SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (10 page)

“Yes, Sir.”

“Although you’re not in my chain of command, JSOC is concerned about a couple of detectives nosing around in Kabul, and they asked me to find out from you what’s going on. These cops say they’re here to ask you some questions. What’s it all about?”

Nolan explained what Detective Summers had told him about the rape allegation.

“I can tell you here and now, Sir, that’s it’s all a pile of horseshit. I’ve never raped a woman in my life, never had the inclination, and never needed to. I despise all rapists for the scum they are. But I guess these cops have to ask their questions. It’s just routine.”

“You’re sure this is going to go away?”

“I’m sure. I didn’t do it. They’re looking at the wrong guy.”

I know that, but will they listen? And besides, how can I explain what I was doing on a night that I have no memory of?

“Very well, I’ll pass it along. Dismissed.”

He saluted and left the Colonel’s office. To his surprise, Mariko Noguchi was waiting outside. She called after Nolan.

“Kyle, a word if I may.”

“Sure.”

“I just wanted to remind you about that beer you owe me,” she smiled. “I’ll call back later to collect, so don’t forget.”

She walked away, leaving him open-mouthed.

What’s the deal with Captain Noguchi? I have a partner back home, and a pair of cops chasing down my ass for some wild rape allegation. I sure don’t need any more female complications.

He went to his room in the Marine Facility at Bagram, stripped off his gear, and spent almost a half-hour under a powerful hot shower. Then he lay on his bunk naked and tried to grab a few hours shuteye. It wasn’t easy. The base was still in turmoil after the raid, and there was constant noise from outside as clearing up operations continued. He managed a couple of hours, and then he went back into the shower and freshened up with a torrent of cool water and changed into a clean uniform. Normally, the prospect of having a drink with Mariko Noguchi would have been something to look forward to. Normally. Except for his girlfriend back in San Diego, Carol Summers, and an SDPD detective. And the two cops waiting to talk to him.

He thought of Carol back in San Diego. They’d shared a lot of their spare time together, not least with his kids who adored her. She’d also proved herself one tough cookie when they’d found themselves facing armed hostiles on a mission of revenge, determined to kill him and the people he loved. They’d won out that time, and she’d played a major part in it. He smiled.

There will be more than a few criminals serving time who’d underrated that petite and pretty detective.

His mind wandered back to the good times they’d spent together, and some of the not so good times. He pictured her tiny but perfect frame. Detective Summers was a fresh-faced brunette with a few freckles on her nose. She had dark eyes over a tiny scar on her face, just above the right eyebrow.

She’s one great girl, and I’m a lucky guy to have a partner like her, but this allegation’s hanging over my head. Something odd’s going down, and I dread finding out how much her feelings for me have changed. Maybe gone away for good. Perhaps it’s best I’m taking off on another mission, even if it’s one the brass has no right assigning to the Platoon. Why Bravo? We desperately need some down time. Maybe it’s something to do with Lucas Grant. The guy knows the ground, and he does have a proven track record. Also Boswell’s contacts will be aware of the potential for good publicity if their boy pulls off a second successful incursion into Abbottabad. Boswell will make captain for sure. He’s welcome to his carefully plotted career. It’s enough for me to take care of my men. Bringing them back alive is more important than any promotion or medal.

He heard a knock on the door and answered it. Captain Mariko Noguchi stood there in front of him, a small smile on her lips.

“It’s time for you to put your money where your mouth is, Kyle.”

He nodded. “Hi, Captain, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, but you can call the girl who saved your ass Mariko when we’re off duty.”

“Sure. Give me a minute. Mariko it is.”

They walked the short distance to the building that served as a bar for all ranks inside the Bagram Air Base. In the distance, he could see the concertina wire that surrounded the base, and a team was still at work repairing the breach. At intervals, guard towers overlooked the entire area, all of them manned and on alert. And he saw the grim outline of the Parwan Detention Facility, also called the Bagram Theater Internment Facility. Formerly a collection of disused hangars, the place had been rebuilt after Red Cross complaints about prisoner abuse.

I wonder if any of those bleeding heart liberals have ever been on the wrong side of a gun barrel held by an angry Muslim. And the Muslims seem to be permanently angry. And they all seem to own a gun. Okay, no civilized person has any time for sadism, but why doesn’t the enemy know that? I’ve seen enough unspeakable savagery, most of it committed by the enemy on their own people, often women, to have few illusions about the enemy we face. They want human rights for their own
men when they’re taken prisoner.
That’s no problem, but hey, what about a level playing field? Quit beating their women, or mutilating them, especially young girls, when they feel so inclined.
Quit
castrating and killing ISAF prisoners when they’re unlucky enough to be captured.

After the raid, the base was getting back to normal, but there were still large numbers of soldiers patrolling both inside and outside. He noticed the Afghans had gone. They’d pulled them all out beyond the perimeter, and there were only American troops in sight. He recalled when Carol had visited Afghanistan. She’d come to Bagram and almost been killed. On that occasion, they’d beaten the odds, and more than a few of the enemy had bitten the dust. Now it was his turn, but this time it was a fight he didn’t know how to handle.

What if these two cops don’t believe me? How will Carol take that? Pretty bad, I guess. If it hasn’t ended already, it sure will then.

“What are you thinking about?”

He turned to Mariko and realized he’d been lost in his own thoughts, worrying about problems back home.

“This and that, nothing special.”

“That means you refuse to tell me.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “It’s okay, I won’t press it. Look, this operation to Abbottabad. It shouldn’t be too difficult. In and just nose around for an hour or so, and see if we can confirm the existence of this Riyad bin Laden. He may not even be there, in which case there won’t be too much security in the town. We’ll just breeze in and out.”

He stopped her with a gesture. “Hold it! If that’s what you think, you shouldn’t be coming.”

She stopped, and her face reddened. “What do you mean? I was only saying…”

He stopped her again. “What you were saying just shows your total ignorance of SpecOps. You never, ever assume there might be no opposition or lax security. You want me to spell it out for you, Mariko?”

Her expression was stony. “I guess you’re going to anyway.”

“Damn right I am. When we drop into that town, we’ll be on a war footing. The only question is can we keep it quiet enough to stop this bin Laden guy, if he exists, from finding out we’ve been there? We’ll sure do our damnedest, but there could be killing, a lot of killing, and that’s something we have to prepare for. These people spend their lives fighting. They’re born to it. Because they’re always skirmishing between each other makes it likely they’ll put any trouble down to a local disagreement. But there’ll be units of the Pakistani Army, the local police, and as it’s inside Waziristan, Taliban as well. Last time, they were pretty pissed after the event, but this time, they’ll be mad as hell if guys in foreign uniforms go in there unannounced. We may not be able to help bumping into Pakistani security, and they’ll be itching to put a bullet into any American who crosses their path. If that happens, we’ll have to kill them. The alternative is they kill us. We’ll need prisoners to interrogate about this bin Laden report, and that’s a whole new ball game. They won’t come willingly. And they won’t want to tell us anything, which means interrogating them in the field. When we’re pushed for time, often under fire, you know what that means?”

She nodded tiredly. “Torture.”

“Yeah, damn right. When you’re faced with the possibility of a few hundred innocent civilians being killed, along with some of your buddies, having to almost rip a man’s balls off to persuade him to hand over the details, it’s not a choice. Do you understand that? Because that’s what we’ll be facing when we go into Abbottabad. It’ll be hard and probably very, very bloody. Got it?”

She stared at him. He could see her face was pale, but it was also calm.

“Ouch.”

“You what?”

“The guy who’s balls you threaten to rip off. It’d be painful. I said ouch.”

“I…”

He could see her mouth twitching, and all of a sudden they were both convulsed with laughter. Nolan almost fell on the floor.
 

“Fucking ouch, yeah, you got that right.”

He sobered as he recalled how she’d been ready to kill when the chips were down, almost did kill that guy out on the perimeter fence. She was prepared to get into harm’s way when the job required it, and if that meant squeezing some poor bastard’s nuts to get information that would save lives, he imagined she’d be more than ready to do the squeezing.

Ouch! Maybe I underestimated her.

They reached the building. It was air-conditioned, which was a relief to men washed out from working in the 100-degree heat. The food in the restaurant was of high quality, and there were even calorie figures posted on each dish. Signs pointed to the fully stocked fitness gyms and the halls where movies were screened. They passed the Post Exchange, the size of a small supermarket. It stocked everything from shaving cream to Weber grills, and soap to luxury items. IPods were one of the big sellers, as well as laptops to circumvent the Pentagon's ban on using military terminals to visit popular Web sites like Facebook and YouTube. There was a beauty salon, a Burger King, and even a local market where Afghan merchants hocked the standard Mideast bazaar items, including carpets, gems, perfumes, and jewelry. But they ignored the stuff on offer and headed straight for the comfortable saloon where Nolan paid for a couple of beers. They sat on stools at the well stocked bar. He held up his glass in a salute.

“A toast, Mariko, to one brave lady who saved my ass. I’m in your debt.”

“You’re welcome, Kyle. Anytime.”

What the hell did that mean? It sounded like a come-on, but Carol’s back at home, maybe. I’ll have to watch out for this fiery little Captain, or I could find myself biting off more than I can chew. There’s little to choose between Carol and Mariko; two strong, tough, and determined women who could make a guy’s life descend into a world of pain if they were crossed. Give me the Taliban anytime, at least you know your enemy!”

The smile faded from her lips, and she leaned in closer to talk. “I’ve not been in the field before, that’s true, not like this thing we have planned. Do you honestly believe it’ll be as tough as you described?”

“Not with me along to take care of things,” a voice said from right behind. He looked around and saw Brad Rose. A Seal PO3, he was the unit dandy, slightly below medium height, powerfully built, and no matter what clothes he wore, he always managed to look good; like a playboy or a California beach boy. His muddy blonde hair was thick and shaggy, and he kept it under control by always searching out the latest and greatest hair products that must stretch his pay to the limits. His hair was long even by Seal standards, and he held it in place with a thonged leather headband. Brad had fine, almost delicate boyish features that he'd once tried to camouflage by growing a mustache and beard before the Navy made him shave them off. When Bravo Platoon walked into a bar, it was Brad that most girls made a beeline for. Mariko looked at Nolan with a questioning expression, so he did the introductions.

“Mariko, this is Petty Officer Brad Rose. He’s one of our demolitions specialists. And Brad, this is Captain Mariko Noguchi, so be on your best behavior.”

They shook hands. Brad looked at her, concerned. “How come you know about tomorrow’s mission, Captain? I thought it was classified.”

“Captain Noguchi is coming with us, Brad.”

His eyes widened. “You’re not kidding? What’s your specialty, Ma’am?”

“I look good in a burqa.”

He looked puzzled for a few moments. Then he understood. “Got it. So you’ll be undercover, so to speak.”