Weston Ochse: Reign of Evil

“And smooth is fast, I know.”

Holmes held up a hand. “Hold. Getting a call from Laws.”

Walker watched Holmes. Through his mask, he could only make out the SEAL team leader’s eyes. But several times they flicked in his direction. Walker felt worry creep into his system. He’d had a finely honed sense of trouble ever since he was orphaned and left on the streets of the Philippines as a child.

Holmes spoke for perhaps two minutes, then turned to face Walker.

“What’s the news?” Walker asked.

Holmes shook his head. “It’s bad. We’re going to cancel training.”

Butterflies with switchblades kamikazied in his stomach. “How bad?”

“Worst.”

Walker went through the list of all the worst things that could happen. He was stunned at how few there really were. He glanced at Holmes and then he knew. The emptiness was so complete it was as if his insides had been torn out, leaving the vacuum of space.

He couldn’t keep his voice from cracking as he said, “Jen?”

Holmes closed his eyes and nodded.

Walker gulped for air. He felt like he was falling. How ironic he wore a suit made for it and it wasn’t helping. “How?”

“They don’t know. She and her friend and a group of others were all murdered visiting Stonehenge.”

Suddenly he had something to grab on to. “Did you say ‘murdered’?”

“I did.”

“Do they have the—”

“They have no idea.”

“By ‘they’ you mean MI5?”

Holmes nodded.

“What about our intel? Do we have any?”

“If we did I know it’s well above our pay grades.”

“To hell with pay grades. She was my fiancée… and I want to know. I need to know.”

“We may never know.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Regardless, this exercise is over. Team leader to pilot.”

“No!” Walker felt a sense of panic. He had to have something normal. He needed something planned. He had to jump. He glanced at the open door, then back at Holmes. “Let me do this.”

The voice came from the cockpit and through their com systems. “Team lead, this is pilot. What’s your command?”

Holmes gave him a steady gaze.

“What? You think I’m going to kill myself?” Walker felt his lip curl. “You think I’m going to swan-dive so I can be with Jen in a better place? As romantic as that sounds in movies, it’s bullshit. Someone has to be alive to pick up the pieces. Someone has to be the one to get revenge.” He paused and couldn’t keep from one last desperate whisper. “Is she really dead?”

“Yes, son. She’s really dead.”

“Let me jump. Just let me fucking jump.”

“Team lead, this is pilot; I say again, what’s your command?”

“Pilot, this is team lead; continue mission.”

“WILCO.”

When they reached altitude, the light above the door blinked red.

Walker made to stand and move, but Holmes gripped his arm. They both wore masks, but Jack could feel the intensity in his commander’s eyes.

“We’ll get through this, Jack. We’re your family. We’ll help you any way we can.” Holmes held on for a moment, then let Walker go.

They both stood and crouch-walked to the door. When the light turned green, Walker stepped out and let the wash carry him back and down. He knew Holmes was right behind him, but there was no way to see him. Not through the darkness. Not through Walker’s tears.

Fifteen seconds later he deployed his chute and felt it jerk him free of his fatal fall. He stared at his altimeter and watched as it indicated his descent. Sobs overtook him at 25,000 feet. At 21,000 feet he thought about pulling the release on the chute. Maybe there was a heaven. Maybe there was an afterlife. God knows he’d discovered that there was so much more to this world since he’d joined Triple Six. If there were demons and shape changers why couldn’t there be a heaven?

Holmes’s voice brought him back. “Walker, you’re off course.”

Walker checked the GPS compass on his other wrist. He was way off course.

Holmes’s voice was filled with urgency. “Walker, what are you doing? We talked about this.”

He guided his MC-6 in the proper direction. “Course corrected,” he said, then nothing more.

If there was a heaven then he had time to get there. Time probably moved a lot differently in such a place. It might only be a moment for Jen. Then a voice reminded him that it could also be an eternity, but he ignored it. What had initially seemed a comparison of love and revenge and a question of which was stronger had been reconciled. Love was revenge’s fuel and by god he’d loved Jen like no one else. He pictured her waiting for him by the famous San Diego statue of a sailor kissing a nurse. The way Jen’s red hair had lain against the white nurse’s uniform she’d rented from a costume store. The way she and Jack had kissed, mimicking the statue. That had been a hell of a day.

By the time he hit 10,000 feet he knew what had to be done. By hook or by crook he was going to find out who killed his fiancée and when he did he’d do the same to them and everyone else involved.

He’d do it or die trying.

Member of Parliament Gordon Miller felt like his head had been stoved in and his brains replaced with porridge. He and that sweet little waitress from Lions Head had drunk enough G&Ts to fill a water tank last night. Now, waking up to the frigid morning and an even more frigid realization that he’d failed to respond to not one but twenty-seven texts from his dear wife, especially the last one, which said: You might as well go fuck yourself because you’re never going to fuck me again, made his morning complete.

Sigh.

She’d said the same thing twice before and it had proven expensive to get back in her good graces. Real fucking expensive. He’d have to test his mettle and see if her golden triangle was worth it this time.

The bathroom door opened and Veronica stepped out naked, her raven hair still dripping. She held a towel to it as she regarded him, already in his suit, chewing breath mints and guzzling water.

“You gonna run out on me, governor?”

He shook his head. She had the dark skin of a Gypsy and the night moves of an alley cat. He wanted nothing more than to have another go at it, except for the fact he was fresh out of little blue pills. What’s a fifty-five-year-old overweight MP to do? Plus, he needed to get home and not with the smell of strange on him.

“Sorry, luv. Mother called and wants me home.”

She gave him a smile much like the one she’d offered him in the pub. It promised absolutely everything. “We going to do this again soon?”

Gordon couldn’t help but smile. “I hope so. Just need to figure it out.”

“Don’t leave me hanging, governor. A girl loves to be treated like a woman by a rich man. Especially a rich man who’s on television as much as you.”

So she knew. So much for his pretense of being a simple businessman. And the damn girl was smiling again. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She turned and went back into the bathroom. He couldn’t help but watch. Even if his body wouldn’t cooperate, his mind was creative enough to fill in the blanks.

His cell phone buzzed. He checked it. Wifey.

Your shit is on the back porch.

His fingers hovered over the phone as he prepared to answer her. But then it buzzed again. His secretary had sent the schedule for the morning, including an updated time for his conference with the Muslim League about increased funding for their defense account. What another pain in the ass. Not that he didn’t mind their considerable support to his campaigns, but they insisted on taking an incredible amount of his time. Still, if he wanted to remain in office this was something that had his full support, which also meant he couldn’t afford to miss the appointment.