Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow;

And soonest our best men with thee do go-

Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!

Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die.

-John Donne

Chapter 12

Death, Be Not Proud

Later, that evening, Mac and I silently treaded the hospital sidewalks, until we reached the car I rented for my trip. We hadn't said much to each other since our quarrel.

As I leaned against the car, Mac just stood there somberly with her arms crossed. I glanced up and saw that it was a pretty clear night. Stars dotted the sky, and the moon was full, encircled by a ghostly halo. I drew a breath of the night air, trying to think of something to say to break the awkward silence. Typically, Mac beat me to the punch.

"Harm, please be careful. I already have one friend in there fighting for his life. I don't want to lose another one. Especially, my…best friend," she said, sincerity reverberating from her entire being.

"I'll be fine, Mac. Just watch, I'll be back before you know it."

These were the last words we got a chance to speak to each other before Gunny came up to us.

"It's time, sir."

I nodded, and then Mac and I quickly hugged each other.

Jumping into the car, I started the engine. I gave one last wave to Mac and Gunny, trying to exude the confidence I didn't feel in this mission, and then I headed off into the night.

Later

Pulling up to a dilapidated, and very sleazy, bar, I glanced at my watch. I was ten minutes early, so I sat there in the car and waited. There were few cars in the cramped lot. Searching uneasily through the inky obscurity all around me, I saw no signs of life. While waiting for Ortega's men, I thought back to the information contained in the packet handed to me by a silent man in the hotel elevator. When I reached my room and opened it, I found my I.D., my history as P.O. Harris, and some background information on Ortega. Ortega was a high class drug dealer, who also dabbled in arms dealing and had a penchant for killing Americans. The CIA had been trying to rid themselves of the scourge of Ortega for sometime now, but had failed.

Eight minutes later I mumbled under my breath,

"Gunny?"

"I got you, sir," came the muffled response.

I then opened the car door and stepped out onto the dirt, making my way slowly to the front of the bar. Minutes later, two large Hispanic men materialized before me through the blackness.

"Harris?"

I nodded.

"Follow us."

They escorted me about a mile, where a car was waiting by the side of the road, its headlights shed the only light on the remote expanse of land.

"Into the car."

"Where are you taking me?"

The larger of the two men opened the passenger side door and extracted a dark piece of cloth.

"You have to wear this."

"What, you don't trust me?"

The gruff man snorted and then, with the piece of cloth grasped between his thick fingers, he went behind me and placed the blindfold tightly over my eyes. One of the men got in beside me. As I felt the car start moving, the men began speaking together in Spanish. I heard nothing from Gunny. I hoped he was getting it all.

Sometime later, I heard the welcome whisper of Gunny's voice in my ear.

"Parana River. They're taking you to a place near the Parana River. I'll…"

The car came to a sudden halt, and I didn't get anymore of what he was trying to tell me, because I was grabbed by someone. I heard a dull smack and realized that it came from my head hitting the frame of the door as the man tugging on me tried to jerk me from the car. He pushed me forward, after his first failed attempt, and then tried again. As he jarred my head against the frame once more, I felt a sickeningly familiar ache burn through my body and then nothing.

When I came to, my head felt as if someone was thumping on it from the inside. I sensed grass below me. Quiet murmurs in a language foreign to me, mingled with the sound of rushing water, greeted my ears. Then, I remembered where I must be and what I must attempt. My blindfold was gone, so I opened my eyes, only to quickly clamp them shut and wince. After a moment, I very slowly reopened them and tried to move myself into a sitting position. As I did so, I heard,

"Esta despierto."

Though finally in a seated position, my eyes were still downcast, and I was clutching my pounding head, when I saw a pair of dark, glossy shoes before me.

"Where am I?" I inquired, uneager to attempt to raise my head.

"You're at the meeting place, Mr. Harris," I heard an educated voice, with a barely detectable trace of an accent, inform me.

Mustering the strength to lift my head, I gathered in the sight of a man who appeared to be in his forties. His hair was graying, along with his well-manicured moustache. He had on an expensive double-breasted suit.

"Ortega."

"Your interview is about to begin, Mr. Harris. I hope you're prepared."

Glancing around to get a better picture of what I was up against, I found that we were in a clearing, surrounded by trees. It was still dark. Along the ridge of the trees were the three men I traveled here with, all bearing guns. Two of them were chatting. The other one stood puffing thoughtfully on a cigarette.

Ortega began to pace slowly in front of me, while asking questions. From what I figured out from his inquisition, and the subtle questions I managed to slip in without appearing to be digging, I understood that he wanted some information about a new weapons system we were developing, that had several countries drooling. It was being tested on the USS Eisenhower, the ship that I was, as P.O. Harris, stationed on. If he could get specifics on it, he'd have a couple of countries lined up willing to purchase the information. It would be a double bonus for him. He'd hurt America and make a tidy profit. Ortega tried to trip me up several times, but failed.

Then, I heard the sound of a car pulling up and a door opening nearby. I glanced over to Ortega to gauge his reaction. He wore an expectant look and addressed me,

"You've passed so far, Mr. Harris. But, you still have one more test to pass before I can give you the job. I call it my little insurance program."

I heard someone step up behind me and twisted around to see who the newcomer was.

"Commander Rabb," Hardy stated, with a small amount of surprise in his tone.

"Station chief Hardy."

"Actually, you don't work for the Navy anymore, do you? You work for the CIA, now. Did Kershaw send you here?" he questioned, mockingly. Ortega gazed at me wrathfully.

"CIA, huh? I don't like to be lied to , Mr.--"

"Rabb," Hardy filled in. I felt disgusted rage surge through me.

"How does it feel, Hardy, selling out your country for a few measly bucks?"

"Spare me," he muttered, wearing a disingenuous smile. He turned to Ortega. "This man is a waste of time," Hardy sonorously intoned.

Ortega pulled out a gun and pointed it at my head. I glared at Hardy and angrily seethed,

"I don't know how you sleep at night. You're not worth the flesh wasted on you!"

Ortega was about to shoot, when Hardy stopped him.

"Let me." He grabbed the gun from Ortega.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of Ortega's men drop to the ground. The two men jerked their heads around to the fallen man. Gunny popped out from the trees and began struggling with one of the two guards who'd been chatting earlier. Mac followed Gunny into the clearing, shooting the other man who aimed his gun at her, in the shoulder. He dropped his gun and grasped his wound.

I wasn't sure which man I wanted to hit more. I chose Hardy, since he had the gun, punching him as hard as I could in the stomach. When Hardy doubled over, Ortega swung at me and a battle ensued. As I was trying to knock Ortega out, Hardy aimed his gun again at our struggling forms. Then, suddenly, Mac was there, with her gun in hand.

"Drop it," she uttered, a determined coolness tingeing her voice.

A brief look of surprise etched itself into Hardy's debauched features.

"I thought you were dead."

"Go to hell, Hardy!"

"After you," Hardy snarled.

That was all I could make out as Ortega landed a timely blow into my jaw. Grunting in pain, I grabbed him by his shirt and banged his head against the trunk of a tree. Following that, I realized that Mac had fallen to the ground about a foot away from me. Hardy had the gun trained on her.

"Hardy!" I yelled desperately, trying to call his attention away from Mac. I crawled over to Mac, and covered her body with mine. My body was rigidly tense, waiting to feel the bullets tear through my skin. A grinding horror gnawed at me like I'd never known. This was it. It was finally the end. After all the times we'd cheated death. Webb's warning from two days ago came jarringly home. Our luck had to run out sometime.

"Edward!" A familiar voice resounded clearly, contemptuously, through the cold night air.

I peered at Hardy. His face registered with a look I'd seen before only in combat: mortal dread. My gaze followed his, and my eyes widened incredulously as I saw Webb approaching. He looked infinitely worse than he did before. Deathly pale, dripping with sweat, his hair plastered to his head. His step was unsteady, and he panted raggedly.

"You killed M-mcIntosh, Blaine…and J-Ja-ameson, you lying b-bastard!"

And, then, wearing the haggard look of a man who knew he was about to die, he raised his pistol and I heard the fulminating bark of the two guns. Both men slipped slowly to the ground. I rose carefully, keeping an eye on Hardy, who pointed the gun at Webb again and shot him one last time before his hand loosened on the gun, and he moved no more.

I made my way to Gunny as Mac hurriedly knelt at Webb's side. Gunny had been shot, and he was unconscious, but he still had a pulse. I walked over to stand next to Mac and Webb.

"We need to get him to a hospital," I stated quietly.

Webb sputtered, and blood pooled from his body, seeping into the earth below. Mac was crying inconsolably.

"How did he know?"

"H-he…he must have heard Gunny tell me where they were taking you. I thought he was asleep."

She paused a moment, and then a sobbing sound sprang from her lips, as she smoothed a hand over Webb's face.

"He could've made it, Harm," Mac uttered, her lips trembling.

I knelt down and clasped her small hand in mine. Webb looked at me, a vacant expression in his eyes.

"Don't forget, Rabb," he declared weakly, before his body went limp.

End of chapter 12