Bennett grabbed a folding chair and opened it on the flanking side, facing Darren. Noah joined him and the rest of the men fanned out in a semicircle.
Darren reviewed the information that had been collected by intelligence sources. Pictures flashed up on the screen of the man and his suspected cohorts. Eight total. The question was how hard would they defend the racket they had created? Under the cover of darkness and during the chaos of a firefight, their faces would blend into one another and the enemy would be determined by who was trying to kill them. Kill or be killed.
Bennett, Noah, and a few others would be sent straight to where the leader was thought to be living, a compound in the heart of the village. The man’s picture had been taken from his university photo. He was clean shaven, smiling, and preppy looking. Since then, he might have grown a beard and gone to fat. No one knew. The man was less important than his machines. The computers and cell phones would be a trove of information to root out bigger fish.
That was the hope, anyway. Except for every secret seller they eliminated more rushed in to take their place. A nightmarish carousel going round and round. A weariness no amount of sleep could alleviate had worked its way into Bennett’s bones.
Now they would wait until dark. Men handled the wait differently. Some paced; some slept; some joked too loud. One guy meditated. Bennett preferred to find a deserted corner with a deck of cards. Keeping his hands and subconscious busy helped. Noah joined him. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t, but it was always comfortable.
Noah pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. A black-and-white photo fell out. He held it up and stared so intently, Bennett grew curious.
“What’s so interesting?”
Noah held it out. It looked like some new age modern art. Wavery lines and gradients.
Bennett squinted at it. “What is it?”
“An ultrasound,” Noah whispered.
Now that he realized what it was, a curved line revealed itself as a head. “What is it?”
“A baby, dumbass.” Noah slipped him a sly grin.
“Boy or girl, smartass?”
“We decided to find out together once I’m home.” Noah plucked the ultrasound out of Bennett’s hand. “Keep your mouth shut about it for a while longer. I don’t want to make a big announcement. I feel like I’ll jinx it or something.”
“Of course. Dude, I’m superhappy for you and Harper.”
“Yeah. It’s a dream come true.” Noah’s smile held secrets shared with his wife.
Noah was a great guy and friend and Bennett was happy for him, but the tiniest sliver of him was jealous, too. Not that he wanted to take what Noah had, but Bennett’s life back in the states was solitary. Lonely. He only had himself to blame.
“Still leaning toward ‘Benjamina’ if it’s a girl?”
Noah barked a laugh. “That’s exactly the name I suggested to Harper before we deployed. She loved it.”
Bennett smiled and shuffled the cards. Noah smoothed a letter over his knee, and Bennett recognized Harper’s handwriting.
While she and Noah exchanged countless emails, it was her letters that were high points. She had declared letter writing a dying art that she must upheld. Her letters were never about urgent matters but the day-to-day interactions with a cast of people made more amusing by her observations.
“What’s Harper got to say? Or is this too private?”
Noah didn’t always share her letters, and Bennett could only imagine what was in them with a small crimp around his heart that he did his best to ignore. She wasn’t his and never would be.
Noah read, and Bennett closed his eyes.
“Dear Noah,
“Well, it happened on a Tuesday at two PM sharp. Total humiliation standing between the Ms and Ps. Perhaps I should back up a bit and inform you that the creature in my stomach—I’ve bequeathed him/her the name Mongo (temporarily, of course)—has been putting up quite the fuss.
“I thought I had escaped ‘morning sickness.’ Which, by the way, is complete and utter bullshit. I was at the library browsing for more books to fill the time while you’re away and before Mongo makes a grand entrance. There I was holding Anne Perry’s latest when Mrs. Hempshaw approached.
“Let me describe her for you: short and round in every way. Her head; her belly; even her glasses have round black frames. She’s very nice and knowledgeable and I enjoy talking books with her. There’s just one problem: she always smells faintly of cabbage. And while cabbage is an excellent vegetable (you know how much I love coleslaw), this particular morning the smell made Mongo angry. And you won’t like Mongo when he/she is angry.
“First I belched. And not a ladylike one. A trucker who’s been on the road eating pork rinds and Slim Jims for days kind of belch. Mrs. Hempshaw might have performed the classic Southern lady taken-aback pearl clutch.
“If that was all then I could have retreated with only mild embarrassment. But, oh no, Mongo threw his/her first temper tantrum. Before I could even take a step toward the bathroom, I threw up. A Linda Blair–Exorcist puke.
“I had the wherewithal to not turn my head toward the two stacks lined with books. That would have been a real tragedy. As it was, the Anne Perry I was holding was charged to my account and a hazmat team was called in to decontaminate Mrs. Hempshaw. (That last part isn’t true. But she might be traumatized and seeking other work. Or therapy.)
“But wait, it gets worse. Mrs. Hempshaw took a step back to escape the carnage, but her foot slipped in the deposit I’d made on the floor. I took a step forward and grabbed hold of her arm to steady her, but I too went sliding. It was like we were dancing and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. We steadied ourselves and locked eyes, the message in Mrs. Hempshaw’s clear—’we shall never speak of this again.’
“As always—”
Noah cleared his throat. Bennett opened his eyes, no longer in North Carolina but North Africa. A pang of something resembling homesickness washed through Bennett, leaving him feeling hollowed out. It was a strange sensation considering he’d never really had a home until Sarge adopted him. And even then, he’d left Mississippi with no urge to look back. Not enough good memories to outweigh the years of bad.
Noah skimmed the rest of the letter with a tender smile on his face. As much as Bennett wanted to know what else Harper had written, it wasn’t for his eyes.
A rustle of men shifting and gathering gear rolled through the room. It was time. Harper’s funny, mundane vignette from home would be followed by violence.
A few jokes could be heard bandied between men, usually the younger ones with something to prove or nothing back home to lose. Mostly it was silent except for the noise of the choppers. The minutes before a mission were fraught with a nervous excitement.
This was what they’d trained for. The hours and days and weeks spent learning to sight an enemy through a gun scope. The grueling physical challenges they’d faced during BUD/S. But no amount of training could prepare them for unknown variables that entered the field. The unpredictable nature of man could send things straight to hell.
The village they targeted looked like a hundred other places scattered throughout North Africa. Bennett closed his eyes and strolled through the memorized map in his mind, noting places where a sniper could hide or an ambush might originate from. Even with their night-vision capability, night raids could turn chaotic in a heartbeat.
Bricks and stone of varying shades of the surrounding sand blended the houses into the hills that formed a backdrop. They came in at low altitude over the flat stretch of desert leading up to the village. A narrow road cut a dark gash through the land.