We looked around a little more near the gate where the Ugandans stood on top of the twenty-foot metal towers.
Roche pointed to the area beyond the perimeter and said, “Sometimes, at night, you might hear some explosions without any of the warnings over the loudspeaker. That means a rabbit, or maybe a deer, stepped on one of the old leftover Russian land mines. They’re scattered all over the area around the base.”
I shuddered at the thought of some poor, Afghan kid inadvertently stepping on one of the mines. Before I could say anything, I heard someone shout near the gate. Suddenly there was more shouting.
Stout mumbled, “Oh, shit.”
I saw the half-ton truck barreling toward the gate down the road on the outside. It was clear they didn’t intend to stop. Someone shouted for them to do it anyway. The truck kept coming.
The two men on the towers leveled their AK-47s and started firing at full automatic. The men at the gate pulled their handguns and added to the fusillade.
It didn’t seem to have an effect. I looked around for cover.
CHAPTER 26
NOW OTHER CONTRACTORS, clearly not security people, drew their own pistols and started firing. It made me realize I had a Beretta on my hip. I pulled the gun and scurried across the dry ground until I could duck behind a low concrete barrier.
Just as I leaned around the barrier and aimed the pistol, the truck veered to the right. It smashed into a civilian Humvee parked just outside the gate. The force of the truck knocked the Humvee ten feet into some light poles.
The two men in the towers raced halfway down the ladders, then jumped the rest of the way to the ground. Instead of checking if the driver was still alive, the two men, along with the contractors near the gate, started running away.
I was confused. I stood up cautiously, scanning the area. Then I realized why everyone was running. The truck was packed with explosives. As I stood in the open like an idiot, the truck exploded. I instantly dropped to the ground behind the barrier. I could still see the fireball that climbed more than forty feet into the air. The concussion of the explosion rocked my insides and blew shrapnel and loose rocks everywhere. Luckily, the barrier I was behind took most of the blast.
Sirens started to blare all around the base. A voice came over the loudspeaker, but my ears were ringing too badly for me to understand what was being said. I was on my hands and knees so I shook my head, hoping to clear it. No one from the truck had survived that blast. I wasn’t worried about anyone rushing through the gate. I was worried about a possible concussion or hearing damage. A trickle of blood dribbled out of my nose.
All I could do was sit with my back against the barrier for a moment. I opened my mouth, trying to clear my ears. It helped a little. Then things started to come back into focus.
A shadow fell over me and I looked up, still in a daze. Greg kneeled next to me and asked me if I was okay. All I could do was nod. He helped me up slowly. My legs were still a little shaky.
The first thing I did was turn toward the destroyed gate. One of the towers where the Ugandans had been standing was just a twisted mass of metal. It looked like an arthritic hand reaching up into the sky.
There were several bodies closer to the gate. People were rushing forward to help the wounded spread out around the gate. No one tried to extinguish the fire still burning brightly and melting what was left of the truck.
When I had my footing, I turned to Stout and said, “Where’s Jason?”
Stout shrugged and we both started looking for him. He’d been standing near us when the truck came into view. I glanced at the wounded, then breathed a short sigh of relief when I saw he wasn’t one of those being treated.
Then I saw the look on Stout’s face, twenty feet ahead of me. I raced to him. I froze. On the ground, right in front of us, was retired US Secret Service agent Jason Roche. A piece of shrapnel had hit him in the lower back part of his head. There were several exit wounds on his face. He still had a look of shock. His eyes staring straight ahead.
He was dead.
CHAPTER 27
IT’D BEEN A tough start to my assignment. Greg and I stayed with DP as he called the US office of Non-Metric Solutions. Someone had to tell Roche’s wife and daughters as soon as possible.
I was still down the next day as I tried to make sense of what had happened to my friend. Even running into Vicki didn’t cheer me much.
She said, “I heard about your friend. I’m really sorry.”
All I could do was nod.
She was very patient and gentle. “How would you feel about a tour of the whole base in a vehicle? Maybe it’ll give you some perspective. At least it might take your mind off your friend.”
I agreed, and after an hour or so, she turned out to be right. There was so much to see, it was overwhelming. I had to remind myself why I was here. I had to find Rick Jackson. I had to protect my family. I also realized that everyone here took the same risk as Jason Roche.
The vehicle hardly looked like standard military issue. It was a silver Toyota Hilux with a sunroof. The truck was only a couple of years old but it had seen some rough duty. Almost every section of the body had a dent, and duct tape held part of the rear window together.
Vicki handled the truck like a pro. Throughout the tour, she avoided all potholes and the occasional piece of road debris.
She said, “It’s fairly cool this time of year, but mainly because we’re up at about five thousand feet. Roughly the same elevation as Denver.”
“I bet most people prefer Denver.”
“There really is a TripAdvisor page for Bagram Air Base. It gets three and a half stars. My favorite review said, ‘avoid if possible.’ That one made me laugh out loud. But when you’ve got up to forty thousand people on a six-square-mile base, not everyone’s going to be happy. All of Afghanistan only has about thirty-five million people. The capital has about a tenth of the population right there. As far as Afghanistan goes, this is the place to be.”
I was curious about the population. “Anyone speak English?”
“Sure, some. Most everyone speaks Pashto. Farther south, they tend to speak more Dari. On the air base, it’s a little harder to figure out languages. You’ll meet up with soldiers from Estonia or Cyprus or half a dozen other countries you’ve barely heard of. It surprised me how many of them don’t speak much English. And the contractors come from every country imaginable.”
“How many contractors are on the base?”
“More than a quarter, probably between eight thousand and ten thousand. There’s something like thirty-five or forty countries participating in Operation Resolute Support. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s military and who works for one of the contractors.”
“Ever heard of Deep River?”
“Yeah, sure. They’re a pretty big outfit. They get some support from my office. They also run the detention facility out near the Russian ruins.”
“Who do they hold at the facility?”
“Enemy combatants until they decide if they should go to Parwan prison. Both of them are tough places.”
She drove a little farther, then stopped the Toyota. She pointed to the prison, off in the distance. “That’s the detention facility run by Deep River. Doesn’t look like much, but they hold twenty or more prisoners at any one time. I know some of the guys with the company. They seem okay.”
“Ever heard of someone named Rick Jackson?”
“I’ve seen the name. He’s a supervisor or something. Why, do you know him?”
“We’ve met.”
CHAPTER 28
AFTER OUR TOUR, Vicki took me to the main dining hall, named Dragon. The Dragon dining hall was the largest of the four free eating establishments. We had a choice of several locally flavored cafés as well as a regular Pizza Hut. I guess that was there to keep the US servicemen from getting too homesick. I didn’t see how that was even possible.
The place was busy, but not overwhelmed. I saw men and women in every conceivable unif
orm. Usually, the only way to identify them was by the patch on their arm. Slovakia, Serbia, Denmark, Italy, the list went on and on. It was impressive so many countries decided to throw people into this conflict. It didn’t matter if it was a large force or just a token group of participants. It was still inspiring.
I followed Vicki through the line with a tray. The choices were astounding. There was trout with the tail still on to show how fresh it was. I looked over the burger section, Mexican food, and the usual cafeteria-style stew or casserole. It was nothing like the chow I ate in the Navy years ago.
We found a place at the end of the table filled by burly soldiers from the Czech Republic. None of them appeared to speak English. And certainly none of them took notice of us.
Vicki was clearly an active Army master sergeant and my jeans and polo shirt gave no clue as to who I was. I’m sure most everyone assumed I was a contractor, but I could be a US service member off-duty.
We chatted for a little bit. Vicki told me about growing up south of Chicago with two sisters and two brothers. Then she got the idea she wanted to fly helicopters and that was her only focus.
Vicki said, “I have more than eighty semester hours I’ve earned toward a college degree since I joined the service. When I rotate back to the States, I’m hoping to be near a university so I can buckle down. Money is always an issue. Even here in this godforsaken wilderness, you never seem to have enough cash.”
I had to laugh. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“I’ve been wondering that. Why are you here? I mean why are you really here? I’ve gotten a sense from the very beginning that you’re nothing like you appear. I was thinking you were some kind of quality-control person for your company. Maybe they sent you over here to see how things were running without raising any suspicion. Now I can’t figure out why you’re going to go on patrol in the most desolate part of the base.”
Man, was she sharp. Beautiful, sharp, and dedicated. That was a powerful combination. I didn’t answer immediately. I quickly considered the pros and cons of an honest confession. Just thinking about it made me feel better. I had to talk to someone.
I sighed deeply and said, “It’s a really long story. And I doubt you’d want to get mixed up in it.”
She leveled those pretty blue eyes at me. I could imagine many men wilting under her gaze. “We are on an air base half a world away from home. I’m stuck here for a minimum of six months. I have plenty of time. I can also decide what I do and don’t want to get mixed up in.”
“Well stated and fair enough. I didn’t mean to make you think I was being secretive. I just didn’t want to bore you.”
She let out a little growl. “Just tell me already.”
I gave her an abbreviated version. I didn’t go into details about the hidden prison. Just that a contractor here named Rick Jackson had tried to destroy my family. When I was finished, I realized the story was a little far-fetched. Maybe I owed the detectives at the Newburgh Police Department an apology.
Vicki just stared at me like she was trying to make up her mind whether I was crazy. I’d seen the look before. Sometimes my mom gave it to me. I just gave her some time.
Then she surprised me when she said, “I can help you.”
“What?”
“I mean, I have access to all the contractor records. I can tell you exactly where this Jackson guy works and when he’ll be there. Provided he’s on the base at all.”
It was one of the few times in my life I didn’t mind not finishing a meal.
CHAPTER 29
VICKI’S OFFICE WAS on the second floor of one of the hardened buildings that had been on the base for many years. These were generally filled by US military personnel and considered a big step above almost any other structure.
There was even decent air-conditioning that kept the place comfortable. At this time in the evening, there was almost no one in the building. It could’ve been any mid-level company in the US. Nothing fancy like a tech company. Not Facebook or Google. But maybe the headquarters for Home Depot or Macy’s. Lots of paperwork stacked on top of standard, identical wooden desks.
Just like in the US, the break room had a TV and a coffee set that looked like someone brought it from their living room.
Vicki’s office held two desks. The other one was occupied by an army corporal who was supposed to be her assistant. She said, “He’s more work than he’s worth. A nice kid, but he gets distracted by everything. I’m also not sure about his reading comprehension. He’s from Indiana.” She smiled.
“I’m sure that’s none of your Illinois bias coming out.”
“Of course it’s not. I can’t help it if we’re smarter than anyone else in the Midwest.”
Vicki logged on to her computer and, shortly, looked up and said, “You’re right. Rick Jackson is a supervisor for Deep River, assigned to this detention facility.” She read the screen for a moment more and said, “Looks like this guy’s been around. He was in the Marines ten years ago. Very impressive.”
That’s when I heard an alert tone over the loudspeakers. Then the familiar, computer-generated voice that said, “Take cover, take cover, take cover,” in a quick, even tone.
I just looked at Vicki and she said, “Missile attack. We’ve got to get down to a bunker. My captain would freak out if she heard we just stayed in the office during an attack.”
She calmly led me down the stairs next to her office and out the back door. No one seemed to be running willy-nilly. It was the most organized emergency I had ever seen.
She led me to one of the many bunkers dug into the ground and covered with sandbags. It was about the size of the inside of a narrow step van, maybe six feet across and fifteen to twenty feet long. There were simple wooden benches on each side of the bunker.
We slid onto the bench with a few contractors sitting on the other end. No one looked too alarmed. Then I heard an explosion in the not too far distance. Almost immediately, more people started spilling into the bunker.
Vicki leaned in close and said, “Usually, the missiles fall way out near the airfield. No one here is used to hearing the impacts.” There were two more thuds as missiles detonated in the distance. More people poured in, until both the benches were packed, and people were spread out on the ground between them.
I’m not proud of this, but for more than a moment, I was hoping a missile might hit the prison and kill Rick Jackson. I didn’t give any thought to the other employees or the prisoners. All I thought about was getting to go home immediately. I missed my home. I worried about my mom and brother. I missed Alicia. Although the idea of making some extra money here was appealing.
Vicki slid so close to me, she was partially on my lap. Now the whole place was getting a little stuffy and close. I noticed a couple of people in workout clothes and realized some of the stench was coming from them. What could you do? You flee a workout during a missile attack, you can’t be expected to take a shower first.
I think it was mostly to break the tension as we all waited for the “all clear,” but Vicki said, as she was crammed on my lap, “So, are you seeing anyone?”
I also realized it was a genuine question that required an honest answer. Unfortunately, I hesitated and all I could come up with was, “Umm, ahh, yeah, I guess.”
“You guess? I think I feel sorry for the girl back home. What do you have? Commitment issues?”
I just shrugged. I knew my feelings for Alicia were real. I was also still getting over the death of my fiancée years before in a car accident. I figured I’d just leave it at the shrug.
Mercifully, the “all clear” came a minute or two later.
CHAPTER 30
SO FAR, SINCE I’d arrived in Afghanistan, I’d been through another orientation, signed forms to the point that I stopped reading them, then helped DP in the office. It was his hope that I’d like working in the office and give up my crazy request to work patrol along the perimeter near the detention facility.
Today was the
first day on patrol. Even though my plan was not just to work for Non-Metric Solutions, but to find Rick Jackson, I was kind of excited. The same kind of excitement I felt whenever I started any kind of new job. I was also slightly nervous. Not just about the job. There was a lot that could go wrong when I found him.
DP showed me the tan Nissan Frontier with a Colt AR-15 in a secure holder by the front seat. The rifle, which didn’t fire in automatic, was only in case of emergency. If I broke the seal holding it in place, I had to write a report. My main weapons would be the pistol in a holster on my hip and an ASP I carried in my back pocket.
DP quizzed me as he checked over my clothing. I had 511 cargo pants, a ballistic vest that felt like it was a castoff from a police department, a Kevlar helmet, and work boots I’d brought from home.
He said, “You hear a warning siren, any kind of siren, and you seek cover. This truck wouldn’t stop a rubber band, and besides, Nissans are hard to come by out here.”
“I’ll stay alert.”
“You do that, but an occasional mortar round dropping over the wall, or missiles, is about the most action that area sees. I swear I don’t know why a smart guy like you wants to work out there. It’s the middle of nowhere, inside the middle of nowhere.”
I felt like a bird leaving the nest and DP, my nervous mother. I had a map of the whole base and a second map of my patrol area. With all the checkpoints, there was no way I could get lost.
I spent an hour dutifully driving along my patrol route. My orders were to stop and question anyone I saw out there. I had no idea how anyone could get this far from the main part of the base without a vehicle.
It got boring fast. Initially, I loved the beautiful Hindu Kush in the distance with snow and ice on the mountaintop and the brilliant blue sky behind. I could see the far-off detention facility when I made my turn back toward the base. I made up games to keep my interest. I tried driving at exactly seven miles an hour.
The River Murders Page 21
