The day gave way to night, and the night to day again. The jerry cans were now empty and so was the tank. He was tired and exhausted of driving, but the urge to get to Miami was huge. He stopped at a gas station in the town of Grants. Took a power nap for a couple of hours. When he woke up his head was throbbing. He walked into a convenience store to buy some food and a charger for the ipod. As he walked in he saw two two U.S. Marshals having some donuts. He put a pair of glasses from the store on and walked to the counter. Paid his bill and left. Back on the road, he was driving at full speed looking at the horizon of a sunny day when, suddenly:
"... it was a rainy gray afternoon, he looked around and saw many known faces, all of them in army suits, including himself. A smell of freshly wet tarmac was surrounding the atmosphere. His jaw was sore and his knuckles scratched and bruised. It was the 23rd of April of 1993. It was his C.I.A. picking. The day the agency chooses five troopers to become part of it. He remembered the night before, the fight in the bar because of Jackson's death in combat. Jackson was a big friend oh his, he had gone to combat and was K.I.A. a week before. All the troopers families were there, except his. The C.I.A. director started his speech.
- These are the fine U.S. citizens that give their lives for our great nation. Today 5 of these young men will be chosen to become part of the C.I.A. They will work to keep us safe and I am honored to be here, calling out their names.
- The first trooper is Richard Wayne from Washington D.C.
A huge round of applause was heard.
Jack was still contemplating the scenery, the C.I.A. members were all under a porch as well as the families. Only the troopers were in the rain. Soaking wet, he was tired. Richard Wayne walked up to the porch and received a medallion from the director.
- The second trooper is David Jackson from California.
As soon as everyone heard this name a lot of chatter started. The assistant director approached the director and whispered something to his ear.
- I am sorry, our trooper Jackson was killed in action while fighting for a better future. So the next soldier is Damon Prescott from Detroit.
Jack turned around and saw his battalion; they were all bruised and looked tired.
- Jack, look forward man. They are going to call the next soldier.
- I don't give a shit for this. They are all a bunch of scum bags. They didn't even know Jackson was dead. Fucking useless agency.
- Shut up man.
The director continued his speech.
- So, the last soldier to become part of the C.I.A. is, Mason, Jack Mason.
Jack was stunned, he froze immediately, not of happiness, but hatred. Even so, not to let down his general he walked passed his battalion friends, that were clapping and patting him on the back. The rain was dripping down his face, his hair was soaked and the tears got mixed with the rain. The porch seemed to be miles away. He climbed the three stairs and was on the porch. The director placed the medallion on his chest, gave him a handshake with a big smile, while Jack was emotionless. The director pulled him forward and hugged him while the photographers took hundreds of pictures. He whispered:
- I know you are a troubled young man, and tend to look for trouble, but the agency will help you.
- Fuck you..."
The car had come off the tarmac and was riding on the gravel, jumping around and knocking over the small signs and plants in front of it. Jack was sent out of his turmoil by the noise, he was shocked, he turned the wheel towards the road and the car over steered and skidded as he braked. When it stopped the dust came inside the car. He just stood there. Stopped. Emotionless. A couple of minutes after he knew what he had to do.
He started the car and got back onto the tarmac. Drove for miles and miles without stopping. Until he arrived. Parked the car and started walking through the white sands. He walked for a couple of hours until he got to the site.
He sat down, smoked a cigarette. Looking at the white infinity he remembered his friend's last words. I might not come back, bury this at the White Sands in New Mexico. He stuck his hands in the sand next to the tree and started digging. His fingers touched something hard. He pulled the box out and opened it. It was an ammo box in steel. Inside was a dog tag where he could read:
- Sargent Bruce Jackson U.S. Army.
It was dented, and all the shine had disappeared. He also saw the gold medallion that was awarded to him on April 23rd by the director.
- Honor and bravery are man's best quality. The C.I.A. welcomes you.
The night had started falling upon the white sands and he laid back and pressed play on his Ipod.
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