“Yes, sir.”
“Would you hand me one of them, please?”
Peter grabbed one of the injectors and handed it to Petkov, who held it up in the flashlight beam.
“Ah. Excellent.”
“What’s that?” Nick asked.
“Morphine. You’ll be needing this in just a moment. You—” Petkov said, pointing at Michael.
“Mike,” Michael said.
“Mike. Does this vehicle have a repair kit?”
“Yeah.”
“Get it for me, please.”
Michael nodded and produced the repair kit, which Petkov opened and rifled through, finally withdrawing a small, gun-shaped instrument. He clicked the trigger experimentally, shooting a small jet of blue flame into the air. Grinning again, Petkov set the torch down on the floor then injected the morphine into Nick’s leg.
“I am sorry. Even with the morphine, this will hurt. A lot. But I need to seal the wound before you bleed out. Do you understand?”
Nick was already starting to feel lightheaded from the morphine, but he managed to spit out the word “yes” anyway.
“Very good. Now, please, try not to move. I would hate to do more harm than good.”
Petkov clicked on the flame and set it to Nick’s foot.
Jesus. Someone really can’t stomach the sight of blood, Nick thought. I wish whoever it is would stop screaming.
As Petkov turned off the torch, the howling stopped, and Nick realized that the shouts had been coming from his own mouth.
“There. See? That wasn’t so bad. Are you still conscious, my friend?”
Petkov’s words floated into Nick’s brain through a haze of pain and clouds of opiates. Nick could barely see, but he found he could speak.
“Still awake,” he managed to croak.
“You won’t be for much longer. I got the bleeding to stop. Pete, please hand me that brown bottle…no, the one next to it. Thank you. Nick, my friend, I am going to bandage the wound, and then we will need to elevate—”
That was the last word Nick heard before his eyes slid shut and he fell into a dark, deep, dreamless sleep.
When he woke, there was daylight streaming through the Razor’s open blast ports. The other three collapsible racks had been pulled down, and Peter, Christopher and Gabriel were asleep in them. Nick swung his legs clear of the rack, suddenly remembering the damage to his right foot just before it hit the deck. The quick jolt of intense pain brought him fully awake, and he put most of his weight on his left foot as he stood and walked to the front of the Razor.
Owen was driving, with Petkov in the passenger seat. The two of them spoke in quiet Russian.
Petkov turned as he heard Nick approach. “Ah. How are you feeling?”
“Foot hurts, but I’ll live.”
“Not much foot left, really. They might be able to save your big toe when we get back.”
“I noticed we’re off stealth. How long have I been out?”
“Two days. You woke up once, but I put you back under. I am not surprised you do not remember it.”
“So we’re a day from Camp Justice?”
“No, my American friend. Three hours.”
“Andrevich knows the area a lot better than we do. He was able to point out a quicker way back. Once we got off stealth, we cranked it up to eighty.” Owen grinned.
“Anything interesting happen while I was sleeping?”
“Not really. We avoided some Chinese patrols about thirty-five miles north of K-13R. Anthony recorded a bunch of radio traffic for you on the first day, but we’ve heard nothing since.”
“We back in touch with Captain Neal yet?”
“Yes. I spoke to him twenty minutes ago. I hope you do not mind, but while you were incapacitated, I took command of the mission,” Petkov told him. “Now that you’re awake though, the ship is yours.”
Petkov slid out of the passenger seat and gestured to Nick that it was his. Nick sat down, already grateful to be off of his feet.
“And now, I think I shall sleep. Please do wake me when we arrive, yes?” Petkov smiled, heading for the rack Nick had just left.
“So, you speak Russian, then?” Nick asked Owen.
“Yeah. Mom was a Russian Jew. Made sure I was raised with both languages.”
“Sounds familiar,” Nick said. “My mom insisted my brother and I speak Chinese and English from the time we were born.”
Nick slipped on a pair of headphones and reviewed the Chinese radio traffic for the rest of the drive. The gist was that a civilian vehicle had run the blockade at the Camp of the Four Winds, and that four men had escaped into the woods. Patrols had found no trace of them, but all nearby listening stations were put on alert. There was no further traffic about their mission, just random patrol reports and routine radio traffic. Nick saved the audio files in case they turned out useful to the intel people, then took off the headphones.
He could see Camp Justice in the distance, and two Cougars were already on their way to escort the Razor home.
***
Neal came to visit Nick in the hospital, just as the doctors were finishing his prosthetic toes. They wouldn’t function quite as well as real ones, but they were better than nothing, the doctors had told him. The pain was almost gone now—the doctors confirmed that by cauterizing the wound, Petkov had indeed saved his life.
Neal wasn’t alone when he walked into the room. Lieutenant Colonel Markham was with him. Both of them looked serious, and Markham was carrying a thin manila folder.
“Did Petkov make it to Command and Control, sir?”
“Yes, Nick. Job well done. Your men are adjusting to their new barracks, a two-level house near the other Special Forces units. But I’m afraid we have something of more critical importance to talk about.” Captain Neal frowned.
At a nod from the doctor, Nick hopped off the table and walked around experimentally. It hurt a little, but the new toes functioned just fine.
“Just tell me what the mission is, sir. I’m ready.” Nick smirked.
“No mission, son. At least, not for you,” Markham said, handing Nick the file folder.
“What’s this?”
“These are your release papers, Nick. Your conviction was overturned just after you left to fetch Petkov. You’re no longer a convict. There’ll be a plane leaving to take you to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany in three hours. From there, you’ll be flown commercially back to Los Angeles. You’re a free man, Nick.”
Nick opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“We don’t have much in the way of civilian clothes, I’m afraid. What you have on will have to do,” Neal told him.
“Wait. What?” Nick finally managed to spit out.
“It seems that someone in the press got a hold of your files. There was an article on you a little over a week ago on the New York Times Network site. Shortly after that, the judge in your case was dismissed from service. It turns out that he was convicting anyone of Asian ancestry that came through his courtroom, regardless of evidence. Several convictions were overturned, and yours was one of them.”
Nick sat still for a moment. His brain was working so fast and hard that he had trouble pulling out a single thought.
“What if I don’t want to go back?”
Markham shrugged.
“We can’t hold you, son. Your sentence was reviewed by another judge, who commuted it to time served plus probation for the first count, self-defense for the other four.”
“Will I at least get a chance to say goodbye to my men?”
“I’m sorry, no. We can’t allow civilians to fraternize with convicts. But I’ll tell them for you,” Neal said. “As soon as the doctor clears you to go, you’ll be headed for the airport. Good luck, Nick.”
Before Nick could think of anything else to say, Markham and Neal left the room.
“Well…shit,” he sighed.
The doctor shrugged.
Chapter 20
X Offender
“Technically I’m supposed to cuff you until you’re officially released from our custody, but you’re not gonna give me any trouble, are you, guy?” the Federal Marshal asked, checking the Glock 50 in his holster.
“I’m actually planning to sleep most of the time, so, no.” Nick shrugged.
“Good man. So, this used to be a commercial airport, huh? Barely looks like it now.”
As Nick and the Marshal sat on a long, plastic bench near what had once been a departure gate, they watched a crew of Army convicts unloading a factory-new Cougar from a C-5 out on the runway. Behind them, a crew of mechanics was checking the vehicle as soon as it rolled off the plane, giving a thumbs-up to the waiting motor crew. Once the first Cougar was off the plane, the process started over with another.
“You know where they make those things now, right?” the Marshal asked.
“Nope.”
“Rock Island, Illinois. Place called the Rock Island Arsenal. Same little island where they used to put together the Humvees. I’m from around there.”
Nick nodded. Words couldn’t express how much he didn’t care where the Cougars were built, but he was going to be stuck with this guy for the next twenty hours or so. He might as well attempt to make small talk.
“So where do they have you stationed, Marshal…”
“Raines. Aaron Raines. Sorry, thought I introduced myself back at the hospital complex,” Raines said, holding out a hand. Nick shook it.
“So where do they have you stationed, Marshal Raines?”
“Tampa. I got the call they were letting one of you guys go, and I was on the first flight across the Atlantic. Beats sitting at a desk in a suit and tie all day—not like we’ve got much to do since all the criminals are out here nowadays. Hey, you know where we can get some food?”
“Trust me. You don’t want what they call food here. We’re heading to a commercial airport in Germany after the airbase, right?”
Raines nodded.
“I’d wait until you get there to eat. Your stomach will thank you.”
As Raines considered that, a large, buzzcut Air Force Sergeant walked up to them. “Raines? Morrow?” he asked.
“That’s us.”
“Your ride’s here, gentlemen. Runway one-five. Sorry about the accommodations, but it’s only two hours.”
The sergeant motioned for the two men to follow him, then led them out onto the tarmac to a waiting C-130 Hercules. Nick and Raines walked up the ramp and found two empty jump seats, which wasn’t difficult—the plane was full of cargo, but apart from the flight crew, there was no one else aboard.
“Wheels up in five, guys!” the pilot called from the flight deck. “Strap in!”
Nick tightened his harness then helped Raines with his. True to his word, Nick was asleep as soon as the plane left the runway.
***
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. On behalf of Delta and the crew of flight one-seventeen, I’m happy to welcome you to Los Angeles International Airport. The local time is 2:47 p.m. Temperature is a rather pleasant eighty-two degrees.”
Nick forced his eyes open as the plane taxied to the terminal. He could have slept another several hours, but it was time to get off the plane and…do…something. He had no idea what was waiting for him outside the plane, and no idea what he was supposed to do with his life now. He should have felt happy that he was home, but where the happiness should have been, there was nothing. No joy, no apprehension, no anxiety—just a feeling of blankness.
“All right, compadre. Soon as we hit the end of that jetway, you’re a free man. You feelin’ good?” Raines smiled at him, unbuckling his seat belt and adjusting the holster at his side.
“Sure,” Nick lied. It sounded unconvincing, even to him.
“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out of here?”
Raines’ friendly manner had been wearing on him since Frankfurt, but Nick reminded himself he only had to deal with the guy for a few more minutes. No reason to stop being polite now.
“Probably visit my brother. I haven’t seen him since my trial.”
Raines and Nick exited the plane. As they walked down the jetway, Raines handed Nick the file folder Markham had given him back at Camp Justice.
“You’re free, my man. Stay out of trouble, yeah? You don’t want to end up back there, am I right?”
Nick nodded.
“I’ve got a flight back to Tampa to catch. Take care of yourself, Nick.” Raines smiled and headed left out of the jetway.
Nick headed right, toward the sign marked Exit. As he approached the end of the secure terminal area, Nick saw his brother Stan, along with his two-year-old niece Lia and thirteen-year-old nephew Cedric, waiting for him.
As Stan saw Nick, he broke into a huge smile. “Look, kids! There’s your uncle Nick!”
“Hey, Stan.” Nick smiled wearily as he limped toward his brother.
“You all right, Nick?”
“I’ll tell you about it later. Hey, big man. How you doing?” Nick smiled at Cedric.
“Uncle Nick.” Cedric nodded. The kid was wearing black clothes, not unlike Nick’s own, and had a copy of Starship Troopers held in one hand. Nick took no offense to his nephew’s lack of enthusiasm—he remembered being thirteen.
Nick reached down and picked up Lia, swinging her high in the air. She laughed, and Nick put her up on his shoulders.
“Man, Lia. You’re getting big.” Nick smiled, turning toward his brother. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Wouldn’t consider letting you come back on your lonesome, bro. Sara would have been here, too, but, y’know…work.”
“No problem. How is she these days?”
“Oh, fine. I talked to her the other night—you’re staying with us until you get settled. No arguments.”
“None forthcoming.” Nick yawned.
“You have any bags we need to pick up?”
“Nope. Wearing everything I own.”
Stan nodded and nudged Cedric, whose nose was firmly buried in Heinlein’s work. The four of them headed out to the parking deck, Lia still riding on Nick’s shoulders. Stan led them to his model-year Chevy Ronin and unlocked the doors with his keyless entry fob.
“Nice new ride,” Nick said.
“Yeah, promotion at work. I’m running my department now. I can talk to someone about getting you a job there if you want.”
“Yeah, maybe. I doubt I’m Homeland Security’s ideal employee, though.”
“Don’t be too sure. They need Chinese and Korean translators bad. With your level of fluency, you’d be a rock star.”
“Cool. We’ll talk about it more later, okay?”
Stan nodded as the Ronin’s electric drive spun up and they shot out of the garage, headed for Santa Clarita. The Ronin’s engine made almost no noise, so it was silent in the cabin. Apparently, Stan had decided to spare his brother the annoying, repetitive children’s music Lia usually demanded in the car. Lia herself was quiet, staring at the back of Nick’s head. Cedric spent the entire drive reading, so Nick and his brother pretty much had the ride to catch up.
“So, the limp?”
“Got half of my foot blown off by an exploding Lada.”
“Ouch! When? And what is a Lada?”
“Yesterday. Maybe the day before…I’m jetlagged as all hell. It was whenever I called you. About a minute after I hung up.”
“And you’re walking already?”
“They fit me with a robotic prosthetic. It’s fine.”
“Well, we’re going to have a nice, home-cooked meal, and you can relax for a bit. Sara won’t be home until late, anyway. Oh, and I managed to snag your old car from before your trial, so that’s back at the house, too.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Not that you’ll be able to drive it right away. I talked to some guys at the office, but it’ll still take a couple of days to get your citizenship status back.”
“I kind of expected that.”
“Well, here we are,” Stan said, pulling his Ronin into the driveway and hitting the switch to open the garage. Inside, Nick saw his baby—his 1996 Jaguar XJS V-12. He’d had to convert it to hybrid to make it street-legal, but apart from that, the car was all original, showroom condition, and still blindingly fast.
Stan herded his kids out of the car. Cedric headed straight for his room, as thirteen-year-olds were programmed to do, and Stan put Lia down for her afternoon nap.
“Want a beer?” Stan asked.
“Fuck yes.”
Stan laughed and grabbed two bottles of Guinness from the fridge. Nick and his brother stepped out onto the back patio. As they settled in, Nick pulled a pack of Russian smokes from his cargo pocket and lit one.
“Jesus, Nick. Those are illegal,” Stan choked, barely managing to keep a mouthful of beer from spewing over the patio table.
“Calm down. It’s a misdemeanor ticket if I get caught, and unless the LAPD is hiding in your hedges, I think we’re fine.”
“All right. Give me one, then.” Stan chuckled.
Nick handed his brother the pack and lit his cigarette for him.
“So how was it over there? We never heard word one about the convict units until that NYTN story broke. Sounded pretty brutal.”
“It’s a meat grinder. We’re outnumbered and outgunned, even with the convict units.”
“Bet you’re glad to be out of there, then.”
“Yeah,” Nick said. His voice was flat, but Stan didn’t seem to notice.
***
“Look, cut the guy some slack, huh, Sara?”
“He’s been sitting around the house for four days straight now.”
“Yeah, and he can’t really go anywhere until his citizenship comes back, can he? What’d you expect him to do? Hop in the car, go job hunting, and get thrown in County when they pull him over and find out he has no driver’s license, no legal rights?”
Stan was trying to keep his voice down, but Sara wasn’t bothering. Nick could hear them clearly from the guest room at the back of Stan’s house.
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