by Scott McEwen
“I am not giving you access because I have any respect for your computer skill.”
“Got it,” Wyatt said.
Avi went on, “You know when you were searching for your father on the Web—deep Web—I was trailing you the entire time. You had no idea, did you?”
“Nope,” Wyatt said. “So Valor had been watching me before I was arrested?”
“Of course! As soon as your father was abducted and Hallsy had recovered from his injuries in Jerusalem, he made it his top priority to ensure your father’s family was safe. You, of course, were getting into trouble already. So Hallsy convinced the Old Man to let you come here. And I was new to Valor. I left the Mossad to come here. But I too had a personal interest in tracking you.”
Wyatt sensed Avi was trying to tell him something. “What do you mean? Why would you have cared about tracking me?
“I hoped to see the sharks looking for you. I will not lie,” Avi said. “I would have preferred to use you as bait.”
“Avi, I’m lost. What are you trying to tell me?”
“The former Israeli Mossad driver who Hallsy contracted to help get your father out of Jerusalem, he was my younger brother.”
“Your younger brother?” Wyatt repeated, now understanding Avi’s blatant anger toward Wyatt. “He died trying to save my father.”
“Yes,” Avi said.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know it is not your fault. Nor your father’s. But Hallsy, I think, must have been sloppy. He had my brother drive into a setup.” Avi now became as emotional as he was capable of, which is to say, he looked mad.
“I know Hallsy must feel terrible. I can’t imagine what I would do if my brother died trying to save someone I didn’t even know.”
“I can tell you exactly what you would do,” Avi said. “You would try to get back at the killers.”
“The Brotherhood,” Wyatt said, now understanding what Avi meant by bait. “You were tracking me, hoping that one of them would be after me as well.”
“Yes.” Avi nodded solemnly. “They are my next target. And I will treat them exactly as they treated my brother. He was given no warning. He practically drove into a bullet.”
“Drove into a bullet,” Wyatt repeated slowly, his mind running away to latch on to something. “Wait. Avi, before I leave Valor, I need you to tell me everything you know about my father’s capture by the Brotherhood.”
“Why don’t you ask Hallsy?” Avi asked. “He was there … and to be honest, he risked his life trying to protect your father. Almost died, too.”
“Yeah, I know, I’ll get Hallsy’s story. But I need it from you as well. As hard as it may be for you to tell me.”
“Hard?” said Avi. “Details are details. I can share them. What may be hard is the truth in the details. Are you sure you are ready to listen?”
“To every word.”
* * *
“Do I still look like a mummy?” Dolly asked as Wyatt came up the path. She sat on the same park bench where Wyatt had first seen Rory trying to diffuse a bomb. Like they had each night since she was released from the clinic, Wyatt and Dolly met in the Caldera. After she had her bandages changed, he would walk her back to base camp for dinner.
“More like Bride of Frankenstein,” Wyatt teased. Her face and body were laced with zipperlike scars and stitches, the scars glistening with ointments and dried blood. He looked around the Caldera to make sure they were alone. And then he kissed her.
Since their mission, all members of Group-C had been elevated to a new unofficial warrior class. Samy and Rory, as well as Dolly and Wyatt, all had risen into, for now, an untouchable place. It was not a defined group or rank, but the deference paid to those who had fought and was every bit as real as if they had a Purple Heart pinned to their chest. No one dared question Wyatt’s right to a romantic relationship with Dolly. Still, Wyatt and Dolly preferred to follow the proper decorum, and if they embraced, it was out of the view of others. Wyatt helped Dolly off the bench and they walked in silence as the sun set. Halfway to base camp, Dolly said, “I can see something is bothering you.”
“I’m just thinking,” Wyatt said, now lying to Dolly like he had to his father. The truth was Wyatt’s mind had begun working on a disturbing puzzle, the kind he wasn’t sure he wanted to see come together.
* * *
They gathered around the bonfire one last time. The entire camp, all staff, and even some of the Group-A members showed. Wyatt saw Jawad seated among some older camp alumni. Members of the Golden One Hundred, it was rumored. They all knew Wyatt’s father and had come from outposts around the world, to say goodbye to the Old Man.
Hallsy conducted the closing ceremony. He looked old and gaunt and troubled as he summarized the summer into highlights and critiques. Hallsy, of course, paid tribute, at times choking up, to the sacrifices made by Ebbie, the Old Man, and Hudson Decker.
The honor of Top Camper was something that Wyatt and the rest of the candidates had wanted desperately throughout the summer, but as the moments drew nearer to the announcement, Wyatt knew that nobody wanted it, least of all him. So it was with a heavy heart that, after all the members of Group-C and B and A had been congratulated, Wyatt was asked to come forward and receive the Top Camper honors, which, in typical Valor fashion, was understated. Wyatt rose and walked to the fire, where Hallsy saluted him and said, “Would the recipient of last year’s Top Camper award pass on the stone?”
Jawad now came forward. In his hand, he held a smooth, circular black stone. The stone glimmered slightly on one side, and on the other was carved the letter “V.”
“This sharpening stone is the most precious rock on this island and the highest honor Valor can bestow. Take it,” Jawad instructed, and Wyatt took the stone, cold and heavy in his hand. “As you begin a life of service to your nation, your family, and your god, may your experience at Valor be like the sharpening stone. A blunt and hard but moveable object that is used to bring an edge to a blade. Take your memories and your training with you always, and you can use those experiences to always cut deep into life.”
Wyatt did not listen to the rest. As Jawad spoke, he watched the fire play around Hallsy’s face, his eyes dull, black, empty, and colder than the stone now in Wyatt’s hand. Wyatt’s mind pursued a dark, uncertain path that he instinctually knew would arrive at the truth.
* * *
After the closing ceremonies, Hallsy took one of the three torches that had been set up beside him and invited Mum and Rory to come forward. Each lifted a torch and then lit the torch with the fire from the bonfire, and then the entire group of people made their way down to the water, where three caskets, draped with American flags, rested atop funeral pyres. Two of the caskets were empty: Hud’s and Ebbie’s. Hud was already buried in New York. Ebbie’s death would need to be covered up back in the “real” world. Each pyre was lit. Mum lit her husband’s pyre, Dolly lit Hud’s, and Wyatt lit Ebbie’s. Three large fires stretched out into the sky and burned throughout the night until they were just ashes.
Jawad was one of the last to leave the fire. Wyatt stopped him. “Jawad, I can’t take this.” Wyatt held out the sharpening stone. “I don’t deserve the honor. I’m not the best.”
Wyatt expected resistance when he tried to give back the award. He anticipated Jawad might be offended, maybe upset. He thought Jawad might even take a swing at him for trying to give back the most precious rock on the island—Valor’s highest honor. The last thing he expected was for Jawad to laugh.
“No one deserves honor,” Jawad said. “Least of all, the Top Camper.”
Wyatt was confused. “I don’t understand. Is it a trick?”
“No. God no.” Jawad grew serious. “It’s a lesson. The Top Campers are never just the best, they are the ones who can be the best. Wyatt, the sharpening stone allows you to work, to get better, sharper. You didn’t win the award by being your personal best. Far from it. You have a lot more in you—if you can find it and
work it. That’s the real reward and honor. More grinding work.”
“You take it anyway,” Wyatt said, putting the stone in Jawad’s hand and walking away.
CHAPTER 39
August 2017,
Departure Day morning Camp Valor
Wyatt had wanted to find time to be alone with Dolly, but it was simply impossible. The summer was ending and a well-coordinated and secret return of Valorians to their lives needed to be executed flawlessly—no exceptions. Dolly was slated for an early-morning helicopter ride off the island. Dolly would be taken to her sister, who had come out of surgery responsive. Cass needed Dolly by her side. And so Wyatt and Dolly could only embrace for a moment.
“I know we are not supposed to see each other during the year,” Dolly whispered into Wyatt’s ear. “But I need to stay in touch with you.”
Wyatt felt a thrill rush through him as Dolly’s hot breath tickled Wyatt’s ear. She gave him ten numbers and told him her address. Another no-no. “158 Willow Tree Lane, Grosse Point, Michigan. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“If you can, come check on me. I love you.” She kissed Wyatt on the lips, in front of campers and staff, who all looked away, and then she ran blushing toward the helicopter.
Wyatt’s heart swelled and he could think of almost nothing but Dolly and the way she smelled and the feeling of her lips on his until her helicopter had cleared the lip of the Caldera and the sound of its rotors faded out of hearing range. His girlfriend—if he could even call her that—was gone. Like some men and most boys, Wyatt felt a measure of sanity return.
Samy and Rory were on the same flight out and were waiting for Wyatt. Wyatt embraced both of them.
“Brutha,” Samy said. “Rory and I are going to be here next summer. Tell me we will see you.”
“We’ll see,” Wyatt said. “I have some things I need to work on during the year.”
Samy looked Wyatt in the eye and tightened his grip on his shoulder. “You are my swim buddy. You will be here in June. That’s it.”
Wyatt nodded.
“Okay. We out.” Samy turned for the runway. Rory followed, a backpack filled with a drone kit and weaponry slung over her shoulder and her dingy handmade blue elephant tucked under her arm.
* * *
Wyatt returned to his cabin to prepare for his own journey home. He rolled his sleeping bag, packed his duffle, and tossed in personal items he’d accrued over the summer—clothes from Mum, the Buck knife, his belt, and, in a separate bag, some tactical gear—his H&K submachine gun, a pair of night vision goggles, restraints, a Taser, his Glock 26, laser sight, and his communication equipment. The two bags would be given to his father for safekeeping, in case Wyatt decided to return the following summer.
All Wyatt would take back with him on his person was the sharpening stone and the bright orange jumpsuit that he’d been wearing the day he left the County Youth Detention Center in Millersville County.
Dressed like the juvenile delinquent he had been three months earlier, Wyatt went to the lodge to say good-bye to Mum. As usual, he found her in the kitchen.
Mum pulled Wyatt in tight. “One of the things he would have asked me,” Mum said, “would be to make you promise that you’ll be back in nine months.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Wyatt. “But I can’t promise.”
“I understand.” She wiped away tears. “I hope you change your mind. If you decide to come back, I’ll be here waiting.” She paused. “Before you leave, I want to show you something.”
Mum led Wyatt out into the dining room, where the photographs of Top Campers lined the wall. “See that photograph with the black tarp over it? The one from 1982? Take down the cloth.”
Wyatt removed it. It was his father.
“He was all but lost,” Mum said. “You freed him.”
Wyatt thought about this, then asked a question that had been gnawing at him. “When I arrived at Valor, why didn’t you or the Old Man tell me my father had been here before me? Why didn’t you tell me he was captured?”
“It’s simple,” Mum shrugged. “Classified. You needed to become one of us to learn the truth.
* * *
Wyatt found his dad on the porch and gave him his bags. The father and son embraced, and one last time they rehearsed how they would act and what they would say when they saw each other in a few short days. Wyatt’s father and Mr. Yellow walked him down to the dock.
Wyatt shook Mr. Yellow’s hand.
“You may or may not be hearing from me soon,” Mr. Yellow said. “For your sake, I hope you don’t.”
The Sea Goat was waiting. Mackenzie was at the wheel, and Hallsy stood in the stern. Hallsy looked awful. Even more remote and distant than the day before this, Hallsy’s already dark mood seemed to blacken as Hallsy saw Wyatt’s father approaching. “You should be resting,” Hallsy said. “Can’t have another one of us take a turn for the worse.”
“Came to see you off. Make sure my boy gets home safe,” Wyatt’s father said.
“Think he has proven he can take care of himself, and then some,” said Hallsy. “But I’ll do my best.”
CHAPTER 40
August 2017
Valor to Millersville
The boat ride took several hours, eventually arriving at a dock and a small fishing village not far from a modest airstrip. From there, Hallsy and Wyatt flew south and east, hopping from airstrip to airstrip, making their way across North America.
It was night when they arrived at the notorious Millersville County Youth Detention Center. Before they reached the center, Hallsy drove Wyatt to a parking lot and pulled the cruiser alongside a small van, like the kind a plumber would drive. Inside the van, they found a woman with a small poodle and a tackle box of makeup.
“So I’m understanding this, right?” The woman looked at Hallsy and asked, “You want him to look like he’s been indoors all summer? Sickly and pale?”
“That’s right,” Hallsy said.
Wyatt sat in a chair and the makeup artist went to work. Forty-five minutes later, Wyatt and Hallsy got back in the cruiser and pulled up to the rear entrance of the detention facility. There was no guard on duty, and the gate rose as they approached. Wyatt and Hallsy passed through into an underground parking garage.
Hallsy led Wyatt back through doors and passageways to the isolation unit and Wyatt’s former cell. The key was in the door. Hallsy unlatched it, and pushed the door open. Wyatt smelled the familiar metallic scent of the bed and the sink and the odor of feces and cleaning products.
“All right, kid,” said Hallsy. Wyatt hesitated.
“Just one more night, Buddy. Then you’re back home.” Hallsy said.
Wyatt looked at him. “No tricks? No surprises?”
“I can’t promise no surprises will be coming down the pike,” Hallsy said. “But I can promise you that at a quarter to seven, you’ll be walking out of here with a clean record, just like I said the day we met.”
Hallsy and Wyatt shook hands and Hallsy pulled him into a hug and tousled his hair. “Hey, buddy, you know I love you. And I’m proud of you. I know I’m not your dad, but I tried the best I could to look out for you over these past three months.”
“Yeah, I know,” Wyatt said, feeling his shoulders slump, thoughts distracting him, weighing him down.
“Okay, then,” Hallsy said, stepping back into the hallway. “I’ll be seeing you soon. I’ll come check in on the family. Is that okay by you?”
“Of course,” said Wyatt. “Look forward to seeing you.”
“Alrighty, then. I’m gonna close the door now.”
“Go ahead.”
The steel door closed slowly, and then Wyatt heard Hallsy turn the lock.
It must have been three in the morning and Wyatt had not slept. He sat there, alone in the dark, his mind turning over his suspicions, connecting dots.
At a quarter to seven, a lock was unlatched. The same guard who had led him out of the cell three months ago looked in.
“Good morning. You ready to roll? Today is your lucky day.”
Wyatt rose to his feet and followed the guard down the maze of hallways through the Chow Hall. He knew it was an intentional move, so that all of the inmates, some of whom had been there since the beginning of the summer, would see Wyatt and believe he had been in solitary the entire summer. Wyatt walked slowly. Hawkish faces turned. Hollow eyes watched carefully. Wyatt was a wolf in their midst. He’d changed over the summer. And they could smell and sense it. Perhaps admire it. He’d gone into solitary soft and come out a rock.
He’d almost left the Chow Hall when he saw a heavily tattooed and scarred face, one he remembered. The Spider Kid’s black eyes seemed to read something altogether different in Wyatt’s. He was, if nothing else, an instinctual animal, a survivalist. No doubt, he had been waiting the entire summer for Wyatt to return, perhaps preparing to strike. But now that they were together again, Wyatt knew the Spider Kid would never again try him. Wyatt was now the more dangerous and cunning and lethal animal and the Spider Kid knew it. Wyatt watched as the Spider Kid averted his eyes and returned his attention to a tray piled with institutional gruel.
* * *
Another few short corridors and Wyatt arrived at the prison’s administrative offices, where he was given the clothes he’d been wearing when he was arrested. He was provided fresh underwear and socks and told to change in the bathroom. Wyatt signed a few documents, and with a vague sense of uneasiness, was shepherded out of the CYDC into the lobby of the courthouse by the warden, Dr. Sudroc. Little droplets of sweat had formed on Sudroc’s forehead and his eyes skittered about the lobby.
“So what now?” Wyatt asked. “What do I do?”
“You walk.” The warden motioned across the lobby, wiping his forehead and rubbing his temples as if in pain. “I don’t know what the hell you did or who you did it for, but I’ve never seen this happen. You just walk, and I don’t want to see you back here again.”
“I don’t need papers or a pass or…”
