The other two officers were in their cars, and Alvarez and I were alone again.
“I hate to ask, but where did Mike put the bullet?”
“The barrel in his mouth, through the back of his skull.”
My mind flashed. Mike ate his gun.
After everyone was gone and I was alone, I walked back into Mike’s house. There was silence. I just stood for several minutes. Then I heard the refrigerator start to hum. I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was a large lidded bowl with a note taped on the lid.
Thought you might want some of my beef stew. You raved about last time you were here. It’s fresh. And Winslow likes it too.
I got two bowls down from the shelf. I gave Winslow his cold. I heated mine in the microwave.
There were also two six-packs of Corona and a variety of fresh food. Like Alvarez said, the place was well stocked.
Just like Mike, I thought, thinkin’ about others needs all the time, even when he knew he wouldn’t be here to share the food.
I grabbed a Corona and walked back out on the front porch. I sat on the porch swing and watched the sun going down behind Cerro de la Olla peak to the southwest. The October air was already turning cold. It would get into the low thirties tonight. I heard the microwave buzz, but I still just sat. Winslow had finished his food and was lying quietly at my feet.
My mind was still numb. I never avoided confronting issues. I usually went head on, but I hesitated to pull Mike’s letter out of my coat pocket to read it. I sat for another twenty minutes. My beer was down to foam, and I had a slight buzz because of the lack of food. I was amazed at the peace and quiet that surrounded me. I took it all in and realized why Mike loved living out here.
I went back into the house, reset the microwave, and looked at the good stack of firewood and kindling next to Mike’s airtight stove. I put in crumpled newspaper, added kindling and a couple logs, lit it, and listened to it chug as the flames grew inside the box. I closed its door and walked into the kitchen.
I pulled out the bowl of stew when it was ready. I walked back into the living room by the stove and sat down in Mike’s favorite chair.
It was the best stew I ever had, and I eagerly cleaned the bowl, sat it down on the floor, and Winslow checked to make sure there wasn’t a morsel left. There wasn’t. I retrieved Mike’s letter from my coat. I broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper that had writing on both sides. I began reading Mike’s handwritten letter.
Jason,
Since you are reading this, you already know I am gone. I am sorry I avoided taking your calls the last couple of days. I felt if you heard my voice, you would be able to detect how distraught I was. And if I heard yours, I might hesitate to do what I had planned on doing for some time now.
What has driven me to this point was no one else’s fault. I take full responsibility for my act. I know some people will call me a coward or selfish, but you, my friend, know better than anyone. I am neither.
What I am is a tired soldier who has come to realize, sometimes you have no choice but to surrender.
The dreams that still haunted me nightly, the pain from many wounds, not just the recent broken hands, but the shrapnel in my hips and legs had driven me to seek relief.
I thought I would find it in pain medication; it is not the answer. My doctor is a smart woman. She saw a path of addiction coming my way, so she cut me off all prescription pain medications. I unfortunately found other sources. At this time, I would call myself an addict.
I didn’t want you to see me this way. It would have been hard for me to look you in the eye.
I want to stress to you, hiding the damaging documents you had on your former boss was an honor for me, a chance to do a little to repay you for all you did for me. I fought hard to keep them safe, but as we both know, I was outmanned, and Dobbins deceit was something you and I never detected. I was tricked into a complacent state and taken advantage of.
I am glad you’ve avenged me, and he got that well-deserved bullet. Thank you for that.
Please remember defending what I hid for you and the injuries I sustained is not the cause of my actions. I don’t want to be in pain, and at the same time, I don’t want to be an addict.
Pray for me, my brother, since I cannot. Pray that God will forgive me for my actions, and you will also.
Please cremate my remains, it’s cheaper, then spread them out in the mountains above my ranch.
There’s some money in the safe in my bedroom. You know the combination: my birthdate. Use what you need for my remains. The rest give to the vets in Taos County. The pink slip for my Land Rover is in the safe also. I transferred it in your name a couple weeks ago.
I’ve worked out a title transfer of my property to you with a lawyer in town, last name is Reed, in the event of my death. I know you will do what is best with it. It’s free and clear, just have to pay taxes. He has the copies at his office. There is money in a trust. It’s in your name, use it as you see fit, but helping veterans is my desire.
If you could find a good home for Winslow, I would greatly appreciate it. He’s a smart and loyal cow dog any rancher with any sense would love to employee him.
Be well, my friend, stay safe, find a good woman, and settle down somewhere, maybe even here in Questa.
I love you, my friend.
Mike
The tears that were running from my eyes dripped on the letter as I sat forward in the chair, holding on to it as if I was holding onto Mike. I don’t know how long I sat there, but it was a long while. The fire was down to embers, and I needed to feed it to keep it going.
I slowly rose from my seat, laid Mike’s letter on a table and opened the fireplace door, grabbed a split log, and threw it in. For a moment, I thought of putting Mike’s letter into the flames. As if I did, this bad dream would go up the flu, but I hesitated long enough to realize that would be a bad idea. I had a lot of questions, and I needed to refer back to it if I were to find any answers.
I went back into the kitchen, switched on the light, and opened a few cupboards. I found what I was looking for: three bottles, fifths of a clear liquid. They all had corks in the tops but no labels or markings on the sides. The giveaway was the fat agave worms that floated awkwardly at their bottoms.
I pulled one bottle down and uncorked it. I smelled the aroma of the strong tequila as soon as the cork pulled out. Mike had let me and my crew sample some of the local batch when we were here before. It was potent but smooth. I needed the potent more than the smooth.
I grabbed a cup off the counter, took the bottle, and returned to the recliner. The fire had heated up the room. The tequila would heat my gut, and Winslow at my feet, providing me a piece of Mike I wanted to hold on to.
Chapter 7
Flying into Russian airspace in a private jet was stressful for Mack no matter how many times he had done it. The flight plans you had to file and get approved days ahead of your flight were as extensive as you could get. And the last thing you wanted to do was veer off that approved flight plan.
They had already been to London then onto Bern. Now the last passenger to drop off on this flight was Viktor Bardzecki on the outskirts of Moscow. Viktor seemed anxious throughout the flight. The cockpit monitor that recorded the cabins activity showed a fidgety Bardzecki, getting up often, pacing in the narrow aisle, sitting for a moment, then doing it all over again.
After viewing this activity for a while, Mack turned to his copilot Tomac and said, “Wonder what kind of reaming he got from Lehan on the island. Must have been brutal. Never seen a man so stressed.”
Tomac