Jackman eyed Wallace’s hand for a second but made no move to remove it. He looked back up. “I don’t have the faith you possess in this man, sir. I say we give up using him as a viable option. Just send me instead. I’m prepared.”
Ben didn’t speak for a few moments as he regarded the other man. “We’re sending the satellites tomorrow morning. And you know as well as I that the science of the Axiom is not an exact one. We run into glitches with these antiquated components every day. What guarantee do we have that it works when we send Ethan — or even the satellites, for that matter?”
Jackman hissed his frustration.
Ben took his hand off Jackman’s shoulder. “You are not as expendable as you think you are. I can’t afford to sacrifice my most valuable asset when we’re so close. I need you here.”
“Even sending him, we know where the evidence points; that it probably won’t change anything,” Jackman argued, but he looked defeated. The debate was over and his face registered understanding.
Ben took a step back and slid a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and looked down at it almost mournfully.
Jackman’s stony eyes followed the man’s gaze. “When it comes time, will you be able to do what you must?”
Ben’s eyebrows rose in acknowledgement. He stuck the pack of smokes back in his pocket and gave a bitter smile. “Don’t I always?”
The forced silence soon became uncomfortable and Jackman left Ben to the quiet of his office.
A small piece of rock that he’d been studying earlier that morning was lying on the corner of his desk. He picked it up and twirled it delicately between his fingers. The mission would be a success — it had to be. At least that much was partially certain. Tomorrow morning the satellites would be sent back. And then it would be Tannor’s turn.
31
The Pills Have ‘I’s
Memories of Tobias infected Ethan’s dreams; from a long ago time when Tobias had helped him rebuild the Mustang. His uncle hovered over the engine block decked out in a ratty tank top and tattered jeans, thick veins navigating his thin frame as he wrestled the transmission into place, a thunk sounding when it found its home.
Tobias removed the chains that the transmission had suspended from a moment before and set them aside. “Someday she’ll be good as new and all yours,” he said with a satisfied grin, jutting his spear-headed beard at the car as he spoke and wiped his hands on the oily rag.
Ethan was busy tightening bolts Tobias had delegated, sweat trails coursing down his forearms as he strained to secure the lugs. This had been tougher than he thought, but well worth the effort, despite the pain. In a way, the process felt like he was rebuilding his life bolt by bolt as each component was repaired.
“You must promise me something,” Tobias said, his voice hoarse and dry like always. “Keep this car and never sell it — and if you ever do think about selling it, let me buy it from you.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Ethan gave him a solemn look. “I’ll never part with it.”
Tobias nodded. “You know, I was the one who picked this car out on the lot for your father.”
Ethan tightened yet another screw and smiled up at his uncle, but it was a sad smile, the memory of his father and mother bittersweet. “Really?”
“Yep, and someday when the time is right I’ll tell you a story about this car.” He patted the propped up hood with reverence.
“C’mon, you can’t say that and leave me hanging in the wind.” Ethan protested. “What is it?”
Tobias wheezed a laugh, but his face was serious. “When the time is right, son.”
His eyes were caked shut with sleep and opened slowly, reluctantly. It felt like one of those hangover mornings. For a moment Ethan forgot his bearings and tried to remember how much liquor he’d downed the night before.
Then he remembered the dream and the memories that came with it, and felt a renewed sense of loss for Uncle Tobias. When the time is right, Tobias had said. Now there would never be a right time, would there? And he’d never get a chance to find out the mystery of the Mustang. The thought felt selfish, but Ethan still wished he’d pressed Tobias more on the subject. But the old man’s lips were tighter than a virgin’s knees. He would only speak about certain things if he wanted to and there was no convincing him otherwise.
A peek at the clock said it was 6:13 am; the mere three hours of sleep he’d managed to grab almost wasn’t worth it. He felt like shit. His sore muscles begged to return to their slumber, but Ethan stood and stretched all the same.
Coffee and breakfast called to him like manna from heaven, but they would not be had until priority one was fulfilled, so he forced his steps toward the small bathroom. Brushing his teeth felt like a chore from hell as his arms resisted the effort with fierce complaint.
After supper had been brought to Ethan’s room the night before, he’d slept in his jeans — thank God — so the only thing he had to wrangle on was a shirt. After that painful process, he headed out the door and made for the crew’s mess hall.
Every commando aside from Jackman was seated at the table and all seemed ready to seize the day. Then again, they hadn’t had nearly as much on their mind last night as he did. Or maybe it was the coffee.
“Can I take this seat?” Ethan tapped the backrest of an empty chair.
“Go for it.” The reply came from Hex, who still sported a sour look — could be he just looked that way all the time.
“No hard feelings, right?” Ethan offered.
“Yeah, whatever,” Hex mumbled before digging back into his breakfast of eggs and oatmeal.
High carb and high protein were all that sat on the table, just the way Ethan liked it. He took his seat and eyed the feast spread out, not knowing what he wanted to splurge on first. He reached for the coffee and swiped a few strips of bacon with waffles on the side. He passed on the pancakes, which for some reason had been made into smiley faces.
The behemoth named Priest was working on what appeared to be his ninth boiled egg, if the mass of yellow yolks piled on his platter was any indication.
Ethan took a sip of coffee and it burned in the right kind of way down his throat. “Priest, is it?”
“Yup.”
“You lead all these guys?”
“Second in command; Reaper takes point.” Priest folded a piece of dry toast in half — it looked the size of a cracker in his massive hand — and stuffed it into his mouth with ease. He leaned back in his chair and began introducing the squad around the table, pointing out each one as he spoke: “Zodiac, Worm, Tinman, and Hex.”
Zodiac smiled, Worm gave a nod, Tinman arched an eyebrow as he chewed, and the ever scornful Hex raised an index finger of his fork hand as he shoved in more grub.
“So tell me, how did you fellas end up doing this?” Ethan waved his arms around.
Priest bent forward placing his elbows on the table. “Same reason you became a cop; it was a calling.”
“What did you do before this mercenary work with Wallace?”
Priest dropped his next victim — a biscuit this time — chewed, swallowed, then slurped back the rest of his coffee. He set the cup down and his face scrunched up in thought, mulling over Ethan’s choice of words for describing what they did. “My brother and I were in the same unit in Burma.”
“Your brother?”
Priest slapped Zodiac on the back. The bald commando with the lower goatee smiled, white teeth shining between bits of unswallowed food. “This is Timotheus, and I am Matthias,” Priest answered.