Ragus stared at her in surprise. "You want me to make you a sandwich?"
"Yes. There something about that you don't understand? Want one, Wayne?"
Wayne shrugged. "Sure."
"Make that two sandwiches, Ragus. Goat gyros with all the fixings.”
"Okay," Ragus said in defeat.
"And stoke up this fire," she demanded. "It's getting cold in here. Wayne, you come with me." She grabbed her coat and stomped out of the house.
Wayne smiled at Ragus. "Never been married before, have you?"
Ragus frowned. "Dude, I'd still be in high school if the world hadn't flipped out. No, I haven't been married."
"You’ve got a lot to learn about women. I mean, I've heard some shit in my day, but suggesting she go make you a sandwich? You're lucky she didn't pull a knife or something."
"I didn't mean anything. Was it that bad?"
Wayne laughed. "Kid, you'll pay for that comment forever."
Ragus let out a sigh as he pondered this. He'd thought he was being nice. "I guess I better get started on those sandwiches." He got up and wandered off into the kitchen, gently probing the bandages on his face.
Wayne put the first aid supplies on the coffee table, grabbed his coat, and headed out after Shannon. She was splitting firewood beneath an open shed and tossing the pieces in a wheelbarrow. The work seemed to be more about blowing off steam than producing kindling since there was already a pile of it under the shelter.
"Show me what to do," he said.
"There are several buildings where we keep a fire going in the cold months. The cabin that my dad and I stay in, the infirmary, Conor's shop, and the main house. It keeps things from freezing. We need to get those fires going before we lose anything to the cold."
She grabbed the wheelbarrow by the handles and they headed off for the infirmary. There she set Wayne up with fire-building materials and explained the operation of that particular stove to him. "You work in here. I'll start one in my cabin. Then we'll go to the shop."
Wayne had always suspected Conor was well-equipped, but he was very impressed by what he saw around the place. It wasn't just the equipment but the level of organization, the forethought that had gone into it. There was a high degree of planned efficiency that Wayne appreciated.
Of course, it was apparent to him that Conor had more of an engineering mind than a carpenter's mind. There was a difference in the way those two mindsets approached a problem. Had Wayne performed some of the construction and repairs around the place, he would have done things differently. There were still some apparent maintenance issues that needed addressing and were certainly within Wayne's skillset. He also spotted a few construction projects that had been started and not yet finished. Maybe that was another area where he could help out.
When they had the fires going and set to burn low for a couple of hours, they returned to the main living quarters. Despite the mess and the violation that had taken place there, Shannon felt like the compound was home now and she was glad to be back there.
Ragus had finished their sandwiches and had them warming in foil packets over the stove. Shannon picked one up and glared at Ragus.
"Bitch, it better be good," she warned.
Ragus and Wayne stared at her in shock.
She grinned. "I'm teasing, Ragus. Sorry, but you should have seen your face just now."
He breathed a sigh of relief, convinced she'd been serious for a moment.
Wayne opened one of the packets and took a whiff. "What is it?"
"Goat," Shannon said. "Conor has a small herd for meat, milk, and cheese. They also keep the place mowed down in the warmer weather."
"Not scared of goat, are you?" Ragus asked.
"Nah,” said Wayne. “Had it in Detroit a few times at Middle Eastern places. It's not bad."
"Beat's MREs," Ragus said. "I was a little scared of goat until I tried MREs. Now I'll take goat every time, if I have a choice."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, each of them lost in their thoughts and concerns until Wayne finally broke the silence.
"Maybe after lunch we can lace up that hole in the perimeter fencing," he said. "If we can find some thick wire, we can lace it up like we're sewing a tear in cloth. It may take two of us. Someone will have to hold the fence together while the other runs the wire."
"You think we can work together?" Ragus asked Shannon, halfway teasing but halfway serious.
She looked at him like he was an idiot. "Of course we can. I'm over the whole sandwich comment. Doesn't mean I won't bring it up again later."
Ragus met Wayne's eye and got the "I told you so" look.
"I'll take a look at that door," Wayne offered. "It’s beyond repair but I might be able to find another on the property that I can switch it out with. Maybe one that's used less often."
"There's a couple of buildings where we only use the roll-up doors," Ragus said. "They might have a matching door you can steal. I'll show you after we eat."
"I might have to borrow Conor's tools. I didn't bring any of my own."
"Conor will be fine with that," Ragus said, "considering the circumstances."
55
Shani's Home
Jezreel Valley, Israel
When the patrol boat returned them to Eilat, the team was immediately seen by doctors at the naval base. With a bullet wound, Sydner was the priority. Sandy had come off the mission unscathed. In fact, he looked like he could go back out and run the entire operation over again. Barb had two broken fingers, a sprained wrist, a sprained ankle, some bruised ribs, and soreness along her spine from the impact in the pool. X-rays revealed no broken vertebrae or injured discs. Conor had the same sore spine and bruised ribs but was otherwise fit as a fiddle, as he liked to say.
When medical was done with them, Barb, Conor, and Sandy were ushered to a conference room. There they found Shani and Uzi Weiss waiting on them with several other folks. Introductions were vague but Conor suspected it was a mixture of Mossad and Israeli Defense Forces leadership. They were pumped full of coffee and allowed to eat while the group questioned them in detail about what had taken place during the operation.
The tone of the meeting was relaxed. It didn't feel like an interrogation, simply an attempt to gather as much information as possible while it was fresh in the operators' heads. When Shani mentioned that Conor had been unable to contact his handler, Ricardo, one of the men in the meeting said that he'd reach out to his contact at Saint Macallan Collective and provide them with an update on the mission. The man's name was Michael, but he never explained his relationship with the shadowy American group that had hired Conor.
The morning sun was already breaking over the horizon when Conor, Barb, and Shani were loaded onto a chopper and returned to Haifa. A driver from the base delivered them to Shani's home in the Jezreel Valley where they slept most of the day. Abela stayed next door with Tamar so the weary operators could rest up.
Conor finally stirred in late afternoon to the feeling he was being watched. He cracked open an eyelid and saw Abela watching him. She'd opened the door and stuck her head through, her expression revealing her glee in doing something she'd obviously been told not to do. Conor couldn't help but smile back at her.
"What are you doing?" he asked, winking at her.
"Auntie is fixing dinner," she said. "Are you going to wake up?"
"Is everyone else up?"
"Yes. Mommy said you're a lazy bones."
"Did she now? Well, you tell your mommy I'll be right there."
Abela closed the door gently and padded off down the hall. Conor threw back his blanket and made to swing out of bed in his customary fashion. A stabbing pain in his spine halted his movements and he lay still, gritting his teeth against the pain. It was a familiar sensation, or at least one he'd experienced before. Something in his back had swollen from being banged around yesterday. Now a nerve or disc was irritated and putting pressure on his spine. He'd have to go easy to avoid a full-blown, debilitat
ing episode. It happened to him occasionally, completely knocking him out of action until a chiropractor could crack him back into alignment.
Moving slowly, Conor eased himself into a sitting position. He began to lean over to slide on his shoes but his back protested, going into a painful spasm that forced him to lay flat on the bed again. When the pain eased, he sat back up and got to his feet. He opened the door and hobbled down the hall in his bare feet, moving carefully to avoid any movement that might cause him pain. When he reached the living room he found Shani and Barb sitting there drinking tea.
They both turned to look at him, their smiles fading to expressions of concern.
"Bloody hell, Dad. You're twisted up like Quasimodo," Barb said, her face crinkled.
"I believe I partied a little too hard yesterday. Thought I was on spring break again, diving off balconies and into the pool. My back is a little jacked up."
Shani set her teacup on the coffee table. "Never fear. The doctor said this might be the case. He sent me home with 800mg ibuprofens, muscle relaxers, and some pain pills."
"One of each, please," Conor groaned, hobbling toward an overstuffed wingback chair.
Barb looked a little worried. "I'll admit I don't give you much sympathy, Dad. You're a little rough on your body most of the time, but I expect I'll be the same way when I'm your age. You look really messed up, though. Are you sure the docs didn't miss something? Maybe you cracked a vertebra?"
Conor eased himself into the chair with a hand on both armrests, a grimace on his face that didn't go away until he was fully settled. "It takes me longer to snap back after every mission, Barb. When I was your age, injuries went away in days. Now it takes months, if they even go away at all. Some of them linger."
"Maybe it's time to consider retirement."
Conor shook his head. "I don't know. Sounds like a death sentence to me. I can't imagine giving up the adventure."
"It's an adventure just staying alive at home now. Not sure you need to go running off all over the world to get a little excitement in your life. You need to strongly consider slowing down."
Conor smiled at his daughter. "I love you and I appreciate your concern. The time to think about it is when I'm feeling good, though, not when I'm beat all to hell. I don't want to react out of pain. I need a clear head."
"Speaking of a clear head, let's see if we can do something about that," Shani said, reentering the room with a handful of bottles and a steaming mug.
"Is that coffee?" Conor perked up.
"It is. Fresh ground Rwandan beans. It's excellent."
Conor carefully took the cup, his hand shaking slightly as his raised arm put pressure on his spine. He held the cup under his nose and sniffed contentedly. "That's medicine for the soul."
"Well, let's top it off with some medicine for the body, shall we?" Shani dumped a few pills into her hand and held them out to Conor. "Start with a muscle relaxer and we'll see what that does for you."
Conor eagerly swallowed the pill, washing it down with a gentle sip of the hot coffee. When he was done, he rested the cup on the end table. "Barb here is trying to talk me into retiring."
"And doing what?" Shani asked.
"Things in America are pretty lively right now," Barb said. "I'm sure he could stay busy without going on operations away from home."
"I told her I'd think about it when I felt better,” said Conor. “We have other concerns right now, like finding Ricardo."
"I have Uzi on that," Shani told him. "He sent me a message that he'd come by the house later. Maybe he'll learn something."
Conor felt better when the muscle relaxer began to kick in. Eventually, Barb admitted that she'd had one before Conor woke up and the medication was partially responsible for her improved condition. Once he felt able, Conor had a quick shower before dinner.
The meal was wonderful. Good food and good company. No conversation about operations or the troubles in America. Then at some point the guilt hit Conor and the joviality left him like daylight fading at sunset. While he was pleased to have met his daughter Abela, he now had to go home and face Shannon. He had to tell her that her father had died and deal with her emotions. Neither he, Barb, nor Ragus were very good at processing emotions. They'd all suffered traumas that affected the way they dealt with their feelings, and they were all a little jammed up on the inside.
"Excuse me," Conor said, getting up from the table and stepping out onto the patio.
As much as his departure broke the spell of the otherwise pleasant dinner, Shani and Barb understood. Missions and operations gave one focus, gave a reason to push everything else aside. When the mission was over, life came back like a high tide rolling in. All of the things they’d postponed dealing with floated back to the surface and required attention. That was what was happening to Conor and they both knew it.
After dinner, Shani and Barb joined him on the patio. Tamar returned to her own home and Abela came out with a board game, which she coerced Barb into playing. Barb sometimes played board games with Ragus and Shannon, but she usually grew bored with them rather quickly. Her internal gearing ran way too fast to sit still and play a board game. It was something Conor related to. She'd gotten it from him.
Shani and Conor made small talk, beginning to feel more comfortable with each other. They hadn’t fought or argued at all since Conor's arrival here. It was progress. The gravity of knowing he had a child with this woman made Conor try harder. Somehow it now seemed much more important that he try to establish a normal, lasting relationship with her. He wanted to be part of Abela's life, for as much as he could be from a continent away.
When the doorbell rang, Shani got to her feet and retreated into the house. A moment later she returned with Uzi. He shook hands with Conor and threw Barb a wave, not wanting to disturb the intense game she was playing with Abela.
"Any news?" Conor asked.
"I've got updates," Uzi replied. "On several fronts."
"Can I get you some coffee?" Shani asked. "A beer?"
"A beer would be nice."
"Make that two," said Conor.
Shani frowned. "Not with your medication."
"You're not my bleeding mother," Conor snarled. "Beer please."
She conceded, bringing one for each of them.
"Thank you," Conor said, taking a greedy sip.
"We got a report from our asset in Jeddah this morning. The Saudi government is reporting an attack by Hezbollah on the resort in Jeddah. They confirmed that Prince Abbas was killed, as were several of his guards."
"No mention of the Americans staying at the resort with Abbas?" Conor asked.
"No," Uzi said with a shake of his head. "Our asset says they were all whisked out shortly after the police arrived. Word is that they've been reunited with their families at an undisclosed location. I expect we'll not see or hear anything from them for some time. The Saudis will want to keep a thumb on them so they can control the narrative. Losing a member of the royal family to a terror attack is a serious matter."
Conor wasn't surprised at how the Saudis chose to spin the matter. He'd been called a terrorist before. As he'd learned early in life, one man's freedom fighter was another's terrorist. "Hopefully all our effort was not wasted."
Uzi shrugged. "Hard to say, my friend. The powers who want to control American policy aren't going to let up just because they've lost a few members. China is still in the game. Even though you took out a few of the key players, other actors will rise to take their places. You're also forgetting that there's another large force out there who is ready and willing to move against America—the United Nations. They've had a grudge against you chaps for some time."
Conor hoped that wasn't true. He was hoping their mission might stall any UN peacekeeping efforts on American soil. "Any word on Ricardo?"
Uzi took a deep breath. His eyes flickered to Conor's, betraying the serious turn the conversation was about to take.
"What?" Conor pressed. "Did you hear something?"<
br />
"Our liaison to the Saint Macallan Collective says he's dead."
Conor's mouth dropped open. "Dead? What the hell happened?"
"There was a helicopter accident outside of Washington, D.C. Ricardo's chopper exploded and there were no survivors."
"Exploded?" Shani echoed, as shocked as Conor.
"There are no details, but it was suspicious in nature. A bomb. Perhaps even a rocket. There's no one to investigate right now so the cause of the accident will likely go undetermined. We may never know any more than what I just told you."
Conor's expression went bitter. He didn't love Ricardo like family, but the man was one of the few people he trusted in the world. Ricardo had always treated him well and did his best to see that Conor returned safely from each mission. That was the kind of boss who earned loyalty. Conor couldn't believe he was dead. Where did that leave him in terms of employment? Of future work? Of protection for work he'd done in the past? Did this mean he'd have no choice but to retire?
"How are Barb and I getting home?" Conor asked, uncertain of what else to say at this point. "Any strings we can pull?"
"Already working on it," said Uzi. "Conveniently, Israel is preparing to send an aid shipment to your country. They'll land at Oceana Naval Air Station. The Saint Macallan Collective says they'll have someone meet the flight and arrange your transport home from there."
Conor drained his beer. "I'll be glad to get home. Sometimes you do an operation and you feel like you've done something good for the world. Other times, you feel like you've accomplished very little at all. Like good men died for nothing. This feels like the latter."
"You know how this works, Conor," Shani said. "You're a contractor. You were hired to do a job and you did your best. You can't assume responsibility for the planning that went into it, things you had no control over. You did your part."
"Yeah, and come to mention it, I guess I'm not getting paid either."
It was hard to focus on the money when they'd lost two colleagues, but it was business. He hadn't come halfway around the world just for ideals. They'd put their lives on the line. Doc had lost his and Shannon should be entitled to his money. That was something Conor would have to deal with at home if he had the opportunity. That wasn't a certainty, however. He might make it home only to have his phone never ring again.
Punching Tickets: Book Five in The Mad Mick Series Page 28
