I turn the shower on and step in.Sticking my head under the hot water, I close my eyes and think about nothing.Letting the wet warmth clear my mind and regenerate my body.When I step out, I get dressed in a pair of comfy gym pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, then pack, throw on a hoody, and leave the apartment.Angelo is already waiting on the street for me.
4
On the way to the airport, we discuss the football match.When we arrive at the airport, the traffic is heavy, so I tell him, "Pop the trunk.I'll walk in."He gives me a look that says he would rather I not but does what I say.I grab my bag and trot to the private terminal, check-in, and board the plane without incident.Once onboard, I pull out my laptop and begin reviewing the documents Mia sent over.Halfway across the Atlantic, I finally finish, sign them, and hit send.Then I look over the bid for the North Dakota fracking contract, verify the numbers are where they need to be, and give her the go-ahead to negotiate the terms.Next, I review the list of charities and notice that Wounded Warriors isn't on the list.I send her a note to add them and also remind her to make sure she sets up the scholarship for Bradford's children and pays off their home mortgage for his widow.I close the laptop, take the pillow the flight attendant offers, and settle in to catch up on my sleep."Please wake me when we are Stateside.I'd like to eat while the jet refuels."
"Yes, sir.Sleep well."He tells me as he pulls the shutters over the windows, blocking out the sun.
I'm asleep before he finishes.
....
....
....
I'm driving to the flight line.Bradford sits next to me.Everett's in the back.Bradford is talking about his wife and kids.His youngest just started the first grade.Proud papa.He kisses his school picture and tucks it back inside his flight suit.
Everett unbuckles, leans up, and shows off her picture too.
Crack!Boom!The vehicle rocks and nearly flips, then lands hard upright, shaking us as it bounces to a stop.
My ears are ringing from the blast.All I can hear is the pounding of my heart in them, drowning everything else out.The world seems to be in slow motion.I survey the cab.
There's blood everywhere.
Bradford hangs dead in the passenger seat.
Anger floods my mind.
Rage drenches my body, mixing with sweat.
Then ...a scream that deafens sanity.
The world speeds back up, and the noise is deafening.Everett is screaming.
I yell over her and command calm, then try to move to help.My harness is locked.The mechanism is jammed.I'm strapped to the seat.I try to rip it, but it's too strong.
My knife is in the leg side pocket of my flight suit.Wedging my leg in the space between the seat and the console, I stretch my arm down to the zipper.My fingers touch the edge of the metal, and nimbly, I gather the fabric, pushing the zipper open.I continue gathering more fabric with my fingers until I feel the cold metal of my revolver.I flip the snap and pull it from its holster.Quickly cock it, then return it and hunt my buck knife.
By the time I pull it from its sheath, there is complete silence.Only the deep, even breathing of Everett fills my ears.I glance back and receive an affirmative nod.
I cut the strap and free myself.Lay my fingers on Bradford's neck.His jugular is quiet, confirming his death.
Exiting the vehicle, I quickly survey the danger.Looking around the empty area, I spot someone in a burka running with what looks like an AK47.I move around the vehicle, assessing the damage while I hurry to Everett's aid.
The roadside bomb was a singular hit.
We are immobile.
Trapped.
Stranded.
Alone.
I snatch hard on the damaged door and open it.Only the sound of heavy panting greets me as Everett, a seasoned soldier, controls the pain with deep, measured intakes and exhales of breath, forcing control, knowing we must contain the situation if we are to get out of this alive.
"Bradford?"
