Richard Johnson - Deadly Cargo - A Chilling Naval Terrorism Thriller

Josh charged through the crowd of men as the one with the letter retreated for safety, then threw the sheet of paper and escaped out the door. Josh gathered up the wrinkled letter, folded it and placed it in his pants pocket, to the enthusiastic razzing of the men. “You’ll pay for this, all of you,” Josh shouted above the noise.

In the dimly lighted corner of the room, an Afghani boy who was hired by the team to keep their quarters clean laid aside a broom and dustpan. As the ruckus kept everyone’s attention on the other end of the room, slowly he inched along the wall toward the door. His eyes were wide and staring at the fracas. When he reached the door, he quietly slipped outside and disappeared into the night.

Major Covington stepped through a door at the other end of the room. Almost immediately the place fell silent as he held up his hands and waved the noise level down. To a man, they all swung their heads to look at the open door, then their eyes turned back to Josh and then to the major.

“Good job, guys,” Covington said. “A convincing act. I think we’re off and running.”

For the next several days, Josh was sullen and found reasons to be apart from the rest of his team. He ate alone, worked on the school building alone, refused to talk with the other soldiers. His face was no longer jovial, and his sense of humor seemed to have died. The change in his demeanor did not escape the notice of his English class members. When one of the women asked him how he was doing, he almost spit his answer.

“I hate the army and what it has done to my life. I’d do anything to get out of here, and when I go, I’ll make sure they are sorry for what they’ve done to me.”

The woman patted his arm in sympathy, and retreated quietly. From a place in the shade, Josh saw her later talking with a man he did not recognize, as they stood in the shadow at the corner of a building. The woman looked around nervously and seemed to be talking fast. The unknown man had thin eyes beneath bushy black eyebrows. His face was bony and covered with leathery skin. He reminded Josh of a shadowy figure that hangs around the dark perimeter, like a hungry wolf that shuns the light of the campfire, always waiting until the right moment to attack.

The next afternoon, that man came to Josh’s English class, took a chair and sat quietly in the corner. After class, all the villagers left the room, but the stranger stayed.

“Can I help you?” Josh asked in Arabic.

“I believe I can help you,” the man answered. “I understand you want to get out of my country and return to your home.”

“Yes,” Josh said.

“There is a woman I want you to meet.”

“I don’t need a woman,” Josh said.

“No,” the man smiled thinly, “not that kind of woman. She is old, and she can help you.”

“How can she help me?” Josh asked.

“She knows people who can get you out of Afghanistan so you can go home, but you must confide in her your true feelings so she can decide how best to assist you.”

“An old woman?” Josh asked. “A mother figure for me to talk to?”

“Exactly,” the man said.

“I don’t need a mother figure to talk to.” Josh stood up as if to leave.

“You will find this woman helpful,” the man said, and handed Josh a piece of paper. “This is how you will find her.”

Josh looked quickly at the paper, then hearing someone enter the room, he folded it quickly and tucked it in his pocket. “Sergeant Adams,” the voice called from the doorway. Josh recognized it as Covington. “I need a word with you.” The major looked long and hard at the stranger. “Who’s this guy?”

“Nobody. Just a fellow who thought he might like to learn English. But I don’t think this class is what he’s looking for.” Josh shook the man’s hand and said in Arabic, “I will seek her out. Thank you.” The man lowered his head, bowed slightly and brushed by Covington on his way out the door, and he was not seen again in the village.

That night, Josh hit the bunk as usual and lights went out at 2200 hours. At 0400, one of the team members up for an early run to the toilet noticed that Josh’s bunk was empty. A search of the compound turned up nothing. Sergeant Josh Adams was missing.

Fierce wind beat against the tent walls, thrumming the taut material and whistling around the guy lines. Bits of sand made a speckling noise against the fabric as the desert storm raged. Inside, Sorgei Groschenko looked from one to the other of the two men seated at the table. Then he began. “I am a scientist. I worked in the field of weaponry until the collapse of the Soviet Union. That is all you need to know.”

Husam al Din shook his head. “That is not all. Tell us about your motive for being here. I know these things, of course, but Sergeant Adams does not. And I am sure he will feel more comfortable about his role in all this if he understands your level of commitment.”

Groschenko was quiet. Sensing the Russian’s reluctance, Husam al Din turned to Josh Adams and continued. “He is here because he hates America for their interference in his country’s affairs. It ruined his career. So, now that he has nothing else, he is here for the money. Everyone has a price, and our people are willing to pay it.”

Josh Adams nodded. “Yeah, well I don’t hate America, but I hate what America is doing here. We have no business even being here in the first place. The politics involved in this war are sickening. I’m only here because I have to be. I’ve got a contract with the army, but they’ve messed up my life plenty.”

“Yes,” Husam al Din said. “They deployed you to a war zone where you are very isolated, and now your girlfriend, Rachel, feels abandoned, but there is nothing you can do about it. Last week, you received a letter from her. She has plans to marry your old friend Randall Stroppe, who lives at 1547 Huntington Avenue in Palm Harbor, Florida. Am I correct so far?”

A look of bewilderment crossed Josh’s face. “How do you know all of that? And how is it you speak English so well?”

Al Din showed his teeth through a cold smile. “As to the second question, I have had good teachers who believe it is important to know everything about the enemy, including his language. As to the first, it is my business to know what I need to know. And I know everything about you, Joshua Paul Adams. I know where you were born, where you went to school, where you have worked, your favorite foods, everything. Do you understand?”

“What does that have to do with anything? I only came here because I want out of the army. The old woman said you could help me. That is why I am here.”

Husam al Din shook his head. “You are here because you were chosen. I chose you.”

Josh stared across the table at al Din. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. What do you mean that I was chosen?”

Husam al Din’s smile disappeared and his eyes closed half way, showing dead pupils behind lowered lids. “You were chosen because of your special talents. If you refuse to cooperate with what I am about to tell you, I will simply find another to replace you. Someday your remains might be discovered along the Afghan–Pakistan border, a frozen and dehydrated mummy.”

Josh stood up and slapped his hand on the table. “That sounds like a threat, and I don’t like being threatened.”

Husam al Din jumped to his feet, his eyes flashed and in his hand was the dagger. In a blur of motion the dagger came down hard; the point buried itself in the wood less than an inch from Josh Adams’ splayed fingers. Josh leaped back with a startled yelp and at the sudden sound, two men stepped in through the tent door with AK47’s pointed at his chest.