Shot Clock

by Mark Parragh

  “A lot of them never even heard of Turnstone!”

  “It’s not a good time to be useful to him. And those people were far more dangerous than some hired muscle with machine guns.”

  “You can’t just slaughter people because you think they might do something you don’t like someday!”

  “I don’t know,” Josh said suddenly. “I think I’m with her on this one.”

  Mark that one down on your calendars, folks.

  Crane whirled on him and shouted, “Who the hell asked you?”

  “Hey,” he said, “I’m as surprised as you are. But you saw the list. Those people could burn down the world if they put their minds to it. And it looks like at least some of them did. Sure, she’s like a priestess of the death gods or something. And I’m not saying I’d have done what she did. But someone with that kind of power can do a hell of a lot more damage than someone with a gun.”

  The fight seemed to drain out of Crane, and he looked at Josh with an odd expression.

  “You’ve changed,” said Crane.

  “I’ve been through a lot since I met you.”

  Your idea, buddy. You wanted your own secret agent.

  Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning to go into the field with him.

  The field just keeps coming to us.

  Yeah, and I wish it would cut it the hell out.

  Overhead, the dawn light was slowly spilling down the mountains. Josh looked up and realized it was because he heard a sound, another aircraft, the beating of blades.

  Crane had heard it too, and was scanning the sky. “There,” he said. “Osprey.”

  Josh followed his gaze and saw it. It was descending rapidly, the wings tilted and its huge twin rotors pointed mostly up. Something seemed wrong about it, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then he realized it wasn’t showing any running lights. It also didn’t seem like it could carry the kind of manpower they’d need to mop up and secure the Cambie.

  “I thought they’d send something bigger,” he said.

  Crane shook his head. “That’s not military.” Then he turned to Swift. “Is it?”

  “No,” she said calmly. “That’s here for me.”

  Chapter 42

  The Osprey swept by overhead, the beating of its rotors drowning out all sound for a moment. The rear cargo ramp was down, and Crane saw armed men on the deck. One sat on the edge of the ramp, legs dangling over the edge. He leaned out as the Osprey passed by overhead, watching them.

  Swift switched on her flashlight and waved it back and forth several times. The Osprey slowed, turned, and headed back.

  “I thought only the military had those,” Josh shouted.

  “That was the idea,” Crane shouted back. The Marines used them. The Air Force had a few. And so, apparently, did Team Kilo. Their resources continued to impress. He had no idea how they’d managed to get their hands on an Osprey. There had been several crashes during the aircraft’s development, enough to generate controversy about the cost of the program. Maybe a few of those hadn’t been crashes, after all.

  The Osprey settled toward the flat landing area a hundred yards away. When it was still a few feet up, the man who’d been sitting on the edge of the ramp pushed off and dropped to the ground. He strode briskly toward them as the Osprey settled into the damp ground and its rotors idled. A dozen men quickly followed him off the ramp and fanned out into an arc behind him. They were armed with Steyr AUG bullpup assault rifles, except for the leader. He carried a holstered pistol and held a tablet in one hand.

  “Be cool,” Swift said as he approached. “Guns down. It’s okay.”

  Crane didn’t see much of an alternative. He lowered his weapon to the ground and stood beside Josh with his hands clasped in front of him.

  Swift stepped forward to meet the lead man. He stopped and placed his tablet on his left forearm. His movements were crisp and precise, as if he were folding the flag at a funeral. The arc of soldiers behind him stopped and held their weapons ready.

  “You have something for me, ma’am?” the leader said. His tone was military, matching the formality of his movements. He reminded Crane of a drill sergeant.

  “I do,” she answered. She produced the black plastic lozenge Redpoll had worn around his neck, the one he’d given her over her fierce protests back in the hotel. The sergeant took it from her and inserted it into a slot in his tablet. The tablet flashed, and he turned it over to present her with the screen. Crane caught a glimpse of a software keypad. Swift typed in a sequence and then stepped back.

  A moment later, the tablet beeped, and Crane saw a green flash from the screen. The sergeant lowered the tablet to his side and saluted her. Behind him, the soldiers lowered their weapons. Whatever she’d done had apparently worked. Did this mean she was now in charge of Team Kilo? Crane gathered that she was. The part that didn’t join Turnstone’s rebellion, at least.

  “We need to leave, ma’am,” the sergeant said. “You can give further orders in the air. This area won’t be secure for long.”

  She nodded. “Give me a moment.”

  She turned toward Crane and took a few tentative steps, stopping just at arm’s length.

  Crane shook his head. “Don’t do this. Stop and think.”

  “It’s what has to be done,” she said. He thought he heard the sadness in her voice, but did that really matter anymore?

  “No, you don’t have to do it. You don’t owe him anything. You told me you wanted out. You wanted to be free, to live your own life. Here it is! The door’s open. Just one step and you’re out.”

  “It’s not that simple,” she said.

  “It’s exactly that simple. If you go with them… Come with me. Let Kilo worry about itself for once.”

  She smiled. “That’s it, is it? Just take off with you? Lay on a beach somewhere, drinking rum and fruit juice out of coconut shells?” She shook her head sadly and then met his eyes. “It was a nice fantasy. Maybe we could have done it if the time was right. But we got to the station just a little too late. That train’s pulling out, John. We’ve missed it.”

  He couldn’t give up on her, he realized. Even though he already knew he’d lost her. He would have to keep trying until the ramp closed and the Osprey lifted off into the dawn. Later, he would want to be able to tell himself that he’d done all anyone could have done.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” he said. “If you go with them, you’ll be going down a very dark path. There may not be any way back.”

  “It’s war, John,” she said, her voice growing harder. “It’s what I was made for. All my life, for this moment. Someone has to do it, and I’m the one who can.”

  Then she suddenly gasped, charged forward the last couple steps separating them, and threw her arms around him. She kissed him. She poured all her longing and sorrow into him, and Crane echoed it back. They were two people who loved each other but were parting, knowing they might never meet again. Two people wondering if perhaps it was best that they didn’t meet again.

  She kissed him again and then pressed her face into his shoulder, clinging to him fiercely. Behind her, the drill sergeant cleared his throat.

  “Three heavy aircraft approaching,” he said. “You’re out of time, ma’am. We need to go.”

  She took a deep breath. Then, with a supreme act of will, she stepped back from Crane, and he felt her fingertips trace across his neck, breaking contact one by one until they were no longer touching.

  She looked into his eyes once more. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice intent. “You can’t grope around in the dark anymore. This is war. You have to know what you’re doing and which side you’re on. A lot of shit’s about to hit the fan. A lot of people are going to die. Don’t be one of them, John.”

  She turned and started toward the Osprey. After a couple steps, she stopped and turned back to Josh.

  “You went looking for him,” she told him. “You choose the missions. You decide what he does. I’ll hold you responsible.”r />
  Josh said nothing, but just stood in shocked silence as she turned and hurried toward the Osprey. The drill sergeant gave Crane a quick, appraising look, and then the troops all fell in behind her.

  The ramp was already rising as they followed her aboard. The engines spun up, and Crane felt the rotor wash sweep over him as the Osprey rose from the marshy ground and slid away, climbing as it headed toward the mouth of the valley.

  Crane watched it until it was gone.

  “Are you okay?” Josh asked.

  Crane said nothing. He wasn’t sure what the answer was to begin with, and he didn’t want to explain himself to Josh right now.

  “If it helps, she did the right thing,” Josh added after a long silence.

  Crane turned in surprise. “What?”

  “She wanted to stay with you. Hell, even I could see that. But she knew what she had to do, and she didn’t flinch. She showed courage and self-sacrifice, and she deserves respect for it.”

  “I thought you despised her?”

  “I think she’s dangerous,” said Josh. “And I think she’s about half crazy. And in any normal world, I think she should be locked up for the public good. But damn if she didn’t just find her perfect niche.”

  “I didn’t think you were that cynical,” said Crane.

  “Nothing cynical about it,” Josh replied. “Come on, John, think past your hurt. If she could do it, so can you.”

  Crane looked up into the dawn sky. It was still dark here on the valley floor, but above, the sun was painting the mountains. A new day was coming.

  “Half of Team Kilo wants to smash civilization to pieces,” Josh was saying, “and the only thing stopping them is the other half of Team Kilo. The half that’s confused, and surprised, and without a leader. Any other day, she’s a ticking bomb. But right now, the world actually needs a cross between Joan of Arc and the Terminator, and lo, she appears. It’s enough to make you believe in some divine plan.”

  Crane snorted.

  Josh smiled. “Okay, but come on! It’s like the end of Casablanca, right? Ilsa loves Rick, but she still gets on the plane with Victor Laszlo because she saw him make that whole bar stand up and sing “La Marseillaise” at the Nazis. She knows he’s more important than the two of them.”

  “It still feels lousy,” he said.

  “I know,” said Josh. “But you did good, John. You got us out of this. It could have been a lot worse.”

  Crane nodded. Yes, it could have been worse. Heavily armed mercenaries had spent the last day trying to kill them, and it had been a close affair, but in the end, they’d survived. So technically, he supposed, it could have been worse. Technically.

  Crane heard aircraft engines in the distance and looked up. Three large jets appeared over the mountains from the east, drawing contrails across the morning sky. Crane recognized them as C-17s. Each could carry a hundred paratroopers and their equipment. And they’d sent three of them. The powers that be were not messing around.

  “Cavalry’s here,” Josh observed. “Could have used them a few hours ago.”

  “Can I ask you to do something for me?” said Crane.

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Next time you find me in a complicated and difficult emotional place like this, try not to reduce my experience to one of your movie analogies. Especially Casablanca. I mean, come on.”

  “Bit much?” said Josh. “Okay. Yeah…just because I think that way…not always appropriate. Fair enough.”

  “No, I’m not okay,” said Crane after a moment. “I will be. Just not right now.”

  “Okay,” said Josh, “we’ll make it.”

  And they stood together in the shrinking band of darkness while above them, parachutes began to bloom like bright white flowers gleaming in the morning sun.

  Chapter 43

  The Galapagos Islands, Seven Weeks Later

  The Normandy rode softly at anchor a few hundred yards offshore from Marchena Island. The huge yacht was dark and still, a long black slice through the moonlit sea. Around her, all was silent. The only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the hull. In his stateroom, Josh lay in the enormous bed, wrapped in fifteen-hundred-dollar Frette Hellas sheets, and tried to get to sleep.

  He’d expected to find himself being extensively debriefed by shadowy intelligence agencies after the joint special forces of half the countries in NATO had taken control of the Cambie, but it hadn’t happened. The troops mopped up the few remaining mercenaries they could find and secured the area. But no one ever asked him or Crane any questions. Apparently some things were just too sensitive for governments. Finally, after nearly a day, word went around that the road to Banff had been reopened. Crane and Josh had simply driven out in the Lamborghini. Twelve hours later, he was aboard the Normandy, heading south at full speed.

  For more than a week, Josh had done nothing at all. It was as if he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, though he wasn’t even sure what that would mean. Perhaps it was dropping even now, but he couldn’t recognize it. By the end of the second week, he started reading the news again. He spent days running laps on the ship’s track, hiking the lava tunnels on Santa Cruz, and snorkeling off Punta Mejía. He binge-watched the last three seasons of The Walking Dead, and had his people ring up creator Robert Kirkman to clarify a few plot differences from the comics. He took pictures of fur seals and reread the James Bond novels.

  Eventually, he admitted to himself that he was bored out of his mind. Staying on the boat wasn’t as easy as it had sounded when people were shooting at him. What the hell had Redpoll done at sea for all those years?

  And of course, the question he was trying to avoid but couldn’t. What did Redpoll’s dying message mean?

  He lay in the dark and listened to the syllables running back and forth through his mind.

  Makamaad katsay oh tula… hoba fetoho … batlang ho ay bona. Makamaad katsay oh tula…

  They sounded like gibberish, but he knew they weren’t. Redpoll had been dying, and this was how he’d chosen to use his last seconds. He wouldn’t have wasted them. It had been very important that they be passed along, that Josh carry those mysterious sounds once Redpoll himself no longer could.

  And it’s really important to you to carry out Redpoll’s last wishes, huh? Help complete his life’s work?

  Of course not. But the man was the enigma at the center of everything. If he left some kind of clue, then…

  Right. You never could walk away from a puzzle, could you?

  No. I guess not.

  If it was a language, it was one Josh hadn’t been able to identify. Of course, it was possible he had altered the stresses or run the syllables together across words. He’d spent much of the last two days trying to map them to numerical values, electrical voltages, even a variety of musical scales on the theory that they might be a mnemonic for some kind of code, or a translation key. But now, lying in the dark, his instincts were telling him that was wrong. Something about that didn’t fit. Something he already knew. Something else Redpoll had said.

  He forced himself back to the cold, dark rail car, and the dying man at his feet.

  Batlang ho e bona lefat seng…

  Something else he said. Not the words themselves. What was it after that?

  Batlang ho e bona lefat seng…tell him.

  Josh sat bolt upright in his bed, his mind racing.

  That’s right. The first time he said it. Tell him.

  It’s not a code. It’s a message. One he wanted us to deliver to someone. So, words.

  Wait, him? Not “tell her”?

  He ran the moment back again in his memory. No, he was certain. Redpoll had said, “Tell him.”

  Not her. Not Swift. Who else could you tell?

  The only other man you know in Team Kilo is Turnstone. Surely not him.

  Someone else at the Cambie? Crane? No. There was nobody else. It had to be someone who wasn’t at hand. Someone I didn’t know. How would I know who to take t
he message to?

  He’d have to tell me or else it’s just wasted effort. Therefore, he told me.

  That wasn’t just raw content. Some of it was addressing. Like the header on an email.

  Part of it’s a name.

  Where does a header go?

  At the top.

  “Lights,” said Josh, and the ambient cabin lights slowly rose from darkness, growing gradually brighter.

  “Stop,” he said a few seconds later, when it was still dim in the cabin. He rolled across the huge bed to the wood and leather nightstand where his laptop waited. His mind was still burning, furiously working through combinations of syllables, trying to break them out and reveal the name he’d somehow missed.

  Makamaad

  Ma Kamaad

  Maka Maad

  Makama Ad

  Makama… At?

  Of course. That was even better. Just a name wouldn’t do Josh much good. So Redpoll had told him where to look.

  He flipped open the laptop and opened a search window. His fingers flew across the keys as he googled a short text string. His lips pursed into a frown at the results, and he tried again with a slightly longer string.

  This time, Josh’s jaw slowly dropped as he watched the results that scrolled down his screen.

  Oh shit, you actually…whoa.

  Haleiwa, Hawaii

  Crane lay awake in bed, unable to sleep, and read the headlines on his phone. The woman at his side had no such difficulties. She was a fine guide to the local area, an excellent surfing instructor, and an enthusiastic lover. Now, as the breeze off the North Shore ruffled the curtains, bringing with it the whisper of the surf and the cool freshness of the night, she slept like a baby. Crane saw only a shock of sun-bleached blonde hair and a taut, tanned calf sticking out of the sheets. She lay still and peaceful, her breathing a gentle rhythm at his side.

  He flicked the screen up with his index finger and read. Apparent suicide of a US Ambassador in Central Europe. Sudden rift in a coalition government in Sub-Saharan Africa with attendant concerns for unrest and civil war. Volatility in the Dow and the Hang Seng. Passenger jet explosion over Russia.