my recollection. Maybe he had a couple of daughters, maybe he didn't, but damned if I could remember.
What had she said? That the colonel said I was the best Marine in the corps?
Stupid ol' Charlie Dean. I ate that shit with a spoon. The best Marine in the corps! So I helped her 'steal' a plane and kill a bunch of convicted terrorists that Libya would never extradite.
If we were caught I would have sworn under torture, until my very last breath, that no government was involved, that the people planning this escapade were a U.S. Air Force deserter and an ex-Marine she hired.
I loafed around Capetown for a few more days, paid my bills, thanked the widow lady, gave her a cock-and- bull story about my sick kids in America, and took a plane to New York. At JFK I got on another plane to Los Angeles.
When the taxi dropped me at my apartment, I stopped by the super's office and paid the rent. The battery in my car had enough juice to start the motor on the very first crank.
I almost didn't recognize Candy. He had even gotten a haircut and wore clean jeans. 'Hey, Mr. Dean,' Candy said after we had been chatting a while. 'Thanks for giving me another chance. You've taught me a lot.'
'We all make mistakes,' I told him. If only he knew how true that was.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stephen Coonts is the author of eight