by Alex Howell
But it beat the alternative of his daughter being hurt or held captive.
“I make no promises,” Luke said. “I’ll see what I can do. But, Mason, don’t count on it.”
“I never do with you, Luke,” Mason deadpanned, fully anticipating that Luke would pull through anyways. “Thanks.”
“Why are you asking, anyways?” Luke asked. “You’ve been out of the SEALs now for, what, fifteen years? What got you back in?”
That caught Mason off-guard quite fast.
Not fast enough to get Mason to blurt out the answers, but enough to make him wonder why Luke would ask such a question. Perhaps, Mason rationalized, it was because he had genuine concern for Mason. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to get Mason to open up.
But, in his current state, paranoid and fearful of everything and everyone around him, Mason wondered if he was somehow connected to the enemy.
“Luke, you know I can’t say anything.”
Luke let out a sigh. Mason knew that saying that alone was enough to get the point across.
“I hope it works out, Mace.”
“Why did you ask me that?”
A brief pause followed before Luke responded.
“I, I just wanted to make sure all was good,” Luke said. “I don’t hear from you for years and then… but I understand.”
We’re on a need to know basis at this point, Luke.
“Me too, Luke. Me too.”
The two hung up shortly after, and Mason decided to make one more call to ask for help. The second number he dialed was one that he hadn’t called since he’d left the SEALs. Of all the comrades and friends he’d made during those days, the two who meant the most to him and who he trusted more than anyone were Luke Simon and Jack Jones. Jack had been in a position of authority over Luke and himself. He was a leader and a true patriot; a soldier of few words but of valiant heart. Mason hadn’t always followed his orders, but Jack knew that Mason would always get the job done no matter what, and he trusted Mason as much as Mason relied on him.
That unbreakable bond was what gave Mason the confidence to call a friend he hadn’t talked to in over a decade, and to ask such an enormous favor; time could not diminish what had been forged between them by the fires of trial and war. Mason pressed the button, and a moment later the phone on the other end of the line was ringing. It rang four times, and then it was answered.
“Could this possibly be Mason Walker?” Came the old familiar voice through the line.
Mason felt a weight lifted slightly from him just as hearing his friend speak to him. It was as if he wasn’t facing his nightmare alone. “In the flesh.” Mason almost smiled, except that he was too panicked to feel anything quite as pleasant as a smile. “How are you Jack?” He asked, his mind already racing ahead to the conversation he knew he needed to have.
Jack sounded thoughtful. “Things are going very well, actually. I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire at the moment, but they look to be on the right track for me to meet deadlines and goals. Missions successful, you’d say. And how are you doing? I would be willing to bet that you didn’t call me today after so many years of silence just to shoot the breeze. You must need something. What’s happened that’s brought you to the point of calling me and how can I help you?”
Jack Jones had always been direct and to the point. There was no time or reason to be any other way in his world. Efficiency and drive were key for him. Mason sighed as his thoughts jumbled all together.
“It… it’s an unexpected mission, I guess. Something I don’t have much choice about or control over.” Mason answered honestly.
“This doesn’t sound like something you want to be involved with.” Jack pressed slightly.
“It’s not at all. I’d almost rather be involved in anything but this.” Mason told him with a shake of his head. “My daughter has been taken. She was abducted today from our home.”
Jack groaned sympathetically. “Oh no! That’s such bad news. I’m sorry to hear it. What can I do to help you?”
Mason drew in a deep breath. He didn’t like asking anyone for help, least of all someone he hadn’t spoken to in so long, but there was nothing for it. He had to do something. “I was hoping that I could send you her cell phone number and some surveillance footage. You could take a look at it and let me know if there’s any intel at all that you could get out of it. I know you’ve got access to systems far beyond anything I’ve ever used. Could you do that please? Help me try to find her?”
Jack responded immediately. “Yes of course. I can work on it right away. Just send me everything that you have, and I’ll have my team take a look at it. We’ll see if there’s anything there that could be of use. I’ll let you know when I have a definitive answer either way.”
Mason breathed out a long sigh. “Thanks, Jack. It means everything to me. I knew that I could count and you and that you’d be there for me. You always were.”
“I’m just glad that I’m in a position to help. Now tell me, is there any kind of lead on who might have taken her? Anything at all?” It was so like Jack to dig for more details. He never left any stone unturned; attention to detail was one of his specialties.
“I’m afraid not. I don’t know of any adversaries I might have made who will still be after me. I’ve really been leading a quiet life. This came out of nowhere. Totally blindsided me. I wasn’t expecting anything like it at all. I wasn’t prepared enough to stop it from happening.” Frustration welled up inside of Mason. He should have been prepared. Jack’s next words echoed that thought.
“Mason Walker. I trained you better than that. I trained you to always be prepared no matter what might come. Always have your senses at attention. Eyes and ears open. Head in the game. You used to have your head in the game better than almost any SEAL I ever knew, and I hate to say it, but in your SEAL days, this never would have happened to you or your family.”
Mason closed his eyes and ran his fingers over his forehead, rubbing away the headache that was threatening to grow stronger. “I know it. It’s true.”
Jack’s voice grew serious. “You have the know-how to get through this. Think back to your training. Remember everything that I taught you. Expect all possible outcomes. Be on guard, and be prepared.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Boss.” Mason felt almost like he was back under Jack’s command.
“Send me everything you have, and I’ll take a look at it right away and get back to you.” Jack urged him. “And be careful. Don’t make any regretful moves. You’ve got a lot at stake right now.”
“Thanks.” Mason answered, thinking to himself that everything was at stake. There was nothing in his life except Clara. He couldn’t keep living without her, and on this particular mission, failure was not an option. He sent every bit of information and all the surveillance he had on Clara to Jack, and then he told himself to focus on the next step. He couldn’t think about anything except the next step. Get that done and then focus on the next step after that, until he had his daughter back and it was done.
Mason decided that he wouldn’t be asking anyone else for help until he got to JFK and saw for himself if Mr. Abdi was free or not. If he was, then he wouldn’t have to do anything and could continue with the mission as needed. This whole thing would, hopefully, go smoothly and without problems.
If he wasn’t, well, it wasn’t like Mason was going to get any progress made in the time on the plane otherwise. It was too crowded and too closely cramped on planes for him to conduct any mention like this. He would just figure it out, as he always did, when he got to the Big Apple.
However, there was one other thing Mason needed to do. There was one person he knew he could rely on even more than Luke or Jack, at least when it came to actual boots-on-the-ground operations—someone whose life he’d saved long ago, someone whom he’d only met once, but someone whom he knew had even more training than he did. If anyone was not a risk bringing on, it was them.
Jack had all the right secu
rity clearance and tech, and Luke was a great help from the higher levels of pulling strings and using his connections to make things happen. But that wasn’t enough. Mason needed someone from the underbelly of the world, someone who wouldn’t mind getting dirty and investigating things in the shadows. And this person would do just the trick.
He hoped.
As the airport came into view, Mason pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had saved on a piece of paper that he carried with him everywhere he went ever since he left Iraq. He’d never dialed the number before and prayed it was the same. But, if the person whom he knew could help answered, he’d only need to speak one word. It would be as quick and confusing a call to outsiders as anything else—just what Mason needed.
He dialed the number, taking a deep breath.
The line got answered before he even finished the line.
“Hello?”
Jackpot.
“Hawkeye.”
With that, Mason hung up. The message was sent. Help was on the way.
He just had to hope it wouldn’t come too late. And he just had to hope that his captors had not picked up on what he had just done.
6
The first thing Mason did when his vehicle arrived at BWI Airport was to reach underneath the trunk of his automatic car and procure the alibi documents that he had last used nearly two decades ago. In that time, even the government would not have access to those files, given that they were never officially in electronic form, and anyone with knowledge would likely either be retired or far away from the front lines of security.
Of course, Mason recognized that he was taking a huge risk; documentation forgery was a felony, and, if he got caught, even if people pulled strings for him, they could not teleport. His daughter would remain trapped while he remained trapped in the web of red tape, unable to break free until hours or days later—by which point, it might just be too late.
But, as Mason had already discovered with having to drag Luke in, this entire mission had a way of forcing Mason to compromise, if not outright ignore, the ideal scenarios.
For now, Mason Walker was now no longer Mason Walker, but now Jordan Richardson. He was no longer an insurance salesman who used to serve in the SEALs, but a finance banker for JP Morgan who liked to travel and had served in the National Guard for a spell. He was not born in Concord, Georgia, but was born in Tallahassee, Florida.
He knew the back story of Jordan Richardson so well that he sometimes swore he could really become Jordan and not miss a beat. Such was the duty of undercover operations—not everything involved guns, stealth kills, and firefights.
In other words, not everything involved the good stuff. Sometimes, like a child who was forced to eat their vegetables, he had to suck it up on the crap jobs to get what he really wanted.
He checked into his flight to JFK with ease, never once arousing suspicion—not that he expected to with the laziness and ineptitude of TSA and the flight crew. He moved through security with the ease of a man who had arrived early to the airport. He listened as the automated system droned on about removing electronics and liquids from the bag, but this was not going to be an issue for “Jordan Richardson.”
He almost flinched when the conveyor belt paused over his bag, but then Mason had to stifle a smile. Even for all that he was about to do, he had nothing in his bag that would signify danger—no gun, no narcotics, no weapons, nothing. Whatever he needed, he’d just have to pick up during his time on the mission. The airport was not the place to transport such devices or tools.
Mason boarded his plane, smiling as the automated system with one attendant behind it welcomed “Mr. Richardson” aboard. He settled into a business class seat that had the entire aisle open, all the more convenient for the brainstorming Mason would have to do. And because I need all the help and breaks I can get at this point
First, he decided that he could not get an automatic self-driving vehicle when he arrived at JFK. He’d have to take the risk of driving a manual vehicle when he got there—the new self-driving ones had too many computers, cameras, and hackable points that could allow the terrorists or someone even worse to track his progress. Better to remain elusive—he could never totally remain invisible, but if he could keep his head low and his watchers frustrated, that would work well enough.
Perhaps such a plan would anger his daughter’s captors, but he doubted it. The important thing was fulfilling their request, not how he fulfilled it. He knew full well that even the most evil of people gave allowances in the pursuit of their larger vision.
Second, he knew he’d have to pose as something of a chauffeur, a man who had come to grab Mr. Abdi for official business. There were just two problems with that—Mason was not dressed in a suit, and if there was someone else there waiting for him… well, Mason would have to figure something out. It’s why he was so good on the black ops teams—when something didn’t have an apparent answer, he would just go until he figured it out.
Then again, this was pretty different from a black ops mission. He had no allies and no information about the situation. It was a true lone wolf against a herd type of battle.
Finally, he’d have to take advantage of the suit and the private vehicle and talk to Mr. Abdi to see what information he could pry. Perhaps the terrorists would not speak, but a man in a car after a long flight went one of two ways—either he clammed up from being exhausted, or he was eager to release his story. Even a detail as minor as the flight attendant giving him grief could provide valuable information on Mr. Abdi’s mental state.
Don’t hope for too much, though. Most likely, he’s just going to be real quiet. Especially if he has any awareness about how any of this is supposed to go down.
Better hope he’s a pawn who doesn’t know he’s in a chess match.
As it was just Baltimore to New York City, the flight lasted less than an hour, but Mason could have gotten by with just 20 minutes. In fact, he would have preferred it. The less time he had, the better his decision making became.
As soon as he landed, he headed to the nearest suit and tie store within the airport. Though not particularly pleased with the idea of paying over six hundred dollars for clothing that would serve its purpose for about two hours, the cost of getting his daughter back was one he was more than willing to pay—and if it came down to it, he was willing to use whatever means necessary to get some money back as well.
It occurred to him then that Harnad Abdi still had no reassurances, no guarantees of getting out of customs. Mason had to rely on the help of Luke, because he had about no other options. He decided he would give it about 20 minutes, especially considering that Luke should have already put the calls in.
And if those 20 minutes passed? Mason would have to do what Luke did—run to the bathroom, make some calls, and hope for the best.
And if those calls didn’t work? Some questions are best left unanswered until there’s no other choice.
Fortunately, a shorter man with a thick black beard, dark brown eyes, tan skin, and a curt, annoyed expression approached.
“Mr. Abdi?”
“Yes,” he said, though it was anything but a pleasant agreement.
“Welcome to America, Mr. Abdi,” Mason said, eliminating the normal Southern accent in his voice to sound distinctly metropolitan.
“Please, I am already late, your country’s methods for inquiring of my stay have grown tiresome already.”
Not in a mood to talk and quick to action. Perfect.
“Forgive me, Mr. Abdi, but the limo we had arranged for you had a malfunction. I know urgency is of the essence, so—”
“Whatever you need to do,” Harnad said, waving Mason off. “Just get me to where I need to go.”
Even better.
Let’s just hope you’re a little more talkative once we get in the car, huh?
Mason led Harnad to the car rental shop, asking him to rest while he got the vehicle, the better so that the visitor would not have suspicions about getting
into a manual car. The automatic check-out machine went through about three screens asking Mason to confirm that he did not want a self-driving car before it finally dispensed the keys, advising to drive safe, slow, and securely. Mason snorted as he wanted to tell the artificial intelligence that American roads were nothing compared to the IED-laden roads in the Middle East.
But then again, what programmer at a car rental shop would know the first thing about engaging in such a war? Not a damn thing, probably.
He led Mr. Abdi to the car, only to draw the wrath of the man for a manual vehicle.
“I will not be driven in such a primitive vehicle!” Harnad said, adding a few swears for good measure.
“With all respect, Mr. Abdi, the—”
“What’s your name?” Mr. Abdi snarled. “Tell me!”
“Jordan Richardson.”
Mr. Abdi suddenly got a look of knowledge on his face, as if he recognized the name. Mason dared not show anything beyond a simple nod, as if to confirm the name, but something within him stirred with concern at the idea that Mr. Abdi was in on the plot—and, if so, did that mean that Mason’s supposedly old-school cover was, in fact, already opened for all of the pages to see?
You better get yourself a weapon real quick.
“Let’s go.”
Not good.
No one just drops their anger like that who is this pompous. You need to keep an alert eye out.
Mason gave a short nod before moving the car out of the parking lot, eying up his newfound “friend” as he tried to decide how much to reveal. He certainly didn’t want to give his full name—even if Mr. Abdi was an ally of some kind, there was no need to reveal any more information than necessary. And perhaps Mason’s greatest risk, he knew, was in assuming anyone outside of Luke and Hawkeye were allies.
