It was funny that two hours ago he was questioning whether he should retire. Now that the decision might be beyond his control, leaving the life was the last thing in the world he wanted. He felt like there was a lot of unfinished business out there.
56
Israel
They remained at Shani's a few more nights before the aid shipment was scheduled to leave the country. Conor spent time with Abela, doing things he had not done since Barb was a child. He colored, he drew, he played board games, and for as much as his back allowed, he played hide and seek. Uncertain that he'd ever see her again, every moment possessed a gravity that crushed his heart. When Uzi arrived to deliver them to the airport, Abela seemed more torn up about Barb leaving, but it was Conor who teared up. He did his best to hide it from the child, not wanting to explain his sadness.
He didn't try so hard to hide it from Shani, who shed a few tears of her own. She was fighting her own battles, suffering the consequences of having withheld Abela's existence from Conor for so long. Every decision had its price and some were never fully paid, the debt continuing to extract its pound of flesh forever. That time heals all wounds was a lie people told to console each other. Some wounds never healed.
"I'm sorry, Conor," she mumbled when she hugged him good-bye.
"We can't change the past,” he whispered in her ear. “I appreciate you sharing her with me the past few days. Thanks for opening your home to us. It's been really nice."
They left empty-handed, except for bottles of water and some snacks shoved into their pockets. No gear, no weapons, and no packs, with only the clothes they were wearing. Conor left his suppressed Ruger as a gift for Shani. It wasn't like he didn't have a half-dozen more suppressed .22s back at his shop on Jewell Ridge.
Instead of returning to Haifa, Uzi drove them to Tel-Aviv, which took a little more than an hour. With his escort and their diplomatic paperwork, Conor and Barb were whisked aboard a Boeing 747-400ERF, an extended range freighter filled with relief supplies. There were only two rows of seats, the remainder of the main deck filled with shrink-wrapped pallets strapped down to the floor.
While the conditions were Spartan, Conor had certainly flown on worse. He'd stretched hammocks from the rigging of C-17s and slept in their uncomfortable rows of jump seats. These seats were more like standard airline seats, only without all the other shithead passengers kicking the back of his seat or reclining into his lap.
"You should try to grab some sleep too, Barb," Conor said. "Shani sent some Ambien if you want one."
Barb looked doubtful. Restless. This was all new to her. "I think I'll stay awake. I want to see this part of the world from the air. I might never be back here again."
It was true. There were things Conor took for granted because he'd traveled so much of the world. His daughter hadn't had those same opportunities. He felt a twinge of guilt for that. He knew so much of the world, had been to so many cities, and he'd not once offered to take her on a regular old family vacation. He tried to picture himself; Conor Maguire as a tourist in baggy shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a goofy hat. If the world ever got back to normal, they'd do that one day. He'd take her to Ireland to meet family. They'd visit Europe and Asia. All the while, he'd try to leave the paranoia at home and forget about all the people who'd want to kill him if they knew he was back on their turf. He'd had a long career and in this business that made a man a lot of enemies.
He found sleep not long after their flight took off. Between the muscle relaxers for his back and the Ambien, the lull of the jet engines had him sleeping like a baby. It wasn't until they were nearing the coast of America that Barb shook him awake.
"The co-pilot was just back here, Dad. He said we'd be landing in about twenty minutes. We're to stay onboard the plane until someone comes for us."
Conor was too groggy to ask any questions. By the time they landed, he was feeling a little better, shaking off the remnants of the drug-induced stupor. The plane touched down gently and taxied to the apron, where the engine began to wind down. Conor released his seat belt and got up to walk around.
"All that sitting made me stiff as a board. I'll be glad to get back home, back to me own bed." Then he realized getting back home meant telling Shannon about her father and suddenly he wasn't so anxious anymore.
It wasn't long before the doors were opened and hydraulic cylinders raised the nose cone to allow access to the main cargo deck. Conor paced impatiently, trying to walk off his back pain. A few minutes later, a platform lift approached the nose of the plane and raised itself level with the cargo deck. A rigging crew came aboard with a forklift, ready to free the cargo and start offloading it. Behind them, a lone man in a leather jacket and jeans came aboard. When he spotted Conor and Barb, he stopped and waved them in his direction with three fingers.
Conor waited on Barb and threw a protective arm around his daughter. He didn't know this guy, but he had the look of a SEAL, which would be appropriate to their location. When they were on the platform, the lift operator dropped them to the ground and they followed their escort to an older HUMVEE. He said nothing the entire time, simply starting the engine when they were onboard and driving off at a rapid clip.
The driver zipped around the facility like he was racing against the clock. Having to hold and flex his muscles to stay in position made Conor's back scream in protest. He gritted his teeth, thinking it was probably a good thing he didn't have a weapon. If this kept up much longer, he'd have been tempted to kill the driver. Just as he was preparing to say something, the driver came to a stop in front of a low building and killed the engine.
Conor looked around. "Where are we?"
The driver didn't answer, getting out of the vehicle and leaning against the bumper to have a smoke.
"What is this?" Barb asked Conor.
"No idea."
A man exited the building and headed toward their vehicle, nodding at the driver. In the dying rays of evening light, Conor caught a glimpse of the man's face and his heart sank.
"Dammit!" he muttered.
"What?"
Conor didn't have time to answer Barb before the man threw open the driver's side door and climbed into the vehicle.
"Conor Maguire, long time no see." The greeting wasn't friendly in any genuine sense. It was almost taunting.
"Billy Browning," Conor acknowledged, no warmth in his voice either. "Didn't realize you were still drawing breath."
"Oh, I'm still kicking and now I'm back on Uncle Sugar's payroll. That's why we're having this little conversation. We're getting the band back together and guess who else they're wanting to bring back?"
"Not sure I want to know."
"Oh, you'll want to know," said Browning. "It's none other than the Mad Mick himself."
Conor shook his head. "I don't work for the government anymore. You were around when it happened and you know it as well as I do. After 9/11, they took all us scary types off the payroll and made us freelancers. I've been a private contractor ever since."
"Yes, I'm familiar with Ricardo, your old handler. You know he's dead now, right?"
Conor gritted his teeth at the callous way Browning threw it out there. The death still stung, mostly because Conor didn't know who was behind it. "I heard a rumor."
"I'll make this short and sweet, Conor. I know where you've been and what you've been up to, but we're going to put that behind us for now. You know why? Because your little mission stirred up a hornet's nest. In light of your attack against American officials, the government decided they needed to take swift and decisive action today. My operators killed most of the members of the Saint Macallan Collective. There's a few who disappeared in time but we got most of them. My team also assassinated every agency head whose loyalty was in question. The same purge took place in all branches of the military. All of the disloyal have been rooted out and dealt with."
Conor's face betrayed no expression as he processed this information. "If you're on such a killing spree, why are you al
lowing me to live?"
Browning stared at him. "Because you're not a thinker, Conor. You're a hammer and you only bang where you're told to bang. I convinced my bosses that we could use a man like you."
"What if I have no interest in being part of what you're doing here?"
"The government wants you back on the payroll and it's not a request.” Browning grinned. “You remember our old friends in South America? Sendero Luminoso?"
"Yeah. The Shining Path."
"How'd they do it, Conor? You remember?"
"They asked you to join, but only once. If you agreed, you lived. If you refused, they put a bullet in your immediately. No second chance."
"So you understand the gravity of the situation?"
Conor turned in his seat and looked Browning square in the eye. "Are you threatening me? Either I agree to come back to work for the government or you kill me?"
Browning dipped his head in acknowledgment. "That's basically it."
"And what if my daughter back there snaps your neck? She's fast."
"Eh, if I don't kill you, the guy out there leaning against the hood will. He has orders. If he hears a scuffle, you both die."
Conor glanced out the window at the man smoking by the hood of the vehicle. He didn't know what to think. This was a lot to take in.
Browning moved in to seal the deal. "The battle is over, Conor. What you did in Saudi Arabia accomplished nothing. The United Nations is already mobilizing troops and they'll be on American soil in days, assisting with power restoration. Once we start turning lights on around this country, who do you think the American people will side with? Most are so desperate they'd give a limb to have their power back."
"What exactly would I be doing?" asked Conor.
"Oh, you'd be grinding down the rough spots. There're people all around this country who are impeding the progress of the government. They're damaging power plants and interfering with the establishment of aid camps around the nation. We need those troublemakers singled-out and eliminated."
Conor's mind reeled at this turn of events. All of those who said his mission in Saudi Arabia was a failure were right. He had no idea what to do but play along with what was presented to him. "Who would be my contact?"
Browning grinned. "You're looking at him."
"Then I guess I have no choice here if I want to get home alive."
"That would be correct. And don't think you're going to get home and not take my calls, Conor. We know where you live. I can call in a drone strike and wipe your compound off the face of this planet in less than two hours."
"I said I'd do it," Conor snapped. "Now how do I get home?"
"Now that you're back on the payroll, I can have a chopper take you home. Remember what I said. When I call, you’d better pick up." With that, Browning removed a satellite phone from his pocket and tossed it to Conor. "I assume you have a way to keep this charged?"
"I do."
Browning threw open his door. "Then have a safe trip home, Conor. We'll talk soon. I'm already building a target matrix for you so rest up. You're going to have a busy spring."
As Browning strode back into the building, the driver flipped his cigarette butt into the parking lot and climbed back inside. Conor almost sensed disappointment coming from the man, as if he'd been excited about the prospect of the kill and he'd been robbed of it. Too fucking bad.
57
Virginia
Their brooding driver dropped them off at a chopper and they climbed out without a word. Part of Conor wanted to snap his neck, then go find Browning and do the same to him. Had his back not been tweaked, he might have had a hard time holding himself back. In his present condition, he was certain the younger man could tie him into a pretzel and eat him alive, especially if he had no weapons to give him an advantage.
Once they were in the air, Barb had a lot of questions, but they couldn't talk safely over the inflight comms and yelling wasn't exactly private. Conor patted Barb on the arm and said in her ear that they'd talk when they got home. Without the distraction of conversation, his mind went to what lay ahead of him.
He knew Shannon's heart would race with anticipation at the sound of the approaching chopper. She'd be expecting her father, her only family remaining in the world. He would not be coming home, and it was up to Conor to explain why. As if his words would even matter in this case. She wouldn’t even hear them. Her senses would shut down from the overwhelming weight of her grief once she understood that her father was dead.
In the back of the dark chopper, Conor's mind whirled at nearly the same speed as the rotor blades, turning over all the things that had happened since he'd left home. Sometimes he came home from a mission, fell back into his routine, and put the operation behind him. There was no doing that this time. The experiences of the last few weeks might change their lives forever.
"We're closing in on the target," one of the pilots announced through the headset, the first words he'd spoken to them during the entire flight. "Is your LZ marked?"
"If you hover for a second, they should turn on the landing lights," Conor replied. "If not, hit your infrared spotlight and use your nightvision. I have IR markers on the chopper pad."
"Roger that." The pilot slowed the chopper and sat over the compound.
Conor was relieved when the landing lights turned on. He hadn’t been worried about the kids being home alone. In fact, he'd had little time to even think about them, but it was comforting to know they were down there. Hopefully, their time had been less eventful than his and Barb's.
Seeing his landing pad clearly designated now, the pilot dropped to the ground and the crew chief threw open the rear door. Conor tried to ease out slowly, but the drop to the ground sent an arrow of pain through his back. He ducked and jogged clear of the rotors, Barb on his tail. Behind them, the chopper lifted off quickly and disappeared into the night.
"Where's Dad?" Shannon demanded.
In the glow of the landing lights, she'd seen that only two people emerged from the chopper and her father wasn't one of them. Conor winced as he straightened his back. Ragus hadn't shut off the landing lights yet, paralyzed by the implications of Doc's absence.
Shannon stepped into the glow of the harsh LEDs and Conor saw her alarm, the desperation in her expression. She was waiting for Conor to tell her to relax, that Doc was okay and he'd be home soon, but Conor couldn't promise that this time. He had nothing to offer her but a watch and it was a sorry trade. He absentmindedly twisted it on his wrist before he spoke.
He swallowed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Shannon."
Her face wracked in horror, turning into a grimace of anguish. "Noooo!" she wailed, dropping to her knees.
Conor moved toward her but Ragus beat him there, dropping alongside Shannon and wrapping his arms around her. She curled forward like a dying leaf, each of her sobs a punch to Conor's gut. He could hear Ragus crying too, his young heart breaking for Shannon.
Barb stepped alongside Conor and slid an arm around him, pointing into the darkness to the figure Conor hadn't yet spotted. Conor was startled for a moment, uncertain as to who the unexpected presence was. Then he recognized Wayne, which raised its own set of questions. Last he'd spoken to him, Wayne was preparing to leave the area with his people.
Barb stepped away and threw the switch to turn the landing lights off. Suddenly the cold night was dark again, a bleak and barren landscape illuminated only by a scant sliver of moon. The chorus of sobs rising from Ragus and Shannon were the only sounds in the crisp night. Barb dropped to the ground beside them, resting an arm on each back.
"Let's get inside by the fire," she whispered.
Together, she and Ragus helped Shannon to her feet and supported her when her legs refused to bear her weight. They carried her between them, walking slowly and silently because they had no words. They made their way into the living quarters and eased her down on the couch, helping her get out of her thick winter coat.
Ragus tossed his jacket of
f and took Shannon into his arms. She collapsed against him, her arms wrapped around her core as if subconsciously trying to hold in the guts she felt had been ripped from her.
Conor stood by the fire for a moment, staring at Shannon with utter helplessness. Nothing he could say would help. He could explain the op, he could tell her that her father had died in service of his country, but none of that would ease her suffering. It couldn't.
He wandered into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. His meds were starting to wear off, and his back pain was returning. He was okay with that. He deserved it. It was only fair that he suffer too. Even though he hadn’t been responsible for Doc's death, he felt guilty nonetheless. He'd been the one to deliver the news to Shannon.
Barb settled onto the couch beside Shannon, laying a hand on her back. Feeling awkward, a useless spectator to the suffering, Wayne went into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table with Conor.
"I thought you were leaving," Conor said, his voice low and lifeless. "Kind of a surprise to find you here."
Wayne shrugged. "Eh, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there was nothing waiting for me down south. I also wanted to find the man who killed those boys from my group."
Conor nodded grimly. He understood vengeance. "Any leads on that?"
"Found him. Killed him."
"Good...job," Conor said, distracted by a renewed burst of wailing from the other room.
"Look, Conor, I know you're probably wondering what the hell I'm doing here in your house, but there's something you need to know. These kids had a rough go of it while you were gone. They left the compound one day so Ragus could visit his mother's grave. They crossed paths with the man who killed my people and he took them prisoner. I have no doubt he planned on killing them."
Punching Tickets: Book Five in The Mad Mick Series Page 29
