Page 55 of Resurgent
“Well, you’ve kind of already done that,” I say. “Walker said the mission you were on in Pakistan was called Operation Phoenix. And the house went up in flames and everyone thought you were dead, but you weren’t. You’ve already risen from the ashes once.”
I can feel his body stiffen, and his fingers, which had been idly stroking my bare breast, go still. “Charlotte. The stars…the constellations. I remember!”
Hope flows through me like a river of light. He finally remembers Playa del Carmen, and us. “What do you remember?”
“The guns. I remember where the guns are.”
…
The next day, we take off for Cancun. There’s a feeling of lightness between us, no doubt due to the relief we both feel since Liam finally knows where the guns are. Although he was pretty confident of his memory last night, he confirmed it this morning, going down to the media center in the hotel and spending several hours with maps and a star chart spread out before him. He’d come back to the room ecstatic, eagerly showing me the high-definition satellite images he’d been able to access through his CIA contact which, when cross-referenced against Google Earth, showed that the stars of the constellation he’d dubbed the Phoenix converged into a point near the Mayan Riviera. Now we just have to go back to Mexico and find that point, where hopefully we’ll discover the small storage facility he remembered last night.
Flying doesn’t bother me as much this time. Maybe because I’m preoccupied by the knowledge that my time with Liam is about to be over.Well,I think with a sigh,it was a good run, and I wouldn’t change a single thing. Well, there is one thing…
“Excuse me.” I catch the attention of the flight attendant. “Could you make us a couple of Bloody Mary’s?”
“Of course.” As soon as she’s out of earshot, busily pulling celery and tomato juice out of the refrigerator in the small kitchen area, I lean over and whisper to Liam, “I’m going to the restroom. Join me in two minutes.” I’ve unbuckled my seatbelt and slipped into the bathroom before he can answer. I watch the second hand of my watch tick the seconds, wondering if he’s going to follow me. Exactly two minutes later, he joins me, closing the door behind him. It’s slightly bigger than the tiny restroom on our plane to Mexico, but Liam seems to take up an inordinate amount of space, and I suddenly wonder how we’re going to manage this.
“Why are we in here?” he asks, one corner of his mouth tilting up.
“We’ve got to join the mile-high club.”
The other corner curves up, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “We’re on a private jet with a sofa that folds out into a bed. Why are we crammed in a bathroom like two sardines?”
“Because it’s more fun this way,” I say as I unbutton and unzip his jeans. I slip my hand inside and slowly stroke the length of his cock. He moans and closes his eyes. “It’s the spirit of the thing. I’m pretty sure this is the only way to really be a member.”
“Is that right?” he murmurs, opening one eye. “In that case…”
In one quick motion he yanks my panties down and lifts my skirt up, and before I know it, he has me pressed against the door of the bathroom, my skirt up and my legs around his waist as he drives his cock into me. It’s hot as hell knowing we only have a few minutes, and the flight attendant is just outside the door and no doubt knows exactly what we’re doing. The plane lurches, and I squeak, but he just fucks me harder, his fingers finding that secret bundle of nerves. By this point, the plane could go down in flames and I wouldn’t notice, so intent am I on his cock stroking my core, his fingers driving me toward release, the desperate urgency of this fuck in an airplane bathroom. With one final thrust he comes, and while I’m close, I’m not quite there yet. I try not to pout as he efficiently tucks his cock back into his pants, buttoning and zipping them in a businesslike fashion. What did I expect from a quickie in an airplane bathroom? I reach for my underwear, but he beats me to, scooping it off the floor and tucking it into his pocket.
“I need my underwear!”
“No you don’t. I think it’s time you started your own bucket list. I’m going to help you work on the first thing on it.”
“What’s that?” I ask suspiciously.
“Come over the Pacific Ocean. Your turn, sweetheart.” Opening the door, he says, “Meet me in the cabin in two minutes.”
…
When we land in Cancun, it’s seven o’clock in the morning. Liam made me come several times under the blanket on the plane, taking a perverse pleasure in fingering me to orgasm at the precise moment the flight attendant came to talk to us, and while the assistant pilot had talked to Liam about the plane, which had quickly turned into your typical guy story exchange. Finally exhausted by pleasure, I’d slept, my head cradled in Liam’s lap as he stroked my hair.
“Are we going straight to the warehouse?” I ask him as we get off the plane.
“Yes. We don’t have time to waste if they’re not there.”
I don’t say anything. Neither one of us wants to admit we’re out of options if the guns aren’t where he thinks they are. We catch a cab from the airport in Cancun to the point where the stars of the phoenix constellation converge. As the cab stops, Liam and I look at each other with dismay. It’s in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but trees.
“I guess I was wrong,” Liam says, his voice heavy. He starts to tell the cab driver to go, when I grab his arm.
“Liam. Wait. What’s that?” Off the road, almost completely obscured by the dense foliage, is a small concrete building. The windows are boarded, and there’s a padlock on the door. “We could try it.”
“Okay.” Telling the cab driver to wait, we get out of the car and slowly pick our way across the weed-filled gravel road to the small building. I wait, praying, while Liam slowly dials the numbers on the back of the necklace onto the padlock. Three spins to the right—one. One and half spins to the left—four. Once more to the right—three. Liam tugs, and the lock slides open. Our eyes meet, and a slow smile crosses Liam’s face.
He opens the door, and we both step inside. It’s dark and dusty, but in the faint light from the cracked door, we can see the room is filled with wooden crates. “Just stay in the doorway there and let me know if anyone comes,” he says, already bending down in front of one of the crates with his knife in hand. The first four crates are filled with soybeans. But as he pries open the fifth one, he looks up at me, a slow smile crossing his face.
“We found them, baby. We found the guns!” He closes the distance between us in three long strides and catches me by the waist, spinning me around before stopping, his arms still around me. We stand in a small shaft of sunlight for several long minutes, his face buried in my hair. Tilting his head back, he says, “Go ahead. Say it.”
“Say what?”
