Authors: Anthony Tata
“
Can we not dream of another life far away from here?”
“
And leave our families like cowards?”
“
No, we can get our families, if you insist. I will say you were killed on the boat, lost at sea along with your money, and then I will go back, to be beaten assuredly, but you can fly, get there first, get your family and move quickly, maybe even get my family. Take $250,000 and leave it for Rahman.”
“
Your plan is full of holes. Mullah Rahman is too smart for these games. You know he keeps guards on our families until we return,” Kamil said.
Mansur could see that Kamil was not going to participate in his scheme and so reluctantly shifted gears.
“
I bought something else in the market when you were speaking with the ship captain,” Mansur said.
He brandished a small knife, wickedly sharp, that he thrust into his friends abdomen before either of them had a chance to think about it. He pulled his friend close and whispered, “Since you won’t join me in a new life, I will send you to another.”
Ratcheting the knife up toward his sternum, Mansur felt Kamil’s weakened grip attempt to push him away, but it wasn’t enough.
“
Traitor,” Kamil whispered, a bubble of blood aspirating out of his mouth.
Mansur dragged Kamil’s body to the back of the warehouse, which opened to a pier. In the dark of the night, he wrapped loose chains around Kamil’s body, secured them with his belt, and retrieved his bag of money before dumping Kamil to the bottom of the Baba Channel where the ebb would certainly drag him into the Arabian Sea.
Cleaning up, Mansur took the full million dollars and improvised a new plan.
Northwest Frontier Province, Pakistan
Sunday
Zachary Garrett looked up at his captor’s thin, evil grin baring rotten teeth. In the dim light of the adobe hut, Zachary could see the man’s long beard and traditional head dressing. He was pushing a bottle of water toward him.
“
Drink.” The word came out, “dink.”
Zach lifted a heavy arm and took the water, twisted the cap with a bruised hand, and gladly poured the entire contents down his throat. He could feel the liquid burning cold throughout his upper torso. He was dehydrated.
“
More?”
The man laughed. Though Zach thought it was doubtful if the terrorist understood English, he believed that the man understood his gesture. Regardless, the captor pulled a pair of flexible handcuffs from his robe and quickly zipped Zach’s hands together behind his back. Zach tugged at his hands, straining his shoulders. He silently wished that the Al Qaeda operative had known that the front position for the zip cuffs was preferred because men could relieve themselves without assistance, among other things.
“
Stay.” The man pushed a large olive hand toward Zach’s face as if he were a cop indicating for traffic to stop.
Zach watched him disappear beyond a small opening, and then began to survey his surroundings. He was lying on a dirt floor in an enclosed room, save the opening through which his captor had just departed. He determined that the structure was typical of the Afghan and Pakistani people, caked mud walls that had hardened over centuries of sun and rain and constant repair. Through his time in Afghanistan, he had learned that the adobe structure was as strong as any rebar-reinforced concrete building.
He faintly recalled the tunnel complex as he tried to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. There was a man that called himself the Scientist who had been forcing him to kneel in front of . . . bin Laden? He had heard distant explosions and then lost consciousness. How long he had been unconscious he didn’t know. A day, maybe two? Then he awoke in this place.
He was still wearing his army combat uniform. Thankfully, he had two layers of polypro underwear. He was surprised his captors had not stripped him. It was the only thing keeping him from freezing to death. May in the Hindu Kush Mountains could sometimes bring forth a beautiful spring that would pull forth the grapes in the vineyards and the apples from the orchards scattered through the valleys. More often than not, though, the long reach of a reluctantly departing winter would sweep its frigid hand through the higher altitudes. The temperature was probably close to thirty degrees. Inside the adobe home, it was more like forty, maybe. At least he was out of the wind.
He laid his head against the hard floor, trying his best to find a position that wasn’t supremely uncomfortable. Finally, he decided that the best thing he could do was to lie flat on his stomach, removing the weight from his shoulders. As he nestled into the floor, he felt the searing pain of the knife cut to his neck and the two bullet wounds to his legs that he had suffered when he was rescuing Jergens.
Jergens. The rest of his men. What had happened to them? On the landing zone the last thing he remembered was a wild-eyed man leaping over him onto the ramp of the MH-47. Then everything had gone blank.
He felt his face grow cold against the bare floor as he shifted. He wanted to pray. He wanted to be able to place his hands together and pray to God for his men, that they were okay, that they had made it back to the base safely. He also thought of his brother, Matt, and Riley, his soul mate. Were they aware that he was alive? Were they suffering believing he was dead? Was anyone looking for him or was he presumed dead?
He did the best he could do and laced his fingers behind his back. He went deep into that place in his mind he had carved out long ago, before this or the Ballantine mission or any of the tight spots he had encountered. His silent prayer floated from his mind like a leaf blowing in the autumn wind.
Then, landing like a feather atop a gentle stream, the prayer carried on.
Charlotte, NORTH CAROLINA
Sunday Evening
Riley Dwyer looked at herself with a mixture of despair and amusement in the mirror of the master bathroom of her Dilworth home. The house was just off Tryon Street in a swank row, maybe about a mile from her Charlotte office. The location was ideal, especially for a single woman. Tryon Estates was near all the trendy eateries, and Southpark Mall was twenty minutes away.
“
You’re getting old, Dwyer.” She ran two slender hands along smooth cheeks, noticed her freckles, as prominent as ever, and sighed. She was being dramatic. She knew deep inside that she was pretty by even modest standards; most men considered her beautiful. Her mid-thirties were agreeing with her from a health standpoint, but these last few days were impossibly difficult.
She grabbed a scrunchie, knotted her thick hair into a ponytail, and then leaned over to tighten up her running shoes. Though it was getting dark, she really needed to burn some energy to clear her mind. There was still no word on Zach’s funeral. No one seemed to know where Matt was, so she had called Karen, his sister. She was equally unaware of Matt’s location or when Zach’s remains would be ready for the family. She hated that word “remains.” It begged the question, how much of him was really left?
She shuddered as she visualized the helicopter exploding and burning, imagining the fear and terror he must have felt along with that of his men. Where do we find such heroes, she wondered? So many men lost, so many families torn apart, so few who truly understand the sacrifice. She didn’t pretend to know the trials of a soldier, though she understood full well the anxiety of loving one.
Riley walked into her foyer, where she paused in front of her small print replica of Thomas Cole’s
Voyage of Life
. She had all four paintings, arrayed from childhood to youth to adulthood to old age. She pondered her own life, visualizing herself in the boat with the broken till about to tip nose first into the rapids spiked with knife-edged rocks.
She sat down on the padded hall bench beneath the painting, wondering if she had the energy. Beneath the Cole print was a photo of her and Zach hiking in the low mountains near Lake Jocassee, South Carolina. She was wearing a funny gray Clemson sweatshirt that said, “Athletic Department—Yeah, right!” He was wearing his signature blue-and-orange University of Virginia hooded pullover.
She remembered that Zach had placed the camera on a rock, set the timer, and run toward her. The flash caught them laughing as he nearly knocked them both over the ledge. Behind them the world fell away to the east, toward Charlotte, and what she saw in the photo was two people as happy as they had ever been.
That was their first weekend together. Zach had rented a small, Spartan cabin in Jocassee after nervously asking her out. They had been on many dates for dinner and a movie, concerts in Charlotte, and any variety of other entertaining venues. Some of these dates were squeezed in after he had made an attempt to visit Amanda. That weekend had served, now that she really thought about it, as the turning point for Zach, where he decided to give Amanda her space; not to let go, but to maintain a respectful distance with a watchful eye.
Once they had returned from the hike, Zach and she had prepared a meal together in the kitchenette of the small cottage. He’d opened a bottle of dry white wine and they drank while they broke hard spaghetti and tossed it into the boiling pot.
“
Hard to screw this up,” she’d said.
“
Watch me.” Zach smiled.
“
Oh, I can do that all day long.” She winked at him.
“
That’s about how long this spaghetti needs to cook, right?”
“
Uh, yeah, right, mister chef.”
She leaned into him and smelled the fresh outdoor air on his sweatshirt. Holding her wineglass in one hand, she slipped her arm around him as he wrapped her up with his arms. Nuzzling into his neck, feeling the wine giving her a bit of courage, she lightly kissed behind his ear and whispered, “We can burn a little bit of energy first, if you’d like.”
He reached over and placed his wineglass on the countertop and pulled her face to his, both of his hands framing her cheeks. Pressing his lips to hers, he ran his hands through her knotted, flowing hair all the way down to her back. He gently pulled her closer. Moving away briefly, he looked into her eyes so deeply that she wondered how they could have waited so long for this to happen. However, she knew that their relationship needed to develop at its own pace, and this moment was the perfect one.
Looking into his eyes, she registered that there was a purity mixed into those green irises that would not betray her . . . or anyone. Her thin hands pulled at his sweatshirt, lifting it over his head, revealing a white T-shirt that was a bit damp with the cool remnants of sweat. She had that off in record time as well.
Somehow they had managed to find the bed as they walked, kissed, groped, and discarded clothing, leaving a trail the same way a novice skier attempting a double diamond run marks his fall with a hundred-meter-long yard sale.
“
I only want to do this if you’re ready, Riley,” Zach said, pulling away for a moment.
She looked at him with a fixed stare. “Ready? Zach, I’ve been ready for you for the last year. The question is, are you ready?”
Without answering, he began kissing her softly on the lips, moving to her neck, then to her shoulder, and back to her neck. He whispered, “What do you think?”
She looked into his eyes and then down below his waist and smiled. “Can’t be any more ready than that.”
Two hours later, the spaghetti was a dried heap at the bottom of the pot.
“
Told you I’d destroy the chow.”
“
Well, I’m letting you cook all the time,” she chuckled. She wrapped her bare leg across his and pulled herself on top of him about three quarters of the way. She smiled at the confirmation of his tenderness. While strong and powerful, he was loving and gentle. She propped her chin on his chest and looked into his face.
“
Thinking?” she asked.
“
I’m thinking we fit together pretty good there, Riles.”
“
No question about that.”
“
I’m also thinking that you’re the smartest woman I know. You’ve given me time and space to deal with Amanda while at the same time loving me and supporting me. I mean, wow, it just dawned on me how much I love you.”
“
You’re totally worth it. Every bit of it,” she whispered.
“
Hey, come here.” He pulled her on top of him completely. “I know another way we fit together.”
“
Oh, my, so you do.”
Riley totally gave herself to him, handed him her heart as they softly loved each other that night.
“
Promise you won’t break my heart,” she whispered.
“
Never.”
Riley snapped out
of her flashback with a jolt.
“
Never,” she whispered to herself.
Yes, she needed to go for a good, long run. Moving the endorphins through the human circulatory system was a proven technique for stimulating brain activity, releasing stress, and reducing lactic acid buildup. She tucked her house key into the Velcro pouch on her running shorts and leaned against her front door to stretch each of her calf muscles. Then, swinging the door open, Riley found herself staring into the distorted face of Amanda Garrett.