Jason moved from the small dining table to the couch and picked up the watery remnants of his pre-dinner scotch as he sat. “You did what had to be done. If you hadn’t … well, I doubt I’d be here right now.”
She tugged off her apron and sat beside him. “I’m not sure doing what you have to do is adequate justification. I mean, those people who tape bombs to themselves and blow up innocent women and children use that rationalization.”
“There’s a difference in killing in defense of yourself or someone else and blowing up people you don’t even know. Where’s the scotch?”
“You left the bottle by the fridge. I’ll get it.” She took the glass from his hand and stood. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but my understanding is killing people you don’t even know is part of what Delta Force does.”
“But I do know them. They’re my enemy, the people you were talking about: the bombers, the people who want to take us back to the Dark Ages, to force their religion down our throats. Fanatical Muslims.”
She was spooning ice into his glass. “I’m sure there are some Muslims who’re not like that. Some are peaceful.”
“Sure. The ones who’ve run out of ammunition.”
She topped off the glass. “Those men last night didn’t look like Arabs.”
“They weren’t.”
“Then who …?”
He stood to step beside her and take the glass from her hand. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do. You just said I saved your ass. In doing so, I killed a man, remember? Whatever you’re into, I’m in it too. I have a right to know.”
“First, what I’m into is confidential, my employer’s business. I can tell you the guy you shot was most likely former Spetsnaz, the Red Army’s assassination and special-ops boys. OK?”
“What would former Russian special ops be doing here in Washington?”
“Trying to make sure I never leave here.”
She poured the last of the Gaja into her wineglass. “And you’re leaving here when? Or is that off-limits too?”
Her tone had an edge to it.
“Tomorrow.”
“So, let me get this straight: You waltz into my life, I literally kill for you, and now you doff your helmet or campaign cap or whatever you Delta Force boys wear and say good-bye? The old love ’em and leave ’em?”
Jason would not have phrased it quite that way. In fact, it had been his guess that he’d be the one to be loved and left. Dinner last night had not been his idea. The woman had learned more than cooking from her former Italian mother-in-law; she learned the art of the guilt trip.
“I can’t very well expect to get paid staying here. What do you suggest?”
“That I come with you.”
For an instant, Jason was certain he had not heard correctly. “Come with … You’re kidding, right?”
Her face said she wasn’t. “Why not?”
Jason sat back down on the sofa, his drink forgotten. “First, you have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into….”
“If it involves violence, I think I’ve demonstrated I can take care of myself.”
That answered any question about how Judith felt about killing someone. She wanted more, a thrill seeker. Do assassins have groupies?
“I can’t take care of the both of us….”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to let me come along. Promise I won’t get in the way. I’ll have your back. Who knows, medical skill may come in handy.”
“Judith, I’m dealing with some seriously bad-ass dudes, here.”
“I know. I killed one of them.”
Not a trace of remorse. She would have had him mounted as a trophy and hung on her wall if she could have.
Jason started to say they really didn’t know each other well enough, realized that wouldn’t fly, and tried, “But you’ve got your job here.”
“And almost three weeks’ annual leave coming. I’m sure as hell not going to take it in Iowa. Look, Jason, I’ve served my time, done my duty to the Air Force and my country. I’m not complaining, but I can’t say it’s been a thrill, either. Someone like you would have no idea of what tedium is like. Then, all of a sudden, you come into my life, big and handsome. First man I’ve looked at twice in longer than I want to admit. I’m not inclined to just turn my back and walk away. I want to do something besides treating venereal disease and dispensing flu shots. I may never have a chance to do something exciting again.”
“Judith, this isn’t Disney World. You can’t just get off the ride and be finished. People get killed.”
“I think I learned that last night. What do you want, that I sign something relieving you of all responsibility?
Jason knew a truly bad idea when he heard one, at least one pertaining to operations. Taking a brief acquaintance into danger, a woman with no combat experience, would be like … like having Maria present. At least Judith wasn’t harping about the evil of violence. And Maria also, once upon a time, had saved his life.
A plan was beginning its birth process. Maybe Major Ferris, J., could be of use after all.
“Let’s talk about it,” he said.
40
The 777 popped out of the low-level clouds that were the detritus of Puerto Rico’s daily afternoon thundershowers. Jason’s window streaked with moisture that gave a distorted view of monolithic mega-hotels marching along the island’s north shore. It reminded him of Miami Beach, a sanitized American monoculture. In contrast, the walls of the historic fort and of Old San Juan cast dark shadows on the verdant green of the national park that memorialized Puerto Rico’s colorful past.
The tinny announcement of the necessity of seat belts and restoration of trays and seats to their original position elicited squalls from a leather-lunged child somewhere behind in the plane’s coach section.
Happily, Jason had secured a first-class seat earlier that day. Even so, commercial air meant he was flying unarmed rather than trusting a disassembled weapon to the vagaries of the airline’s baggage system. Having to explain to the local police why he had brought the Glock or learning it had been mishandled to Bangkok would be little help.
Tires shrieked on cement. Jason was shoved forward against his seat belt by the aircraft’s howling reverse thrust. As the big jet cleared the runway, he noted, not for the first time, that the Caribbean was the elephant graveyard of aviation. Half a dozen DC-3s were lined up in front of one freight carrier. The newest had rolled off the wartime assembly line in 1942, and, quite likely, dropped troops over Normandy or braved Burma’s Hump to bring supplies to a beleaguered Chiang Kai-shek, arms and equipment that would see action against Mao’s communist rebels rather than the intended foe, the Japanese. There were equally elderly C-56 Lockheed Lodestars and newer — but still ancient — blunt-nosed Beech-18s. Anything that could still fly and manage to skirt the edges of the FAA’s low profile was here.
The puddles on the taxiway were further evidence the afternoon thundershowers had already departed, retreating up the slopes of the rain forest, which Jason could see through the windows on the opposite side of the aisle. But the humidity, he knew, would linger like a wet blanket, smothering everything it touched in warm dampness.