Minutes to Burn Read online

  "Yeah," Justin said, "but after what happened to his baby."

  "Don't forget, it wasn't him who…" Mako's voice trailed off.

  Justin gritted his teeth. "If you say so, sir."

  Cameron leaned back in the chair. A flash of Derek on their last mission. Riding shotgun in a humvee, foot on the dash, tongue pressed into his cheek as he jammed M-4 mags. Miles of desert stretching around the vehicle in all directions. Without looking up, Derek handing her the last gulp in his canteen the minute she reached for hers. Knowing hers was empty before she did. "Who else?" Cameron asked.

  "Some familiar faces."

  "Like whose?"

  "I did mention that the briefing was Monday?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And you are aware of the purpose of a briefing?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then I'll assume there are no more questions at this time. Is that a fair assumption, Cam?"

  Cameron flashed an unamused smile, letting it fall quickly back into a grimace. "Yes, sir."

  "I'll be in touch with information about the briefing. In the mean-time, see if you can contain your curiosity." Mako clicked out without waiting for a response.

  The old nurse pushed open the wooden door, which creaked softly on the hinges. She leaned forward into the lobby, a plastic clipboard in her hand. Her voice was deep, textured like a smoker's. "Kates. Cameron Kates. The doctor's ready for you."

  Cameron looked up at the nurse. "How long will this take?"

  The nurse shrugged. "Probably about fifteen minutes."

  "Jesus," Justin said. "That's longer than it takes to make a baby."

  "Yeah," Cameron said with a faint smile. "I wanted to talk to you about that." She glanced back at the nurse. "And I can be up and on my feet after?"

  "You'll have to take it easy for a couple of days."

  Cameron turned to Justin, her frustration evident. "I wanted to get this over with."

  "If we're lifting out Monday…" Justin raised his hand, then let it fall to his knee. "You can't really risk being sore."

  "Goddamnit." Cameron pushed herself back in the chair, then slumped down.

  The nurse waited, tapping the clipboard against her thigh, her breath a rattle in her throat. Justin faced his wife, speaking gently. "It's only a week, honey. That'll even give me time to knock you up again."

  Cameron's frown lightened, almost imperceptibly. "That's not how it works."

  "Oh yeah," Justin said. Reluctantly, Cameron pushed herself up in her seat. Justin turned to the nurse. "I think we're gonna have to reschedule."

  "Talk to the receptionist," the nurse said before disappearing behind the door.

  "She's pleasant," Cameron muttered.

  "I'm surprised she didn't call you 'dearie.'"

  Justin stood, but Cameron didn't budge. He took her hands in his and pulled her up from the chair. She rose with melodramatic slowness, and he looped his arms beneath hers to hold her up. She kissed him softly on the mouth before turning to leave.

  "Christ," she said over her shoulder. "No wonder they don't want broads in the military."

  Chapter 5

  His gold scraggly coat spotted with brown and draped sheetlike over his gaunt frame, the feral dog paused at the edge of the field facing the Scalesia forest of Sangre de Dios. A garua haunted the curves of the forest, lurking in the trees' rounded domes.

  Shrubs and plants tangled the forest understory, and the tree branches were draped with moss and festooned with twisting vines, giving the forest a massy thickness from ground to treetop. Usually white, but sometimes a surprising red or orange, the lichen on the tree trunks broke up the greens and browns of the forest.

  Hunger had driven the dog up into the highlands; the departure of most of Sangre de Dios's farm families meant fewer compost heaps to raid outside the rugged houses. The chickens left behind had already been slaughtered in their coops by a fortunate pack of dogs, but they had driven him away when he'd tried to sneak in on the kill. He had returned the next day, but little had been left aside from a few blood stains on the wooden planks, which he had licked until his tongue bled. Managing to unearth a couple of tortoise nests in the fallow fields that had been cleared beside the forest, he'd eaten a few eggs, but that had been the previous week, and he'd found no food since then.

  He moved forward between the trees, his eyes glinting yellow. A stone lodged in the pad of his front foot made his gait awkward, but as he hit the soft ground of the forest, his trot smoothed into the effortless glide of a predator.

  He sensed movement up ahead and caught a whiff of something when the wind shifted. Something living. His nose twitched, his lip drawing back from his teeth in a silent snarl that gleamed in the night. Dark streaks of dried mucus trailed from the corners of his eyes.

  Slinking forward, the soft pads of his feet sinking in the mud, the dog lowered his head, his skin rippling in waves of coarse hair. He crept past a cluster of trees, the long trunks lost among the leaves and stalks of lesser plants. The path widened into a clearing, trees lining the edges of a mud wallow like sentinels. Wind whispered through the dead sprays of elephant grass.

  Abruptly, the dog halted, sensing an odd blend of danger and opportunity. One foot raised above the ground and angled back like a pointer's, the other three sunk in the mud, he stopped breathing. His eyes were wide, but he didn't turn his head. The rise and fall of his ribs beneath his coat died. He was still. He was almost invisible in the night.

  Suddenly, a plant right beside him sprang to life, lunging at him with two raptorial legs. The spiked appendages folded back on themselves, snapping shut around the dog's midsection. The dog emitted a pained grunt as he was lifted into the air. He struggled in the grasp of the massive clamp, yelping. The strike occurred in a fraction of a second.

  A triangular head full of sharp, quivering mouthparts lowered to the dog's skull. The dog's yelp was cut short when the creature chewed through his neck.

  The dog twitched in the jagged legs as the creature devoured him, nibbling through his neck to get at the nourishing tissues packed inside the chest cavity. The dog provided good sustenance, but it was not nearly large enough. The creature's appetite was growing. The supply of dogs and goats on the island was dwindling, and the cows had proved too heavy for it.

  It discarded the paws and the head, as well as a long segment of the dog's intestines, which dropped to the ground like a length of rope. It rarely ate off the ground.

  After it finished, the creature dipped its head, cleaning chunks of flesh from the spines of its legs and wiping its face in deft, catlike motions. Then it stepped back into line with the trees, undulating until it mimicked perfectly the movement of the surrounding foliage in the breeze. It swayed with the trees, all but disappearing from sight.

  Chapter 6

  23 Dec 07

  Water was dripping somewhere nearby. The window didn't cast enough light through Savage's cell for him to see the water dripping, but he heard it. He glanced up at the small square of blue, split three times with steel bars, and saw that there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Probably a busted pipe somewhere, he thought, some faulty plumbing. Probably did it on purpose, those bastards. Chinese water torture.

  He walked to the front of his cell, resisting the urge to grip the bars like some yahoo criminal in a Western. He was still missing one of his boots, and the ground felt moist through his sock. He'd been arrested on a Friday, and they'd taken their time processing him, ensuring he'd have to wait through the weekend for a Monday arraignment. It had been a peaceful two days.

  Across the way, a pale, fleshy prisoner was sitting on the floor, legs kicked wide like a child's. Across the chest of his shirt, FIN was written with a black marker. Probably got hauled in drunk and naked last night. He was rubbing himself through his jail-issue pants.

  "Lovely," Savage said.

  "Hey, buddy, you trying to steal a free peek?"

  Savage went back to his bed and flipped it over, dumping the thin stained mat
tress on the moldy floor. He leaned the narrow frame up against the wall, hooking two of the legs on the ledge of the window. He climbed on top of the frame, threading his legs through the aluminum bed slats, and leaned back down the incline. Some of his reddish-brown hair fell loose from the bandanna.

  Fin was on his feet, staring across the dim corridor into Savage's cell. "You trying to break out, buddy? You think you're goin' somewhere?" He laughed, a high-pitched cackle. "I'm in the big leagues, you know. Got me a little girl, cut her up like a paper doll."

  Savage tuned him out and began his incline sit-ups, trying to move his shoulders directly toward the ceiling to increase the strain through his stomach. Once he was well into his set, he began grunting slightly with the exertion.

  Fin started grunting along with him, drawing the grunts out into moans. When Savage finished his set and rolled back over his shoulders to the ground, Fin continued his moaning, elevating to yells and hip thrusts. He squealed loudly through a fat grin and shuddered, as if he'd come. When he finished, he bounced on his toes and laughed a flat, atonal laugh.

  Savage stared at him, unimpressed. He leaned forward into a hand-stand, placing his legs barely against the wall. He started doing push-ups, moving his body directly up and down. The cell was so cold he could see his breath.

  "I wish I was over there, buddy," Fin called out. "You bouncin' up and down like that, it's givin' me a little tingle in the tummy. Make me wanna-"

  Savage could hear him making some kind of furious gesture, but he ignored him, straining through his final push-ups. The strain in his triceps intensified, and he lowered himself from the wall and extended his arms straight out before him to loosen the knots.

  "Bet you'd like to think that, huh, buddy? That I wanna fuck you? Well, I ain't no faggot. Have me a lady on the outside. I don't go in for no backdoor action, if you catch my drift. I ain't no queer." Fin slapped his chest with a fist, and it sent a ripple clear down to his stomach. "I don't want no piece of you. No sir."

  Savage glanced up at him. "I don't remember making you an offer."

  Fin ran a hand along the sallow skin under his chin, pushing it to one side. "I saw you lookin' at me. When I had my hands on myself. I know that look. I broke people's faces for less. Got in a brawl one time down south, outside of Ciudad Juarez…"

  Savage ignored the drone from the other cell and crawled back up on the bed frame, beginning another set of sit-ups. He was not surprised, halfway through his set, to hear Fin mimicking his grunts again. Not a broad range of material. He finished his sit-ups and regarded Fin blank-faced as he enacted another orgasm, this time accompanied by screams and bar rattling.

  "Thanks, buddy," Fin said through a beefy grin. "I liked that one even better."

  The door down the corridor opened and two guards approached, flanking a young, clean-shaven law officer. Savage noticed the khaki uniform as the officer drew nearer and realized he was a Montana Park Ranger. The three men paused outside Savage's cell.

  "William Savage?" the park ranger asked. Savage stared back at him.

  "Yup, that's him," Fin shouted. "That's him I bet."

  "I'm Ranger Walters. You're coming with me."

  Savage studied the stains on the ceiling. "Where to?"

  "You let me worry about that." Walters signaled one of the guards to unlock the door. He started to slide it open, but Savage pulled it shut with a bang.

  "Thanks," Savage said. "But I prefer to do my own worrying."

  "Oh man, buddy!" Fin groaned. "You gonna take that? You gonna take that from this shitty-ass bastard?"

  Walters tried to appear calm, but Savage saw the corners of his jaw flex out. "All right, fine. We can just leave you in there." He stepped back and crossed his arms, evidently quite pleased with himself.

  Savage raised his hand, formed a gun, and aimed it at the empty air of his cell. "Bam!" he said. "I just killed your hostage." He spread his arms and turned around once, slowly. "I like it in here. Got my three squares a day, john in the corner, view of the sky. You gonna threaten me with something, you'd better make it something good. And until then…" Savage sat on the floor, Indian-style. He raised his eyebrows until they almost disappeared beneath the line of his bandanna.

  Walters opened his mouth, then closed it. He uncrossed his arms.

  Fin burst into a wheezing laugh, spraying the floor with saliva. "Oh fuck, buddy. Oh man, this guy's askin' for it. For a good beatin', like the kind-"

  "Shut up!" Walters barked.

  Fin covered his mouth with a hand, his face turning red as he theatrically held in his laughter.

  Walters turned to one of the guards. "Shut him up. Now."

  The guard banged his baton against the bars of Fin's cell, and Fin held out his arms, spreading his hands. "Hey buddy, no problem. You want quiet, all you gotta do is-"

  The guard drew back his baton again as if to strike, and Fin shut up. He pretended to zip up his mouth. He crossed his cell and threw the imaginary key in the toilet. He flushed the toilet. He busted a fat grin like this was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

  Walters turned back to Savage, a pulse beating in his temple.

  "Now," Savage said calmly. "Like I said. Where to?"

  No sound save the dripping water somewhere down the dim moldy corridor. Walters pulled his head to one side, as if to relieve a kink in his neck. "Sacramento."

  Savage still refused to rise. "Why?"

  Walters's jaw flexed again. Savage leaned back on his hands, kicking his legs out in front of him. With effort, Walters relaxed his face. He didn't raise his voice, but he still conveyed anger by shaping his words into hard, compact syllables. "Briefing on a mission. The details are confidential."

  "There now," Savage said, standing up. "That wasn't so hard."

  The guard slid the door open, and Savage stepped into the corridor, brushing the dirt from his sleeves.

  "That's it?" Fin shrieked. "You're gonna let him go? Whaddaya mean a mission? I could fight a mission. I could fight a mission better than this weasel. You should hear him moan during push-ups. Like a bitch. Just like a-"

  As Savage passed Fin's cell, he reached through the bars, bunching Fin's shirt in his fist. With a sudden sharp movement, he recoiled his arm, jerking Fin's head forward into the bars. Fin buckled and went limp in his grasp. Savage released him and stood facing both guards and Walters obediently before the clang had finished echoing up the corridor. Fin slumped to the ground, bent awkwardly over his legs. The two guards glanced at each other, then back at Savage, but Savage remained perfectly still, his arms at his sides, wearing an expression of total compliance.

  Behind him, Fin's body shifted, his torso tilting over onto the floor. He began to draw air in slow, rasping breaths.

  "Well," Savage said, gesturing down the narrow corridor. "Shall we?"

  "Confidential, huh?" Savage rolled a cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other, leaning back out of the open door of the camouflage Blackhawk so he could feel the cold wind whipping across his face.

  His foot rested on one of the skids, still covered only with a sock. "Must be important for them to pull me out of the clink."

  Walters snickered. "Yeah, they only use felons on missions of the utmost importance."

  "I can imagine I'm probably a distant second to someone with real military training. Like, say, a park ranger."

  Walters didn't reply.

  Savage toed the small mound of supplies Walters had loaded in the back of the helicopter-rope, canteens, climbing gear. "We've been heading northwest for a while now. Last I remembered, Sacramento was due south of Billings."

  "Your briefing's not until tomorrow A.M. I'm just in charge of picking you up and dropping you off. I have a mission of my own here in the meantime."

  "Helo shortage?"

  Walters nodded. "And everything else. The chopper's due in Sac end of the day. They weren't exactly gonna make a special outing to pick up a jailbird. Since I was headed out anyway, I landed the lucky t
ask of transporting you. But first, we're making a detour. You get to wait."

  Savage nodded ever so slightly. He glanced down and wiggled his big toe, protruding from a hole in his sock. "Any way you could see about getting me a boot?"

  "Like I said, you get to wait."

  The helicopter pulled in tight to the land, running along the top of an elongated gorge. Below, rivulets trickled along icy banks. Through the thick forest, Savage could make out only occasional spots of ground, white splotches showing through the patchwork of trees.

  Walters scanned the forest with a pair of high-tech binoculars. They whirred, electronically focusing as he swung them back and forth. "Glacier National Park. We had three campers killed here last week by a grizzly sow. One guy survived the attack, staggered back to a logging camp. Severe head wounds. Said he was batted around like a soccer ball. He did the smart thing though-curled up, covered his vitals, refused to panic." Walters lowered the binoculars, and Savage was surprised by the intensity in his eyes. "Said he could hear the grizzly's teeth clinking against his skull." His top lip pulled up in the start of a sneer. "Park ranger stuff."

  Savage feigned a shudder, though his face kept its sardonic cast. "Bad news bear."

  "It's a different kind of death," Walters said. "Wild animal. At least in a war, you know what you're getting. Bullet to the head, grenade in the gut-you go down and out. Not like this. Not like being eaten."

  Savage looked at the rifle across Walters's lap. A. 300 Win Mag, single action, equipped with a 10x scope; the weapon was a punisher-one of the few that had the stopping power to drop a full-grown grizzly. "Fought a lot of wars, have you?"

  Walters ignored him, leaning forward to set the rifle on the deck by his feet. "The governor of Montana personally sent two trackers into the woods to hunt down the problem bear last week. One returned after four days with no sighting. We lost contact with the other. Presumed dead." He formed a fist and tightened the fingers of his other hand around it. "They needed it handled. Call went in to me. I booked the chopper, even promised I'd drop you off in Sac personally to make sure I got it." He ran his tongue across his teeth. "Figured we'd use the last place the second tracker established radio contact as the center point, then sweep the area in an expanding spiral."