He should have been terrified. But he stayed calm, unlike on the boat coming back, where he’d vomited his guts out overboard until it was just slimy strings hanging off the railing at the visions of him murdering father, son, and daughter in front of Miss Mae before doing her in. That done, he shot himself in the forehead. He had never envisioned that before, and didn’t ever want to again. He knew he had no choice, letting Miss Mae and her family live. He could never have lived with the alternative. He ended up taking his dose twice on the boat, and luckily it helped. But he would still have to live with a new terror—that his masters here would find out. They could do anything to him, with him, in his name.

The front gate of The Preserve opened for Frankie as if he’d pressed a button in the jeep, and he sped them on through. He drove Lett right up to his bungalow and cut the engine.

He turned in his seat—the movement rocking the jeep that was still creaking and pinging and hissing from the fast, rough ride—and stared at Lett, his chunky brow accentuated by a faraway camp light. Lett stared back.

“What happened?” Frankie said, and Lett heard his local Hawaiian cadence.

“She must have gotten away,” Lett said. He added a shrug and told Frankie what he told the cabbie. He lied through his teeth, just as he had told Miss Mae he would. That camp light shadowed Frankie’s eyes the whole time as he listened, and Lett wasn’t sure if that had helped him tell the lie or not. “Maybe someone tipped her off,” he added.

“Maybe,” Frankie grunted.

“Anything else?” Lett said.

“Rest up. We’re going to train you for your next mission, so stay sharp.”

“All right.” Lett climbed out.

“Leave the gun.”

“Oh, right.” Lett placed the Colt, holster, and suppressor on the front seat. Frankie watched him. Lett added the wallet with civilian ID of one Wendell Lett.

“Keep dem clothes,” Frankie added with a grin.

Lett smiled back, but Frankie’s grin had already dropped.

“You saved your ass back in da Philippines,” Frankie said. “Don’t think I don’t notice.”

Lett winced inside. He didn’t know if Frankie’s response was good or bad, but he guessed the latter so he wasn’t about to say thanks. “Well, good night,” he said.

Frankie only nodded. He watched Lett go.

Congrats, Lett thought as he trudged up his steps. You’re officially a traitor here, too. But, maybe it’s just as well. Because maybe their savagery and subterfuge and soul-selling changed what it meant to be a traitor. So, in the words of any GI or Marine worth his salt: fuck ’em all.

***