by Scott McEwen
“And what action did you take once you discovered these findings?” the Glowworm asked.
“Well, first, you must remember, I feared whomever had killed your father might also kill me. And these marks were only one avenue of investigation. To be quite honest, I suspected those closest to me, long before your friend Chris Gibbs … and I killed a few of them.” Pablo shrugged. “Some very close friends, by the way. Also, I had other problems back home. I was fighting for power and this investigation was not my only concern.” Reading the Glowworm’s reaction, Pablo added, “Though it was, of course, my top personal priority.”
“As I would have expected it to be,” the Glowworm said.
“Of course.” Pablo coughed and plunged on. “In any case, when my investigation focused on your friend Chris as the primary suspect, I tried to find him at your boarding school. And that was when I learned he had supposedly died.”
The Glowworm squirmed in his chair, his throat emitting a low rumble. “Supposedly? You think that was faked?”
“Without question.” Pablo nodded emphatically. “And very carefully executed. There were newspaper reports of a car crash and a funeral service at your old boarding school, but I never found proof of an actual accident, and all of his records disappeared from the school. I concluded he was only enrolled at the school to befriend you.”
Pablo watched the Glowworm’s reaction. His face flushed a greenish-red hue.
Pablo went on, “Unfortunately, I had to flee Central America, so I was unable to complete my investigation or follow up on leads regarding Chris. But my conclusion is that the imposter known as Chris Gibbs was part of a special program designed to train young agents and assassins.”
“You said that before,” the Glowworm said, perking now. “What kind of a program? Would it still be active?”
“Hard to say exactly what kind or if it is still active … I suspect, yes. Someone had to have trained the boy. The Russians I worked with often suspected such a training program. Proof, well, that is another matter.”
A low hiss came from the Glowworm. “If Chris Gibbs is alive and he is responsible … I want to find him. Where?” The Glowworm’s body shook. “Where can I find him?”
“I can’t tell you where at this time, but,” Pablo added quickly, “I can tell you how I would go about finding him.”
“Hurry up with it!”
“Well, knowing how security organizations operate, if Chris Gibbs is still alive, I must assume he would still be a valuable asset. An asset the United States would want to keep in its special operations fold. If he’s alive, he would be nearly fifty years old. He’d either be director level in the CIA or SOCOM. Or, if he were still operational, Chris could probably be found posing as a civilian in one of the many theaters where the U.S. is at war. So, what I would do is begin looking for men who match those descriptions and then try to ID the older Gibbs with photos, and any DNA or fingerprints we could find.”
“We?” the Glowworm said. “Does that mean you’re interested in helping me? Perhaps joining the team at Glowworm Gaming?”
“I had not considered that. But in my retirement,” Pablo said, “I have a lot of free time.”
The Glowworm nodded. “Good, I think we may have an opening coming up.” He ponderously tapped his lip with a slimy finger. He thought about something and said, “Bring me the person, or persons, at our company responsible for investigating Pablo and the death of my father.”
A few moments later two young hackers, both in their mid-twenties, were led into the dark suite. One was tall, blond, and pasty with spiked hair. The other was dark-skinned and swarthy with a thick, scraggy beard and unwashed cargo pant shorts. Both hackers had on matching Glowworm Gaming hoodies and looked like they hadn’t slept or bathed in days. A couple of scared techno-monkeys.
The Glowworm lifted his hand off the Nintendo and extended a pale slimy finger toward Pablo’s laptop. “You thoroughly searched this man’s computer, didn’t you?”
The blond boy stepped forward. He had thick-gauge earrings, and his lower lip was pierced with a diamond stud. “Yes, we did. Fouad helped me hack in last month.” The blond boy nodded to his darker counterpart. “Searching the computer, however, was my primary responsibility. I made a clone of his computer on my desktop. I have reviewed every piece of data on the computer. If you would like to review it?”
“You did not make a mistake?” the Glowworm asked.
“No, I am certain I did not.” The diamond stud on the kid’s lower lip began to tremble. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Just a routine performance review,” the Glowworm said casually, glancing at Raquel, who took a step back. “Thank you for your transparency. But as you know, failure is not tolerated.”
Without warning, the Glowworm shot up in his seat, hefted the Nintendo high up in his arms, and jumped at the hacker, slamming the gaming system down onto the boy’s head.
The boy dropped instantly, but the Glowworm did not stop pounding him with the Nintendo. He just kept smashing and yelling, “Failure is not tolerated! Never, never fail me like that again!” He kept on, until the boy was almost faceless, twitching in a pool of his own blood on the floor of the Glowworm’s luxury suite, surrounded by bits of plastic and metal. Raquel mercifully ended the hacker’s life with a sling of her blade, nearly decapitating him, the knife was so sharp.
The Glowworm flopped back into his seat, his breathing returned to normal. The dark-skinned boy who had come in with the blond hacker lurched for a large porcelain vase and vomited into it.
The Glowworm turned his unnerving gaze to Pablo. “Welcome to Glowworm Gaming, Pablo. Fouad”—the Glowworm motioned to the young engineer puking into a vase—“will help you get settled in.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER 16
July 2017
Camp Valor
Ropes were tied to the corners of a big white sheet. The sheet hauled up, pulled tight. A fire was lit, the projector plugged in. Wet Hot American Summer, a classic summer camp comedy, glowed on cotton. Campers gorged themselves, talking longingly of home. Dolly set a schedule for guard duty: everyone would have an hour, but no one was really listening.
Ebbie devoured two entire pizzas on his own, Samy “cameled” two and a half. Sugar flowed into bloodstreams. Laughter rose. Taut, half-starved bodies became sated. Sunburnt and chapped faces softened. Minds unfocused. Bliss. Finally able to act their ages for a moment. To let loose and forget Valor.
Wyatt lay down on the grass under the giant glowing bedsheet, watching Paul Rudd as a camp counselor when Dolly flopped down next to him and gave him a quick glance and a smile. “Mind if I sit here?”
“Sure,” Wyatt said.
Dolly lay down beside him. Not so close that they were touching. But close enough that Wyatt felt his heart start to hammer in his chest. Had she asked him another question, he could not have answered. He couldn’t speak. The movie and the glowing bedsheet, the other campers, were suddenly a thousand miles away. Pinholes against a black sky.
Wyatt felt himself pulled to Dolly in a way that almost scared him. Her face shone in the light from the projector. It looked like porcelain, her lips red. She glanced back and his instinct was to look away, but he did not. He kept his gaze on her. And she did not flinch. She grinned and turned her eyes back to the screen. Wyatt lost track of time and proximity and was the happiest he’d been in recent memory.
“Dolly,” Hud’s voice called out from the other side of the fire, breaking Wyatt’s reverie. “Would you pass me a Coke?”
And everything shifted. The tilt of the planet that seemed to lean Wyatt into Dolly now tilted the other way.
Dolly’s smile turned into a scowl, something uncertain. “Yeah, sure.” Awkwardly she rose, walked to the cooler, fished out a can, and took it over to Hud.
She did not come back. She sat down beside Hud. Even closer than she had to Wyatt. Wyatt wanted to stick his hand in the fire. Maybe his head, too. He waited a few minute
s, as the laughs rolled on, then he got up from the fire. He needed to put some distance between himself and Hud and Dolly.
“Where you goin’, son?” Samy asked, craning his neck back.
“Bed.” Wyatt retreated from the pool of light cast by the projector. “Wake me when it’s my turn to be on lookout.”
Wyatt pushed into the cabin. Empty. Dark. Musty. One look at his sleeping bag and bunk told him he wasn’t ready to sleep. Too much sugar. Too much frustration. And he smelled bad. Really bad.
Wyatt found a dirty bar of soap and a stiff towel and instead of hiking into the Caldera where there were showers, he headed down to the water. The night was warm and dark.
At the beach, he stripped down to his underwear and waded in. The water was crisp, and he swam out to a pile of rocks. He took off his boxers and bathed slowly. Out in the black water, he remembered bathing in rivers on hunting trips with his father and Cody. Would his dad ever come back? Did Wyatt want him back?
Lathered, Wyatt dipped down, and, holding his breath, he hovered underwater. He rubbed the soap across his head and his face and stayed under the surface, embracing the cold, until he could take it no longer.
He stood—waist deep, arms crossed—and watched the sky. Stars stood out starkly. The Northern Lights swung, iridescent green on black. The movie and laughter that drifted down from base camp had died away.
“Thought you were going to bed.”
Wyatt jumped and turned up to see Dolly on the shore.
“You have soap out there?”
“I’ll bring it to you,” Wyatt said. “I was just about to come in.”
“That’s okay. I’ll come get it,” she said and peeled off her shirt and shorts. She waded into the water in sports bra, undies. Then she dove into the dark water and swam out to the rock. She pulled herself out and sat next to him, shivering. “Soap.” She held out her hand.
Wyatt passed her the bar. She took it and looked back at him. “I thought you said you were going back in.”
“Right,” Wyatt said and slipped back into the water, starting for shore.
“Hey,” Dolly called after him. “What is your problem?”
“Problem?” Wyatt stopped in the water ten feet away.
“Yeah. You act like you can’t stand me.”
“I could say the same thing about you,” Wyatt said, now confused. “You just told me to go back in.”
“Well,” Dolly said, “I don’t want you to go back in.”
“Then what the hell do you want?” Wyatt snapped, and took a few steps toward her. “You want me to wash out, so there’s a little less competition around here for you and Hud?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You two have been picking and choosing the team you want to qualify since day one.” Wyatt studied Dolly’s reaction. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“It’s not like there’s a plot. We just want a solid team. We want the best in the field. And,” she added, “we want you to make it.”
“Both of you want me to make it?” Wyatt asked, still angry. Dolly started to respond, but Wyatt cut her off, “Forget it. I don’t care what Hud wants. And you shouldn’t either.”
Dolly stared at Wyatt as she contemplated the words. The moonlight shining down on her seemed to soften her face. “You’re right. I shouldn’t care about what he thinks, because there’s no room at Valor for any kind of feelings. For anyone … is that what you want, Wyatt?” She stared at him hard. “For me to feel nothing for anyone?”
Now Wyatt thought about his answer. “I want you to make up your own mind.”
“Well, right now, while you’re still here and I’m still here, I want you to stay. And wait for me.”
“Fair enough.” Wyatt said and waded back to her. He waited, waist deep, while she lathered herself with soap and slipped in, disappearing under the black surface. She came up near Wyatt, hair slicked back, eyes fixed on his face.
“You’re freezing,” she said. “You’re shaking.”
“I don’t feel it,” Wyatt said as she waded nearer.
“You don’t feel cold?” she asked, her jaw clenching and body beginning to involuntarily shake.
“Not when I’m near you,” Wyatt said, in disbelief that the words had actually left his mouth. She now was so close to Wyatt he could see the curve of her eyelashes. What was happening? Wyatt thought as she pressed her body next to his. Both felt each other’s warmth. But neither moved. They just stared.
And then there was a flash of light and a sky-shattering boom as a bolt of lighting zigzagged out over the water. They backed away from each other, shy now. They could hear a low hissing sound in the distance as wind kicked up, the clouds blocking out the stars.
“Going to rain soon,” Dolly said. “We should get back. And not together,” she added.
Wyatt felt something electric and conspiratorial pulse through his body. “I don’t want to leave,” Wyatt heard himself saying, again shocked the words had left his mouth. “Not yet.”
“Me either.” She pulled him to her. The warmth returning. They just stared. And then the rain came, sweeping over the water, cold and stinging.
“Hey Dolly, where are you?” A voice called in the darkness.
Dolly’s voice tightened and her face went pale. “Hud,” she whispered.
“It’s time anyway,” Wyatt said. “You go first.”
“But you’re freezing.”
“I’m fine,” Wyatt said through chattering teeth.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She quickly kissed Wyatt on the cheek. Wyatt watched her wade back, the rain lashing his neck and shoulders. He dropped down into the dark cold water.
CHAPTER 17
June 2017
Camp Valor
3:30 a.m.
The rain helped disguise the water landing. Five heavily armed figures, clad in black and wearing NVGs crept up toward base camp. Off to their left, the remnants of a bonfire hissed and steamed, a blob of smoke, seemingly hovering above charred logs and pizza boxes. Errant soggy pizza crusts and soda cans dotted the ground.
The porch and lodge were empty of people and devoid of sentries other than Emmerson, the supposed guard, sleeping on the porch. A signal was given to proceed to the cabins occupied by the boys and girls of Group-C.
It felt like his bunk was hit with a baseball bat as the first explosion jarred Wyatt awake. The whole cabin concussed. The old wooden beams supporting the thin roof trembled. Dust and grit rained down on the seven waking boys.
More explosions followed—low-lying, on the floor of the cabin. Fully automatic gunfire erupted. Wyatt saw a figure in black wearing NVGs in the doorway to the cabin holding an AR-15, its barrel and breech barking red flames as ammunition tore through the weapon. Another figure clad in black, just outside the door, lobbed a flash-bang grenade into the cabin.
Wyatt tried to run but couldn’t move. Arms and legs pinned down in his sleeping bag, his fingers fumbled for the zipper. Smoke filled the cabin, hot and acrid, blinding Wyatt and burning his eyes and lungs.
“Get out! Get out!” voices shouted. With the explosions and gunfire, Wyatt couldn’t tell who was yelling. Sleeping bag off, Wyatt shot out of his bunk, barefoot, dodging the plumes of sparks crackling along the floor, ducking, covering his head.
Bodies plowed past him out of the cabin. Eyes wide, whites showing. Panicked. Shots hissed though the air. Explosions shook the walls. Wyatt checked to see that no one was left in the bunks. The cabin was clear. He tumbled out of the cabin past two hooded figures shooting into the air and tossing fireworks and smoke bombs into the cabin.
“In line!” one of them shouted and shoved Wyatt, leveling his barrel at the back of Wyatt’s head. Rain came down in sheets. The rest of the boys huddled in the exercise yard, blinking, shivering, under the watch of another armed guard.
Wyatt ran over and joined the rest of the group, cowering in the mud. Hud whispered to him as he ran up, “Whe
re’s Emmerson?”
“Huh?”
“Was he in the cabin? We’re missing Emmerson.”
Wyatt looked around, not seeing him, and did a quick head count. Then he remembered. “He was on lookout.”
Hud pounded the mud with his fist.
“Silence!” The two armed figures by the cabin approached and joined the third. They removed their hoods: Hallsy, Mackenzie, and the Old Man.
Wyatt instantly realized they’d been tricked. Lulled into a complacent stupor. A lesson to be learned and a mistake not to be repeated.
“Sir,” Hud said, “we are missing Emmerson.”
“He’s headed home,” Hallsy said, “and the rest of you might be joining him soon.”
Cass brought the girls over and lined them up next to the boys. Wyatt and Dolly shared a nervous look. Both knew this would be the last time either would smile for a while. Things were about to get hard.
“We leave you for five hours.…” Hallsy marched up and down the line of campers assembled. “Give you a couple boxes of pizza and soda pops and not a single one of you is awake when we get back. Not a single candidate! You’re like a bunch of little children. Babies. Actually, babies wake up if you so much as breathe on them. Not a person here so much as stirred. Had there been a security breach while we were gone, all of you would be dead and our enemies would have their hands on some pretty powerful toys in the Caldera.” Hallsy shook his head. “Shameful. Damn shameful. And we’re gonna make you pay handsomely.” Hallsy grinned, lightning perforating the sky around him. “Boys and girls, we are now in hell.”