Wrecked – Chapter 9
Sgt. Dewey Beverage & suspected Taliban soldier Akhbar Ali have washed up on a deserted island.
Chapter Nine – The Red Fox
Privates Ricky Faulk & Harry Schette of Sgt. Dewey Beverage’s 69th Infantry Division have cornered Taliban leader Abdul al-Roqu on the outskirts of the recently-razed compound.
Abdul has his hands up as both Privates approach slowly, rifles drawn. “Please, I surrender. My name is Ab–“
Abdul’s head erupts in a geyser of blood as a loud blast echoes across the desert and the Taliban leader’s body crumples to the ground.
Private Faulk turns to Private Schette, incredulous. “Harry!”
Private Schette shrugs, grinning meekly. “Butterfingers?”
“I hope for your sake he wasn’t important.”
Dewey is meandering weakly through the jungle, using his spear as a walking stick, staggering and swaying, mumbling, “Kill the beast. Kill the beast.”
Akhbar, also weak from hunger and lack of sleep, is scanning treetops in the rich lush canopy for signs of fruit or fowl.
A toucan swoops down & perches on a nearby branch, winking at Akhbar & speaks in a posh English accent. “What you’re looking for just washed up on shore, Akhbar! Follow your nose!”
The toucan soars off in the direction Dewey is tottering & Akhbar blinks.
Sgt. Beverage’s men have lined up the surviving Taliban soldiers and CIA attache Chloe Mulligan is walking down the line, staring each man in the eyes.
Dewey, following behind her, looks on hopefully. “See any high-value targets, Agent? Anyone we need to escort & transport to Guantanamo?”
Chloe shakes her head. “Mostly low-level grun–” She stops in her tracks when she reaches Akhbar and smiles as he looks on with pleading eyes. “Gentlemen, meet ‘The Red Fox’, the most notorious Taliban assassin in all of Pakistan.”
Akhbar’s eyes bug. “This woman is a liar!” he blurts before Chloe grabs him out the line and drags him aside.
“You’re not done working for me, Ali. These idiots are willing to cluelessly sail you all the way to Guantanamo where you’re gonna get in tight with al-Hassani and be my eyes & ears. My sources tell me he’s still calling the shots over here, all the way from inside that little prison.”
“You want your girl Jerrah freed or what?”
“Jerrah? What have you done wi–“
“Her brother was Taliban. That makes her a known associate. You get me what I want in Cuba and she goes free.”
Akhbar’s expression sinks. “May I at least have my own cell? I can’t poop in front of other people.”
Akhbar is crouched down, pooping water under a palm tree when he hears a triumphant shout from the beach and hastily rushes toward the commotion. “What is it, is it a boat?”
Akhbar comes upon Dewey laying in the wet sand, a brown powder under his nostrils, surrounded by what look like saran-wrapped bricks floating in the shallow water.
With a hazy grin on his face, Dewey’s eyes shut as he mumbles, “Heroin.”
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