Wired - Douglas E. Richards [81]
“What did your mother think of it all?”
“She had a similar philosophy. She wanted us to be happy. She admired my dad, but she made sure we knew the sacrifices we would be making if we joined up. Funny,” he added, “my brother joined up also. Went to Annapolis. I sometimes wonder if either of my folks had put pressure on us if we would have done something else, just to rebel.”
Desh hadn’t spoken of his father for a long time and his eyes reflected a deep loss.
“I’m sorry about your father,” said Kira softly.
He nodded. “If anyone knows about loss, it’s you,” he said. “Did any of my records say how it happened?”
“No. Just that he died in action.”
“Which is a misrepresentation,” said Desh dourly. “He was in Pakistan at a weeklong meeting with regional military leaders. He died buying fruit at a market near his hotel. Just another terrorist bombing. Ironic: he had seen a lot of action in his career, but he died off-duty and out of uniform.” His lip curled up in disgust. “They probably wouldn’t have bombed the place if they knew he was a general. They actually prefer killing civilians,” he said bitterly. “Generates more terror that way.”
Kira sighed supportively. After a few seconds of silence she said, “How’s your brother doing?”
“He’s doing well. I didn’t get to visit with him very often before I left the service. But since I became a civilian I’ve been seeing more of him.”
“Do you regret leaving the military?”
“Honestly, no. I feel a little selfish and maybe a little cowardly; but no. I was ready to leave even before the disaster in Iran. When you’re in the Delta Force you don’t form strong attachments to anyone outside your team—you can’t. Not really. And I didn’t want to go through life that way. I wanted to be a husband and father someday.”
They drove on in silence for several minutes. “You mentioned Iran,” began Kira hesitantly. “What happened there exactly?”
“You must have read the after action report.”
“I skimmed through it,” she acknowledged. “But it was lengthy and I didn’t read it carefully. Besides,” she continued, “If we’re going to be allies, David, the more insight we have into each other, the better. I’d be interested in hearing these events in your own words.”
Desh shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell,” he lied. He had planned to stop there when it occurred to him that Kira had bared her soul at the restaurant. Maybe it was his turn. He sighed heavily. “Okay, I’ll give you an abbreviated version.”
Desh paused and gathered himself. “Intel had finally located the leader of a terror group, Khalid Abdul-Malik. He was responsible for a series of bombings of churches and synagogues around the world, all timed during religious services to maximize casualties. He was headquartered just outside of Sanandaj, on Iran’s western border. We were sent in to capture him if possible, kill him if not. Our insertion was flawless.”
Desh tilted his head, remembering. “Satellites had picked up Abdul-Malik and some of his key lieutenants on the move, headed toward the nearby town of Mahabad, and we planned an ambush.” He shook his head, a tormented expression on his face. “But we were ambushed instead,” he said sullenly. He fell silent for several long seconds and then added, “They had been expecting us.”
“You were set up?”
“No question about it. I have no idea how.” Desh turned away from Kira and kept his gaze focused steadily on the road ahead, bracing himself to continue. “We were all taken prisoners, me and the three other members of my team. Since I was team commander, the terrorists decided to punish me by torturing my men to death in front of me—men who I loved as brothers.” He looked as if he might vomit. “My head