by Scott McEwen
“Okay, I’ll put it down.” He raised his gun into the air as if he were going to set it down, then aimed for the chopper pilot, fired, and dove to the ground.
The endless close-quarters shooting training at Valor paid off. Wyatt hit the pilot in the head, sending him tumbling into the controls. The helicopter, which was in a hover, canted forward, the rotor wash now blowing sideways, sending furniture across the lawn. The helicopter’s blades whacked into the ground, cutting deep until they snapped and broke off and the rotor whined like a screaming, dying, mechanical monster.
As the chopper fell out of the sky, Ebbie, who Wyatt saw was missing fingers on one hand, managed to overwhelm and disarm the guard holding him. Then Ebbie dropped, unnaturally, like a lead weight had fallen on his head. His legs went out instantly, his face went completely slack. As Ebbie fell Wyatt saw the Glowworm, the barrel of his sawed off shotgun smoking. Wyatt instantly knew one of his best friends had been shot, point-blank from behind and was likely dying if not dead. But he could not think about Ebbie now.
From the ground, Wyatt trained his gun on the Glowworm, who swiveled his guns toward Wyatt’s father, saying, “Remember I promised you I’d get outside!”
Wyatt put a tight cluster—three shots—into the Glowworm’s forehead. The Glowworm’s head jerked a few times and then he toppled over, Wyatt’s father falling with him. And then Wyatt heard the scream, an awful shriek.
“No!”
Raquel. She shoved Dolly to the side and ran at Wyatt full speed, knife in hand. Wyatt put his Glock on her and fired. But the gun clicked dry. Then, as if a giant hand swept down and batted her away, Raquel was thrown sideways down the hill, puffs of pink blood in the air.
Wyatt looked back up hill and there was Samy, with an M4 he’d taken off a Glowworm guard, picking off the remaining guards. “Yeah baby, camels can shoot too!” He did not stop shooting until there was quiet.
* * *
“Cease fire!” Hallsy yelled. “Cease fire!”
He moved quickly from his position by the house, which was now burning, down to the helipad. Dolly checked Ebbie for vitals and held pressure to his bleeding hands.
Hallsy ran up to Wyatt’s father. “Jesus, Eldon, what did he do to you?” Wyatt wondered why Hallsy was calling his father Eldon when his name was James. How did Hallsy even know him? He pushed the thought aside, compartmentalizing. At that moment, there were too many questions, so much to find out. There would be time for that. For now, they needed to evacuate and save whoever could be saved.
CHAPTER 37
August 2017
White Plains Airport, F.B.O.
The interior of the surveillance van looked like a butcher shop, filled with blood and gristle. Hallsy drove to the White Plains airport, pedal pressed to the floor. Waiting for them outside a private hangar at the airport was an unremarkable man in a gray suit. He was average height, balding, his suit coat draped over his left arm, which held a tattered briefcase.
His off-white shirt was yellowing and bore two giant pit stains. His skin was yellow, his expression bland, mop-bucket gray-blue eyes looking out from a grim face covered in a thick five-o’clock shadow. The man never introduced himself. Wyatt thought of him as Mr. Yellow. Wyatt did not need to be told the man was a fixer from the Department of Defense. It seemed Hallsy both knew him and expected his arrival.
In an utterly calm and rather bland way, Mr. Yellow guided the van out onto the runway. “You will not be flying back in the jet that brought you here, but on a plane outfitted with medical equipment—surgical tables, EKGs, and so on. One of the planes that the United States used to fly injured soldiers from Iraq or Afghanistan to Ramstein Air Base.” He shifted the van into park. “Get everyone aboard. We’re leaving stat.”
The plane was effectively a flying hospital. Three of the country’s top surgeons were on board, along with a crew of nurses, to attend to the campers and staff from Camp Valor. The medical staff did not wait for the plane to begin taxiing before they began administering care to those who were injured, immediately triaging who could be saved and how.
Ebbie was pronounced dead when they reached the plane. The most gravely injured was the Old Man, followed by Wyatt’s father, then Dolly, who had been slashed so many times by Raquel that it looked like she had been dipped in ketchup. She was rushed into surgery, pulse dimming.
Initially, the Old Man rallied and seemed to stabilize, but then he started crashing. Less than forty-five minutes into the flight, a harried surgeon came to the back of the plane, to the waiting area. “I am sorry to tell you, but the Old Man is gone.…” He paused, letting the news sink in with the rest of the survivors. “His last words were to tell me to take care of other injured first.” The surgeon nodded. “And so, with your permission, I will do just that.” He left the waiting area and joined the other doctors tending to Wyatt’s father and Dolly.
To Wyatt, this perfunctory news seemed too short for a life as impactful as the Old Man’s. But he supposed that was how things worked on a mission. The Old Man and Ebbie died trying to save lives, Wyatt’s life and others. That was Wyatt’s new reality. Lives were sometimes traded. He had lost a father figure and a best friend, and he hoped his own father wasn’t next.
Wyatt’s father’s injuries were grave and painful but, as the nurse explained to him, “not immediately life-threatening.” They were the kind of injuries that would take months to heal.
Dolly’s injuries, while gruesome, were tended to cut by cut. She had so many lacerations across her body that surgeons worked in teams of two. Most of the lacerations were stitched normally, and the majority of those on her face, hands, and neck—that is, the most visible ones—were stitched more carefully by the most skilled surgeon of the three. However, this man made strong recommendations for subsequent procedures by cosmetic plastic surgeons.
* * *
Mr. Yellow came into the waiting area on the plane and stood in front of Wyatt. “Can we speak? Alone?”
“Sure.” Wyatt nodded, following the pit-stained Mr. Yellow toward the front of the plane where there was a small conference room with a table and coffeemaker.
“Take a seat,” he said, and Wyatt slid into the small booth. “Can I get you a cup?” He motioned to the coffeemaker.
Wyatt nodded.
Mr. Yellow poured two coffees into Styrofoam cups and sat down across from Wyatt. “Here you go.”
Wyatt picked up the cup and noticed his hands were covered in dirt and blood. They shook slightly, but he didn’t know why.
Mr. Yellow drew a raspy breath and was about to say something when a voice interrupted them.
“Can I join?” Hallsy stood in the doorway.
Mr. Yellow thought for a moment. “Go ahead,” he said and motioned for Hallsy to sit next to him on the bench. “But get your own coffee, if you don’t mind. I’m sorry. I just need to sit.”
“Not at all.” Hallsy poured a cup and settled into his seat. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“I just wanted to have a word here with Wyatt. As I understand it, he led the firefight at the mansion and killed the Glowworm.” Mr. Yellow turned his muted eyes to Wyatt.
“Yes, sir,” Wyatt said.
“Well, you did yourself and the country a great favor. The Glowworm, as he called himself, had his tentacles into our country at the highest levels. We’re just now beginning to understand how many politicians have been hacked and blackmailed and how much of our government has been compromised by the Glowworm’s organization. You put him and his soldiers down, Wyatt. And I just wanted to thank you.”
Mr. Yellow extended his hand toward Wyatt, who shook it and was surprised by the firmness of the man’s grip. He pulled Wyatt toward him before letting go. “I can see what’s going on in your head, son, and it won’t go away immediately, but what you did was the right thing. Try not to second-guess it. That man was a monster and you felled him. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Wyatt said, and pulled his hand away. “Sir, may
I ask you a question?”
“Of course. Go right ahead.”
“What about the camp?” Wyatt asked. “What’s going to happen to the program? Will it be decommissioned?”
“We’ll have to see what the SecDef thinks,” Mr. Yellow said. “But I don’t think he’ll mess with it too much. Valor is way too valuable to our safety. Don’t think it’s going anywhere.”
“With the Old Man gone … who will—”
“Lead?” Mr. Yellow smiled, and for the first time Wyatt saw a flash of light in his mop-bucket eyes. “Well,” he said. “I’d wanted to talk to your father about that. I’ll get to it when he recovers. For the time being, I’ll take the rudder.”
“My father?” Wyatt asked. “Why would he take over Valor?”
Mr. Yellow let out a long sigh. “You know, Wyatt, I’m going to let him explain that to you, okay? I think you two have a lot of catching up to do.”
Wyatt nodded, confused but understanding. “And who did you say you are? Did you go to Camp Valor? Did he?”
Hallsy interrupted before Mr. Yellow could respond. “You don’t need to know all that yet, Wyatt.”
Mr. Yellow smiled again. “He’s right. All you need to know is that, like you, I spent a little time in the woods and in canoes, and I know which end of a paddle you hold and which end pulls water. Now, would you two fellows excuse me?” he asked, nodding to a phone on the plane. “I have some calls I would rather not make.”
“Sure.” Wyatt and Hallsy stood and returned to the waiting area with the others for the duration of the flight.
* * *
Wyatt asked if he could see his father. He was still trying to piece together what had happened and would for some time, but in that moment, he just wanted to know his dad was okay.
“You have five minutes,” the nurse told Wyatt as she led him to a small suite about the size of a first-class cabin on a fancy airline. “He needs rest.”
Wyatt nodded and sat down next to his father. In the relative calm of the medical unit on the plane, Wyatt could fully observe the ravages of his father’s captivity. This once strong, vibrant man now looked like a Holocaust survivor. Skin and bones, his body covered in sores, his ear, fingers, and other hunks of flesh from his body removed. His eyes were hollow, bulging, but there was still life in them. Still a bit of the outlaw.
There was so much ground the two needed to cover, so much Wyatt and his father needed to make up and set straight. But it had to start somewhere.
“So Eldon, huh?” Wyatt said, breaking the ice. “That’s your name?”
Wyatt’s father smiled. “Was my name. Said good-bye to it a long time ago.” His father blinked a slow, medicinal blink. “Wyatt, I know you want to ask me about how I got to … well, where you found me. And I promise I will tell you everything, but for now, I want to ask you something. Okay?”
“Anything.”
“Your mother … is she good? And how about Cody?”
“She’s good,” Wyatt lied. He didn’t have the heart to tell his father that his disappearance had devastated his mom. And Cody. Not now. “Narcy came to help us when you went missing.”
Wyatt’s father came up in his seat, a pained expression on his face liked he’d been poked with a small knife. “Narcy?” he asked. “She’s home with Mom?”
“Uh-huh. And by the way she’s made herself at home, I don’t think she’ll be leaving anytime soon.”
Wyatt’s father eased back into his bed. “Your poor mother. I thought I had it bad watching the Glowworm eat.”
They both laughed.
Wyatt could see his father’s eyes struggling to stay open just as the nurse returned. “Wyatt,” she whispered. “There’s someone else who wants to see you.”
* * *
Dolly had her own medical bay. She lay in a small bed, bandaged like a mummy. Wyatt stood in the door for a moment, and Dolly looked over. The head surgeon excused himself.
“Will you come sit by me?” Dolly said and shifted over on the tiny bed. Wyatt moved around from the foot of the bed and sat next to her.
“Thank you,” she said, “for not giving up.”
“Never,” Wyatt said. “You would do the same for me.”
“Sure.” She smiled faintly. “It’s easy enough to do what they tell you here. To run a drill, to climb a wall, to operate as well as you’ve been taught,” she said. “Although I don’t think anyone will say that I’ve been doing that very well.” She laughed. “But the thing that’s hard,” Dolly went on, “is charting new territory and discovering things that you didn’t know existed.”
Dolly reached up feebly with her less-bandaged hand, which Wyatt took in his. She looked at him closely.”With you, everything is new. I’ve never felt like this. And I’m confused. I don’t know what to do at every turn. That scares me. Can you understand that?”
Wyatt nodded.
“But today, when that girl was cutting me. And that creature was watching.” Dolly was crying now, her tears running down bandages that were bleeding through. “I was so scared. They weren’t just going to kill me, they were going to pick me apart. But you came for me.”
CHAPTER 38
August 2017
Camp Valor
A few days later, Wyatt found his father wrapped in a blanket at the end of the dock. “Mind if I sit?” he asked.
“Please.” Wyatt’s father motioned to the chair Mr. Yellow had recently occupied. Wyatt’s father and Mr. Yellow had been engaged in frequent talks as they tried to determine Valor’s future without the Old Man. “How you holding up?” his father asked.
“Fine,” Wyatt lied. Since returning to Camp Valor, it was hard for Wyatt to reconcile any good Valor had done when he considered the catastrophic losses of Ebbie, the Old Man, and Hud. Cass was just then going into her fourth surgery at NewYork-Presbyterian, and it was likely she would never walk again. Wyatt knew these collective sacrifices had made the world safer, but wasn’t sure if it was worth the cost. Hallsy would likely agree. Perhaps more than anyone else at Valor, Hallsy seemed to take these recent events the hardest. He’d become remote and despondent, taking walks by himself during waking hours and even at night.
Wyatt’s father seemed to sense his son’s struggle, but he didn’t press. “When you’re ready to talk about it, we can talk. Don’t rush it.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said. “But now can we talk about you?”
“About me? What do you want to know?”
Wyatt laughed. “I’m not even sure where to start. I mean, for one, you’ve been living a double life … for how long?”
“‘Double life’ does not do it justice,” Wyatt’s father said. “I’ve lived fifty lives. There is a saying in our business, in espionage, that it’s like a wilderness of mirrors. I feel like my life is a wilderness of mirrors and I want to break them all but one. The one that’s me.”
“And who is that?”
“James Brewer. The one who married your mom. The one who became you and Cody’s dad. The rest are gone.”
“What about the Golden One Hundred?” Wyatt asked. Wyatt had learned that his father was part of the famed Golden One Hundred, a group of former operators—mostly SEAL—whose work was so secretive (and frankly illegal) that the operators themselves could have no ties to the U.S. Wyatt’s father could never tell this secret to anyone, including his wife.
“Are you leaving them?”
Wyatt’s father nodded. “I no longer blend in.” He held up his hand with the missing fingers and pointed to his face sans ear. “Covert action is over for me. And it’s not just that now I’m marked. I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to be there, for you, your brother, and your mom.”
“Will you tell Mom the truth? About where you’ve been? Why you were gone?”
Wyatt’s father thought about this. “I can’t. My cover is that I got some deep gambling debts and agreed to work a dangerous stint in Syria for a defense contractor, driving trucks. I’ll tell her I lied about my family de
tails to get the dangerous and lunatic shift, and then when I got blown up by an IED and was hospitalized, I couldn’t contact anyone at home.…” He thought for a second. “And, of course, I’ll just beg for forgiveness.”
“What if I wanted to join the Golden One Hundred?” Wyatt asked. “Could you tell me how?”
Wyatt’s father chuckled, then saw that his son was serious. “When we get home,” his father said. “How about we just focus on getting your grades back up first.”
“How do you know about my grades?”
“I have my ways.”
Wyatt thought for a second. “Must have been Hallsy?” Wyatt read his father’s reaction and guessed again. “No, Mum.”
His dad smiled.
“Did Mum tell you all about how I got to Valor?” Wyatt asked.
“She told me enough to know the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Wyatt’s father said.
“Well, I’ve already started studying,” Wyatt said.
“How’s that?” James asked.
“All our courses are online. I’ve been accessing them from the Old Man’s office in the Cave Complex. Been feeding his dog, too. Ruger keeps looking at the door. Wondering when the Old Man is going to walk in.” Wyatt pushed up from his chair. “I need to get back there now.”
“Go ahead,” his dad said with a sly grin, “but one day I’d like to know what you’re really up to.”
Wyatt left his father and headed back to the Caldera. He had not been entirely truthful about studying. Wyatt was using the encrypted computer connection in the Old Man’s office to get online, but he wasn’t doing schoolwork. He was trying to solve a puzzle. And he’d roped a reluctant Avi into helping him.
* * *
“I’m only doing this because I saw how you handled yourself in a firefight,” Avi said, entering the codes that granted Wyatt access to all the drives with information on the Glowworm network.
In the days since his father had reappeared, Wyatt wanted to learn everything he could about Wilberforce Degas, his transformation into the Glowworm, and the techniques and strategies of their network.
