Still Alive Pt. 01

He chuckled. "I answered, didn't I?"

"You could have forwarded it to⁠— Never mind. I need you to come here, please. Quick," she said before she hung up.

Ashley's heart rate accelerated. She took slow breaths to ease the rush of adrenaline. She was busy with both a felt-tipped highlighter to the paper and a virtual one to the text document when Wesson walked in.

"I see you found the envelope."

"It took them long enough, but yeah, and a hell of a lot more than that." A piece of paper ejected from the laser printer on her credenza. She retrieved it and held it out to the man.

"What am I looking at?"

"The names of personnel from any of the four branches deployed in the areas on the dates I gave you. None of them match every incident, but that last guy matches five of the six. All but the one on Al Bahbijn. No one was listed during that timeframe, but I don't believe that last guy has anything to do with anything because he's not from any unit even approaching a special operations team. What do they call them in the Marines?"

"MARSOC. Marine Forces Special Operations Command. This report probably isn't exactly current. I imagine it takes more time for reports from deployed units to roll up to the OPM at the Pentagon."

Ashley nodded her understanding. "Any chance you might be able to sweet-talk another favor from your contact there?"

"Hell. The dinner I treated him to at a two-hundred-dollar Brazilian gaucho-style steakhouse, in exchange for that list, is starting to look a lot more worth it now," he said, unlocking his cell phone. "How long have you been in?"

"About forty-five minutes."

Wesson stopped what he was doing, checked his watch, and stared at her. "Wait. It took you less than an hour to correlate all of that info into this?"

"No, I spent ten minutes making a cup of coffee while chatting with Dozer and Gleek for a few."

Her manager chuckled, then showed her the screen of his phone. "Call this number and put it on speaker."

"This is Stan," a man answered.

"It's Jeff. You're on speaker with one of my asset logistics managers, Ashley Martel."

They both heard an audible sigh. "What do you want now?"

"Simple. I need to know the name of the commanding officer of someone stationed in⁠—"

"I'm assuming you're asking about someone on the report I gave you on Friday, so it'll be faster if you just give me an EDIPI," Stan interrupted.

Jeff gestured vigorously toward Ashley who was already searching the highlighted document for a single Electronic Data Interchange Personal Identifier. She read it aloud.

"It's going to cost you again, but give me a second," Stan said.

Ashley silently drummed her fingertips on her knee while they waited.

"Mark Wright. O4. That's a major. He's stationed in Qatar. His CO is a Colonel Richard Bragg."

"Can you get me a recent photograph of Wright and Bragg's contact info?" Jeff asked.

"Yeah, I can send you the picture taken for his CAC. That's what they call their ID cards. But as for the other, all I can give you on such short notice is the communications office there."

"That'll have to do."

The man recited a telephone number. Ashley transcribed it into her open notepad.

"Thanks."

"Jeff, when are you going to tell me what all of this is about?"

"Probably better if I don't. At least not yet."

"Fair. Later."

The call disconnected.

"That guy is a friend of yours?" Ashley asked.

"Maybe he thinks so, but no. He's only a contact. Acting friendly helps build networks."

"Then I hope you're not insulted when I tell you I think he's not very bright. It took me little more than a half hour to link all this together," she said, pointing at her screen and the papers. "Your contact works in the actual personnel department, and they haven't figured it out on their own?"

"They haven't made the connection. Stan doesn't have the other side of the equation like we do. It's hard to solve for X without it."

"True. What time is it in Qatar?" Ashley asked after she dialed and placed the call on speaker.

"They're seven hours ahead."

"Doha Communications Center, Sergeant Kramer speaking."

"Please connect me to Colonel Richard Bragg," Wesson requested.

"One moment, sir."

The line went silent.

"Colonel Bragg's office. This is Staff Sergeant Rivers."

"Is he available?"

"Who's calling?"

"Tell him it's Jeff Wesson of Wolfram Resources."

"Just a minute."

Silence elapsed. Wesson discussed with Ashley whether or not they should hang up and redial, or wait. The debate was settled when another man came on the line.

"This is Bragg."

"Jeff Wesson, the owner and GM of Wolfram Resources."

"I had to look up your website because I've never heard of your business. Tell me what a private security company has to do with me."

"We also do work for the Department of Defense."

"Your site doesn't mention that."

"It's not something we advertise to the public. On to my question, if you don't mind. Can you confirm if one of your reports, a Major Wright, was approved for leave which would have included the twenty-first of last month?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"Do you know a Major General Ernesto Gonzales?"

"I've heard the name. I believe he's a peer to my CO's superior. Stationed in Japan, I think."

"He's the one with whom we're engaged on this matter." Jeff said. "I can give you his cell number if you want to call him to verify even though it's getting late there."

"Damn it, I'm not harassing a two-star over something like this. Yes, Wright was authorized leave between the fourteenth and the twenty-second of July."

"Thank you, Colonel. It's appreciated."

The line clicked, ending the call.

Ashley smiled and pumped her fist in victory.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. What are your intentions now?" Jeff asked.

"I want to fly there. To Doha. I want to meet this man personally and see if I can niggle a little info out of him."

"You seriously expect him to admit to having … dispositioned a 767 and dozens of lives?"

"Of course not. But, if I present what I know, I'm sure he'll have a tell. I'm also sure he'd know that there are many people in his organization who wouldn't be so impressed with his exploits."

"You're saying you plan on blackmailing him?"

"Hell no. If I get that sense, I'm going to come back here and convince you to offer the guy a job."

Wesson steepled his fingers with his elbows on the arm rests of his chair. He reclined and studied Ashley for several moments.

"Approved. Nice work, Martel."

"Thank you kindly, boss. I've got other things I need to do this week. I might leave Friday if there's flights available to Qatar."

She returned to her office to evaluate her travel options. Within the hour, Wesson forwarded to her an email from his contact which included the requested photograph taken two years earlier. She found herself zooming in to get a closer look.

"Incredible," she whispered.

JONATO Base, Doha, Qatar
Monday, August 17, 2015, 5:30 PM

Colonel Bragg was not the type of commanding officer who micromanaged his staff's tasks or schedules. As long as they performed their duties, he was comfortable leaving them to their own devices. As such, he hadn't had so much as a passing conversation with Major Wright in days.

The colonel attempted to busy himself with work for hours, but his curiosity rose to the boiling point.

"Why the hell is a private DoD contractor asking about one of my men?" he asked himself, leaving his office for his aide's workstation.

"Find Major Wright. I don't care what he's in the middle of. I want his ass in my office in fifteen or less."

"Aye, sir," was his immediate response.

When twenty minutes elapsed, his sergeant appeared in his doorway.

"Sir, he's not answering his phone. I called his office, and his staff says they've not seen him since yesterday. His staff sergeant said he was going to call you tomorrow morning if he didn't show up again."

The colonel spun his pen in his fingers, considering options.

"This doesn't smell right. Call the mail clerks' office and have them see if Wright has checked his box at the BOQ."

"Aye, sir."

The twenty-three-year-old sergeant called the base's mail center.

"It's 1800," the woman who answered protested. "Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"I'll conference you in with Colonel Bragg. He can answer your questions, but I don't believe he'll appreciate it."

"Fine," she said after a frustrated sigh. "I'll go myself. I'll call you back in fifteen minutes."

It was only ten when she did. His aide sent the callback directly to his CO.

"He hasn't fetched his mail over the weekend."

"How can you be sure?" asked the colonel.

"Because the BX issued the monthly coupon booklet which was put in everyone's mailboxes on Saturday. Wright's is still in his. He also didn't stick an off-base card in his box like he did when he was on leave last month."

"That's helpful. That'll be all," Bragg said, disconnecting the call.

"Kramer!" he barked from his desk. His aide appeared in seconds. "Contact the IT geeks. I want to know the last time Wright logged into his account."

"I was just on the phone with an administrator, sir. It was yesterday morning."

"What the hell?" the colonel murmured to himself. "What are you up to, Wright?"

He then requested his aide fetch an investigator from base police.

It was nearing 1930 when two men arrived.

"I regret having to keep you on duty, Sergeants," Bragg said, "but this cannot wait. One of my men is UA." He provided the information he had.

"You think he's AWOL?" one of the armed men asked.

"If I thought that, I wouldn't have said UA. You know as well as I do that it's far less likely for a commissioned officer to go absent without leave than enlisted. Wright's been in the service for over twenty years, and he's as squared-away a Marine as they come. I want you to find him."

"Has his health declined since he had his last review? Does he have family, or any other motivations you can think of for him to go UA?" the other man asked.

"He's in outstanding condition, as far as I know. No spouse or dependents. I spoke with him on Tuesday. He appeared to be in good spirits. Nothing seemed amiss."

"We'll check all the gates and review surveillance video, if necessary, to see if he left the camp's perimeter. We'll let you know what we find."

"Don't let any grass grow under your feet, Sergeant."

"I'll need to check with my CO. Hopefully she'll agree."

"If she doesn't, make damned sure I am the first person she talks to after you."

"Understood, sir."

Two men were waiting near his building's door when he arrived the next morning. The badges they wore gave him no doubt who they were and why they were there.

He crisply returned their brisk, precise salutes.

"Good morning, sir," they both said simultaneously.

One of them opened the door for Colonel Bragg who removed his cover as he stepped through the doors. They followed him inside.

"As you were. What have you found?" Bragg asked after he'd hung his cover on a wall peg.

"One of the sentries manning the main gate on Sunday advised that Major Wright spoke to him briefly before he went outside the perimeter and entered a utility van. It drove away."

"Did Wright sign out?"

"No, sir. The sentry said Major Wright told him he only needed a few minutes to speak to a man who identified himself as one Jassim Kahn. A local, presumably."

"Was any of this caught on surveillance video?"

"Affirmative, sir," the other man responded. He removed some letter-sized sheets of photo paper from an envelope and handed them to the colonel. The first was of a commercial work truck.

"Korke ?" Bragg said, studying the image. "The name seems familiar for some reason."

"They make elevators. They're everywhere."

"I recognize the logo now. Good work, men. I need you to send me electronic copies of these immediately."

"Aye, sir."

"You're dismissed."

They snapped back to attention, pivoted on their feet, and departed.

Colonel Bragg wiggled his desktop's mouse to wake up the screen. On it were clock faces set to various important time zones.

"Damn it. It's midnight in DC. This is going to have to wait until later," he concluded. He locked his computer, removed his cover from its peg, and started walking out to check in with his reports, something he felt would be wise to do at least daily going forward.

No sooner than he'd stepped out of the building, he changed his mind. He returned to his desk, checked the clocks again, then asked his aide to drive him to division HQ on the other side of the base because, regardless of the reason, going over one's CO's head was often a fast track to trouble. He wanted to advise his superior of the current circumstances, and that he'd soon be calling a two-star general in Japan.

Brigadier General Morton Standish eyed him warily for several moments after listening to Bragg's summary.

"I trust you know what you're doing. I want daily updates. I'll need to speak with my CO and give him a heads-up that we need to communicate across channels. But keep this in mind. Even if the MPs can figure out where Wright is, the rules of engagement will limit their options to get him back.

"If the chain of command is in agreement, you can expect Major General Ernesto Gonzales to reach out to you instead of the other way around. So, do not call him yourself, understood?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"Colonel Bragg …" The one-star paused, reclined his seat, and folded his hands in his lap. "Richard, you need to start getting your head into a space where you'll be prepared to call his family."

Bragg hadn't anticipated such an eventuality. If the worst of scenarios played out, a chaplain and senior service member would notify next of kin first in person, but he, as their son's commanding officer, would also be required to call them, as well, to offer condolences. Bragg was aware that Mark's father had retired from the Corps as a master sergeant.

"Well. We'll hope for the best, General," Bragg said somewhat somberly.

"Indeed. Carry on."

Place: Unknown.
Time: Unknown.

"Speak," said a man who entered the room where Wright was restrained.

"Woof  ," he replied.

"I demand you speak , fool!"

His mouth was pasty from dehydration, and the syllables were malformed as a result.

"Awf awf  ."

The sound of the fist striking his face arrived in his ears before the pain. Wright went mute.

The silence did not amuse the man addressing him, as proven by another blow. He heard his nose crack and tasted blood.

"Your name is Wright. Your service number is 2109410121."

He knew someone had taken his dog tag from him. He felt fingers against his numbing skin which removed the wrap around his eyes. The first figure he recognized was Farah Salman. Sitting next to her was her father. Both were gagged with burlap straps. Farah's head coverings had been removed, and her long hair draped down her shoulders.

Major Wright's emotions gushed into his core before elements of his training kicked in. "RTI" was the abbreviated name of the course entitled "Resistance to Interrogation." Wright immediately doubted its adequacy when a fist was thrust to his genitals. He cried out in anguish before his diaphragm seized. He heaved blood and sputum.

When he could breath again, he spat on the floor in front of him. "Wright. Major. 2109410121."

Jassim began to stir in his seat. Unlike Farah, he had been blindfolded. Two more men, also wearing balaclavas, flanked Kahn and his daughter.

"Look at the dog, woman," the hooded man in charge hissed at Farah. "If he does not cooperate, he will be neutered."

At first, she had not recognized him. The last time she had seen him, his face held a week's stubble. Cleanly shaven, his swelling and bruised face was at least somewhat familiar.

"You have already defiled your eyes. His own suggest he was bred from impure stock."

He grasped one of Farah's breasts.

"She is fresh and tender. Like veal."

"Don't touch her! It's haram !" Wright yelped.

The man's smile slowly faded.

"Your identification indicates you are …" he paused and read a metal slug hanging on a chain he removed from a pocket. "This does not give any religious affiliation, yet you speak words condemning an offense to Allah. Is it because you find this woman appealing? This sow is a traitor to her people. I will use her as I choose."

He pressed a hand into the folds of her robe and grasped her between her thighs, then brought his fingers to his nose and drew in a breath.

"Motherfucker," Mark hissed. "I'm going to rip your balls off."

"You are in no position to make threats, you impotent fool. You were the person responsible for the destruction of an airplane at Al Bahbijn on twenty-one July."

"Wright. Major. 2109410121," Mark stoically responded.

"Very well. You may address me as Jackal. You wish to play games? I enjoy games."

Jackal gestured to the man standing nearest to Jassim.

The major immediately recognized the weapon the man drew from a goatskin satchel to be a Serbian-made Zastava CZ99.

The foreigner slowly twisted a suppressor onto the muzzle while eyeing Mark lasciviously. He aimed at Wright's forehead and grinned wickedly one second before he rapidly shifted. Kahn's left knee exploded. Despite the gag, the feral shrieks Mark heard from Jassim and his daughter were barely attenuated.

Jackal drew a plastic case from another bag. From it, he withdrew two syringes. He jabbed one first into Farah's upper arm, then the other into Jassim's. Mere minutes passed before both went limp in their seats, their anguished cries silenced. Wright wondered if the sedative had been given in mercy, or was, instead, only a tool to keep their captives docile and quiet.

"Take these two away," Jackal spoke to his allies.

They cut the bindings and carried them out. His interrogator then placed a strip of duct tape over Mark's mouth. He retrieved the black plastic case again and studied it for several moments before depositing it back into the bag.

"You deserve no such mercies," Jackal hissed.

Unlike Kahn and his daughter, Wright was left bound to the chair. The room was windowless. He was unaware of the passage of time. His left eye was beginning to swell shut, and the skin along his neck began to become pasty with coagulating blood. The intense pain centered in the pit of his abdomen from the strike to his scrotum would take hours to fade.

When the throbs had abated to the point he could think more clearly, Mark began to evaluate and calculate. He'd never faced anything even approaching his current status since all of his prior self-assigned missions had been executed from a distance. He'd never been closer to a potential captor than two hundred meters, and that person was completely unaware of his presence until the moment a 5.56-millimeter full-metal-jacket projectile pierced his right temple and exited his left ear. The brain-dead body slumped into a heap without so much as a flinch.

For the first time in his life, Wright was in fear.