Renegade (2013) (26 page)

“OPEN UP
.
”
Heath nodded at the brig door and handed over the orders Major Hollister had issued for him. “I’m here to see the prisoner.”

“You’ll have to leave your weapons here, sir.” The MP was young, but he was thorough. His partner stood ten feet away and watched with bright interest.

Heath put the paper bag he was carrying on the desk to one side of the brig door, then passed over his assault rifle, M9, and combat knife. The weapons were stored in a metal ammo box beside the desk.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Breakfast.”

“I gotta see it before you go in.”

“Sure.” Heath scooted the bag across the desktop.

The MP took a moment to go through the two Styrofoam containers filled with lamb chops, sticky rice, yogurt, and grapes and apricots. There were also slices of naan—covered in poppy seeds and still warm and fresh from the oven—and two bottles of water.

“Looks good.” The MP returned the bag. “Beats the breakfast I got this morning.” He peered through the bars at the occupant. “Hey, Private. Stay away from the door. Do that and we’re all good.”

“What if I don’t want any company?” Pike’s voice was a ragged, sleepy roar.

“You stopped getting a choice last night when you got stuck in here. Just stay back from the door.” The MP peered through the bars again, then opened the locks and pulled the door to one side.

Pike sat against the back wall, knees drawn up, his elbows resting on them. He looked at Heath with an unreadable expression.

“Step inside the cell and immediately to one side.”

Heath nodded, reminded of how the security was when he went to see Darnell Lester. The strange thing was that there was something in Pike’s face that reminded him of Darnell, the same kind of resolute acceptance of his fate.

As soon as he stepped inside and to the side, the MP slammed the door behind him. The lock grated, and Heath was suddenly more aware of being inside the room alone with Pike than he’d thought he would be. The feeling was primitive and wary.

“Did the brass bust you down to kitchen patrol?” A slight smirk twisted Pike’s lips.

“No.” Heath placed the bag on the bed. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Get your breakfast. Half of that is mine.”

For a minute, Pike didn’t move. Heath knew the man was just being stubborn and prideful. Then Pike reached into the bag and took out one of the Styrofoam containers and a bottle of water.

Pike waved to the small cell. “You’ll have to figure out your own seating arrangements. Place didn’t come fully furnished.”

Heath took the bag and sat on the floor, stretching his legs out before him with his back against the wall. He refused to let the lack of accommodations bother him—or the lack of ease. On a good day, Pike was prickly to deal with.

Opening the container, Heath looked over the contents and inhaled the fragrant aroma. “You’re going to have to eat it with your fingers. They’re not even going to let you have plastic silverware.”

“Too bad. You should see what I can do with a spork.”

“Maybe another time.” Heath took the sarcasm as a positive thing. Of course, that could work against him too.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Heath dug into the meal with relish. He folded chunks of lamb into the naan. He seasoned the makeshift sandwich with some of the sauces provided, then took a big bite and chewed. He didn’t try to talk. Pike wasn’t going to talk until he was good and ready.

Pike outlasted Heath, though. The man sat cross-legged with his meal between his knees and focused on consuming the food like the task was the only thing on his mind. When he was finished, he closed the Styrofoam container and put it aside. He nursed the bottle of water and stared at a spot on the wall.

“We’re going to have to talk about it.” Heath set his container aside and drew his knees up.

Pike spoke without looking at him. “Is that an order?”

“No.” Heath regarded the man openly, thinking back over the little he knew about Pike. Heath had made an effort to get to know every member of his unit, through their paperwork as well as during exchanges on deployments.

To say Pike had been reticent was an understatement. The man never gave anything away, never discussed his life outside the Marines.

“I can help you, Pike.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“You killed those men.”

“I’ve killed a lot of men, Lieutenant.” Pike folded his hands behind his head and leaned against the wall. He kept his focus on the door.

“You killed Captain Zarif.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“He needed killing.”

“Why?”

Pike didn’t answer.

“Did you kill Zarif over the dead Russian? Because Zarif killed that man while he was in your custody?”

For a minute, Pike didn’t answer. “I didn’t know the Russian, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know what to think, Pike. I came here to figure out what I’m supposed to tell Major Hollister. He’s heading up the investigation of the shooting.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think you’re a murderer.”

Pike grinned, but there was no humor in his dark gaze. “I trailed Zarif and his men last night. That looks like premeditation, Counselor. Ain’t no other way you’re gonna sell that. The Marine Corps will convict me or at least kick me out.”

“Does it make a difference to you?”

Pike took in a deep breath. “I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to be locked up for the rest of my life.”

“Then let’s improve on that.”

Pike shook his head.

“Did you intend to kill Zarif and his men?”

“You representing me in this?”

“Do you want me to?”

“You can’t. The Marines will appoint an attorney when they decide to prosecute me. And they
will
prosecute me. They don’t have a choice. The relationship with the Afghans is deteriorating. The military will have to have their sacrificial goat. I don’t want it to be me, but it looks like that’s how it’s gonna be.”

Heath knew that what Pike was saying was right. Even if he wanted to represent Pike against the coming charges, he wouldn’t
be able to. Heath wasn’t signed up as a military attorney, and the Marines would go to their own legal staff first.

“This ain’t your deal, Lieutenant, so breathe easy on that score. I chose to roll the dice. This wasn’t you. Didn’t have anything to do with you.”

Heath knew that wasn’t exactly true, though. As standoffish as he was, Pike took care of his fellow Marines. The man had risked his life several times, put himself in harm’s way to protect those he served with. Heath wasn’t going to ignore that kind of dedication.

Pike continued in a soft voice. “I screwed up last night. Got into a bad situation and shot my way out of it. Turned out even worse when I got taken down by other Marines. If it’d been anybody else, I would have shot my way out of that, too.” He slowly shook his head. “Just bad luck. That’s all it was. Bad luck all the way around.” He paused. “But you need to keep your eyes open. The Afghan National Police ain’t all on the up and up.”

“Was Zarif doing something wrong?”

Pike smiled. “You see? That’s one of the main differences between my world and yours. In your world, you need proof that a guy’s bad before you can do anything. In my world, you only need to know you know. I know Zarif was bad. I just didn’t get the chance to find out how bad because things turned sideways on me.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Can’t. That’s the problem. I blew up Zarif before I could get a handle on it.” Pike took in a breath and let it out. “I can tell you this. Zarif has a connection to the dead Russian, and there are more Russians out there.”

“What do you know?”

“That’s it. I was hoping to find out more. That wasn’t in the cards.”

Listening to Pike, Heath got irritated. “You tailed Zarif because you thought he killed the Russian to protect someone?”

“Why do you think he killed the Russian?”

“His report says that the Russian had a hidden weapon.”

“That guy wasn’t holding nothing. I put him down. Didn’t have nothing on him.”

“Do you think Zarif was involved in the anti-American factions in the Afghan National Police?”

Pike shrugged. “Don’t know.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I had to guess, I’d guess that Zarif was an opportunist. Saw a chance to grab something for himself and went with it.”

“Grab what?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. Our conversation never got that far.”

Heath pushed himself to his feet and picked up the Styrofoam container. He gestured to Pike for his and took it as well. “I’m going to dig into Zarif’s background and see what I can find.”

“You’d be better off just letting it go. You stick your neck out, the Marines are liable to chop it off for you. They want to get out of this as clean as they can, and letting me take the fall would be the easiest way.”

“That’s not the right way.”

“Don’t be a Boy Scout.” Pike’s tone made his words a sarcastic accusation. “You don’t get to fix everything, no matter who your daddy is. Leave this alone. This ain’t your problem. It’s mine.” Pike looked up at Heath. “I don’t have clean hands. I’m not the kind of guy you want to put it on the line for. You need to stay focused on keeping the guys in the unit alive. Whatever Yaqub is cooking up, you can bet there’s a big price tag involved. Don’t let any of your people get cashed in while you’re distracted with me. I’m not worth it. Those people are.”

Looking at Pike, Heath was again reminded of Darnell Lester and how the man had come to accept his own fate. Heath had changed that, though. “Pike, there’s not a person out there who’s not worth
saving. Just some keep refusing to find something good in them.” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out the compass he’d spotted in Pike’s things. He showed the compass to Pike, then tossed it across the room. He still didn’t know what had prompted him to bring it with him, but he had gone along with the feeling, trusting his instincts.

Pike caught the device in one big hand and held it in his closed fist, deliberately not looking at it.

Heath resisted the impulse to smile. “Who have you got waiting on you back home? Somebody I can get in contact with for you?”

“Nobody.” Pike’s answer sounded brittle and hollow.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
Heath knocked on the brig door.

Gunney Towers and Bekah were waiting in Heath’s office when he returned. Both of them were involved with the paperwork he’d left them to handle during his absence.

Heath placed his coffee on the desk and stowed his weapons before sitting down.

“So how’s Pike?” Towers pushed a fresh stick of gum into his mouth.

“He’s fine.” Heath frowned. “Not talking much, though.”

“He don’t seem to be a fan of conversation.”

“No, he doesn’t. But that’s only part of the problem.”

Towers lifted an eyebrow. “What’s the other part?”

“Pike thinks Captain Zarif killed the Russian to cover something up.”

“Cover what up?”

Heath shook his head. “The conversation last night didn’t go that far.”

Towers tapped a finger on his clipboard. “Way I hear it, Major Hollister is wanting to clear this situation quick-like.”

“And he’ll hang Pike out to dry to do that.”

Towers nodded.

“So we have to do an end run around the major if we’re going to look into this.”

“Well, I’ve always felt that what top brass didn’t
have
to know, top brass didn’t
need
to know.” Towers smiled. “You have a starting place in mind?”

“I do. Russians. The ones operating under suspicious circumstances. Men who have no visible connection to the city, transients. We find them; we watch them. In the meantime, I want to know who Captain Zarif was running with.”

“Getting around the brass should be easy right now. They’re all watching Yaqub, trying to get information on him and his buddies. As long as we’re out of sight, we’ll be out of mind.”

“Yeah, I figured that too.” Heath turned his attention to Bekah. “How much do you know about Pike?”

She thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. “Not much.”

“See what you can find out.”

“Why the interest in Pike? I thought you were trying to get him out of trouble.”

“I am. But I also want to
keep
him out of trouble.” Heath sipped his coffee and felt immensely tired. “He’s been part of this unit for a long time, Bekah, and we still don’t know much about him. It’s time to change that.”

Towers nodded in agreement. “So you figure if Pike won’t come to you . . .”

“Then I’m going to get to know Pike one way or another. I want to know once and for all if he lines up in the asset or liability column.”

“GET UP
.
”
Yaqub kicked Jonathan Sebastian’s feet, startling the reporter awake.

Bleary-eyed, Sebastian peered up from his rumpled bed. His hair lay in disarray, and he hadn’t shaved during the last four days. His clothes were wrinkled and unkempt. The thin pallet he used for a bed was scarcely better than the cold stone floor of the cave. He hadn’t looked comfortable before being awakened. Now he looked even less so.

Sebastian brushed hair out of his eyes. “What’s going on?” His voice was a dry croak. The altitude would do that.

“It is time to get up.”

“Are we going somewhere?” The man gazed around, then down at his wrist, obviously seeking the watch that Yaqub had taken away from him. Inside the cave, he had no way of telling time. That way his mind was as great a prison as the mountain around him.

“Do not ask questions. Get up or I will have one of these men get you up.”

After a quick glance at the hard-faced men accompanying Yaqub, the American sat up and reached for his shoes. His movements were slow and jerky, his coordination not quite together. Concentrating, he pulled one shoe on and tied the laces.

Yaqub waited patiently nearby. Once Sebastian was on his feet, the man picked up his suit coat and pulled it on. His tie hung out of one pocket.

“I’m ready.” Sebastian’s voice quavered.

Yaqub knew the man feared death, terrified that each day was certain to be his last, but his ego was too strong to allow him to accept that. The possibility tortured him. Taking the newspaper from the man nearest him, Yaqub handed the periodical to Sebastian.

The reporter’s relief washed across his face, softening some of the worry lines. He slid the paper in his pocket, then fished out his tie and put it on. He straightened his wrinkled shirt as best he could, tucking it inside his pants. Using his fingers as combs, he tamed his hair but didn’t achieve his usual neatness.

“Showtime, huh?” Sebastian sounded grateful.

“Yes.” Yaqub led him to the holding area where the CIA agents were imprisoned.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Today you will threaten the Americans with the deaths of these agents if they do not release al Qaeda prisoners I will name for you.” Yaqub stepped into the holding area. He gave Sebastian the names of the twelve men he wanted to include in the broadcast. The reporter only took two attempts before he’d memorized the list, pronouncing each correctly. He was very quick and good at his job.

Two armed men stood guard in the room. They held pistols in their fists.

The three American agents sat along the rear wall. For the last four days, their treatment had become more severe. First food and water had been withheld to weaken them, and then only enough sustenance had been provided to keep them alive.

They had not been fed or given water that day. They looked at death’s door, and they were closer than they even knew.

Sebastian stepped into the center of the room and took his place where he’d stood last time. He took the newspaper from his pocket and unfurled it. He glanced at the CIA agents.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

The agents didn’t say anything.

Sebastian ignored them, then cleared his throat and nodded to Yaqub. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Yaqub waved to the man carrying the camera. The man held the unit to his shoulder and started filming. The bright fountain of light filled the small cave.

Filled with excitement and trepidation, Heath followed the other Marines to the comm center and walked in on Yaqub’s most recent broadcast. Everyone in the room was silent. The squads had been stretched thin the last few days, handling everything in Kandahar as well as searching for Yaqub and the kidnapped agents and reporter.

In addition to that, the Joint Chiefs of Staff had an inspection scheduled four days from now. That information was only now starting to disseminate through the ranks. The in-country brass had tried to talk the Joint Chiefs out of the visit given the present unrest, but the Pentagon wasn’t going to pull back. The visitation was a show of strength, proof to the Taliban and al Qaeda that the United States was withdrawing units, but it wasn’t relaxing its posture. After the recent attacks, the Department of Defense was even more determined that the visit would take place.

Heath had been pulling double duty to get his assigned tasks done as well as pursue leads that might spring Pike from the brig. Hollister’s investigation into the shooting was all but done according to the scuttlebutt that reached Heath. So far, Hollister was pinning the blame squarely on Pike, saying that revenge was a possible
motivation or letting the rumors fly about a drug buy gone bad. Either way it played, the major was distancing the Marines from Pike, circling the wagons and pointing the finger.

Heath didn’t blame the man. No matter what reason had drawn Pike to Captain Zarif, he hadn’t belonged there. Any follow-up on the Afghan captain should have gone through channels. Only Pike didn’t believe in channels. And maybe, in this instance, Pike had been right. Unfortunately he’d also been wrong.

As it turned out, there were a few other rumors circulating about Captain Zarif’s connections to the opium trade and the warlords. People Heath had talked to indicated that Zarif was the man to go to in order to get illegal goods, and the Afghan National Police captain had connections to the black market as well as stolen military equipment. There were some who claimed the captain had been sitting on a small fortune at the time of his death.

On the large screen, Jonathan Sebastian looked haggard and worn. His features were pale, but Heath knew that was probably as much from not wearing makeup for the impromptu shoot as from his incarceration. Sebastian held up the newspaper with the current date on it. Heath relaxed a little, knowing that the men were still all alive at this moment.

“Today.” Sebastian shook the newspaper emphatically. “
Today
I’m here to give you the names of men our captor wants freed from the prison there in Kandahar.”

“‘There.’ He said, ‘There in Kandahar.’” One of the CIA’s cyber team unit sounded suddenly excited. “That confirms they’re being held outside the city. The signal isn’t just being bounced around.”

The man next to the speaker shook his head warily. “If he’s not lying. If he really knows where he is. You know how these guys operate.”

All the men and women at the computer stations worked quickly,
tapping keyboards and scanning screens of data. Heath recognized their anticipation but didn’t buy into it. Zalmai Yaqub wasn’t going to make it easy for them to find him, and they’d already known the man wasn’t in the city. Heath didn’t think they’d gained anything.

One of the men operated a one-handed yoke. The imagery on his monitor raced by. “I’ve got a drone in the air. We’ve got eyes over the target area.”

Gerald Benton stayed behind his team, flicking his gaze from monitor to monitor. Heath wondered if the man could tell anything more about the information pulsing across the computer monitors than he could, then supposed Benton probably knew a lot more about the ongoing operation than he did. Heath didn’t work with any of the drone operators other than in the field. He rarely saw this end of the work.

“We’re vectoring in on the signal.”

Benton rocked on his toes slightly. “Stay with it. Don’t lose it.”

On the large screen, Sebastian waved toward the CIA agents in the back of the cave, where they were being held. Today the hostages seemed even more listless than before. Heath wondered if they were being drugged.

“As you can see, we’re all still alive.” The camera turned back to Sebastian. “But I’ve been told that if the al Qaeda prisoners aren’t freed in four days, these men will die.” He paused. “I will die.”

“Almost there.” The tech holding the control yoke jockeyed the Predator drone miles away through the mountains. He leaned into the controls, stiffly alert. “We’ve triangulated the signal to ten square miles, Special Agent Benton.”

The craggy faces of mountains flashed by the Predator’s vid array. Since the last transmission, Marine teams had set up around the mountains and erected a communications array designed to track the electronic signature of the broadcasts.

Benton leaned in closer. “Ten square miles is a lot of area to cover.”

Especially if you’re trying to get an extraction team into the area without being seen.
As daunting as the task seemed, Heath knew he wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment. All he or any Marine needed was a location and a chance of success.

Jonathan Sebastian spoke the names of the al Qaeda members in a strong voice, giving listeners time to write them down, though that wasn’t necessary because the broadcast was being recorded. When he spoke the last name, the broadcast shut down.

“Did we get the location?” Benton asked.

The drone pilot shook his head. “No sir. Best we can come up with is a ten-square-mile area.”

Benton cursed. The constant stress of the situation was taking its toll on him as well.

Heath followed the drone’s flight, noting all the mountainous terrain and potential hiding places. When American forces had first arrived in Afghanistan after 9/11, they’d fought in similar mountains, uncovering al Qaeda bases and the long tunnels that connected them. By the time rescue teams located Zalmai Yaqub, the tangos could have repositioned.

It was still a needle in a haystack.

As the cameraman put down his camcorder, Yaqub drew his
pesh-kabz
and stepped forward. Jonathan Sebastian cowered away from him, dropping the newspaper in a flutter of pages. The long, curved blade glinted in the candlelight that illuminated the cave.

Ignoring the news reporter, Yaqub walked toward the three CIA agents. They had outlived their usefulness, and his desire to spill the blood of his enemies had grown more restless and stronger. In four days’ time, the Americans would not release the al Qaeda members
he had named because Yaqub would not be there to continue negotiations. The agents had been bait, nothing more. Even dead, they could still fulfill that function. They would just be more manageable.

The agents evidently saw their fates written in his eyes. Weakly, they pushed themselves to their feet. Their manacles clinked as the short chains drew them up into an uncoordinated mass of bodies and limbs. They shouted curses and tried to defend themselves.

Sebastian cried out behind him. “Wait! What are you doing?”

“Silence.”

The reporter staggered, then started to come forward again only to have one of the guards intercept him and push him against the wall.

Yaqub turned off his emotions, thinking only of the sacrifices he and his father were making to maneuver him into a position of power. He grabbed one of the men by the hair and yanked.

Swinging the
pesh-kabz
fiercely, Yaqub powered the blade through the man’s throat, stopping his litany of curses at once.

Yaqub swung again, this time at the back of a man’s neck.

Yaqub trapped the last man, stepping onto the center of his chest. The agent grabbed Yaqub’s leg, but his grip was too weak to manage any kind of leverage. Mercilessly Yaqub drove his fighting knife into the insides of the man’s thighs, cutting the femoral arteries and assuring him of a quick termination as well.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Yaqub stepped back and watched them die, looking forward to the day when he could do the same to all of his enemies. In four days’ time, though, he would add considerably to those numbers.

When the last of the three agents stilled and slipped into death’s embrace, Yaqub leaned down and cleaned his knife on the thin blankets the CIA agents had been given. He sheathed his weapon and turned to his men. “Get the bodies out of here.”

“It will be done.”

Yaqub stopped in front of Sebastian.

The reporter swallowed hard and looked as though he was about to pass out, but he was too proud—or too terrified—to beg for his life.

“Do not worry, Jonathan Sebastian. I still have need of you.” Yaqub turned away from the American. “Take this one back and guard him. See that he is fed.”