Matt Archer: Legend (8 page)

Oh, really?

Something cold slithered down
my spine and my brain picked right then to remind me what I’d planned to tell
her. I stopped messing with her bra strap, needing to make a decision. I didn’t
care about her. Not even a little bit. Sami was nice, fun, and
…

Convenient.

On the other hand, I might
die in a few weeks. Did I really want to go out as a virgin?

What does that matter,
when you’re betraying my trust?
Tink
asked
. You don’t like it when I’m angry, do you?

I should’ve known Tink would
butt in.
And
that she would get her way.

“Sami, stop.”

I rolled out from under her,
kicking myself for giving up such an easy opportunity. Sometimes having an
overactive conscience really blew, especially when part of that conscience
wasn’t even my own. The blade-spirit and I were going to have to get our
priorities straight, no doubt about it. I didn’t belong to her like some kind
of indentured servant.

On the other hand
…
the warning did
give me a good excuse to leave before I made things worse.

“What’s wrong?” Sami asked,
sounding out of breath. She put her arms around my neck and tried to pull me
back down.

I seriously considered caving
it. It might make me feel better, even if only for a little while.

You will not feel better,
Matt. You know I’m right, otherwise you wouldn’t be arguing with me. Or with
yourself.

Stupid knife-spirit.

I stood up with my back to Sami
and redid my fly with shaking fingers. “Sami, I can’t do this with you.”

“Why not?” She sounded
confused and hurt. Probably wondering why someone wouldn’t want her. The
problem was that I did—just not enough.

I pulled my t-shirt on, still
not looking at her, and grabbed my button-down from the floor. I took my time
buttoning it, leaving the tail untucked to hide the evidence of just how much
she was doing for me.

“Because it’s not
…
okay.”

I spied a tank top and a pair
of those gym shorts with “cheer” printed on the butt sitting on the chair by
her desk. I picked them up and finally faced Sami. Tears spilled down her
cheeks. Feeling like the world’s biggest ass, I handed her the clothes. Seeming
resigned, she tugged the tank over her head, covering the sexy underwear.

She gulped and swiped at the
tears on her face with the back of her hand. “I don’t understand. I’ve been
trying so hard to make you like me.”

I sat down with her. “I know
you have, and that’s why this isn’t okay. I
do
like you. Enough to stop myself
before I made a mistake that hurt you.” She stared at me and I knew I had to
tell her everything to make her understand. I wasn’t going to be spared the
hard way out. “I’m still in love with Ella, Sami. It’s gonna take me a long
time to get over her. I like you too much to use you to make myself feel
better, when I’ll probably never
…”

I had to stop. I was such a
bastard, but I couldn’t tell Sami I’d never love her. That was beyond my
cruelty threshold.

Sami stood to face me, her
hurt expression turning angrier by the second “You think I don’t know that?”
Her face flushed red and her glare pinned me in place. “I saw you with Ella
yesterday. I was early to fifth period and saw you kissing her in my classroom.
Why do you think I’m trying so hard?”

We’d been in Sami’s
classroom? I rubbed my forehead. Of all the dumb luck; there’s a new low for
Matt Archer. But it also explained why Sami had come on so strong tonight. “Why
didn’t you say something?”

“I hoped it was just
unfinished business, clearing the air so you could forget her. Now I know it’s
more complicated than that.” She turned her back on me, but her rigid posture
spoke volumes about just how upset she was.

Eventually I was going to pay
for this moment, big time, and I was becoming more and more grateful that I’d
be shipping out to Africa in short order. “I’m really sorry.”

She turned around and if
looks could kill, I’d be nothing but a pile of nuclear ash. “Not as sorry as I
am. Now get out.”

I left her standing in the
middle of her bedroom, wishing I could crawl under a rock and stay there.
Still, as soon as I backed out of her driveway, I felt better than I had in a
long time.

Early Monday morning, an hour
before school was due to start and three hours before my flight left for
Colorado Springs, Mom and I presented ourselves to Greenhill’s principal, Mrs.
Stevens, to break the news that I was withdrawing for a while.

With graying brown hair and
wrinkles on her face, Mrs. Stevens looked like your favorite great aunt—the one
who baked you cookies and sneaked you extra when your parents weren’t
looking—but looks were deceiving. My principal had the backbone of a Navy SEAL
and could stare down a python. I’d spent some time in her office the last few
years and had been the uncomfortable recipient of that stare. Luckily for me,
it was Mom’s turn to suffer this time.

 “So, if I understand
correctly, Mrs. Archer,” Mrs. Stevens said, “Matt’s going to
Africa
for
the foreseeable future?” When Mom nodded, she tapped her pen on her desk, like
she was thinking about giving Mom detention. “I’m sorry to hear this is
happening again, but it’s certainly your right to pull him from school, and
given the nature of his
…
ah
…
work, I guess we don’t have a choice.”

“No ma’am,” I said, bailing
Mom out. “But I promise to keep up with classes online.”

Mrs. Stevens’ disapproving
expression softened a little. “I’ll hold you to that. If you’re going to be
away a long time, I expect to receive word that you’ve completed your GED, or
I’ll call up Colonel Black and give him a piece of my mind.”

My head whirled at the
thought of being gone that long. “Hopefully I’ll be back before then.”

For the first time ever, Mrs.
Stevens reached across the desk and patted my hand. “I hope so, too. It’s been
a pleasure having you at Greenhill.”

Choked up, all I could do was
nod. I found myself wondering if I’d ever see this place, or Mrs. Stevens,
again. I rarely got homesick; what was my deal? Why was this departure so much
harder than normal?

Maybe it was because I saw
the risks more clearly now. I knew what was at stake, and I knew the costs. I
hadn’t been on a long op since Afghanistan; there was a lot of baggage riding
on this trip. Mike was right—I needed to get my head straight or I’d put people
in danger.

Students were arriving by the
time we left the office and Mom asked, “Do you want to catch up with your
friends before we go?”

I shook my head. No, that was
the last thing I wanted to do. I needed to get out of here before Will or
anyone else showed up. Mom led me down the main hallway toward the front door,
and I stared at my feet to avoid talking to people. I thought if I looked like
I was being herded out school because I was sick or in trouble, no one would
come close. It almost worked, until I took one last glance back, just to remind
me of home during the weeks to come
…
and caught Ella standing halfway down the hall,
watching us leave. Even from this distance, I could tell she’d gone pale. She
knew what was going on, where I was going. It made my chest ache to know my job
still caused her to worry.

I reached into my jeans’
pocket and pulled out the St. Christopher medal she gave me last year, to keep
me safe. I don’t know why I did it, reflex maybe, but I made sure she saw me
tuck it into my jacket pocket, right over my heart. Then I turned away.

It was the only goodbye I
could manage.

* * *

After picking me and Uncle Mike up at the airport in
Colorado Springs, driving one of the nondescript black SUVs always on hand,
Lieutenant Johnson sang “Rubberband Man” by The Spinners all the way to Fort
Carson.

Yes, he really did. And it wasn’t pretty.

I tapped Johnson on the shoulder from the backseat.
“Lieutenant, do you think we could turn on the radio or something? I’m worried
we’re gonna get pulled over for noise pollution.”

He only sang louder. Finally, I shrugged and sang with him.
Or, to be precise, I sang
over
him. My voice wasn’t great, but his was
awful, so it helped somewhat.

“You’re in a better mood
today,” Uncle Mike said, giving me a slight smile when we finished
caterwauling. “Guess your date with the cheerleader went well.”

“Cheerleader?” Johnson
checked me out in the review mirror. “Nice!”

“Not really.” I avoided his
eyes by staring at the floor mats—they needed vacuuming. “She wasn’t my type.”

The knife-spirit made a smug
sound in the back of my head and I glared at my backpack. The blade was stored
in its metal carrying case inside. I couldn’t see the handle glowing through all
the protective layers, but Tink certainly had my attention.

“You got your way this time,”
I whispered, “but that was still uncool.”

Then why are you relieved?

I chose not to answer. Ella’s
face was too fresh in my mind to argue.

“
…
sorry it didn’t
work out,” Mike was saying. Per usual, I missed part of a conversation because
the blade-spirit broke into my regular programming.

“It’s okay. So,” I said in a
rush to avoid any man-to-man wisdom sharing,
“When’s our first
briefing?”

“As soon as I drag your sorry butt onto base and to the
conference room,” Johnson said. “We’re leaving tomorrow night and the colonel
has a lot to go over.”

“Hey, I forgot to ask. How’s Aunt Julie?” I asked Mike. She
worked on the Pentagram Strike Force with us, as the general’s lead military
intelligence expert. “Is she okay with you deploying?”

He didn’t answer right away and Johnson shifted
uncomfortably in his seat.

“So that’s a no, huh?” I said.

“That’s a no. She’d rather be in the field,” Uncle Mike
said, with an air of finality that told me not to ask any more questions.

“Any word from Brandt?” I asked, thinking that might be safer
ground for a conversation starter.

Johnson shot me a strange look. “I better let you talk to
Colonel Black first.”

I had a funny feeling I wouldn’t like what the colonel had
to tell me.

* * *

Base was humming when we arrived. Fort Carson sat on
wildlife conservation land in the heart of Colorado, surrounded by mountains,
but the base itself was like a small city and always on the move, always awake.
Humvees and other vehicles trundled up and down the main drag at a steady clip
day and night. Soldiers jogged in formation, or walked from building to
building—a sea of desert-print BDUs, super-short haircuts and boots.

Johnson dumped us out in front of a square, beige-bricked
office building. Colonel Black’s situation room, a conference room he took over
three years ago and never vacated, was in the back, down a long hallway. The
setup hadn’t changed much since the last time I was here. Paper maps covered
the walls, stuck through with pins of various colors: blue for potential
paranormal activity, red for active missions, yellow for ongoing
investigations.

Botswana was stuck through with no less than a half-dozen
black pins.

“Unc—Major Tannen?” I turned to Uncle Mike. “What’s up with
the black-headed pins?”

“Active, unknown threat,” he said, passing me to meet up
with Colonel Black at the lectern.

Each time I saw the colonel after a break, I was struck by
how fast he had aged. When I met him two years ago in the woods across base,
he’d had more pepper than salt in his hair and no real lines on his face. Over
time, though, his hair had gone steadily grayer. Today it was the color of
dirty snow and there were new wrinkles around his eyes. Physically, he was
imposing as ever at six-five and at least two-sixty of packed muscle, but that
was offset by the reading glasses perched on his head. I didn’t know his age
for sure; he couldn’t be more than fifty, though. Again, I wondered if the
stress of leading our team was getting to him.

Colonel Black looked up to catch me gaping and waved me to
the front of the room. “Archer, good to see you, son.” He nodded to Mike. “How
did Mrs. Archer take it?”

Uncle Mike winced. “She’s not happy, and she’s holding me
personally responsible for Matt’s future if his grades suffer or if he flunks
his SATs.”

One more thing to worry about. “It’s not a big deal. If I
don’t end up monster food by the time the SATs roll around next year, I’m sure
I’ll do okay.”

Both of them looked horrified by that proclamation, so I
added, “Mamie’s making me flash cards for the exam.”

“Well, if Mamie is helping you study, you’ll be ready,”
Colonel Black said in approving tones. “Sergeant Davis will be by later to set
up your online schooling program.”

“Davis?” I groaned. Anyone but that overwound dictator.
Davis had no sense of humor and was about as flexible as a tire iron. The man
pressed creases into his BDUs while we were in the field last year. In
Afghanistan. “Guess that means I’ll have a satellite uplink in Africa to keep
up with my classes, huh?”

“Nothing but the best for you, Matt.” Uncle Mike grinned
evilly. “And I’ll be there to make sure you actually study.”

Studying in the savannah. Nice. It was better than sitting through
classes all day, mortal danger or not. “Fine, whatever. So who’s on my team?”

“Murphy went with Major Ramirez to Peru, so he’s off the
list for this operation. From the original group, just me and Lieutenant
Johnson,” Uncle Mike said. “We’re getting some new support staff today. Two
desert combat specialists and one ordinance specialist. I’ll be C.O.”

The idea of getting a new team unsettled me. We’d lost two
men who worked closely with me in the past—Schmitz and Patterson—along with a
number of guys I didn’t know well. Even if Murphy and I didn’t get along too
well, he was familiar. Crabby, but familiar. Walking into an active hunt with
newbies at my back was cause for concern. The last time I’d done that, Johnson
had to shoot one of them to save him from being turned into a zombie.

I shuddered. The nightmares from Afghanistan were still too
vivid, too fresh, for me to dwell on for long. “I hope they’re good.”

Almost like I had given them their cue, boots stomped down
the hall. Sergeant Davis, his face frozen in a permanent scowl, led three men
into the conference room. “Sir, Lieutenant Lanningham , Staff Sergeant Dorland
, and Sergeant Tyson, reporting for duty.”

While Colonel Black welcomed the new guys, I took a moment
to look them over. Sergeant Tyson couldn’t have been more than twenty-three,
with a baby face and blond hair. My five o’clock shadow was thicker than this
guy’s. I doubted he shaved more than once a week, while I was up to every other
day…not that I was proud of that or anything. Well, maybe a little.

Staff Sergeant Dorland, in contrast, was a tall, wiry black
guy who squinted like he was X-raying the entire room. He examined me with the
same intensity, and I fought an urge to squirm under his gaze.

Of the three, Lieutenant Lanningham was the one who looked
most like what you’d expect from Special Forces: barrel-chested, biceps like
bowling balls, and a faintly square head with dark hair buzzed down to a
millimeter.

“Who’s on ordinance?” I asked. I needed to size up the guy
who’d be carrying the C-4 before I set foot outside these doors with him.

Dorland stood up straighter, like he was pretending not to
be shocked to hear this kid asking him a question in a commanding tone. I knew
he was, though. They always were, at first.

“That would be me…um, sir?” Dorland shot a glance at the
colonel. I was wearing BDUs, but without rank or ornament except for the
pentagram patch that symbolized our team. I guess he wanted to be safe, just in
case I was an officer.

Shooting Davis a smirk, I said, “Not, ‘sir,’ Staff Sergeant.
I work for a living.”

Davis’ pasty face turned purple and he growled at me. I
guessed he didn’t like being quoted. Or maybe he was surprised I remembered a
conversation he and I’d had two years ago. Either way, I got a laugh out of it.

Colonel Black rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Archer, for
that amusing aside. Let’s get on with the introductions, shall we?”

“Sir, yes sir.” I turned back to Dorland. “As long as you’re
good at blowing things up, welcome aboard.”

Dorland flashed me an uncertain smile that said, “who is
this kid and why is he asking about blowing crap up?” I decided I liked him. He
was off balance by the whole situation, but trying hard not to show it. He had
steady hands, too—important in his line of work.

This one is fine. Good soul.

Tink rarely commented on other people, so that was an A+
recommendation if I ever heard one. I turned my back on the group and wandered
to the window, murmuring, “Any thoughts on the others?”

The big one is worried. He will be cautious, but that is
an asset. The little one is proud to be here. He’s the one to watch.

Interesting.

“Mr. Archer? You planning to join us?” the colonel asked,
interrupting our conversation.

I could feel the spirit retreat from my mind; she wasn’t
planning to tell me anything else. I snapped to attention. “Sir, yes sir.”

Casting me a weary glance, Colonel Black asked everyone to
find a seat up front. “Welcome to Pentagram Strike Force, gentlemen. As you’ve
been told, this is the point of no return. If you have any doubts, ask to be
relieved now, because once I explain the mission, you’re locked in until it’s
complete or you’re too injured to continue.”

Dead silence.

“All right,” the colonel said. “Everything I’m about to tell
you is so high clearance, Congress doesn’t even know about the majority of our
mission. The most important thing you should understand, however, is that Mr.
Archer is more valuable than anyone else in this room, including me. Your
mission, above anything else, is to protect him. Archer stays alive to work, no
matter what.”