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Authors: John Gilstrap
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and for right now, that’s less of an issue than getting the hell out of here. Drink some of your water.”
The abrupt change of subject took some of the dread out of the air. Tristan took another mouthful.
“So here’s what I need from you,” Jonathan said. “For this to have some semblance of a happy ending, I’m going to need something really close to blind obedience from you.”
The comment drew a skeptical look.
“Bear with me,” Jonathan went on. “I pledge two things to you. Number one is to bring you home safely. The second is to tell you the truth. That’s what I’ve been doing here. I know that the truth isn’t all that pleasant, but it is what it is. People are looking for us to hurt us, and if we don’t get out of this country sooner rather than later, they’re going to find us. At this juncture, that’s about the worst outcome I can think of. So we’re going to have to keep moving.”
“A shit sandwich,” Tristan said. “That’s what my dad used to call bad choices. Nobody wants to eat it, and no amount of mayonnaise or mustard can make it better than what it is. Still, it has to be eaten.”
Jonathan laughed. “I like that,” he said. He’d heard the analogy before, but hearing it come from a kid this young somehow made it funnier. “Your dad sounds like somebody I’d get along with.”
The words seemed to cause pain for Tristan. “Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.
Jonathan didn’t press. “A shit sandwich is exactly what we have. I know that it’s stressful and that it’s unfair, and scary as hell, but you’re going to have to suck all that up and get over it. If that sounds harsh—”
“It doesn’t sound harsh,” Tristan said. “It sounds real. I’ve always been a better runner than a fighter anyway. What do you need me to do?”
On a day that was marked by countless surprises, the kid’s attitude marked yet another one. Jonathan had been prepared for whining and fear and maybe even recalcitrance. But “What do you need me to do?” had been nowhere on his list of expectations.
“Mostly, I need you to stay adaptable,” he said. “Tonight we’re going to find a place where you can change clothes and get some rest, and tomorrow we’ve got a couple of cloak-and-daggery things to take care of, and then hopefully, we’ll be on our way.”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed as he cocked his head. “What does cloak-and-daggery mean?”
Jonathan laughed again. “You’ll know it when you see it, I promise,” he said. He checked his GPS again to see if Venice had loaded the route yet. Nothing.
“Can I ask a question?” Tristan said.
Jonathan looked at him and waited.
“Shouldn’t we think about just contacting the police? I mean, framing people for murder has to be as illegal here as it is at home. If we talk to the police and tell them what really happened, maybe all of this will go away. If we run we’ll just look guiltier, won’t we?”
Jonathan’s GPS pinged. Literally saved by the bell. He checked the screen, and sure enough, there was the route to Santa Margarita. “This is it,” he said. “Mount up.” He looked to Boxers. “Big Guy!”
“On it,” he said. Even as he strolled back to the car, his eyes never left the woods.
“You a little high-strung?” Jonathan asked.
Boxers gave him a droll look. “Funny how I get that way when people shoot at me.”
Once inside with the engine started, Jonathan oriented himself to the map and pointed the way.
Father Dom D’Angelo crossed the parking lot that separated St. Kate’s from the Security Solutions offices and headed straight upstairs. Dom was the only civilian on the planet—“civilian” was Jonathan’s slightly derogatory term for anyone not a part of the community that included employees and Special Forces operators—who had ready access to the inner sanctum of The Cave, passing unmolested through multiple layers of security.
The inside of The Cave was larger than
The abrupt change of subject took some of the dread out of the air. Tristan took another mouthful.
“So here’s what I need from you,” Jonathan said. “For this to have some semblance of a happy ending, I’m going to need something really close to blind obedience from you.”
The comment drew a skeptical look.
“Bear with me,” Jonathan went on. “I pledge two things to you. Number one is to bring you home safely. The second is to tell you the truth. That’s what I’ve been doing here. I know that the truth isn’t all that pleasant, but it is what it is. People are looking for us to hurt us, and if we don’t get out of this country sooner rather than later, they’re going to find us. At this juncture, that’s about the worst outcome I can think of. So we’re going to have to keep moving.”
“A shit sandwich,” Tristan said. “That’s what my dad used to call bad choices. Nobody wants to eat it, and no amount of mayonnaise or mustard can make it better than what it is. Still, it has to be eaten.”
Jonathan laughed. “I like that,” he said. He’d heard the analogy before, but hearing it come from a kid this young somehow made it funnier. “Your dad sounds like somebody I’d get along with.”
The words seemed to cause pain for Tristan. “Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.
Jonathan didn’t press. “A shit sandwich is exactly what we have. I know that it’s stressful and that it’s unfair, and scary as hell, but you’re going to have to suck all that up and get over it. If that sounds harsh—”
“It doesn’t sound harsh,” Tristan said. “It sounds real. I’ve always been a better runner than a fighter anyway. What do you need me to do?”
On a day that was marked by countless surprises, the kid’s attitude marked yet another one. Jonathan had been prepared for whining and fear and maybe even recalcitrance. But “What do you need me to do?” had been nowhere on his list of expectations.
“Mostly, I need you to stay adaptable,” he said. “Tonight we’re going to find a place where you can change clothes and get some rest, and tomorrow we’ve got a couple of cloak-and-daggery things to take care of, and then hopefully, we’ll be on our way.”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed as he cocked his head. “What does cloak-and-daggery mean?”
Jonathan laughed again. “You’ll know it when you see it, I promise,” he said. He checked his GPS again to see if Venice had loaded the route yet. Nothing.
“Can I ask a question?” Tristan said.
Jonathan looked at him and waited.
“Shouldn’t we think about just contacting the police? I mean, framing people for murder has to be as illegal here as it is at home. If we talk to the police and tell them what really happened, maybe all of this will go away. If we run we’ll just look guiltier, won’t we?”
Jonathan’s GPS pinged. Literally saved by the bell. He checked the screen, and sure enough, there was the route to Santa Margarita. “This is it,” he said. “Mount up.” He looked to Boxers. “Big Guy!”
“On it,” he said. Even as he strolled back to the car, his eyes never left the woods.
“You a little high-strung?” Jonathan asked.
Boxers gave him a droll look. “Funny how I get that way when people shoot at me.”
Once inside with the engine started, Jonathan oriented himself to the map and pointed the way.
Father Dom D’Angelo crossed the parking lot that separated St. Kate’s from the Security Solutions offices and headed straight upstairs. Dom was the only civilian on the planet—“civilian” was Jonathan’s slightly derogatory term for anyone not a part of the community that included employees and Special Forces operators—who had ready access to the inner sanctum of The Cave, passing unmolested through multiple layers of security.
The inside of The Cave was larger than
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