Collateral Damage (36 page)

“Dear lord,” Lauren said. “It’s unbelievable a man would react like that.”

Roger shook his head. “Mari’s traditional Muslim and was wearing her head covering and gown. With the political uproar over the terrorist attacks between the West and the radical Islam, the man targeted his hate at her.”

Lauren grabbed Jack’s arm. “He did this,” she whispered. “Bill did this and it’s happening all over the world.”

Jack took Lauren’s hand. “Collins may have set the stage, but evil is in the hearts and minds of individuals. They’re the ones responsible.” Jack looked at Weston. “So he booby trapped Mari’s house?”

Weston nodded. “He had a wire across the hall in front of her bedroom. I partially tripped it before I realized it was there. He also rigged the commode and her bedside lamp. I should have expected something like that, though, after he took a few sniper shots at her when we left the hospital yesterday. Mari is really shook up and frightened out of her mind.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Beck demanded, even angrier than before.

“Who the hell can tell you anything?” Weston shot back. “You’re either drunk, don’t answer, or too ragged out from other shit to deal with anything else.”

“You two want to tell me what’s going on?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” said Beck. “I do, but I CAN’T.” He gave Weston a hard look.

Weston sighed as if the world on his shoulders just doubled in size. “I can, but let’s go sit down.”

They moved inside. Most everything in Beck’s was handmade by him; a mixture of Native American style and the solid Early American craftsmanship that had been lost in today’s mass production. The old world atmosphere gave an added comfort to the earthy tones and soft cushions of the wood framed sofa and chairs. Tomorrow would be the third day of non-stop hell and little sleep, and his body ached tenfold. He welcomed the comfort and to be able to let down his guard for a moment. Or so he thought.

“There are a few things you need to know about what happened in Lebanon,” Weston said.

Jack tensed.

“While standing in Neil’s house waiting for the IED to blow me apart, my life separated into two piles. Things I regretted and things I didn’t. A good bit of what went down in Lebanon went into the regret pile. Though I’m not sure that I wouldn’t make the same decision again, given the circumstances.”

Jack started to speak, not even sure what he was going to say, but Weston held up his hand. “Hear me out, DT. Just know that every step I made, be it the right step or not, I did the best that I could and at any moment I would have given my life to save any one of the teams.”

Weston scrubbed his face and ran a harried hand through his hair. He met Jack’s gaze and didn’t waver. “Everything was in line and moving smoothly for the mission. Beck’s team on the perimeter and your team moving though the building, searching for James and Shalev’s daughters. You reported heavy gunfire, as if pinned down on the second floor.”

Jack’s body began to sweat and tremble. He remembered that now. The four of them had thought they were goners. He had to force his mind back to what Weston was saying.

“Then communications went dead and all signs of life ceased as if your entire team had been wiped out. A truck full of insurgents pulled up to the entrance. Men ran into the building and a man with an entourage of guards entered as well. Beck reported the man’s identity and the continued sound of gunfire from inside the building.

“That man was Muhammad al Qassem, DT, the mastermind behind the death of thousands of Americans. Given the data, the absence of signs of life, I ordered a Samson missile strike to take out Qassem. God knows how many more Americans the man would kill if he escaped.”

Jack stood, hands fisted, body shaking harder. “Son of a bitch! The nightmares. They were real. There were two explosions. One from the outside then one from below. I was in the hallway going to help Neil. We’d found the hostages and were on our way out. Neil was blown back—”

Weston stood and grabbed Jack’s arms. Jack focused on Weston’s face, feeling as if he were being whirled in a tornado. Tears ran from Weston’s eyes. “What we now know is the terrorist had developed a jamming device that wiped out the signs of life, communications, and even interfered with the Samson’s GPS. The missile hit between the terrorist stronghold and the building next door. There were explosives being stored in both buildings and those explosives detonated, causing severe damage to both buildings. Qassem and his insurgents died. Neil died. You, Rico, Pecos, Shalev and James’s daughters were injured. But that’s not all. There was a makeshift orphanage set up in that second building as cover for the terrorist. Three children and two women died in the collateral damage from the Samson.” Weston released his hold on Jack and turned way. The pain Jack saw in his commander’s face wasn’t bearable. Weston struggled to breathe. “The decision to hide the Samson strike and blame the damage solely on the stored explosives came from the White House. It was, and still is, feared that Islamic radicals would use the tragedy to escalate a world war. Beck, me and the few others who knew of the missile strike were sworn to silence. Even those injured in the collateral damage were not to be told. The more who knew, the greater the chance of the wrong people finding out and the odds of more people dying and being hurt because of it all.”

Jack turned away, hurting as his mind grappled with everything Weston had said. As a soldier he registered the facts and processed the logical progression of events and decisions. Intellectually he understood every one of them, even if he didn’t wholly agree with every point, he clearly saw the big picture. Emotionally, a maelstrom of hurt, anger and disillusionment had him by the throat.

“Jack.” Lauren came up behind him and pressed her cheek to his back in wordless comfort and support.

He drew a deep breath and turned around, squeezing her shoulder in thanks. He looked at Weston. “Why are you telling me now?”

“Because when I stood on death’s doorstep today, I realized there are some things I can live with and some I can’t. Considering the inhumane depravity that gets excused in a heartbeat around the world, I can live with them not knowing an American missile played a role in the Lebanon tragedy, but I can’t live with my men not knowing the truth. So I made the decision to tell each of you. What you decide to do with that information is up to you and I will face whatever consequences I need to that result. Just know that as Commander I made the best decision I could with the facts I had at the time. I’m sorry, DT, sorry you were hurt so badly. Sorry to have kept the truth about what happened from you. If I could trade places this instant, I would.”

Jack drew several deep breaths. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t trade places. Given the facts, I don’t know if I would have ordered the missile or not. I keep seeing Neil blown against the wall, keep feeling the building cave beneath me, keep hearing the screams of pain, maybe my own. Comparing the damage in Lebanon to the devastation of Qassem’s last attack on American soil, the decision to take him out had to be made. But that’s why you’re a commander and I’m not. Somebody has to carry the responsibility to make critical choices in a crisis and live with the burden of them. We both know there are no good choices or winners in war. Consider your apology accepted.”

“That’s it?” Roger shouted. “You can forgive me that easily? Jesus, DT. Your career might be over.”

“What? You want me to waste time and energy beating you to a pulp? Seems as if you and Beck have already done enough of that. Hell, Roger. I don’t know what I feel yet. I don’t know what to do yet, but I sure as hell know what has to happen next. I’m not waiting for Rashid’s right time. I am going to get Matt and Mitch out of Menendez’s hands. Are you with me or not?”

“We’d be disobeying direct orders from General Dekkar.”

“Did he say specifically do not go to Peru and rescue Lauren’s kids?”

“No. Just to turn over the investigation to the NCS.”

Beck cursed. “Somebody want to tell me what’s going on?”

“In a minute,” Jack said at the same time as Weston.

Jack smiled. “Then we won’t be disobeying. We turned the investigation over to the NCS. No more investigation necessary just action.”

Weston smiled. “Good point. My orders from Dekker are to find you. Guess I’m going to have to go to Peru and infiltrate Menendez’s digs to do it. Isn’t that right, Beck?”

“Sir?”

“Have you seen DT, Beck?”

Beck smiled. “No, sir.”

“Where do you think he is?”

“Peru, sir.”

“Good. I have transpo waiting.”

“And I have—” Jack paused and looked at Lauren. “Make that Lauren has the perfect plan.”

Weston and Beck looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. And maybe he had.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Madre de Dios Region, Peru

Amazon Rainforest, Santuario Compound

1100 hours

“Can I do anything else to make you comfortable?”

“No. You’ve been wonderful,” Conrad told Angie. And she had. Ever since they’d all been unpacked from crates yesterday, she’d been the angel of mercy administering to him, the brats and the other dude, who he hoped would soon be dead. Conrad kind of liked Angie and he could tell she was interested in the other guy. It was in the way she looked at the dude and touched him, it made Conrad want it.

What would his life have been like if he’d met someone like her in high school, or even college? She wasn’t the cheerleader type, always flaunting their T&A and being so picky on who got snatch and who didn’t. She’d have been the one in the library studying. He should have read a book more often.

Not that he’d had to do without back then. Some had put out just because he was the football star and for the few dry spells, well, he had some good dirt on one of the cheerleaders and she gave him what he wanted when he wanted it just so he’d keep his mouth shut. Those had been the good old days.

“I don’t know where I would be without your help,” Conrad told her. “Probably dead. Ever since they blew up my boat and shot me in the shoulder when I fought them after I made it to shore, I thought for sure I’d die.” He let tears well into his eyes and then blinked hard and drew a deep breath.

“It’s going to be all right.” She leaned closer and squeezed his shoulder. Her full breasts jiggled nicely. She was braless beneath her shirt. He’d watched her take it off last night and use it to make a sling for the other dude’s broken arm. Hell, Conrad’s shoulder was in bad shape, he could have used a sling as well, especially one that had been in contact with her tits.

If the monkeys outside weren’t screeching during the night then Collins’s damnable brats were crying, making sleep nearly impossible until the din of early morning birds made it completely impossible. Conrad had a headache and the brats were running around, racing their cars everywhere in the set of rooms they’d all been locked in after leaving the plane.

Conrad had decided that when the opportunity presented itself, he was going to suffocate the other dude with a pillow, paving the way for him and Angie. And the first chance he got he was getting rid of those damnable race cars.

“Thanks,” he told Angie, and raised his good hand to pat her arm. She looked at him and he thought she was going to say more, but then that other dude groaned from the next room.

“Oh thank God. Rico’s waking up.” She left, dropping Gardner like a hot potato.

Not good. Not good at all.

He motioned to one of the boys as they passed and they came over to him. They would be the key to getting to Angie. He made them laugh a bit then quietly manipulated them into a doozy of a fight. As predicted, Angie left the other dude and came running to deal with the brats. She scolded them and took their race cars away for a ten minute time out. Good. Very good.

1300 Hours

George did an excited flip and landed directly in front of Collins’s sons the moment they were pushed through the door. Both boys cried out and fell back. From the surveillance video of the prisoners’ rooms, Andreas had watched the boys when separated from the red-haired woman. She was still beating against the door, demanding that the children be brought back to her when he’d left the screen a few moments ago.

George jumped in a circle and laughed at the boys, pointing at their faces.

“
Madre de Dios
, George,” Andreas agreed. “They are exactly alike.” He frowned at the boys because they hadn’t laughed yet. George loved for children to laugh. “You like my son, don’t you,
chicos
?”

The boys nodded.

“He likes you too. So you must laugh when he does a trick. You don’t want to make him mad. Not yet. George, why don’t you show them how you race like a car?”

George screeched and then ran fast across the large room. He jumped on chairs, swung from the chandelier and the curtains as he whined like a broken siren. He ended with a flip, landing right in front of the boys again. One of the boys laughed. The other one cried out and backed up another step. George screeched at him and pushed him.

Andreas frowned. “He wants you to laugh,” he told the boy who looked as if he was going to cry. That would only make George sad then. This play session wasn’t going as well as he’d planned. Andreas glanced at the time. The CNN camera crew would be here shortly to set up for the
Latimoor Live
show and he really didn’t need George in a bad mood. Why wasn’t the boy amused?

“Show them your guitar, George.” The tinny sound of “Hey, Hey, We’re the Monkees” played as George strummed his play guitar and jumped up and down. This time both of the boys laughed. “Hey, Hey, with Monkey,” one of them said, singing along with the song.

The boy reached out and touched the guitar and George screeched and grabbed the boy’s hand. “No!” Andreas told George, stopping his son from biting the boy.

Andreas wasn’t ready for blood yet. He needed Lauren Collins’s cooperation. Besides, he’d want to have a video keepsake of it all and that hadn’t been set up.

Now George was upset. He crawled in to a corner and was glaring at the boys, who were now huddled together by the door.