Paul McKellips - Jericho 3

“Outside?” Omid asked in Pashtu. The boy nodded.

Manson opened the door. In the backyard, next to the far wall, they could see a small shack.

“In that building?” Omid asked. The boy nodded again.

Colt took the boy back to the main room by the fire. Manson and two others — followed by two sheep that appeared much happier outside of the building than they were inside — approached the shed. Chip followed the three Alpha Teamers from the front after he saw them heading outside in the snow toward the shed.

With four weapons drawn, Chip pulled out the thermal imaging scope.

No heat. Nothing in the shed. The boy was lying.

Manson unhitched the door and walked into the six-by-eight wood cobbled feed shack. Light pouring through the wood boards illuminated the frozen stiff body of Dean Banks, MD., Board Certified Gynecologist with the Bucks County Women’s Health Clinic, and US Army Reservist on a four-month deployment to Afghanistan, and a single, solitary AK-47 gunshot wound to the head.

Camp and Billy Finn walked into the main room where the man with the broken neck was still sprawled out motionless on the ground.

“What the hell?” Camp said in muted tones as Finn inspected the table next to the bed.

“Some kind of a laboratory?” Finn asked.

“Or a Flintstones-era surgical suite.”

Camp picked through a box of assorted trash. With his knife he pawed at discarded items, bloody gauze, injectibles, syringes and packaging.

“Poly Prothese PIPs?” Finn asked as he read the label on the packaging Camp pulled out of the trash. “What’s that?”

“Silicone breast implants,” Camp said in bewilderment.

Finn walked over to the cabinet next to the prep table.

“Check it out… ether, rubbing alcohol, and several bottles of this stuff.”

“Ether? Looks like they were putting someone to sleep for surgery,” said Camp. “A bit archaic, but I guess it would do the trick. Looks like Russian scribbling on the bottles.”

Finn pulled out his small digital camera and started taking photos of the room, the trash and the mysterious bottles with Russian labels.

The body of Major Banks was carried inside and placed gently on the floor near the open fire pit. Colt moved the boy and placed him on a chair next to the man with the slit throat and nearly decapitated head. Veggie removed a body bag as Lynch unfolded the Tac4 foldable stretcher.

Camp walked into the room as the team prepared the body of Major Banks for his final return home. Camp moved closer to the major and slowly dropped down to one knee. The Alpha Team stopped their work and paused. Camp reached out and touched the frozen hand of Major Banks. He closed his eyes.

“God… we give thanks for this fallen warrior. He was a soldier, a father, a husband, a son, and our brother. Guide us as we bring him home.” Camp touched the face of his comrade then rose to his feet.

“This won’t stand, gentlemen,” Camp said to every eye in the room that was fixated on his leadership. “This man was a healer, a physician; a man who dedicated himself to providing medical care. Every man, woman and child on this earth is entitled to freedom. Major Dean Banks gave his life in the great cause of liberty. This will not stand. Let’s get him home.”

Camp walked over to the boy, smiled, and bent over by the child’s face.

“Which way are you going to go, son? Which path are you going to choose?” Camp rubbed the boy’s head and walked away as the child’s eyes followed him in horror. The boy didn’t understand a word Camp said or why Alpha Team had just killed his father. Alpha Team resumed their preparations for egress.

Omid glanced at his watch and became instantly agitated. “He’s dead. There’s no reason to move him out and through the Hindu Kush,” Omid said as he stood over Banks. Veggie jumped up and got in Omid’s face.

“We aren’t a bunch of Iranian dogs. We’re American soldiers, and we DO — NOT — LEAVE our soldiers behind!”

Manson motioned Veggie off and, with one eye seemingly fixed on his kill and another staring down Omid, he spoke. “Quick check of the house as Veggie and Lynch bag the major. We’re out in three.”

Omid left the room and wandered into the center room where Camp and Finn were back examining the lab.

“Breast implants? They kidnap a gynecologist and bring him to hell’s living room to do a boob job on a burka queen?” Finn asked.

Camp looked at the wall behind the bed.

“Looks like this is where they made the Facebook video,” Camp said.

“The Islamic Khilafah, the Shahada, the flag of jihad,” Omid said from the back of the room.

“Clearly the boy was with Miriam’s husband back there. I guess one of these other guys is Kazi,” Camp said to Finn.

“Kazi?” Omid asked. “How do you know the name Kazi?”

Camp and Finn moved quickly to Omid.

“How do you know the name Kazi?” Finn asked with full FBI investigatory tone.

“Kazi is a business consultant to Iran. He is used on several projects. He was educated in the states, a microbiologist who fashions himself as a doctor, a scientist type. He’s Pakistani but worked in The Netherlands before he was recruited.”

“Recruited? By whom?” Camp asked.

“ISI… Inter-Services Intelligence, Pakistan,” Omid answered.

“And the Iranian Revolutionary Guard?” Finn pressed.

“A freelancer, yes… but not to the Revolutionary Guard… he works with MISIRI.”

“MISIRI?” Camp asked.

“The Ministry of Intelligence and National Security of the Islamic Republic of Iran,” Finn answered.

“Kazi is not one of the dead guys, Captain Campbell. But you don’t want to be here if he comes back. He’ll be in the company of ISI.”

“Master Sergeant Manson! You’d better take a look at this,” a call came from the back of the house. Camp put one of the PIP packages in his pocket and followed Finn and Omid.

In the back room, behind a wall of curtains, Chip wheeled out a machine.

“What is it?” Sanchez asked. Manson put his flashlight beam on the side of the machine.

“The label says SkitoMister… made in Illinois,” Chip said.

“What the hell is that for? Do the Paki’s have a mosquito problem up here, Omid?” Manson asked.

“At this elevation? I doubt it,” Camp said as he moved in to take a closer look. “A mister… takes a liquid and turns it into a mist. Basically a sprayer.”

“How much does it weigh?” Manson asked.

Chip picked it up awkwardly.

“Eighty, maybe a hundred pounds.”

“Okay, we’ve got to get moving,” Sanchez said as he left the room.

“What do you want to do, Camp? If we blow it, the gig’s up. Everyone in Datta Khel will come outside to see the fireworks,” Manson said.

“Get Dex.”

“Dex!” Manson yelled as running boot steps approached down the hallway.

“Dex, did you put a beacon on Major Banks when you bagged him?” Camp asked.

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Unzip him. Hide the tracking device on the SkitoMister. Once we get back into the Hindu Kush, we’ll have the drone blow it up.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“What about the boy?” Manson asked. “He’s not coming with us.”

“I understand, Manson. Let’s put him in the vacant house across the street. It’ll take them a day or two to find him.”

The mission timer on Geek’s wrist watch indicated 19-minutes and 23-seconds. Three men, presumably Taliban or Haqqani Network were dead, the body of Army Major Dean Banks was bagged and mounted to the Tac4, and Miriam’s son — now orphaned from his insurgent father and his suicide bombing mother — was placed in a chair in a vacant house with no heat.