“This doesn’t sound like the makings of an elite soldier,” suggested Brodie.
“You don’t understand,” said Simpson. “He wanted to be that elite soldier, more than anyone I’ve ever met before or since. In his mind, he already was. What I’m saying is, he had thewill. So, Delta Force? No surprise there. No surprise at all.”
There was a silence in the room. Brodie thought about the redacted mission details in Mercer’s file. Just who was this guy? What had he done, and what was he capable of? Well, he was capable of five decapitations, which meant he was capable of anything. Brodie looked at Simpson and asked, “Why do you think a man with Captain Mercer’s survival skills… a man who is a wanted fugitive all over the world… would be sitting in the bar of a hotel frequented by an international clientele?”
Simpson understood that this was not a rhetorical question. In fact, he understood that Brodie was calling him on his bullshit story.
Simpson stood. He shot Brodie a look. “I think I need a cigarette.”
“I’ll join you.”
Brodie didn’t smoke, but that wasn’t the point. He got up and followed Simpson to the back deck, which overlooked an artificial lake. Simpson shook out a cigarette from his pack and offered one to Brodie, who took it to share the bond of the addicted.
Simpson lit him up, and Brodie watched him as he lit his, hands unsteady, and took a deep drag.
Simpson said, “I didn’t know what to say.”
Brodie didn’t reply. When a man’s about to confess something, it’s best to keep quiet.
“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the two guys who got killed looking for him. I spoke to my wife… she said I had to do the right thing.”
Brodie regarded Al Simpson, who’d joined the Army, like Brodie himself, in the aftermath of 9/11. He did his service, did well in the private sector, settled down, and put on twenty pounds. But the war that was now just a memory to Simpson was still going on, and in another year or so they’d be sending soldiers over who weren’t even alive on 9/11.
“Al, where did you actually see Kyle Mercer?”
Simpson looked at him, took a deep breath. “My partner, Pete, and I had signed this lucrative contract, everyone was happy, some of the execs took us out, like I said. It started out well enough, they took us to this expensive restaurant. Ate a lot, got drunk, hopped between a few bars and clubs. We did go to the Marriott bar… then we got in a car and headed to the outskirts…”
Brodie nodded encouragingly.
“We start driving up into the hillside slums, along these narrow, winding roads. We get to this building… some piece of shit place like everywhere else around there, but bigger than the rest. I was kinda creeped out, as drunk as I was, I knew something wasn’t right. Pete, he’s a real dirtbag, nothing’s going to stop him. They reassured me, we go in. And…”
Simpson trailed off. Brodie was pretty sure he knew where this was going, but he let Simpson take his time.
Simpson continued, “The place was dark, with couches all around, a bar. Naked girls, like, everywhere. Guys too, all locals as far as I could tell, getting grinded on, drinking, some getting led into back rooms. I didn’t want to… but I mean, these guys were important to our business, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“Al, look at me.”
Simpson looked at him, a tortured look on his face.
“I’m not your priest,” said Brodie. “I’ve got a soldier out there who has a lot to answer for, and I need to find him.”
Simpson nodded, swallowed hard. “I should have said something sooner.”
“Maybe you held back because you’re not sure what you saw.”
“No,” said Simpson. “I’m sure. It was Kyle. He was alone at this table in the back, just sitting there. Looking nowhere. It seemed like, I don’t know, like maybe he ran the place.”
This surprised Brodie. “Why would you think that?”
“The way he carried himself. He just seemed comfortable. The girls stayed away from him, and he seemed just fine with that. If he didn’t run it, he at least was there for some reason other than to dip his wick, you know?”
“And he saw you?”
“Yeah. He was watching me. It was crazy. I mean, that’s the last place you think you’re going to run into someone you know.”
“I’m sure he thought the same thing.”
Simpson forced a smile. “Yeah… but I’m not sure he actually recognized me, it’s just that me and Pete were the only other gringos there. I don’t think Pete even noticed him, he was too busy staring at tits. I stood and moved towards him and said his name, and he’s looking at me in this weird way, and, yeah, I saw the snake tattoo on his arm. He got that after we finished basic.”
