Gator
Tuesday, The Dodoma Rock Hotel, Dodoma Tanzania
General Elliot moved into view on the computer screen and everyone in the Tanzanian hotel room stilled. Elliot was as tough and worn as shoe leather. He’d seen his fair share of disaster and atrocity and done his damnedest to give as good as his men got. More. If the enemy shot a bullet, he’d throw a grenade. “This isn’t t-ball, boys!” he’d yell. “This is the big leagues. Bat’er out of the ballpark.”
The general settled into the executive’s chair. His tie was loose at the neck, the top button of his heavily-starched shirt undone, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I’m not going to sugar-coat it, it’s going to be one hell of a fight,” he said. “I’m sorry to be late, but I had a call with the hospital.” The general didn’t wait for the men to acknowledge the apology. “Randy’s plane landed at zero four ten hours Zulu time. He’s at Suburban Hospital now, in guarded condition. I’m told that the Tanzanian doctors did an adequate job getting him stabilized and packaged up. But I’m not trusting Randy’s leg to Dr. Who’s-available. As soon as we got Striker’s first report, we flew in Dr. Silverman and his team from London. He’s cutting edge on limb-saving techniques.” His eyes glared from behind the permanent squint he’d developed in Nam. “No pun intended.”
Gator was pretty sure no one in the room heard that last sentence as funny.
Only their commander, Striker Rheas, had been allowed to see Randy before he got loaded onto the corporate jet that Elliot had wrangled. Striker had said nothin’ about Randy’s chances of survival, but he had that grim set to his jaw that didn’t bode too well. Randy being at Suburban meant he was in good hands, though. It lifted some of the weight off Gator’s chest.
“They’re prepping the OR,” the general said. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have anything new.”
There was a stir in the room as the men digested the information. Gator watched Honey rub Meg’s trembling shoulders.
It was Meg who had invited Honey and Randy to join her in Tanzania where they got caught up in a terrorists’ attack. She must feel responsible on some level.
“Ahbou, young man, we are indebted to you.” The general’s voice softened as he spoke to the boy.
While Gator and his fellow Strike Force team were still in the air, hard charging onto the scene, Ahbou had snuck out of his hiding place in a tree and gotten Randy to the hospital, driving a hotel delivery van standing up so he could see out the front window and reach the pedals at the same time.
One hell of a feat.
Even though the kid had lost the last of his family in the hotel’s explosion, he was still able to think and act. Gator had been on the battle field and seen full grown men turn chicken-shit in the face of much less.
Gator felt the magnetic pull of the new family in front of him — Honey, Meg, and Ahbou.
He flexed his muscles to stop the weird vibration moving through his system.
Are they in danger? he asked himself.
No. That didn’t feel right. He thought back to the little girl with the goats. Yes, somewhere out there in the desert hills was where the danger lay. He felt he should warn someone; they needed to get out of that area. Bad things were headed their way. But Gator had no clue who this kid was. He couldn’t remember meeting her. He rubbed his hand over his face, hoping to rid himself of the sensation. But it didn’t help any.
Gator wanted more than anything to get the information about Randy’s condition, and then get into the hall to call Lynx.
As he thought that, his cell phone gave a quick buzz as a text dropped into his inbox. Gator pulled the phone from his pocket and held it by his side.
Ahbou grinned at the general. “Thank you, Mr. General Elliot, sir.”
“There are few men with the moxy to contrive that rescue,” the general said. “I have my eye on you. You just might be an Iniquus warrior in the making.”
Ahbou covered his smile with his hand and blinked his big eyes at General Elliot.
“Meg?” the general said.
“Yes.” Meg stopped to clear her throat. “Yes, sir,” she tried again.
“I’ve made some phone calls. We’re going to get the diplomatic channels lit up and find a way to get you and Ahbou stateside to be with Randy. Sit tight.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Meg said quietly.
“Team, I’m sure your prayers and good thoughts would be appreciated right about now.” The general chewed on his cheek and stared straight ahead of him with that mile-long gaze of his as if he could see right into the future. “We’re projecting good outcomes, but we’re here for Randy no matter what. Iniquus is family. Period.” He punctuated that sentence with a nod of his head.
The men of Strike Force returned the general’s nod. Silent agreement. Not all for one and one for all, but the same heartbeat. The same blood.
“Jack McCullen has not yet been cleared for field work by his doctors. He continues to work out of Headquarters. And now, Randy will be out for a while,” Elliot was saying. “Striker, your team is short-manned and over-due for some R&R. I’m sorry to say this, but I need two volunteers for a short assignment which begins right there in Tanzania. Tomorrow.”
Every hand in the room shot up.
The general scrunched his lips together trying to hide the smile that wanted to paint across his face. Another nod, this time of approval. “Put your hands down and listen up. First, this assignment needs operators with surfing skills. Second, Strike Force has been overseas for months. If you’re in a long-term relationship, when I ask again, keep your hand down. You need to take care of those who love you by spending quality time with them.”
Surfing? The thick fog that had swirled around Gator suddenly lifted. He felt the tug of excitement. Lighter. Eager. The first relief he’d felt since he’d stepped into the room. No doubt, this assignment was where he needed to be.
“I’m not saying this is going to be a vacation assignment, we all know how that worked out for Honey and Randy, but I am going to say that I’ve been assigned to worse places than you’re going to go. I need two of you. Okay, now do I have any volunteers?”
As Gator raised his hand to take the job, his phone vibrated a third time. He turned his head toward the buzz of another phone, that one belonged to Blaze, the only other Strike Force operative with his hand in the air.
“Blaze,” the general said. “You have a fiancée. I said no one with a long-term relationship.”
“Sir, Faith is a long-time girlfriend, we’re not engaged. While it would be great to see her, she’s out of town for the next ten days, so if the assignment’s a short one, I’m good to go.”
“Ten days will more than do it. Alright, I need to speak with Gator and Blaze. Striker stay put. Axel, Deep, and Honey go get your gear in order. You’ll be headed to the airport for a flight at thirteen-fifteen hours, local time. Dismissed.”
“Sir,” they said, coming to their feet. There was a shuffle and the room emptied out.
“Meg,” General Elliot said. “If you don’t mind, I need to speak to my men.”
“Oh!” Meg exclaimed. “Of course.” She scrambled to her feet and touched Ahbou on his shoulder, and they scurried out the door. Yeah, the general could have that effect on folks.
Gator swiped his cell phone screen to take a quick peek at the text messages.
Lynx: Do you need me?
Lynx: You’re making me twitchy.
Gator grinned, looked like Lynx’s antennae was dialed to “high” and tuned to his station.
The last message, the one that came in as his hand went up: This is the house that Jack built.
Son of a gun.