Gordon Weston barely made it to the market district before his target vanished among the crowds. Rene Levancon had likely noticed Weston fairly quickly- while Caucasians made up a sizable number of the tourists in this city, Gordon had only seen one other person of African descent so far, and men of Gordon's size, regardless of race, were approximately as rare. After fifteen minutes of searching the market, the mercenary decided to return to the Northern Cross. He found Bob in the kitchen finishing off another beer. The captain's eyes were bloodshot, but he still seemed to have his wits about him.
"Where's Rene? Where'd he go?" Bob tossed the beer can into the sink. Gordon noted the pile of similar cans it had landed on.
"Well, I lost him. I think he saw me. I stick out like a sore thumb here." Gordon sat down at the far end of the metal table from his captain.
Sadeski reached for another beer. "Damn." He fumbled drunkenly with the tab on the can. "Well, that's it for tonight, I guess. I told Zach to shoot the damn new guy if he steals anything. You go have fun and I'll go myself tomorrow."
Gordon trusted that Taylor would not actually shoot the freelancer unless it was absolutely necessary. The captain's behavior was unsettling, though- Sadeski was not prone to drinking heavily. "Are you all right, Bob?"
"Fine, god dammit." A hiss of gas escaped the can as Bob finally managed to open it. He took a long swig, and lowered the can from his lips with a pensive expression on his face. "I'm going out too, actually. Lock the boat behind you." He abruptly stood up and walked out of the kitchen.
Gordon sighed. "Bob..." The outer door slammed shut.
Bob downed the rest of the can while walking down the dock. He couldn't even taste it any more. Sadeski tossed the can a few times before sending it flying at a crab with a flick of his wrist. The can bounced off the crab, precariously perched on a mooring line, and both fell into a small, low yacht.
Something passed in the corner of Bob's eye as he reached the shore. He turned, awkwardly rotating his shoulders instead of just his neck, but nothing was nearby. The beach was poorly lit under the new moon, and Bob walked into a dune on his way to the band of light that marked the coastal road. He cursed the sand but kept walking.
Drunks were not uncommon in the market district. Bob staggered past a stall selling Vietnamese food and down a narrow street leading to the northwest. He neither knew nor cared where he was going in this state. Bob was only conscious of his thoughts- he had made it this far on autopilot.
"Come here." A familiar voice, soft and inviting, cut through the haze in the mercenary's brain. He didn't care that he was being drawn to a pile of rubble on the edge of a vacant lot. Bob collapsed on the dirt and cinderblocks, sprawling uncomfortably against a fence. The world swam around him, barely visible on this poorly lit street. The darkness ebbed and flowed, now revealing buildings, now concealing everything from view.
"Bob?"
Sadeski's eyes snapped open. Leah Silverstone stood over him, her pale dress fluttering in the breeze. "Are you all right, Bob?" A worried expression played across her face.
"Fine, just fine." Bob was surprised his voice worked. "How are you?"
"So glad I found you." She gracefully sat down on the pile of rubble next to Bob, leaning back across his arm. "Where did you go? I was so worried!"
"I've been on Hainan." Bob felt as though he was reading a script- the words came with no thought behind them. "We had to stop a thief from destroying the Chinese navy, and Rene betrayed me."
Her arm reached across his chest, pulling her torso perpendicular to Sadeski's. "That's terrible!" Her face was closer to his now.
"He tried to shoot me, but he missed." Bob could sense Leah next to him, but was incapable of turning his head.
"Oh, he didn't miss." Fan Xiaolong's voice seemed to be carried by the night breeze. Bob wondered where it was coming from, and how the information broker had found him. He strained his head and found it capable of moving once again, but only with great effort.
His first thought was to turn to face Silverstone. He slowly brought his head to the left, but upon perceiving her, his heart froze. A bloodstain was spreading from her abdomen and her lifeless body still sprawled across Bob's arm. Bob frantically tried to embrace her, shouting curses at the unseen Xiaolong as he struggled to move his arms, now feeling like lead weights.
"Bob! What's wrong?" Gordon Weston came running up, followed by Sato and Taylor. He seemed oblivious to the dead woman Bob was futilely attempting to bring his free arm toward.
"Can't you see? She's dead!" Bob's voice was more anguished than he could remember it having been in years, but Gordon seemed oblivious to this as well.
"Yeah. Right. Get her off you, we're going to Africa. Our next target is Zeke." Weston's tone was completely devoid of emotion. Bob noticed that the mercenary's beard was gone.
Sadeski struggled to raise his head slightly. "Zeke is one of us, Gordon. We're not going to kill him." Weston began shaking his head slowly. Beyond the three mercenaries, a shape approached from the street Bob had taken. Rene Levancon loomed out of the shadows, a knife raised in his hand. Bob tried to shout, to warn Gordon, but no sound came from his mouth. The knife came down on Gordon's neck, and the big man went down, blood spurting over the Frenchman. Sato drew his sword, prepared to kill Rene, but the leg he had been shot in gave out under him. The Japanese mercenary collapsed on his own sword, his features contorted in a death spasm as he stared at Bob.
"Zach!" Bob's voice finally began working again. Taylor drew his pistol and fired, but immediately collapsed with a look of surprise on his face as a red spot on his white shirt bloomed from his chest. The unharmed Rene turned to face Bob, sneering down at his immobilized captain. A tall man in a black uniform and a solid white full-face mask walked into Bob's field of view, leading Mark Birch in chains. He placed one hand on Levancon's head briefly, then turned and walked away with his captive and the Frenchman following.
As Rene faded out of sight, his voice continued. "Bob. Bob. Bob." The voice was a mocking one, each repetition of Sadeski's name an insult to the mercenary captain. The voice eventually faded away too.
"Bob."
He awoke violently once again. This time, it was Rene Levancon bent over him, and the sun's first rays were creeping into the sky. Sadeski threw himself forward into the Frenchman with all the strength he could muster in his current state, which was sufficient to knock Levancon over. It was only afterward that Bob noticed Gordon Weston standing a few feet behind Rene.
"What the hell, Bob?" Levancon seemed more surprised than hurt. He heaved himself to his feet. "I find you in the middle of nowhere, passed out on a pile of junk, and you tackle me?"
"I told you he might do that." Gordon chuckled. "Nobody wakes up the right way in this business. We wake up on our own, or we wake up kicking and screaming. Lots of things do that to you. Stakeouts, war, jobs gone wrong... That's why none of us are married. You'll be like that someday, in all likelihood."
Rene visibly grimaced at this last comment. Bob took note of Gordon's beard and decided this was reality- everything was working as it should. Nevertheless, he glanced at where Leah Silverstone had been lying on the pile of debris. Levancon noticed the direction of Sadeski's gaze. "Lose something, Bob?"
"No, no, I'm fine." Bob's head suddenly began to beat as his heart did, but with a stabbing pain accompanying each beat. He swore, just like the previous time, to never get drunk again, then followed his crewmen back to the ship. The following days would be uneventful- nobody followed Rene when he took his leave, Sun Xianli had a perpetual escort from the crew, and Bob gave the remaining beer to Zachary Taylor, who after a few sips declared it only fit for target practice. It was clear to all that something had happened to Bob, but none dared ask. The end of April crept ever closer.
ns 15.158.61.42da2
