“Maybe she just doesn’t like the idea of being manhandled,” said Breanna. The young woman had collapsed to the ground. Bree went to her and kneeled down.
“Careful, Captain,” said Danny.
“Were there all men in there?” asked Bree.
“I don’t think that was the problem,” said Liu. “We took a gun from her earlier.”
Breanna squatted in front of the Filipino. “Are you okay?”
The young woman didn’t answer.
“restraints,” said Danny. Liu nodded and went back inside the tent.
“CPP,” said a Marine officer who’d joined the semicircle. “Commie.”
“No. she’s a Muslim,” said Stoner. “Ask her.”
“What difference does that make?” said the Marine.
Stoner said nothing, but came over and lowered himself into a squat next to Breanna. Danny, standing behind the Filipino and still holding her shirt, stooped slightly. A light drizzle had started to fall; the rain was warm, like the sprinkle from a shower.
“What are you doing on this island?” asked Stoner. “You don’t come from here.”
The young woman spit at him, but the spook didn’t react.
“We’re not your friends, but we’re not interested in hurting you either,” he said. “Tell us why you’re here. Otherwise we’ll turn you over to the Army.”
She said nothing. They stared at each other a few seconds more; then Stoner rose.
“She’s a guerrilla,” said Captain Peterson. “You’ll have to give her over to Western Command, the Filipino Army. Her people were probably planning a raid.”
“She’s not CPP, and she wasn’t planning a raid,” said Stoner.
“Who the fuck are you?” Peterson said.
Stoner gave the Marine a half smile but didn’t answer his question. He turned to Zen instead—he was the ranking officer, but even so, Zen thought it odd—and told him. “The people in that settlement are probably all related; came here from one of the other islands. Luzon or someplace. They’ll have a horror story.” Stoner then turned abruptly and walked away.
“Whether she’s a Commie or not,” said Peterson, “you’re going to have to turn her over to her government.”
“She’s my prisoner,” said Danny. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with her yet.”
Peterson took a long breath obviously designed to underline what he was going to say next. “Captain, you have to follow proper procedures. And if there’s a village that’s threatening our post, then—”
“We’ll survey the village to see if it’s a threat,” said Danny. “In the meantime, this woman may have to stand charges.”
“For grabbing some scissors?” said Bree.
Danny glared at her.
“I want to talk to Colonel Bastian,” said Danny. He turned to Liu. “Put her in the tent. Keep her hands cuffed. Behind her.”
Stoner walked along the perimeter of the airstrip, letting the light rain soak his face and clothes. He knew he wanted it to purge his anger. He also knew it wouldn’t work, not completely.
Desire was the cause of all suffering. He stared into the droplets of rain, gazing out at the ocean. The furling waves had no desire; they were just drop of water pushed by physics.
Like him.
Not like him. He hated Woods—he hated all of the Navy people. And the Marines. Especially the Marines.
Irrationally, ridiculously. He had been a SEAL, and yet he hated the Navy. His assignments with the Company made use of his Navy expertise. Yet he hated the Navy. With no reason, beyond a hundred thousand insults and injuries, all to his ego, all meaningless in the great flow of life.
He would never be a true Buddhist, since he could not denounce is ego. Maybe he didn’t want to be a true Buddhist—which, ironically, would make him closer to being one. The koan of it was a beautiful, humorous circle.
Stoner held his fingers together, his arms down at his sides, absorbing the rain. He actually liked Freah for not wanting to turn the idiot girl over to the Filipino Army. He liked all the Dreamland people—Zen Stockard especially. The major had just sat there, listening, not forming a judgement. The guy knew shit every second he was awake, but he didn’t bitch about it.
And his wife, his beautiful wife …
Stoner let the idea float out toward the water. Desire was the cause of all suffering, the Buddha taught, and this was still the most difficult lesson to reconcile.
Danny knew from Bison he wouldn’t find Colonel Bastian in the trailer, but he went there first anyway. Then he walked very deliberately—to the tent that had been designated as Colonel Bastian’s quarters. He knew he wouldn’t find the colonel there either. So by the time he went to look for him where he had known all along he would be—Iowa, getting ready to takeoff—it was too late. The Megafortress’s four engines rumbled and flared as Danny watched from twenty or thirty yards away; slowly being towed toward the runway, preparing to take off.
“Hey, Cap,” said Powder as Danny watched the Megafortress put her nose into the wind. “Getting wet, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Danny. If he wanted, he could use his smart helmet to talk to the colonel right now, ask him what to do. But he didn’t.