McCormack?” Harley’s eyes lit up. “Really? Jed called you? Wow. He’s never called me.”
“Ha!” Ember smacked his arm. “You were in rehab back then. Remember?”
“Oh. Almost forgot about that.” Harley pulled chairs out for Ember and Mother, but then he turned to Mark. “Did you tell the boss it was McCormack on the line? That might make a difference.”
“I didn’t get the chance.” Mark grimaced. “He was on me before I could get a word in edgewise. Who is Jed McCormack anyway?”
“Just the man who funded Alex when he started The TEAM,” Ember responded.
“His business is up the hill from us in Rosslyn,” Mother added. “He’s one of the country’s billionaires and a big shot in Congress, too. Alex saved his son over in Iraq. They’re pretty tight.”
Mark cocked his head. Why would a man like McCormack have called to welcome a nobody like him?
“Yeah, well.” A knowing look passed over Harley’s face. “The boss is hell on tardiness, especially when he’s giving the briefing.”
“I’d like to know what he isn’t hell on. Stewart’s got a chip on his shoulder the minute he shows up in the morning.” Mark slouched into his chair. “What was he in the Marines anyway, a drill sergeant? The man’s a flaming type-A.”
The room stilled. Mother, Ember, and Harley were all looking over his shoulder.
“And what type would you be, Junior Agent Houston?”
Mark jumped to his feet and did a quick about face. Mr. Stewart was not smiling. Neither was Mark. “The kind who’s on time for briefings, sir,” he said meekly.
Mother, Ember, and Harley flinched.
The man stood at Mark’s height, and right now they were nose to nose. Mr. Stewart’s expensive business suit stood out in sharp contrast to Mark’s casual wear. Mr. Stewart had a way about him, maybe because of the way he dressed, always sharp, professional—and powerful.
“What did you call me?” He stepped into Mark’s personal space.
“Ah, sir. Sir.” Mark stared straight ahead as he answered. By now Junior Agent Zack Lennox had joined the group at the table, as well as Senior Agents Murphy Finnegan and Roy Hudson. Senior Agent David Tao stood at the door, an amused smirk on his face.
“Are you stuttering? And do not call me sir one more time unless you want to be looking for another job.” Mr. Stewart’s growling tone demanded respect. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, ah, I mean no.” Mark struggled to answer without the offending title that sprang automatically to his USMC trained lips. “I mean, yes. It’s clear.”
As if it were at all possible, his boss stepped closer. “I work for a living.”
“Yes.” Mark’s response was rapid and strong, but the man didn’t back off. His eyes were piercing blue, almost pointy, like two lasers boring straight through Mark’s skull and out the other side.
“Mother needs a Santa Claus for her Christmas party. Would that be you, Junior Agent?”
“Yes.” Mark could’ve sworn a bemused glint passed through those frosty blues. “That would be me. Glad to be of service, umm, Boss.”
“Then sit.” Mr. Stewart hissed. He took a step back and slapped his leather organizer to the table with a loud smack. “You’re holding up the briefing. Again.”
Mark sat, relieved to be out of the line of fire.
Harley gave him the thumbs-up sign along with a huge, lopsided grin as he whispered across the conference table, “He likes you. I can tell. He really likes you.”
Six
I’m back in the damn Corps.
Mark recognized the beat down he had just received, the tough molding of a new team member by the alpha dog. Even if Stewart had never held the title of drill sergeant, he played the part perfectly.
Well, fine. You lead; I’ll follow. You’d just better be worth following.
A desecrated gravesite displayed on the overhead screen. The casket had been pulled out of the muddy ground and pried open. The uniformed body of a Marine lay face down in the mud, disrespectfully jerked out of its final resting place, and the casket’s inner lining torn away. Crime scene tags littered the area.
“We’re dealing with a drug smuggling ring.” Mr. Stewart said. “According to Air Force and FBI intel, these guys have been smuggling bricks of opium inside the transfer cases coming stateside from Afghanistan. In order to get it out of the Port Mortuary at Dover Air Force Base, they stashed the dope inside outgoing casket linings. That’s why the grave desecration.”
The next slide depicted another casket, only this one was not desecrated like the other. It had been exhumed by order of the FBI. Army Sergeant Harold W. Benning lay there properly dressed in his Class-A uniform, his body untouched, and the lining undisturbed. The only thing out of the ordinary was the decapitated head wrapped in plastic and resting between Sergeant Benning’s boots.
Mr. Stewart pointed to the screen without looking up from his notes. “Meet Sergeant Benning and what’s left of Lance Corporal Jose Gutierrez
.”
Mark sat back and let the rest of The TEAM run with it. He would engage when and if he was needed. It was important to get his bearings first. He didn’t need to butt any more heads.
“Looks like he could use a hand,” Senior Agent Roy Hudson, a muscular African American who, unlike his boss, didn’t take life too seriously, remarked drily. He had spent most of his Marine career as an explosive ordnance expert and still had all of his fingers – always the sign of a good EOD man.
“FBI believes Gutierrez was the in-country operative for an upstart cartel operating near Bagram.” Mr. Stewart continued as if he hadn’t heard the flippant comment.
“Man. What’d he do to get on their bad side?” Zack stared at the screen. Another junior agent like Mark, he was on the hefty side, too. And built. Mark had seen this guy’s biceps—almost as big as his. Almost. Zack seemed to have an easy way with the boss. Everyone around this table did—well, except him. “Last time I saw something like this was my last tour in Iraq.”
“It could be they’re sending a message to their man stateside,” Roy offered.
“That’s quite a message.” Harley was out of his seat as he grabbed the laser pointer and directed it to the cut mark along the neck of the severed head. “Look here. That’s a clean slice. I’ll bet this poor guy was beheaded with a sword.”
Murphy and Roy were out of their seats to look closer at the screen, but Mr. Stewart dismissed the chatter. “This poor guy,” he said sarcastically, “smuggled opium inside the transfer cases of our KIAs, and his buddy at Dover hasn’t shown up for work the last week.”
“We got a name?” Murphy asked.
“Michael Louis Castor. Ex-Marine. One tour in Afghanistan. FBI thinks that’s where he and Gutierrez linked up,” Alex replied. “Once Castor left the Corps, he went to work in the EOD room at the Port Mortuary at Dover Air Force Base.”
“They got an explosive ordnance disposal room at a mortuary?” Mother asked in surprise.
“Wow,” Ember whispered. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yes,” Roy explained. “It’s the first place every transfer case goes once they arrive at the mortuary. Booby traps and unexploded ordnance don’t happen very often, but every body gets scanned just in case.”
“So Gutierrez shipped the dope stateside with the remains, and once they got here, Castor was the first man on the scene. He had exclusive time with each transfer case while he scanned them for bombs.” Harley muttered. “What a creep.”
“But Alex.” Murphy was clearly agitated. An Army man himself, he’d spent his career taking care of his men instead of Army politics. “Wouldn’t the Benning family have noticed the head once they got him home?”
“You’d think.” Alex sounded weary. “Benning’s folks are in the middle of a divorce. They didn’t show at the airport when his body was shipped home. Didn’t attend the funeral either. I don’t guess they cared what was between his boots when they couldn’t be bothered to look at his face.”
Mark listened to the chatter around him, still focused on the young man in the casket. This soldier had fought for his country only to be disrespected by his family. It wasn’t right.
“Families,” Roy muttered.
“Our customer wants eyes on this new cartel. Harley, you take the lead. Mark, if you’re up to it, you’ll support Harley.”
Mark caught the snide comment. Yeah. He still had the new-guy target painted on his chest.
“How long were these guys moving dope?” Harley asked. “Do we know?”
“Castor worked in the mortuary for two years,” Alex answered.
“Man. They had to be blowing some serious cash. There ought to be a paper trail,” Harley said.
“Mother and Ember are looking into it.”
“Wait a minute. You kids are going too fast,” Murphy said. “I’m no genius, but I think what I’m hearing is this Castor fellow finds his buddy’s head in one of those transfer cases instead of the usual dope. He panics, hides the head inside a casket that’s leaving Dover, then he hightails it to who knows where. Is that what I’m hearing?”
Alex nodded. “Apparently he had more dope to get rid of, too. He hid it inside the lining of another outgoing casket. That’s why the grave desecration.”
“How does the FBI know he stashed the dope at Dover?” Roy asked.
“His locker tested positive for opiates.” Alex nodded toward the screen. “Plus both of these caskets had his fingerprints all over it.”
“Just when you think you’ve heard everything.” Murphy sighed.
Mark straightened in his seat, planning to head out the minute this briefing was done.
“We’re in the early stages of this investigation. Let’s keep that in mind. We’re not here to solve the case, just to be the State Department’s eyes and ears in country. Bottom line, Harley and Mark, you’re not looking for the man who replaced Gutierrez. Do you understand?”
Mark nodded. Got it. Yes, sir. Sir.
“You are not to engage the cartel at any time. The Air Force is handling that part of the investigation. Your job is to observe only, but by the time you’re through, I want to know everything about these guys, their names, known associates, what they eat for breakfast, and their girlfriends. Everything. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Boss,” Mark and Harley answered simultaneously.
Alex gathered his paperwork. “These are the lowest dirt bags out there. That’s what makes them dangerous. Arzad will be your in-country point of contact again. Harley, you know the rules. Get in. Be smart. Stay safe. Mark. Follow Harley’s lead. Can you handle that?”
Sheeesh. This guy would not let it go.
Arzad was a humble man.
The first things Mark noticed were the elderly Afghani’s bright, brown eyes sparkling from the deep-set wrinkles on his weathered face. Harley and Mark had hopped a ride on a military transport to Bagram Air Base. Alex never signed off on a defense contract unless transportation was provided. The flights might not get them exactly where they needed to be, and sometimes the trip might take a few days, but they always got close.
“You’ve got a new ride,” Harley exclaimed as they tossed their duffle bags into the back of the dilapidated van that Arzad stood proudly beside.
Arzad smiled wider. “Yes, Mr. Harley. I do.” He gestured proudly to the vehicle as if it weren’t forty-years old, riddled with rust, and held together with baling wire. “My brother, he is camel trader. Needed bigger truck. He trade to me for two goats. You like?”
“I do. It’s much bigger than your last car.” Harley motioned to Mark. “Meet Mark Houston. He’ll be working with me this go round. Mark, this is Arzad.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Mark Houston. I happy to meet you.”
“Very good to meet you, Arzad,” Mark said sincerely. “We are privileged to be back in your country.”
“You come here before, I think. Yes? Maybe soldier?” Arzad’s eyes swept over Mark’s six-foot frame with a knowing look. “Mr. Alex only hires best men to be his boys.”
Mark cocked an eyebrow at that respectful estimation of his boss, not yet sure if it was a good thing to be one of Alex’s boys.
“You make my wife very happy. Gulnar cook two days since we hear you are coming.” Arzad pulled away from the airfield in a cloud of dust. “You stay at my humble home, yes?”
“Thank you, Arzad. It will be our honor.” Harley flipped the collar of his shirt over his mouth to filter the billowing road dust. “Ah, it’s good to be back, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Mark grimaced from the heat and smell blowing through the open rear windows. “Nothing like Afghanistan, that’s for sure.”
“We hear there’s a new cartel in town.” Harley turned to their driver.
“Ah, yes, that is true.” Arzad’s demeanor changed from boyishly happy to somber. “They came to town one night and drove other men away. Very sad.”
“Why’s that?”
“The other men were neighbors.
Our friends. Some were family. We not know where they are. New boss maybe killed them.”
“Where did he come from?” Harley asked.
Arzad shrugged. “Maybe Russia? He very mean man.”
“A Russian? Are you sure?” Harley shot Mark a look.
“Oh, yes. Russian. He big man with black beard. You will see. He has many pictures on his chest and arms, like peacock. Tomorrow I show you where he lives. You will see.”
“Great.” Mark stared across the arid landscape. The last thing these people needed was another Russian.
The ride was hot and bumpy, but at last Arzad stopped at a small collection of mud brick structures. Mountains rose up to the north while the city of Bagram lay in the valley to the south. His home was a humble dwelling surrounded by a low rock wall. Three scrawny goats, several brown sheep, and a tired looking donkey stood behind the rickety rail fence. A couple mongrel dogs wagged happily around the men as they pulled their gear from the rear of the van. Within seconds, a thin young girl peeked out of the door to Arzad’s home. With a smile, she charged Harley.
“Najela. How’s my favorite girl?” He scooped her up and swung her off her feet, spinning around twice before he set her down. “My heck. You’re all grown up. What have you been eating?”
She nodded shyly. “I grow very tall.”
“I hope you’re not too old for a present,” he teased. “I brought something. If you guess what it is, you can have it.”
Mark watched the game begin. Leave it to Harley to charm the ladies.
Najela’s bright brown eyes sparkled with curiosity. “I think maybe it is candy bar?”
“Do you think I would only bring you a candy bar?” He spiked his brows. “I brought that last time. You get one more guess. Remember what we talked about? Time for this, and time for that, and—”
Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) Page 5
