The Big Burn

While Brock went over plans with his men, she closed her eyes and visualized the jump, the descent, the lagoon where she wanted to go in. Without wind, she’d be able to control the descent, though having to worry about Brock’s descent only made hers more risky.

Jumping into a fire from a high altitude at night and into a tropic combat zone was going to be something new. She wasn’t at all sure what would happen.

All she wanted to do was just get Brock to the ground and let him take it from there. He’s a leader with the most elite commando force on earth, she thought. He should know what he’s doing. Just get him in, and he’ll get us out.

That’s what she hoped for, anyway.

“We’ll refuel in the air, put down in Guam in about five hours. If you need more sleep, now’s the time.”

She walked back to her seat, thinking she might have trouble sleeping again. She cuddled up on her pillow, shut her eyes and immediately floated off into a deep sleep.

Pouco Vulcao Island

Jason Quick came out of a shaking sweat and forced himself to get up. He tried to focus so he could check his symptoms. He feared he was going into some kind of toxic shock syndrome. Septic shock was marked by fever. He had that. Malaise, he had that. Chills and nausea, check. Damn, he was four for four.

He pulled the bandages back and looked at his wound. It was nasty. He cursed bitterly. He had to get the hell off this island and into a hospital, soon.

Jason took a drink from a water bottle, then opened the laptop. He had only two, maybe three hours of battery power left. He closed the computer. He’d been able to translate enough of the text to know what he had, and it was critical he get it out as soon as possible.

Somewhere between Jakarta and Europe a cargo ship had three marine cargo containers with machine tools on board. Inside those machine tools, virtually undetectable by current methods, was enough uranium to make a dozen dirty bombs.

Jason had alerted his handler to the situation a week ago when the containers were first being loaded. It had cost him his cover and the life of his primary agent, a man deep in the terrorist network of Jemaah Islamiyah.

So far nothing had been done to find and stop that ship. But Jason now had a laptop with the information that would identify not only the ship, but where the deadly material was headed. What Jason didn’t have was the program that could break the code and get into the specific data on the laptop.

It was his opinion that the cargo was headed for a port in Europe, before heading elsewhere—most likely the States.

He made his way slowly and painfully to the front of the cave. He pushed aside the blanket and stuck his head outside. At times the smoke so completely blocked the sun he couldn’t tell if it was day or night but for his watch. The front of the narrow entrance was covered by thick vines and wide lantana fronds. He’d found the cave by accident as he’d fled the men hunting him.

He didn’t want to waste the satellite phone’s batteries, but he had to make contact. He was getting sicker and weaker by the day. His spells of fever getting worse.

He wouldn’t last much longer.

Guam

Anna sensed an absence of movement. They were on the ground.

The door of the transport plane was open, and opening her eyes, she appeared to be alone. They had brought her all the way out to Guam and abandoned her in the plane.

A fine set of circumstances. Her anger and frustration was rising again.

Brock and his associates had, indeed, deplaned without her. No one was on board but her.

She could see the jungle beyond the plane framed in the open door.

Anna unfastened her seat belt, got up and stretched. The heat and light poured in through the open doors with a nasty vengeance.

She deplaned, squinting, and began to sweat almost instantly. It was like walking into a sauna. The sun beat down on her neck and face, the humidity sucked the sweat right up out of her pores onto her skin where it heated up but couldn’t evaporate because the air was already saturated. She’d rather be surrounded by fire.

Right across the road from where she stood there was a big sign above the feeder road into the camp: Welcome to Camp Nowhere.

The camp sprawled along the road on the far side of the airfield. No colorful tents like the ones she saw in firefighting camps. This one consisted of a half-dozen Quonset huts with semicircular, corrugated roofs, the structures bolted to large concrete slabs. Behind the Quonset huts stood several smaller stucco buildings and in the distance, across from what looked like a rice paddy, Anna saw several concrete outbuildings.

The sprawling base seemed empty. She had a weird feeling about it, as if she’d stepped into a horror thriller, or one of those great old Twilight Zone episodes.

She walked away from the C-17 and then stopped and stood staring across the dirt road at the camp. There was a small road sign: Harm’s Way. Hanging from that sign by one arm was a small skeleton of a man that had been fashioned out of wire.

Then, to her right about two hundred yards down the dirt road, barging out of the jungle like a charging rhino, came a Humvee. It careened onto the road, bounced over potholes and headed her way. When it reached the entrance to the airfield it turned toward her and kept on coming as if the driver was going to run her down.

Anna stood her ground, still as a bullfighter awaiting the charge of the bull.

The Humvee came to a skidding halt in a swirl of dust five feet from her.

Brock leaned out the narrow window. “Sleeping Beauty awakens. Hop in, Quick. We have a meeting we’re already late for.”

Like smoke jumpers, like probably all military-type organizations, last names took precedence over first names. She was Anna to her close friends, Quick to her colleagues. The habit probably came from name tags on military uniforms, last names only.

The doors were off the Humvee, so she wasn’t getting into any air-conditioned luxury. Brock wore lightweight tan pants, a green T-shirt and had a weird-looking gun of some kind slung tight next to his chest.

“You going to shoot me?” she asked.

“No. We don’t go anywhere without these. I’ll get you one after the briefing.”

“I can’t wait.”

She continued to give him a hard look, letting him know she didn’t appreciate his exuberance.

In the field about a mile away behind the Quonset huts and other buildings, commandos were drop-roping from two choppers.

She climbed in to the Humvee and they took off toward the camp.

Just then a group of men jogged by in tan shorts and green T-shirts. They all looked the same, as though they were from the same family. A bunch of middleweight fighters, short-cropped hair, hard bodies, all yelling in a sharp cadence.

She began to feel ill, the effects of the heat and the lingering exhaustion.

Too hot.

She had to get the damn fire suit off or she’d pass out. “Can you stop a second?”

He pulled over.

Anna jumped out and unsnapped the suspenders and began pulling the heavy overalls down. She wore black shorts and a gray sleeveless T-shirt underneath.

“Pretty damn hot, isn’t it?” Brock said.

She stepped out of the fire suit and tossed it into the back of the Humvee.

“Crazy hot.”

“This place is locked and loaded with testosterone,” Brock warned. “I wouldn’t go any further than that. Where we’re going there’s air-conditioning.”

“I wasn’t intending to go any further, at least not until I’m standing in front of a running shower.” She refused to get back into the Humvee. “I’m not talking to anybody without a shower and some clean, dry clothes. You’ve changed clothes, now it’s my turn.”

Brock chewed on the left part of his bottom lip. He had to think about her attitude for a second. She wasn’t in the military so he couldn’t call it insubordination. At least not technically. But there was the fact that she’d made that fire jump against direct orders from her boss. So she was insubordinate by nature, apparently.

The thing about her he worked hard to ignore was the shock at how beautiful she was, even under that ash and dirt. It was hard to keep his gaze off her. He turned and looked forward.

“Well, shit,” Brock said. “I’ve got orders to deliver you.”

“Why did they send you in the first place? Was it because they knew if they’d sent a CIA guy I wouldn’t have believed him for a second without proof?”

“Maybe.”

“What if I refuse now?”

“Well, this is a top-secret base and we’re in the middle of a global war. I can to shoot you, but then this whole exercise would have been for nothing.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

Brock looked over at her, frowned and shrugged. “You need a shower and fresh clothes. I can appreciate that.”

“That’s big of you.” She crossed her arms and leaned on one hip. Stubbornness was written all over the woman. He had to quiet the brewing storm.

“Okay, since I’m the one who’s going to train you, and jump into this mess with you, we need to get along. So I’ll offer a compromise.”

She shifted her position. Maybe he was on the right track.

He continued, “This guy we’re going to see has a file on your father. We’ll be there in about five minutes so he can meet you and know that you’re willing to go in. Then, the minute that little bit of time-wasting is over, I’ll take you to the showers and get you some clean clothes. Five lousy minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. He almost had her. Just a little more reasoning, and she’d see things his way. He was sure of it. “See, the problem is, he’s a bureaucrat, CIA type. He runs things on this mission. It’s his job to get your father off that island. So, if I were you, and you want to see your dad again, I’d just placate the man for five minutes. Is there any way you can do that for me?”

Anna stared at him for a few seconds. He wasn’t sure which way she would go. Brock hadn’t noticed before, but she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and just when he was beginning to believe those eyes were hardening, and he’d have to come up with more bullshit to get her into the Humvee, she climbed in.

It had been a long time since Brock had had to deal with a civilian, or even a regular soldier, for that matter. The kind of men he dealt with were the elite of the elite from all the branches of the military. But he had a feeling that this woman was just as tough.

Anna was too foggy-headed to argue and besides he’d made a compelling case. They passed three more Quonset huts, a couple concrete structures and a few large military tents. She spotted men moving like wolves in the forest that ran alongside the dirt road. Another team of men crossed in front of them and continued into the high grass. These men did have uniforms. Jungle fatigues. And guns.

Brock pulled in front of the end hut.

“Here we are.”

“Who’s this guy I’m going to meet?” Anna asked.

“Name’s Curtis Verrill. He’s the head spook around here. This is his mission.”

“They run all your missions?”

“No. They often propose. Guys like me, dispose,” he said with a smile.

“Meaning that you carry out their orders?”

“Meaning they tell us what they want, and we figure out how to go get it. Could be rescuing somebody, delivering an important package, hunting down a bad guy, whatever.”

“In this case recruiting a smoke jumper. Which, I might add, is how this all got started with my father in the first place.”

“I don’t question the missions, I just figure out how to do ’em. They’re the brains, we’re the brawn.”

“I think you’re both. You designed the mission they want done. That takes brains.”

He smiled again. “It takes experience and professional common sense.”

“Are you modest by nature or by design?”

“Both. I’m a realist. This is an eclectic business. We put together the kind of force structure we need for each job. Each element brings something we need. We live and die by team effort and by always making sure we have the right people for the job.”

“Like me?”

“Like you. But not normally. We usually bring in specialists from all branches. Or even go outside the military. Whatever it takes to get the job done. It’s like everywhere else. The Ivy League guys dream up something to do, we tell them if it’s possible and how to do it. Then we do it and they take all the credit.”

She exchanged a little conspiratorial grin with him. She understood perfectly. “A little like having a long discussion on a short topic with Bureau of Land Management people.”

He nodded. “You got it. You’re about to meet the Bureau of World Management.”

“I detect something of a bad attitude.”

“My attitude is very flexible,” Brock said. “It depends on my proximity to things that irritate me. And right now we’re real close to an irritant.”

Anna chuckled. As much as she’d have preferred not to like Brock, he was the type, open and self-deprecating, that she could easily connect with.

They got out of the Humvee.

“One more thing,” Brock said. “You’ll be walking through the communications room on the way back to his office. There aren’t any females in there. Or anywhere in the camp, for that matter. Just horny guys who can’t get into town. We’re in shutdown, mission isolation. Don’t even smile. It’ll act like a spark in dry hay.”

“I’ll do my best to ignore anything with more appendages than I have.”

“Excuse me, but there’s nothing I’ve seen around here with more appendages than you have. Slump and frown, that might help.”

She laughed. What had she gotten herself into?

He pushed open the door and went in ahead of her. She hesitated, staring at him. He turned and shrugged. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t.”

Chapter 5

The cool air took her breath away for a moment. The inside of the hut felt just like a refrigerator. She inhaled, as if trying to suffuse every cell with coolness.

There were half a dozen computer workstations, all manned by young men. On the walls, giant maps. Several large printers along the far wall were kicking out page after page of documents. The place hummed with military paperwork.

She and Brock headed to the back as chairs moved and men stepped out of their way.

Not unexpectedly, she actually heard a few very low moans as they walked by. She saw Brock shake his head.

Brock knocked on the only office door in the place. A gruff voice told him to enter. Brock asked Anna to wait.

She stood outside, leaning against the wall, thinking that she needed to call her mother at some point and explain where she was and to tell her that her father was alive. Her mom was going to be shocked. Anna didn’t know the protocol on this CIA base and didn’t want to do anything stupid. Her dad’s life was in danger and she didn’t want to be the one to end it—just by making a phone call. Her mother was probably out in the mountains with her satellite phone, so it wouldn’t be difficult to contact her. But should she? They usually talked three or four times a week, sharing adventure stories. This time, she’d have more to share than a fire adventure. This time she would raise the dead. She had a feeling her mother wouldn’t believe it, and at that precise moment, Anna could barely believe it herself. But if she didn’t call, her mom would worry. Anna didn’t want that.

About ten minutes later, while Anna had fallen into memories of her dad, Brock opened the door and motioned her inside.

The stern-looking man sitting behind the desk told her to have a seat. “I’m Curtis Verrill,” he said without looking up from a file he was leafing through. Like that was more important at this moment than making eye contact. She knew right off that she wasn’t going to like this guy.

Verrill wore tan khakis and a blue short-sleeved knit shirt with no insignia. After a few moments, he finally sat back, looked up and studied Anna for a second.

He said, “I apologize for all the secrecy and hassle. Believe me, this has been as difficult for us as it has been for you.”

“And why is that?”

He didn’t appear to like the question, or maybe the tone, so he ignored it. “We have a problem—”

“And I take it, I’m the solution.”

He didn’t respond to that either, but he did throw an accusatory look at Brock, as if to say he knew where her prejudgment had come from.

He picked up a brown folder and held it in his left hand. “Your father’s files. I’m sure you have some questions.”

She stared at the folder. After all these years CIA was suddenly going to tell her the truth about her father’s disappearance.

She reached across the desk for the folder, but he pulled it back. Apparently, he wasn’t really going to tell her anything. Now she really didn’t like the man.

Verrill related the reasons her father went under, the reasons for the cover story, his extreme value as an agent. “For an American to have any credibility in a Muslim culture, he has to be one of them. Marry into their world. Live, dress, eat and sleep like they do for a long period of time. Do business. Have a solid bona fide relationship with the people around him. Your father succeeded in all of that. He was well known and well accepted. Once he was in, he began to network.”

She listened to the story and wondered if it was any truer than what she’d believed about her father before. These people were professional deceivers. He wouldn’t have put his own daughter through all that sorrow and pain for a job, even if it was for national security. He would have found some way to contact her. To let her know he was still out there. Alive.

Brock had already told her most of what Verrill was saying about the mission. Everyone, she was sure, was well versed in this story, but no one seemed to have a good reason about her father wanting her to come in after him.

“Why me?”

“I can’t answer that,” Verrill admitted. “We have the highest qualified smoke jumpers in the world. We didn’t need to go to a…civilian.”

You left a word out, Anna thought, but what was it? Female, perhaps?

She felt a little like she’d taken a wrong step and had fallen into the rabbit hole, Alice in Jungleland. She was standing there in the middle of the Pacific with this CIA agent and this Special Ops guy telling her she was going to jump onto some tiny island—an island in the middle of the pirate and terrorist country—in less than twenty-four hours to rescue her father.

It seemed completely unbelievable to her.

There had been times when smoke jumping felt the same way. She went from putting out one small fire to the next, and the next, and after about five or six of them she no longer could think straight.

Perhaps this was one of those times.

“If this is all true, why wouldn’t he have contacted us? We thought he was dead.”

“He couldn’t contact you. Not you, his ex-wife, relatives or friends because that’s the nature of the business he’s in. He took on a different name, different identity. He had to be believed. Any suspicions might have put you and your mother in jeopardy.”

Verrill handed her a photograph. “This was taken two months ago.”

The man in the photo was getting out of a car, wearing Muslim headgear and clothing, deeply tanned, older, but it was her dad. The nose, the shape of the face. Definitely him.

Then Verrill started lecturing her on how critical the mission was, how important it was to get her father out. That the free world was depending on her. He called it Operation Fierce Snake.

She stared at Verrill, but her mind was on her father and that day he’d left and never returned. She remembered him turning as he was getting into a friend’s car. She was getting ready to go to her first year at the University of Colorado. He’d winked, smiled and said, “Be good. Be quick.”

She had laughed. “We have to live up to our name.”

He’d smiled and given her a thumbs-up.

According to Brock, her dad was already remarried by then. He’d never said a thing.

Then Verrill regained her attention. “We’re still getting some weak, random signals from his locator. He’s up on the mountain. He has some contacts on the island and one of them will meet you when you go in. Brock will fill you in on the details.”

Her father had divorced her mother twelve years ago, but he never talked about it, or berated her mother. She’d been one of those very lucky girls to have the greatest of fathers. Anna knew, and apparently so did the CIA, that she’d go anywhere, risk anything, to get him back.

Verrill continued, “Malaysia is off-limits. If you go in, I don’t know anything about it. If you don’t come out, I know nothing about that either.”

Anna glanced at Brock. He was impassive.

Verrill said, “You will go into training immediately and train continuously until you leave. That’s all.”

He stood now and reached out to shake her hand. She shook it, but somehow she knew it was simply a formality. There was nothing friendly about the gesture. “Good luck,” he said, and pulled his hand back.

The way he said it, the dark flicker in his eyes, sent a chill through Anna. She knew he really didn’t believe she could get in there and get her father out.

She’d prove him wrong.

She followed Brock out of the office, through the Quonset hut and back into the heat.

“I would like to call my mother in Colorado.”

“No problem. But you can’t tell her anything about your father or what you’re up to. You should call her soon, because once we start the training you won’t have time to talk to her until after we get back. Plus, you should know that any calls going out of here will be monitored.”

A man coming out of one of the other Quonset huts walked toward them. He had the confident swagger of someone born and bred to run things, as comfortable at the country club as on a secret military base. “Anna Quick, I’m Tom Roca.” He shook hands with her. “Welcome on board. I heard about your saving those college kids. That was very fine work.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“Take good care of her, Brock,” Roca said, his eyes shifting for a brief second to Brock.

Brock didn’t answer.

“Great to meet Jason Quick’s daughter,” Roca said. “Enjoy your training.” He gave her a little smile, then walked into Verrill’s hut.

When he was gone, Anna turned to Brock as she climbed into the Humvee. “A friend of yours?”

“Not exactly. CIA. One of Verrill’s boys. Actually, he thinks he’s running this mission,” Brock said sardonically. “Practice before he assumes the job of running the universe.”

Anna smiled. She was starting to like Brock more and more.

They drove on to the village of Quonset huts down the road. She reflected on the tension between Roca and Brock, and Brock’s attitude toward Verrill. Not a happy group. She wondered what had happened to cause such hostility between them, and hoped it wouldn’t affect their chances of a successful operation.

Anna called her mom on a Sat phone Brock gave her—one, no doubt, that scrambled the conversation and made it impossible to be intercepted and decoded. She assured her mom that she was all right and was just going to sleep in for the next few days. Then she finally took a shower. She lingered in the downpour like a starved desert plant under the season’s first rain. She didn’t care if she used up all the water on the base, she was going to get clean. There were times, and this was one of them, when a shower or bath vaulted ahead of food, shopping or sex as life’s great relaxer. She didn’t need yoga, prayer, drugs or alcohol to get centered. She just needed water and soap.

Brock had gone somewhere to get her some clothes. When he came back she heard him on the other side of the door. “Everything you need is here.”

“Thanks.”