Stoner said nothing, but came over and lowered himself into a squat next to Breanna. Danny, standing behind the Filipino and still holding her shirt, stooped slightly. A light drizzle had started to fall; the rain was warm, like the sprinkle from a shower.
“What are you doing on this island?” asked Stoner. “You don’t come from here.”
The young woman spit at him, but the spook didn’t react.
“We’re not your friends, but we’re not interested in hurting you either,” he said. “Tell us why you’re here. Otherwise we’ll turn you over to the Army.”
She said nothing. They stared at each other a few seconds more; then Stoner rose.
“She’s a guerrilla,” said Captain Peterson. “You’ll have to give her over to Western Command, the Filipino Army. Her people were probably planning a raid.”
“She’s not CPP, and she wasn’t planning a raid,” said Stoner.
“Who the fuck are you?” Peterson said.
Stoner gave the Marine a half smile but didn’t answer his question. He turned to Zen instead — he was the ranking officer, but even so, Zen thought it odd — and told him. “The people in that settlement are probably all related; came here from one of the other islands. Luzon or someplace. They’ll have a horror story.” Stoner then turned abruptly and walked away.
“Whether she’s a Commie or not,” said Peterson, “you’re going to have to turn her over to her government.”
“She’s my prisoner,” said Danny. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with her yet.”
Peterson took a long breath obviously designed to underline what he was going to say next. “Captain, you have to follow proper procedures. And if there’s a village that’s threatening our post, then—”
“We’ll survey the village to see if it’s a threat,” said Danny. “In the meantime, this woman may have to stand charges.”
“For grabbing some scissors?” said Bree.
Danny glared at her.
“I want to talk to Colonel Bastian,” said Danny. He turned to Liu. “Put her in the tent. Keep her hands cuffed. Behind her.”
Stoner walked along the perimeter of the airstrip, letting the light rain soak his face and clothes. He knew he wanted it to purge his anger. He also knew it wouldn’t work, not completely.
Desire was the cause of all suffering. He stared into the droplets of rain, gazing out at the ocean. The furling waves had no desire; they were just drop of water pushed by physics.
Like him.
Not like him. He hated Woods — he hated all of the Navy people. And the Marines. Especially the Marines.
Irrationally, ridiculously. He had been a SEAL, and yet he hated the Navy. His assignments with the Company made use of his Navy expertise. Yet he hated the Navy. With no reason, beyond a hundred thousand insults and injuries, all to his ego, all meaningless in the great flow of life.
He would never be a true Buddhist, since he could not denounce is ego. Maybe he didn’t want to be a true Buddhist — which, ironically, would make him closer to being one. The koan of it was a beautiful, humorous circle.
Stoner held his fingers together, his arms down at his sides, absorbing the rain. He actually liked Freah for not wanting to turn the idiot girl over to the Filipino Army. He liked all the Dreamland people — Zen Stockard especially. The major had just sat there, listening, not forming a judgement. The guy knew shit every second he was awake, but he didn’t bitch about it.
And his wife, his beautiful wife …
Stoner let the idea float out toward the water. Desire was the cause of all suffering, the Buddha taught, and this was still the most difficult lesson to reconcile.
Danny knew from Bison he wouldn’t find Colonel Bastian in the trailer, but he went there first anyway. Then he walked very deliberately — to the tent that had been designated as Colonel Bastian’s quarters. He knew he wouldn’t find the colonel there either. So by the time he went to look for him where he had known all along he would be — Iowa, getting ready to takeoff — it was too late. The Megafortress’s four engines rumbled and flared as Danny watched from twenty or thirty yards away; slowly being towed toward the runway, preparing to take off.
“Hey, Cap,” said Powder as Danny watched the Megafortress put her nose into the wind. “Getting wet, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Danny. If he wanted, he could use his smart helmet to talk to the colonel right now, ask him what to do. But he didn’t.
“So what’s with the girl?” asked Powder. “Tried to shoot your head off?”
“Something like that.”
“Like that girl is Bosnia, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Danny, who hadn’t even thought about that incident.
Oh, he realized.
Oh!
“Spooky replay, huh?”
Danny put his hand over his eyes, shielding them from the rain. Powder had been with him in Bosnia.
“You know, I hadn’t even thought about it,” he told the sergeant. “I didn’t even remember that.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” Danny laughed.
“Really, Cap? You blocked the whole sucker out?”
More or less. It had probably poked at him when he realized the person he’d grabbed was a woman, but he hadn’t really remembered, or thought about it, maybe because he was too focused on doing his job. Or maybe the memory was just too much.
The other woman was a Muslim too.
“Shit,” said Danny.
“Captain?”
“Let’s go get some coffee,” he told Powder. “Assuming these Navy guys know how to make it.”
He’d been in Italy as part of a Special Tactics Squadron, and through a series of related and unrelated developments, wound up being assigned with two of his men to accompany a UN negotiating team. The UN people were to meet with government officials at a police station in an obscure hillside town. The day before Danny, Powder, and another STS sergeant named Dave Chafetz went into the town with two plainclothes Yugoslavian policemen to familiarize themselves with the area. The policemen were scared shitless about something, even though they were in ostensibly friendly territory.
Scouting the ingress and egress routes went quickly. The police station was located near the town’s biggest intersection, which, despite the Yug’s assurance, was highly problematic. Danny and his team members took mental notes of several evacuation points, including the police station roof. They planned to have a pair of Blackhawks and some scout helicopters no more than two minutes away, and a ground unit with armored vehicles within striking distance. With Danny taking pains not to tip off his assessments to his Yugoslav escorts, it took about four hours to scout the whole place. Danny’s efforts were more professional than practical; it wouldn’t take a genius to know roughly where an emergency rendezvous or pickup would be planned.
The policemen kept asking nervously if he’d seen enough, hinting almost to the point of insistence that it was time for them to return to their UN base. Finally, Powder suggested they look at the building next to the police station; it was a grocery-type store, though from the window and door facing the street, the shelves looked pretty bare.
The policemen argued it was time to leave. Danny exchanged glances with his two men, then told the Yugs they were going in.
“Fine,” said one of the policemen. “We’ll wait out here.”
More than likely, they were just being paranoid, but you could never tell. The building had to be inspected and it had to be inspected now.
Danny and his men were dressed in fatigues with armored vests, but weren’t carrying rifles. They could and
