Second Chances (40 page)

“What’s wrong?” Miles eyed Gideon warily. Although they’d spent hours in the cockpit together during the seaplane flight, and then Gideon had donated his blood to Gil to help the man get through the surgery, Miles really didn’t know much about the man. Only that he worked for Eidolon and seemed to think guns were the solution to everything.

“I come in peace, oh Great White Chief...” Gideon intoned. He chuckled and held out the bottle. “I bring fire-water... Actually,” he dropped the humorous front “I was looking for a chat, and someone to share a drink with?”

Miles raised his eyebrows. The man had at least four bodyguards at his beck and call, plus who knows how many other people on the island by now. The seaplane had done plenty more trips since their arrival. “What? You didn’t want to share it with Ms Pierce?”

Gideon had to laugh at that. “Ms Eidolon might think she’s some kind of...” he paused.
What the hell does she think she is?
He sighed. “Not sure what she thinks she is really, but whatever it is, she’s the last person I would want to share this with.”

“I can relate to that. A first class bitch if ever I saw one. What have you brought with you then? Some Johnny Walker Gold Label I hope?”

“How does twenty-five year old single malt sound, old man?”

The ‘old man’ jibe stung for a second until Miles suddenly remembered the guy was a Brit. Most of the time Gideon’s accent seemed non-existent, but he’d lapsed into his more natural speaking voice when he’d made that remark. Miles could just picture him in a pub in Camden Town, downing a few pints of Guinness before heading off to the soccer. “Anything would be better than Lipton and out-of-date instant coffee. Did you bring anything to drink it out of, or should I fetch some medicine glasses?”

“Alas, the butler didn’t pack the cut crystal. Wouldn’t have survived the journey.” Shit, if they went up to the hospital, he’d lose his chance to speak to the Doc alone. “We can always share.” Gideon opened the bottle and held it toward Miles. It wasn’t the right way to drink the good stuff, but it would have to do.

The rounded sides of the inflatable made a comfortable perch as they sat side by side and passed the bottle back and forth in silence for a few minutes.

“Ah, that was worth waiting for.” Gideon let the liquid burn a trail to his stomach, allowing him some time to consider the man beside him.

“Somehow, I don’t get the feeling you came all this way just to share your whisky with me, excellent though it may be.” Miles reluctantly passed the bottle back and wiped his lips. Since giving up the grog in an effort to lose weight he’d almost forgotten how good it tasted. “What’s on your mind?”

“First, how’s Gillespie doing? We’ve not been in touch since.”

“He’s doing fine.... “ Miles’ eyes lost focus for a moment, and Gideon saw what could be a slight flush rising to the doctor’s cheeks, a slight darkening of his flesh in the moonlight, but Miles shook himself and finally gave his report. “I’m satisfied with his progress. He’s back on his feet anyway.”

“Good, that’s very good. Look, there
was
another reason I came here...” Gideon took the bottle back again and sipped it. “I have something I want to...discuss with you. We didn’t get much chance to talk when you were dealing with Gillespie. I read your file after...”

Miles stiffened; the warm whisky in his stomach immediately turning into molten lava.
Shit, was his ulcer flaring up again?
“And...” He couldn’t prevent the anger from seeping into that single drawn out word. Pierce had made a crack back in Haven Falls about his
failure
in Somalia. Yes, he’d failed. Failed to be strong enough for Darren’s sake. Was this man going to rub his nose in it yet again?

“My apologies if it makes you uncomfortable.” Gideon noted the tense line of Miles’ jaw, the rigidity in his body, the wariness in the dark eyes. That had hit a nerve. More than one, to go by the reaction. “You should know, I’ve read
everything
Eidolon has on
all
of you.”

Miles snorted. “What they have on me will hardly be a secret. The press didn’t get all the details, but from the looks of things Eidolon seems to be able to prise their tentacles into every hidden crevice.” He refused the bottle the next time Gideon offered it to him. His liver had already had enough, and he wasn’t sure he could stomach any more reminders of Eidolon or any of its employees. He pushed down on the edge of the boat and started to stand.

“Miles, I know you have no reason to trust me, but don’t go. I’m not here at Eidolon’s behest. I’m here because...” Gideon sighed. “I’ve been in your position. I understand...”

“How can you understand?” In the silence, Miles’ response, unnaturally loud in the quiet, sounded more like a shout. He walked a few steps along the sand and stared across the water at Mystery Island, barely able to keep a check on the anger that made him want to lash out sometimes.  “Have you ever caused the death of the man you love?” He glanced at Gideon. “Or the woman?”

“If I said it wasn’t your fault, you’d not believe me. Would you?”

“No. I’ve been told that many times lately, but nothing alters the facts. If I’d been stronger, he’d be alive today. Simple really.”

“Miles...” Gideon paused, flexed his shoulders and winced. “Damn...My shoulder has been playing up...” He chuckled. “Think I might need a doctor. Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to help me though.”

“Bullshit.” The implication that he might withhold treatment because of who Gideon worked for actually made Miles madder than any implication he’d made earlier... the half-joking jibe about age and his failures. “After a lifetime dealing with casualties from both sides of the battlefield, you think I’d refuse treating your injuries if you needed help? What’s wrong?”

“It’s an old injury; maybe nothing you can do at this late stage.”

A sudden memory flashed through Miles’ mind of his stand-off with Gil back at Haven Falls when the injured Jason Biggs had refused treatment.
Army shit.
Gideon had obviously seen action. Probably been wounded at least once. “One of the legacies of being soldier, I would imagine.” He turned back to contemplate the way the three-quarter moon shone on the ripples of the lagoon; the waves were smaller now the wind had dropped. “Comes with the territory,” he added softly. Hopefully Gideon wouldn’t detect the sarcasm in his voice. He found it hard to sympathise with people who believed that conflict could be cured with guns.

“Would you take a look anyway? In case?” Gideon stood and turned on the spotlight perched on the front of the boat’s awning, angling it to shine downwards.

“Do I get to undress you, or do you think I have X-ray vision?” Miles smirked at Gideon. He wasn’t bad looking in a blunt, macho way. Not really his type though. Nothing like Darren or even Gil who were just downright beautiful.

Gideon laughed at Miles’ comment. “That’s a leading question, doc, should I ask you what colour underwear I have on?” He stripped off his shirt. “Or even if I have any. Most folks assume I go commando.”

Miles gave a quick smirk at the joke and moved to stand behind Gideon, making sure his body didn’t cast a shadow. “What happened?” The skin on the soldier’s left shoulder was puckered. Ugly. Cheloid scarring had built up around the wound site. He twisted the man around slightly and looked at the opposite side. Gideon just caught his eye for a second and then stared straight ahead, probably remembering the incident that caused it: a small bullet wound, neat in comparison, only inches above his heart. Miles grunted in recognition. The one on the back was the exit wound. A high calibre bullet from the looks of things, the wound had healed untreated. The guy was lucky to be alive.

He fingered the rough skin for a minute. Why hadn’t the man tried some of the newer remedies, silicon strips and creams that would reduce scarring no matter how old it was? This was just what he could see though - the surface. Who knew what the tissue inside his shoulder was like. He twisted Gideon around further so he could see the rest of his back. Raised welts stood out. The guy had worn a black T-shirt on the plane and he hadn’t seen any of these, but their precise criss-crossing placement could only mean one thing.

Miles turned away and barely managed to resist throwing up the expensive whisky he’d just drunk. He retrieved the bottle from the seat where Gideon had placed it and unscrewed the lid. The large gulp helped to settle his stomach. Seemed like hair of the dog was working tonight.

Gideon reached for his shirt. “I’m sorry, Miles, but I wanted you to know. I’ve read your file, I know all about what happened to
you
. Now
you
know why I understand.”

“
Sorry?
That’s my line. No, I’m the one who should be apologising.” Miles shook his head and handed Gideon the bottle after taking another swig. “At least the bastard who did the same thing to me made sure he didn’t break the surface of my skin. You need someone to rub oil into those. There
are
ways to reduce the scarring.”

“You assume I want to.”

Miles glanced up, alerted by the change in Gideon’s voice. The softness he’d heard during the apology had been replaced by bitter certainty. He could relate to that. “Ah,” he sighed. “I think I’m beginning to understand. It’s not only the torture we have in common, more the need to remember.”

A bleak stare met Miles’ gaze. “Three of us were taken.” Gideon settled himself down on the edge of the craft again and pulled his shirt back on. “I was injured, but the others wouldn’t leave me. Sure, I got medical treatment, enough to make sure I survived. I can’t tell you much, official secrets crap. We weren’t officially there. Suffice to say, I’m ex-SBS. You’re an intelligent man; you can imagine what kind of missions I went on.” Gideon watched the doctor’s face as he spoke; a flash of something—disgust?—appeared and vanished almost instantly. “The men who were with me, we’d been in the regiment since training. I knew them both well; we were drinking buddies. Our captors thought they might get a better result by making us draw lots. I was the lucky one, if you can call it that. I got to live.”

Miles winced and returned to sit beside the still figure who was again clutching the bottle of whisky, but this time his knuckles were white with tension.
I got to live.
He knew just how that felt. The guilt, the remorse, wanting to turn time back or slip into an alternate version of the universe. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

“They threatened that unless I told them everything they wanted to know, they would shoot my
friends
. Of course, I didn’t tell them anything. The irony was I didn’t have much to tell, but I wouldn’t have, even so. So, in my case I got to see my colleagues executed in front of me.” Gideon glanced out across the lagoon again and took a hefty gulp of the whisky. He didn’t share with Miles how it felt to see someone’s brains blown out in front of him, specially someone he knew. They weren’t in an
I’ve seen worse than you
competition. His eyes lost their focus for a moment as he silently drank to the men he had known. It didn’t help to know that neither of his fellow soldiers had blamed him. He had, at least, shared a last glance with both of them. Their eyes had told him all he had needed to know.

The tragic story triggered memories Miles would rather forget, but it was good to be reminded he wasn’t alone. He waited while Gideon swallowed his whisky. He could tell that the man beside him was still deeply affected by the incident. Soldier or not, he was still a human being. The trouble with the world was too many people believed violence was the cure; in fact it was usually the cause of the problem.

Gideon turned and placed a hand on Miles arm. “Miles, when I said none of it was your fault, I meant it. My mates’ deaths were not my fault. I could have made something up, I could have lied. Maybe it would have worked, maybe it wouldn’t, but if our positions had been reversed, they would have done the same thing. ” Gideon expelled a gusty sigh and sat back, taking another pull on the bottle. It gave him a moment to think. “I know all the arguments, believe me. Why were we there? We had no business to be; it was their country, we were invaders, heard it all. Fact is, we were following orders. That’s what we signed up for; that’s what we trained for. War is like that, ugly, as you know. Point is, the fault lay with the men who chose to do that to us.
They
are to blame. The blood is on
their
hands. I might feel survivor’s guilt that I’m alive and my mates aren’t, but I didn’t pull the trigger. I have no guilt over what happened to me and neither should you. Fuck it, we were trained to deal with shit like that, you weren’t. I know how hard it was on me even with all my training. I keep these scars to remember how fucking short life is, not just to remember the people I served with.”

“And those physical scars don’t cause you pain? Stop you functioning at a hundred percent? Seems a bit stupid if they can be fixed.” Miles thumped his chest with a closed fist. “My scars are in here, and you can’t get at those.”

“You know, in the old days, if a soldier transgressed, he was flogged, and the transgression was done with...I know you’re not a soldier, but if you feel you fucked up...”

“I’ve tried that, doesn’t work, or are you offering to wield the whip? If you’ve read the report you must know I get turned on now by a bit of kink.” Miles knew he was being stroppy, but he didn’t care. Too many people were trying to ‘fix’ him; that was half the problem. “Look, mate, I appreciate what you’re trying to say. Rationally, I agree with you. Trouble is love ain’t rational.”