part0012

After their day of celebration with Johnny Yanomami and company, Mason was seated in a jetliner flying back home. Although not usually a class snob, this time Mason was sure to board first class for his trip.

Perhaps after being deprived of even the most basic necessities in a sweltering rain forest he felt like spoiling himself a bit. Or perhaps he just felt like he needed the privacy such a luxury plane provided, along with an endless supply of good stiff drinks.

A fact that Raina, sitting right next to him, couldn’t help but notice. Even before they left for their mission in the Amazon, she had been observing his drinking habits, and had grown concerned. He wasn’t that much of a drinker before, but now he seemed ready to kick back the booze whenever the opportunity was presented.

Raina couldn’t help but wonder, ‘What’s going on with him?’ as she watched Mason slurping down his second martini for the flight.

Even so, she didn’t quite feel it was yet her place to directly order him to curtail his alcohol consumption, so she opted to use a bit of humor to raise the issue instead. And with salt shaker from the nearby in-flight tray in hand, she sarcastically goaded him, “Would you like more salt for your margarita Mason?”

Mason laughed, “Margarita? It’s a martini! Big difference!”

Raina paying no mind, looked out across the aisle, and squinted at a stewardess handing out what looked like expensive brandy to another passage she remarked, “What’s going on here? Mid-flight jitters? I never knew you to drink like this on flights Mason—are you just trying to calm your nerves or what?”

Mason nodded, before taking another sip of his drink and admitted, “Yeah—guess I just felt like I needed a little something.”

Raina however, sensing that his angst was over a little more than mid-flight jitters, grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “Come on Mason—whatever it is we can talk about it.”

But Mason wasn’t one for much conversation at the moment. And when Mason’s distant gaze out the window of the plane was his only immediate response, Raina found herself growing more frustrated by the minute.

She insisted, “Mason—seriously. We’ve been seeing each other now for a few months, and I can already tell when you are in one of those moods —and you are in one of them now—please, can you tell me what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

Mason understanding her concern shook his head in the negative, before sighing, “No—no. It’s nothing to do with you Raina. It’s me.”

Raina held her breath as her anxiety began to grow. ‘Is he really going to give me the—It’s not you, it’s me—speech?’ She thought to herself. As was the common trope of any man or woman who wanted to make a hasty exit out of a relationship that they had lost interest in.

But this was not what Mason had intended. He wasn’t losing interest, or changing his mind about his feelings for Raina in the least, he was just having trouble with his prior commitment—a prior commitment to a woman that had died of breast cancer several years before.

His first wife Bree was everything to him and when she passed, she left a hole in Mason’s life that he could only fill by throwing himself into the care of their only child—their daughter Clara. But now that Clara was away in college and communication infrequent, even that precious bond often proved lacking when it came to satiating Mason’s loneliness.

Now that he was an empty nester with all the space and opportunity necessary for a newly committed relationship, he found himself hesitating however, lost in the memory of his first true love. Looking at Raina who had obvious affection for him and yet still seeing the image of his wife Bree superimposed on his mind’s eye, presented a torturously conflicted image for Mason.

As he attempted to explain, “I mean—there’s nothing you did Raina. I just keep thinking of Bree… I try to brush it away and stop thinking about her but I can’t.” Mason then looked apologetically at Raina and offered, “I’m sorry.”

Raina paused and thought about the situation for a moment. Most of the time a woman would be jealous when a man admitted to be in thrall with someone else—but was she really going to be envious of a dead woman? And one that had been Mason’s first wife and love? Could she really be that petty? No—she knew she couldn’t be like that.

And as such she gently stroked Mason’s hand and reassured him, “It’s alright Mason. Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to be alright.”

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND AT THE AIRPORT, TWO HOURS LATER. Mason and Raina had just disembarked from their plane. With carry-on bags in hand, they strolled through the common area of the airport actively searching for a place to unwind, recalibrate, and perhaps check their e-mail.

Raina believed she had found precisely what they were looking for when she announced, “Oh, Mason look! A Chic-phil-a! They have the beast honey mustard!”

Mason looked over at the little Chic-phil-a enclave in the corner with dozens of dazed and confused, disembarked passengers loading up on chicken strips and nuggets and laughed, “The best honey mustard?”

Raina chuckled, “Yeah—come on let’s get something to eat.”

After waiting in line for what to Mason seemed like a small eternity—it was actually 15 minutes—Mason and Raina grabbed their bag of chicken tenders and Raina’s extra helping of honey mustard and found a seat nearby to debrief themselves. After taking a napkin and cleaning off the greasy airport table, Mason rifled through his carry-on bag, quickly produced his laptop, and set it down before him.

He then signed onto the airport Wi-Fi, as he muttered, “Alright—finally get to check my e-mail.”

As Raina nibbled on some chicken tenders, he then worked his way to his message board for Onyx. And it was just a moment later that Mason declared, “Alright—I’ve got one from Luke!”

Raina scooting closer to him, peered over his shoulder at the screen as she asked, “What did he say?”

Mason reading the screen, summarized, “He says the mission in South America is complete.”

Raina pausing her piece of chicken in mid dunk, questioned, “Complete? Really?”

Mason nodded, “Yeah, he says that since we broke up the main cell, the whole system of drug lords over there fell apart. The others have already been hunted down—either killed or arrested by drug task force agents. It’s over.”

Mason knew full well that new drug lords would pop up again like weeds even after their contemporaries had been mowed down. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to contradict his marching orders, he quietly acknowledged, “It’s over—at least for now.”

Mason then went on to read the end of the message and couldn’t help but sarcastically mock Luke Simon’s words, as he relayed, “And he says that we did a really good job !”

Raina laughed at Mason’s mockery, chuckling, “Oh really? Do we get a gold star for the day?”

Mason laughed, “No probably not—more than likely when Marshal Oliver hears about it all, we’ll probably get a kick in the pants instead.”

Prompting Raina to ask, “Really, how so?”

Mason nodded, “Yeah, Marshal is always on my case about causing too much collateral damage and rough treatment of civilians.”

Raina muttered, “Nelson… Do you really think?”

Mason snorted, “That jerk… Even though we’re the ones that rescued him I wouldn’t be surprised that we find a civil lawsuit waiting for us as soon as we get back to the states.”

Raina didn’t think so and told him as much, “No—I highly doubt it. Besides he knows that he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on.”

Mason knew she was right, someone like Nelson probably had too many shady dealings himself, and would be afraid to open up this particular can of worms even if he wanted to. The thought of worms made Mason think of the maggots that—last time he checked, were infesting the guy’s bullet riddled leg.

Mason coolly remarked, “I don’t even know how he would get that maggot infested leg past customs anyway.”

Raina swallowing her last bite of chicken as if it hurt, blanched, “Mason—I’m trying to eat here.”

Mason chuckled, “Sorry.”

Raina seeing a prime opportunity to change the subject then asked, “What else did Luke have to say?”

Mason read further down the message and reported back, “Oh—he says that he really misses being out in the field.”

Mason thought for a second before adding, “I guess all that time in the office is really beginning to grate on his nerves.”

Raina wadding up the remnants of her meal into a paper wrapper and tossing it into the nearby trash can offered, “Ahh—I miss working with him in the field.”

Mason acknowledged, “Yeah—I miss working with him too.”

Letting this wistful sentiment just hang in the air, Mason Walker exited his e-mail, quickly shutdown his laptop and shoved it into his briefcase, before impulsively announcing, “Alright let’s get the hell out of here.”