by Bobby Akart
She flung her office door open and sprang into the hallway, looking rapidly in both directions. She began to run toward Ghost’s office and then caught herself as a uniformed MP emerged from the break room with a cup of coffee. She slowed herself to a brisk walk and casually approached Ghost’s office.
With the MP watching her, she lightly tapped on the door until she heard Ghost invite her in.
“Yes, Cuccinelli?” he asked.
“Sir, I’ve got ’em,” she said excitedly. “I mean, I’ve got the precise position within a fifty-mile radius.”
“Where?”
“Colombia, sir. Toward the Panamanian border.”
“The Darién Gap?” he asked.
She grimaced and nodded. “Um, yessir.”
Ghost sighed and hesitated for a moment. “Okay. Okay, I’m glad we’ve got something. I don’t have to tell you that there aren’t many places on the planet that are worse than where the crew of the Starhopper has touched down.”
“Yessir, I’m aware. I have some work to do before I can conclusively determine a location. I need to access the DEA databases as well as the FBI missing persons files. They are full of information gathered from local investigations throughout the area, both in Panama and Colombia.”
Ghost was still somewhat subdued. He picked up a pen and began to tap it on his desk. He dropped it and then leaned forward in his chair, staring at his phone.
“Um, sir, this is good news. I mean, I can—”
Ghost raised his left hand and stopped the young FBI agent. “I’m sorry, please don’t misunderstand. I applaud your efforts, and this is fantastic news. I just don’t know what to do with it.”
The Jackal stepped backward, glanced in the hallway to confirm it was empty, and then gently closed the door. She spoke in a hushed tone. “I assume you’re referring to notifying NASA, the DOD, and the administration?”
Ghost nodded. “Who am I to make this decision?” he asked rhetorically before continuing. “You have gone beyond the call of duty to locate our people, and I now have an obligation to pass it up the chain of command.”
The Jackal shrugged and smiled. “Sir, what chain of command would that be? I understand that there are people within the government that you take directives from, but are they necessarily your boss or commanding officer, since you’re technically no longer in the military?”
“It’s an odd position to be in,” he began in reply. “Off the books works both ways. If I do something that doesn’t sit well with the president or that blows up in my face, they can easily disavow the operation. Likewise, if I decide to handle a matter in a certain way without consulting with the people who assign these black ops to me, then they can’t necessarily complain, can they?”
The Jackal understood and, despite her criminal justice training, decided to assist Ghost in circumventing the law and military protocols. She stood as tall as her five-foot-three-inch slightly built frame would allow.
“Sir, I know what going rogue means. I also am fully aware of the consequences. At this moment, nobody other than the two of us knows about the Starhopper’s whereabouts. If you’re concerned about their well-being and have genuine doubts as to whether another agency can bring them out of the Darién Gap, then you should trust your gut. And let me say, if you go down, I’ll be honored to go down with you, sir.”
Ghost leaned back in his chair, studied the Jackal and then clasped his hands behind his head. “I like your confidence, Cuccinelli.”
“You mean my spunk, right, sir?”
Ghost chuckled. “Yeah, that too. I need to know something. You’re gonna access both FBI and DEA files that are unrelated to any active operation we’re involved in. Aren’t you concerned about getting caught?”
The Jackal laughed. “Sir, puhleeze. I’m the Jackal. The last time I was caught was the day before I was recruited into the bureau. Don’t worry about me, sir. I’ll gather all the intel that’s available. I’ll leave the extraction team up to you.”
Ghost leaned forward and smiled. “That’s easy. Let’s get to it.”
Chapter 23
Fort Mills
Near Delta, Alabama
Darkness had set in, and the group anxiously awaited the transport from Maxwell Air Force Base outside Montgomery, Alabama. The initial celebration and exuberance was soon tamped down by a dose of reality. The fact that Gunner’s satellite phone had made it back to Earth was cause for hope. The fact that nobody had used it to call for help was a matter of great concern.
Pop tried to reach logical conclusions. For one, he argued, only a human being was capable of turning the device on and off. Perhaps a trained or overly curious ape could do it, but there were no apes in South and Central America. Pop relayed at length the details of a National Geographic special he’d watched that differentiated between so-called New World monkeys found in the Americas and Old World monkeys in Africa and Asia.
The consensus among the three refugees to Fort Mills was that the satellite phone had been accessed by a human that either didn’t understand how to use it or, because of some injury, was unable to.
It was the latter theory that caused Pop to become concerned for the safety of his son. Cam and Bear gave him the obligatory pep talk, attempting to reassure him that Gunner was a survivor.
They withheld their knowledge of the Darién Gap. It was considered the most dangerous jungle in the world for many reasons, the least of which had to do with the animals that inhabited the region.
“I hear the chopper,” announced Bear as he returned inside from the front porch. The rain had finally stopped and an unusual chill had set upon the Southeastern United States. Meteorites were now battering the central part of the U.S., and Ghost had warned them that traveling by chopper to Fort Belvoir was risky. They could be dodging bullets that came at them faster than any projectile imaginable.
The threat didn’t deter them from doing what it took to rescue their friend. Ride or die, they stuck together. The mantra they’d adopted hadn’t changed as a result of the circumstances.
“Okay, Pop, we’ve got to head through the woods to meet the chopper,” began Cam. “Listen, you know we’re gonna do everything we can to bring our boy home, right?”
Pop began to well up in tears. He nodded his head but couldn’t manage to speak.
Bear tried to help. “That’s right, Pop. We’ve got this. We’ll find Gunner and be back before you know it. Now, are you good with the weapons I fixed up for you?”
“I am. I plan on keeping the generator off except during the daytime. I’ve got the curtains pulled, and I’ll only burn a single candle.”
Cam hugged him. “We don’t want you to be paranoid, just aware there are people out there who may need food and shelter. Sadly, you have to be skeptical of everyone.”
He smiled and hugged her back. “That’s why I’m glad we hid things away and packed some provisions in the plane. If I have to bug out due to the fire over the ridge, or some bad dudes showing up on the doorstep, I’ll at least have the basics with me.”
“All right,” continued Cam. “If you have to leave, you’re gonna try Dog Island first, right?”
“Yes, but only if I’m forced out of here. We’re right in the middle of this storm, and the tsunami threat will be with us until Monday night or so.”
“Good. Your second option is Maxwell Air Force Base. Ghost has already cleared your aircraft and N-number with flight control. Remember, don’t use Ghost’s name. Simply identify who you are, give them your plane’s registration number, and everything should be fine.” The registration number of an aircraft was commonly referred to as an N-number or tail number.
Bear handed him the satellite phone they used to stay in contact with Ghost. “We wrote down the frequencies for you to monitor on the ham radio, and you can watch for our call on the satphone.”
Cam added, “But, Pop, just ’cause we don’t call doesn’t mean there’s trouble, or, um, you know.”
Pop smiled. “I
understand. I’ve lived with you three going off to do what it is you do for years. I’ve never doubted that you’d come home in one piece. Battered and bruised at times, but home nonetheless.”
“Exactly,” said Bear. He nodded toward the door, indicating to Cam that they needed to get going. The three exchanged hugs again and Pop led them outside. As they hoisted their gear and jogged down the driveway, Pop hollered to them, “Godspeed, Patriots!”
PART THREE
Sunday, April 29
Chapter 24
Eight Years Prior
Fox Residence
DeFuniak Springs, Florida
Heather Fox helped her husband ease into the claw-foot tub in their master bathroom. She fought back the tears as she examined his body, which was covered in bruises, cuts, and skin ripped open to reveal pink flesh underneath. He slowly lowered himself into the warm bath supplemented by Epsom salts. She’d warned him that the bath salts would cause his wounds to sting, but he insisted, saying that it was the pain from the unseen wounds underneath his skin that bothered him the most. Heather wasn’t sure if he was referring to a physical pain or mental anguish.
Once he closed his eyes and began to relax, she knelt down behind him and gently washed his body with Gerber’s baby washcloths she used to wash her face at night. They were much softer than the more common cotton kind. Gunner’s skin was raw enough without a coarse washcloth to aggravate it.
Heather chose to stay quiet, stifling her desire to quiz him on the details of what had been done to him. His arrival at their home was completely unexpected, as he’d told her that he’d likely be gone for weeks. She’d suspected something was wrong the night before when she saw several dark-colored vehicles bearing blue and white government tags drive slowly past their house.
Gunner had always cautioned her against rushing to judgment or worrying unnecessarily. If something had truly gone awry on one of his missions, she’d hear from Cam or his superior officer first.
He exhaled and pushed himself a little higher in the tub. The bleeding on his chest had stopped, and he was able to flex his arms and legs to work out the soreness in his muscles. It had been a long trek home, one that tested his mettle as much as the torture he’d been put through.
Gunner broke the silence. He reached his arm out of the water and squeezed Heather’s hand, who continuously nurtured his body by gently washing it.
“Honey, let’s talk about this one time, and then never again, okay?”
Heather reluctantly nodded and stood up. She wandered to the bathroom window overlooking Lake DeFuniak, which was across Circle Drive from their century-old home. According to local folklore, the perfectly round lake had been created by a meteorite. This made for a good story to tell tourists, although most likely it was a sinkhole that remained filled by an underground stream flowing from twin lakes to the west of the town.
She sighed and allowed the tears to flow. She kept her back to him so that he couldn’t see them, but Gunner knew his wife too well.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” he apologized unnecessarily.
Heather looked upward and tucked her hands inside the long sleeves of her sweater. Her sniffles gave away her tears, so she wiped her face and turned to look at him. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I just wish I could wrap my head around why this was necessary.”
Gunner squeezed out the wet cloth and turned on the faucet, allowing cool water to soak it. He wiped his face and scrubbed at some dried blood matted in his hair. “It’s part of my job. If a mission doesn’t go as planned, I’ve got to always be prepared for anything. Heather, I mean anything.”
She frowned. “Look at you, Gunner. What they did to you was barbaric. It’s torture!”
“Honey, it could be worse. I have to be prepared for the day when the enemy takes me hostage. That’s what this was all about.”
She stood defiantly now with her hands firmly planted on her hips. She shook her head in disagreement. “Well, they oughta change the name from SERE school to torture school, because that’s all it is. A bunch of sick bastards who get their jollies by torturing good men like you because they’re too weak to go through it themselves.”
Gunner had explained the purpose of SERE school to her when he was notified by his commanding officer that he was assigned to the location in Washington state. Founded in the aftermath of the Korean War, the military began to train U.S. service members to withstand enemy interrogation. SERE—an acronym for survival, evasion, resistance, and escape—developed over time into a program that was especially useful for Special Forces personnel like Gunner.
The trainees were taught to adhere to the Code of Conduct, six articles that were ingrained into their psyche so that they would not break under interrogation. Then they were submitted to all of the advanced interrogation techniques utilized by the enemy through the years, including the controversial method of waterboarding.
The first steps in the SERE school involved psychological methods of breaking the prisoner down. Loud music, sleep deprivation, and withholding food and water were just the beginning of the torture.
Solitary confinement was next. Gunner had been forced into a small box with only a few holes allowing him to breathe. His captors then administered the box treatment—jumping jacks, running in place, and incessant pounding on top of the box.
Then came the interrogation. Round after round of questions. With each refusal, a slap to the face was earned by the prisoner. After subsequent rounds, which Gunner resisted, the torture became more brutal.
During those few days, he’d been beaten, starved, stripped naked, hosed down, and electrocuted in the chilled environment of the concrete cell. He was nearly hypothermic, shivering so bad at times that he couldn’t speak.
“Honey, the thing is, I think I outlasted everyone else who’d been assigned to SERE school with me. When I escaped, all of the other cells appeared empty, and it wasn’t because they were receiving a beatdown. They’d been scrubbed clean. I was the last one.”
“Well, congrats, airman,” she said sarcastically. “Can we expect a ribbon or a pay raise?”
Gunner sighed and reached for her hand. She resisted him for a moment, standing with her arms folded in front of her in an attempt to close off her feelings. Finally, she succumbed and pulled a chair up next to the tub.
They held hands for a moment, and then Gunner explained, “I know this may not be what you want to hear, but what I’ve been through may save my life someday.”
A few more tears rolled down Heather’s cheeks, but she wiped them away and smiled. “I understand. I just wish—”
A pounding on their front door cut off her sentence.
“What the hell?” asked Heather.
Gunner exhaled and began to push himself out of the tub. He pointed toward the towel that was draped over the sink. “I need to get dressed,” he began. “Those are probably the MPs.”
“Police? Why?”
Gunner chuckled. “Well, interestingly enough, I broke the rules.”
“What rules? Look what they did to you. What kind of rules allowed for that?” Heather was incredulous.
“We were told up front that we weren’t allowed to escape,” said Gunner as he wiped himself dry and made his way to the closet.
The pounding on the door grew louder, causing Heather to look outside, where she saw two base police vehicles from Eglin idling in the driveway. She spun around to address Gunner’s explanation. “I thought it was SERE school, and one of the E’s stands for escape.”
“That’s true. But I was required to remain there until it was over.”
“Fox, open up!” a voice bellowed from their front porch, followed by more pounding.
Gunner quickly finished dressing and then turned to kiss his wife. “Honey, they might arrest me, but it’ll be okay.”
“That’s bullshit!” she exclaimed as the tears began to flow again. “Can’t you just tell them that you escaped for the sake of your health? I mean, look what they put
you through.”
Gunner chuckled and gave his wife one final hug before he surrendered. As he walked toward the stairwell, he turned.
“No, I’m gonna tell them the truth. I escaped for their sake. If I didn’t leave, I would’ve killed them all.”
Chapter 25
Present Day
Defense Threat Reduction Agency
Fort Belvoir, Virginia
The two pilots of the recently upgraded AgustaWestland AW149 helicopter had their hands full during the trip from Delta, Alabama, to Fort Belvoir. Primarily built for use by the Egyptian Air Force, the U.S. Air Force operated several dozen for transportation of personnel on short trips of seven hundred miles or less. As a chopper pilot, Bear was impressed by the chopper’s handling, and thankful.
“Here comes another one!” he shouted into the internal communications system, causing Cam to pull the headset away from her ears. The pilots had already muted his set so he didn’t distract them as they flew at ten thousand feet above the ground.
Meteorites could be seen breaking through the atmosphere and exploding to Earth in the cloudless dark skies. Approaching midnight, air travel was usually light anyway, but the FAA had grounded all commercial traffic two days ago, and military traffic was authorized on an emergency basis only.
While the pilots, and their passengers, could see the meteorites streaking through the sky, it was impossible to react to them. Plus, the approaching space rocks that burned up in the atmosphere caused several false alarms as they traveled. All they could do was race to Fort Belvoir and hope luck was on their side.
Cam remained calm and mostly quiet during the trip. She needed the hours of relative solitude, other than Bear’s occasional excited utterances, to transition from caretaker of Pop and Fort Mills to warrior.
