Do I Know You Read online

  Jack flipped on the overhead lights and dug around in a cabinet, finally extracting a glass which he filled to the brim. He shook his head, his lips pressed into a grim smile. “No…thanks, but no, George. I’ll pass on the offer.” He drained half the glass down his gullet. “It won’t help, and I’m afraid it would only make things worse.” A pallid smile flashed across his lips. “Don’t tell the army shrinks I said that, though.”

  “They might be right, you know…it might help to talk about it.” Smithson rubbed his face with both hands then cast his eyes to the floor. “I know I haven’t been the same since Lori’s death…nor have I had a good night’s sleep. Maybe it would help both of us if we talked…” Smithson’s voice trailed off.

  “I’ve haven’t been the same either, George; I’ve changed in ways I never could have imagined…and can’t always seem to control. Some of my actions back in Iraq, at Southern Medical Center—and what I did to Janice’s murderer—all make that painfully clear.” He shook his head and grimaced. “Hell, there were times at Southern Medical when my PTSD was so bad, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t murdered those lab techs…” He took another swig, draining the glass. “I know the shrinks at Walter Reed might disagree, but I’m afraid talking about all of this might only worsen those changes in me. I just don’t want to take the risk of making my PTSD flare up any more than it already does.”

  Jack’s gaze fleetingly met Smithson’s then Jack turned and set the glass in the sink.

  “I have it rough enough, Jack. I suppose I can’t imagine what it must be like for you. You actually saw it happen.”

  Jack shuffled to the Smithson’s side and patted his shoulder. “No, I didn’t just watch it happen…I let it happen. Like that Tom Hanks character in the movie, Green Mile, I guess it’s just my cross to bear until I die. Like that character, I also let one of the wonderful people in the world be killed.”

  “Jack! You know that not true!”

  Jack flicked off the lights and lumbered off into the dark.

  * * *

  Smithson shook his head hard, wishing he could shake the very memories away forever, then quickly glanced at Hank, who silently gawked at him then shrugged. Hank had openly sworn allegiance to the Amanda and Smithson, vowing he’d not let Jack’s sacrifice go to waste. He’d sobered up, cleaned up, and shaped up, now following the rigorous fitness routines that he’d practiced during his years as a Green Beret.

  It had been just the three of them clinging together the past couple of months since Jack had sprung Hank and other homeless veterans from the marijuana-growing slave camp. Though the three of them mechanically went through the motions of life, they were still a tight-knit support group for one another.

  Smithson glanced in the direction of the bang from Amanda’s bedroom door slamming closed. She’s a surprisingly resilient young woman, Smithson mused, no doubt inheriting that trait from both of her parents. He knew she was strong but she was still human…and only twelve years old, sometimes falling into fits of despair in spite of George’s and Hank’s constant encouragement. He was well aware that she missed her parents. George felt he and Hank did everything they could to fill that vacuum, Hank even continuing her marksmanship training with Lori’s old Colt .45 match pistol. But Amanda often expressed feelings of an overwhelming emptiness and he recognized that, no matter how hard he and Hank tried to fill that void in her life, they weren’t the same as having her own parents present.

  “Amanda” Hank bellowed. “Come on back out here. I have an idea.”

  Smithson raised an eyebrow as he gazed at Hank. “You really think that’ll get her back here?” he asked skeptically.

  “Amanda! It’s something I think you’ll like,” Hank called out.

  A few seconds later her face suddenly appeared around the corner of the wall. “What?” she mumbled. “And this better not be some dumb trick, Hank.”

  Hank smiled broadly and moved his gaze between his two housemates.

  “I have a great idea! We all need to get away from here—do something fun…something interesting that will take our minds out of this morbid rut,” Hank said, his bravado not quite sounding convincing to Smithson. “Amanda, you’ve got spring break coming up—let’s all figure out somewhere fun to go. All of us.”

  Smithson and Amanda exchanged glances and then both looked at Hank, both shrugging limply then nodding without enthusiasm.

  Hank clapped his hands together. “Great! I’ll start doing some research for vacation destinations. Someplace fun and safe.”

  Chapter 3

  Chester Forbright scowled and shook his head as he watched his Syrian trainees fumble through yet another training exercise, one falling from the cargo netting they were climbing, the other dropping his rifle as he grabbed for his colleague.

  “Jesus Christ!” he grumbled then stood, wiping the torrent of sweat from his brow then jabbing an index finger at the group of young men as he strutted toward them.

  “What the hell is wrong with you goddam idiots? How can you be so clumsy? I’m going to come over there and kick the crap out of each and every one of you if you don’t start getting your shit together!” He stopped in the midst of the group who all cowed as he glared at them. “I’m gonna show you one more time just how easy this is.” He snatched his pistol from the holster on his hip, moving the barrel tip inches from each of their faces. “And anybody who screws it up next time gets shot! And I mean shot dead! Got that?”

  The men all nodded vigorously as they took a collective step back.

  Chester was a long way from his childhood home deep in the woods of northwestern Arkansas, where his family had rarely even traveled from the “holler” in which he’d been raised, to the local town. They had never ventured beyond the borders of the state, and Chester had the feeling from an early age that joining the army might be his only ticket out of his childhood hell-hole.

  His father was an occasionally-employed alcoholic, his beleaguered mother drained physically and mentally from providing for and taking care of eight children. Nine if one included—and she always did—her largely worthless husband.

  Chester had finally signed up for the military before he’d been able to finish high school. It had been strongly suggested he do so by a frustrated judge—the one who had seen Chester in front of his bench too many times for a variety of petty crimes over a number of years.

  Chester had actually done well for a number of years in the armed forces, his experience hunting in his youth transferring well to that of a marksman and ultimately to the role of a sniper in the 75th Ranger Regiment. He’d deployed to the Middle East for several tours and eventually achieved a rank of staff sergeant. He’d grown increasingly frustrated, though, after mandatory stateside assignments and found the boredom made it difficult for him to uphold the Ranger motto, “to uphold the prestige, honor, and high esprit de corps of my Ranger Regiment.”

  In spite of the discipline that had been enculturated into him by the Rangers, he eventually reverted to the bad behaviors of his childhood. His old juvenile habits resurfaced with increasing frequency, leading to a string of petty crimes, which finally caught up with him. He was ultimately drummed out of service with a dishonorable discharge after being caught stealing and selling a car from one of the commanding colonels. The JAG attorney had told him that it was only because of Chester’s exemplary service record in combat theaters, and the fact that the vehicle had been returned, that he’d avoided a court martial and a long term in the brig. The lawyer still made it abundantly clear that if the military ever became aware of his breaking the law as a civilian, they’d happily provide any prosecutor all the details that had led to Chester’s discharge.

  Chester felt betrayed and forever held a grudge against the US military, vowing he’d never again hold allegiance to anyone but himself, looking for solace inside a bottle of booze just as his father had.

  He quickly ascended the cargo netting strung between two telephone poles then nimbly made his way down the other side before jogging back to stand amid his students again.

  “And that’s how it’s done, you dumbasses! So don’t let me hear you griping about how hard it is!”

  He moved from one man to the next, glaring into the eyes of each as he stood nose-to-nose with them.

  “All right, take five, and then be ready to do it right!” he yelled at the trainees before returning to his chair in the shade of a beach umbrella, putting his feet up on an old, wooden barrel, where he tried to relax and think about being somewhere else.

  As often happened when he found his mind idle, though, he thought back to when he’d been captured by Hank Greene and Jack Bass at the slave camp in the Appalachian Mountains in the eastern US. He’d planned on being able to retire from what he earned there, working as a guard for the captured, homeless veterans as they’d toiled in the fields of marijuana. The memory never failed to raise his ire.

  * * *

  Chester sneered as he pointed his shotgun down at Jack Bass, the horse he was riding now within a few yards of Jack, towering over him as Jack pressed his back against the log he lay against on the ground.

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here? A lost hiker…or some dumbass who has something else in mind?" His brow furrowed, as he scowled suspiciously down at Jack then thrust a finger at him. "What's with the camo outfit, Rambo?”

  Chester barely had time to register the sight of the blurry shadow suddenly appearing above him as Hank dropped from a tree limb, his legs cocked tightly then kicking out viciously, sending Chester flying from his saddle. Hank rolled once when he hit the ground then scrambled to his feet, yanking the Colt .45 from his belt as he rushed to stand over Chester.

  “You! I can’t believe you were stupid enough to come back,” Chester yelled, as he lay on his back, looking up at Hank. “You’re gonna pay for this, Greene, you maggot!” Chester growled before starting to roll to his hands and knees.

  Hank kicked Chester hard in the butt, sending him sprawling onto his face then quickly stepped across him, squatting as he straddled his back. He grabbed a handful of Chester’s hair and jerked his head back before mashing the tip of the Colt against the back of Chester’s head. Hank snarled and cocked the hammer of the gun.

  “Hank! Stop! You’ll get your payback—just not now. Okay?” Jack called out.

  The last thing Chester remembered from the confrontation was the butt of the Colt pistol grip being brought down hard against the side of his head. Chester had awoken later bound to a tree, his neck secured by the long, leather strap he’d used to inflict discipline on any camp slave he felt had gotten out of line or wasn’t working hard enough. Chester felt his temper flare when Hank laughed at him.

  “You better hope your legs don’t give out or you don’t fall asleep before somebody finds you,” Hank snugged up another binding around Chester then stepped back, glowering at Chester several seconds. Hank’s foot shot out, solidly impacting Chester’s groin.

  Hank stepped in close again, his nose touching Chester’s. “That’s for Donna, the lady you seemed to think was your personal sex toy. All she ever wanted was to get back with her two kids. Now, you’ve probably got her head so fucked up that will never happen.”

  * * *

  What a couple of cowards! Ambushing me by jumping out of a tree! Chester punched his fist in the air, imagining he made contact with the other men’s faces. You screwed up a great gig for me…one that was gonna let me retire. Now I have no money to show for the effort…and I can’t even go to the US because the goddam FBI is hunting me!

  “If I ever see Greene or Bass again, they’re dead men!” he grumbled as he jumped up then swaggered toward his waiting trainees.

  “All right, you goddam maggots, form up! Let’s try it again,” he yelled, watching the trainees scramble into a ragged line. “And remember, anybody who screws up this time gets shot!”

  A vision of Jack’s face flitted through his mind.

  “I’m tired of things not going the way they should!”

  Chapter 4

  Monday, 0530

  Hank slowed to a walk on the track on the deck of the large cruise ship as it skimmed through the sparkling, azure waters of the eastern Mediterranean Sea. He didn’t mind running in dim light as much as he did constantly dodging unaware travelers casually strolling on the track. They interfered with him maintaining his desired pace, so he always ran just before sunrise. He checked his watch and quickly determined that his time for completing the run had fallen within the Green Beret training parameters, though he was barely breathing hard after finishing his six-mile run this morning.

  He was in great physical shape again and had remained drug and alcohol free since Jack had rescued Hank not just from the veteran slave camp, where he’d been held, but also from his own poor lifestyle choices. Now, with George Smithson’s significant influence within the VA hospital system, as well as the broader medical community, Hank had made much progress in learning to better manage his PTSD, the demon that had been unknown to him but that had driven his self-destructive behaviors.

  Hank was an ex Green Beret First Sergeant who had done one combat tour too many, watched explosions rip too many comrades to shreds before his eyes, and had seen too many mangled bodies of women and children whose only mistake had been being in the wrong place at the wrong time in a combat zone. He’d eventually been forced into a medical discharge because of the heavy drinking he partook in to help him manage his high stress level.

  His needs being largely unmet by the VA Hospital system after his discharge, his severe PTSD and related depression had driven him further into a life of debauchery and drug use until he’d ended up homeless, living in the gutter. He’d thought about ending his life many days in that period of his life, welcoming the thought of swallowing that final bullet…every day he was sober enough to be aware, anyway. And those had been very few.

  For some reason, which still wasn’t clear to him, he’d been targeted for abduction by a group of men, snatched from his slumber in a cardboard box in a dark, backwater alley one cold, winter night. He and other homeless veterans had then been hauled like cattle to an isolated camp high in the Appalachian Mountains, where they’d been forced into slave labor, tending to a large crop of illegal “medical” marijuana. With the broad advent of legalized cannabis, the camp organizers had discovered a thriving market with explosive demand for their product and huge profit potential—stoked even further if they could minimize production costs.

  Being ruthless, greedy men, they’d chosen to use slave labor as their solution to further increase their profit margins. Thinking they were largely an invisible population to the general public, they’d decided that homeless veterans, who all had psychiatric issues, would be the perfect business answer for them. In order to get necessary cooperation from their selected workforce, they had no qualms about drugging and beating the captives into submission at the camp, even killing some when the masters felt it necessary.

  Hank had eventually escaped, vowing to die rather than ever being taken back, stumbling through the remote, mountainous forest that surrounded the pot camp site for many miles. After several days, and with quickly worsening health, Hank had run across Jack Bass in the woods. Jack was searching for the very camp Hank had just left behind. The slave camp founders had killed a friend of Jack’s and had also attempted to kill him and his daughter. He quickly enlisted Hank to collaborate with him to locate the camp and free the rest of the imprisoned veterans…and for Jack to end the ongoing threat to Jack’s loved ones from the cold-blooded killers who ran the camp. The same killers who were ringleaders of another group of horrible people who’d haunted Jack’s life in the past—the people who had killed his wife and unborn child. Unfortunately, both Hank and Jack had been shot up badly as they’d helped the interred veterans escape, Jack taking a mortal wound to his chest as he’d attempted to haul Hank to safety after he’d taken a bullet.

  Hank looked out over the glittering sea and shook his head hard to get rid the thoughts of what his life had deteriorated to in the past.

  Hank now made it his life’s mission to protect George Smithson and Jack’s daughter, Amanda, from any and all threats. As a veteran, Hank had easily qualified for a “concealed carry” license and never left the house without a Smith & Wesson .40 caliber pistol concealed somewhere on his person. He knew he’d willingly die defending both of them against any potential threat to their lives…he felt there had already been too many. Though Hank had only heard the stories, he’d pledged to himself that none of those past dangers would ever be repeated, as long as he was alive. His vigilance was unwavering, rarely letting either of the two out of his sight, often sitting in his car outside Amanda’s school for hours after dropping her off, until he felt comfortable that there were no brewing threats for her.

  “Thank you, Jack. You gave me a second shot at life, and I’ll never go to that dark place again,” he growled as he toweled himself off then decided to run another mile just for good measure.

  Chapter 5

  Monday, 0830

  Hank joined Amanda at the table in the breakfast dining area on the fantail of the cruise ship as it lazily rolled over the waves southeast of the boot tip of Italy. She was gazing up at the gulls that followed in the wake of the ship, the sunshine giving her complexion a warm glow. Above them, the graceful birds dipped and swooped behind the ship.

  “Beautiful morning,” Hank said congenially as he set his coffee cup on the table and pulled out a chair.

  Amanda startled and spun, half-way out of her seat before a broad smile quickly covered her face when she saw it was Hank.

  “Oh, hi, Hank. You kinda scared me for a second there.”

  “Sorry, Amanda. I forget sometimes how easily you spook these days—I-I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  She giggled nervously and slowly lowered herself back onto her chair. “Don’t worry about it, Hank…I know you didn’t,” she said as she nodded up at the birds. “It really is a gorgeous day…and I love sitting out here and watching the gulls play. I wish I could fly up there with them.”