by Dan Levinson
The knock came again.
Agent rose and strode to the door, filling himself with psionic power. There was always the possibility something had been compromised. He thought of Hague again; if the man had made another error, Agent would kill him this very night, and make it painful.
He stepped up to the door and peered through the peephole.
Cole stood on the other side.
With a suppressed snarl, Agent yanked open the door.
“You should have notified me you were coming,” Agent said. “What could you not have simply told me over the phone?”
“I screwed up, boss,” Cole said.
Agent stared at Cole. There was only one thing that could mean. He stepped aside to allow Cole entry, then shut and bolted the door. “The girl,” Agent said.
“She was snooping around. She found my tag box,” Cole said. “Must have used psionics to open it. She saw all my false creds.”
“Have you taken care of her?” Agent asked.
“No, sir,” Cole said. He flinched as he said it.
“Why not?”
“I made a judgment call,” Cole said. “Didn’t think it was appropriate at the time. I told her I was a corporate spy. She bought it. I’m positive.”
“And she won’t call the authorities?”
“I don’t think so. She wants to move into the commissioned ranks. This would reflect poorly on her. I think she’ll keep her mouth shut.”
“You think?” Agent began to pace, hands clasped behind his back. It was an action that unnerved others, and he had deliberately perpetuated the notion that he paced when he was angry. This time he actually was. Cole should have known better. And Agent himself should have known better, put a stop to this foolishness as soon as he saw it getting out of hand.
Still, now was the time for pragmatism. One could only work with the cards one was dealt. However, there was something Agent needed to put straight.
“You’re lying to me,” he said, “or to yourself. I don’t know which is worse.”
“I haven’t lied to you, boss, I swear,” Cole said. He swallowed hard.
Cole was almost always cool, even cocky, but now the anxiety in him was evident to Agent’s finely tuned senses. He could see the rapid, thrumming pulse that stood out in Cole’s neck.
“You have feelings for this girl,” Agent said. “This woman. That’s why you insisted on pursuing this ploy. And after I warned you about getting attached. You should be disgusted with yourself.”
“It isn’t . . . I don’t . . .” Cole struggled to make a denial, but Agent’s eyes bored into him. Cole averted his gaze, ashamed. “I’m sorry, boss. I didn’t mean for—”
“Enough,” Agent said. “I don’t know what went through your head, but at least you’ve come to understand your folly. For now, that is sufficient. However, you’re going to have to clean up this mess.”
“She’s a staff sergeant,” Cole said. “She’ll be missed.”
“Don’t you dare make excuses to me,” Agent snapped.
“I can still turn her,” Cole said. “Tell her about Commander Barrett, that she can see him if she works for us.”
Agent halted his pacing and stepped up to Cole. Though Cole stood several inches taller than him, Agent knew he could make a man feel quite small.
“You will make her disappear,” Agent said. “Am I understood?”
Cole nodded numbly.
Agent put a hand on Cole’s shoulder in an attempt at a human, sympathetic gesture. “We do what we have to, Cole. For the mission. You know that.”
“For the mission,” Cole mumbled.
Agent nodded back, then stepped away and headed for the door. Cole paused a moment, as if he had something more to say, but then he followed Agent’s lead and went to the exit.
“I’m really sorry, boss,” he said.
Agent waved away the apology. Apologies were worth nothing, solved nothing. All that mattered was that mistakes were rectified, and never made again.
“Consider this an opportunity to reaffirm your loyalty,” Agent said. “To demonstrate the strength of your conviction.” He let the full weight of his gaze rest on Cole.
“Yes, boss.”
“You have twenty-four hours,” Agent said. “If it isn’t done by then, I’ll kill her myself.”
28
FINN
When Finn arrived for the morning’s physical training, he found Joachim waiting for him. The man said nothing to explain his appearance, only guided Finn through the usual warmups. Finn’s mind spun, but he didn’t ask questions. Joachim never spoke until he was ready.
It was during a break that Joachim finally said, “We are sending you back.”
“Back?” Finn asked.
“To the outpost. To finish your basic training.”
Finn’s heart soared.
He would see Sonja again! He would return like she asked!
Joachim sent Finn off to pack his things, which amounted to the uniform he had worn on the day he had been brought to Special Operations. The loose training outfits he had worn during his stay here had been removed.
As he stowed his dress whites in a bag, his excitement began to fade. This would mean confronting what he had done to Merry. Finn didn’t know if Merry had returned to the outpost, but he would at least be surrounded by recruits who had seen what happened. It wouldn’t be an easy homecoming.
What would everyone think of him? What would they say?
He reminded himself of all he had learned with Joachim. It was possible he would be shunned. It was possible that some of Merry’s friends might try to get revenge. Finn knew he would have to take it in stride, face his fears, and overcome them.
Finn found Lily waiting outside of his chambers. They proceeded to the garage. It was a spacious, high-ceilinged chamber, large enough for more than twenty desert-ready vehicles, though it paled in comparison to the staging area Finn had seen in the Grisham base.
Lily retrieved a pair of keys from a clerk behind a desk, then hopped into the driver’s seat of an open-air ATV. Finn took his place beside her. “You don’t have to put me to sleep again, do you?” he asked.
Lily dug around in the car’s central compartment and came up with a black blindfold. She handed it to him.
“Really?” Finn asked.
“Yup,” Lily said. She waited while Finn covered his eyes.
After, he heard her start up the engine and throw the car in gear. A moment later came the noise of the garage door opening—a mechanical hum. The vehicle sprang into motion.
Before long, Finn felt the heat of the sun.
It was strange, being unable to see, while having such a clear conception of the surroundings. Finn’s mental training with Joachim had taught him to visualize with exceptional clarity. He heard sand crunching beneath the tires, and felt wayward grains of it whipping past him while the wind riffled his hair. He could imagine the desert in all its splendor: the light reflecting off the sand, the crests and falls of dunes. He could see the entire landscape in his mind.
After what must have been about fifteen minutes, Lily yanked away the blindfold.
Bright light flooded Finn’s vision. He had to squint until his eyes adjusted.
When he could see again, the first thing that struck him was the sky, so clear and pure, almost cloudless, a tapestry of blue that stretched to the horizon. Finn had not seen the sky since the day he punched Merry—the day he’d been escorted back to Grisham and tossed in a cell. He had sorely missed it. The fear he would never again see the light of day had not come to pass.
He was free.
As free as he could hope for.
Finn noticed Lily glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He realized he was smiling. Whatever anyone said to him, he would stand up and take it and not be afraid, or angry. He would accept whatever came his way. He had to. It was better than the alternative—living in abject terror, always feeling unworthy. There would be no warm welcome for him, he knew. I
f Merry was back in camp, things might be downright hostile. But Finn was prepared to accept the consequences of his actions. He’d been given a second chance, and wouldn’t squander it by making the same mistakes.
On the ATV’s dashboard-mounted GPS device, Finn watched their destination creep closer, a tenth of a mile at a time. At last, they made their way over a final rise.
There, in the valley below, lay Desert Outpost Six.
They went down the slope, past the chain-link fences that separated the outpost’s paved ground from the desert sands. The recruits were out in force, running laps around the compound. Sergeant Douglass bellowed at them as they went. They spared barely a glance for the ATV, except to jog in place a moment while they waited for it to pass.
Lily brought the vehicle to a halt by a garage behind the barracks buildings, then climbed down from her seat.
Finn followed suit.
Though he’d been at Outpost Six only a couple days before the incident, it felt like a homecoming. His misgivings were nothing compared to the joy of his return.
“Keep running,” Douglass shouted. “I see any slacking and you’ll be going another hour!”
He turned and headed over to where Lily had parked. When the sergeant caught sight of them, Finn could have sworn he saw the older man’s face soften in relief.
“Sergeant,” Lily said.
“Ma’am,” Douglass replied. He gave a casual salute. “I see you’re bringing this one back. He’s learned some proper discipline, I hope.”
“Damn straight,” Lily said. She grinned. “Tell us if the kid gives you any more trouble.”
“That I will,” the sergeant said.
Lily turned to Finn. “Private.”
Taking his cue, Finn saluted.
“Good luck, kid,” Lily said. She climbed back onto the ATV and was off.
As soon as she was gone, Douglass rounded on Finn. “You listen here, son. Just ’cause you ain’t locked up and facing down a court-martial don’t mean you get off easy. You started a fight under my nose, and dammit, Private, you are sure as shit going to pay for it. Understand?” Flecks of spittle peppered Finn’s face.
Finn gulped. He should’ve predicted this part.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” he said.
“Can’t hear you, boy.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Finn shouted.
By now, the other recruits had seen Finn. Their pace slowed, and they were talking and pointing. Finn felt his face color, but he kept his emotions in check. This he had most definitely foreseen. He would not give in to panic. Joachim had taught him better.
Douglass whipped his head around, glaring at the recruits. “Slow and worthless, all of you! Pick it up, hup, two, three, four! Let’s go! Move, move, move!”
The young soldiers needed no more prompting; they returned to running full force. Many continued to stare at Finn.
He ignored their gazes. He scanned the group for the one face he longed to see.
“Am I boring you, Private?” Douglass asked.
Finn choked down a gasp and snapped back to attention. “No, Drill Sergeant.”
“Good. ’Cause I wouldn’t want you to get bored. In fact, I want so badly to keep you occupied that I’m puttin’ you on mess duty morning, noon, and night for the next two months. And I want you muckin’ out the latrines every other day after dinner. That should keep you entertained enough not to get in any more fistfights, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” Finn said.
Douglass nodded his approval. “Well, don’t just stand there. Stow your gear and get out there with the rest of them. Quick now, go,
go, go!”
Finn scurried toward the barracks hall. Inside, he found his bunk had not been taken, though the mattress was stripped bare. He put his spare uniform in the trunk at the foot of the bed, where he found more changes of clothing that were untouched since the day he’d left. His sunscreen was still there, and he quickly slathered some on. His other personal items were missing. He hoped they’d been confiscated, not stolen by other recruits.
Finn headed back out into the sunlight. He joined the joggers at the rear of the line. In his weeks of harsh training, his endurance had increased. No longer did he feel his chest would burst, his knees buckle, or his legs give out. He kept pace with the others, all the while searching the group for Sonja. Now and again he caught a glimpse of red hair ahead of him, so he made his way farther up the line.
As he ran, some of the recruits shot Finn dirty looks. Finn paid no attention. Finally, he got a clear view of Sonja, several feet ahead of him.
His pulse quickened.
What should he do? What would he say?
He had to bring himself to talk to her. He closed the distance, coming up beside her. “Hi,” he said.
She glanced his way, and smiled. It seemed to Finn the entire world lit up in that smile. “Not now,” she said. She glanced at Douglass.
Finn nodded. For the moment he was content enough to be near her.
Even in the heat, Sonja’s skin glistening with sweat, stray strands of hair plastered to her forehead, she was radiant. His extended absence had only added to her allure, and he found his memory of her had been a pale reflection of the real thing. Her skin was darker now, though she would probably never be tan with her fair complexion. Finn realized he was still as pallid as the day he’d arrived in Grisham, but he decided he didn’t care.
He was happy just to be in the open air, next to her.
They continued their run, surrounded by the noise of their panting, Douglass’s shouting, the shuffle of clothing, the scuff of boots on pavement. When Douglass called a halt to the morning’s run and told them to break for lunch, he sent a Private Archer to show Finn the ropes in the mess hall. Before long, Finn found himself in an apron, dropping portions of overcooked peas and lumpy sloppy joes onto outstretched plates. He received no small amount of sideways looks—some angry, others apprehensive. He also endured a steady stream of snide remarks. Some called him “Straggler.”
At that, he laughed. How had he ever been bothered by such nonsense?
When everyone had gotten a meal, Finn made a plate for himself. He spotted James and Val at a table, and they waved at him.
That heartened Finn; at least the only two friends he had made were still willing to talk to him. They beckoned him over, but he had other plans. As on that day weeks ago, Sonja was at a table by herself. Finn suspected no one had bothered her since then.
He was about to go to her when a corporal—a young man with a crew cut not much older than Finn himself—walked up.
“Sergeant Douglass wants you to bring a plate to the infirmary,” the corporal said.
“The infirmary, Corporal?” Finn asked.
“To Private Hosteen.”
A sinking feeling came over Finn. Merry was here.
When Finn hadn’t seen him out in the yard, he’d figured Merry was elsewhere, receiving medical treatment. Finn didn’t relish the thought of coming face-to-face with the other boy, mostly because he would have to confront what he had done.
The corporal cleared his throat. Finn jolted, then quickly nodded his head and said, “I’ll go right away.”
When he stepped outside with the tray of food, the sun seemed somehow brighter. The air felt hot and oppressive. The empty sky and endless sands had become a vision of bleakness.
Finn’s belly whirled with anxiety. He had played this out in his head so many times. In his imaginary conversations, he had vacillated between conciliatory and unapologetic, while picturing Merry’s reaction as regret and anger and everything in between. Finn had built the whole thing up into a mound of insurmountable expectation. He wanted nothing more than to bolt, to abandon the tray, and flee into the desert, never to be seen or heard from again.
He took a deep breath, then another, and another, calming himself. Joachim had once told him that for a soldier, “Duty is an anchor.”
This was his duty.
He put one foot in front of the other all the way to the infirmary—on the opposite side of the training field from the mess hall. When he entered the modest building, at first he did not see anyone there except the physician, Lieutenant Gilbert, seated at a small desk off to the side.
“Is that lunch?” Merry’s voice drifted out from behind a partition. “I’m starving.”
Finn shot a questioning look at Gilbert, who nodded the go-ahead. Finn steeled himself and pulled back the curtain.
Merry was reclining on an infirmary bed, a Triton XT handheld video game system in hand. His one good eye flitting back and forth across the five-inch screen. Merry’s other eye was covered by a white medical eye patch, and the flesh around it was bruised, mottled brown and yellow. Finn could see the lines of surgical scars where the doctors must have pieced Merry’s cheekbone back together.
The shame hit Finn again, so ponderous he thought he would collapse. He had done this to Merry. No matter the circumstance, Finn knew he was the only one responsible.
At first, so concentrated on his game, Merry did not even see Finn. “Leave it over on the table,” he said.
Finn deposited the tray on the table fastened to the bed by a metal arm, next to a glass of water and a paper cup with colored pills inside. Finn considered slinking away, delaying this confrontation another hour or day, but he knew that was the cowardly thing to do. Besides, he would only end up spending every waking minute anticipating what he had put off. Best to have it over and done with.
Finn cleared his throat.
Merry’s eye flicked up at Finn, then back to his game, then to Finn again. The injured boy gasped, nearly dropping his Triton in the process. “Straggler,” he hissed.
So it was back to that already. “Merry,” Finn said.
“Merritt,” he said. He resumed playing his game, ostentatiously ignoring Finn, trying to mask his overt fear.
Again Finn thought about leaving, but he had to clear the air. “I’m sorry,” he said, “for what I did to you. It was an accident, but that’s no excuse.”