Project StrikeForce (16 page)

Deion motioned for Jaabir to step back. “There’s
no reason for that. He wants to talk, don’t you?”

The young man said nothing, watching Deion with
wide brown eyes.

“We just want to ask you some questions. We won’t
hurt you, we just want to talk.”

Jaabir raised his hand but Deion grabbed it.
Koshen glanced from Jaabir to Deion, then spoke. “Yes, I am Koshen.”

Deion smiled and nodded. He tossed the remains of
the leather journal in the corner, then stepped to the side of the room and
took an empty chair, dragging it across the floor, setting it down across from
the young man. He sat, facing Koshen. “That’s good, really good. It’s nice to meet
you, Koshen. We know you were involved in the bombing. A truck full of
explosives?”

Koshen nodded, swallowing hard.

“That’s good,” Deion said.
Just keep working
him.
“You helped rig explosives in the truck, didn’t you? You can tell me.
I’m not going to hurt you. It’s in the past. Can you answer a few questions,
Koshen?”

His ear-piece crackled to life. “Deion, we’re
picking up an increase in cell phone traffic within a mile of your position.”

He turned. From the scowl on Nancy’s face he knew
she had also heard Clark’s message. “Jaabir, did anyone know you were bringing
us here?”

Jaabir shook his head. “Just General Azim and his
closest men.”

He keyed his mic. “Anything from big bird?” he
asked Clark.

“No visual. Karen is running down the SIGINT.”

He turned back to the young man. “Koshen, was the
man you helped named Abdullah? Was he the man who planned the bombing?”

Koshen glanced down until his chin touched his
chest, then shook his head.

“You can tell us the truth. The man’s name was
Abdullah? You helped him with explosives, right? It was a fertilizer bomb,
wasn’t it? Koshen, look at me, you can tell me.”

Koshen raised his head, looking to Jaabir and then
to Deion. He nodded. “Yes, I helped Abdullah.”

“See, it’s okay.” He smiled. “What we don’t know
is why Abdullah picked that base.” He paused, trying to figure out how to ask
without putting more pressure on the young man. Koshen was loyal, but not
stupid. If he could give him an out—a way to give them the information they
needed without betraying Al-Qaeda—he knew he could get the young man talking.
“Do you know what they were doing at that base?”

Koshen shook his head.

“They were testing new equipment. That’s all.”
Time
to spin it.
“They were just men and women doing a job. Then Abdullah sent a
man with a bomb. There was a doctor and a nurse. They weren’t enemy soldiers.
The doctor provided health care to some of the locals.”

Koshen said nothing.

Deion looked around and found a dirty water bottle
on a table against the wall. “Jaabir, can we get Koshen some water? He looks
thirsty.”

Jaabir frowned, but he grabbed the water bottle
and roughly poured some in Koshen’s mouth. “I do not think you should be so
kind,” Jaabir grumbled. “Ask him your questions and I will beat him until he
answers.”

“That’s not the way we do things. We’re the good
guys.”

In the back, Nancy rolled her eyes while Valerie
and Neil watched, silent.

“There, you’ve had some water, do you feel better?
I bet you where thirsty, weren’t you.”

Koshen tried to avert his eyes, then finally
caught Deion’s gaze and nodded.

“Do you think Abdullah made a mistake? Anyone can
make a mistake. You think maybe he just picked the wrong place?”

Koshen opened his mouth and closed it. “No, he did
not make a mistake.”

“Why did he pick this base?” Jaabir asked, swinging
his hand back.

Deion caught Jaabir’s hand again. “No. We don’t
hit someone who is cooperating. We thank them. Koshen, why did Abdullah pick
that base? Was it because he knew about the testing? Was it the drone?”

His ear-piece crackled again. “We’re picking up
movement,” Clark said. “The area is getting hot.”

Fuck!
He whirled around. “Jaabir, did you
set us up?”

Jaabir backed away, but Deion jumped from his
chair and grabbed Jaabir’s pato, wrapping it around his fingers, tightening the
rough fabric against Jaabir’s throat. “Was that the plan? Get us here and kill
us?”

Jaabir trembled as Neil grabbed Deion’s hands.
“Whoa, look at him, he’s terrified. Jaabir, what’s going on?”

Jaabir’s eyes darted around the room. “We must all
leave. Now!”

“We can’t leave without getting our info,” Nancy
said. She raised her pant-leg and pulled the Ka-Bar knife, then pointed at
Koshen. “Either he tells us what we need to know, or I start cutting off
fingers.” She stepped menacingly towards the young man. “You understand that?
Tell me what I want to know or you’ll have two bloody stumps.”

Valerie jumped in and grabbed Nancy’s shoulder.
“Jesus, Nancy, we don’t do that kind of thing!”

“The fuck we don’t,” Nancy said. She turned back
to Koshen, who cringed from her gaze. “Why did Abdullah want to attack that
base? Where is he now? Who helped him?” She advanced, knife in hand.

“Calm down,” Deion said. The situation was
escalating out of control, but their lives depended on remaining calm. “Jaabir,
what happened to your man, Wazir?”

Jaabir struggled to pull free of Deion’s grasp.
“He’s outside. Watching.”

“Watching for what? Is it the Taliban?”
Realization dawned on him. “It’s not Azim’s men. It’s Al-Qaeda.”

Jaabir nodded his head. “Yes. We must not let them
find us. They will kill us all.”

“Why?” Valerie asked.

“Because,” Koshen spoke, in heavily accented
English, “Azim was to deliver me to a safe house in Pakistan. Abdullah promised
that if General Azim did not keep me safe, Abdullah would have him killed. Now
they will kill you and parade your body through the streets as proof of Azim’s
treachery.”

Deion let that sink in. Neil and Valerie were
concerned, Nancy was angry, and Jaabir scared, but Koshen showed no emotion. “Koshen,
can you stop this?”

Koshen shook his head. “Why would I?”

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Valerie said.

Valerie’s words struck a nerve. He
promised
her she would be safe. “Clark, can you get us an exit?”

“No go,” Clark said. “There’s no pathway out.
You’re in a defensible position. They enemy will be there in five. They’ll have
AK-47’s and RPG’s. You’re going to have to hold your own until the cavalry
arrives.”

“How long?” Nancy asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Clark responded. “Delta has
their new deployment orders and they’re bringing Rangers with them.”

Nancy rushed up the stairs and they heard her
footsteps pounding across the floor, streams of dust falling through the
floorboards and catching the light from the bare bulb. She came back soon after
with the duffel bag full of ammo and equipment. “Wazir is gone,” she said.

“He is old,” Jaabir said with a shrug, “but not
very brave.”

Nancy snorted. “Smartest man I’ve met today.” She
opened the duffel bag and passed out ammo clips and grenades.

Deion grabbed an extra handful for his MP4. “Jaabir,
you can run, but they’ll probably catch you. You’re better off with us. Your
choice.”

Jaabir shook his head. “I do not have a choice. If
they catch me, they will kill me.”

“Val, you and Nancy take the first floor, Neil and
I will take the roof. Jaabir, guard the rear.”

Nancy pointed to Koshen. “What about him?”

“Koshen, if you have anything else to tell us, now
is the time. Why did Abdullah target that base?”

Koshen licked his lips. “There was a man that he
blamed for killing his wife. That is why he targeted the base.”

“He wasn’t after the drone?” Nancy asked.

“No,” Koshen answered. “Abdullah wanted the man to
pay for his crimes.”

“Where is he?” Deion asked. “Where is Abdullah?”

Koshen smiled sadly. “You will never find him.”

* * *

Area 51

Eric was finishing the after-action
report when Barnwell knocked on his door.

“Got a minute?” Barnwell asked.

The words on his computer screen swam in and out
of focus. He shoved the keyboard away. “I could use a break.”

Barnwell took the chair across from him and placed
a metal lunch-box on the desk. “Writing up the Denver affair?”

He shrugged. “This place runs on paperwork.”

Barnwell laughed. “Don’t I know it.” He opened the
lunch-box and withdrew two plastic cups and a bottle, pouring three fingers in
each glass. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

Eric glanced around. There were Colt M1911 parts
strewn about the coffee table in front of the couch. Except for that and the
boots in the corner, the room looked as it had when he arrived. He shrugged.
“No sense in it.”

Barnwell grinned. “Fair enough. Now, drink up,” he
said, passing one of the cups to Eric.

“This part of the after mission therapy?” Eric
asked.

“Think of it as two men shooting the breeze. Sorry
for the Scotch, I know you’re a beer man.”

He lifted the cup and took a long sip. The smell
reminded him of peat moss, but the liquor burned his mouth, then warmed
everything on the way down, settling as a fire in his belly. “Normally I’d pass
on the Scotch, but in this case….”

Barnwell smiled and took a drink from his own cup.
“How’s the arm?”

Eric gingerly flexed his right arm. “It’s good.
They stitched me up and gave me a pain patch.”

“That’s more than a pain patch. In twenty years,
they’ll be in every pharmacy in America,” Barnwell said. “It dramatically
speeds up the healing time and cuts down on the scar tissue.”

“The muscle is still sore,” he said.

Barnwell laughed. “What do you expect? Miracles?
Tell me about Denver.”

“You want me to lay down?”, he asked, pointing to
the gray fabric couch against the wall. When Barnwell did not respond, he shook
his head. “It didn’t go well.”

“I know. I was with Clark, listening. And, this
isn’t therapy. Do you know what I do here?”

He knew Barnwell was the base shrink, but the
man’s fatigues were devoid of insignias or rank. “You work directly for Smith.
I’ve seen enough paperwork with your name on it to know that you unofficially
run the place. What’s your story?”

Barnwell smiled and took another drink. “I was a
soldier once, a long time ago, during Vietnam.” He paused. “I was something of
a promising student, a doctorate in psychology at twenty-one. I was about to
attend medical school, get my doctorate in Psychiatry. My whole life was mapped
out.” He paused to take another drink, this one a long pull from the cup.

“Didn’t work out that way?” Eric asked.

“No,” Barnwell said, laughing. “Instead of
attending medical school, my deferment was denied. I attended basic training,
like everybody else, but instead of continuing to Advanced Individual Training,
I was deployed to Vietnam. I was put in charge of a psychological operations
unit, reporting to both Army Intelligence and the CIA. My doctorate research
had caught Fulton’s attention. He recruited me into the Office, and I spent the
rest of the war waging psy-ops. When the war was over, I became his right-hand
man.”

“That’s why you don’t wear rank?”

“Very perceptive,” Barnwell said, toasting him
with his plastic cup. “You have a knack for reading people. Yes, I could still
claim rank if I wanted, but there’s no need, and it’s my petulant way of poking
my finger in Fulton’s eye.” He shook his head. “When Fulton isn’t here, I’m his
proxy.” He trailed off, then realized his drink was almost empty. He leaned
forward, poured himself another, and settled back. “So, now that you’re done
stalling, how was Denver?”

“A cluster. The thing with Fletcher—”

“Yes?”

He paused. “Things went sideways and we’re no
closer to the caesium.”

“And John?” Barnwell prompted.

“He saved my life,” Eric admitted. “Fletcher had
the draw on me. I was so busy trying not to kill him that it almost cost me my
life.”

“Is that why you’re upset?”

It was his turn to laugh. “I’m not upset, Doc.”

“Then why are you about to break that cup?”

He looked down and noticed the plastic cup between
his fingers, squeezed almost to the breaking point. “Huh.”

Barnwell smiled. “Not so unusual. You were in a
highly stressful situation. It’s not the same, is it?”

“What?”

“I think you know.”

“It
is
different,” Eric admitted. “It’s
easy in Afghanistan or Iraq to distance yourself. Everything looks different,
smells different. The people, they don’t look like you. But Denver? It’s home.”

“I understand. Completely. We’ve put you in a very
unique position. Tell me about John. How did he perform?”

“He did exactly as he was trained.”

Barnwell raised an eyebrow. “He killed those men.”

“Yes, he did. He was perfect, Doc. He’s a hell of
a lot stronger than before, though. I guess we didn’t plan for that.”

“Yes,” Barnwell agreed. “For all of our technology
and planning, we still make mistakes. What about Fletcher?”

“It happened so fast,” Eric said. “Maybe he would
have missed, I don’t know. I was trying for my weapon when John shot him.”

“John saved your life but you lost Fletcher.”

Eric shrugged. “Fletcher could have known the
location. Or, maybe not. Dyer was paranoid. Fletcher might have been another
dead end.”

“Perhaps. John cost you that intel.”

“He saved my life, Doc. Can’t blame him for that.”
He tipped up the plastic cup and drained the last of the Scotch. He offered it
to Barnwell who poured more and carefully handed it back. “He’s nothing like
you expect. He killed those men, but he was tore up about it—”

“How so?”

“He’s been in firefights, but not like this. Not
up close and personal. He was like,” Eric paused, “like a lost puppy dog. A
cliché, but true.”