“The drop is to happen where?” Zenko knew the area well. They all did. They’d worked in that region for years during the War on Terror. “On the edge of tribal lands?”
“Inside the tribals.” Max sent another image to the screens. “Over the border from Korengal Valley, not too far north of Peshawar.”
“You’re shittin’ us—The Valley of Death?” Rick looked up from the map on his computer. He hated that fucking valley. Between the years 2006 and 2009, fifty-four US servicemen had been killed there and hundreds more wounded throughout the five-year campaign. “That’s not just any tribals, that’s Pakistan.”
“I know, I know,” Noble laced his fingers together, stretched out his arms, and cracked his knuckles. “Pakistani intelligence sent us the intel.”
“Since when do we trust Pakistani ISI?” Shaun chewed on the corner of his thumb nail. “Their spooks are worse than ours, and that’s like calling the CIA fucking saints. We all know there’s no way in hell that’s true.”
“The Brass decided ISI are currently our best source of information on the Taliban and what’s happening in the tribal regions.” The pause was barely noticeable before Noble added on, “Right or not, it’s what we are working with.”
“The Brass is fucking insane,” Saxon said. “ISI is the Taliban.”
“Yup,” Drax popped some gum into his mouth. “You remember they led some Rangers straight into an ambush a couple of years ago.”
“I know, I get it.” Noble moved his hands up and down in front of him in a settle down motion. “I’m not disputing any of it. I know more than most how unreliable intel coming out of Pakistan is. But the order came directly from the White House and not the DOD so this one is non-negotiable.”
“What backup do we have?” Zenko asked. “Pakistani Army?”
“Hell no.” Noble shook his head. “The Pakistani army is full of Taliban sleepers, so we are going to avoid them at all costs.”
“Roger that.”
“I get it, it fucking sucks to be without backup in one of the most dangerous places on the planet.” Noble said. “But the bottom line is the President asked for us by name, because he believes we can pull it off.”
“Then I guess we’re just proving him right then, aren’t we?” Reese muttered. From the grumbles around him, the others agreed. They didn’t have to like the orders, they just had to follow them.
“I hope you packed a ‘gone to hell and back’ bag instead of just your regular go-bags, and you packed extra mags, and frags.” Noble told them. “This op has potential to go sideways fast.”
“Maps,” Max sent the next image. “Exfil routes are highlighted in green. Memorize them.”
“Copy.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Roger that.”
“Next up,” Max sent another image to their wrist computers. “Joe McCarthy. As the drones are to be in exchange for Rick’s body, we have been trying to figure out how the Taliban are going to get around that one.”
Rick clamped down on the inside of his cheek. He’d been young and stupid when he’d kissed Joe McCarthy on the White House lawn. Now he had to rescue the man who hated his guts. Possibly from a death made to appease Rick’s father. “He looks nothing like me. How are they going to persuade my father that he is me, even if he’s dead?”
“From what we gather from the chatter and also from ISI,” Max said, “The ‘Ndrangheta have already confirmed your capture. They’ve confirmed you have been sent to Afghanistan. We are told they will have you, or rather McCarthy, hooded, and shoot him by firing squad, with the drone delivery drivers streaming live footage to your father.”
“I don’t get it.” It had been bugging Saxon for days. He’d looked at it from every angle he could think of, but still he couldn’t come up with a reason that made sense. “So, Rick was a dumb kid and embarrassed him or some shit, it’s not a reason to order his death.”
“Friday morning at nine AM eastern standard time, Ken Jones is throwing his hat in the ring for the next presidency.” Max pulled up an article. Drawing a circle around a paragraph, he pointed it out to the guys. “Here he tells how proud he is to have a son in the military.”
“Proud?” The water he had just taken a sip of went down the wrong pipe and Rick coughed and spluttered to clear it. “Of me? Are you shittin’ me?”
“Nope.”
“If he’s that damn proud of him, why order his murder?” It still wasn’t making sense to Saxon. If you were going to use your son’s military service as a tool for your presidential campaign, why fucking kill him?
“What better way to appeal to the people of The United States than as a parent who has just lost a son fighting in a war so many US Citizens oppose.” Castiel threw it out there. He was probably wrong, but what could a different perspective hurt.
“Plus, it means he won’t have to produce me for functions and shit.” Realization slammed into him. Jesus, his father was that asshole… he’d rather him be dead than gay.
“Memorize the maps, know the players.” Noble ordered. “And catch some rack time. Once this bird touches down, we’re moving ‘til we exfil after the job is done.”
