An explosion roared through Taske’s head, shattering his concentration and dragging him into the middle of a vicious battle between the marines and a small group of bearded, screaming men. One of them slashed at Walker with a short sword as broad as a machete, cutting almost clean through the watch strap as they struggled. The marine fought back hard and, in the process of disarming him, dislocated his attacker’s shoulder. The hooded man returned in another image at the campfire, coming to crouch beside Walker as the last thread holding the watch to his arm unraveled. Before the watch hit the ground, the hooded man reached out and—
Taske dropped the watch in his lap, clapping his hands over his eyes as golden light speared through his mind, splintering the images like so much cheap glass. When he could speak, he said, “Findley, don’t go to the hotel. Drive to the veterans’ hospital.”
His driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “I think the only VA hospital in Denver closed back in the nineties, Mr. Taske.”
“It’s not closed anymore.” He rubbed at the side of his head. “Please take me there.”
Chain-link fencing surrounded the grounds of the old veterans’ hospital, and from the outside the darkened windows and chained doors did make it appear as if it had not been in operation for some time.
“Go around the back,” Taske said as he pulled on his gloves. “Drive through the open gate and park behind the ambulances.”
Findley delivered him to the back of the old hospital, and helped him out of the car. “Do you need me to come along?”
“Yes.” He leaned on his driver’s arm for a moment until the dizziness passed. He fumbled in his jacket until he took out a pair of sunglasses and covered his eyes with them. “For the next twenty minutes, I’m General Sullivan Perry, here to visit one of my men.”
“I assume the general is retired,” Findley said as he guided Taske around the ambulance, “and reclusive.”
“That he is.” He gritted his teeth as the new pain in his head met the old snake of agony throttling the life out of his spine. “He’s also quite fond of antique pistols, which he keeps in a locked display case, unlike his credentials.”
The two MPs that came out of the back of the defunct emergency room were armed and dressed for recall. Both leveled flashlights and weapons at Taske and Findley.
“Hands up where I can see them,” the senior MP barked. “Identify yourselves.”
Taske held out his identification folder, turning it so that the beam illuminated the counterfeit credentials.
The MP plucked the folder from his hand, holding it beside Taske’s face to compare them. “Stand down,” he said to his partner as he handed the folder back to Taske. “I apologize, General. We weren’t notified that you would be making a visit.”
“I prefer to stay under the radar, Corporal.” Taske nodded toward the doors behind the MPs. “You have a patient arrived today from Walter Reed. I need to see him immediately.”
The MP looked uneasy. “Sir, the only soldier admitted today is in intensive care, and not expected to survive the night.”
“That’s why the general needs to see him,” Findley said in a clear, hard-edged voice. “Pronto.”
“Yes, sir.” The MP stepped back. “Right this way.”
The guards led them through the dark halls of the emergency, through a second checkpoint, and into the busy lobby. Taske noted the black spray paint on the interior window surfaces, the racks of biohazard suits, and another dozen armed MPs stationed at strategic points.
The men who had been brought to this covert facility for treatment were not here for ordinary wounds; that much was obvious.
As they approached an elevator, Taske leaned in to say to Findley, “This situation is far more hazardous than I thought. You should go back to the car and wait.”
“I should,” his driver agreed, “but I’d rather not, General.”
Taske lurched along with Findley into the elevator, and when the MP would have joined them, he shook his head. “What floor?”
“Seven, sir.”
“That will be all, Corporal.” He reached out and pressed the button. As soon as the doors closed, he slumped against the wall. “We only have a minute or two. I’ll need you to run interference for me.”
“Focus on him,” Findley said, and took out a penknife. He flipped open the blade and carefully made a short cut on the front of his scalp, letting the blood from the wound flow down his face. “I’ll keep the military busy.”
As soon as they stepped off the elevator onto the seventh floor, Findley clapped a hand over his self-inflicted wound and staggered forward toward the nurses’ station, calling out for help. Taske hobbled in the opposite direction, taking cover behind a tall supply cart until the nurses had ushered his driver into a treatment room.
There were six soldiers on the floor, but Taske followed his instincts blindly, knowing the rapidly dimming thread of light in his mind would lead him to the man who was about to die. That took him to the second unit, and in to stand beside the bed of a battered body swathed in bandages.
Taske peeled back the adhesive tape over the intravenous needle in the back of the soldier’s hand, and then gently withdrew the needle from his vein, which stopped the flow of the medication, a lethal dose that the ICU nurse had just administered from a mislabeled bottle. Beneath the gauze swaddling his scalp, the soldier’s swollen lids parted, revealing twin slivers of his bloodshot eyes.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Taske said, “but someone made a mistake with your medication. Everything will be all right now.”
“Thanks,” the soldier murmured. “Where am I?”
“D enver. You were flown in today from Walter Reed.” Taske pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. “Do you remember what happened to you?”
“Yes, sir. We were embedded in the Kunar Valley, near the Pakistani border, working ETT with our guys there. My team received intel on a major infiltration unit coming across the border, and we were ordered to turn them around or bring them in for interrogation. When we got to the coordinates, it didn’t feel right to me—border jumpers like room to run and plenty of cover, and this was a bottleneck between two ridges. We stopped to confirm the intel with camp, and that’s when I saw that the only way out was through a couple of poppy fields.”
“Fields that are controlled by the terrorists.”
The soldier nodded. “They were waiting on top of the ridges for us, and began firing. When we tried to move into flanking positions, we discovered they’d mined the fields. They brought reinforcements in behind us, cutting off our retreat. We were trapped. No.” The soldier closed his eyes. “We were dead and we knew it.”
Taske glanced out at the still-empty nursing station. “Someone must have helped you escape.”
“A mercenary came through the mines. I don’t know how he did it, but he got to us and said he could get us out if we followed him in twos,” the soldier said. “And he did. I covered them from the rear, until I was the last one left and he came for me. That’s when they tossed five grenades at us. We couldn’t run through the mines—we’d have set them off. So we found three, and threw them back, but … ”
“The last two went off,” Taske guessed.
“He threw himself on top of them. Son of a bitch used himself as a blast shield for me.” The soldier took in a hitching breath. “When they went off, they blew us both clear of the mines, but he was … the merc didn’t make it.” He paused for a long moment. “I knew they’d come, so I crawled into the brush to hide. I watched them drag his body away.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t remember much after that. They said the medics didn’t find me for a week.”
Taske leaned forward. “What was this man’s name?”
“Mercs never use real names,” the soldier said. “A couple of the friendlies knew him. They called him Guide.” He stared at Taske. “How did you know someone screwed up my meds?”
“I delivered the shipment, and noticed some of the bottles were incorrectly labeled,” Taske lied. Given the length of time he had spent with the soldier, he couldn’t risk staying more than a few more seconds. He rose stiffly from the chair and put his hand over the soldier’s wrist. “Rest now, ah … ” He broke off into a chuckle. “I was in such a hurry to get here that I never asked for your name.”
The soldier told him.
Feeling battered all over again, Taske reached into his jacket and placed the watch with the broken band in the soldier’s hand.
Bruised fingers felt the split in the band. “Where did you find this?”
“I didn’t find it.” In reparation for what he had done, Taske could tell him one fragment of truth. “I stole it from your mother, Sergeant Kimball.”
PART FOUR
Wolf Moon
Chapter 16
October 4, 2009
Kunar Valley, Afghanistan
“Tell him I need completely intact bodies,” George Parker snapped as he used his hat to fan the flies away from his face. “Arms, legs, heads, nuts, the works. And they gotta still be attached.”
The Afghani translator relayed his demands in his native language to the professional scavenger, who scowled and shook his head as he rattled off a lengthy reply.
“He say, Americans, they come after the bombs go off.” The interpreter moved his hands in a universal gesture of helplessness. “They take all the bodies to choppers, fly them away to American hospital. He only find feet, hands, legs.”
“Like I thought, a waste of time.” Parker jammed his helmet over his head. “Come on, we might as well move to the north.”
A boy in a stained robe came running out of one of the hovels in the village, waving and screeching at the interpreter. Parker reached into his pocket for some of the candy and coins he tossed to the kiddies, but the interpreter put his hand on his arm.