Chapter 5: A Mouthful of Sand
1
Mason pushed open the church doors and stepped out onto the dirt. The sun was dipping towards the horizon, an orange giant against a backdrop of distant mountains. The church was more cellar than gathering hall, and the air greeted him like a welcome friend. He was assaulted by the smells of the sea, the sounds of his men playing football over the hill. It was beautiful down here, and unlike the others, he wasn't too dim to notice. Also unlike the others, being here always made him think of retirement. That day was coming, and it wasn't far.
He dropped the duffel bags onto the dirt and stretched, feeling sweat trickle down his bare chest. The guns were heavy, and no one had offered to help him carry them up. That was all right. He liked the time alone. He liked the smell of dirt and gun oil and the feel of the old church over his head.
Footsteps echoed above him, and he turned to see old Padre Manuel coming up on the entrance. He nodded. The padre nodded back.
Old Manuel wasn't here with any real purpose, he was just walking the grounds, just as he always did when Mason was here. Seeing that all was satisfactory, the padre continued up the path to the cemetery and the little flower garden behind the walls. His leg brace, a metal medieval contraption, squeaked as he passed. Some of the padre's history was well-concealed, but some of it — like his mangled kneecap — was not. Mason wondered if that was what was in store for him if he pushed too far into old age and allowed himself to get slow.
His thoughts were interrupted when he looked up the path and saw Reiner coming over the hill. Like Mason, he was shirtless, still sporting a sunburn leftover from their last job in Mexico. He was wearing his cowboy hat and shades, a look that only true rednecks could pull off. And Reiner pulled it off just fine.
“Goddamn, boss. Praise God and pass the ammunition,” he said, sifting through one of the bags with the tip of a steel-toed boot.
“Have a look if you want.”
He did. A moment later, he was holding an AR-15 out in front of him and checking the stock.
Mason wiped the sweat off his brow. “Any complaints?”
“None from me, boss. What else you got in there?” There came out 'nare.
“A couple of Mossbergs, a few forty-fives. Oh, there are two fifty cals. I figure we'll take one per chopper.”
“You think we'll need 'em?”
“Not likely, but you never know. And speaking of shit we don't need, I managed to get a new toy for St. Croix.”
“Oh yeah?” Reiner looked in the bag and found the grenade launcher. “Christ, one of them China jobs? You'll be lucky if that shit don't blow up in his hands.”
Mason laughed. “You know as well as I do that he'll be like a kid at Christmas. If we don't have anything to blow up, he'll find something.”
“Hell yeah, he will. I don't reckon I'll be walking in front of him any time soon.”
“I just want to see that grin of his, the one that makes him look like a monkey.”
Reiner chuckled. “You hate that grin, boss. You know it.”
“You're right, I do. Where's he at, anyways? With the others?”
“Yep,” Reiner said, shifting his hat back. “Want me to get 'em?”
“No, let them have a few minutes. We're still waiting on the civies.” He'd been out of the military for well over a decade now, but some words just stuck. Civies was the only way he could think of the soft-bodied.
“You're wrong about that, boss. They're here. That's why I came to get you. I thought you would have heard the chopper.” Reiner spat into the dirt.
Mason grunted. Had he really been too lost in his own thoughts to hear the thing? It didn't matter; digging up the hole in the cellar was good for him. It was therapeutic.
He looked behind the church and saw the padre up on the hill, watching them. He pointed east towards the beach, looking more scarecrow than man.
“That guy gives me the creeps.”
“Quit it,” Mason said, but he was glad. The fact the cowboy could see old Manuel was somehow reassuring. Had he come to this place alone the first time, Mason would have wondered if the padre was real at all.
“Grab the bags.”
“Am I following you?”
“No. Head on over to the helo and make sure it gets refueled first. I'm going to see about our guests.”
Mason started up the path and crested the hill overlooking the beach. He didn't have far to walk. Most of his own men were still tossing the pigskin, but the new kid, Nicholas, was talking to the civilians. Mason had worked with almost everyone on his team before. He'd known Markus Reiner for six years, Christian Vytalle and Jin Tae for four. Their Alpha pilot, Hal McHalister, he'd flown with on and off for eight. Nicholas Worsch was the only new addition. Black Shadow had put him in at the last minute, and he didn't know everyone yet. That was fine. He'd come around after this job, Mason was sure. As for the others, Mason figured he'd have to reintroduce himself, and that was also fine. Then, he counted and frowned. There was an extra man. The McCreedy woman was only supposed to bring back one. Instead, she brought back two. That was what you'd expect putting a woman in charge, wasn't it? They always overdid it. He started down the hill.
In moments, the man in the center caught sight of him. “Well, sonofabitch. Mister Mason Bruhbaker. I see you're still in the business.”
He nodded. “AJ.”
They embraced, and Mason slapped the other man on the back. “Been a long time.”
Kate stood with her jaw hanging. “You know this guy?”
“Old AJ and I go way back. Ain't that right, AJ?”
“We were in the same unit, once upon a time,” AJ said. “Did a few private sector jobs after, back when I was young. Guess that's ancient history.”
“Hey, did you know his name is 'Angus?'” Dutch said, chiming in.
Mason showed his veneers. “Who are you?”
“Henry Jones,” Kate said, interrupting them. “He and AJ are attached at the ass. It was the only way he would agree to come.”
Mason looked his old friend up and down. “Is that right?”
“When I found out who was footing the bill for this little excursion, I thought it would be better to have backup. All the more so when I learned you were the one in charge on the ground.”
“Bet that was the first thing you asked.”
“You bet. I know the mission always comes first. I've got to look out for my own safety.”
“I see you brought a piece too, huh?” Mason looked at the pistol tucked into his old friend's belt.
“Well, we didn't exactly run through customs on the way in.”
Mason appraised him, and he couldn't quite suppress a smile. AJ was as paranoid as ever. The thing was, he was right to be. “Guess it's obvious I didn't ask for this. The client thought it would be a good idea if their ex-security chief came along for the ride. Don't know why, but it's their money. I suppose if they really valued your opinion, they probably wouldn't have fired you in the first place, right?”
AJ's face tightened.
Mason knew how to get under his skin, and he was glad to know that some things hadn't changed. AJ wasn't a bad guy, but he didn't know his place in the world. When they used to run together, AJ had been a fine soldier. He was a good shot, calm under fire. He could man artillery. He could pilot a tank. But he was a smartass, and Mason had no use for smartasses. It had taken him years to find a team full of players he could trust, and AJ would have never made the cut.
“You know he used to play ball?” Nicholas said.