SAFE HAVENS: Shadow Masters (A Sean Havens Black Ops Novel Book 1) (15 page)

The silent gasping affirmation of rapid head nods and tears was accepted as a “Yes.”

Havens continued on his way nodding to the security guards as he passed and thanking them by saying, “Shukran jazeelan.”

They nodded and replied, “Aafwan.”

At least this American spoke Arabic to them and had formal courtesies, they thought to themselves. The guards walked away with nothing further to say to this annoying embassy man whom they believed to be American CIA. They figured all Americans here were probably CIA.
And they all needed favors and asked too many questions, in English nonetheless. It was offensive. The Americans were guests here and treat us so inconsiderately. They need to learn their place. They should go home to their own problems. Let this other guy go. At least he was going and not staying like the others.

The next leg of Havens’ flight was torturous. He couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to eat, and most certainly did not want to talk or be talked to. He kept to his own thoughts while parrying all conversations coming his way, and soon his own thoughts were a menace to his well-being.

He grabbed a newspaper that had been stuffed in the seat pocket. Usual budget crisis and job loss issues. He saw that there was an attack on the tomb of Lincoln that was evidently affiliated with the killing of a State Representative from one of the House intelligence committees who was vacationing on a boat in Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri. It stated that the explosives were HME, British military, and were set off by a magnesium based detonator timed by the bilge water in-flow. Pretty heavy action for the Midwest.

Who the hell kills a no-name Rep in Missouri? Probably banging someone’s wife or daughter.

Chapter 17

T
he doctors at Northwestern Memorial Hospital continued to work on both the head and body wounds of an intubated Maggie Havens. Wounds in both regions had passed through the body with the head trauma still life threatening. She had been found with barely a pulse when they went to body bag her.

Maggie’s surgical team had been working against the intracranial and intracerebral hematomas through a craniotomy while simultaneously working against the mounting cranial pressure on the other side of the wound. IV fluids and transfusions continued to flow to maintain fluid balance while clotting concentrates now worked against the persistent bleeding sites.

C’mon kid. Hang in there. Fight for me.

The neurosurgeon worked a closed suction drain. A neurologist continued to monitor the hematoma evacuations.

“Stay with us Maggie,” a surgical nurse continued encouraging. “You can make it kiddo.”

A medical intern observing her first brain trauma surgery looked around the room for any eye contact that could reassure her of the likely outcome.

Is this girl able to even make it? Why are you working so hard if she is going to die in the next twenty-four hours anyway? Breathe, Andrea. You can do this. Don’t let them see you freaking out. Breathe.

A surgical fellow looked over to check his intern, Andrea. He saw her wide distant eyes and recognized the concern. “She could still make it.” He knew he had to reassure these interns. “What do you think? Still on board?”

“Will she even be able to function?” replied the intern.

The neurologist looked up and over, “Now that the bleeding has subsided, we will watch the pressure for the next day or so. She will likely be in a coma and if she regains consciousness could lose basic and or complex motor skills. Her behavior could become modified as well. She will certainly need long-term care and rehabilitation. But I have a good feeling about this one. She’s fought for hours here on the table. She’s died twice.”

Life support monitors began to sound. The room filled with warnings. Doctors stopped what they were doing and frantically started new procedures.

“We’re losing pressure. She is crashing. I am losing pulse. C’mon kid, keep fighting!”

Chapter 18

A
fter landing in New York, Havens was escorted to the private jet hangars by an attendant who said nothing other than, “Sir, you will follow me please.” They walked through the terminal rapidly.

Havens saw some young soldiers, perhaps reservists toting large duffels and rucks. It was clear they were going overseas. Havens regarded their shoulder patches to discern their unit affiliations. General infantry. Big Red 1. They looked so young.

The men paid him no notice as they passed. He had so much knowledge that he could share with them. No time now. He hoped someone had properly prepared the men. He thought of the contractors in Yemen. Wayward souls. Someone should have mentored them better.

He looked back as they moved on down the terminal. Straps were dangling down like a dozen air assault fast ropes.

The attendant reminded Havens of the time constraint. She could tell he was lost in thought.

“Wait a sec.” Havens dropped his own small bag at the attendant’s feet.

“Sir, we have to go.”

“They’ll wait for me,” he said as he left. “Hey guys!”

The soldiers turned around looking to the ground to see if they had dropped something. Havens ran up to the young men.

“Guys, you need to secure these straps better. Here. Tuck them in so they don’t catch on anything. Lift this here. Private, get some duct tape if you don’t have it and fix that strap. It won’t bear your load with that rip. Get if fixed ASAP.”

“Thanks, sir. You a soldier?”

“Of sorts.” Havens tugged another strap to make it tighter. It raised the load a good couple inches and relieved some pressure off the soldier’s lower back. “Better?”

“Better. Thanks.”

“OK guys, I gotta run. Be safe. And hey, get to know your terps. Bring them a gift. Be considerate of them and ask a lot of questions. The interpreters will be your lifeline to knowledge. Don’t make them promises you can’t keep, like helping their families come to America. They have been doing this for years now and know you can’t do shit about that stuff.”

Havens shook the men’s hands and ran back to the attendant who was now on the phone assuring someone they were on their way.

“Sorry. I had to. They needed my help.”

Boarding the G650 ultra high-speed jet, Sean immediately saw Red who was outstretching a Starbucks coffee black with sugar, no cream, the way Havens liked it, and a Heineken. Havens didn’t care much for Heinekens and Red knew this. Havens knew which one was his, and for the first time in what seemed like days he had a brief happy moment.

“A sight for sore eyes, my friend.” Havens reached for the coffee.
And to think that all that time in Yemen, I would have just had to call Red for a Starbucks.

“Who’s a sight for sore eyes? Me or the coffee?” Red smiled. He knew it was inappropriate to joke, but in uncomfortable situations he had to make light of things. He knew Sean did the same.

During one particularly hairy situation that he and Havens found themselves in, silence was absolutely required to avoid detection from a heavily armed sentry patrol. They had to remain absolutely still and quiet for safety. After nearly a week’s worth of in-country boiled goat and lentils, Red decided this would be the perfect time to fart, rendering himself and Havens helpless to their suppressed laughter and the horrific smell.

Red managed to get out “I think they
passed
” and choked out “no pun intended” before receiving a kidney punch from Havens to cut it out. It was a story that rarely went untold in the presence of a few beers and friends who, despite having heard the story dozens of times, couldn’t wait to hear it again. It was obligatory to tell the tale when someone passed gas in the company of others. Humor had managed to stave off death for both men to this point. Now was as good a time as any for a little levity.

“Both you and the coffee. Even the Heineken looks good.” Havens managed a smile back.

The smile faded upon seeing Jason and their counterintelligence officer, Rusty. This meant business. Back to reality.

Havens looked back at Red for a moment. It struck him as funny.

Red and Rusty—couldn’t have planned that if they wanted to.

“Hey, do you two firebushes know each other?”

Havens received two freckled fingers flipping him off.

“Sean, have a seat, finish your coffee, and we can get started in a bit. Then I will get out of your hair.”

“Did you pack a parachute?” chided Havens nodding to the window.

“Funny.” Jason paused. “Sean, I…”

“I know,” Havens said, waving off the condolences.

“No, I don’t think you do. Red, can you inform Sean on the somewhat positive news?”

Sean Havens looked at his friend.
Give me something good, brother. I need it.

“Sean, this is no promise, and it could go south on us, but for the time being it appears that Maggie is alive. She wasn’t dead on scene. There was evidently a pulse. I saw only the buses driving away. I saw one body bag and no one said she was being rushed off with any hope.”

Seeing Havens about to talk, Red raised his hand for Havens to wait.

“Now let me finish. The intruders shot Maggie in the head and abdomen. Doctors stopped the abdominal bleeding and they are comfortable with the head trauma, short of swelling for now and of course any potential brain damage. The doctors lost her on the table a number of times and she is now in a coma. We will just have to wait and see. I didn’t know she had even made it that far.”

Thank God. My baby
.
You’ve got to pull through.

Astounded by the news, Sean acknowledged their efforts. “OK. Thanks. Thanks, guys. OK. I can work with that.” He gave pause again. “But Christina, she’s…”

“No, Sean, they were not able to save your wife. She’s gone.”

“I understand. Long shot. You know how it can be when you just don’t leave something right with someone. I left it bad with her.”

Havens let out a long exhale.

“Fill me in with what happened, who did it, and where they are in the investigation. Red said they called my brother-in-law as a next of kin while I was away. Is he looking into this?”

Jason had a quizzical look on his face. “Sean, why would your brother-in-law get involved?”

“He’s a forensic specialist. Chief Investigator for CPD. Hell, if it was any further north in the city he would have potentially been called to the scene direct.”

Jason looked at Red who shrugged. “What? I thought you knew about Lars. What’s the big deal?”

Jason looked down at his hands, his fingers bent to touch the palms. They were moist.

Havens caught the movement.

Jason looked up at Sean.

“I just never saw it in your file and was surprised that no one had mentioned this before. I heard some brother-in-law was coming in from Arizona, which was another surprise. I certainly didn’t know he was in Chicago. It really could have helped us to ensure the investigation was properly handled with someone who has a vested interest.”

Havens informed Jason that his brother-in-law was on vacation in Arizona to watch Cubs spring training.

“You probably never saw it in any file because Christina had a different last name when I married her. She had been married for a very short time but kept the married name. Guess she hated the name Bjorklund more than her ex and held on to the bastard’s name. Most of my background checks were done when I was single. They must not have hit it on the last SCI clearance periodic review. Maggie is mine, though.”

I always do that.

Havens wondered why he always had to add siring ownership to Maggie when he told others about Christina having been married before. Though not an insecure man, Havens still took some slight issue or embarrassment with Christina’s past marriage. It wasn’t her fault, nor was it really the fault of her ex. They were just young. Too young. They thought they were in love and didn’t think the pulls of the world could tempt a young couple still in college.

“No biggie, Jason. You probably just didn’t have the need to know. That information comes above your pay grade. You’d need to be a GS-12.” Havens smiled at the fun little jab to his government grade 15 boss.

Havens’ supervisor, Jason, was making less than his subordinate, Havens, who was now “officially” a contractor. Pay and grade scale were an issue for Jason, who didn’t want to leave government and was hoping for a DISL senior executive service level promotion. It was further off than Jason expected. He was too nice of a guy, always going with the flow. Indeed, nice guys did not get ahead in this business. The nation’s capital was a war zone of type A personalities fighting their way to the top.

Jason brushed off the jab. “That’s fine. We just want the best. We are trying to keep our arms around those who could help.”

Havens appreciated the sentiment.

“Not really, Jason. If this ended up being a CI issue, we would rather everyone keep away.” Rusty’s interjection was quickly met by Red’s counter.

“Aw shit, Russ, I chased that boy down myself. He wasn’t any KGB, GRU, SAVAK, MOIS, whatever. He was G-A-N-G banger. Now what the hell he was doing there, I have no clue, and we will likely never know now that those guys got all capped and dead when they got home to the hood. You spook chasers think everything is a fucking conspiracy. Maybe the CIA was involved…wooo.” Red wiggled his fingers like ghosts were about.

He continued, “No offense bro, it just seems like a stretch. And I know us beautiful red heads have to stay together, but I don’t see it and don’t see getting our pants all up our ass about it.”

Jason was silently relieved by the deflection. He had heard something in the Pentagon office while in DC that involved the Havens murder case and his boss, Prescott Draeger. It seemed that Draeger wanted to ensure nothing went awry in the case, and Jason was unsure as to whether this brother-in-law would help or hinder an investigation. Since he didn’t know who Draeger was on the line with, it was probably best to leave it alone.

Jason essentially liked Havens but was rarely at ease around him. Jason felt like an outsider coming from the NSA as a technical intelligence systems expert, despite the fact that he had been with a group of covert technical intelligence operators in Afghanistan as a fiber optics guru working with the “shooters.” Draeger had been his boss for a time with “Orange.”