On the Road with Child and King

ON THE ROAD WITH CHILD AND KING

OCTOBER 2023

So, Patterson's plan was simple…and not so simple.

Two days after Patterson made his elevator pitch—and only an hour before John was supposed to pick up a rental for the drive to Boise—the guy surprised him with an add-on, a not-so-very minor detail he claimed had slipped his mind. Which, John figured, was horse doo-doo. There were two possibilities: Patterson either had second thoughts about his ability or sta bility or both... or the guy worried that if he'd leveled, John would walk.

He almost, almost did. The only thing that kept him in the game was his certainty that Roni had died because of him. Bringing what was left of her home was the least he could do.

So, he sucked it up. What choice did he really have? Unless he succumbed to the temptation to find out how gunmetal tasted, he'd be looking at that guy in the mirror for a long, long time to come.

The simple part was travel—Boise to Chicago to Istanbul. Once there, catch yet a third flight to Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan—and a meet.

That's also where things stopped being so simple. Because there was the not-so-insignificant problem of the add-on.

Three hours out of Boise, John turned to the guy behind the wheel and said, "Let me get this straight. Patterson says that once we're in Dushanbe, we'll be ‘met' at the airport." He added air-quotes. "What's that even mean? Met by whom? With what name? Man? Woman? Vegetable? How many syllables?"

Taz Davila lifted a shoulder and let it fall—and this was Davila being expressive. "Hank didn't say."

"Meaning he either can't or won't." John paused. "Or doesn't know."

"Doesn't that sort of fall under the category of can't ?"

From Davila, this counted as witty repartee. Although he was Hannah Kendricks' husband, John knew diddly about the guy. Davila wasn't really involved in Brighter Days, which catered to ex-military: the broken, the scarred. The haunted. That wasn't Davila, so far as John knew. Hannah's man was in and out, sometimes there, sometimes gone for a week or more at a time from the rehab ranch. John could count the number of times in the past four months where he'd laid eyes on the guy on one hand and still have fingers left over.

Which was to say that what John knew of the guy amounted to just about nothing, other than he was one of Patterson's Brotherhood Support Group. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, he knew the group's real name. Sue him.)

Davila was also ex-Ranger. Looked it, too. Biceps, six-pack, the Sunday morning football scruff. The whole package put John in mind of the men who'd joined that transport from Germany to Doha. Men both he and Roni assumed worked for the CIA and whom they also figured they'd never see again.

As with so many other things surrounding the evacuation, that was also so very wrong.

He pressed Davila. "What if Patterson hasn't been read in either?"

"Doubt it."

"Meaning you don't know."

"Meaning you need to start looking at the doughnut, not the hole."

"Yeah," he said, dryly, thinking of the night he and Roni had watched The Lovely Bones. She'd said the doughnut thing, too. When his therapist first spouted the same thing at Brighter Days, it was all John could do not to sock the guy in the mouth. "I believe I've heard that one."

"What I'm saying is that Hank's not going to throw us into a lion's den."

"Let's hope not. A mob of very angry, very large cats is nothing to trifle with, my friend."

Davila didn't laugh. "Our cover story is we're your average thrill-seekers from Australia looking for a good hike in the Pamir Mountains."

"Uh-huh." He had done his homework. Even in August, daytime temps never got much higher than sixty degrees. Waking up to frost wasn't uncommon. "And just how are we going to sell that? Say things like mate and shrimp on the barbie a lot?" When he saw the corner of Davila's mouth quirk, John said, "Ah, the Sphinx has a sense of humor."

Davila rearranged his face. "Don't push your luck."

"Too late. I can't unsee that almost-smirk." He paused. "So why are we hiking the Pamirs in October? I'll be lucky not to freeze off highly personal and important parts of my anatomy."

"Yeah, but it's spring in Australia. We just got our seasons confused."

"That's like saying I came to Casablanca for the waters, but I was misinformed."

"What? "

"Never mind." John chewed his lower lip. "What do we do once we land in Tajikistan?"

"Look for someone holding up a sign with the right names."

Which were Child and King. John got the references. You couldn't even get out of a grocery store without seeing those guys' books in a display rack. "What if the operation's been compromised?"

"Hank trusts the people running operational security."

"Who are nameless." He didn't like it; this sounded like code for spooks . "What about the Russians? They used to own Tajikistan."

"Yes, but they're not in control anymore."

This was partially true. John had done his homework. As soon as the Russians left, the various Tajik tribes went after each other. Everything eventually calmed down, but only after ten really bad years. Russian was still one of the country's two official languages, and vodka was both easy to get and probably safer than the water.

"The Russians might not be calling the shots," he said, "but they still maintain a presence at the border with Afghanistan."

"True, but they're not going to be a factor. We'll be met at the airport where we get visas, an ID, gear, and a fair amount of cash in both Tajik somonis and Afghan afghanis."

"Why the cash? "

"I don't think we're going to find too many places that are gonna take a credit card."

"Good point. But that sounds like an awful lot of walking-around money."

"We need money to get across the various borders."

"Bribes?" When Davila nodded, John asked, "And after that?"

"To be determined."

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning we will be met by persons who remain nameless, and they know where we need to go."

"Which is a fancy way of saying, gee, I don't know."

John watched Davila think about that a second. "Okay, that's fair."

"You're killing me here," John said. "You really don't know who we're meeting and how we're getting to Kabul?"

"Yeah, I really don't know who. But I do know we're not going to Kabul."

He was startled. "What? Why not? Roni was killed at the airport."

"All indications are that our…for lack of a better word... objective is in the Wakhan."

"The Corridor? Seriously?"

"You know where that is?" Davila actually sounded impressed. "I had to look it up. "

"Well, I know about it." He was puzzled. This just did not compute. In a country where most villages could be legitimately said to be in the middle of nowhere, the Wakhan Corridor might as well be on another planet. The region was a narrow, sparsely inhabited, two-hundred-mile-long panhandle bordered by Tajikistan's Pamir Mountains on the north, Pakistan and the Hindu Kush to the south, and the gigantic mountains of Xinjiang, China at the panhandle's eastern tip.

"What are Roni's..." His throat tried to close, and he had to force out the rest. "What are Captain Keller's remains doing in the Wakhan?"

"I don't know, but let me pose a counterfactual," Davila said. "Did you see it happen?"

"The explosion? Yes, of course, I was there." Although explosion wasn't technically what he'd seen. He'd heard a monstrous roar, seen the look of shock given way to terror on Roni's face, and known she was reading the same on his. The irony was the explosion wasn't the worst part but only the beginning of something far more terrible. Because there had been only one avenue of escape, and he had been closer to that than she.

"Yes, but did you see her body ?"

"Did I…" The words dried up on his tongue. He stared at the other man for a long moment then said, finally, "No. No, I didn't. I was...I turned back in time to..." He tried again. "I was too far away, al ready inside the gate, and then I couldn't leave." It would have been more accurate to say that he hadn't been allowed to leave—had to be restrained, in point of fact, and even so, he'd been close to shooting anyone in his way—but he wasn't getting into that. How much did Davila know about that disastrous evac anyway? "What are you saying?"

"Nothing." Davila slid him a sidelong glance. "Only that her remains aren't in Kabul."

Which raised another possibility Davila didn't voice. Either Roni had been badly wounded and later died elsewhere— or she had been captured and died later. Or captured and killed. But really, it boiled down to six of one, half-dozen of the other. Dead was dead.

Hard to see anything but the hole of the doughnut for that one.

An hour outside Boise.

"What about weapons?" Having told Patterson exactly what he wanted in-country, John assumed his guns would be delivered with this vehicle, but the trunk was empty. When he mentioned this to Patterson, the man had only shrugged and said weapons were en-route. Which John assumed meant weapons would be procured at another stop, probably Chicago .

"What about weapons?" Davila asked.

"We picking them up for the flight from O'Hare?" When Davila shook his head, John gaped. "You're joking. Everyone and his mother has a gun in those parts. What are we supposed to do, hurl abusive language?"

Davila laughed. "You are nervous."

This, John thought, only proved his eminent good sense. "And you're not?"

"Some? But there's a time to fret and a time to relax and this ..." He tapped the dashboard. "This is one of those times. Driving along, beautiful country, nice mountains, clean air..."

"No one shooting at us."

"That's the spirit. Doughnut and hole, my man, doughnut and hole. We'll get weapons. We just can't bring them with us."

"Okay." Which was a lie. He was not okay. Something just didn't feel right here, but what was it? He turned his gaze to his window. To his right, Boise spread out in a valley. Above, a bright yellow plane buzzed east.

"Smokejumpers." He looked back to see Davila eye-checking the plane. "They're always practicing around here," Davila said, returning his gaze to the road. "Boise's one of their stations. There's a museum right next to the airport, actually. It's interesting. Been inside one of their planes, met a couple of them. Most are small guys and all muscle. Guess they got to be to haul all that gear."

"Cool."

Davila favored him with a narrow squint. "That was kind of less than a ringing endorsement"

"I'm preoccupied...mostly because this whole bone retrieval thing doesn't make sense. " They "—he inserted air-quotes— "whoever they are want us...well, me to retrieve Roni's remains, I get that. Why is kind of a mystery. Having you in the mix is another. I don't get why you're along. This wasn't your fight." He almost added that Davila hadn't effed things up the way he had but held his tongue.

"Hank asked me."

"In case I screw up."

"In case you need backup."

"You say tomato, I say to mah to." He resisted the urge to say they ought to call the whole thing off. "But why me? Out of the entire intelligence community and out of all Special Forces and all the CIA's paramilitaries…haven't you wondered why I'm the only guy?"

"If I'm honest about it?"

"You mean you haven't been?"

Davila let the sarcasm slip past without comment. "I think it's probably a combination of factors. One is your personal stake in this."

He wasn't going to deny that. "Meaning they …whoever they are…don't mind manipulating me . What's another?"

"Very simple. According to Hank, you were asked for by name."

"Seriously? Who? The CIA?"

"JSOC." Davila slipped him a glance. "You know Joint?—"

"Joint Special Operations Command," he said. "Yeah, I know what it stands for."

"You say that like you don't like it."

"I don't."

"Care to share?"

"Not particularly, no." Someone in Kabul either talked or they got around Stan and got access to my files—or both . More than likely, after what happened at the airport with that damn C17, someone had gotten curious to know more about the guy pulling that trigger. He wondered who they'd traced first: Roni or him. "Doesn't this strike you as odd, though? That JSOC's involved? You're seriously going to tell me they don't have their own people who could do this? The guys in JSOC are the elites and the CIA has paramilitaries all over the place. I know that for a fact. If CIA doesn't want to use someone in-country, they can pilfer someone from JSOC. I can't believe that Special Operations Command doesn't have someone in Force Red or Blue. "

"I suppose. But apparently, they think you're the man."

"Okay, how about this? Does it not strike you as, well, odd for JSOC to be interested in a retrieval ?"

"Of remains? You mean, instead of a POW?" Davila rubbed his chin with a thumb as he thought. "Okay, I see your point. Which, I guess, means we're back to...why you?"

Oh, buddy, could I give you an earful. And yet, what did the boy he had been have anything to do with the man he was now ? Or with poor, brave, crazy Roni, who'd been in the wrong place at precisely the wrong moment?

After a few miles of silence, Davila said, "You know, I can think of a reason why JSOC would ask for you."

"And why is that?"

"Either the spooks dropped the ball, or..."

"Or?"

Davila flexed his fingers and then gripped the steering wheel more firmly. " Or they need somebody the government can disavow. Somebody who, if he gets caught, our side can deny knowing about. If this blows up, they can claim you've gone rogue or crazy, or rogue and crazy."

"Just like Mission: Impossible. " These same thoughts had occurred to him about a mile back, but he let Davila have the moment .

"And something else...about what makes you the perfect..."

"Fall guy?" he put in when Davila hesitated.

"I was going to say chump, but that'll do... Hunh. " A small muscle along Davila's jaw. "Just occurred to me that they could leak you being at Brighter Days, if things blow up."

"They sure could. Throw a bit of PTSD into the mix, and it all boils down to one lone wolf, one wild and crazy guy."

"Two guys. I'm in this, too."

"Only peripherally. You're the chaperone, remember?" When Davila didn't say anything, he added, "I wasn't dissing you. Remember, I'm hearing this for the first time myself."

Davila shook his head in a curt, crisp negative. "I can't believe Hank would do that."

"Patterson probably doesn't even know."

"But he went along with you going and me tagging along to get you into position, I guess. Which means you're special in a way I'm not. Hank may not even have been read in."

"Yeah," he drawled. "Sucks to be in the dark, doesn't it?"

"Don't get cute. Are you saying you know why ? Like why you , specifically?"

Oh, I'm starting to have a really good idea. But no way he was telling Davila just yet. Even Roni had not known .

That particular story needed stay in the deep, dark past of another kid who was not John Worthy.

He settled for a half-truth. "I think you said it." John turned his gaze to the yellow plane, which was high above the mountains edging the highway. "Things go south, I'm deniable."

"But doing what?"

"You're not a stupid guy, Davila. I don't know Patterson, but I bet he wouldn't trust you if you were." The smokejumper plane banked, and a black rectangle suddenly appeared on the plane's otherwise pristine exterior. Belatedly, John realized someone on the plane had opened a door. A moment later, a tiny figure stepped from the plane and into thin air. Within five seconds, the smokejumper's parachute deployed, rocketing straight up before unfurling into a dazzling orange rectangle.

"Take a wild guess." He turned back to the other man. "Tell you what. I'm feeling magnanimous, so you get two guesses."

"Give a body to get a body."

"Bingo. He hits it on the first try, ladies and gents." No other explanation he could think of. Besides, if he never came back, anyone who wondered...he just bet that all official records pertaining to John Worthy, no matter how long he'd lived that legend, would have evaporated.

"And you're okay with that?" Davila asked.

"Are you? "

"Depends on you, doesn't it? I'm just the chaperone."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. We get on that plane, you're in it up to your eyeballs. So, think hard. You've got a wife. A life. Me, I'm picking up pieces. Maybe this is where I start, by bringing Roni home. Wasn't that the point of Brighter Days?"

"True." The airport exit sign flashed past, and Davila put on his blinker. "I just want to be sure you don't trip into the hole. Be nice if we stayed on the doughnut." Another pause. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he said as Davila took the exit ramp. "What's on your mind?"

"Just how good a shooter are you?"

"I guess," John said, "that depends on which side of the bullet you're on."