Page 4 of What I Should Have Done

“Not what Griff said,” Bernie quipped and leaned against the wobbly white table in the middle of the room. A few files labeled “Confidential” flapped from the movement as he crossed his arms.

“And since you lived with him and Jane all leave, we’re trusting his opinion on this shit over your broken-hearted ass,” Ford added.

Inhaling deeply, I leaned my head back and stared at the brown canvas stretched above us. “Eh, the moment I saw that dude fucking her, my heart quickly mended. I’m nobody’s second choice.”

But the thing was, they weren’t entirely wrong. While my feelings for Rachel were long gone and had been the moment that I’d walked into that room, my trust for women had not returned. Okay, so there was a part of my heart still twisted in the hands of anger. Anger for what she’d done. No matter how much I tried to deny it, she’d hurt me. And nobody hurt me unless I wanted them to.

I had wanted nothing to do with women while back in the States, and still wanted nothing to do with them. Not until I found a way to shake the open wound left by her choice.

This felt more like home than being back ever had, especially after that. And now, being here with these guys, sitting in the hot desert with nearly every modern accommodation non-existent, things just seemed right.

There were also only four or five women total out here at this outpost, all on the intelligence side of things, so I wouldn’t have to interact with them if I didn’t want to.

Out here, there was a sense of duty and responsibility. I was needed. I was wanted. The job required of me was more than just a job I was capable of doing, but one that I knew I would be able to do best. With these men by my side, no matter how annoying, we’d earned the right to be ranked where we were.

Mindless banter back and forth filled the empty space that was stuffy from the desert sun. Part of me wondered if I added up all the hours spent here in the Middle East versus back home in the United States, I’d logged more overseas.

A shadow passed by the entrance, and all five of us shot upright, knowing who we’d been waiting for. With the entire team standing at attention, the colonel himself ducked under the flap.

“Sit down, we’ve got a lot to cover and not a lot of time to do so,” Colonel Duke commanded, his voice stern as he immediately paced to the front of the small enclosure. In unintentional sync, all five of us spun on our heels to face the white table that separated us from the colonel. He ran a hand over a weathered face, gray hair speckling the tips of what used to be coal black, wispy strands.

“Alright, let’s first discuss the mission. While it’s fairly simple in terms, your captain wouldn’t have recommended you as the team assigned to this joint task if it actually was.” He snatched up a few files, thumbed through the manila envelopes and white papers, passing one for a douche named Merlin whose information showed up almost every deployment, and then finally plopped a file open on the table.

“Learn this name. Karim al-Jabari. I want it to be so ingrained on your ears and memory that even the slightest whisper of him sparks immediate attention.” The colonel leaned away from the table and crossed his arms as the rest of us tilted forward to study the only thing on the paper. My mind replayed the sound of his name spoken over and over as I scanned the printed letters. Not just in English but in Arabic, Kurdish, and several other languages that are prominent in this classified location.

“That’s it? His fucking name? No picture?” Dom asked, voicing the question that was rolling through my mind.

“That’s it. No one’s ever seen him, Lieutenant Commander.”

Dom shrugged. “Guess we’ve gone out with less before.”

“Hold on, you cocky sons of bitches,” Colonel Duke quickly interjected. He slid out the next manila folder and flipped it open with a hiss. My footsteps drew me closer to the table as a single picture met my gaze. “We have a little more than a name.”

“The hell is that?” Duncan murmured, running his fingers over his light-brown mustache as he stared at the blurry photograph that I was trying to dissect as well.

“It looks like a briefcase,” Ford grumbled, his low voice grating like rock on steel.

“It is technically a briefcase. But not just any briefcase. We call it the ‘Black Box’ and anytime it’s appeared on our radar, Karim al-Jabari has been associated with it. His name consistently comes up around this Black Box and known associates of al-Jabari are always seen with it.” The colonel flipped the blurry photograph over and revealed a slightly more focused one. With a black leather handle, the briefcase had ridges and seemed to be made of something more solid than simple cardboard. This was more than just a briefcase. Whatever was inside was extremely valuable.

“When did this fucker show up?” Dom asked.

“We heard rumors of his rise during your team’s last deployment, Lieutenant Commander, but he only recently jumped on our list of priorities due to the fact that we believe he’s planning some sort of attack directly onto US soil. The chatter surrounding his name and his resistance against the power-hungry greed of the West has become focused, more…substantial.”

“And you want us to go in and extract this Black Box?” Ford questioned to my left.

“Correct.” Colonel Duke flipped the folder closed and slid everything back into a neat little pile.

“What’s in this Black Box?” I asked, tucking my arms over my chest.

“No fucking clue since it’s locked with a code, but once we break in, we hope it’ll lead us to Karim al-Jabari so we can stop whatever he’s planning before he’s able to carry it out,” he replied.

“Alright, well,” Dom began. “Are we headed by chopper or—”

“Not yet, Commander,” the colonel cut him off. “We’ve already got a team of two behind the lines. Which is why you weren’t needed sooner. However, we’d like them to stay there even after we get our hands on the Black Box. Once we hear from one of them on the most recent location and where it will be transferred to, then you’ll be sent in to extract it.”

Duncan inhaled deeply and arched a brow. His deep-set eyes studying the photo that was hidden. “And hopefully snag a sighting of the fucker Karim al-Jabari,” he muttered.

“Since we have yet to ever see him with this box, we also hope maybe sending in your team will result in some new intel. Make this man more than just a whispered name within this terrorist cell.” The colonel picked up the stack of folders and sifted through them again as a droplet of sweat slid down the side of my face. Running the back of my hand across the moisture, I quickly swept it away as Ford adjusted the collar of his shirt, already coated in a wet ring. His callsign of “Tank” wasn’t just fitting because he was our weapons officer, but because he was built like a fucking tank.

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