Warriors in Paradise (24 page)

We stayed clear of the house, moving along the shadows of the property line. We reached another backyard. My uncle crouched low and whispered softly, “Here, here, boy.” No dog barked. No dog came. He boosted himself up and over a fence. We all followed suit. My uncle reached the back fence of Coombs’s property. He softly rasped the fence and waited. No dog came to investigate. He stood up and looked around. When he was satisfied that there were no cameras or sensors, he slipped over the fence and landed softly in the lush beautiful garden of Alexander Coombs. Santi, Caleb, and I did the same.

We were inside Coombs’s property.

There was no way we could reach the windows on the second floor. They were at least fourteen feet high. My uncle said, “Let us walk around the perimeter and check all the entry points.”

Caleb said, “Please give me a sec.” Without waiting for a response, he walked back twenty-five feet and started running toward the house. He jumped and placed a foot on the wall at a forty-five-degree angle, pushing himself up and turning to place another foot on the opposite side wall, jumping farther up and grabbing the frame of a second-story window. He pulled himself up into a squatting position on the frame. He took out his magnetic gun and disabled the window security contact. He slid the window up and faded in.

He had been completely silent.

Santi turned to me and whispered, “Did you see that shit? How the fuck is that even possible?”

I thought I knew Caleb, but I just realized in that second that not even Caleb—especially Caleb—knew what he was capable of doing, what his unrealized potential was.

We had been there for a minute or two when I felt Caleb’s soft landing next to us.

He said, “There are five men in hiding, probably waiting for us. We have been set up. Coombs knew we were coming. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

***

We had been compromised. I could feel my uncle’s pain. His friend, his trusted partner from special ops, had sold him out.

Instinctively I knew that one of the worst pains of the heart is when somebody you would be willing to give your life for double-crosses you.

We were all quiet on our drive back to my uncle’s home.

We arrived, and Santi and Caleb went down to the basement. I grabbed hold of my uncle’s arm and directed him toward the kitchen. I opened the cabinet and took out a bottle of scotch. I got shot glasses out and served us two drinks. I put the bottle between us. We both raised our glasses and drank the scotch in one go.

“I am very, very sorry.” I said.

My uncle looked at me with cold, steely eyes and said, “No, I am the one who should be apologizing. I have put you, your mother, and your friends in harm’s way. I have trusted somebody whom I would have put my life on the line for, and he has double-crossed me. My so-called friend prefers to live in shame rather than to die with honor.

“Charlie, you have to understand that being in special ops means something to us—while we are in and when we are out. We are always there for one another. Of course, there is always the exception that proves the rule. It is obvious that a friendship that ends is a friendship that never began.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“The only thing I can do. I am going right now and have a face-to-face with my so-called friend, Jack. This time, you can come with me if you want.”

“Uncle, do you mind if Caleb and Santi tag along?”

My uncle responded, “I insist. Please bring them over.”

I went down to the basement. Santi and Caleb were looking at me. I looked back at them and said, “What? Are you waiting for an invitation in the mail?”

They both grinned at the same time with a sad smile, but a smile nevertheless. They stood up and walked up the stairs after me.

Paying a visit to a friend

I went to the Camry, took out the fake license plates, and placed them on my uncle’s Jeep. My uncle drove on the ring road to West Preston. He exited just before the Baltimore Freeway and found his way into an idyllic community of townhouses. All the parking spaces were taken. We parked three blocks away from my uncle’s so-called friend’s townhouse, on a corner.

My uncle said, “That is where Jack Taylor lives. We served together in Afghanistan.”

We looked at the townhouse. We didn’t see any exterior cameras or security sensors. There was a sign saying that Torchton Security watched the house. Caleb turned around to me and asked, “Do you want me to open the door?”

I said, “Please, do your flying thing.”

Caleb backed up and ran forward, jumped over the fence, and pushed himself up on the neighbor’s wall, then toward my uncle’s friend’s wall, and so on, until he was squatting on a third-story windowsill. He took a moment to examine the window. He quietly slid the window up. He melted inside. Seconds later, the front door opened. We followed him in. We had our guns out with the silencers. We quietly started searching floor by floor.

My uncle opened the second-floor bedroom door. The room was enfolded in shadows. My uncle rushed sideways into the room, and we instinctively did the same in the opposite direction. We could see a shape in the shadows standing by the window. Nothing happened for a minute or two.

Without turning around, Jack Taylor said, “I was wondering how long it would take you to come.

“I could tell you that I had no choice, that the life of my mother, brother, and his family, along with my ex-wife and my two girls, were on the line if I did not cooperate. However, that is just an explanation, not a justification. I always had a choice. I could have chosen to tell you and stand against them. I did not. I was already in too deep with them. I chose the easy way out, the weak way out, which for people like us is the toughest way out.

“Jonathan, I can’t make it up to you. Saying sorry just doesn’t cut it. What’s done is done! I am ashamed of having gone behind your back. I fucked up! Nevertheless, I can do something to make it up to you. I know now that the only honorable way out of this is working together, helping you all the way through.

“There are two choices for me: to live in shame or die with honor. You don’t have to believe me now, but believe this: I’d rather die than live without honor. If you accept my help, the only thing I ask from you, if you happen to survive, is to take care of my family.”

My uncle looked at each of us in turn and asked, “What do you say? This is as much your decision as it is mine.”

I looked at Caleb and Santi and then turned to my uncle and said, “I think he’s a piece of shit, but we do need his help. However, the second we have any doubt about his loyalty, I will put a bullet in his head myself.”

My uncle looked at his ex-friend and said, “Jack, we reluctantly accept your help.”

“Thanks, Jonathan! You won’t regret it. Now, let’s get down to business. What would you like to know? What would you like me to do? What can I do to help?”

“Jack, you need to call Coombs and tell him that you had a visitor from south of the border. The visitor would like to talk to him tomorrow morning. Tell him that you and this visitor will be waiting for him at eight in the morning under Teddy’s statue on Roosevelt Island.”

We gave him the confidential phone number Nicanor Toro and Nancy Smith had used to contact him. He dialed, and after the second ring, Coombs answered. “Who is this?” he asked.

Jack said, “It is me. We spoke this afternoon regarding our friends south of the border.”

“How did you get this number?” asked Coombs.

Jack answered, “One of your two visitors gave it to me. I think he was trying to make a statement.”

Coombs asked, “What do they want?”

“The young, tall visitor wants us to meet tomorrow morning at eight under Teddy Roosevelt’s statue on his island. Just the three of us.”

“Do you know what for?”

“I think he wants to go on with his life and he wants to make a deal.”

“Fine. Tell him I will see the both of you tomorrow morning. And Jack, be careful. Remember where your alliances lie.” Coombs hung up.

***

We decided to spend the rest of the night at Jack’s house. I texted my mother so she wouldn’t worry. We all went down to the living room and lay down four covers, comforters, and pillows on the floor.

“Sorry, Jack. You know the drill. We cannot let you out of our sight until this is over.”

My uncle flex-cuffed his wrists behind his back, and then his ankles. He lay down on one of the made-up beds next to the wall.

My uncle said, “I’ll take first watch. Charlie, you take second; Caleb third; and Santi, the last one. Now let’s try to get a few
Z
s. Tomorrow is going to be a long, long day.”

The three of us lay down. In no time, Caleb was breathing smoothly. I had just fallen asleep when I felt my uncle shaking me. I looked at my watch; I had slept for an hour and a half. Like a good soldier, my uncle fell asleep almost as soon his head hit the pillow. When you have seen action several times, you learn to sleep whenever and wherever you are. It is a survival mechanism. I walked softly around and checked Jack and the street. Everything was as expected. Two hours later, I was waking up Caleb. I lay down on the comforter and opened my eyes four hours later.

Catching the Wolf

It was 5:00 a.m.

The good smell of strong coffee and bacon was coming from the kitchen. Jack and my uncle were wide awake. I shook Caleb, and he woke up immediately. I took my knife out of my backpack and cut through Jack’s flex-cuffs. He stood up and rubbed his wrists. Looking at Jonathan, he said, “Bathroom first, breakfast second. All right with you, Jonathan?”

My uncle looked at him and said, “Go for it, and please, Jack, leave the door open.”

My uncle stood outside the bathroom until Jack finished, and we all went to the kitchen. Santi had cooked up a storm of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. There was a pitcher of frozen orange juice and a coffee carafe. We each took a plate, and we served ourselves.

God bless Santi. He had cooked for an army, and we ate like one. Everybody was hungry except Jack, who hardly touched his food.

My uncle said, “We need to leave here by six thirty a.m. I want us to be in position at the latest by seven forty a.m.”

There were three full bathrooms in the townhouse. Santi kept guard on Jack. My uncle, Caleb, and I took quick showers and got dressed. We were ready ten minutes later. My uncle accompanied Jack to the bathroom in his bedroom, where Jack took a shower, shaved, and dressed up in a conservative work suit. We were dressed in our action clothing. The four of us had dark hoodies and gloves. We were ready.

It was 6:30 a.m.

The rush-hour traffic was starting to fill the main thoroughfares. In less than an hour, Jonathan was exiting the George Washington Parkway just before it suddenly climbed up a hill along the Potomac River, and he parked in the island parking lot. There were two other cars, probably owned by early joggers. Jack, Jonathan, and I crossed the footbridge to the island. Santi and Caleb stayed behind, out of sight in the parking lot.

We walked along the main trail to a clearing where an immense statue of Teddy Roosevelt stood with his right arm raised to the heavens, as though he were still president of the land. Jonathan went to hide in the brush surrounding the clearing.

***

It was 7:35 a.m.

We were ready.

At 7:55 a.m., my cell phone vibrated. I received a text message from Santi: “Party arrived with 4 boyfriends. 2 stayed in the car.”

Several minutes later, I saw Coombs walking toward us. Two men in dark suits with earphones were walking three yards behind him. He came and stood in front of us. He looked straight at me and said, “Let’s take a walk.” Jack and I stood up. Coombs said, “Not you, Jack. I will see you shortly.”

Coombs started walking north, and I followed him, walking on his right. Without looking at me, he said, “You have no any idea how lucky you have been, boy. You should have been dead three days ago. The fact that you are still alive is a miracle brought about by natural forces. Who could have imagined that a tropical storm was going to hit the Pacific at the same time a hurricane was hitting the Gulf of Mexico? Who could have imagined that two American fuckups were going to be dating the girls we needed?

“You were supposed to be collateral damage. Charlie, I like you. Despite your having Irish blood, you come from a long line of patriots. I even like Caleb, your black friend from the projects. Now, that fucking Mexican is another issue altogether. He is like all Latin Americans—scum, a born-again criminal.

“Charlie, I know you are a patriot. You come from a long line of American English and Irish families. I know you will not mind giving your life for your country. Charlie, you fell right in the middle of an operation for the good of this nation. Do you understand me?”

I just couldn’t believe my ears. I didn’t know whether to shout, cry, laugh, or kill this son of a bitch. How could my country, the greatest nation on earth, have such an empty-headed, arrogant person being part of the government? How could I justify my father dying for a country that held these beliefs? How could I rationalize giving three years of my life fighting in Afghanistan?