🇬🇧 The Best Unit

Keller stops on the pavement, facing the building.
Before him, the headquarters of The Dark Unit rises with sobriety:
The main façade is smooth, glass-covered, slightly curved, reflecting a grey sky.
On the left, the building extends into a rectangular hangar clad in anthracite steel, with a perfectly aligned loading dock.
Just three metallic letters, TDU, fixed above the entrance, like a sign.
The main entrance, double smoked-glass doors, tinted windows, offering no possibility of observing movement inside.
Keller stares for a moment at his own reflection in the glass. He knows he is already being watched.
He clenches his jaw.
He has not come for an appointment.
He has come for answers.

*****

The hall is wide, uncluttered, bathed in white light from recessed ceiling fixtures.
The floor, in light grey resin, bears almost no sign of passage.
No screens, no commercial posters.

Facing him, a rectangular counter in polished concrete.
Behind it, a seated secretary, straight posture, dark suit, measured gaze.

About ten metres away, to the left, a security guard watches him.
Attached to his belt, clearly visible, a pistol in its holster, an earpiece connected to a radio.
On the wall behind the counter, a single digital clock displays the time in red.

Keller takes out his CIA badge and shows it to the woman.
— « Agent Keller, I want to see Mister Carrington »
— « Do you have an appointment? »
— « No, he’s an acquaintance. »
— « If you do not have an appointment, that will not be possible. He is in meetings all day. »

Keller observes the young woman, notices the badge on her jacket where “Maya” is written.
— « Maya? That is your name, isn’t it? I want to see Victor! I want to know why your company is responsible for me being captured by insurgents… »
A man arrives, calm.
— « Keller. »
His tone is measured, almost distant.
— « Good lad. What are you doing here without warning? »
He turns towards Maya:
« I’ll take care of him, Maya. John, follow me. We’re going to my office. »

*****

Carrington invites Keller to follow him. Next to the guard, Carrington swipes his badge through the reader. A beep sounds, access granted.
The glass door opens automatically.
They enter a wide corridor, lit by LED strips embedded in the ceiling.
The walls are uniform grey, with photos of armed men, frames filled with decorations.
The echo of their steps resonates faintly on the smooth resin floor.
To the right, a half-open door reveals an office:
a woman typing on a keyboard, files stacked next to a landline phone. She does not look up.
To the left, two closed doors bear only a name, with no indication of function.

A metal staircase with solid steps leads to the upper floor.
At the top, the space widens.
A small waiting room is arranged:

• Two black leather benches forming a “U”.
• A metal coffee table, with a few neatly stacked magazines.
• A water dispenser.

A new corridor with doors aligned.
A half-open door reveals an office with maps and charts on the wall, a man in a shirt speaking softly on a phone.
Further along, another door closes as they pass.

Carrington continues, steady pace, silent.
He stops in front of a solid door. On the label, “Carrington” is written.
The two men enter.
The room is spacious, sober.

• Glass and metal desk, perfectly tidy.
• Two dark leather visitor chairs, rigid backs.
• A large bay window overlooking the rear of the building: storage lines, loading dock.
• On the side wall: a world map, without legend, punctuated with a few grey pins.
• No family photo. No personal souvenirs.

A locked metal cabinet occupies the back.
Carrington walks around the desk and sits.
He says nothing.
He waits for Keller to speak.

*****

— « In 2004, your company was called The Best Unit. At a checkpoint, one of your men shot a boy, an old man, and a donkey!… »
Carrington interrupts him:
— « A mule! Not a donkey—looks similar but not the same! »
Keller resumes, anger rising:
— « You’re not denying it? »
— « Deny what? We were cleared by the president! And then? »
— « You’re mocking me, I didn’t sign up to pay for your mistakes! » shouts Keller.
— « Covering us doesn’t bother you, but heaven forbid the consequences fall on you. Well, lad, that’s the job. »
— « But your men killed innocents and we’re going to lose this war because of people like you! »
— « Son, the United States never loses wars. Maybe its allies lose, but us? We win on every front. Arms sales, control of resources, subjugation of governments, and much more! »

A message tone interrupts the conversation. Carrington looks at his phone, takes on a disappointed expression.
— « Your liberator! The demon! He kills our men and you come here to question me. Him! What does it take to buy him? That should be your job! Buy him or kill… »
At first, Carrington is angry, then he softens.
— « Don’t get yourself killed, kid. »
Keller dares to ask:
— « What did he do? »
— « That monster went after my men during a mission… »
Carrington stops, finally says:
— « Go! Get out! »
Still holding his phone, Carrington calls security. Keller is escorted back to the exit. He remains silent.
Keller has no choice but to leave. He has known Carrington since joining the CIA; he cannot get anything more from him.

*****

Back in Washington, in his office, Keller is confronted by Hayes.
Hayes stares at him, arms crossed.
— « Why did you go see Carrington? »
Keller does not sit.
— « I wanted a name. The one responsible. »
— « And? »
— « Night. He struck again. Carrington won’t talk anymore. »
Hayes sighs, exhausted.
— « Are you going to continue? Are you still going to chase a shadow? »
He pauses.
— « Go home, John. Take care of your wife. Otherwise… you will lose everything! »

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This story is a work of fiction inspired by real-world contexts.
It was conceived and written by Raulgarth, with the support of Sergeant-Chief Marcel¹ for editing, documentation, and narrative development.

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Translated with grit and caffeine by Sergeant-Chief Marcel.
Apologies for any translation errors that may have occurred.
You can find the original French version of this story at raulserv.fr.

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1. ChatGPT of OpenAI ↩︎