Saber Down

by Harrison Kone

  Wyatt looked at the palm of his hand. The bandage concealed what was no doubt a stitched wound. He flexed his fingers and was grateful no serious damage had occurred. He touched his nose, finding it uncomfortably surrounded by a brace.

  “Kathryn,” he called a bit louder but still tender so as not to startle her. She rolled her head toward him.

  “Yeah?” she replied tiredly as if she really wasn’t aware of her surroundings or Wyatt’s situation. Wyatt smirked.

  “How long was I out?” he asked. He was surprised by how weak his voice sounded. Kathryn rubbed her eyes.

  “What?” she asked. Her eyes opened and focused on him, and, as her brain caught up with her waking body, she realized what was happening. “You’re awake!” she exclaimed. Wyatt smiled as she rose from her chair and gently hugged him. He kissed her forehead, and she held him longer than he expected. “You’ve been out for more than a day. You lost so much blood, and they had to remove your spleen,” she explained worriedly.

  “Did they?” he replied. Kathryn was relieved to hear the humor in his tone. She chuckled with relief. If his humor was back, then he surely would be fine. “Any word from David?” he asked. Kathryn shook her head, and Wyatt feared the worst.

  • • •

  Nassau, Bahamas

  The anchor splashed into the turquoise water just off the coast of Nassau. Satisfied it had found solid bedding, Shaw turned to his companions. The morning sun barely crested the horizon, and the city still slept. He turned to Affré and Mather-Pike.

  “I stand by our agreement,” Shaw stated, “but I still acknowledge both of your roles in Yemen.”

  “Trust that we are most sincere in our apology,” Affré replied. Shaw wore a dissatisfied expression, but he nodded.

  “I ask that you no longer partake in any such actions against the US or our allies.” Natalie supported his reasoning.

  “You have our word,” Mather-Pike said. He extended his hand in good faith. Shaw hesitated. “I never wanted any of this, and I hope our actions have proven our position.” Shaw finally gripped his hand and nodded. Their actions had earned his forgiveness. Afterall, bitterness only infected the one who held onto it.

  “Thank you for your help,” Shaw said. “You both saved my life and without you, we never would have succeeded.”

  “It is we who should be thanking you and Ms. Hale,” Affré replied. Mather-Pike nodded his agreement. “We have some affairs to sort out, but we wish to show you both our gratitude.” He produced a card and handed it to Shaw.

  “What is this?” Shaw asked, looking at the numerals listed on the card.

  “An account with Ziegler & Rohr Financial in Zürich. It is the least we can do. All I ask is that you allow us a few weeks to arrange everything,” Affré explained.

  “I don’t understand,” Shaw stated, but Affré merely extended his hand. Shaw smiled and gripped it before transitioning his gaze to Mather-Pike.

  “Take care of yourself, hey?” the large man said.

  “You too,” Shaw replied. They both climbed into the tender at which Natalie sat at the helm, and Shaw watched them speed away.

  The Raider set his hands to the boat, keeping his mind preoccupied with simple tasks. He chose to dwell on the kiss from Natalie instead of the recent events that plagued him. The prospect of the unknown excited him and helped fight against the grief. How could he possibly go back to the Corps? He reminded himself that the actions of one man, no matter how influential, did not tarnish the proud and honorable history of the United States Marines. However, someone would find Weber, and they would likely figure out that it was Shaw who pulled the trigger. No, he couldn’t go back to his old life, and so he pushed the possibility out of his mind.

  An hour passed.

  Natalie returned, but Shaw, having checked the engine in the galley, didn’t see her board. He wiped his hands with a towel, climbed the steps back outside, and froze.

  Natalie stood before him, dressed in a black bikini and matching sarong. She grinned wide and removed her sunglasses.

  “This enough skin for you?” she teased. Shaw laughed.

  “You look great,” he stammered. Natalie set the shopping bag containing her previous outfit on one of the benches as she advanced toward him.

  “I was kind of hoping for a vacation after all this; get lost at sea. That sort of thing,” she said. Shaw’s grin widened.

  “I think I can arrange that,” he replied. She stood before him and gazed into his deep blue eyes. She removed his ball cap and tousled his long hair with her fingers. He wrapped his arms around her waist, she his neck, and their lips met. The kiss catapulted both individuals into tranquility and vibrant joy. They gleefully laughed as they parted, and Natalie bit her bottom lip as she looked back up at him. Had it ever felt this good? She found the answer didn’t matter.

  “Where to, Captain?”

  Epilogues

  1

  Tucson, Arizona

  Sara Reyes rocked gently back and forth in the old rocking chair that had belonged to her grandmother. She nursed three-month-old David, who repeatedly patted his small hand against her downturned cheek. His big brown eyes stared into hers, and the sight brought a smile to her face and tears to her eyes.

  The decision to leave North Carolina was an easy one after the death of her husband. Little David had only his grandfather to teach him of manhood, and Sarah really could think of no one better who currently walked the earth. Her father, a full-blooded Apache, umpired little league baseball and worked as a park ranger in the Saguaro National Park. As a retired Marine Master Sergeant, he had approved of Sara’s marriage to Kyle as soon as he returned from Basic Training. Not all Marines were good enough for his daughter, but only a Marine would be. Kyle had proven himself worthy, not just through his support and respect for Sara through high school, but in his dedication to the Corps.

  Sara’s heart still longed for her late husband and always would, but she knew she would see him again. Her greatest goal was to raise David to serve the Lord so that he could meet his father in heaven one day. The thought brought a fresh wave of tears, as did the possibility that he might follow in his father’s footsteps. She didn’t know if she could let that happen but would cross that bridge when that day came.

  Sara considered her situation as she reached for David’s little hand and relished the sight of his little fingers curling around hers. Her parents had welcomed the two of them into their home with open arms, and really, they had not touched her old bedroom since she left with Kyle for North Carolina just over two years ago. She glanced around the small room and observed the changes she had made.

  David’s crib sat opposite of her new twin bed, and she had repainted the walls from faded pink to light blue. She installed small white shelves, which sat decorated with her husband’s flag, medals, and portrait. She smiled as she gazed into Kyle’s eyes, but a knock at the door stole her attention.

  “Sara?” called the soft voice.

  “Yes?” The door slowly opened, and her mother, Nan Boyington, entered. She had met Sara’s father while she was visiting her extended family in Okinawa and was immediately smitten with the mysterious Marine she had met at a local bar. They dated through the summer and maintained correspondence throughout the year. When Bobaway Boyington returned to the United States, they married a month after Nan graduated from the University of Arizona.

  “You’ve got some mail,” the woman said. She stopped as she observed the sight of her daughter nursing her grandchild. Tears welled up in her almond eyes, and Sara simply smiled. “How is he?” she asked.

  “He’s doing well,” Sara replied, looking down at him. “I have some mail?”

  “Yes,” her mother replied.

  “You can open them,” Sara said.

  “Oh, right,” Nan replied, gazing again at her grandson. She ripped open the letter and briefly read the correspondence. She staggered and braced herself against the wall, drawing Sara’s alarm.

  �
��What is it, Mom?” Nan stammered incoherently before taking a seat and handing the letter to her daughter.

  Mrs. Reyes,

  First and foremost, I wish to offer you my deepest and sincerest condolences on the loss of your husband. I know the following in no way can make up for his sacrifice, but we hope that this enables you to live comfortably and provide for your child.

  A trust has been set up in your name through the Philo Initiative containing $2,458,321.83. A board of financial advisors will manage the trust and is available to discuss all matters pertaining. Please contact me at your earliest convenience to discuss the details.

  Sincerely,

  Richard Rasmussen, CEO

  The Philo Initiative

  Sara could not believe the words she read. Her heart hastened at her new reality, and all her worries vanished in that moment. However, something tugged at her about the letter. One word caught her attention: Philo.

  It was the call sign of Reyes’ team, Shaw’s team. Was it coincidence, or was this a gift from Shaw? Her heart led her to believe the latter. She looked down at little David and smiled.

  “We’re going to be just fine, Love,” she said. He looked up at her and giggled.

  2

  Havana, Cuba

  The rows of bright, pastel buildings and passing cars from the mid-twentieth century did little to spark the man’s appreciation. He sat at a restaurant table that spilled onto the sidewalk to attract patrons and cater to the Cuban culture.

  The man took a deep swig of his mojito and enjoyed the minty flavor. His muscles bulged through his white linen shirt, and the Caribbean breeze that swept down the street, funneled by the row of buildings, tossed his long blonde hair. He waited for his companion, a Frenchman, who had for some reason or another stuck by his side when Silva’s death should have separated them.

  They both had dissolved the Wild Planet Foundation, into which Silva’s wealth had been poured per his beneficiary mandate, and diversified their new, impressive fortune. They had paid their debt to Henri Wolf, who had promised them his services at any time they should need them, but both men had little faith in Wolf’s financial ability. He was a pawn in the right place at the right time. They had also kept their promise to David Shaw and Natalie Hale by setting up the account at Ziegler and Rohr with Hugo Kormann.

  Even with over one hundred million to his name, Mather-Pike’s insides still churned in mayhem. Morgan was out there somewhere, and Affré had promised to find him. As if on cue, a teal 1958 Chevrolet Impala convertible rolled to a stop next to his table.

  Affré removed his sunglasses and motioned with his head for Mather-Pike to enter. The South African drained his drink, having already paid double its cost in tip at the bar, and headed toward the car. When the door closed, he looked at his friend.

  “Did you find him?” he asked. Affré nodded and threw the car in gear.

  They came to a stop twenty minutes later in front of an old hotel of colonial Spanish design.

  “Room three fourteen,” Affré said. He dropped open the glovebox exposing a snub-nosed revolver. Mather-Pike immediately shook his head. He got out of the car and glanced up at the third floor.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said. Affré watched him enter the hotel. He drummed his fingers against the wooden wheel to pass the time.

  Mather-Pike entered the lobby and nodded his greeting to the clerk before approaching the desk.

  “Can I help you, señor?” the clerk asked.

  “I need a key to room three fourteen,” Mather-Pike stated. The clerk immediately shook his head.

  “I cannot help you. That room is currently occupied,” the small man protested. Mather-Pike leaned forward.

  “It’s government business,” he uttered menacingly. The man’s face drained of color. It wasn’t unusual for the government to requisition the services of foreign nationals. The clerk nodded profusely and produced the spare key.

  “Gracias,” Mather-Pike said before heading toward the stairs that opened into the center of the lobby. He followed the steps as they split to the right from the first landing and continued to the third floor. He quickly found the correct room. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, preparing his mind for the coming task.

  He inserted and turned the key. Mather-Pike slowly and quietly opened the door. The room was quite bland and did not mirror the ornate Spanish design of the lobby. A woman moaned loudly with fake pleasure, and Mather-Pike’s eyes snapped to the couple making love in the bed.

  Morgan’s eyes widened and his gut twisted as a strong hand gripped the back of his neck. A moment later, he was airborne. He crashed against the floor and rolled before slamming into the wall. The prostitute screamed, but one savage look from the intruder silenced her to a whimper.

  “Get out,” Mather-Pike threatened. She didn’t need to be told twice. She fled, naked from the room, not caring to cover herself. The South African turned his attention to Morgan who had risen to his feet. His expression reflected his fear as he gazed upon the man nearly double his size and seething with hate.

  “Listen, I’ve got lots of money. I can pay you whatever you want,” he pleaded. The words fell on deaf ears.

  The South African advanced, and Morgan lunged for the door, but Mather-Pike proved the quicker. His hand snatched Morgan’s trailing arm and pulled him backwards. Mather-Pike’s other hand gripped Morgan’s throat, and he steadily applied pressure. Morgan’s feet dangled off the ground as Mather-Pike lifted him. Instinctively, Morgan raked his fingers across Mather-Pike’s hand but could not break the hold.

  Mather-Pike thrust him downward, connecting his body solidly with the floor. The room shook and a lamp toppled off the bedside table. The agony that radiated from Morgan’s lungs and back was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He gulped for air, but his shocked lungs would not expand, and the air never entered his throat.

  Like a vice, Mather-Pike’s hands locked down on Morgan’s throat, and the man barely thrashed, paralyzed from the trauma. Mather-Pike watched the life fleetingly fly from Morgan’s eyes, but it wasn’t enough.

  • • •

  Affré sat in the driver’s seat as he waited. Glass shattered above him, immediately drawing his sight upward. The Frenchman watched as Morgan’s naked body, bloodied and cut from the broken glass, crunched against the pavement. Blood pooled beneath the corpse, and Affré simply smirked. Mather-Pike was anything but discrete. He looked left and Mather-Pike emerged from the hotel, stepped onto the street, rounded the front of the vehicle, and climbed inside. He looked at Affré who simply stared at him despite the growing cries and horrified shouts of pedestrians.

  “Do you feel better?” he asked.

  “Yes, actually. I do,” Mather-Pike replied, his gaze on Morgan’s broken body in the street.

  “Good,” Affré responded as he threw the car into reverse. They sped down the street toward the marina where the stolen SR52 waited. It was through the GPS of the craft that they had known Morgan was in Havana. After that, Affré simply put his old agency skills to use while Mather-Pike had waited. “What will you do now?” Affré asked, shifting his gaze toward his friend. Mather-Pike watched the vibrant passing buildings as he contemplated his answer.

  “Go home,” he finally said. Affré nodded and returned his attention to the road.

  “I’ve not been to Johannesburg,” he said. Mather-Pike smirked and looked at the Frenchman.

  “You’ll hate it.”

  “Probably so,” he replied.

  Mather-Pike laughed, and Affré joined him.

  3

  Arlington, Virginia

  The thick snow crunched underfoot as the couple walked arm in arm through the famed McClellan Gate at Arlington National Cemetery. The white blanket covered the hallowed grounds and stirred tranquility within them both as they continued onward. Various wreaths, adorned with a red ribbon, decorated each headstone, and snow collected in the crevasses of the old, barren trees.

  Wyatt inhaled
heavily and watched his breath rise into the frigid air. Kathryn glanced at him and smiled solemnly. She knew he missed Shaw. The only evidence of his survival arrived in the form of a text message from an unknown number stating: It’s done. - Philo. Wyatt had taken comfort in the fact that Shaw had made it through and that the threat to his and Kathryn’s lives was over. He then made it a point to visit his brothers’ grave to let them know they could rest easy.

  Still, Wyatt wanted to know if the man that assaulted him in Shenandoah was connected to Weber. He didn’t even know if that man had died in the woods. Although he tried his best to stay up to date with any bodies found in the national park, none had yet been located this winter. He pushed it from his mind and focused on the headstones surrounding him.

  Placed on medical leave, Wyatt took every advantage to resume his time with Kathryn, and now, after what seemed like closure, Wyatt set his gaze on the future. There was no reason to stay in the Corps. He had made his mind up about that. He had two more years left on his enlistment, and, since everyone he loved had passed on or disappeared, he saw little value in reupping now that he had Kathryn. She was, after all, what he had been looking for. He joined the Corps to find a family after losing his, and, again having lost his Marine family, he had found a new one. He had no intentions of leaving her side. He knew he wouldn’t survive if he lost her too.

  “Kathryn,” he started. He stopped and looked at the sky and the surrounding headstones. She paused and looked up at him. He turned to face her. Dressed in his Blues with his winter overcoat, white belt and cover, she found him quite dashing.

  “Yes?”

  “You know this, but I lost my family a little over ten years ago. I found a new one in the Corps. Now, I’ve lost them,” he said. His eyes trailed from hers to the rows of headstones. He gripped both her hands and stared back into her blue eyes. “But I found you through the craziest of circumstances.” She smiled. “I have no intention of spending another moment apart from you.” He dropped to one knee, and Kathryn’s heart leaped into her throat.