by Raquel Belle
“She loves you. It’s plain to see.”
“We’re sisters. I mean, yeah, I’ve never thought about it much before. I love her too. It’s us you know?”
“I don’t know, I don’t have blood relations,” I say. Then regret saying it. Deanna is quiet for a while.
“When Terry came up yesterday he told me a lot of stuff.”
“Yeah? What?”
“He said you were an orphan and you were in the system and no one adopted you and then you joined the military.”
Yep, Terry did his homework. “Yeah, that’s right. Anything else?” We’ve yet to hit the desert and this conversation is already happening.
“He said he couldn’t find anything else.”
“Yeah, that’s what’s pissing him off.” For a moment I start to wonder if I’ve made the right move here, but she vouched for me and she’s here because she wants to be. I want to be as honest as I can…within reason.
“Well, why couldn’t he? I mean, that’s what he was so paranoid about. He gave me a really creepy explanation that I knew couldn’t be true. That’s why I asked him to drop it.”
“How creepy?”
“Um, pretty creepy, I’d rather not say it. Why don’t you just tell me.” She smiles and rubs my thigh, then kisses my earlobe.
Okay. Maybe an abbreviated version. “Alright. I’ll tell you as much as I can. There’re certain things I can’t say, is that alright?”
“Jack, of course. The fact that you’re offering to do that is something in itself. I trust you. Even if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m fine with that.”
This woman. She’s really something. “Well now I do want to tell you.”
“Okay, then do.”
“Where to begin. Honestly, I’m nothing but disillusioned with the whole fiasco. I’ve known one thing my whole life, serving my country, and in the end it all just seems like bullshit.” Deanna just looks at me expectantly.
I take a breath. I feel like I’m going to unload. I do. “About two years ago I woke up in a hospital in Canada. I had more holes in me than a conspiracy theory and a rip down my side so big you could hide your handbag in it. I’d been in a coma for weeks. I have no memory of how I ended up there. I was told later that a trawler fished me out of the water near the site of an explosion.”
Deanna says nothing but I can tell I have her undivided attention.
“Only me, no one else. After making contact with Special Operations, I got no answers at all. I wasn’t on the system so I had to call in favors with some friends to get me stateside. From then on out I’ve just been trapped in a world of horseshit and red tape. Rehabilitation was a bitch, that took months. The only thing I’ve learned so far is that a Superyacht exploded near to where I was found. It was supposedly owned by some bratva guy.”
“Bratva?”
“Russian mafia.”
“Oh.”
“I ran one of the most elite units there has even been in S.O. When you’ve got a problem and you need it go away, you reached out to the right people, and we got you the results. Those men were the closest thing to family I ever had and I can’t even remember why we were there, what we were doing and why the hell I survived and they didn’t. I was responsible for them and I failed them…and to this day I have no fucking clue as to why.”
She still says nothing.
“It gets worse,” I say, “my unit was so dark that when we’re stateside and not on the job our records are always sealed as a matter of course. We just carry picture IDs with a barcode on it, not affiliated to any agency. When you scan it, any law enforcement computer will spit out a Do Not Detain order. When we’re running an op though, we’re deleted…from everything.”
“Why?”
“If we’re caught, captured or killed…we’re evidence…we’re only put back on the system once the op is complete and we check back in with our handler and he verifies a clean mission. Essentially, as far as the world is concerned, while we’re in play…we don’t exist…so if anything goes wrong, we can be disavowed and the country can deny any involvement.”
“Did your handler know anything?”
“Well, that’s the thing. For the five years I ran that unit, we never met. We communicated through texts on phones that are wiped clean after orders are confirmed and acknowledged. His codename was Mockingbird. Well, it could have been a her, I don’t know. Anyway, I tried making contact for months but the whole operation vanished overnight. Every safehouse, every cache, everything…everything was cleaned, like it was never there.”
“But Terry said that you do have a record, it’s just sealed.”
“Well, you can’t deny a living, breathing, human body walking onto base. I have Generals who know me personally, dozens of men and women I’ve worked with. There were months and months of inquests where we didn’t learn a damn thing, because, hey, I can’t tell you what I genuinely don’t know, and I’m also not allowed to tell anyone about operations that aren’t documented…after all, that’s why they’re not documented. Anyway, after all of that…ta da, my records just showed up again. Nobody knows how. I’m guessing Mockingbird is still out there somewhere but we fucked up so badly he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me again. Maybe he was waiting to see what I knew before he brought me back to life.”
“And are you still working for them?”
“Officially, yes, unofficially, no.”
“What do you mean?” She looks confused. That’s because I haven’t told her what I’m doing out here.
“Well, you can’t trust a guy on the field if there’s a gap in his brain—I sure as hell wouldn’t—so I sort of volunteered to go on an indefinite holiday till I get to the bottom of this whole mess. Thing is, it’s been a while and I’ve got another problem that needs fixing.”
“What’s that?”
“In this line of work, you’re generally encouraged to keep things simple. Marriage and kids is something you want to steer clear of. Three of my four guys had wives. Brenner was like me, we came up together and we followed the code to the letter, no relationships. Ross and Lester were married before they joined me, Daryl asked for my blessing when he met woman he wanted to marry. Sometimes I think maybe I shouldn’t have given it, but I did, I said it was okay. I was arrogant enough to think we were the best of the best. We were indestructible. We never lost. And then we did.”
Deanna strokes my thigh, she looks so sad. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her after all, but I’ve gotten this far, I might as well just finish.
“Their wives, their kids…they’re running on empty. Sure, they each had savings and we were paid well. They knew what the deal was going to be. They knew if their husbands ever died on an operation what would happen. That was the risk they took. I mean…we weren’t going to keep doing this forever. You do reach an age where you’re just not a viable asset anymore.”
“Okay,” she says.
“We were all going to get out eventually and we’d move on to less dangerous work. Anyway, when you die on active duty, spouses are supposed to be looked after…they’re taken care of by the army, financially. You die when you don’t exist, that’s another story altogether.”
“What happens?”
I laugh, not a good laugh. It’s…I don’t have the words. “They gave their lives for their country, and they got fucked in return. But that’s the deal, right? See, if they pay then they’re admitting it. Some journalist gets a hold of that and they’re screwed. Like I said, red tape and bullshit. You can’t even do it under the table because the paper trail would be a nightmare.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I promised them I’d take care of it. I sold all my stuff and I visited each of them, gave them enough cash to keep them going for a while. I’m looking for one big score to set them up for life. Something really big. I made contact with a guy I used to know, just your run-of-the-mill international broker of information. He might have a lead for me. It’s a face to face thing
though. You don’t talk about shit like this over the phone. He’s really paranoid, can’t take the chance I’m recording him.”
Deanna takes my hand and holds it on her lap. She stares straight ahead and says nothing.
“What’s up?”
“I’m just processing. That’s…a lot.”
Shit.
Silence.
“Deanna, if you want me to turn around and take you back—”
“No! Of course not.”
“Are you absolutely sure you want to come with me?”
“Jack, now more than ever. You are an honorable man. A good man. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here, you haven’t given up,” she touches my face, “I feel like I was meant to be in that diner, I was meant to meet you and be here with you. I know that sounds crazy, but now I’m certain of it.”
I smile, “Well I don’t know about all that, but I am glad that you’re with me,” I pull her hand up and kiss it.
She smiles and kisses my cheek. “So, what game do you want to play? I spy? Buggy? Or the alphabet game?”
That’s more like it. “Alphabet,” I say, “and buggy on the side.” Enough talk of miserable things.
Chapter Twelve
Deanna
I have to admit, if I’d heard that story from anyone else, I’d have said they’d taken one too many blows to the head. But from Jack, I believe every word of it. I’ve seen the scars on his body. The way he handled things at the diner yesterday, the way he handled Terry this morning…nothing rattles him. Well, nothing besides…not knowing.
I’m supposed to help him. I’ve never been more sure of anything.
We spend the next couple of hours playing games. The one where you name an animal or a country and the next person has to say something that starts with the last letter of the thing you said. You can’t use words that have already been said in a round and you keep going until someone gets stuck or repeats a word.
We tell jokes, funny stories, we talk and get to know each other. It’s nice. Jack tells me about some of the foreign countries he’s been to, there are way too many, he can’t even remember all of them. I tell him about places I’ve visited.
We’re still in the middle of nowhere, there’s nothing but dust and bush as far as the eye can see…then I see a sign for a rest stop and suddenly I’m overcome with a desire for snacks. For some reason I feel like it’s imperative that we stop at this place.
“There,” I point at the sign, “turn there.”
“What for? We’ve got plenty of gas.”
“Doritos!” I give him a funny face. He laughs and makes the turn.
We get closer and it’s plain to see that the place doesn’t get much traffic. There’s no real parking as such, just yards of dirt. There’s a shop. It looks like the kind that would stock at least one of everything you can imagine. Maybe the locals—if there are any—treat this as their general store. There are two gas pumps, one of them is in use so Jack pulls up to the other. When we get out of the car I see the blinds on the big window of the shop drop all the way down, then I see someone pull the slats look through.
Huh.
“Well that’s weird,” I say.
Jack goes over to the blue Chevy Impala. “Nozzle’s still in,” he says, then touches the hood, “engine’s cold. About twenty minutes or so.” He looks at me, “Stay here.” He walks up to the shop door.
He turns around and gives me a look because I’m following him. He shakes his head. I smile in return.
There’s a guy at the door about to turn the open sign to closed. Jack catches him just before he can turn the lock and pushes the door open. A bell chimes.
It’s a young, sweaty looking guy with long floppy hair. He’s very resistant. “We’re closed, mister,” he says. He tries to push the door but he’s no match for Jack.
Jack pushes his way through and I follow him in. “Come on, pal, just give us two minutes and we’ll be out of your hair, we just want some snacks.”
“Well, hurry up then,” he lets go of the door and his losing battle, then rushes away to get behind the counter, “I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” He almost runs.
Jack follows him, closing the distance rapidly. Then he just stands there, staring down the store clerk. “Grab me a Hot-Pocket, would you, sweetheart?”
“Kay,” I call back. But I don’t move, I watch them instead.
Then, from somewhere in the back I hear a woman’s shrill voice yell, “HELP ME!”
The guy at the counter grabs at something and isn’t halfway done swinging up his right hand—which is now holding a gun—when Jack grabs it with his left and then lands a crushing blow with his right. A shot goes off. I hear a shriek. It’s all lightning fast.
No doubt the guy tensed when Jack connected with him. I imagine it’s a lot like being smashed in the face with a shovel, because that’s how big Jack’s hands are. I’m sure I see teeth fly out of the guy’s mouth and then he goes down, disappearing behind the counter.
That’s when I realize that the shriek came from me.
I run up to them, the guy is out cold. Jack leaps over and goes for the gun. Keep it cool, Deanna. You’re hanging out with a Super-Soldier.
Jack has everything under control.
I decide to be useful and go in search of the woman. I go around the counter and open the door to what I’m assuming is a stock room. It is.
It’s large, maybe a quarter of the building. There are boxes everywhere and a desk with a computer.
And there she is, tied up on the floor. She’s blonde, about my size, in a brown work suit with heels. Mid-thirties, pretty. The guy tied a piece of cloth around her mouth and she managed to spit it out. “Help me! Please!”
She crying. I go over to her and see that he’s used cable ties to cuff her hands behind her back—her ankles as well.
Jack comes in, he looks around, finds something on top one of the boxes and tosses it to me. It’s a box cutter. I thumb the lever for the blade and use it on the cable ties…carefully, it’s very sharp.
She gets to her knees and hugs me, “Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!” The tears are unending.
“What happened? Did he hurt you?”
“No…but if you hadn’t showed up when you did…I don’t know what he would have done.”
“You’re safe now.” I tell her, and hold her to me. She’s shaking, near hysterical. Who wouldn’t be?
“That little bastard!” she spits out the words…her tears keep falling. “I’ve been coming this way once a week for the last six months. I always stop for coffee and gas. I made small talk with that lousy fuck! He’d tell me about his problems and I’d try to cheer him up. Fucking fuck!” she sobs.
“Let’s get you up,” I say, and pull her to her feet.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“It’s over, you’re okay.” I say.
“Can you drive?” Jack asks.
“I…I think so,” she says and wipes her face hurriedly.
“Then get in your car, drive to the nearest cop shop and tell them what happened. This guy will still be here when they come for him.”
“Greg. Fucking piece of shit,” she wipes her face again. She looks at us like she’s seeing us for the first time and asks, “Who are you people?”
“Nobody,” Jack says, “right place, right time. Go.”
“Thank you,” she says, and takes my hands, “thank you both.”
Once she scurries out of the room Jack looks around and finds more cable ties. He grabs them and we go back to the store. “Well…everything’s free now,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “go nuts.”
While Jack secures Greg, I get to work cleaning the place out, chips, soda, chocolate, water, candy, some Hollywood gossip magazines…then Jack joins in and takes three disposable cellphones and a multi-adapter charging kit. There’s a carousel with sunglasses so I grab a few pairs for both of us. We’re dumping all our loot into two brown paper bags.
Let’s see, what else…
Jack finds some bullets under the counter and throws those in the bag along with the gun. He empties out the register, there’s not much.
“Did you really want Hot-Pockets?” I ask.
“No,” he shakes his head and laughs.
We head back out to the car. The blonde is long gone. As we drop the bags in the back, Jack asks, “So was that the mysterious voice telling us where to go?”
I shrug, I’m honestly in disbelief. “I just really, really wanted chips,” I say.
***
I’m still in shock. We’ve been driving for a while, with an urgent pace and in silence…then Jack says, “You okay? You handled yourself pretty good back there.”
“How the fuck does something like that happen?” I say, “I mean, I’m not stupid, I know what’s out there in the world, but it feels different when you come face to face with it like that.”
He looks like he’s thinking for a while before he says, “Well, a while back I ended up butting heads with the feds while I was on a job. It’s a long story, one of the ones I can’t talk about, but I got some good insight into profiling and that kind of thing. There was this agent that I worked with and she taught me a lot. My guess is that this guy Greg has got some really bad issues…single emotionally abusive parent, something like that…and as the lady said, she’d been going out there once a week for the last six months, probably to check in with a satellite office or something. That was a convenient place to stop. Now, the way these things start is the subject covets the target for a long time. They have desires, things they can’t act on because deep down they know it’s wrong. This lady might’ve been like a totem that he focused all his negative thoughts on. She told us she’d give him advice. Could be he thought she was condescending and fake. On the other hand, he could’ve thought she was the answer to all his woes. It becomes all-encompassing. She’s the center of his world. He thinks she’s the only one who understands him and that she’s the only one who loves him.”
