Seven AM and Terry climbed into the back seat of the rental. Morty slithered behind the wheel and Michael embraced Tress in the courtyard. They kissed tenderly and held onto each other and Terry was grateful they’d found each other. There was nothing more devastating in life than to be and feel completely alone. Especially living the kinda life Michael lived … the life Morty lived … the life he had lived.

Morty let out with a groan of disgust and huffed.

Terry grinned behind him. “You’re like me, Morty. No woman to give a shit if we come back or not.”

He watched Morty’s eyes glare from the rear view mirror. “You wish you were like me, Thorne.”

A knot welled in Terry’s gut. Then his mouth opened. “Really? Hey Morty, you still running that course at the training facility? You ever break a minute on it?” The moment the last word slid from him, his brain screeched to a halt and he dropped his head back making a sincere apology to the Guardians who were probably shaking their heads that very moment. Bloody hell, and all this time he thought it was Michael who was gonna push him over the edge.

He cautiously glanced up to see those eyes narrowed and glaring even harder. “Hey mate, no worries. I’ve run that course, never broke sixty. You’re a legend there, Morty.” There, that should soothe the bloke, even though it was a lie and Terry remembered clearly that at sixty-three he broke fifty-eight seconds at the finish line.

Morty pressed the horn, huffed with even more irritation and finally the embrace broke and Michael climbed into the car.

***

Smooth as silk. At first it looked like everything would move like syrup on pancakes and Michael was pleased. Henry and the chopper were ready and waiting at the designated meet point and took them to the drop in the Argentinean Andes. Past sunset, wisps of mist settled in the hallows of the mountains, shrouding everything with pastels that reflected the sunset’s afterglow. They’d be going in at night, moving like ghosts and well settled in position long before the sun rose.

It wasn’t the first time Terry was facing the Andes, might not even be the last … if he survived this one … if Paul and the Guardians do their job and intend to make him work out the year as originally planned.

There was a unique energy about the case. The intentional taking of one life and hopeful rescue of two more made it all feel more surreal than usual. Or was it just that Terry hadn’t actually faced anything like this in a very, very long time. He always hated going into the field without Dino, and as they all huddled against a passing storm that suddenly crept up and drenched them to the bone, he found himself thinking about his best mate; remembering all the times they’d laughed and argued, fought beside and against each other, cried and stood strong for one another.

He turned to look at Morty. The man had nearly knocked his lights out in the bird, and just for calling him ‘Morty’. The bloke was certainly strong, definitely had a killer instinct … he just wished it wasn’t him he wanted to kill. It brought an evil sense of discord into the mission; even Michael was watching Morty closely. And for the first time Terry wondered if they were all going to fail.

Michael pushed slithering rain from his brow and glanced over the rise. Not far now. As soon as the downpour stopped … and it always did stop as abruptly as it started … they could move on and make their marks with time to spare. Whatever was going on between Mortimer and Thorne had to stop. He’d never worked with either of them, but somehow expected a higher level of respect. After all, it was Thorne who’d suggested bringing Mortimer onto the team. Considering the two very different personalities, Michael found himself unintentionally taking sides. He respected and admired Austin Mortimer, always had, but Thorne had earned something else. Michael actually like Thorne. He’d seen the man weak and seen the man tough, seen him irrationally controlling and seen him respectfully step back and take a back seat to things Michael suspected he know a hell of a lot about. If he had to make a choice, he’d surely choose to have a few beers with Terry Thorne over Austin Mortimer. But under the circumstances, he was faced with having to work beside them both in a potentially hazardous and complex situation.

Terry stood and lifted his weapon. “S’go mates, it’s about to stop.”

“Now he’s a bloody weather man,” hissed Mortimer. “Sit the fuck down, Thorne.”

And the rain suddenly stopped, not even the piss of a few drips, from downpour to complete silence in the blink of an eye. Thorne grinned, shrugged. “Now can we go, mates?”

They reached their positions, inspected everything and Terry was the first to speak quietly into his radio. “Kingpin, Rescue Two, in position.”

“Roger that,” Michael answered. “Rescue One, you there?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m in position. Get your scope polished, Kingpin. There’s activity in your sector.”

Michael’s heart stuttered. All the hub bub and complication of having a team had taken him off his game. He spied his target taking a piss outside a small shed, slithered the crosshairs at the back of the man’s head and took a deep breath. Then he thought …

He slowly lowered the rifle and relaxed. If he took out his target, went loud before Mortimer and Thorne could get close to their assigned hostages for the rescue, this whole thing could escalate into a small war. His radio crackled.

“Good go, mate. Ta,” Thorne whispered. “Rescue One, you got your cargo in sight?”

“I do. You in better position, Rescue Two?”

“I am. Now, listen Kingpin. Give the word and we’ll move like the bloody wind. Your target’s on the move again. We’re ready when you are.”

None of it made sense to Michael. He would have taken out his target the first time and been long gone by now. The original plan was to wait for sunrise. This all felt off balance, but as his target stopped, lit a cigarette and stretched his arms wide, Michael hissed. “Going live, buddies. See you at the LZ.” And the blast exploded his target’s chest.

There was a flurry of gunfire and he fought every urge to stick around and watch the fight. Instead he moved directly to his next position far up the hill and crouched deep in the thick, wet jungle. He listened for communication but nothing came. And Michael Cromwell prayed.

Morty had slithered beneath a fallen log. The guard covering his cargo panicked and ran toward the gunfire. Where was all that activity coming from? Was Michael still exposed? Had they captured him? Or was it Thorne they were chasing? No time to think about that bloody shit. He moved to the hut, slammed opened the door and grabbed the German, dragging the bloke kicking and screaming from the shabby structure. Fifty feet further, he and Zimmer were pressed tight behind a rusted out vehicle. He turned and spat a few words. He fucking hated that Thorne was right, he was pretty sure his nose was broken when the bastard panicked and kicked him in the face before finally being pulled out into the darkness.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose and ran a sleeve under it to push away the blood. “Zimmer, shut the fuck up. Calm down, mate. We’re getting your arse out of here. Calm down!” And he swung a fist, sufficiently knocking the terrified man unconscious. Now, this is the best way to get a bloody hostage out safely. He hauled the limp body over his shoulders, waited for a break in the firefight and charged for the thicket. Dumping Zimmer to the wet ground he grabbed his radio and waited.

Terry was like water, moving smoothly and unseen as he nearly melted to the back of the ugly makeshift structure in the darkness. “Macgregor!” he hissed. “Bill Macgregor!” He called louder to be heard over the popping guns.

“Yeah?”

“Mate, I’m here to get ya home. Can you walk?”

“Jesus! Are you serious? Yeah! Yeah I can walk!” His grimy hand slipped between the loose wooden slats and Terry gripped it a moment.

“Alright, here’s how we’re gonna do this. You sit tight one more minute, stay away from this side of the hut and we’ll have ya out in a tic. Move back, Bill.”

Terry slammed a boot hard against the loose board and it gave. Gripping it he pulled then ducked as a bullet whizzed right past his ear and through the wall. Terry dropped to the ground. “You okay, Bill?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Back away!” Terry slammed his foot again and again and finally the slat crumbled in and Bill Macgregor quickly slithered out. On his belly Terry nudged his chin. “This way, mate. Stay as low as ya can and as close as ya can!” And they made their way into the cover of trees just as the sun brightened the eastern sky. Terry grabbed his radio.

“Rescue Two, cargo in tow, heading to LZ One.”

“Kingpin, right behind you.”

“Rescue One, circling around the camp, on our way.”

Terry heard Morty grunt. “You okay, Morty?”

“I told you I’d kill you if you call me fuckin’ Morty again!”

Terry noticed movement across the camp and spied two gunmen running toward Morty’s position. He turned. “Stay here!” he shouted to Macgregor and charged for Morty, burdened and moving awkwardly with his unconscious cargo. As he neared, from the corner of his eye he saw a third gunman. No fucking time to call for backup, no fucking time to let Michael know what was coming down … no fucking time to even aim his own weapon. 

Terry charged, leapt and reached out to shield Austin Mortimer from the bullet that had blasted from the rifle. Morty, his cargo and Terry all grunted to the ground at the same moment. The hostage was shaking his head and suddenly a hand reached around a tree to drag him away. It was Macgregor. Terry rolled quickly, realizing that he was uninjured. His eyes scanned Morty’s body in the dim early light. Blood flowing from his gut. Without taking a deep breath, Terry charged, swept Morty over his shoulder and was at a run. “Follow me!” he called as he passed Zimmer and Macgregor. He could hear their footsteps behind.

Along the path, Michael was running back toward them. The sound of the chopper was near and Terry was unsure if it was sweat or Mortimer’s blood soaking him. Together, they all boarded the helicopter before it even landed and Terry shouted for Henry to get them the fuck outta there.

Silence. Nothing but the sound of chopper blades and his heartbeat. Michael felt terror like he’d never felt before. He watched Terry gently lay Mortimer out on the floor and tear open the man’s clothes. The blast had torn a deep, ragged slice along Morty’s gut and there was more than blood coming out. Terry desperately pushed at the gaping wound then looked up at Michael. Their eyes locked and Michael actually turned and vomited out the opened side of the chopper.

When he looked back, Macgregor was making the sign of the cross. Michael spat viciously. “A fucking waste of time, buddy. A fucking waste of time.”

“Michael,” Terry hissed the reprimand then returned all his attention to Morty who was regaining some semblance of consciousness. Terry’s heart shouted, prayed, begged. Bloody hell! Oh Jesus! Oh God! Sera, Paul, don’t let this happen! Do something, dammit! Do something!

Hush, the voice whispered in his ear and Terry could suddenly smell her sweet scent.

Sera, don’t let this happen, baby. I’m beggin’ you all. Do something!

Hush, darling. Hush. This is meant to happen. Help him, Terry. Help Morty come home.

Terry blinked back a threatening tear and looked into the dying man’s face. “Shh, Morty. Relax, mate. It’s okay.”

Mortimer’s eyes fluttered, focused. “No … it ain’t fucking okay. And … don’t fucking call me Morty … you bastard,” his voice gurgled and hissed.

Tears filled Terry’s eyes but he grinned. “Alright. But trust me, mate. It’s gonna be okay. You did good, real good. You lived a good life. It’s all gonna be just fine.” He looked into Morty’s eyes and silently communicated everything he could about what lie ahead then squeezed the man’s limp hand. Mortimer slowly smiled a garish, blood smeared grin.

“It’s you,” he whispered and Terry nodded.

“Gonna be real good, Morty.”

And the light went out of Austin Mortimer’s eyes forever.

Terry looked up at Michael and saw something even worse than the life that had slipped from Morty. He saw Michael Cromwell’s faith drift away and for a moment he feared the man would lose it.

He reached out and took the blanket Macgregor held out to him, respectfully covering Mortimer and laying his hand on the man’s brow before covering his face. “You okay?” he asked to two hostages who sat huddled together and nodded nervously.

And something told him to grip Michael’s arm. The man had gone limp, had apparently intended to let himself drop from the chopper. Terry dragged him deeper inside and glared. “No,” was all he said and finally Michael blinked and sighed, settled against the wall and closed his eyes.

Terry crawled into the front and sat beside Henry. He slid the headphones in place.

“Everyone okay?” Henry asked.

“Morty’s gone, Henry.” And his son shot a glare at him before glancing behind at the dead body.

“Fuck!” Henry hissed.

“Fuck,” Terry repeated.

***

The funeral was in London and attended by exactly six people including the minister. At the graveyard, a car arrived and the driver helped Dino out and to the graveside just before the final words were being spoken over the flower covered coffin.

Dino’s eyes drifted to Terry’s and stayed there until Terry walked around to stand beside him. Together, they walked slowly in silence along the road to the parked cars.

Dino was leaning heavily on a cane, sighed often and finally Terry spoke.

“He didn’t fail, mate.”

“Sure he did, Ter. What better way to fail than to get yourself dead?” He turned and grinned, his once red hair now snow white and thinning. “What’s gonna happen to the business now?”

Terry shrugged. “Morty probably had something planned. How’s Alexandra?”

“Good. She just couldn’t handle the trip, ya know.”

Again Terry nodded, amazed at the comfort of being next to Dino. The ease of it all. Then his best mate spoke words that made him stop in his tracks.

“I miss you, buddy.” Dino turned, leaned both hands on the cane. “Wish it was me instead of Morty. I’m tired of this business of living. You got to go. When do I get to go, Terry?”

He swallowed hard, gazed into those alert blue eyes. A man that close to the end can probably see certain things. It didn’t bother Terry that Dino recognized him; it bothered him that he had the answer to the question. He cleared his throat.

“Ah, come on, Terry. What’s the big secret?”

“Five more years, Dino.”

“Now …” Dino continued to walk along the road, Terry at his hide. “Was that so hard?”