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Chapter
6
“TRAITOR IN THE ranks, I’m afraid.”
The dour-faced colonel looked across the desk at Reel.
“One of the Iraqis. We traced some communications. False intel on the ISIS leader at that compound. They were going to hit the SEAL team, too, but apparently they were in and out too fast. That left your team as the sole target. They obviously wanted to take you out as our primary sniper. It was amazing that we didn’t pick up their presence on the earlier recon. They were quite well hidden. But it was night and that area is hardly secure, not that any place here really is.”
The man fidgeted with a pen on his desk as he shot glances at Reel, who had said nothing the whole time.
“We never received a distress signal from your team. I imagine you hardly had the chance. But the battle was seen and reported. And the SEAL team that had deployed to attack the compound was sent back to help. I’m sorry it came too late to help your team.”
He glanced at Reel to see if these words had dented the invisible armor that seemed to surround her.
They hadn’t.
He had been fully briefed on Jessica Reel, to the extent that he was cleared for it.
He knew some of what she had done in the past. He well knew what her lethal capabilities were. The colonel had a ballpark understanding of how many people she had killed over the course of her career. And he knew what she meant to a certain intelligence agency whose sole mission was to keep America safe.
But what he didn’t know, what he could never know…was Jessica Reel. And what made her tick. Here, clearances didn’t matter, because there was no file and no briefing that could fill in those blanks.
He cleared his throat. “I have to say, your performance was truly remarkable, Agent Reel. You single-handedly took out three attack vehicles, and an M1117 and about forty enemy fighters. I’ve never seen anything like it. Frankly, I’m not sure we have enough commendations to award you,” he added with a nervous chuckle. “If you were military they’d be talking about the Medal of Honor. I’m certain of that.”
Finally, Reel stirred and looking directly at him said, “I would have thought, since I failed to save a single member of my team, that any talk of commendations or medals would be complete horseshit. And the Medal of Honor is not given out for saving your own ass, sir.”
The dour face now turned red. “That was hardly your fault, Agent Reel. What you did was indisputably heroic.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.” Reel stood. “Is that all, sir?”
“What? Oh, um, yes.”
As she headed to the door he added, “You’re heading back stateside. Not my call. Above my pay grade.”
She didn’t turn or answer him. Reel just shut the door behind her and kept walking.
* * *
Reel had boarded a jet in Iraq, flown to London, and boarded another jet there. The plane she was on now quickly shed altitude as it passed over New York City en route to its final destination right outside of DC.
Jessica was not the only passenger on the government wings, but she was the only one to look out the window at this point. Though she really couldn’t make it out clearly at this altitude, in her mind’s eye she took in lower Manhattan where the Twin Towers had once stood. Now One World Trade Center soared 1,776 gloriously symbolic feet into the air like a defiant fist upraised to the clear sky. Fittingly, it was the tallest building in the city, and also in North America. Indeed, there were only three other buildings taller in the world. And none of them carried the gravitas of the one she was visualizing now.
Horrible memories tagged to hopes for a better future were represented down there.
Yet right now Reel did not hold out much hope for a better future.
War kind of did that to you.
It messed with you in a way that not much else ever could.
Later, on final approach into Dulles, the jet passed by the airport and banked to the east so it could land into the wind.
Reel was the last passenger off. The rest were a mixture of uniforms and civilian contractors all deployed or employed in the fight against terror.
It was a war Reel had finally realized halfway over the Atlantic her side could never really win.
We kill ten and twenty more take their place.
It was an even more insidious version of Medusa that had leapt from the pages of mythology and landed squarely in the twenty-first century.
It was the works of George Orwell and Franz Kafka smashed together and then spun out into the worst nightmare of all time.
She carried her small bag and took a cab to a hotel in DC. She checked in and went to her room.
She tossed her bag in the corner and fell back on the bed. She felt like she hadn’t slept in a month. And in a sense, she hadn’t. Snipers didn’t really sleep, even off duty. You just…existed…until the next shot.
She rose, popped open the minibar, chugged a ten-dollar bottle of Fiji water, ate a six-dollar candy bar followed by four Advil, and lay back on the bed.
She closed her eyes.
And the whole damn thing was replayed in her mind. And the outcome was always the same.
Everybody dies except me.
Enemy and ally.
She went through each step, wondering what she could have done differently to change what had ended up being a slaughter.
For both sides.
Sole survivor. She didn’t wear that label well.
She thought of her spotter, a man two months away from being a father for the first time. She thought of Hugh Barkley, married with three children back in Birmingham, England. She thought of all the rest, including the man who had betrayed them.
What could I have done better? How could I have prevented this?
She had no answers to these questions. She would never have answers to these questions for the simple fact that there were none to be had.
Humans were imperfect beings operating in a world over which they had diminishing control.
Particularly in the parts that were at war.
Giving up the possibility of sleep, she opted for a shower instead, letting the hot water pour over her, while her forehead was pressed to the tiles.
She wanted to cleanse Iraq from her being. Reel wanted every molecule of sand lurking on her skin to vanish.
Like finding answers to her questions, it was really an impossible task. The mission that night would be with her always, joining a legion of others where things did not always turn out right.
She dried off, wrapped a towel around her, went to the window, and peered out. It was cloudy in DC. The seasons were in flux, warm giving way to less warm, and then eventually ceding to quite cold.
The knock on the door brought her back.
Her hand automatically pulled the Beretta from her bag. Her finger disengaged the safety without her even having to look because the Beretta was as much a part of Reel as was her hand.
Holding the pistol behind her, she padded to the door and looked through the peephole.
She sucked in a breath and then let it go.
Her nightmare had just ratcheted up a notch.
She opened the door and looked up at him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Will Robie looked down at her and said, “We need to find Blue Man.”
