Matt Archer: Blade's Edge (16 page)

Mom let out a shuddering breath. “Matt, we’ll discuss this when you get back from Afghanistan, but I’d like it if you and Brent stayed apart for the remainder of the day.” She flashed angry eyes at me. “I have no words for how disappointed I am in both of you.”

Shriveling up inside, I whispered, “Sorry, Mom.”

She swept out of the kitchen and I heard her steps creaking up the stairs, probably to deliver the same edict to Brent. Man, she was pissed.

Not knowing what else to do, I bent down to pick up broken china. My back hurt; Brent had landed a kidney punch or two. That I could deal with; the worst of it would be explaining the injuries to Uncle Mike. Using my “skills” outside of missions was big time forbidden. He’d ream me out pretty hard for losing my cool, especially with Brent.

You were under attack
, the knife-spirit whispered
. You have to be ready to react in an instant when an enemy approaches.

“Brent isn’t the enemy,” I muttered. “He’s family. How about you learn to tell the difference? I can’t just go around punching people when I’m provoked.”

How do you know he wasn’t an enemy? I see and hear things you don’t.

The knife-spirit left me alone after that. She had a nasty habit of leaving me hanging on big questions. Was she saying that Brent was momentarily possessed or something? Was I going to have to stay on guard 24/7, even surrounded by my family? The idea shook me to the core; would I ever have a safe place?

I resumed picking up the broken dishes, feeling tired to my bones. I couldn’t rest until the kitchen was perfect, though. It was the only way to prove to Mom I still had a brain in my head.

Mamie came over with the broom and a dust pan. “You’ll get glass in your hands and knees, kneeling down on the floor like that.”

We worked in silence, cleaning cranberry sauce off the wallpaper, sweeping up the china and salvaging what leftovers we could. Brent and I had managed a partial magic trick, yanking the cloth so hard several of the dishes stayed on the table. When Mamie wasn’t looking, I crammed a big bite of turkey in my mouth, thinking it was a shame for it to go to waste, especially if Mom was serious about the peanut butter.

Mamie handed me the mop, then took off for the mudroom with the dirty tablecloth and napkins. I mopped methodically, concentrating on not leaving streaks. Sure, I’d had problems with my temper ever since the knife-spirit picked me, but my trigger was shorter than ever. I had to get control of myself—and her—one way or another. Without realizing it, I mopped harder and harder until the mop head bent.

“Crap.”

Mamie came over and pried the mop out of my hands. “No need to strangle it.”

“Sorry,” I said, for like the nineteenth time. I plopped into my seat at the table, resting my head on my arms. “I totally ruined dinner.”

Mamie patted my back. “It’s not your fault.” I looked up at her, eyebrow raised, and she smiled. “Well, maybe a little. But Brent doesn’t understand how hard this is for you. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“No.”

“It might help,” Mamie said softly.

I sat up. “And you think he’d listen?”

She sighed. “No, I guess not.”

Me, neither.

Chapter Seventeen

S
omehow I talked Mom into
letting Ella drive Will and me to the airport. Leaving the house without a strangling hug wasn’t an option, though, even if Mom still seemed put out with me for beating Brent down. He didn’t join the farewell party.

“Be careful,” Mom said, following me to the front door. “And check in when you can.”

I let her kiss my cheek. “I will, promise.”

Mamie slipped in beside Mom. Her face was pale, and dark circles ringed her eyes. “Be safe.”

Mom laid a hand against Mamie’s forehead. “Honey, you’re clammy. Everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, giving me a pointed stare.

“Mamie, you worry enough for two people,” I said, keeping my tone light. I gave her a hug and whispered, “I’ll be okay.”

She pulled away. Her eyes were fierce. “You better be.”

Mom frowned. “Something I need to know about? Is there something about this mission you’re not telling me?”

“No,” Mamie said. “Just reminding Matt to watch out for pickpockets.”

She held up my passport. I clapped a hand to my jacket pocket…yep, she’d lifted it. If Mamie’s college career ended badly, she had a future in con artistry.

“If you weren’t so nice, I’d worry about you plotting to topple a foreign government or two,” I said.

“Oh, I did that ages ago,” Mamie said, her smile forced. “Piece of cake.”

“Uh huh, I was afraid of that.” I snatched my passport from her hand and hustled out the door before she could steal anything else. Waving as I ran for Ella’s car, I called, “See you soon!”

Will was camped out in Ella’s backseat, and he gave me a fist bump when I climbed into the car.

“Ready to roll, dude?”

I kissed Ella first, then said, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Ella didn’t say anything. I could tell she was putting on a brave face, but the clenched jaw told me how worried she was.

I reached for her hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

She didn’t answer, keeping her focus on the road, but she didn’t let go of my hand.

When we got to the terminal, Will grabbed our bags and bolted from the car without a word in a dead-obvious move to let me say good-bye to Ella alone. I’d have to thank him later, but whether that thanks was real or sarcastic would depend on the next five minutes. I prepared myself for a long spiel about how the team would keep me safe, how she didn’t have to worry, that I’d be home soon, unhurt. That I’d miss her more than anything. That…

Ella leaned across the console, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. Hard.

Okay, this was better.

It took a minute for us to come up for air, even though the knife-spirit kept tapping her foot in the back of my mind. When we finally broke apart, Ella said, “I want you to do something for me.”

I leaned my forehead against hers. “Anything.”

She sighed. “While you’re over there I don’t want you to think about me. Or about school. Or about anything else that might distract you. Focus on the mission, and stay safe. Okay?”

The steel in her voice startled me. First Mamie and now Ella—both of them had eaten their Wheaties this morning. “That’s kind of impossible. You’re on my mind about once a minute.”

“Try,” she said, looking completely serious. “You’re coming home even if that means you have to forget I exist for a few days.”

“But it’s our one-year anniversary tomorrow,” I said, trying not to feel like a dork for mentioning it when she hadn’t. “I’ll be thinking about you all day.”

“No, you won’t,” Ella said firmly. “You can’t.”

Then she kissed me again, slower this time, like all the fight had drained out of her. The kiss went on long enough that I realized she wanted me to be the one who pulled away. So I did, even if it hurt a little bit.

“Promise me,” she said. “Please.”

“Okay, okay, I promise not to think about you while I’m gone.”

How weird did that sound? I bet I was the only guy on the face of the planet assuring his girlfriend that he’d forget about her, on their anniversary no less. Based on the sad smile, I’d told Ella what she wanted to hear, though. Maybe she’d forgive the flowers I’d ordered—at Mamie’s suggestion—when they showed up at her house tomorrow.

Knowing I shouldn’t drag this out any longer, I popped my door open and slid from the car. I took one last look at her face, in shadow under the weak parking garage lights. “I’ll be home before you know it.”

A tiny lie, but I wanted to believe it was true.

“You better be,” was the last thing I heard her say before I shut the door and headed into the terminal for my flight.

“Ladies!” Schmitz called from baggage claim in Colorado Springs. Per usual, he practically vibrated with energy as he waved us over. He was wearing desert BDUs, looking out of place among all the flannel-clad travelers.

Will laughed. “Some welcome wagon.”

I marched over to Schmitz and saluted. “Master Sergeant, Archer and Cruessan reporting for duty.”

“Knock it off,” he said. “No saluting in your civvies or indoors. You know that.”

“I’ll knock it off when you tell us your first name,” I said, grinning at Will. “What’s the ‘T’ stand for, you think?”

“Tiny Tim?” Will said, looming over Schmitz.

“Very funny.” Schmitz took off, and we trotted to keep up. “Vehicle’s this way.”

The stock black SUV was parked in a red zone, and Johnson was at the wheel, chewing on a toothpick. Schmitz hopped into the passenger seat, leaving Will and I to dump our bags in the back.

After we climbed into the backseat, Johnson turned around to give me a once-over. “Where’d you get the black eye?”

I sighed. “Fought my brother for the wishbone at our turkey dinner yesterday.”

Will snorted and Johnson said, “Uh-huh. We’ll see if Major Tannen believes that.”

Needing a subject change, I asked, “So when do we have our first briefing?”

“Been a change of plans.” Johnson pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “I’m taking you directly to Peterson Air Force Base. It’s down the road from the airport and we’ll catch transport there.”

“I thought we had a day of drills at Fort Carson first,” I said. “Something happen?”

“Yeah.” The lieutenant checked his side mirror, then pulled into traffic. “We lost contact with Ramirez.”

Will and I exchanged looks. I asked, “Lost contact with just him, or his whole team?”

“Just him,” Schmitz said. “Ramirez’s team got separated. Parker rounded the rest of them up to search for him, but no word back yet.”

I leaned forward. “How long has he been missing?”

Schmitz sighed. “Last check-in was fourteen hours ago. The team had gone into some caves…Ramirez took a sharp turn around a corner and when the team followed, he was gone.”

“Gone?” I asked.

“Vanished,” Johnson said, his rumbling voice hoarse.

“What about Ramirez’s knife?” Will asked. “Maybe it can, I don’t know, act like a homing beacon.”

“No sign of his knife, either,” Johnson said.

A sound, like corn popping in a metal pot, snapped in the back of the SUV. I leaned over the seat; my backpack glowed white-blue. The knife was lit up so bright it was shining through the metal box, just like it had at the summit in January. I pulled my bag over the seat and unpacked my blade, clipping its sheath onto my belt. It hummed, and the spirit sounded bothered. I agreed. Was the “vision” I had last month at school coming true?

Turning my attention back to Johnson, I asked, “The monsters got him, then?”

“Why else do you think we’re flying you to Bagram with our pants on fire?” Schmitz said.

Unease settled in my gut. Getting captured wasn’t new—it had happened to me. But Jorge had rescued me in minutes, rather than hours. It had taken a little spirit magic for him to do it, though. How would we find Ramirez? What magic did we have?

Oh, crap. Now I got it.

“The team wants to use me as a divining rod to find him,” I muttered.

“You’re the one with the extra-special link to your knife,” Johnson said. “Parker hasn’t had any luck. You’re our only option at this point.”

We pulled through the guardhouse at Peterson AFB a little after five and the sun was already dipping behind the trees surrounding the base. Johnson drove us out to the terminal near the airfield.

Colonel Black waited in the parking area, waving as we pulled in. He opened my car door. “Get your bags. Transport’s waiting for us. We’re wheels up as soon as you two board.”

Will whistled through his teeth. We’d hitched rides with the Air Force before, including a trip in a jet trainer I’d rather forget. Having a giant, C-17 Globemaster waiting on the runway to ferry us to Bagram air station in Afghanistan gave this trip a capital U for “Urgent.”

The colonel led us through the terminal to a Humvee. The five of us piled in and a Senior Airman drove us to the side of an enormous gray cargo plane. Four huge jet engines, two on each wing, whined so loudly, Colonel Black had to use hand gestures to point us to the ramp. I strapped on my backpack and threw my duffel bag over my shoulder so I could plug my ears as we ran to board. They had us in the front of the main cargo bay; we dodged pallets, crates and what looked like pieces of a crane to get to our section. The accommodations weren’t exactly first class, what with the gray steel walls and uneven tracks in the floor for tying down cargo, but the crewmen had installed two rows of airline seats for us. Better than metal benches lined with jump seats, especially for a twenty-hour flight.

Uncle Mike stood when he saw us coming. He frowned at me, and I could tell Mom had already relayed the story about my brawl with Brent. He didn’t launch into a lecture, though. Maybe Ramirez’s capture, and my supposed ability to find him, had earned me a temporary free pass on being chewed out.

As Colonel Black brought up the rear, two Green Berets I didn’t know jumped to attention behind Mike. Both of them were early-twenties or so, crisp and sharp, with an unbroken-in look. I wondered if, even with all their training, they knew what they were getting into.