Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Jake and I had a choice to make. Last time, we’d gotten plenty of footage from the air, so I believed we should go with TACLET this time. It would bring us closer to what might happen. Jake was on the fence, mostly because he had experience and knew how many things could go wrong. But we’d been approved. We’d signed the paperwork. No, we wouldn’t sue the Coast Guard if we got injured or worse.
I yawned and set his bag on the floor.
Two larger backpacks, one smaller camera bag, and two protective hardcases. Yeah, we were set.
“Stop brooding,” I said.
He huffed and grabbed his coffee. “It’s fuckin’ dumb. In the helicopter, we’re out of harm’s way and their way.”
I turned to him. “Do you honestly think they would clear us to ride with the TACLET team if they thought we’d be in the fucking way?”
“Shit can still go wrong.” He got irritated. “You haven’t thought this through, Roe.”
Excuse me?
“First of all, fuck you,” I responded casually. “Second of all, we’ve studied the same damn material. I’ve read the risks. I know how much fuel the drug smugglers carry, I know the statistics on how often they comply with orders from law enforcement, I know how fast they go, how many there tend to be—I listened to all the warnings, Jake. The difference is that I wanna take the risk anyway. We’ll be in the background, for chrissakes. If something happens to you and me, it means the TACLET guys are already fucked.”
“Yeah, a stray bullet doesn’t always go into the first guy in line,” he told me. “Background or not, we’re targets if the smugglers decide not to go willingly.”
I knew that.
It didn’t matter.
“Did you avoid all risks in Afghanistan?” I pressed.
“Dude. We’re not at war. We’re filmmakers. If I wanted to face those kinds of risks, I’d still be in the Marines.”
“Filmmakers have put their lives on the line too,” I argued. “I’m not comparing the two—I’m just saying. Journalists, combat photographers, Doctors Without Borders, I can go on forever. A lot of people take risks, especially when they work in conflict zones.”
“And you wanna do that,” he stated. “That’s what this boils down to. You wanna put yourself at risk for footage.”
I scowled to myself and looked out the window instead, hating the implication that I was somehow valuing my work higher than…I didn’t know, my life, watching my son grow up, whatever. That wasn’t the case at all. I just…
I didn’t wanna be a coward. I wanted to create something that showed how much effort I’d put into it. Blood, sweat, tears, all of that. I wanted to tell stories few others would. I wanted to make voices heard.
Jake sighed and switched lanes. “I don’t mean to act like your parent or security guard, Roe. I’m just concerned. You know—your brother told me once that you dreamed of solving cold cases as a kid, and I think about that sometimes. I mean, no wonder you became an investigative journalist.”
I scratched my arm absently and side-eyed him.
“My issue is that you love to throw yourself into something unprepared,” he went on. “Not your research or anything—I know how much time you spend on reading and studying and…you know. But the physical aspects? You talk about me facing dangers in Afghanistan, and…” He blew out a breath. “I had training, Roe. Training that never fucking stopped. We were always learning. Always honing our skills.”
Goddammit.
I hated to admit he had a point.
I watched documentaries where filmmakers traveled with pirates, drug smugglers, fucking warlords, and I wanted to do that. But they obviously hadn’t started out that way, and they’d had to train just like anybody else.
“Listen.” Jake cleared his throat. “I don’t genuinely believe something will go wrong tomorrow. We can go with TACLET if you want—but when we get home, I want you to think long and hard about what it is you wanna do. And then you make sure you have the right skill sets to follow through. I’ll be happy to help. It’s been a while for me too, so you’re not the only one who needs training. We can take classes together.”
Just like that, curiosity took over. “What kinds of classes?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Survival training, self-defense, maybe target practice. Stuff like that. If we wanna get into more dangerous shit, we gotta be sharp.”
I couldn’t help but smile and grab his hand. “You said we.”
He offered an eye roll and a wry smirk. “We’re in this together, dipshit.” When he threaded our fingers together, he could call me any name in the book. He was literally holding my hand. Not letting go. “Besides, we’re gonna need those skills anyway if we wanna fulfill my dream of filming the Congo.”
We were gonna do that one day. We were gonna do everything. Our bucket list was miles long. From the rainforests in the Congo to the untamed wilderness in Patagonia. From unsolved murder cases to food festivals. From modern technology to ancient history. From Alaskan winters to Spanish summers.