SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (20 page)

He explained that Detective Carol Summers, his partner, or former partner, had passed information to them. Oakley made notes as he spoke, and then he looked up.

“I see. If she’s your partner, why did she divulge personal information? She must have been pretty angry about something.”

Nolan nodded. “I don’t understand what it could be, but yeah, she’s obviously pretty pissed.”

Oakley made another note. “I’ll look into that. Next, getting you out on bail is the first priority. Can you raise bail?”

“A few thousand dollars, maybe. I’ve got a house, that’s about all. Not much by way of savings.”

Oakley made another note. “Very well, I’ll try and take care of that. Will Boswell said to make sure your bond was covered, and he’d talk to you about it later when this is cleared up.”

“Boswell? Jesus Christ, I never thought he’d be that concerned, I mean…”

Oakley smiled. “You thought he was a rich kid working his ticket to a career in politics, I guess. It’s partly true, but he told me he’s become more and more convinced that the Seals are right for him. He just wants to make a success of running the Platoon, and he says that he has a lot to thank you for, including his life on more than one occasion. So don’t worry about the bond. We’ll be in court tomorrow for arraignment, and I’ll take care of everything then. When you’re out, we’ll talk again. Any more questions?”

“None. And thanks, to you and Lieutenant Boswell.”

“No problem. I’ll see you in court.”

He slept little that night. The cellblock was alive; the ‘clang’ of steel doors being locked and unlocked. The tramp of feet, and the sounds of curses and insults, sometimes silenced by what sounded suspiciously like a physical blow. Then a short silence, as the faceless prisoners absorbed the reality of their position at the bottom of American society, and where they were vulnerable to whatever abuse the guards or other prisoners cared to dish out. After the brief pause, the noises would all start again. By the morning he was tired and haggard.

I’m astonished anyone lasts more than twenty-four hours in this hellhole.
I’d almost prefer to spend time in an Arab village than here. Almost.

The door clanged open.

“You’re due in court, Nolan. Face the wall. I have to fit cuffs on you.”

It was a new guy, a guard he hadn’t seen before. The guy looked young and mean, as if he’d enjoy the prisoner putting up resistance, so he could flex his muscles and put him down. Nolan did as he was told, and the wannabe redneck clamped on wrist and leg irons so that normal walking was impossible. He could only shuffle. It was done deliberately to hurt and humiliate. He kept calm.

If the time ever comes when I need to physically deal with these people, it’s best not to let them know how a Navy Seal handles himself in a combat situation.
But if the guy thinks the manacles would stop me, he’d have a surprise coming.

The courthouse appearance was another chance for the media circus to enjoy the disgrace of a Navy Seal. There was no secret now about his background. The detectives had seen to that. Probably Ashe, there was an enemy he was wary of. He grimaced to himself.

 
My training has sure given me the tools to take down the enemy, whoever they are. One day, maybe, I'll meet Ashe outside, and there’ll be a settling of accounts.

As he was led into the courtroom, he took a deep breath. He realized he’d been daydreaming about taking revenge on the system. The system was the wrong target. He needed to focus on how this had all come about. He was convinced that there was someone who’d orchestrated the whole show, and right now, he needed a name. That was the enemy he had to take on, not blowhards like Ashe. His lawyer, Oakley, was in court to greet him with smile.

“How are you this morning, Chief Nolan?”

“I’m good. No problems.”

“Uh huh,” the lawyer replied uncertainly. “For a man with no problems, you look like hell.”

“My cell didn’t have an en suite shower.”

He smiled again. “We’ll see about getting you out of there. The bond is okay, as I said, so it’s up to the judge.”

They both looked up as the judge walked into court. “All rise!”

It took all of ten minutes, and he was almost free, temporarily, anyway. The prosecutor had objected, but Oakley had prevailed, and he was released on one million dollars bail. The lawyer turned to him.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Nolan, the bond is taken care of. It’s already on the way. We’d anticipated this. Give it an hour, no more, and you’ll be out of here.”

“Yeah, thanks, Mr. Oakley. You’re telling me the Lieutenant put up one hundred thousand dollars, is that right?”

“That’s about the size of it, yes.”

“Okay. I mean that’s pretty generous of him. I’ll pay him back every cent.”

“You already have, I told you. It’s done, and that’s an end to it. Will’s not short of money. His trust fund is more money than most people see in a lifetime.”

“Even so, it’s a lot of cash.”

“Not to him. If you want to repay him, keep him alive the next time you’re on an operation.”

“There may not be a next time.”

Oakley fixed him with a stare. “That’s crap. This whole case stinks to high heaven. When everything is unraveled, you’ll be back with your unit. Just stay calm, and be patient.”

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem. What will you do now?”

“Now? I’ll go and see my kids, and then I need to talk to Carol.”

“That may not be a good idea. She’ll be a prosecution witness, I would think.”

“I have to talk to her. I need to find out who put her up to this.”

Oakley nodded. “Just be careful when you speak to her. I’ll catch you later.”

They shook hands and parted. Nolan went to find a cab to take him to his home in San Diego. He was waiting on the street outside the courthouse when Carol approached him.

He tensed but forced himself to relax.

"What's going on, Carol? How could you think I'm a rapist and murderer?"

"Go to hell!"

He stared at her as she stormed off. He finally found a cab and reached his house, out in the ‘burbs of San Diego. His first task was to check his car, a red Mustang convertible he kept running like a Swiss watch. After the kids, it was his pride and joy. Both children were at their grandparents. He hadn’t expected to find anyone home, especially now that things were tricky between him and Carol. Normally, she’d taken time off to be home and make the house more welcoming, but the house was empty. He felt a brief pang of loneliness and pushed it to one side. That was weak-minded thinking, and he had to stay strong. For the time being, he needed to find out who the guilty party really was, that was the real crunch. He picked up his mail, nothing interesting there, so he tossed it to one side. He couldn’t delay. It had to be done. He called Carol Summers, using the house phone he knew wouldn’t show up on her caller id.

“Detective Summers, how may I help you?”

The familiar voice, his whole being ached for her, for what they’d once had.

“It’s Kyle.”

“What do you want?”

“Look, I didn’t do what they’re accusing me of. I have to see you and talk to you. It’s all a crock of shit, a setup.”

“A setup? You cannot be serious. You know exactly what you did. I found out the whole story, you bastard! You thought I’d never find out how my husband was killed? Don’t you remember? He was in that bar in downtown Baghdad?”

He was puzzled, what was this? “You told me, sure, you said it was a suicide bomber that got him.”

“Oh yeah, it got him alright. The bomb you planted to make it look as if it was a suicide attack. Maybe you thought it’d take out a high-ranking al Qaeda leader, but you got my husband instead, you fucker. You murdered him; so don’t give me that shit about a conspiracy. You think I don’t hear those stories every day in the precinct. It’s always a setup, and they’re always innocent. Jesus Christ, to think I trusted you, and all the time you killed my husband! And you thought I wouldn’t believe the rest of it, once I knew what you were capable of? You’re just a worthless piece of shit, and I hope you get everything you deserve.” She was almost shouting, her voice hot with rage and spite.

“It just isn’t true, Carol, really. I don’t understand any of it, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. I honestly know nothing about a bomb in a bar.”

“No? Take a look at the website, ‘Notable American War Criminals’. Take a good, long look at June 20th, 2009. You can see the pictures of you and your buddy planting the device. Then take another look, and you’ll see a picture of Colin Summers, an officer, going into the bar later that day, just before it blew up. They told me it was a suicide bomber, but it wasn’t anything of the kind. It was plain murder. I maybe can’t prove it, but you’ll sure as hell go to jail for raping that girl, Nolan. And then you have to answer for those murders you committed, I reckon you’ll spend the rest of your life in a cell, if they don’t tie you down and fill your veins with poison. I talked to Ashe and Preston. I was very careful to only give enough info that couldn't be suppressed in court, no reference to doctors. Memory loss! You’re in more trouble than anyone would believe. You’ve done it this time. I hope you rot in hell, you bastard! Don’t call me again.”

She slammed the phone down, and he listened to the silent earpiece, stunned.

After a couple of minutes, he recovered enough to switch on and boot up his PC. He loaded Google on his browser page and keyed in Notable American War Criminals. A bunch of results came in, so he added, ‘Iraq’, and after a moment’s hesitation, ‘Nolan’. Seconds later, he was staring an image of himself, several images, in fact. In one, he was with another Seal who had his back to the lens, but he could identify him as Zeke Murray. The two Seals were clearly planting an explosive device, but where? He was no stranger to planting explosives, but in a civilian bar? Never, not in a million years. In another image, the remains of the bar after the explosion were in evidence. He studied it carefully. It sure looked damning, except he knew they hadn’t done it, the before and after pictures had obviously been fixed, but how? He needed a computer expert to look at them, to examine the entire site and see if there were any clues about how it had been done. The frame-up was so evil, so warped and complicated, that it required a warped and evil mind to put together. First things first, he took a few deep breaths and put through a call to the Robsons, his kids’ grandparents who lived upstate. He asked to speak to his children, but they told him the kids were still in school. Their voices were cold, and they didn’t invite him to call back. He briefly thought about explaining it all, but Carol was right. The story of a setup sounded like the lies of a desperate and very guilty man. And Carol would have talked to them, which would leave him double damned. He mumbled he’d call back later, and set to thinking again about those images. He didn’t know anybody that may help, not outside of the service, and his pass had been automatically revoked so he couldn’t get inside the base to talk to anyone. The only point of contact was Popeye’s, the bar run by the former Navy Chief Art Winkelmann. He left the house, climbed into his Mustang, and drove across town to park outside the bar. He went inside. It was before the midday rush, and there were only three people sitting at the bar. Art smiled automatically, but when he recognized Nolan his smile faded.

“Kyle,” he nodded.

“Art. I need your help.”

Winkelmann nodded. “Sure you do, buddy. I’m sorry, Kyle, but I can’t do anything for you. Maybe you’d better find somewhere else to do your drinking.”

“What?”

“You heard me. A lot of the guys are not happy about the stain you’ve put on the Service. It’s in your own interests to leave. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry, but Nolan knew he’d hit a brick wall. He nodded.

“So long, Art.”

He climbed into the Mustang, started the engine, and kicked down savagely on the gas, slewing the wheel over to exit the car park in a hail of stones kicked up by the tires. He headed for home. It looked like the only place he could hide from the torrent of abuse the case had showered on his head. And he needed to think. His next court appearance was in two weeks, and by then he intended to make some progress in untangling the web that had ensnared him. But he had to have help, and every door was slammed shut in his face. He stopped at a liquor store on the way home and bought supplies of booze, four bottles of Jack Black. He got home and parked outside his house, went inside and broke the seal on the first bottle. The amber liquid slid down his throat, and for the first time since he’d arrived back in the US, he felt himself starting to relax. He poured more whiskey into his glass, and turned on the TV to watch an old movie, anything to take his mind off of his problems. When he awoke the next morning, the TV was still on, showing a repeat of some game show. He got up and stretched, and thought about a shower and change of clothes.