‘Tonight in particular?’
‘I quit drinking.’
Coombs gave a gruff nod. ‘Then you’re a braver man than me.’
His eyes turned to King, and King shrugged. ‘Braver than the both of us.’
‘Can I buy you a beer, then? I respect Will. And he respects you. That’s enough for me.’
King said, ‘I’d be honoured.’
Coombs got up and drifted to the bar. In other social circumstances, those remaining at the table might have gossiped about the newcomer. But that wasn’t King’s style, nor Slater’s. They sat in comfortable silence. King pondered the directions life could take.
Retirement.
The private sector.
No constant threat of death.
He had to admit, it sounded pretty damn good.
It was a shame he would never know what it was like.
4
Slater thought hard.
He watched King fall into pensive self-analysis, and followed suit.
Coombs had done it. In the Navy, Slater had known him as a hard-charging, take-no-shit drill instructor with zero room for compromise or civility. That was still there, under the surface. But the man had taught himself to suppress it, to only let it show when it was necessary. Perhaps it had allowed him to detach from his old mentality. Allowed himself room to breathe.
Slater had never — not once — given himself room to breathe.
That, potentially, was about to change.
But he hadn’t told King.
Before Coombs made it back, King said, ‘I might not see you before you leave tomorrow. Make sure you enjoy yourself.’
It seemed like a false sentiment, so Slater didn’t respond.
King said, ‘I mean it. These opportunities don’t come often.’
About that, Slater thought.
But he nodded. ‘Thanks, brother. I’ll try.’
Coombs returned, and placed a fresh pint in front of King, who accepted it graciously.
Then they talked. Conversation bled on for an hour, then two, and Slater found it easier than usual to compartmentalise. Neither he nor King felt the need to share details of past operations, but they talked about what they did in a broader sense. The training that went into it, the sacrifices they made, the decade-plus of their lives they’d given up. They didn’t discuss specific events — not the time they’d spent separately as vigilantes, on the run from their own government, nor the endless man-made disasters they’d prevented by the skin of their teeth, disasters so staggering that their success would have changed the course of history.
Coombs didn’t pry.
He knew better.
But as the minutes turned to hours, and the conversation flowed smoother and smoother, the old man got a strange look in his eyes. Slater noticed first, and then he saw King pick up on it. Coombs held eye contact for a little too long, as if the conversation was just surface-level fodder, as if under that surface he was contemplating something drastic. Slater knew Coombs was no threat, but it sure felt that way. It mirrored the instincts he experienced in the field when he sensed the arrival of something unexpected.
What that entailed… he wasn’t sure.
The big antique clock on the far wall inched past ten p.m., and Coombs said, ‘Well, I best be going, lads.’
Slater figured there was no use continuing to pretend there wasn’t something else there.
He said, ‘Is there anything you wanted to say, Jack?’
Coombs met his gaze. ‘You’re a smart fucker, you know that?’
Slater smirked. ‘We both know something’s up.’
King nodded his agreement.
Coombs said, ‘I should have known who I was talking to.’
Slater said, ‘We’ve been reading people for fifteen years.’
‘There’s something I have in mind,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think about connecting the dots until I was right here in front of you.’
Silence.
Coombs said, ‘I have a job opening.’
‘We don’t deal with the private sector,’ King said.
Coombs looked across at him. ‘You mentioned before you were independent contractors for the government. How is that exclusive? What’s stopping you from doing something for me?’
‘We are,’ Slater said. ‘We’re stopping ourselves. We’re not in that business, Jack.’
‘I am,’ Coombs said. ‘And I’ve got a gig coming up that I’m all out of options for. It’s a simple job. Straightforward. No twists or turns. It’s protection detail.’
‘And there’s a thousand spec-ops washouts who would do protection detail with a lot more enthusiasm than we would.’
Coombs said, ‘You shouldn’t be so hostile to the possibility. It’s a win-win. Easy money. It’d really help me out. I only need you, Will. It’s a one-man job.’
‘I can’t,’ Slater said.
‘I’m telling you—’
‘It’s not about the job,’ Slater said. ‘For one, we’d never be allowed. We’re on call twenty-four-seven. If our handler comes to us with an op, we need to act on it within the hour. We’re something of a last resort for the government. We’re the guys you call when every option is exhausted and the world’s about to go to shit. That’s not something we can step away from. And, secondly, I’m unavailable. I’m going on vacation tomorrow.’
Coombs stared. ‘You’re really going to feed me all that shit about being irreplaceable and then follow it up by saying you’re going on holiday?’
‘It’s a one time thing,’ Slater said. ‘I used all my favours. I won’t get this opportunity again.’
‘Wouldn’t pick a guy like you to take holidays.’
‘Then you have good judgment. This is my first. Ever. I’m putting my foot down, Jack. This is something I need for my own sanity. If you want the truth, I’ve met someone. She’s taking me on holiday, and I don’t have the nerve to refuse. Besides King here, she’s the only good thing in my life. I’m not about to fuck that up. I’ve been pretending I’m superhuman for too long. I need these next few days.’
It was the longest he’d spoken all evening. Coombs sat there, shifting his weight in the seat. Slater could see the man’s distress. He knew, even without Jack telling him, that the job was important. Perhaps crucial for his own reputation. But Slater couldn’t budge. This was his life.
Coombs said, ‘I don’t want to do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘Do you remember Coronado?’
Slater paused, then said, ‘You’re right. You don’t want to do this.’
‘I have to. This is the
