“What’s the flag?” Rand asked.
“Norton.”
Rand started to smile. “Photographed,” he added. “Angie, did you happen to take a picture of Cleve when you found him?”
She nodded.
“And the other injured?”
“That’s what I do,” she replied. “Whatever happens? I shoot it. Especially the bad shit. I can think about it — feel bad about it — later. But I photograph what happens.”
Rand was smiling. Mac looked at him. “And she sees a lot more than people realize,” Mac added.
Rand nodded. “Do we have time to circle around and photograph the guy that died in Ken’s group?”
Mac shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “Once you realize that the way out of here isn’t a long hike where they kill and toss you in the ravine? We’ve got all day.”
Rand laughed. “Now if you can figure out who Sensei is? This won’t be as big a clusterfuck as I thought it was.”
“Oh, I plan to make it a big clusterfuck,” Mac reassured him. He also had a growing suspicion about Sensei. He set that aside for when he got out of here. “And I plan to let Angie photograph it all. It will be glorious.”
He rummaged through his weapon stash and came up with detonators. He handed them to Rand.
Rand laughed.
Angie shook her head. “Do we have time for another cup of coffee then?”
“Sure,” Rand said. “We’ve got time for another pot. And bacon and eggs even.”
“I could go for a hot breakfast,” Mac admitted. “But the situation still isn’t dire enough to make me drink coffee.”
Angie frowned at him. “What do you have against coffee, anyway?”
“Bad coffee is a Marine staple,” Mac said morosely. “When you’re on base, or any camp set up, the coffee pot goes up first, I swear to God. And I don’t know how they do it, but they can make day-old coffee from the first cup. When you’re in the field? You get a packet of instant Nescafe in your MRE. People do all kinds of things to make that shit palatable. Use it as chewing tobacco to get the caffeine hit. Mix it with the sugar and cocoa and instant milk to get a mocha drink that can gag a person — but damn, you got a hit from the caffeine, cocoa and sugar all at once.
“It’s not the taste,” he continued. “It’s the smell. I smell that shit, and I’m back in a field camp in Afghanistan.”
Rand was fixing the breakfast he promised as he listened to Mac. “And the Mountain Dew? Don’t get many Mountain Dew fans out here.”
“No, it’s a Midwest and South hillbilly drink,” Mac agreed. “Picked up the habit from one of my team members who came from Louisiana. He always found some somehow. As an alternative to coffee? More sugar and more caffeine that a Coke. Got me hooked on it.”
Mac didn’t add, he’d gotten hooked on it when he was sobering up. One barfight too many — and even the Marine Corps was looking at him skeptically. So, he started doing AA and all that shit. And what he found was that he craved sugar after that. And Danny gave him a Mountain Dew and said, “Drink.” And he kept feeding Mac Mountain Dew every time the craving for alcohol or sugar got to be too much.
He was glad to be sober. He missed Danny, even though the man could talk a person to madness. And somehow Mountain Dew was a part of all of that. It was his lifeline to sobriety. And a fond remembrance of a friend.
Even if it did taste like maybe they had added gasoline for a punch. It still beat Nescafe any day.
“Eat,” Rand said, and sat a plate down in front of him. He dished up more food for Angie and for himself. Angie poured coffee, and she rummaged around in the storage tent and came back with a six-pack of Mountain Dew.
“One now, the rest put in your pack,” she said laughing.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mac said, as he ate the bacon and eggs. They tasted really good. Food always did when you knew you were headed into a firefight. He even had seconds.
Chapter 24
So, the first task was to backtrack Ken’s route from yesterday and take some photos of a dead guy. Rand led the way. Angie followed him, while Mac brought up the rear. He was tired. He could have used a couple more hours of sleep. And yesterday had been a hard one. His legs hurt. His back hurt. His pack seemed heavier. Well actually it was heavier, he reminded himself. He’d stocked it with weaponry. He added to Rand’s personal collection.
He looked at Angie consideringly, and then shook his head. “Stealth is your best friend,” he said. “You’ve got the Ruger if you need it. But you’re quiet, you know how to move through the woods. You’ve got a compass. Your job is to get your photos to Janet. And more weaponry will just weigh you down.”
“And besides, I can’t shoot worth shit,” she said equitably.
“And there’s that,” Mac agreed with a laugh. He had pulled out his phone and gave her a couple of extra numbers: Janet’s complete list, Stan Warren’s cell phone, Rodriguez’s cell, even Dunbar’s. And then just to be safe — because Mac knew without a shadow of a doubt he’d come — he gave her Shorty’s number.
“If you get out? Don’t go to Ken if you can help it. Don’t go to anyone local. As soon as your phone has service, you start down that list, until you get someone who can come to you and then you hide out until they get there.”
“What about the rangers?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, not even them,” Mac said adamantly. “Something’s not adding up right.” He considered it. “If you have to? Go to Ken. Or call Mrs. Jorgensen. She might help. But Angie? You can’t trust anyone local. There are pressures that they may be under that we don’t know about — an uncle who
