I'M BACK!

Now that Winter Break has finally arrived, I've decided to revive this baby and, hopefully, finish it by the end of January. Now that I've got a lot more free time on my hands, I think it'll be a lot easier to get back to typing.

Thank you all once again for your patience. I'm sorry that I had to put this story on hiatus, so I will do my best to write these remaining chapters well. I hope you enjoy.

I apologize that this chapter is kind of boring. There's a lot of dialogue and exposition, but I promise that there's a lot of action in the next one. I'm hoping to have that up before Christmas.

Here's hoping you enjoy this!

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A big thank-you to AHS for the Farsi translations!

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Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

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A Twisted Kind of Brotherhood

Shady Dealings

It was with an aching sense of tiredness that Jackson found himself wandering the streets of Kermanshah, the sun beating down on him with an intensity he wasn't used to. Sweat rolled down his skin in waves, and he knew that he would reek horrendously as a result. In an attempt to soothe himself, he thought of how cool the hotel would be when he returned, and how he could order an iced drink and relax. For now, however, he was forced to plod onward.

Behind him were his three coworkers, all suffering through the heat with the same impatience as Jackson. None of their group was happy with the intense heat of this part of the world, and all four thought longingly about the relatively milder climate of Miami.

If they had been more alert and less affected by jet lag, they might have been more inclined to absorb the foreign sights and sounds. As they trod through a marketplace in downtown Kermanshah, they were surrounded by people on all sides, people shopping, selling, shouting, hurrying, wandering. Their ears were filled with the sound of accented Farsi, with a thousand conversations going on all around them. On either side of them were vendors selling all kinds of wares, from foods and spices to clothes and perfumes to pottery and textiles. If they'd had any curiosity, they might have tried to absorb these sights and sounds, but the jet lag had dulled their senses to the point of apathy.

As they trudged along, Jackson tried to focus on the assignment at hand. They were to meet their employers at a local building, where they would receive instructions. Once they were finished, they could go back to the hotel. That was all that they had been told, despite some attempts at questioning. However, it seemed that everyone involved was keeping their mouths shut about the whole business, which irritated Jackson to no end.

Jackson's thoughts were interrupted by a petulant Laurence, who loudly complained, "How did we end up getting an assignment in the one country where all the women wear burkhas?"

Jackson sighed and rolled his eyes. Typical of Laurence to think of getting laid above all else.

Sal sighed in frustration, having had to deal with Laurence for too many hours to count. "Well, I'm sorry that Guiteau couldn't get us assigned to the Playboy Mansion, but you'll have to keep your dick in your pants for now."

"And where's the fun in that?" Laurence shot back.

Shuffling away from Laurence and closer to Jachson, Ray murmured under his breath, "Isn't it good to know that our primary concern is the next time we can whip our penises out?"

Jackson smirked. "Well, with this talk making me all hot and bothered, I'm tempted to whip mine out right now."

Laurence grit his teeth. "I can hear you."

Ray chuckled. "Well, if you're in on the fun, why don't I just get a ruler out so we can all compare?"

"Hell, let's just have an orgy in the streets right now," contributed Sal.

Jackson looked up to see a steel building rising up into the sky, bearing an address that matched their destination's. "Sorry, looks like we're here. Better put your penises back, boys."

Sal chuckled. "Damn, I guess we'll have to wait 'til we get back to the hotel."

Laurence frowned. "You all suck."

It was only a few minutes later that the quartet found themselves strolling into a walled conference room by a receptionist. Jackson made note of its stark, sterile feel, as well as the fact that there was only dim lighting to be had. At the head of a large mahogany conference table sat two men, both wearing crisp business suits. One was a heavyset man in his fifties, who had an air of authority in the way he received them. The other man was much younger, who glanced around the room with an air of unease.

As the four of them entered, the two men stood up. The heavier man surveyed them quickly and smiled broadly. With a booming voice, he proclaimed, "Asr be kheyr! Khosh amadid."

The younger man smiled warily, eyeing the four visitors with a sense of distrust. "He means to welcome you. This is Kamir Farnad, the man who has hired you. I am his translator, Samir." Gesturing towards the seats of the conference table, Samir asked politely, "Was your trip pleasant?"

Sal nodded as he pulled out his chair. "Yes, our flight went smoothly."

Samir nodded serenely. "And your connection from Tehran?"

"Went without a hitch."

Samir smiled a little, revealing yellowed teeth. "Very good to hear." He pulled out a chair for Farnad before seating himself. As he did so, Jackson eyed the two men; Farnad seemed at ease, cheerfully looking out at them. Samir, on the other hand, seemed on edge and jumpy; the contrast between the two attitudes was striking.

Folding his hands on the table, Samir looked at the four Americans and adopted a stern expression. "Since Mr. Farnad is unable to speak for himself, I will be the one giving you instructions for this assignment. However, please understand that Mr. Farnad will be your superior throughout the entire assignment, and that he is the one who will be in charge of the entirety of the project."

Sal, leaning on the edge of the table, asked casually, "Is Mr. Farnad also the one funding this project?"

Samir pursed his lips and frowned slightly. "Such information is confidential. I'm afraid I cannot share the financial details with you at this time."

Sal's shoulders hunched slightly, but his face remained passive. "I see."

Adopting a more amiable tone, Samir continued. "Very good. Now, here are your instructions." Leaning his elbows on the conference table , Samir stated evenly, "Tomorrow, you will be picked up by a car driven by one of our local associates. He will take you to one of our warehouses on the city's outskirts. Understood?" The four men nodded wordlessly.

Without altering his gaze, Samir reached under the table and retrieved a large roll of paper. He spread it out across the conference table's surface, and Jackson realized that it was a map of the surrounding area.

Pointing to the black dot labeled 'Kermanshah', Samir added, "When you arrive, you will meet with the other personnel for this assignment, about twenty others."

"Are they also local officials?" Sal asked.

Samir pursed his lips once again. "No, I believe that the majority are foreigners like yourselves. Sadly, we have been suffering a severe shortage of manpower in recent months." With a small sigh, he turned back to the map. "At that point, you will be divided into pairs…"

Sal interrupted him. "Pairs? We were told this assignment would be done in groups of four."

Samir sighed in irritation. "As I stated only a few seconds earlier, we have a dire lack of manpower on our hands. As such, we were forced to take what few men we had and divide them into smaller groups." Samir raised his eyebrow, as if to dare Sal to interrupt again. "May I continue now?"

Sal said nothing, choosing to simply frown at Samir in annoyance.

Samir looked down at the map, pointing to Kermanshah once more. "Each pair will de provided with a translator, as well as artifical Iranian passports and Iraqi travel visas." Anticipating Sal's questions, Samir held up his hand. "I will explain in a minute."

"Each pair will be given a loaded cargo truck containing various crates for delivery. The translator must be seated in the passenger seat, while one member of the pair drives. The other will stay in the cargo hold." Tracing his finger along the winding lines of the map, Samir continued, "The trucks will leave at hour-long intervals. When your time comes, you will take this route to the Iran-Iraq border. Once you're across the border, then take these roads to our warehouse in Khanaqin. Once you're there, you will leave the trucks with our employees there and will be taken by transport back to your hotel."

Rolling up the map once again, Samir explained, "The reason you are being brought on these trucks is in case customs officials cause trouble as you're crossing the border. If customs officials ask to inspect the truck, let the translator attempt to sort it out. If they are stubborn, than it is your job to dispose of these officials and to do so in a neat, efficient manner. Understood?"

Sal nodded. "So this is a smuggling job?"

Samir merely smiled secretively, his yellow teeth looking like fangs. "I suppose you might say that." The smile disappeared, and was replaced by a far more stern expression. "However, I must stress one thing to you gentlemen: no one is allowed to touch, let alone open the crates in the trucks. Doing so will result in the termination of the assignment for the involved parties, and will be considered a failed mission."

The yello fangs returned as a far more sinister smile spread across his face. "I don't think I need to remind you how CoH rewards failure."

As memories of slain comrades sprouted in their minds, the four men shook their heads fervently.

Samir seemed pleased. "Good."

Leaning back in his chair, Samir asked, "Are there any questions before we adjourn this meeting?"

To Jackson's irritation, Laurence piped up immediately. "So we were flown halfway around the world to drive some trucks for a few hours?" Jackson winced, mentally smacking Laurence for being such an idiot.


Samir sneered. "Mr. Farnad is paying you well for this assignment. If transporting cargo upsets you, you may leave now."

Laurence said nothing, choosing simply to scowl. Sal, trying to divert attention away from Laurence's rudeness, calmly stood up and stated, "Thank you, Samir, for your helpfulness." After shaking the translator's hand, he turned to Farnad. "Motshakeram, Karim Farnad."

Farnad smiled. "Motshakeram. Moafagh bashed!"

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"I think it's drugs," Jackson stated firmly.

Sal looked up from his suitcase, his clothes strewn about haphazardly. "What's that?"

Jackson, his hands sifting through his own clothing in a more organized fashion, explained himself more fully. "The cargo. The stuff they're hiding, that they won't let us touch. My guess is drugs."

Sal sighed. "Drop it. I don't want to hear this."

Jackson sat down at the foot of his bed, staring over at Sal's half of their hotel room. "Look, it's gotta be something big if they won't let us touch it or even let us know what it is. My guess is, they're smuggling drugs and won't tell us in case we try to steal some for ourselves."

Sal sighed again before sitting on his own bed. "I doubt it."

"Why not? People smuggle drugs all the time into the US. Why not here?"

Sal gave him a stern look. "This ain't the US. And if they wanted to make sure we didn't steal any, why not just measure the weights of the cartons when we arrived?" Turning back to his suitcase, Sal added, "Keep your nose out of this. The last thing we need is for you to get us into trouble because you were overly curious."

Jackson remained silent, thinking hard as he lay down on his mattress. His thoughts were continually interrupted by noises from the next room over, and he realized that Ray and Laurence were squabbling like lovers past the wall. With a sigh of exasperation, Jackson kicked the wall and shouted, "Keep it down in there!"

Laying his head back down, he thought it over for a few minutes more. Ideas swirled through his head like a stream, until he stumbled on another idea. "People."

Sal looked up at him, frowning. "What?"

"They could be smuggling people. Illegal immigrants, maybe."

"In crates?"

Jackson sighed. "Hostages, then?"

"Then why not tell us?" Sal sat up on his own bed, trying to look imposing. "Look, you're thinking about this way too much. Just drop it. If we needed to know, they'd have told us."

Jackson chuckled. "Listen to you, trying to sound all responsible. As if you weren't curious, too."

Sal gave him a morose look. "Stop it."

"Why? Why does this matter so much to you?"

"It's not that simple." Sal sighed angrily before asking quietly, "You didn't think about why they might need four American guys for an assignment taking place halfway around the world?"

Jackson paused to consider this. "Didn't Samir say that they didn't have enough manpower?"

Sal barked out a laugh. "Bullshit." Looking over at Jackson, he asked, "If they only had a few guys to drive all of these trucks, why not just have two or three guys make multiple trips?"

"Time constraints?"

Sal tapped his fingers in a rhythm on his headboard, his fingers drumming out the noise to keep pace with his thoughts. "Or maybe they're planning on something going wrong. After all, if you have lots of guys and one of them fouls up, the rest can still do their jobs." Sal rolled over to face Jackson again. "Samir said that most of the guys on this assignment aren't from here. If Farnad really is thinking that something might go wrong, wouldn't it make sense to sacrifice someone else's men than to sacrifice your own?"

Jackson let this settle in his mind like a weight, and he felt slightly uneasy about the implications of Sal's words. "What do you think will happen?"

Sal shook his head slightly. "I don't know." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he added. "If I could quit, I'd be off this case. But Guiteau's pissed at me, and he's looking for any chance he can take to get me out of the way. So I'm stuck here, with whatever it is that Samir and Farnad are planning."

Jackson turned to look at the ceiling, staring at its tiles until he went cross-eyed. To his right, he could hear Sal ask, "What about you?"

Jackson shut his eyes and grinned. "I'm intrigued, sad to say. I think I'll be sticking around Iran for now."

After a few seconds, Jackson heard Sal sigh. "Famous last words."