Droning engines lulled the exhausted passengers and troops to sleep on the flight from eastern Tennessee to Colombia. In the cockpit, though, Flyboy and his copilot remained busy, unbeknownst to his passengers.
First, one of the engines failed. He couldn’t tell why, but the storm certainly didn’t help. The stalwart C-130J, the last in a long line of increasingly capable military turboprops, otherwise handled beautifully under the pressure, shrugging off the weather like a buffalo in a Great Plains blizzard.
When they finally rose above the white blanket into the starlit night sky, Flyboy breathed a sigh of relief and set his cruising altitude at 28,000 feet, avoiding the worst of it.
Over Mobile, Alabama they were intercepted by Air Force F-35s. In accordance with Spooky’s cover story and the aircraft’s markings, Flyboy passed a set of code words that convinced the fighter pilots and their controllers the C-130 was a clandestine CIA aircraft. Once they proceeded out to sea, he turned the controls over to the original pilot and relaxed in his seat.
***
In the rear of the aircraft, Larry watched Shadow become gradually more animated. He seemed fascinated by the flight. Unsurprisingly, it was the first time he’d seen the boy relaxed and unguarded.
“What’s your name, honey?” asked Spirit, putting a gentle hand on Shadow’s back. “Mine’s Vivian.”
“I call him Shadow. He doesn’t talk,” Larry told her.
“Sure he can,” she said. “He’s just a little rusty. Don’t you listen to this big dumb paleface.”
Larry choked. “First time I’ve ever been called paleface. I must have lightened up some in the camp.”
Spirit winked. “Okay, how about White Eyes?”
“A little better.”
Shadow stared solemnly at Spirit, saying nothing.
“Come on,” she urged. “If you like ‘Shadow,’ that can be your handle, but I know you got a real name in there somewhere. Names are important.”
He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His face scrunched up in concentration. “Toe...bee,” he said slowly, and then more confidently. “Toby.”
“Yeah!” said Spirit, giving him a hug.
“You don’t look like a Toby,” said Larry with a mock-suspicious look. “You sure you didn’t just make that up?”
“Leave Toby alone, White Eyes,” Spirit said. “Kid ought to know his own name.”
“I think you’re overplaying the whole Indian thing.”
“Okay, shut up, Thug Life.”
“Oh, I see how it is.”
Spirit turned back to Toby. “Got a last name, kid?”
Toby suddenly became shy from the nearby watchers. Most of the Nguyens, along with Stitch and Flyboy, were observing him with interest.
“It’s okay,” said Spirit. “No one is going to hurt you here. We’re all like you. A big family.”
“Layfield,” he said.
“Well, Toby Layfield, it’s nice to meet you,” said Spirit.
“Interesting,” said Spooky. Turning to his kin, he spoke rapid words in his native tongue, receiving a hesitant response. He said something more emphatically, and the family bowed their heads in acquiescence. “My family will take care of the boy for now.”
“I thought he might come home with us,” said Larry, surprised.
“That would be unwise.”
“Why?”
“What did he say his last name was?”
“Layfield…oh, shit!”
“Indeed. What if the CIA takes an interest in finding him?”
“I –” Larry snapped his jaw shut.
“I think it best he become a Nguyen, hmm?”
Larry ran his hand over his head and sighed. “Yeah. All right.”
***
Fifteen minutes out from landing in Colombia, Flyboy walked to the rear. Reaper sat with her back against the skin of the plane. A body bag containing Python lay beside her. Her hands and clothing were still stained with his blood.
“You need to get into a seat and buckle up,” Flyboy told her gently.
“Leave me alone.”
Flyboy squatted down beside her. “Listen to me. None of this is your fault. You didn’t ask Shortfuse and the rest to stay behind. They did it on their own because that’s what team members do for each other. You didn’t ask Python to come to your rescue. He did that on his own because he loved you.”
“You can save the pep talk,” said Reaper. “Not in the mood.”
“No one else is in the mood either, boss, but we’re doing our jobs. Now your job is to get in a seat.”
Reaper didn’t respond, only stared at the body bag, rubbing at the bloodstains on her hands.
“You think you’re the only one grieving?” Flyboy asked. “You think the rest of us loved Shortfuse or Hawkeye or Bunny or Hulk any less than you?”
“It’s not the same. I was in charge. Just give me some space.”
“We’re about to land. You’re still in charge, and we need you. We completed the mission. We freed several hundred Edens. We retrieved the Nguyens, and Skull’s buddy Larry. You thought it was impossible, but we did it. And our team members…they stayed behind for us. We’d have done the same. And some of them might have made it to Derrick’s people.”
“I told Spooky I’d keep an eye on Buzz, and I blew it.”
“From what I could see, Buzz laid low until the last. You couldn’t have seen it coming.”
“I should have.”
“Nobody’s perfect. Except Spooky, of course.” He flicked his eyes. “And if you don’t man up and start acting like the boss again, he’s gonna find some way to screw us.”
Reaper sighed heavily and didn’t speak. Finally she reached out and grasped Flyboy’s hand, lifting herself to her feet.
“Now we need to get into our seats and buckle up.” Flyboy said.
“You know how many times I’ve flown in one of these without a seatbelt?” she asked.
“Not with this goober at the controls you haven’t. Frankly I give us even odds he doesn’t crash and kill us all. Now get in your damn seat. I need to go back to the cockpit and supervise.”
Despite Flyboy’s words, the pilot stuck the landing without trouble. Soon, the plane taxied onto the airfield’s apron. Skull opened the ramp before the aircraft even came to a halt.
The Colombian sunlight and heat following the snowstorm and darkness seemed surreal. The passengers squinted against the brightness as they disembarked. They saw several buses and a squad of medics, who immediately began checking those in the worst shape, threading nutrient IVs into their veins.
Spooky stepped up beside Daniel Markis as the Chairman looked over the Nguyen family.
“Rough mission, I hear,” Markis said, reaching out to shake Spooky’s free hand, the other bandaged into a sling.
“Reaper lost five people, probably. Four of my own family did not survive the experience.”
“I’m sorry. The adults could all be your brothers and sisters.”
“None of them actually are. I was the only one of my immediate family to escape and survive the wars. What you’re looking at is four generations of Nguyen – my great-uncles and aunts, uncles and aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews. All that is left of a once-numerous Degar clan influential in the highlands of Vietnam.”
“Yes, you’ve told me how your people were persecuted.”
“Persecuted is a weak word. Our women were stolen and forced into prostitution, our men put into labor camps or killed if they did not submit, our children sent to be raised by lowlanders. When the Communists normalized relations with the West, many immigrated to America, only to become Edens and again be oppressed.”
“You should write a book.”
“Perhaps some day I will.”
“Welcome back,” said Cassandra Johnstone as she approached. She did not reach for Spooky’s hand, and he didn’t bother to extend his.
“Thank you for holding down the fort.”
“You may find a few changes in your absence.”
“The price one pays for family. I’ll soon set things right.”
Spooky watched Cassandra roll her eyes at Markis, who smiled. He’d spoken truth, though. He’d been prepared to pay the price of disorder to retrieve those of his clan, for now they were chained to him absolutely by the bonds of gratitude and family, of which he’d become the new de facto patriarch.
Spooky waved at a couple of his black ops people, there to meet the returning heroes. He pointed at the bag on the ramp. “Take this body to the morgue. Prepare it for a burial with honors.”
They nodded and retrieved a stretcher and used it to carry Python away.
Spooky caught Reaper’s eye as she moved to intervene. “It’s all right,” he said to her. “They’ll take care of him.”
“Don’t think this means I don’t hate you.”
“Hate will take you places love can’t.”
Reaper turned away as if baffled, and wandered into the crowd.
Spooky watched as Larry disembarked and clapped Markis’ shoulder, looming over the smaller man. Putting on his best Uncle Tom routine, he said, “You don’t call, Massah Daniel, an’ you don’t write. Look at the shit I got to go through to spend a li’l quality time wid you, now you Mistah Big.”
Markis laughed and embraced Larry, who lifted him off the ground. Larry eventually set the Chairman down and reached out to hug Cassandra, kissing her on the cheek.
“Welcome back, Larry,” she said. “My assistant here will take you to my office. Shawna’s already on the line. She hounded me like hell to get you out of there.”
Larry laughed. “Yeah, she can be a bit...insistent.” He turned toward the main complex with eager steps, only to run into Skull.
“Where you think you’re going, convict?”
Larry laughed again, loud. “I hear they got a price on your head. Wanted, dead or alive.” He reached to embrace Skull, who stiff-armed him.
“You’re not really my type, brother,” Skull said with a death’s-head grin. He shook Larry’s hand, and then allowed himself to be pulled into a half-hug. “Be good.”
Larry refused to let go of Skull’s hand. “You came for me. Thanks.”
“You always were one weepy son of a bitch. Now turn loose of me, you ogre.”
Larry released Skull, who gave him a salute with his index finger and backed up. Then Larry resumed his eager rush toward Cassandra’s office and Shawna’s video call.
Spooky leaned against the skin of the aircraft as he watched Skull approach Cassandra, cataloguing their interactions, filing them in his copious memory.
“Hey, Cassie,” Skull said. “You look good, as always. Relaxed. Having fun playing Spider Lady? Got everybody in your–” he spread his hands and wiggled his fingers, as if manipulating marionettes on strings, “–your web?”
Cassandra gazed flatly at him. “Can we talk? Like grownups?”
Skull shrugged. “So talk, mom.”
“Look,” she said. “I know you’re angry. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I did what I had to do, just like you do. I had more than just one person to save. I had to look at the bigger picture.”
He stared at her for a long moment, expressionless. “Fair enough.” He leaned forward and put his hand behind her head to kiss her, firmly, but without passion. “Good-bye, Cassandra.” Skull walked away.
Markis stepped up to stand next to Spooky. “Ah, young love.”
“Broken trust is hard to mend,” Spooky said.
“Yes, it is. I’m glad I can trust you.”
Spooky turned to search Markis’ eyes. He thought he read in them more depth than usual, and reminded himself that just because the Chairman of the Free Communities was a good man, a moral man, didn’t mean he wasn’t a dangerous man.
I could only follow a dangerous man, he thought. “You can trust me, Daniel,” he said. “The moment you don’t believe that, do me the courtesy of demanding my resignation. I assure you I’ll trouble you no more.”
“Oh, I know that, Tran. I know.”
Again, Spooky pondered Markis’ words. A promise? A warning?
Markis looked at his watch. “I have to go. Please organize a memorial service for those you lost.” He seemed to have subtly emphasized the word “you.” Placing blame?
Responsibility, at least.
“I’ll take care of it personally,” said Spooky.
“Of course,” said Markis putting his hand on Spooky’s shoulder. “And stay away from Reaper. In my experience losing comrades – or lovers – is something that hits you suddenly. Never know how she’ll react. I’d hate to have to add either one of you to the rolls of the fallen.”
Spooky nodded as Markis left. He turned to find Cassandra staring at him. Somehow he’d have to mend fences with her…but not today. Today, it seemed, everyone wanted to blame Tran Pham Nguyen for the butcher’s bill.
Nguyens…he grabbed his gear and began to walk along the flight line toward the main compound, following the buses, which had begun to roll. He passed Reaper, Flyboy, Spirit and Stitch, all who remained of the team. He made a mental note to expend every effort to find out for sure whether anyone reached Derrick’s people. Doing so might buy him a small measure of redemption.
***
Flyboy turned to Spirit and Stitch. “Hey, why don’t you give Reaper and me a minute?”
“Sure,” said Spirit. “We’ll be at the bar after we clean up.” The two departed.
Flyboy looked away from Reaper before speaking. He opened his mouth and shut it several times.
“You did good,” Reaper said, forcing a smile. “Finally got to put those mad flying skills to use. Saved us all.”
Flyboy sighed. “Look, I know this isn’t the best time, but...the three of us are leaving.”
“Leaving? Where?”
“Chile. Argentina. Patagonia.”
“Like, on vacation?”
Flyboy smiled. “No. Before Hawkeye…well, before, we were thinking about going to help the Eden insurgency there in the mountains. Hawkeye’s people are fighting against anti-Eden death squads, cartels, cocaine growers, smugglers…lots of people who think Edens make good slaves, or should be stamped out. They could use some help.”
“And Stitch and Spirit are going with you?”
“They’re leaning that way. They don’t like what just happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. Nobody could have done better.”
“I could have aborted.”
“Then all those people would still be in the camp. Look, it was worth the risk. The trade. A handful of people for hundreds. Makes sense.”
“But?”
Flyboy slapped his chest. “But this war is changing. It’s changing you, it’s changing us, it’s changing what Markis has got to work with. People like Spooky, like Skull, like our spy queen…”
“We become what we hate.”
“This wasn’t a surgical strike with SAM rounds, converting them into Edens. We killed a lot of people today. Fifty, a hundred? That’s not what I signed up for. Fighting monsters makes monsters of us. I don’t want to become a monster.”
Reaper crossed her arms and toed the soil at her feet. “I get it.”
“Come with us,” pleaded Flyboy. “Get away from all of this. All the intrigue and politics. Come with us to a place where it’s all simple again. It can be like it used to be. We’ll still work with the FC. Hell, we’ll need supplies of sublethal ammo. But we can do it on our terms.”
Flyboy’s offer cried out to her. It was an opportunity to escape, to get away and start over. What did she have here anyway, now that Keith was dead? Rogett could bodyguard Markis. Cassandra would never be far from a satphone.
Spooky…she still didn’t understand him.
At least he hadn’t turned out to be a traitor.
At least she hadn’t had to put a bullet in the back of his head.
You’ve let yourself be carried along by the stream of events, she told herself. Get out. Get away. Go back to a simple life and a simple code.
She lifted her head and smiled. She found herself on the verge of accepting the offer, until she noticed her hands, still stained with Keith’s blood.
Let them go, she thought. How much more blood will be on your hands before it’s all over? This is their escape, not yours. Don’t screw it up for them.
Looking up, she shrugged, as if helpless. “My place is here...at least for now. Maybe I’ll catch up with you.”
“Yeah. Drop us a line.” He backed up, and then turned to go.
Reaper found herself alone.