NEWS FROM THE FRONT, GENERAL! Guess what? You’re gonna be a fuckin’ TV star again!” Victor Logan squatted before his captive, grabbed Brad Middleton hard by the jaw, and turned him so the prisoner had to look into his eyes. Logan laughed, a mirthless sound that echoed in the small room, and he wore a smile of triumph.
As the heat of the day was easing, Middleton, prone on the bunk, was able to breathe a bit easier, pulling air into his lungs despite the aching rib that had been broken in one of the beatings. The broken finger was useless. He had ripped a strip of cloth from his robe and tied it to the next finger to immobilize it. The room stank so badly it had become part of him. His guts were sore, and he had neither bathed nor shaved since they had used him in that earlier rigged media show.
Middleton’s right wrist was chained to the metal cot, giving him only enough movement to reach two buckets, one about a third full of fresh water and the other a stinking one that he used as a toilet. The loose full-length cotton robe was filthy.
“We just got some new instructions,” Logan said, letting go of the jaw but giving Middleton a medium-strength slap on the side of his head, enough to make the general’s ears ring. “I guess you might consider the good news is that this is going to be our last day in this shithole. The bad news, for you that is, comes tomorrow morning. Jimbo and I are going to clean you up, get you all dressed in that spiffy uniform hanging on the door over there, and hand you to the raggedy-heads. The jihadists plan a big show. Might call it the local version of American Idol.”
Middleton ignored the flash of pain, slowly swung his feet to the floor, and spat on the floor to disrespect Logan. He wasn’t afraid of the giant, because almost by definition a Marine Corps general has a streak of arrogance. His mind had cleared as the drugs wore off and he had thought long and hard about why he had been taken hostage, adding in the snippets of information he overheard through the door as his captors talked. He knew that he would never be released, so damned if he would go down sniveling. Middleton decided to interrogate the big man.
“If you have something to tell me, Logan, just say it. You and your partner: Dumber and Dumbest,” the general said with a condescending sneer. “I can’t understand why a company as big as Gates Global, with hundreds of pretty good people on the payroll, would stoop so low as to bring a couple of losers like you aboard.”
Logan reacted sharply and stood to his full height, glaring down at Middleton. “They came recruiting me, not the other way around! The company uses Shark Teams to handle the uncomfortable side of things.”
Middleton gave a wry smile. “And you were stupid enough to sign on. Look. I know Gordon Gates personally. He eats guys like you and Dumbo for breakfast. Sharks. Jesus.”
“Jimbo, not Dumbo.”
“Right. So Gordon waved his checkbook and you fools jumped on board.” With a couple of oblique probes, Middleton had gotten Logan to admit that Gates was behind the kidnapping. He decided to push harder.
“He’s paying me a hell of a lot better than the military ever did. Way better. I got more money in the bank than you ever dreamed of.”
“Good for you. I hope your 401(k) brings you peace and comfort for the next few hours, because you’re already a corpse, too, and just don’t know it yet.”
“Bullshit.”
The general stretched to loosen his muscles. “You are not going to live long enough to spend it, Logan. I guarantee that a big reward has been put on the street, and your best friends are already looking at you as a piece of meat that is worth about a half-million American dollars, dead or alive.” Middleton tugged at the handcuff chain, let it drop, and faced Logan again.
“Also, you and Dumbo are the only links to my actual kidnapping, and Gates Global is going to cover its own ass. You are loose ends. Another one of your gear-queer Shark Teams probably will be sent out to gobble you up. You may be King Kong today, but between the tickle of a big reward among the ragheads and the double-cross coming from your boss, you’re going to be just another dead monkey.”
DAMN. Logan wanted to hit the general, beat the crap out of him, cut him, make him bleed. That was not allowed. “Shut your damned mouth, Middleton, or I’ll shut it for you. You don’t know nothing.”
“I know it all, Logan,” Middleton said, staring at the mere. “It’s so quiet around here that I can hear the rats fart, and I’ve been listening every time you guys talk. You’re going to have me killed on TV. Big deal. The Marine Corps is a big organization, and six colonels are probably already fighting for my desk. I’ll be missed at the Pentagon about as much as you have been by those wussy SEALs. Let’s make a bet: I say your freedom fighter buddies will bury all three of us in the desert tomorrow: you and me and Dumbo together through eternity.” The general lay back down as if he did not have a care in the world, but continued the questioning. “No wonder they kicked you out of the shitbird SEALs. You weren’t even good enough to meet their low standards.”
Logan snapped at the bait. “Yeah? You think your Marines are such hot shit?” He was pissed that Middleton was ridiculing the Teams. SEALs were the best! “Your Spec Op boys couldn’t even fly two helicopters without running into each other out here. Wouldn’t have mattered if they landed, neither, because we had them in a kill zone even before they fucked up.”
Middleton made a point of grimacing as if disappointed and said nothing while he made another mental note. Confirmation that this whole thing was a setup for an ambush. Blabbermouth.
“You think I ain’t already got my own escape covered? You may be a general, but I’m as smart as you.”
“Sure. That’s why we’re in here together in this smelly house. Couple of Einsteins, we are. E equals MC squared.”
Logan had never liked really intelligent people. He didn’t get that part about EMC. “You know why you’re really here? Think you figured it all out?”
“Yeah. It’s not all that hard. Real terrorists would have gone after an easier target, not a moving convoy with armed Marine and Saudi guards. That’s why they snatch schoolteachers, not soldiers. So who would consider me important enough to risk an ambush that would certainly result in casualties and guarantee media coverage and a manhunt? Who profits?”
“What’s your answer?”
“Simple. Gates Global. Your job was to put me on the sidelines. The only thing worthwhile on my schedule is testifying next week in Washington before the Senate Armed Services Committee. That is where I intend to stop this nutty privatization of the United States military and keep disgraceful incompetents like you from sneaking back into the tent. Shit, Logan, I wrote the book on privatization while I was at the Naval War College. The PSC concept is long on cost and short on loyalty. The Naval Institute Press published it and we even got some good ink in The New York Times Book Review.” Middleton laughed derisively and glanced at Logan. “It helped me get my star. I’m sure you read it.”
“Big fuckin’ deal.”
“You’re working for a private security company, but any way you cut it, you’re nothing but a mercenary. A gun for hire. You work for Gates Global, which ordered you to kidnap me. Now, for some reason, which I assume is related to the helo crash, the original plan has changed. You never planned to let me live anyway, but Gates was just trying to figure out how he could benefit the most by my death. So it turns out the jihadists will do the honors. Once that is done, you are no longer needed either. Probably just one hole will be big enough for the three of us.”
“Not gonna happen, Middleton.” Logan moved to the door. “I’ve listened to enough of your shit. Anyway, let me tell you how it’s going to come down tomorrow. Once we get you all pretty again and give you to those Iraqis…”
Middleton snorted, a bark of a laugh. “See? You just did it again!”
“Did what?”
“Gave me information I did not need to know. I had no idea those guys were Iraqis. You furnished another piece of the puzzle, you shitbird.”
“Fuck you. I’ll tell you something else, because you’re going to be dead real soon. Not only are they Iraqis, but they work for that badass Rebel Sheikh down in Basra. At eight o’clock tomorrow morning, they are going to prop you up in a chair and cut off your fucking head!” He let the big cocky grin creep back across his face. “And I’m going to be standing there to watch. Gonna really enjoy the show.”
Middleton closed his eyes as if bored. “Okay, Logan. See you in the hole.” The general turned his back to the mercenary and did not move again until the door closed. Even then he did not move, thinking about beheadings and the alliance between Gordon Gates and the Rebel Sheikh.