Page 50 of Sor

DeWitt tested the lock and shook his head.

“Fucking stupid Marines,” he groaned. “Always forgetting to lock doors.” He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and immediately looked at the two massive birds in front of him.

Just a few minutes. That’s all he needed. A few minutes to get the microchips off those planes and back to Cambodia. His contact assured him that he would be able to get through customs at LAX and would meet him at Phnom Penh.

He needed to get into the cockpit of the jet. Seeing the rolling ladder, he pushed it toward the jet, then hit something. He looked around but didn’t see what was stopping the movement of the ladder. Attempting to push it again, he was met with the same resistance.

“What the fuck?” he muttered.

“Yeah. What the fuck, DeWitt?” said Sor. In a flash of light, the overheads were turned on, nearly blinding DeWitt.

“No. No fucking way! How are you here!” he yelled.

“Me? Oh, I took a plane, and then we drove here and met with the Seabee team out there. What about you? Bus or train?” he asked with sarcasm.

“Fuck you!”

“You’re done, DeWitt,” said Frank. “We know what you’re after, and you’re not going to get them.”

“They’ll get them one way or another,” he said.

“It won’t matter,” said Ben. “The technology is already outdated. We already have something better.”

“They won’t care. If I don’t get this to them, I’m dead. Don’t you understand that!”

“DeWitt, they won’t be able to get your mother out of jail. No one will. She was an accomplice to all of this, a traitor. The world won’t see her as anything but that.”

He shook his head, lifting the massive wrench that was sitting on top of the tool chest. The men shook their heads at him.

“Don’t do it, brother,” said Sor. “You won’t change the outcome of this.”

“I have to do something,” he said. “I have to.”

He started to come toward Sor, swinging the wrench, and he easily ducked out of his way. When Matt came toward him, he threw the wrench at him, forcing him to slow. Picking up a pneumatic drill, he tossed it toward Sor. As he raised his arm, the echo of a gunfire could be heard.

Cowboy turned to see one of the Seabees at the door.

“No! Don’t shoot!” he yelled.

“Sir, he was throwing power tools at you,” said the young man.

“I know, son. But he wasn’t going to hurt us.”

“Shit,” said Sor, kneeling beside him. “Hold on, DeWitt. We’re going to get you some help.”

“No. No, I’m not going to make it. Just take those parts to them. Please. Please take the parts to them. Help my mom.”

“Who are we taking this to?” asked Frank.

“Phnom Penh. Take it to Ph…” He whispered something else to him, then let out one long breath, and then there was nothing.

“Fuck,” said Sor.

“Sir, we can take care of this,” said the Seabee. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You did do the right thing,” said Sor. “It was just at the wrong time.”

“Hello?” said the groggy voice.

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