The Red Ledger Part 1

Chapter 10

TRISTAN

Gunshots. They're whizzing by and dropping men to the ground all around me. They're punching into my flesh. They're killing me.

The voices shouting are a tangle of English and the Arabic I've yet to pick up. I can't make sense of anything past the panic and the agony and the instinct to get the fuck out of here as fast as I can.

But every time I get up, I stumble back down, lightheaded and dodging the bullets that are still flying, puncturing the dusty walls of this hut. I lie on my stomach while hot rays of sunlight pour through the crude window openings until the room begins to cool and all I can see is the bright white overwhelming my vision.

"Stone! Stone!"

Faces imprint in flashes on the white. Men like me. Fear and fire in their eyes. Then they're gone and my whole body is vibrating. I'm moving. Strip after strip of fluorescent lights fly by above me. I can't tell if I'm chasing the lights or running from them.

"You're going to be all right. Just stay with me. Keep your eyes open." A man in green scrubs places a clear plastic mask over my face. "Just breathe, Tristan."

I suck in a half breath that shoots pain down every limb. I try to cry out, but everything disappears, and I'm transported somewhere else.

A brushed metal table beams light into my eyes from the industrial lamp swaying above us. A woman with piercing blue eyes and red hair pulled tight from her fair-skinned face sits across from me in a blue pin-striped business suit.

"I'm Jay. I'll be your contact moving forward."

I look down at myself. I'm in street clothes. I can feel the bandages wrinkling against my skin underneath. The pain is gone, replaced by a muddy sort of consciousness. I'm pretty sure this isn't a dream, though. I think I'm alive.

"How did I get here?"

"You had some of the military's best doctors caring for you. You were put into a deep coma while you recovered."

"Is that why I feel... My head. It's like everything is cloudy."

Jay offers a tight smile. I can't tell if it's sympathetic or something else. "You will have a difficult time accessing your memory. Don't try to fight it, Tristan."

"I don't understand."

"The trauma from the mission combined with the induced coma you were in for several weeks resulted in what we call dissociative fugue. Your memory is..." She drums her fingers on her knee, averting her gaze for only a moment. "Think of it as a fresh start. For the sake of your safety and everyone involved, it's probably for the best that things turned out this way."

I wince. "Everyone involved?"

"If it weren't for the valuable skills you demonstrated over the past few years, I'm not sure you'd be given this opportunity. Several people lost their lives. There's a lot of blood on your hands, Tristan." She's quiet for a moment. "Take this for what it is. A second chance."

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and rub vigorously. Maybe this is a dream. Everything is so confusing. The things she's saying don't match the synapses firing in my brain. Something's off. Something's wrong. Really wrong.

"What do I do now?"

"You won't be safe in the US for a while. We've set you up with a place just outside of Rio de Janeiro. You can heal and rest there. Then I'll be in touch when we have a job for you."