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“Just remembering something that happened when I was on an op with Onyx.”
Doc scrunched his eyes. “I take it, it’s a funny story.”
“Yep,” said Monk, knowing exactly what he was going to do once the nurses let him back in to see Onyx.
ONCE HE GOT STARTED, Monk thought of countless stories to tell Onyx. He had so many that he started writing down reminders when he thought of them. He didn’t limit them to things that had happened between just the two of them; there were plenty of other things that had happened with other agents, even with civilians, that Monk could tell him about. He even told him about playing the pig game with Saylor’s daughters and how they kept insisting he shriek “Soooooie.”
“Everything is ready,” Doc told him the next time Monk came out of the ICU. “Once we get our men on the plane, we can go home.”
“I know you hate being a passenger, dude, but just this once, you gotta,” said Monk, leaning over his friend so he was close to Onyx’s ear.
“You’re a good man, Monk,” said Doc when they walked out of the ICU behind the gurney carrying their teammate.
Monk shook his head and pointed in front of them. “That’s a good man right there.”
24
“Shh,” said Saylor, walking over to turn up the volume on the television.
“What?” asked Poppy, looking at the screen. “Since when do you give a shit about South American politics?”
Saylor held up her hand and listened to the reporter say that Colombia’s president, Petro Santos, had been assassinated. He also reported that the man had recently been linked to the Cali drug cartel.
Carlos “Mao” Deodar, leader of that cartel, had also been assassinated on the same day. While he was killed in a different part of Colombia, it was believed the two deaths were related.
An emergency election was being called, in which former President Juan Marquez was predicted to be re-elected. If so, it was expected that he’d take office immediately and restore normalcy to the embattled nation.
Razor had come over a second time to tell her that
Onyx was still in a coma but believed to be stable enough to be transported to the States. That was ten days ago, but she hadn’t heard a word from Monk in that time.
Razor had also told her that the other two men, Tackle and Halo, were being taken to the same hospital as Onyx, but were expected to be released in a matter of days.
Tomorrow they’d be leaving for the East Coast to spend Christmas at Gunner’s family’s home in Annapolis, like they had the year before.
“I take it the news about Columbia has something to do with Monk,” said Poppy, motioning to the TV.
“Indirectly, but yes.”
“Have you heard from him?”
Saylor shook her head.
“Did you try calling him?”
She hadn’t, and she didn’t intend to. She needed to see him face-to-face, and that’s what she planned to do.
—:—
“You gotta take a break,” said Striker, coming in to find Monk by Onyx’s bedside, reading a book aloud. “It’s fucking Christmas, man. Onyx’s family is here. If not them, let some of us take over, even if it’s only for a few days.”
“Never been big on holidays.”
“This isn’t your responsibility.”
Monk stood up so fast the chair he’d been sitting in toppled over. “Get the fuck outta here,” he seethed.
“Hold on a minute. This was my op, Monk. You feel guilty? Guess what? So do I.”
