Good Men

"The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." John Dewey

Chapter 8: Confrontations

Patterson took another bite of tasteless food and cast a worried glance at the skipper. He didn't think a crumb had passed the captain's lips since they'd lost the admiral. Kowalski had tried unsuccessfully to convince him to eat, finally backing off when Crane threatened him with a punishment detail when they got back to the boat if he continued to pester him. Even Hurricane gave the captain a wide berth, as if he suddenly didn't know what to make of the hard, dangerous man who'd replaced the easygoing coward he thought the knew.

To say everything was wrong was an understatement but still the party pushed forward, concerned that Wilson's patrol was close behind. They rested, hidden in the deep jungle, through the next night. Not long after darkness fell, a peppering of shots rang out somewhere in the forest on the opposite bank. Crane leaped to his feet, his face strained. Patterson didn't need much imagination to read his thoughts. The shots, fired in quick succession and followed by silence, could easily signal the execution of prisoners.

Patterson and Kowalski dozed uneasily the rest of the night. Whenever they awoke, restless and dream-plagued, they saw Crane standing silently, his eyes fixed on the jungle beyond the river. At dawn, the captain convinced Hurricane it was time for them to swim across. They were within a few miles of the facility, but Patterson knew the real reason Crane was anxious to reach the other bank. Although the skipper was bound by duty to put the mission first, Patterson foresaw death for Wilson's men if he chanced upon them. The cold, dangerous expression on Crane's face, so uncharacteristic for the captain, worried the crewman. It was the look of one who has relinquished hope and hungers only for revenge.

Using their machetes, Hurricane's men quickly cut some of the undergrowth and constructed a light raft. Just before sunrise, they piled their gear on it and swam across. They were nervous in the water, well aware they were sitting ducks if they were spotted, but all was quiet as they approached the opposite shore. They rested for a few minutes, soaking wet and shivering, as the first light of morning dispelled the gray shadows around them. While the others ate breakfast, the captain paced impatiently, ready to set off. They were just shouldering their packs when Storm appeared at Hurricane's elbow. "Someone's coming!" Grabbing their gear, they quickly spread out into the shelter of the surrounding trees.

Gun at the ready, Crane crouched beside Hurricane in the undergrowth. They waited tensely, listening to the crunching sound of footsteps drawing nearer. After a few moments, one of Wilson's mercenaries strode out of the trees at a brisk pace, a rifle in his hand. The man was of average height, dressed in the uniform of the dictator's Guard, his face shadowed by the brim of his cap. It wasn't his appearance, however, that shocked Crane. It was Cloud's lifeless body, draped across his shoulders like a big game hunter's trophy, that drove the color from the captain's face.

The man stopped abruptly, turning away from them and searching the jungle in a wide arc as if he could sense he wasn't alone. His position afforded Crane and Hurricane a better view of the dead child. Cloud was unbound and completely limp, his clothes stiff with blood. Crane eyes hardened and Hurricane made a soft, feral sound. It was obvious from the stains on the child's clothes he'd suffered greatly before he'd died.

"I want him alive." Hurricane's eyes smoldered.

Crane nodded. "I've got questions, too. I'll bring him down without killing him." Slowly he raised his rifle, aiming for the man's leg.

The man's arm was wrapped casually around the child's thigh, holding Cloud in place. With a slight shift of his shoulders he balanced the body while propping the rifle against his side, freeing his hands to fish in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He flipped one out of the pack with a deft toss and lit it with a flick of the lighter, throwing his head back as he took a long pull.

Crane's eyes narrowed and he hesitated, his finger tense on the trigger. It wasn't that he wanted to grant a last smoke to the kind of man who would use a child so grievously and then kill him, but there was something familiar about the effortless, dexterous display he'd just observed that made him pause. Unbidden, the memory came to him of a recent afternoon in Seaview's lab. The admiral had been talking and smoking at the same time, balancing an Erlenmeyer flask, a cup of coffee, and his lab journal without dropping any of them while Crane watched, secretly impressed and amused.

Cloud's body shifted and the man gently twined his arm around him again with the same easy grace, his face turned close to the child's. And Crane knew—somehow, instinctively—that Cloud wasn't dead.

"Why don't you shoot?" Hurricane's voice was flat and emotionless in his ear.

Crane shook his head slowly, feeling something deep inside his body break, then mend itself almost instantly. "Dear God—it's Harry!"

"Your man's a traitor? He's sold us out to Wilson?"

"No! Don't be ridiculous!" Before the captain could stop him, Hurricane brought his own rifle up.

The man spun towards their raised voices and for a moment Lee could see Harry's eyes bright with alarm, as if he couldn't believe his own carelessness. Hurricane's finger was on the trigger and this time Crane knew he intended to shoot to kill. "Get down!" he shouted, just as Wind grabbed the back of his collar and twisted it, cutting off his air.

Nelson dropped like a stone as Hurricane's shot passed just above his head. Cloud rolled off his shoulders and he tried desperately to break her fall. "Captain? Is that you?"

Crane was too busy trying to keep from being strangled to admire Nelson's ability to remember his role even in a moment like this. "Drop the rifle and stand up with your hands behind your head if you want Crane to live," Hurricane ordered.

Slowly, Nelson rose to his feet, his hands clasped tightly on the back of his neck. His expression left no doubt he understood the seriousness of the situation. "Hurricane…" he began.

"Silence!"

"Just listen…" He broke off as Hurricane buried a bullet in the ground beside his foot. "No, don't fire! You might hit Cloud!"

There was silence then as the rebel leader stared at him. Wind's hands loosened on Crane's collar and the captain took advantage of the opening to pull himself free. "What did you say?" Hurricane breathed.

"Cloud was shot. He's—we've—had a difficult time." Nelson slowly removed his hands from the back of his head, careful to keep them in sight. "I can explain. Just stop firing."

At a gesture from Hurricane, Storm hurried forward and knelt beside the fallen child. Crane could only stare at Nelson, wonder and concern clearly written on his features. The admiral met his gaze and shook his head minutely, as if to say, "Later."

Storm looked up, a wide grin on his face. "He's telling the truth! Cloud's alive!" Releasing the breath he'd been holding, Nelson lowered his arms and stepped forward into his men's embrace.

X X X

They laid Cloud on their jackets and Wind and Storm stood vigil, bathing her forehead with water. Nelson and the men from Seaview, joined by Hurricane, sat a little to the side. The admiral's eyes kept straying toward the wounded child. "I gave Cloud the last of the morphine this morning," he said. "The wound's become infected, so he's running a fever and is in considerable pain." He smiled wryly. "Not that he'll admit it."

"That's to be expected. My son is strong," Hurricane said.

"Yes, he is." There was a hardness in Nelson's voice, a hint of sarcasm Crane didn't understand. The light blue eyes held Hurricane's, challenging him. Crane couldn't fathom why Nelson would pick a fight now, this close to reaching their goal, knowing the rebel leader's temper.

"Hired hands who keep their mouths shut and do their jobs are rewarded," Hurricane said coolly. "Your job is done and I thank you for it. Cloud is back where he belongs."

The light in Nelson's eyes became dangerous and Crane quickly changed the subject. "What about the patrol?"

"We took care of them."

"It was a sizable group. Are you sure none are still following us?"

"I said we took care of them," Nelson snapped. Belatedly, he remembered who he was supposed to be. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's my fault," Crane said smoothly. "I shouldn't have pressed so hard. If you say there's no danger, that's good enough for me. The details are unimportant." His gaze strayed to a long, shallow cut on the admiral's forearm and another on his chest, visible where his collar opened. It seemed to Lee the details were anything but unimportant, but he knew better than to ask more in front of the others. Later, when they were alone, he would broach the subject again.

Cloud groaned and stirred, pushing Storm's hands away. Nelson was by her side in an instant, gently holding her shoulders to keep her from trying to rise too quickly. "Harry?" She opened her eyes, focusing with difficulty on his face. "Harry, where are we?"

"Safe." Crane wondered at the rough tenderness in Nelson's voice. He'd been under the impression the admiral wasn't overly fond of the insolent boy. It seemed he'd missed a lot. "We found your father and Crane. Or rather," he smiled, "they found us."

"Lord Hurricane? He's here?" Cloud twisted, trying to see him.

The rebel leader knelt beside her, but didn't touch her. "I'm sorry you were shot. Did you acquit yourself well?"

"I…" she glanced at Harry, "I tried."

"Cloud couldn't have been braver," Nelson said seriously. Once again he held Hurricane's eyes and something passed between them Crane couldn't name.

"Good!" Hurricane grasped the child's arm briefly, then rose and addressed the others. "It's time to move on. Wind, carry Cloud."

"No!" Cloud struggled to sit up. "Harry can carry me!"

This time there was no mistaking the flash of raw fury in the rebel leader's eyes. "I said Wind will carry you. That is an order."

"Child," Harry said gently, "I'm very tired. Wind is stronger than I am. You should obey your father without arguing. He's right… in this." He brushed past Hurricane, glancing at him once more as he passed.

Crane started to follow but Hurricane stepped into his path. "You get your man in line or I will, understand?"

Shaking his head, Crane crossed to where Nelson was helping Patterson into his pack. "You just got a warning shot across the bow."

"I'll get more than that before this is done," Harry grunted. "I don't want you in the line of fire, though. When the shells start flying, back off."

"You know I won't. If I'm going down with you, at least tell me what it's all about."

"A child's life, Lee. That's what it's about." Seeing Crane's bemused expression, Nelson clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I won't jeopardize the mission. I'll steer clear of Hurricane… for now."

X X X

It took them all afternoon to reach the hills above the bay where Wilson's facility, white concrete and gleaming steel, shone beside the calm waters. They stopped then for reconnaissance and planning. They wouldn't try to enter the compound until 02:00, when a new shift of security personnel came on duty. They had planned to disable the motion sensors around the gate and slip in, but Nelson's tangle with Wilson's patrol had been fortuitous in one regard, at least—he had a complete, authentic uniform.

"Can you get in when the guard changes?" Crane asked.

The admiral nodded. "I think so. Wilson hires a lot of foreign mercenaries and I imagine new faces aren't that uncommon." He turned to Hurricane. "Since you don't have a history of working with outsiders, I don't think it will occur to them to be suspicious. Once I'm in, I'll go to the entrance on the north side, disable the alarm and signal you."

"We'll move fast over the open area," Hurricane said. He looked sternly at each man. "Stealth is the key to success. Don't let Wilson's men see you and don't engage them if you can possibly help it. I want the gold and I want us all to get out in one piece. Understand? I arranged for a boat to be waiting on the other side of the bay. They'll be watching for our signal. When they see it, they'll slip in and we'll load the gold and be off." He looked at Crane. "What about you? Where's your boat?"

"Offshore. We'll have to steal a launch and head for our rendezvous coordinates."

"That's tricky," Hurricane said. "You'll only have a few hours until dawn to find it. After that, you'll be sitting in open water in broad daylight with no protection."

"I know, but it can't be helped. My boat is a little large to bring into the bay without attracting attention."

Hurricane nodded. "Very well. Gentlemen, we have a plan." He made a move as if to rise.

"What about Cloud?" Nelson said softly.

"What about him? Wind will bring him. Did you think I'd leave him behind in the jungle?"

"He'll want to fight, but he's in no condition for it."

"That's his decision," Hurricane said. "If he can hold a gun, I can't tell him not to shoot it."

"Can't, or won't?"

Nelson didn't even try to dodge Hurricane's blow. The slap was hard enough to snap his head to the side and leave the imprint of the rebel leader's hand on his cheek. Hurricane drew back to strike again, but Crane caught his arm. "I thought we wanted Harry to get in without arousing suspicion," he said. "If you keep this up, his face will be glowing like a lantern." He held Hurricane's arm until he felt the tension drain from it. The rebel leader glared at them both, then whirled and stalked away, his men behind him. Crane turned to Nelson. "You're giving me gray hairs."

Harry shot him a grateful smile. "They'll make you look distinguished." Lee offered his hand and pulled the older man to his feet. "I'm going to talk to Cloud. If her father won't lay down the rules, I will."

"Her father?" Kowalski asked, when Nelson had gone.

Crane's expression was thoughtful. "I wondered about Cloud. Now I guess we know."

"That doesn't explain why the admiral's risking himself," Patterson said. "Why do you think he's doing it, Skipper?"

"I don't know," Crane replied. But he did know. He'd heard the answer in the tenderness in Nelson's voice and seen it in his eyes.