days, half the young men their age wore tactical pants and shirts as a fashion statement. And let’s be honest. They looked cool and the many pockets came in handy.
In fact, the pants Jonathan wore at that very moment were the same SKU, but in khaki.
He also noted that the chest rigs they wore were not plate carriers. They were constructed of a mesh material instead of Kevlar, and he took that as yet more evidence that they did not expect to meet much resistance. They each carried identical M4s and both packed four spare thirty-round magazines of 5.56-millimeter ammo. Their Glock 19 nine-millimeter pistols resided in cross-draw holsters on their chest rigs, a configuration that Jonathan had never liked. He was particularly intrigued by the two-way radios they’d strapped behind their shoulders. He didn’t relish inserting a dead guy’s earpiece into his own ear, but you could learn a lot by eavesdropping on radio traffic.
“Who would do something like this?” Gail asked. “What could they possibly want?”
Jonathan didn’t answer because he had no idea. “Here’s what I need you to do,” he said. “Gather up what you need to live in the jungle for a while. Be sure to grab your meds, and pull together anything that can identify us directly.”
“We’re not here under our real names,” she said.
“Doesn’t matter. These guys’ friends are going to find them sooner or later, and we don’t need to make it any easier than necessary to find us.” As he spoke, he worked the Velcro tabs that would release the dead guys from their kit. “I’m going to relieve these guys of everything they’ve got, and I want to be clear of here in no more than five minutes. Three is even better.”
“Where are we going?”
Jonathan stayed focused on what he was doing. “The first stop is anywhere but here. We’ll refine it later.”
Four minutes later, he’d transferred every phone, wallet, piece of paper, and bit of lint from the bad guys’ pockets into his own for later examination. With that done, he started to shrug into the first victim’s vest—it had the most blood on it, so he took it as a gesture of chivalry toward Gail—but she stopped him.
“Wait,” she said.
“We don’t have time to wait.”
“We have time for this,” she said. She handed him a wet towel and a dry one. “You’re disgusting. And there’s a golf shirt on the sink for you, too.”
He looked down at himself, at the blood that had spattered and smeared his skin. Then he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a serial killer. Yeah, they had time for him to towel away some of the foulness.
As he did, Gail donned the other vest and rifle sling. “I put socks and underwear for both of us into my carry-on backpack. Ditto toothpaste and toothbrushes, meds for me and toilet paper. Phones and laptops, too. Can you think of anything else?” Their clothes and assorted sundries would have to stay behind.
“The toilet paper is an especially good touch,” Jonathan said. He pulled the forest green golf shirt on over his head and reached for the other chest rig. Then he slung the leftover M4.
“Time to go,” he said. They just didn’t know where or why or for how long.
Details.
Jonathan led the way out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. “We should go out the front door,” he said. “Maybe the bad guys—”
“Wait!” a voice yelled from beyond the patio.
Jonathan brought his rifle up reflexively.
“No!” He recognized the voice as belonging to a woman now, and she made a praying gesture with her hands. “Please don’t shoot and please don’t leave. Hunter is getting some clothes for us.”
“Jesus,” Jonathan grumbled. “I forgot about them.”
“Okay,” Gail said. “We can wait for a minute or two.” She drilled Jonathan with a glare. “Can’t we?”
“Sure,” he said. “Why would we want to hurry?” As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. Not because waiting wasn’t a stupid thing to do, but rather that he hated to sound whiny. “It’s Lori, right?”
She nodded. “He should be right here. Who were those men?”
“Bad guys,” Jonathan said. It was an accurate description of how he divided much of his world. There were good guys and bad guys. The rest didn’t matter.
Another burst of machine-gun fire rippled the night.
“That’s shooting, right?” Lori asked.
“It’s healthier to think of it as people dying,” Jonathan said.
“Oh, my God,” Lori said.
“Oh, come on,” Gail admonished.
“There is no better time for the unvarnished truth than when you’re under attack,” Jonathan said. To Lori: “Where’s your bungalow? Are you right next door?” He pointed out the shattered door to the left.
“Yes.”
Jonathan headed off in that direction. “I’ll see if I can move him along a little faster.”
Lori moved to intervene. “Please don’t hurt him.”
He stopped and forced a smile. “I’m not a bad guy,” he said. “I just want to hurry him along a little.”
“No need to,” said a voice from just beyond the aura of light that spilled through the ruined doors. It was Hunter, and he’d found a pair of shorts, running shoes, and a polo shirt. He held out some clothes and shoes for Lori. “Thanks for waiting.”
“Thanks for hurrying,” Jonathan countered.
While Lori pulled herself into an outfit that looked remarkably like the one her husband wore, Hunter said, “I have a question for you.” He addressed it to Jonathan.
He waited for it.
“Where’d you get the mad knife skills?”
“I grew up in a bad neighborhood,” Jonathan said.
“Bullshit.”
“Okay.” It was, in fact, bullshit. Jonathan had grown up in unparalleled wealth under the protection of a father who happened to be one of Virginia’s most notorious criminals. This was not a discussion he intended to have.
“And how come you were Steve and Alicia at the pool this morning, but Gail and Dig under pressure?”
He’d done that, hadn’t he? He’d used Gail’s name and she’d used his.
“No bullshit answer for that one,” Jonathan said. “Just no answer at all. Hey, Lori, how are we doing?”
Her trembling hands were having a hard time wrangling her shoelaces. “I’m trying,” she said.
Jonathan
