SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (21 page)

But what the hell for? I'm not about to show my face around the city, so I can be abused and told what a total bastard I am. If that’s what they want to believe, I can’t do anything about it.

But he wasn’t about to be on the receiving end for another day. He had everything he needed there. His computer, so he could try and piece some of it together. The booze when he needed a break from the crushing misery and despair holding him in a viselike grip. He decided to start with the Internet, and see what he came up with. Nolan spent an hour looking around the War Criminals site, but all it did was make him feel worse, and he was no further forward in working out how it had been done. The photo of the bar looked familiar, and the shot of him and Zeke rung a bell in his memory.

Were we planting explosive charges, or was it something else? Like
defusing
a charge, maybe.

He just couldn’t be sure. He looked at the time. It was long past midday, so he called a local pizza delivery and had them bring round a box of junk food to fill him with calories to keep him going. He ate it in front of the TV, washing it down with bourbon. At least he felt better afterward. It was a routine he easily slipped into, and the days sped by. During which time, he went nowhere fast.

* * *

It was two weeks later; two whole weeks that he’d squandered and got nowhere, and now he was astonished to realize it was the day of his court appearance.

Jesus Christ!

He checked his wristwatch. He had to be there in less than an hour. He showered and shaved, put on a clean shirt and tie, and climbed into the Mustang. He broke the speed limit all the way into the center of the city and left his car parked tight behind a delivery truck, hoping the hood wouldn’t be dented when the driver came to drive away. He smiled.

 
It's the least of my problems. If I'm found guilty, I won’t need a car, not for a long time, maybe never again.

He took a good, long look at his beautiful Mustang, possibly for the last time, and ran up the steps into court.

Edward Oakley III was waiting for him. He looked the same as when Nolan had seen him the first time, elegant, patrician, a picture of the successful Ivy League attorney.

“Where the hell have you been? You should have been here a half-hour ago.”

“I got held up,” he mumbled.

“Well okay, but I would’ve liked time to talk before we go into court. The case is about to be heard, so we’d…”

An usher who came out interrupted them. “State of California vs. Kyle Nolan.”

Oakley turned to him. “I guess we’ll have to play it by ear. We’re on right now. Let’s go.”

Before he moved, Nolan popped the question that had haunted him the past fortnight.

“What do you think of my chances?”

Oakley shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. Let’s see how this plays out.”

So the guy's not optimistic.

He looked at the front door. Someone had just walked in off the street, and it was slowly swinging closed. He considered his options for a few moments, but Oakley saw the direction of his gaze.

“Don’t even think about it, Mr. Nolan. I’ll give it my best shot. We’ll do everything we can to get you off.”

“I’m innocent,” he replied quietly.

Oakley nodded. “And I believe you, but we need to make the jury believe it.”

Nolan followed him into the packed courtroom, and they sat down behind the defense table.
 

“All rise, the honorable Judge Edgar Reece presiding.”

He got to his feet, and the judge marched in.

“What’s he like?” Nolan whispered to Oakley.

“He’s tough, and he’s ex-Navy. He wouldn’t have been my first choice,” the lawyer replied gloomily. His buoyant optimism had already ratcheted down a notch, Nolan realized.

Great!

Judge Reece stared at the prosecutor’s table adjacent to the defense.

“Is the District Attorney ready to proceed?”

“We are your honor.”

“Very well, we’ll…”

He stopped as the doors crashed open, and a man strode into the courtroom, another lawyer, no doubt. And then Nolan blinked as he saw the man behind him. Every head turned to watch the dramatic entrance of Rear Admiral Drew Jacks, USN, wearing spotless dress whites, emblazoned with the ribbons of numerous campaigns. On his shoulder he wore a single Admiral’s star, with a single gold stripe on his shoulder. Jacks was the man who ran the entire Seal operation at Coronado. He was in his forties, short and bow-legged, but broad shouldered and rock-solid, with close cropped blonde hair. He walked fast, as if he was in a rush to get somewhere, which he usually was. He had just a hint of a swagger, but it was the swagger of pride in his men, not a personal boast. The crisp lines of his uniform were a perfect fit to a physique that was the result of constant training and long workouts, and more successful missions recorded in his jacket than most men would ever dream of. A Naval Aide who hesitated at the courtroom door followed the Admiral. Judge Reece stared down from his bench, obviously angry that someone had taken the spotlight off him in his own court, as the lawyer went up to him.

“What the hell is going on? We have a trial in progress. What is the meaning of this?”

The lawyer went up to the bench and put a document in front of him. “Not any more you haven’t, your honor. This is a Federal warrant, sworn under the Patriot Act. This is a national security matter. The trial is over.”

“You can’t…”

“We can, Sir, and we are. The Patriot Act allows us to take over custody of this man. If you have any problems, you can take it up with Washington, but we are within the law as laid down by the Patriot Act. You will release him to our custody, or face a Federal court and explain why you have disobeyed the law.”

The judge nodded his acceptance and sat back while the lawyer approached Nolan.

“You’re to come with us, Chief Petty Officer Nolan.”

Admiral Jacks caught his eye and nodded. Nolan got up and joined them, and they walked out of the courtroom together. He looked aside at Jacks.

“What gives, Admiral? What’s going on?” Nolan was conscious of a group of cops waiting in the hallway, giving him angry stares. The word had gone out in seconds, and they weren’t exactly celebrating that their prisoner had escaped the net.

“Not now, Chief. We have to find a private room where we can talk.”

“Here, Sir.” The attorney opened a wood paneled door and ushered them in. He and the aide made to follow, but Jacks shook his head. “Wait outside you two. This is just for the ears of me and the Chief.”

He shut the door and grinned at Nolan. “Better take a seat, Son. I expect you’re a bit shaky after all this nonsense.”

He sat down. “Okay, what’s happening, Sir?”

“They want you, back at Bagram. There’s a mission on the board, and you have to be in on it.”

“Why me, Sir?”

“It’s all to do with Neptune Spear, and the recon mission you did to check out the possibility of another bin Laden stepping into Osama’s shoes?”

“I still don’t understand.”

“We want you to go back. The sighting has now been confirmed through other assets. This Riyad character is there, holed up in Abbottabad, there’s no doubt. The problem is, we’ve done overflights, both high and low level, and we’ve scanned the place with everything we have. Yet we came up a blank, every time. We can’t locate him.”

“Maybe he’s not there?”

“He’s there. After your platoon went in, they increased the defenses. The place is almost impregnable, and they wouldn’t do that if they were just cultivating opium in the grounds. It’s the perfect place for him, hell it’s almost like a tourist site there now, and a brilliant smokescreen. Getting in by air like the last time is almost impossible, not without taking heavy losses. The target must be in that bunker system that was rumored to be underneath the grounds of the bin Laden compound, and we need someone to guide us in. The wounded Pakistani you brought back, Danial Masih, he worked as an engineer for the water and sanitation department in Abbottabad. They never understood then that he wasn’t a Muslim, and he kept it very quiet, so he learned a lot. They’d have been real pissed if they knew he was Christian.”

Nolan almost laughed. “I can imagine.”

“Yes, they’re not the most tolerant folk in the world, but back to his position in the water company. He says he’s prepared to lead us through the underground tunnels to come out underneath the compound, and that hopefully, would lead us to this bunker. It can’t be anywhere else.”

Nolan nodded. “I see. But why do you need me, if you’ve got a guy to lead a team in?”

“It’s this Masih guy. He’ll do it, but the only man he trusts is you. Without you, he won’t even think about going. We tried bribes, persuasion, you name it, but it’s a no go. It has to be you.”

“What about these charges against me? I’m still on bail. I can’t just skip and leave the country.”

“You’re not on bail, not any more. It’s been taken care of.”

“So I’m in the clear?”

“Not exactly, no. There are still questions to be answered, but when this operation is over, we’ll put all of our resources into clearing it up. I know you’re innocent, Chief. The problem is proving it. We need to go get this Riyad guy first. It’s the priority, and then we’ll deal with the other problem. Colonel Weathers told me he asked you to look for whoever did these crimes.”

“That’s right. Sir, you said, ‘we’.”

“Yeah, I’m coming back to Afghanistan, as far as Bagram, and I’ll direct the operation from there. It’s too important. We can’t make a hash of it. And I guess they’ll want someone to blame if it goes wrong,” Jacks smiled. “I’m always good for that.”

Nolan grinned back, the first time in a long time he’d felt able to lighten up. “When do we leave, Sir?”

“Right away, before that bastard gets on the move again and skips town. We’re driving straight to San Diego International. There’s a C-17 loaded on the tarmac, just waiting for us to join them.”

“Sir, my Mustang is outside. I can’t just leave it there.”

Jacks opened the door and called the officer in. “Captain Barnes? Take this man’s keys. You’ll drive his car back to the base, and make sure it’s secure until he comes home. Chief, give him the keys. We’re leaving.”

They left the room and started to walk out of the courthouse. He looked up, feeling a hostile gaze on him. Detective Carol Summers stood there.

“If you think you can pull a stunt like this and get away with it, Nolan, you’re wrong. I’ll pull every string I know how to get you back inside this court and indicted for the crimes you’ve committed. I intend to add my husband’s murder to the list, so you can get yourself prepared for a long stay upstate.”

“Carol, I…”

“Go fuck yourself, Nolan. I don’t deal with rapists and murderers!”

She swung on her heel and left. Jacks raised his eyebrows.

“You’re sure in her black books.”

“Tell me about it, Admiral.”

They flew back to Afghanistan on a C-17 cargo plane. Nolan was convinced that since they’d ended the interrogations at Abu Ghraib, a few hours spent in the hold of the Globemaster would make the most reluctant prisoner eager to talk, to spare them more pain and cramped misery. He had to lie on the floor for the entire journey, the aircraft had been stripped out to carry heavy equipment, and there were no seats, not even canvas jump seats. He made a bed on the metal floor of the cargo hold, but the noise was shatteringly loud, and the vibrations tore through his body, so he spent the most uncomfortable few hours he could recall in a long time. Even the police cell in San Diego was more comfortable than this, or less uncomfortable. In deference to the Admiral’s rank, Jacks was fortunate enough to have a cot lashed up behind the cockpit, and he seemed to sleep most of the way. They landed at Ramstein in Germany for refueling and to take on more cargo. When the wheels touched down at Bagram, he had to spend long minutes massaging his legs to get the blood flowing around his body. They walked down the ramp, and the first person he saw was Lieutenant Boswell waiting to greet him. He was disappointed not to see Mariko Noguchi, but he swallowed any questions he wanted to ask after her. Boswell held out his hand.

“Good to see you again, Chief. I gather they gave you a hard time Stateside.”

“Not half as hard as the ride on that torture machine,” he nodded. Boswell smiled; he was no stranger to traveling in the giant aircraft. An aide drove up in a Humvee, and Jacks climbed inside. Nolan declined, telling the Admiral he needed a good long walk to get his blood pumping again. They started out toward the JSOC compound, and Boswell chatted to him as they strolled along.

“You know why we wanted you back?”

“Yeah, Jacks told me. So I guess the target is still there, in Abbottabad?”

“He is, we’re pretty certain. At least, he’s there somewhere. Our best guess he’s well underground. That Pak we brought back, Danial Masih, he reckons he can lead us in through the tunnel system, but he’ll only go along if you’re in the party. He says he can rely on you to bring him back, after the last time. He’s adamant he won’t trust anyone else. At least it got the brass moving to get you out of San Diego.”

“Yeah, that was no picnic. How is Danial? He was pretty bad when we brought him back.”

“The medics worked a miracle, especially when we found out he was the key to unlocking Riyad’s hideout. He’s up and walking, and pretty mobile. He’ll make out.”

“I want to go see him.”

“Sure, but make it quick, I want you to meet the Platoon. They’re waiting to buy you a beer, now that you’ve escaped the cops.”

“About that. That was terrific, you fixing me up with the lawyer and putting up the bail.”

Boswell waved it away. “Think nothing of it. Edward owes me a favor or two. I helped him out more than once at Harvard. You’d do it for any of the guys in Bravo. It’s no big deal. So you want to go over to the hospital, right now?”

“Yep, right away.”

They were almost at the medical facility, and Nolan reflected on what Boswell had said.

Maybe it's not a big deal if you're wealthy and connected, but for most people, putting up that kind of bail money, and organizing a high-end lawyer, is beyond their dreams. Yet there is something I can put my money on. Boswell is not quite the snotty kid as I first thought, and neither is he the killer. It would’ve been easy to let me rot in a San Diego cell, and he’d have been free and clear. No, the Lieutenant can be crossed off the list.

He felt he’d achieve something as they entered the pristine lobby of the base hospital. A nurse looked up, actually a pretty Air Force Corporal. Nolan forced himself not to give her the once over as Boswell stepped up to the desk.

“We’re here to visit a Mr. Danial Masih. He’s a civilian, being treated for wounds sustained during an operation. Would you direct us to his room?”

She looked up, surprised. “Mr. Masih? He left about an hour ago, Lieutenant.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What do you mean, left? How did he leave? Why did you let him go?”

“Well, Sir, it wasn’t anything we could control. There were two men who came for him. One of them was the cab driver. The other was his imam. Apparently, Mr. Masih had expressed a wish to go to prayers at the central mosque in Kabul, so they took him away. I saw them wheel him out in a wheelchair. Even though he can walk, he was sleeping, as I recall. But there was no problem, they said he’d be back with him later for further treatment.”

She saw their expressions and realized something was wrong. “You know we can’t stop anyone asserting their religious rights, especially the Muslims. They tend to get pretty ornery.”

Nolan stared at her. “We need descriptions of those men, right now, and the registration number of that cab he went in, if possible. Are you sure they headed into Kabul?”

“Well, yes, but why? Is something wrong?”

“You could say that. Danial Masih has vital intelligence for our military. He’s an intelligence asset. He should never have left the hospital.”

“But he’ll be back later, and you can talk to him then.”

“He won’t be back.”

She looked indignant. “How can you know that?”

“Because Danial Masih is not a Muslim. He’s a Christian, and the enemy has just kidnapped him from under your nose. Write down everything you can remember. We may need that information later. We can get the vehicle registration from the main gate. They always record them.” He turned to Boswell. “Let’s go, they have an hour on us, but there might still be time.”

They raced out of the hospital and ran across the base to the complex that housed the stores, restaurants, and bars. They headed to the bar, and Nolan was greeted by rousing cheers of welcome as he appeared. The noise died away when they saw his grim expression.

“What is it, Chief?” Will asked. “What’s wrong?”

“You know how vital Danial Masih is to this mission?”

“Well, sure.” Will looked around. “I wouldn’t like to say too much in here, but yeah, we’ve been briefed.”

“He’s been taken, kidnapped from the base hospital.”

He quickly explained how they’d done it, the ploy with the fake Imam.

“They’re an hour ahead of us. If we move fast, we should be able to head them off. Lt, would you go across to JSOC intel? We need the names and addresses of known al Qaeda sympathizers in and around Kabul. We’ll need to check them all.”

“You’re sure they won’t have taken him out of the city?”

“Pretty sure, it’s the obvious place to hide him, in a large city. Out in the countryside, they’d stick out like sore thumbs.”

Boswell nodded. “I’ll get right over there.”

“Meet us at our quarters. We’ll prepare everything for when you reach us.” He turned to Bryce. “Will, we need transportation, weapons, and equipment for a fast operation; something that’ll impress the locals. You know the drill, shock and awe. As soon as we’ve located these gomers, we’ll go straight in. Any delay, and they’re likely to kill him.”

“Unless they already have.”

“Not likely. They’ll want to know how much he’s told us. Somehow, they found out he was from Abbottabad. I’d think he might have given his original address to the nurse when he was admitted. He was pretty woozy, and it rang alarm bells in the local insurgent community. They have people in the base. It wouldn’t be hard for a cleaner or a janitor to overhear a conversation and report back. I reckon he’s alive, but not for long. We need to get to him fast. Vince, get over to the gate, and ask the MPs on duty for the registration of a taxi that left in the past hour or so. Let’s move, people.”

The mood had changed, from celebration, rounds of drinks and backslapping, to business. It was Seal business. Nolan chased the last of them out of the bar and sped over to his quarters. He’d been wearing his working uniform. He took a lightning fast, thirty-second ice-cold shower to freshen up, before he changed into his camo kit and went to work. Fifteen minutes later, they were assembling in the ready room. Boswell, Will, and Vince were still out; working on the resources they’d need to make the operation work. He’d just finished strapping on his armored vest and fending off questions about his incarceration when the big black PO1 appeared.

“It’s all organized, Chief. I got ‘em to lend us a Stryker and a couple of Humvees. They’re enough to transport the Platoon with a bit of a squeeze.”

Nolan raised his eyebrows. Using a Stryker to drive into the center of the city sure was going in mob-handed. The twenty-ton Stryker was a modern APC, designed to carry infantry into battle, with the protection of lightweight but strong hull armor. It also benefited from its most fearsome feature, the Protector M151 Remote Weapon Station with a mounted .50-cal M2 machine gun, together with a secondary 7.62mm M240 machine gun.

“What armament do we have on the Humvees?”

“They both have mounted .50 cals. We’ll be packing a lot of firepower.”

Nolan nodded. “We may need all of it. You know what these people are like. They seem able to organize a rent-a-mob within minutes of an operation going in. If they see those .50 cals, they’ll think twice before trying anything. What we need now is that intel, otherwise we’ll be all dressed up with nowhere to go.”

He picked up his Mk 11 Sniper Rifle and sighted down the scope. It all looked okay. He’d have liked more time to check it out after the armorer had worked on it, but more time was a luxury they didn’t have. And the Mk 11 looked awful long for the kind of fight they were going into.

“Will, this could be cumbersome for CQB, I could use…”

“Already there, Chief. I drew an MP7 for you as a backup weapon, nice and compact. I thought you might want something small if we’re fighting inside a building. Most of the guys have drawn MP7s for this one too. They’re leaving their 416s in the armory.”

Nolan smiled. “Copy that, thanks Will.”

They both looked around as Boswell came bustling through the door.

“I’ve got it, the likely names and addresses of insurgent supporters. There are three in all, and one of them is the central mosque.”

“You’re not serious?” Nolan stared at him. “You mean to tell me the insurgents have a base inside the mosque?”

Boswell shrugged. “That’s what they say at intel.”

Nolan thought fast. “He’s not likely to be there. The nurse said they mentioned the central mosque when they took him. That would’ve been a false lead. What else do we have?”

“A restaurant, they’re not sure if it’s still in use, and a repair workshop for motorcycles. Some of the guys here use it to service their bikes, especially the pilots. They like to think of themselves as hotshots,” he grinned.

“I like the sound of the workshop. It sounds right. If our men go there, it’d be a good intelligence-gathering hub. You know how men like to talk. Even if he’s not there, I’d put my money on them knowing where he is. Let’s take the workshop first.”

Boswell nodded. “The workshop it is. I’ll take command of the Stryker and lead us in. Lucas, you’ll man the remote weapons position. Nixon, handle the commo.”

Richard Nixon nodded. A recent recruit to Bravo, he’d worked all his life to play down the unfortunate name he’d been given at birth. There’d been a lot of speculation about why his parents had chosen it. The best Nolan could come up with was they were Republicans with a warped sense of humor. But worse, he even looked like a young ‘Tricky Dicky’, complete with oiled, swept-back black hair and heavy growth of black beard on his chin, no matter what the time of day. Boswell turned from him to Dave Eisner. “Can you handle the Stryker?”

Dave nodded. “No sweat.”

“Okay. Chief, I want you to bring up the rear in the second Humvee. Will, you’ll take the other Humvee and follow right behind me.”

“We’re waiting for Vince,” Nolan pointed out. He…”

“I got the registration,” Vince called out as he entered the room. “It’s a real Kabul registered cab, a black ten-year-old Mercedes.”

Boswell nodded “Okay, people, you know what to do. Let’s move out. And remember, time is not on our side. We’re running against the clock. There’s no time to go in quietly. Shock and awe, guys, shock and awe.”

They piled into the vehicles, and Nolan grinned as Boswell’s head popped out of the top hatch of the Stryker.
 

“He reckons he’s in command of an armored column,” Zeke joked as he fired up the motor of their Humvee.