by Weston Ochse
“I felt bad for the boy, as incongruous as it sounds. He was a suicide bomber who killed innocent people.”
“Are there really any innocent people?” she asked.
Boy Scout looked around the restaurant and saw families with children and older people, all living within what might be just been a dream set aside for only him. “In Afghanistan, innocence is by degrees. No one is truly innocent,” he said. “Even children are guilty of being children. After all, they’ll eventually grow up and became the antithesis of what they wanted to be, their fates carved by the actions of all the weaknesses in the men who came before them.”
“What you say lacks any sort of hope.”
“They should have a sign at the airport in Bagram that says Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.”
“The words at the gate to hell.”
“According to Dante,” he said.
“Did you forget that you are a Boy Scout?”
“That’s just a call sign.”
“Is it? Are you not a Boy Scout? Do you not live to serve others and make their lives better?”
“Like I said, just a call sign.”
She waggled a finger as she ate a fry. “Nothing is just a call sign. Do you think Preacher’s Daughter could have any other call sign than the one she has? You are Boy Scout. You live and breathe it. It’s part of your DNA.”
He stared hard at her. Elfin features beneath a mound of stark red hair. “Who are you?”
She gave him her patented grin. “Just your average psychic hairdresser who can do nails, acupuncture, and speed load magazines for 9mm pistols. That last thing, I learned from Narco,” she added. “I felt when he died. I knew it was coming, but it still saddened me to see it actually happen.”
“You know when people die?”
“Honey, I know when everyone dies.”
His eyes widened.
“Don’t even ask, because I’m not going to answer. Why I have the information, I’m still trying to figure out. When I was little, I tried to change fate, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that fate cannot be changed. Once it decides, that’s it.”
“Maybe by knowing it negates the ability to effect change,” he said.
She cocked her head as she thought about what he’d said.
But then he shook his head. “There’s no reason to try and change things then. No reason to fix things—to try and save people.”
“Sure, there is. People die all the time out of sequence. Some early. Some late. What I see is what happens when no one does anything to impinge future events. We each have our time, but there are those forces who would hasten our deaths for their own mortal reasons. This is why the world needs you. This is why you are a Boy Scout. You can’t change who wins at the end of the game, but you can influence how well everyone plays and ensure that the game is played fairly.” She grinned again. “That’s what a Boy Scout should do.”
He gave her a look of disbelief.
“Does a Boy Scout help an old woman across the street? Sure. It’s in all the books. But then does he also follow her around for the rest of her life to ensure he helps anytime she might need it? No. Boy Scouts help those in need at the moment of need, then move onto something else entirely. Now Sister Renee needs you. In fact, she’s why I am here.”
“How? Did she contact you?”
“Her death exploded across all of my psychic bandwidth and made me aware of you. I recognized you right away and knew that there was a way that I could be a Boy Scout as well, maybe help you for a moment, before moving on.”
“What is it about her death that drew you?”
“The yazata. That’s what you called it, yes? I would see it burn if I could. But you can’t die. If you do, it escapes and will go in search of another, maybe even a young girl like Sister Renee, convincing her that it is a demon so that those even more powerful will come and it can inhabit them. Yes, I know her story. She told me and it’s proof that the battery inside of you should never be fully charged.”
“If I don’t feed it, it will take me over, Faood told me. He said the only reason it doesn’t have any need to own me is because it’s already had so many souls to devour. The team and I talked about it. Each soul was a doorway, and by traveling through them all, it forgot who it was.”
“Faood is right. If it gets too weak, it will seek you out.”
“Then what? What is it I need to do?” he asked, so tired of the whole damn thing.
She reached over and touched his closed fist. “We’ll work on that. We’ll figure it out together. Let me help you, Boy Scout. Let me be there for you.”
He stared long and hard, then eventually nodded. In doing so, he felt the stress leave his body. When she was finished with her food, he stood and bagged his own meal. Once he was outside, Boy Scout handed it out to one of the many homeless who made Hollywood Boulevard their place in the world. One small part of the game—helping another player, then moving on. That’s who he was, he supposed.
An incremental helper.
A Boy Scout.
Now if only he could figure out how to help himself.
Chapter Thirty-One
Malibu, California
BOY SCOUT AND Charlene walked up Orange Avenue to the football field for Hollywood High School. Noaks’s helicopter had just landed. They hopped over the fence and ran low until they were able to board the helicopter. After Boy Scout climbed in, he reached out and helped Charlene aboard, who seemed nonplussed about the new ride. They sat facing rearward. Poe and an operator Boy Scout had never seen, dressed in full combat kit, sat opposite him. The man’s face was mostly covered by a ballistic mask. A monkey harness was attached to his gear to keep him from falling to his death. He held an M4 like he knew how to use it.
Boy Scout helped Charlene into her headset and then put on his own, without which they’d never be able to hear over the roar of the blades.
Poe stared hard at Charlene.
Boy Scout ignored the look and gestured to the operator. “What’s going on? I thought I said no backup.”
“This isn’t for you. This is for me,” Poe said.
The answer was so odd that Boy Scout didn’t know how to reply.
Noaks lifted the chopper into the air and banked towards the Hollywood sign.
“Who’s she?” Poe asked, pointing at Charlene.
“It’s not polite to point,” she said. Then turning to Boy Scout, she added, “I don’t like him.”
Boy Scout raised an eyebrow. A psychic saying she didn’t like someone was as good as a dog growling at a stranger. Maybe he should pay closer attention to Poe and his endgame. After all, no government agency was really here to help people—especially a team as secretive as Special Unit 77.
“This is Charlene Johnson,” he said. “Charlene, this is Lieutenant Poe.”
Poe shot Boy Scout a glare.
What was going on? Everyone was still all friendly, right? Boy Scout thought about how he was going to explain her. Something like, This is the lady I thought had come and joined us when I was taken over by the Berber, but she really wasn’t there, just like the first and only other time we met her when we were actually floating in a pond covered in shit and snot and dreaming the whole thing. Uh... no. Maybe just keep it simple.
“She’s an old girlfriend of one of my men,” he said.
“This is a tactical military operation,” Poe said.
Boy Scout added, “She’s also a psychic. I think she might help.”
Poe mouthed the words psychic but said nothing more.
Boy Scout figured they were at about a thousand feet. He traced the 10 as it raced east and west, the 405 on down towards the curve, then the 110, which shot straight to the Port of LA Bel Air was below them as they headed toward the hills of Topanga State Park.
By now, Lore and McQueen would have prepared the home like they’d planned. He shouldn’t feel worried, but the appearance of the tactical operator out of the blue had sent a thumb of worr
y along his spine. Not that one man would make much of a difference, but his presence was like the tip of an iceberg. And Charlene’s immediate reaction upon meeting Poe accentuated that worry. He was going to have to watch Poe carefully and see what his plans were.
But in the meantime, they had their own plan to put into place.
They sat in an awkward silence until the chopper neared the Malibu coast. Wildfires had decimated the area in recent years and squares of missing homes greeted them like buck-toothed smiles. The chopper crossed above Pepperdine University, then roared over the ocean, only to descend where the sand met the water near Puerco Canyon. A single home stood without neighbors, while all the other homes abutted each other like frat boys at an initiation.
Like Faood had said, Malibu was home to the rich and famous, which was partially why they were going to conduct their business here. Along with wealth came exclusivity. Police also tended to look the other way in communities where domestic violence and recreational drug use comprised 85 percent of the crime. So instead of policing, the cops normally formed their own blue barricade, ensuring the tourists kept moving, and those who were not wanted wouldn’t be willing to stay any longer than it took to get a burger and fries at The Country Kitchen off Pacific Coast Highway.
They removed their headsets and bailed out when the skids hit the sand.
Boy Scout kept his right hand over his face to keep the sand from blasting against it.
Fifteen seconds later they were standing alone on the beach, Noaks powering down the helicopter. Evidently the new plan was to leave it there.
A local resident that looked vaguely like a grown up version of a TV star Boy Scout had seen as a kid strode towards them, his face a mask of anger.
Poe glanced over, cursed under his breath and moved to meet the man.
The operator moved behind and to his right, following, his M4 pointed a few feet in front of him.
The actor began to gesticulate wildly, pointing at the helicopter and then his house.
Whatever Poe said was lost to the sound of the wind and the surf because within a minute, the actor had deflated and turned to go back to his home.
Poe and the operator waited until the man was inside, then returned.
“What did you say to him?” Boy Scout asked.
“None of that shit now,” Poe said. “Come with me.” Then he pointed to Charlene. “And you stay here.”
Poe started to move. When he saw Boy Scout hesitate, he turned back. “I said, now.”
The operator raised the muzzle of his rifle a bare millimeter. Probably not enough for a regular person to note, but it was like a semaphore to Boy Scout’s worry.
What the fuck was going on?
Boy Scout began to follow Poe.
The operator followed behind him.
“I heard that,” McQueen said in his ear. “I got the operator. Lore, you take Poe.”
“Take it easy,” Boy Scout said low, trying not to move his lips. “Let’s see where this goes.”
“If it goes south, they go in the ground,” McQueen said.
In front of the beachside Malibu mansion, Boy Scout pictured them in the windows or on the roof, aiming down the barrels of their rifles. Both were crack shots, so if shit was about to go down, then it was going to go down in style.
After about thirty meters, Poe whirled. Hands on his hips, he thrust out his chin. “What’s with the woman?”
“What do you mean? She’s my guest.”
“Your guest?” Poe scoffed. “Are you a hotel? You don’t get to have guests.”
“Take it easy, Poe,” Boy Scout said, knowing as he did so those words rarely worked.
“I’ll take it easy, all right.” Poe stepped in close, taking up Boy Scout’s personal space. “I’ll take her and lock her in a cell so we can have the mission we planned.”
Boy Scout couldn’t help but smile. It’d been more than a decade since someone had been able to intimidate him and Poe wasn’t going to change that. Boy Scout stood his ground.
“I don’t understand the change, Lieutenant. Why are you suddenly so stressed? Why do you have to bring your own dog for protection?”
“This is the culmination of a mission I’ve planned for months. I’ve nailed down every facet and MDMP’d every angle. Then she comes along. We know who she is. She’s in our database. We know she’s not some damned girlfriend. She’s the real deal, but she’s also batshit as fuck. I don’t need a crazy fucking psychic to bring down a mission we’ve expended twenty million dollars to accomplish.”
The cursing was a surprise, but so was the dollar amount.
“What’s the harm in having her here? If she’s as good as you say, then we could use her as an early warning device. She’ll know when something bad’s about to happen.”
Poe shook his head and stepped back. “No. No. No. No. No,” he said, rapid-fire. “You’re still not getting it. No psychic is perfect. There is no one hundred percent. She’s going to tell you something and you’re going to want to take action but you’re not going to know whether or not she is right.”
“Who says she’s not a hundred percent?” Boy Scout asked.
“See? You’re already questioning me.”
“Who says you’re in charge, Lieutenant?” Boy Scout countered, stressing the rank. Then he added, “Or colonel, or whatever the hell you are.”
“I’ve always been in charge, whether you knew it or not. The minute you accepted my help, you entered into a contract with the United States government. As their representative, I’m in charge. You and yours are contractors. By US code, you can’t be in charge. Contractors cannot represent the US government.”
Boy Scout glanced at the operator, staring pointedly at the rifle.
“And you need an operator with a gun to establish your authority.” He swallowed back a dozen more things he wanted to say. He wasn’t going to get anywhere like this. “What is it you want me to do?”
“I want her gone.”
“It’s too late for that. They saw her with me.”
“The hell they did,” Poe said.
The operator took a half step back, as if to make it easier for him to bring the weapon around.
Boy Scout was done.
He spun and grabbed the barrel of the operator’s rifle with his right hand. He knew the guy wanted to raise the weapon, so Boy Scout helped him, lifting the barrel up, then slamming it into his ballistic mask. The man stumbled, and in that moment Boy Scout found the quick release sling, let it drop, and made the weapon his own.
The operator took two steps back, went down on a knee and pulled free his pistol. He shoved the weapon out in a two-handed grip aiming directly for Boy Scout.
Before the operator’s arms reached full length, Boy Scout kicked the man’s hands upwards.
A shot went skyward.
Boy Scout shot the operator in the thigh, then stepped in and stomped his face.
When the guy’s arms went limp, Boy Scout kicked the weapon away.
He glanced at the rifle in his hand and tossed it into the surf, then spun back to Poe.
“This is what happens when you can’t play nice,” he said to Poe, who now held a pistol at waist level. Lucky for the lieutenant, he wasn’t pointing it at Boy Scout. Had he been, Boy Scout would have broken all the man’s fingers.
“I get that you want to be in charge,” Boy Scout said. “I get that you’re in this fucking special top secret fucking unit that no one knows about. I get that you spent twenty million dollars and have your ass puckered so tight with worry you can’t think straight, much less shit straight. But don’t you ever fucking ever have a man front a weapon on me. You want fratricide, I’ll give you fratricide. We could have talked about this. We could have made it work. But you went too far.”
Poe blinked, as if Boy Scout’s words were rocks.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” Boy Scout said. “But it’s a whole lot bigger now.”
Three shots went off, impa
cting the sand behind him.
“And tell your man to stand down,” Boy Scout said, figuring the operator probably had a knife and was about to stab him in the back. “I have both of you covered.” To McQueen he said, “How about one more in the sand?”
The shot came and the sand jumped.
“Stand down,” Poe said
Boy Scout heard, then saw the operator limp in his direction. The ballistic mask had been removed and the man’s mouth was contorted in pain.
Boy Scout lowered his voice. “We’re done here.”
Poe glanced at his pistol, then shoved it into the small of his back. “Listen, I fucked up.”
“You think?”
“They want the daeva badly. They want to test it. Figure out its powers.”
“I had no doubt. But after I use it, right?”
Poe hesitated, then nodded. “Absolutely.”
Charlene came up beside him. “He’s lying.”
Boy Scout’s eye narrowed. “What’s the truth, Poe?”
The lieutenant glared at Charlene as she spoke. “I see you strapped to a table in the middle of a cell. There’s no light, except for something down a stone hall. I hear screams from somewhere. It’s a bad place, Boy Scout. It’s a terrible place.”
Boy Scout nodded. “So, not only do you want to test the supernatural being, but you also want to test me. The thing inside of me—you want to find a way to harness it. To bottle it, don’t you?”
Poe shook his head. “This is bigger than you and me. This is bigger than all of us. We need to know how to defend ourselves against this daeva. You said there are more. What if they come looking for their missing brother?”
“Then I’d let them.”
“That’s never going to happen,” Poe said.
McQueen and Lore appeared from outside the mansion and walked towards them. Poe had his back to them.
“You haven’t seen these things in operation,” Boy Scout said. “You’ve only heard reports. Trust me when I say that these are things you don’t want to mess with.”
“Concern noted.”
McQueen joined Boy Scout on the right and turned to face Poe and the operator.