Wynne's War (32 page)

Russell stared at him.

“Agent of what?” he said.

Fisk stood looking down at him. He smiled. Or he seemed to smile. The light behind Russell's bed reflected off the lenses of his glasses. From this angle, you couldn't really see his eyes.

He hitched his slacks and sat. Russell could see his eyes now—very dark brown eyes that were almost the color of his pupils.

Russell tried to lean forward, prop himself up in the bed, but he saw that wasn't going to be possible. His mouth was dry. He ran his tongue between his cheek and gums.

“I'd like to speak with a JAG officer,” he said.

“You don't need a JAG officer,” said Fisk.

“I'd like an attorney,” said Russell.

“This isn't court,” Fisk said.

Russell asked him what it was, and the man glanced around the room, a little too theatrically.

“Looks like a hospital,” Fisk said.

“We're just here to talk,” the major told him.

“Talk,” Russell said.

Now Fisk did smile. The corners of his mouth rose, and his lips parted to reveal a row of very straight teeth. He'd had braces at some point. There was no way he hadn't.

He said, “How are you feeling?”

“How do I look like I'm feeling?”

“Like shit,” the major said.

Fisk said, “We have some questions about your captain.”

“He ain't my captain,” Russell said.

“You know what he means,” said the major.

“He ain't no kind of officer,” Russell told them.

“We have some questions,” Major Serra said.

Russell turned and looked toward the door that could open into the room and saw that it was closed. The nurses had been coming in every fifteen minutes or so, but no nurse had been in for a while.

He lay there. He thought that if they smothered him with his pillow or drowned him with a washcloth and the small pitcher of water on the tray beside his bed, there would be nothing he could do.

“Ask,” he told them.

The men sat staring a moment.

Then the taller man, Fisk, said, “We understand you were involved in an assault on an enemy compound.”

“I was involved in a lot of things,” Russell said.

“We understand you crossed into Pakistan with Carson Wynne's ODA and took casualties.”

Russell was suddenly very angry.

He said, “Mister, you ain't got no idea what I took.”

“Calm down,” Serra told him.

“You got no idea.”

“Calm down,” Serra said.

Agent Fisk was the closer of the two men, and Russell would have struck him, but he could barely lift his arms. His back had started to ache, but he was afraid if he hit the button on the pain pump, he'd say something he'd regret.

“The captain was after something in that compound,” said Fisk. “We'd like you to tell us exactly what.”

“What compound?” said Russell.

“Corporal,” said Serra, closing his eyes momentarily and giving a brief shake of his head.

“There's no need to make this hard,” said Fisk.

“Yeah,” said Russell, “I'll just bet.”

“What did the captain find in the compound?”

“Why do you think he found anything?” Russell asked.

“We don't ‘think.' We
know.
”

“You don't know shit,” said Russell. “You wouldn't be here if you knew.”

“We know more than you might think we know,” Fisk told him.

“What are you—CIA?”

“You don't need to concern yourself with that,” the major said.

“NSA?”

Serra shook his head.

“ISA?”

“You're turning this into something it doesn't need to be. We're just here to talk.”

“Then talk,” Russell said.

“Listen.” Fisk told him. “We know the captain led a team into the compound. We know—”

“What compound?”

“You know what compound,” Fisk said. “We believe he exited the compound. We—”

“I never saw him exit nothing,” said Russell, and he was sorry as soon as he did.

The men looked at each other. They looked at Russell. The one called Agent Fisk—who might have been neither an agent nor a Fisk—gripped his chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“Is that true?”

Russell looked back toward the door.

“Is that true, Corporal?”

“It's what I said, ain't it?”

“You never saw him leave the compound?”

“What'd I say?”

Fisk said, “What's the last thing you saw? Before you left?”

Russell drew a breath and released it. He drew another. He thought if they were going to clap the cuffs on him, they should just go ahead and do it. He shook his head.

“Where were you?” asked Major Serra.

“Where was I when?”

“During the assault, Corporal. Where were you during the assault?”

“I grabbed Brett and left.”

Fisk said, “Corporal Grimes?”

Russell nodded.

“Why'd you leave?”

“He was shot. I was trying to get him out.”

“You didn't leave with the captain,” Serra said, his voice almost a whisper. It wasn't a question, and Russell looked back over at the man.

“Did you see the captain exit the compound?” Fisk asked. “Did you have eyes on?”

“It was more like a cave,” said Russell.

“Did you see him exit the cave?” Serra asked.

Russell stared at him a moment. He shook his head.

“Is that a
no
?” Fisk said.

“No.”

Fisk's face darkened. He said, “‘No' you didn't see the captain exit, or ‘no' that isn't a
no
?”

“I didn't see him,” said Russell. “Captain Wynne.”

“Didn't see him leave,” Serra clarified.

“Affirmative,” Russell said.

“What was the item?” Fisk asked. “In the compound—”

“Cave,” said Serra.

“Cave,” Fisk said. “What was the captain trying to get out?”

Russell lay there. The pain in his back was hot and sharp. He felt it travel up from his tailbone, creeping along the muscles at either side of his spine, up into his shoulders and neck. The pain pump was lying over the rail next to his hand, a beige length of plastic like the handle of a jump rope, a button on one end, a slender tube threading out the other, running up to a box on his IV stand. He went to reach for it, but he caught himself and curled his hand into a fist.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said.

“You don't need to protect him,” said Serra.

“What is it you're trying to protect?” Fisk said.

Russell thought at this point he was trying protect himself, but it certainly wasn't working.

“Why don't you just go ahead and tell us?” said Fisk.

“Why don't you kiss my ass?” Russell said.

Fisk didn't flinch. His face remained impassive, pale and bloodless.

“Corporal,” said Major Serra, “we're just here to determine what happened. People are dead. Your friend is dead. Your commanding officer ordered you to take part in an unsanctioned operation on the soil of a country that is supposed to be an ally.”

“Unsanctioned,” said Russell, trying the word.

“
Illegal
is more like it,” Fisk said.

“Somebody sanctioned it,” said Russell. “We went out with thirteen men. We had support from a Bravo team out of Third Group's shop, and there was an entire platoon from the 82nd providing security. They had Afghan spotters and scouts. If you're trying to convince me this was some kind of audible, you're full of it.”

Serra leaned back in his chair. He nodded a few times.

“Some of this is debatable,” he said.

“I hope to God it's debatable,” Russell told him. “I hope we didn't get sent into Pakistan just because someone got a wild hair up their ass.”

“Not what we're saying,” Fisk told him. “I think what the major is suggesting is that while this mission might have received approval at some level, it's currently what you might call
under review.
”

“So why're you here?”

“We're reviewing it,” Serra said.

Russell looked back toward the door. He looked at the pain pump. His eyes were beginning to water, but he didn't want these men to think they'd broken him. He told them if they wanted to charge him with something, to just go ahead and do it.

“Charge you?” said Fisk.

Serra regarded him a moment through narrowed eyes.

He said, “Are you under the impression you're in some kind of trouble?”

“Ain't I?”

The men looked at each other and then they looked back at him.

“Corporal,” said Serra, “I'm going to make a recommendation that you be promoted.”

Russell felt his world shiver. It seemed to have actually moved, and he placed his palms on the rails to either side of the bed.

“Promoted,” he said.

“He's prepared to make that recommendation,” Fisk told him.

Recommendation,
Russell tried to say, but the word came out “Recadation.”

The men sat staring at him.

“Listen,” Serra said, “we need you to tell us what the captain took out of that compound.”

“Cave,” Fisk corrected.

“Cave,” Serra said.

“I don't know he took out anything.”

“What was he trying to take out?”

“It was a chest,” said Russell.

“Chest,” Fisk said.

“What was in it?” asked Serra.

“Gold was in it,” Russell said.

“And you saw this?” said Serra. “This is something that you saw?”

“What kind of gold?” Fisk asked.

Russell closed his eyes. When he opened them, Fisk had stood from his chair and was gripping the bed rail, knuckles white like he was gripping the rail of a balcony.

“Listen,” the man said, “I don't think you fully understand the importance of this.”

“I think I understand plenty,” Russell said.

Fisk studied him. His face was red now. His cheeks and his neck and the backs of his hands. His entire body had flushed.

“It's not what you're thinking,” he said.

“Tell me what I'm thinking,” Russell said.

Serra cleared his throat. “We're getting off track,” he said.

“He needs to tell us,” said Fisk.

“He
is
telling us,” Serra said. He gestured to the chair his partner had just vacated. “Why don't you have a seat.”

Fisk turned to look at the major, but the major was no longer looking at him. The pain in Russell's spine was like a presence. An actual second person. He slipped his right hand under his thigh and pinned it against the mattress.

He said, “Why don't you just tell me what you want. If it's the gold, I ain't got it on me.”

“What we want,” said Fisk, “is to know exactly what you saw. Did you see it?”

“The gold?”

“The gold,” Fisk said.

Russell lay there. He heard himself say, “It wasn't, like, in blocks.”

“Bricks?” asked Serra.

“Ingots,” corrected Fisk.

“Jesus,” said Serra and gave Fisk a look.

Russell studied Fisk. He wondered why, if they were going to send someone, would they send someone like him? Then he remembered they'd sent Wynne as well.

Serra told him to continue.

“There were all these coins,” said Russell. “Bracelets and things.”

“And this was where?” asked Fisk. “The cave?”

Russell nodded.

“You went
inside?
” Serra asked.

“Yes.”

“With the captain?”

“With the captain,” Russell said.

Serra said, “Then what happened?”

“All hell broke loose,” Russell said.

“Tell us,” Fisk said.

“The Talibs,” Russell told him. “They waited until we got inside. Then they came up behind us. We laid up on this sort of ledge and engaged them. They killed our terp and they killed Sergeant Morgan. We'd already lost Sergeant Perkins. There was a gunfight back over where we'd left the horses, and that's where Wheels took one through the leg. We went down to check on them, and Sergeant Hallum was dead. Then the captain ordered me and Sergeant Bixby back inside and we had a disagreement. I guess that's what you'd call it.”

“What was it about?” Fisk asked. “The disagreement.”

“I said we needed to get Wheels out while we still could, get
ourselves
out for that matter, but all's the captain cared about was the goddamned—”

“I want to show you something,” Fisk said. He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out two photographs, each the size of playing cards. He handed the first to Russell. It was black and white and he stared at it for several moments, blinking.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Satellite photo,” said Fisk. “The mountains where this took place. That one was taken six months ago. You see that small black area?”

Russell lifted the photograph closer to his face and squinted.

“This right here?”

Fisk nodded. “That's the entrance to your cave.”

“If you say so,” Russell said.

Fisk passed him the second picture. “This one was taken yesterday.”

Russell studied it. It looked the same as the first.

“What am I supposed to be seeing?” he asked.

“The entrance is missing,” Fisk said.

Russell looked again. So it was. He looked at the first photograph, then back to the second. Same shot or almost the same. The only difference was the lack of the black speck that Fisk claimed was the opening to the tunnel. How he could know that for certain, Russell didn't ask.

He said, “I don't get how that's possible.”

“We're not concerned with that. What we're trying to figure out is what the captain did with the package. I need you to see the importance of all this, Corporal. This is treasure we're talking about. It belongs to the people of Afghanistan. It belongs to their government. If Captain Wynne thinks he can waltz out the door with millions of dollars, then he's—”