Noble Beginnings (2 page)

I heard weapons
drawn around the room and the floor creaking behind me, a sign that Bear was
moving into position.

“Gallo,”
Martinez said.

“Yeah?” Gallo
said, stepping out of the shadowy corner he had occupied.

“Move the man
to the corner, then the woman,” Martinez said.

Gallo did as
instructed. The family huddled together in the far corner of the room.

“Now stay here,
Gallo,” Martinez said. “Rest of you outside. Now.”

I felt the
barrel of a gun in my back but didn’t turn to see who it was.

“You two leave
your weapons behind,” Martinez said.

We moved back
through the narrow hall to the slightly wider doorway. Bear stepped outside
first, I went second, and Kiser came out behind me with Bealle and finally
Martinez in tow.

The moon now
hovered directly above the street, beyond the cover of the orange smoke. I
scanned the street and spotted a group of men hanging out a few blocks away.
Were they the same men from earlier or perhaps a new group of men not as
friendly as the last? Their chatter stopped. They turned to face us. A few of
them stepped forward. Were they planning to attack? That wouldn’t be a bad
thing, of course. It might give us and the CIA spec ops something in common to
fight, instead of each other.

“You guys keep
an eye on him,” Martinez said.

I swung my head
around and saw Kiser and Bealle aim their guns on Bear. Like us, they carried
Beretta M9 9mm pistols. Weapon of choice, it seemed. I followed Martinez’s
movements as he paced a five foot area in the middle of the street.

“Noble,”
Martinez said. “Step on out here.”

I looked at
Bear, and he nodded in return, and then winked. I crossed the packed dirt yard
and stepped into the street.

Martinez lunged
at me the moment my foot hit the pavement.

I ducked his
blow and followed up by pushing his back. His momentum sent him into the side
of the house. He reached out with his arms and came to a grinding halt. He
turned, rolled his head. His neck and shoulders cracked and popped.

Kiser and
Bealle kept their weapons pointed at Bear, but their eyes were fixed on
Martinez.

I made the next
move and engaged Martinez. We danced in a tight spiral, trading blows of fist
and foot. Every connection sent a cloudburst of sweat and blood into the air.
The two of us struck and countered with the precision of two highly trained
prize fighters. We were equals now.

Martinez threw
a flurry of punches. One landed on the side of my head. The blow knocked me to
the ground. I knew his next move would be to kick me in the midsection. I
quickly rolled and got to my hands and feet.

Martinez backed
up.

I looked to the
side. Saw black combat boots less than four feet away. I didn’t have to look up
to know the boots didn’t belong to Bear. He wore brown boots.

Martinez
started toward me. I had to time my attack just right. If I struck too soon
Martinez would be out of my reach. Too late and he’d be upon me before I would
have a chance to react.

I took a deep
breath as time slowed down. Martinez’s boots hit the packed dirt, heel then
toe, left then right. He was ten feet way, then eight, then six.

I launched into
the air to the right and twisted my body. Kiser didn’t have time to react other
than to turn slightly toward me. His outstretched right arm moved too slowly.
My body continued to twist to the right, and I whipped my left arm around. My
hand wrapped into a fist and struck Kiser’s windpipe hard and fast. He let out
a loud gasp as the impact caused him to drop his gun. His hands went to his
neck as he stumbled backward and fell to the ground. He tried to suck air into
his lungs, but his crushed throat wouldn’t allow it. His lungs shriveled and
his face turned red, then blue, and scrunched up into a contorted look of
agony.

Martinez closed
the gap between the two of us. It was the right move at the wrong time. What he
should have done was pulled his weapon. Again, I ducked and slipped to the
side, letting his momentum carry him a good ten feet away from me.

I cast a quick
glance toward Bear, who held Bealle’s limp body against the building with his
left hand while his right delivered punch after furious punch.

With Bealle and
Kiser out of commission, I turned to deal with Martinez, who had just scraped
himself off the ground and was approaching. I still couldn’t figure out why he
didn’t pull his gun on me. End it quickly. He stepped over Kiser’s limp body,
coming to a stop a few feet away from me.

I heard a body
hit the ground behind me and then Bear appeared next to me.

Martinez lunged
forward. I moved to the side and brought a fist down across the bridge of his
nose, sending him to the ground, hard. Bear picked him up, and then drove two
hard blows to the man’s face and then tossed him onto the ground next to
Bealle.

We reentered
the house with our guns drawn and confronted Gallo. He gave up without a fight.

“You people
should leave,” I said to the family. “Tonight. Now.”

Bear removed
the thick plastic ties that bound their arms together.

The family
huddled together. Each parent scooped up a kid.

“Follow us out
and then go.” I grabbed my M16 from its resting spot on the wall and then led
the family down the narrow hall. I stopped by the door, took a deep breath and
then stuck my head outside. It was deserted. Martinez and his men and even the
group of Iraqi men down the street had bailed. I saw flashing lights reflecting
off the surrounding buildings as sirens filled the air.

“Bear,” I
called down the hall. “We need to get out of here.”

Martinez and
the others peeled away in the van we had rode in. That left Bear and I
searching for a way back to headquarters. But before that, we had to get away
from the house before the police arrived. We managed to slip around the corner
before a squad car arrived.

“You pay
attention on the ride in?” I asked.

Bear nodded.
“I’ve been out here before.”

I scanned the
street. Empty, except for a few small cars parked on narrow strips of dirt
between the road and houses.

“Take your
pick.”

He pointed at a
blue two door that didn’t look like it could fit one of us, let alone both of
us. He started toward the car parked a half block away. The sound of driving
slowly echoed from behind.

“We better pick
it up,” I said.

We reached the
car. Both of us were ready to smash in the windows. I checked the door handle
and found it to be unlocked. We got inside just before white light flooded the
street. I looked back and saw a police car at the end of the road with its
spotlight pointing in our direction. Bear pulled at the cheap plastic
underneath the steering column and ripped it free. He touched the ignition
wires together and the little car buzzed to life. He put it in first gear and
we rolled to the end of the street. Anticipation and anxiety filled the front
of the car. We stopped at the end of the road. The floodlight still illuminated
the street. It didn’t get closer, didn’t fade away.

“Turn left,” I
said.

“We need to go
right.”

“I’m sure we
can pick it back up, Bear. But let’s go left, circle back and see what these
guys are doing.”

He nodded,
eased the car forward and made a left turn. The shift from bright light to
darkness messed with our vision and we almost didn’t notice the group of men in
the road.

Bear hit the
brakes. “Really?” He pounded on the horn. Short bursts of high pitched honks
filled the air. “Doesn’t anybody hang out in a bar in this damn country?”

“Flash your
highs and move slow, Bear.”

He did.

The group of
men split in the middle, just enough for us to pass between the divided group.
They leaned over and peered through the window. A few pushed against the small
car, rocking it on its chassis.

“I got a bad
feeling, Jack.”

“Just keep
going.”

I clutched my
Beretta M9 tight against my chest, ready to fire on the first man to punch
through the window. The M16s were lying across the back seat. A chill washed
over me at the thought of one or two of the men getting into the back of the
car and getting their hands on the fully automatic weapons. One squeeze of the
trigger and they could take us and half their group out before they realized
they had fired.

The car slowed
to a stop.

“What the hell,
Bear?”

“Want me to run
him over?” He flung his arms forward.

I opened my
mouth to say yes and turned my head to look out the windshield. A small kid,
maybe seven or eight years old, stood directly in our path.

“Put it in
reverse.”

Bear’s eyes
darted to the rear-view mirror.

“They’re
blocking the path.”

I turned in my
seat to get a look at the gathering of men behind us. Three silhouettes blocked
the moonlit view of the street.

“Run them
over.”

“What?”

“They put
themselves there,” I said. “They have a choice. That kid didn’t.”

Bear’s hand
moved to the shifter. He slid it over then down, into reverse. Hit the gas.
Three quick thuds filled the car. Two men fell to the side. The car bounced as
we rolled over the third.

The rest of the
men separated and we sped backward. They regrouped and huddled around their
injured friend. A few turned their attention toward us and then bottles and
rocks rained down on the little car.

Bear whipped
the car around in a tight circle. Threw it into first then sped away in the
opposite direction. I kept my head turned and watched through the back window
for nearly five minutes.

“I think we’re
good.”

Bear nodded,
checking the rear-view mirror every three to five seconds. “It’s getting too
hot, Jack.”

“I know. I
don’t like this any more than you.”

I leaned back
in my undersized seat, rubbed my eyes with my thumbs, then turned my head and
stared out the window. We were outside the city, past the suburbs. The barren
landscape was a welcome respite from the hordes of roaming vigilantes and
anti-American Iraqis we encountered on a daily basis.

“I’ll call
Abbot and Keller after we get back. See about getting us out of here.”

Bear didn’t say
anything. His big hands wrapped around the steering wheel, his eyes focused on
the empty road. We rode in silence the remaining twenty miles back to base.

*
* *

We shared a
single room on base. Two single beds, a small kitchenette with a stove,
mini-fridge and microwave, and a wooden table with two matching chairs.
Frankly, we didn’t need much else. We ate, slept, trained on our own and
performed missions with the CIA ops teams. Outside of the missions, the
operatives had no interaction with us. It wasn’t a written rule or anything
like that. They didn’t want anything to do with us. These guys looked down on
the Marines in the program. A stark contrast from the operatives based in the
U.S. and Europe. They welcomed the help and our point of view on the missions.
Christ, they pulled us eight weeks into recruit training, and we were then put
through CIA training. It’s not like Bear and I were hard core Marines.

Bear returned
to the room carrying a twelve pack of piss warm beer.

“Get anything
to eat?” I asked.

He held up the
twelve pack. “Figured it’s a good night to drink our dinner.”

“Only problem
with that,” I said, “is six beers doesn’t make a meal.”

He stepped
through the doorway and into the room then lifted his other arm. “That’s why I
got you your own.”

I laughed, then
grabbed the cardboard box holding my dinner and cracked open a warm one, taking
a long pull from the bottle.

“God, this
stuff is awful,” I said.

Bear chugged
three quarters of a bottle then set it down on the table and let out a loud
exhale.

“I don’t know,
Jack. It’s not that bad.” A loud belch followed.

I finished my
beer and pushed back from the table. “And with that, I’m going to get a
shower.”

I exited the
room into the dimly lit hallway. It was quiet. I checked my watch and saw it
was only ten p.m. It was too quiet for ten, though. I shook my head to clear
the thoughts and shrugged off the anxiety. I entered the bathroom and shower
facility at our end of the hall, finding the communal shower room empty. I
quickly washed the sweat, dirt and blood off and then moved to the far end of
the row of sinks. I looked into the mirror and smiled at the growth of hair on
my face. It had been almost two weeks since I had last shaved. I pulled out a
can of shaving cream and my razor, but opted to keep the short beard, for now
at least. I liked it.

I couldn’t help
but think of how bad that night had gone. Everything was routine until the
group of men showed up a few blocks away from the house. People never
approached us unless they meant trouble. And lately we found plenty of trouble.
A quarter of our assignments in Iraq ended up with us getting into an external
conflict apart from our primary target. And it always ended up being a mistake
on the part of the men who engaged us. Not just our group either, this was the
standard for all ops teams. The men who tried to take us on had no way of
knowing who we were. And they had no chance of living long enough to find out.
Despite that, they always engaged us. It was like they had nothing to live for.

Or maybe they
had everything to die for.

On this night,
though, those men hung back, like they were waiting for something. Maybe they
were playing games with Bear, the false advancement and the tall man yelling at
us. That would have been enough to throw us off, make us think that they were a
group of regular guys. Of course, they could have just been a group of regular
guys. Maybe they were waiting for us to do something. It’d give them a reason,
at least.

Then there was
Martinez. He was in rare form tonight. Bear and I worked together, but we
weren’t always assigned to the same CIA team. We floated between four different
groups. We’d spent enough time with Martinez to know he was a high strung, high
motor midget. His guys weren’t any different, either. This incident wasn’t the
first time that we’d squared off. It had happened three other times, including
once on base. But this time he seemed to be daring me to make a move. Every
time we got into it, it was because he pushed the limits on acceptable
treatment of detainees. He pushed further than ever before with the woman, and
in front of her kids, nonetheless. For a moment, I thought he’d pull the
trigger. He might’ve had I not said anything. His guys sure wouldn’t stop him.
Pussies.

The gauntlet
would come down on me over this. I knew that. It was their word against ours.
There were four of them and two of us. Their bosses wouldn’t bother questioning
the family for their account of what happened. My bosses were in the U.S. in
the Carolinas. I needed to call Abbot and Keller. Give them my side of the
story before anyone else talked to them.

I got dressed,
exited the restroom and walked back down the empty hallway to our room.

I pushed the
door open and called out to Bear from the hallway.

“What do you
say we go grab something to eat?”

No response.

“Bear?”

I stuck my head
in the room. The back door stood open. I figured he’d stepped outside for some
fresh air and decided I might as well join him. I grabbed a beer and found my
jacket. My hand reached inside a pocket, searching for my cell phone. Oddly, it
was missing. It had been in that pocket all night long. I hadn’t even taken it
to check the time.

“Bear, have you
seen my phone?”

Still no
response.

I stopped
moving things around on the table and looked toward the back door and took two
steps toward it. I saw Bear standing on the back patio, and he looked at me,
but he said nothing.

“Bear?”

He clenched his
jaw, but did not respond.

“Jack Noble,” a
voice said from behind.

I stopped and
turned my head and saw two men, both armed, standing in the back of the room. I
knew them by face, not by name. They weren’t friends of mine. I dropped my beer
and clasped my hands together behind my head. I looked at the floor and saw
fizzing beer wrapping around the soles of my boots.

Two other men
led Bear inside. He looked at me and shook his head. Pretty obvious what he was
thinking. Same thing I was.

“What’s going
on guys?” I said.

“Shut up,
Noble,” one of them said from behind me.

“You can’t just
detain us without a reason,” I said.

The man
laughed. “We’re in Iraq, Noble. We can do whatever the hell we want.”

They grabbed my
hands, forced them down and behind my back. I felt the thick plastic zip ties
close around my wrist and draw my arms close together. The hard plastic dug
into my skin the more I moved.

“If we want you
to disappear,” he continued, “there are thousands of miles of deserted land
where we can bury you.”

“That a
promise?” I said.

“Keep talking.”
He grabbed my wrists and forced them upward. “And it will be.”

“Jack,” Bear
said, his voice was low and trailed off at the end.

I looked at
him.

He shook his
head and looked down at the floor.

I followed his
gaze and saw my cell phone on the floor, crushed.

“You know, I
already talked to Col. Abbot about what happened tonight.” I paused. “He’s
sending a team to investigate Martinez.”

The four men
laughed.

One behind me
said, “You think we’re worried about Abbot? He has less say here than he does
in America.” He walked around me, stopped with his face inches from the side of
mine. “He doesn’t have crap for pull with us. Our chain of command moves up a
hell of a lot faster and farther than yours.”

I cleared my
throat but said nothing. I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach but didn’t
let my external expression change.

“Are you
getting this, Noble? You’re screwed. Nothing is going to get you out of this.”

For what, I
thought. Kicking that douchebag Martinez’s ass? Hell, the other ops teams we
worked with all said they couldn’t stand him.

“Let’s go.”

They led us
through the front door, down the hallway, and outside to a Humvee parked in
front of the building. We climbed in through the back passenger side door. Bear
and I sat in the middle. Two men sat in back with us, guarding the door. They
held their weapons firmly pressed into our sides.

“Make sure you
avoid the potholes,” I said.

Bear chuckled.
The four men didn’t. These guys had no sense of humor.

“Shut the hell
up, Noble,” the driver said.

I did.

We drove on in
silence across the base. Stopped in front of the building we used for detaining
persons of interest. Guess that was what Bear and I were now.