Disavowed (3 page)

Chapter 5

Helmand Province, Afghanistan

6:03am AFT, August 24
th

They had a new game now. Instead of delivering severed body parts to his cell, a trio of guards would come into the room, blindfold him, unhook his manacles from the wall, attach a cold metal collar to his neck, and drag him out like a dog. They even made barking sounds and tried to trip him like kids do.

Once outside they would parade him around, jabbering on about what a good dog he was, apparently not knowing that he could understand every word. They never hit him. It was just like taking a dog for a walk. Andy didn’t have a clue what they were doing.

As well as he could estimate, they did this every hour or two. He didn’t have his watch so he couldn’t be sure, but it felt like hour-long intervals. He’d started the habit of counting down the seconds. Tedious, but what else was he going to do?

They kept it up throughout the night, killing any chance of getting sleep.

They were either toying with him or wearing him down in the most obscure way he’d ever experienced. He’d had briefings on captivity and torture. He knew what to expect. But this wasn’t it. There had to be a reason…

He’d just dozed off when the cell door creaked open and the guards streamed in. Gone were the playful smirks, replaced by grim determination. No one said a word as they ran through the practiced routine, leading him out of the structure into the still morning air.

Andy’s ears strained to hear anything that would give away his captors’ intent, but none came. One of them pushed him to the ground, and in broken English, said “Sit.”

He sat, and waited. It didn’t take long.

Soon he heard the sound of vehicles approaching. He couldn’t tell, but he estimated between five and ten. Car doors opened and shut and he could just make out the muffled conversations coming from the passengers. They were talking about him.

In Pashtun one of the men said, “Stand him up.”

Andy’s heart beat faster as strong hands grabbed him under his arms and hoisted him to his feet.

“Tell me why you’ve come to my country,” the same voice said again, still in Pashtun.

Andy ignored the question. They didn’t need to know that he understood the language. Let them think that he was just another no name contractor who didn’t speak a lick of the local dialect.

Again in Pashtun, the man said, “Come now, Major Andrews. I know that you speak my language. Do not be rude. Please answer my question.”

While it didn’t necessarily surprise him, it did add to his worry. If they knew who he was, it was only a matter of time before they knew he was working for the CIA. And if they knew that…

“I asked you a question, Major.” The man’s voice sounded cultured, unlike the men who’d guarded him since his capture.

“I’m in Afghanistan on a humanitarian mission with White Dove International.” It was his official cover and he’d actually gone through the steps of being hired by the non-profit as a sort of ambassador for the region. His job with White Dove was to find Afghan communities in need of assistance and organize the shipment and distribution of aid. It gave him the ability to travel wherever and whenever he needed.

“And please tell me, Major, does White Dove International know that you also work for the Central Intelligence Agency?” The man had switched to near flawless English, his accent faint.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am a former Marine who…”

“According to my sources you are an anomaly, Major. Still listed as an active duty Marine Corps officer, you have apparently done work for the CIA for close to six months. Is this not true?”

“It is not.”

“It would be better if we could be honest with each other, Major. There are some in my country who would like to see you drawn and quartered on national television. Is that what you want?”

“Call White Dove. Ask them who I am. They’ll tell you…”

The man snapped his fingers and the sound produced an immediate result. The butt of a rifle slammed into Andy’s abdomen, blasting the air from his lungs. He resisted the urge to kneel, waiting for his body to naturally regain its ability to breath.

“Despite what you might think, we Afghans are a civilized culture. Our people established this community centuries before your country was even a wisp of a thought. There have been many nations which have come and gone in that time. You Americans are only the most recent. I am sure that because of your Marine background you are well aware of our history, our ability to outlast even the most brutal invaders. Let us bring that same concept into our current situation. I am a patient man, Major, but my patience has limits. You either cooperate with us now, or your entire operation will become public knowledge.”

Andy’s stomach clenched. There was no way they knew…unless someone within the CIA had tipped them off.

The man continued. “So while I applaud your noble intentions and understand that you will fight us until the last breath escapes your lips, I am equally sure that you have no idea what the repercussions would be should you continue your mission.”

Andy had no idea what the man was talking about. He’d flown into Helmand on a hunch, a simple investigative trip. What swarm of hornets had he uncovered?

“I will leave you with one final thought, Major, a gift really. What you might not know is that steps have already been taken by your country to distance itself from you.”

“What are you talking about?” The last he’d heard he was in perfect standing with the CIA. Hell, he was still the new guy. No one knew him.

The man chuckled. “Have you ever heard the term
disavowed
, Major?”

Andy’s throat seized.

“I had to look the word up. According to your English dictionary, the term disavowed means to refuse responsibility for something or someone, or to deny its existence. That is what your CIA has done to you, Major. To them you no longer exist. You are a figment of your own imagination. A ghost. A traitor.”

Andy shook his head. It couldn’t be. Nothing he’d done could be construed that way. He was a Marine for God’s sake. Maybe this man was lying. Maybe he…

All of a sudden the nagging recognition that had been tapping away in his subconscious coalesced into clarity. He knew who the man was.

“I will give you the day to think about it, Major. Cooperate with us and your death will be swift. A warrior’s death. Deny my request and…well, we Afghanis do have creative ways of seeing men suffer. The media will love the story of a Marine on loan to the CIA conducting an unsanctioned operation inside Afghanistan… Get some sleep today. You will not be bothered. I will be back tomorrow morning. Good day, Major.”

Andy heard the opening and closing of car doors. Not rusted pickups or late model sedans. The heavy thud of armored SUVs. More proof that the man was who Andy suspected.

As they dragged him back to his cell, Andy tried to find a silver lining in his predicament. He searched for a way out, a reason why his own government was turning its back on him. None came. If this man had taken the time to see him, Major Andrews had tripped on something much larger than he’d suspected. But what could it be?

Chapter 6

The White House

Washington, D.C.

12:37am, August 24
th

He ran a hand through his dirty blond hair, a yawn accompanying the gesture. It had been a very long day. As the Chief of Staff to the President of The United States of America, Travis Haden rarely left the office before midnight. There was simply too much to do. If it wasn’t a raging policy battle, it was another imminent threat from one of the many crazies around the world.

The former SEAL was used to stress. While getting his trident had been tough, and leading a global security company like SSI had been challenging, his new role eclipsed them both by far. Some days, he wished he was getting shot at again instead of having bundles and bundles of reports and requests delivered daily. The level of hypocrisy alone was enough to send him running. The warrior in him growled, but the loyal public servant calmed the unease by recognizing the importance of his contribution.

President Zimmer needed him. It still amazed Travis to think of all they’d accomplished in less than a year. When he’d asked Travis to join him in Washington, Zimmer had made two requests. “Help me clean up my cabinet.” That was the easy part. Most of those people had known the reshuffling was coming.

The second request was less defined, more strategic, and yet, the reason Travis had said yes to the new position.

“Help me be a good president,” Zimmer had said.

While the request might’ve seemed simple to others, Travis understood the breadth of what the president wanted. Zimmer wasn’t just worried about his legacy, he wanted to do it right. He wanted to be a fair leader worthy of the office. That meant surrounding himself with people like Travis and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General McMillan, USMC, men and women whose sole purpose in life was to do the right thing, even if it meant challenging their boss’s point of view.

Travis felt like they were succeeding. The whole Zimmer Doctrine idea was gaining steam. International allies rallied to the president’s call. Terrorists were running scared, pursued by eager military veterans and their active duty brethren. They’d even made some headway with the economy.

Yeah, things were going in the right direction, but there was still so much to do.

That brought him to this latest problem.
Andy
.

He’d been introduced to the Marine years before, when his cousin Cal had brought the young officer home after returning from Iraq. The guy was sharp, a born leader. Travis had met all manner of men in his years in the military and with SSI. He knew honest men, men with the morals of patriotic warriors. Andy was one of those guys.

Or so he’d thought.

Earlier in the day, he and the president met with the CIA director, his deputy director of National Clandestine Service (NCS) and the CIA’s inspector general.

Travis knew the director, but had never met the other two. The president said he’d only met them in passing.

They’d come at the president’s request, more of a favor than an official tasking. The picture they painted of Major Andrews contrasted harshly with the image Travis had of the lost Marine.

“Mr. President, we have overwhelming proof, including video, phone transcripts and witnesses that prove Major Andrews’ guilt,” explained the inspector general. His voice was nasally and pompous. “We’ve also uncovered at least five overseas accounts containing just under thirty million dollars, all held by known aliases of Major Andrews.”

“And what exactly are you saying he’s guilty of, gentlemen?” asked the president, his eyes boring into the almost flippant inspector general.

The director saw the simmering anger in the president’s eyes and cut in before the Inspector General could respond.

“Sir, we believe Major Andrews is part of a larger conspiracy to discredit the United States and embezzle millions of dollars earmarked for aid projects in the Middle East.”

They’d shown them the files, the videos, the proof that Andy was what they were accusing him of being: a traitor. Neither man wanted to believe it, but the deck seemed insurmountably stacked against the Marine.

And yet, something nagged at the edges of Travis’s vision. It all seemed too tight, too perfect. Ask any cop on the street or FBI agent in the field, an investigation was rarely this cut and dried.

The other thing that bothered Travis was the deputy director. Sitting there with his perfectly manicured fingernails and Savile Row suit, the man looked more like a person heading an international luxury brand than leading the most powerful clandestine service in the world. The man’s silence did little to ease Travis’s suspicions.

So instead of going home and facing Cal, who had texted every thirty minutes for an update, Travis sat at his desk and conducted his own investigation. Luckily the Secret Service owed him a few favors, and it only took one phone call to get their file on the CIA’s Deputy Director NCS, Kingsley Coles.

A Harvard grad, Coles had done a stint in the Army after college. Intelligence. After fulfilling his four year commitment, he’d gone back to Harvard for his Juris Doctor, then spent thirteen years in environmental law, suing large corporations who were killing Mother Earth. Coles had become a very wealthy man.

Strangely enough, he’d entered public service on some sort of grant funded by the government in the wake of 9-11. Coles left private practice, even giving up his position as partner to serve his country. He’d done a year stint with the State Department then made his way to the CIA.

It didn’t look like the guy had any field experience. That would most certainly have precluded Coles from attaining his current position ten years before; however Zimmer’s predecessor, after repeated CIA snafus, ushered in a slew of political appointees to positions formerly held by CIA lifers.

It looked like Coles was one of those guys. Someone who’d been brought in to clean house, to polish up the image of the American spy network. Travis shook his head. Sure there were plenty of subpar employees in the CIA just like any government entity, but putting an attorney in the spot rightfully reserved for a field veteran was just wrong.

Beyond that, something didn’t feel right about the guy. It wasn’t anything Travis could put his finger on, but his senses were tingling.

Either way, that would have to wait until morning. Right now he had to call Cal and give him the bad news. It wasn’t looking good for Andy.