I swung my rifle around and hit the attorney general in the side of the head with the stock. He slumped sideways, unconscious.
Cal and I looked at each other. I let the rifle fall from my hands. And then I was throwing myself full-length on top of him, my arms wrapped around him and my face buried in his chest. He put his arms around me and it was the best feeling in the world, like cuddling up to the world’s biggest, warmest teddy bear, one who could hug you back.
“I thought I lost you,” he told me, the words rumbling through me from his chest.
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded.
“Thought I was keeping you safe,” he said, crushing me to him. “I’m sorry.”
I nodded again. “Is it over?” I said into his chest.
He gently pushed me back so that he could look into my eyes. “Yeah,” he said firmly. “I got the other two. That’s everybody who was close to us. The others are way back. We can slip away, if we go now.”
He helped me to my feet and passed me my rifle. Then he took my hand and as soon as his fingers wrapped around mine, I knew everything was going to be alright. He looked around, getting his bearings, and then we were moving, leaving the river behind and disappearing into the vastness of the landscape. Now we were together, the woods didn’t feel scary. They felt like our territory, somewhere we could lose the outsiders.
We went at a fast walk for over three hours. The hunters knew the rough direction we’d taken but they’d still have to search a wide triangle either side of it and with every step we took, those triangles expanded. In a clearing surrounded by massive pines, Cal finally called a halt. “No way they’ve tracked us all this way,” he told me. “Not those guys. We should rest.”
I nodded gratefully and slumped down on my ass on the ground, and he sat down beside me. We were sitting on a carpet of soft pine needles and the pine trees formed a wall around us: we couldn’t see more than ten feet in any direction. They deadened sound like a theater curtains: it was so quiet, we could hear our breathing and the slow creak of the trees as the wind played with them. All around us, it was dark and still, and high above, a circle of starry sky was framed by the treetops. Despite being outside, it felt private.
I took a breath of cool night air and realized it was the first time I’d really stopped since that morning, when we’d gotten up early to go to Jacques. We’d hiked to the river, then the raft and the ambush and being taken off by Alik and Cal rescuing me and then racing back to the cabin, and then I’d barely had time to patch up Cal’s wounds before Ralavich had arrived and we’d had to run for our lives. I took another breath, slower this time, and felt my stomach growl. Breakfast was a long, long time ago and I’d only had an energy bar since. I thought about digging in my backpack and finding another one and splitting it with Cal, but that required effort, and suddenly...I sighed and let myself slump sideways into the comforting solidness of his shoulder. As the adrenaline wore off, the exhaustion was hitting me, turning my limbs to lead. I wasn’t sleepy, but I didn’t want to move for a while.
Cal slipped his arm around me and drew me close. The top of his shoulder made the perfect pillow and I sighed in satisfaction. But I could feel him brooding and when I turned to look, he was staring off into the trees. “What is it?”
“There’s some stuff you need to know,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “What I was going to tell you back at the cabin. Why I’m out here.”
I smoothed my hand over his back. “There’s no rush,” I told him. “I know it’s hard. We could wait till we’re in Canada, when things aren’t crazy.”
He finally looked across at me. “You’re the finest woman I ever met,” he told me. “And I need to know if—” He broke off and glared at the ground.
Need to know what?
He looked at me. “I need to know.”
In that second, he was more open, more vulnerable, than I’d ever seen him. I saw the pain I’d glimpsed before but something else, too. Guilt. Aching, soul-deep guilt that had been eating at him this whole time. My stomach knotted. He’d done something, and he needed to tell me so that he could find out if I still loved him. What if it was something I couldn’t get past?
What if this was the end?
Part of me didn’t want to know. Can’t we just carry on like this? But I’d sworn that I’d help him. I could see how hard it was for him to tell me. I had to do my part and listen.
I reached out, took his hand, and nodded.
And he told me.
56
Bethany
“It started in Afghanistan,” he said. He shuffled around so that he was sitting facing me. The only light was from the circle of moonlit sky high above and deep shadows covered most of his face. Only those beautiful blue eyes gleamed in the darkness. He’d turned, I realized, because he wanted to look me in the eye when he told me.
“The Marine Raiders had done a whole slew of missions with these...well, they called them intelligence personnel, or specialists. But we all knew they were CIA. Sometimes, we’d have to escort them somewhere dangerous or keep watch while they met a contact. Sometimes, we’d have to help them capture a suspect, and it would get messy. Anyway, one time, I’m with a couple of these spooks and a couple of guys from my unit, and the CIA guys are meant to be meeting with some contact, up in the mountains, to get information. Only it turns into an ambush, and our vehicle gets shot up. We have to run on foot into the mountains and hide. No radio coverage, satellite phone is still in the car, so we got no backup. We have to get to the nearest friendly village on foot, while the bad guys try to find us.”
“So I take charge. It takes us three days but I get everyone home safe, just—” He looked around at the dark woods and shrugged. “Y’know.”
I did know. Just doing what he did. Navigating so easily in the wilderness. Knowing how to move silently and hunt for food. Avoiding and outwitting the people hunting them, just as he’d done tonight. Those people couldn’t have asked for a better guide.
“Anyway, we get home, they give me a damn medal and I figure that’s the end of it. But a few weeks later, a new CIA guy turns up at the base and asks for me. Asks me if I want to serve my country. And….” He stopped for a second and sat there brooding, searching for the right words.
I still had hold of his hand. I squeezed to let him know I understood. This big, gentle giant had always wanted to serve, just like his dad. I felt Cal relax a little.
“I ask the guy why me, and what they want me to do. And he says they need someone who can operate on their own, who can be dropped off a long way from the mission area and make their own way there on foot, undetected, and who’s a marksman. And...well, I’m kinda unsure, because I feel like…”—he sighed—“The guys in my unit...they’re like family, y’know?” He looked at the ground, embarrassed. “Not sure I want to be on my own.”
I nodded. Cal was used to surviving on his own, going on long hunting trips on his own. He could be on his own for hours or days, when that would make more social animals like me go crazy. People who didn’t know him—like this CIA guy—assumed that meant he didn’t need people at all, but they were dead wrong. We all need people around us, sometimes. The difference between someone like me and someone like Cal is that I’d seek out company before I got too lonely. But a stoic, fiercely loyal soldier like Cal...put him on his own and tell him it’s necessary and he’d accept it stoically...and slip slowly into isolation. What was heartbreaking was that after losing his dad and being on his own in the city, Cal had finally found exactly what he needed in the Raiders: a close-knit group of guys he really cared about. And this CIA guy had ripped him away from all that.
“So I say no,” said Cal, still staring at the ground. “I want to help, but it feels like I’m right where I should be.”
“But something changed your mind?” I asked quietly.
“The CIA guy, he leans in close, and he says, Caleb—no one ever calls me Caleb—we need your help.” And he tells me they’re tracking people
, around the world, people who are planning to do really bad shit. He says there are hundreds of thousands of Americans who don’t realize how much danger they’re in. Who are dead, if these guys get their hands on a nuke or a dirty bomb.” He let out a shuddering sigh and looked right at me. “He says they need someone to protect them.”
My chest ached. I knew Cal. I knew that deep, protective urge that lived inside him. That had been all the CIA guy had needed to say...and maybe he’d known that.
“So I become a specialist, working for the Central Intelligence Agency,” said Cal. “Three weeks later, they send me on my first mission, in Pakistan. Set me down ten miles from where I need to be, with a map and a rifle and some rations. Twenty-four hours later, I’m looking at a guy through the scope of my rifle as he goes outside for a smoke. He’s the head of a cluster of terrorist cells, he’s already organized an attack on an airport, an embassy bombing, he’s planning more. So I line him up and I pull the trigger.”
He looked right into my eyes. “No capture. No arrest or trial. I just kill him, like I’ve been ordered to.”
I slowly nodded.
“There are more. In Yemen, Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran. All people plotting attacks. Twelve men, over about six months. And then they send me to Panama.” His voice slowed. “The target’s a private airfield, out in the middle of nowhere. I’m in the trees, watching this plane arrive, and...something doesn’t feel right. Terrorists don’t fly around in private jets.” His eyes were distant, remembering. “The jet taxis to a stop and the door opens. A guy appears at the top of the stairs and...he’s in a suit, carrying a briefcase. I check the photo they’ve given me. Definitely the right guy. And I realize that they haven’t told me much about this guy, other than this might be the only chance to get him. But there’s no one I can ask, I’m out there on my own, out of contact. So I line up the shot and...I take it.”
“He drops his briefcase as he dies and it goes bouncing down the steps and as it hits the runway, it springs open. It’s full of money. Must be hundreds of thousands of dollars. The engines are still spinning and all the banknotes get blown around, the air turns green.” He inhaled, long and slow. “When I get back, I ask the CIA guy, who was that guy? And they say, he was a banker, he was moving money for the terrorists.” Cal shook his head. “And I stew over it, for days, because it doesn’t feel right. But eventually, I tell myself, these people need money to recruit, to buy weapons, to buy bombs and fake passports. If the guy had been supplying them with plutonium, would I have had a problem with it?” He sat there silently for a moment, his thick forearms resting on his knees, brooding. “So...I carry on.”
I listened, a sick fear building. I squeezed his hand and I wasn’t sure which of us I was reassuring.
“There are more, around the world,” said Cal. “Libya. Turkey. Albania. They don’t tell me who they are, they just give me a time, a location and a photo. Sometimes, I see a crate of guns, and I’m like...okay, these are bad people. But sometimes, it’s drugs. And I ask questions and the CIA say, you gotta look at the big picture, because some of these people sell drugs to raise money for terror operations. But I’m thinking...isn’t this stuff criminal, not terrorism? Shouldn’t the FBI or Interpol or someone be doing this, shouldn’t these people be being arrested, not—” His throat closed up. “Murdered,” he spat out at last. “But I wanted to help. I wanted to protect the people back home. I figured my bosses knew what they were doing. So I stopped asking questions.”
“The months go by, and now, sometimes, I finish the job and I haven’t seen anything at all: no guns, no drugs, not even cash. I walk away and I have no idea who I’ve just killed, or why. But I don’t ask.” He said it wretchedly. “I’ve stopped asking.”
“Because you were loyal,” I said gently. “Because you trusted them.”
He looked right at me, those blue eyes hiding nothing. He wanted me to know the truth. Needed me to. “Because I was afraid of what I might find out.”
I nodded. I could imagine him, stumbling down the path they’d led him on, afraid to look over his shoulder and see how far he’d come.
“I didn’t….” he began. “I couldn’t….” He closed his eyes for a second and gave a low growl of frustration. His whole body seemed to throb with tension. “I didn’t have anyone to—I was on my own, in this little apartment in the city, waiting for the next call. I knew that things were wrong, but I didn’t know what to do.”
I leaned closer, squeezing his hand, and put my other hand on his shoulder.
“Then...one time,” he said, “I’m in Colombia. Creep through the jungle to the target and it’s this big white mansion, in the middle of nowhere, with guards and a high wall around it. It’s obvious that this guy must be part of a drug cartel. I don’t like it, but I pull the trigger. Kill him while he’s on his balcony, silenced shot, his guards won’t even find him ‘till morning. I’m just packing up to leave when I get a call on the radio. There’s an SUV heading for the mansion and it’s the brother of the guy I just killed, some bigshot who they’ve been trying to get for years. No matter what, I have to intercept the SUV and kill him.”
“So I race through the jungle, find a bend in the road and lie in wait. The SUV shows up: big black thing, probably with bulletproof windows, too, but I know they won’t stop a sniper round. As it comes up to the bed, I put one right through the windshield, right into the chest of whoever’s driving. It swerves, goes full speed into a tree. I figure the guy’s going to have bodyguards so I put more rounds through the windows: one, two, three, four, five. Six shots in all. Then I wait. Nothing moves. The car’s burning.”
“I walk closer, to check he’s dead. Even ten feet away, I can’t see because the windows are tinted. I go to the driver’s door, pull it open. And the guy who was driving, this bigshot, he’s dead. But in the passenger seat, there’s—” He swallowed. “A woman. His wife. She’s still alive but she’s taken one in the chest and she’s coughing up blood, and I’ve seen enough to know she’s only got seconds. But she’s not trying to save herself. She’s trying to turn around.”
Oh God. Oh God, no.
“I run to the back of the car and pull open the door. And there are—” He swallowed again. “Bethany, there are three children. All under ten.”
Oh Jesus. My hands were over my mouth. Please no.
“I check them all, praying that one of them will be okay. I look up and the wife, she’s craning round in her seat, and she doesn’t even look angry with me, she’s just begging, begging with her eyes, for me to tell her that one of her kids is still alive. But I shake my head. I see tears start to run down her cheeks and then she dies, too.”
“I stumble back from the car. I get on the radio and I tell them there’s been a mistake, the guy’s family was in the car and—” He broke off and squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth clenched in rage. It was several seconds before he could speak. “They just went quiet. It wasn’t a mistake. They knew damn well there were kids in the car. They just saw it as collateral damage and they thought I’d see it the same.”
I wanted to throw up. “Oh God….”
“It was like I was waking up. Realizing what I’d become.” He opened his eyes and looked right at me. “A monster.”
I shook my head in horror, but I didn’t know what to say. They’d taken this gentle giant, with all his hunting skills and bravery, and exploited him, used him as a weapon for their own needs, without any thought for what it would do to him. “You didn’t know,” I whispered. “You couldn’t have known. It’s not your—”
“I should have said no,” he spat. “I should have got out. I should have asked questions, long before.” He glared at me, but all the anger was turned inward.
I stared at him helplessly. All he’d ever wanted to do was serve his country. Those bastards had seen that patriotism when they recruited him and used it. Hell, that was probably part of why they recruited him. “Cal,” I began. But I didn’t know what to say.
“I’
m standing there by the SUV,” he said. “Just...numb. Wondering what I’m going to do because I can’t believe what I’ve done. My radio’s buzzing, the CIA want me the hell out of there before anyone comes along and finds me there, but I can’t move.”
“And then...I hear something. A little whine, from the backseat. And I know that all the kids are dead, but I lean inside the SUV again and down by their legs, there’s something wriggling, wrapped in a blanket, too low to the floor for the bullets to have hit. I pull it out and unwrap it and I’m holding a little fluffy German Shepherd puppy.”
“Rufus,” I breathed.
“The parents must have taken the kids to buy him, just before they took them to visit their uncle. I stare at this little guy and I know that he’ll die if I just leave him there to wander off into the jungle. And I’m not letting anyone else die. I need my hands for my rifle so I open up the top of my shirt and sit him in there, against my chest, with his head poking out, and I haul ass out of there. When I get to the extraction point, the CIA pilot tells me to leave it behind, and I just—I glare at him until he backs down. I guess that’s the first time I did it. I keep the little guy with me all through two choppers and two flights, all the way back to the US.”
“We get home and the dog looks around at this new home in a new country and he just looks... lost. I know how it feels. I give it one of my old shirts to play with and he loves it: he’s small enough to go down the sleeves like a kid in a play tunnel and he does that over and over until he finally falls asleep. But I don’t sleep. I’m seeing the faces of those kids, over and over.”
“The next morning, it’s raining. I take the dog out with me, and we go to the store to buy dog food and a lead and stuff…” He swallowed. “Everyone’s...normal. And they think I’m normal, I have ‘em fooled, but inside I’m—” He closed his eyes. “The girl on the checkout smiles at me and I want to yell at her, don’t you know what I did?! And every time I see children, I’m—I can see their faces, I can feel their necks, under my fingers, as I check for pulses that aren’t there….”
Deep Woods Page 19
