Dead Six

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? You 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.”

“I’ve already talked to the others, Val. We’re going.”

“I know. I understand. It’s okay. If you guys want to go, then go. I know how it is, man. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I’ve gotta go get ready,” Tailor said. He turned to leave, but paused by the door. “I’ll see you around, man,” he said, and was gone.

VALENTINE

Exodus Base

Somewhere in Southeast Asia

May 20

Strange music echoed in my ears as I pushed open a heavy wooden door. I crossed the threshold and entered the room beyond, despite the suffocating sense of apprehension that squeezed my heart. Directly across from the door was an ornate four-poster bed. A painting hung on the wall above it, but I couldn’t make it out.

Slowly I turned, looking across the room I was in. It was familiar; I’d been here before. At the far end of the room a woman hung from the ceiling, her hands bound above her head. I approached her, unsure of what was compelling me onward. The apprehension was turning into dread. My skin began to crawl.

I looked up at the girl as she hung from the ceiling, motionless. Her body had been cut open, her organs removed. Black hair hung down over her eyes, and her face was shrouded in darkness. I tried as hard as I could to focus on her, but I just couldn’t make out her face.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was overwhelmed by fear and confusion. I knew where I was, but I couldn’t remember where that place was or why it was important. I didn’t know how I got there. I turned to leave.

Something clamped down on my arm as I turned around, and squeezed. The girl was now standing behind me, grasping my arm with her hand. She lifted her head, the dark hair moving aside. It was Sarah. Her eyes were gone.

“You said you’d stay with me.”

My eyes snapped open as I was wrenched back to consciousness. I sat up in bed, looking around the room, trying to remember where I was. It was dark. I nearly knocked my lamp off the table trying to turn the light on. The little fluorescent bulb flickered to life, and the room was illuminated with pale light.

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. I sat in bed for a few minutes, breathing through my nose, trying to calm down. I’d had that nightmare before. I had a nightmare every time I went to sleep.

I sighed and rubbed my face with my hands. The clock on the wall told me it was just after three in the morning. There would be no getting back to sleep tonight. Resigned to that, I swung my legs off the bed and stood up.

Exodus had housed me in a small metal Quonset hut that, despite its utilitarian appearance, was actually pretty comfortable. It lacked a kitchen but had its own bathroom. (In any case, I’m a terrible cook; I was more than happy to get my meals from the nearby cafeteria.) I headed into said bathroom to take the first leak of the day.

My heart was finally slowing down as I washed my hands. I missed Sarah so much it hurt. I knew her death wasn’t my fault, but that didn’t make it any better. She died because she came back for me. Worse still, she died and I lived. That was so unfair it made me sick.

Sarah was one of the kindest people I’d ever known. I, on the other hand, had spent most of my adult life shooting people for money. I had blood on my hands, and I knew it. If anyone deserved to die, it was me. Worst of all, I’d broken my promise to her. I told her I’d stay with her until the end.

Looking down at my hands again, I realized I’d been washing them for several minutes straight. I got lost in thought like that once in a while, especially since I’d woken up on the Walden. I wondered if it was a side effect of them drilling holes in my head.

I turned off the water and looked at myself in the mirror. I barely recognized the man that looked back at me. My hair was buzzed short, military style. There was a horizontal cut across my forehead, just above the hairline over my right eye. This had been from a Zubaran grenade, I think. Another gash went from my left cheek up my face, splitting my eyebrow in two. Lorenzo, whoever the hell he really was, had given me that one. Missed my eye by a fraction of an inch. My right arm had been similarly carved up.

There were more still-healing scars from where Exodus doctors had treated my injuries. There was the mark on my shoulder from where a bullet grazed me after we assassinated Al Falah. Yet another one cut across my left calf, where a Zubaran bullet had winged me and caused me to fall on my face. Small frag marks peppered my arms and legs. I frowned at my reflection in the mirror before turning off the bathroom light.

Later in the morning, I found myself sitting on the bed, digging through the backpack that served as my bug-out bag. Inside were all the things I thought I’d need for a quick escape, or if I had to be on the go for a while. I’d had it with me when I’d been hit at Fort Saradia.

I laid several stacks of bills on the bed, my half of the money we’d taken from Adar’s safe. It was a shame I’d lost my share of Lorenzo’s money. I found a zippered pouch. Inside were my driver’s license, passport, concealed firearms permit, and other personal identification documents that had been confiscated from me. I wondered if it was safe to use any of these documents. Were they looking for me? Did they think I was dead? Would I get flagged at the airport or something?

Hidden beneath a box of .44 Magnum ammunition was an envelope. I’d tried several times before to open it, but hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it. But this time I succeeded. I carefully opened the envelope and removed the pictures inside.

These were the only pictures I had of Sarah. She’d gotten her hands on one of the cameras we had and used the equipment in the lab to print out photographs before clearing the camera’s memory.

The first was one of me. It was an awful picture. I wasn’t even looking at the camera. I was standing by a building, sunglasses up on my head, mouth open. I’d been halfway through a sentence when Sarah jumped me with the camera. It was a completely natural picture. The next one was of the two of us together. I had my arm awkwardly around Sarah’s waist as she pulled me close to her. She had a bright smile on her face.

My God, she was so beautiful. I stared at the pictures for a long time. My hands started to shake. I set the pictures down and buried my face in my hands as my chest tightened. There, alone in my room, I sat on my bed and wept for the first time that I could remember.

Some time later, I noticed something else in the bag as I put the pictures away. It was Colonel Hunter’s flash drive, with his bloody thumb print still on it. I had forgotten completely about it. I held it in my hand and struggled to remember, there was something important about what was on here. Information he wanted me to see. I had to take a look.

I made my way across the Exodus base in the early morning darkness. The base was a walled compound that seemed to have sprouted out of the jungle, big enough to house a couple hundred people. The low, utilitarian buildings were interspersed between huge trees and thick vegetation, permanently shrouded in shadow by triple-canopy tree cover overhead. Misty shafts of light would poke through the trees during the day, giving the base a very ethereal look, but right now it was dark.

The compound sat on a flat spot between thickly forested hills and a rocky beach. The dense tree cover probably made the place difficult to study from the air or by satellite. I could faintly hear the low rumble of waves over the constant din of nocturnal animals and insects, generators, and a few vehicles.

Across the rocky beach was a dock big enough to service a ship the size of the Walden, though that ship was long gone. On the other side of the compound, in a narrow clearing, was a short airstrip, and planes would occasionally come and go. Only one road led out of the compound. Out the gate, the gravel path wound its way through the hills until it disappeared.

Many areas of the small base were off-limits, at least to me. An armed patrol roved the facility, and guards were posted at the entrances to a couple buildings. These areas were fenced off from the rest of the compound, even. Vehicle traffic was sparse, but there was a motorpool.

I’d been here for a couple of weeks, but hadn’t ventured out much without Ling. While everyone I met was exceedingly polite, I was regarded as an outsider. No one spoke to me unless I engaged them in conversation first, except for Ling and Dr. Bundt. But I’d been around enough to know where to find a computer.

There was an Internet cafe in the compound, apparently for use by transient Exodus personnel who needed to check their e-mail or something. I’d been past it several times before, but had never gone in. What did I need to get on the Internet for? I was scared to even check my e-mail, lest the people behind Project Heartbreaker realize I was still alive. I suppose I could’ve at least checked the news or something, but honestly, at that point I didn’t give a good goddamn what was happening to the rest of the world.

Entering the café, I noted that it was all but deserted at this early hour. Out of fifteen computers, only two were occupied. A squat Asian man sat behind a desk near the door, reading a newspaper in a language I didn’t recognize.

I approached his desk. “Uh, good morning,” I said awkwardly. “I need to use a computer.”

“You come right place,” he said with a thick accent, not lowering his paper. “This Internet place. Many computers. Here.” He began to slide a laminated card across the desk to me, but stopped. “Wait. You guest. You can’t get on Internet. Information security rules, okay? Sorry!”

“Listen, I really need to use a computer.”

“No Internet, okay? Sorry!” he said, sounding testy.

“Listen. I don’t need the Internet. I just need to use a computer. Please.”

The clerk folded his newspaper in a huff and thought for a moment. “Okay. Use computer ten. Internet not work. Okay?”

“Uh, okay,” I said. “Um, thank you.” I turned on my heel and headed for computer number ten.

The computer, like most Internet cafe machines, was a few years old and was pretty beat-up. But it would do for my purposes. I fished Colonel Hunter’s thumb drive out of my pocket and plugged it into a USB port. It took a few seconds for the computer to read the drive, then a window popped up displaying all of the available files. It wasn’t even password protected; Hunter had put this together in a hurry.

There was more information on the drive than I could’ve imagined, hundreds of files. One was an initial proposal, more than five years old, describing the theory behind Project Heartbreaker. It was written by someone named Walter Barrington and was vague, at best.

The use of a DEAD unit would accomplish overall regional goal, but with limited chance of blowback to core elements. See success of D2 and D3 in completion of Project Red in China. The failures of D4 in Chechnya and the eradication of D5 in Mexico were unforeseen setbacks, but in no way undermine the viability of the DEAD program as some program administrators have alleged. I am certain Zubaran security could be achieved with a limited expenditure of resources.

They had done this before.

There were personnel files for every member of Dead Six, including our field leaders. I found mine. It proved to be a fascinating if vaguely surreal read. It was almost frightening how much they knew. My Air Force service, details of my time with Vanguard, bank statements, phone records, everything about me up until my recruitment. After that were newer entries about my performance in Zubara, evaluations, even notes regarding my relationship with Sarah. Apparently, I had gained Hunter’s admiration, though he’d suspected I was a flight risk.

There were bios for every one of us, nearly clinical assessments of our suitability. There was one common thread in the pre-recruitment section. Nobody of importance would notice if we were gone.

The meat, the part that Hunter had entrusted me with, came from his personal logs. There were two sections, official daily entries reporting back to some unknown overseer about our operations, successes, goals, and losses. April 1—Successfully neutralized terror cell in city. 20+ kills. No losses. It was all very professional. In addition to the official entries, though, were his notes, almost like personal journal entries. Apparently these had not been sent in with his reports. April 1—Tailor’s chalk hit a club. Murdered a bunch of them. Burned it down. Sent a real message. Good op. Not getting support from above. Logistics are a nightmare. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.

I began to skim.

April 15—Tailor and Valentine eliminated Adar. Gordon screwed them, sent just the two of them. Said he wasn’t authorized more, but I think it was a test. I think he’s eyeing them for Direct Action jobs. They got the job done, though. Chalks are running without enough support. Intel is shit. They’re lucky to be alive. Two chalks have taken casualties now because of Gordon’s bullshit. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but nobody will answer my questions.

It seemed that Colonel Hunter had grown increasingly disaffected with the project as time went on. He distrusted his superiors, especially Gordon Willis.

April 18—I got confirmation today. The hit on the assistant ambassador was Gordon’s call. Anders pulled the trigger. That was unnecessary. They were being evacuated anyway. They were no threat to OpSec. This was not part of the plan. This is not what I signed up with the organization for. Things have changed over the last twenty years, and not for the good.

Frustratingly, there was almost nothing about his organization on the drive other than a few scattered opinions. It was, however, pretty clear that whatever the late colonel’s organization was, it was powerful, it operated strictly behind the scenes, and it had been around for a long time.

April 21—Singer is dead. Two chalks took heavy casualties. Gordon didn’t give two shits, and now I know why. Gordon secured another asset for Project Blue. Blue is so much bigger, but still. As much as I dislike Gordon, I can’t believe he’d compromise this entire operation just to boost his career.

That was one of the few mentions of Project Blue, but there was a lot more about Gordon. I learned a great deal about the man. Hunter had despised him and didn’t trust him in the least.

May 5—We’re done. I’ve not got the order yet, but I can read the writing on the wall. Project Heartbreaker is Gordon’s baby, his ticket to upper-management. He lobbied for a DEAD op in Zubara. But by last month our superiors knew we were done. Zubara has spiraled out of control and I simply don’t have the manpower to do anything about it. Too much reliance was placed on indigenous assets. The Emir is too weak. The best I can hope for is that we can kill a few more of these assholes before we pack it in. Gordon’s withdrawn. He knows his career is shot.

By May 7, Gordon Willis had received orders to wrap up Project Heartbreaker as quickly and quietly as possible and prepare to withdraw all assets from Zubara. The hit on Rafael Montalban had taken Hunter by surprise. Even his official report had plainly stated that Gordon had ordered the op over Hunter’s objection.

May 10—Gordon is up to something. Orders were hands off on anyone from the Rivals. Montalban was not on our list. Moving on someone as high up on their hierarchy as Rafael Montalban is an act of war. Gordon had to have cut a deal with somebody. This puts us all in danger. Our organization isn’t ready for that kind of fight. The bastard. He’ll hang for this.

The lack of details about Montalban’s rival group was also frustrating. It was as if Hunter had expected whoever read this to already know about them.

I sat back from my computer and pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes tightly for a moment. I realized I’d been reading for two hours and had scarcely learned a thing. What did he expect me to do with the information on this drive? Who could I give it to that would make a difference? Who would even believe me? I’d have a hard time proving that I’d been in Zubara at all, much less that there had been some kind of international conspiracy afoot there. Still, I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. I rubbed my eyes and continued to read. There was only one entry left, dated the morning of Dead Six’s betrayal.

May 11—Preparations for the evacuation have been made. I pushed for one last mission targeting General Al Sabah, hoping that maybe we could leave this country a little better off, but was denied. Gordon Willis left ahead of the rest of us. Probably hoping for a head start so he can try to explain this all away before I can file my official report. I think I know what he’s up to. Turns out Rafael Montalban’s second-in-command was his younger brother, Eduard. I’ve gathered some evidence that Eduard has been in contact with Gordon. I think the Montalbans just had a coup, only our organization will get the blame. I don’t know why Gordon did it. He either got paid off by Eduard, or worse, he’s more ambitious that I thought. Worst case scenario, he’s trying to force us into a war so we can initiate his precious Project Blue. Even Gordon can’t be that crazy.

I could figure out the rest. Instead of waiting for Hunter to burn Gordon to their mysterious organization, Gordon had turned the tables and sold us out to General Al Sabah.

Recording any of this is a direct violation of OpSec, but I have a bad feeling about tonight. This file is my insurance policy. The first DEAD unit was stood up thirty years ago. Detachment One, protecting the world from communism. I was on D1. We accomplished a lot of good, killed a lot of bad guys, saved a lot of lives, but things changed. We’ve changed. The organization has gone bad, turned rotten. I don’t recognize it anymore. Men like Gordon Willis run it now. I used to be proud of what I did, but not anymore.

The plan is to evacuate by ship. A handful of D6 have been approached and accepted permanent positions with the organization.

Gordon had tried to hire me and Tailor, and I had nearly shot him. The personnel files were still open in another window. It looked like some of us on the chalks had been approached, and it appeared several had agreed. Sarah hadn’t been approached, though; neither had Anita King. In fact, there was a note on all the support-staff files that they were unsuitable for recruitment. Curious, I continued with Hunter’s final entry.

The recruits and I will rendezvous with a chopper in the gulf for transport home. As for the rest, once out to sea, the evacuation ship will be destroyed, terminating the remainder of D6 deemed to be security risks.

Shocked, I stopped reading. I must have made a noise, since the man running the café gave me a disapproving look before going back to his paper.

It pains me. These boys fought and died thinking they did it for their country. I was the same way once. But most of these boys were dead before they left the States. They didn’t even know it. It was Gordon’s suggestion to our superiors when this mission started to go off the rails. Anyone who might talk about our operation was to be eliminated. The control staff especially knew too much. Gordon decreed that they were to be on that boat, no matter what. I disagreed, but he outranked me. Too dangerous, he said. Deniable and expendable, he said. Then, when command agreed with Gordon’s plan, I knew for sure that this outfit had gone straight to hell.

I’m amazed that command went along with this. I’m fighting to get the order rescinded. I volunteered to stay, to try to force their hand. Majestic used to mean something. I can’t let this stand.

Majestic? Was that who I’d been working for? I’d heard the name before, but only on From Sea to Shining Sea. I thought they were just some ridiculous conspiracy theory. It seemed less ridiculous now that I’d ridden in a few stealthy black helicopters.

But there it was, in black and white, right in front of me. I had worked for Majestic. And not only had Gordon Willis betrayed us, but he’d apparently betrayed them as well. More importantly, he had personally and deliberately orchestrated Sarah’s death. If the Zubarans hadn’t killed her, then Majestic would have.

I sat there staring at the screen. My heart began to pound so hard I could feel it in my chest. My hands were shaking. A pit formed in my stomach. I felt something well up inside of me that I hadn’t felt since the morning my mother was murdered. My eyes narrowed slightly, and I scrolled back through the documents to confirm something I’d seen. Yes, there it was. Gordon Willis’s home address.

I stood up from the computer and shoved the thumb drive back into my pocket. I left to find Ling; I needed to talk to her. It was time for me to go home.

Ling was teaching children to fight.

I found her near the docks, working in a large structure with corrugated steel walls and a dirt floor. It had been a storage building once, but it had been turned into a training dojo. Ling was standing in front of twenty kids, boys and girls, the oldest maybe sixteen, the youngest approximately twelve, while she yelled at them in Chinese. Though I hadn’t made any noise, she turned when I entered, giving me a small nod, as if to say give me a moment.

Turning back to her class, she continued shouting. There was nothing gentle about her commands. I only knew a handful of words in Chinese, but I gathered that she was not pleased with their efforts. The children were all barefoot, wearing shorts and T-shirts, and every last one of them was drenched in sweat. At Ling’s command the kids broke into pairs and immediately set about trying to murder each other. It wasn’t the sort of sparring you’d expect from children being taught martial arts. They fought each other viciously. The soft dirt floor had seemed odd at first, but as I saw a teenager go bouncing across it on her head, I could understand the logic.

“Shen?” Ling asked. “Would you continue the lesson?”

There was movement in the doorway I’d just come through. A short Asian man wearing green fatigues passed by. I had not heard him at all. He dipped his head, giving me just the briefest acknowledgment as I jumped in surprise. He took Ling’s place in front of the class as she approached.

“How long has he been following me?”

“Since your arrival,” Ling explained. “Shen is very good at what he does.” Shen caught one of the teenage boys by the wrist, mid-punch, and began to berate him for something in Chinese. He proceeded to demonstrate by putting the kid in an arm bar and then tossing him on his face until the kid desperately tapped the dirt for mercy. “We meant no offense, but you are a stranger here. Some were nervous about your presence. Your status has allowed some leeway, but I needed to placate others. My apologies. You are looking well,” she said, sounding slightly less serious. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much.” My health was improving, but my mood wasn’t. Shen kicked a girl’s legs out from under her. “He was in Mexico with you, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. He is alive because of you. All of us from that day are.”

I shrugged. The attention made me self-conscious. “I just did what anyone would have done. It was nothing.”

Ling shook her head. “No. It is the reason you are here. Your actions in Mexico earned our gratitude. You alone risked your life against impossible odds to ensure our survival. Exodus does not take its debts lightly. You are a bit of a legend in some circles.”

That explained some of the odd looks I’d gotten while I’d been here. These Exodus people were a strange bunch. “Hey, how is . . . you know, the girl? The one we rescued? Is she here?”

Ling smiled at me. “She will be disappointed to learn that she’s missed your visit, assuming that she doesn’t already know. I’m afraid she’s not here. She is well.”

I had about a thousand more questions about the mysterious girl we rescued in Mexico, but the look on Ling’s face and the tone of her voice told me she wouldn’t answer any of them. My thoughts were interrupted when one of the kids screamed when a punch landed way too hard. “That’s pretty rough,” I suggested. “Aren’t they a little young for this?”

Ling thought about it for a moment. “And how much older were you when you killed the men who murdered your mother?”

How the hell had she known that? I was sick of everyone knowing more about me than I did about them. It was none of her damn business. When I didn’t respond, Ling continued. “It takes dedication to become a member of Exodus.”

“You’re teaching little kids to kill.”

“I’m teaching them how to survive. They are all volunteers. These children have seen horrors that even you cannot imagine. Yes, we teach them to fight, to kill, and when they’re older, someone like me will lead them into battle. Several of these children have already seen war. Others, like that young man there, were forced to watch as their family was murdered by the agents of a genocidal tyrant. That girl was abducted from her home and sold into slavery. They were all forgotten by the world and survived their ordeals only by the grace of God. We teach them the skills they need to not only survive, but prevail. They will go from being helpless to being able to help others.”

This was very personal for her; I could hear it in her voice. “You went through something similar yourself once, didn’t you?”

The look she gave me was cold. “I’m assuming you did not come here to judge my organization or my beliefs. So, what is it that I can do for you, Mr. Valentine?”

“I need transport back to the States.”

Ling studied me with her dark eyes as she thought about my request. “There is nothing for you there now.”

I answered without hesitation. “There’s one thing.”

“Of course.” Ling thought about it for a moment. “Walk with me, Michael.”

There was a rocky path down the shore. Ling led the way. Walking was still difficult, and after a few minutes of exercise, I’d developed a terrible headache. Ling sat on a big chunk of volcanic rock and gestured at a spot for me to sit. “I apologize. I just wanted someplace private to talk. It is easy to forget you recently underwent surgery.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, carefully making my way across the rocks before sitting down. The sun was climbing into a brilliantly blue sky over the jungle behind us as incoming waves gently rolled in. It was quite a view.

Ling was quiet for a few moments. She brushed a loose strand of her long, black hair out of her face as she looked out over the ocean. I couldn’t guess what she was thinking; I’m pretty perceptive, I think, but this woman was impossible to read. Before I could say anything, though, she asked me a question. “What changed?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’ve been with us for quite a while now, and seemed content enough with our hospitality. Until this morning, that is, when you suddenly decided you need to return to the United States. I don’t need to tell you how risky that could be for you. Your former employers are not people to be trifled with. Right now they most likely think you’re dead. Is it not better to go on letting them think that, rather than to risk being tracked down?”

Ling knew more about Project Heartbreaker than she let on. Once again, the Exodus operative seemed to know a lot more about what was going on than I did, and I was getting sick of it. I’d had enough of being the last one to know everything.

“Look,” I said, trying to be firm without being rude. “I don’t really want to get into it. Nothing personal. I just thought about it last night, and I think it’s time for me to go home. I mean, I can’t stay here forever.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “I see.” She sounded dubious. “I take it you learned something new while using the computer this morning?”

I took a deep breath before I said anything. I hated being spied on, but there was nothing to be gained by getting angry with Ling. I needed her help. “Yes, I did, but I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry to impose on you again. And please don’t think I’m not grateful for everything you’ve done for me. You saved my life, and the lives of my friends. But I really can’t stay here.”

“When I was thirteen,” Ling began casually, looking out over the ocean again, “my parents were arrested by State Security. They were Christians and tried to flee with me to the South when the war started. I was sent to a Communist Party School to be reeducated. I never saw them again.”

“That’s . . . awful, I said hesitantly. “I didn’t know.”

“Four years later I was conscripted into the Women’s Auxiliary of the People’s Liberation Army. I was wounded in the Third Battle of Shanghai later that year. Our forces were in complete disarray after Shanghai was destroyed by a nuclear weapon. A corrupt officer sold me and a dozen other women to a band of human traffickers from South China in exchange for the equivalent of five thousand dollars. I spent the next two years in hell before I was rescued by Exodus. Like the children you met this morning, I immediately volunteered. I’ve been here ever since.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“I realized that I know everything about you, Michael,” she said, casting me a sidelong glance, “and you know nothing about me. I can tell that bothers you. I will arrange for you to return to America if you wish. But will you please tell me why?”

My expression hardened as I carefully chose my words. “They told me I was doing a great thing, that I was serving my country. We went over there for that reason. For many of us, it was a second chance, an offer of redemption. They sent us on missions that were so dangerous it was a joke. Many of my friends died in the process. We never quit. Not a single one of my teammates asked to go home.”

“Until you contacted me,” Ling injected.

“It wasn’t about me anymore. It was about Sarah. And I saw the writing on the wall. I didn’t trust the people I worked for. I was worried they’d leave us hanging if things went south.” I shook my head bitterly. “I hate it when I’m right.”

Ling gave me a faint smile. “Michael, I could tell that the night you and your friends met me in Zubara. I knew right away it was about her.”

“We went over there trying to do the right thing. No matter what they asked of us, we did it. We accomplished the impossible. I did terrible things, killed so many people, because they told me it was necessary. They told me I was protecting my country. And what did we get for it? They turned us over to the people we’d been fighting and left us all to die. Their brilliant plan didn’t work the way they thought it would, so they made a deal with the enemy because suddenly we were inconvenient.”

“And who is ‘they’?” Ling asked.

“They’re called Majestic, but it’s just a name. I don’t know if it really means anything. I was given a lot of information by my boss before he died, and even with all that, I don’t really understand everything that was going on. There are too many layers to know who’s really pulling the strings, you know? But I do have one name. Gordon Willis. He was the guy that recruited me. He’s the one that sold us out. He’s the reason Sarah’s dead.”

Ling gave me a hard look for a few seconds. “I see,” she said at last. “It is as I thought. I could see it in your eyes when you found me this morning.”

“See what?”

“The hatred, the anger, the desire for revenge. I know these things very well. These are the things that motivated me to join Exodus in the beginning. I volunteered with the idea that I would eventually track down the PLA officer that sold me and my comrades to the slavers. I fantasized about that often when I began my training. And when I was done with that corrupt officer, I was going to go after the Communist Party running dogs that took me away from my parents.” Ling actually chuckled, as if telling a silly story about her petulant youth.

“I take it that didn’t work out?”

“Of course it didn’t. I don’t know the name of the officer that was responsible for what happened to me, even if he survived the war. Exodus doesn’t have the capability to overthrow the Communist government of North China. And operations aren’t planned around the angry wishes of eighteen-year-old new recruits. People who join Exodus only to seek revenge don’t last very long.”

“Ling, I see where you’re going with this, but I don’t—”

“Do you now?” Ling said sharply, interrupting me. “I told you all this because I want you to know that I understand how you feel. I know too well the bitter taste of betrayal, the frustration of being powerless to change a vile injustice. I understand the desire to avenge your dead comrades and bring justice to those responsible, probably better than you do. I’m not trying to talk you out of doing what you think you need to do.”

I said nothing. Now I was just confused.

Ling smiled. “Surprised? Exodus’s reason for being is to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to avenge those that the world has forgotten, and speak for those who have been silenced. Look around you. The world teeters on the brink of the abyss; civilization dangles by a thread. On every corner of the earth there is oppression, injustice, slavery, and tyranny. In far too many places freedom is being stamped out under a jackboot. In other places, people are slaughtered wholesale for being the wrong race or religion. Meanwhile the so-called civilized world blithely ignores these horrors so long as they don’t interrupt the latest reality-television program.”

I was taken aback. Ling was one of the most reserved people I’d ever met.

“For six hundred years,” she continued, “Exodus has stood alone against the darkness. For six hundred years, we’ve fought for the dignity and the freedom of the individual. For generations we’ve fought, and died, for the idea that every human life has value, and that the individual is as important as the kingdom or the state. We fight for the idea that every person is accountable for his actions, no matter how powerful or exalted he may be.”

My God, I thought. The woman is a fanatic.

Ling straightened her hair and blushed slightly. “I apologize, Michael. I get carried away on occasion. I am very passionate about this, I’m afraid.”

“I can, uh, see that,” I managed. Crazy, I didn’t add.

“I do have a point,” Ling said, obviously a little embarrassed. “As I said, I’m not trying to talk you out of doing what you think you must do. My whole life is dedicated to bringing vengeance to the corrupt and the wicked. I am in no position to lecture you about doing the very same thing in your own way.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why did you bring me out here?”

“Really, Michael, I just wanted to talk to you. You obviously had something on your mind.”

“So . . . you’ll help me go home, then?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “It might take a little time, but we will find you a safe way to return to the United States, if that’s what you really want. We’ll be sorry to lose you, but I’m not going to stand in your way.” Ling’s expression hardened. “I do have some advice for you. There’s a very fine line between avenging those who have been wronged and seeking revenge for your own gratification. It’s easy to stray from one side to the other. Once you start down that path, it becomes harder and harder to turn around. There’s no telling where it will lead you, and you may not like where you end up. You may find yourself digging your own grave in addition to your enemy’s. Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly, looking out over the ocean. “But I don’t have anything to lose. They took everything from me. My life, my friends . . . Sarah. What else can I do?”

“Would Sarah have wanted you to make this choice?”

Ling stared at me for a few seconds. I really didn’t have an answer to that. The question made me uncomfortable. After a moment, Ling’s expression softened. I could almost see the gears turning behind her dark eyes, but as usual she gave no indication of what she was thinking. I was taken by complete surprise when she grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Walk with God, Michael,” she said. “And please be careful.” She let go of my hand, stood up, and turned away. She paused after a few steps and looked over her shoulder. “It will take me a few days, maybe a bit longer, to make the preparations. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

Ling then walked away without looking back.