Perspectives, An Intriguing Tale of an American Born Terrorist (5 page)

On the ride home from the hospital, Jonathan asked Mary to stop at the cemetery so he could see where his son Matthew was buried. Mary and he had not talked about Matthew since Jonathan first awoke and the sound of Matthew’s name pulled at the band aid that was barely covering the wound. The cemetery was in Fairfax, just east of George Mason University, nestled among rolling hills. It was surrounded by a 6 foot black wrought iron fence. Jonathan swung open the gate so that Mary could drive them on the well kept gravel road to the place where Matthew lay. Mary pulled off the main road to a grassy patch and pointed to Matthew’s resting site. “It’s nothing real elaborate, but I did the best I could. If you don’t mind, I’m going to wait here.”

“I understand,” returned Jonathan solemnly.

Carly seemed oblivious to Jonathan leaving, sitting in the back seat in her own make-believe world playing quietly with Bruiser. Jonathan accepted the fact that Mary was not ready for any shared emotional intimacy. He walked toward the single large granite stone and saw that Mary had purchased a cemetery plot large enough for the 4 of them and one large stone with space for 4 epitaphs, with only one inscribed. The well manicured plot was covered with flowers and there was a Tonka dump truck and a Batman toy sitting on top of the grave stone. Jonathan recognized them as being Matthew’s favorites and knew that Carly had placed them there. His heart melted when he read the inscription Mary had dictated, meant as her last words to her only son:
Matthew T. Anderson 2009 – 2012 Fly with the eagles, soar with the angels, we will always love and remember you
. Jonathan pictured his little boy in a wooden box under the cold ground. “Why couldn’t it have been me!” his mind yelled. He stood alone and cried until the weight of reality pushed him to his knees and then prostrate on the ground. “How could I have been so stupid!” he screamed. As he lay face down on the ground, he heard the car door slam, then footsteps and then a hand rubbing his back. He used the palm of his right hand to wipe away the tears and pushed himself back to his knees. Carly was kneeling beside him, staring at him trying to interpret his grief. Bruiser was dangling next to her.

Carly spoke with a very even voice,

“Bruiser doesn’t want you to cry Daddy.”

“I’m sorry sweetie, I’m just very sad.”

“Mommy says that Matthew is in heaven, but I watched them put him down there. How can he be in heaven if he’s down there?”

Jonathan grabbed her and squeezed her.

“I love you Carly,” he said.

She started to cry, “Mommy says we’re all going to be put down there beside Matthew. I’m afraid, daddy. I don’t want to be put in the ground.”

“Sweetie, it was a horrible thing that happened to your brother. I’m here for you now and I’m going to make sure that you grow up to be a mommy and have children and live a long, long time.”

“Why didn’t you save Matthew?”

Jonathan weighed his reply, “I would have but he was too far away and I couldn’t reach him.”

“What if I’m too far away?”

“Do you see how close you’re keeping Bruiser to you? From now on, that’s how close I’m going to keep you to me.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. She looked down at Bruiser and seemed to understand.

“Will we see Matthew again?”

“I don’t know, honey. I hope so.”

She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “Don’t cry anymore Daddy, me and Bruiser will take care of you, too.”

When his tears were spent, his emotion slowly turned to a fiery rage for the killers, the CIA for placing him in this position, and himself for bringing such a horrible tragedy to his family. Jonathan picked up his little girl and put her back in the car. Mary didn’t say a word the entire way home.

The next morning his eyes popped open at 2 a.m. and he lay staring at the broken shards of glass that had once been his perfect life. At 6 a.m., Mary began to stir.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“It’s bad isn’t it?”

“You don’t know.”

“Yes I do,” answered Mary throwing off the covers and sitting up in bed. “This happened to all of us you know.”

“Do you mind if I go see Bob today?”

“Why would I mind?”

“Just thought I’d check.”

“Don’t take Carly, okay. She’s getting way too much grown-up stuff thrown at her these days and you need to slow it down.”

“I think she’s getting better.”

“Just don’t use her as your therapy buddy, okay. She’s only 7 years old.”

“I’ll go now before she wakes up.”

He threw on a pair of jeans and t-shirt, walked to the front of the house, and quietly opened the door. He turned to see Carly standing behind him with her thumb in her mouth, holding Bruiser. She stared at him waiting for an explanation.

“I’ve got to go out for a little while, sweetie.”

The explanation wasn’t good enough, so she continued to stare. He was about to go into more detail when Mary came up behind her and lifted her up. “What do you want for breakfast, sweetheart?” she asked.

Carly wriggled out of Mary’s arms and ran to him. Frustrated, Mary turned and walked away. Carly reached out her hands, “Don’t go, Daddy!”

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want you to be too far away.”

“I won’t be sweetie.” He stopped, remembering something that was important. “Oh I almost forgot, I bought you a present.”

Carly started jumping up and down.

Jonathan pulled a gold chain with a small locket out of his pocket and gently strung it around her neck. “Now this is a very special locket, do you know why?”

She shook her head no.

“Well, it has a little button on it that you can push if you ever feel that someone is going to hurt you.”

“Do you mean like when we ran in the building?”

“Yes.”

“And if I press it, you will come and get me.”

“I’ll run as fast as I can,” answered Jonathan. “But you can only push it if you are in real trouble, do you understand? Remember the story of the boy who cried wolf?”

Carly nodded, “Only big trouble, right?” “Only big trouble.”

“But Daddy, how will you know?”

Jonathan unbuttoned his shirt and showed a chain and a similar locket around his neck. “Squeeze your locket.”

Her little hand made a fist around her locket. Immediately, Jonathan’s locket started to vibrate. Carly started to giggle.

“Do you see how, sweetie?”

“I love you Daddy.”

Jonathan walked down his concrete driveway until he came to the 2 agents who had the night watch. They waited by the curb in 2 black Suburbans. He walked up to the first vehicle and rapped on the driver’s window. The smoke glass window came down, revealing his buddy Ed.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“You have to sleep out here?” Jonathan asked.

“Nope, can’t sleep, we’re on duty.”

“Well, I hope that you aren’t pissing in my bushes.”

Ed laughed, “Got to go somewhere. You should be thankful that we keep all these parasites away from you.”

“Can you do me a favor? Take me to Arlington to pay my last respects to Bob.”

“Sure, hop in.”

When he stepped out of the car at Arlington National Cemetery, he noticed the morning sun was breaking through the trees making surreal images that danced among the graves of the noblest of Americans. As he stood before Bob’s grave, there were no other feelings but rage. As a friend he had failed, otherwise Bob would still be alive. The anger inside him reached the point that he felt he had to do something, anything, soon to avenge Bob and Matthew’s blood. If not he would explode! Every waking moment there was a new realization of what had been taken from him. Except for Mary and Carly, the explosion had stripped everything in his life that had meaning. And even they were now damaged goods. Like the other simple memorials there was no inscription on Bob’s grave other than name and the dates of his birth and death. He lay dignified with the countless others that had given their lives for this country. “You actually got off easy buddy,” he said. “You’re a hero, fulfilled your mission.” He laughed and then said sarcastically, “I’m the poor son of a bitch left to figure this whole thing out.” Jonathan looked around, “You belong here. Must be one helluva a party you’re having with all those other heroes down there? I hope they like your stories. “Tell them the one about the woman’s shoe.” Jonathan laughed out loud and then for some odd reason began telling Bob’s favorite story out loud.

“
My brother and I were out whoring one night and we had 2 girls in the back of his car. The next night we were taking our wives out to a formal meal and I was riding in the back seat of the car with my first wife, Nancy. The girls were all slicked up and it was a beautiful West Virginia summer evening. Johnny my brother had the sun roof open. I looked down on the floor and to my horror there was one of the hooker’s shoes. Shit, I thought, if Nancy sees this we’ll both be up shit creek without a paddle. ‘Hey honey look where they’re building those new tract homes,’ I said pointing in the direction of new construction across the street. When she turned and looked, with one fluid motion, I tossed the shoe out the sunroof. ‘Where she asked?’ Over there, I repeated. A few miles down the road she started looking frantically on the floorboard. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘I can’t believe this, but I’ve lost one of my shoes!’ Instantly, I replied, ‘How can you lose a shoe between our house and here? We’ve only been gone 10 minutes and you’ve lost a shoe? Johnny, we have to go back. Shit for brains back here has lost one of her shoes.’ When he turned the car around and headed back, I was terrified by the thought that her shoe would be lying in the middle of the road. It would be a difficult explanation. Thank Jesus, it wasn’t.”

Jonathan laughed out loud, “I must have heard that story a hundred times.”

He then thought about himself and realized that he would never be buried here. A mixture of feelings now swam in his head, all coming with an immense amount of shame.

Following CIA protocol and a detailed set of instructions for a discovered covert agent, the Andersons changed their home and cell phone numbers and refused to talk with the press even though they followed them everywhere taking pictures and baiting them with questions that were most infuriating. Everyone, including Carly, became efficient at saying “no comment.” All the popular news and morning shows requested appearances and even 60 Minutes called for comments on a story they were doing on a “whistle blower” who had CIA letters that showed suspicions of an attack on the Federal building 6 months before it occurred. The letters were neatly tucked away and never acted upon. Once again Jonathan politely declined comment and refused to watch the show saying that it was “liberal and unpatriotic.” As Mary sat glued to the set urging him to come watch, he played in another room with Carly. Afterwards, he didn’t want to talk about it.

“They knew,” said Mary. “They knew all about it and they did nothing! Jonathan, they had details that the building was a target. One of the letters was signed by senior CIA executives! How could they just dismiss it all? In April the CIA had reasonable cause, and the letter used those very words, to believe that the
Blue Heron
program had been compromised. So what do they do? They let terrorists plant explosives throughout the building. This whole thing doesn’t make any sense at all! It had to be an inside job. Jonathan, are you listening to me? You need to watch that show. Someone on the inside did this.”

Jonathan just sat quietly.

Mary became annoyed, “I taped it for you if you want to watch it later!” she said as she stormed off. Then she remembered and stuck her head back in the door. “Oh yeah, you were mentioned. They said you declined comment. I was really worried that your name would be in one of those letters, but it wasn’t.”

“Mary I told you everything I know.”

Mary stared at him waiting to see if there was anything more he would say, but he didn’t. “Well they sure as hell didn’t tell you everything!”

The Andersons spent a good portion of their days dodging the press. And even though the security goons from the agency tried to shoo them away, like biting flies or mosquitoes they always found an angle to attack their private lives with their long range camera lenses. The pictures appeared in “nasty” and untrue articles in supermarket tabloids.

“How do celebrities stand living this way?” Mary asked after picking up
The Globe
at the local Winn Dixie and seeing a picture of Jonathan holding a crying Carly. The caption read:
US hero accused of abusing 7 year old daughter
.

“It’s all garbage,” answered Jonathan.

“I know, but people are reading it. My mother is reading this shit.”

“The people we care about know it’s not true. And the others, they’re going to believe the worst anyway. That’s what their pathetic lives are all about, feasting on the problems of others, even if they’re not true.”

“I can’t stand it! I want it to just go away.”

“Me too,” answered Jonathan.

“Do you think we can ever get back to feeling normal again?”

“I’m not sure,” said Jonathan.

Now that Carly had started school, Jonathan’s days had become terribly boring. He had therapy three times a week and pounded out the stress by running 5 miles a day on a treadmill they had in the basement. He spent the majority of his time in his quiet little office, a converted bedroom in the upstairs rear of the house that contained the remnants of his now shattered life. It was fixed up nicely with a built in desk and shelves. The office was extremely neat and his desk perfectly clean and empty except for his high powered Hewlett Packard engineering computer. The walls were plastered with all the most important accomplishments of his life. He looked proudly at all the memorabilia from his distinguished Naval Academy, PhD and CIA careers. He focused on his diploma from the Academy, probably one of the most difficult, but rewarding, accomplishments in his life. Next to that was a picture of him in full uniform standing proudly with George Bush, the former President wearing a leather Blue Angel jacket that Jonathan had presented him. And then there were the photos and posters of all the airplanes he loved. The Naval Academy had been the beginning of his lifelong dream to fly supersonic jets, and flying seat #1 for the Blue Angels was his crowning achievement. Through air shows and demonstrations, he was considered one of the foremost F-18 authorities and pilots in the world. “What an airplane,” he thought as he looked at a picture of the team performing in perfect formation. “I wish I had access to one right now, so I could blast into the stratosphere, do a few rolls and just get away from all this pain.” He closed his eyes and remembered the agility and power of the F-18. He could almost feel the twin F100-PW-100 turbine engines that put out 12400 pounds of thrust, and over 23000 pounds of thrust with the afterburners, allowing him to go 2.5 times the speed of sound and perform vertical ascents that would take him to the borders of outer space. He thought of how the F-18 and especially the Blue Angels were always the main draw at air shows. He missed the exhilaration and comradery and thought about calling a few of his old friends, but knew that he would be compromising protocol.