The Shadowboxer Files: The Shadowboxer Files

By Chris Lowry

They taught him how to kill

And turned him into the world's most hunted hitman.

He gets the jobs no one else wants.

And when he goes after the powerful, he makes enemies.

A lot of them.

Now they want him gone.

Eliminated like he got rid of the bad men in the world.

It's going to take all his skill and a lot of luck if he wants to survive.

But They don't call him Shadowboxer for nothing.

Trying to find him is like chasing shadows.

 

Fans of action packed thrillers are going to stay up all night swiping this massive boxset.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Lowry
• Release date: Oct 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223713449

Chris Lowry

Chris Lowry is an author and adventure seeker who has traveled the globe exploring new worlds and writing about his thrilling experiences. With over one hundred thrillers, science fiction, and urban fantasy novels to his name, as well as more than a thousand articles published across various publications, Chris has established himself as a master storyteller and a leading voice in the world of action and adventure. Whether he's fighting off hordes of undead in a post-apocalyptic wasteland or braving the depths of outer space, Chris is always ready for his next thrilling adventure. Follow his journey as he battles against impossible odds and becomes the hero that the world needs.

Book preview

1

Chapter 1

CONSCRIPTED

by

CHRIS LOWRY

Copyright © 2016 Grand Ozarks Publishing

All rights reserved.

CONSCRIPTED

Can I send you SHADOWBOXER for Free?

Brill Wingfield is an assassin selling his gun to the highest bidder. After a clean assignment in Mexico someone takes a shot at him. Wounded and confused, he needs answers as the man who taught him how to kill hunts him across the Yucatan jungle. Who put out the contract on him? Why is a simple grad student helping a blood drenched stranger? And why is the man who was like a father to him ready to have him die?

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2

CHAPTER ONE

His first thought was the man wasn’t wearing any socks.

Brill Wingfield stepped through the double doors into the mansion tucked away on a ridge above the city that looked over the River. Floor to ceiling glass windows made up the far wall with elegant plush furnishings scattered through the long living room arranged to maximize the view.

A long legged man with short curly hair lounged on one of the couches, feet crossed at the ankle as he smiled at Brill.

So this is him? he stood up and extended his hand.

Brill shook it and couldn’t help but smile back.

Sir, said the man who answered the door. This is Brill Wingfield.

Brill huh? the smiling man said in a husky voice. Like Brillo pad?

Short for Brilliant, Brill answered. My mother was from Brilliant Alabama and she married one of the Wingfield boys. So Brill Wingfield.

The man laughed and pulled Brill further into the house.

Shelby why don’t you grab us a couple of iced tea’s, he said.

Shelby Johnson excused himself with a nod and went into what Brill presumed was the kitchen. He could hear ice tinkling into glasses.

Brill, the man sat him down on a sofa. He was the governor of the State, and was taller in person than he looked on television.

Sir?

Brill had never been in such august company before.

His normal circles were his factory working stepfather, or paycheck to paycheck living mother, both alcoholics and mild drug addicts, so that finding himself in the presence of a Governor in one of the richest men’s homes in the capitol was like a passage from a book.

Shelby told me you scored pretty high on some tests, the Governor’s eyes twinkled.

I suppose so.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret, said the man as Shelby entered with a three glasses on a tray.

He offered one to Brill first, then the Governor and took one from himself. Shelby sat to one side of Brill and sipped the sweating glass.

We’ve been looking for someone like you, the Governor finished.

Me?

High School is tough, isn’t it Brill? asked Shelby.

It can be, yes sir, Brill chugged the tea.

There are a lot of tests, both social and intellectual. Some of them we have administered on our behalf, Shelby continued.

Brill wasn’t sure if he should respond so he didn’t. He just sipped the tea again.

You took a series of tests and of all the students in your high school, you were the only one that scored how we thought across the board.

Brill set his tea glass down.

How was that sir? he asked the Governor.

The man glanced at Shelby and stared at Brill with intense ice blue eyes.

It’s not about being the smartest, though you have plenty of smarts. It’s not about being the most intelligent, but I’m glad to tell you your IQ is pretty darn high. Maybe higher than mine, the man laughed. But it was the combination of results we were looking for, and I’m very proud to say, you’re our man.

Brill let his eyes roam over the room. It was difficult to hold the Governor’s stare for too long.

The man was intense even as he tried to look relaxed in faded jeans and boat shoes with no socks.

Brill knew that was for effect, just as he knew they men brought him here to impress him with wealth.

He wasn’t sure how he knew, maybe it was the way they hemmed him in against the wall, the Governor in front of him, Shelby on one side and a low bookshelf on the other with well worn copies of The Art of War and Marcus Aurelius.

Man for what?

Shelby raised an eyebrow toward the Governor.

Told you he was smart, he smirked.

Clued in, I believe you said, the Governor smiled again. Brill, we want you to do some work for us.

A job?

Sort of a job, yes, but more like a duty. I’m going to appeal to your patriotism here Brill, but your country needs you.

Me?

Men like you. You’re a very rare type, said Shelby. Should we give him some background Sir?

Brill I’m going to be President one day, the Governor said. My team is laying the groundwork now, and this isn’t just a childhood dream where someone says what they hope to be when they grow up. I’m getting the nomination, I’m running and I think the American people are going to vote for me, for what I can do.

What can you do?

The Governor took a sip of tea and set his glass down.

Shelby shifted up and moved it to a coaster on the wooden table.

That’s the right question to ask. It’s what you should be asking of yourself. What can you do?

Yes Sir, Brill answered. You told me I was special or did well on some tests, but I don’t feel special.

You have a friend at school, said Shelby. From South Africa.

Brill nodded and blushed.

Laurette was more than a friend, she was the love of his life.

Your friend is scheduled to go back at the end of the year, said the Governor.

It was one of the things on the horizon they dreaded.

Her term as an exchange student would end, and she would return home.

They had discussed marriage as a way for her to stay, had even talked of running away together to explore California and the West Coast.

Those were fancies of youth and Laurette wouldn’t do that to her father, a cabinet minister in the South African government.

Would you like to go with her? Shelby asked.

Brill stared at the two men who surrounded him.

They had an angle and he wasn’t sure what their agenda was, but if it gave him the chance to be with Laurette, to go with her, meet her parents and see her home, it might be worth a trade.

I’m listening, he said.

3

CHAPTER TWO

Laurette Van Housen knocked on the door of the bedroom he was using in her parent’s home on the outskirts of Johannesburg.

She sneaked in and crawled beside him in the oversized bed, snuggled against him.

His eighteen-year-old body responded in the way men were designed and she giggled as he pressed against her.

No time silly, she whispered and kissed his neck. My father is waiting to take us to the airport.

He persisted, wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her throat.

Don’t get me started, she moaned, her body warm as she rubbed against him too.

We have time, he said softly.

She shoved him away and jumped out of bed.

No we don’t, but she was smiling and he smiled back at her.

Later then.

He jumped up and she stared at his muscular body clad only in boxer shorts.

Yes, later. I’m sure of it.

She sauntered over to him again, kissed him lightly on the lips and ran her hands down his chest.

Come down quickly, she pulled away. There’s breakfast and father is waiting.

He watched her walk out of the room and grabbed a pair of pants off of a Victorian bench at the end of the bed.

He ran fingers through his short hair and pulled a shirt on with the pants.

Downstairs Mr. Van Housen sat at a giant wooden table.

The polished top reflected his graying hair and sour visage, but Brill knew it was an act.

The man was warm and generous and had welcomed the American boy into his home like a prodigal son.

This due more to the four daughters and wife that occupied the domicile and he was vastly outnumbered by women in the home.

Good morning Sir.

Good morning Brill. Sleep well?

Very well Sir.

Good. Break your fast and let’s be on, shall we?

Brill grabbed some fruit and a cup of coffee and sat across from Mr. Van Housen.

Are you ready to see your first refugee camp? Van Housen asked.

I think so.

It’s good that you and Laurette are choosing to help. Dreadful what’s happening up there.

Brill nodded. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on up there but knew that it was bad.

In America, he was far removed from the affairs of the world, especially in the continent of Africa.

He knew the government was dealing with apartheid, and that changes were underway, but hadn’t bothered to research it.

He was young, and stupid in love with the girl who ran into the room.

Are you ready? she said breathlessly.

Her blue eyes glowed with excitement and her sun kissed skin sparkled under an unruly mop of auburn hair.

Brill finished off the cup of coffee and followed after.

4

CHAPTER THREE

The plane ride was bumpy and nerve-wracking.

The first time Brill had been in a plane it was to fly to Africa. He was nervous over the Atlantic ocean, imagining how it would feel to plummet into the dark depths below.

If not for the young girl holding his hand, he might have said no.

But Laurette was an exchange student at his small high school and now it was his turn to follow her home.

Because she was involved in charity work through her father, Brill got involved as well. They collected food and delivered it to the entrance to shantytowns under the watchful eyes of armed guards.

And now Laurette, Mr. Van Housen and Brill were flying to a refugee camp in Angola.

There are over fifteen thousand people in this camp, Mr. Van Housen screamed over the turboprop. There’s always a shortage of food, medicine, essentials. I’m warning you Brill, it’s going to be awful.

Brill nodded, though he knew he couldn’t imagine it.

Growing up poor in America was very different from being poor in another country.

He had learned that first hand just gazing through the barricades into the shantytowns.

The smell will knock you over, warned Van Housen. I know aid workers have tried to set up sanitation and latrines, but with so many people in such a small space-

It’s just too much for them Father, Laurette interjected.

We’ll do what we can to help, said Mr. Van Housen.

5

CHAPTER FOUR

Brill heard what he thought were firecrackers on the edge of the camp. The screams reached him next, then a wave of people stampeded past. Women clutched wailing children, men shouted and tried to push back in the direction they were fleeing.

Laurette, Brill shouted above the din.

He moved back into the one room shanty that served as a medical and administration center. Laurette was at one of the rickety old desks with a young doctor who was making a list of medicines for them to bring on the next trip.

Somethings happening, he said.

The doctor, Jan perked up as screams and gunfire broke through the open door.

Rebels, she said. You need to get clear.

She grabbed Laurette by the arm and shoved her toward the door.

Go! she screamed. Meet your father at the airstrip.

What about you? Laurette jerked her arm free.

They don’t hurt doctors, she said. But staff and anyone else needs to get away.

She pushed them out onto the wooden steps and slammed the doors closed in their faces.

They could hear a bar being dropped across the inside of the doors, blocking them out.

Run, Brill grabbed her hand.

They pushed out into the crowd but running was an optimistic assessment for what they were doing in the press of human bodies.

Gunfire erupted behind them. Brill heard the whiz of bullets over their heads.

He dragged her faster.

The camp wasn’t set up for quick movement.

Refugees built their shelters out of available material they could scrounge, and in no pattern or order, except for the main corridor.

It ran straight from the airstrip to the almost middle of camp where a quasi council held meetings.

The medical and admin building was near the center.

Brill and Laurette had to make a trek from the center of the camp to the airstrip, a trip that would normally take ten minutes by truck.

But every panicked refugee crowded into the clearest path creating a human traffic jam and blocking escape.

Fear made them careless and reckless.

The refugees knocked down the elderly, the children and vaulted over them when they could.

But it was too much. People were trampled.

The crowd grew too thick to move, just surged as everyone shuffled forward.

Brill held on to Laurette’s hand, wrapped his arm around her, trying to keep her close.

A man’s head exploded next to him and showered him with gore.

Laurette screamed and gagged, her body seizing as breakfast came up.

A woman knocked her down into the mud and muck.

Brill hovered over her. The bodies slammed into him, people tried to shove him aside, and down, out of their way so they could escape.

He tried to lift her up as refugees bounced off them, stepped on them and over them.

Then the crowd was gone, moved past them.

Brill jerked Laurette up and limped after the last of the people fleeing.

A hand grabbed him and threw him to the ground.

He rolled over and stared up into the snarling black face of a rebel. He must have been the same age as Brill, or younger even.

The rebel shoved the hot barrel of an AK-47 into his chest and pushed him further into the muck.

Brill… Laurette sobbed.

Another rebel grabbed her by the hair and lifted her off the ground.

She screamed and kicked.

Brill lunged for them.

The rebel over him drew back his rifle and slammed the butt into his head and everything went dark.

6

CHAPTER FIVE

The rumbling of a truck engine woke him up. He cracked open one eye and squinted.

His head was surrounded by ancient muddy combat boots, shredded sneakers and black bare feet.

He looked up.

The rebels were crammed into the back of a pickup truck bed, nine or ten of them surrounding him.

His arms were tied behind his back and he was in the middle of them.

They spoke in a patois he couldn’t understand.

Hey, one of the rebels in front of him said.

Brill glanced over.

The rebel smiled to show a big gold tooth and kicked him in the face.

He blacked out again.

7

CHAPTER SIX

Goldie slapped him awake.

That’s what he was going to call the rebel with the gold tooth.

Brill was bent over a table, his feet on the floor, ankles tied to the table leg with just a little slack.

His arms were stretched across the width of the table, each tied to a table leg.

He had his shirt on, but they removed his jeans and boxers.

Across from him, he Laurette was tied in the same fashion.

Bent over the table, arms and legs lashed to the table legs, and completely naked. She sobbed.

Goldie slapped him again.

Wake! the rebel cried. Wake.

He lifted Brill’s head up and made a motion with his fingers.

He pointed at Brill’s eyes, then back at his own.

He repeated it twice to make sure Brill got the message.

Watch.

Goldie strutted around the table until he was behind Laurette.

He unbuckled his pants and dropped them.

He locked eyes with Brill and made him watch while Laurette screamed.

Someone shuffled behind Brill.

He struggled, yanked against the ropes, but strong hands pinned him against the table.

In seconds, he was screaming too.

8

CHAPTER SEVEN

He lost count of the hours, the men. Laurette watched him, the tears gone, replaced with a numb zombie expression as rebel after rebel assaulted her.

They watched him too, white smiles splitting their snarling faces.

They were boys, teens, and a couple of older men with hair starting to gray.

When one finished with her, another assaulted him.

He never saw their faces, just the pain, though the procession must have been the same rebels raping her.

He prayed, he cried and sobbed and tried to beg.

Words were lost in a stream of gibberish as he wailed for them to stop.

Her wails were lost in his.

Blood ran down both of their legs and pooled on the floor, drawn together in a slant to mix in an ever-widening pool.

He lost feeling, he went numb and was thankful, grateful.

If it wasn’t an answer to the prayer to stop, at least he couldn’t feel the ripping, the tearing.

They grunted on top of him, slapped the back of his head, punched him.

He thought about banging his head against the table, trying to knock himself out, or at least senseless.

But Laurette watched him.

Her eyes locked on his.

She watched him unable to save her, unable to save himself, defend himself.

She watched a parade of rebels climb on him, rape him and beat him.

She watched as they did the same to her, too many, so many until the light in her eyes dimmed.

He watched her die.

She sighed one last time, kept her eyes open and stopped breathing.

Maybe it was blood loss.

Maybe she knew the rebels were going to kill them and she robbed them of that pleasure.

Or maybe they killed something inside of her, the spark she had, and with that spark gone, her body followed.

Brill knew they were killing him too.

Each assault killed a part of him, each forced grunt and punch pushed him one step closer to following Laurette.

They left her dead body on the table edge and now he couldn’t see any of them.

He could hear their shuffling, hear them behind him, and he felt them as they turned all of the attention to him.

He screamed, but no sound came out, his voice lost hours or days ago.

9

CHAPTER EIGHT

Silenced bullets make a distinct sound when fired in an enclosed situation.

Brill thought the bullets were giant flying bugs.

They whizzed through the room and he heard the thuds and splats, the drips and spatters but of what he couldn’t see behind him.

A man in black battle fatigues walked past him.

He wore a balaclava and golden tinted wraparound sunglasses that hid his eyes.

He put two fingers to Laurette’s neck.

Damn, he muttered.

Brill recognized the Afrikaans accent.

Goggles moved to Brill and felt his neck too.

Brill tried to speak, but only a raspy grunt came out.

This one’s still alive.

The girl? asked a voice from behind him.

The man in the Goggles shook his head.

God damn it, breathed the man behind the scarf.

There goes our bonus. Cut the boy loose.

Golden Goggles pulled an eight-inch blade from his boot and sliced through the twine holding Brill’s arms to the table legs.

With the pressure gone, he collapsed to the ground, his legs still bound.

Blood leaked out of his shredded wrists.

Goggles released his legs.

He looked around and jerked a dish towel off a shelf.

He covered up Brill’s crotch.

Give it a minute, said Goggles. We’ll get you up and moving.

Brill rolled over onto his knees.

He pushed himself up on shaky arms, then to his feet.

He stood like a deer trying to walk for the first time. He stumbled over to the wall, leaned over and retched.

There wasn’t anything in his stomach but bile.

Goggles tossed the towel to him. Brill wiped his mouth, then folded the towel in half and wedged it between his buttocks.

He was ripped and torn, and tried to cover the wounds.

Goggles held out a canteen. Brill took two sips and Goggles pulled it away.

Too much too fast and you’ll sick again.

Brill leaned against the wall.

There were five dead rebels on the floor, their blood and viscera mixing with his and Laurette’s under the table.

Besides Goggles, there were two other men in the room, each to one side of the closed door.

We’re going to get you out of here, said Goggles. Think you can walk a bit?

Brill nodded and pushed up off the wall.

It wouldn’t be much of a walk, more like a limp and every part of his lower body ached.

We’ll get you a doctor back at base, Goggles held on to his shoulder to steady him. "

Arnoux there is a medic, but looks like you’ll need more work than we can do.

Arnoux stood to the left of the door.

He bent down and began stripping a pair of camo pants off one of the dead rebels.

We didn’t bring pants, he said and tossed them to Goggles.

The man slung his rifle behind his back and helped Brill slip into the dead man’s pants one leg at a time.

No time to clean you up more, said Goggles and he pulled the pants up past Brill’s waist.

He pointed to Laurette.

Grab her Charl.

The other soldier nodded and cut her body loose.

He slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and set his rifle against his shoulder.

Goggles helped steady Brill with arm and readied his rifle with the other.

He nodded to Arnoux.

Stay close, he whispered.

Arnoux jerked the door open, peeked around the edge and went through with his weapon raised.

Goggles took Brill out next and Charl brought up the rear.

Brill shuffled next to the soldier, gasping with each step.

The numbness fled his nether regions as blood flooded back in.

He could feel it leaking down his legs, along with other fluids and waste.

The nerves came alive with feeling and he seized up and stumbled.

Goggles halted and made a quick whistle for Arnoux.

The point soldier went to one knee and scanned their perimeter with the sight of his rifle.

Move, growled Goggles.

He yanked Brill up by the arm, but his legs still wouldn’t work.

Pins, needles and white hot lasers pricked every section of skin.

Ripped muscles spasmed, and each spasm was a new wave of agony.

Goggles dragged him along. Brill pinwheeled his legs, trying to keep up.

Five minutes to extraction, said Arnoux as they drew next to him.

Get the others, Goggles ordered.

Arnoux disappeared into the nighttime between the jungle brush.

Goggles and Charl struggled under their burdens.

Brill tried to help but each step felt like being stabbed with a white hot poker.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry, and fought back on making any sound at all as the soldier half carried him through the bush.

They reached a clearing after two hundred yards.

The trees formed a circle around the edge of the clearing, a black wall full of silent jungle.

Goggles eased Brill down next to the bole of a tree. Charl deposited Laurette’s body next to him.

Perimeter sweep, said Goggles.

Charl crept around the edge, black commando fatigues making him impossible to distinguish against the night.

Brill reached out and brushed hair back from Laurette’s eyes.

She was cold, stiff, eyes glazed over and milky.

How long were we there? he rasped.

Two days, said Goggles.

The bushes rustled behind them as Arnoux returned with three other men.

Their commander escaped, one of the men reported to Goggles. We terminated twenty-two.

Goggles nodded. Charl returned and gave the all clear.

They bent in the grass and waited.

A black helicopter swooped over the edge of the clearing and circled around.

It dropped lightly into the middle of the grass. Charl and Arnoux lifted Laurette.

Goggles and another man lifted Brill. The squad ran for the open chopper doors in a tight formation.

They jumped up and strapped in as the helicopter lifted off.

It was on the ground for less than five seconds.

10

CHAPTER NINE

They landed at the end of a small airstrip cut into the jungle after an hour in the air.

Brill had no idea where they were, only that they flew just above the treetops in the moonlit sky over the jungle.

Small lights winked in the darkness, flashing by too fast to determine if they were campfires or houses with electrical generators.

A surplus military troop transport rumbled down the airstrip to meet them.

Goggles and Arnoux lifted Brill out of the helicopter and slung one arm over each shoulder to help him into the back of the truck.

Two other soldiers lifted Laurette’s body and placed it in a body bag, which they carried to a small cargo plane waiting by an airport hanger.

Brill lifted a hand to wave, then felt stupid for doing it.

They didn’t get to say goodbye, they never would.

Goggles clapped him on the shoulder and Brill jumped.

Arnoux called our Doc to meet us at the compound, he said. Our commander’s going to want to speak with you.

Brill nodded and hunched over.

He couldn’t sit up straight, it put too much pressure on the ripped pieces of him, so he shifted over sideways, legs splayed out, and leaned on an elbow.

The truck carried them down the airstrip and past the gated walls of a compound carved out of the jungle.

They rode past an empty firing range, and obstacle course full of bars, and ropes and poles.

There were over two dozen canvas topped wood cabins perched on logs and off the ground, half walls made of screen and mesh to allow air in and keep insects out.

Two larger buildings dominated the center of the compound, a mess hall and Command structure.

The truck pulled to a stop in front of a smaller cabin set to one side of the mess hall.

Arnoux hopped down and helped Brill out.

He carried him into the cabin.

Doc turned out to be a thirty-six-year-old med school trained commando.

He had piercing blue eyes, jet black hair with gray at the temples and razor sharp cheeks.

His large hands were muscled and gentled.

Put him on the table, he instructed Arnoux.

The soldier deposited him on the padded exam table.

I’m going to cut your pants off, said the Doc. They told me you had some trouble out there.

Brill snorted.

Trouble, he rasped.

Doc took a giant pair of shears and clipped through the pants legs, up one side down the other.

He did the same to the shirt until Brill was on the tabletop naked.

Doc pulled a tray of instruments and bandages over to the table.

I’m going to examine you, he told Brill. Let me suture your head wounds. Arnoux, scrub up and let’s clean off some of this mess.

Arnoux went to a sink on the wall where he stripped out of a tactical vest and arranged his weapons on a chair.

He washed his hands and arms in the sink with alcohol scrub.

Doc took a gauze and cleaned off Brill’s forehead.

They knocked you pretty good here, he examined the wound. You’re going to need about twenty stitches. Rifle butt?

Uh-huh, Brill mumbled.

The Doc stitched him up and continued to clean his head while Arnoux brought over towels and water and began to wipe off his body.

He cleaned his arms, careful at the lacerated wrists, and his torso.

He purposely avoided the legs, and left the first dirty towel on Brill’s crotch, covering him.

Brill felt tears of gratitude well in his eyes.

Gratitude at being saved, at being alive, at losing Laurette and what the rebels did to him.

He couldn’t catch his breath, his throat closed up, he sobbed.

Doc let him cry. Arnoux moved to his feet and began cleaning.

Blood and gore and filth had crusted up and down his legs, a combination of semen and feces mixed in.

Arnoux poured water across his calves and gently wiped.

When one towel was no longer white, he dropped it on the floor and grabbed another.

Each man worked in silent precision.

Doc finished with the head wounds.

You’ll get to shower after we fix up the other side, he said in a soft voice. You need to roll over now.

Brill shifted over onto his stomach.

Dear God, Arnoux gasped.

I’m going to give you a shot, Doc told him.

Brill watched him put a needle in a bottle and fill a syringe, but he still flinched when the man touched a buttock.

You’re going to feel a small prick, said the Doc.

Felt more than a dozen, Brill mumbled.

Arnoux snorted and the Doc laughed.

Brill smiled and started crying again.

Maybe two dozen, he said.

Doc put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down on the table.

Lay your head down, he said. I’d tell you to relax, but when the medicine kicks in…

Brill didn’t hear the rest.

11

CHAPTER TEN

Brill woke up on the table.

He was dressed in a cotton shift that looked like it had been picked up in a bazaar instead of a hospital gown he expected.

He ached all over, but it was a numb pain.

Tubes were connected to veins in both arms.

When he moved his head, he heard Arnoux.

Ay, you’re up.

The medic was tipped back in a wooden chair, legs propped up on the edge of the bed as he thumbed through a worn paperback.

He set the chair down and marched out of the room.

He was back a moment later trailing the Doc.

Medicine is wearing off, said the Doc. You weren’t supposed to be up for another six hours or so.

He rooted in a drawer and pulled out a syringe.

It’s morphine, he told Brill and grabbed the line leading into his arm.

Wait, Brill rasped.

Arnoux poured him a glass of water from a pitcher and passed it to him.

Alright to drink? the medic asked Doc.

Slowly.

Brill took two sips of the lukewarm water and his throat relaxed.

His stomach did a quick flip flop but he fought down the nausea.

He’s green, Arnoux said.

It’s a side effect.

Brill swallowed hard and took another sip.

This time his stomach cooperated by only doing a half flip.

I don’t want to sleep, he told Doc.

The man nodded.

Half measure then, he slid the needle into the line and squeezed the plunger to just below the halfway mark. Should make the pain bearable.

Brill sipped again.

How bad?

Arnoux frowned but the Doc locked eyes with Brill.

There was some extensive damage. Repeated trauma on top and… on bottom. I put twenty stitches in your head, and about sixty in your rectum and anus. Your colon was perforated so I stitched that up, but a lot of junk got in your bloodstream. I’ve got you on broad spectrum antibiotics for any infections, and we did some mega dosing on penicillin. I’m still running tests on STD’s and AIDS, but we don’t do that here. Commander let me send off for them.

Brill nodded, wide eyes staring over the edge of the cup.

You’re going to hurt for a while, Doc continued. We can get you up and moving tomorrow, and that will help with the healing, but you’re on a liquid diet for two weeks, which will let you heal.

What then? Brill asked.

Doc glanced over at Arnoux.

The medic shrugged.

The Commander wants to debrief you. After that, you heal up here and we send you back.

Where?

Johannesburg I suppose. Then America. Back home.

I can’t… he said softly.

Can’t what?

Go home.

Doc double checked the lines in his arms.

You’re going to need some mental help too. We don’t provide that here. Hell, we usually just wrap some duct tape around it and keep on going. I nearly used up all my supplies on you.

Sorry, said Brill.

No worries mate, I was just joshing. You were cracking wise on the table yesterday, so I was just trying to crack back.

I don’t do crack, said Brill. But I would if it helped the pain.

Was that a joke?

Supposed to be.

Yeah, that one needs work. You can ponder it while you’re resting up. Commander will see you tomorrow, Doc called over his shoulder as he left.

Brill finished the water and held out the cup.

May I have some more?

Arnoux poured another glass.

He wasn’t kidding about the duct tape, said the medic. I’ll help today but tomorrow you get your own water.

Brill sipped the glass slowly.

Tomorrow, he said. Who was the guy with the golden eyes? Is that the Commander?

That’s who you remember huh? No, our Commander is Simon, Arnoux set the paperback in Brill’s lap. You can borrow this while I’ve got duty.

Brill watched him walk out of the door.

The pain was receding, and he started feeling lethargic.

Two sides to that medicine coin, he thought.

He wished he could think clearly, make a decision.

But the medicine didn’t work on shame, or rage or the emptiness he felt every time he thought of Laurette.

He should have asked for the whole dose.

12

CHAPTER ELEVEN

His name was Simon.

No last name given.

He was the leader of the company, or at least the ground portion of it as far as Brill could tell.

There may have been a de facto figurehead sitting in a high rise in Johannesburg, but this man was the HMFIC.

He was led into the command cabin set up on the edge of campfire in the middle of the clearing.

There was no guard posted at the flaps, but two men sat in chairs by the fire, rifles in their laps as they watched the compound.

Hyper alert. Brill barely acknowledged their presence.

In the future, he would note the way they watched him, the way they sat on the edge of the chairs, the illusion of looking relaxed to the untrained eye.

He would note the fingers on the trigger guards and the tight straps that allowed the weapons to pivot quickly toward any perceived threat.

Today he noticed only that two men were there and neither called out a challenge to Goggles, the man leading him into the tent.

He hurt.

There was an ache in his bottom that wouldn’t leave no matter how many shots of morphine the Doc injected.

The repeated violations, the brutality of it echoed through his mind.

In the two or three day’s he’d been in camp, he needed sedatives to sleep.

He constantly worried.

Did he have AIDS? Would he have a virus?

Visions from high school films flickered through his mind unleashing horrors.

He felt sorry for himself, then guilty that he was alive to feel sorry.

He should just get over it.

He lived, she didn’t.

At least he was alive to feel the pain, to wonder.

They hadn’t told him when he’d be cut loose, but they must be planning to take him back to the city.

Where he would have to see Laurette’s dad and tell him how he couldn’t save his daughter.

They would send him back to the states and he would meet with the Senator and Governor and tell them how he failed.

How the rebels raped him.

His vision blurred and he stumbled.

Goggles reached back and put a rough hand on his shoulder to haul him close.

He didn’t say a word, just half held, half dragged him into the tent.

Here we are, Sir, Goggles called out to the darkness in the rear of the cabin.

It wasn’t a big space, but the front half was lit and the back shrouded in black.

A sheer black mosquito net hung at the halfway point, blocking the rear.

A long conference table made of rough sawed planks rested on two barrels at the front of the tent and surrounded by tables.

The table held a map, and desk instruments, a radio perched on the edge of the boards.

The mosquito net parted and Simon stepped out.

He was a completely unassuming man.

Five foot ten or eleven, compact frame of solid muscle.

His hair was military short and sprinkled with gray, which put his age somewhere between forty and sixty.

Sharp brown eyes glared at Brill over a prominent nose.

Simon was dressed just like his soldier’s though his combat fatigues weren’t as worn. It made sense.

He probably spent more time in the tent than crawling through the jungle to execute missions.

He waved Brill to a chair and nodded to Goggles.

That will be all Becker.

Brill twisted his head. Goggles had a name.

Becker. He would remember to use it.

Becker saluted and marched out of the tent while Brill settled into a canvas camp chair.

Simon sat across from him and steepled his fingers in front of his face as he studied the young man.

The doctor has informed me of your progress, he said.

His eyes didn’t blink.

Brill glanced at them and looked down at his hands, his feet, withering under the intensity.

Yes Sir, he said barely above a whisper.

Call me Simon in the field.

Yes Sir, said Brill.

I cannot imagine what you’re going through, Simon said. But I have seen many men in your position. It’s a particularly vicious tool used by the rebels.

Yes Sir.

Look at me.

Brill followed the order.

He locked eyes with Simon and felt a twitch as he fought back tears.

This has broken many men, said Simon. It can break you. I’m sitting here looking at a boy and it’s like looking at cracked glass. One wrong touch, one strong breeze and it shatters. I can only tell you what I would tell one of my men.

Brill sat up in the chair and ignored the ache in his bottom.

Sir?

Don’t let this break you. It is tragic. It is a horror. But you are alive, and so long as you are alive there is hope.

Brill slumped back into his seat.

What have I got to hope for?

What do you want? We’re going to get you out of here just as soon as you’re cleared to travel. And we’re going after the rest of the rebel group that escaped. We’ll get them for you.

Can I go with you?

After the rebels? Will that help? Do you want to watch us kill them? Do you want to make sure your captors, your tormentors are dead? Will that help you heal?

No, Brill said in a low growl.

Then what? asked Simon. What do you want?

I want to kill them. I want to kill them all.

The Commander studied him again, ratcheting up the intensity two notches.

They were at a crossroads in a complicated situation.

The girl they had been hired to rescue was dead, the boy lived.

They would have to tell the father, and the boy would be sent back to the US.

But there was nothing that said they couldn’t give the boy a little revenge before they shipped him home.

Revenge and a little blood lust could go a long way to helping the healing process.

Because if the damn rebels had done to Simon what they did to the boy, he would want to same thing.

Salt the earth.

He nodded at Brill and smiled a shark smile.

And so you shall.

13

CHAPTER TWELVE

The compound was just under a quarter mile in circumference.

Brill was cleared by the Doc to run. Slowly.

It’s how they had him do everything, as if the stitches holding him together