Progeny

by Shawn Hopkins

  “You know what,” he said, “this is crazy. I don’t have to go.”

  She grabbed him. “We’re just being stupid about this. He’s your brother, of course you should go.” Did she really just say that?

  The horn sounded again. There was no time to argue.

  “I love you.”

  She smiled. “I love you more.”

  He got up and went back to the window, saw the airport cab waiting at the curb, and picked up his bags. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and kissed Kristen much the same way he’d seen other couples kiss before heading off to war. But he told himself that it was a ridiculous and unwarranted comparison. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “I’ll be praying.”

  “Thanks.” He turned to open the front door.

  “Hey,” she called after him. “You behave yourself, you hear?” And she pinched his butt with a smile.

  He kissed her one last time. “Sunday night.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” She leaned against the doorframe and watched him run through the rain and to the waiting car. Her free hand rested on her stomach as the cab pulled away from the curb, her husband waving and then disappearing in a wash of glowing taillights.

  ****

  The flight from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia had taken an hour and twenty minutes, which he soundly slept through. Now he was sitting in an empty terminal, in a row of connecting chairs facing huge windows and the runway beyond. Nursing a cup of coffee, he watched the rain keep falling while another plane took off. He had an hour and forty minutes before his connecting flight was scheduled to depart, so he tried to get as comfortable as possible between the encroaching armrests. Propping his feet up on his luggage, he closed his eyes, the sound of the rain against the glass soothing his weary mind.

  ****

  When he next opened his eyes, his coffee was cold and the terminal was half full. Five minutes later, the call to board went forth over the loudspeaker. Tossing his coffee into a nearby trashcan, he picked up his bags and got in line. As he watched a woman check everyone’s boarding pass and ID, he couldn’t help but notice a man up ahead of him who was standing head and shoulders above everyone else in line. John knew just from the way the man carried himself that he had spent time with the Special Forces. After spending ten years in that line of work himself, and spending his entire life around their kind besides, he had developed a certain kind of sense capable of profiling such specimens. Especially the ones who had actually killed. He wondered if the man could pick up such a scent from him. Not that such a sense would be needed to count his confirmed kills — they were carved into the side of his neck as rows of white scars.

  He handed the woman his ticket and boarded the plane to Bermuda.

  ****

  Now en route to L.F. Wade International Airport in St. George’s Parish, Bermuda, John looked out the window beside him. All that was to be seen in any direction was water — an unsettling thought considering the streaks of lightning stretching through the dark skies. Turning his attention to his right, he observed a young college girl seated next to him in seat C. Stranded from her friends who were seated a few rows up, she had her MP3 player blasting in her ears and her eyes locked in a magazine. John reached down and pulled his Bible out from the bag he’d placed beneath the seat before takeoff. He noticed that his movement caught the girl’s attention and wondered, as he always did, what she thought of him. He didn’t have to wonder long.

  “Didn’t place you as the type,” she said, pulling an earpiece out of her ear and nodding toward the holy book.

  He smiled politely. “Most don’t.”

  “My name’s Gina,” she said, holding out a petite hand.

  He shook it gently. “John. Nice to meet you.”

  “Like the tat.” She nodded at a flash of green ink peeking out from beneath the color of his t-shirt. Then she leaned over and lifted up her own shirt, revealing a rather large display of someone’s colorful artwork stretching below her pelvis and up to her black-laced bra. “What do you think?” she asked, smiling.

  “It’s lovely,” he said, steering his eyes back to the Bible.

  “Didn’t know God let you get them. Thought it was a rule or something.”

  He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Can I see?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  She frowned, and he used the pause to change the subject. “What’s in Bermuda?” A horribly phrased question that only helped increase the feeling of awkwardness.

  She nodded in the direction of her friends. “Just looking to have a good time. You?”

  It was the natural question to ask, and he’d set himself up for it. He sighed, figuring it would be a safer conversation than where the “show-me-yours” one was heading. “Looking for my brother.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “Ten years older.”

  She pondered his words before asking, “Is he lost?”

  “Not sure.”

  She pulled the other earpiece out of her ear. “If he’s in Bermuda, maybe he just doesn’t want to be found.”

  “That’s possible.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  He shrugged.

  “Tell me.”

  There was something in her voice that seemed to encourage such a suggestion, and this quality made him look at her more closely, further evaluating her. She was attractive, and whether she was truly interested in his story or if she was just flirting with him, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t about to flatter himself but made sure to tread carefully just in case. “He retired from the military not that long ago, decided he’d sail down the east coast from Maine to Florida. At least that’s what people think. He didn’t bother telling anyone except his platoon. That was two months ago and the last anyone saw him.”

  “What makes you think he’s in Bermuda?”

  “According to his friends, he was planning on taking a detour there, to talk with some author. They claim he made it three weeks ago, but that’s all they got.”

  “Three weeks isn’t that long to be unaccounted for in a place like Bermuda,” she responded, smiling again.

  “That’s what I said,” he muttered.

  “You don’t want to go?”

  He shrugged again. “Don’t have much choice. My brother and I, heck, my whole family and I, haven’t been on best of terms for a while. I’m hoping this might give us a fresh start, him knowing that I came looking for him and all.”

  “You all by yourself?”

  “No, I’m meeting his old friends from Navy SEAL Team One.” The manner in which he stated their designation betrayed how he felt about them. She picked up on it.

  “Not a big fan?”

  He shrugged. “Never met them.”

  “Not the military type then?”

  He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  “But you were?”

  “Oh, yeah. I was born a Carter. Had no choice. It was my destiny.”

  “So what happened?”

  He held up the Bible.

  She smiled, amused. “Is that why you’ve been on the outs with your family, because you denounced your patriotism?”

  A grin spread across his face. “What are you studying anyway?”

  “Psychology,” she chirped matter-of-factly.

  He laughed before conceding. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “What about your brother’s friends? What do they think of you?”

  “That’s the million dollar question. But my money’s on an awkward and unpleasant few days.”

  She looked him up and down. “You look like you could take them.”

  Smiling from the flattery, he answered, “I don’t know. They were SEALs. They’d have to be pretty out of shape. They were a force to reckon with in Desert Storm.”

  “Like they killed a lot of people?”

  “Like this one time at the beginning of the war, they swam in the middle of the night from landin
g boats five hundred yards from the Kuwaiti coast, each pulling twenty pounds of explosives. Once they reached the beach, they set up the explosives right under the enemy’s nose and swam back to the boats. When they set off the bombs, it made the Iraqis think the allied forces had planned an amphibious attack, making them pull two divisions off the front lines and send them to the vacant coast. And then there was Operation Restore Hope in Somalia…” He smiled and looked over at her, saw she didn’t really care about them. “Never mind…”

  “So what were you?”

  “Ranger.”

  “What made you become a Ranger?”

  “My other brother, George, named after George Washington, of course, was killed in ‘93 during the first battle of Mogadishu. Day of the Rangers, or Maalintii Rangers as the Somalis call it.”

  “That must have been tough.”

  John looked ahead, nodded. “Yeah. Joining the Rangers was my way of keeping his memory alive.” He sighed again. “But enough about me. What about you?”

  “You want to know about me?” she asked, narrowing her gaze.

  “Sure,” he answered, suddenly not so sure.

  “Well, I’ll be staying in the Southampton Princess Hotel, room one thirty-seven. Stop by some night, and you can learn as much about me as you’d like.” She accented the offer with a seductive smile that made his heart flutter.

  Recovering, he did his best to be polite. “You know, there was a time… before this—” he held up the Bible, “—and before this—” he held up his left hand, showing off the wedding band, “—that I would have taken you up on that offer.” Though it was a statement that was intended to direct the conversation in a different direction, he wondered if it had been inappropriate to admit as much.

  “You’d be missing out.”

  Suddenly, he felt sad for the girl, her lifestyle all too familiar. “I don’t think so.”

  “Whatever.” And just like that she shoved the earpieces back into her ears and returned to her magazine.

  Shocked by such sudden betrayal, John shook his head and turned his attention to the Bible, reading over Genesis six once more. As he read, he couldn’t help but think back through the conversation he just had with the girl, the parts of it he’d left out. Like why his brother wanted to talk to the author in the first place, or how it was the ex-SEALs that had set up this whole “rescue” operation, threatening even to kidnap him if he wasn’t determined to go with them on his own. And then he thought once more of his brother’s teammates, rehearsing again what little he knew about them.

  Paul, Nick, Hunter, Chris, and Jackson. The men waiting for him at the end of this flight. They were the remaining five SEALs from his brother’s squad, which had managed to stay intact for most of their colorful careers. The other two were dead — one killed in combat, and the other uniting a Ferrari with a tree at 130 mph. His father used to talk about them all the time. Apparently, their work had earned them a certain reputation at the Pentagon and even in Washington. According to his father, their squad had once been assigned bodyguard detail for a world leader on the west coast and had even been detached from the Team to secretly work with the CIA on a few occasions.

  It was going to be interesting, and he had about an hour and a half before it became his reality. Closing the Bible, he set his eyes back on the blue planet beneath him and once more reflected back on the last few weeks… on the VHS tape.

  ****

  He was jolted awake by a sudden drop in cabin pressure, the oxygen mask falling out of the ceiling above him and a hollow feeling bursting in the pit of his stomach.

  “I think we were struck by lightning,” Gina said in disbelief. Her knuckles were white, gripping the armrests. “I think we’re falling!”

  John looked around as the lights in the cabin flickered, and luggage started spilling into the aisle. A panic was indeed spreading through the plane — women screaming, men too shocked to comfort them. He looked out the window and expected to see the ocean growing terrifyingly close. But what he saw instead was something from a different sort of nightmare.

  A huge cloud formation was swirling in a circular motion below, lightning flashing at its center. From out of its midst came some kind of being wrapped in churning storm clouds — thunder its armor, lightning its sword, and eyes like burning coals — emerging like some kind of Greek god. The figure ascended, reaching as it were, directly for him. The face it bore was horribly familiar, and John knew that he had to be dreaming. He grabbed his Bible and held it tight against his chest, squeezing his eyes shut and praying.

  Slowly, the falling sensation subsided as the plane seemed to level out. And a moment later, the pilot’s voice over the intercom confirmed just that, apologizing for the scare but assuring the passengers that everything was now okay. They had been struck by lightning, but all things were now stabilized and functioning properly.

  John stole a quick glance out the window, expecting to still see the ghastly figure reaching out for the plane. But there was nothing there, just lightning in the distance and an eternal, choppy sea far below. He tilted his head back and tried to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

  “Thank you, Jesus,” he whispered.

  “That was pretty scary, huh?”

  John turned his attention back to Gina, whose face was just starting to regain color. “Yeah.”

  “Does it help?” she asked in a shaky voice, nodding toward the Bible still clutched against his chest.

  “You should find out for yourself,” he answered, handing it to her.

  A moment of hesitation lingered on her part, not knowing exactly what it was he was suggesting.

  “Here, take it.”

  Reluctantly, she accepted it, the look on her face as she touched the book illuminating a superstitious — or perhaps even a reverent — awe, like it might turn her to dust if she handled it improperly.

  “It’s not a bomb,” John said not too loudly. “You can have it.”

  “That’s nice of you but—”

  “I insist. Take it. Read it. Who knows, maybe the next time we meet we’ll have more in common.”

  She carefully opened the leather-bound book, inspecting it curiously. “Hey, what’s your brother’s name anyway?”

  “Henry.”

  “Like Patrick Henry,” she guessed.

  “Yep.” He managed to smile, and then the memory of what he’d just seen suddenly came back and erased any trace of joy from his face.

  FOUR

  2:04 PM. 21st day of May. L.F. Wade International Airport, St. George’s Parish, Bermuda

  As John exited the plane, giving a subtle wave goodbye to Gina, he could hear the anxious crowd around him speaking of the event that almost sentenced them to a watery grave. But he had yet to hear any mention of the sinister apparition. Not knowing what to do with that fact, with whether it suggested he was losing his mind or not, he set out after the signs pointing toward customs and immigration, anxious to put the whole flight behind him.

  The customs agent asked to see his passport and his return ticket.

  “My return ticket?” John asked uncertainly.

  The man politely explained that anyone who planned on staying for more than three weeks needed to see the Chief Immigration Officer at the Government Administration Building and needed to fill out an immigration form requesting an extended stay.

  John complied and handed them over with a strained smile.

  The agent took his time in examining the documents before glancing at John’s bags and finally stamping his passport. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Carter,” he said with a big smile, handing his ticket and passport back over the counter.

  “Thanks.” He slipped them into the front of his pants, always wary of pickpockets, and picked up his two bags before setting out to find his contacts.

  Just when he was about to abandon his search and head out to the curb, he saw a giant of a man walking toward him and knew it to be the same guy he saw boarding the plane in Philad
elphia. They made eye contact, and John immediately realized that this was one of Henry’s friends. Though why he had been on his Philadelphia flight was a particularly disturbing question.

  The two men approached, each quickly eyeing up the other and assessing a hundred conclusions in an instant.

  “You his brother?” the man asked without wasting any time on pleasantries. He stood a good six or seven inches above John and was almost twice as wide. The man was a freak of nature, networks of veins traversing the visible terrain of his body, making him even more intimidating.

  John extended his hand, seeing only his own reflection in the monster’s sunglasses. “John.” An awkward moment followed, his hand hanging out in front of him, the ex-SEAL towering above him and staring at him without expression. But just as John was about to pull his hand back, an enormous hand engulfed it and pumped it a single, definitive time.

  “Jackson.”

  His voice couldn’t have been more perfectly matched with his physique. It held a no nonsense tone that discouraged unnecessary talk. Just the facts, ma’am… or I’ll break you in half. For now, John decided to keep inquires about the shared flight to himself. He wanted to see how Jackson was going to play it.

  “Been waiting long?” he probed, eyes daring.

  “Not too long,” Jackson deflected.

  John nodded, his suspicions confirmed, his guard up. “Well, good.”

  “Come on, there’s a cab waiting.” Jackson turned and headed toward the exit, leaving John to follow in his shadow.

  If John wasn’t supposed to notice Jackson signal the first taxi in a long parade of transport vehicles lining the curb, his intelligence was being grossly underestimated. He heard the trunk pop as they approached it, and Jackson reached for his bags. John handed them over and watched Jackson toss them effortlessly into the trunk, his biceps threatening to tear the sleeves off his white polo.

  They both sat in the backseat of the cab, Jackson’s knees pressed up against his chest.