Chapter Fifteen

Knight of Knights

Bolivia 1985

"Yo, Rios. Up and at em' it's show time. We got a green light."

Tyson Rios shook free of Gabe Benedict's firm grip on his left boot, and shoved aside the large palm fronds he was hunkered down beneath in an effort to stay somewhat dry. It had rained on the two man surveillance team for five days straight with only very brief periods of sunshine and between the wet and the ants both were at the end of their patience.

"Bout god damned time."

"Here chew on this and get your eye on that long gun."

Rios took the proffered chunk of soggy jerky, and after tearing off a chunk set his right eye to the lens of his rifle's scope.

"We still just playing overwatch?"

"Copy that, Tyson. Ferrell wants the natives to do the dirty work. Keeps our hands clean."

"Fuck clean hands. I want my piece for what those fucking butchers did to Emilio and Calvin. I can't shake seeing them hanging there upside down all skinned like they were, sick mother fuckers."

"Yea, I hear you Tyson, but just try and crank it down a notch. We don't need an incident. I got two on the front portico, two on the roof above it, and two each on the north and south corners. Same set up that they've had all along."

"The gate?"

"Two guys, one on each side of the road. Giddy and Ferrell have them though."

"Hang on Ferrell's talking." Rios cut in, "Copy that, half a klick out, take out the sentries on your order. Copy that we are green."

"What's the word?"

"Locals are in place half klick out waiting for Ferrell."

"Top tango's first, then the corners and finally the portico."

"Works for me. Ferrell's counting it down, three, two one execute."

Present

Ryder Trauma Center

"Tyson, Tyson, Rios wake up."

Rios startled awake with a gasp, blinking rapidly and trying to orientate himself. The cloying heat of the jungle and the rank stink of rain soaked gear, sweat and urine teased bile into his dry mouth, and afraid that he'd vomit, he coughed hoarsely and turned away from Heckler and Giddy in an effort to mask his discomfort.

"What!"

"He's awake."

Those two words cleared his head instantly. He looked up at the pair, as he stood up from the hard chair that he'd dozed off in three hours ago, and cracked his thick neck. The loud pop elicited a grimace from Heckler, and he smiled.

"You're getting old you fat fucker. Go on over; they said you can see him until the doc shows up."

"Right, can you two round up some coffee?"

"It's made just take a cup. But sip it here, man. He can't have anything and if he smells it he's gonna want some too."

"Yea, Phil that's true, yea. Make me a cup while I go piss."

Rios pissed, and then soaked his head under the faucet. The dream about the Bolivian op still flitted around his head, and it made him feel uneasy. He seldom dreamed about the job, and that he had showed just how trying their current situation was. Delgado was trying to sell his information to anybody that would listen, and despite having the protection of confidentiality Rios still couldn't completely shake his fear that the op and his actions would come back and cost him a heavy price. The officer had eye witness confirmation describing American soldiers working with a foreign government, and propagating, what many might consider, a reprehensible crime.

Rios grunted at the stark weary image staring back at him from the mirror. 'Let them consider,' he thought. They hadn't been there. They hadn't seen what the teams had found in the villa, and the surrounding out buildings, they hadn't lost good men to the butcher that they'd butchered. The Bolivian's had suffered far more at the hands of the mountain Narco lord. The simple folk had their daughters kidnapped, sons murdered and lively hoods destroyed. He didn't regret what they'd allowed, facilitated, or more accurately agitated the local forces into doing. Truth be told if, he'd had his way, Delgado would have died along with the other men despite his age. He'd come out firing with a twelve gauge shot gun, killing one of the team, and for Rios that made him a combatant. Only Gabe's strong hand had stayed the boy's execution by Rios'.

That was all in the past, and for the present he had Salem to worry over. He doubted that any of them would be taken to task for their actions, and if that did become the case they all, even Gabe, had plans to get out.

Feeling a bit clearer headed, he returned to Heck and Giddy, threw back a half of cup of the strong coffee, and made his way down the hall and to Salem's room. Abrial was waiting outside of the door smiling.

"Finally, he's up. We really didn't think he'd be out this long, but, as they say, the body knows best. He's asking for you, and Dr. Stettheimer is on his way to check on him and decide our next course of action."

Rios walked into the room behind Abrial and stepped up to the bed. Abrial had propped Elliot up a bit higher than previously, and removed the breathing tube. Tyson was greatly relieved to see the younger man's eyes open despite how glazed and confused he looked.

"Go on over; your chair's there, and he's waiting. He can't have anything just yet, but there is some crushed ice and a small spoon there it will at least wet his lips. Ring if you need me, and take as much time as you need."

Finally, Tyson slid into the chair on Elliot's left side. The man looked awful and Tyson shook his head. Before he could speak, Salem reached out weakly with his left hand, wincing in pain, and ran his hand over the top of Tyson's head and right cheek.

"You're scruffy. Four, five days I'm out?"

Tyson took the hand and squeezed it between his own. They knew one another so well.

"Five, had a day's worth to start with. Long time to be out for you. You usually bounce right back. Getting soft on me, Ellie?"

"Guess so. I just wasn't ready, in my head for it, Tyse. Fuck, so thirsty."

"Here, you can suck on a bit of ice. Here, easy no, let me bring it to you don't try to sit up."

Tyson held out the small plastic spoon, and Elliot sipped the finely crushed ice into his mouth. It felt good on his parched lips and slipping down his ragged throat.

"More, Tyse."

They repeated the process several more times until Elliot waved him off.

"Better. Thanks. You ok, Tyse? You look like hell. Four or five days I've been out?"

Tyson frowned. Was Salem just repeating himself, or had he forgotten that they'd already discussed Tyson's beard and un-shaved head.

"We talked about that, Elliot, remember? Five, you've been out for five days. I was worried. You never knock out for so long."

"Oh, forgot I guess. Tyse, what the fuck happened? Murray stood me down, but that's the last I can fucking remember."

Tyson sighed, and blinked away tears. This was his fault. Salem had sustained serious injuries in the past, but this was the first time that those injuries were categorically his fault. Salem was paying the price for his past indiscretions, and that made Rios feel sick inside.

Salem noted the tears, and frightened by Tyson's weakness tried to reach out to brush them away. This wasn't his Tyse, his tank, his protector, his knight. This was someone alien to him. He furrowed his brow, and tried once again to piece together what had happened on the roof of the building.

"Tyse stop. I'll be ok. Just, I just don't get why I'm here. Why you seem so off. I hate what I see in your eyes right now. You're scaring me."

Rios sniffled, and after retrieving a tissue from Salem's bedside table blew his nose. The truth was best.

"My fault, Ellie." He began once again squeezing Salem's good hand in between his own. "A man, one of the Swattys…"

"Art, did this to me?" Salem spat out causing him to cough. He finally settled again, but sweat coated his brow beneath his bandages and Rios daubed it away with a soft towel.

"No, they acted alone."

"For fuck's sake, Rios, why?"

"There was an op, a long time back, in Bolivia. I, we did some bad shit. Was with Ferrell, so that should explain it. This kid, the son of the Narco bastard we took down, was there. He was five. Long story short, I wanted to kill him. He'd killed one of us, and I wanted to leave a clean slate. Wipe out the entire nest so to speak. They were destroying everything we were trying to do down there. Gabe talked me down, but only barely, and not before I really showed my ass.

This kid's old man was a psychopath, like Clyde kinda. He'd butcher people. Kill them and skin them alive, and he'd gotten to a couple of my guys. This kid got sent here to an orphanage. He grew up into a good man, good cop, father, etcetera. I guess he never forgot, Elliot, and he recognized me in the staging area. He figured he'd use our concerns about a second shooter to get his revenge. They tried to take you out, to hurt me, and blame it on the second shooter, but after the shooting began, and Yarborough's team went back into 110, they smelled a rat and took him and his buddy down."

"Recognized you?"

"My tats."

"I'm tired, Tyse. I don't want to hear anymore. You're my Rios, always be my Rios."

"Nearly killed a boy, Ellie. That shit ain't right."

"Nobody's innocent, Tyson, nobody, and we can't always be the great white fucking knights you want us to be. More ice please. Then, enough a this. I can't hear any more. I don't want to hear, or know anymore. I just saved twelve people, and if you hadn't saved me from myself I don't know how many times, I wouldn't have been here to do it. I'm just so tired, and I just want to go home."