Chapter 9: Like ripples on a blank shore
There was no mention the next morning of either their conversation in the living room during the night, or his upcoming departure. Everybody behaved as though the four of them having breakfast was a normal occurrence, Winta talking about the old children books she had found in her room and wanted to read to the kid after school, and Omera reminding her she would be working until six. Mando stayed out of their way, marveling at their efficiency when he could barely focus on anything but his coffee cup and feeding the boy small pieces of toast. Despite his more restful night, he was clearly not 100% better yet, and hoped Paz's contact wouldn't call too soon.
After Winta left for her bus, Mando expected Omera to tell him what she expected from him, but she surprised him once more.
"Winta will be back by two this afternoon, she's used to spend a few hours on her own. She'll have lunch at school and there should be enough leftovers for you and your boy in the fridge."
"Right."
"If you get the call you're waiting for… Well, I understand if you need to leave quickly, but if not feel free to wait until tomorrow."
"Thanks, that's very kind."
She nodded and left him in the kitchen to get ready for work, and Mando tried not to focus on the fact that she had no qualms about leaving him alone with her daughter in her absence. Well, him and the kid, but still. He hadn't been that kind of person for a while, if ever. The kind people trusted.
Thinking it was high time he checked that the car would be good to go when he eventually had to leave – his memories of how he had reached the track leading to Omera's house from the café in Castle Rock were fuzzy at best, and he wondered if he had damaged the vehicle somehow. When he had found out the previous day when looking at a map that he had managed to drive more than 60 miles in his state, he'd been stunned.
Mando tried not to focus on the blood stains on the front seats – he'd try to clean them later when the child, who was currently wriggling in his arms, was napping – then noticed that the so-called bag of "gadgets" from Paz was still there. He heard the front door close just as he was about to grab it. Omera leaving for work. But instead of hearing her car, which she had been forced to park outside, he heard a man's voice.
Fearing the worst, he quickly walked to the garage door to hear what was going on and intervene if necessary, his mind already telling him that he could grab the guns from the car, and lock the child there. But it sounded like someone Omera knew already, although that didn't necessarily mean it was a good thing, as he soon learned.
"…there's nothing else for me to add," he heard Omera say, catching only the end of her sentence.
"Don't be like that, there's no reason we can't stay friends…" replied a smooth voice.
"We were never friends. I paid the money I owed you months ago, that's it."
"The money I loaned you when no one else would."
"Yes, and I'm grateful, but I don't see why you keep coming here, our business arrangement is over."
"Our 'business arrangement'? No wonder you live alone, if that's how you treat all the people who are trying to help you."
The voice was definitely less silky now, and Mando risked a look through the small window above the garage door standing on his tiptoes. He quickly catalogued the man's features for later – small, short dark hair, glasses – then continued listening in, although the conversation seemed to be at an end.
"I'm going to be late for work and I would rather you didn't come here again."
He heard her leave the porch, and their voices grew faint, but thankfully a car started soon after that. Mando had another look: Omera was driving away, and the man was walking in the other direction, but not before looking at the departing vehicle with what Mando could only judge from his distance as delight. He'd definitely be back later.
He was torn. Clearly, Omera wasn't the kind of woman who would lie down and roll over in a conflict, and he had learned as much the previous night, but the man was aggravating. And he didn't like the fact that someone could be snooping around the house – he'd come on foot, he wasn't living far. This was not his business and he wouldn't want Omera to think he was overstepping, but if he came back and saw him or the child, he could be in serious trouble.
Mando sighed and picked up the bag he had discarded to check later. He voiced his doubts out loud to the child as he was changing him upstairs. Obviously, the kid was no help, but it felt good to share his thoughts, something he'd been doing more and more lately. He was still undecided as he was doing the dishes in the kitchen, the boy playing with some of Winta's toys at his feet, and remained distracted throughout their lunch later on. He blamed his slow reaction at realizing that the toddler was giggling and throwing food at him on his general state of exhaustion, but resolved that he needed to wait for Winta's return anyway before making a decision.
He managed to put the boy down for a nap after having read him a couple of books – he should have thought of that sooner, really – then remembered Paz's bag. He hadn't wanted to open it with the kids around, for fear the gadgets proved dangerous, but he shouldn't have worried. One particular item caught his eye, and it gave him an idea.
He had another idea when Winta returned home, noticed that the kid was still sleeping with a disappointed sigh, and went straight to the coffee table to draw.
"You're really good at that," praised Mando. And it was true – he thought her strange looking animals were extremely creative. She seemed to be enjoying inventing new species, and told him all about her winged zebras and furry, six-legged dogs.
"Can I ask you a question?" he started, sitting on the couch behind her. "Do you know a man who leaves close by? Your mother had a visitor before going to work this morning, and he didn't seem very pleasant."
"Oh, that's probably Mr. Pershing. He doesn't live very far, but sometimes he uses our access road. Mom hates that, because he has his own."
"He has dark hair and wears glasses? A bit younger than me?"
"I don't know about his age, but yeah, that sounds like him. Why? What's he done? Was he asking for money again?"
Again? How much did Winta know?
"I'm not sure," replied Mando, not wanting to assume anything, "but your mom seemed annoyed with him."
"Yeah, I think he's creepy. He always looks at us strange when we see him in town. Mom said she shouldn't have borrowed money from him, but she paid him back, I know she did. And he was the one who'd suggested it in the first place. I heard at school that he loans money to a lot of other parents."
"Do you know if he works with other people? Like colleagues?"
"No, it's always just him, I think."
Hopefully, just a loan shark wannabe acting on his own, then. But he'd still have to be careful.
"Your mom told you how you shouldn't mention to anyone that the boy and I are staying here, right?"
"Of course, and I didn't say anything, I promise!" Winta said, her eyes wide.
"I believe you," Mando reassured her, "but I don't like the fact that he comes around."
"And he's been doing that more and more lately."
"I might have an idea to prevent that happening again, but I'd need your help."
"My help?" she was part surprised, part pleased. "Is it gonna be dangerous?"
"Not for you or your mom," he assured her quickly.
"That's okay, it can be a little dangerous, I can take it."
Mando smiled and nodded conspiratorially – he wouldn't let it happen, but there was no harm in pretending.
"What do you need?" she queried, serious.
He asked her for black markers and paper, then drew what he wanted her to copy. Nothing too complicated, but it had to be recognizable. He knew those tattoos well, and could reproduce them from memory. Winta was undaunted when he had her draw them on his upper arms, and she took her job seriously, etching them better than he'd had on the paper, as he had expected.
"It might be hard to wash them away," she warned.
"That's fine, they need to look realistic."
It was strange for Mando to see appear on his skin the very symbols he had always refused to wear. But at least, it would be possible to remove them. To get rid of them after one last run as an 'official' NF gang member, doing something he was unfortunately very good at.
"What are those?" Winta queried of his two actual tattoos, at the corner of each of his hands. "A star and a dragon?"
"The star on my left hand is for my parents, for the country they were from. The other is for the army. I was in the XVIII Airborne Corps. The insignia is a dragon."
"That looks really cool! Airborne, is that like parachuting and stuff?"
"Yeah, and then after a while I realized I preferred staying in the planes than jumping out of them. So I joined the Air Force instead and became a pilot."
He had her completely mesmerized – an unusual feeling, but the words came easily. Speaking to a kid was different. There was judgment, yes, but one he understood. He didn't have to pretend anything with her. He just answered her questions. There were many, but he didn't mind, and it kept her occupied while she drew on his arms.
He was impressed with the result. He repeated the movement a few times afterwards, rolling up his sleeves then down again, and the drawings stayed put. With any luck, the man would be too focused on them to make the connection with the face he might have seen on TV. And he looked nothing like the photo they used anymore.
"You're gonna scare him, is that it?" guessed Winta, correctly. "You do look scary, even without the tattoos."
"Do I?" Mando frowned.
"But in a good way, you know".
He had no idea there was a 'good way', but he assumed it was alright, then.
The kid woke up, and Winta was soon distracted again. Mando knew he had to put his plan into action before Omera came back from work, and asked the girl to describe where this Mr. Pershing lived again. He made sure she would be fine for a little while on her own with the boy – if Omera could trust him with her daughter, then he could trust her with his child – then left the house, after making a short detour to pick up a gun from his car. No point doing things halfway, after all.
He was surprised by the chill outside – this was still July, but he wasn't in California anymore. The wind had picked up during the night, and he could see clouds gathering over the ocean to the west. It felt good to stretch his legs, although he was winded quickly, his body still not completely over the fact that it had lost so much blood. He'd have to ask Omera about it – maybe she knew how long it would actually take him to recuperate. He didn't like not being in top shape when so much could still rely on brute strength and stamina.
Mando quickly realized that he probably wouldn't need either of those things for his scheme to be successful. The second rate Shylock looked a lot less threatening standing in front of him than he had this morning through the garage window.
He had opened his door without hesitation, and Mando tried to make himself as unthreatening as possible. But Winta was right – that wasn't something he was good at, and the smaller man immediately knew something was up. Better get to it quickly, then.
"Are you Mr. Pershing?"
The man nodded, his glasses slipping slightly on his nose.
"A friend of mine asked me to see you. She thinks you got the wrong end of the stick over something. So I thought I'd come here and make sure that wasn't the case."
"I'm sorry?"
"Omera. You know her, right? Her and her daughter?"
More nodding and a frown, now. Mando had to make things clearer for him.
"See, the thing is… We've been looking out for her ever since her husband died. He was one of us, after all. So we got worried when she called us, all scared…" Cue the sleeves, and Mando was pleased to see the man's eyes widening at the sight of the tattoos. With his line of business, there was little chance he hadn't come across them in the past after all.
"Well, you catch my drift, right? I understand you had a business arrangement, and that's fine. But we'd all appreciate it if you stopped bothering them, now. Does that seem fair?"
"Yes, very fair, sir," Pershing replied in a clipped voice, his eyes still lingering on his arms.
"Well, thank you for your time then, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing."
He turned his back on him, trusting his instincts that it was the right thing to do so that he could also see the gun at his belt, but Pershing had one last thing to say.
"Sir?" Mando turned back. "Omera, is she… I mean, is she your…"
He didn't let him finish that sentence and smiled. This time, he didn't try to look unthreatening.
Mando slowly walked back the way he had come, and found both kids where he had left them in the living room. Now that he was done, he wanted to get rid of the drawings on his arms as soon as possible. He didn't feel guilty about what he'd done, far from it, but it made him feel dirty. He didn't want to see the marks on his skin while he was anywhere near the children.
He inquired if there was a bathtub upstairs and anything to make bubbles with, and when Winta nodded, he suggested they gave the kid a bath. She heartily agreed and the boy was over the moon at the words "bubbles" and "bath", which he had recognized.
"Did it work?" she asked as they sat next to the tub, the kid gleefully playing with the toys she handed him while Mando washed his arms.
"I think so," he replied. "It's… I mean, I shouldn't be asking you this, but perhaps your mom…"
"It's fine," she cut in, knowing where he was going already. "I can keep the secret. Mom would say you were 'meddling' anyway. I heard her say that, once. She hates people 'meddling'. But I think you're okay."
Scary in a good way and okay. He could live with that.
The call came in right after dinner. Winta had been true to her word and hadn't said anything to her mom regarding what they had been doing during the afternoon. She hadn't seemed even the slightest bit cagey – Mando was amazed at the ten-year old's nerve. And realized Omera would have her hands full in a few years.
"Mando?" said a woman's voice.
"Speaking."
"This is Special Agent Cara Dune, Colonel Paz Vizla gave me this number."
"FBI?" he confirmed.
"I'm with CCRSB, yes."
Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch. The department investigated violent and organized crime, among other things. Needless to say, Paz wasn't doing things halfway either.
"I'd rather not do things over the phone, if that's okay with you. Can we meet instead? I have some things to show you."
Mando didn't like this, and the FBI agent took his silence as confirmation of that fact.
"I understand you're close to a town called Raymond. There's a café where we can meet tomorrow morning."
Mando liked the fact that she knew where he was even less.
"I can make sure no one will be looking for you there, if that's your worry. And you don't need to bring the kid."
He sighed and she sighed in reply.
"Look, you need my help, and this is how it's going to work. I need to see you face to face."
"What do you need to show me?" he inquired.
"I know why they are so interested in the boy. I found out what happened to his parents, and…"
"Are they alive?" Mando quickly interrupted her.
"I'm afraid not."
He'd had a hunch since the start – more than a hunch, really. But it still pained him to have it confirmed. There would be no happy reunion, then. The kid was an orphan.
"Tell me where to be and at what time and I'll be there."
She had convinced him. He needed to do what was best for the child, now. And if that meant meeting a federal agent in the open, then so be it.
He relayed all this to Paz afterwards, and he understood Agent Dune had been keeping him informed as well.
"How do you know her?" Mando asked him, curious.
"Our paths crossed some years ago," he answered evasively. "I promise you can trust her, kid. She's solid, you'll see."
Mando didn't think he had much choice anyway. With the road blocks still in place, as confirmed by Paz and Dune, there wasn't much he could do on his own.
Omera told him she could watch over the boy for him the next morning – that was a relief, as he indeed preferred not to take him with him.
"My shift isn't until the afternoon, and Winta will be thrilled to have your son for a little longer."
He had also explained to her that things might move quickly after that. If Agent Dune had a plan of action that could secure the kid's safety, he'd take it. But he needed to hear it first. He'd vowed to protect the boy, no matter what. Even if it meant putting himself at risk. He wouldn't hesitate to walk away if he didn't think it would work.
As though the kid could feel how important the next day might be, he had trouble falling asleep that night. Winta had already gone to bed, and Mando stood over the boy's crib in the living room, having read him several stories already.
"Maybe you're the one keeping him awake, he can probably feel how anxious you are," pointed out Omera.
Anxious. That didn't cover it by half, but he stayed silent on the subject.
"Or maybe it's the chocolate cake Winta fed him for dessert," he reminded her.
Omera smiled – he had been a pretty sight, as about only half the cake had made it to his mouth, the rest decorating his hands and face.
"She washed him and brushed his teeth afterwards, that was only fair," she noted.
"Brushed his teeth?" Mando repeated, frowning.
"Yes, Winta took him upstairs while we were clearing the table, remember? Then you got your call?"
"I do remember, but I had no idea she brushed his teeth. I had no idea you were supposed to do that. I mean, I know he has teeth, but I just never thought…" He was getting himself worked up, rushing in his words.
"It's okay, it's just baby teeth after all," reminded him Omera with a grin. But Mando wasn't smiling, and it took her a few seconds to realize how much it mattered to him.
"That's fine, you didn't know, you can start doing it now," she tried to reason him.
He wasn't listening to her. This was just one more thing he was messing up. A little thing, maybe, but on top of all his other fuck ups it started to amount to a lot. He was not meant to be taking care of a kid. A baby. What did he know about them? Nothing! What the hell had he been thinking? He was such a f…
"Hey, can you hear me?" Omera interrupted his thoughts. But it wasn't her words that did it. It was her hands on his shoulders. Warm and still. Her thumbs brushing against his neck.
Mando raised his head and stood taller. The hands stayed where they were, the pressure almost imperceptible but there.
"You're doing fine, it's only been a week."
He tried not to think about the fact that he would soon not be the one who had to worry about such things. But who was he kidding? He would always worry. Even when the child was no longer with him.
"It's admirable, really, for you to take it so seriously."
Admirable. Him. Mando snorted in mirthless laughter, his head dropping to his chest again. Her hands slid to his face and he stood very still.
"Fathers who've had months just to get used to the idea of a child have shown far less passion and willingness to learn than you."
He risked looking into her eyes, but only saw raw honesty there.
"Don't sell yourself short," she added quietly, her thumbs stroking his cheeks once before removing her hands.
Omera wished him goodnight, and the word stayed stuck in his throat.
The child slept. He didn't.
He was only able to operate automatically the next morning. Greet the kid with a hug and mindless chatter, change him, feed him a bottle while Omera and Winta had breakfast, inquire where the café Agent Dune wanted to meet was located, and make his way out, safe in the knowledge that the boy would be well looked after.
It felt strange to be back behind the wheel, and even stranger not to see the kid in his rear-view mirror.
He drove carefully, but Dune had been true to her words – he found no road blocks to access the café. Although he had probably passed through the small town two days ago, he had no memory of the place. He would have been surprised to find any police or federal presence anyway given its remoteness.
The weather had turned even grimmer than the day before, and somehow fitted his mood: the wind was strong, making it hard to close his door, and the clouds over the sea to the west hung low and threatening. Mando raised his hood and entered the café.
She was easy to spot, and he now understood what Paz meant when he said she was solid. This was definitely someone he could learn to trust with the kid's safety. And if his instincts were correct – and they usually were in that department – she was also ex-military.
Mando sat across from her after she returned his nod and they ordered breakfast as though they were old friends meeting. They didn't say anything before their food was brought over, observing one another carefully.
"Marine, right?" Mando asked her, breaking the ice and reaching for his coffee.
She raised an eyebrow but didn't correct him.
"You have quite the interesting file as well," she parried back, and he shrugged in reply.
"How do you know Paz?" he inquired.
"He saved my ass a few years back. I owed him. As he's kept reminding me regularly any time we'd bump into each other."
That sounded like Paz alright.
"Is that why you're helping me?" he pressed.
"That's not the only reason, no. But the fact that Paz vouched for you could make my job easier."
"And what job is that?"
"Catching Moff Gideon."
She let that answer settle over him and they ate for a while.
"He's been on our radar for a long time, as you can imagine. But we've never had much of an angle. Our undercover agents didn't last very long – we lost good people."
Mando could tell that some of those people had been important to her, even if she wasn't saying it in so many words.
"Then the Los Angeles District Attorney's office dropped something on our lap a few months ago. It looked promising, very promising. But now they're also at a dead end."
"What was it?"
"A couple of gang members from La Eme were ready to testify. He was not a mere foot soldier and his girlfriend was involved in deals across state lines – they could prove useful."
Women were usually not 'official' members. But many were known to participate.
She opened a file and took out pictures. Mug shots. They were just kids, barely out of their teens.
"They were arrested?"
"Several times. We don't even know their real names or where they're from originally. You know how it is…"
Mando did.
"At first, they wouldn't talk. And the police had nothing but circumstantial evidence against them, so they would only serve little time, if any."
"What made them decide to testify?"
"They had a kid."
"You're saying…" Mando started, looking at the pictures again more closely.
"That's the boy's parents, yeah," she confirmed.
"What happened?" he asked, his eyes moving from one mug shot to the next. They looked so young…
"We're not sure. All of a sudden they wanted out, they'd had their fill and wanted a life for their kid, I guess."
Mando remembered the nurse at the clinic telling him that the kid had been well looked after until recently. Healthy. Happy. The boy had been loved and his parents had tried to protect him the best way they could by getting out of the gang. But he knew better than anyone that it wasn't so simple.
"If they testified, why isn't it enough for the District Attorney to build a case against Gideon?"
"Because they were supposed to help us bring the whole network down, not just La Eme."
"The other gangs, you mean?"
"Yes, and that's where the DA's office asked for our help, they knew the LAPD had leaks and they needed a bigger infrastructure."
No shit, thought Mando. But it started making sense in his head – the gangs rallying together to protect their common interests.
"The kid's parents messed up – they took it upon themselves to provide recordings and documents to the police. We wanted to take things slow, gather intel and evidence gradually, but they were desperate. In the end, they must have trusted the wrong people and they were found out."
Mando winced – exposed snitches wouldn't have enjoyed a painless death. Dune showed him more pictures, and the little appetite he'd had was gone.
"What about the kid?"
"We'd assumed he was killed as well – the parents refused to put him under protection. Probably for the best if you ask me, as the LAPD is still trying to figure out how high up the corruption goes in their ranks. The District Attorney decided to prosecute with what he had and go after Moff Gideon and La Eme only for now – better than nothing. But Gideon's lawyers negotiated a plea: the child against a lesser charge."
"So he's just using the child as a bargaining chip?" translated Mando.
"A big one, actually. The DA is up for reelection this year, and an innocent child saved could sway a lot of voters if he plays the media circus well – and he usually does."
"Do they have Gideon in custody?"
"No, he vanished into thin air a week ago, right after his lawyers' motion. No one knows where he is."
Mando sat back, trying to digest everything he'd just learned. Moff Gideon was personally looking for the kid, and he'd sent everyone after him, convincing the other boss's it was in their best interest. But he was only helping himself – offering the kid would only secure a nicer deal for him, and Mando was certain he wouldn't hesitate throwing everybody else under the bus once he had the DA's attention.
"What do you suggest?" he eventually asked the FBI agent.
It took her a while to formulate an answer, which told him she wasn't pleased with it. She was probably working under orders herself, and he was ready to bet that she hadn't told anyone about their meeting.
"The child should be taken back to L.A."
"Absolutely not," Mando interrupted her, "he won't be safe there."
"They need him for the charges against Gideon to hold, he's proof of what he did to his parents, we're pretty sure he killed them himself."
"Bullshit, he's proof! What, the DA thinks he's gonna testify in court? He's a baby, he barely speaks!"
Cara sighed, but didn't disagree with him.
"The DA's office has jurisdiction over L.A. Since we don't have enough at the Bureau to press federal charges, there's not much we can do."
"I'm not handing over the kid for him to be treated like a piece of evidence."
"He'll be protected."
"How can you say that? You just told me the LAPD was in tatters. I'm not letting them anywhere near the boy, and that's final."
Mando stood up, ready to leave – this had been a colossal waste of time.
"They're gonna find the kid and kill you. Probably kill the kid too in a fit of rage, and you know it," she told him very quietly, staying seated. The café was deserted, but it didn't hurt to be a bit more discreet, and Mando's explosion hadn't helped.
He lowered his shoulders slowly, trying to think of something else to add – but there wasn't, they'd both said their pieces.
"Just think about it, okay? You have my number, call me back," she asked him.
Mando nodded – he owed Paz's contact that at least, even though he knew he would do nothing of the sort.
His mind was a jumbled mess as he drove back to Omera's. So jumbled that he didn't understand at first what the agitation was all about. Winta was crying and her mom pale and frantic. He parked quickly, his mind already telling him that what he'd feared had happened.
He ran towards them and he could barely hear Winta's words through her sobs.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" she kept repeating.
"What happened, where's the kid?" he asked, kneeling in front of her and raising his eyes towards Omera.
"A man came, he took him! I swear I tried to stop him but he pushed me, hard! I'm sorry Mando, I'm sorry! I screamed and mom came but it was too late, he was gone! She wouldn't let me run after them!"
"When was this?" he asked quickly.
"Just a few minutes ago, they used the other access road, they didn't have a car."
"They?"
"It was two men."
"What did they look like?"
"The big man stayed behind, and the one who took your son had dark hair slicked back and a moustache. Older than you. Scarier than you."
Moff Gideon, no doubt about it. He didn't have much time.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken him outside, I thought it would be safe! It's all my fault!"
Mando had been about to stand up, but this was important.
"Winta, look at me," he pleaded. "This wasn't your fault, never. It's my fault. But I'm gonna get him back, you hear?" When she eventually nodded, the tears still running freely on her cheeks, he stood up. Omera hadn't said a word and still stood frozen behind her daughter. There was nothing he could say to her to make things better – empty words of reassurance wouldn't work.
He ran to the house, looking for one bag in particular and gathering all his and the kid's stuff quickly. He had to keep telling himself this was only a set-back – he'd get the boy then they'd have to run off again, destination unknown. He switched the tablet on once everything was in the car, ready to go, hoping with all his might that it still worked, that it wasn't too late. That the tiny GPS tracker he had found in Paz's gadgets' bag and hidden in the baby's diaper that morning would still emit a signal.
It did, and he sighed in relief. He wasn't far, but the dot was moving quickly, heading north – they were not on foot anymore. Mando needed help.
In a split second, he had made up his mind, and used his satellite phone to call Agent Dune.
"Already?" she replied after the first ring.
"He took him. Gideon. I need your help."
"Tell me where," she replied, and that was it.
"I'm gonna find him," he vowed to Omera and her daughter before driving away. And this time, his words seemed to work a bit better.
They met in a place called Westport, Mando following the moving dot on his tablet and telling Dune where to go. Gideon and the kid were moving fast, but he wasn't sure how precise the location was – it wasn't very detailed. He exited the car quickly and the FBI agent arrived a minute later – they should have been close, but he could only see a harbor and the ocean in front of him.
"The tracker doesn't give you altitude?" she surmised, looking at the screen.
"No, it's basic and tiny, that's why I managed to hide it in his diaper."
"Why the diaper?" she asked, puzzled.
"Because the clothes, they can change. The diaper, they won't," he replied simply.
"So could they be…"
And then Mando heard the rotors over the wind, and he cursed himself for his stupidity.
"…flying?"
They ran to the harbor, the helicopter over their heads now. It was flying low over the coast, struggling against the wind. Visibility was poor, but Mando realized that this was Gideon's solution to avoid the road blocks, despite how unsafe it was at the moment. Their best bet was to follow by boat, as driving would mean going all around the bay and waste precious time. The weather worried him, and he hoped the pilot knew what he was doing – his kid was inside.
"Can you steer this and take us across the bay?" he asked, eyeing a rigid-hulled inflatable boat with an outboard motor tied to the quay.
The dark look she gave him was answer enough – once a Marine, always a Marine.
The helicopter, still ahead of them, was fighting against the elements, but they weren't faring any better, the waves drenching them in seconds. The other side of the bay, a long stretch of sand according to the tablet, was only two or three miles away. But it took forever to reach it, Mando hoping as they were making their bumpy way that the pilot would make the sensible decision, the one he'd make if he were in his shoes.
He got his wish as they were about to reach the sand – the helicopter was landing on the beach.