by Brad Taylor
She returned to the boy, mentally begging him to run. She rose into a crouch, preparing to sprint the short distance to him, when a bullet chipped the wood next to her head. She retreated, unable to take her eyes off of the child.
Go. Get him before he dies.
Her body refused to move, the fear of her own death overriding her desire to save the child.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, a form sprinting through the bullets. With a shock, she recognized Pike. She wanted to scream at him to stop, but simply watched him in morbid dread, knowing she was going to witness his death.
He reached the boy and scooped him up without breaking stride, running toward her and the safety of the shop. He reached the low shelf she was hiding behind and launched himself into the air, rotating over like a high jumper, the child cradled in his arms. He landed hard on his back, right next to her, his body cushioning the boy. He lay still.
She shook his shoulders, leaning over him, “Are you hit?”
He looked at her in surprise, letting the boy scamper to the back of the store. He sat up, his face splitting into a grin. “I don’t think so, but I’ll be damned if I know why. What the hell are you doing here?”
She said, “I found—”
He cut her off with a raised finger, listening to his covert earplug.
“No, we aren’t breaking contact. Smoke those fuckers.”
He returned to Jennifer, saying, “Retro’s flanking now. I want to keep them focused down here.”
He leaned out and snapped off a couple of rounds, drawing a fusillade of fire in return, the wood chipping all around him. He snapped his head back.
“Jesus. He’d better hurry the fuck up because I’m not doing that again.”
The words still hung in the air when the gunfight erupted, the random popping of rounds replaced by a cacophony that sounded like a string of firecrackers. In seconds it ended, the silence overpowering.
She heard Pike say, “Roger that. The guy in the bathroom had a Chinese passport as well. Everyone okay?”
He paused a second, listening, then said, “Good to go. Starburst out of here before the cops show up. We’ll meet back at the hotel.”
Scanning the store, he saw for the first time the corpse of the Chinese man Jennifer had fought. Walking over to it, he took in the massive trauma to the head and the bloody lamp next to the body. He looked at Jennifer leaning back against the shelf, her head on her arms. He noticed the keffiyeh, a red stain in the middle.
“You okay?”
She looked at the body, then at him.
“No… no, I’m not.”
33
K
eshawn Jackson leaned up on an elbow, barely able to pick out the slumbering form next to him in the feeble light of dawn. A glance at his cheap Casio caused a spark of concern. It was past six. Roommate will be home soon. This was a mistake.
The relationship was the one rule he had broken, the one time he had slipped in his five years of iron discipline. After he’d left prison, he had followed the proscriptions of the Muslim chaplain to the letter, both religious and operational. As the years went by, he had maintained that rigid obedience. Then he had met Beth.
A checkout clerk at a local supermarket, at first he had ignored her as just another heathen. Over time, her chipper attitude had worn him down, continually asking him questions every time he shopped, no matter how indifferent he acted. Initially acting pleasant simply to avoid drawing attention, he found himself engaging her in conversation. He knew it was a mistake—knew he couldn’t do anything beyond pleasantries—but he did it anyway.
He had learned quite a bit about her during the shopping trips. She didn’t drink, was a pious churchgoer and a devoted volunteer of various causes. And she was very, very pretty. Against his better judgment, he did the unthinkable: He asked her out.
They had dated for close to a year, with him following the best tradecraft he could, given the situation. He never let her go to his residence, and stayed over at her place no more than once a week. Always only on nights when her roommate was sleeping over at her boyfriend’s house, and he always left before she came home. He never, ever mentioned to his contact what he was doing. He knew what would happen if he did.
He’d told himself that he’d break it off the minute he was alerted for a mission. Now, staring at her slumbering form, he cursed his weakness. He was far beyond simply being alerted, and yet he persisted still.
He was lightly stroking her face, fantasizing about bringing her with him, about converting her to the one pure religion, when she awoke.
“Hey. I gotta go. It’s the witching hour.”
She grasped his hand and pressed it into her face. “Just stay for breakfast this once. My roommate is beginning to think I’m a liar. Or that I’m paying you.”
He laughed, using his standard excuse. “I have to get to work. You know that.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I’ll call you later.”
She said, “Let’s go to your place next. Please? I know you’re embarrassed about it, but I don’t care if it’s just a trailer or something worse. You shouldn’t care either.”
He stood up and put on his clothes. “I’ll think about it, okay? I promise.”
She followed him to the door, wearing just a sheet. He kissed her again, and walked to his car.
He sat and watched her close the door, feeling conflicted. He had his instructions, and the time was coming closer. Today, he was supposed to rent a warehouse that would facilitate the building of the means of destruction. A warehouse with an address that could be accessed by DHL. He should have felt elation at the progress forward. Should have felt deep gratitude at the responsibility entrusted to him.
Instead, he felt only sadness that he would never see Beth again.
Beth was eating breakfast when her roommate returned, wearing the clothes she had left in the night before.
“So, Mr. Wonderful has hauled ass again, huh?”
“Lay off of him, Kristy. He has to get to work. He’s not avoiding you.”
Kristy sat down, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Bullshit. Beth, I don’t like this guy. He’s hiding something. Something illegal.”
“No, he’s not. He’s just shy. He’s a good man. Pure.”
“Yeah. Probably selling drugs.”
Beth flared in anger. “He doesn’t even drink! He’s Muslim! He’s very strict about those things.”
“Well, that’s something else that’s fucking weird. Are you sure he’s not in some sort of cult? Maybe he wants to suck you in. Maybe that’s why you never get to see where he lives.”
“Stop it! You don’t even know him. And anyway, I’m going to surprise him tonight. I’m going to his house.”
“How?”
“I’m going to follow him home from work. He’s just ashamed of where he lives. He doesn’t make any money at his job. I’ll show him I don’t care about those things.”
Kristy’s eyebrows shot up. “You be careful with that, you hear me? Call me when you go.”
Beth left the apartment without answering.
She bought a small batch of flowers on the way to the supermarket, then spent her entire shift glancing at the clock on the wall. Her replacement showed up early just as she’d promised she would. Beth gave a hurried thank-you and raced out of the store.
She arrived at the BGE district office a little unsure of herself. After much prodding, Keshawn had told her where he worked but hadn’t given a firm address, only saying it was on the west side of Baltimore, outside the 695 beltway, at a vehicle barn that housed BGE trucks. She had Googled and found quite a few locations, but had narrowed it down to this place, a large building with a truck barn. She wasn’t sure it was correct.
She circled the parking lot, growing more and more leery until she spotted Keshawn’s beat-up Honda Civic. She smiled. Whew. Kristy would really go off if I couldn’t even find his place of work.
She parked her own car away from his, hidden
between a pickup and a large SUV. Her dash clock told her she had only about ten minutes before his shift was up. She watched every truck that returned, finally seeing Keshawn driving one through the chain-link gate.
Fifteen minutes later, she was following him south down the beltway, staying discreetly four cars back. He drove into southeast Baltimore, toward the port and the industrial area. Driving past tow yards and scrap metal recycling facilities, she hoped he didn’t live anywhere near here.
Eventually, he pulled into a large, prefabricated storage facility, with a sign out front proclaiming self-storage units, individual office space, and small warehouses for rent.
What’s he doing here?
She drove by, did a U-turn, and parked in the next building over. She saw Keshawn in the front office talking to what looked like a manager. Eventually, they disappeared through a back door, then reappeared at the front of a small, stand-alone building with a roll-up door. They both disappeared inside. Five minutes later, they returned, with Keshawn shaking the man’s hand. She watched him writing on some paperwork, then shaking his hand again before heading to his car.
What in the world is that all about?
She followed him back the way they had come, eventually traveling past the exit to the BGE office and continuing north. He exited the beltway near Towson, getting into the strip mall suburbs, with Barnes & Noble, movie theaters, and Cheesecake Factory restaurants dominating the drive.
After a few minutes, he pulled into an apartment complex, fairly new with a NOW LEASING sign out front. The cars in the parking lot were all late-model, with a smattering of relatively expensive foreign ones. It didn’t look like a place to be ashamed of.
She stayed well away from him, pulling into the first spot she could find and watching. He parked, then went to the second floor. When she was sure he was inside and settled, she grabbed the flowers and went up, feeling anxious at her little treachery.
She knocked on the door and waited, wondering if he was staring at her through the peephole. When the door swung open, she knew he hadn’t bothered to use it by the look of shock on his face.
“Hey, honey. Surprise!”
He stood still for a minute, his face flashing first anger, then sadness. “What are you doing here? How’d you find me?”
She handed him the flowers. “I followed you home. I know you don’t want me to see where you live, but it’s not bad at all. What’re you afraid of?”
He said nothing.
She knew something was wrong, but put it down to her little detective work. She tried to lighten the mood.
“Can I come in? Or is the inside a real ghetto?”
He stood back from the door. “I wish you hadn’t done this. I would have come for you when the time was right.”
She kissed him on the cheek, saying, “I know how you are. The time will never be right unless I make it so.”
Inside was a studio apartment with very little furniture. Just a small table with two chairs and a futon on the floor. Not even a TV.
“Wow. You live spartan. No wonder you like coming to my place.”
“Yeah. That’s what I mean. I can’t afford any furniture. I was going to show you the place after I got some. I just rented this a few months ago.”
She put her arms around his neck. “You should know me well enough by now. I don’t care about that stuff.” She pantomimed sniffing him. “Wow. You stink… let’s go clean you up.”
He said nothing for a moment, seeming to think it over. Then he smiled and relaxed, “Well, as long as you’re here.”
He followed her into the bathroom. When she saw the large Jacuzzi tub that came with the apartment, an impish grin slipped out. “Looks like it’s big enough for two.”
She turned on the water, then began to undress him. While the water filled, she said, “Hey, what’s up with the storage place? What’re you doing there?”
The happiness fled his face, replaced with the sadness she’d seen at the door.
“It’s nothing. Just something a friend wanted me to check on.”
She ignored the look, determined to prove her trick wasn’t a mistake. “You get in first.”
She undressed while he slipped into the water, then sat between his legs, turning on the jets. He began to rub her shoulders, just like he did when they were at her place. The tension left her body. This is more like it.
She closed her eyes and said, “Why don’t you forget about saving for furniture? We could get a place together. With our combined income, we could afford it.”
She thought she’d missed his answer over the sound of the jets. She opened her eyes and turned around to face him. She saw tears falling down his cheeks.
“Keshawn? What’s wrong?”
He said nothing. He simply raised his hands to the top of her head and pushed her under the water.
34
J
ennifer sat alone on the bed in her hotel room, not wanting to join the team next door. She had the shades drawn and the lights out, with the only illumination coming from a crack in the bathroom door. She could hear the men through the connecting door, laughing and joking. “I thought we were breaking contact when I saw you running away from the fight like a spotted ape.”
“I wasn’t running, jackass. I was doing my duty. Protecting civilian lives.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“The kid was in front of you, and I’ve seen you shoot. I figured he was in danger….”
She tuned them out, remembering the child. I should have done something. I was closer.
Upon their return to the hotel, the first thing the team had done was a hot wash, examining all aspects of the gunfight to see what they could have done differently or better.
It had been brutally critical, with Pike bearing the brunt. The team had hammered him for saving the child, saying he had put them all at risk by forcing them to assault with one less man.
The conversation had shamed Jennifer, making her wonder if anyone had seen her paralysis of fear. The memory alone caused her to tremble. Why didn’t I go?
She heard the door open and saw Pike in the feeble light.
“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“Adrenaline will do that. How’s your arm?”
She flexed her hand, saying, “Good. Buckshot did a great job. The stitches itch, but that’s about it.”
“Well, he’s had enough practice. He used to be an eighteen Delta in fifth group.” Remembering she had no military experience, he added, “A medic. A Special Forces medic.”
She nodded and said nothing. Pike came inside and closed the door.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.” She waited a beat, then said, “Why did you save that child?”
He leaned against the door, looking confused. “Uhh… I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
Right thing to do.
“But there was no way you should have lived. You had to have known that. Why?”
He became embarrassed at the attention. “Look, I was too stupid to realize that. Trust me, I wouldn’t do it again.”
She stood up, searching his face for deception. “Really? You wouldn’t?”
Pike glanced away for a moment, the returned her gaze. “No. Not really. I’d do it again. That kid was going to die because someone was trying to kill me. I was the cause. I couldn’t let that happen.”
“But the team…”
“Yeah, well, they have a point, but it’s the score that counts. They did fine without me, like I knew they would.”
She looked down at the floor. “I should have run to him. I was closer. I could have protected him and you could have gone with the team. But I was afraid.”
“Cut that shit out. You can’t second-guess what you did. You had just finished a fight for your life.”
The destroyed visage of the Chinese sprang into her mind, the split skull, the flying bone and brain matter as she struc
k him again and again. She felt a wave of nausea and sat down again, putting her head into her hands. Pike sat down next to her and rubbed her back, talking softly to her.
She lifted her head and said, “I feel dirty. Like I’ve crossed a line and I can never go back.”
He spoke gently. “I know. It’s not easy. Especially with what you were forced to do. You’ll have dreams. Bad ones.”
His words brought a measure of calm to her, his empathy soothing in the darkness. She reached out and squeezed his hand, wondering if she would ever figure him out.
This was the Pike she was drawn to, a man who risked certain death for an unknown child, but somewhere inside him was the monster from the warehouse. The Pike she didn’t know. She flashed again to the body in the souvenir shop. What about the Jennifer you don’t know?
“Do you get dreams? I mean, still?”
“Yeah. I do. I think it’s the body’s way of dealing with the stress. Eventually they’ll go away and get replaced by good dreams. It just takes time. I used to get them pretty bad right after an action, but within about three to six months, they’d be replaced by dreams of my family. I guarantee I’ll dream about that kid and—”
He caught himself and said nothing for a moment, then finished his thought. “And that guy in the warehouse.”
She was surprised by the admission, thinking he was different. Stronger or harder. A machine. She changed the subject to get away from the talk of death. “Do you still dream about your family?”
“I used to every night. Like clockwork. Not so much anymore, since Guatemala and Bosnia. Since I ran into you, really.”
She was surprised again, and showed it on her face. She knew how deeply the loss of his family had affected him, and couldn’t believe that their adventures last year had altered that. “You don’t dream about your family anymore? What do you dream about instead?”
He blushed, and looked away. “Nothing really. I just don’t dream about them as much anymore.”
The truth sank in with a small measure of flattery and a large amount of confusion. He dreams about me.
