Chapter 98. The Flight Home
After the primary threat had been eliminated, the fake construction site built around the portal to keep it hidden from the locals and the press turned into a real construction zone, at least judging by the noise.
The place buzzed like a kicked-over anthill. Every hour, teams of scavengers on heavy-duty bikes with cargo trailers rolled out of the portal's shimmering haze hauling everything they could find: alien tree trunks, soil samples, every shrub, every blade of grass. From a distance, it looked as though they were determined to strip the entire alien jungle bare.
To anyone who did not know better, it might have looked like the Corps was driven by bottomless greed. In reality, it was simple pragmatism. Sooner or later, the planet Loz'an would finally die, and humanity would lose access to its ecosystem forever. It would be one hell of a tragedy if, a few years from now, our scientists discovered that the leaves of some obscure native shrub held the cure for cancer when there was no longer anywhere left to find them.
The cleanup crews were not just collecting biological samples. They methodically dismantled Loz'an heavy machinery, tore down the fortifications of their military base brick by brick, and, naturally, hauled away the bodies of enemy soldiers. None of that alien equipment or biological material stayed at the temporary base for long. It was immediately packed into semis and shipped under heavy guard straight back to the States.
The constant roar of engines, the clang of steel, and the relentless growl of generators made getting any real rest in the barracks impossible. That was why Danny, Ted, and I were killing time in a sweltering little pizzeria on the outskirts of Bogotá while we waited for our return flight notifications. Mary had ended up joining us too. Even the Ice Queen had finally had enough of the endless rumble of trucks and the diesel fumes that clung to everything. She probably would have preferred wandering around the Colombian capital alone, but Corps regulations for minors were strict. She needed an adult escort whenever she left the base.
Some of the veterans had bolted for the beaches the moment they got leave, desperate to wash away the lingering weight of the operation. Danny clearly wanted to do the same, but regulations still had him assigned to us.
"This definitely isn't my wife's pizza from our family restaurant," Danny said between lazy bites, wearing the smug expression of a self-appointed food critic. "But it's a solid six out of ten."
I glanced toward the elderly Colombian woman behind the counter. She did not speak English and had no idea this guy had just handed down his verdict on her cooking.
"Wait. What?!" Ted nearly launched himself out of his chair, almost sending the plastic thing crashing to the floor. "Your wife owns a pizza place?!"
The owner leaned out from behind the counter, frowning with concern.
"Todo está bien," I said in fluent Spanish, raising a hand. "Mi compañero es un poco ruidoso."
"You're so loud. And completely insane," Mary muttered, sipping her cola through a straw as she looked at Ted with undisguised contempt. "I seriously can't wait for this mission to end so I never have to see you again."
"Fine by me. I'm sick of looking at your sour face too," Ted shot back, waving off her comment like an annoying fly before turning back to Danny with wide-eyed excitement. "Danny, seriously... you actually own a pizza place?"
"Kid, what's so shocking about that? I'm a professional pepperoni connoisseur." Danny took another hearty bite and froze in a pose worthy of a glossy magazine cover. "I only dated the best pizza makers in San Francisco until I found my wife."
"So that 'best pizza in town' you've been bragging about this whole time..." I asked, raising an eyebrow. "That was your own place?"
"You got it." Danny grinned and winked. "One day I realized that if I wanted to eat the best pizza in town every single day, I'd have to open the damn place myself."
"Dude, you're freaking awesome!" Ted leaned so far across the greasy table he was practically climbing onto it. "How do I become as cool as you?"
"Great potential I see in you, young Padawan," Danny replied in a perfect gravelly Yoda voice, putting on his best mystical expression. "With enough dedication, achieve your goal you will."
"But what do I do, Master? Show me the way!"
"First lesson, bro. Always eat your pizza before it gets cold. That's the only way you'll truly understand it... and appreciate what it has to offer."
"Thanks, Master!"
Danny and Ted exchanged solemn bows across the table like two kung fu masters preparing for a duel to the death, then immediately went back to demolishing the rapidly cooling mountain of cheese with twice the enthusiasm.
"I cannot believe I have to sit at the same table as you two," Mary said, burying her face in her hands with an exaggerated sigh.
I did not answer, though I completely understood how she felt. Putting on a show had never been my thing. That was probably why neither Mary nor I had ever been the life of the party.
At almost the exact same moment, our phones chirped in our pockets. I pulled mine out and skimmed the notification. Operation contract closed. Thank you for your service. Your electronic ticket back to the States is attached.
It had been twenty-four hours since we came through the portal, and I was already tired of sitting around doing nothing. Bureaucracy could easily have kept us here for days, but thanks to Leon chewing everyone out at exactly the right time, the whole platoon had submitted their reports on schedule. I made a mental note of that little leadership lesson. Next time, I would start pushing people right away so we would not get stuck in places like this.
"Well, looks like waiting time's over." Danny clapped his hands together and wiped his fingers on a napkin. "Now all that's left is getting you three onto a plane."
"What about you?" Ted asked, freezing with a half-eaten crust in his hand. "Aren't you flying back with us?"
"Dude, do I look like an idiot who'd pass up a free vacation?" Danny shot him a sly grin. "If Uncle Sam paid to send me overseas, I'm gonna enjoy every minute of it. My ticket's good for another three days. I plan to spend them soaking up the sun at the resorts and finding out whether Colombians know how to make a decent cocktail."
"Master, you're awesome!" Ted blurted, leaning halfway across the table. "Can I come with you? Please? Please? Please?"
"I'm sorry, bro. Not this time." Danny shook his head. "I've got orders to make sure every cadet gets on that plane. The brass are scared to death the rookies will go overseas and do something stupid."
"Those desk-jockey rats," Ted growled through clenched teeth.
"Heh. Looks like that conversation with the colonel left its mark." Danny chuckled. "Don't sweat it, kid. Next time we run into each other on the other side of the portal, we'll hang out the right way."
"You still owe me a pizza at your restaurant." Ted narrowed his eyes, doing his best to look intimidating.
"I remember, bro. Next time you're in San Francisco, come straight to my place. I'll hook you up with the best meal you've ever had."
"I'll fly out just for that!"
They bumped fists with a sharp crack.
"All right, let's get moving." Danny stood up, dropped a generous stack of bills on the table for a tip, and stretched. "The sooner I get you three onto that flying bucket of bolts, the sooner I'll be sipping ice-cold cocktails on the beach."
The drive to the airport in the Corps SUV felt a lot like the ride from it: Danny talking nonstop while I quietly watched the palm trees sliding past outside the window. At another red light, the phone sitting on the dashboard chimed.
"Oh, nice. My contract payment just came through." He glanced at the notification and grinned. "Perfect. Now I've definitely got enough cash for a couple of piña coladas."
I pulled out my phone and checked both my email and banking app.
Nothing.
"I didn't get anything," I said.
"Hey, me neither!" Ted blurted, nearly dropping his phone as he waved it in front of Danny. "Did the Pentagon seriously decide to screw us over?"
"I seriously doubt a teenager's paycheck is gonna make any generals rich." Danny laughed as the light turned green and he stepped on the gas. "The money doesn't appear by magic. They've got a whole pile of algorithms calculating everyone's individual contribution. I didn't do anything special on this mission. Blew up a couple of fighters, toasted a dozen green faces, nothing out of the ordinary. So the system only had to process my base pay and captain's bonus. That only takes a couple of minutes."
"Whoa! So they think I did more than you?" Ted's eyes lit up. "You think they're gonna give me a medal too?"
"Easy there, Padawan." Danny smirked. "The system always processes cadets last. Too many variables. Give it another hour or two and you'll get your money."
"Or maybe my money and a medal!" Ted insisted, already picturing ribbons pinned across his dress uniform.
That was how we ended up at the international terminal. By the time we got there, neither Ted nor I had received a single notification.
A long line snaked through the check-in area. Judging by the crowd, it looked like half of Bogotá had decided to fly somewhere that day.
"We could be stuck here for an hour." Danny scratched the back of his head and glanced wistfully toward the parking lot exit. "Tom... mind taking the kids through check-in for me?"
"No problem. Go enjoy your beach."
"Thanks, man." Danny gave my hand a firm shake. "I knew I could count on you."
He tossed the kids a quick, "See you around," as he headed off, then disappeared into the crowd, eager to start his vacation. Compared to the way he had covered for me in his report to Corps Accounting, this was the smallest favor imaginable.
The line moved much faster than expected. We made it through in about twenty minutes.
Ted was first. He showed his electronic ticket, and an airline employee escorted him toward the gate for his flight to Albuquerque.
"See you guys around!" Ted shouted from behind the glass partition, waving enthusiastically. "Hopefully they stick us in the same unit!"
"I hope not," Mary muttered quietly.
When my turn came, I presented my ticket to Washington. The airport representative motioned for me to follow him through a separate lane away from the main crowd. I looked back to make sure Mary was behind me.
She wasn't.
Every distraction vanished instantly. We lived in the same city, and losing track of her right before boarding was not a mistake I was willing to make.
"Un momento, por favor," I said to the attendant in fluent Spanish before turning back toward the check-in counters.
The woman at the desk could only shrug. The twelve-year-old girl had never even reached the counter. She had veered away and disappeared into the terminal.
I scanned the waiting area calmly and methodically. It took me about two minutes to find her. Mary was tucked away in a far corner, sitting cross-legged on a metal bench.
"Why'd you stay behind?" I asked as I stopped in front of her.
"Tch... so you noticed." She clicked her tongue in annoyance and turned back toward the window. "I'll wait a couple of hours and catch the next flight. By myself."
"I understand why you want to be alone, but I can't let you do that." My voice stayed calm and matter-of-fact, like I was reading instructions out of a manual. "Danny and your mother trusted me with your safety. My job is to make sure you get home."
"I don't need a babysitter." Mary fixed me with a cold, defiant stare.
"Pulling a stunt like this says otherwise." I met her glare without blinking. "I'm not getting on that plane without you. That's not changing."
"God, you're exhausting..." She jumped to her feet, making no effort to hide how irritated she was. "Fine. Let's go so you can check your little box and call your mission accomplished."
I ignored the jab. Feeding teenage drama was not something I had any interest in. Unlike her, I had never considered responsibility a weakness.
Not long afterward, we were both checked in and boarded the flight to Washington. We spent the entire flight in complete silence, each of us pretending the other seat was empty.
Just before we landed in Washington, D.C., Mary's phone chimed with a notification. Her contract payment had finally been deposited.
Mine still had not.
Even after the wheels touched down and I refreshed my banking app one more time, the balance had not changed. At that point, it was no longer the kind of delay you could blame on processing time, and I did not like what that implied.