Still Alive Pt. 02

Thanks for the update. Keep me posted.

Always

Martel breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"What's up?" Gleek asked, having heard it.

"Good news. We've been given permission to land at the military base. We'd have had to turn around in three hours and go back if we hadn't."

"Yeah. I doubt the customs inspectors at Hamad would appreciate or approve a dozen flash-bangs."

"Those might be explainable, but crates holding fully automatic rifles, two Barrett 82A1s with night sights, FLIR gear, Kevlar ballistic body armor plates for ten⁠—"

"Or C4. And don't forget the toothpaste," her team's tactical leader said with a chuckle.

"Dozer's going to take point. Don't take this personally, but I think he's more wired for precision tactics. You're freaking topnotch when it comes to a smash-and-grab, but my gut tells me this is far from it. As soon as we land and can get more information, we'll all sit down and figure out the best balance. Sound reasonable?"

"Yeah, but where exactly can we? I mean … I know we're landing at the JO base, but we should have a place more forward than that. We need to be as close as possible to where our objective lies."

Ashley smiled wryly. "That's what I'm counting on you to help me with. This Wright guy isn't going to be stuffed anywhere even approaching residential or commercial. It could be industrial, like a warehouse, or a factory."

"Or in the middle of nothing and nowhere," Gleek said.

She nodded. "You're reading my mind."

"It's my job."

"And you're very good at it," she said, standing from her seat.

"So are you, Burner," he said with a subtle wink.

She patted his shoulder solidly then turned and walked toward the flight deck to give the pilots the information she'd been provided. The copilot immediately began reprogramming the flight management computer.

Returning to her seat, she drew down the shade over her window. The skies ahead were beginning to brighten as the plane flew east into the rising sun, and she wanted to try to get at least a few hours of sleep before they landed.

Once again, Wright had been left alone. He struggled to breathe. Attempting to through his mouth drew jute fragments into his throat. Through his nose, his anxious breath drew in blood. Both made him cough paroxysmally. His thoughts continued to hound him.

You deserve no such mercies. You deserve no such mercies. You deserve⁠—

"Oh, shit! I've seen his face somewhere. His English. The vocabulary. The phrasing ! Could Farah have told him about me? " were Wright's last words before falling unconscious again.

JONATO Base, Doha, Qatar
Wednesday, August 19, 2015, 9:00 AM

Martel awakened when the jet's landing gear deployed beneath her seat. She rubbed her eyes and looked at her watch. She hadn't seen the pair of F-35s off the Bombardier's wings which had escorted the plane from the moment it crossed into the base's restricted airspace. Dozer was a row behind her and was still sleeping. She jostled his arm after the gentle thud of their landing.

"We're here," she said when his eyes opened.

"I know!" he grunted at the mild startle. "We're where?"

"JONATO Qatar. Wake everyone up."

"Oh," he said after he'd yawned. "On it."

Her MacBook's screen awakened with a notification. She unlocked it to read the message from Jeff Wesson.

Code name for subject: Jackwagon.

Funny.

Don't go there. The computer generated it randomly. Get to work.

When she advised the two teams of the code name, a lot of laughter followed because several of the members were Marines who understood the subtext.

"Remember," she added, "the name Mark Wright, or even his rank, are not to be mentioned to anyone not completely read in on the operation. I imagine there's a handful of people here on the base that know what's going on, but not many, and we don't want word getting out and adding more to the pool."

She received acknowledging nods from all the others.

As soon as the stairs were lowered, a blast of hot air began to fill the cabin.

"Holy moly," Dozer commented. "This is going to be fun."

"Tell me about it. We were near here last month doing day-ops trying to find anything we could," Gleek said.

As soon as they began to file out of the Gulfstream, they were met by a half-dozen uniformed men, all armed to the teeth.

"Who's in charge?" one of them asked.

"Burner," said Dozer and Gleek, almost simultaneously pointing her direction.

"Ma'am, I'm Staff Sergeant Rivers, aide to Colonel Bragg. My men will unload your cargo. You and your team are instructed to come with us."

"No one touches our gear," Gleek growled.

"You might think you're all kinds of special, but this isn't our first rodeo," the sergeant spoke derisively. "You have my word that we won't be peeking at your cargo. I doubt there's anything in there we haven't seen before."

"'Doubt' is as good a word as any," Gleek grumbled. "Anyone who peeks won't enjoy it."

"Knock it off with the pissing contest," Ashley demanded. "We don't have time for this. Sergeant, do whatever you need."

"Very well, ma'am. Those JLTVs are for you and your personnel. Load up," he said, gesturing toward three Joint Light Tactical Vehicles.

Martel nodded, then leaned into Gleek. "Let the TamperTape do its job, you big oaf. You don't need to intimidate or impress anyone here at the base, capisce?"

"Yeah yeah yeah," the man said with a grin. "But hearing a Japanese girl use the word 'capisce' is kind of funny."

Ashley chuckled dryly. "Whatever."

He entered a JLTV after her. A pair of Gleek's team's members tried to follow.

"You two need to get in another one," the sergeant said. "I've been instructed to bring these three to meet with Colonel Bragg. The others will take everyone else to a staging area we've prepared."

They did as they were told, and the JLTV began its drive to the ramp then on to an administrative building. The colonel was waiting at the entrance and directed them to his office.

"Your manager forwarded information to me to pass along to you," he said after brief introductions. "It looks like there's a pattern in the vehicle's movements. The one used to allegedly nab Major Wright."

"That's good news. What's it telling you?" Martel asked.

"Easier to show you," he said, handing each of them a printed page containing an aerial image of hundreds of square kilometers in area.

The trio studied the map carefully.

"Jesus. It's freaking obvious," Dozer said, seeing a nexus in the movements of the vehicle recorded over forty-eight hours.

"Looks like an industrial complex," Gleek added, noting the same convergence in the depicted paths.

"Bigger picture, please. How far away is this?" Martel asked, tapping the point.

"North is up," the colonel said, "and the upper left corner of the image is the outskirts of the Doha metroplex. It's about fifty kilometers from here, between us and the city. It's become a disused industrial area. Mostly smallish warehouses and the like."

"We'll need to reconnoiter as soon as we can," Dozer advised.

"Agreed," Martel said with a nod.

"This seems too easy. I can't imagine these people being so stupid they didn't disable the tracker."

"Yeah."

Bragg only shrugged.

"Energy?" she asked her leads.

"Plenty," said Dozer.

"I'm a touch j-lagged," admitted Gleek. He knew he needed to be honest with his manager. Things often went south if people on a tactical team didn't properly self-assess.

She nodded. "Okay. Top priority is getting a forward staging area set up near that point of interest. I'll let you decide if you want to rest here or in transit.

"Colonel, how quick can you get us three trucks?"

"I've already secured the three JLTVs⁠—"

"No. It can't be obvious. They need to look⁠—"

"Nondescript. I get it. Maybe an hour."

"Please, do your best. Now, the leads and I need to go wherever you've stashed everyone else."

"The gunny outside will set you up."

"Dozer. Comm check," Martel said two hours later.

"Sounds perfect. By the way, I'm loving the new gear. The encryption no longer makes you sound like Maxi Mouse," he replied.

"What's the plan?"

"We've got one shot. If we're seen circling that particular warehouse, it'll look suspicious. I dropped four men at two obviously abandoned buildings. They'll be up on roofs observing from a distance. Hopefully, they don't fall through because the structures looked sketchy."

"Tracking still showing the van somewhere else?"

"Not for long. It looks like it's approaching the facility," Burner advised. "Get busy and do your thing."

Martel started a stopwatch on her phone and began pacing the room in a secured section of the JONATO base the Marines had nicknamed Camp Serrano because of the often-intense heat of the area.

The observer riding shotgun with Dozer consulted the GPS-synced aerial map on a tablet as they studied the surroundings near the targeted warehouse. He said, "Let's check out that ell-shaped building up there a hundred meters. The one with the opened bay doors."

Though the 250-acre complex was largely vacant, it wasn't completely abandoned. The vehicle from which they were studying the surroundings was thus not out-of-place enough to notice. As they neared the structure, they observed a similar vehicle departing through doors that remained open.

"Take a slo-mo as I drive past them," Dozer suggested.

"Roger," Otto said and activated that mode on his iPhone camera. "Ready."

The driver maintained a speed of forty kilometers per hour. A few moments later, he asked, "What do we see?"

The man in the passenger seat scanned the video. "Two guys loading the back of a truck. From what I can see from these angles, the place is pretty much empty except for a few cardboard boxes like the ones they're holding."

"Okay, you're up," Dozer told the man. "Since you speak the language and look the part, you need to switch seats with me. I'll squat in the back because I don't look like I belong."

"What are you expecting me to talk to them about?"

"I don't know, ask them if we can sublet the warehouse from them or what its disposition is."

"Not sure I know those words, dude."

"You'll figure it out," he said, parking the vehicle out of the other building's occupants' lines of sight.

Once Dozer was situated, Otto drove back to the main low-bay loading doors. Dozer crouched motionlessly underneath a set of long foam pads. He could hear the conversation clearly, though understood none of it. It seemed to be going well, though, because there weren't any signs of agitation as the three men conversed.

Otto shifted the transmission into park and rolled up his window. "They're about to leave," he said, sotto voce .

Both remained still and silent for a while.

"They've left the doors open and are driving away. I'll be back in a sec."

"Nice," Dozer said, sliding the pads off.

"Don't move. I need to find the controls for the roll-ups and close them first."

The man in the back felt hot air entering the vehicle as Otto swung and left open the driver's side door. After a few minutes, he heard the rattle of doors being lowered. "Okay. All set."

"By the numbers, rooftops," Dozer spoke via the radio. "Check in."

Various voices began speaking.

"Three. Nothing to report."

"Four. Ditto. NTR."

"Five. There's a half-dozen men about a klick away. They're showing no signs of … well, anything. They're okay, I think."

"Six. A Korke van just entered the property. Wait … it's approaching the target unit. Burner, does track confirm it's ours?"

"Wesson is on the phone with an executive at Korke because the feed we have access to isn't real-time," she answered. "It's on a five-minute delay."

"We've secured a staging area. Mark my position and send me four more people in two more trucks. Tell them to bring crates one, three, four, and six. The rest won't be needed. And for Christ's sake, remind whoever is driving to watch their speed."

"Boss, I can't tell if there's anyone still inside it, but I see four men exiting the van. None look like the photo of Jackwagon."

"Roger," said Dozer. "Rooftops, come to the roost."

Four acknowledgments arrived.

"Leo and Digger are loading up. They should be there in less than forty-five minutes," Burner advised. "Now, someone tell me the story of how you've managed to get settled in so quickly."

"Perfect timing, I guess," Otto answered. "There were a couple of men loading boxes into their vehicle. The building is all but empty … I mean, there's still some litter and junk left behind, but they said the lease expires in a few days and they were taking the last of their inventory to a newer complex closer to Doha.

"I told them I was the new tenant and wanted to check it out before we bring the big trucks in. They were more than happy to oblige when I slipped each of them a chunk of local cheddar."

"Sometimes life gives you lemonade instead of lemons," she said.

"Burner, time for us to get busy," Dozer said. "We'll go mobile comms hot once everyone gets here and suits up."

"Roger."

"Smash, find the roof access and set up the laser mic."

"On it, Dozer," the man said and went to fetch a black Pelican case from the back of the truck.

He completed the task just as two identical trucks pulled into the bays. The doors were quickly lowered.

Dozer took the end of the cable Smash had installed and plugged it into the comm equipment. The laser microphone was aimed at a roll-up door made of corrugated aluminum, a composition that meant it'd vibrate with any ambient sources of noise. Digital signal processors would convert Doppler shifts of the optical reflection into audible output.

Loudspeakers near the console began to emit a rumble.

"Chunk, do your thing," Dozer said to a man who then sat at the system's crate-mounted controller.

The technician modified settings, adjusting notch and pass filters to reduce the noise contributed by wind and other external factors.

o shi ish voc lar asi fara shak stud geth⁠—

"Clean that signal up."

"Doing my best, doofus."

"It's Dozer , dumbass," his superior said. "You have until dusk which is in about three hou⁠—"

"Hold on. Someone is leaving."

"What gives you that id⁠—"

"Because I can hear it, Doof-hoser . At least two people are⁠—yeah, a door is rolling up," said Chunk who then yanked his headset off, grabbed a pair of binoculars, and began climbing the ladder to the roof scuttle. He descended a minute later.

"Two of the four men I told you about earlier just left," he advised. "We got access to the tracking feed yet?"

"Affirm," answered Scooch who was working with a laptop. "Oh! The van is showing movement now. Guess Korke relented and gave us real-time data."

"Alright, kids, let's finish unpacking and form our pre-game plan," ordered Dozer.

Once their equipment was sorted and armed, the men sat on the concrete floor. With chalk, Dozer outlined the perimeter of the building they'd soon be entering, marking with different colors the location of every door or window he'd inventoried in a stealthy walk-around of the small warehouse. They were wearing the headsets they'd use in the encounter but waited to don their tactical suits and body armor to avoid overheating themselves in a building which lacked functional air conditioners.

"Boss!" shouted Chunk from the laser mic's control console. "I hear a roll-up opening. The truck might be coming back."

"Yep, there it is," confirmed another who was watching the LCD display showing the signal from wireless cameras he'd deployed on their own rooftop earlier. "Same two people that left earlier are back. Still don't know how many total are inside. I've heard four unique voices, plus occasional muted mumbles from a fifth."

"Understood," Dozer acknowledged.

The team reviewed the plans twice more while waiting for Ashley to brief Jeff Wesson. Their "go" came a short time later.

"Any questions?" asked Dozer.

"We can't use flash-bangs?" one of the men asked.

"Absolutely not. We can't afford drawing the attention of outsiders."

He instructed the men to load everything not needed back into crates and then into trucks so they could make as hasty an exit as possible when their objective was completed.

"Everyone good to go?" Dozer asked after the task was done.

All the others nodded.

"Dress up. We move in twenty minutes."

"Is it going to rain?" one of the newer team members asked.

"Yeah, Smitty," he answered with a solemn expression. "Storm hits in five minutes."

Everyone quieted and looked at each other. Even though few of the men had a strong religious affiliation, all went silent as a prayer was said.

The man withdrew a wad of burlap from a pocket on his thigh. He forcefully pulled it between Mark's upper and lower jaw, scouring the corners of his mouth roughly. His tongue couldn't avoid the sour taste of the dank, fetid, mildewed fabric.

"I do not wish to hear your cries. The sound will annoy me," his captor stated coolly as he tied the cloth behind Wright's head.

"You have become tiresome, Wright. Our conversations have not been productive. We shall travel another avenue," the man whispered coldly.

He removed a well-worn set of lineman's pliers from a pocket he'd no doubt extracted from his friend's tool chest. It required no more than seven seconds for him to rend two fingernails from the beds of Wright's hand.

The force with which Wright wailed expelled thin, ropy clots from his shattered nose onto his lower torso and thighs.

"It is impressive what a woman might reveal when her head is on a pillow after a powerful lay."

Wright barely heard the words through the ringing and throbbing in his ears due to the raw, fierce, searing pain he felt in his right hand.

Jackal continued, "It is not enough that Salman told me who you are. I want now to hear the admission from you. I will ask you once again, Wright, Major, 2109410121. Are you the man responsible for the mishap of a jet at Al Bahbijn?"

Yes! I obliterated it! Wright's internal voice roared.

"A simple movement of your head will suffice. If you answer in the negative, I will remove more of your fingers' nails, then those of your toes. When that method has been exhausted, I will remove things far more vital to a male, and the resulting hemorrhage will be fatal.

"If you answer in the affirmative, we will discuss how you accomplished such a feat. If you cooperate and satisfy my curiosity in full, I will dispatch you mercifully with a bullet to your brain just as I did for Jassim Kahn."

Wright moved his head.

"Very well," Jackal said as he poured liquid over the shredded nail beds.

The major shrieked as alcohol drenched raw meat and its exposed nerve endings.

"I do not wish for this game to end. Your anguish amuses me."

Wright couldn't hear anything over the ringing and throbbing in his ears. He only saw the man vertically disappear from his peripheral vision. He did, however, hear shouts before he phased into unconsciousness from shock.

"Fourth down! Room clear! Asset is alive and⁠— Shit! Flack, get your ass in here with the field kit!"

Dozer sent another round through a prone man's skull before safing his suppressed carbine. He re-slung the weapon behind him then began snapping the tie-wraps restraining Wright.

"Talk to me, Dozer," he heard in the earpiece fitted to his tactical helmet.

"I can't be sure this is our guy. He's been seriously worked over."