“Him,” she answered, pointing at Connor who had edged up with the decksweeper now in his hands. The point blank range left little room for discussion.
CHAPTER 2.10-A Refined Search
Major O’Malley and his men approached the Superhawk with all the stealth and expertise their training had provided. As they neared the two hundred yard perimeter of the bird, they drastically decreased their pace. The major noticed no men guarding the perimeter, but he knew they were there. He flashed his light in a pre-arranged sequence and within seconds, received the expected response, a light flashing in a different pre-arranged sequence. Further flashes near the helicopter requested the “duress code” in the event the major had been compromised. With the exchange of signals, Major O’Malley’s men slid closer to his position.
“Make sure your weapons are neutral,” he reminded his men. The major knew that these moments were delicate—he had personally witnessed live fire between friendlies prior to the Sickness and one man had died. The men all around him were trained at elite levels—he was surrounded by killing machines, conditioned to locate any signs of aggression against their primary protectee, Colonel Hannah Starkes and her new charges, Nicole and CJ. Though he always felt some level of anxiety when returning, he barely suppressed the pride he felt at each man’s professionalism.
Captain Eubanks met Major O’Malley near the designated tree line. “Welcome back, sir.”
“Thank you, captain. I commend you and your men on your deployment of the perimeter guard. Keep up the good work.” The major walked with the captain and the men toward the helicopter and the tent set up nearby.
“Yes, sir. Thank you. You have any luck, major?”
“Yeah, got some word.”
“For real?”
“Yep. Connor Mac’s probably not too far from here. Where’s the colonel?”
“In the small block building at the edge of the airstrip.”
“Thanks.”
CHAPTER 2.11-Beans and Corn
“Hello, Marty,” said Connor. Marty began to stand. “No! Stay right there and keep your hands flat on the table.”
Marty grinned to hide embarrassment. “Understood. Caught me flat-footed, didn’t you?” He locked eyes with Connor, ashamed at walking into the trap, but inexplicably relieved that he had overtaken his quarry.
“Appears that way, sniper,” answered Connor, never once lowering his weapon.
“Damn, I was sure Amanda was alone!”
“You were wrong.”
“But that explains the tracks and small feet,” said Marty.
“What?” asked Amanda, confused.
“He’s referencing the difficulty he’s had tracking us. Your small feet confused him—he didn’t expect a female.”
Amanda gathered Marty’s weapons and set them down near Connor, never once blocking Connor’s line of sight.
“Excellent, Connor Mac. Truly excellent. I guess I can think of worse ways to die than trying to have lunch with such a beautiful woman. Are you gonna shoot me now?”
“Depends,” answered Connor, his voice ice cold.
“On what?”
“On what she says and why you’re following us.” Connor was impressed with Marty’s calm, given his present circumstances. “Remove the secondary weapon from your pants. Use your left hand very slowly. If the barrel points anywhere but down, your head is gone. Understood?”
“Understood.” Marty slipped his left hand to his lower back, retrieved the Colt with a finger and thumb, and carefully placed it on the table.
Amanda was embarrassed by her inability to detect Marty’s secondary weapon—she hadn’t considered that he concealed one. She knew she would hear about this lapse in caution at some point.
“Push it as far to the left as you can. Now.”
Marty slid the gun across the table, leaning slightly for extra distance. “Well, I—“
“Shut the fuck up, Marty. She speaks first.” The tone of Connor’s voice left little room for discussion.
Amanda was in tune with the tension of the situation and did her best to diffuse it. “Mac, he was cool. A little crazy, but cool.” She brazenly sat down on the bench across from Marty, partially in the line of fire. If Connor were to pull the trigger, a few shotgun pellets might strike her.
“For real?” asked Connor. His cold desire to kill abated.
“Yeah, Mac. All things considered, he was pretty cool. He’s something of a braggart.”
“I am not!” said Marty, offended.
Connor shifted for a better shooting angle and studied Marty above his shotgun sights. Marty was trying his best to appear calm, but the slump to his shoulders and inability to look into Connor’s eyes made it clear Marty expected the worst. Amanda abruptly stood, surprising both men, and entered the house. She returned quickly with her rifle, carrying it with easy familiarity. She walked to the grill and leaned the rifle against it, stirring the stew.
Marty twisted his body for a better view. “Keep your fucking hands where I can see ’em, Marty,” said Connor.
“Sure. Understood.”
“You know, Mac,” said Amanda, “Marty says he has some corn and beans to go with the stew.”
“Is that a fact?” asked Connor, speaking directly to Marty.
“Yes, sir.”
“What made you decide to call me ‘sir’?”
“Well, it’s obvious I’ve been outclassed—twice, it seems,” answered Marty. “But, in fairness, the first time wasn’t entirely my fault. I guess that’s why I decided to come find you.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come to settle the score, is that it?” asked Connor. A sharp edge returned to his voice and he tightened his grip on the shotgun.
“No, sir!” answered Marty, shocked at the implication.
“Why, then?”
“I dunno. I guess… to…” He had an expression that Connor guessed wasn’t often on his face. It was a look of bashfulness. Marty shyly glanced at Amanda and Connor, obviously hesitant to continue.
“And?” prompted Connor.
“And to see… maybe… to see if you needed—”
“Let’s go grab your corn and beans,” interrupted Connor.
“What?”
“If you’re bullshitting about the corn and beans, you’re bullshitting me now,” said Connor.
Marty smiled, grateful of Connor’s interruption. He realized that Connor was providing a direct way to show his usefulness. With his confidence returning, he felt as if they had reached some small unspoken understanding.
“I have beans and corn. The cans aren’t dented. There’s no reason to think they’re inedible.”
“Let’s go, then. If you’re right, there’s no reason not to invite you to lunch.” Connor lowered his shotgun, a sign of good faith. He glanced at Amanda and she nodded her consent.
“Secure your weapons, soldier,” said Connor.
“Thank you, sir.”
Marty gathered has rifle and handgun. As they moved away from Amanda, Connor sidled up to Marty and whispered, “If you ever set your weapons down for fine pussy again, I’ll fucking kill you myself.”
“Yes, sir,” said Marty, reddening slightly.
They walked toward the tree where Marty had stashed his pack. He crouched down and removed two cans, holding them up for inspection. “I think they’re still good. Del Monte. There’s some fresh venison in here, too—it might taste pretty good in that stew. Want to know what else is here?”
Connor was relieved to see that Marty had been telling the truth. He had made a genuine offer to share a meal with Amanda. His actions, so far, suggested a man of true character. “That’s your pack, Marty. What you keep in there’s your business.”