He closed the door on his way out, and Gil prepped himself for the worst as he clicked the Play button on the screen.
The video started, and he sat watching as five men stood crowded around the same side of a bed, their backs to the cameraman who was obviously filming them through the doorway of an adjacent room. The men were laughing and struggling for position, almost as if they were competing for the opportunity to shake hands with whoever was lying on the bed. Then someone off camera shouted at them, and entered from stage right, shoving them out of the way. He turned toward the cameraman, revealing his bearded face and bloody eyeball. The cameraman waved the other five men out of the way with his free hand.
That’s when Gil clearly saw the pale, naked form of Sandra Brux tied spread eagle to the bed, a vicious bullet wound to her leg, eyes clamped shut, nipples flame red from having just been twisted and pinched. The bearded man dropped his trousers and climbed onto the bed with her.
Gil clearly made out the Pashto word for whore, which was dammay zo. And then he made out, almost as clearly, kuss di ughame, which he knew was Pashto for “fuck your ass.”
Sandra began screaming a few moments later, and the cameraman made sure to get the angle correct so the penetration would be clearly visible. Gil did not watch it directly, turning the volume down as low as it would go without muting it. The rape itself lasted nearly eight horrific minutes, and Sandra screamed the entire time. It was the most unholy thing he had ever witnessed, and the close-up of her face at the end, of her shattered humanity, brought tears to his eyes. He sat on the bench with his face in his hands for a long time after the video had finished, having never known such rage.
After a while, Steelyard returned and stood leaning against a locker with his arms folded.
Gil looked up, speaking in a calm voice, “When they made the video of Daniel Pearl’s execution I could at least understand what they were trying to accomplish.” He reached and closed the laptop. “But what can these fuckin’ bastards hope to gain with this here… other than a violent death?”
Steelyard stood away from the locker, arms still crossed, toeing the floor with his boot. “They expect to gain twenty-five million dollars.”
Gil’s mouth fell open.
“They want twenty-five million dollars within seven days,” Steelyard explained. “Otherwise, they promise to make an even more brutal video for Al Jazeera. All of this information is highly classified, so if word gets back to CID that we’ve seen this video, Ray’s ass is grass. His opposite number with CID showed him in complete confidence, and the guy doesn’t know Ray managed to burn a copy.”
“We got any leads on where she is?”
“Nothing actionable, but the second there’s a lead, I’m recommending you for the infiltration and identification — if you want the mission.”
Gil was on his feet. “We’re killin’ these people, right? Every fuckin’ one of ’em?”
Steelyard shrugged. “Nothing’s come down from the Head Shed yet. I think maybe they’re considering paying the ransom.”
“That’s no reason not to put DEVGRU on alert. Or are they going with Delta?”
“From what I’ve heard,” Steelyard said, “nobody in SOG has been officially alerted yet.”
“That doesn’t make any damn sense.”
“Well, I’m hearing through unofficial channels that Karzai’s office has offered to function as the intermediary for a ransom exchange.”
“Somebody needs to get rid of that son of a bitch,” Gil said. “He’s been playing footsie with these Hezbi cocksuckers for the last twelve months. Hell, he’s the reason we’ve pulled out of almost every northern province.”
Steelyard took the cigar from his mouth. “He’s got a country to run, Gil. If he doesn’t make deals with the local warlords, he gets deposed ten minutes after we pull out of this shit box. You know that.”
“That cocksucker knows who has her, Chief!”
“I doubt that.”
“Yeah? Then why the hell is he already offering to play the bagman?”
Steelyard put a boot up on the bench, bracing his elbow on his knee. “I understand you’re pissed, Gilligan, but even if you’re right, the situation remains the same. We’re just pawns on the board like everybody else.”
Gil kicked an empty trash can across the room. “Has SOAR seen that video?”
Steelyard gave him a wry look. “There’s a pair of Killer Eggs and four MH-60s hidden out there in the hangar. What the fuck do you think?”
“Okay, so Chou musta paid them a visit even before he showed up here.”
“Sandra’s a Night Stalker, Gil, the first and only female pilot the 160th has ever recruited. They don’t intend to leave her out there. They’ve already decided that if we get actionable intel on this, they’re going in after her — with orders or without. If they go in without, the question’s going to be who’s going in with them — DEVGRU or Delta?”
“Well, that’s easy. We’re already here. Delta’s clear down in Kandahar.”
“But you’re okay if Delta sends a representative up to go along?”
An ironic smile spread across Gil’s face. “I take it you’ve already had this discussion with your opposite number down in Kandahar?”
“It’s the noncoms who run the fucking show, you know that.”
Gil didn’t need to think about who to ask for. “See if they’ll cut that candy ass Crosswhite loose for a few days.”
Steelyard stuck the cigar between his teeth. “That’s exactly who we had in mind.”
CHAPTER 6
Deputy Director of Operations for the CIA Cletus Webb strode into the Director’s office and closed the door. “We’ve got a problem.”
Director of Operations George Shroyer looked up from a file he’d been reviewing, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his bony-looking nose. “How serious?”
Webb sat down in a leather chair in front of the desk, releasing an anxious sigh. “The Speaker of the House knows about Warrant Officer Brux.”
“That she was kidnapped or that she’s been raped on film?”
“Both.”
Shroyer tossed the file onto his desk and removed his glasses. “How the fuck did that happen?”
Webb held up his hands. “What can I say? The bitch has more informants than a Russian political officer. One of them got word to her.”
“Who?” Shroyer demanded. “And is he over there or over here?”
“Well, how the hell do I know, George? She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell me.”
Shroyer was on his feet and headed across the office to a large globe that doubled as a liquor cabinet. He opened the top and poured himself two fingers of Scotch. “What does she want?”
“She wants us to pay the ransom.”
“After we just spent the morning talking the president out of paying.”
“Well, don’t lose your stack, George, but she knows Karzai’s office has agreed to act as intermediary.”
“How goddamnit, how?” Shroyer flared. “That information’s only hours old!” His face was bright red. He hated the Speaker of the House, and it infuriated him that she was getting classified information almost as fast as he was.
“I don’t know, but it’s nobody low on the pole. That much we can be sure of.”
“Well, damnit, somebody needs to be prosecuted — starting with her.”
“She’s chomping at the bit to take this story public,” Webb assured him. “There’s a ton of political points for her to score on this if she can make it look like the president is mishandling it.”