"Not on your life," she said.
"I didn't think that was an option. Or you can come with me to my home and then go wherever you wish."
"What do you want?" she asked.
He sighed. "Me? I want you to stay with me."
Labaan, at the wheel of the car, overheard. He is a good boy, he thought. And always was. If I had had a son . . .
"Come," the old former captor insisted, pushing the thought away. "We must hurry or terrible things will happen. Come."
D+3, Bandar Qassim, Ophir
"I've never been in an airplane before, Adam," Makeda said. If the auto sojourn had visibly upset her, the prospect of actually leaving the Earth's surface looked to have her ready to vomit.
"It's fun," Adam assured her. "Really, I've done it many times."
"How many?" she asked.
"Ummm . . . twice," he admitted. "Not counting changing planes and brief stopovers. On my way to America to go to school and . . . ummm . . . on my way back to Africa. Ot maybe it was three times. But it will be fun."
"I would never personally describe flying as ‘fun,'" Labaan said. "Though I know people who enjoy it. Some of them"-he immediately thought of Lance- "are idiots in my opinion. But it will not be so bad, girl. You'll be safe."
Makeda chewed her lower lip for a moment, then lifted her chin proudly and said, "If I knew for a fact that the thing was more than likely going to crash, and that chance was my only chance to be my own property again, I would still get on it."
Labaan and Adam exchanged glances. Labaan's glance translated as, "keeper." Adam's was more accurately described as accusatory: "And you knew I would find myself tied to this girl when you gave her to me. Bastard."
Labaan laughed and took Adam's hand. "You are a good boy," he said, "and have every prospect of growing into a good man. Try to be a better one than my chief or yours."
"I will," the boy answered. "I promise." Taking the girl's hand, he led her to the airplane that floated to meet them at the dock.
The small floatplane came to the dock and twisted a bit. The engine's roar dropped off to a mild hum. Then the door popped open and a kindly faced man introduced himself. "I'm McCaverty," he said, "and I believe you people ordered a taxi."
"What if they take the boy, and that skinny slave he's acquired, and then don't release our people?" Gutaale fretted.
Taban shook his head. "You've not only been spending too much time with the bleeding hearts, chief, you've been listening too much to your own conniving heart. There is no reason, none, for the American not to give you back your people once he has what he came for. Besides," he pointed to sea, "there are the boats bringing them."
Past the landing craft and their escorting patrol boat that Taban had pointed to, the big boat, the one that had launched the others, had its crane over the side. A slack line ran into the water. Nobody on shore had the faintest idea why.
"Now show some manners and wave your former guest goodbye."
EPILOGUE
D+5, MV Merciful, South Indian Ocean
Kosciusko had left the bridge under his XO's command. Now he, like all the other company commanders, the staff, the sergeant major, and pretty much everyone else who could be fitted into the chapel cum recreation cum planning area, sat or, in many cases, stood, to hear what Stauer had to say. Only a few key players, notably the mess sergeant, were not in attendance. Neither was Wahab, as he had to go drop off Adam and Makeda and then retrieve his wife and family before Khalid discovered some things were not quite what he thought they were. The Chaplain, Wilson, had just finished the memorial service for the slain, every one of whom was laying in a refrigerated container somewhere forward. They'd be buried later, somewhere to be determined.
Payments, rather large payments, were already en route to the next of kin of the dead the force had suffered, carried by the two retired general officers who had had a place in planning the operation, back in San Antonio, but were too old, and knew it, for taking a more active role. In Galkin's case, for his next of kin-his mother, living in Saint Petersburg-the money had been sent through Father Pavel, in Paldiski, along with a small contribution to his church. Sure, Galkin hadn't really been part of the force, had never signed an enlistment contract, but, Stauer thought, Let's be big about this. What's a little piece of paper with a signature, anyway?
"Gentlemen, ladies, couple of things," Stauer began. "First off, to announce a wedding: Chaplain Wilson will be officiating over a marriage between Miss Potter and myself in three days. You're all invited-Lana Mendes and the Romanian nurses' aides are required-to attend. Ladies, I am informed that the bride will be perfectly happy to have you serve as her bridesmaids in the same attire she'll be wearing, battle dress.
"Gordo, you have the logistics down on that?"
Harry Gordon looked up from a clipboard. "Yes, sir. There's still half a container of booze we stashed away for the victory celebration. Even these reprobates couldn't kill it all off. And, while Sergeant Island says that the 1910 Manual for Army Cooks doesn't have anything specifically about weddings, he can improvise. He also says that, since the manual does not cover the subject matter, perhaps it's a bad idea. However, you being the boss and the manual giving great deference to command, he says he'll play along."
The sergeant major harrumphed. "Sergeant Island is a wise man, sir, and I think you should give his counsel serious weight."
That earned him a dirty look from Phillie until she realized he was smiling-What? Joshua never smiles! Though, of course, he sometimes did-and wasn't remotely serious.
"And," Gordo continued, "Phillie doesn't have to wear battle dress. It seems that Doctor Lin not only sews guts, she sews as a hobby. Or maybe it was a necessity in China. Dunno. Anyway, there is enough white material in sick bay that she is sure she and her own people can come up with a proper dress. Silk, no. White, yes.
Reilly cast a sidewise glance at Lana. Should I ask about a second dress? Nah, I haven't even asked her. And besides, she'll want her poor nose fixed before she consents to having her picture taken. And she'll want pictures. If she agrees. Which, of course, she might not.
"It'll still be battle dress for the bridesmaids, though." Gordo looked personally affronted that he didn't have a solution to that minor problem.
"Fair enough," Stauer agreed. "That work for you, Phillie?"
She nodded, speechless. The whole idea that Wes was actually going to follow through, especially after the fight they'd had . . . Thank you, God. Will You forgive me if I don't have any more sexual sins to confess, since none of the deliciously wet and sloppy stuff I intend to indulge in to excess will be a sin anymore?
"Speaking more generally, and toward the future," Stauer added, "We really need to do some thinking, some planning, and some talking.
"How many of you guys have any idea of how much money we have?" Stauer looked around. No, from the faces only a few do.
"All right." He pointed at a thin middle aged Ophiri, standing against the rear bulkhead, and said, "Courtesy of the ‘late' Mr. Dayid, also late of Gutaale's accounting service, we have . . . billions. A couple, anyway. Not counting the assets we got from this job. If you check your enlistment contracts, you'll note that I get to control and dispose of any property seized. Sorry, Reilly, that means I own those tanks you filched.