Monster (69 page)

“I brought a little something along to keep him quiet.” McDaniels showed Bocelli a syringe he extracted from his field jacket. “We’re close enough now.”

“Hey, you don’t need that,” Bocelli protested. “I’ll put him to sleep for you.”

“No, you’ve done quite enough for Gumby, Jed.” McDaniels injected the moaning Cleric.

With the unconscious Cleric bound hand and foot on the ground, McDaniels, Bocelli, and the woman joined with Dominguez’ Marines after a brief warning they were closing in on the Marines’ position. Dominguez looked questioningly at Bocelli, who made a placating gesture at his Lieutenant.

“We have him, Sir,” Bocelli whispered. “Gumby was making too much noise. The Colonel dosed him with something to put him out for the time being.”

“Anything out of line here, Abe?” McDaniels gestured at the Mosque.

“All set. We did a recon to make sure they locked the old woman and kids up like always. They stashed them in the same room we saw them taken the last time Gumby did a sleepover.”

“Well done, Abe,” McDaniels said approvingly, knowing the skill it would have taken to shadow the Cleric’s thugs into the Mosque.

“Those assholes don’t watch their six at all. We could have marched in with a brass band. They were even nice enough to leave a couple lights on.”

McDaniels turned to the woman standing next to Bocelli. She stared anxiously at the Mosque.

“What is your name?”

“Marisa,” the woman answered. “Please, I…”

“We will get your family out. Stay here and be silent. You must trust me a little longer. Can you do this?”

“I will do as you say.” Marisa kept her attention on the Mosque with only quick glances toward where they had left the Cleric. She clasped her hands tightly together in prayer.

“Do not worry, Marisa, he will not awaken for hours,” McDaniels assured her.

“Very well,” Marisa replied, looking down at her feet.

“Okay, boys, show-time,” McDaniels whispered to Dominguez.

Dominguez gestured toward the Marines on his left. “Any trouble inside, you hose them down. They do not make it anywhere near the room where the family’s stashed. Got it?”

“Rah!” the Marines grouped to his left whispered fiercely.

“Tasers out,” Dominguez instructed Bocelli and the Marines to his right. “Once more - we glide into position, we nail them, we bind them up. Done deal. Any questions?”

“No, Sir,” Bocelli said as the men with him shouldered their rifles and readied the Taser weapons they had brought along.

“Ready, Colonel.”

“Let’s get ‘er done. Give me five minutes to get past them into the interior - then proceed at your own pace. I’ll leave the door ajar after I get through.”

Twenty minutes later the Marines armed with Tasers stood near their intended targets. Their backups were spaced out between the interior of the Mosque and where the Cleric’s thugs slept on in ignorance, weapons ready.

“Do ‘em,” Dominguez barked.

Taser needles shot out into the reclining figures, causing most to pitch out of their makeshift beds onto the floor, writhing as the potent shock raced through their bodies. The Marines threw the disabled men onto their stomachs, binding hands and feet with plastic ties. Bocelli went from one man to another placing duct tape over their mouths. With that task finished the Marines roughly dragged the bound men over against the wall. Some of the men were regaining consciousness, looking around at their surroundings in utter confusion. The Marines gathered the Terrorists’ weapons.

“All clear, Colonel,” Dominguez said into his mic.

Moments later, McDaniels led Marisa’s family to where the Marines guarded their prisoners. The sleepy girls looked fearfully at the Marines. McDaniels kept talking to them quietly, leading them out of the Mosque with two Marines following the group. The Marines took up positions in the darkness near the entrance, scanning the area around them for any hint of movement. After a quick reunion with Marisa, McDaniels looked around uneasily in the darkness, while at the same time trying to hush the little family.

“Stay quiet,” McDaniels urged. “We want you all back at your house unobserved. Wait here, I will be right back.”

After Marisa tearfully acknowledged McDaniels’ order, McDaniels hurried back inside the Mosque. Dominguez by then had the Cleric’s nine gangsters lined up on their feet near the entrance. McDaniels smiled, looking at their catch.

“Jed’s inside with four of the squad, looking for weapon’s catches,” Dominguez explained. “I’m giving him fifteen minutes.”

“Good. No use passing up a golden opportunity like…”

Bocelli emerged from the interior of the Mosque, carrying two rocket launchers. The Marines with him were carrying bags of grenades and rockets.

“Shit, Colonel, this is only some of it.” Bocelli handed off one of the launchers to another Marine near the door.

“Can’t be helped, Jed. We’ll have to get the locals to cough up the rest later once they know Gumby won’t be coming back. Take these guys to camp, Abe. Jed and a couple of your guys can come along with me to pick up Gumby and escort Marisa’s family home.”

“C’mon, Cold, at least let me see Gumby once before you take him on vacation.”

“Okay,” McDaniels relented. “One quick look but then we have to get moving.”

Dominguez ordered the rest of the Marines to start making their way toward camp with the prisoners. He and Bocelli accompanied McDaniels, Marisa’s family, and the two Marines at the entrance to where McDaniels had left the Cleric.

“Hell’s Bells!” McDaniels hissed, looking accusingly at Marisa. She huddled together with her family, avoiding McDaniels’ angry glare. “She snuffed him.”

Bocelli laughed as Dominguez looked over the now room temperature Cleric. Dominguez smiled up at Bocelli.

“Nice work though, Jed. I see you said goodbye to him properly.”

“Yeah, Lieutenant, I…”

“Hello,” McDaniels cut in, standing up. “I’m so glad you boys are enjoying this. I had a little interrogation to go to. Now…”

“Water under the bridge, Colonel.” Bocelli patted Marisa’s shoulder appreciatively, evoking a smile from the woman. “What now?”

McDaniels walked over to Marisa, resignation plain on his face.

“Why did you do this, woman?”

“He had to die,” Marisa stated, meeting McDaniels’ gaze. “You would have let him go. He would have killed us all.”

“That would not have happened, Marisa.” He turned to Bocelli. “Take Simpson and Kessler with you. Get Marisa and her family home safely. I’ll tuck Gumby in and meet you all back at camp. We’ll have to hope we can get something out of Gumby’s boys.”

“Want us to hold them somewhere, Cold?” Dominguez asked.

“No can do now. Gumby disappearing would be one thing - the whole bunch disappearing would be another. We’ll just have to let the suits have them.”

McDaniels addressed Marisa again. “Would you know anything about other operations in the area?”

“I will ask everyone,” Marisa answered enthusiastically. “Now this pig is dead we can help you.”

“I hope so. You guys get going before it gets any lighter out here.”

“Don’t you want some help with Gumby?” Bocelli asked.

“I’ll manage. This might work out for the best. At least I won’t have to give Martinson an edited version of this mission.” McDaniels switched to Arabic. “Marisa, Jed will take you and your family home. Go on about your business as if nothing happened for the time being.”

Marisa clasped McDaniels’ hand in hers and kissed it. “Thank you. We will never be able to repay you for what you have done.”

“If you can give us information without endangering your family I would be very grateful.” McDaniels patted her hands.

“I speak a little English. Your man called you Cold. Is it your name?”

Dominguez, Bocelli, Simpson, and Kessler all laughed. McDaniels silenced them with one look in the gray light. “Get moving, girls.”

McDaniels hoisted the Cleric’s corpse onto his shoulder. He headed in the opposite direction.

* * *

“Jesus, Cold walks like he ain’t even carrying anything,” Bocelli commented.

“His name is Cold?” Marisa asked again.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Dominguez confirmed. “We call him Cold Mountain because his friends back home call him that.”

“That is… how do you say… ah… a very strange name,” Marissa said, groping for words.

“You don’t know the half of it, Marisa.” Bocelli put a guiding arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you and your family home. I’ll tell you all about the Cold Mountain on the way.”

“Oh, very good,” Marisa agreed happily, speaking rapidly to her Mother and Daughters before urging them on in the direction of their house.

Bocelli gave Dominguez a quick salute. He gestured Simpson and Kessler out to the flanks. “Don’t lose any of our buddies on the way to camp, Abe.”

“I’ll try not to. Make sure you gold bricks get back before everyone in town is up looking for trouble,” Dominguez replied.

“Rah!” Bocelli called out over his shoulder.

Chapter 49

Wrap Up

“Well, well, well,” Colonel Martinson glared up from his desk as McDaniels walked into his headquarters office, “if it ain’t Lawrence of Arabia.”

“Please… no more nicknames.” McDaniels sat down in front of Martinson’s desk. “I’m beginning to forget what my real name is.”

“That was your idea of freelancing, huh?”

“It would have been on my head if it didn’t work out, John. You know that.”

“Hell, Cold, you could have let me in on it. What did you think, I’d send a messenger over to… what did Bocelli call him… ah… oh yeah, Gumby?”

“No, nothing like that,” McDaniels replied with a wave of his hand. “You know yourself Washington’s starting to fight this war by tying our hands behind our backs. I needed information on these sick low life’s in the area screwing things up for us.”

“The woman you rescued sure threw a monkey wrench into your little plan. Of course she probably saved me from having to put you behind bars.”

“See, this is exactly what I was talking about.”

“We can win this war without torturing prisoners, Cold.”

“The Iraqi’s are going to get awful tired of us playing kissy-face with foreign soldiers blowing the crap out of their kids and raping their women. I bet there ain’t a damn Iraqi in that whole bunch we brought in.”

“You’re right about that. I had the local guys come over and take a look at our new guests. They went into the room to check them out. Ten minutes later they came out with names and places of origin.”

“If I had my buddy Kay with me, it would have been five minutes,” McDaniels muttered. “So, we look away and let the locals smack them around. What’s the difference? Let’s cut out the middle man.”

“They didn’t even touch them. We hinted we were going to release them into Iraqi custody if the men were Iraqi’s. They’re from Syria, Jordan, Yemen, and Lebanon.”

“Oh, goody.”

“Anyway, I put Dominguez squad in for a commendation. You again avoided prison. Where’s the downside?”

“My feelings are hurt.”

Martinson laughed. “Get out of here. Good work.”

“Can I keep freelancing?”

“That’s a big negative, Cold. You may observe and teach only. That comes from way up.”

“How did way up even find out?”

“I was asked if I had decided to go rogue and initiate my own missions,” Martinson answered. “It seems they are officially pleased with the results of your freelancing, but also wanted a scapegoat to blame if they caught shit about it. When I told them I had okayed you to freelance Dominguez Recon Marines they immediately left off on their questioning, probably because you’re a born scapegoat.”

“Who are they? I wasn’t out of camp all that long. I figured I’d better dispose of Gumby close to the Syrian border. I needed to double back and check on the woman and her family.”

“A few CIA types who came to collect our foreign riffraff. We were a little worried when you didn’t get into camp for over a day and a half.”

“Well, just so I didn’t get you into any trouble, Colonel,” McDaniels needled him.

“That’s why you ain’t freelancing anymore, Cold. Carry on.”

McDaniels stood up. He came to attention, saluting formally.

“Get out of my sight before I have you escorted out.” Martinson gave McDaniels the wave off.

* * *

“We heard you were in seeing the Colonel,” Bocelli explained as McDaniels stepped outside of Martinson’s headquarters. Dominguez and Bocelli were waiting outside.

“How’d it go?” Dominguez asked.

“About as well as can be expected. I took too long getting back from burying Gumby. I don’t get to freelance anymore. I don’t get to interrogate the prisoners. I’m lucky I’m not in prison.”

“Wow, that well, huh? What do you get to do?” Bocelli asked.