The Angel of Eden (22 page)

He threw down a long draft of wine. Again I was struck by how haggard he looked. He bent his head and kept his eyes on the table. “Officially, I'm listed as Duty Status Whereabouts Unknown. That's army speak for ‘We don't have any proof of what happened to him but we're pretty sure he's dead.' I engineered a rumor— that I'd been captured and tortured with my body dumped in an undisclosed location.”

I sat back. “Are you telling me you're a
deserter
?”

He raised his eyes to mine and I could see a spark of anger. “I'd sooner cut my arm off than do that.”

I felt awful about mistaking his words. “I drew the wrong conclusion, sorry.”

“How much you keep up with the war? Did you see the news about Fallujah?”

“We wasted the place, didn't we?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Bombed the shit right out of it. One of the people they were after was a key man, a Jordanian Sunni. The guy
hated the Shia and U.S. in equal measure. By last November he'd accumulated a lot of control and influence. Pretty much all of Fallujah went rogue. I was one of the few to get inside. We heard he might put in an appearance at a wedding. If we could take him out there, we might be able to avoid a bloodbath. But I guess romance trumps everything. Some locals saw it coming down the pipe and went ahead with the wedding anyway.”

Nick sighed. “I'd been able to set up good surveillance. Don't know whether he got wind of our plans or what but the main man didn't show up. My message back to command got crossed somehow—not hard under those conditions. They went in with white phosphorus. Wasn't expecting that. Usually it's deployed for a fire screen before a troop advance. That stuff is worse than napalm. Skin melts right off of people. Fries them. Everyone died.”

He was silent for a moment. “When I saw what happened … I felt like someone had just clawed my heart out of my chest.”

“Lord. That's brutal.”

“And on top of that, I was made. Marines saved my ass. It had to happen sometime. But you psyche yourself up pretending it won't. I couldn't go on after that. Beyond a couple of burns and a few slices on my arm I wasn't physically hurt but the doctors declared me emotionally unfit for my job. Just could not shake those bodies out of my mind. Still can't. That was four months ago. Off the record, I got extended leave and my commander let it be known I'd probably been killed in battle but they couldn't locate my remains. Enough time goes by, they're hoping I can get back in the race—but I don't think so. This horse can't run anymore.”

“That sounds like hell, Nick.”

He gave me a wan smile and picked up his glass again. “I'm currently hanging out in Istanbul under an assumed name. Nick Voss. Just call me Nick when we're around anyone so you don't
make a slip. I'm thinking about getting into corporate counter-intelligence. Good money there and I can officially leave the army in another six months. You got a job for me? I need wads of cash to buy that New York penthouse.”

I laughed, hoping it would ease the pain he was feeling. “I do have money; none of it mine, fortunately, so I can be generous.” I paused. “So what do you think? Can you get us into Iran and babysit us while we're there?”

“Oh yeah, piece of cake.” He grinned. “It will come as no surprise that Americans aren't exactly welcome there. But you're talking about the extreme northwestern end of the country—right? Close to the Turkish border?”

“Yes.”

“We'll see. Getting you into Tehran, I wouldn't try it. That location might be doable—just. Ethnic minorities mostly live in the area; they keep to themselves as much as possible, so that would help us. They don't live easily with the government.”

Nick glanced at the glowing embers in the oven fire, at the painted earthenware china atop the cupboard, at the owner humming to himself while he polished glasses. He saw nothing. You think you know someone, especially after what we'd been through. Still … people change. War changes them no matter what side they're on. It erodes your soul. At least that's what I believed.

After I'd paid the bill we stepped back into the narrow lane outside. “You carry on,” Nick said. “I have to go back to my car for something. I'll head over to the hotel later. And keep your eyes sharp. Can't swear those guys I saw were after you but it's better to assume the worst.”

I had to make my way along a network of short streets no wider than alleyways. After midnight, cold now, and lacking tourist traffic, the place was empty of people, many of the houses dark,
shops long shuttered up. Whether it was Nick's warning or my sixth sense, something felt wrong. I kept looking over my shoulder, envisioning those two men behind me.

A young woman with bobbed black hair and bright lipstick emerged from a cross street about thirty feet ahead. It was a relief to see someone else out and I unconsciously slowed my pace. She looked at me nervously and hesitated as I approached, probably afraid to encounter a strange man. I nodded as I passed her and said “Good evening,” hoping to reassure her.

“Yes it is—now,” she said in perfect English.

Thirty

S
he came at me with a knife, gripping it close to the top of its shaft. The blade sliced through my jacket arm; I heard the sleeve rip, felt the sting of its tip. I managed to twist away and started to run. Then I saw a heavyset man step from a recessed doorway just ahead. I was boxed in. I heard the woman rush at my back and did the only thing I could think of. Went into a feint, dropped to the ground, and bashed into her below her knees.

She catapulted over me and fell heavily, her jaw striking the pavement. I dodged her and whipped around to face the man. He began to yell—and then his voice cut off abruptly. Nick had him by the throat. A lightning quick movement of Nick's hands, a sickening twist of his neck, and the guy went soft at the knees and collapsed. He was out cold. The woman tried to sit up, blood flowing from her lips where her teeth had cut into the soft pulp of her mouth. The knife had landed a few feet away from her. I wrapped my hand in a plastic bag that lay on the cobblestones,
picked it up, and slipped it into my jacket pocket.

Nick felt in the guy's pockets, got his key fob, then grabbed him by the armpits and dragged him over to the side of the street. He shoved refuse containers away from the wall and wedged the body behind them. Then he jerked his head in my direction. “Put your arm around her. Pretend she's drunk or something.” The woman whimpered as I raised her, holding one hand to her ruined jaw. “Where's the car?” Nick barked at her.

She had difficulty making her mouth work and so pointed to the cross street she'd come from. The SUV sat about halfway down, partly blocking the short street. “Did Yersan send you?” I asked her. She mumbled something unintelligible and I repeated the question. Again she tried to answer, but her mouth was so damaged I couldn't make out what she said. Finally she raised her head and nodded.

We got her to the vehicle and wedged her in between us in the front. The woman held her head in her hands and moaned.

As Nick drove the SUV back to the intersection he told me to take off my jacket and stay beside her. He jumped out and half-lifted, half-slid, the guy's still unconscious form into the back. Then he threw his jacket and mine on top to conceal him as best he could.

When he got back behind the wheel I turned to him. “You didn't really have to get something from your car, did you.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Nope.”

“I thought you said you'd seen two
guys
.”

“She wasn't wearing lipstick at the time and she had on a hoodie.” He cracked a smile. “Don't rat on me. I'd never live it down.”

Minutes later he pulled up outside the stair leading to our hotel. “Get out, Madison. I'll take it from here.” He took out his pistol and trained it on the woman.

“What are you going to do with them?”

“They'll be well looked after, I can guarantee that.” The woman shrank away from him. “I'll be in touch,” he said. “Wait for me.”

I watched him rev the motor and drive away, praying I'd see him again and that we wouldn't end up in the hands of the Turkish police. I couldn't be sure that a window on the alley hadn't silently opened, that someone wasn't already talking to them. I threw the knife in a garbage bin. When I reached the hotel I took a few breaths to calm down as I rolled my sleeves back, trying to hide the mass of blood where the woman had cut me. The lobby was empty and I beat it upstairs.

Bennet was curled up in bed when I came in. “Hi—I remember you,” she said. Then she sat bolt upright. “Is that
blood
on your sleeve?”

“Nick and me—just settling an old score.” I feigned a laugh. “You should see him.” I headed into the bathroom. “I'm going to take a shower.”

Bennet marched in and stared at me as I unbuttoned my shirt and shrugged off my jeans and briefs.

“That's a horrible cut!”

“It'll heal.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“It was nothing serious. You didn't seem so hot on him, though.”

“Who would, after he played that stupid game?”

“You'll get used to him. He grows on you.”

“What do you mean ‘get used to him'?”

“He'll be our security contingent in Iran—if we make it there.” I turned the shower on full tilt and stepped in. The hot water washed the blood away but stung like hell. It wasn't a deep cut; more like a razor had shaved off a patch of skin on my upper arm. After I dried off, I got band-aids out of my kit. It took five of them to cover the
wound. They looked pathetic but they were all I had. I threw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and went back into the bedroom.

Bennet put her laptop away, lay down, and pulled the cover over her. “Come here,” she said. As I climbed under the blanket, she rolled closer and put her head on my chest. “Tell me what really happened.”

I sighed. “A couple of guys tried to beat up Nick and me. Maybe some local hotheads or something worse. I don't know. It's over now.” No sense alarming her if I could help it. I ran my hand along her arm, feeling her soft, warm skin that smelled of soap with a distant hint of the perfume she'd put on that morning.

“Are you going to keep on with it? Strauss could hardly expect you to give up your life for him.”

“He's quite capable of that. We're here anyway. No point in wasting the trip. What do you think?
Should
I continue?”

She heaved a sigh. “You will, no matter what I say.”

“Bennet. You need to go home for your own safety. If Nick can get us into Iran, I'll keep a complete record of the journey. I'll even email you as I go along if you want.”

“If you're going, so am I.” She rolled away from me, plumped up her pillow, and said nothing more.

It took quite a while before I nodded off too. For one, like an anxious parent, I kept waiting to hear Nick's door across the hall open. Something else kept me awake, too. In the heat of the fight I'd felt triumphant. Gloated over getting the best of the woman. That was only natural. Yet when she'd moaned and held her head in her hands, her agony hadn't touched me at all. And I couldn't have cared less what happened to her when Nick drove away, just like when I'd hit that guy in my car on the way to Strauss's. A coldness at the center of my heart had stolen over me. Now I feared I'd never get my old self back.

I heard nothing from Nick the following day. In the morning, Bennet and I made a return visit to Asklepion. I drank more of the water from the fountain; it did seem to revive my spirits. We saw a slate-colored snake slipping into a rock crevice and I wondered aloud whether it was a descendant of the healing snakes. Bennet disagreed, pointing out it had the triangular head of a viper.

We struck up a conversation with an Englishman, who turned out to be an Anglican priest. He'd noticed the snake too. “The poor maligned serpent,” he chuckled. “Once a sign of wisdom. Our churches have much to answer for. Clever chaps though, the Roman prelates—blame it on them. In choosing an animal to associate with the devil, they opted for one that humans instinctively fear the most. Pagans revered the snake, as you can see among these ruins.” He tipped his peaked cap to us and with a swing of his walking stick trundled away.