Familiar Stranger (25 page)

He moved past the statue of the nurses honoring the women who'd served in Vietnam, staying on the footpath that would bring him in at the east end of the Wall. Although the lights still burned, the Wall itself was a dark blur within the downpour. He felt the ground beginning to slope and knew he was moving downward on the right path. Every sensory nerve that he had was on overload as he listened, trying to decipher sounds that didn't belong to the storm. By the time he reached the apex of the memorial he was in knots, damning his brother and damning this rain.

* * *

It took David several seconds to realize that one of the shadows he'd been watching had started to move. Only after he blinked did he realize that it wasn't the shadow that was moving, but the man who was passing through.

His pulse jerked, but it was the only thing about his body in motion. He lay flat to the ground and watched, confident that Frank could pass right by him and never know he was there. He also knew that if he wanted, he could shoot Frank right now, without a word, without having to look at his face.

And it had to be said that he considered it. He wanted this over with in the very worst way, but he could also subdue and arrest him. It wouldn't be hard. That would leave the mess with Uncle Sam. It would, however, also endanger SPEAR, and that couldn't happen.

He knew Frank well enough by now to know that if he wound up in jail, there wasn't a cell in solitary strong enough to stop him from talking. With a few well-chosen words to the right—or wrong—people, SPEAR's benefit to the world would be null and void. And so David lay in the rain, struggling with his conscience and with what he knew he would have to do, all the while watching as Frank came closer and closer.

* * *

Frank was jumpy enough, but when a shaft of lightning suddenly struck nearby, shattering what was left of his control and striking close enough that he ducked, he hit the ground with a curse. Momentarily blinded by the flash, he covered his eyes. When he finally struggled to his feet, David was standing less than ten feet away. Adrenaline kicked like a mule as he went into a crouch, grabbing the pistol, swinging it toward his brother's chest.

"Hello, Frank. Long time no see."

Frank was pissed. He was the only one holding a weapon and yet once again, his brother seemed to have taken the upper hand. He straightened, unwilling to be the one who'd first taken a defensive stance.

Rain pelted both men, running down their faces and onto the ground between them, culminating in an eddying swirl that disappeared into some underground drain.

"You son of a bitch," Frank snarled.

David stared, trying to find the brother he'd once known in the tangled flesh of that man's face.

"We came from the same woman, Frank. Be careful what you say."

Frank roared. The rage came up and out of him without warning, diluted by the rain and tempered by the power of the storm.

"You set me on fire! What kind of a brother would do something like that? Answer me!" he screamed. "I want to know! I need to know!"

"I didn't set you on fire to harm you. I was trying to hide the shame of what you'd done from everyone, including the military. Besides, I thought you were dead."

Forty years of anger overwhelmed whatever caution Frank Wilson had left.

"Bull!" he screamed, and started walking toward David, the gun aimed right at his face.

But David didn't move—didn't even back up. Instead, he extended his arms to his sides, and for a moment it looked to Frank as if David was offering himself up for crucifixion.

"So … you're going to shoot me again, are you, brother?"

Frank stumbled. "What the hell do you mean … again?"

David stared at him without moving, unflinching beneath the onslaught of the storm and the dark, ominous barrel of the gun in his brother's hand.

"You shot first, you sanctimonious bastard," David said. "The gunrunner's money was worth more to you than I was, remember?"

Frank's heart skipped a beat. His gut started to burn.

"Shut up," he yelled. "Just shut up and say your prayers."

"I've already said them earlier today," David said. "Don't you remember?"

"Yeah, I saw you playing Boy Scout for that old man," Frank yelled. "You cared more for him than you did for me. I had a good thing going there in Nam and you screwed it up. We would have both been set for life when the war was over. But no, you had to play Boy Scout then, too, didn't you?"

Anger pushed back at David, and he started to talk, raising his voice with every word until at the end he was shouting at Frank through the rain.

"You were selling our guns to the enemy, Frank. How do you justify that in your sleep? How many ghosts haunt your dreams every night? How many men did you put on this wall?"

Frank shook his head. "You're changing the subject. Stop changing the subject!"

"No," David shouted. "You
are
the subject. Your whole life has been selfish. No one ever mattered to you. No one ever counted but you. You've spent the last twelve months trying to bring me down, and still you couldn't do it. You didn't give a damn that you were ruining good people's lives, or that you had put our entire country in jeopardy. All you wanted was revenge. But it's not going to happen. It's over, Frank. Even if you kill me, you're finished. You'll never get away."

Frank blinked, suddenly aware that his brother might not have come alone, after all. He glanced over David's shoulder into the darkness, waiting for the shadows to move. Desperate to get this over with, he took aim again.

"I will get away, just like I've always done." Then he smiled.

David hid a shudder when the scars on Frank's face twisted the smile into a demonic grimace.

But Frank didn't give a damn about how he looked and he wasn't through turning the knife in his brother's heart. If David loved Cara Justice as much as Frank thought he did, his little trump card would drive David insane. The idea was good. He wouldn't wait any longer to lay it down.

"She's pretty, you know. You always did have good taste in women."

David's mind went blank. He couldn't think past the gut-wrenching fear and the smile on Frank's face.

"She's even pretty when she sleeps," Frank continued, and then laughed, a low, cunning chuckle that made David's flesh crawl.

Oh, God. Oh, Cara
. "What the hell have you done?"

Frank's smile grew wider. The fear on David's face was what he'd been needing. Now he was back in control.

"Done? Why, nothing you wouldn't have done in my place," he said.

David flinched, his mind racing.

"As for your daughter, she's a fine-looking woman, too. This is her gun, you know. Consider it justice that your child's possession will be the thing that ends your life."

Frank cocked the hammer on the pistol.

He never saw the knife David palmed until it was imbedded to the hilt in his chest. Oddly enough, there was no pain, only a rapidly spreading weakness. The gun slid from his fingers as he reached for the knife, trying to pull it out with both hands. Instead, his legs went out from under him and he fell backward and face up in the rain, his thoughts scattering as quickly as the blood ran out of his body.

This isn't fair. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

David bolted, grabbing Frank by the shoulders and shaking him where he lay, the fear inside him so great, he could barely make himself heard.

"What did you do to Cara! Tell me, you son of a bitch. If you hurt her, I swear to God I'll follow you to hell."

Frank's eyes rolled back in his head. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell what he'd done, but words were beyond him. He sighed, and the sound came out in bloody bubbles. Like most of his life, it was a wasted effort as he died in David's hands.

David rocked on his knees and lifted his face to the storm.

"No!" he raged, and then pushed himself upright, fumbling in his pocket for a phone then punching in a quick code.

Seconds later, a voice answered. David's orders were painfully brief.

"This is Jonah. I need a cleanup crew at the Vietnam Memorial and I need it now."

"Yes, sir! In less than five."

David disconnected, then quickly dialed Cara's number.

It rang.

And it rang.

It rang while his heart began to shrivel.

It rang as he watched Frank's blood going down the drain with the rain.

It rang when he picked up Bethany's gun and put it in his belt.

It rang as he turned his face to the wall and wanted to die.

He disconnected, then took a slow, sickening breath and dialed another number, unable to even pray.

It rang twice.

On the third ring, Bethany answered.

"Hello?"

The startled sound of her voice was a blessing. He took a deep breath and tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Bethany."

He heard a hesitation, and then a catch in her voice.

"Daddy … is that you?"

Suddenly blinded by more than the rain, he staggered away into the darkness, his chest swelling with a pain he couldn't ignore.

"Yes … it's me … your mother … I can't—"

"She's here," Bethany cried, and he heard her calling Cara's name, then she returned to the phone. "Someone broke into our home and injured my husband, Tom. He's in the hospital. It's only a mild concussion but they wanted him to stay. Mother's been here with the children so I could be with him during the day."

Ah, God … she was alive. They were both alive.

He started to cry, hot, burning tears that tore up his throat, leaving him both mute and blind.

"Are you coming home soon?" Bethany asked, unaware her voice had taken on the tone of a hesitant child.

He looked behind him and moved deeper into the shadows. Some of his agents were arriving on the scene. He was still struggling to be able to speak.

"Yes … I'll be home soon."

"I can't wait," Bethany said, and then she added, "Mother wouldn't tell me anything about where you've been. She said it was your story to tell." Then she added quickly, "Mother's here now. I'm glad you called."

"So am I," he said gruffly, then held his breath, waiting for the sound of Cara's voice.

"David?"

He felt weak. Just his name on her lips was all he needed to hear—to know that it was going to be all right after all.

"Yes, baby, it's me."

He heard a catch in her breath and then she whispered, as if she didn't want Bethany to hear.

"Is it over?"

He closed his eyes, wondering if the nightmares would ever go away.

"Yes, it's over."

"Are you all right? I was so worried."

"I was worried about you, too," he said softly. "Bethany said someone broke into her house. Do they know who it was?"

"Not a clue," Cara said. "We've been afraid to close our eyes for fear he would come back."

David hesitated, but leaving them in fear was unthinkable, especially when he knew all the answers.

"Tell her not to worry anymore. He won't be back."

"I don't understand," Cara said. "How could you possibly—"

He heard her gasp, then he heard a soft moan.

"David … my God … are you saying that it was—"

"He said you were beautiful when you slept."

There was a long, startled silence. He couldn't see, but he knew then that she was probably crying.

"He was here?"

"Is Tom missing his gun?"

"Yes."

"I think I have it. I'll bring it back when I come."

"Oh, my God."

"He didn't touch you? He didn't hurt you in any way?" David asked.

"No, my God, no! My security alarm didn't go off or anything."

"Have an electrician look at it tomorrow … or rather today," he said. "It was probably bypassed."

"I will. I will." Then she lowered her voice again, only this time not in fear. "When are you coming home?"

He almost managed to smile. "Soon, baby. Soon."

"You're not in any kind of trouble or anything … I mean because of—"

"No."

"You're sure?"

This time he did smile. "I'm sure. I have … clearance … for this kind of thing."

The hesitation was longer this time before she answered, and he knew she was absorbing the fact that the man she loved had a license to kill.

"David?"

"Yes."

"I love you very much."

He closed his eyes as the last of his anger washed away with the rain. She made this all worthwhile.

"I love you, too," he said softly. "Have you been picking out that wedding date like I asked you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're part of this act, so we're going to do it together. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's okay."

"David?"

"Yes, baby?"

"I'm so sorry."

He looked back at the Wall. There was no one in sight. Nothing to prove that he or Frank Wilson had ever been there at all. And even if someone had seen what had happened, it wouldn't have really mattered. A man can't die twice. And Frank's name was already on the Wall.

"Yes, Cara … so am I."

* * *

It was after four in the morning when David walked into his hotel room, hanging the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob as he went. He walked straight to the bathroom, leaving behind a trail of water from his clothes. The moment he was inside, he began stripping them off, leaving them in a sodden pile on the floor as he got in the shower.

It might have seemed odd for a man who'd been so wet for so long to feel the need to wash, but he felt tainted to the soul by all that had transpired. The only saving grace had been in knowing that Frank would never be able to threaten or harm anyone again.

Bracing himself against the walls, David leaned into the spray, lifting his face and then bowing his head to the power of the jets. He stood that way for what seemed like an eternity before he reached for shampoo. Methodically pouring a dollop of the creamy liquid into his hand, he worked it into his hair and rinsed, then picked up the soap bar and did the same for the rest of his body. He scrubbed until his skin was tingling and the bar had dissolved. Weary in body and heart, he crawled out of the shower and grabbed a towel from the rack, halfheartedly drying as he went. With a bone-deep groan, he collapsed facedown in the middle of the bed and closed his eyes.