The Missionary

believe that he knows what he’s doing. He wouldn’t set this up if he thought it would endanger the students.”

Stone wanted to scream, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. “I’m not trying to undermine Nick. He’s my friend. I’ve known him since grade school, and I know he wants to help. He’s got the best intentions in the world, and I know that.” He glanced at Nick, who was shifting in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Just…please. Focus on other things. Build homes. That’s a huge need in Manila. Bring food and fresh water, medical attention. Just bring the Gospel and friendship. They’ll respond. I promise.”

Len drummed his fingers. He turned to Nick. “What do you think, Nick?”

“I…I…” Nick looked stricken. He wouldn’t meet Stone’s eyes. “I think my idea is solid, sir. I know there are risks, but I’ve got a huge team of volunteers, and most of those who’ve expressed interest in the trip are adults. Sorry, Stone.”

Stone leaned back in his chair. “I want my dissension recorded. This is a bad idea. Please reconsider. Please. I’ve got experience in this that ya’ll don’t understand. You really don’t know what you’re tangling with.”

“It’s been decided, son,” Len said.

“You’re coming, right?” Nick clapped his friend’s shoulder. “You can be our security.”

“I guess I am.” Stone pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the roiling in his belly, the warning bells in his head.

The problem was, he’d been in the Navy for almost ten years. The first lesson he learned, on his first combat mission, was to always, always listen to the warnings in his gut.

* * *

Stone parked his Monte Carlo at the rear of the church parking lot, heaved his black duffel bag from the back seat, and locked his car. Once approval from Pastor Len had been granted, the trip had come together quickly. Stone had put in his opinions, and on most matters, Nick listened. Still, he’d voiced his disapproval and worry at every step of the way, but no one heeded him. They had the bone in their teeth, and they weren’t letting go.

Stone had nearly gone postal when he saw Wren’s name on the list of students. He’d gone so far as to corner her the day before, when the group was meeting for one final discussion of the itinerary.

“Don’t go, Wren. Please,” he’d said. “There are other ways to do good in this world.”

Wren had stared back at him, seeming perplexed. “Stone…I’m going. I’ve paid—”

“I’ll refund your money myself, right now. I’ll write you a check, pull the cash from the ATM. Just…” he wiped his hand down his face and started over. “Wren, listen. I have a bad feeling about this. This trip isn’t…I— none of you understand what you’re getting yourselves into.”

“And you do?” She had propped her fist on her hip, eyes narrowed.

“Yes!” He’d heard the word burst from him, vehement and too loud. “Yes, I do. There was a mission…look, I can’t get into that, it’s classified. Just please listen to me. Don’t go. I’m begging you, please…stay home.”

A myriad of emotions crossed Wren’s expressive face. “Stone, I know you mean well. I do. But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do some real good in the world, to change lives and save souls. I have to go. If there’s risk involved, I’m willing to accept it. I trust that God will protect me.”

Stone had wanted to scream. Instead, he’d groaned, spinning in place and pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get yourself raped and killed, you mean.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating a little bit?” Wren had come up behind him and touched his arm.

“No. If anything, I’m understating how dangerous this trip is.”

“I can’t back out now, Stone. I won’t.”

Wren had walked away without a backward glance, leaving Stone to watch her go.

Now Stone found himself approaching the two church vans that would take the group to the airport, his heart heavy and his stomach turbulent. Most of the group was already in place, stacking their suitcases and duffel bags in a pile in front of the vans. They were chattering excitedly, a group of eighteen evenly divided by gender. Most were college students, with a handful of high school seniors tossed in. Wren was already bouncing on her toes, full of energy, spouting facts about Manila that she’d researched over the last few days.

This trip was a bad idea. Stone knew it. At least he would be there to make sure Wren stayed safe.

He packed the pile of luggage into the backs of the white Econoline vans while Nick did a head count against the roster. After the last few stragglers showed up, Nick drove one van, and Stone the other. Aside from the eighteen students, there was Nick, Amy, Jimmy, Stone, and three other non-staff adults, parents of the high school seniors on the trip.

All throughout the trip to the airport, boarding, and the flight, Stone’s worry increased. It wasn’t helped by the fact that he was returning to Manila.

As he dozed in his window seat and fell deeper into sleep, the dream-memory sunk its claws into him, and he was helpless to stop it.

* * *

Humidity was like a blanket, smothering him in sweat and heat. It would’ve been more bearable had he not been in full tactical gear. Par for the course though, and nothing he couldn’t handle. 

It was better than being cold, if you asked him. 

They’d infiltrated from the sea, swimming from a blacked-out freighter to shore, more than a mile in full gear. The target was a cluster of shanties in the middle of a wilderness of makeshift dwellings. It was a damned effective disguise, putting their base of operations in the middle of the slumtown. They could operate in secrecy, right out in the open. No one would say anything, because they were all too busy scrabbling to stay alive. 

The mission was to take down a ring of sex traffickers and drug smugglers. The ring was small in terms of numbers of members, but they moved huge amounts of product, both chemical and human. They were brutal, organized, and effective. Local authorities were terrified of them. No one would touch them. 

Except Stone and his men. It was a mission unofficially sanctioned by the US government, the kind of mission that you had to volunteer for, and for which you wouldn’t draw official pay. 

Stone had seen the files. The photos of girls no more than seven or eight, beaten, forced into addiction to heroin, and sold into sexual slavery. Sixteen year old girls sold by their own families for paltry sums. Twenty-year olds kidnapped right off the street, found dead months later, raped and beaten into something unrecognizable as human. Most of the victims were Filipino, locals. Part of the massive South Pacific sex trade.

But—and this was the reason Stone and his men were silently sneaking through the midnight shadows—there were increasingly common cases of American tourists disappearing in the shantytowns. Some had been found dead—brutalized and viciously used, like the locals—but most had never turned up. There had been others, too, not just Americans. Canadians, Brits, Aussies, Germans. Young women from all over the world, traveling through Manila and vanishing without a trace. The clincher came when Lisa Johnson went missing—the nineteen year old daughter of Senator Alan Johnson, who just happened to be part of a spec-ops oversight committee. The senator gathered his enormous bundle of strings and pulled them all. 

Find her, came the orders. Do whatever you have to do, but find Lisa and get her out at all costs.

Sources were pressed for information, a location was determined, and a plan came together. A two-fireteam unit swam ashore in the dead of a July night. Even then, Manila wasn’t asleep. But, there were shadows enough for Stone and his men to slip unnoticed deeper and deeper into the shantytown slumbering beneath the shadowy bulk of Smokey Mountain, the smoldering, two-story high hill of trash that was Manila’s sordid claim to fame.

Stone, running point, came to a stop outside a shanty identical to the millions of others. There was a slab of corrugated iron for the roof, broken hunks of plywood and stacks of crumbling bricks comprising the walls. It was so tiny he couldn’t have stood upright in it, and probably could have touched all four walls standing in the center, but it was home to a family. Or the others were. This particular shanty was a little different. It had a