The Big Burn

“When?”

“We’re here to take you to Miramar Air Base. You’ll be briefed there.”

She didn’t like the sound of this. “I usually get briefed when I’m going on a mission. But not from the military. I’m not in the military.”

“Actually, it’s a CIA mission. And I’m pretty sure you’ll want to go sign on. In fact, I’m positive.”

Anna stared at Brock. Eight years ago, her father had disappeared in Southeast Asia on a secret mission with the CIA. He was one of a long line of smoke jumpers who’d been recruited over the years. They were once called “cargo kickers” and worked for the CIA’s Air America, dropping supplies to pro-American guerrilla forces. Smoke jumpers were used extensively in the secret war in Tibet in the early 60’s and the practice never really stopped. Since her father’s disappearance, Anna had become an outspoken opponent of the relationship between the CIA and civilian smoke jumpers recruited into its ranks for special missions.

For a long time Anna had hated the secrecy that kept the truth from her and her mother. Though her mother and father had been divorced for several years before he vanished, they’d remained friends. Her mother was as upset over the lack of information as Anna. Divorce was hard enough, but his disappearance almost more than Anna could take.

The CIA had continually refused to tell her what exactly had happened to her father. The only official information she’d ever been able to get was that he’d disappeared on a mission.

“I want to know what happened to my father,” she said to Brock.

“I’m going to tell you…on the way.”

“To Miramar?”

“No. Guam.”

Her throat tightened. She drank more water, staring over the bottom of the upturned bottle at Brock. The man never flinched. A real poker face if ever there was one.

She was unbelievably calm. Must be the exhaustion, she thought. Anna finished the bottle. “Why Guam? You said he was in Malaysia?”

“Guam’s the jumping-off point. We’ve got a camp there. What we call an isolation camp, or IC. You’ll be trained there.”

A sardonic smile broke across her face. This whole thing was beginning to reek, and she wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Trained for what?”

“Again, I’ll tell you about it on the way. We don’t have much time.”

Until she knew more, Anna refused to succumb to his time schedule.

“All this robotic dialogue isn’t going to work on me. Just tell me now, or you can get into your unmarked chopper and fly back to wherever you came from.”

“Your father’s situation is grave. We need to get to him. He’s requesting you to help us.”

“Why would he do that when he has the military at his beck and call?”

“We don’t know why, exactly.”

“You mean you won’t tell me why.”

“If I knew the answer, I’d tell you. We don’t know why he’s asking for you. We can only assume it’s because he’s trapped on a burning island and probably thinks you’re the world’s greatest smoke jumper. Personally, I don’t buy it. We have the best jumpers on earth working for us and he knows that.”

Anna hadn’t had decent sleep in weeks. She was tired and dirty. That she was standing in a foot of ash in a burned-out ravine listening to this guy tell her not only that her father was alive, but he was trapped on some burning island and requesting her to jump in and get him out sounded, quite frankly, preposterous.

But if this guy was lying, why make up a lie so outrageous?

Unfortunately, he had the hook in her now and she desperately wanted to know the truth.

“I’ll go to Miramar with you, but that’s as far as I go without a better explanation.”

“All right.”

They both turned to wave at the rescue chopper as it began its assent. Anna watched it slant off into the sky carrying four very grateful people back home and wished she was inside that chopper with them.

Anna followed Brock and the marine lieutenant to the unmarked chopper, its rotors swirling languidly. The pilot turned toward them, the dark sun shield of his face helmet giving him a Star Wars look.

The flight to Miramar was a quick twenty-minute hop and Anna dozed for most of it. They landed and got out next to a C-17 transport plane parked just across from a squadron of jet fighters.

“This way.” Brock motioned toward the C-17 as he walked. She followed close behind.

“Isn’t there an office we can go to?”

“Not enough time. You’ll be briefed on the plane.”

“What if I don’t like the story?”

“You can leave anytime you want.”

She stopped on the tarmac. “Why do I have the feeling if I get on board that plane, I won’t be able to get back off?”

He turned to her and pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “You saved four lives today at the risk of your own. That was no accident. I’ve read your file. When I tell you what’s going on, you won’t even think about getting off that plane.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because there aren’t just four lives at stake here, more like forty thousand lives. Including your father.”

What? She couldn’t think straight. Between the intense fatigue setting in and all the water she’d drunk, her bladder felt as if it was going to explode.

“I just really need a bathroom right now.”

“There’s a state-of-the-art bathroom on the plane.”

She hesitated, looking around for an alternative, but the nearest building must have been a quarter mile away. She made the decision to go for the plane.

There were several men on board the almost barren C-17, hovering around a few laptops. She realized that the seats were all backward. Brock told her that in the event of a crash passenger survivability would be greater.

“Has that been proven or is that some military theory?”

“That’s just what they tell me.”

She ignored him and the men and went straight to where Brock told her the bathroom was located. She found the privacy she was looking for, shut the door and struggled to get her fire suit down.

The state-of-the-art bathroom was a hard, cold stainless-steel ordinary toilet, much worse than she’d find on a commercial airliner. But she didn’t care. When she was finished she leaned against the metal wall, just to rest for a second—and fell instantly asleep.