“You have our word,” Brodie replied. “We won’t even try anything smart.”
Mercer looked at his men, who were about thirty feet away, and motioned to them that the prisoners were going to stand.
Brodie and Taylor stood, and Brodie hoped that the boys with the AKs didn’t misconstrue the signal.
Mercer said, “I wasn’t naïve… but I thought Worley was done lying… so I thought I was going home—where I could make things right. The next day, I get a call on the outpost’s satellite phone. It’s Major Powell, telling me that a helicopter is coming back at first light to take me to Bagram to meet with General Clark and discuss my concerns. He tells me he authorized my release from command, and I should pack all my stuff and prepare to fly to Washington if General Clark feels that my concerns need further consideration at a higher command level. Okay, so I say thank you, Major. And I promise him that I’ll keep him out of any discussion, because he was out of this loop—these killer teams put together by Colonel Worley. Powell knew what was going on, but… someone higher than Worley was running the show. He thanks me and hangs up. Then a few minutes later, he calls back and he says… and I remember this… he says he doesn’t know who is going to be on that helicopter, but that I should be careful. And maybe I should be concerned if any of my men get on that helicopter with me. Then he hangs up. And I’m standing there, in the middle of fucking nowhere, and a helicopter is coming for me at first light, and I don’t know who to trust on my team. But whoever gets on that chopper with me is not someone I can trust. And I’m thinking that Worley could be on that chopper, and the pilot and crew could be Black Ops guys from the Agency who’ve seen people exit choppers at two thousand feet and think nothing of it. They were bringing you to Bagram for stress disorder, which is maybe why you jumped. Or why you tried to hijack the chopper, or some shit like that. Next thing everybody knows, you’re out the door. Chopper swings around, makes a quick landing in Indian territory, and recovers the body. End of story. End of problem.” He added, “Full military honors. Flag on the coffin. Taps at the grave. Mom was still alive, so she’d get the folded flag. Dad puts his arm around her. Everybodyis sad, but… ‘Why did he kill himself? He was a nice boy. Normal in every way. The war got to him. It killed him… it killed his mind… ’?” He looked at Brodie and Taylor. “So I’m standing there thinking that maybe Major Powell is overreacting to something… or maybe he’s just saying be careful of what you say and who you say it to. Maybe it’s me that’s overreacting. I’m not paranoid, but I’m thinking of Brendan Worley. Is he going to let me talk to JAG or CID? Or General Clark? Is he ready to see Flagstaff go in the shit can, and him go to jail? I don’t think so. So I’m in the commo bunker, and there’s a radio there and the sat phone. But two guys are in the bunker—my guys, but I don’t know if they’re guys I can trust, or not trust. I can order them out of the commo bunker, but that’s sort of a giveaway. So I’m basically stuck on an outpost in the middle of the night, and I don’t know who to trust, and there’s a chopper coming for me at first light. So I go in my bunker and sit on my cot with my M4… and I decide that I’m not going to wait for shit to happen to me—I’m going to take charge of the situation. That’s what I was trained to do. So at zero three hundred, I pack some stuff, including night goggles, and I slip over the wall and through the wire and minefield. There’s a place we can do that in case we’re being overrun. A way out that we can all do with our eyes closed. And ten minutes later, I’m on my way to Bagram—about a hundred miles through mountain terrain. About three days. Four if you travel mostly at night so the fucking T-bans don’t see you. And I’m thinking about Worley coming in on that chopper at first light and finding out that I’m gone. And I pictured him shitting his pants.”
Mercer went quiet, and Brodie figured he was picturing Worley shitting his pants. Aside from that, Brodie didn’t recall any mention of a helicopter coming to the outpost on the morning of Captain Mercer’s mysterious disappearance. Possibly there was no black helicopter coming to take Captain Mercer on a long horizontal and short vertical ride. Or the chopper had turned back when it got a report of Captain Mercer’s absence from the outpost. And maybe the chopper ride to see General Clark was legit. No way of knowing any of that, but Brodie found himself hoping that Mercer had made the right decision for the right reason. Otherwise, those two years with the Taliban were not necessary. This is what’s meant by the fog of war. The fog is in your brain—paranoia, rumors, stress, fear, fatigue, and a daily reminder of mortality.
Mercer said, “I almost made it. On the third night I ran into a Taliban camp… thirty miles east of Bagram. And that was the beginning of my two years of hell… and I thank Brendan Worley for that.” He looked at Brodie and Taylor. “Still think I shouldn’t kill him?”
Taylor said, “We’re a society of law, Kyle. We do not take personal revenge. If you do, you become no better than the person who broke the law. You need to come home and make these allegations that you were going to make three years ago. You didn’t want to kill Worley then, you wanted him to be held accountable for what he did. That would be worse for him than death. That would be public disgrace, loss of honor, and maybe imprisonment. That would be justice. It’s no different now.”
Mercer looked at her. “You didn’t spend two years in a Taliban cell.”
“No… I didn’t, but if I did—”
“Don’t even go there. What you’re really saying is that you and Mr. Brodie would like to get out of here alive. And you’re spinning the shit so it looks like gold, but it’s still bullshit. Next you’re going to tell me to let you go so you can tell my story.”
Which was what Brodie was about to suggest, but that wasn’t going to fly.
Taylor actually walked up to Mercer, and Brodie glanced at the firing squad, who looked tense. “Maggie…”
She stood more or less in his face. “You, Captain Mercer, made the first bad decision at your first meeting with Colonel Worley when you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself. Your second bad decision was not reporting what he said to you. I know about that firsthand, and I understand not wanting to put your ass out there and get it chewed on. But everything that happened after your first meeting with Worley was a result of what you did or failed to do. And nobody made you pull the trigger in those villages. That was your decision, and you led your men into that hell. You violated every law and every code of civilized behavior.” She looked up at Mercer, who was about six inches taller than her, but looked shorter now. “Does that sound like I’m trying to talk my way out of here?”
He stayed quiet for awhile, then said, “I was ready to take full responsibility for what I did.”
“Knowing that the Army would go easy on you for following the orders of Colonel Worley. That’s always the case in wartime. Just following orders.”
Brodie was wishing she’d shut up before Mercer went over the edge and told Emilio to go get a fishnet.Jesus, Maggie.
But she wasn’t done. She actually waved her finger at Mercer and said, “But are you now willing to go before a court of your peers and admit to torturing and murdering Robert Crenshaw? Or Ted Haggerty? Or whoever else you’ve killed before or since then? I don’t think so.”
Mercer seemed on the verge of either a meltdown or another homicide. Brodie wasn’t sure he approved of this interrogation technique in this particular situation. What works in a jail cell doesn’t always work in the field. Especially a place named Camp Tombstone. “Maggie—”
“I’m handling this, Scott.”
Mercer said, “But not very well,” taking the words out of Brodie’s mouth.
Taylor said to Mercer, “Do you know that two men died looking for you?”
“I do. And I know their names. Do you?”
“If you give them to me, I’ll say a prayer for them.”
“I’ve already done that. Save your prayers for yourself and your partner.”
“And I’ll pray for you. But right now, Scott and I are getting in that boat. You can come with us, or you can stay here. Or you can order your men to shoot us. You’ve done that before.”
Hold on, Maggie. That’s not in the script. “Excuse me—”
“I’ve got this, Scott.” She looked at Mercer. “We are not staying here to be tortured by you. I am not staying here to be raped by your men. I am getting on that boat, and you can do what the hell you want.”
Mercer, who seemed to be regaining his composure along with his anger, glared at Taylor and said, “If you go toward that boat, my men will shred you to pieces.”
Brodie thought it was time for him to exercise some command and control over his obviously distraught and pissed-off subordinate. He walked quickly to Taylor and took her arm.
She looked at him, and he could see she was someplace else. Clearly, Kyle Mercer’s memories of death and betrayal had brought back some of her own. Brodie said in a low but firm voice, “You are relieved from duty.”
