Minutes to Burn

Tilting his head, Tank indicated the van behind him, engine running. "Four and a half minutes late," Cameron said, smiling. She could see that Tank wanted to help her with her gear, but he knew better. Instead of offering, he nodded and headed for the van. When he climbed back in the driver's seat, the vehicle seemed to settle a bit on its chassis. Tucker swung open the passenger door and hopped out, his green, long-sleeve T-shirt pulling tight across his chest. He met Cameron halfway up the walk, his eyes tracing the cracks in the concrete. "Hey, Cam," he said.

"Hey Tucker."

He reached out to take her weapon, but she shook her head. "I got it," she said.

Tucker followed her silently to the back of the van. She swung the door open and tossed her bag in on top of Tank's and Tucker's. Derek, Szabla, and Savage were going to meet them at the base.

Cameron slammed the back doors and leaned against them, staring up at the dark sky. "Sunset was blood red today," she said. "Did you see it?"

Tucker nodded. "Earthquake weather."

He pushed up his sleeves, crouched and lit a cigarette, pinching the filter and letting it swing between his legs. For the first time, Cameron noticed the shadow of healed needle tracks running up the insides of his arms. Thin dark skids, most of them ending in the dot of a faded bruise. His flesh looked red in the glow given off by the brake lights. The asphalt was still shimmering from the afternoon rain.

Tucker inhaled deeply and sent a cloud of smoke down toward the pavement. It rose, clinging to his body. He glanced up and noticed Cameron's eyes on his arms. Protectively, he crossed his arms, pulling them to his chest. Cameron looked away uncomfortably, but when she turned back, Tucker's eyes were still on her.

Slowly, he uncrossed his arms, revealing again the pattern of scars. "Been a long road back," he said. He looked down at the asphalt, as if he could see his reflection in it. His voice wavered a little bit when he spoke again. "It's good to get a second chance."

Cameron pushed herself up off the van. Tucker did not look up. "You're a good soldier, Tucker," she said, though she wasn't sure why.

His head bobbed a bit with what she guessed was a smile. "You ever had something you loved?" he asked. "So much you couldn't give it up?"

He flicked the cigarette butt, and it sizzled out on the moist asphalt. "No," Cameron said. Justin came out onto the porch, closing the door behind him, and

Tucker rose and circled back to the passenger seat of the van.

Chapter 9

25 DEC 07 MISSION DAY 1

The C-130 banked and finally began its descent into the airport at Guayaquil. It circled twice, then made its approach from the east, sweeping low over the stretch of river where the Rio Babahoyo flows into the Rio Guayas. Cameron unbuckled and stood, leaning against the wall so that she could peer through the small round window out past the two prop engines on the wing. The water was muddied and thick with sediment, a wide rippling stream of rich brown. The earthquakes had induced landslides and rockfalls, which had clogged the river network, especially the drainages to the coast.

Square patches of factories and warehouses checkered the country-side, and up ahead, Cameron could make out the smog wreathing the city. Two of the runways were out of commission, having been split with large fissures, and men in orange vests ran back and forth between construction trucks, barking commands.

Derek and the others were applying sunblock and putting in their extended-wear, UV-protective contact lenses. Cameron sat back down and followed suit. Tank ran the lotion through his flattop like conditioner, rubbing it into his scalp. The soldiers also Velcroed solar cells to the shoulders of their cammy shirts, the flat batteries positioned like tiny officer shoulder boards.

The plane screeched to a halt on the tarmac, bouncing them slightly in the red webbing of the cargo seats. Derek stood, slapping his hands to his thighs. "Szabla, you guard the pallets once we unass."

She nodded, grabbing the M-4 by her side as the other soldiers disembarked. Red lettering stretched across the main wing of the terminal- Aeropuerto Simon Bolivar Guayaquil. The dead tufts of grass around the taxiway were baked brown and yellow, nodding in the breeze. The air was thick and slightly moist; Cameron could feel the humidity through her lungs when she inhaled.

Though it was still early morning, a wall of heat hit them when they stepped clear of the plane's shadow. "Holy Christ," Savage said. "Don't this fuckin' beat all?"

Rex removed a Panama hat from his bag, unrolled it, and placed it with a slight tilt on his head. The sun glared off the tightly woven straw. The combination of the hat and his clothes-white shirt with twin pockets, khakis-gave him the distinctive air of a rubber baron in Malaya. In addition to a brown leather briefcase, he carried several circular nylon bags, padded and zipped shut.