Fire and Forget

by Andrew Warren

  The lodge’s restaurant perched at the top of the rocky hill. Its decks and balconies provided an even more spectacular view of the setting sun and the silhouetted black trees on the horizon. The huge, open air palapa was capped with a massive thatch roof. A gentle breeze blew in off the lake in the distance, cooling the patrons within.

  The lodge was small and did not host many guests, but a crowd of tourists and locals had gathered on the dance floor. A trio played an upbeat, modern version of traditional Ugandan music, known as baganda. A local woman from the staff had joined in and was teaching the guests how to dance to the eclectic, frantic beat. Caine smiled as he watched Nena spin and sway. She thrust her hips in an exaggerated strut that matched the rhythm of the drums and guitars.

  At one point, she stumbled and fell into the instructor. She looked up and saw Caine watching her. Her lips curled into a smile as she laughed. Caine thought of all that had happened in the past few days, the death and bloodshed she had born witness to. He was glad the darkness seemed incapable of dimming her inner light and beauty. Her smile was still radiant. Her eyes were bright and alive.

  Caine turned his attention to the curved wooden bar as the bartender set down his drinks. A glass of champagne for Nena, and a Scotch on the rocks for himself. He sipped his Scotch and glanced at the mirrors behind the bar. His skin was tan and his hair was flecked with pale highlights from the harsh African sun. But unlike Nena, his eyes still held a trace of the dark, haunted look he always saw staring back at him in the mirror. But this time, something was different. Maybe it was the tan, or the days of relaxation at the lodge. Or maybe it was as Khairi had said … One less demon, one less nightmare. Perhaps that was enough to tip the balance.

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, the face staring back at him seemed more like his old self. Familiar. Whole.

  He turned away from the reflection and continued to sip his drink.

  Sometime later, the crowd parted, and Nena approached him. Her crimson and orange dress was as vivid as the last vestiges of the sunset outside. Her skin shimmered with sweat, and her hair was thick and tousled.

  “I can’t believe you would not dance with me,” she said. “What a coward you are!”

  “Guilty as charged,” Caine said with a laugh. He handed her the glass of champagne. “But I come bearing gifts. I’m afraid yours may be a little warm by now, though.”

  She held up the glass and clinked it against his. She grimaced as she took a sip. “You’re right, this is terrible. How long was I dancing?”

  “You looked like you could go all night, if you wanted to,” Caine replied, taking another sip of his Scotch.

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide in the dim light of the bar. She took his hand. “We cannot celebrate with warm champagne. Come with me. I have a chilled bottle in my bungalow.”

  Caine paused. He felt the pull of her intoxicating scent, the gravity of her dark onyx eyes.

  “What about dinner? Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Later,” she said, pulling at his arm.

  They said nothing as they walked down the stone path towards the glowing huts poised on the edge of the hill.

  Inside, Nena’s bungalow was identical to Caine’s but was decorated with vases and jars of fresh flowers. She led him up the stairs to the bedroom. Trails of Leopard orchids, lilies, and African Roses lined the stairs. The mosaic of colorful blossoms sweetened the warm night air with their fragrance.

  “The bottle’s over there,” she said, nodding towards the balcony as she removed her earrings. “I'll just be a minute," she murmured.

  She stepped into the bathroom and Caine heard the sound of running water. He stepped over to the ice bucket, removed the chilled green bottle, and popped the cork. He poured two bubbling glasses and took a sip. Again, he looked out over the grasslands below. They were now shrouded in darkness and mist.

  He heard footsteps behind him. Nena emerged from the shadows. Her orange dress was gone, and the red tunic hung open from her shoulders. Sweat glistened on the dark slash of naked skin revealed between the slivers of fabric. Her long, coffee-brown legs parted the slight covering further as she moved towards him.

  “Nena, I—”

  “That day, by the river,” she said, her voice low and husky. “You never told me why you would not kiss me. I am not a naive girl, Tom. I know you wanted to. I know you want to now. I can feel it. I ask you again … is there another woman you love?”

  Caine blinked. Up close, her sleek flesh, her intoxicating scent … her sudden raw sensuality was overpowering. He gently set his hands on her shoulders.

  “To be honest, no. Not now. But there is someone. Someone I might want a future with.”

  Nena stepped forward again, pushing against his feeble resistance. He dropped his hands to her waist. She reached up and caressed the rough stubble of his cheek.

  “If she is your future, then she may love you tomorrow. Tonight is for us. We are here, we are alive. Tomorrow, I go back north. But tonight, I am still free. Here, no one may tell me what to believe, or who I may spend my time with. And no one can tell me what pleasures I may taste.”

  She looked up into his eyes. With a roll of her shoulders, she shrugged out of the red sheath. It fell to the floor with a quiet rustle. “No one but you.”

  Caine could resist no longer. He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers in a hungry kiss. There was no more room for thought, no time for objections. She groaned softly as she kissed him back. Her breasts pressed against him through the thin linen of his shirt. He bit her lip, and she gasped as she felt the heat build between them.

  They fell back onto the bed, her fingers scratching across his back and tugging at his clothes. She tore open his shirt and ran her fingers across his chest. He let her roll him over on the bed and gazed up at her as she straddled his waist.

  “You must be careful,” she whispered. “You’ll tear your stitches. Do not exert yourself. At least, not too much …”

  Caine slid his fingers up her abdomen. Her skin felt like warm silk. “Doctor’s orders?” he said with a grin.

  She giggled and lowered her mouth to his neck. “Oh, quiet you.” The soft, moist caress of her lips slid down his body.

  Their talking and laughter ceased. The sounds of their pleasure carried over the grasslands below and mingled with the cries of the other nocturnal animals.

  In the morning, she was gone. Caine sat up in bed and glanced around the room. The dim glow of dawn crept over the balcony and illuminated the bungalow. He could see that she had taken all her things and left the room. Only the red dress remained, crumpled on the floor where she had left it.

  He turned and stared at the rumpled sheets next to him where she had slept. A single rose lay above the covers. Its petals matched the colors of her dress … fiery orange, tipped with crimson highlights.

  Once again, Caine thought back to her words on the raft.

  A rose to sweeten the present …

  He stood up and padded over to the balcony. The evening mist was receding. The tapir herd was already moving towards the watering hole, as they had done the day before. As they did every day, long before humans saw fit to perch their wooden dwellings on the rocks above.

  The lodge was far south of the White Nile. Caine knew Nena would soon be traveling alongside the river's curves as she made her way north to the spice markets and mosques of her ancient home. He hoped Khairi was right, that peace and stability awaited her there.

  The past had been put to rest. And for now, the present was as sweet as he could remember in recent times.

  That only leaves the future, he thought.

  He picked up his clothes from the floor and got dressed. Then he returned to his bungalow. He grabbed a chair, pulled it to the edge of the balcony, and picked up the sat phone. He dialed a number.

  Rebecca.

  “Tom?” Her voice was slow, and heavy with sleep. She sounded like she had just woken up.

  “Hey
. Sorry if I woke you,” he said.

  “No, it’s fine. All I do is sleep these days.”

  “Are you still in the hospital?”

  “Yes. Tom, there’s something … something I didn’t tell you before. I’m scheduled for an operation. Spinal surgery.”

  He felt his pulse quicken. He clenched his fist. “What’s wrong, are you okay? Did the attack—”

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” she said. “They think … if the surgery is successful, they think there’s a chance I could walk again. The operation is in a couple weeks. At first I was worried my injuries from the attack might have made things worse, but my doctor said everything is still on track.”

  “Rebecca, I don’t even know what to say. That’s incredible news.” He felt a lump in his throat, and his voice dipped low. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know what to say either, to be honest. I’m afraid to get my hopes up, in case … well, you know.”

  Caine thought for a moment. “That was the message you left for Josh, wasn’t it. That was how you knew he was in trouble.”

  “Yeah,” she said quietly.

  “I’m sorry. I wish he could be there for you now. I never wanted …”

  He heard her swallow. “I know, Tom. I know. They’re adding his star to the memorial wall next week. If the operation is—No, when the operation is successful, that’s the first place I plan to walk to.”

  There was crackling silence.

  “I understand the man who helped you, Nhial, was reunited with his family,” she finally said.

  “Good. They deserve some peace,” Caine replied.

  “Speaking of which, the peace conference moved forward. There was some fighting at the oil fields, but without Takuba and his coup to fan the flames, the military routed his men easily. Maybe now the President and the other rebels can craft a ceasefire that actually sticks.”

  “I hope so,” Caine said. “Even Sudan, in the north, seems ready for peace. Maybe everyone’s just too tired to keep fighting. But there’s still all that oil. All that money. Takuba was right about that, at least. The oil is the root of all the killing here.”

  “It’s not just the oil, Tom. It’s human nature. There will always be some who see more profit in war than peace. We have to be better than that. We have to hope for the best, even as we prepare for the worst …” Her voice began to drift and fade.

  “Rebecca, there’s a reason I called … I want to come in.”

  “What?” She snapped to attention. “I’ve heard that before from you.”

  “I know. But I’m serious. What you said to me in Malakal, you were right. We’re in this together. I can’t do it alone. Not anymore.”

  “If the intel you gave me about Walter Grissom is true, then we need you, Tom. More than ever. Grissom is in a league of his own. He’s a lifetime cold warrior, with a black ops file longer than yours. He was notorious for running unsanctioned ops, and he taught Allan Bernatto everything he knows.”

  “Yeah, I know. And now he’s running wild, setting up his own new world order.”

  “With his experience, connections, and resources, he can do it. He’s probably the most dangerous enemy this agency has ever faced.”

  “He gave the order, Rebecca. He told me straight to my face, he ordered Bernatto to burn me in Afghanistan. He got Jack killed. And Josh …”

  “Tom, this is bigger than you and me. I want you to come in, but it has to be for the right reasons. It’s not going to be easy now. Not after what you pulled in Louisiana. The DNI’s body is still missing, and you put two FBI agents in the hospital. And we still don’t know who leaked the convoy intel. Paulis is going to want a full debrief, by the book, before he trusts you.”

  “I know.”

  “They’re going to dig into all your old ops. Full interrogation, psych evaluation, the works.”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  “Are you sure about this? Are you sure you can work with Paulis, work with me? I need to know we can trust you. And more importantly, that you can trust us. Are you really prepared to forget the past?”

  Caine thought for a moment. He pictured the rose lying on the rumpled bed in Nena’s bungalow.

  “I can’t forget,” he said. “I never will. But I’m ready to move forward.”

  “Alright. I’ll let Paulis know. We’ll make the arrangements. And Tom?”

  “Yes?”

  “When I’m out of my surgery, when you’re back … maybe you can walk with me. To see Josh’s star.”

  “I’d like that,” he said.

  “I’ll see you soon, then.” Her words were almost a whisper. She hung up.

  Caine set down the phone and turned back to the balcony. He watched the morning sun explode above the horizon. It burned away the last vestigial traces of darkness and mist.

  Once again, the balance had tipped from shadow, to light.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  A cool mist hung in the air above the still waters and rolling grass hills of Boston’s Public Gardens. The famous wooden swan boats were lashed to their green-steepled dock. They bobbed in the dark, still water of the lagoon. It was early morning, and the park was not officially open. A small crowd of joggers and businessmen gathered on the bank of the lagoon, under the bowed branches of a weeping willow tree.

  The crowd muttered amongst themselves in low, hushed tones. They watched as a pair of policemen in rubber coveralls waded out into the water. A few snapped quick pictures with their cellphones. A dark shape floated a few yards from the grassy shore. The policemen dragged the bloated mass back towards the grassy bank.

  The crowd gasped as they moved closer. The men were pulling a body, facedown, through the water.

  A uniformed officer paced over to the crowd. “Everyone, you need to get back. Move it, ladies and gentlemen, move it.”

  He gestured for them to move back. A pair of black and white police cruisers skidded to a stop on a paved road that ran through the park. Their flickering lights bathed the crowd in a red and blue glow. Their sirens were muted, as if they did not wish to disturb what little peace remained in the quiet, dewy morning.

  The doors of the cruisers swung open. More police officers hustled out. They escorted a pair of men toward the lagoon. The men wore blue windbreakers and carried plastic cases of forensics equipment.

  The officers in the water finally reached the shore and dragged the corpse onto the grass. The water in the lagoon was cold, and the body appeared to be fresh. It was a male in his early fifties. Strands of white hair were plastered against his pale forehead. The wet locks hung down over the body's glazed, blue eyes. A neatly trimmed goatee decorated the corpse's chin. A series of ragged, red holes pierced its water-logged clothes. The bloodstains were concentrated around the heart and lungs.

  One of the police officers patted down the body. “No ID. No wallet.”

  The forensic techs began to snap pictures of the corpse’s wounds.

  “Alright, show’s over. Let’s get back and let these people do their jobs!” The officer on crowd control waved his arms towards the park's exit. “Come on, move back. Let’s show some respect, people!”

  The crowd began to disperse. A tall, muscular man broke away from the mass of onlookers. He wore a long, navy blue trench coat and sipped steaming coffee from a white Styrofoam cup. His face was tan and leathery and lined with the deep, worn crevasses of one who spent too much time in the sun.

  He walked up a gentle, grassy hill and turned left. He exited the park grounds and walked along Charles Street. As he sauntered past the rows of brick buildings and blossoming cherry trees, he slipped a phone from his pocket. His bright blue eyes darted left and right … one last check to make sure he had not been followed. Then he tapped a number on the phone and waited while the call connected.

  A series of beeps indicted the phone had made a secure connection.

  “Blackwing One reporting,” he said.

  “Good to hear from
you,” a gruff voice responded. “Did you go to see the doctor?”

  “Yes, Mr. Grissom. Corrigan has been taken care of,” he said in a low voice. “He made the dead drop last night before he suffered an accident in the park. The police will report it as a mugging. And I recovered our material.”

  As he spoke he slipped a tiny clear pouch from his pocket and held it up to the light. A microchip lay nestled inside the bag. The chip was stained with what appeared to be dried blood.

  “Paulis can run around in circles chasing after his mole,” Grissom said with a chuckle. “I wonder how long it will take him to figure out that his own D/NCS led us straight to his star witness?”

  “Whatever your leverage on Corrigan was, it worked,” the man replied. “Once he inserted the tracking chip during his exploratory surgery, I was able to activate it remotely on the day of the hearing. Burst transmission, short duration. Identified the real convoy. I shut down the transmission after I took care of Lapinski’s SUV. There’s no chance anyone else detected the signal. Corrigan removed it during Rebecca’s operation. It’s in my possession now. I’ll dispose of it shortly.”

  “At least one goddamn thing went right,” Grissom muttered. “Look, there’s something else I need you to take care of. I’ve booked you on a flight to Geneva. I’ll brief you when you get here. You leave this afternoon.”

  “What’s the new job?” the man asked in a monotone voice.

  “Bernatto,” Grissom snapped. “He disappeared in the aftermath. Better than the authorities finding him, I suppose. But his asset, Takuba … that lunatic almost ruined everything. Poor judgment on Bernatto’s part. Allan is a loose end now, just like Lapinski was. And we both know I can’t have that. Not with what we’re trying to build. Everyone is expendable.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Then there’s Caine … You worked with the man. What do you think?”

  “Caine will be a problem, sir. He won’t let this go. You and Bernatto took him apart, put him back together again. Just like you did to me, Tyler, and the others. But Tom … he’s missing a piece. He forgot the most important part of this job.”