by MB Austin
“If we could pull that off, we could extract you from this.”
Alive, she meant. Clearly it was going to take a little longer for her to get her head around his plan. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. But you grew up with a frigging parade of refugees in your house. So you know how hard never getting to see your home or family and friends again is. Would you wish that on me?”
“Fuck you. At least they got lives. Your way makes me a murderer. You wish that on me?”
“Last thing I want, babe. I know what it’ll cost you. But I got my family to think about, and so do you.”
The stubborn look in her eyes was reassuring. Better than the pain. “If Hannah helped, and you agreed, we could make it real enough to protect them. Then you could do something worthwhile still. You’re not even thirty-five, for Chrissake. You can’t be done, Ang. Hell, even if you stayed out of the game for the rest of your life, at least you’d have a life.”
He shook his head. “Nobody’s good enough, babe. Gino can’t poke my cold, dead corpse, he’ll be suspicious. And Khodorov? He’d better be ready to stand up and tell his whole effing network that I’m cashed out, beyond even his reach. It’s zero retribution, or—”
“We could try it my way,” she cut in, “and fall back on the real thing if that doesn’t fly.”
“And see who they take out between Plan A and Plan B? No way. We only get one chance, and it has to be seamless.”
The tears in her eyes, and the silence, told him she understood. Still, they had to seal the deal. “On your word, soldier.”
She looked away from him. “Fuck me. On my word.”
Chapter Twenty-four
By Thursday night, Angelo had enough placeholder IDs set up to start distribution. Now he just had to find time to finish the virus subroutine when Sander wasn’t around to check his work on what he was now thinking of as the Robin Hood subroutine. Well, virus, really. He typed faster, trying to finish today’s work before it was tomorrow already.
“I have to go back to the city in the morning,” Sander said.
Angelo didn’t look up. He was nearly done with this section. “What?”
“I said, I’m going back to New York in the morning.”
Angelo looked at his watch. Twelve thirty a.m.—already morning. “A day early?” He let disappointment show, then tried to look understanding. “Well, Friday night traffic does suck. And we are ahead of schedule. You can afford to.”
“You could use a break, too. Why don’t you come with me?”
Angelo stretched and reached for the right response. “Other than the obvious security issue with me stepping out of here, I got some areas I should polish up.”
“But the meeting is about you. Sort of.” Sander held out his hand.
Angelo took it and was pleasantly surprised to find himself pulled into a light embrace. Instead of telling him more, though, Sander just slipped one of his iPod earbuds out and put it in Angelo’s ear. They swayed slowly together to an old Billy Joel song. Sander kissed him seductively, as if they had nowhere to go and all night to get there. Angelo let himself pretend for a moment that it was true.
When the chorus of “Vienna” sank in, Angelo leaned back in Sander’s arms. “Austria’s a very friendly country for our kind of work. Would be a great base of operations.”
Sander smiled, and kissed him on the tip of the nose. “Papa has a network there already. The Vienna head of operations is coming to discuss distribution of our product.”
“Sweet.”
“And I’m going to pitch the idea of moving you there. As part of our organization.”
Angelo stepped back from him. “Whoa.”
“You said you wanted out of here.”
“Wow. Yeah. I mean, I do. But…I’d be out, wouldn’t I?”
“You say that like it’s not a good thing. Would you not like to live openly? Perhaps with me.”
Angelo felt himself tear up. Nobody had ever proposed more than a few nights together, before. Words wouldn’t come, so he just grabbed Sander and kissed him with everything he felt. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“So this is our last lunch,” Iris said. “And I was hoping to see you this weekend, but I have to head to the city before rush hour. My editor wants a meeting. I could come back after, maybe Saturday night?”
Maji shook her head. “I’m on duty.”
“Oh, right, the bodyguard thing. Lucky Rose. God, she’s sparkly.”
Maji didn’t appreciate Iris using the term she herself had taught her, for a woman with a certain eye-catching, captivating something. Of course Iris saw it, too. “I suppose.”
“Oh, like you don’t see it. If she batted for our team, I might feel threatened.”
Hmm. Apparently Iris hadn’t bothered to double-check her assumptions with research. If she had, Rose being faculty sponsor of the LGBTQ student group on her campus might have tipped her off. “Look,” Maji said, pushing her empty plate aside, “we’ve run out of bullshit questions for your exclusive, right?”
“I’d say we’re back off the record, Ri,” Iris said, looking hopeful. “Anything’s fair game now. Whatcha got?”
“Just wanted to confirm you have enough on me to leave the whole camp angle out.”
“Oh. Well, I was just going to say you’re teaching girls self-defense. Is that oblique enough?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Look,” Iris said, swiping a finger across her cell phone’s large screen and handing it to Maji. “The only photo I’ve taken. If even that’s too much, hit delete. Go ahead.”
The photo showed Maji working with a student, both from a side angle so their faces weren’t identifiable. And both somewhat anonymous in their gis, Maji’s braid the most distinguishing feature in the shot. “I’m good with it, if Hannah is.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to expose Hannah and her private army.”
Maji sprayed her mouthful of water across the desk. She reached for a napkin to dry off the desktop, and Iris. “Sorry. That’s just too ridiculous, even for you.”
Iris patted herself dry, waving Maji off. “Is it? I liked the theory, until this morning’s silly little scenarios.”
Maji ran a quick mental review of the morning lesson. Letting a potential threat think they had the power they wanted. Naturally, Iris when confronted had immediately lashed out, and ended up pinned to the mat by Bubbles, who seemed to enjoy playing the bad guy. The girls had done a better job of submitting to a certain amount of intimidation and physical control by their role-playing adversaries. But then, they’d had four weeks learning tactical strategy, Hannah-style. The following debriefs had provided lively and instructive conversation, the girls the best advocates for minimal force against Iris’s stubborn skepticism. “So you still think strike hard, strike fast, and get away is the best approach in all situations?”
“Works for me.” Iris eyed her critically. “And come on, you could have told them a story or two from Iraq, right? You didn’t just play helpless there.”
Maji thought of numerous times she’d had to witness violence without stopping it, to stay safely undercover until an extraction could be properly executed. It was torture, but better than blowing the mission or even succeeding in getting the target out at the cost of all the collaterals. “We make tactical choices everywhere, every day. Mission objectives before personal relationships.”
“Wow. You really are still a soldier girl, aren’t you?” Iris leaned back in her chair, tipping it onto two feet. “But you wouldn’t let someone you cared about get hurt, on a theory. You came after me.”
“We did. But we wouldn’t have sacrificed all those refugees to get you out. When I picked up that AK and starting firing, that wasn’t my training kicking in. That was a fail on my part.”
“Well, it worked. So thank God for failure. What did you think you were going to do, talk your way out?”
“That’s what Civil Affairs does. Hearts and minds, remember?”
“Well, those goons don’t have hearts or minds. They deserved what they got.”
“Not from me.”
“And why not you? Rules of engagement let you kill the enemy combatant, right? They would have killed you, after all.”
Maji stood, leaving her plate. She needed to get out of that room, away from Iris before she said more than she was allowed to. “I’m nobody’s judge, jury, and executioner. I don’t decide who deserves to live.”
Iris rose and leaned across the desk. “Well, if it came down to me or some jihadi, I hope you’d pick me.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Maji let the door slam behind her.
After a full week of very intense role-playing in the dojo, Rose was happy to start the weekend with Sander gone. She could let down almost all her guard with just Dev and Tom in the house with them. And she’d stopped worrying about what she was allowed to say or not say around Frank, finally. The seven of them around the dining table felt like a large family.
Rose watched Maji finishing the kitchen cleanup. Angelo had returned to his work in the basement, and Jackie had disappeared as soon as the meal was over, Dev trailing dutifully behind her. Frank and Tom had tried to stay and help, but Maji had shooed them out. She had no trouble bossing the men around, Rose noticed. But she only orders me around when there’s danger. Is that respect? As Nonna said, she shouldn’t assume. She should ask. But Rose didn’t want to intrude. When Maji gave herself hands-on tasks, Rose had come to realize, she was giving herself time to think.
Rose hoped it wasn’t her selfishness causing Maji to fret. “If you really don’t want to take me to the market, I can just send Frank.”
Maji turned and removed the apron that looked so incongruous on her. She looked neither surprised by Rose’s proximity, nor irritated by the reference to Angelo overruling her judgment. “You’ve been overexposed lately. Makes me uneasy.”
Rose thought of how Maji had kissed her, here in the kitchen, after the sailboat incident. She acted no less protective now. “Well, I’m willing to take the risk. But it’s your call. I go where you go, do what you say, don’t ask questions, remember?”
Maji didn’t smile at the reminder. “It’s not for much longer.”
“I wasn’t complaining.” Rose picked up a dish towel and started drying. Busy hands she could keep to herself. “Though I am sorry we’ll miss the last week of camp.”
“It’s mostly the kids learning how to keep on training once they get home. You don’t really need that.”
“Yes, I do. I plan to keep up as much as I can, even with school.” Rose hadn’t realized how invested she had become, but it was true. “Where can I find someplace that teaches what Hannah does?”
Maji almost smiled and picked up a towel to help with the drying. “You can find martial arts clubs on campus, some dojos in town, depending on where you teach next year. The mind-set will be different, but at least you can keep up physical training.”
Rose let the fact that Maji knew she was on the academic job market go without comment. “You mean hit first, then run? Or whatever the Krav thing is.”
Maji glanced at her sideways. “Shop for a good sensei, a good dojo with the right spirit. Hannah can give you recommendations. No place Iris would go.”
“I noticed she left early today.” Rose took the opening. “Are your interviews done?”
“Well, she’s gotten all she’s getting.”
Rose stopped her busy work and faced Maji, whose face remained tellingly blank. “Are you ever going to forgive her? For betraying you.”
“For that, whatever. For getting Palmer killed, never.”
Rose leaned a hip on the counter, intentionally giving Maji some breathing room. “Is that really fair? Journalists report on events, they don’t cause them.”
“She went in without us, against orders, knowing soldiers would go in after her and likely get killed doing it. The fact she thought it would be people she’d never met getting hurt doesn’t make that better.”
“No, I suppose not. What happened to Palmer?”
“Mashriki’s men saw he had the highest rank, so they grabbed him, put a gun to his head, ordered us to lay down arms. Which we did. Then they separated us, and we expected to get interrogated, beaten—the usual. Instead, they filmed Palmer’s beheading, hung up his dog tags, and put his body on the fire. Then they brought us back out to watch him burn.” Maji’s voice was flat, her eyes pinned to the wall beyond Rose.
Rose moved to embrace Maji, her instinct halted when Maji scooted abruptly backward. But she didn’t leave the room at least. “I heard about that video,” Rose said, stepping back again to put Maji at ease, as if that were possible. “Oh my God, his parents!”
“My last stop before New York. Real salt-of-the-earth folks. Like him.”
What was there to say? “I’m so sorry.”
Maji’s face shifted, from miles away to back in the room, though still eerily blank. “Try to sleep early. We need to be at the market right when it opens.”
Blinking at the dismissal, Rose dried her hands and took a step toward the living room. “Is the air on upstairs?”
“Yeah. Jackie was too hot last night.”
So her own bedroom window was closed, and Maji would sleep in Carlo’s room tonight. Relief and disappointment jumbled together. “Oh. See you in the morning then.” She wanted to add some word of comfort, but sweet dreams seemed crass. “Maji? I don’t blame you.”
“That makes one of us.”
What? Oh. “I meant, for staying mad at her. I’m sorry you have to deal with that, with all this going on, too.”
“I’ll be fine by morning,” Maji said. “Good night.”
Chapter Twenty-five
They rode along the water, bathed in sun as it began to burn off the fog over the Sound. Rose began to sing. Maji enjoyed Rose’s voice behind her, the feel of her hands clasped lightly against her belly, her thighs pressing in to hold on as they leaned into the turns. Rose hadn’t pretended their conversation last night hadn’t happened, but she hadn’t made a big deal of it. “How are you?” was all she had asked.
“Ready to roll,” Maji had said—and she was. Getting away from the House that Death Built, and not to more scenarios at the dojo for a change, sounded great. The market meant a host of familiar faces, vendors for the local farmers, and sometimes even the farmers themselves. Maji wished she could allow Rose the luxury of chatting with each and every one, letting her inner anthropologist out. But quicker was safer.
Maji wove the bike slowly through the parking lot, scanning the few vehicles on-site this early. No obvious red flags. At the far side, she stopped and let Rose dismount, then parked in a lined-off corner in the shade.
“You won’t get a ticket?”
“Never have before,” Maji replied as they pulled off helmets and gloves. She took a minute to scan the grassy lawn covered in vendor tents. “Fastest way out is here.” She pointed to a dirt footpath leading into the parking area near their corner.
Rose nodded, and slipped on her Jackie Os. She fluffed her hair back up, still listening.
“All the stalls run parallel, five rows, four aisles. There’s grass on the far side.” Maji pointed away from the parking area. “Then a fire lane. See where it curves out toward the water?”
Rose nodded again. “Turn right and head uphill to reach the bike. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Restrooms are at the far end.”
“I know. I’ve been here dozens of time. And I’ve managed never to have to rely on that restroom.”
Maji chuckled. “Smart.” She thumbed a switch on her watch, confirmed the GPS was active and that she could both hear and transmit, and spoke. “Rios to Taylor.”
“Go, go.”
“We’re at the market, Water Street and Main. What’s your twenty?”
“Couch. Jackie’s barely up and not nearly caffeinated enough for golf.” He paused. “I have you on-screen. Both of you show.”
The
n Rose’s tracking fob was sending clearly at this distance, also. “Let’s shop,” Maji said, opening the bike’s seat compartment to stow their gloves. They clipped their helmets to the bike and headed for the produce stands.
Rose touched her arm, and they both paused. “Can’t we leave the coats with the bike, too?” she asked. “It’s starting to get warm.”
Should she tell her it was either the jackets or bulletproof vests? No, that was uncalled for. “Please leave yours on. It’s Kevlar air mesh, strong but porous. And we’ll be quick.”
Rose looked doubtful. “Seems like overkill.” She moved her stiff, reinforced arms robotically, “All this Mad Max business.”
Maji chuckled. “Your skin’s worth protecting, trust me. Kevlar is a girl’s best friend.”
As they walked among the stalls, shoppers and vendors alike exclaimed over Maji. A bouncy redhead at the flower stand hopped off her stool to give Oyster Cove’s prodigal daughter a squeeze. “How long you been back, girl?”
While they talked, Rose admired the lilies, calendula, delphinium, and bee balm. Maji paid the redhead for a bouquet and put them on hold for Frank.
Moments later, a man with a stroller caught Maji’s arm. “Rios! Captain Andrews said you were home. Look who joined us while you were on tour.” He held the baby out to Maji, who made admiring noises but didn’t ask to hold it. “You gonna stick around? Join the force?”
The off-duty cop let Maji off easy, but a few stalls later, an avuncular gray-haired man in preppy shorts and polo shirt stopped them. Maji squinted at him, moving between Rose and the stranger.
“John Sanford, Nassau County Credit Union. We’d be proud to have you on our float, if someone else hasn’t grabbed you up already.” He shook her hand and backed up, seeing her confusion. “The Fourth of July parade, Ms. Rios. We like to honor our vets.” He gave her his card, so she could call him to say yes.
Maji was polite to everyone who stopped her, but clearly antsy with the delays. Rose lingered on the periphery, keeping one ear open while she took her time examining the bounty of June on Long Island. The piles of greens—chard, kale, and broccoli rabe, in addition to the standard spinach and lettuce, pulled Rose into one stall, while the strawberries and sugar snap peas called to her from another. The root crops still hanging on from winter—scallions, leeks, carrots, potatoes, beets, and yellow onions—just sat quietly, hoping to be noticed. She gave them their due. Rose passed over the chives, dill, and cilantro, taking care of their large basil order before Maji got too fussed and rushed them home again.
