The Reclamation of Sepulveda

There was ocean below him.

Riku Tsunetomo shifted close to the center of his seat. The constant thumping of the helicopters rotors coincided with the pounding in his temples. He reached for his pills. That damn arm.

The woman seated across from him smiled softly. “Afraid of heights?” she asked.
“Flying.”
“We should be landing soon; not too long now.” A second helicopter hung lazily in the air outside the window. Tsunetomo saw the UN insignia plastered along the side. He was tired. It had been a long day. A long couple of days; hell, a long couple of months. All he wanted was to relax, but orders were orders, and he was lucky to have a job.

The woman spoke again: “Speaking of which, how was your flight?”
He cracked his neck. “Long.” Hong Kong to Alaska was not an easy flight.
“I do apologize for taking you out here when you’ve only just arrived, but it’s important. I’m sure you’ll understand.”
He nodded, kicking up his feet on the metal floor. His shoes we’re ratty and discolored. His hair was a mess. He imagined he smelled.

“So what’s in Argentina?” he asked.
A chuckle. “Not much for you or me, I’m afraid,” she said. “Our trip is a…matter of convenience.” She looked at him as if to assuage any wounded pride. If he cared enough, he could have reassured her that his pride was not wounded.
“You can’t wound what’s already dead.”
“Excuse me?”
Riku realized that his train of thought had left the station of his brain and exited his mouth. “Nothing. Thinking out loud, is all.”

There was golden silence.
“I read your file,” she said.
“All of it? That’s quite a chore.”
She smiled and adjusted herself. “It was fascinating. If you don’t mind my asking, how does it feel?”

The clouds were a beautiful brush against the fiery blue sky. He wondered what the kid was up to- probably sleeping. All Riku wanted in the world was to go to sleep. He hadn’t slept in a good long while.
“How does what feel?”
“You know: Tokyo-3, Berlin, the Hague, Hong Kong? You’ve gotten around.”
A home, a prison, a trial, an exile.

How does it feel to be such a colossal fuck up?
“You get used to it, I suppose. Not much else to it. What’s done is done, and you can’t change it.” He paused. “I would’ve preferred things to have gone differently, of course.”
The woman looked down at her feet. “I’m sure we all think that, from time to time.”

Riku opted to spend the rest of the flight in a medicated daze, keeping to himself and avoiding eye contact with the woman. It wasn’t too terribly hard; she kept herself occupied with her tablet, headset, etc. He even managed to slip quietly to a place between sleep and the helicopter.

He felt the first few prods but ignored them. However, he jolted awake when he felt something dense tossed his way. For a moment, he panicked, feeling himself tumble out of the helicopter into the ocean. He caught his breath and stared out the window. They were not above the ocean anymore.

“I suggest you put that on,” she said. In his lap rested a small, yet heavy feeling Kevlar vest. He rolled his eyes and slipped it on.
“Still not going to tell me what’s going on here?”
“I’m sorry, Captain, but we’re here for a simple pick up. Anything else is none of your concern.” These words were harsher, more definitive, authoritarian. She softened, however. “Nor are they mine, to be frank. I’d prefer, and I’m sure you’ll agree with me, that you stayed alive. You’ve made it this far; I say let’s keep it like that.”

He couldn’t argue with anything that placed his preservation in a high priority.
“You’re not going to wear one?”
She laughed. “The thing that separates you from me, Captain Tsunetomo, is that I can take care of myself.”