She looked so vulnerable in the glow, the sunset off her face showing the lines of worry, the crags of fatigue across an otherwise perfect face. Macy could barely seem to look at him. When she finally did, her eyes looked dulled and wet. “Check on me?”
“Of course.” Tucker wanted to say more. God, he wanted to do more. But he’d do the right thing and leave her to her privacy. He’d check in on her later. Absolutely. Maybe then they could try talking. Maybe then Tucker could finally say the things he needed to.
30
Macy
She was back in the shadows again. Just like in Luanda. And like the last two years of her life, exhausted and alone. Off the radar. Off the map completely. And now, at sea, she felt herself slipping over the edge of the world into darkness.
She was dark, too, in the stale air of a shipping container, amidst a vague rotting smell. A leftover, perhaps, of what her cube had last contained. But the smell didn’t bother her. It was fitting. She was rotting, too. She could feel it on the inside, in her bones, her marrow putrefying. Her mind was going toxic already with its cocktail of cortisol and repressed memories. A sense of dread. Despite being so close to home, or what she’d last thought was home, she had a lingering sense of it. She’d known for too long the horrors of false hopes, and false securities. False relationships. Tucker. Even the shipping container, a bulk of steel, and the enormous vessel that carried it, felt paper-thin and illusory in the big picture. The big Atlantic, too, helped fuel the feeling of soul-crushing insignificance. At least here, in the open waters, she could be real about it.
She rested her head back flat against the mattress. It was the same hard type that they’d had in the bunk rooms. No blankets. Just antiseptic rubber that made little noises when she tried shifting positions. Sleep would be difficult, even in this state. But then Macy remembered that she wouldn’t be staying in this room long enough for it.
Or would she?
Part of her wanted to stay locked away and separated for the entire length of the journey. They could give her a loaf of bread, slide in a few water bottles. A bucket for a bathroom. And then just leave her the fuck alone. Everyone in the whole world, leaving her alone for good.
Even in the United States, she could remain in isolation.
Maybe hitch a ride on an intermodal freight train headed to the west coast. Though it would hardly matter where she went. Along the way, she could starve and die happily, alone and utterly peaceful. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go out. And at least it would be on her terms, and that of her body. It was up to her own body, and not at the bullet fire of some two-bit assassin.
She imagined they existed in the United States, too. They were probably waiting for her. All of her problems, too, all waiting for her whenever she’d pop back up into reality, when her head would come up for air from the dark and comforting depths of solitude.
But here, in the dark of the shipping container, it was just her and her phone.
She had pulled it out of her pocket, turning it on, the flash of blue light a welcome sight in the dark container. The sun had almost set and whatever light was coming in now was barely perceptible. She used this new light to look around for a better view of what might be her eternal tomb. It was empty, aside from the bed. She was almost reassured about that, not having to see anything or anyone else. She tried keeping certain thoughts out of her mind, like what the container had last carried inside of it. She preferred Chinese washing machines to anything like the hazardous material of DARC Ops’ other shipping container. Her brain was toxic enough.
She went back to her phone, not wanting to think too deeply on the safety or cleanliness of her new home. She had enough driving her slowly insane already. She aimlessly scrolled through some old files. Despite Tansy’s obviously ambitious comments earlier, no internet connection penetrated the walls of the container. She had since gone through and deleted half of all her files, after the hack, just in case. But the memoir still remained. It would be something she would try working on again, when things calmed down. Maybe use it for a later book, if she would ever be safe and sane enough to go through with it. At the very least, it would be an outlet for venting. A psychological release, charted in full: the step-by-step destruction of her life starting with Police Chief Gormley.
Macy skipped to his chapter, the darkest, the slimiest of creatures. But she had become slimy for him, doing horrible deeds to further her career. Ethics had flown out the window after a fit of jealous rage. And fearing for her career, and if she was honest, her life, she went ahead and pushed Tucker away. She’d kept him safe from the chief’s reach, even made the slimeball think he’d won, but at what cost?
There were other things, too. Things she didn’t write about. Those were the events that had been imprinted on her mid, burned in forever like the scars of some deep trauma. The only way out, if Macy even wanted out, was to undo them. And to undo them, and to right them, she would have to survive first.
31
Tucker
“Pleased to meet you, Captain. You’re doing a great thing here.” Tucker had finally met him, shaking the man’s hand firmly. He wore a dark-blue uniform and had cropped white hair. He looked to be in his sixties, smiling back at Tucker.
“It’s just another job to me,” he said in a comfortably American accent. The guy sounded like he was from Boston.
“Don’t let Jasper hear that,” Tucker said. “He claims complacency breeds mishaps and misfortune.”
“Is that what he’d call it? I call it getting home safely. There’s a certain touch you need to man one of these. An easy touch. Can’t think too much about it or what you’re carrying.”
Tucker grinned. “I doubt Jasper can do any of that.”
“You have to stay cool at all times,” the Captain said. “Tell him that. It’s okay to have a routine.”
Tucker weighed the dangers of ocean travel and espionage activities, and how much psychic energy each required. It was no surprise that the captain, almost twice Tucker’s age, looked just as youthful. The army, and DARC Ops, was a breeding ground for prematurely aged and injured bodies. And like with his best friend back home, Matthias, the possibility of a newly acquired PTSD injury lurked around every corner.
Of course Tucker wouldn’t give it up for the world. But he was still new and hungry. Perhaps that would change.
He looked at Tansy when he entered the room, how he greeted the captain and then sat by the window. Tucker kept watching, analyzing for any cracks in the exterior. Any signs that he’d had enough of the job.
There were none. Tansy sat a little too slouched back, a little too cool—typical Tansy—sipping on his customary iced coffee. He looked over at Tucker. “You got the night shift with us?”
“I do.”
“You’ll need some of this, then.” Tansy pointed to his coffee.
“No, I’ve got my own trick for that.” Tucker was glad he wasn’t asked to be specific about it. There was no way he was admitting that things with Macy had him tiptoeing across a knife’s edge for the last three days, that things had his nervous system buzzing like a frayed live wires.
“Tucker?”
His concentration broke, and thankfully so. He turned to see his friend sipping from his coffee.
“I said, do you like cigars?”
“No, why?”
Tansy shrugged and said, “Want to watch me smoke one, then?”
“Not really, but I could use some fresh air. Upwind of you and that cigar.”
They got up out of their seats, almost reaching the door before the captain got Tansy’s attention.
“I almost forgot to thank you,” the captain said. “For the Cuban on my desk.”
“Hey, you’re the one doing the big favors around here.”
Outside, Tansy explained how they’d gotten the US government to donate a big chunk of change to the ship and its crew. It was a risk, and the captain wouldn’t tell his company about it. So Uncle Sam made sure he had all the money an
d fine cigars he could want.
Though tobacco, in any form, wasn’t very appealing to Tucker. He didn’t smoke, but he still enjoyed the smell of a good cigar at times. Tonight it was mixed with the warm ocean breeze. That, mixed with the fact that they would all be on home soil in a few days, made it all the better.
“I think I could get used to this,” Tansy said, staring out across the Atlantic.
“Smuggling uranium?”
“The cigar. And the surf. Do you surf?”
“No. But I boogie board.”
Tansy laughed. “You what?”
“Is that what they call it? Boogie board? When you lie flat on your stomach on it?”
He was still laughing. “Do they even make those anymore? You’re referring to the, like, the short surfboard thing, right?”
“Yeah. What else could I be referring to?”
“They make a tablet called a boogie board. That was actually the first thing I thought of when you said it. Either way, it’s ridiculous.”
“Okay,” Tucker said. “So I don’t smoke cigars, and I surf on a tablet. Does that make me some kind of loser?”
Before Tansy could offer what would surely be a wise-ass remark, their discussion was broken up by the sound of heavy boot steps chugging up the metal stairs below them. Peering over the railing, Tucker saw the top of Jasper’s head, his red locks blowing in the wind.
“I knew it,” grumbled Tansy as he stared at his cigar with contempt. “As soon as I lit this up, I knew it would get ruined.”
“What makes you think it’ll—”
“We’ve got company,” Jasper said as reached the top step. “Something big.”
“What do you mean, big?” Tansy asked.
Jasper ignored the question, instead looking up through the windows of the bridge. He grabbed his radio and said into it, “You see that cutter?”
The three of them waited in silence for the answer, Jasper holding his radio, and Tansy taking another long puff from his cigar like it would be his last. When no answer came from the captain, all three men instantly took off running toward the nest, Tansy dumping his cigar overboard along the way.
In the captain’s room, the crew was already scrambling around.
“You get the message?” Jasper asked no one in particular, but calling it out at the general mess of people running about.
The captain’s face emerged from the frenzy with stone cold beady eyes. “I guess it’s your turn to finally do some work,” he said, before turning back to his dials.
Another man, much younger, came up to them with a tablet. “So it looks like we’ve got a military-class vessel. It’s headed off starboard.”
“What country?” the captain asked. “South African?”
“We don’t know. No one is talking to us on the radio.”
“Where are we?” Jasper asked. He was met with a strange look. He rephrased: “Are we still in South-African waters?”
“Yes, but not for much longer.”
“Should we hurry up?” Tucker said.
The captain looked at him, almost scowling. “Hurry up?”
“To get to international waters?” Tucker turned to Jasper. “Where is the vessel coming from? The Coast or the sea?”
“Starboard,” Jasper said. “That’s the sea.”
“It’s not South African,” one of the deck hands said.
“Should I get Macy?” Tucker said.
“Where is she?”
“In her container.”
“Good,” Jasper said. “Let’s have her stay there for now until we figure this out.”
“Gentlemen,” the captain said. “I’m not about to do any evasive maneuvers here. There’s a vessel coming our way, so be it. There’s only so much I can do. We’re not some little dinghy, we’re a cargo ship with a hundred thousand tons aboard.”
“Correct,” Jasper said. “Just act normally.”
The captain laughed and turned to his men. “Hear that, boys? Just act normally.”
“Aye, aye,” they laughed in response.
Tucker was glad they were feeling loose about it. He, on the other hand, couldn’t stop worrying about Macy and what this approaching vessel wanted. He’d almost completely forgotten about the uranium payload or anyone who’d want it. All he could imagine anyone ever wanting was Macy.
And for a time, Tucker once had her.
But she slipped away. A fish out of his hand and back into the sea.
“Tucker,” Jasper said, seeming to stare right into his brain—into his thoughts of Macy, seeing them and all of his vulnerabilities exposed. “You with us or what?”
“What do you need?” Tucker said. He blinked his eyes, refreshing his mind and focusing on the current situation.
“I need you to be present for this.”
“Present.”
“And I need you to run to each nest and make sure they’re equipped and good to go.”
Tucker hustled out of the room, running to the first nest—a sniper’s nest. They had six of them located around the ship at various defensive angles, set up with perfect vantage points for the sea, all aiming down, for shooting from cover at possible sea pirates—or worse.
He inspected each nest, the sandbags piled up around them for shooting protection. In the middle of each was a light machine gun resting on a tripod, and next to that, boxes of ammunition. There were also first-aid kits, water, and a radio. Tucker’s job was to make sure each nest was stocked and ready to go, before stopping at the last nest: his. There he’d prepare himself for what could possibly become a high-seas firefight.
He radioed back to Jasper with the “all clear”, and then hunkered down in his nest, his back leaning against the soft wall of the same sandbags he’d previously loaded into the truck. They were still hot from the sun, but the warmth was pleasant now, in the darkness. He imagined Macy in her container, likely getting cold. He would have much rather been there to warm her, even if it was just a quick snuggle. God, what he wouldn’t give for even just a damned snuggle. Maybe, before the cutter arrived, he could run out to the cargo deck and check in on her.
“Jasper,” he said into the radio, growing more impatient by the minute. “Got an update for me?”
“Negative,” came the response.
Tucker thought more of walking off, leaving his post, his nest, and checking out Macy’s container. She might have to stay hidden for awhile. At the very least he could bring her some sheets and a radio.
His thoughts were interrupted by a string of radio chatter, barely intelligible, but the many voices coming in and verifying their positions at the nests. They had all been assembled and ready to take on whatever was headed their way.
Maybe he could call her cell. Would it even work through all that metal?
His radio came to life again: “Hey, boys, stand by for some information.” It was Tansy this time, most likely calling from his computer lab deep in the bowels of the ship. Wherever he went, anywhere in the world, his mobile hack lab went with him—all information available at the touch of a button. He’d bailed the team out many times, being the eyes and ears from a basement hidden away. The brains of the operation. What new information could he have now? And why the fuck couldn’t he just say it?
The voice came again: “Bird nests, at ease.”
Tucker was getting seriously over Tansy’s standard vagueness. He radioed back, asking for an explanation.
What he got in response was not an explanation, but a request to revisit the hack room. And there, a minute later, under the ship’s harsh lighting, the worry on the hacker’s face was clear. Beads of sweat dotted along Tansy’s forehead.
“Jesus,” Tucker said “You look rattled. What the hell’s going on?”
Tansy took a deep breath. “I thought we were about to get boarded.”
“South Africans?”
He finally wiped his brow. “No. It’s friendlies.”
“Who?”
“Americans.” He swiveled around
with a grim smile. “I think we’re in the clear.”
Americans. It was Americans that wanted Macy dead.
How the hell did they even know she was there?
“Hold off on the champagne,” Tucker said. “Or cigars. Let’s wait till we actually know who they are.”
“We’re in international waters,” Tansy said. “It’s an American ship.”
“But they still haven’t answered our comms. Right? That’s highly unusual. And a little unsettling.”
A radio next to Tucker crackled to life, full of the captain’s voice. “They want to board us.”
“Well, there’s your comms,” Tansy said.
“I don’t like it,” Tucker replied. “First they ignore us completely, and now they say they want to board.”
“It’s an Americans ship, though.”
“Do we really know that? I don’t remember that as part of Jackson’s plan.”
“It’s not,” Jasper said from behind him, entering the hack room and looking out of breath.
“So then what the hell is it?”
For the first time, no one had any answers, including the captain after being asked for the third time to give his insights on just who the hell he’d been talking to from the US ship. Including questions about accent and intentions.
There was a moment in that room, in the deafening silence of it, that Tucker could feel everything finally coming together. It was in that space, the quiet of his two friends and the unknown, where he worked on his strategy. He could even do this without Macy.
But the idea came from her. From her phone.
“Tansy,” he said. “Were you able to check Macy’s phone for . . . a tracking device?”
“It’s not a tracking device. But I know what you mean.”
“So, have you?”
“I haven’t had time to look at outside access. I noted there were breaches, if you’ve read the report.”
DARC Ops: The Complete Series Page 123