The Mission (Clairmont Series Novel Book 2)

by L. J. Wilson

“Copy that. But as Julian and I were driving, I was thinking about a conversation I had with Pop years and years ago. I was getting ready to go on my first tour abroad, and he opened up a little about traveling, about different places. Eventually, he talked about where Mom was from… somewhere in Pennsylvania.”

  “Sounds right. I mean, we know her mother died years ago. All she ever said about her father was that she didn’t have a relationship with him. But we don’t know much else, do we?” Another pause snaked through the line. “Geez, now that you say it… did we go there once as kids?”

  “Yeah. We did. It was a cabin,” Alec said. “But I wasn’t sure if it was in Pennsylvania, or the place Mom was from—or if they were the same thing. Not until you just said that.” Alec’s gaze moved around the condo living room. He closed his eyes. “I remember a trip—it was just Mom and us. She had a friend there. Damn. What was her name? Helen… Harriet…” Alec dragged his hand through his hair. “Shit, Aaron, you know I don’t do names.”

  “Particularly the ‘H’ ones.” It was a snarky reminder of Hazel, the last woman to roll out of Alec’s bed, and the name he could not recall. “Hannah,” Aaron said. “I think it was Hannah. Mom used to talk to her on the phone.”

  “That’s right. Hannah. And that cabin in Pennsylvania, it was cold as shit.” Alec remembered that part more clearly—mostly because the only time he’d been colder was bobbing in the Pacific during BUD/S training, treading water for six solid hours. But in the same mental frame where he saw the cabin and stone fireplace, he also saw the image of a tall, craggy-faced man. “Aaron, do you remember a nasty son of a bitch. Some kind of clergyman…”

  “No idea. If you’re vague on it… my memory is even vaguer. But what does any of that have to do with a plane crash that happened years later on a different continent.”

  “Nothing… yet. But if you’re trying to put together a puzzle, every piece helps.” Alec turned toward the bedroom door, which was still closed. “Do something for me. See if Jack Preacher will give you an assist. Find out if he can trace the closest cell tower to Jess’s last call. I’d like to know where it was made from.”

  “You got it. And Alec…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful.”

  “Always my first rule, bro.”

  Alec wasn’t keen on having to depend on Julian for information, direction, or his personal safety. He had no firearm—airline regulations making that an absolute certainty. It was also a fact about which Julian had to be aware. Jess’s almost ex emerged from the bedroom. Both men had changed, though Alec didn’t have time for the shave he’d wanted. Julian had traded his sleek city image for jungle-ready, a bandana knotted at his throat, hiking boots, and a holster at his waist. Alec wasn’t surprised when he opened a safe, tucking a Glock 20 into it. A gun like that was no casual weapon. “Just a precaution,” Julian said. “Can’t be too careful where we’re headed.” At the condo exit, Julian grabbed a wide brimmed hat with a bandana tied around the bond. “Sun’s a bitch.” He tossed the hat to Alec.

  “Thanks…” But I’ d rather have one of the other guns you’ve surely got locked in that safe…

  The village road narrowed and poverty opened up wide. Jungle didn’t give a fuck about socioeconomic status—neither did desert. Alec knew Middle East countries, this part of the world, not so much. But he understood the lure. Desperation bred like flies. People wanted out of places like this, making the prospect of covertly relocating bodies—human trafficking—big business. He suspected it might have something to do with the local stories and the plane crash Jess had gone to investigate.

  In the heyday of his military service, Alec had participated in drills off the Caribbean coast. It was the ocean opposite of where they were now. A real-life emergency had thrown Alec and his SEAL team into action, rescuing a US cargo ship taken hostage by Haitian pirates. Considering the potential for blood and bad karma in this place, Alec guessed his experience might come in handy. Otherwise, he’d be at Julian’s mercy. It was the last place Alec Clairmont wanted to be.

  The SUV navigated ropey mountainous terrain, jungle paths that would make most people lose their lunch. It made Alec glad for a seaworthy mindset he could call upon at will. As they drove, Alec envisioned Jess navigating the rough landscape with a guide—a man she’d only met that day. And who knew what lay ahead, topography or local terrorists? Hanging onto the SUV’s handrail— an amenity more likely meant for accommodating dry cleaning— Alec tightened his grip. He reassured himself. Jess could take care of herself. She was the most no-nonsense, solid woman he knew. If not for the unlikely personal insights—Haagen-Dazs, Absolute, and late night crying jags courtesy of his driver—Alec would swear that Jess’s vulnerabilities were nil. He pasted a sideways glance on Julian.

  Of course, he did know about those things.

  “Up ahead… La Carta,” Julian said. “It would have been where Jess and her guide rented the boat that took them out to the island.”

  The mountainy jungle had been a tunnel and they exited on the other side, rolling into a searing sun and blue skies. It felt like humid resort weather, less the obvious lack of amenities. The road was a mix of broken asphalt and rock, the landscape dotted with native housing—shacks, a fishing village from what Alec could ascertain at a glance. They passed a few rickety storefronts. No cell towers were visible. He checked his phone—no service. Then he checked his text messages. There was one from Aaron.

  Preacher confirms-Jess’s last call to you made from western Libano

  Processing the intel, Alec looked cagily at Julian. Jess had called from his duplex. His gut hadn’t been off—Julian Silva wasn’t sharing everything he knew. He dragged a suspicious gaze over his escort and onto the town’s dilapidated thoroughfare. Running water and reliable societal rules seemed iffy—swarms of dirty, barely clothed children wandered about and dusty sidewalks were filled with people who looked as if life had wrinkled them. For as capable as Jess was, Alec didn’t like the odds on possibilities and outcomes in this place.

  “Let’s walk down to the waterfront, see if we can figure out where they rented a boat,” Julian said, parking the SUV.

  The two got out and Alec followed, taking off the wide-brimmed hat and wiping his sweaty brow. He let it hang by the strings, down his back. He wasn’t surprised when street urchins flocked like seabirds, asking for spare change, offering child labor in trade. The same occurred in all impoverished countries he’d traveled. Alec shooed them away. It would incite a riot if he so much as tossed a quarter into the road. What he found more disturbing was the faces of the adults—particularly the older men and women. They gawked, mouths gaping, as if they’d never seen a white guy from the States. Rumblings of native language grew louder. Alec couldn’t make it out—a dialect he didn’t know.

  “You seem fucking popular,” Julian said, striding in front of him.

  “Yeah, I get that impression.” The locals were definitely pointing, and not at Julian but at him. The villagers that lined the shack-like storefronts followed along. None approached, though clearly curiosity drove them.

  Julian turned. “You sure you’ve never been here before?”

  “Positive.” But as Alec scanned the growing crowd, he caught a glimpse of himself in the side-view mirror of a parked van. No… not me… Just as a connection clicked, an elderly woman lunged toward him. She grabbed onto Alec like he was a long-lost son.

  “Eres tu!” she cried over and over again. “Pensamos que habías muerto.” A man that belonged to her, or she to him, pulled her away from Alec. Watching them recede, Alec read shock and awe on their faces. From around his neck, the older man drew a crucifix to his lips and kissed it.

  Julian turned, poking Alec hard in the shoulder. “Don’t fuck with me. What’s with the Christ-like reaction? These people know you.”

  “I think they’re confused,” Alec said tentatively. “Not me. My father. I…” He glanced once more in the side-view mirror. “I look like him.
Eres tu… That translates to ‘It’s you,’ doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Julian said. “It does.”

  “And the rest of what they said?”

  Julian hesitated. “It means ‘We thought you were dead.’”

  It was tough for Alec to feel things. He knew this about himself. Years in the military—shit he’d rather forget—a personal history that didn’t read much better. Cutting off emotion had allowed him to deal, to survive where others failed—alcohol, PTSD, deep wells of anger usually channeled onto the wrong place or person. He’d fought, hanging onto mental toughness that rivaled his SEAL experiences. Alec had refused to succumb to deadly emotions. In exchange, it had made this his life—a detached state of being that meant he could function.

  But now, facing an entire village that mistook him for the father he’d dearly loved and lost, seeing their Lazarus reaction, it caused Alec to draw a shaky breath. It was a place even his tough mind was unprepared to go. The inside of his mouth felt like one of the many deserts he’d crossed, his ears filtering the odd dialect. He still didn’t understand it, but he could make out one word they repeated “Sebastian…” Alec’s gut clenched and his heart pounded—two things strictly forbidden from his life.

  “If nothing else,” Julian said, “I’d say you have confirmation about the plane. Clearly your father had an association with these people. From the reaction, I’d say it was god-like. Be glad it’s not the other way around.” In his frozen stance, Alec felt like a statue erected in Sebastian Clairmont’s honor. Slowly he turned, taking in awestruck faces, tears, and pointing fingers. He tried to muster a mouthful of spit. There was nothing. God-like. In this forsaken place? What the hell does it have to do with my father?

  “I…I need to know more. We need to talk to them,” Alec said. “There’s got to be information, about my parents… about Jess.” But on the mention of her name, Alec’s ears retuned. Beyond the immediate chaos he heard a woman with an American accent shouting—first in Spanish, worse than his, then curse words in plain English. Both men stepped in the direction of the yelling.

  “You listen to me, you sorry motherfucker!” she shouted. “You can’t keep me here. I’m an American citizen. And you can bet your sorry Colombian hide, when I do get out of here, the State Department will hang you by your misguided, native balls, you stupid—”

  “Jess,” both men said at once, ploughing past the onlookers and into a building marked Carcel.

  Inside a jail that looked as if it’d been dropped from an old West movie set there was a single holding cell. Inside the cell was Jess. She looked sweaty, and dirty, and pissed off, but she appeared to be in one piece.

  “Oh thank God!” she said as Alec and Julian came through the door.

  As both men rushed toward the cell, a deputy with a semi-automatic weapon stepped into their path. Two sets of hands went up. From there Julian shimmied left where he dove into a heated conversation with another officer. This man wore the shiniest badge, epaulets on his shoulders, telling Alec he was in charge. “Are you all right?” Alec yelled.

  The guard turned, snapping at Jess, clanking his weapon against the bars. It fired a round—accidentally it seemed—bullets spraying into the plaster ceiling. Julian yelled louder—so did the guard’s boss—both men pointing at Jess. The chaos alone was life-threatening and Alec held up his hand in a calming gesture, shouting, “Calm down, brother” in Spanish. Diplomacy was the only weapon at Alec’s disposal. Jess scooted to the back of the cell and sat on the filthy cot mattress. Her wide-eyed glance darted from Alec to Julian to her jailers.

  Aggressive dialogue continued to Alec’s left. After a few moments, he couldn’t take it any longer. “What?” he said, nudging Julian’s arm. He didn’t turn but signaled for Alec to be quiet. Alec waited, mentally using the moments to pace out an exit strategy. He mapped the jails interior, devising the best way to overtake at least two jailers while commandeering their weapons. It would be risky but not impossible.

  The rapid verbal exchange going on next to him slowed. Julian was now doing most of the talking. There seemed to be an amicable exchange of “Sí” and “¿Podría usted por favor, mi amigo?” It ended with the senior officer nodding, retrieving a key. Alec put his strategy on hold. Peaceful solutions weren’t often an option for Alec—not by the time SEALs had been summoned. But, if possible, he was all for a diplomatic resolution. As the officer approached the cell door, Julian leaned over. “Seems Armando, her guide, was wanted on some drug and larceny charges. There was a pretty good bounty on his head. They assumed she was a partner in crime.”

  “Didn’t you say her guide worked for you?”

  Julian shrugged. “Consider where you are, man. It’s not like hiring a white-collar guy from Omaha with a degree from Michigan State, not in this place.”

  Alec didn’t like what he heard, but was unsure if he could argue it. His attention was averted as the cell door opened. Cautiously, Jess walked out and past local law enforcement. Alec and Julian stood side by side. But Julian took a firm forward step and Jess responded, meeting his embrace. Alec felt the muscle in his jaw lock tighter.

  Julian cupped his hands around Jess’s dirty face. “You’re okay?” She nodded, gripping onto his arms.

  “Thank God.” He kissed her, full on the lips. The action was unexpected and Alec retreated a step. “Let’s get you out of here.” Julian turned, the length of his arm capping Jess’s shoulder, holding her close.

  But she didn’t move, not right away. “Alec,” she said.

  A tear had cut a dirt-streaked path on her cheek. Alec didn’t like it. Whether they were in Nickel Springs or this place, Julian Silva seemed to result in more harm than good. “Uh, here… take this.” Alec yanked the bandana from the band of his hat and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She wiped it over her damp, dusty face. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Better to see you,” Alec said. “I… we were worried.”

  “For a minute there, so was I.” On Julian’s prompt, she started toward the door but stopped and looked back at Alec. “I’m fine— really.”

  “Good to know,” he said, thinking of the conversations they’d had in the past six months—maybe more so the ones he’d overheard. “I’m fine” weren’t words he associated with Jess Donnelly and Julian. “Let’s, um… let’s get the hell out of here.”

  The threesome exited into the sunny impoverished setting. But instead of focusing on his surroundings, the thing Alec normally memorized in a place like this, he was aware of his breathing, maybe his heartbeat and tightly set jaw. Following Jess and Julian, he huffed. Relationships… Wives… Marriage… It was all nothing but trouble.

  1977

  Good Hope, Pennsylvania

  Evie had pictured scenarios that would complement her wedding day. Fall colors, the smell of crisp leaves, a ceremony in the fading sunflower field. The sun glinting off Ezra’s blond hair and his lagoon-blue eyes shining. The images had been sublime. Arriving at the gate of Ezra’s house, Evie righted the visions. She gripped her fingers around the braid she’d neatly redone and tipped her chin upward. Sebastian wasn’t to blame—not for all of it. Reality should have woken her months ago. The same moment Reverend Kane deemed the sunflower field an inappropriate place for their solemn ceremony. The wedding would take place in the meeting hall. End of discussion. Evie had turned to her father, who insisted the Reverend had a right to choose. Ezra, to her disappointment, had objected even less. “Evie, what does the place matter?” he’d said, unwilling to challenge his father. “The point is we’ll be married when it’s over.”

  Her marriage to Ezra was no more than a task, a means to an end.

  Focused on those realities, Evie knocked on the Kane’s front door. Adah greeted her, smiling as if everything was fine—as if tomorrow her son would marry the girl he loved. They exchanged pleasantries, Adah saying how she looked forward to having another woman in the house, especially while Ezra was away on mission trips. Anoth
er point, Evie thought, as Adah guided them through the simple rooms. Ezra will be gone for chunks of time… How much of my life is to be spent with Ezra, and how much in the Kane house? While her heart ached for Ezra, Evie knew she did not want that to be her life. It brought her back around to Sebastian—the man who’d lit the dark fissures of her mind.

  Was it good? Was it right? Evie sighed. She supposed resolutions had to be handled one at a time.

  As Adah prattled on about canning her ginger-carrot slaw and wild-grape jam, Evie absorbed none of it. Her mind stayed on Sebastian—the moments before Nolan Creek interrupted—the words he’d said, the command of his touch, the things he made her feel. Evie closed her eyes and leaned into kitchen table.

  “And when the steam is perfect, the sweetness can’t be described. It’s like nothing you’ve ever tasted…”

  Yes, that’s exactly the way it was…

  Evie sensed a hand on her arm—a womanly touch. She opened her eyes, feeling dizzy, her thoughts unprotected.

  “Evie? Are you all right, dear? You look terribly distracted.” She blinked, focused on a face that mirrored Ezra’s. “Well, of course, you’re distracted. You’re getting married tomorrow, and here I am, going on about jam!” Adah reached, pulling Evie into a motherly hug. The manly scents of Sebastian Christos were trounced, replaced by lavender soap, a hint of ginger.

  “I… I’m sorry, Mrs. Kane—”

  “Adah—I thought we agreed you’d call me Adah. I know it’s… irreverent, but I understand that ‘Mother’ would be far too hard for you. So, Adah, yes? I can’t very well have a new daughter calling me Mrs. Kane.”

  She was so kind, so genuine, so like Ezra. Evie swallowed hard, her glance cutting to the Reverend’s vestments. They were pressed and waiting for tomorrow. “Adah,” she said, trying on the adult version of her life. “I need to speak to Ezra. Is he here?”

  “He’s in the garden.”

  “Could I talk with him—alone?”