Part 28 (2/2)

At oh-six-hundred, I stood at the window of the conference room, watching the sun struggle to rise above the horizon. I'd come in without saying a word to anyone and the look on my face must've discouraged questions, because they left me alone. Instead, I watched the haze of dawn burn away under the growing sunlight. It was a miracle for the sun to come up like this, day after day, century after century.

A shadow darkened the windowsill to my left. ”Chief?”

Uncle Mike looked like he hadn't slept, either. There were dark smudges under his eyes and his beard had gone from stubble to scruff. His BDUs were fresh, though, and I noticed that his wedding ring shone. He'd polished it sometime overnight.

Once, when I was eleven and being a complete jacka.s.s at home, he'd told me a man had to have priorities to make something of his life. His priority was plain to see and his whole adult life had mirrored it. He took care of his family, no matter what he had to do. Over his shoulder, Aunt Julie sat up straight, with her usual severe, businesslike att.i.tude. But I could see the strain she felt, too.

”Hey,” I said. ”You all right?”

He smiled sadly. ”You shouldn't be worrying about me.”

”I do, though. We haven't talked much the last few days, other than planning. How are you?”

”I'll manage,” he said. ”But I owe you an apology. I should've been there for you, instead of wallowing in my own grief.”

”You don't owe me anything, because you've already given me all you had. I want you to know ... ” I paused and stared out the window again so I wouldn't have to see his face. ”You've been the most important man in my life and I'll do everything in my power to make sure your little girl has the same opportunity I had-to grow up with you.”

He put a hand on the back of my head, like a priest blessing someone. ”Being part of your life has been the greatest privilege of mine. You've been my son in every way that counts, and I couldn't be more proud of the man you've become.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

He let me go and faced those gathered at the table. ”Attention. Time to get started.”

After a few deep breaths to steady my nerves, I joined the team at the table.

”We've spoken with top people at the National Park Service,” Uncle Mike said. ”Captain Tannen has some items everyone needs to be aware of about Great Sand Dunes.”

”Yes, sir,” she said. ”There are two primary things. First, we'll be at a high elevation. No time to adjust after being in Africa, so listen to your body. If you're having a hard time breathing, see a medic immediately. They're carrying oxygen. Wielders, be especially cautious.”

We all nodded. When Bada.s.s Aunt Julie went into instruction mode, no one dared to be caught napping.

”Two, the park rangers strongly advised against sending a vehicle up the dunes-they don't allow visitors to do it, but even given the circ.u.mstances, they say it would cause more problems than it would solve. The sand is too soft and too steep. Unfortunately, we have to cross at least one dune to engage our target, so we'll be in for a hike.”

”And when we get there?” Jorge asked. ”What's our plan?”

”We have no idea what it is. Satellite can't get an accurate picture of it. A spy drone flew over and came back with zero readings. It's like it's nothing. Just a blank spot on the earth,” Uncle Mike said. ”So, our only strategy at this point is to hit it with everything we have and pray we find the right combination.”

I pulled out my knife and laid it on the table. Its handle flashed blue. ”I imagine that the second I set foot on the sand dunes, we'll find out exactly what the shadows are.”

Because that's what I thought they'd be-ent.i.ties like the Shadow Man, infantry troops to thin out my forces before the big fight.

”Then there isn't any more planning we can do. We'll go now.” Uncle Mike looked at me, and his eyes were full of pain. ”Chief, you'll lead us out.”

I stood, sheathed my knife in my thigh pocket and went into the hall. Behind me, Ramirez said, ”Now I am become death. And h.e.l.l follows with me.”

Hooah. h.e.l.l and death, served cold to anything that kept me from my sister.

Davis waited by the main door, ready to hold it open for us. When I got there, he said, ”Good luck.”

I shook his hand, not trusting myself to talk. Instead I raised my chin and, as soon as he opened the door, strode outside like a general leading his command team.

That thought turned out to be fairly accurate.

On the parade field, men stood in formation. When I pa.s.sed, all of them snapped to attention-hundreds of them. Saluting me. An unranked soldier who'd come here only three years ago, a scrawny, scared boy. Goose b.u.mps rose on my arms as I approached a group of men I knew.

Johnson, Lanningham and Blakeney stood next to the lead Humvee, and they saluted as well. I returned the gesture, feeling both sadness and pride. To the bitter, bitter end, the Dark Master had said. And I suspected it would be. Which of these men would be coming home? And which wouldn't?

Blakeney held the front pa.s.senger door open. I climbed up and he shut the door and went around to take the driver's seat. The window was open, so I rested my elbow on the door frame and leaned out to look for Will.

The early morning sun caught the silver ink of my pentagram tattoo, making it glow like metallic fire.

A dizzying sense of dej vu hit. The vision I'd seen three years ago-of me leaning out of a Humvee with this tattoo on my wrist and fury in my eyes-combined with the present moment to leave me gasping for air.

”It's all coming true,” I whispered to the wind. ”All of it.”

I told you-you had a long way to go and it didn't end in the jungle, Tink said.

”No, it ends on desert sands.”

We'll see. You have to play the cards-don't give up now.

All I had to do was think of my sister's tearstained face, the bruises on her arms and the raw shackle marks on her wrists to find the strength I needed. Then I thought about my mother sobbing on the kitchen floor over Brent's dead body, and knew my rage would burn hot enough to see me through.

”Never, Tink. I'll never give up.”

The highways, like I'd requested, were clear of vehicles. What I hadn't expected were the people lining the side of the road holding signs, waving. Cheering.

”Incredible,” Lanningham said from the backseat. ”Look at all of them. It's like every person in Colorado is out here.”

I found it ironic, to be honest. In D.C., more than half the signs called me a psychopath, a murderer, or worse. These signs said things like ”Thank you!” And ”We love our Wielders!” and the obligatory ”G.o.d Bless the USA!”

”It's like a Michael Bay movie,” I said, suddenly angry about the expectations resting on my shoulders. ”But this time, America and apple pie might not win the day. If it were my choice, I'd rather all of them be at home behind locked doors with every weapon they happen to have close at hand.”

”They care,” Blakeney said, quietly reproachful. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. ”This isn't about their safety. It's about yours.”

”That's what I'm afraid of,” I whispered.

After that, we stayed quiet except for the regular radio calls between the vehicles. A hundred of them, each carrying between four and six pa.s.sengers. My convey-which was what Uncle Mike had started calling it on his check-ins.

”Archer Convey, radio check,” he barked. ”Blue team.”

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