Читать книгу The Last Daughter - Thomas Mahon - Страница 12

The militia sergeant stepped from the weather-beaten field trailer. He blew cigarette smoke into the still air, and then flicked the butt into the cooling sand. He inhaled deeply, and let his mind wander as he gazed at the hills, rock outcroppings and Joshua trees that dominated the landscape for as far as the eye could see. He watched the late afternoon shadows stretch across the parched desert terrain. The majestic White Range loomed in the distance.

They had pitched camp three days earlier, and their orders were to stay another day, maybe two. They’d wrapped up most of their military maneuvers a 24-hours ago, and the sergeant was getting fidgety; it was never wise to loiter in the same vicinity for too long. The minute he got word, he’d give the order to— something caught his attention—a brief metallic flickering in the distance to his right. There he is, thought the sergeant now focused on the eastern horizon.

He followed the black Navigator as it eased down the narrow gorge. It skidded to a stop ten yards from the remote field trailer. A pale man, looking more like an accountant than anything he could think of at the moment, and sporting khakis and a long-sleeve Polo, threw open the door and hopped out. He adjusted what looked like a silver Rolex . He turned, grabbed a large briefcase and shut the door.

The sergeant thought, you have got to be kidding. This is what’s been holding us up?

Finally, thought the pale man in khakis: A human being.

He waved off the dust that swirled in the Navigator’s wake, and began to make his way toward a large man in military fatigues. He stumbled once. The sergeant stepped from the edge of the trailer, and the pale man thought he detected a half-smirk.

“Afternoon,” said the sergeant. “I see you found us okay.”

So, this is the man who has to die before I leave this place. I wonder if he has any idea. “Nobody told me there’d be no road the last nine miles.”

The sergeant glanced back toward the horizon. “That’s what we call a road out here. Anyway, please give our best to Maestro.”

No, he has no idea. None at all.

There was a moment of awkward silence. The sergeant led the pale man to the trailer and grabbed the door handle. There was a sudden burst of gun fire coming from the base of a nearby ridge—rapid popping noises, followed by shouts. The pale man jumped and turned to see several soldiers scampering across the rugged terrain. They crouched and fired their AK-47s. After a moment, the men re-grouped and then moved ahead.

“Daily exercises,” explained the sergeant. “Don’t be alarmed. Come inside.”