Part 3

“Morning,” Mack said softly, his face just inches from hers, when she woke.

“Did I crowd you?” Teresa asked self-consciously.

“Naw. It was nice. You didn’t take advantage of me, did you?” he drawled and watched a flush tinge her cheeks.

“You don’t remember? I’m crushed!” she grinned and slid out of bed. “But I’ll still fix you breakfast.”

“You got a plan?”

“For breakfast or to get you home?”

“Both would be good.”

“Then you’re in luck.”

Mack nodded thankfully and he, too, got out of bed and noticed the new clothes sitting atop her dresser. He trailed her to the kitchen where she started coffee then pulled eggs from the small refrigerator. He listened as she outlined the simple plan as she cooked up scrambled eggs and served them up with fruit. Mulling it over, he agreed it would work.

“You coming with me? We miss you back at the TOC.”

“It’s tempting,” she admitted. She’d thought about it. Traveling as a couple would be actually be a better cover, but her job would allow her to put him on the plane out of Colombia which should be enough. “But Kayla’s got it under control and seems to have some new help. I’ve still got work to do here. But give my love to Jonas and Charles, will you? And Molly and your family—if you can. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for Hector’s funeral. I wanted to be. But…” Her voice was choked.

“I understand.”

Teresa let out a quick breath, gathering her composure. “Okay, let’s get started. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a minute later with a black case which she set on the table. “Turn the chair toward me and take off your shirt.”

He resisted the urge to make a suggestive comment just to get a reaction from her to lighten the mood from a minute ago. He pulled his t-shirt over his head as she opened the case and pulled out a tube and opened it, squeezing a pasty substance into her palm. Taking a stance directly in front of him, she began rubbing the substance between her hands then spread it over his scalp onto his nearly shaved head, softly shaking her head.

“Too short. It makes you look hard,” she stated aloud, but more to herself than him. Wiping her hands when she finished, she took a sponge and round plastic container of make-up foundation and began covering his face from the hairline down. Mack tried to remain still and not express his lack of enthusiasm at being made over.

He continued to let her work, neither saying much as she applied the foundation to his neck, chest, lower arms and hands. When she moved to apply mascara to his lashes, Mack balked, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I love your freckles and red hair, Mack. However, it makes you stick out down here, and the authorities have a pretty decent sketch of you. And, the cartel has an even better one—” she handed him a print off she’d gotten from her sources with a striking resemblance to Mack—“that they’ve distributed to their contacts at the port authority, bus terminal, every taxi company and of course the airport. So good-bye Master Sergeant Gerhardt and hello Carlos Montoya.” She studied him hard, comparing him to the sketch, then reached back into the case. “Open your mouth wide,” she ordered, then surprised him by painting a curved line across his cheek with a pink liquid. “Hold the position. I kinda missed the scar. And I hate to hide your beautiful eyes, but…”

Mack could feel the skin tightening as the liquid dried. She tilted his head back and put in contacts.

“Okay. Go get dressed and I’ll get your new passport picture, Señor Montoya. Wear the blue shirt for the picture.”

Mack retreated to the bedroom and changed into the dark brown pants and crisp blue shirt Teresa had purchased the night before. The fit was good and made him look like a traveler. The loafers also were the right size. Glancing in the dresser mirror, Mack had to admit she’d done a great job. He could probably walk past Jonas and not be recognized. Brown eyes, not a freckle in sight—other than the one on his lip, and a scar nearly identical to the one he’d gotten on a mission with Daniel a few months before his death. The way she’d shaded the makeup even made his nose look slightly broader, more authentic.

Teresa had a digital camera out and a kitchen chair backed against the white wall. Mack took a seat and she clicked off a few pictures. Mack stayed out of the way as she worked, loading the pictures on to her computer, darkening the scruff of his beard to change up the picture enough to not look like she’d just taken it. She entered a name, country, date of birth, and issue date then went to the desk and pulled a drawer out. She removed a false panel and produced a blank passport and clear film sheet which she inserted into her printer. After printing off the information, she peeled the label off and carefully laid it over the passport’s first page and rubbed the transfer on. Next, she retrieved a few hidden rubber stamps and stamped pages in the passport with different dates making it appear he traveled between Colombia and Venezuela periodically.

“Not quite as good as what they can doctor up for you back home, but this will pass,” she stated authoritatively as she handed the forged document and printed flight boarding pass to him. “Take a taxi to the airport. Your flight doesn’t leave for over two hours, but you won’t want to arrive too early. Once you pass through customs, stay out of sight as much as possible until you board your flight to Caracas. Don’t leave the airport but take your next flight to San Juan and one more flight will take you to St. Louis so you’ll be home in time for a late debrief and dinner.

“I need to get ready for work. Make yourself at home.” Teresa looked at his altered appearance, remembering Mack’s face and times spend together years ago. A trace of wistfulness clear on her face.

******

Mack let himself out of the apartment an hour later, half an hour after Teresa had given him a farewell embrace and said goodbye. Carrying a leather overnight bag with a change of clothes, toiletries and a paperback novel, in Spanish, he hailed a cab. At the airport he got in the line to pass through international customs, handing his passport over to the agent when his turn came.

“Where are you traveling to today, Señor?”

“I’m returning to Caracas.” Mack handed her the boarding pass.

“And were you here on business or pleasure?”

“Pleasure,” Mack grinned slyly as Teresa stamped and handed back the very passport she’d forged for him hours earlier and boarding pass for the flight.

“Do you have anything to declare?”

“No.”

“I need to check your bag, please.”

He handed over the bag and she unzipped it and poked around inside before handing it back.

“Please step over here,” she requested and then ran the wand up and down his lean legs and muscular torso. “Custom agents have your picture, but you should be good once you’re through here,” she spoke softly. Actually, an anonymous call had reported Mack purchasing a bus ticket leaving Cartagena and bound for Bogota last night and a second phone call seemed to verify that, saying he’d taken a taxi from the bus station in Bogota to the airport an hour ago. Hopefully, they’d be looking in the wrong place for a while as Mack took his flights home.

“Graciás, Señor. We hope you enjoyed your visit and will return again.”

She held his eyes for only a second, but he noticed they were moist. Mack picked up his bag and headed down the concourse to the gates.

*****

The flight to Caracas went smoothly and Mack had no trouble passing through customs and boarding his flight to San Juan. He caught the flight to St. Louis and was surprised to find Sgt. Kayla Medwar waiting for him just past security there. She didn’t recognize him until he approached.

“I got a text message from a friend saying you might need a ride home.”

“Talk about a full-service travel agent,” he remarked.

“Well, we’re glad to have you back home, soldier.”

“Thanks,” was all he said, not exactly feeling the same sentiment. He had a lot to straighten out in his life – mainly what he was going to do with the information that his commanding officer had been sleeping with his wife. He thought of Teresa and how he’d felt waking up next to her. How’d she’d taken care of his every need without complaint – it hadn’t been that way with Tiffy in a long time. He wondered if things ever could be right with his wife again. Would she be glad he was home or did she hope that one day he wouldn’t make it home at all?

The End