by TR Kohler
The first, simply to find her.
The next two, to convince a girl that had spent the last six years on her own to suddenly come in under someone else’s guidance. A reluctant acceptance that Kari imagines will be a touch-and-go process for the foreseeable future.
A worthwhile investment, both in terms of the power she possesses and the mayhem it could cause if not learned to be harnessed correctly.
To say nothing of what might occur should someone with much darker intentions enlist her services.
Occupying the front center row in the class is the remaining trio of trainees. Three people all hailing from Anaconda, a small town in central Montana.
On the outside along the aisle rests Lukas Myles. The oldest person in the room at just shy of eighteen, he carries himself like he is the star quarterback on the local high school football team. The guy used to getting by with blue eyes and a quick smile.
Even if neither is an accurate depiction, his newfound self-worth attributable entirely to the abilities that were recently imparted to him.
An inconvenient truth Kari noticed within moments of first meeting him.
One that is still very much apparent as he sits reclined in his seat, casting sideways glances to Murreaux seated behind him.
Silent advances the girl is either oblivious to or making a point to avoid.
Occupying the middle seat beside Lukas is his sister Natalie. Younger by two years, she looks about as different as can be from her brother. So much so that if Kari didn’t know they were related, never would she have made the connection.
Whereas the former is tall and muscular, the latter is thin and lithe. Almost waiflike. A look accentuated by her pale eyes and hair so blonde it is almost white, resembling gossamer strands.
An appearance that hints both at the harsh environment she grew up in that Kari suspects is part of what imbued all three with their powers, as well as Natalie’s particular skill.
The ability to manipulate electricity, having taken down the town’s power grid three times before starting to figure things out.
Completing the group is sixteen-year-old Bennett Wirfs. A young man that lacks the distinct looks of his two cohorts, appearing completely plain in every way.
Proof positive that people with special abilities aren’t always readily apparent, despite what growing stereotypes would like to believe.
Donning thick-framed glasses and a head of shaggy brown hair, his focus is aimed down at a notepad before him. Pencil in hand, he sits idly doodling, making a point of avoiding eye contact.
Both things he had done the first time Kari sat down with him. To the point that it wasn’t until she requested a display of his very unusual talent that she was even sure she was in the right place.
A gift he was shy about almost to being ashamed, reluctantly providing her a visual far surpassing the rumors that had brought her to his doorstep.
Taking each of the young people in, Kari continues her slow march to the front of the class. A walk that draws Doc’s attention up as she gets closer, one corner of his mouth flickering in a smile.
A look in anticipation of what is about to happen.
A scene he has borne witness to more than once, the effect almost always the same.
Not that getting a reaction is necessarily her goal here this morning. More a convenient side effect, helping to drive home her point.
Assuming a position behind the front lectern not dissimilar to the one she held on the front steps of the capital a few days prior, Kari begins with a simple, “Good morning.”
Two words that draw the attention of the three people seated in the front row. Even manage to get Murreaux to peer out from beneath the curtain of frizzed curls encircling her head.
Rigg to slide the ear buds away and place them on the desk before him.
“As you all already know, my name is Kari Ma.”
To this, confusion seems the predominant response, the elder Myles and Wirfs both looking around, seeking the source of the words.
A search Kari ends for them by reappearing behind the podium, the audience response exactly as Doc had anticipated.
“And I am here to welcome you to The Ranch.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kidman imagined the picture that Ma sent to him was deliberate. A far cry from what he was expecting, it looked to be the interior of a boardroom of some sort. An open space with ample seating behind even tables with projector screens on the walls and a podium up front.
The kind of place he didn’t expect to receive when getting the text picture, though it didn’t stop him from making the jump just the same.
If that was what Ma sent him, he trusted her enough to know that was where she wanted him.
An assumption that proves correct as he and Ali’i land, their sudden arrival eliciting the same sorts of reactions it often does from people witnessing his powers for the first time.
What Kidman originally guessed to be a boardroom is actually a lecture hall. A classroom setting outfitted for a crowd much larger than that on hand.
Landing right at the head of the room, the thin handful of students present look to be genuinely shocked. Eyebrows rise and jaws gape. Two of the students even recoil, gripping the front edge of the table before them, hoping to put as much space as possible between themselves and the sudden intruder.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, Ma stands completely rigid. Having sent him the image that allowed his arrival, it makes sense that she wouldn’t be surprised by his presence.
Even if Kidman gets the distinct impression there was more to it than that.
Behind her stands a man Kidman hasn’t seen in the better part of a decade. Not since the memorial service for Coop, whose disappearance sent Ma on her last visit into Canada to find him.
The only other living member of their original five-person team.
“Doc,” Kidman says, dropping his bag from his shoulder. Atop it he balances the satellite phone with the image of the classroom he is standing in still displayed across the screen.
The needed visual to get him where he was going.
Alongside it goes Ali’i’s leash, cast aside as he makes his way past Ma. Arms raised before him, he is met halfway there by the enormous man with the oversized arms and bare head already starting to show signs of sweat droplets.
“The Kid,” Doc replies, meeting Kidman’s embrace.
A hug that follows feels like being mashed inside a vise, every vertebra the length of Kidman’s spine cracking in order.
And possibly a couple of ribs as well, the man’s strength the kind that can only be bestowed by the universe, far beyond anything ever achieved in a weight room.
A greeting that is momentarily put on hold by Ma raising her voice to address the class.
“The reason we asked you all here this morning,” she says, her usual tone cast aside for one closer resembling the post she is in. A teacher standing at the front of a class.
The overseer for the entire Ranch operation asserting herself atop the pecking order.
“Was so you could start to get a glimpse at the various things that really exist in this world.”
Turning to stare at her, Kidman falls in beside Doc. Between them goes Ali’i, a wall three across, listening to the explanation being given.
Imparting the importance of what is being shared by their silence, this a lesson they too learned when first starting out.
A message far better learned through visuals than mere words.
“Never can you tell what someone might be capable of just by looking at them,” Ma shares. “Just as you can never assume there might not be danger lurking, whether it is hidden in your midst or capable of dropping in from across the country.”
One hand latched onto her cane, the other grips the podium before her. Flicking a glance to Kidman and Doc, she continues, “We know you all have abilities, all of them rather remarkable, but so do a lot of people. That’s why we train you the way we do. Why Doc pus
hes you as hard as he does.
“Because at some point, you’re going to run into someone that can do just as many things as all of you, and the difference will come down to the one that can do the ordinary things well.
“The person who can keep their composure in a fight, remain clearheaded when exhausted, that will emerge.”
Falling silent there, Ma takes a step back from the podium. Turning her focus to Doc, she drops her chin just slightly, giving the signal that the floor is his.
Her initial missive has been shared.
“Alright,” Doc says, immediately sliding into the opening handed to him, “that’s it for here right now.”
Raising his wrist, he checks the silver tactical watch Kidman has seen him wear for more than thirty years. A remnant from his days with Special Forces before moving over to join their team.
“Go ahead and get upstairs to get changed,” Doc says. “I’ll meet you all back in the barn in fifteen for PT.”
Chapter Seventeen
For the second time since Kidman’s arrival, Doc raises his wrist. Peeling back the cuff of his sweatshirt, he checks the time, an apologetic look crossing his face as he lowers it back to his side.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get up to the barn.”
“Understand completely,” Kidman replies. “Sounds like I need to be moving here soon as well.”
Taking a step forward across the uneven triangle formed by the two of them and Ma, he extends a hand before him. “Good to see you, though.”
Catching Kidman’s hand in his, Doc pulls him in. Another tight embrace, his enormous paw thumping Kidman on the back. “Damn right, Kid.”
Releasing his grip, he takes a step back and adds, “If things get a little hairy out there, don’t be afraid to give a shout. I might have a little gray in the beard, but I can still lend a hand.”
“I have no doubt,” Kidman replies. “Appreciate the offer.”
“Appreciate you,” Doc says. Glancing over to Ma, he nods slightly and adds, “I’ll circle back with you later?”
“Sounds good,” Ma replies, leaving it at that as Doc makes his way from the room.
A slow march out the same direction as the students earlier that ends with him turning and saying, “Don’t be a stranger around here either, huh?”
Lifting a hand in farewell, Kidman watches as the big man slips through the double wide door and disappears.
Waiting an extra moment, he shifts back to Ma, rolling a shoulder upward, a small wince painting his features.
“Almost forgot how strong that man is.”
Lips pressed tight to avoid breaking into a full grin, Ma replies, “What you get for hugging me yesterday.”
Having no trouble displaying his own smile, Kidman makes his way over to the closest table along the front row. Balancing his right haunch on the front edge of it, he leaves his left foot planted on the floor.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” he says.
Coming to join him is Ali’i, her bottom lowered to the carpet, her ribcage pressed tight against his calf. A stance meant to offer him assurance that she is there.
Also, to better center herself, the act of jumping from their home to Arizona still enough to make her uneasy, even after more than a dozen such acts together.
“I am, actually,” Kari Ma replies. “After you mentioned Yangon yesterday, I figured that was your way of telling me you were never going back into the field.”
Raising his eyebrows slightly, Kidman flicks his gaze to the side. An unspoken signal that she isn’t wrong, his insertion of their last mission together – the one that was hailed as a success even if every one of the four that survived knew differently – was deliberate.
A way to answer her without being mean.
An out in the event that he couldn’t bring himself to get back into the fray.
An option that he needed only a few minutes of flipping through Anika Purna’s file to cast aside for good.
“I’m here for two reasons,” Kidman replies. “First, I owe you. I know that. I’ve known it for twenty years.”
Having moved less than a foot since his arrival, Ma stands just to the side of the podium. Only far enough that he can see her fully, her weight is balanced on her right leg, both hands clutching the cane before her.
The same damn one she’s been saddled with since that day in Yangon.
“You owe me nothing,” she answers.
“Yes, I do,” Kidman fires back, ready for her to continue the volley. Another quip about his burgeoning knife collection or his continued dabbling in every martial art on the planet.
A response that never comes, the woman merely standing and staring back at him, her only outward response a simple raised eyebrow.
The closest he knows she would be offering on the topic.
“Okay, well, you see it your way, I’ll see it mine,” he capitulates. “But the fact remains, I’m not here because of Jefferson Pruitt. Or his son. Or anybody else that might be asking.”
Again, refusing to rise to the bait, Ma prompts, “And the second reason?”
“The girl,” Kidman answers, tilting the top of his head to his pack still resting on the floor nearby. The one with Purna’s file stowed at the top of it, to be taken on his upcoming journey.
The story shared inside was pretty thin. A tale that Ma had been quite up front in stating was still preliminary. The beginnings of her ongoing recruiting efforts, the jungle of the Congo well outside of a range she could easily get to while finishing up her responsibilities in D.C.
That being why the collection of students that just filed out was so small.
And why the farthest of them hailed from Montana. Places Ma could loop in on official business or jet to and get back over a weekend.
Even having such little to go on, there was enough of a framework there to pique Kidman’s interest. See shades of his own situation in, even.
Someone with special talents that found themselves alone at a very young age and set out to use them to make a difference.
No matter how different the manifestation of that might look between the two of them.
Seeming to have expected such a response, Ma nods. “Despite what Wilson Pruitt probably thinks, she is the only reason I agreed to this as well.”
His lips parted to fire off his next statement, Kidman pauses. He lets her words resonate, fitting them against what was contained in the file.
What Ma had shared with him the day before.
As close to an admission as he knows she will make.
“What about his men?” Kidman asks.
“I got the impression his men are no more,” Ma replies. “That’s why he called us.”
Chapter Eighteen
The interior of the room is much closer to what Kidman was expecting. A smaller chamber deep beneath The Ranch, a construct that he is yet to even fully see. Nothing beyond the enormous lecture hall he bounced into, the hallway Kari Ma led him down thereafter, and the space they now find themselves in.
A combination weapons cache and briefing room. The kind of place that once upon a time they had launched offensive attacks from.
An area with walls lined with weapons cases and tactical gear. The smell of gun oil in the air.
A chamber that took several levels of security to even get inside of, Ma employing both a thumbprint and retinal scanner before they were granted entry.
Most likely a good call, considering the young ages of the people in the room when Kidman arrived.
In the fifteen minutes that have passed since leaving the lecture hall, Ma has walked him through everything she has. A sum total that is little more than the file she already shared with him. A phone call with the President-elect last night confirming only that there has been no additional contact with the team since it landed in the Congo.
Information that does little to quell the growing trepidation inside of Kidman. Uncertainty over whether his decision is the correct one.
&n
bsp; Nervousness about his first live action in nearly twenty years, his training sessions with Uncle Kamaki and others like him hardly rising to the level of what he expects to find waiting for him.
An anxiety that Ali’i seems to pick up in the air, never more than a couple of inches from his side as he circles the room, inspecting the equipment options available to him. A host of goods and materials that far exceed what they were using just twenty years prior.
Even if he has no real interest in any of them, the pair of pahoas he carries more than sufficient. Metal variants that serve as the next evolution of the one he used during dinner last night, specially designed in case a moment like this ever arrived.
Both slid into sheaths, they are fitted to either calf with nylon straps. Easy access yet hidden from sight, given that he has no idea what he might jump there to find.
“These are the last known images from his team’s incursion the other night,” Ma says.
Holding the thin stack in her hands, she shuffles through them like a deck of playing cards. Sliding them from left to right, she riffles through one last time before tamping them back into order and extending the lot toward Kidman.
A pile he accepts and turns right side up before making his own pass through them. A movement that is the same in function as that just performed by Ma, if a little slower in execution.
A half dozen in total, the shots are all in black and white. Looking to be taken through a night vision lens, they have the shadowy image of a gun barrel in the foreground. Snaps taken while on the move, whoever was in charge of documenting grabbing just what was readily accessible.
Taken through a digital camera, what there is to see is clearly visible. Trees and vegetation in sharp relief. An area that looks to be rugged though not quite forested.
Terrain that doesn’t make for the best possible landing site, though he has certainly encountered worse.
“Anything there you can work with?” Ma asks.
“You remember Laos?” Kidman asks. “This looks like an open meadow compared to that.”