“Whoa, shit! That’s nasty,” Sweet says, looking at the Polaroid that Bone has just handed him.
McDowd hands out a few more. “Here ya go. Don’t say I never gave you anything. Show these around to the neighbors, see if they know where he is.”
“This shit will cause a riot, dawg,” Sweet grimaces.
“Yeah, but they might loosen up once they see what this guy was doing to their kids.” Bone gestures to the onlookers.
Bone’s neck explodes in a cloud of pink with a sickening SMACK. Blood sprays all over McDowd’s face. The sound of the shot comes a moment later, delayed by distance and the thick air. Bone’s hands come up to his throat as he drops to his knees, more in shock than in pain.
“MAN DOWN! MEDIC!” McDowd and the Boneheads scream.
Bone looks at McDowd in confusion, as if he wants to ask “why” before keeling over.
The scene collapses into chaos, men dropping for cover and searching for targets in the direction of the shot, the onlookers scattering. Dobson calls in for a Medivac as the Doc shows up with his tools.
“LT! It’s Bone! Bone’s been hit!” McDowd shouts as the medic starts working on Bone, trying to compress the entry wound.
“It’s the carotid,” the Doc mumbles, “and right through the airway…”
McDowd leans in close to Bone’s face, pulling the big man’s hands away. “Bone! Hang in, man. Hang in.”
He’s bleeding out. Bone can’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. His eyes say it all. “I’m afraid.”
The Raven team crackles over the radio, “Muzzle flash! One block west, corner building, rooftop!” Dobson will ask them later why they didn’t see them in the first place.
Freaks and Sweet dash in that direction, followed by a Humvee. The turret gunner swings his .50 caliber machine gun forward, targeting the house. Now the sound of a chopper, approaching fast, adds to the crazed scene.
“Stryker team, this is Claw 2-6. You guys need a light?” ask the contractors from Dark Claw International, who happened to be monitoring their frequency. Dobson points the little Kiowa chopper in the right direction. Suddenly the dark sky explodes with light as the pilot throws on his “night sun” spotlight. After a moment they spot a target.
“You’ve got two tangos on the northwest corner house, they’re bolting,” the Kiowa reports. “You want us to drop them?”
“Affirmative Claw, take them down! Repeat, take them down!” Dobson yells into his radio.
“Roger that, Stryker, have the wetvac ready.” The door gunner racks his M-60 machine gun, swinging it out as he stands on the chopper’s landing skid. The pilot brings the chopper back in low and hovers broadside to the rooftop. The targets run for a door, but a short burst from the M-60 cuts them off, forcing them to change direction. It doesn’t matter. They disappear in a cloud of dust kicked up by the downpour of lead and blade wash.
“Give Allah my regards, boys!” the gunner yells down at the now lifeless bodies.
Freaks and Sweet burst through the ground floor door of the building, the red dots of their laser sights leading the way. They make their way quickly and quietly up the stairs to the roof. As Freaks passes a window, he sees a figure out of the corner of his eye. In an instant, a red dot sits on the forehead of a man across the ally. It is a typical Arab face, beard, mustache, dark features. He wears green surgical scrubs and his hands are empty. In less than a second, Freaks makes the decision that he is not a threat, and moves on.
“Dark Claw, friendlies coming onto the roof,” Freaks radios before opening the door. When they do, the light and dust from the chopper wash is nearly blinding. When they get to bodies, Freaks’ heart sinks. “They’re kids! No weapon!” He realizes that he just let the shooter go.
McDowd hears the fire down the street, but Bone doesn’t. The Doc tries to get him some air by cutting a trachea hole and getting a bag pump on him. Mayo, pulls up next to them with the Peugeot wagon. There is no place for a chopper to put down safely near them, so they all lift Bone into the back and tear into the night.
“Shoot for the Annex,” he doc shouts to Mayo, while frantically working on Bone.
Now it’s a question of whether he’ll bleed to death or drown in his own blood. McDowd tries keeping him engaged. “Come on, Bone, hang in there, man.”
McDowd holds tight to his partner’s hand, but feels Bone’s grip getting weaker. They’re trapped in a real horror movie where everything seems to be in black and white, all except poor Bone’s blood. Passing streetlights briefly illuminate Bone’s face, and each time his eyes seem little more distant, drifting, softening, as his fear melts away.
Some believe the eyes to be the windows of the soul. Somewhere between the darkness and light, McDowd can see that Bone had let go of his. He stares in stunned silence.
The Doc closes Bone’s eyes, then closes his own, shooting off a small prayer. Then sitting back, he manages to lights a smoke despite his slippery, bloody hands, and sticks his head out the window to catch as much of a breeze he can.
On a Kabul street, major combat operations for Sergeant James Washington came to an end, and peace was finally at hand.
Part II
“Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path.”
Alcoholics Anonymous
Chapter 1
MOSCOW
They call the headquarters of the GRU the “Aquarium,” perhaps because there’s always something fishy going on inside. The Glavnoye Razvedyvatelnoye Upravlenie, or GRU, is the Russian army’s intelligence wing, not unlike the American Defense Intelligence Agency. Although things had changed and changed again for the civilian spooks, the view from the fish tank has remained the same. Near the top of the food chain is Major General Petre Valarie Kurtsin. He is enjoying the morning with his young protégé Lieutenant Colonel Elayna Boradin. They meet in Kurtsin’s large office every day, even on the weekends; the job demands it. After seeing their power and influence shrink for years, now Russia is pushing back, trying to correct the great catastrophe of the Soviet Union’s fall..
The weekend meetings are relaxed and brief, more of a working breakfast. They go over e-mails, field reports, trawl the web and news outlets. Elayna compiles what Kurtsin needs to see.
“Here’s something interesting. The New York Times seems to have gotten its hands on operational plans to remove Pakistan’s nukes if it goes fundamentalist,” Elayna laughs.
“You mean when,” Kurtsin replies.
He treats her almost always as an equal, and she has a reputation as a serious and dedicated officer. Not only did she graduate from the Frunze Academy, Russia’s equivalent to West Point, she excelled, going on to airborne school and surviving. Only a few women had completed the full Spetsnaz training, a brutal task for a man, nearly impossible for a woman. One of Kurtsin’s gifts is to spot talent, and Elayna stood out.
Since that time Elayna has become like a daughter to him. His real daughter died very young, an unfortunate victim of a drunk-driving accident. His wife’s devastation resulted in suicide. He’d been struck by Elayna the moment he saw her, such stark contrast to the world around her. He saw his daughter, right down to the blue eyes and dark brunette hair, the woman he imagined she would have grown to be.
His secure phone rings, and he answers it on speaker.
“Kurtsin.”
“Petre, Yuri!”
His eyes grow wide. “My God! Yuri, you sloppy bastard, where are you?”
“Still in Kabul. When are you coming to visit?”
“Never! You poor fuck!” He checks his mouth as Elayna frowns, shaking her head. She’s been trying to get him to work on that.
“Listen, I’m calling with bad news. It’s Sasha.”
“Of course, what has the drunk done now?”
“With the czars.”
Kurtsin’s face changes to an expression of sadness. “It is not surprising.”
“I know, bu
t that is not the worst of it.”
Elayna and Kurtsin listen to Uncle Yuri’s story, and the more they hear, the less they like it, even though he has spared him the most gory details.
“The question is why?” Yuri asks.
“He wasn’t on our payroll.”
“Well, he was on somebody’s. His account was credited five million euros yesterday. He checked his account balance online and hours later, he turns up dead.”
“Bait…” Kurtsin concludes.
“With a very expensive worm. Petre, I must ask you, when he was in Washington...”
Kurtsin grabs the handset, taking the phone off speaker. “What about it?”
Elayna can now only hear one side of the call, which irks her, but doesn’t show it. “What is he keeping from me?”
Kurtsin has turned away from her so she can’t read his face.
“That was quite some time ago. I’d have to go back and check the task assignments. Can I get back to you on Monday?”
He faces her again but avoids making eye contact. “I promise. Listen, if I thought it was a problem, I’d have my people jump right on it. I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Sasha would never do such a thing.”
He listens again. “Yes, and we’ll catch up on things. Good. I’ll reach you there. Take care.”
He places the phone gently on the receiver.
Elayna is on the edge of her seat now. “What is it?”
He turns from the phone and walks to the large window. It is a cold, wet morning, the gray fitting his now sullen mood.
“I don’t know yet.” There is a long silence, which she respects.
“You need to go to the archives and pull the files for Sasha Malekov. By that I mean copy and delete. I am also giving you clearance for the Buran files. I think it may be time to purge them out of the system. Copy and delete. Have any archive hard copies shredded and burned and bring what you save to me.”
“For Monday?”
“No, now.”
Chapter 2
The Sahara Club, Glenside, PA
Kate draws a crowd when she speaks, and her girls usually take the seats in the front row of the crowded clubhouse, hanging on their sponsor’s every word. Sitting next to them, an older woman, Kate’s first sponsor Lydia, is beaming proudly. Those who have heard Kate’s story knows it is a testament to the power of the program. Her story has heart wrenching sadness and passionate inspiration, seasoned by her strange but knowing sense of humor. Even in her deepest despair, Kate has a gift for finding the lighter side, one of her many sponsees would agree. Above all, it is her honesty that hits home the hardest.
“I do a lot of house cleaning. Perhaps that’s what my husband loves about me the most.” This drew laughter from the women in the room.
“It’s something I can fix easily, and it helps me fix myself. There’s a certain Zen to it for me, and it’s an opportunity to go inside myself and take my own inventory. Some people would say that’s a dangerous place to go, so I take along a flashlight and a gun. My husband knows there’s something wrong when I break out the sponge, and knows it’s serious when I start attacking the closets.”
She likes making people laugh, especially in the face of a deadly disease.
“I drank to escape from me, what was inside, the guilt, the resentments, the fear, and the only way I knew to deaden the pain was to drink, and in doing so I was killing myself, not only physically, but emotionally. We all wonder when it was that we crossed that line, for me, from party girl to alcoholic. There is no specific point, no last cocktail that I can pin down, but I know how it happened. It was when I lied about my drinking for the first time. From there it began, and it took a long time to get back. I wasn’t magically transformed when I first sat down in a meeting. It took some real scrubbing to uncover all the crud that had built up, and it hurt.” Kate pauses from the memory.
“I feel with conviction that we in this room are some of the most courageous people on Earth, because every day we sit here, the only way we can stay here, is to face the truth. The worst lies I ever told, are the lies I told myself. It’s no coincidence the first paragraph of “How it Works” speaks to that very fact. That, I believe is when we “get” the program, when we come to realize the necessity of being rigorously honesty. It is the truth that sets us free. When we accept that truth, and begin to live life on life’s terms, we are free to find ourselves again, the living, giving souls that God intended us to be, and most importantly, to follow that little voice in our heads. This program, that voice, and the miracles I see in these rooms, will keep me sober today, and I pray, that it’s God’s will, that it will be that way for as long as I live. Thanks for listening. That’s all I got.”
Kate blushes as the room bursts into applause. As she leans back into the big wooden chair behind the rickety old desk, she smiles at her misty-eyed sponsees and gets a wink from Lydia.
The rest of the meeting consists of members sharing from the floor. Most compliment and thank Kate for her message and talk about how her story relates to their own. Some just dump what they’ve been holding inside. It can be irritating, but if it keeps them sober, it’s all good.
Finally, the chairperson calls on Lydia. I’m Lydia, and I’m a grateful recovering alcoholic.”
“Hi, Lydia!”
“Thank you for your message Kate. Boy were you one hot mess when you came in here.”
Everyone laughs at that. Kate tries, but the thought is still very painful.
“We all were, but we’re not anymore, thanks to this program. You’ve come a long way, and on behalf of the group, I’d like to give you this,” Lydia says as she comes over. In her hand is a large bronze coin. In the center is a big X, the Roman numeral for ten. The group applauds as they hug.
“Thank you, Lydia.” Kate says, misty eyed.
“Call me sometime,” Lydia tells her.
It almost sounds like a warning to her. “I will.” Kate says with a final squeeze.
Afterward, Kate corrals Sheila hanging out with the smokers outside. “So, you all right?”
“Okay, I guess,” she tells Kate with a hint of doubt.
“Okay? Honey, this is like the hardest thing you may ever do, outside of childbirth. Remember, we’re only as sick as our secrets.”” On top of dealing with her fiancé Brian’s bullshit, Sheila is working on her fourth and fifth Steps, the pivotal house cleaning the Big Book suggests every AA member do.
“You’ll be ready, right?”
“I’ll be ready,” despite looking down at her feet.
Kate smiles. “It’s cleaning house, just like I said.”
Sheila pulls back her long curly brunette hair, wrangling it into a knot. “Okay, sponsor lady.”
“Okay! See you tomorrow.”
As they part ways, Kate turns to watch Sheila’s skinny little frame bounce down the sidewalk. She is cautiously optimistic about her. Not all of Kate’s sponsees are success stories; one ended in suicide. Kate still remembers the pain she’d felt after that, but it only made her more determined. Those kinds of things are God’s will, and you have to trust that they all work out in the end.
“Do I really believe that?” she whispers to her new coin, the one she has received for being sober for ten years. She smiles. “Yup, I really do.”
Faith is funny that way.
Chapter 3
GRU Archives, Moscow
In the basement of the Aquarium, Elayna finds the files.
“Ancient history,” the librarian comments.
“Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it,” she smiles.
She loves to torture the young guys, and this one is especially shy, a little geeky, but not bad looking. To his credit, he is respectful, trying very hard to ward off her charms.
“Good idea,” she thinks, noting the wedding band he fidgets with.
The information is stored on tape, so Elayna has him put the files on disk for her.
As he goes to take the reel back to storage, she stops him.
“Hold on there, handsome,” Elayna calls him over with a playful leer.
The techie looks puzzled. Taking the reel from him, she looks at the new folder he’s created on his computer desktop.
“I need you to delete that,” she say, pointing to the screen.
“I am sorry, Colonel, I do not have authorization to do that.”
Elayna smiles at him. “I do.”
She stops by her own office to load the information onto her own laptop, wanting a look at the infamous files. The details of Buran, the blinding snowstorm that will bring down America flash across her screen
“Wait,” she says, pausing at a picture. Her eyes grow wide. “No way!”
“It’s her. It had to be her!” Elayna thought the legend to be a myth, a comforting bedtime story to ease a young female recruit’s mind. “Yet here she is, and according to this she’s still alive!”
A thought comes to mind, along with a mischievous grin. “Yes, there is much we can learn from history.”
Elayna walks into Kurtsin’s office to find him at the window again. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence.
“I think I see our problem,” she says.
“Do you now?”
“Buran. Ten groups placed 1989. Six members per team.” She reads from her notes. “Sasha Malekov handled a team out of Washington.”
Kurtsin walks over to the office couch and sits down. “Go on.”
“So when the teams were deactivated, their weapons remained in place, and it’s the location that you suspect he sold.”
“That is the best-case scenario, if there is one.”
“Why do you say that?”
He paused for a moment. “The teams were never removed.”
“You’re joking.”
“The European teams were easy to recall. The U.S. teams were more difficult. It was decided to leave them in place.”
“What are you trying to say?” She knows the answer, but wants to hear it from him.
“It could be that he sold the activation key code.”