THE GREEN ZONE
BAGHDAD, IRAQ
29 OCTOBER 2008
Cain Frost paced back and forth across his office deep inside the Green Zone. He waited for confirmation that his team had retrieved the flag.
The suspense was maddening as his attempts to control his emotions failed. He was a caged tiger, intense concern rippling across his hardened face.
At five eleven, he wasn’t an imposing figure, but closer scrutiny revealed a lithe, fit, and capable man who moved with the ease and quickness of a trained fighter. Each movement was executed with maximum efficiency.
His short black hair looked like it’d been tousled by the wind. A closely trimmed black beard, combined with the prestige of his position, afforded him a degree of credibility among the Iraqi generals and politicians he interacted with on a daily basis.
He wore a crisp white button-down shirt and a pair of ironed and impeccably tailored khaki trousers. The ensemble was completed by a pair of tan Oakley combat boots that had more in common with cross-trainers than actual boots. They were built for quickness in a rugged environment, which perfectly characterized Iraq.
He looked around the office, his icy blue eyes analyzing his surroundings for the umpteenth time. He appreciated the sparseness of personal mementos, the only one a picture of him with his brother from when they’d played football together at USC, before the world and the injustice it dished out had pulled them into its crushing vortex.
The two brothers had been a living dichotomy, two forces moving in opposite directions, yet inexorably connected. Steven had been the idealist, the one who thought individuals could change the world; Cain, the realist. He’d seen the truth at an early age. Ironically, it was Steven who’d shown it to him, albeit unintentionally.
When Cain was fifteen and Steven seventeen, they’d taken their annual family trip to Wisconsin. Their father owned a successful metal manufacturing company in Akron, Ohio, and every summer, the family piled into the family van and drove up to the Door Peninsula for two weeks of boating, water-skiing, and fishing. It was on the way home that their world had changed.
Two hunters, returning from a long day of drinking and hunting, had crossed the double yellow line and struck the Frost van head-on. Cain and Steven had been in the rear row of seats, engrossed in an intense game of travel Connect Four. The impact flipped the van on its side, and Cain had been trapped under the middle row. The vehicle had caught fire, and Steven, somehow unscathed, had managed to free Cain and drag him to safety.
As Steven made his way to the van for their unconscious parents, the surviving passenger had stumbled out of the wrecked pickup, still drunk, and just stared at the van. The coward didn’t even try and help. Before Steven could reach the van, it exploded into flames and smoke.
The image of that remaining hunter, swaying like a drunken boxer as his parents burned, was seared into Cain’s soul as the epitome of all human selfishness and cruelty. For Cain, the moment had crystallized his world into one singular reality—Steven was now his entire family, his constant. Amid the carnage and smell of burning gasoline, he’d vowed that no one would ever take that away, the way his parents had been violently torn from their sons’ lives.
The two brothers had learned diametrically opposed lessons from the same traumatic event, fundamental changes in their characters that revealed themselves as the brothers grew into young men.
Steven became convinced that one man could make a difference, change the world. By saving his brother, he’d unlocked that part of himself that wanted to help others and actually believed he could. On the other hand, Cain’s belief system solidified around himself. There was no God. It was a cruel world where bad things happened to good—not just good, but wonderful, loving, full-of-life—people. It was a world where careless men killed innocent people, a world where you had to increase your odds of surviving through preparation, discipline, and training.
Cain focused his efforts on supporting his brother, making one personal sacrifice after another. Steven had thought it was out of love. Cain had even deluded himself into thinking the same. But in the end, not even he could prevent the inevitable. The world was full of horrors, a world where weak men did nothing while evil men walked free to do the devil’s bidding.
Well, that’s about to change, Cain thought as his Iridium satellite phone rang and broke the repetition of his pacing. He walked over to his desk, picked up the phone, and pressed the talk button.
“Yes?” He waited, his body tense.
Relief from the confirmation surged over him like a wave. He sat down and sank into the luxurious leather of his desk chair. All assets were finally in place; the operation was about to commence.
Thank God. We’re almost there, Steven. By this time tomorrow, I’ll have it, and then vengeance will be ours.
The last few years of endless searching and planning were about to pay off. He couldn’t believe their victory was nearly at hand.
The irony of Logan West’s and John Quick’s involvement was almost too much for him to bear, but he intended to make the most of it. Their failure years ago only deepened his hatred for them. Intellectually, he understood they weren’t responsible, but his rage overshadowed rational thought when it came to his brother.
They’d been there. They could have done something. They should have gone sooner.
If only he’d known the flag was in their possession, he might have made a few different decisions. Regardless, he wasn’t one to second-guess his choices. There was nothing to be gained from self-doubt.
If nothing else, the years of searching had provided him the opportunity to create the largest private security firm in the world. It earned hundreds of millions in profit from security contracts worldwide, not just in Iraq and Afghanistan.
HRI—Hard Resolutions Incorporated—was a globally recognized firm that provided security and “peace of mind” to US government officials entrenched in foreign policy and global military matters.
Even the current president had personally thanked him for his contributions to the stability in Iraq, following the success of the surge. He’d recently received an invitation for lunch at the White House. He hadn’t responded with a proposed date, since unfortunately, once this operation was over, he doubted he’d be welcome back into the United States, let alone at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
At least I’ll have justice, and that’s all that I need.
He closed his eyes and said a prayer to his brother, hoping that if some type of afterlife existed, Steven appreciated what Cain was doing to change the course of history in the Middle East.