They went silent for a long moment. The hot wind blew in on their faces.
“Man, none of this computes,” Norton murmured.
“Ever think that you’re being set up?” a third voice asked.
Norton and Delaney whipped around, their rifles up in a flash.
They were startled to find a man standing right behind them. It was no one from the cave. This person was wearing an all-white flight suit, white boots, white gloves, and a white helmet. The helmet’s mirrored visor was pulled down and despite the darkness, Norton and Delaney could see the reflections of their own stunned expressions staring back at them.
Delaney nearly shot the guy. He’d raised his gun, aimed it at the man’s throat, and slipped off the safety, all in the span of one second. It was only Norton pushing the rifle barrel away at the last moment that prevented Delaney from pulling the trigger. There was an awkward, chilling span of several seconds. Finally the guy raised his helmet visor and showed his face. Both pilots nearly fell off the mountain with astonishment.
It was Angel. The mysterious Nordic-looking guy they’d seen several times hanging around Seven Ghosts Key.
“How the fuck did you get here?” Delaney hissed at him.
Angel just shook his head. “Can’t tell you,” he said with a relaxed smile. “If I did I’d have to kill you.”
But Delaney was in no mood for such an old joke. He put his gun back up to the man’s throat and asked him again.
Once more Norton intervened. “Hang on, Slick,” he said, moving Delaney’s gun again. “He’s one of us. Or at least I think he is.”
Another tense moment passed. Finally Delaney relaxed a bit. They both contemplated the man before them.
Obviously he had flown here—but how? And where was his aircraft? And why hadn’t the Marine pickets seen his arrival?
But most important at the moment, what was he doing here?
“I don’t want to see you guys get your asses hung out to dry,” Angel replied, reading their minds.
“Is that right? Is that something that’s going to happen?” Norton asked him.
“A distinct possibility,” Angel said.
Norton finally lowered his rifle completely. Delaney did too.
“Really? Educate us then,” Norton told him.
Angel just shrugged. “Well, look at the facts, like you were just doing,” he said. “They send you over here to rescue a bunch of Americans who they said were being held prisoner. But those guys wind up dead ten minutes before you cruise in. What does that tell you?”
“Beats me,” Delaney said. “What does it tell you?”
Angel just shrugged again. “If I had to guess, I’d say someone was making sure whatever those guys saw— or did—wouldn’t get out.”
Norton thought about this for a moment. “You mean like Iraqi atrocities, things like that?”
Angel laughed.
“Man, are you guys out of the loop!” he said. “You really still think those guys were imprisoned all this time?”
Both pilots looked back at him sternly.
“Are you saying they were… in on this?” Delaney asked him angrily.
But Angel just laughed again.
“You saw what they were eating, I assume? What they were entertaining themselves with?” he asked. “That sound like prison to you?”
“But that’s insane,” Norton said through gritted teeth. “There’s got to be another explanation. Maybe the guards were plugged in to the TVs and CD players.”
“And forcing gourmet meals down those guys’ throats?” Angel asked. He paused a moment. A wild dog cried in the wilderness. A shooting star streaked overhead.
“Look,” Angel went on. “Consider this: Suppose those nine dead guys were in on it, and the game was close to being up. What would happen? Maybe someone pulling the strings realizes there’s a problem on just how to lose these people. Because people talk. Especially ones holding secrets. So they gather y’all together and send you in. But before you arrive they shoot nine of the crew, and make sure they do it with the same kind of guns you guys are carrying. In my mind that’s setting you guys up. You wouldn’t be the first patsies in the history of special ops. Or the last.”
Another pause. Another cry on the wind.
“And it all looks like a rescue mission gone wrong,” Angel concluded. “Just like all rescue missions go wrong. Or most of them anyway.”
Norton and Delaney both collapsed, their rear ends hitting the hard cliff floor with two simultaneous thuds.
Norton was numb, his mind racing. By any stretch of the imagination, could this be true?
“But why?” he finally mumbled. “Why would they do this? And who is they to begin with?”
Angel rested himself on one knee. “Look, I’m just a guy who is on hand to look for things. I’m the scout at the head of the cavalry column. I report what I see and leave it to others to sort it out….”
“But… ?” Norton prompted him.
“But from all my years in black ops, I’ve learned that it ain’t just like the movies—it’s worse than the movies. The layers go deeper than you can imagine. And I just think that someone somewhere is obviously pulling some strings here. I mean, they knew you were coming. You can’t argue against that. Everyone back at Seven Ghosts was pissing their pants about security—so much so they didn’t even tell you guys what was up until after you shipped. Yet the whole show was compromised somehow.”
Thirty seconds of absolute silence went by. There were no cries on the breeze now. No shooting stars. Even the wind stopped blowing.
“Bastards,” Delaney finally whispered. “If this is even half true, I’ll kill anyone who put us in this position.”
Norton was just shaking his head. “But this still doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why would they have to drag us all the way over here just to make it look like we killed those guys in a botched rescue attempt? I mean, we were at war with the Iraqis ten years ago—we’re still at war with them in one sense. Why would they be so shy about icing a bunch of Americans? Or more to the point, icing them but shifting the blame?”
Angel just took a deep breath. “Maybe you’re just assuming the people behind this are Iraqi,” he said.
Those words hit Norton on the head like an anvil. He looked up at Angel.
“Well, damn it, we’re in Iraq, and this fucking airplane has been operating out of Iraq, so how in hell can the Iraqis not be involved?” he asked.
“Oh, they’re involved,” Angel said. “But probably not the way we think. They’re just hired hands in all this, I’ll bet. Just like you. Just like me.”
At that moment they all heard an odd beeping sound. It quickly turned into a piercing shrill. Angel took a device out of his pocket. It looked like a TV remote control.
“I hope I’ve helped you two in some way,” Angel said. “And if I just made things more confusing, I’m sorry. But one last piece of advice: Whatever you do, let’s keep this little conversation just between us girls, OK?”