It wasn’t fair to Mac and his men that he couldn’t give them answers. It wasn’t fair, but more important – it was dangerous. Ray Tilley knew his line of work involved dealing with shits. Washington D.C. was crawling with them, but that didn’t mean he left an entire team hanging in the middle of a place like Benghazi without clueing them in on what was really going on. That wasn’t right, and Tilley had no intention of letting that scenario sit.
He was going to have to go see Mardian.
Tilley picked up his phone and dialed Mardian’s secure contact number – the one Mardian always picked up. Always.
This time, there was no answer.
Tilley sat as his desk pondering his next move. Mac and his men were in no immediate danger, they had their surveillance instructions, and once they made their way to the cellar, they would realize there was more to the assignment than just surveillance. Mac would be calling him back demanding answers – answers that Tilley felt compelled to provide him. Answers though, that he simply did not have at this moment.
Another call was placed to Mardian. Again, Mardian failed to pick up.
Tilley decided to reach out to his mentor, retired Army General Martin Vannatter. General Vannatter had earned the rank of four stars shortly before his retirement from the military at age sixty five. That was just over ten years ago. Though no longer in the day to day game of high ranking military politics, the general had maintained an impressive array of contacts, and he and Tilley continued regular communications with each other. Tilley had spent several years as part of the general’s staff, a job which had given Tilley direct access to some of the most powerful figures in Washington D.C. and led to his current working relationship with Stephen Mardian.
The general picked up on the second ring.
“Hello Mr. Tilley. It’s a bit late, so I assume you’re in a bit of a pickle. How can I help?”
General Vannatter had long been known for his ability to somehow know what a situation was, and what is wasn’t. He read people almost instantly, and that initial reading was almost always proven right. More important, General Vannatter could be trusted. He kept a myriad of secrets, never indicated a desire to cash out and write a book, and gave every indication of taking those secrets to the grave.
“That will allow me to remain alive well into my dementia years Mr. Tilley.”
That was the comment the general repeated to Tilley often during the months before his retirement. Tilley was hoping the general could now give him some insight, or even some actual real time information, about what might really be going on in Benghazi.
“Thank you for taking my call general. I have a team just arrived in Benghazi.”
Tilley paused, knowing the general would have something to say about that. He was slightly surprised at what little he did have to say.
‘Ok. Go ahead…”
Tilley’s mind scrambled to present the situation with as much, and as little, detail as possible. That was how the general demanded things. He didn’t like unnecessary information. Just the essential facts, or shut the hell up and move along.
“It’s a four man team. I was told it was primarily surveillance with the possibility of a termination order. Illegal weapons related - nothing out of the ordinary there. Thing is general, it seems the location being watched is uh…possibly linked with our own State Department. And, one of the team is convinced they saw an individual who was, or is, FBI.”
The general said nothing, but Tilley could picture the older man sitting in his spacious home office at his farm estate a few miles outside of Spencer, West Virginia, the place of his birth nearly seventy six years ago, looking up at the ceiling as he processed the information Tilley had just told him.
“This team of yours – they are good? Would you say, among the best you have?”
“Yes – absolutely.”
Again the general paused for a moment.
“So what is it about this team Mr. Tilley that makes them the best? Beyond the ability to fire a weapon and the like, what is it that allows you to place your trust in them to complete the assignment?”
Now it was Tilley’s turn to pause as he thought over what it was about Mac Walker and his men that made them his first choice when an assignment became available.
“They get it done. No muss and no fuss.”
Tilley could almost hear over the phone the general’s mouth spreading into a smile.
“Would you say they do so without question? That they don’t suffer from certain…moral indecisiveness when it comes to, as you put it, getting it done?”
Tilley found himself nodding as he sat alone in his own office.
“Yes. They don’t question. At least not yet. We give them the assignment, and they do it.”
“There’s your answer Mr. Tilley – at least part of it.”
Tilley knew he was missing something that was right in front of him. Something the general expected him to now realize without having to be told.
“I’m sorry general, I’m not following.”
“Mr. Tilley, it was no accident you were chosen to present this particular assignment to that particular team of men – this team that you describe as being capable of simply getting the assignment done without question. No muss and no fuss, right?”
Tilley remained confused.
“That’s correct.”
“Ok then Mr. Tilley, that would indicate that this assignment will likely present a certain moral conflict. A moral conflict that would be problematic to a team less inclined to simply get it done, as you put it. A moral conflict that it would appear, based on what you have just told me, involve operatives within out own government.”
A creeping understanding presented itself to Ray Tilley – and it left him cold.
“I sense you are now beginning to understand Mr. Tilley.”
Tilley rested his head against the palm of his right hand as he took a slow, measured breath.
“I do.”
“Very well Mr. Tilley. Feel free to call me anytime. I will be curious to hear of the outcome on this.”
Ray Tilley cleared his throat, feeling the stress of the realization begin to build within him.
“Thank you general. I’ll do that. Please take care sir.”
General Vannatter’s tone changed slightly as he responded, clearly indicating to Tilley he was now swimming in some very deep, dark, and dangerous waters.
“You be very careful Mr. Tilley. Very-very careful.”
Tilley put his cell phone down on his desk, feeling his shoulders slump forward and the unmistakable pulsing of a headache soon to arrive. The general was likely right – as he almost always was. A serious moral conflict was about to present itself.
Mac Walker and his men were not sent to Benghazi on a simple surveillance assignment. Mac Walker was sent there to kill Americans.
XIII.
Mac looked down at the table where four identical AS-50 sniper rifles were neatly lined up with corresponding and quite deadly fifty caliber armor piercing incendiary explosive rounds of ammunition. There was enough boxed ammo on the table to engage in a firefight for several hours.
Benny picked up one of the rifles and looked it over carefully.
“These are the real things Mac. Beautiful! Makes me feel a whole lot safer knowing we are working with this kind of firepower. From close range I could blow a hole in a damn tank with one of these. Each one has a night vision scope too. This is some serious business, man.”
Jack was looking at Mac as the both of them realized what these particular weapons meant regarding the kind of assignment they were really engaged in.
“Mac, we aren’t here for surveillance, are we?”
Mac picked up one of the sniper rifles, raised it to his face, and looked through the Yukon scope. Mac didn’t recognize the model, which meant it was very new, and likely very good.
“No Jack, looks like we might be doing a lot more than just keeping an eye on the neighbors.”
Ja
ck’s agitation returned, stronger than ever.
“For fuck’s sake Mac – those are Americans driving into that compound over there! What the hell…they want us to kill off some of our own? We don’t do that Mac – we’re the good guys!”
Mac offered a thin smile, though the effort almost hurt his face to do it.
“Are we the good guys Jack? It’s getting harder to tell these days. Look, no sense thinking something that hasn’t been confirmed yet. I just spoke with Tilley and all he said was to keep an eye on the activity across the road and report back to him. That’s it. Maybe these guns are just…precautionary measures.”
Jack stepped toward Mac, his eyes flaring open as he pointed back down to the table of weapons.
“C’mon Mac! Don’t bullshit me! Those sniper rifles mean one fucking thing – we are supposed to take someone down, and so far, the only place we have access to, is that diplomatic compound, or whatever the hell it is, a few hundred yards from our location. We don’t have transportation Mac! They stuck us here with no way out just waiting for them to green light the termination order. You know it, I know it, anyone with half a fucking mind knows it! And then what Mac? Let’s say we kill who they want us to kill. How the hell do we get out of here? Fucking hitchhike? What the hell is going on? This is all too sloppy, which means it’s too dangerous. You need to shut this thing down Mac. Like right fucking now.”
Mac could feel his own anger rising up in him as he stared back at Jack while Benny’s smiling presence attempted to step between the two men.
“Don’t take that tone with me Jack. You know better. Don’t piss me off.”
Jack attempted to take another step toward Mac, but Benny placed both of his hands against the larger man’s chest and gently pushed him back.
“No-no-no, we don’t go chewing our own legs off boys. Now everyone needs to calm down, ok?”
Jack’s right hand moved downward with enough force to push Benny’s own hands away from him.
“Get the fuck out of my way Benny.”
Benny’s smile remained, though his eyes indicated otherwise.
“Or what Jack? You want to try me? Really?”
Benny Williamson, though a chronically cheerful man in even the most stressful of circumstances, was no-one to push into a physical confrontation. Jack knew that, and respected it. He had seen the results of those who didn’t respect it – and it was never pretty. That said, Jack remained furious at how Mac had given them an assignment that left them all with far more questions than answers.
“You got to be just as worried as I am Benny. This ain’t your first rodeo – you know this thing is going down all wrong, starting with us doing work for the fucking United Nations.”
Benny’s reply was slow and relaxed, his tone working to calm Jack’s nerves, though his words were also intended to let Mac know he agreed with much of what Jack was worried about.
“I hear you Jack, and I get what you’re saying, man. At this point though, our options are pretty limited, and we ain’t been told to kill nobody just yet. So for now, everyone needs to keep their shit together, and work together, am I right?”
Jack’s eyes stared back at Mac before settling on Benny’s still smiling face.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
Benny stepped back from Jack and then turned to face Mac.
“So what’s the call Mac? You really just gonna have us sitting around here spying on that house? Is that really all Tilley wants us to do?”
Mac shrugged.
“Yeah – for now. I asked him for more information, but he said that we were on a need to know status.”
The smile left Benny’s face.
“Need to know? Since when does Tilley say something like that to us?”
Jack spoke from behind Benny.
“Since never. I’ll say it again, it all points to this whole thing not feeling right.”
Benny shook a finger at Mac, the smile returning.
“What it means is our own Ray Tilley is almost as much in the dark about this assignment as we are. He’s still trying to do right by us Mac, I don’t doubt that.”
Mac said nothing in response, knowing he didn’t feel the same, his trust of Tilley already greatly diminished. As much as Jack was pissed at him, Mac was feeling nearly as upset over this assignment as the big guy from Alabama was.
Shit wasn’t right.
XIV.
Ray Tilley navigated his silver BMW 750iL in and around the typically congested D.C. traffic on his way to Mardian’s office at 19th and G. If Mardian refused to reply to his phone calls, then Tilley had no choice but to take his questions to him in person.
It was nearly the noon hour by the time Tilley pulled his car alongside one of the parking spaces in front of Mardian’s three story red bricked building. Two men and a woman were walking out the front door. Mardian’s personal office was the entire top floor of the building. Tilley had only been up there a handful of times over the years.
Walking into the reception area, Tilley smiled casually at the attractive, dark haired woman who sat behind the large, cherry wood reception desk. She smiled back, asking if he had an appointment.
“I’m here to see Mr. Mardian – upstairs. I know the way.”
The woman’s smile disappeared, and when the two armed men emerged from somewhere behind him, Tilley guessed the receptionist had activated a silent alarm.
The shorter of the two security personnel asked Tilley if he had an appointment to see Mr. Mardian.
“Don’t need one. Mardian knows who I am.”
Tilley peered up toward the ceiling, scanning for where the security cameras were located. He spotted one in a far corner adjacent to the elevator entrance.
“Let’s go Mardian – I’m not leaving until I see you. I’m coming up.”
As Tilley moved toward the elevator, the taller of Mardian’s two man security team grabbed the back of his arm and pulled him back.
“That isn’t allowed sir – please take a seat over here.”
Tilley shook his arm from the man’s grip and stepped toward the ten foot long dark leather couch that ran the length of the reception room wall opposite the reception desk.
“You tell Mardian we need to talk. Now.”
Mardian’s receptionist was on the phone, likely already speaking with him. Her eyes glanced at Tilley several times as she whispered into the receiver, her head nodding.
“Mr. Tilley, Mr. Mardian says you are welcome to join him in his office upstairs.”
Tilley swept past the two security personnel before pausing as he sensed both of them intended to follow him into the elevator.
“I know the fucking way. You two can stay down here.”
One of the men put his hand up to his ear, listening as Mardian instructed him to allow Tilley to come up alone. Both of Mardian’s security detail stood motionless, staring at Tilley as he turned back around and entered the elevator, his hand slamming the third floor button.
The elevator opened up to a small six by six room with a single, steel framed door opposite the elevator. A red button was housed to the left of the door which Tilley quickly pushed. There was a faint buzzing followed by the door’s interior mechanism unlocking as the door opened a few inches inward. Tilley pushed it further open and stepped into the office of Stephen Mardian.
“Not one fucking word Tilley. Sit your ass down and shut up.”
Tilley looked across the large room where Mardian sat behind a huge, black metallic framed desk. Two matching chairs sat just in front of the desk, one of which Mardian demanded Tilley now sit down in.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls Mardian? Why didn’t you call me back?”
Mardian stood up, his expensive, custom tailored dark grey suit not enough to mask his short and rounded body.
“I told you not a fucking word until you sit down. So-sit-the-fuck-down.”
Stephen Mardian was well known for his abrasive personality, the kind of abrasiveness that was t
he result of being born into old D.C. money and power without having to earn it. Politically, he was, and had been for some time, a very formidable figure. His balding head and fleshy face that always appeared on the verge of breaking out into a substantial sweat, lent the D.C. power broker a somewhat comical appearance, which likely caused further frustration-induced abrasiveness. Mardian demanded people respect him.
Sitting down across from him, Tilley noted Mardian was on edge. Something was troubling him – something significant.
“I didn’t call you back for a couple reasons Tilley. One, I don’t have the answers. Two, I don’t know if I can trust you. This Moretti thing, I don’t know what went down with that. Why he turned on your team. You took precautions though, right? With the safe house, like you normally do?”
Tilley nodded.
“Yeah – the assignment is still operational.”
Mardian ran his short fingered hands across his brow and then down the front of his face.
“Good. Until I know more, we just keep this thing going as instructed. So tell me Tilley, how’d you get the team to the safe house? Who took care of that for you?”
Tilley looked coolly back at Mardian, hoping his face betrayed no information.
“Had a contact there. Called in a favor.”
Mardian leaned forward, his elbows sitting atop his desk.
“Who was it? I need to know who you involved in this.”
Tilley took a deep breath as he rolled his head from side to side trying to work a stress kink from his neck.
MAC WALKER'S BENGHAZI: The Complete Collection Page 8
