Chapter 65
Chapter 65
I spent the flight thinking about what faced me when we touched down. The hurt. I couldn’t deny it. I saw the slideshow in my mind. In the days following the last time I made this flight and everything that happened here, we went to the beach where I mainly sat in the sand and drank Bones’s wine. We did our best to tell him goodbye, even pushing his iconic orange box out to sea. A soldier’s burial. Then I’d sat while the tide returned and washed over my toes. Somewhere in that twilight I’d seen boot prints in the sand. Followed by smaller feet with a high arch. They looked real to me. But maybe that was just because I couldn’t deal with what was really real.
All I knew then and all I knew now was that Bones had saved me. Again and again and again. Ever since that moment, I’d been struggling with how to tell his story. Could I? How did I talk about the man who defined man for me? I could tell all the stories, relive all the inconceivable things he did, but one moment stood alone. And that moment started here. On this island. Why? Because it was here that he taught me the one lesson I’d yet to learn. A lesson I didn’t want to learn. That lesson was this: it had never crossed my mind to save Frank. I just wanted to shoot him in the face. Several times. Then rip off his head and post it on a stake outside the city walls as a deterrent to his generals. I’m coming for you.
But not Bones. Bones had other ideas. Bones was trying to save Frank. How far was he willing to go? All the way. And he did. Bones died trying to save his brother. He gave his life. Did Frank know that? I tended to think so. Bones demonstrated to Frank that there is something greater than hate. More powerful than evil. It’s love. The kind of love that walks down into a dungeon, breaks chains, rips prison doors off their hinges, and says, “Me for you.” I stared out the window, wiping tears that were flowing freely. I didn’t try to stop them. Chances were good that over the next few hours I’d cry my face off, and I was okay with that. I loved him that much and I missed him that much.
Every hour of the flight, Gunner sniffed my face, then licked the dried salt off my skin and lay back down. His way of saying, Worried about you, old man . I’d brought Bones’s letter. It was soiled. Bloodied. And torn. But still served its purpose, which was to guide us back. Truth be told, I didn’t need it. I knew it by heart. But it was a comfort nonetheless, so I stuffed it next to my heart.
The pilot touched down on a private airstrip on the southeast coast of Majorca. Gunner and I walked to the hangar where Bones had leased space, I punched in the combination, and the lock clicked open, revealing Bones’s old Toyota truck. We loaded up and skirted the coastline. Driving slowly. Tasting the air. Sipping the sunshine. The road narrowed to one lane and routed through small coastal towns, leading to a rocky peninsula a mile wide and several miles long on the northeast corner of Majorca.
The narrow road led from the mainland into the peninsula, traveling along the mile-wide plateau that fell off like a table to rocky cliffs that descended a couple hundred feet into the turquoise waters of the Balearic Sea.
From a defensive standpoint, I saw why Frank liked it—one road in and surrounded by water on three sides. The inhospitable terrain was inhabited only by goats, burros, and short, stubby trees that looked to be constantly bracing against the wind. Bones’s map led me to a small resort village a few miles away, where oiled beachgoers lounged on bleached white sands, snorkeling lovers frolicked in crystal-clear water, and kayakers and paddleboarders crisscrossed the glassy surface. It was a vacationer’s paradise. It was also a strategic place to store a small boat with which to navigate the coastline.
The marina was small and home to more than a hundred small yachts, center consoles, and sport fishers. I parked, and it wasn’t hard to find the slip a second time. I pulled off the cover and found the same well-used Zodiac. Gunner jumped in and began sniffing around as if he, too, recognized the craft. As the sun dropped below the horizon, I turned on the Garmin and entered the coordinates. Not that I needed them. I could return by heart, but I wanted to walk the same steps. Something about that was healing. I dropped the boat in the water and cranked the twin Yamahas. Gunner assumed his Titanic ear-flapping position on the bow, reminding me he felt as at home on the bow of a boat as he did the hearth of a fireplace in Colorado. I eased out of the marina, brought the Zodiac up on plane, and Gunner and I began skirting the shoreline, being careful to steer clear of the massive rock formations that lay just below the surface.
Bones’s letter gave specific coordinates and a detailed description of our destination. A small cove on the northern side protected by a curved elbow of steep rock. If not careful, I’d miss the entrance, which was only ten to twelve feet wide, bordered by steep cliffs. I throttled down, bringing the Zodiac off plane, trimmed the engine as far as I could while keeping the propeller in the water, and steered into the smooth rock entrance. It felt good to be back on the water. I’d missed it. And I’d missed my boat, Gone Fiction , ever since Frank blew it up. The opening of the cave was S-shaped, meaning no vessel longer than thirty feet could navigate in, and the smooth, tide-worn walls meant no purchase. No place to hold on.
We navigated the serpentine entrance and found ourselves in a hidden pool of water larger than several Olympic swimming pools. According to the Garmin, it was thirty and forty feet deep. The first time we’d made this trip, we’d hoped dearly that we’d been undetected. If anyone had known, we’d have been sitting ducks. Like shooting fish in a barrel. For the second time, we idled to the far end where a rock shelf sat just a foot below the water’s surface. The water here was glass. Not a ripple other than those we made. I cut the engines and sat on the rubber gunwale while Gunner whined.
“You gotta stay here this time. I need to go do this alone. I don’t expect you to understand, but this is just something I got to go do.” Gunner did not like either what I’d said or my tone of voice, because he returned to the bow and lay down. Facing away.
I located the same crack in the rock, marked by a tree growing out of the crack, stepped into the water, and tied off to the tree. This next section was a bit tricky and the reason I was leaving Gunner. I had to swim underwater for a good distance, and I was worried about him making it through this pitch-black world again. No one was in danger, so why take the risk? I slipped into the water, and Gunner stuck his head over the gunnel. Looking down at me.
I pulled up by the ropes and rubbed behind his ears. “You’re still the best partner I’ve got. But I need you to stay here.” Gunner walked to the stern, then returned to me, where he hung his face over the side and licked me. I rubbed his head again. “I know. I love you too.” As he had done the first time, he jerked his head sideways and made that one little Scooby-Doo sound he makes when he’s hungry. “Yes, stay here. Watch the boat. And when I get back, I’ll grill you a ribeye.”
Excited by my promise, he made the sound again.
“Yes, a big one.”
Another whine.
“Of course I’ll cut it up for you.”
Gunner’s tail was wagging, so I told him to go lie down, which he did. Keeping his eyes trained on me. “I’ll be back.”