“Only if you take me with you. A trial period, one week. If it doesn’t work out, then I’m history. I won’t even ask for bus fare back.”
“You know, you’re acting kind of like I did when I wanted all that access at Aviano, just for writing that profile. Your people said no, and they were right. It was their business, their war. Well, this is ours, and you don’t know the first thing about the way we do our work.”
“It’s my war, too. You know that or you wouldn’t be here. Thirteen people. Ever make a mistake that big?”
She looked down at her feet.
“Well?”
“No. I haven’t.”
“One week. That’s all I’m asking.”
“It’s not my decision.”
“Then ask your friends. I know names, ops, other guys who got burned the same way. Just think of me as one of those embedded correspondents, tagging along with a combat unit. I play by your rules and do as I’m told.”
Cole was speaking with passion now, hands in motion. He felt more clear-headed than he had in ages, although he craved another sip of Jeremiah Weed.
She stood.
“I have to talk to Steve first. Give me five minutes.”
“Not till I’ve packed a bag. I’m not letting you guys ditch me that easy. You sit tight till I’m ready.”
He went to the bedroom and started throwing clothes into an Air Force duffel. The whole time he listened carefully for Keira’s footsteps, the slam of the door, the spin of car wheels in the dirt. But when he came out into the hall she was still on the couch, notebook in her lap, pencil in hand.
He looked around at the mess. It was time to leave. Time to go to war against somebody other than himself. He hefted the duffel, his stomach fluttering just the way it used to at the beginning of a deployment.
“Ready,” he said. “Lead the way.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Steve thought it was a bad idea from the moment Darwin Cole climbed into the backseat. The smell alone raised doubts. Body odor and bourbon, the trailer’s rank essence of stale food, kerosene, and warm vinyl.
He looked over at Keira but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. She’d stated her case a few minutes earlier with the windows rolled up, while Cole stood outside, bag in hand, like a kid waiting for a ride to a sleepover.
“You want to bring him with us?”
“One week is all he’s asking. I think he means well.”
“It’s not even our house. What’s Barb going to say?”
Steve kept his hands on the wheel, ready at a moment’s notice to pop the locks, turn the key, and floor it out of there. Thank God the guy was no longer holding a shotgun.
“I’ll handle Barb.”
“That’ll be fun to watch. What makes you think he’s worth it?”
“He’s connected in a way we’ll never be. The operational side. Failed missions, stuff Fort1 was doing on the ground.”
“So I take it he doesn’t even know Fort1’s name?”
“I think he’s seen his file.” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Or a file, anyway. Something the Air Force had.”
“And?”
“That’s what he’s holding back. That’s his ticket to Baltimore.”
“Not worth it.”
“How do you know? I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but my vote should count for something.”
“Look at him.”
“I know. He’s definitely still affected by what happened. He’s sort of …”
“Disturbed? Deranged?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well he’s a drunk, that’s for sure. Look at all the empties.”
“Yeah, he may have a problem with that.”
“Great. So you’ve invited a drunken, unstable fighter jock back to Baltimore with us.”
“He invited himself. I’m just asking you to take him on the first leg.”
“You’re thinking we can ditch him in Vegas?”
“If we have to. Once we get a better idea of what he knows. Or if, well …”
“What?”
“If he becomes a problem first.”
“Wonderful. Maybe we can get the cops involved, or the U.S. Air Force. Where do we put him in the meantime?”
“Our hotel room?”
“Jesus, Keira.”
“Just for a night.”
“He could kill us in our sleep. I mean, look at him.”
“Careful, he’s probably reading our lips.”
“Like Hal in Space Odyssey.”
They laughed uncomfortably and watched him for a second. Same pose as before, still holding his bag and looking up at the sky. He hadn’t moved an inch. Steve sighed loudly and finally took his hands off the steering wheel.
“Okay, then. Let him in.” She reached for the door handle. “But promise me one thing.” She paused, waiting. “If we have to unplug him, you’re the one who does it. Deal?”
Keira swallowed hard, then nodded.
“Deal.”
No one said much during the ride back to Vegas. Every time Steve stole a glance in the mirror, Cole was searching the sky out his window. Bat shit crazy, probably. Who wouldn’t be after eight months out here all by yourself? But maybe Cole would get sick of this before they did. They’d clean him up, buy him a meal, take him out on the Strip, and after a day or two of fresh sheets and hot food the novelty would wear off. He’d grow weary of their questions, their persistence. Or maybe he’d run out of information, make himself obsolete. He’d realize his mistake and they’d return him to the trailer, or to some friend’s house in the ’burbs. Surely somebody from his old circle of friends would take him in, wouldn’t they?
Steve felt a stab of pity for the man. He’d been in need himself from time to time since making the decision to go it alone professionally. Self-sufficiency was a risky business nowadays, unless you had money to burn, and neither Cole nor he enjoyed that kind of advantage.
It was only when Cole emerged from the hotel bathroom, showered and shaved, that Steve saw the potential for more complex problems than he’d first bargained for in this arrangement. The man he saw now was a craggier, more intense version of the one from the newspaper photo. He looked refreshed and reconnected, his movements crisp and athletic, the zeal coming off him like steam. It reminded him that Keira’s profile — blow job or not — had portrayed Cole as an intelligent and even thoughtful young man. A bit of a thrill seeker, too — a hotrodder and pole vaulter in high school, but with grades good enough for the Air Force Academy. The star of his class at pilot school. High marks from his officers. In action over Kosovo in ’99 he’d shot down a Yugoslav MiG, one of the few air-to-air kills by an American pilot since the Korean War. His quotes were long and contemplative, which also said something, unless Keira was the kind of reporter who dressed them up. Steve had heard stories but had never known for sure.
Looking closer, Steve saw that the pilot’s pleading blue eyes, lively and eager back then, were now haunted and needful. Just the sort of face that Keira and Barb would want to nurture or, worse, would compete for. Or maybe Steve was feeling jealous, a little threatened, one repressed alpha male detecting the scent and hunger of another. Although if anyone had a right to feel proprietary about their current arrangement it was Steve, who’d put the group together three months earlier. He’d been working the Fort1 story for Esquire—on spec, but working it nonetheless — when he started coming across enough of Keira’s and Barb’s footprints to realize they were stalking the same quarry, albeit from different angles. So he’d called a summit.
As luck would have it, both women had just been offered buyouts by newspapers desperate to slash payrolls. Steve knew all about the joys and limitations of a buyout. He had taken one from The Sun in an earlier round of cuts two years ago. That money was long gone, and carving out a living as a freelancer hadn’t been easy. Stories like this one were especially trying, because they took time to develop.