Crown of Souls, page 18
Once Haven and Wallace started out, Tox returned to Ram and Cell, who were bent over their devices. “Anything?” As he shouldered into the discovery process, he stole a peek at Haven, walking away with Wallace, who leaned in, smiling.
Cell huffed. “Nothing.”
“I’ll grab my tablet,” Tox said. “More eyes on this, the sooner we’ll figure out what’s going on.”
“Here.”
Tox looked over his shoulder to where Haven stood, a small device extended toward him. Hesitantly, gaze bouncing to Wallace, who had a weary, I give up expression on his face, Tox took her phone. Glanced at the screen. Scanned the information. Then shrugged. “I don’t . . .”
Haven moved closer, motioned to Cell’s laptop. “Pull it up on yours.”
With Tox calling off the URL, Cell input it. The screen filled with a news piece. Images scrolling across the top. Haven bent between them, reaching for the keyboard.
“Hey-hey-hey!” Cell growled like a dog protecting its bone. “Hands off.”
Withdrawing with a smirk, Haven pointed to the laptop. “Play the video there at the top.”
With a mock glare at her, Cell aimed the mouse at the arrow on the blackened video screen. This wasn’t homemade like the Egypt video—this came from an Arab news service but had a British voiceover and captions.
Haven nodded. “A brutal murder was committed in this city not two hours ago at the hands of an American.”
The video showed a small city of dirty shops and vendors. The camera crawled along the terrain, children chasing a ball down the pothole-laden space that served as the street. The voiceover switched to Arabic.
“Five men, believed to be American . . .” Fist near his mouth, Ram listened and translated. “Came in, shot an entire family, then”—he cocked his head and swallowed—“dismembered the father. They then left his limbs on the steps of four other homes.”
“Son of a biscuit,” Cell whispered.
But how had Haven known to show them this? “Why’d—”
“Back it up,” she said, her color a little pale as she watched Cell draw the time bar backward. “There.”
He released it, and the video started.
“Stop!”
At her command, Cell snapped a finger on the track pad.
“Look,” Haven said, her voice thick with emotion.
Tox leaned in a little closer. “Is that blood on the stoop?”
“I have no idea,” Haven said. “But look at the field.”
His gaze hit the semi-green field. “Oh.” The grass stamped—or cut—into the shape of Alec’s symbol. Seeing it felt like the world collapsed in on him.
“I guess she found it,” Ram said, patting Cell’s shoulder. “Let’s get the names—the dismembered man and those who got a limb.”
“Right. Let’s just bypass the insanely morbid reality of that horrific act and get right to work,” Cell mumbled as he worked, shaking his head. “This guy is one sick puppy.”
Ram edged closer, his hazel eyes tracking over the structures. “Why this house? Who was he?”
“I thought you would’ve figured this all out by now, what with your connections.” Tox stared at the small city. What the heck are you doing, Alec?
With a sidelong look, Ram said nothing.
“Gotta be someone really bad to get hacked up like that,” Cell said.
“Keep hunting for answers. I’ll be back.” Pivoting, Tox headed to the showers. He just needed time to think, sort this nightmare. He went to the gear and grabbed his ruck.
“Hey, Sarge.” Cell trotted up to him. “Think we could . . . I wondered if we could, you know, get better equipment.”
Tox frowned. “Like what?”
“I . . .” Cell glanced away. “I, uh, thought if I could get a more powerful amplifier and radio, I might be able to, you know, work out that crazy sound thing.” He shrugged. “Whatever it was or is.”
Tox shouldered his ruck. “If Cortes found the right feed, and I’m pretty sure she did, we’ll be wheels-up by morning. No time for new equipment. Sorry.”
“Could you just request it? I . . . I can’t figure that thing out unless we get better equipment.”
Tox strode toward the showers. What was Alec doing? Why wasn’t he stopping? He’d killed enough, hadn’t he? Equalized the balance of the world, or whatever he was trying to do with the Karim vendetta.
“Sarge? . . . ’kay. Thanks for listening.”
Guilt harangued him as he stepped into the tiled shower room. He couldn’t bring himself to talk anymore. His mind was worn out, his body exhausted. He stalked past the first two stalls, the middle occupied by Thor, and entered the last one. He lined up his shave kit, bringing some order to the chaos that engulfed this mission. But as he set out the razor, his mind slipped back to the feed.
Dismembered . . .
Was Alec really dismembering people? His gut roiled at the thought. That didn’t make sense. Then again, had any of it?
Yeah, it had. Killing people who committed heinous acts but were somehow protected by some law or justice system . . . People got angry when they felt powerless to effect change.
But with his training and expertise, Alec wasn’t powerless.
Neither was Tox.
They were skilled operators. Trained in tactics. Weapons. Krav Maga. Trained in a million different ways to kill someone—without a gun or knife. Trained to assess a situation and figure out the best solution. Trained in the art of warfare. Trained in death.
They were good at what they did. Alec, Tox, their men. They were deadly.
Did they come home with baggage? Absolutely. No sane person could witness what they saw every day in the field, or carry out the acts of violence they were tasked with, and not come away affected. It was what they did with said impact that made the difference.
There had been so many times Tox felt like he stood on the precipice of a thousand-foot cliff, the powerful claws of gravity, leaden with guilt, groping for his boots. For his life. So many times, he’d wanted to jump. Let it take him. Be free of it.
Hand on the wall, he braced himself. Against the memories. Against the torment. He didn’t know what held him back, what kept him tethered to this life.
Haven.
He hadn’t wanted to jump in the last six months—a long time. It seemed like forever with her near him. She’d anchored him to . . . goodness. To light. To God.
Tox snorted. Since when was he anchored to God? Wasn’t he farther from Him now that he saw the goodness in Haven? Heard the truth from Chiji? He’d sure felt farther from God. More aware of his failings. His shortcomings. His wickedness.
Am I so different from Alec?
Alec had gone off the deep end. Had he not processed some wound and let it eat through what good remained in him? Had something in him broken? Snapped?
His wife, Rachel.
They separated. Divorced. Then she died with their daughter in a senseless car accident. Was that the catalyst for this madness?
How would Alec justify this one? Alec had violated their code by killing like this. He’d willingly or unwillingly—didn’t matter now, did it?—drawn a line in the sand. The Special Forces Creed.
My goal is to succeed in my mission—and live to succeed again.
They did that well—justifying actions. The mission. Sometimes, answers weren’t clear. Sometimes, the line between right and wrong blurred. But they were soldiers. They followed orders.
Which could be a crutch. Rarely did they have all the pieces of a puzzle that required them to perform without question.
And then there were times a guy felt he had to do something that went against his own moral compass for the greater good. Like the mission Tox carried out that cleared the team. Expunged the charges related to the death of President Montrose.
Brooke.
Eyes closed, Tox fought the crush of memories. The lies. The justifications. Her blood on his hands. He slid down the wall and crouched, fighting the images. Her face. The vow she’d extracted.
“Cole?”
He punched to his feet, mind warping back to the present as he blinked at the person in front of him. “Haven.” He checked the stall where Thor had been and found it empty. “What’re you doing here?” At least he hadn’t undressed yet.
“You looked lost a moment ago.”
That was her counselor voice. She was reading him again. “Yeah,” he said, knowing that trying to lie to her was futile. “Thinking.”
“About Alec?”
Among other things and people. Instead, he managed a nod.
She drew closer, and awareness flared through him. “I’m worried about you.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“You think you’re like Alec.”
“I am, in nearly every respect.”
“Except your name, social security number, and . . . looks.” Her smile was beguiling and distracting. Just as she’d intended, no doubt. “You are different, Cole. You know right from wrong, and you let it guide you. Friends like me and Chiji give you advice, and you listen.”
“Chiji’s not here.” It surprised Tox how angry that made him.
“Maybe not in person, but he’s here.” She tapped her heart. “Even if you don’t agree with our thoughts or advice, at least you think about it. Consider it. Weigh it.”
Only as her gaze bounced to his chest did he realize he was missing his shirt.
“You even look to the Bible for guidance. Alec is looking to no one but himself. He’s in a rage, driven by a thirst. We all have that thirst, but what we do with it, how we fill it—that’s what makes the difference.”
Thirst. Yes. There was a thirst. Deep in him. How had she known? Did she understand how powerfully it drove him? But . . . maybe she wasn’t talking about the same one. “What thirst?”
Haven gave a small smile. “For God.”
He sniffed and shook his head.
“Seems too easy, doesn’t it?” She smiled again. “We argue against it or run from it. When we run, that’s when the thirst grows. When we pour toxic”—he winced at the use of his moniker—“things in there instead of filling it up with healthy relationships with God and friends. God . . .” She sighed. “God isn’t the way we’ve made Him out to be, some ambivalent god. We rip control of our lives from Him, demanding our way, but then we scream at Him when we screw it up or something goes wrong. It’s hard.” She nodded. “So hard to look inward, to admit there is a darkness in us that wants to be free, that wants our own way. To be honest with ourselves.” The warmth of her fingertips against his arm was light. Yet fiery. “You’re not him, Cole. Please stop thinking you are. Don’t let him get in your head—he wants that. He wants to drag you down with him.”
That was something he hadn’t considered. Alec taking him down, but . . . “Why? Why’d he pick me?”
Haven shrugged and pursed her lips. “You were in the same unit?”
He nodded.
“But he hasn’t tried to kill you. Well, despite sniping you with expert precision”—her gaze dipped to his shoulder wound, still pink and fresh, as her fingers traced a path across his heart to the marred flesh—“which you believe was a message, not a kill shot. Yet you were part of keeping Gabir Karim alive, ultimately. Though you were in the trench with him and didn’t like the stand-down order, you obeyed.”
Did she realize it was hard to think with her touching him?
“What better way to get even than to destroy the hero he wanted to be. The hero you are.”
“I’m no he—”
“To make you into himself.” She hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s going through the inverse—believing you are the same because he sees the good in you.”
Yes, he liked that better. It felt . . . positive. “He keeps calling it a mission from God.”
“He’s speaking to the good in you, because he knows that with you, he needs to say something that will resonate. And you have a high moral code.”
“But what if he really believes that—that it’s a mission from God? You even said he did.”
Haven’s fingers pressed against his face as she met his gaze. “What matters is what you believe.”
Which was great. Because he had no idea right now what he believed.
“Is that what you believe? That God is having him chop people to pieces?”
“No.” But . . . “Yes—maybe.” Tox shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Tox!” Ram shouted from the main area. “Incoming intel!”
“On my way,” he called, his gaze on Haven. What must she think of him that he couldn’t answer that question? That he couldn’t outright condemn Alec? “Please . . .” He sighed, not sure what to ask or say, so he just grabbed his shirt. “I’m needed.”
“Hey.” Haven’s fingers against his face firmed, pressed. “You’re not him.”
Hungry to believe that, he kissed her. “Maybe, but I am the only one who can help him. And I won’t give up until I’ve tried.” He spun and headed out, knowing full well that if Haven knew the truth about his dark side, she’d never speak to him again.
19
— DAY 22 —
NIMRUZ PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN
Cole was sliding down a dark hole of self-condemnation, especially after the failed mission in Baghdad, and wouldn’t allow anyone to throw him a lifeline.
As they climbed out of their vehicles at the village where the man had been dismembered, the team took their time, preparing, planning for an effective mission to gather information. Find out what brought Alec King here.
Geared up, Cole slung his rifle over his shoulder so it straddled his pack and spine. Could she break through that stubborn wall that held his guilt and irrational beliefs intact? Before he surrendered and gave Alec King what he wanted?
He wouldn’t do that, would he? He wouldn’t give in to Alec’s insistence and join him, right?
No, Haven didn’t buy it. Cole was too torn up right now about seeing his friend go down this path.
“You okay?” Levi asked, touching her elbow as they stood back from the team, now conversing with locals.
“No.” Haven sighed. Then shrugged. “He’s the best man I know, but he believes himself to be the worst. He sees himself as some . . . monster.” She narrowed her eyes, watching Cole, thinking how best to help him. “I don’t know how to change that.”
“You don’t,” Levi said quietly. “That’s something he has to figure out himself.”
She knew that in her head, but getting the message to her heart was a different story.
“Incoming,” Maangi shouted, and their gazes swung upward. A large plane rumbled overhead. Haven tipped her fingers to her forehead to block the morning sun and get a better look as a payload dropped.
Her heart tripped. “What is that?”
“Good favor points,” Levi said loudly enough for her to hear over the droning engine, then started toward it. “Come on—check it out.”
What did that mean? The large crate thudded to the ground. The small parachute attached to it sagged over the crate and road.
“Hold up,” Cole said. “Keogh—bring VVolt. Sniff it out.”
“It’s from—” Levi started.
“Someone I don’t know, and you just gave away our location to an unsecured—”
“He’s with the DoD! I know—”
“Don’t ever bring anything into my mission without going over it with me first.”
The dog and handler were on it, the flaps of VVolt’s snout waffling as he hauled in big draughts of scents around the equipment while the team held their collective breaths. After several seconds, VVolt turned in a circle and lay on the ground. Bored.
“Clear,” Keogh said.
Cole exchanged a long look with Levi before finally nodding to Cell. The MWD handler moved toward the MRAP, where the dog got a reprieve from the heat and sun. It was a nice change to have a Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle as opposed to the beat-up trucks they’d had in Egypt.
Thor found a splintered corner on the crate and managed to pry open a side. They pulled out two large, black hard-sided cases. They were locked.
“What in James Bond is this?” Cell muttered.
Levi shouldered his way in to the group. “Excuse me.” He entered a code on the first case, and the hard-sided top clicked open. Then he repeated it on the second. With a grin as big as Texas, he turned aside, facing their comms guy. “Will this work?”
Cell’s eyes sparked with excitement. “How’d—yes! This is amazing! How’d you do this? Sarge couldn’t—”
“I called in a favor. And I believe that noise you keep finding is important to figure out.” Levi stood tall, pleased with his delivery and the response.
“What is it?” Thor asked.
“Spectrum analyzers,” Cell said, his words tinged with awe. “This is some serious stuff—ten large at the bottom range.” He shoved his hands through his short-cropped hair. “Dude! This is”—he shook his head—“sweet!”
“Power it up,” Levi said. “Make sure that drop didn’t kill them.”
Cell did as told, his expression enlivened as colors danced before a green grid on a black background. He rubbed his palms together. “Come to me, weird ghost noises.”
Tox and Ram stared at the equipment, disbelief in their reserved posture and expression. “I’m guessing you’ll need time with this,” Cole said to Cell.
“Yeah. Like, all afternoon time.”
“You have fifteen.” With that, Ram and Cole headed to a nearby house where a dark stain marred the wall and cement step.
“Dude, this is freakin’ awesome,” Cell said, crouched over the black cases. But then he closed them up. “Grab one,” he said to Levi. “Help me get these back to the MRAP. I want to hook them up.”
“Right now?”
