The Athena File

by Jennifer Haynie

  With the hot drink further awakening him, he dressed in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a fleece. He combed the gunk Kyra had given him to tame his curls into his hair. It fell past his shoulder blades, and he chuckled as he recalled for the umpteenth time how his hair was now longer than his sister’s.

  He continued working on his tea as he wandered into the living area and eased onto his recliner. With his right hand, he picked up the foam ball that was the size of a tennis ball and began his daily regimen of physical therapy. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release. Now, his grip had strengthened to where he could ride his bike without assistance from the gripper one of his buddies had devised for him to use. During his most recent session a couple of weeks before, his physical therapist had praised him for the progress he’d made. She’d said he’d come a long way. He agreed. Almost three years ago, he’d been unable to hold a pencil, let alone write with it. All thanks to the knife wound that had damaged several nerves.

  As he set his tea aside, footsteps pattered up the outside stairway that led to his deck. Little Bit shoved the sliding glass door open and burst inside. She threw her arms around him. “Uncle David! I’m hungry.”

  He laughed as he pulled her onto his lap with his left arm. “You’re hungry, huh? What for?”

  “French toast.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “The diner.”

  “Which one?” He grinned, enjoying his game.

  “Uncle David!”

  He laughed and inhaled that little girl scent of Dove and flowers. “Why don’t we go see if we can remedy that?” He set her down, rose, and rinsed his tea mug before placing it in the drainer.

  “What’s remedy?” Little Bit’s black curls, so much like his own, bobbed in two pigtails as she climbed onto one of the bar chairs.

  “We’ll fix that.” He eyed her Tasmanian Devil sweatshirt, a hand-me-down, and her jeans. “Where’s your jacket, young lady?”

  “Don’t need it,” she answered, sounding like her older brothers.

  He fought his smile. “We’ll see about that. Let’s go.”

  They descended the steps and strolled down the concrete driveway. Across the two-lane highway at the end of the drive, the red rock mesas of central Utah spread before him in the growing dawn. Blue sky rapidly began lightening. It was shaping up to be another glorious early spring day. David silently began counting down. Three… Two… One…

  “Catherine Martin, you get back here right now and put your jacket on!” Kyra’s voice rocketed across the yard.

  He turned to see his sister charging down the front steps with a denim jacket in her hands. His chuckle escaped him before he realized it. “She told me she didn’t need one.”

  “Beware of the fibs of small children.” Kyra shook her head. “Catherine, you know better.”

  “Here, Little Bit, put this on.” David held the little jacket with a picture of Frozen’s Elsa embroidered onto the back. “Sorry, Kyra, I should have made her get her jacket.”

  She shrugged. “This isn’t the first time. I swear she’s impervious to cold. Well, you two have a good time. Catherine, I’ll pick you up at ten, okay?”

  “I love you, Mommy.” Little Bit threw her arms around her mother.

  Kyra hugged her tightly. “Love you back. Be gone with you two.”

  With Little Bit’s small hand engulfed in his, David led her down the front walk. They turned right and strolled along the sidewalk toward the small town of Burning Tree. Beneath the bridge they crossed, the river turned and snaked north of town as it burbled between the pale green cottonwoods that contrasted with the red rock. They paused at one of two stoplights where the road into the town turned.

  The whole time, Little Bit chattered like a magpie about what she wanted to do on her last day of spring break. Catch bugs and snakes with Uncle David and help him repair pipes in her granddaddy’s hotel. Then go that afternoon and see Zootopia with her best friend, Megan, and Kyra. Then come back and have a sleepover with Megan. David smiled. Tough chick meets Disney.

  They arrived at the diner. David slowed, and he opened the big silver door with his left hand. Little Bit tugged against his right one. Fortunately, his grip held. “Just a second, Little Bit.”

  “But I’m hungry!”

  “So am I.” In one rapid glance, he assessed the room like he’d done when busting down doors in the sandbox. About a dozen people sat in the booths, most on the left, a few on the right. Four sat at the counter. No one showed weapons. He relaxed, and Little Bit charged toward the counter and clambered onto one of the glittery blue vinyl stools. “Can we sit here, Uncle David?”

  “Sure.” He inhaled and savored the sharp scent of bacon frying in the back and the banter between the waitresses and cook. Metal clinked on metal. Nearby, a waitress popped some gum as she flipped through her order pad. He noted the guy two stools down and grinned. “Mitch Patterson. What’s up?”

  Mitch, dressed in a brown deliveryman’s uniform, put down his fork. “Shepherd, I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you always had your chow at home.”

  “Not when it’s spring break and I get time with my favorite niece.”

  “I’m your only niece!” Little Bit piped up.

  “Therefore, you’re my favorite.” He laid a menu in front of her. “How about you, Patterson?”

  “I started my day early this morning. Spring break too, ya know? I want to take my boys fishing before it gets dark, which means finishing my rounds early. Thought I’d get some chow from my favorite waitress.”

  “You’re too funny, Mitch.” The waitress, her dark hair pinned up in a pile on her head, approached and pulled out a pen. “Good morning, you two.” She smiled at Little Bit. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “I want French toast!”

  “To drink?” David tweaked her nose.

  She scowled. “To eat. And orange juice to drink, please.”

  David ordered the breakfast combo special of two scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash browns with a cup of peppermint tea and juice as well. Once she’d entered their order, the waitress brought Little Bit a place mat for coloring and some crayons.

  On the wall above the drink machines and shelving that held glasses, two televisions featured CNN and Fox News. He focused on the one with CNN. A blond anchorwoman stood next to a counter and held a sheaf of papers. The graphic beside her emblazoned itself in his mind.

  Convoy hit in Afghanistan. 24 Dead.

  His blood froze. He studied the closed caption scrolling across the screen. The white letters on a backdrop of black told it all. A private security contractor named SecureLink had been escorting sixteen doctors and nurses to a remote village to provide medical care. The Taliban ambushed them, killing all of the medical staff plus eight SecureLink personnel.

  The waitress slid a steaming mug of hot tea in front of him, and he jerked his attention from the screen.

  David glanced down and in a shuddering gasp released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  “Tough news, isn’t it?” Mitch remarked from where he’d been shoveling his own meal of eggs into his mouth.

  “Yeah.” David glanced at Little Bit, who was involved in giving the rabbit in the Zootopia drawing orange and purple ears. “Brings back a lot of memories.”

  “You served in Afghanistan, right?”

  “Yep. You?”

  “Iraq, then Afghanistan. Where were you based?”

  “SF out of Kandahar.” The Incident that had changed his life had occurred in the Ghazni Province, the same place where the SecureLink convoy had met its most unfortunate fate.

  “Kandahar? Me too. When did you leave?”

  “Not soon enough,” David muttered. Laughter from the Mighty Men echoed in his mind when they’d played a game of cards near a flickering fire in the village where they’d embedded.

  “Sorry. Just asking a question. I got out in 2007 after Kandahar. I was with the MPs there. Man, talk about a tough
job. I was always scared I wouldn’t spot an ANA guy who’d turned traitor. And the clashes with the locals when one of our guys went bonkers? Man, did I hate them.” Mitch shrugged and raised his hand for the check. “Well, gotta head on out. Good to see you, Shepherd. Let’s ride sometime soon.”

  “Will do. Hey, sorry if I was brusque. That brings back too many memories,” David added. He extended his hand.

  Mitch shook it. “No problem.”

  At least now, David’s grip didn’t feel like a fish handshake. “Later.”

  Mitch left, and David checked on Little Bit. She’d created not a red fox but one that was green with orange spots. Oh, the imagination of his niece. He tried to focus on her drawing but found it futile. As if under the spell of CNN, his attention returned to the television. Now, it showed images of the three burned vehicles in the box on the left side of the screen. All were blackened, most likely destroyed by the SecureLink personnel so the Taliban couldn’t pilfer them. That did nothing to disguise puncture marks he knew to be bullet holes. Twenty-four people dead in less than five minutes.

  He braced his elbows on the counter and rested his forehead on his hands. God, no… More images came, these of Captain as his commanding officer had burst into the mess tent at their base in the village. “Shepherd, get the crew together. Now. We’ve got company coming.”

  David took a deep breath, held it, and released it. The memories faded.

  He glanced at the images on the right-hand side of the screen. A press conference from 0900 hours local time was being replayed. Two people sat at the table with several others in a row behind them. One he didn’t recognize, but the other?

  “No way!” The words escaped his lips before he realized it.

  Jonathan Ward, his former best friend, stared at the tabletop. He didn’t say a word but let the man beside him do all of the talking.

  David flinched.

  “Let’s do it, bro.” Jonathan’s drawl from eighteen years before echoed in his ears. “You and me. Sola gratia, right? ᾿Cause we’re brothers-in-arms. Brothers-in-Christ.”

  David stared at the tattoo he’d gotten on his forearm. Rather than the Latin, he’d had By Grace Alone etched in black. Now, a scar cut through the middle, effectively severing the ink. Kind of like his friendship with Jonathan. Torn. Never to be mended.

  “You okay, David?” the waitress asked.

  Suddenly, he noticed how his hands gripped the ceramic of the mug. The liquid in it quivered because his whole body trembled. He met her gaze. “Uh, yeah. Do you, um, mind changing it from CNN?”

  “Oh, sure. Sorry ᾿bout that.” She picked up a remote and changed it to the Cartoon Network.

  David flexed his fingers. The tremors had ceased. If only he could erase those images from his brain that quickly.

  Burning Tree, Utah

  “Hand me that jar, would you?” David asked as he focused on the scorpion he’d found hiding out in one of the bungalows at his parents’ resort. The small beast clung to the headboard of the king-sized bed. The guest, a businesswoman who’d proclaimed she’d needed a vacation, had come out of her bathroom to find it crawling on the dark wood. Now, she huddled in the corner, her blond hair in wet strands, the terrycloth robe tightly wrapped around her.

  Little Bit, his willing assistant, handed him a glass mason jar they’d brought with them. “Can I do that, Uncle David?”

  “Nope. This guy’s a big one, and he’s not in a good mood. But watch this.” David unscrewed the lid, then shoved aside a plump pillow. Placing one knee on the mattress, he held the jar beneath the scorpion. With a quick brush of the lid, he knocked the eight-legged critter inside and slapped the lid onto it before the scorpion had a chance to figure out what had happened.

  The woman whimpered from her corner. “I hate those things.”

  “All done. Call the front desk if anything else happens.” David tightened the lid back on the jar. “Little Bit, hold on to this until we get outside. We’ll release it down by the river.”

  “Can I?” she asked, her dark eyes, so like his, big.

  “Of course.” With a hand on her shoulder, he guided her to the door, then turned to their guest. “Have a good day, ma’am.”

  They stepped into the bright morning light. The warm rays relaxed his muscles. Could all days be like this? When he did work around the resort and got to hang out with his niece?

  They strolled along the winding path of tiny pebbles that led toward the river. Little Bit scampered ahead with her prize. Once the path swept to within ten feet of the water, she slowed and squatted at the edge. “Are you sure we can’t keep him?”

  “Your mama wouldn’t let you. Besides, scorpions are dangerous.”

  “Why didn’t you kill him?”

  “Because they’re just as much God’s creatures as we are.”

  “But you kill cockroaches.”

  He bit back his sigh at this child philosopher. “It’s a long story. Release him. But be careful. Hold out the jar and tip it up. Let him fall to the ground.”

  She obeyed, and the arachnid plopped onto the hard-packed earth before scuttling under a rock. “Cool. Are you sure I can’t have one?”

  “Isn’t Lilly enough?” Only two weeks ago, the Martin clan had brought home the Australian Shepherd puppy. “C’mon. Your mama’s probably wondering where we are.”

  He found Kyra chatting with the attendant at the hotel’s front desk. Ranger lounged on the braided rug in front of the massive fireplace where low flames crackled. “Ranger didn’t want to be alone?”

  “He missed his daddy.” Kyra giggled. She led him away from Little Bit, who’d fallen to her knees beside the dog.

  “What’s up?” David frowned.

  “I saw what happened this morning.”

  He knew what she talked about. His breath caught as he tried for innocent. “Saw what?”

  “About the hit on the convoy. And Jonathan. I feel so bad for him.” She sighed.

  “Ghazni’s not for sissies. He knew what he was getting into.”

  “David!” She grabbed his arm and escorted him onto the wide stone terrace that overlooked the river. Thanks to the chill, no one lounged on the rockers or the Adirondack chairs around the fire pit. No one took pictures of the river with the red rock looming beyond it. “That’s not nice. Especially when his fiancée was one of the dead.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Christine Parker was on the security detail. She died along with everyone else.”

  He shrugged.

  Her eyes narrowed. “What is it with you and him?”

  “Nothing. I’ve got nothing to say about him. Or to him,” he added as a barb. “After what happened six years ago, why should I?”

  “Because maybe he’s your best friend despite everything? Because he saved your life almost seven years ago?”

  “Enough with the guilt already.” He spiked the jar against the stone floor like a football. It shattered into a hundred satisfying pieces. The lid sat on the glass. He stared at it a moment, then glared at Kyra. “He wasn’t there when I needed him. Why should I care?”

  Kyra, bless her, didn’t jump, didn’t cower from his show of temper. She closed her eyes for a long second and slowly released a sigh. “You know, sometimes you frustrate me so much. Why can’t you get over yourself and that stinking pride of yours and reach out to a friend who’s hurting? I’m sure his sister could give you his contact information.”

  “Not interested.”

  “I know.” She fell silent as if struggling not to fan the flames of his angst. “Well, I’ve got to get going. See you tonight? We’re making home-made pizza.”

  David merely grunted his reply. He turned his gaze toward the mess he’d made. The jar lay in a glittering disarray. Kind of like the remains of the contentment he’d felt.

  Little Bit ran onto the terrace and threw her arms around him. “Bye, Uncle David. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He held on until she squirmed free.
/>   He watched her run to Kyra and take her hand.

  Kyra was right. Jonathan was hurting. One look at the television this morning had shown how the hit on the convoy had aged him. Losing his fiancée had completed the damage. Maybe he should try to find Abigail and get his contact information.

  No. Some things were best left untouched and in the past. As he went to get a broom to sweep up the mess he’d made, he tried to convince himself of that.

  Problem was, he didn’t get too far on the convincing part.

  5

  Ghazni Province, Afghanistan

  Nicole Chardet gripped the window frame as she stared into the night. From the nearby gym, metal clanked on metal as some of the guys lifted to relieve their grief. In the rec hall next to the gym, no one laughed at the muffled dialogue of a comedy. How could they after the memorial service that morning? And especially not before a convoy carrying the bodies of twenty-four people would head to the airport in less than twelve hours.

  Behind her, the refrigerator door sucked open. Roy cleared his throat. “I lost two friends yesterday. And a good supervisor.”

  With both hands braced on the fridge, he stared at the assortment of beer bottles, soda, and bottled water she’d stored inside.

  How many times had he brought this up? Any more times, and she’d lose it and scream at him. She slammed the window. “You knew it had to be done.”

  “With so many lives lost?”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” She snatched a wineglass from a cabinet and slapped the door closed. “If I remember correctly, Roy Wildman, you concocted this plan. You said it had to happen to make it look like an ambush by the Taliban. And since you helped Chip put together the personnel roster for yesterday’s convoy, you could have left the names of your pals off. ”

  “You really think that? They’d been off duty for nearly a week and were due to rotate back on. Just how could I leave them off without raising their suspicions and that of Chip’s?” Roy grabbed a beer and kicked the door closed. With a bottle opener, he snagged the top. The lid spun into the air and landed on the floor against the cabinet with a metallic clink. He tossed the opener into a drawer. “We could have done this differently.”