Rogue Commander, page 2
part #3 of Titus Black Series
“What did you do?” he asked before glancing over his shoulder at Lebedev.
“Looks like it’s her or me,” he said before darting toward the door.
Black whipped his gun in the direction of Lebedev but couldn’t line up a shot. Lebedev was gone.
“Dammit,” Black said. “I had him.”
“Go after him,” Shields said, staggering into the hallway as she clutched a black moleskin notebook she’d retrieved from inside.
“I’m not leaving you.”
She grimaced and waved dismissively. “I’ll be fine. You can’t let him get away.”
“You’re not fine,” Black said. “We don’t know what kind of gas that was.”
“I’m all right. Go get him already.”
Black helped Shields down the hall before he ran back and closed the door. Then he hustled down the stairwell in pursuit of Lebedev. When Black reached the ground floor, he raced through a side exit just in time to see Lebedev fleeing down the street.
Black shouted at the Russian, but he didn’t break his stride. Upon reaching his car, Lebedev fumbled with his keys before getting inside. However, his escape was short lived. The moment he turned the key in the ignition, the car exploded, bursting into flames. The blast set off dozens of car alarms and drew curious shopkeepers outside to investigate the earth-rumbling sound.
Black shook his head in disbelief. Someone else was obviously after Lebedev.
Instead of sticking around to witness Lebedev’s demise, Black rushed into the hotel to help his partner.
“Shields, are you still feeling okay?” Black asked.
The briefcase was open with its contents sprawled across the floor. Shields clutched a small black book and held it up for Black to see.
“I told you I was—”
She didn’t finish her sentence before she began violently convulsing.
CHAPTER 2
Washington, D.C.
J.D. BLUNT NURSED a cup of hot tea while sitting at the bar of his favorite bakery a few blocks from Firestorm Headquarters. He scanned the morning edition of The Washington Post while waiting for Sen. Franklin Norris to arrive.
“Would you like to order any food?” the server behind the counter asked.
Blunt shook his head and pointed at his cup. “No, but I wouldn’t mind another one of these.”
“Another cup of passion jasmine mango coming right up.”
Blunt glanced around to see if anyone was looking at him and was relieved to see no one seemed to be paying attention.
The server leaned over the bar and spoke in a hushed tone. “You can still be a tough guy and drink fruity tea. Those two things aren’t mutually exclusively.”
Blunt eyed the barista cautiously. “Do you want me to punch you in the face right now?”
The man drew back. “See, you’ve proven my point.”
Blunt growled as the man spun around.
“Maybe you should have a mug of our strongest coffee instead,” he said.
Blunt folded up the paper and turned his attention to the television positioned on the wall in front of him. A woman stood outside the Capitol building, undaunted by the breeze whipping around her as she delivered her report.
"Thanks, Hank," she said before wiping away her straight blond hair from around her mouth. "We just received word that Zachary Olson, the military sniper who was sentenced to prison for his role in the shooting death of four unarmed boys in a settlement outside Kandahar, was denied parole again today. The thirty-six-year-old disgraced Army officer has reportedly served his time over the past decade at Gitmo. Olson's lawyer, Max Ellenberg, issued a statement after the decision today, reiterating that his client maintains his innocence. Details of the trial are sketchy due to limited access to the military's judicial proceedings, but Olson claimed that the boys who were shot were carrying weapons and had opened fire on several U.S. soldiers patrolling the area."
Blunt sighed before glancing back down at the space in front of him and realizing he had a fresh cup of tea.
“Olson was one hell of a shot,” a man said behind Blunt.
He turned around to find Norris standing there with a wide grin on his face.
Blunt stood and gave Norris a handshake that morphed into a hug. “Frank, how the hell are ya, my friend?”
Norris leaned forward and peered into Blunt’s mug. “Better than you, I see.”
Blunt scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve devolved into drinking fruity tea. Is there something else we need to talk about?”
“This stuff is supposed to sharpen your mind,” Blunt said.
Norris grinned. “You need all the help you can get, don’t you?”
“You’re the one who called me for help, as I recall.”
Norris slapped Blunt on the back before saddling up onto the stool next to him. “I’m just yanking your chain. I know you Texans have a hard time distinguishing when someone is joking. In Arkansas, we admit the obvious.”
“And what’s that?”
“That Texas is big, but Texans are slow.”
“You want to test out that theory?” Blunt said with a wink.
“Actually, I prefer that you help me figure out what the hell is going on with dead Army Rangers popping up all over the place.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to need to catch me up to speed because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Norris dug a file folder out of his briefcase and then placed the documents in front of Blunt. “Get a load of this.”
Blunt opened the folder and found the headshot of a man in Army fatigues clipped to his personnel file. “What’s this?”
“Keep looking.”
Blunt scanned the pages until he came to another picture, this time a larger five-by-seven photograph of man lying dead in the woods. The next page had a close up of the man’s arm.
“You ever seen that before?” Norris asked, pointing at the image.
“What exactly?”
“Take a closer look.”
Blunt peered over the top of his glasses, squinting as he honed in on the area Norris fingered.
Norris sighed. “The tattoo, J.D. Look at the tattoo.”
Blunt shrugged. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Take a peek at the next page.”
The next group of documents consisted of the same type of information: a headshot, a personnel file, a photo of a dead man, and a zoomed in picture of a tattoo on the man’s forearm. Blunt sifted through more records consisting of the same information, all compiled in the same manner.
“What am I supposed to do with this, Frank?” Blunt asked. “It’s a bunch of dead Army Rangers who probably all served together based on those similar tattoos. And maybe someone is hunting them.”
Norris shook his head. “That’s a solid hypothesis until you start to look a little closer. Young men, old men, middle-aged men. They all share a common tattoo. And from my time in the Army Rangers, I don’t ever recall a tattoo everyone had to get.”
Blunt nodded knowingly. “Where did you get these files?”
“From an intelligence committee meeting,” Norris said.
“In regards to what?”
“The committee received a report that more than two dozen former military personnel had been murdered in the past three months. However, these all stood out to me for a couple reasons, primarily because I wondered how many former Rangers could let someone get the drop on them like this. I also found it interesting that the only Rangers in the group all had this unique tattoo of the chaos monster.”
“Are you suggesting that these Rangers don’t belong in this group?”
Norris shrugged. “Perhaps. I must admit that was my first thought.”
“That potentially could mean others were killed to cover up the pattern.”
“That’s right. And that’s what I want you to find out.”
Blunt sipped his tea and glanced up at the television behind the counter. “I’m not sure I can help you in this case. I’m swamped with a couple of cases, including hunting the assassin who killed all our emissaries in Syria. Besides, you’re in Washington surrounded by some of the most brilliant minds. Wouldn’t the FBI be more equipped to handle an investigation of this nature?”
“They weren’t interested. I need you, J.D. You’re the only one I trust to take care of this.”
Blunt nodded. "Say I'm interested in helping you. How does this affect national security issues? What's your pitch on this?"
“I’m not sure,” Norris said. “But I found it damn disturbing.”
“Unfortunately, damn disturbing is how I’d describe life in Washington. That’s a long reach to spend time and resources on such a hunch. So, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that the FBI turned you down.”
“Look, I know you might be stretched at the moment, but I feel like this is really important. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t.”
Blunt sighed. “I understand. I might know a guy who can help. But I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
“Too late for that, J.D.,” Norris said as he slapped Blunt on his arm. “If you’re willing to help, the bastard who’s doing this is as good as dead.”
Blunt flipped through the pictures again and took photos of all the Rangers. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks. I know you’ll come through for me.”
Blunt shook Norris’s hand and then watched him walk out of the bakery. After getting a cup to go, Blunt studied the images one final time.
He shuddered as he looked at them.
What did I just get myself into?
CHAPTER 3
Al-Hudaydah, Yemen
THE MOMENT SHIELDS stopped shaking, Black checked her pulse. She moaned and turned over on her side. A maid entered the hallway and stared wide-eyed at Shields lying on the floor.
“I need to take her to a doctor,” Black said.
“Doctor?” the maid repeated back.
“Yes,” he said. “Do you know where one is?”
A hospital was preferred, but Black’s operational briefing outlined how the Houthis had complete control over all the major medical facilities in the cities and to avoid them at all cost. He considered a situation like this one might be reason enough to shirk the recommendation and take Shields to a hospital anyway. But even so, inviting trouble where none existed was a poor plan.
The maid nodded. “Address?”
Black nodded and gestured like he was scribbling something on his hand. “Can you write it down for me?”
She pulled out a pad and scribbled down a series of numbers and a street name. “Dr. Salah.”
“Okay,” Black said. “Thank you.” He handed her a twenty dollar bill and scooped Shields off the floor before hustling toward the stairwell.
Once he reached the ground level, he entered the address into his phone. While the location loaded onto his phone, he hoisted Shields over his shoulder and broke into a sprint toward Dr. Salah’s office.
Black weaved his way through the growing number of curious onlookers crowding the sidewalk near the blast. After a matter of minutes, he arrived at Dr. Salah’s clinic, one that Black doubted he would’ve even noticed had it not been for the directions from the hotel employee. A small sign swung freely from a bar hanging over the entrance where a line of patients spilled down the steps and out into the street. But Black raced to the front and begged Dr. Salah to see Shields immediately.
Dr. Salah was tending to one of his patients when he glanced over at the commotion.
“This is not an emergency room,” Dr. Salah said in Arabic, waving dismissively at Black.
“We don’t have time,” Black replied. “She’s been poisoned with hydrogen sulfide.”
“Hydrogen sulfide?” Dr. Salah asked before nodded knowingly at one of the nurses to take over. “Are you certain?”
“I’m positive.”
“How did this happen? Were you in a place with a lot of waste and excrement?”
“No,” Black said, shaking his head. “It’s a long story.”
“I need to hear it all before I can agree to help you.”
Black glanced around the room to make sure most of the people couldn’t see him. He reached into his backpack and fished out a stack of one hundred dollar bills.
Dr. Salah smiled. “Come with me,” he said in English.
Black, still lugging Shields around, followed Dr. Salah through a curtain and down a dimly lit hallway. He darted right, leading them into an empty room that had only an examination table and a cabinet.
“Put her up here,” Dr. Salah said as he patted the uncovered vinyl.
Black hustled her on top, knowing Shields would likely flip out if she were more coherent. As a germaphobe, she would never even enter a medical facility with such low standards. Black figured she’d still complain, but if she survived, he could deal with the consequences.
“I keep my cyano kits in here,” Dr. Salah said while rummaging through the cabinet. After a moment, he held one of the boxes equipped to deal with poisoning.
“You can’t tell anyone that we’re here,” Black said.
Dr. Salah ripped open the kit and prepared to administer the antidote to Shields. “Does she have any allergies?”
“None that I’m aware of,” Black said. He placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “Before you continue and I give you that money, I need to know that we understand each other. Nobody can know we’re here. Is that clear?”
“Of course, Mr.—”
“White,” Black said with a faint smile. “Christopher White.”
“Mr. White, your secret is safe with me,” Dr. Salah said before plunging the needle into Shields.
When he finished, he pulled the needle out of her arm and then stepped back.
“How long should this take?” Black asked.
“A half-hour or more depending on her exposure level. How long ago did this happen?”
“Just a few minutes ago.”
Dr. Salah sighed. “You need to be more careful, whatever it is that you were doing.”
“Sometimes in my profession, there are unavoidable hazards. This was one of those times.”
“And what profession is that?”
“I’d rather not say, both for your sake and for ours.”
“Of course,” Dr. Salah said. “I’m not usually one to pry, but the current state of affairs here has made knowing who you’re helping of vital importance. It could either cost or save your life, depending on what side a person is on.”
“That’s the current status worldwide,” Black said. “It’s a dangerous world we live in.”
“Well, are you going to tell me? Or make me continue guessing?”
“Let’s just say that you have nothing to worry about, especially if nobody says anything about us being here.”
Dr. Salah took a deep breath through his nose and eyed Black closely. “Look, Mr. White, I’m not playing games. I need to know who you are working for.”
“It’s not the Houthis, if you understand me.”
“In that case, I’m going to lead you out the back so that everyone here can see you leaving. We have a handful of sympathizers here who won’t hesitate to report to one of the militia leaders that you are staying here and being helped by me. If they all see you leave, at least I can redirect them.”
“Thank you,” Black said. “I know that our intrusion into your clinic will likely create chaos here, but I couldn’t wait much longer.”
“Look,” Dr. Salah said, nodding toward Shields. “I think she’s regaining consciousness.”
Shield stirred on the table before moaning as she propped herself up on her elbows. Still lying on the table, she glanced over at Black.
“Just take it easy,” Black said. “Dr. Salah is going to take good care of you, Karen.”
She scowled as she looked at Black. “What just happened?”
“Apparently, you were poisoned,” Dr. Salah said. “At least, that’s the theory I’m working off of since I didn’t do any toxicology screenings or blood tests. I’m simply taking this man’s word for it.”
“Oh, the—” she said before stopping herself mid-sentence.
“Yes, now you remember,” Black said. “It wasn’t that long ago, quite literally, in fact. You were indeed poisoned.”
“Of course,” she said. “I feel awful.”
“You’ll feel better soon,” Dr. Salah said as he pulled out his stethoscope and placed the head of it on her back. “Give me a few deep breaths so I can conclude this examination.”
Shields complied as everyone remained silent. After Dr. Salah completed his task, he shuffled in front of Shields.
“I think you’re going to be fine,” he said, “though I recommend we run a few blood tests just to make sure.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Shields said. “I feel wonderful all of a sudden.”
“Good to hear, but I don’t want you going anywhere for about twelve hours. I want to keep an eye on your vitals and make sure you get proper rest along with plenty of fluids.”
Dr. Salah glanced around before putting his index finger to his lips and continuing in a hushed tone.
“Please stay quiet,” he said. “I’ll let your associate explain everything later, but we need to move you.”
Before Shields could protest, Black scooped her up and toted her down the corridor after Dr. Salah, who had flung open the curtains so everyone could see him marching them outside into the alleyway. Black peeked over his shoulder to see Dr. Salah’s actions had attracted just the audience he was looking for.
Once outside, Dr. Salah directed Black and Shields to another unlocked door down the alley. That entrance would enable them to return to the same examination room without being seen by any of the other patients or staff, according to Dr. Salah.
Black followed his host’s directions and, less than a minute later, was back inside the clinic.
* * *
BLACK HAD FALLEN ASLEEP in the chair next to Shields, who was still lying on the table when she woke up.
