50. Wade
WADE
The cargo aircraft climbed through the morning sky.
Behind them, the airfield burned.
Ahead waited twenty-one hours of flight, refueling stops, and cautious route changes before they reached Alaska.
Wade sat strapped into a web seat with Sarah on one side and his father on the other.
For the first time in five years, no steel door stood between him and the people he loved.
He still had trouble believing it.
Every time he closed his eyes, he heard locks engaging.
Boots outside his cell.
The fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. They were never turned off.
So Wade kept his eyes open.
Sarah’s head rested against his shoulder.
She had fallen asleep less than an hour after the aircraft left Kazakhstan. Her fingers remained wrapped around his wrist as if even unconscious, she refused to let him disappear.
He looked at his Dad.
His eyes were closed.
He wasn’t sleeping.
Wade knew his father too well.
“You can stop pretending,” Wade said.
Jack opened one eye.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve been watching me for three hours.”
“I missed five years. I’m catching up.”
Wade smiled.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The words left his mouth before he realized their weight.
Dad looked away.
His throat moved.
“I know.”
Except neither of them knew how to believe that yet.
Freedom was too new.
Too fragile.
Wade looked across the cargo bay.
Grant Barrett slept wrapped in two thermal blankets.
Luke Dawson remained beside Eric Hale’s stretcher. A medic had stabilized Hale’s leg and started antibiotics for an infection that should have killed him months ago.
Jackson Cole sat near the small window, staring at the clouds.
The five men had stayed together as much as possible since leaving Black Site Theta.
After years of communicating through concrete walls and air vents, seeing one another still felt like a miracle.
Wade gently freed his wrist from Sarah’s hand.
Her eyes opened instantly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Where are you going?”
He stared at her.
“To the bathroom.”
“Oh.”
She released him.
Then narrowed her eyes.
“Come back.”
Wade leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“I’ll come back.”
He understood the fear beneath her demand.
For five years, people had told Sarah that her brother was dead.
It would take more than a few hours to convince her otherwise.
A crew member guided Wade toward the small washroom near the front of the aircraft.
Inside waited a narrow shower stall.
Real water.
Hot water.
Wade stared at it.
“You all right?” the crew member asked.
“Yeah.”
He wasn’t.
Not exactly.
“Take as long as you need.”
The door closed.
Wade slowly removed the borrowed tactical clothing.
The mirror above the small sink showed a stranger.
His face was too thin.
A scar cut through his eyebrow.
His beard had grown wild around hollow cheeks. Bruises covered his ribs. Old injuries left permanent marks across his body.
Five years stared back at him.
Wade turned away.
He stepped beneath the water.
Heat struck his shoulders.
For several seconds, he couldn’t breathe.
The prison showers had been cold, fast, and supervised. Another method of control. Another reminder that even privacy could be taken.
This was different.
No guards watched him.
No voice ordered him to hurry.
No one waited outside to drag him into an interrogation room.
Wade placed both hands against the wall.
The first tear fell before he could stop it.
Then another.
He let them come.
He cried for Price.
For Brooks.
For Walsh.
For five years stolen from every man on his team.
For the family that never stopped looking.
For the first sunrise he had seen through the aircraft window.
For hot water touching his skin.
He didn’t know how long he stood there.
Eventually, the water began to cool.
Wade shut it off.
Clean clothes waited outside the stall.
Soft sweatpants.
A T-shirt.
Thick socks.
Ordinary things.
Wonderful things.
When he returned to the cargo bay, Sarah looked up.
Her eyes filled immediately.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Sarah.”
“You look like you.”
Wade glanced down at himself.
“I look terrible.”
“You look like my brother.”
He sat beside her.
Dad handed him a plate.
Eggs.
Toast.
Bacon.
Wade stared at the food.
“Where did this come from?”
“Galley.”
“It smells real.”
Dad smiled.
“That’s usually the goal.”
Wade took one bite.
Flavor exploded across his tongue.
Salt.
Butter.
Warm bread.
He closed his eyes.
Sarah watched him.
“Good?”
Wade chewed slowly.
“I’m never complaining about food again.”
Dad laughed.
“You once refused to eat Mom’s meatloaf because she used the wrong kind of onions.”
“That was a different man.”
“You also said ketchup was an insult to beef.”
“It is.”
Sarah smiled through her tears.
“There he is.”
Wade ate slowly.
Across the cargo bay, Jackson took his first bite and groaned loudly.
Cobra looked over.
“You need a moment alone with that?”
Jackson pointed his fork at him.
“I spent five years eating gray paste. Interrupt me again and I’ll kill you.”
Cobra nodded solemnly.
“Understood.”
Grant laughed.
Then Dawson.
Wade joined them.
The sound filled the aircraft.
Five survivors laughing over scrambled eggs while Shadow Division pretended not to watch.
For the first time, home felt possible.
Hours later, Wade woke with Sarah still beside him.
The aircraft had gone quiet.
Most of Shadow Division slept.
Across the cargo bay, Alan Madow and Jonathan Reeves remained restrained under guard.
Wade looked at Reeves.
His former commander was awake.
Watching him.
Wade stood and crossed the aircraft.
Reeves lifted his head.
“Come to finish what you started?”
“No.”
Wade stopped in front of him.
“I came to tell you the names.”
Reeves frowned.
“Daniel Price.”
Understanding entered his eyes.
“Nathan Brooks.”
Reeves looked away.
“Tommy Walsh.”
“Wade—”
“No. You’re going to hear them.”
The former commander closed his mouth.
“They died believing the world had forgotten them. You’re going to tell their families where they were. You’re going to tell them how long they survived. And you’re going to tell them why.”
Reeves stared at the floor.
“You think anyone will let me testify?”
Wade leaned closer.
“Then you’d better hope Shadow Division is as good at keeping prisoners alive as you were.”
He walked away.
Reeves called after him.
“You’re not the same man who entered that mountain.”
Wade stopped.
“No.”
He looked back at his men.
“I’m bringing more of them home with me.”
Then Wade returned to his family.
He sat between Sarah and his father as the aircraft carried them toward Alaska.
Toward Cutter’s dock.
Toward whatever came next.
Five years had been stolen.
Wade would spend the rest of his life making every remaining day count.