Burning Sky

by Weston Ochse

  Narco looked from one to the other. “When you say everything, you mean what?”

  “Everything. You bought the camels. You bought the boom boxes at Best Buy. You bought the CDs for the music. The sheets. The posters. The bill from Staples, where we printed enlarged pictures of Sheriff Joe Arpaio. You rented the two trucks. You paid for my Uber ride. Everything.”

  Narco was silent for a moment, then asked, “How much does it cost to buy a camel?”

  “Normally it’s around three thousand dollars, but I talked them down to nine hundred.”

  Narco mouthed the words, then closed his eyes. “So what you’re telling me is that not only am I a wanted man for escaping jail, but I’m also seriously in debt.”

  All three of the others nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Starling shrugged. “It’s not like we had a choice.”

  The waitress came and cleared their appetizer plates, then quickly returned to deliver their dinners. Four French cheeseburgers on brioche buns with Freedom Fries. The anachronism wasn’t lost on Starling. He poured a pool of ketchup for his fries to swim in, then passed the bottle to Lore, who did the same.

  No one said anything until they were halfway through the meal. Gone was the need to talk. The stress and the frustration of the last seventy-two hours bled away as the medium rare meat popped in Starling’s mouth. He’d never felt more ravenous. He’d also never felt more alive. His senses had been deadened for so long by drugs and booze. This was the first time in months his system had been so clean.

  McQueen finished first. His cell buzzed and he checked it. Excusing himself, he got up and went outside. After about a minute, he returned. To Starling he said, “That was Charlene on the burner we bought her.”

  Starling raised his eyebrows.

  “They picked her up as expected. But they didn’t find anything. She let them check her real phone for location services and it alibied her not leaving the house. Because she’d stashed the burner phone in her mailbox, they never found that either. There’s no proof she was involved so they had to let her go.”

  “She’s going to be okay?” Narco asked.

  Lore gave him a quick glance, then looked away, concentrating on her Freedom Fries as if they were the inner workings of a bomb.

  McQueen nodded. “She’s going to be fine. But she did say something odd I couldn’t figure out.”

  “What’s that?” Narco asked.

  “She said, I’ll see you all soon if this doesn’t work.”

  “If what doesn’t work?” Lore asked without looking up.

  “I asked her the same thing,” McQueen said. “But all she said was, You’ll understand soon enough.”

  Everyone paused for a moment, then Narco barked a laugh. “That’s Char for you. Always the cryptic one. Realest psychic I’ve ever been with, though. And did you see her legs? They go right up to her chin.” He grinned and popped a fry into his mouth.

  Starling slid his gaze over to Lore without moving his head. She was focused on her fries, but she wasn’t eating anymore. Her mouth was a grim line. How is it that he’d never known about her feelings? He’d have to pay better attention from now on.

  “What’s next?” Narco asked. He’d finished his beer and was about to ask for another when he saw Starling slowly shaking his head.

  “What? Is this an op?”

  “Yes, it is.” Starling pushed his plate forward, then put both elbows on the table. He spoke softly. “We need you to get us a ride on the first thing burning out of here.”

  “Where’s here?

  “Can’t go to Luke. That’s back in Phoenix. So it’s Davis-Monthan in Tucson. If not there, then Biggs in El Paso.”

  “Where we going?”

  “Back,” said McQueen.

  “Back where… Afghanistan?” Narco’s eyes widened. Then he shook his head. “I’m so done with that place. No way am I going back.”

  “I’m afraid we have to,” Starling said. “And you’re coming with.”

  Narco sat back and crossed his arms. “I’m not going back, boss. I’m out and done. Contract is up.”

  McQueen gave the approaching waitress a death glare and the woman decided that this moment wasn’t a good time to clear plates. She headed back toward the kitchen.

  “There’s a reason we put our asses on the line for you, Narco,” Starling began.

  But Narco wouldn’t let him continue. “You put your asses on the line for yourself. I was fine with doing my time. I had six more weeks, then I was free of that asshole sheriff. You wanted me to do something for you. That’s the selfish reason you had, so don’t pin any of this on me.”

  Starling sat back, silent. Narco spoke truth and he couldn’t argue with it. Well, he could, but then he’d look like an asshole.

  “How’s your sleep?” Lore asked, still not looking up.

  “It’s fine. How’s yours?” Narco snapped back.

  “Not so good,” Lore responded, looking from her plate into Dak’s eyes. “Not so good at all. I have these reoccurring dreams. So do McQueen and Starling. And you know what’s weird about it? We’re all having the same dream. But then you wouldn’t know about that, would you, because your sleep is so fine. It’s like you’re a sweet baby laying his head to rest on a pillow shared with angels. So soft. So perfect. So nice.”

  Narco’s defensive grin fell. He didn’t move his head, but his gaze cut to Starling, who was staring right back at him.

  Lore continued. “McQueen pretends he doesn’t have dreams, but he’s always been the most hard-assed of our lot. I suppose he can just take it. Starling here has been following your recipe for success, drinking and popping everything and anything that comes within his reach. Look at the boss. Isn’t he the model of a TST leader? Or didn’t you notice, because you were busy thinking about getting some nice, perfect sleep.

  “And then there’s me. Not only have I been having the same dreams as these two, but I also had phrases in my head that kept repeating over and over until I went insane. Know how these guys found me? I was slam-dancing inside my trailer, wearing duct tape and tinfoil jammies. Perfectly normal. And then there’s you, Dakota Jimmison. Your sleep is so perfect you got picked up for yet another DUI. I’m sure the drinking wasn’t to obliterate your brain cells so you wouldn’t dream. I’m so fucking sure of it.”

  The waitress appeared in the uncomfortable silence that ensued. She cleared the table, then hurriedly laid the check in the middle. A smiley face was written on the back along with the words Thank You!!! followed by the name Clarissa. Then she hurriedly left.

  “Monster,” McQueen said.

  Lore turned to him. “What did you call me?”

  McQueen shook his head and brought a hand up to twist the end of his mustache. “Monster energy drinks. I have about six a day to keep me up. Sometimes I’m able to stay awake forty-eight hours. Once I was up to sixty hours before I crashed. When I do sleep, my body needs it so much it doesn’t have time to dream.” He twisted the other side of his mustache. “I’m no different than Starling. I just chose a different vice.”

  Everyone was silent.

  “What about Bully? She having the dreams?” Narco asked.

  “We don’t know where she is,” Starling said. Then he grabbed the bill. He took out several twenties he’d received from the ATM after getting a cash withdrawal from Narco’s credit card before they bought the camels. He knew that once OPERATION NARCO CAMEL was over the credit card couldn’t be used. As it stood, they had a little over four hundred dollars. When that was gone, he didn’t know what they were going to do.

  “So I probably have the dreams too,” Narco said, a sullen missive into the silence.

  “Same dream every night?” Lore asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We already knew,” she said. “Charlene told us.”

  Narco stared at her, then let out a sigh. “Then why all this bullshit?”

  “I said all that bullshit so you’d understand how desperate we are. I ge
t that you don’t want to go back to Afghanistan. None of us do. It’s the shit-hole of all shitholes. It’s the hair on the mole on the rectum of a nasty god. But the fact is we’re compelled to go back. We all have a feeling something’s been left undone. Something important. Something dire. And then there’s the dream. The girl and the goat. They have some serious significance, only we aren’t exactly sure what that is. Your girlfriend gave us an idea, but that’s not the whole of it.”

  “Don’t forget the burning sky,” Narco added.

  “Right. And let’s not forget the burning sky.”

  “Yeah. I have the same fucked up dreams,” Narco said. He glanced around the table. “So you think going to Afghanistan will make the dreams go away?”

  “I do,” Starling said.

  “And you, Big Ugly,” Narco asked McQueen, using his pet name for his partner and friend.

  “I do, Little Jerk,” McQueen said.

  Narco shook his head. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

  “Does this mean you’ll do it?” Starling asked.

  Narco cradled his head in his hands and rocked back and forth. His mouth moved, but no words came out. They didn’t have to. He was merely repeating to himself silently what he’d just said aloud.

  “So?” Starling asked again.

  Narco glanced up, then straightened. He sighed. “If it means getting that girl out of my head, then hell yes.”

  “You should be more worried about the goat,” Lore said.

  Narco stared at Lore for a moment, not understanding. “Whatever. You got a burner phone?” he asked Starling.

  Starling pulled it out and set it on the table.

  Narco grabbed it, then pushed sullenly out of the booth and headed towards the front door. Before he left the building, he was already on it, talking animatedly to someone about a plane trip and a return to the place none of them wanted to go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tucson, Arizona

  AS IT TURNED out, Narco had a line on the last of their TST—Criminal aka Oz aka Oscar Jesse James, who was currently acting as a HUMANTECH Contract Coordinator at Al Udeid Air Base in Doha, Qatar. HUMANTECH was the contract company that handled the Department of Defense Tactical Support Team contracts and had hiring authority. At first, Criminal didn’t want to be bothered with their problem, but two things changed his mind.

  One, he thought Narco’s improbable story of arrest and escape was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. Oz didn’t have the call sign Criminal for just any reason. The affectation was far from random, because Oz was a criminal. That he hadn’t been caught was an indictment on various judicial systems rather than his personal ideals. Criminal had his own opinions about property rights and professed a more egalitarian theory of ownership. Thus he was constantly redistributing other persons’ perceived wealth and making it available to others.

  Starling hadn’t known this when he’d reviewed Criminal’s file. Had he known, he would have found a way to get Oz reassigned to another team. But once assigned, he discovered Criminal to be intensely loyal. Although he was quick to acquire things with questionable provenance, his activities were mostly harmless. From the seventy-inch flat screen he’d installed in the team room to the Russian-made RPGs they’d used on the last mission to the forty pounds of live lobster he’d lifted from a truck bound for the CIA base, his acquisitions often benefited the team.

  Still, Starling had had to mollify the senior CIA official who missed his lobster.

  Then, of course, there had been the situation with a local Kabul district politician who’d approached Starling because Criminal had allegedly stolen his American-made Corvette and smashed it into a T-wall. Criminal, of course, had denied it. Starling would have pressed the issue, but the politician dropped his protest. Two days later, an IG investigation was initiated because of the misplacement of twenty kilos of black tar heroin that had gone missing from the DEA warehouse on Bagram Air Force Base.

  Starling could think of half a dozen other instances where Criminal’s proclivities had caused him pain. So it came as no surprise that Criminal would appreciate Narco’s experience.

  The other thing that changed Criminal’s mind was mention of the girl and the goat. Even halfway around the world, he hadn’t been spared the same haunting dream they’d all experienced. He’d been thinking that he was alone, but knowing now that this was a shared thing caused him to want to find the underlying cause of this puzzling imagery.

  But they had two problems.

  There was no way that Narco could travel. His name had already been placed on the No Fly List, which the military had to honor by regulation. They needed an identity for him. The second problem was that there was no current need for TST contract fills. All the contracts were full. But instead of seeing this as a road block, Criminal treated them as speed bumps.

  The four spent the night in a motel room near the main gate of Davis-Monthan Air Force Base. A C5 Galaxy was leaving tomorrow afternoon with space available. Starling had tried to get at least three of them on the manifest, but without movement orders, the load master wouldn’t allow them to board the plane. Plus, they needed military Common Access Cards or CACs. No CAC, no travel.

  They received a Skype call from Criminal at 06:31 the following morning.

  Starling answered it. He’d already been up since four worrying. Well, that, and wanting something to get his system moving… something he shouldn’t have. Had he been in the hotel room alone, he would have gone out and scored something, picked up a fifth of vodka. But with the others in the room, he was loath to go out. McQueen would know right away, then the others shortly after. He was trying to treat this whole chasing-a-nightmare thing as a military mission, and as such, needed to act appropriately. So when he answered the Skype call, he was dressed, cleaned up and ready for action.

  “Oh, hey boss. What’s up with you?” Criminal said, grinning from half the world away.

  He looked like the same kid from on their last mission. Half-cocked smile amidst a black goatee. Sharp Hispanic cheek bones from his mother. High forehead and blue eyes from his father. It always seemed like he was about to break into laughter.

  “Waiting on you, Criminal. Were you able to track down Bully?”

  “She’s not in any system. No contracts. No mailing address. It’s like she fell off the planet.”

  “Seriously? Nothing?”

  “If I can’t find her, boss, nobody can.”

  Starling shook his head. Without her, the team wouldn’t be whole. “Were you able to come through with the rest of it?”

  “What have you been doing over there? Not only is Narco on the No Fly List, but you and McQueen are, too.”

  “Shit happens. Still, we need to get back. We need to get to Afghanistan. How are you going to make that happen?”

  Criminal stared back at him for a long moment. “It’s not the easiest thing in the world.”

  “I got it. Now, how are you going to make it happen?”

  “Damn, boss. You’re acting like we’re back together and you’re in charge.”

  “That’s the plan. Better get used to it. Now how are you—”

  “Going to make this happen. I got you. I even feel you. So listen. I need the three of you to hit up a friend of mine at his address. He’s going to give you new IDs. Once you get those, you can get on base, go to the Contracting Facility, and get CAC cards issued in your new names. You’ll have orders by then and be able to travel. I’ve booked four seats on the C5. You’ll land in Dover, then board another C5 five hours later, which will land in Aviano, Italy. From there you’ll board contract air to Doha, where I’ll meet you.”

  “That sounds pretty simple and straight forward,” Starling said.

  “Boss, if you knew how many strings I had to pull and favors I had to pay back, you’d be…”

  “What’d I be?” Starling asked.

  “I don’t know, boss. It was just a lot of work.”

  “Don’t you think we’re worth i
t?” Lore asked, coming up behind Starling, a toothbrush hanging out of the corner of her mouth.

  Criminal waved. “Hey, PD. Good to see you.”

  “Good to be seen. You got us hooked up?”

  He grinned. “You were easy, girl. No one has an APB, BOLO, or arrest warrant on you.”

  “So sad. I suppose it’s something to which I can aspire.”

  Starling had a pen and paper in hand. “Give me the contact info so we can get going.”

  Thus began a self-imposed bureaucratic to and fro as they traveled, first to an apartment in the South Tucson barrio to the home of Victor Escalante. His apartment complex was surrounded by a ten-foot-high chain link fence with cyclone wire across the top. If it weren’t for the bangers hanging out at the entrance checking all who entered, it would have seemed more like a place where people were imprisoned than where people were protected.

  Victor was all business. The apartment complex was set up with apartments for unwed males on the first floor. The second floor held families. The third floor held Escalante’s offices and one grand apartment comprised of four apartments merged together. He and his staff worked with such efficiency that it was almost like they were on a military base being taken care of by ID card services. An hour after they’d arrived, the group left, three new ID suites in hand, each including a military CAC, a driver’s license, and a social security card.

  Three hours later they’d signed contracts with HUMANTECH and received movement orders.

  They had some cash left, which they spent at the Base Exchange buying personal items, clothes and something to carry them in.

  Starling was worried they might get bumped on the C5 because there were a lot of blue-suiter air force personnel who also had orders. Uniformed personnel always came first. Then civilians and contractors with military orders. Then came those using the aircraft for free personal movement. He spied several families eager to get a free flight for their vacation. One older, probably retired, Pacific Islander and his family of six looked like they’d been traveling for days, one of the problems with flying Space A. Retirees and their families were the last in the pecking order and were only allowed to fly once all the others had boarded. And a family of six, nonetheless. He hoped that they’d make it and also hoped that if they didn’t, it wasn’t his four that contributed to it.