Page 5 of Fighting for Valor
The kind, smooth voice sounds like it’s under fifty feet of water. I smell soap. Incense maybe. Colors fade in and out, lights swirling around me. As I force my heavy lids open, sharp pain lances through my skull.
The pale beige walls pulse in time with my heartbeat, and I’m soaked with sweat. Sucking in a wheezing breath, I try to turn my head, but I can’t.
Something cool touches my forehead. “Trust me, Isaad. I will protect you. Do you believe me?”
“Uh huh.”
Why did I say yes? Where am I? Who’s with me? Am I dead? Shit. Why can’t I think straight?
A thin face shifts in and out of focus. Gray eyes. I’ve seen those eyes before.
The man shakes his head, his hand over his heart. “I killed Amir Aazar. I did not wish to, but he would have tortured you until you could no longer go on, and I could not let that happen. He will never hurt you again, Isaad.”
“Let me…go…please,” I beg.
“I cannot. Your friends are gone, Isaad. I am very sorry, but your government blames you.”
“Wha….?”
An arm slides under my shoulders, and he lifts me, supporting my head so I can almost make out a glowing screen across the room. “The news has carried the story for the past week, Isaad.”
A man’s voice—with an American accent—fills the room. “A United States Special Forces Team was laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery today. Only two bodies were recovered from the Hindu Kush. Their names are being withheld at the request of their families. A third member of the team, Sergeant Jackson Richards, has been implicated in their deaths and is currently wanted on charges of treason. This has been Simon Jones reporting.”
“Ry…Dax…”
“Dead.” The man lays me back down, and his face swims in and out of focus. “You are safe here, Isaad. But only here. And only if you trust me.”
No. This isn’t right. I can’t…think. Can’t form the words. Everything’s…fucked. My unit. My…family. “Not…Isaad.”
“You must be. The man you were…he can never be again. You are Isaad now.”
A glass touches my lips, and water trickles into my mouth. So good. So cold. Sweet. I need more. The man’s face is familiar. I’ve seen it before. Where?
“Who…?” I manage.
“Faruk. You remember me?” As I nod, he continues, “Good. After I killed Aazar, I took over. I am now Amir Abdul Faruk, and you will call me Amir Faruk. It is the way of things here. If you do this, I will keep you as safe as I can. Listen to me, and you will never end up in that well again.”
Voices. No. One voice. Over and over again. I don’t know what he’s saying. Who is it? Why can’t I think?
Searing pain consumes me, and I scream—at least in my own head. I can’t tell if anything around me is real. It’s all darkness. The stench of the well. The scorpions crawling over my naked body, filling me with poison.
Then water. A cool cloth.
And that voice.
“You killed your team, Isaad. You will be executed if you return to the United States. You are safe here.”
No. Here is bad. Here is pain. Do I say that out loud? Nothing makes sense. Is any of this happening? Or is it all in my nightmares?
“Do you trust me, Isaad? You must trust me. If you trust me, I will make the pain go away.”
I want to trust him. Fuck. I’ll do anything he wants if he can put a stop to this endless torment.
A gentle breeze stirs the air around me. It’s morning. A slash of sunlight hits the bed through slats on a window to my left. There’s a brisk knock at the door, and then Amir Faruk enters, another man behind him carrying a tray.
“Good morning, my friend,” Amir Faruk says. “This is Zaman. He is my most trusted man. Tell him your name.”
Zaman sets the tray down, and my mouth waters. A light broth, spiced, with chunks of vegetables. A glass of water. Glancing up at Amir Faruk, I know what he wants me to say. What I need to say. And though a piece of my soul shreds into pieces, I clear my throat and whisper, “Isaad.”
