Minutes to Burn

Chapter 58

The water in Bahia Avispa was as clear as glass, showing off the exotic fish and curls of coral beneath. It slid up onto shore, hissing across the sand. The ocean was a brilliant aqua, magnificently bright.

The body of the sea lion pup that Cameron had touched lay near a cluster of rocks, collecting swirls of flies. They filed past it toward the water, Cameron pausing for a moment to look at its creamy brown fur. No one commented.

Justin waded out into the water, shattering the smooth surface with a dive and moving like a black dart through the waves.

The others waded into the ocean, rinsing off their faces. Tank's mouth stretched tight when the cool water hit his sunburnt cheeks. Even Rex's neck sported a red stripe, visible when he removed his Panama hat. Diego sat on the sand, poking his finger into the ghost crab holes.

To the west, the waves rolled in, hitting the blowholes off Punta Berlanga and spraying up in the air. Cameron watched the water spread and dissipate, and thought about the virus she might be taking into her lungs this very minute. Her thoughts moved to her pregnancy, and she quickly redirected them.

Watching her husband's shadow fade into the waves, she absentmind-edly walked along the wet sand. She was barefoot; one of the lessons she had learned in her first weeks of training was to get out of her boots at any opportunity-the longer she could avoid the combination of heat and humidity, the better her feet would fare through the course of a mis-sion. She walked along the ocean's edge, then stepped into the water. It was cool at first touch but quickly felt neutral, even warm.

The water rose above her calves, dropping to her ankles when the swell ebbed. Her line of sight was undistorted when she looked through the water. She saw the bottom with astonishing clarity-the schools of little fish with yellow streaks turning in perfect unison, sleek rocks half submerged in the sand, the lines of her own broad feet and toes.

As she waded out, the water moved in minute ripples, hairline fissures in the glass surface. The waves had again ceased suddenly, as if stilled by a magic hand. The water darkened her pants to the thighs, and then she dipped her hips under, unbuttoning her worn shirt and pulling it off. She dragged it through the water on the end of her fist like a mop.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned, expecting Justin. It was Szabla.

"Hey, girl," Szabla said.

"Hey." Cameron lowered herself beneath the surface up to her neck, feeling her nipples harden beneath her bra.

Szabla's black tank top was tight across her chest, as all her shirts were. "I've been a bit much here, I know." She sniffed hard, wrinkling her nose. "It's just, with Derek being a little loose around the edges… "

"No need to explain," Cameron said. "You've actually been right about things all along."

Szabla traced her fingertips along the surface of the water. "I know, but that doesn't sound as gracious."

Cameron laughed, dipping her head back and feeling the water in her hair.

"Your husband was worried about you, but he was afraid to bother you, so I came out to check."

"What's he worried about?"

Szabla shrugged. "He didn't say anything actually. I could just tell. You guys have always had a closeness that's not too hard to sense." She splashed some water over her face, rubbing her eyes, then squared and faced Cameron, studying her. "I thought you might be pregnant," she said. "But Justin said you weren't."

Cameron slicked back her wet hair. "He did, huh?"

She didn't meet Szabla's eyes, and Szabla didn't press the point. The water caressed their waists. They let it calm them.

Szabla skimmed the water with her hand. "You know something? All these years, I still don't know how you met."

"It's not so romantic."

"I figured."

"We overlapped for observation point training. A lot of deprivation crap to teach us to sit tight for long periods of time on lookouts. They starved us, dehydrated us, kept us up-you know the game. The final drill was we had to sit still in this room for thirty-six straight hours. No food, no standing up, no using the bathroom. If you had to go, you shit yourself right there. Anyone loses it, you start over. So we had to look out for everyone on the squad. You know, the teamwork bullshit. Around hour twenty, Justin starts to get edgy. Now, I knew him a little bit from around, thought he was decently good-looking and stuff. He is good-looking," she added, as if Szabla had disagreed with her.

"We were sitting there wet with shit and piss and he started shaking and I thought he was gonna stand up and start pounding on the door and fuck it up for all of us. So I leaned over and I said, 'Kates, look at me. When you think you're gonna lose it, just look over here into my eyes.' And he did.

"We sat there like that for the last sixteen hours, staring into each other's eyes. That's when I first fell in love with him. You can tell a lot about a person from looking into their eyes for sixteen hours. Not much you can hide." She smiled at the memory. "I don't think we even blinked."

"Wow. I'm speechless."

"Let me savor that," Cameron said.

Szabla shoved her and she stumbled, laughing and splashing.

"I apologized, you bitch. Besides, I'm your senior officer."

"Yes, 'cause we're known for our formality on the teams." Cameron bent her legs, drifting with the water up around her neck. "Sir."

"Navy SEALs. Golden bad boys. That's what my highly cerebral brother calls us. He's a Marine."

"A Marine. Jesus, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, so am I." Szabla raised some water in her cupped hands and moistened her face. "Marines. Fuckin' bullet sponges."

Cameron leaned back into the water again. The world went quiet and the setting sun was on her face and she wanted to stay like this, out here, half-dipped in water so pure she could watch the fish swimming around her ankles.

Cameron stood back up and faced Szabla. With the sun behind her, her face was shadowed, and Szabla couldn't see her mouth move when she talked. "I was so sure I was ready to walk away when Justin and I went reserves," she said. "But the teams always filled a big place in me. Bigger than I knew. It's weird, but I never thought how much I'd miss it. Humping gear. Plugging wounds. Spaghetti and meatballs from a pouch. Blisters. Wearing pantyhose to keep the leeches out." She worked her bottom lip between her teeth. "I wasn't ready, though. I was relieved to get called back for this mission. Only it's not fitting right now, being a soldier. Not like it used to." She shoveled her hands in the water and brought them up over her head, feeling it wash down across her face.

Szabla stared out across the shimmering water. "Maybe it's time to move on for real. Hang up your M-4. Make your own schedule. Choose your own responsibilities."

Cameron turned to the side and the glare of the sun broke across her silhouette. Szabla squinted into the light as Cameron spoke. "I've para-chuted from thirty thousand feet with oxygen and a forty-three-pound, one-kiloton-yield special atomic demolition munition strapped to my body." When she spoke again, her voice was flat. "But I'm not sure I'm up to that challenge."

Justin watched his wife bathing, Szabla at her side. Someone moved behind him, and cigarette smoke wafted over his shoulder.

"Must be nice," Savage said. "Having a wife like that."

"Yeah," Justin said cautiously. "It is."

They watched the women in the water for a few moments, Justin shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Looks like you lent Szabla your touch, huh?" Justin said, his eyes still on Cameron.

"You liked that?" Savage laughed. "How she took that little thing? She kills with the mercilessness of the rich."

"How'd you know she's from money? She tell you?"

Savage shook his head, though Justin still hadn't turned to face him. "In all my years of combat, I've only seen two types of people kill that well, with that much ease-the rich and the poor."

"Of course, you're the latter."

A chuckle came over Justin's shoulder, thick with smoke. "Of course."

The women started in toward shore, Cameron pulling her shirt back on. When Justin turned around, Savage was gone.

When Cameron stepped from the water, the sun felt like a lightbulb pressed to the back of her neck. The men were sitting atop a sand dune, their faces taking on a deep red hue. The long swishing tracks of a marine iguana textured the sand at their feet-the deep groove of the tail, the parallel brush marks of the feet on either side. Behind them, sea porcelain colored the white sand, a patchwork of red stems and purple flowers.

They all stood, their skin tingling from saltwater meeting sunburn. Szabla nodded and they fell out, heading for the small trail cut into the cliffs of Punta Berlanga. Diego froze, Tank knocking into him from behind. Diego touched a hand to his ear, tilting his head.

"What?" Szabla said to Diego. "Speak, boy."

A Zodiac burst from around one of the tuff cones in the distance, rocketing toward shore. Diego ran to the beach, jumping and waving his arms, but the speedboat was already heading toward them. As it drew nearer, Cameron recognized the small figure in the boat. Ramoncito. His large head seemed loose on his neck, bouncing with the impact from the waves. His shoulders were slumped, his hands loose on the throttle han-dle. He looked drugged.

The boat hit shore hard and skidded up onto the beach. Diego ran toward it. Ramoncito tried to step over the side but collapsed, falling face first onto the sand. Diego turned him over just as the others arrived. A deep maroon had taken hold beneath the smooth dark surface of his face. He was sun-scorched-lips cracked and bleeding, eyes swollen, hands blistered. He mouthed Diego's name, but no sound issued from his lips.

Cameron tipped her canteen to his face, spilling fresh water through his mouth. His tongue worked slowly in the water, lapping it.

Justin leaned against the Zodiac's bow, his shoulder brushing the Dar-win Station decal. He gazed into the boat. It was stocked with twenty-four six-gallon fuel cans, many of them empty. Squeezed in the back near the rudder were two wooden crates, TNT written on their sides in red.

"Holy shit," he said. "Kid motored this thing all the way from Santa Cruz."