Fog Bastards 2 Destination

by Bill Robinson

  She shakes her head. "I don't care. And people should know what you're sacrificing."

  "No. Please. You can tell them that I am done with figuring out what to do, but you can't tell them the rest."

  "Ok. You can still visit me."

  "No. I can't. It wouldn't be right, and I am suddenly consumed with doing right."

  She seems to be lost for words, or just thinking how to argue something else. I don't give her time. We're still touching, so I stretch out to kiss her forehead, detach myself, and walk toward the door.

  "Celeste, forget about me and have the life you deserve."

  I walk outside without looking back, still not believing I could say something that stupid. I'm not telling Perez.

  I hear the door close behind me, and I take two more steps to be sure I'm clear before I take off. Only I know he's there.

  "General," I yell loud enough that Celeste would still hear if she's by the door, "come on out."

  And he's there, behind the entrance to the stairwell. Still dressed in the same outfit, still pretending to be something he's not. The one thing he and I have in common.

  "Now that you've blown off some steam," he's trying his commanding Jedi mind trick voice again, "it's best if you go back into hiding. Maybe take out a corner drug dealer or two to keep up appearances, and work with us. Nobody wants you around."

  I laugh. He keeps talking.

  "The Chinese messed up. They set off the explosions above a reinforced tunnel, cut 20 to 30 percent off the force you experienced. Reinforced for us what we already knew, that we can take you out any time we want. And, never forget, if we take you out, your family and friends won't be far behind. Or maybe just a few of them ahead of you, so you know it's us."

  I laugh. The light laughs. I think briefly of describing table 3.32.a and his office decor for him, but even I know that's stupid.

  "Why is it," I ask him, "that people are always scared of what they don't understand."

  He laughs. "We understand. It's what we don't control that matters. And, one way or another, we control you now."

  No point in my still being here. I look at him, shake my head, and launch myself into the air. Don't really want to fart around tonight, so I just blast straight up 20 miles or so, strip, ball my clothes up as small as I can make them, and fly down east, ending up near Barstow. Nothing followed me. Then I head south, well south of LA, come back west, out over the ocean and back to Hawai'i.

  Chapter 23

  I'm at the hotel about 2 a.m. Hawai'i time, which is 4 a.m. Cali time, so no call to Perez, but a text from her telling me to watch a program on CNN. I turn on the TV. It's an hour long documentary on the MFM, repeated over and over overnight, just as Perez said, complete with yesterday's happenings, so I settle in to watch. Thirty minutes in the video from hall H begins with a wide panorama shot of the assembled MFM clones, and there, standing next to the lovely Kiana Perez, is the not so lovely Simon Packer.

  I grab for the remote, only remembering after pushing six buttons that it's live TV and it doesn't rewind. Me. Frakking me. The rest of the story plays out. Him talking to Celeste. Him flying away. Pictures of the smash in Columbia. Analysts analyzing what this all means. Video of the dancing fans in exhibit H, with Kiana Perez in full HD clarity sneaking out the back door, her boyfriend in tow.

  My tablet is quickly in my hand, and I replay tons of video on the web. Every angle, every camera, everywhere Perez and Packer together as the MFM flies off into the afternoon. Utterly, totally, completely impossible. Just like the rest of my life.

  As the sun comes up, I change back into me and go for a nice long run before joining my cohorts for breakfast. One of the flight attendants saw me and Kiana on TV while getting dressed this morning, and I have to make up a tale about "what it was like to actually be there." Any thought that it was just my imagination is gone.

  Celeste is on the morning news when I get back to my room to brush my teeth and pack, letting the world know I almost died, but now I am on a mission. She keeps the secret part secret for me, no mention of impending death. Mostly, she talks about what it felt like to see me on that stage.

  "He's changed," she tells the interviewer, "not in a bad way, he's more determined to do what he thinks is right." Then she finishes by saying I told her no more interviews.

  Make a perfect landing at LAX after a perfect flight in, my perfect girlfriend waiting for me at the gate, having dropped by her real job for a few hours after her FBI shift ended. We walk to her car, me trailing my bag behind me with my left hand, her hand in my right.

  We open our doors, sit down, and she starts it.

  "You saw us?"

  "Yes. A thousand times."

  "How? You are even sitting in my car as I drove out of the parking lot."

  "Has to be Fog Dude, doesn't it? We'll have to ask next time we visit Fog Land."

  She laughs, starts the car, heads out.

  "What did you really tell Celeste?" Her tone of voice is completely different than it was. She might actually be a little jealous.

  "Told her I'm going to die. Told her I won't see her again."

  "And she said?"

  "She wasn't happy, but she understood, I think. More important though, the General was there. More threats about taking me out, and my family and friends." I stop for a second. "A lot harder to figure out who those people are today than yesterday, huh?"

  Perez laughs. "Air Force, Fog Dude has always been smarter than you claim he is."

  And she takes us the rest of the way to her place in silence for an hour of non- salami sex. She is quickly asleep afterwards. I think about changing and going out, but I am way too happy and moving now would require moving her from being partly on top of me, and there is no way in heck I want her anywhere other than where she is. So I relax in the afterglow, and drift off myself.

  They have redecorated Fog Land. As in there is no fog, at least for tonight. My old boulder is back in the middle of the path, the evil grass has been recently mowed, and I am alone. I sit on my boulder, wiggle my butt to get comfortable and wait. It takes maybe 10 seconds, and he simply appears on his larger, nicer boulder.

  "We don't want anyone to connect you to him after you're gone. We're not sure yet how we're going to do it, but we'll make sure everyone thinks that what happens to you is not what happens to your other self."

  "Thanks. Protecting Perez is priority number one."

  "Finish what you start, don't let your feelings get in the way of doing what you have to do."

  And then he's gone, and I am still in Fog Land. I sit for a second or two, nothing happens. Halloween is at my place, so no help there. Finally, I get up and wander down the path, being careful to avoid the grass. No matter how far I walk, nothing changes. Red path, green evil grass, blue sky. Maybe he's just getting me back for all the times my cat has taken him out.

  Then I'm awake and in bed, Perez extricating herself to get ready for work. I have no where to be, but I get up and make breakfast while she showers. While we eat, she lets me know something interesting.

  "The three detainees from Russia are due in this morning. I'll let you know what we find out."

  She takes herself to FBI headquarters after dropping me back at my place, but leaving me to deal with the mad cat all by myself. It's always better to be the cool aunt who drops by sometimes.

  There are no FBI agents out front, budget cuts being what they are, I'm probably not the priority I was. I don't mind. Get on the phone, round up some other first officers, and go play a round of golf. Perez shows up at six with takeout, and we end up smearing it all over each other and eating our fill in two ways at once. Then in the shower together to conserve water before I leave her alone (actually with a cat, so not technically alone) and sneak off to Columbia.

  Tonight, according to the nine pages, I start in on the grow fields. It takes me a couple experiments to get the hang of this particular destruction, then it is smoother than I thought, and I cover more acreage
than planned. Plants gone, profits gone, seeds gone. I know it is still only a temporary fix, but I've still got a huge smile on my face when I get home just before sun up.

  Uniform on, I'm off to be Officer Packer, riding bikes with an officer I've never met before through the parking lots for my day's duty. Despite not working together, Perez and I still honor our tradition and meet at her tia's restaurant for dinner, but the news is not good. The FBI went to collect its prisoners in Moscow, only to discover the arm's dealer dead in his cell, and the two Americans gone. They went back to find the middle man, and found him dead as well. We try to put on a happy face for Ariela, but it's not easy.

  Perez goes home alone, and I head for Upland, and then out to do more damage in South America. Kona in the morning, Columbia in the evening, back to LA Saturday, but walk down the terminal to deadhead to San Francisco, watch my sister graduate Sunday morning with a degree in Biology and a choice for medical school at UC Irvine, then party with Kiana's folks before taking a leisurely return flight back home Monday. Clearly my mom and her mom have already picked bridesmaids dresses and tuxedo colors, and are dividing the holidays so the grandkids will spend equal time with both sets of grandparents.

  I'm amazingly happy for Carolyn, but also constantly reminded that I am about to dash lots of other hopes and dreams.

  I do as little as possible until sundown, then back to work in Columbia. They try to stop me this time, knowing that only a few fields remain. Planted a big bomb made from fertilizer and diesel fuel under the ground at one of them, not knowing that my secret scientist, Perez, had taught me to pepper the ground with rocks before I land. The bomb backfired, made my night easier by clearing that field for me and destroying most of the crop.

  Less then a week to go in Columbia, Peru goes next, followed by Ecuador, as I move north country by country to LA. Let the Guerrero worry as they see me coming, payback for what they did.

  Tuesday fly to Kona in a plane, back to Columbia without, then dig, dig, dig, dig the whole night through, not mining for gold, but something worth about as much. Then back to Kona and fly home.

  Wednesday home, skip a trip to sleep with my lady love, and find out that there's so much useful drug intelligence in the laptop and notebooks the DEA and FBI expect to make a couple hundred arrests across the US and with neighbors to the south. We'll see.

  Into LAX on Thursday to work, great taco dinner, then back to Columbia, finishing the last field on the list well before dawn. Friday Perez stays home, and the two of us go to Disneyland. None of the rides is any fun any more for me, though Perez has a good time, and that makes it all worth it. We don't stay for the fireworks, but go home and make our own. And, yes, we're not moving in together on purpose. The whole being followed and me sneaking around and etc., and etc., makes it better to have two possible bases of operation.

  Saturday I spend the day in Peru and the night in Perez, with a repeat on Sunday.

  Monday to Kona, Monday night in Peru rather uneventfully, Tuesday home and a not so peaceful night's sleep with Kiana Perez and a mad cat fighting for space on my chest. Perez does the smart thing in the end and let's Halloween win.

  Wednesday golfing again with the flying buddies, then get shot at by about 100 dudes who I really piss off by simply ignoring while I rip through their brand new poppy fields. I guess the supply chain to Afghanistan has been disrupted, and they are trying to grow their own. No longer. And I have the Afghan fields scheduled for a visit somewhere in the nine pages.

  Thursday I do as little as possible during the day, have wild monkey sex with Perez in the evening, then off to Peru over night. There is a pause in the plan at this point, scheduled brilliantly by me (no applause necessary) just in case I was behind or something was off. Neither is the case, but I still pause, just wanting to spend more time with Kiana.

  I talk her into taking another Friday off, which really isn't off because she is on leave from one job and not getting paid by the other, and coming to Hawai'i with me. She needs the break as much as I do, and deadheading with Captain Amos on the flight deck is just what the doctor ordered.

  She and Flaherty have been markedly unsuccessful in locating the missing two Americans, or figuring out who killed the arms dealer and money man, or figuring out who the other two friends of Ali even are. They are cautiously optimistic that neither of the bad guys is back in the USA, though that optimism is based on the names on fake passports we know about from the last operation, none of which has been used.

  We go snorkeling with the flight attendants, none of whom I have seen naked, so no big secrets to share with my girlfriend. Dinner in the moonlight looking out over the ocean about as romantic as it gets, then running together through town in the morning. I could do this forever, but....

  Then it's just normal living for the week, a Tuesday/Wednesday trip to paradise without her, Thursday at the airport in uniform, Thursday dinner at the tia's, Friday catching up on stuff around both our houses.

  I fly out when she goes to sleep, about midnight, and stay out for a day and a half, intent on finishing up all the fields in Peru. The first town I visited was a re-run, or rather a finish, since I had to leave the other night before I could get all the plants. Flying in, I know someone is there, but get right to work anyhow.

  It's a tank, borrowed, stolen, or bribed from the Peruvian army. It shoots a couple nice sized shells at me, which wouldn't have hurt me they'd hit, and travel way to slow to get me anyhow. You have thought that they would have checked out the video from Syria before trying such nonsense. I remove the turret, thank them in Spanish for the workout, and finish the field.

  As I lift into the sky, two Russian MiG 29s from the Peruvian Air Force get on my six. Nice aircraft, supersonic, kinda the poor man's F-16, but also ridiculous against a Superdumbass with no radar return or heat signature. I let them think they are good for a couple minutes, turning and rolling for them, wondering whether or not farting would create something for their missiles to lock on to, then I do a truly high speed turn to get above them, then beside them, then on top of them, punching a hole in the fuel tanks of both so they have to turn for home.

  I'm done with Peru by the time I head home to get ready for my Saturday night out with my woman. We go dancing, me proving that I do it better with a MiG 29 than an actual woman, Kiana proving she does that better than almost everybody, just as she does everything better than almost everybody.

  Sunday run the beach, hang out with mom and dad, do nothing useful. Monday back to Kona, swim with the whales, and back to LA on Tuesday, staying in just because I can.

  Columbia and Peru are also full of warehouses and drug processing factories that I had identified in my previous visits, Perez advising that I should clean out the produce first, then go after the storage and processing.

  Wednesday I go do a beach clean up as a community service project for the airline, then change, get rid of my sunburn, and head off to South American to mash and mangle. There's something fun about taking down the buildings, a lot more fun than digging up sprouts.

  I make the stupid mistake of not checking out one building beforehand, and jet right into a processing plant that has been converted into a very large explosive. Shoots me a mile or so into the sky, but does no damage. Leaves me mad that I didn't get to smash anything, and also that they seem to be running out of ideas to counter me.

  Thursday is LAPD day and date night, dinner at Ariela's, followed by nekked time with officer Perez, and a nice night's sleep under cat guard. Friday I fly to Kona, fly back Saturday, break with my plans, head to Anaheim, and do laps around LA looking for something to do. Nothing pops up, so I find the drone over downtown and tease it into following me, finally blasting toward space and losing it before heading home to feed the cat.

  I pick Perez up Sunday morning, she presents me with a six inch stack of paper. We have a fun time anyway, mom and dad's for BBQ, then back to my place for salami (I guess I can handle it once every six weeks). Turns out the paper
is paperwork, and she has me spending my Monday off going through more than 1,000 copies of passport photos looking for my blond friend. Nice try, but he's not there.

  Chapter 24

  Nice couples run down the beach Tuesday morning, at least until we get to the lighthouse, and I know that someone is watching us. I start to say something, and the feeling disappears. I decide to keep my mouth shut, but Kiana is way to smart for me.

  "What's the problem, Air Force?"

  "Someone watching, just for a second. Gone now."

  She stops, and together we search for blond, but neither of us gets a hit, so it's run back home, eat, shower, and take off for our respective missions. Kiana dropping me at LAX and then heading north. I get a brief feeling that someone was watching as we drove into the employee lot, but it also was gone as fast as it came. Beginning to think I am just paranoid.