Clear by Fire (39 page)

The rising moon amplified his night vision, and the surrounding details appeared clear and crisp. His heart was beating in his ears, and he struggled to control his breathing. Mason judged that he was fifty meters from where he had seen the man, but there was no longer any sign of him.

Panic trickled down his spine like a drop of cold water.
Where the hell did he go?
A low hiss drifted from his left. He turned his head very slowly and peered down the street until he made out an arm in a doorway. The figure had moved across the street. Now he didn’t have a shot. A rustle came from his right, and suddenly another figure emerged from the shadows.

Mason had two targets now. There was no way to engage both.
On top of that, he couldn’t positively identify his targets. They could have been Barnes and Harden, or they could have been two hapless locals looking for something to steal. Either way he needed to be ready. Mason had to decide if he was going to wait until they met up or try to catch one in the open and hope he had time to pin the other man down.

He slipped his left hand into his kit, felt the metal pin of a frag, and slowly pulled it from the pouch. Mason moved it into his palm and waited for someone to make a move while keeping his right hand on the rifle, in case he needed to fire. Mason watched the second figure as he began inching his way down the low wall. Clamping the rifle against his leg with his bicep, he eased the pin out of the grenade while still holding on to the spoon.

The figure bounced up from the crouch and sprinted for the road. Mason released the spoon, which cartwheeled into the darkness. Suddenly he realized he couldn’t make the throw with his left hand. Quickly switching hands, he took a tiny step forward and released his hold on the rifle. The weapon clattered against the brick opening of the alley as the frag arced toward the street.

Holding the trigger down, one of the men sprayed Mason’s position, forcing him to duck back into the alley as the frag exploded, followed by a cry of pain. Mason picked up his rifle and shifted his angle as he moved out into the street and snapped off four quick shots. A body lay motionless in the street, but another burst of rifle fire sent him ducking back to cover. From his knees he prepped his last frag. Even though he didn’t have a target, he tossed it out and hoped the shrapnel would find some meat.

The metal body clinked against the ground and bounced before exploding. Mason had to commit to the fight or risk losing contact with his target. Coming up from his crouch, he moved out of cover and hammered through the magazine as he twisted toward the doorway. Through the optic he caught a dark figure silhouetted in the shadows, and he squeezed the trigger as the reticle centered over the man’s
chest. Mason knew he had the kill shot but felt the trigger go slack as the empty bolt locked open.

He kept moving, all too aware that he was hung out in the open. He let the rifle swing free and rushed to pull the Glock from its chest holster. The man in the doorway moved to fire as Mason raced to get the pistol on target. The rifle’s muzzle blast lit up the shadowed doorway. He felt the rounds hit his thighs and run up the front of his plate carrier.

Keeping the pistol on target as he pulled the trigger, Mason focused on the front sight, but he was falling as his legs crumpled underneath him. He landed hard behind a pile of rocks as bullets whistled over his head. Tossing the empty pistol away, he felt the blood soaking through his pants as he snatched a fresh mag for his rifle from his rig. Using his thumb to depress the magazine release, he ejected the empty mag with a flip of his wrist before inserting a fresh one. Slapping the bolt release with the palm of his hand, he rolled out and returned fire.

The rounds snapped across the street and slammed into the empty doorway. Mason couldn’t believe that the figure was gone. Struggling to his feet, he tried to run across the road but collapsed after a step. Dragging himself across the ground, he kept his rifle up and ready to fire. But the street was empty.

“Shit,” he yelled, and slammed his fist on the concrete. Using the rifle to push himself to his feet, he managed to hobble over to the body before collapsing in pain. Mason dragged himself until he was close enough to grab him by the front of his kit. It was Harden.

Harden was bleeding from his ears and mouth but still clung to life. Mason shook him and yelled, “Where the fuck is he? Tell me or . . .”

“Or what? I’m already dead.” Harden spat blood down the front of his kit. He smiled and reached up to touch Mason’s face. “I thought you were dead.”

Mason slammed Anvil 7 back on the ground in frustration. He
could see vehicles coming down the street as he lay down beside Harden. The two men stared at each other, their blood staining the street.

“You can’t stop him, can’t you see that? You never could.”

Mason propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at his shattered legs. Ripping a tourniquet from his kit, he slipped it over his right thigh and cranked it down. It hurt worse than being shot, but the blood began to stop. He pulled himself closer to Harden and ripped his blowout kit off his left side.

Dumping it on the ground, he searched for another tourniquet. There was nothing but gauze.

“I’m not dying here,” Mason growled as he ripped the sling from his rifle and looped it over his leg. He cinched it as tight as he could before dropping the magazine and forcing the takedown pin out of the lower receiver. Pulling the charging handle from the rifle, he stuck it through the top of the sling before tying a knot over the metal handle. Mason twisted the makeshift tourniquet until his left leg went numb. Taking the free end of the sling, he tied the handle in place and fell back on the ground.

Mason and Harden had made their choices. Both of them lived by their own code, yet somehow here they were. Staring into Harden’s eyes, Mason could see the man’s life slipping away.

“Was it worth it?” he asked.

“It was all I had,” Harden whispered. Anvil 7 lifted his hand and placed it on Mason’s chest. “Don’t let me die alone.”

He stared at the bloody hand. They had been brothers once, and now fate had them lying in a street bleeding out.

“Please,” he whispered.

Mason took the dying man’s hand and squeezed.

Ahmed appeared above him, and Mason freed his hand and pointed across the street. More men appeared. They lifted him into the back of the truck. Pain shot through his body, and he wanted to scream.

“Find his body,” he yelled. “I hit him, he can’t be far.”

“Mason, please be calm. They will find him.” Ahmed was holding his head in his hands.

“You have to find Barnes.” Another man appeared. Mason caught a glimpse of a syringe and felt the prick of a needle. Abdul’s voice echoed as he yelled at his men. Mason wanted to tell them something about Barnes, but he couldn’t remember what. Or maybe it was something about himself. Either way, the drugs worked fast, and he felt the pain subside. It was finally time to rest.

N
SA Cage checked his tie in the mirror before turning and walking over to his desk. He took a set of keys off the calendar and tossed them to Jacob, who stood smiling on the other side.

“I told you it would work out,” Cage said as his old friend caught them in midair.

“Sir, the mission failed . . .”

“Did it?”

“Yes, sir, the bomb never went off, Barnes is dead, and Mason is still out there somewhere. Everyone is gone.”

“But we’re not. Sometimes a victory doesn’t look exactly the way we expect it to.”

“Yes, sir, but I feel like I let you down.”

“At the end of the day, Collins is under investigation, and we are a step closer to our goal. While the rest of the country is playing checkers, you and I are playing chess. You have to keep that in mind and remember that this is just the beginning.”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Jacob said honestly.

“Jacob, I can promise you one thing: this is going to get much worse before it gets better, but we have to stay the course. Thomas Jefferson once said that ‘the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’ Right now, that is our blood.”

He stood staring at his aide, searching for any signs of weakness or hesitation, almost daring him to back down. Finally, Jacob looked up, his eyes burning with resolve.

“Sir, you know I will follow you anywhere.”

“You say that now,” Cage said before turning and heading for the door.

M
ason was dreaming about his old house. He was cooking dinner and waiting for his wife to come home. Suddenly the doorbell rang, and when he turned away from the stove, Tarek was standing there.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Mason, we’re all dead,” he said with a smile. “Do you want a cigarette? It’s a Camel.”

“Yeah, that would be great.” Tarek handed him a cigarette and lit it with a golden lighter. “I’m sorry I left you in the street,” he said after taking a drag.

“That is okay, I was dead,” the Libyan said with a smile.

“You wouldn’t have left me,” Mason said, ashamed.

“Ah well, who could know these things? It is not your fault that I am dead, but if you’re not careful your food will burn.”

Mason turned to see the dinner going up in flames. He looked for something to put out the fire, but his arms were so heavy and hard to move. The flames crept down the stove and across the floor, and Tarek laughed as the flames licked at his feet before crawling toward Mason, who was unable to move. The flames spread to his legs, and then he was on fire.

“Tarek, I can’t move my legs, can you help me out?” The flames
were spreading quickly, and he could feel his skin burning. The Libyan just looked at him and smiled.

“I’ll see you again,” Tarek said, and then he was gone.

Mason felt someone grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. He opened his eyes, and a man whom he had never seen before was holding him down. The man was dressed in white scrubs and was sweating as he tried to subdue him. Letting go of his shoulders, the man picked up a cord that traced up to an IV stand. He pushed the red button at the end of the line before dropping it on the bed.

Mason looked around, and he realized he was in a hospital of some sort. Zeus stood in the corner of the room, next to Renee, their faces covered in worry. Looking around, he eyed a pitcher of water sitting on a table next to the metal bed. It was too far for him to reach, but his friend walked over to the bed and poured some water into a plastic glass. Moving the straw to Mason’s lips, he held it up so the American could take a drink.

It was the best water he had ever had. He drank the entire glass and felt his throat clearing up.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in Cyprus.”

“How did I get here?”

“We brought you here after you killed Harden. You’ve been out for a few days.”

“What about Barnes?”

“We didn’t find him. There was blood all over the place, and I don’t think he got far, but they haven’t found his body yet.”

“You have to be kidding me.”

Zeus shrugged and filled up the plastic cup with more water. He held it to Mason’s lips and let him get another drink. The man was writing something on a clipboard and told Zeus not to let him have too much water.

“You need to try and be still. No more thrashing about.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You had a nightmare. It really scared the hell out of me. I guess you just needed more morphine,” Zeus said.

“So what’s in the envelope, a check?” Mason asked Renee.

“It’s from Mr. David. I think he’s offering us a job.”

“A job? Is she serious?” he said to Zeus.

“I cannot answer that, my friend, she won’t let me see it, but after what you have done, I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“So, what’s the job?”

“We can talk about that later. Right now you need your rest,” Renee said sternly.

Mason looked down at his legs. He expected to feel something about the last few days. So many people had died because of him, and for what?

The American felt his eyes closing slowly. Like Barnes, it seemed that he was doomed to live until the war had finished with him. He tried to fight the drugs, because he was afraid of the dreams that were waiting for him. As he drifted off, a brief shadow crossed his drug-addled mind, and somehow he knew that this was just the beginning.

First and foremost, I give all the glory to Jesus Christ for his grace and faithfulness, and for allowing me to work with John Paine, Bob Diforio, Matthew Benjamin, and the rest of the wonderful staff at Touchstone. Their tireless guidance, support, and patience took a dream and made it into a reality, and I am forever grateful.

I would also like to thank my wife, Amy, for believing in me when no one else did.

© KIM JAY

Joshua Hood graduated from the University of Memphis before joining the military and spending five years in the 82nd Airborne Division, where he was team leader in the 3-504th Parachute Infantry Regiment. In 2005, he was sent to Iraq and conducted combat operations in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom from 2005 to 2006, and from 2007 to 2008 he served as a squad leader in the 1-508th Parachute Infantry Regiment and was deployed to Afghanistan for Operation Enduring Freedom. Hood was decorated for valor in Operation Furious Pursuit. He is currently a member of a full-time SWAT team in Memphis, Tennessee, and has conducted countless stateside operations with the FBI, ATF, DEA, Secret Service, and U.S. Marshals.