Sabotage: Beginnings (15 page)

However, he was upset that someone he’d admired so much hadn’t cared enough to warn him about the three Greek soldiers who interrupted his date night. Of course, they paid with their lives, but Ben had acquired a particular taste. Greek didn’t settle well with him.

Just outside of Islamabad, one of Pakistan’s most progressive cities, he eased back onto a pile of musty pillows tossed about the straw floor. He sucked from a hooka pipe and growled as a choppy mist of vapor invaded the room. Even the scented tobacco failed to disguise the stench of bodies piled against the opposite wall.

He lifted the satellite phone from his bag and glared at the keyboard’s eerie green glow. Humming, gaze darting across the ceiling, Ben tapped his finger against his teeth. He huffed as he slammed the phone back into his desert-camouflage go-bag.

“Damn woman is going to be the death of me.”

“She’s mommy. She loves us.” He countered.

“Fuck off.”

He lifted the phone again and gently pushed his finger against the raised numbers.

“Mommy, it’s your baby boy.”

“Hello Benjamin.” Dr. Worthington’s answer was terse.

“Are you still upset with me, mother?” Ben asked, readjusting the pillows closer to the opening in the wall.

He pressed his greasy palm over the receiver, “Of course she’s still pissed. You’ve been a bad boy Benny.”

Ben bit his teeth together and took another deep breath before he returned to the call.

“I’m not angry with you son. I’m very disappointed in you.”

Her words cut deep. He’d always strived to make her proud of him. Ben had put himself through things he hated in order to gain her favor. Sports were just one example. She’d decided Ben needed the exterior toughness through high school to aid his ability to pass West Point Academy’s rigid physical fitness exam. He only did it to please his mother.

“I’m sorry, mommy. Am I still your little boy?”

“Stop that stupid baby talk. It’s time to grow up and do the responsible thing.”

Ben snickered. “See pussy boy. I told you she was pissed. Fuck that bitch,” he whispered through a small slit in the corner of his mouth.

Rage ripped through him. Ben sprung to his feet and paced the tiny space. His bottom lip quivered but he blinked back tears.

Don’t dare show her weakness.

Breaths felt hot as he cursed into his palm to ensure his mother didn’t detect his anger. He scurried across the floor to ram his boot against a corpse. The old man’s body lifted and then sank back down.

“Ben, have you been bad just now?” his mother demanded.

He cringed at her intuition. She’d always read him with ease. It was possibly why she’d convinced him to withdraw from West Point.

“Not bad, mother. I needed a quiet place to call you.”

“Damn it, Benjamin. You are out of control.” Her words quaked with fury. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, mother. Nothing is wrong with me.” His words conflicted with the fist that gripped his heart. Mother was always there while father was often away. His career was always more important. He’d always made sure Ben knew that.

“I’m close, mother. I’m very close to accomplishing the mission. America will be so proud of me. Maybe West Point will accept me, too.” Ben tapped his chest with primal pride.

“Ben, please. Let the real heroes handle this. They’re closer. We’re proud of you, but it’s over. Come in and we’ll get you help.”

Ben collapsed to the ground. His elbow rested atop the flesh pile, “Real heroes?” he whispered. Emotion spiked. “What do you mean, get me help?”

“I meant we’ll call the Academy about admissions.”

He clucked. “Fucking liar.”

“Don’t talk to mommy like that,” he spit into the air.

“Give it up, Benjamin. Turn yourself in,” she ordered.

Ben was shattered to the core yet again. He zipped the razor sharp KA-BAR from its sheath. He pressed the narrow tip against his Adam’s apple. It burned at first—then a rush of endorphins masked the pain that surrounded the cut. He felt drops of blood trickle over his weathered skin.

Looking into the reflective surface tacked to the wall as a mirror, he gulped and watched the blood roll up and over his Adam’s apple. A quick finger swipe lapped the coppery taste of blood onto Ben’s tongue.

He watched his reflection in the dingy mirror. He was pleased and pissed.

Probably good we’re both here together, Benny
.

“Benjamin, are you still there?” his mother demanded.

“Goodbye mother dearest.”

Ben punched himself in the temple. “No, talk to mommy.” His face ached from the blow. He heard the click of the call ending—mommy was gone.

The barbaric accommodations began to irritate Ben’s sense of taste. It was time to move on. He’d learned of the physician helping the CIA to confirm Osama bin Laden’s hideaway. He was Ben’s best bet for capturing the killer. He was so close—he licked his lips at the fantasy of tasting the mongrel.

It was mid-April and Ben knew his time was growing thin. His mother, that bitch, had blocked the Agency’s support he received such as transportation, communications, food and medicine.

His handlers, a sub-group within the black ops section of the CIA’s Special Activities Division operated outside of his mother’s domain. They understood the value of Ben’s mission—they often told him so. They snuck provisions as they were able to, but his mother was one powerful force among the special project’s teams.

Heinrich, Ben’s point of contact had let slip that Dr. Shakale Atrigi had almost pinpointed bin Laden’s location by using a bogus hepatitis scam to snatch the terror leader’s family DNA. Ben needed to get to Abbottabad, about sixty miles away. He knew Heinrich was using him like a puppet, but that was okay—Ben would return the favor once he returned to the States.

“Heinrich, this is Ben Ford.” Ben gazed out from the opening. He needed transportation.

“You dumb ass, I told you not to use names. Even if you’re on a secure line.”

Heinrich’s disapproving tone, mixed with the aged-flesh Ben had devoured earlier caused him to heave. He vomited. Ben pitched to the corner of the room because throwing up on the corpses would’ve been just plain rude. He was quick to regain his composure as expelling the ill-suited delicacy had become common.

“Sorry, but for one, that’s my name. And secondly, I am most certainly not a dumb ass. I’ve been evaluated by the Agency and my IQ exceeds 180, so go suck on that—Heinrich.”

“Okay, my bad, dude. I shouldn’t have called you a dumb ass.”

Ben smiled. “It’s okay, I understand you are under a lot of stress, and I am probably not making things any easier.”

“Ben, what does that mean?”

“Now, now—no names said you.” He corrected while he shuffled the bodies around. He liked to look over them even after consumption. The composition of inhumanity fascinated him—as did anatomy.

“How about we give you a code name? Gray Man?” Heinrich suggested.

Ben’s spine stiffened. His chin jutted. He hummed, “Oh, Gray Man. Now that sounds mysterious—I like it.”

“Okay, Gray Man, please explain what you mean by you’ve made things more difficult.”

Ben sensed the judgment in Heinrich’s voice and took offense. He decided to keep quiet about what he’d done.

“I need transportation to Abbottobad. I need to exit Jalalabad immediately,” he said with a hint of eloquence.

“Did you fucking kill the host family?”

Ben giggled, covering the cell with his thigh. A brisk finger slap from his left hand and he jerked the phone from beneath his leg and continued.

“Well, let’s just say the training you provided years ago went to good use.” Ben traced a thin, wispy finger along the eldest victim’s chest, but stopped just before reaching his dick. Or at least where his dick used to be. “I’m just doing what the Agency wants me to do.”

“You motherfucker, it took us years to cultivate that family as informants. Your mother was right—you’re too fucked up even for the CIA.”

“Mommy? You spoke with her, what did she say?” Ben’s hope soared but his heart hurt over the distance between he and his mother. “I hope she’s proud of my work.”

“She fucking hates us,” Ben’s other voice slithered out the words. It even scared the shit out of him once he’d said them aloud.

“Who’s there? You better be alone dumb ass,” Heinrich threatened.

“Just us. I mean me.” Ben smirked.

“What, yeah, she’s beyond proud,” Heinrich said. “Gray Man, I don’t know how to cover this up much longer. You’re my top priority because you’ve come closer than anyone to catching the goat, but you’re making my life a fucking nightmare.”

“Well, Heinrich, I most certainly apologize for that. I shall try harder to refrain from the tastiness of this exotic land.” Ben struggled to control his wrath at being chided. “May I ask one question of you?”

“Certainly.”

“How many years have you spent outside the United States operating covertly?” Ben tapped an uncut fingernail against his front tooth.

“None.”

Ben’s shoulders shuddered in the flash of contempt, but he inhaled and then exhaled slowly like mother had shown him for controlling his anger. He smoothed his hair with a flatten palm while he thought of just the right thing to say.

“Heinrich, you’ve done nothing but sit your plump rump behind that desk for years. I’ve kindly put up with your ridicule, and have almost forgiven you for abandoning me when I needed you most in Tel Aviv. I’ve lived like a beast for these last years while you sip your whiskey and gossip with mother behind my back.” Ben dropped the phone to his side and circled the cramped room.

“Benjamin. Pick up the phone,” Heinrich screamed.

Lightning bolts of memories blasted through his mind, but it was decision time despite the past. “Heinrich, I’ve decided to come home.”

“Are you fucking out of your mind? We’re so close to the prize. Ben, don’t you want to win the prize?”

Heinrich’s voice was condescending. His easy manipulation of Ben through the years had come to an end.

“I can no longer in good conscience continue to do your bidding. You have hurt my feeling for the final time.”

“Hurt feelings? Buck up big baby. You ain’t going nowhere till I say you are. Understand me Ben, or Gray Man, or whoever the fuck you think you are theses days.”

A moist palm slapped Ben across the cheek. “He’s onto us. He knows who we are. Let’s run away,” Ben squealed.

“Fuck him. I ain’t afraid of some desk jockey,” Ben replied.

He buttoned the top button on the dead older man’s day coat and adjusted his turban. Ben thought he looked so peaceful—despite missing a body. He patted the corpse to thank him for accepting his load of seed, while ignoring Heinrich’s screams over the phone.

“Heinrich, that is no way to speak to me. If you think I made your life miserable with this body count, just wait until I get home.”

As he often did, Ben ended the call on his final word. He knew how people hated being hung up on, but he liked the feeling. It was time to set his plan in motion.

He had a doctor to see after all.

Ben cleansed himself in a small washbasin before he donned his shalwar kazeem. He wasn’t particularly fond of cotton briefs but liked the way the loose-fitting tribal clothes allowed him to move freely. His frequent erections seemed to pop tent the traditional clothes and cause embarrassment for some—pleasure for others. He removed a dark colored day coat from one of his victims and added it to his collection for a more polished look.

He had a doctor to see after all.

He’d ditched the vehicle used to arrive in Islamabad. Justice knew what fleet had been left outside the compound—it’d be nothing for him to track it. Ben desperately needed another way to make the sixty-mile trek to Abbottabad. He’d walk if he had to—wouldn’t be the first time.

Ben grew tired of the mud hut but knew he was an instant target of the entire CIA and military now that he’d broken free of Heinrich. His handler’s subgroup had invested much to spearhead a covert ground game against bin Laden. Heinrich’s radical black ops unit regularly worked counter to the rest of the CIA and military intelligence communities. It surprised Ben that Heinrich would even communicate with mother—they hated each other.

Pain seared his gut. He tried to vomit again but it wasn’t bile that irritated him—it was reality. He was now the last of the Agency’s experiential predators. He’d just become a broken arrow, a rogue agent that had cut ties with his handler by promising to kill him. Real field operatives faced danger as naturally as they breathed air. Bureaucrats like Heinrich Schultz had only struggled through college, hiding youthful indiscretions from their CIA hiring background checks. They had no clue what horrible shit real men did.

Ben lowered his ass between his legs until his butt almost rested on the ground. His feet, angled outward, supported the weight of his forearms resting on his knees. He focused on opening his diaphragm to keep a full flow of air, but each huff tasted like death—possibly his. He groaned for mommy. Now that he’d come this far, Ben would be hunted like never before.

He swatted flies—the bodies stunk. There was nothing attractive about them any longer, as he remained crouched in an opposite corner. Their open flesh crawled with infestations of maggots. He’d had to scare away several hungry dogs who came licking their chops for flesh—even his. Past midnight couldn’t come soon enough. He waited. And waited.

Sharp teeth clamped into his left shin. Ben’s eyes popped open. He’d passed out and lost track of time. A mangy dog looked equally surprised at his reaction. The room was filled with mongrel mutts that had ripped the corpses apart. Flesh dangled from blood-soaked snouts as they growled at Ben to stay back. He knew what blood lust was—he’d lived for it, and this was no place for him. He dove through the open window and found himself in a dark, isolated stretch of Islamabad—just where he needed to be.

“Come on Benny, let’s go.”

Now to get to my doctor’s appointment.