Payback (9 page)

He
hadn’t left a sink full of dishes since it started.

“What’s
that?” asked Therrien, pointing to Leroux’s screen. It was flashing with a
priority hit result from one of his searches. He sat down, putting his plate
aside and opened up the details.

And
smiled.

“This
could be it,” he said, the entire room gathering around the monitor. “A large
amount of medical supplies were stolen just hours before the kidnapping. Looks
like they posed as soldiers and the dockworkers just loaded the supplies into
the back of their transport trucks.”

“Could
have actually been soldiers for all we know,” said Therrien.

“True.”
Leroux quickly entered another search and pointed at the result. “But real
soldiers don’t need to steal their own transport trucks. Three were reported stolen
an hour after the supplies were picked up.” He printed off the details then
turned to the room, the food forgotten. “Okay, here’s what I want. Check for
any hits thirty minutes on either side of the two thefts in the same geographic
area. We might get lucky if someone used a cellphone or radio to initiate the
theft or to notify someone of their success. Start pulling satellite imagery,
CCTV footage, everything. We need to find those trucks.” He stood up, shaking
the pages. “I’m going to see the Chief. We might just have our first real
lead.”

The room
emptied save Sherrie. He smiled at her sheepishly. “Sorry, hon, but dinner’s
going to have to wait.”

She
stepped over and gave him a kiss that threatened to awaken something tucked
away at the moment. “I love it when you get all boss-like.”

His
cheeks burned as he searched for something to say. “So what are you going to
do?” he finally asked as she stepped out of the office, he following.

“Head
home, watch some Netflix.” She smacked him on the ass. “Now go save the world.”
She winked and slinked off, putting a wiggle on for his benefit.

I’m
the luckiest man alive.

Sung Residence, Mango, Florida

“Aww, Umma!”

Sergeant
Carl “Niner” Sung feigned mock exasperation at his mother. She wagged a wooden
spoon at him. “Set the table. That’s your job.”

“But I
don’t live here anymore, Umma. I’m a grown man!”

“Nonsense.
You’ll always be my little boy. Now go!” She ended the conversation with a jab
of the spoon, pointing toward the dining room. Niner stood up from the kitchen
table, his shoulders slumped in defeat, then stomped from the room, winking at
his dad who merely shook his head then the newspaper he was reading.

“Don’t
provoke your mother. I’m the one who has to live with her after you leave
tomorrow.”

Niner switched
to tip-toes, his nephew giggling and pointing. “Uncle Carl funny!”

Sergeant
Jerry “Jimmy Olson” Hudson shook his head. “I have to work with that.” He rose,
following his buddy to the cabinet where the family kept their dinnerware.

Niner
smacked his ass, making a kissing sound. “If you don’t like it, you can always
ask for reassignment.”

“Then
who’d keep you out of trouble.”

“I never
get in trouble.”

Jimmy
laughed. “With that mouth? It’s a wonder you have your original teeth!”

“I’ll
have you know this mouth has saved both our lives on more than one occasion.”

“Right,
like the night you chose your new nickname.”

“Hey,
it’s not my fault those rednecks decided to get into an intellectual debate
unarmed.”

“Is that
what you’re calling it now? An intellectual debate?”

“What’s
an interlectial rebate?”

Jimmy
turned to Niner’s nephew, apparently unsure of what to say.

“Now
whose mouth is getting us in trouble?” Niner grabbed a stack of plates and
handed them to his friend before turning to his nephew. “It’s where stupid
people open their mouths, and smart people like your Uncle Carl shove their
foot down it.”

“Carl!”

Niner
cringed at his mother’s shout. “Sorry, Umma!”

Jimmy
grinned.

The
night in question had started off as a celebration, the twelve man Bravo Team
heading out to a bar for some brewskies, but instead encountering a group of
“intellectuals”, one of whom took a disliking to Niner’s Korean American
heritage, hurling some fairly lame racial epithets at him including slant-eyed.

Niner
had responded with a string of gems, including Nine Iron.

Embarrassed,
the man had taken a swing at a Delta Force operator.

Further
reinforcing the notion he was an idiot.

Niner
had dropped him with one punch, the man’s friends joining in, triggering a
melee that the regulars at the bar still spoke of to this day.

And
Niner had insisted his new nickname be Nine Iron. Dawson had wisely shortened
it to Niner over time.

Niner
liked the story of how he got his nickname, it rare that you got to choose your
own, but no one was going to turn him down.

Jimmy
on the other hand…

Someone
had found out that Jimmy was the editor of his high school newspaper. Jimmy
Olson had been the result. Dawson’s Big Dog had been something from basic
training, matching his initials. He knew Dawson hated it, but that was part of
the charm.

You
never knew what you would end up being called, and quite often, you didn’t like
it.

So when
an opportunity to pick his own had come along, he had jumped at it.

Some
weren’t bad. Red had been given his nickname because of his red hair and wasn’t
the only one named because of a physical trait. Mickey’s ears, Jagger’s lips,
Spock’s eyebrow and Atlas’ physique had all earned them monikers that he wasn’t
sure they were happy with at first. Now they were just names, none of them
really thought about their meaning anymore.

His was
the only one he knew of though that had been earned after punches were thrown
at him. None had landed, but they had been thrown.

He
finished setting the table with Jimmy, Jimmy having visited the Sung household enough
times for them to have a routine that worked. They were done within a few
minutes.

“Dinner
is in five minutes. Everyone wash up.”

The
heavy pounding of nieces’ and nephews’ feet filled the air as a lineup quickly
formed at the single bathroom of the modest bungalow. His family wasn’t rich by
any means and was barely middle class anymore. They had been forced to downsize
when their mortgage had come up for renewal during the crisis at a value higher
than the house was worth. His father had been forced to do what millions of
other Americans had done.

He
declared bankruptcy.

They
walked away from everything they had built and rented this house. His father
had been lucky to keep his job as an accountant and they were one year away
from having the blemish removed from their credit history, at which point they
hoped to buy another home.

It was
something his father never discussed, but his mother did on rare occasions,
never when her husband was within earshot.

He was
ashamed.

In
Korean culture, as in any, losing one’s home for any reason was one of the
supreme embarrassments. In fact their relatives back in Korea had no idea why
the change in address had occurred.

It
simply wasn’t discussed.

Niner
had felt terrible when he heard the news. He had offered to help but his father
had refused to even hear his pleas to save the family home he and his siblings
had been raised in. Always practical, his father had said the house wasn’t
worth the amount of the mortgage, the bank refused to refinance for the full
amount until housing prices recovered, so rather than try to borrow the
difference, which would wipe them out financially regardless, it was actually
better to wipe the slate clean. He wasn’t too concerned with the ramifications
on their credit history since millions upon millions of Americans would have
the same blemish on their records. If banks didn’t want to issue credit to this
massive minority of the population for seven years, then that was their loss.

Things
hadn’t worked out the way his father had planned, that much was clear since
they were still renting. His mother had told him once that his father was
saving for as large a down payment as he could, wanting to take on as small a
mortgage as possible so they couldn’t get burned again. They were in their
early fifties and he didn’t want to be saddled with a large mortgage for the
rest of their lives.

It made
sense, but the fond memories he had growing up in the family home were all that
were left. He’d never see it again, never see the room he had spent more than
half his life in, never sit in the backyard he used to play in, never drive the
streets he had learned to drive on.

When he
had heard the news he had let himself cry for a few minutes, a mix of self-pity
and the shared pain and embarrassment he knew his mother and father must be
going through.

They had
moved during the night.

One day
they were waving to the neighbors good morning, the next day they were gone,
the shame too great to face people they had formed relationships with for decades.

The
Sungs had simply disappeared into the night.

It had
been hard on the family, hard on the marriage, but his parents were
traditionalists—divorce was never in the cards. They had weathered the tough
times and he was certain his father would have them back in a home they owned
soon, in better shape than they had been before the crisis.

He had
faith.

As he
washed his hands in the sink he looked in the mirror and frowned at what he
saw. He was tired. They had just come off the op yesterday, rushed to Florida
after the debrief to salvage what remained of their weekend plans, leaving
little time to rest.

And he
never slept well here.

It just
wasn’t home.

They say
home is where the heart is, but his heart was back where he had grown up. He
loved his parents and loved seeing them, but this house wasn’t his home. He
envied some of the guys who had grown up military. They truly did understand
the concept that home was the family, not some building you slept in. Bouncing
around the country and sometimes the world with their father or mother, living
in half a dozen different towns or cities growing up, they learned to make
friends quickly and never become attached to the room they slept in—it may
change the next day.

But
Niner had grown up in only two homes—the first he was too young to remember,
then the family home he had spent over fifteen years in before leaving to join
the army.

Something
that his father had been intensely proud of. He had wanted his son to become an
accountant like him, but math had never been Niner’s passion. He could do it,
he just didn’t like it. Whether it was some sort of rebellious reaction to the
subject his father loved, or that he was simply more interested in physical
work, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was he had been drawn to the military,
especially after 9/11. His country was hurting and he felt a duty to help it
heal—by confronting those who would hurt it.

And the
best way he could think of was to join the military and defend his country from
those who would do it harm.

It
hadn’t taken him very long to set his eyes on Delta.

His
phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw the call display.
Uh
oh.
He swiped his finger. “Go for me.”

“Need
you back here ASAP.”

“Got it.
Jimmy?”

“Yup.”

“Okay,
he’s here with me. It’ll take us a bit. We’re at my folk’s place in Florida.”

“Helo’s
waiting for you at MacDill.”

Niner’s
eyebrows popped.
Must be important.
“Okay, on our way.”

He hung
up and stepped out of the bathroom, waving his phone at Jimmy. “That was BD.
We’ve been called up.”

“Any
details?”

Niner
shook his head. “Nope, but must be important. There’s a whirly bird a waitin’
for us.”

It was
Jimmy’s turn to be surprised as he pulled out his own phone. “I’ll check the
news for any buzz.”

“I’ll
break the news to Mom.” He started to walk down the hall when Jimmy grabbed him
by the arm. “What?”

Jimmy
lowered his voice. “Ask her for some take-out.”

Niner’s
eyes narrowed, a smile creeping up half his face. “Just cuz we’re Korean
doesn’t mean we own a restaurant. Why don’t you bring your dry cleaning next
time?” Jimmy blanched causing Niner to laugh, smacking his friend on the
shoulder. “Just kidding, buddy, you should see your face. Of course I’m asking
for food. I don’t want this trip to have been a complete waste.” He jerked a
thumb over his shoulder. “Grab our gear, I’ll be a minute.”

He
continued down the hall to break the news.

News all
too familiar in the Sung household.

Somewhere in Sierra Leone

“Wake up!”

Sarah
Henderson felt a none-too-gentle jab in her side as she was startled awake. She
opened her eyes and was momentarily disoriented, forgetting where she was, but
as her eyes came into focus the terror of her new reality gripped her chest
tight.

She had
been abducted with her friend, forced to lie their way through checkpoints
while on their way to their eventual death.

She
couldn’t imagine it getting any worse.

That was
until she looked over at Tanya and saw the terrified expression on her face.
Sarah looked down and saw the driver’s hand caressing Tanya’s leg.

She
nearly vomited.

She felt
her own mind beginning to shut down, to protect itself against what might be to
come. Her arms wouldn’t move and her chest was so tight she felt immobilized,
as if a massive weight were pressing her into the back of the seat.