Deployed (13 page)

“Daud.”

“What is it you wish?”

The young man looked around nervously. “You have many men.”

Daud waited, blowing on a new spoonful, then eating it. “I am aware.”

“I did not know if you wanted another.”

For a moment, Daud was silent and thoughtful. The young man was clean-limbed and could be strong if he ate regularly and was allowed to take care of himself. “There is always room for a man who is willing to fight for his life and the lives of others.”

“I am one of those men. I swear to you this is true. You fight the al-Shabaab. I hate them. I will be glad to fight them as well if you will teach me how and give me proper weapons to do this. If you have none to spare, then I will fight them with my bare hands if I have to and take one from them.”

“What is your name?”

“Usayd.”

Daud smiled at that, understanding the meaning of the name. “Little lion.”

Usayd looked uncomfortable. “I was given the name when I was very small. I am not so small now.”

“No, you are not. Do you know how to use a rifle?”

“I have shot my father’s.”

“At a man?”

The young man hesitated, and Daud knew he was thinking of lying. Then Usayd shook his head. “No. Only at game.”

“Guinea?” The birds were black with white speckles, raised domestically and hunted in the wild.

Usayd nodded.

“A guinea is much smaller than a man.” Daud smiled. “If you can shoot a guinea, you can shoot an al-Shabaab man.”

The young man smiled back. “I have shot many guineas.”

“They are very tough to eat.” The meat from the fowl was notoriously stringy and did not taste good no matter what was done to it.

“I have never enjoyed eating them.” Usayd looked hopefully at Daud. “May I accompany you when you leave?”

“Why do you wish to go?”

“There is nothing here for me.”

“These people are your family.”

Usayd’s face pinched tight. “My family is starving. You gave them food and supplies to get through a few more days, but what will they do then? Go back to dying slowly?”

Daud said nothing. His father had taught him that a man had to talk himself into something. Rarely could anyone be persuaded into something potentially dangerous, generally only through greed or lust. Survival, though, was a common goal for many. Finding out how much risk a person would tolerate to survive was best left to the individual.

“I do not want that for myself, and I do not want that for
these people. If I go with you, I will try to provide for them.” Usayd hesitated. “If that is permitted.”

“Have you spoken with your father?”

“My father died before we came out here. Last year. He got sick.”

“I am sorry.”

“It was God’s will. His time among us was done. Now we have to survive.”

“You have your mother?”

“Yes. And three younger sisters.” Usayd looked earnestly at Daud. “If I go with you, if I swear myself to your cause, I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That my family here will not be forgotten. That when we can, we will bring them more food and more medicine.”

“I give you my word.” If possible, Daud would keep that promise, but not at the risk of what he was doing.

“Thank you. When are we leaving?”

“In the morning.”

“I will be ready.” Usayd took his leave and retreated back to the cook fires and his people.

He wasn’t the only one who came to see Daud. The others drifted in slowly, and he talked with them throughout the night.

Hours later, the people finally calmed down, sated by food and worn from fatigue. The cook fires burned down to smoking coals and barely showed in the dense darkness. Thin,
black shadows spun like gossamer across the face of the quarter moon. A slight breeze cooled the night, and Daud lay beneath a blanket under one of the trucks. He kept a guard rotation going just in case some of the men turned greedy.

“The old man is coming.” Afrah lay nearby on another pallet with his bottle close by. His alcoholic breath occasionally tainted the night breezes.

“I knew he would.” Daud rose, resenting the old man for disturbing his slumber but knowing the man had no choice. “He could not let this go unchallenged.”

Nishaaj stopped a few feet in front of Daud. The moonlight fell across the hard obsidian of his face and carved out deep shadows. “May we speak?”

“Of course.”

“How many of our young men are you taking?”

Daud answered at once, knowing the old man had the right to know because he was looking out for these people. And he respected the blunt way the man addressed the situation. “Five.”

“Five.” The number seemed to strike the old man a blow. “So many.”

“It could have been more. In fact, some may try to follow me when I leave in the morning even though I have rejected them. I give you my word that I will send them back.” Eleven young men between the ages of fifteen and thirty-two had approached Daud. He had chosen from among them, taking ones who were older and didn’t have as many ties to family members so they wouldn’t get homesick and try to return.

He also rejected anyone over the age of twenty-five
because those would be too headstrong and, perhaps, ultimately untrainable. Most of them joined because they wanted something more than they had, or they were afraid of starving to death. They were young and selfish, and Daud knew he could work with that.

Usayd had been different. He saw joining Daud as a way to provide for his family. Others had seemed like rats deserting a sinking ship. Men who gave up that easily would give up when Daud needed them. He had rejected those as well.

“I suppose it could have been.” Nishaaj shook his head. “You take our young men from us, and with them you take our future.”

Daud looked at the old man coldly. “Out here, fleeing like animals, you have no future. I have given you much in exchange for five men. You should count yourself fortunate with the bargain.”

Nishaaj’s face tightened with displeasure. “You mock me.”

“No. I speak the truth. You know that.”

“These are young men.”

“They can still be trained to fight. Those other men, like Ghauth, they don’t know when to leave, when to acknowledge there is nothing here they can do. They will stay and die rather than leave their families and live to fight on a better day.”

“A man is nothing without his family.”

“Wrong. Without his family, a man is a powerful weapon. He can be strong and fearless. There is nothing left to lose, nothing that can be taken from him.”

“There is nothing to live for.”

“Wrong, old man.” Daud’s voice came hot and harsh. “A man such as that may live on the hate that is in his heart.”

“A heart may not carry such a load.”

“A heart may not
choose
such a burden, but it will carry it just fine.”

“It will be a coal that burns too hotly, bright and then quickly ash.”

“I will burn all those who come my way. Never doubt that. I embrace my fiery heart.”

Wearily, Nishaaj shook his shaggy head and ran his fingers through his beard. “I will pray for your soul.”

“Pray all you want, old man. Pray until your knees are bruised and bloody, but it will do no good. I have no soul. If there is a God, he took that from me and buried it in a hole with my wife and child.”

Nishaaj looked Daud in the eye. “Go early in the morning, before the mothers know they are about to lose their sons.” Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Daud lay back down and slept.

Shortly after the dawn broke over the eastern horizon and filled the sky with bloody-egg-yolk color, Daud roused his men and got them onto the trucks. The people were only then getting up from their beds, still too full from last night’s feast. They watched in confusion as their visitors readied to go.

Daud’s warriors weren’t happy about leaving at such an hour either, but Daud yelled orders at them till they swiftly
recognized that he was in no mood to be disobeyed. In minutes they were ready to go.

“Without breakfast?” Afrah was still half-intoxicated and his foot slipped from the running board as he sought to pull himself up behind the wheel.

“We will eat on the road.” Daud briefly considered taking Afrah’s place driving, but he knew the older man would control the truck just fine once they got under way.

Afrah snarled curses but climbed in and turned the motor over. The throaty rumble shattered the peaceful stillness over the area.

Standing on the truck’s running board, Daud gazed back toward the people in their miserable huts. As he watched, seven young men ran toward the trucks with their meager belongings slung over their shoulders in packs.

Daud pointed to two of the men. “Not you two.”

The two young men he’d singled out stopped, then glared at him belligerently and started forward again.

Daud drew his pistol and fired into the air. The two men came to a stop as he took aim at them. Terrified now, they slunk back. The other five men scrambled onto the waiting trucks.

Only then did the mothers of three of the young men realize what was happening. They cried their sons’ names and ran toward them. Smaller children trailed after them, squalling and crying as well. The young men begged forgiveness from their mothers, but they maintained their positions aboard the trucks.

Daud glanced at Afrah and nodded. “Go.”

Afrah put the truck into gear and released the clutch. The big wheels bit into the ground and rolled forward, bouncing over the rough terrain. The mothers quickly fell behind, and their plaintive cries drowned in the acceleration of the motors. Daud swung into his seat and closed the door. He pulled his sunglasses down and rested his rifle beside him while he replaced the spent cartridge in his pistol.

“Where to?” Afrah squinted against the bright sun and drove relentlessly.

Daud pulled a map from his shirt pocket and opened it. He had marked sites where pockets of desperate humanity were rumored to be, places he intended to exploit to grow his army. “There is another camp forty or fifty miles away. We will go there.”

“This is a slow process, Rageh.”

“Perhaps. But it is also a true one.” Daud folded the map and replaced it in his pocket. Then he took up his rifle and began watching for any signs of the TFG or the al-Shabaab contingent that might be looking for them.

13

HEATH PLACED HIS CARRY-ON
beside the table in the small restaurant inside Will Rogers Airport. His flight wasn’t scheduled till 11:18 a.m. It was 9:37 now. Taking his iPad from his carry-on, he opened the cover and pulled up his e-mail.

Fourteen new pieces of mail popped into his in-box. Heath sorted through them at a glance. A couple were ads (couldn’t ever seem to get completely away from those), four were Facebook updates from people he knew, five more were from personal acquaintances wishing him the best on his reactivation, and three were from the other attorneys with his father’s firm whom he’d turned cases over to in his absence.

There was nothing from Lionel Bridger.

Heath hadn’t expected there to be. Darnell Lester was a flyspeck on Lionel Bridger’s radar.

Sighing with frustration, Heath took the lid off his coffee, poured in two creamers, and stirred. Then he took a sip and
decided to let it sit for just a while longer. A few passersby took notice of him, and he knew it was because he was dressed in camo fatigues. Even though a lot of military people were on flights these days, they still attracted attention. He took out his cell and used speed dial to call his father’s office.

The phone rang once—just once—and Margaret Atwater lifted it and answered precisely. “You’ve reached the office of Lionel Bridger. This is Margaret Atwater. May I help you?”

“Good morning, Ms. Atwater.” No one called the woman by her first name. Not even Heath’s father. She was extremely efficient, dedicated, and protective. No one encroached on her space or any space she defended, and she defended Lionel Bridger’s schedule religiously.

“Good morning, Mr. Bridger. I know that you are on your way to a new posting, and I would like to take this moment to wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you, Ms. Atwater. I’d—”

The woman interrupted him with surgical precision. “However, you do know the rules. Unless you have an appointment with Mr. Bridger, you may not inconvenience him. I just checked his schedule, and you are not listed.”

“This is about a case.”

“I appreciate that, but it is not about Mr. Bridger’s cases. Otherwise I would have a notation about this call.”

“I’ve got a motion in front of a judge regarding Darnell Lester.”

“I wish you the best of luck with that as well.”

“Thank you, but I want my father to be aware of the motion and to be prepared to lend a hand getting it before
Judge Seaver. As I recall, my father and Judge Seaver play golf together occasionally.”

“They do.”

“I was thinking my father could give the judge a call, maybe nudge the motion onto his review docket.”

“That would be a matter for you to discuss with Mr. Bridger, Mr. Bridger. I would suggest you set up an appointment.”

“I don’t know when I will be back from this tour of duty.”

“Understood, but chances are you will be on the other side of the world and back again before I can find time for a meeting on Mr. Bridger’s calendar. I’m looking at it now. It’s quite full. And Mr. Bridger has made it plain to me that Mr. Lester’s case is in your hands, not his.”

Heath bit back a scathing retort. He made himself breathe out. “This case is important to me, Ms. Atwater. Darnell Lester is important to me.”

“I believe you.”

Although the woman’s response was cold and impersonal, Heath knew she meant it. “The man shouldn’t have to die.”

“Mr. Lester is a convicted murderer. The jury has ruled. You were handed this case as part of a pro bono package, Mr. Bridger. No one will believe you haven’t done your job, however the matter turns out.”

“This isn’t about the win.”

“Don’t let Mr. Bridger hear you say that. A legal case is always about the win.”

“Darnell Lester has a daughter. He has grandkids. For the last twelve years, he’s been a positive force in their lives. That should be allowed to continue.”

“Don’t attempt to try your case with me, Counselor. It will be wasted effort. Mr. Bridger’s schedule is carved in stone.”

“Can I at least leave him a note?”

“Of course. I suggest sending him an e-mail.”

And that would be an exercise in futility. Margaret Atwater went through Lionel Bridger’s e-mail, mail, and texts with a fine-tooth comb. If a person or case was declared persona non grata, nothing less than a nuclear weapon would get through.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Atwater.” Heath glanced at his watch and knew he was just wasting his time, as he’d feared.

“Of course, Mr. Bridger. And do let me know if there is anything I can do for you while you are wherever it is you’re going.”

Heath thanked her and hung up, immediately calling up his contact list and searching for Mark Kluger. He punched the button and listened to the phone ring as he sipped his coffee. He glared at the breakfast biscuit he’d bought, knowing he couldn’t eat it until he’d resolved the issue regarding Darnell Lester.

Mark Kluger was a couple years older than Heath, and he’d been one of those attorneys whom Lionel Bridger had developed connections with early on, while Mark was still in law school. Mark was going to be an excellent trial lawyer, equipped with supreme poise, elegant diction, and a square jaw that could shatter granite.

“Mark Kluger, rising legal star of Bridger, Constant, and McClinton. I have a list of satisfied clients and a wake of broken hearts.”

Despite the situation and the tension within him, Heath smiled. Mark’s good nature was irrepressible, and he was generally a good person. If he had any downfall, it was that he was too much like Lionel Bridger when it came to business. But that was also his greatest strength, and it was what Heath needed now.

“I suppose you have caller ID on.” Heath stared out the window as a Southwest jet sped into the morning sky.

The public address system came on and blurted one of the safety messages that routinely repeated.

“I do, and I suppose from the canned announcement you’re at the airport.”

“I am.”

“Safe voyage, my friend. Where are you headed? Brief vacation?”

“Military assignment.”

“Ouch.” Mark groaned. “I wish you’d come to me when you first thought of signing up to be a soldier.”

“A Marine.”

“Whatever. The whole idea of taking orders gives me hives.”

“Actually, I’m a lieutenant. I give a lot of orders.”

“You’re not a general. You take a lot of orders as well.”

Heath didn’t have a comeback for that because it was true.

“You know, you could have played softball for the firm if you’d wanted a physical activity.”

“I like being a Marine.” That was out before Heath even knew it was coming.

“Touch a nerve?”

“No.”

“Sounded like I did.”

“Must be the phone connection.”

“I beg to differ. I’m very perceptive. One of my best skills.”

“Inflated ego much?”

“Not at all. Your father, the Mr. Bridger who signs my checks, told me that himself.”

That smarted a little too. Mark Kluger was one of Lionel Bridger’s favorites. Heath had never made that particular list, and he was pretty sure he never would. He just wished it didn’t matter to him.

“Terrific. Maybe I could convince you to use some of that perception to help me with a case.”

“You? Need help? Say it ain’t so.”

“I filed a motion that I’d like to see moved to Judge Seaver’s docket. Do you have any pull with him?”

“I let him win at golf and don’t force him to cheat to do it. I’m not quite in your father’s league. You do know why your old man puts up with the cheating, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Mark went on as though Heath hadn’t spoken. “Because Seaver hates knowing he isn’t getting away with anything. And he’s not good enough to cheat
and
beat your father.” He chuckled. “Man, I love that.”

“Great. A fan club.”

“You old man is great at what he does.”

“I’ve grown up hearing about it. Let’s talk about how great you can be.”

“Sure. One of my favorite subjects.”

“Can you move a motion onto Seaver’s calendar?”

“Probably. What kind of motion is it?” Mark’s chair squeaked, and Heath knew the man was reaching for a pen.

“I’m working on getting a death penalty commuted.”

Mark didn’t speak for a moment. “This is that Lester thing, isn’t it? The pro bono case?”

“Darnell Lester, that’s right.”

The sound of a pen tapping against a blotter echoed over the connection for a moment. “Man’s convicted of killing a police officer, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. I’m not trying to get him out of prison, Mark. That’s not what this is about. I’m just trying to beat the death penalty. The guy made a mistake.”

“The courts don’t put you on death row for making a mistake, buddy. They put you on death row for killing other people who shouldn’t have been killed.”

“Review my motion and I think you’ll get a better understanding of what’s going on here.”

“I already understand. At best, this is a slim chance.”

“If I don’t get the case out of Winters’s hands, there’s no chance at all.”

“I get that. Winters’s father was a highway patrolman who was killed by an escaping felon.”

“Which is one of the reasons he should have recused himself from the case.”

“Couldn’t do that and you know it. A judge who admits to any kind of predisposition on cases isn’t going to sit the bench long, or he’ll get his rulings questioned ad infinitum.”

“The motion, Mark. I need it to hit Seaver’s calendar.”

“Your father might not be happy about this. I’ve already heard him mention a couple times that he’s not thrilled about the time you’re putting into this case.”

“Maybe it would be better if the firm got called under fire because there’s some question about me going the distance on this one.”

“Whoa, buckaroo. Don’t leave the rails just yet. No one would dare say that.”

“I want that motion on Seaver’s calendar, Mark. That’s the deal.”

“What deal?”

“I’m getting pulled out of here in the middle of that case. That could be leverage by another attorney to not only file for Darnell Lester, but also to sue Bridger, Constant, and McClinton.”

“No one would do that.”

“If I was the attorney following up after me, I would.” Heath knew it was possible, but he didn’t know anyone that good who would be willing to work a pro bono case.

“Did you talk to your father about this?”

“Couldn’t get past Ms. Atwater.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there.” Mark was silent for a moment. “Let me work on this. I’ll get back to you.”

“I’ll owe you one.”

“I pull this off, you’ll owe me more than that.”

“Let me know. And thanks.” Heath punched off the phone and sat back in his chair. He hated leaving things hanging with his cases when he got called away. He knew he might have been able to postpone his reactivation under legal
precedent, but the truth was that he didn’t want to. When he left the offices of Bridger, Constant, and McClinton and put on that Marine uniform, he became more of his own man than he’d ever been.

He liked that feeling, and he liked knowing that everything he did as a Marine mattered. When it came to life-or-death decisions on the battlefield, things were generally black and white. He liked that. He knew what to do there. Dealing with the court and the law, that was something different. Things tended to come in layers of gray.

Trying to work out things with his father was closer to impossible.