Silent Warrior

Chapter 1

The Seven Devils Mountains, Oregon, 3 a.m.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Shawn Harris unlocked the door and stepped into the darkness onto the front deck of his cabin. He was lifting his cup to take his first swig of coffee when the bullet struck him in the shoulder and he fell six feet below into the darkness.

A team of masked men converged on the cabin. The leader signaled silently to one of the black-clad men to check where Harris had fallen. The man approached the area carefully. His night-vision goggles scanned the area where he supposed Harris fell, but there was no body. A trace of blood was on the leaves and rocks, but Harris was gone.

As soon as he'd hit the ground after being shot, Harris immediately rolled under the porch and crawled to the rear of the cabin. He waited patiently to determine how many attackers there were. He moved his hand to his shoulder where he'd been hit and felt around. Luckily, the bullet had passed clean through and he could tell the bleeding was minimal, as his hand was only partially wet with blood when he pulled it away. He heard a small group of men quietly move to where he had fallen. He guessed there were at most a dozen of them, by the sound of the movements he could pick out. Hoping he was right and all the men had gone to where he landed, he silently slid out from under the cabin and moved through the brush, making his way toward an abandoned cabin across the dirt road...

The leader of the wet team was furious. He couldn’t believe that his best man had not killed the man they sought. He was even more upset with his team for their lack of evidence as to where the man might have fled. The traces of blood in the area where the man had fallen were the only evidence they could find and it wasn’t boding well for the time he’d allotted to take the man out, gather his body, and disappear before daylight. His men searched the area frantically for any signs, but he'd now have to take responsibility before his employers for the mission failure. Even as he thought about what to say to them, his Iridium satellite phone vibrated in his pouch on his chest-rig.

He answered.

“Yes?”

“Is the mission complete, Luis?” asked a voice that sounded calm, yet deadly.

“No, not yet. The target evaded us, but my men are looking for him or any signs of his presence as we speak,” Luis replied.

The voice on the other end of the line was icy, “You missed? That is simply unacceptable, Luis. You had all the information you needed to take out the target.”

“Yes, I know,” replied Luis, “but the man somehow escaped. My best shooter took the kill shot and I have no idea how he missed. We are --”

Luis was cut off by the man on the other end, “Find him and finish the job you were paid to do!”

The line went dead. He put the phone back in its pouch on his vest and got on his radio.

“Update me.”

***

After gathering a small pack of necessities from the abandoned cabin, Shawn Harris struck off for the path that led to a mine, leaving little trace of his presence on the trail. It was now 5 o’clock in the morning and daylight was fast approaching. Shawn figured he had roughly an hour and a half before the sun came up. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and his attackers before light would give them a chance to search for him. He figured they had night vision goggles, but knew that even with those, it’d be much harder to track him than if they waited till daylight. He was counting on the the team to conduct a search for his body in the immediate vicinity of his cabin, hoping that they’d think he simply crawled away to hide in the bushes. It would be an hour or two before they figured out that he’d completely vanished. And, knowing how wet, or assassination, teams operated, they would not want to be around when daylight came to have Shawn’s neighbors start asking questions of them.

The path he chose weaved through giant redwoods and up a steep hill side. He had intentionally chosen to utilize this path because it would be more difficult for anyone to follow him, regardless of how good of shape they might be in. He had hiked this route nearly every day since he’d moved into his cabin, familiarizing himself with the time and effort it’d take him to reach the mine from the abandoned cabin. As he hiked, he tried to think how anyone who was an enemy would have had the power and resources to hire a wet team. And just how had he been found? Very few people in his past life even knew of his plans to retire in the mountains and live at his cabin. He had no illusions about the amount of enemies he’d made during his 20-year career. While most were imprisoned once he and “The Brotherhood” - the name his team had been given - had turned them over to their superiors, some of the most dangerous ones had eluded capture. Shawn had always regretted when the mission became solely a capture mission with no option of killing. The fact they'd not been able to kill every target ate away at him in his dark memories like termites eating away a rotted log.

He trudged along the path as flashbacks of enemy’s faces filled his memory…

***

Tehran, Iran

The man known only as The Gimp limped into the dimly lit room and spoke to a man sitting in the corner.

"They missed."

"They missed?"

"Yes."

"I see," said the man. He leaned forward and the lamp on the table next to the chair he sat in illuminated the ugly scars on the right side of his face.

"If you cannot assure me that the team you hired will complete the job, then what reason do I have to keep you on my payroll?" His tone was casual, yet deadly and cold.

"I assure you they will finish their assignment," The Gimp replied.

"We shall see," said the man, and he sat back in his chair, his face melting into the darkness.

The Gimp turned abruptly and limped out of the room. Inside, he was seething with fury. Luis and his team of mercenaries had let him down. And letting The Gimp down was not a good thing to do. He may be a gimp, but he was no man to trifle with. Neither Luis nor the man in the chair had any real idea who The Gimp was or what he was capable of. But he knew. He knew that he could have easily killed the man in the chair in three simple moves - swiftly and painlessly. But the time wasn't now. No. Later, the time would come to deal with the man in the chair.

For now, he must deal with the situation at hand.

***

As the sun broke over the mountains, Shawn Harris was reaching the mine. He retrieved the key to the giant padlock from under a rock and unlocked the iron-barred gate at the entrance of the mine. He pulled the gate shut behind him and replaced the padlock in its position and locked it once he was inside. Then, he pulled out his flashlight and struck out for the room-like area deep inside the cave mine where he could attend to his gunshot wound and eat and rest. When he reached his destination, he grounded his gear and attended to his wound. His arm was stiff, but he’d been shot much worse before and knew he’d recover quickly. After ensuring the bleeding had mostly stopped, Shawn built a fire with the firewood and kindling already there. As the small fire came to life, Shawn pulled out a small mess kit and an Meal-Ready-to-Eat, or an MRE, and prepared himself breakfast. The MRE contained a packet of coffee and, although Shawn did not like it MRE coffee whatsoever, he was grateful that he could have something to warm up his body.

After he’d finished his MRE, he leaned back against the rock wall and began to think hard about who was after him, why, and more importantly, how they found him. As he sipped his coffee, he ran through his mind the very few men who would have the power and money to track down his location and hire a wet team to eliminate him. He knew the enemies he’d made while serving his country were more than he might know about. His missions were always close-hold ones and it was the rare prisoner who'd even seen his face.

He closed his eyes and thought hard, narrowing down his already limited choices of who exactly wanted him dead.

Chapter 2

Dubai, Unites Arab Emirates

Thousands of miles away from where Shawn Harris sat mulling over his situation, the group responsible for hiring the man in the chair to kill Harris convened on the top floor of a 45-story building. Ten men sat around an elongated rectangular table. Each man had a file in front of him containing photos and a dossier on Shawn Harris.

"What is the latest news?” asked a bald-headed man dressed in a black pin-striped suit and a bright blue tie into the speaker phone sitting in the center of the table.

From his residence in Tehran, the man in the chair replied, “They missed him. He has fled the immediate area… for now.”

Before the bald man could react, the man in the chair continued, “But The Gimp assures me his team will not fail; Mr. Harris will be terminated as promised.”

The ten men were silent, all looking at each other with a careful gaze.

The bald man spoke, “We paid you to kill him, not to let him escape. If you cannot comply with the required task you were paid to do, we can simply make other arrangements. Those arrangements, of course, include you being turned over to the Americans for, shall we say, things they might like to know you’ve done.”

The man in the chair did not hesitate for a second.

“Do not threaten me, Mahmood; it would not be wise. Despite what you think you may know about me, I can promise you that you have no idea what I’m capable of. You hired me for a reason,” he hissed, “Do not forget that I know what you have done and that gives me greater power over you than you can possibly imagine.”

Mahmood shifted uneasily in his chair. He thought he could throw his weight around with this man, and had hoped to do so in front of his colleagues, who had gathered for the first time in the same room.

“You speak the truth, my friend. I truly do not know what you’re capable of doing to me. But I do know what I am capable of - and that’s paying you a great deal of money to complete a simple task. Yet, you have failed to do so.”

“No. I have simply not yet completed the task. And do not ever call me your friend. We are not friends; we have an arrangement and a deal, that is all. This is all business for me. And, might I mention, that this Harris fellow was only lucky that he escaped death. His luck can only hold out for so long.”

Mahmood flipped open the dossier on Harris. Only the ten men in the room knew the true capabilities of Shawn Harris. He stared hard at Harris’ photo, wanting to slam his fist down on the table and smash Harris’ face to a pulp. But he understood that such things did not come easily. He wanted Harris dead, as did the other nine men in the room, and he had hired this man to accomplish this feat. He had hired the man in the chair because he was supposedly the best there was at these types of tasks. Things weren’t going as smoothly as planned, but Mahmood remained positive. For money, power, and the control of men who were paid well always won these types of wars.

“Yes, well, we shall see how long his luck holds out. You are the best at this type of thing, are you not?”

“Without a doubt,” answered the man in the chair.

“Then, we can expect a result when?”

“Soon.”

“Fine. We will give you 48 hours. After that, we will find someone else to finish what you could not.”

The man in the chair took a sip of his scotch before answering, “No. You will give me as long as I need or the job will not be done. You see, I know everyone in this business, Mahmood, and everyone in this business happens to be the competition. And if you hire my competition… well… that might not bode well for your daughter and wife.”

Mahmood stiffened. How did he know about Mahmood’s daughter and wife? They’d never met in person. As far as Mahmood knew, they were both in separate countries. Maybe the man was simply taking a stab in the dark and trying to frighten him.

He laughed. “Do you really think that scares me?”

“Yes, I do,” answered the man in the chair in a calm, steely voice. “In fact, I think that Sariah and Simone would hate to miss their dance lessons together. You know, if they were taken in the middle of the day from your home in Abu Dhabi.”

Instantly, Mahmood knew that the man in the chair wasn’t bluffing. His tone, and more importantly his knowledge of Mahmood’s home in Abu Dhabi and of his daughter and wife’s schedules, meant that the man knew more about him than he knew about the man he’d hired. It was a mistake that could cost him the lives of the two people most dear to him.

“Now listen --” Mahmood started.

“No. You listen, Mahmood,” the man in the chair cut him off. “I will kill your wife and daughter if you decide to go to my competition. You hired me to do a job and I promise you, I will do it. It may take longer than your child-like patience has time for, but it will be done. I never fail; nor do the men I hire. I will contact you again when I have an update.”

With that, the speaker phone went dead and the nine men at the table glared at Mahmood. He knew they were upset, it was obvious by their stares. But he also knew that they felt he was the only one who could arrange what they’d all wanted - Shawn Harris in a grave. He stood up.

“You see, I hired this man for his passion for the job, for his ruthlessness. Do not worry, my friends, you will have what you want. We have paid this man, who is reputed to be the best of the best, a lot of money to ensure Mr. Harris pays for what he did to us. And he will pay. I guarantee it.”

***

Back in Oregon, the wet team frantically searched for Shawn. There were twelve men total, and Luis had divided them into four three-man teams. Each team had taken an area around the cabin to scour, but no teams had found anything so far. With the sun coming up in less than an hour, Luis desperately wanted to find the trail of the man. Luis didn’t know who this man was, and he didn’t care. He had been paid to do a job and so far he’d failed to complete it. While Luis was a man of caution, he was not a man of patience. His patience had been growing thin until his Bravo team leader had discovered something.

Luis’ radio crackled and his Bravo team leader spoke, “I think we have something, boss. Looks like he slipped out behind the cabin.”

Luis replied, “All teams stack on Bravo team behind the cabin.”

The Bravo team leader, a thick-muscled man with a shaved head and a coarse beard, led the way as the teams followed from the rear of the cabin.

***

As Shawn finished his last cup of MRE coffee, his thoughts were scattered in multiple directions. He simply couldn't fathom who had the know-how and money, along with the connections, to track him down. His military records were sealed; his files classified TOP SECRET. The only way anyone could get to his files would have been through personnel who had the clearance needed to grant access to them. That meant that someone had either voluntarily given his attackers his information, or that that someone had been forced to do so. Shawn considered both options and decided the latter was more likely. He couldn't believe that anyone he'd known from The Brotherhood had given him up. They had been more than friends - they had been family. As with all families, they’d had their ups and downs, but they had been closer than their real families and knew more about each other than their real families could imagine they knew about them. He knew it was impossible that it was someone from the group.

Shawn checked his watch. It was close to seven o’clock in the morning; the men who had attempted to take his life were either coming after him or had relented due to the daylight. Either way, he needed to get moving, so he gathered up his things and hung a right as he left the room inside the cave. He went deeper into the mountain and headed for the exit that he’d built with his grandfather years ago as a child. He had only timed the walk from the room to the exit twice, but it shouldn’t take him longer than an hour to reach it, walking at a normal interval.

Just as he rounded a corner almost out of sight of the main entrance to the cave, an explosion rocked the cave and the walls around him.

They had found his hideout.

Once Luis and his team found the man’s trail, it had been easy enough to follow. Luis hired the best mercenaries in the world to help him, which included the best trackers for such situations. The man had escaped once, he would not do so again. They had hurriedly tracked him to the entrance of the mine and, upon seeing the giant padlock and the iron-barred gate in front of them, Luis had ordered his demo man, Red, to bring up the explosives and get the gate opened. Red, nicknamed so because of his red hair and red beard, quickly set the charges of C-4 on the hinges of the gate.

“Stand back,” he said, as he prepped the remote detonator.

Red pressed the button firmly and the gate was blown off its hinges, falling heavily onto the ground.

“Move!” Luis ordered.

The 12-man team entered the cave, seeing the cave-room and moving quickly toward it where Shawn Harris had been only seconds before.

Shawn quickened his step and moved toward the two openings in front of him: one that led to the mine’s rear exit, the other that led to an old shaft where the main vein of silver had been found decades ago. He hoped his plan would work: to blow the vein opening so that the wet team would think that he’d gone down that one, blowing the entrance behind him. He took the opening on the right and jogged about 15 feet inside it. Stashed in a hole in the rock wall was a detonator device which linked to a set of explosives already rigged to blow in the other opening. Shawn connected the blasting cap of the cord to the detonator and squeezed the handle. The cave walls rocked again and, without a glance backward, Shawn sprinted down the tunnel and into the darkness toward the exit.

Luis was the first one out of the room Harris had used to recoup when the blast went off. He took off down the cave’s corridor and headed toward the blast site, his men following close behind. The team skidded to a halt in front of what used to be the opening to the main vein entrance.

“Dammit!” Luis shouted, “He blew the entrance behind him.”

“Who the hell is this guy, boss?” asked the Bravo team leader.

“I don’t know,” Luis replied, “but I intend to get a little more information from our client than was given to us to begin with.”

“Yo, boss,” Red said, pointing toward the opening that Harris had fled down. "You want us to check out down there?"

“Good idea. Take two men with you and make it 15 minutes in, then, come back if you’ve not found any traces of him. That’ll put you out of action 30 minutes minimum, which gives me enough time to call the client and request more information on our quarry.”

“You two,” Red said, “on me. Now.”

The three-man team headed toward the opening that led to the mine’s exit and carefully entered.

***

The Gimp was a slightly stooped man with a Bic-shaved head, a Romanesque nose, a thin-lipped mouth, and dark, sunken eyes. His real name no one knew, but the name he went by was for obvious reasons - the right side of his body was, by all appearances, deformed. He limped with his right leg and his right arm looked like a broken twig clinging desperately to its branch. But looks and nicknames could be very deceiving...

As he sat in his dimly lit room, he wondered exactly who the man in the chair was. The Gimp rarely cared for whom he worked, but his years spent in the underworld of assassins, criminals, and terrorists always elevated his instincts to a new level. In this particular case, he knew that the man in the chair worked for a a group of ten men. He did not, however, know the target or the reason the ten men wanted the target eliminated. This job was perhaps the most unusual in his career of being a liaison between mercenaries-for-hire and a client.