Dead Six (53 page)

“Gee whiz, what’s the downside?”

“You don’t want to be around Carl on casual Friday.”

She studied the contents of the bag. I did not envy her choice. Both options required her to give up her entire life. Jill bit her lip as she studied one of the driver’s licenses. “How long do I have to decide?”

“The boat leaves in ten minutes.” I glanced at my watch. “Make that seven. I talk too much.”

“I’ve got a few questions. . . .” She paused, then gave me a dangerous look. “And don’t you dare bullshit me. I want the truth. Why do you do this, Lorenzo?”

“This job? It’s for my family, and I’m working on a way to make sure Big Eddie won’t ever threaten them again.”

“No, I know about them. Why do you do
this
?”

I studied the wheeling birds and the sparkling water. Why did I do it? It had all started as some sort of game, a challenge, a competition against the world. I had been the juvenile delinquent, the black sheep, the rebel. The first to fight, the first to cheat, the one that had to win, even though it didn’t matter what I was winning, or what I was losing in the process. One day I had just walked away, fell off the grid, disappeared into the stinking underbelly of the world. I had become a predator of the predators, the ultimate rush, the perfect challenge.

Now I was just tired. And I didn’t want my family, who were just normal, decent people, to pay for my sins. But even once this job was done, and even with Big Eddie either satisfied or dispatched, I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else.

“Hell if I know. It’s what I do.” She nodded as if that made perfect sense. “Boat’s about to leave,” I pointed out.

“Do you do a lot of bad things?” she asked.

“Depends on your perspective.”

“I know I can do it if I have to, but I don’t like to hurt people,” she stated.

“I don’t, either. But most of the things I deal with don’t rank as people.”

Jill turned her head, like she didn’t want to look at me. “Is that the only reason you want me to stay? Because I might come in handy?” She was fishing for something.

God, she was beautiful.
She was good and decent and strong. She deserved better than this, better than me. “What do you want me to say, Jill? I don’t think I’m the man you think I am.”

“And . . . I know you’re wrong. I can see it. I just wish you could too.” Jill turned back. Her eyes were full of moisture. She kissed me gently on my battered lips. She slung the bag over her shoulder, opened the door, and stepped onto the sand. She had a beautiful smile full of perfect white teeth. “Thank you for saving my life, Lorenzo.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I just don’t think I could do the kind of things that you do. It’s nothing personal, but I just don’t know if I could live in your world.”

So that was it.

I held out a slip of paper. “That’s a number I check periodically. If you ever change your mind, or if you ever need me for anything, leave a message. don’t use any names. I’ll know who it is.”

She took the paper from my outstretched hand. “Thanks. You know . . . if things were a little different . . .”

“Things will never be different.” I smiled. “If you change your mind and decide to come with me, you don’t have to wear the blindfold back to base.”

“Goodbye, Lorenzo,” she said softly. “Good luck. Thank you for everything.” Jill closed the door and walked down the pier.

I watched her climb onto the boat. She never looked back.

Chapter 22:
Casualties

VALENTINE

Location Unknown

Date/Time Unknown

Someone was singing. It was a woman’s voice, soft and warm. It seemed to fade in and out. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I couldn’t see anything or feel anything. That voice was the only thing I had to focus on as I tried to collect my thoughts. It was like a dream.

I don’t know how long it took, but eventually I was able to open my eyes to find an unfamiliar gray ceiling. The singing continued, but now I could hear it clearly. I wasn’t alone, wherever I was. The room I was in was small. The walls appeared to be metal. Against the far wall was a small desk. A woman sat at the desk, facing away from me, hunched over a laptop. She had long black hair.

My mouth was so dry I couldn’t speak. My throat was sore. All I could manage was a hoarse, raspy cough. The woman in the chair perked up and turned around, pulling small white earbuds out of her ears as she did so.
Ling?

Ling stood up and quickly crossed the room. “Mr. Valentine!” she said. “My God. You’re awake.” I struggled to sit up. Ling helped me. I pulled an oxygen line from my nose. I had all manner of tubes, hoses, and IVs stuck in me. A cardiograph rhythmically beeped with the beating of my heart. “You should leave those in,” Ling said.

“Where am I?” I croaked. “What happened? How . . .” I trailed off, coughing again. It hurt to talk.

“Hold on,” Ling said, hurrying to the door. “I’ll get the doctor!” She was gone, and I was alone again.

A minute later, several people rushed back into the room, including a man who strongly resembled Albert Einstein. He had a bushy mustache and a wild shock of white hair. He was wearing a lab coat. He put a hand on my shoulder and asked me to look at him. I slowly turned my head, only to have a flashlight shined in my eyes. I flinched; it was so bright it hurt.

“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Valentine,” the doctor said. He had a German accent. “You’ve been in a coma for more than a week. Oh. Forgive me. I am Dr. Heinrich Bundt.”

I took several deep breaths. “Where am I?” I asked again.

“You’re on the
Walden
,” Ling explained. “It’s an Exodus ship. You’re safe here.”

“How did I get here? Why . . . ?” I trailed off again. My head hurt.

“You were very badly injured,” Ling said. “We almost lost you.”

Dr. Bundt straightened his glasses. “Mr. Valentine, I’m afraid you sustained a coup-contrecoup injury. That is to say, a traumatic brain injury affecting both your frontal and occipital lobes.”

“Brain injury?” I muttered, suddenly very worried about my aching head.

“That’s correct. You had a subdural hematoma to both the front and back of your brain. We were forced to place you in an induced coma after neurosurgery. Given the—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, interrupting. “What the hell did you do? Drill a hole in my head?”

“That’s correct,” the doctor said, sounding very reassuring, all things considered. “It was necessary to drain the hematomas to reduce the pressure on your brain. You should consider yourself very lucky that you suffered no permanent brain damage, given the time that elapsed between when you were injured and when we were able to treat you.”

“So . . . am I going to be okay?”

“Time will tell, but I believe so.”

I rubbed the sides of my head. “Where’s Sarah?” The room suddenly got very quiet. Ling, the doctor, and a couple of orderlies just looked at each other stupidly.

“Where is Sarah?” I demanded, sitting up.

“Mr. Valentine,
please!
” Dr. Bundt said.

“Let me talk to him,” a familiar Tennessee twang said. “Give us a minute.” The doctor, Ling, and the orderlies left the room, leaving me alone with Tailor. “Hey, brother,” he said quietly.

“Tailor, where the hell is Sarah? What happened?” I was getting scared.

“Christ . . . You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember
what,
Tailor?” I asked, a pit forming in my stomach.

“Sarah didn’t make it, bro.”

I looked at Tailor for a few seconds, then closed my eyes. My stomach twisted into a knot. I rubbed my head again, struggling to remember. Images flashed in my mind. I fell into the mud. I was hit. Sarah turned around. She came back for me. I was screaming at her to keep going, but she didn’t listen. She was hit. She went down. She died.

“Oh God,” I said, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my God.” The knot in my stomach began to hurt. My chest tightened. It was hard to breathe.

“Yeah,” Tailor managed. “Bad op, man.”

“Bad op,” I repeated, my voice wavering. “What the hell happened? How did I get here?”

“You were hit,” Tailor said. “So was Sarah. A grenade went off near you. Hudson saw you go down, then lost you in the smoke. There was a lot of shooting. Then the charges on the wall went off. We had to go.”

“Why did you come back for me?”

“We didn’t. I told Hudson to get in the truck. We took off. I thought you were dead.”

“Wait,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “How did I end up here, then?”

“We managed to get out of the city, just by pure luck,” Tailor explained. “We went to that contingency safe house south of the Al Khor district. You know, the one Hunter told us to never use unless it was a dire emergency. We made it. Somebody else knew about it, though, because after we got there a truck rolled up, dumped you, and took off.”

“What?”

“I’m serious,” Tailor said. “Someone pulled you out of the fort, tailed us to the safe house, left you, and disappeared. I have no idea who.”

That didn’t make any sense. “Was it the Exodus guys?”

“They say they don’t know anything about it. That’s what I’m telling you. I have no idea how you made it out of there alive. Anyway, I used that phone Ling gave you, got a hold of her. Took some doing, but I was able to talk her into getting us out. Told her you were wounded. That seemed to work. I think she likes you.”

“Who’s left?” I asked.

“You and me,” Tailor replied. “Hudson. Frank Mann. That Nikki chick that translated the documents. One of Hunter’s security guys. Baker’s entire chalk. Hal the medic. Couple other guys. Eleven total. Would’ve been twelve, but Cox bled to death in the truck.”

“Eleven,” I lamented. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hey, man,” Tailor said, trying his best to sound consoling. “At least that many got out. Could’ve been a lot worse. We’re still alive.”

“Still alive.” I looked up into my friend’s eyes. “Tailor, I . . . Sarah’s dead. She . . . I promised her I wouldn’t leave her. I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

Tailor’s brow crinkled with concern. “You’re going to get some rest, bro,” he said. “I’m going to get the doc. Don’t worry about anything. We’ll talk later. Okay?”

I didn’t respond. I just closed my eyes again.

VALENTINE

Exodus Ship
Walden

Port of Mumbai, India

May 16

0700

I was alone in my little metal room, picking at my food, when Tailor came in. “How you doing, Val?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I walked all the way to the galley and got this food,” I said. “I’m mobile again, anyway.” The wound to my left calf had gone deep, but it hadn’t shattered the bone or cut anything vital. It was slowly healing.

“That’s good,” Tailor said. “I need you mobile. We’re pulling into port right now. The crew says we should be at the pier in less than an hour.”

“So?”

“So, we’re leaving,” Tailor said. “I collected your stuff for you. It’s in a bag ready to go. Hudson’s trying to find you some fresh clothes. You’re hard to fit, you big son of a bitch.” I was five inches taller than Tailor, and that always seemed to piss him off just a little.

“Where in the hell do you think you’re going to go?” I asked. Tailor’s plan sounded ill-thought-out to me.

“Val, listen. Between me and Hudson we’ve got three hundred and seventy-five grand, okay? We have plenty of money. It’s enough for all of us to find room and board for a while, get some supplies, and lay low.”

“Lay low?”

“Right, until things calm down. Then we can start thinking about going home, if it’s safe. Now come on. You gonna be ready to go? You feel okay?”

I gave Tailor a hard look for a long moment. “Tailor, I’m not going anywhere,” I said flatly.

“What are you talking about? We know for a fact that this ship is going to dock in Mumbai. We’re getting off here. We don’t know where in the hell they’re going after this. We need to go while the going’s good.”

“Tailor, I’m not running away to India. I’m not going to go hide in a dirty safe house somewhere. I’m staying right here.”

“Goddamn it, Val,” Tailor said, anger rising in his voice. “Don’t argue with me. You’re not thinking clearly right now. Trust me. Get your shit and get ready to go.”

“
Trust
you?” I said. “Trust you? Tailor, trusting you is how I ended up in Zubara in the first place!”

“Well, shit happens!” Tailor said, louder still. “I didn’t force you. You wanted to go just as bad as I did, and you damn well know it. Now we need to get off this boat before these Exodus nut-jobs drag us off someplace and we disappear!”

“No, goddamn it! I’m sick of your shit! These ‘nut-jobs’ have saved our lives
twice
now. Maybe you didn’t notice that they didn’t charge you for getting out of Zubara? They helped us even though they’re not getting anything out of it!”

“That we know of,” Tailor interjected. “You don’t know what they’re planning. You can’t trust these people. You don’t know them. You need to listen to me. We both know I’m right.”

“Listen to you? Y
ou
were ready to take Gordon up on his offer!”

“What? Val, I—”

I cut Tailor off. “Shut up! If I hadn’t been ready to shoot him, you would’ve probably signed up and left the rest of us behind! I know you, man. I
know
you. You just can’t pass up an opportunity like that, can you? You know what the difference between you and me is? I don’t know why the hell I do it. You, you do it because you’re addicted to it. You’re a goddamned war junkie!”

“You’re about to piss me off, Val,” Tailor warned, pointing a crooked finger at me.

“I don’t give a shit!” I shouted. “Go ahead, get mad! What the fuck are you going to do?
Huh?
I have
nothing left
, Tailor! So hit me! Shoot me! I don’t care! You’d be doing me a favor!”

Tailor’s harsh expression softened just a little. “Val . . . ,” he started.

I interrupted him again, much more quietly this time. “Tailor . . . I’m just tired. I can’t do it anymore. Hell, it’s all I can do to get out of bed. I’ve spent the last three days trying to think of reasons to bother, and I keep coming up short. I’m not going.”