“Where can I find him?”
“Bagram, he’s in Bagram.”
Mason looked down at the defeated general with disgust. Finally, he headed out the door, his mind already focused on the task ahead.
Outside, Mr. David looked flustered as Mason closed the door behind him.
“I need a plane to Bagram, ready to go in an hour,” he said simply.
“I’ll get on that,” he replied, regaining his composure.
Mason left the hangar and walked toward the row of white-painted modular houses. He had gotten his second wind and was bolstered by the new information, but he needed to check in with Renee before leaving.
The “mods” were basically trailers set up to house five separate rooms. Each one was made of aluminum with a corrugated steel roof and windows cut into the side. The housing area was the military’s version of a trailer park, but it was a huge improvement over the tents he’d used during the invasion of 2001.
He walked up the metal staircase and pulled the door open. A long, dimly lit hallway lay before him, which smelled of Pine-Sol and Windex. The smell was universal to the military and spoke volumes about the soldiers’ discipline. His boots squeaked on the spotless linoleum floor as he walked down the hall. Most of the doors were open, which meant that those rooms were unoccupied, and he continued walking until he came to a room with a closed door.
He stopped, collecting himself, and after taking a breath, he knocked.
After a few seconds, Renee pulled the door open and stuck her head through the crack. “Yeah?”
“I was in the… I mean, I stopped by to see how things were going,” Mason stammered.
“I’m fine,” she said as she closed the door.
Mason stood in the hall for a second, not sure what to do. He started to turn and leave, not because she didn’t want to talk to him, but because he was suddenly nervous.
“Get your shit together,” he told himself as he knocked on the door again.
“What do you want?” Renee asked as she pulled the door open, but refused to move out of the doorway.
She’d just gotten out of the shower, and her hair was still damp and full of the distinctively feminine bouquet of her shampoo. Mason’s eyes danced over the form-fitting T-shirt she was wearing and continued down to the short Ranger panties that barely covered her shapely legs.
“Can I help you?” Renee asked defiantly as he tore his gaze away from her body.
It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman and he found himself feeling intimidated.
“I, uhhh…”
“Yeah, you said that already, and I told you that I was fine.”
She moved to close the door and Mason’s hand shot out to check its movement.
“You need to cut me some slack. I’m trying to help you.”
Renee let go of the door and crossed her arms beneath her breasts as she stepped back. The shower shoes on her feet were still wet, and they squeaked against the tile floor as she moved.
“Why do you think I need your help, because I’m a woman? Is that what this is all about? You don’t think I can handle this shit?”
“No.” Mason was getting pissed at her little attitude and heard his voice going up. “It has nothing to do with that.”
“Then what?”
“Renee, you don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Act this way. We were there together, remember? And guess what, this thing isn’t over yet. So I suggest you get your shit together, because there is no way I’m going to let you jeopardize my life or Zeus’s life.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned away from Mason and retreated into the room. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Renee turned to him suddenly, and before he knew it she had grabbed him up in an embrace. He could feel her sobbing against his chest.
Mason was confused. One minute she was mad and the next she was crying. He had no idea what to do, so he reached down and patted her on the head.
“It was all my fault. I let all of this happen,” Renee sobbed.
“It’s not your fault. This is what Barnes does.”
“I–I couldn’t stop it… I had to watch them die…,” she stuttered through the tears.
“Renee, there was nothing you could do. You have to know that.”
Mason knew that his words didn’t matter. They were hollow attempts to assuage a wound that only time could heal, but he felt obligated to say something.
“I killed them,” she whispered again before looking up at him.
Mason generally distrusted women, mainly because every woman who was supposed to love him had quit, but somehow Renee was different. He’d known her for only a few days, but he felt he could trust her.
“Look, get some sleep, and in the morning, when you’re rested, it’s up to you to decide if you want to finish this.”
Renee looked like she was about to hug him, and Mason stepped backward, almost tripping over his feet. She smiled and said, “What, are you scared?”
“No, it’s just, look, I…,” he stammered. “Just get some sleep, okay?”
He turned and headed for the door, leaving her standing in the middle of the room. Mason steeled himself for what was ahead as he stepped out into the hall. He was going to get the answers he needed — no matter what the cost.
CHAPTER 30
Colonel Barnes stood in front of the mirror and carefully cut his blond hair with a pair of scissors. The hair fell into a plastic bag, which he’d taped open over the sink, and he shaped his hair until it was as close cropped as he could get it.
The bathroom smelled of cleaning products and fresh soap. A ceiling fan rotated lazily above his head, blowing clumps of his shorn hair across the cool tile floor and onto his bare feet. He noticed a smear of dried blood on his forearm as he pulled a pair of latex gloves from a small box and stretched them over his hands.
The ambush had left him with a feeling of invincibility, which added fuel to his resolve. Still, he knew that his blond hair would only attract attention, now that he was out in the open, and he was going to use dye to remedy that.
He released each glove with a snap before grabbing the plastic bottle of hair dye. Staring at himself in the mirror, he shook the plastic bottle vigorously and noted with pride the rippling muscles in his chest.
This is my destiny, he thought.
Twisting the cap of the dye bottle, he felt it snap free in his hands and then dipped the applicator into the inky liquid. He was careful not to spill it on the stark white sink as he began applying it to his hair.
He worked the dye in from front to back until his hair was dark black, then replaced the lid and tossed it into the bag. The applicator and the brush followed, and when he was done, he ripped the bag free and tied it off.
He let the dye set for the allocated time before stepping into the shower. He turned the water on without waiting for it to warm up. The excess dye swirled around the drain like black rivulets of dark blood. He thought of the men he’d lost to the Hellfire strike, which had knocked him unconscious. Fate hadn’t been finished with him then. In fact, it had another blessing in store. After they left the valley, the World Health Organization had given them seats on a transport from Pakistan to Jordan.
It was all coming together, just like he’d been told.
Three hours later, the team stood around the van they were taking across the border. They were waiting for the order to load up. Boz had just finished a protein bar and was taking the plastic wrapper off the Listerine he had bought in Jordan.