Epilogue

Everybody needs a place to go where they can relax, be exactly who and what they are, and rest assured that no one will ridicule them, regardless of what craziness comes out of their mouth. For me, that place has long been my gazebo on the back lawn at Bonaventure, overlooking the North River. The Cuban Cohiba hooked beneath my right index finger dispensed a thin stream of beautifully aromatic white smoke while the seven cubes of ice slowly melted in the rich amber bourbon inside the tumbler resting on the arm of my Adirondack. For the moment, all was right with the world, and I knew there was nothing I’d enjoy more than that moment of luxurious silence…but I was wrong. One by one, the people who meant the most to me filtered into my peaceful realm and reminded me that being alone isn’t the natural state of man.

Stone W. Hunter, a man I loved beyond words, stepped gently into the gazebo and settled into his preferred chair beside the war-torn cannon that was the centerpiece of the setting. “Good evening, Chase.”

I raised my glass. “Evening. How are things?”

Ignoring the horrific wound that had been Hunter’s shoulder and upper arm was impossible. The sniper’s bullet should’ve killed him, but there was absolutely no question that the hand of God kept Hunter alive while the teams of surgeons did their best to rebuild the warrior’s body. In return for the miracle, Hunter devoted himself to the Almighty and became a student of theology at one of the finest protestant seminaries in the country.

He found a comfortable position in his chair. “Things are good. I didn’t like being left behind for the mission.”

“I get it,” I said, “but your orders are coming from a higher command these days.”

He nodded. “Speaking of orders, I graduate in December and believe I’m supposed to join a mission in South America. They’re building schools, providing medical care, and adding souls to the Kingdom.”

“South America, huh? I guess you better bone up on your Spanish.”

He laughed. “Spanish isn’t the language these people speak. In fact, I don’t think there’s an English word for the language they speak.”

I motioned toward the house. “The armory is open if you want to build a few kits to take with you.”

He glanced skyward. “Thanks, but I’m carrying a different shield these days. I’ll leave the bullets and bombs to you.”

I admired and envied his faith while the memory of my parents and sister being slain in a Central American jungle two decades before thundered through my soul.

To my surprise, Skipper hobbled her way across the lawn and into the gazebo.

I stood. “What happened to you? Did you fall off a cliff?”

She gently nestled into a seat beside Hunter. “Anya happened to me. I think I’ve changed my mind about becoming an operator. Maybe I’ll just stick to what I’m best at. You put her up to it, didn’t you?”

I grimaced. “No, but I didn’t stop her. This side of the wall is not where you belong. You’re too important to our operation and far too smart to spend your life dodging bullets and spears. None of us can do what you do, but we could teach a monkey to pull a trigger and throw a punch.” I motioned toward Hunter. “Case in point.”

He pounded his chest like an old silverback and did his best gorilla impression.

Skipper shook her head. “Cute, boys. I get it.”

Singer, our Southern Baptist sniper and the moral compass of the team, was next to plant himself in the gazebo. “Are we doing monkey impersonations now?”

“Just making a point,” I said. “Anya helped Skipper decide she prefers life in front of a computer monitor over a life spent dragging her knuckles.”

He said, “Lessons like that sting a little.”

Skipper dabbed at her bruised cheek. “They sure do.”

I gave her an opportunity to discuss another collection of lessons she may have been learning. “How’s it going with Dr. Fred?”

She rolled her eyes. “I sent him packing after our third so-called session. I don’t need his psychobabble garbage. I’m a big girl, and it’s time for me to pull up my bloomers and live the life Tony would’ve wanted me to live.”

I gave her a smile. “Bloomers?”

She returned the smile. “I know how sensitive you boys are, so I try to keep it classy.”

Kodiak, the one of us who looked most like he belonged in the wild, with his unruly beard and equally uncontrollable mop, joined us and ran his hand across the barrel of the cannon. “Ah, the stories she could tell.”

I raised my glass again. “We’ve got a few of our own.”

“Indeed, we do, my friend. Indeed, we do. The difference is that nobody would believe ’em if we told ’em.”

Our resident big-brained giant ambled aboard and plopped himself into his custom-built, oversized chair that would make any of the rest of us look like a child if we climbed onto the seat. “It sounds like I was missing quite the party.”

I said, “You are the party, big man. We were just discussing how we’re going to retire and leave the whole mess to you.”

“Sounds like a great idea. Maybe I’ll turn the rest of the team into wedding planners. Clark could do the flowers. I’m thinking Singer could be the…well, singer. And Shawn could learn to play ‘The Wedding March’ on guitar.”

I gave the thumbs-up. “Sounds like a solid plan to me, but what about Anya?”

“She’ll be our interpreter and physical security.”

I laughed. “It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, but on second thought, I think I’ll postpone retirement another mission or two.”

Mongo shrugged. “You’re only putting off the inevitable, and you’re crushing my dreams, so I hope you feel good about it.”

“I’ll get through it,” I said. “Has anybody seen Disco?”

Kodiak said, “He’s doing one of those Angel Flight missions, carrying a cancer patient to the Mayo Clinic.”

“That’s right,” I said. “He mentioned that.”

The award for most unexpected entrance went to Shawn, our SEAL. He appeared like the creature from the black lagoon, slithering out of the North River. He pulled the freshwater hose from the reel and thoroughly rinsed his still-wounded leg.

I called toward the dock. “Communing with the reptiles again?”

Shawn recoiled the hose and sloshed his way to the gazebo as he produced something from his pocket. He held up the treasure, and it became instantly clear that his token was an alligator tooth. He said, “I was just showing the locals what I did to the Louisiana gator who tried to kill me. I think we’ve come to an understanding.”

Mongo said, “There’s quite a bit wrong with you. You know that, right?”

Shawn took a seat. “Anybody can be normal. It takes somebody special to be this screwed up.”

I pointed toward the house. “You’re welcome to grab a towel and some dry clothes.”

He shook the brackish water from his hair. “I’m a SEAL. Wet and dirty is where I’m most at home.”

I took a sip and asked, “Hey, Skipper. Did you leave Anya in a bloody heap somewhere?”

The analyst said, “Not hardly. She showered at the gym and said she had plans with someone special. To be honest, I thought she was talking about you.”

I threw up both hands. “Whoa! Don’t start rumors like that.”

I wasn’t proud of the tinge of jealousy I felt at the thought of Anya meeting someone special, so I changed the subject. “What’s the latest on the Cecilia/McDuffy criminal suit?”

Skipper said, “Funny you should ask. I did some digging this afternoon, and they’ve turned on each other like feuding dragons. Apparently, they’re both trying to make a deal before the other, and the DA has tacked on eleven counts of murder, mutilation of a corpse—which I didn’t know was a thing—and a bunch of other really nasty-sounding stuff I can’t remember. It looks like both of them are going away for a long time.”

The thought of Anya jetting off to meet the object of her affection stung again, but my conscience reclaimed its rightful place when Penny came down the stairs from the back gallery. “Look! The gang’s all here.”

“Not the whole gang,” I said. A bitter taste rose from the pit of my stomach as I thought about the trauma my protégé had endured in the Louisiana bayou. “Gator’s not here.”

The same sadness that I felt was mirrored in the faces of my team and family all around the gazebo. Even Shawn winced at the thought of Gator’s ordeal.

Penny watched the memory wash over us, and then she laughed. “No, of course he’s not here. He’s in the kitchen drinking your good bourbon in what he calls the reptile-free zone.”

We turned to see the youngest member of our merry band of misfits waving from the gallery like Forrest Gump. “Hey, guys! Snakes are the devil. It’s in the Bible. Look it up.”