Restore Page 3

  Before the United States fell, there were different law enforcement agencies. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives was the only one to survive the melee. The New Order’s technocrats destroyed it, changed its focus, and renamed it The Bureau of Terrorist Activity, Firearms, and Explosives—TAFE. Fortunately, the acronym never caught on. Citizens still call it the ATF, but we all know the difference. Scientists and technologists can’t guarantee our hard-fought freedom. That requires muscle combined with knowledge. Something the TAFE lacks.

  “We can trust him?” I ask. Personally, I don’t care what his background is as long as he keeps my wife safe from Bashur.

  “I assigned him myself.” Fletcher’s lips curl up. “Plus, your grandmother spoke to him.”

  The thought of Mama Sibley giving Red the riot act makes me laugh. My grandmother loves Rihana as if she was her own daughter and would do anything to protect her.

  After a minute, I say, “Back to the Bashur problem… Any suggestions of how to handle it?”

  Fletcher purses his lips before glancing at me. “Head on. You go see your grandmother and kid. I’ll bring Bashur to you.” He turns onto the narrow road leading to the compound. “By the way, the men have been informed that you are alive and well.”

  “Bashur should be so lucky.”

  The vehicle stops short of the gate where two former soldiers guard it, but Fletcher doesn’t kill the motor.

  “Problem?”

  He rakes a hand over his chiseled, caramel-colored face. “You can’t kill him. Not until this mission is done.”

  I can hear the blood rushing through my head. The red I saw earlier has turned to a dark crimson, and I’m fighting for control. Gritting my teeth so hard it hurts, I slam my fist into the dashboard and shout, “Why wait? That asshole deserves to die!”

  “Trust me, he will but not yet. The Alliance wants him gone as well. We use him first. Pump him for all the information we can get. Let him do the dirty work.”

  Calming down, I say, “And then let him take the fall.”

  “Exactly. Play it cool, brother. In the end, I’ll let you pull the goddamned trigger.”

  Rubbing my throbbing hand, I nod. “Let’s go.”

  —

  As a kid, I enjoyed coming to Steve’s compound tucked away in the mountains. He owned three and a half acres of remote land protected twenty-four seven by armed guards. No one came in or departed without someone knowing. The gate rolls back, and a small battalion steps forth.

  A former soldier the size of a Mack truck approaches the driver’s side. “Sir?”

  “Lower your weapons,” Fletcher instructs. “This is Winters’s grandson, Captain Jones.”

  Nice to hear my proper rank again.

  The soldier follows the command and gestures to his men to do the same. “The missus is in the main house.”

  Leaning over the console, I ask, “And Bashur?”

  “Last seen in the barracks.”

  I cock my head toward Fletcher.

  He explains, “New development. Winters wanted a permanent structure to keep patrols at the compound.” To the guard, Fletcher says, “Keep him there. The captain needs time with his grandmother, and then we’ll come to the barracks.”

  “Understood.” The man steps to the side, and Fetcher drives through the gate.

  We still have another mile or two to travel before the house comes into view. The front door, something Mama Sibley rarely uses, swings open and a tall woman with blonde and gray streaks in her fading brown hair, and dressed in black jeans, a black blouse, and black high-heeled boots comes out. She waves to us before rushing down the walkway with a toddler girl on her hip.

  I’m out of the Jeep as it rolls to a stop. My feet can’t carry me fast enough over the dusty yard. Mama Sibley meets me halfway and wraps me up in an awkward embrace.

  “How are you, baby?” she asks.

  I could be fifty years old and this woman would still call me her baby. Right now, I don’t care. It’s more important that I’m here with her. “I’m better now, Mama Sibley.”

  She pulls back and pushes the little girl with golden-brown bouncy curls into my arms. I’m greeted by a pair of large eyes as brown as melted chocolate. Her tiny hands pat my cheeks, and she asks in Kurmanji, “Bav?”

  I hate to admit that my command of the language has gotten rusty. A year away from loved ones will do that. The last time I saw my daughter, she was an infant. Now she’s almost two years old.

  “Does she speak English, too?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Mama Sibley says. “It’s going slow, but she’s learning. Your wife is a great teacher.” My grandmother strokes Viyan’s plump cheek. “Let’s get you inside, and we’ll talk.”

  —

  Soon after we cross the threshold, a short, rotund woman runs up to my grandmother. “Señora Winters, let me take the baby.”

  Reluctantly, I pass her my daughter to the Latina. She immediately starts babbling to Viyan in Spanish.

  “Thanks, Maria.” Mama Sibley waits until we’re alone before speaking. She dips her chin and looks into my eyes. “Don’t worry. Maria is from Mexico. I hired her myself, and Steve did the background check. Whenever that lunatic of a so-called prophet or his men are around, Maria only speaks Spanish.”

  The tension eases up a bit. “That’s why Viyan’s having a hard time with English?”

  “Yeah.” Mama Sibley straightens up and puts her arm around my shoulders as we walk toward the kitchen. She studies me for a moment before saying, “Tell me the truth, Asher. How are you really?”

  Moving out of her embrace, I take a seat at the granite-topped island. I carve my hands through my hair and exhale. “Fucked up. I’m so tired of all this shit, Mama Sibley.”

  “Are you getting enough sleep?”

  Shaking my head, I can’t remember the last time I slept well. Might as well be honest. “Those damned nightmares are back.”

  Mama Sibley sighs. “You have to give up this stupid-ass life you’re living. You’ve been running from your demons for years, Ash. It’s time to stop letting them chase you. Face them and deal with it all.”

  “Soon. I’ve got to finish up this shit, and then I can lead a normal life.”

  She reaches for a mug and the coffee pot sitting on the counter. Pouring me a cup, she adds, “I hear ya, but this is too much for you. Are you listening to me? You’ve had nothing but grief in your life over the past few years. End it.”

  There’s the woman I know and love. She’s always been in my corner. Even when I’m wrong, I can count on Sibley Harris Winters. She passes me the steaming cup, and I notice the tattoos peeking out from the edge of her shirt sleeves and the top of her collar. Her penchant for the inappropriate is what my paternal grandmother rallied against when I was younger. It just made me love Mama Sibley more.

  Reaching for the container of sugar, I say, “So what’s going on with Rihana and Bashur?”

  Mama Sibley sets a bottle of creamer in front of me. “Nothing. At least nothing she’s allowing.”

  “Huh?”

  “The man thinks he’s so smart. Ingratiating himself into Rihana’s and Viyan’s lives, but I see right through his trifling ass.” My grandmother sits beside me. “He keeps asking if he can move into the guesthouse.”

  My head swings up.

  She pats my arm. “Ain’t happening. I told him that’s your place. He tried to assure me that you were as good as dead.” Mama Sibley purses her lips and shakes her head. “I said that until Riza delivers your corpse to me, you are alive. Mohammad tried to push his weight around with me.”

  My stomach clenches. “Mama—”

  The woman tilts her head toward me. “You know me better than that. I waved Peace Monger in his face, and he backed the hell up.”

  Of course, my gun-totting grandmother could handle herself. My worry was for Rihana.

  “And before you say anything, Rihana is strapped, too. She practices daily. No matter where s
he goes, she has her weapon.”

  Now I can breathe easily. I reach over and squeeze my grandmother’s hand. “Thanks, Mama Sibley.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. Nobody’s taking anything else from my baby. Remember, come hell or high water I protect my family.” She pushes to her feet. “You hungry?”

  “I can eat.”

  “How about I throw a couple of steaks on the grill?”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Real meat?”

  She stops with her hand on the stainless-steel refrigerator door and gives me one of her patented I-should-know-better-to-ask-that stares. “Have you forgotten that your grandfather has connections?”

  For a minute, I did. Steve Winters imports anything the AR can’t provide. My grandmother doesn’t have to worry about dwindling food supplies or rationed toiletries. He uses his own cargo plane to transport goods to Los Alamos. The government doesn’t dare mess with his setup. He simply reminds officials that when they get into trouble it’s his men that come to the rescue. The New Order doesn’t want to fuck with that kind of deal.

  “Sorry, Mama Sibley.”

  Her eyes crinkle in the corners. “Do me a favor? Go wash that desert dust and smoke off yourself. Spend some time with that cute little girl while I fix some lunch. I’ll get word to Rihana that you’re waiting for her.”

  I bob my head. “Sounds good, but first I must set someone straight.”

  “Take Fletch with you.”

  “Plan on it.”

  Despite the orders, if Bashur gets out of hand, I might have to lay his ass out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Do not let despair become a way of life. War has taken much from us, but we are better than this.”

  —from the Honorable M. Raman Bashur,

  Kurdish political & religious thinker

  I sincerely hope this is my last time stepping out into this soul-sucking heat and acrid air today. I’ve already grown tired of it. My lungs struggle with the lingering smoke while the sun threatens to burn my flesh to a crisp. Maybe we should consider finding a new base, some place cooler. Supposedly, the land east of Oregon is still intact. Might be a good spot to relocate and settle down with Rihana—perhaps give Viyan a few siblings to play with. It would be nice if I could convince Mama Sibley and Steve come with us. I’m sure he could move his operations.

  None of that truly matters right now. Comfort isn’t my primary concern at the moment. As I stalk toward the three-story stucco outbuilding, the only thought on my mind is this will be my last mission. No more secrets. No more endangering my loved ones. No more losing friends. If I continue in this vein… Too late for that, though. People have gotten hurt—killed—because of me. No. This shit stops or I’ll have to make some drastic changes in my life that won’t be good for anybody.

  “Jones, wait up,” Fletcher calls out. The ground crunches beneath his feet as he runs up to me. “Going to find Bashur?”

  “Something like that,” I grit out between my teeth. In my haste, I quickly forgot about backup. Like I said…shit has to stop. I can’t keep doing this.

  “Just don’t forget what I told you. He stays alive until we don’t need him anymore.”

  Stopping in my tracks, I face Fletcher. “So how do you want me to handle this? I can’t walk in there all innocent like I don’t know shit.”

  “If it’s all right with you, I’ll speak on your behalf. Jump in anytime you wish.”

  “Not my preferred choice, but it would be better than me killing him.” I pick up my pace toward the barracks.

  Thankfully, it’s about fifty degrees cooler inside the structure which is far better outfitted than anything Riza ever offered. From the main door I have a clear view to the dining area. The communications center—workstations complete with holographic computers and flat-screen monitors—sits on the other side of a glass wall on my left. To my right are numerous doors, some open and some closed.

  As I make my way down the wide corridor, a few men stare while others clap. Before I enter the door leading to communications, a man dressed in simple khakis and a button-down shirt steps out of one of the rooms.

  A short man, a little on the pudgy side, with a trimmed beard and wire-rimmed glasses. His thick, black hair could stand cutting, otherwise Mohammad Raman Bashur of Kurdistan looks the same as the last time I saw him over a year ago.

  “Aza, you are alive,” he says with false cheer. “You had us all worried.”

  Before I can say anything, Fletcher offers, “The good captain is worn out. He’s in no shape for a debriefing, sir.”

  Bashur fixes me with a steely gaze as he says, “I heard rumors of torture. Is this true?”

  Someone should give Bashur better acting lessons. He’s not doing a great job at pretending to be concerned. I’ve heard more compassion from prison guards checking on injured prisoners.

  “Sadly, those weren’t rumors. We weren’t able to save Castaneda.” Fletcher rests his hand on my shoulder. Keeping up the farce, I grimace. “Give Jones a few days with his family, and he’ll be as good as new.”

  Bashur’s beady eyes narrow as he continues scrutinizing me. “Have you forsaken your identity already?”

  I quickly sink my hands into my pockets to keep from strangling him. “I haven’t forsaken anything. Remember, I’ve been undercover for a year…”

  “Ah, yes. Operatives often have difficulty adjusting. I’m certain you are not immune.” He claps his hands loudly as if he’s granting me permission or some other shit. “Very well! You shall have your rest. We shall talk in a few days.”

  “I’m, like, looking forward to it,” I mutter. Without waiting for Fletcher, I turn on my heel and stomp to the house. If I stay here any longer, I’ll renege on my promise to Fletcher.

  Halfway up the path my heart and feet freeze. The gorgeous woman coming toward me must be a vision. Her dark hair hangs loosely around her shoulders. She wears jeans and a white, long-sleeve blouse.

  “Aza!” Rihana squeals and runs the rest of the way.

  I catch her up in my arms and hold her close. “Ree.”

  We stand there holding on to each other. My heart can beat again. Finally, I am home. Nuzzling her neck with my nose, I inhale her fresh scent.

  “I have missed you so much,” she says against my chest.

  “Same here, baby.” It’s with great reluctance that I pull away from her. “I thought you were, like, with your mother.”

  “And I thought you dead. I guess we were both mistaken.” Her lips lift and it’s like the clouds part, revealing the sunshine. “I did not come alone. Your grandfather is here. He wants to see you.”

  Reaching out, I tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I can see him anytime.”

  “No, Aza. Finish your business. I’ll be waiting for you in our place.”

  My dick twitches at the thought. I’ll go see Steve, but first… My hand snakes through her hair as I lower my head. The instant our lips meet, I’m transported to another time, another place. This woman is my saving grace. She helps me maintain my shaky grasp on sanity. Without her, I’m sure I’d be dead by now. Or long forgotten in some prison cell. Our kiss is long and leisurely like we have all the time in the world.

  Someone clears their throat, and we break apart like a couple of teenagers caught by their parents. Looking over my wife’s shoulder, I see Mama Sibley.

  “Glad you found each other,” she says with a smile. “Steve is waiting for you, Ash.” My grandmother extends her hand toward Rihana. “I’ll walk her back. You go before Steve comes looking for you.”

  —

  I find Steve in his study toward the front of the house. He’s sitting behind his desk, staring out the window, when I enter the room.

  “Thought you got lost,” he says without looking at me.

  I’m grinning like a kid at Christmas when I sit down. “Had to see my wife.”

  “Sibley said that the nightmares have returned.” Steve faces me. “Want to tell me what’s
wrong? Impaired thinking gets soldiers killed, son.”

  Leaning my forearms on my thighs, I stare at the floor. “Years ago, a shrink told me the nightmares come up when I’m not being truthful to myself.”

  “So what are you hiding?”

  “My whole fucking life is, like, a goddamned lie.”

  Steve strums his fingers on the desk. “That’s probably the most honest thing I’ve heard from you in years.”

  My head lifts, but I stay quiet.

  “Sibley and I have questioned your relationship with Rihana. We’re happy she’s in your life, and we love our great-grandchild.”

  “But?”

  “But… At what cost? You’ve given up a lot of yourself to be with this woman. You gave up your name, changed your religion, and even gave up cigarettes and alcohol. Honestly, some of those things needed to happen, but don’t get me wrong, Asher. I understand why you did it. I’d do anything and everything for your grandmother.”

  Good to know. I was afraid he was judging me. “I feel the same way about Rihana.”

  “Glad to hear it, but the difference is I still get to be myself at the end of the day.”

  “It’s not so simple,” I say. Of late, I don’t even recognize the man I claim to be. I’m yearning to be that carefree kid who grew up on a beach in Southern California. But much like the state that crumbled into the sea, I can’t get that person back.

  “Everything is simple when seen through the right light.” He pauses for a moment. “I’m not here to tell you how to handle your business. Just deal with it. Focus.”

  I nod.

  “What did Bashur say?”

  “Not much. Fletcher, like, ran interference for me.”

  Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “Why?”

  “The Alliance wants Bashur alive. I want him dead.” I rake a hand over my face, and I realize a shower and a shave are a necessity. “We’ll have a sit down in a couple of days. Have you learned anything about the notebook?”

  “Intel says it doesn’t exist, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I mentioned it to Aoki. He said his girlfriend was the last person with it. If I were a betting man, my money’s on her still holding it.”