by TR Kohler
If not, to at least catch him before he has a chance to recover. Use shock and surprise to his advantage, finally able to get out ahead. Do what has evaded him for days now and be the aggressor.
Put Firash on his heels for once.
Pausing just long enough to snatch the Glock from his rear waistband, Mike leaps up the pair of steps onto the fractured remains of the front porch. In the next stride, he pushes through the hole gouged into the side of the structure, shoving aside the nagging throb of pain hurtling through his body.
Buoyed by the anticipation surging through him, he enters into a tempest of superheated air and wood smoke. A swirl working through the small confines of the building before funneling out through the hole torn into the front wall.
Holding the Glock out before him, Mike lowers himself to a crouch, scanning his surroundings from below the worst of the smoke. A space no more than ten feet square, what little furnishings there are reduced to rubble.
Wood chunks and charred papers.
Items all singed beyond recognition, the place looking like a flash fire has just passed through.
A scene Mike surveys in an instant, seeing no sign of the man he is here to find.
“Firash?!” he calls, his gaze landing on the lone doorway leading out of the main room. The sole exit from the space save the newly expanded front door.
“Where the hell are you, you bastard?”
Knees flexed to ninety-degrees, Mike gives the front room one last look. A final scan to ensure he isn’t missing something obvious before setting his focus on the doorway in the corner.
Moving heel-to-toe, he slides his way across the room. A slow shuffle toward the door in the corner, the Glock fully extended before him.
Eyes burning from the combination of sweat and smoke, his pulse thrums through his temples. Physiological responses that grow ever higher, far surpassing anything he has experienced since leaving the bomb disposal suit behind years before.
A journey that seems to take so much longer than just the few seconds he knows it to be before he breaches the threshold into the back part of the shack.
And there, for the first time in three years, sees the man that he has been chasing for days. The one he thought was long dead.
The source of countless sleepless nights and infinitely more interrupted by bad dreams.
At no point during the interrogation earlier did Eka or Intan mentioned that Firash was in a wheelchair. A state of being that explains so much about the last few days, from Mike’s suspicion of there being an accomplice to the expanded role of people like the young couple or Arief.
Even more, it gives some reasoning to how the man was able to survive the explosion in Thailand.
Pitched sideways by the blast of the land mine tossed into the front door, the chair has come to rest on a side. A position that has left Firash clinging to both wheels, veins bulging the length of his forearms as he forces himself to remain in his seat.
A pose he maintains even as a revolver matching the one Arief was carrying earlier lays on the floor just beyond his reach.
A scene that Mike puts together in an instant.
Even before Firash smiles up at him and mutters, “Let’s see you walk away from this.”
Spinning hard back in the opposite direction, Mike doesn’t bother going for the door. Knowing he will never make it that far, he pushes himself hard to his right. An attempt to use the wall running through the middle of the shack to give him some cover.
A bit of reprieve from the blast that arrives just a moment later.
The final device of the great Firash, rigged to a pressure plate in the seat of his wheelchair. The reason he was clinging so hard to remain in place, seemingly waiting for Mike’s arrival.
A design that does exactly as intended, Mike still hanging suspended above the floor as most of the structure evaporates around him.
Chapter Eighty-Six
The third time in the last handful of days that Kari Ma has heard from Perry Walker, his trademark gasp is still present.
What is notably missing, though, is the sense of anxiety underscoring every word. The rushed delivery. The insinuation that what he is saying is with the utmost urgency. One of the few times in her life she can remember him ever sounding close to normal, enough to signal a host of things.
Most of which she is reasonably certain she already knows, though goes through the motions anyway.
“I cannot begin to tell you how thankful we – and by that I mean this entire administration – are for the way you guys handled things there in Jakarta,” Walker says. “Truly, your guy on the ground there did a really fantastic job with an ugly situation against an even uglier opponent.”
Despite the clock on the corner of her computer monitor saying it is now well after midnight, Kari is still very much awake. Another long day in a string of them, beginning back with the impromptu trip to Nusa Cerningan.
A week spent trying to be available in time zones fourteen hours apart.
A stretch that she is just starting to feel the effects of.
One of many reasons she is glad to be getting the call from Walker.
After finishing dinner earlier, she’d retreated straight to her office. In the wake of the call from Mike telling her he was on his way to Firash, she had wanted to be nearby in case he reached out again.
Hours spent trying to busy herself with other things. Tasks ranging from ongoing recruitment efforts to completing the research she had mentioned to Mike earlier.
Making sure that once things were wrapped up in Jakarta, she would be prepared to uphold her end of things.
“Thank you,” Kari replies, tamping down the urge to ask who Walker spoke to. What information they had about how things transpired.
If Firash was apprehended or perished – for real – this time. If the businessman Henry Rawit that Mike mentioned was brought into custody.
Most importantly, if Mike was okay, simply too bogged to check in yet.
“I appreciate that, and I’ll be sure to relay the sentiment to Mike.”
“Please do,” Walker replies. Words laced with the slightest hint of exhaustion. Fatigue from having kept a similar schedule to Kari, monitoring the situation.
A tense period now having ended, allowing the urgency he was subsisting on to bleed away.
“Also,” he adds, “I’ve been asked by President Pruitt to again relay how impressed he has been by your organization thus far. If there is anything you need from us, please do not delay in asking.
“We are very much aware we owe you.”
Feeling her eyebrows rise, Kari replies, “We’re just happy to help. And we thank you guys for running interference with the Agency and getting us the time we needed to do so. That couldn’t have been easy.”
For quite possibly the first time since Kari met the man, she hears the sound of his laugh. A short guffaw followed with, “No, but I have a feeling after this, it’s going to be a lot easier moving forward.”
Chapter Eighty-Seven
What little Mike had bothered bringing with him to Jakarta was left behind. A handful of toiletry items and two changes of clothes, both of which were now speckled with bullet holes or blast burns and stained with ash and soot.
More memories he doesn’t want or need, stuffed into the kitchen trash can at the safe house.
Same for the handful of items that had been arranged for him upon his arrival. Things such as the bifold credentials he’s been carrying for the last few days and the leather binder. The local currency, minus a couple of cab fares.
Even the weapon that had been loaned out to him.
All of it stowed back in the safe where he found them. One less thing for Tania Lynch to have to bother with collecting or answering for in the days ahead.
The least he could do for the Agency’s assistance the last couple of days. An outsized role in helping put an end to the bombings in the region and, more importantly, ridding the world of Firash for good.
> Down to his last change of clothes and armed with nothing more than a bottle of water, Mike stands on the edge of the same tarmac that he first landed on a couple of days prior. A period of time that seems rather insignificant to think of in terms of mere hours, though there is no denying the profound effect it has had on him.
Both in terms of wrapping up things from the past, and possibly creating new paths into the future.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?”
Coming in from somewhere behind him, Mike doesn’t need to turn to know the source of the voice. Lowering his face toward the pavement, he smiles slightly, waiting for Tania to appear beside him before replying, “Naw, I just figured after picking up Rawit, you’d be too busy and important to spare a few minutes for me.”
Coughing out a quick laugh, Tania replies, “That was true three days ago too, still, here we are.”
His smile growing larger, Mike glances over at her. “Yup, here we are.”
A look she matches before turning to face forward at the Lear twinjet pulling up even with them. Mike’s ride back to Nusa Ceningan, arranged by Kari Ma the night before.
A craft much smaller than the one he arrived on, but still plenty sufficient to have him home in time for dinner.
“How’s that going?” Mike asks.
Beside him, Tania turns her chin a few inches his way. Her brows come together, a hint of confusion crossing her features.
“Rawit,” he adds.
“Ah,” she replies, her face clearing as she nods. “Exactly as you’d expect. He’s lawyered up, denying everything...”
“Do you people have any idea who I am?” Mike finishes, having seen similar things play out before. People believing their status, or their money, or even their last name, would insulate them from the consequences of their actions.
Given all that he’s heard about Rawit, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine the source being a combination of all three.
“Not explicitly,” Tania says, “but heavily implied. By him and his entire army of lawyers.”
“Oh, man,” Mike replies as the plane draws to a stop and a door on the side cracks open. A design that is similar to the other craft, the top of the door dropping straight down to reveal stairs imbedded on the backside. “No wonder you had time to slip away and come see me off.”
“Exactly,” Tania replies, offering another chuckle. A quick bit of mirth she lets fall away entirely before adding, “And to say thank you...and maybe offer you an apology.”
What exactly she is referring to with either part, Mike can’t be certain. Both serving as loaded statements, they could be in reference to any of a number of things.
A range spanning from the impending boost her career is about to get to the kind word he was sure to route through the bureaucratic tree in appreciation of Tania’s help.
Perhaps, even an acknowledgement of the tepid greeting he received upon arrival.
An itemized list that he doesn’t bother going through.
Turning to face her, he instead offers his hand. “And I would like to say thank you...and maybe offer an apology myself.”
Flicking her gaze from eye level to his hand and back, Tania offers a smile. A silent accounting much the same as Mike just went through before accepting his grip.
“You ever want to get out of the city, stop by over on Nusa,” Mike says. “I’ll buy you a beer.”
“Maybe I will,” she says, releasing his grip and using the same hand to pat him on the arm. A gesture sending him on his way, Mike making it just a few strides before turning back one last time.
“Matthew 6:30,” he adds.
A statement that earns him a look of surprise in return, Tania’s features forming into congruent circles.
A look that Mike can’t help but smile at before adding, “Come on, I’m from Tennessee. You think you’re the only one that grew up reciting Bible verses?”
Epilogue
This time, there are no sideways glances as Kari Ma passes through the front door of Mike’s Place. No catcalls or wolf whistles from the gathered rabble sitting and nursing their beers. Not even the slow of conversation as people are surprised by her sudden presence.
So much so, the only thing that even seems to match her previous visit is the sight of Mike sitting alone in the back.
Looking a bit stiff, he rests with his weight shifted to one side. Newspaper open before him, a coffee mug rests on the table by his elbow.
Flicking her a glance as she approaches, he returns his focus to the paper, finishing whatever he is reading before folding it shut and placing it atop the table. A clear line of sight between them, allowing Kari to assess the man before her.
The one who is clearly a bit fatigued, though otherwise looks completely unscathed.
Something one would think nearly impossible given the story she was made privy to prior to departing on her return flight.
“How you feeling?” she opens.
A question that is met with Mike casting a quick glance toward the room. An unspoken gesture relaying he would rather not get into such matters while sitting inside an establishment with his name above the door.
An entreaty Kari meets with a small nod, not bothering to mention the young woman she knows that can help with any lingering issues he might have.
Perhaps in the future, but not right now.
“I hear things went well,” she says, transitioning to the next item on her list. “Firash. Henry Rawit. Folks in D.C. are downright giddy about how it all played out.”
Body pitched slightly to the side, Mike simply sits and stares. Several moments with his features indiscernible before one corner of his mouth peels back.
A wan smile preceding him stating, “Something tells me you didn’t just fly all this way again for a debrief.”
Her turn to remain silent a moment, Kari meets his gaze. A silent discussion between two people both having been into the fray. People knowing what that entails, not needing to relive it many times over.
Another of the things insisted on by the Agency once upon a time that Kari despised.
“No, I suppose I didn’t,” she concedes.
Repeating a move displayed less than a week prior, she reaches to the bag leaning against the leg of the chair beside her. Unclasping the top, she slips a hand inside and extracts a folder.
One matching the size and color of what she gave to him a few days earlier, this one containing information of a much different manner.
Things gleaned through her digging relentlessly the last couple of days.
“You held up your end of things,” she says. “I’m here to do the same.”
Placing the file down between them, she keeps her hand flat atop it.
A move that does not draw his gaze away from hers as she says, “First things first, the monies you were promised were transferred yesterday. They should have already hit your account by now.”
Pausing there, she waits until he says, “You know it was never about the money.”
“I do,” Kari replies, “which is why second is this.”
Nudging the file forward a couple of inches, she presses it up next to the newspaper before removing her hand.
A gesture that finally gets him to shift his focus, moving his gaze down to it without making any move to reach out.
A pose he holds for the better part of a minute. Long enough that Kari considers rising and leaving him to it alone before he asks, “What’s it say?”
Still content to leave it between them, he slides his attention back up to her. A reaction she would likely have if in his position as well, the sheer volume of information dumped on him enough to seem overwhelming.
Even before considering his travails in Jakarta with Firash or the information stored in the file resting between them.
Countless times in the preceding days, Kari has been through the information. Enough times that she knows it as well as the intel on assignments she used to be a part of.
Details comple
tely committed to memory, though never did she imagine sharing them in a manner such as this.
“The girl was born on August 22nd, 2017,” Kari eventually replies. “Because of the nature of the attack, her mother was rushed to a base facility for treatment.”
There is no need for Kari to go into extreme detail. Minutiae they both know quite well, Mike from having lived through it, Kari from having vetted the information thoroughly before ever bringing it to him.
A raid on a local settlement neighboring the base in Thailand where Mike was stationed. One of many that occurred throughout the area, this one claiming the life of the woman he was seeing.
Something he would not find out about – let alone be able to claim the child – until he returned from deployment months after the fact.
“When she didn’t make it, the child was taken into protective services there, a ward of the United States. Meaning she was eventually eligible for adoption by an American serviceman and his wife after fully recovering from being delivered prematurely.”
Taking care to gloss over many of the details, Kari provides the information in as straightforward a manner as she can. An effort that she can still see landing hard, the skin around his eyes tightening with each word spoken.
Nearly reaching a full wince at mention of the departed.
Stopping her response there, she watches as he processes the information in silence. Time that he glances away, fitting what she just shared into place in his mind.
A task far more difficult than on her last visit, when she first mentioned his having a daughter.
Something that this time takes him much longer to recover from, not even bothering to look back her way before asking, “Where is she now?”
“Hawaii,” Kari replies. “The man rolled back stateside a little over eighteen months ago. Stationed on Oahu as we speak.”
Again, the thought of adding more occurs to her. Mention of the jet standing by, should he wish to arrange a visit. The presence of Nic Kidman – a personal friend that took the first assignment for The Ranch – on a neighboring island should a local favor ever be needed.