Knuckle Bones Read online

  Her English was perfect, though her accent was heavy like the boy’s. Aasif nodded to her.

  “Be a good boy and get us some dinner,” she motioned past the boy, “You will stay, won’t you, sir?”

  “I, um,” Troy realized his hand was still over his mouth; he dropped it quickly, “I should be getting back.”

  “You don’t have anything to fear, young man,” she chuckled and coughed, “I have emphysema. I am not contagious.”

  Troy sighed inwardly trying not to show his sudden relief. He sniffed reflexively and regretted it instantly. The old woman noticed.

  “The smell,” she waved her hand toward an incense burner on the table next to her bed, “is terrible, but helps my breathing.”

  “I wondered what that was.”

  “Disgusting, but seems to work,” she breathed a heavy, raspy breath.

  Another awkward silence. She smiled and broke it.

  “Aasif probably thinks you can help,” she said, “that is most likely why he has brought you here.”

  “Ma’am,” Troy shrugged, “I’m just a pilot. Dang, I don’t even know how to spell emphysema.”

  She laughed and ended up coughing harshly.

  “It is ok,” she wiped some moisture from her lips, “I am beyond medical help. The doctors here are very good and they have tried everything.”

  Troy nodded.

  “Please, don’t tell Aasif,” she glanced toward the open door, “but it won’t be long now.”

  “I’m very sorry ma’am.”

  “Please call me Sedra,” she said, “and I am not worried; Allah will take me.”

  Troy was lost for what the proper response was, but said, “I hope so, ma’am.”

  He was rescued by the boy coming into the room.

  “Dinner is ready,” Aasif smiled.

  Troy pictured a tray with all the gruesome delights a third world country dinner might be, lamb’s eyeballs, monkey brains, and donkey hearts, basically all the stuff they ate in Indiana Jones movies.

  “Oh gosh,” he said looking at his watch, “I really should get back.”

  “No, please. You must stay,” Sedra groaned and shifted her legs off the bed to stand, “here, give me a hand.”

  Great, Troy thought, maybe there will be some salad or something I can eat. I’m a vegetarian, he would tell them, yes, that would work, a vegetarian.

  He put his hand under the woman’s arm and could feel her bones jutting out from her body. She was skin and bone. He was as gentle as he could be, but still felt he might be hurting her.

  As he shuffled her into the dining room, a very pleasant smell wafted in replacing the stink of the incense from her bedroom. To Troy’s surprise, the table held a steaming hot pizza box. It was open to reveal a pepperoni pizza.

  As he sat the old woman into a chair he said, “I guess I could stay for a piece or two.”

  She laughed knowingly and Aasif handed her a plate. They sat in silence eating for a time. Sedra pushed one piece of pizza around for a while, Aasif ate two pieces and Troy ate the rest. The dog laid under the table begging for scraps. Sedra dropped the remains of her slice on the floor and he greedily wolfed it down.

  When he leaned back from the table wiping his mouth, he said, “thank you for the dinner. Our rations are pretty crappy compared to that.”

  Aasif looked at him, confused, “what is… crappy?”

  “Oh, the rations we get,” Troy rolled his eyes.

  Sedra touched his arm a twinkle in her eyes, “he doesn’t understand the word, crappy.”

  “Ah, gotcha,” he nodded, “Um… it’s like… well, uh… tastes like shi…”

  Sedra squeezed his arm harder than he would’ve thought possible and interrupted him.

  “He means it tastes bad,” she eased her grip.

  “Yeah,” Troy added, “very bad!”

  Sedra wiped her mouth, “Aasif, go and wash up for bed. I will take care of the dishes.”

  The boy put the plates in the sink and nodded. He held up a hand as if to tell Troy goodbye and the dog followed him into the next room.

  “And now,” she turned back to Troy, “let us talk about why you are really here?”

  Troy took a couple of swigs of his warm glass of water. He relayed the story of the boxes and the bones and that Aasif had been the one to deliver them.

  Sedra pursed her lips, “Aasif is not a bad boy. How is he getting involved in all of this?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out,” Troy looked out the window at the complete dark of night, “but if I don’t get back soon, I’m gonna be travelin’ through dangerous waters.”

  “No, no,” Sedra looked confused, “you are far from the nearest water.”

  Troy opened his mouth to explain metaphor, but she stopped him.

  “I am kidding,” she said smiling, “come back in two days. Give me a chance to talk to Aasif. I will find out what is going on.”

  “Thank you,” Troy walked to the door, “Now, um, which way should I head out of here?”

  Sedra shrugged, “back the way you came, I suppose.”

  Troy nodded, “Yup. Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

  He closed the door behind him. Two hours later after at least twenty wrong turns, he crawled into his bunk and fell into a deep sleep.

  5

  Drop

  General Buff Summerton dropped the last stack of hundred dollar bills into the army green duffel bag. He snorted around the unlit cigar jutting out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Okay,” he huffed, “it’s all there. One point five mil. I still say this is a goddamn shame.”

  A younger man, gangly and freckled, held out a small black box no bigger than a stack of fifteen business cards. He toggled a switch on the side of the box and handed it to Ambassador Bill Willams. He, in turn, tucked the box into a cutout carved into a stack of twenties and then covered it with a portion of whole bills. When it was wrapped with the currency strap, it looked like any other stack of bills in the bag. Williams dug it into the bag and stuffed it halfway down. It was gone. Disappeared. Undetectable until the stack was disturbed.

  “There won’t be any shame when we track this money to their hideout and retrieve Mr. Phillips,” Ambassador Williams said clapping the dust from his hands.

  “My granddaddy is probably turnin’ over in his grave,” Buff harrumphed and shook his head, “No way his generation woulda stood for this crap.”

  “Buff,” Williams looked at him incredulously, “they sent us a toe. So, presuming he’s still alive, Phillips is now fingerless on one hand and they’ve started on his foot. We can’t let this go on.”

  “It’s a goddamn pinky toe!” Buff grunted, “Who needs a damn pinky toe anyway?”

  No one responded.

  “Are we guaranteed this contraption is gonna work?” Buff asked clearing his throat.

  Williams nodded his head to the young tech who’d produced the box. He pulled a tablet from his briefcase and clicked it on. Tapping the screen a few times, he opened an app. The screen flickered and a satellite image of the surrounding area came into focus. A few more taps made a flashing red light appear in the center of the screen.

  The tech handed the tablet to Ambassador Williams. He pinched out with his fingers on the screen and the image zoomed in. After a second, the resolution increased and a building came into focus. It was a picture of the roof of the embassy they were standing in. Williams smiled and handed the tablet to Buff.

  The general took it and huffed, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Pretty impressive,” Williams beamed, “isn’t it? It’s based in part on the systems used to guide our missiles to their targets. The box simulates the laser marking that we used to need a man on the ground to produce. By translating that into a microwave…”

  Summerton clapped him on the back of the shoulder interrupting him, “don’t need a goddamn science lesson, Bill. Just glad to see it works.”

  Williams swallowed and
opened his mouth.

  The general turned away, still holding the tablet. When he got to the door, he turned around.

  “By the way,” he took the moistened cigar out of his mouth, “who the hell we got on this drop?”

  * * *

  Troy Bodean tamped the pack of Morven Gold cigarettes on his palm. He’d wanted Winstons, but the corner store was sold out. The owner said all the American soldiers kept buying them, but he recommended the Morvens and promised they were just as good, if not better. Harry Nedman poked his head out the door and nodded him into the building.

  “Briefing time, brother,” he said to Troy.

  Putting the unopened pack of cigarettes into his thigh pocket, he walked in. He and Harry both snapped to attention when General Buff Summerton stuck his head out of his office.

  “At ease, boys,” he waved them into his office.

  Cigar smoke wafted in the air making Troy’s mouth water. The general obviously had a better stash than his Morvens. Summerton dropped heavily into his chair.

  “Shut that,” he pointed to his door and Harry complied.

  He ran his hand through his salt and pepper flat top and unfolded a map on his desk. Troy recognized the terrain of Kabul.

  “Okay, boys,” the general started with a finger pointed at the map, “here’s the deal. These bastards want us to helicopter over this area.”

  Troy looked at Harry. It was a no-fly zone, known for heavy anti-aircraft fire.

  “I know what you’re thinkin’,” Summerton looked up at them, “but we’ve been assured that there won’t be any resistance when you make the drop.”

  Troy cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak. The general didn’t let him.

  “You boys can fly in high, drop down low, throw out the bag and skee-daddle outta there before anyone knows you’re coming,” he said.

  Harry Nedman inhaled sharply to protest, “but dropping a bag from that height and that speed… it’ll be dang near impossible to hit that target.”

  Buff Summerton stood and dropped his fist on the desk, “these are goddamn orders, son.”

  Harry stifled his retort. Troy held up a hand to the general.

  “Sir,” he smiled, “we’ll drop this bag on the money. Heck, I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home.”

  Neither of the other two men got the reference.

  When no one spoke, Troy asked, “when’s the drop?”

  “Oh four hundred hours,” the general sat back down, “the bag will be in the Apache before you leave.”

  Troy and Harry both saluted in unison and the general returned it without much enthusiasm.

  “Boys,” he said in a low voice, “I doubt you need to hear this, but… this is a shoot with extreme prejudice kind of mission. Don’t wait, don’t ask questions, don’t tell. Just kill anything that moves before they kill you.”

  “Yessir,” Harry snapped reflexively.

  As they walked out the door of the embassy and headed down the street, Troy pulled out his cigarettes.

  “Want one?”

  “Nah,” Harry frowned, “those things are shit.”

  “Yeah,” Troy replied, “but it’s better than nothin’.”

  Harry looked at him, “you sure about this drop?”

  “Should be a piece of cake, why?”

  “Cause if they told us they weren’t gonna shoot, why is it an extreme prejudice kind of mission?”

  Troy thought about it for a second, “Cause we’re in a war, man.”

  * * *

  The drop did not go as planned.

  The AH-64 was met with heavy machine gun fire. As they swooped in low to try and make the drop, a massive round blasted past them clipping the tail and sending them into a spin. Troy was able to wrestle control back, but they were wobbling bad enough to send them running home.

  Summerton met them as they exited the smoking chopper, tugging the bag of cash with them. Troy and Harry snapped to a rigid salute, sure that a furious barrage was going to come from the general at any second.

  “At ease,” he said calmly, “bad guys knew you were coming eh?”

  Harry was surprised at the question, “Sir, it appeared that way, sir.”

  “You did the best you could, boys,” he held out a hand to shake, “I expected this might happen.”

  Troy reached down to shake the general’s hand… expected this might happen? What the hell?

  Summerton apparently saw the questions on Troy’s face, “s’happened before. They demand some cash, shoot down the chopper. Take the cash and then demand more.”

  Troy blinked. He couldn’t remember this ever happening before. Most ransoms were pretty straight forward. We either gave them money or traded them a prisoner for the safe return of the kidnapped person. And Buff didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the failure of the drop.

  “Get some rest, boys,” he sniffed, “I’m bettin’ we’ll be doing this again, but with more money. That’s the way these bastards work.”

  “Yessir,” snapped Harry reflexively.

  They turned away from the general and Troy whispered, “something’s up, dangit.”

  “What are you talking about?” Harry asked.

  “I’ve never heard of a ransom drop going bad… ever.”

  Harry said nothing.

  “Summerton asked if we thought the bad guys knew we were coming,” Troy jabbed a finger at Harry, “’course they knew we were comin’. We were droppin’ ‘em a bag of cash.”

  Troy could see the look on Harry’s face. He just couldn’t accept that something fishy was happening.

  “It’s a war, man,” Harry retorted half-heartedly, “there aren’t any rules anymore.”

  “Maybe not,” Troy looked over his shoulder, “but I’m gonna find out what’s going on.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I’m gonna go see Aasif and Sedra,” Troy motioned toward the chopper, “see if they know anything about the people who shot at us.”

  “Dude, you’re crazy,” Harry replied.

  “Not as crazy as a bunch of kidnappers shootin’ down the guys bringin’ ‘em a million bucks.”

  “True.”

  “Run a screen for me,” Troy nodded at Harry, “if anyone asks, I’m down at medical gettin’ checked out.”

  “Got it, bro,” Harry fist-bumped him, “be careful out there.”

  “Always am,” Troy bumped him back, “always am.”

  6

  Death

  Aasif opened the door and let Troy into the living room. The smell was different… it was worse. Something had changed. It seemed darker too, more foreboding than before. Troy took a step toward the bedroom door and noticed a man sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. He was older than Aasif, but younger than Sedra, middle-aged. The man was clearly a local with dark skin and dark eyes. His long beard was jet black with one odd streak of grey on the left side. The pale patch of hair grew out of a long scar that trailed up the man’s chin and ended at his bottom lip. Basically, he looked like the poster boy for the Taliban. He made no move to get up. He drew a long, steady drag on his cigarette.

  “Aasif,” the man asked in English, “who is this man?”

  The boy didn’t answer.

  The man slammed his fist down on the kitchen table making Troy flinch and reach toward his sidearm.

  “This is my house,” he growled, “why have you brought this filthy dog into it?”

  Aasif was shaking in fear.

  “I came here on my own,” Troy raised a hand to indicate calm, “the boy didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.”

  “He is American, Uncle,” Aasif spoke timidly, “he can help Aana.”

  Troy didn’t know who Aana was, but the man Aasif called Uncle jumped up from his chair sending it skidding backwards. Troy flinched back from the screeching sound and drew his pistol a short way out of the holster.

  The man sneered at him, “so, you will barge into my home, brandish your weapons
and shoot us? Typical American filth.”

  Troy sized the man up. He couldn’t see any weapons on the guy, so he slid his gun back into its holster… but he didn’t click the strap to hold it in.

  “Listen,” he spoke smoothly, “I don’t know who this Aana is, but…”

  “It means Grandmother, you imbecile,” Aasif’s Uncle spat.

  The details clicked together in Troy’s mind. This was the boy’s Uncle, Sedra’s other son and Aasif was calling her Grandmother. Troy kept one hand raised to keep the calm and motioned toward the bedroom with the other.

  “Is she… gone?”

  “No,” Troy thought he saw a brief flash of pain in the man’s face, “but it won’t be long.”

  “I may be able to help,” Troy said, “If we get her back to the medical…”

  The man raised his voice again, “Sedra will not receive any treatment from American dogs!”

  “But Uncle,” Aasif protested, “they can save her.”

  Troy shook his head, “well, hey, I don’t know if they can save her, but they might be able to make her feel better until…”

  “She will not,” the man said in a low, dangerous voice, “and it is past time for you to go.”

  He stood and pointed at the door. Troy nodded his head.

  “Alright, pardner,” he drawled, “I gotcha. I’m leaving.”

  Aasif ran over to him and grabbed his arm, “but, mister, my Aana will die. She needs the medicine from your doctors.”

  Troy glanced up at the boy’s Uncle and shook his head.

  A chirping sound rose from the man’s pocket and he pulled out a phone. He turned his back to Troy and spoke quietly into the phone. When he turned around, his face was ashen and afraid.

  “You need to go,” he said quickly to Troy as he tucked his phone into his pocket.

  He walked toward the door and grabbed Aasif by the shoulders, “stay here. I have to go out for a bit.”

  The boy started to protest, but his Uncle interrupted him, “no. Your Aana needs you. I have business, but I will be back.”

  He stood and pointed a finger at Troy’s chest, “and you will be gone. I do not wish to see you again.”