Читать книгу Brother's Keeper - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 6

Concord Sheraton Hotel

Suite 42

Scott Rivers had just gotten off his Skype conference call with the most powerful men in his realm: his boss Rear Admiral Bob Marrion; Commander Naval Forces Japan, Admiral Travis Reich; Commanding Officer of the USS George Washington, Rear Admiral Miguel Hernandez; and the newly promoted Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Antonio Espinoza.

Four admirals with 117 years of accumulated experience, now depended on his own 24 to pull off what he considered a mission absurdly improbable. As he predicted, Admiral Espinoza reminded him of the paramount importance of this mission, and that if it fails, the Navy would be about one step behind the “grave danger” rating for force readiness. This all-or-nothing mentality was something Rivers didn’t need.

In an e-mail to Marrion, Scott railed against Espinoza’s insistence that this was an A-Priority item. He wrote:

“To expect anything miraculous in this case is not only unrealistic, but foolish!” Marrion completely understood his friend’s concern. He had always taken all of Scott’s “gut checks” and “smell tests” seriously, and often went to bat for him at the highest levels to either alter, postpone or cancel particular missions.

Scott Rivers’ reputation was immaculate. He was a detailed and meticulous man who crunched all the right numbers of a mission: crews’ experience, mental states, personal issues; as well as the logistics, statistics, ratios, and probabilities of success or failure.

He researched the enemy’s numbers as well: force strength, political climate, current deployments, VIP locations and activities; supply distribution-everything, was excruciatingly worked into his mission models. This was graduate-level Threat Analysis material and Rivers was a master at it. So, when he said something wasn’t going to work, he knew exactly why.

Marrion had brought Rivers over from NSA for that very reason—to provide sound counsel and empirical logic for strategic missions that might have catastrophic results or international implications. Plus, Rivers had the unique and invaluable experience of flying such missions for DSC. His perspective was priceless; and in some cases, it was everything.

This in itself made Marrion’s job even harder when he was ordered to attempt a mission that Rivers repeatedly stated was impossible. Torn between the duty, orders of his position and his good friend’s rock-solid guidance, he had to look at it on another plateau-the Big Picture.

The Navy thought only of the machinery involved; Rivers thought only of the personnel involved; but in the end, neither thought of the nation’s future if this mission was not attempted. In this vein, he had to side with Admiral Espinoza.

To Scott Rivers, Espinoza was pushing the proverbial envelope with this “stunt” and didn’t want his efforts wasted on it when there were other real and budgeted missions needing his attention. But his stance was somewhat softened by the voices of the two other admirals, Reich and Hernandez, who had deep concerns but supported the plan because of its strategic import. They dedicated their support to the project both fundamentally, philosophically and logistically. Nevertheless, towards the end of the teleconference, Espinoza offered:

“All of us agree that you hold the final word here, Scott. You are the expert. We have nothing but respect for your judgment. So, it’s your call.”

There it was. “It’s your call.” Those three magical words that absolves all responsibility from the one who pronounces it and lays it on you. Scott knew instantly that this was officer speak for: “We have nothing but respect for your judgment, Scott. So, you’re going to do what we want.” Completely outnumbered and outranked, he had no choice. This was one of those times when the perceived importance of the mission outweighed its feasibility. He would do as he was told. Besides, he was already assured by Marrion that if this initial phase of the project failed, he would not incur any negative repercussions from the others.

“Between you and me,” Marrion had texted earlier, “they don’t think this will get past phase one.” But like good admirals, they masked their doubts and reservations with practiced optimism.

He put his laptop and notes into his briefcase. He grabbed his rental car keys and room card, and headed out of the hotel and into the parking lot. He checked his MapQuest directions and was thankful that he needed to go less than three miles to his destination. He took a deep breath and turned on the ignition. As he pulled out onto Concord Avenue, a feeling of impending disappointment washed over him. He shook his head.

“What the hell am I doing here?”

2458 Olivera Villa Apartments

Jason took his time eating, and actually enjoyed lunch, his final meal on Earth courtesy of Szechuan Village. He ate slowly, washing down the tangy sweet and spicy items with a bottle of Riesling wine. He ate everything, finished the entire bottle and cleared the table. He threw the food containers, chop sticks and bottle in the plastic trash bag, tied it and set it outside in the complex’s community trash bin.

He checked his mailbox one last time and saw that an envelope was inside. It was from Southwest Airlines; he was expecting this for weeks. He came back inside, but as planned, he left the door slightly ajar so that Mr. Sebastiani could come right in. He had one more look around to see if he had missed anything. Everything was in order.

He placed the envelope on the table next to familiar items he had put there before: the framed photos of his family members, the half-bottle of Hennessy, two shot glasses, a face towel and his Glock. He sat down and immediately filled the glasses with the cognac. He downed each in quick succession then refilled them. He picked up the envelope and closed his eyes.

“This is it. This can change it all right here.” He slid his fingertips over the sharp corners and took a deep breath. “Don’t worry Jason, it’s only your life.” He opened the envelope and stopped reading after a few words.

Dear Mr. Li,

After careful consideration of your application and other documents, we regret that-

“FUCKERS!” he hissed. It had been his tenth airline rejection letter. Despite having graduated in the top 10 percent of his naval aviator class, and despite the Bachelors of Science with honors from UC Berkeley, the “other documents” the letter referred to represented the guillotine’s blade in every case. These were the negative fitness reports, the mental health evaluations, and finally the officer dismissal due to psychological concerns. There was no way he would be hired by any company that did a background check; more depressing was that he’d never fly again. He pushed the letter aside and turned his eyes to his family one last time.

“You may not agree with what I’m doing,” he said softly. “But it seems there’s no other way for me. There are no more reasons I can think of to keep this going.” His lip began to quiver as tears began to blur his vision.

“I’m so lonely! I miss you all so much!” His hands shook as he brought them up to his face. “I’m so sorry I failed you. I’m so sorry.”

It took him several minutes to compose himself. He dried his eyes with the face cloth then wrapped it around the barrel of the gun. He deactivated the safety and held the gun in his right hand, and curled his fingers around the towel-wrapped barrel. He raised it up and under his chin. He did this slowly, methodically. There could be no mistake or misfire; the bullet had to go straight through his chin, the roof of his mouth and through his brain on this once and only try. He looked down at Jordan’s face.

“I promise you, Brother, we will meet again. It may take me an eternity, but if Mom is right that the dead still live spiritually, searching for those they love, then I’ll find you. I’m going to look for you. I promise.” He closed his eyes, took several quick, courage-generating breaths, and began to tug on the trigger when the doorbell rang. He pulled the gun away.

“What the fuck?” he whispered.His eyes flew open; his finger lifted.

The bell rang again. He remained still, the gun still under his chin. It rang once more. Then he heard the front door creak open.

“Hello?” a voice called. He put the gun down quietly on the table and threw the face cloth over it. “Hello?” The voice was low in tone, and getting closer. This was not Mr. Sebastiani whose booming baritone rattled the rafters. This voice was calm, professional. Jason stood up and turned around, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. Around the corner a figure tentatively emerged at the living room doorway.

“May I help you?” asked Jason coldly. The stranger, dressed in an open blue blazer, white dress shirt, and black slacks smiled cordially.

“Hello, my name is Scott Rivers. I’m looking for Jason Li.”

“Jason didn’t mention any visitors. I’m his roommate.” Jason’s eyes remained cool as he gauged the stranger.

“I’m here on behalf of the U.S. Navy; specifically, the aviation community. I’ve come all the way from Japan to speak with Mr. Li.”

“Well, you just missed him. He probably won’t want to see you anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, it’s been two years since the Navy ruined his life.” He uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands into his jean pockets, leaning back and feigning mild interest. “What’s he done this time?”

Rivers considered the man he was talking to, knowing full well who he was. He decided to let the game play out a few moments longer, if anything, to get to know the man.

“Well, actually, I wanted to talk to him about something we could do for him. May I come in?” Jason nodded indifferently. “Nice place,” Rivers acknowledged as he slowly moved towards the table. He looked at the stacks of boxes. “You guys moving?”

“Yeah. Rent’s too high in Concord. Movers will be here in a few minutes, so if you want to leave something for him, I’ll make sure he gets it. I really don’t know when he’ll come back. He said he was going to visit some friends, or something.”

Jason moved to the window, pretending to search outside. This gave Rivers a few seconds to sweep the room as he stood next to the table. With his falcon-like eyes he noticed the counter with the stack of bills and IDs; the boxes all labeled “GOODWILL”; the Southwest Airlines rejection letter; the framed photos of family members; and an object under a face cloth. A portion of that object protruded from one end of the cloth, causing his analytical mind to jolt to an immediate conclusion: I got here just in time!

“So, what could you do for him?” Rivers turned his head to see the young man looking at him sternly, his head cocked as if issuing a challenge. He glanced back to the object under the face cloth and took the challenge immediately.

“I know it’s hard, Jason,” he said sympathetically.

“What!? What did you call me!?” Jason moved threateningly towards the table.

“Losing your family, your career, your life. I am—”

“Full of shit is what you are! Who the fuck are you!?” he shot back.

“Jason, I am here to offer you—”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” he bellowed. “JASON’S NOT HERE!”

Rivers quickly opened his leather case and took out three 5X7 photos. He laid them down on the table. Jason came to the table and silently regarded the photos of a young man posing in his flight suit. He picked them up and studied them.

“You remember these scenes? VFA-122 in Lemoore. Commander Jesse Leon Guerrero stated that you were the top aviator in the squadron.” Rivers waited for a response, but Jason only gazed at the photos. He went into his case again and produced two documents and laid them on the table as well. He pointed to them.

“These are your last two fitness reports from Commander Leon Guerrero stating that you were superior aviator in all respects; a dynamic leader; combat ready; highly recommended for frontline deployment; highly recommended for any advanced aviation special program. Jason, the list goes on. You were the best.”

I AM NOTHING!!!” Jason yelled and flung the photos across the room. “LOOK AT ME! WHAT HAVE I GOT!?” Tears cascaded down his face as he cried and gasped for air to speak. “I’M NOTHING NOW! NOTHING!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” He pointed to the documents and the photos around the room. “That all died two years ago! My life ended two years ago!”

Rivers put down his case and raised his hands calmly. He moved slowly around the table.

“Jason, please hear me out.” He reached for the young man’s shoulder, but his hand was quickly shoved away. Jason stumbled back, still pumping out tears, and the years of inner grief that he had, until then, bottled up.

“Stay away from me!” he coughed. “Why are you here!?”

“Because I want to-”

“DON’T YOU SEE? I LOST EVERYTHING! I HAVE NO ONE! I LOST JORDAN THREE YEARS AGO, AND THE NAVY THE FOLLOWING YEAR!”

Rivers felt Jason’s desperation and agony blast him with every sentence. Nothing he previously analyzed about this case could have prepared him for this sudden display of self-immolation. The complexity of the man’s tragedy not only saddened Rivers, but also reminded him of the futility of this mission. He watched pitifully as Jason seemed to transform into a wild, wounded animal-a beast driven to relive his own personal torment. Jason raised his head and pointed at Rivers.

“Who the fuck are you to come in here and do this to me!?”

“Jason, you are suffering from massive depression and stress disorder. We can take care of this.”

“Who? The Navy?” he spat mockingly. “I don’t exactly have on-base privileges anymore! In fact, since I haven’t had a job for 14 fucking months, I haven’t had any medical insurance!”

“We can take care of that,” Rivers answered calmly, thankful that Jason was no longer yelling but speaking, albeit hotly. As long as he could keep Jason engaged, there might be some other way to bring him across.

“Yeah right! So, I’m to understand that you came all the way from Japan to help out a shipmate? Why me? And by the way, how the fuck did you find me?”

“The DOD has a lot of people-finder databases, especially those who were ex-F-35 pilots.”

“I see now,” Jason interrupted as his eyes narrowed in suspicion.“You think I’m going to sell classified information about the F-35!”

“No, actually.”

“Then why are you here?”

Rivers felt that he had now reached a new plateau with Li. They were now talking. He looked back to the table and pointed at the bottle of cognac.

“Hennessy XO, isn’t it?” He retrieved it and two shot glasses. Jason fell onto an armchair and rubbed his face, still shuddering as the adrenaline ebbed. “Here.” Rivers offered one glass which Jason took. They both drank down and Rivers refilled the glasses.

“Jason, do you believe in second chances?”

“No,” he answered flatly. “Not for me.”

“Well, I’m here to offer you one. But there are conditions; frankly, they’re very dangerous conditions.”

“I’m listening.”

“We want you to fly a mission. A black ops mission.”

“Where?”

“China.”

Jason burst out in laughter. Rivers maintained his concentrative expression.

“That’s right, Jason. China.”

“Are you joking?”

“No.”

“What do you fucking take me for?” Jason was again on his feet, this time backing away from Rivers and pointing his finger at him. “Don’t you think I’m smart enough to see what you’re doing!?”

“Jason, hear me out!”

“Fuck, no! You kept tabs on me! You knew I was desperate! You scheduled a suicide mission but didn’t want to waste any of your good men, so you chose me!”

“No, Jason!”

“Because I’m FUCKING EXPENDABLE!” His voice blew through the roof.

“That’s not it at all!” Rivers bellowed back.

“The Navy figured-Hey! Why not? If he fails, so what? He’s a fucking loser anyway, a shit bag who can fly a plane, and no one will give a fuck if he fails!”

“Jason, you’re wrong! This mission is specifically designed for you!”

“For me!? How many other saps have you got lined up for this shit?”

“There’s no one else.”

“Oh really? Then, why me!?”

Rivers fell silent, constrained by the classification of the mission, his duty to the program and the amount of information he was instructed not to share. His orders were to simply get Li interested in the possibility of flying again, and leave the real mission talk to Admiral Marrion. If he could get Li on the plane back to Japan, Marrion felt his incentives and guarantees, as well as Li’s probable hope of redemption would turn the young man into a viable and eager prospect.

There were deals to be made, waivers to be granted and money to be spent, but Rivers was by no means to divulge this. Everything would materialize before the young man’s eyes-in his office-not in a one-bedroom apartment in Concord, California. This was the cornerstone of the admiral’s strategy.

“Just get him on the plane, Scott,” he told Rivers before he left. “I’ll do the rest.”

However, Marrion never counted on Li being psychologically depressed and suicidal. Under no circumstances was Rivers to mention the brother, Jordan Li. Although gaining Li’s trust through reflections of his famous brother was a tempting strategy, it was something Marrion felt would jeopardize the entire project.

Yet, Li was losing his mind, systematically becoming more unstable and hostile. With one wrong word from Rivers, the whole project could go to Hell. Rivers had to skirt the line between mission accomplishment and suicide prevention-two disciplines that he never imagined would meet.

“Why me!?” Jason repeated, leaning forward challengingly. Rivers’ mind scrambled for an illegitimate answer to a perfectly legitimate question. Jason took another step forward. “TELL ME!”

“Because if you got shot down over enemy lines, it would be easier for you to navigate the country until we rescued you!” It was all he had. Jason’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“You’re fucking lying! The Navy wouldn’t waste its money on getting a wash-out back into a cockpit! You’re hiding something!”

“Jason, believe me.” He was running out of words, and the lies weren’t coming quick enough. “It’s a special program for ex-aviators who are looking to contribute to national defense.” He waited for a rebuttal, but when Jason remained silent, he decided to run with this one.

“You are only 26, and it’s only been two years since your dismissal. I’ve seen your records; I know you haven’t forgotten how to fly stealth aircraft.” When Jason made no attempt to comment, he continued to run the gauntlet.

Just get him on the plane, Scott. I’ll do the rest.

“We’ve lost aviators because of the continuing threat in the Taiwan Strait so we’re looking to recruit from other sources, even from the civilian sector.” Rivers didn’t know how much longer he could do it. He never liked to tell half-truths to aviators, much less full-blown lies. His forthright truthfulness and integrity were strengths admired and sought after in the fleet; he lived his life on his word. But now he was moving into an area he was unfamiliar and uncomfortable with; and unfortunately for him, it was showing. His sudden stammers, pauses and quick-shifting eyes told Jason everything.

“FUCK YOU!” he spat. “You’ve been lying to me since you walked in here and you’re lying now!”

“Jason, if you let me finish-”

Jason stepped up to the table and retrieved the Glock from under the face cloth, freezing Rivers cold. He barely was able to raise his palms pleadingly out in front of him. Jason put the gun to his own temple and stepped forward.

“Now you’re going to tell me why you’re really here or I’m going to fucking blow my brains out on your nice white shirt!” Rivers was speechless. It had come to this. The mission was going to end; but more pitifully, so was the life of this gifted young man right before his eyes.

“I will give you until the count of five,” Jason uttered with surprising calm. “You will either convince me that what you’re saying is not bullshit, or you will witness my death.”

Rivers held up a hand and shook his head.

“Jason, don’t do this.”

“One.”

“Jason, the mission is not a lie! It is designed for you!”

“Two.”

“Why would the Navy send me all the way out here for you!? I have something tangible to offer you!”

“Then tell me!”

“I can’t! My superiors have all the details! Jason, these details are of the highest classification!”

“Fuck you! Three!”

Sweat glistened on Rivers’ forehead. Jason smirked and shook his head slightly.

“And to think, for an instant, I wanted to believe that you had something special for me. That you had some piece of good news for my pathetic, shit-hole life. What a pity.”

“GODDAMN IT, JASON! WHAT MORE CAN I TELL YOU? THE NAVY IS OFFERING YOU ANOTHER CHANCE! WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO LOSE!?”

“I will not be a pawn in your fucking game! A fucking guinea pig for a suicide mission!”

“We’ll train you, support you, get you back in the cockpit! We’re giving you a fighting chance!”

“And then what!? Even if the mission is a success, how will you treat me then!?” He shook his head in rejection. “You came all this way to get a bum like me to fly a mission in China. Just like that. All I have to do is say yes and everything I’ve ever done, everything that put me in this fucked position will be forgotten.” Tears glistened around his eyes.

“You see, Mr. Rivers, I have no more family and nothing to live for. All the hours, weeks and months you would use to retrain me will only prolong my agony of living a rootless, soulless existence. And in the cockpit, all I’d be doing is chasing my brother’s ghost. That’s not a second chance. That’s not a life. I’m sorry, Mr. Rivers. Thank you for trying.” He wiped his tears with his free hand. “Four.”

When Jason started sucking in quick, deep breaths Rivers knew that this was it.

“Five. So long, Mr.-”

“YOUR BROTHER’S ALIVE!”

Jason pulled the gun away from his head. “What?”

“Jordan! Your brother, Jordan! He’s alive! At least, there’s a strong possibility he’s alive!” He took several long, deep breaths. “I’m telling you the truth! Jordan may not be dead!” Rivers stumbled back, focusing internally to slow his heart rate and the adrenaline pumping hard through his veins. Jason stood silently and motionless, staring at him as tears flowed freely down his face.

Rivers fell back onto the couch and gasped for air. He raised a hand to his face and wiped away the sweat. It took several moments of silence to bring him to a point where he could refocus on the task at hand. When he gained his emotional strength, he looked up at the stunned, silent young man.

“Sit down, Jason,” he gasped, trying to recapture his composure, “and let me tell you why I’m really here.”