Blood Lines

by Mel Odom

  “So don’t you let any sentimental foolishness on your part cloud your judgment,” Tyrel said. “You turn me in. The way you’re supposed to. You do it or I will. Either way, this ends. Do you hear me?”

  Shel tried to answer, but then his daddy slumped back onto the bed, and all the alarms went off. By the time Shel got to his feet, a team of nurses and a doctor were inside the room with a crash cart.

  “Get out of here,” Isabella told him.

  Shel hesitated, watching helplessly as the cardiac unit worked to bring his daddy back from the dead.

  “Now!” Isabella ordered. Her voice was a harsh whip crack.

  Shel left.

  55

  >> Chapel

  >> Las Palmas Medical Center

  >> El Paso, Texas

  >> 1013 Hours (Central Time Zone)

  Shel sat in the back of the chapel with his head in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. Fatigue battered him and leeched all the energy from him that he normally would have gotten back by simply being still.

  All around him, people prayed. Some voiced litanies. Some railed at God. Others made their peace quietly. Max lay quiet and supportive at his feet.

  For the past hour, Shel had tried to figure out what path he should take. The problem was, he didn’t figure God was behind it all or that God was out to get him. Shel had come to the chapel because he’d wanted to be alone as much as he could. Church held good memories for him from his childhood. He didn’t know when he’d lost that feeling. And it wasn’t there for him right now either.

  This thing—his daddy’s situation—was just what it was. That’s all. There was nothing to be done about it and nothing else he needed to be doing. He’d just file his report about hearing his daddy’s confession, back it up with the recording he’d made, and let justice take its course.

  And what are you gonna do then, Shel? he asked himself. Watch the military kill your daddy? Or watch him wither away inside of some prison?

  Neither of those options sounded good.

  Someone slid into the pew next to him.

  Shel glanced over and saw Don sitting there.

  “I just came from the cardiac ICU,” Don said. “They told me Daddy’s going to be all right.”

  Shel nodded. Isabella had already come down and told him that less than ten minutes ago. He’d left word for Don on his cell phone. Don had been getting his wife and kids checked into a local hotel.

  “They said you were with Daddy when he had his episode,” Don said.

  “Yeah.”

  Don hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice was harsh. “They said he was yelling at you.”

  Shel nodded.

  Anger showed in Don’s eyes. “You want to tell me about that? Because if we almost lost Daddy just because you got into a fight with him and almost killed him that way, I really need to know what’s in your head and your heart, Shel. And whether or not I want you to be around Daddy right now.”

  “You’re not going to like what I have to say, Don.”

  “It can’t make me feel any worse than I already do. But I don’t want to lose my daddy and a brother all at the same time, so you’d better start talking.”

  “Okay.” Shel took a deep breath and looked up. “But let’s get out of here. Go somewhere we can talk.”

  >> Cafeteria

  >> Las Palmas Medical Center

  >> El Paso, Texas

  >> 1057 Hours (Central Time Zone)

  It took Shel nearly an hour to tell all of it and finish up with the questions Don had. Around them, families sat at tables and carried on quiet conversations. They all had their own troubles, and Shel saw the weight of them stamped on the people. Just knowing there were that many problems nearby made him feel claustrophobic.

  “What’s wrong?” Don asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Don frowned at him. “I’ve known you my whole life, Shel. You’d say nothing was wrong if they cut both your arms off and set you on fire.”

  Shel forced a grin. “Don’t you think that example is a little extreme?”

  “For anybody but you, yes. Talk to me.”

  It took Shel a long moment to try to figure out the words he needed. He’d never been good at talking about himself.

  “I joined the Marine Corps to get away from Daddy,” Shel said softly. “I couldn’t do anything about him. Couldn’t do anything about Mama dying like she did.”

  “That wasn’t your fault,” Don said.

  “I know that. But I felt like there should have been something I could do. I just knew I felt bad staying at the ranch. Everything there reminded me of how helpless I was to fix things the way I wanted to.”

  Don just remained silent. He’d always been good at listening.

  “I joined the Marines because I liked the way they looked,” Shel said. “All those commercials made it sound like Marines were these incredible, unstoppable warriors who could take on anything and win.” He shook his head and grinned ruefully. “I was eighteen. What did I know?”

  “You knew you wanted to help people. That’s not a bad thing.”

  Looking at his brother, Shel suddenly realized they weren’t so very different these days. Maybe they really hadn’t been when they’d grown up together. Seeing that gave him a whole new perspective.

  “You joined the church to help people,” Shel said.

  Don smiled. “Actually, I joined the church to date the preacher’s daughter. That was the only way I could see Joanie back then. But God called out to me, and I answered. I think you were probably called too.”

  “Not me. It was a Marine poster that did me in.”

  “And the chance to get away from Daddy.”

  “Yeah.” Shel sipped his tea. “The thing I learned was that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t save everybody.”

  “That’s not your burden, Shel. God works among people, and he gives them the means to save themselves.”

  “That’s where you and I are going to have to disagree. I’ve seen a lot of people that couldn’t save themselves.”

  “Like Daddy?” Don asked quietly.

  For the first time, Shel realized what was bothering him most. After hearing the whole story, he knew his daddy needed help. Needed it in a bad way and had needed it for a long time.

  “I can’t help Daddy,” Shel said, but it was more for himself than for Don.

  “Do you have to tell the military about this?”

  “Do you want me to cover it up?”

  Don sighed. “No. I suppose enough of that has been done already.”

  “I think so too.”

  “And even if we didn’t tell them, Daddy would.”

  “Too many people are going to wonder why Victor Gant went after Daddy,” Shel said. “Maybe they’ll figure it’s me. But Victor Gant could make that phone call at any time.”

  “It would be hard for the military to prosecute Daddy without a body, wouldn’t it?”

  “Not if Daddy tells them he killed Hinton. Military courts are different than civilian courts. A soldier’s word, unless it’s proven a lie, is all the evidence you need if it’s an admission of guilt.”

  “How could they trust Daddy now? He lied back then.”

  “Not to a military court,” Shel pointed out. “And why would he lie now?”

  “I’m just saying there could be some confusion.”

  Shel was quiet for a moment. “Let me ask you something, Don. Suppose we could somehow get Daddy to stand down on this—which, seeing as how we’ve never been able to convince him of much our whole lives, I don’t see happening—and he isn’t prosecuted. Where does that leave Daddy with God? Those books have still got to be balanced too.”

  “God can forgive him,” Don said. “All Daddy has to do is ask God’s forgiveness.”

  “Maybe God’s the forgiving type—”

  “Don’t you think for a minute that he isn’t.”

  “—but Daddy ain’t. He hasn’t given up on his gu
ilt for forty years, and he won’t for forty more.” Shel rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I’ve seen men like Daddy. Guilt rides them hard. Tears them apart from the inside. I don’t know how he’s lasted as long as he has.”

  “Because of Mama and us,” Don said. “He knew we needed him.”

  “Maybe. But Daddy ain’t gonna turn to God. He don’t figure he deserves it.”

  “He might not at first. But if you give him enough time, especially now that the truth is out, he might be able to forgive himself.”

  “Don,” Shel said patiently, “this is Daddy we’re talking about. He ain’t never cut nobody no slack. When he draws a line in the sand, right there is where it stays.”

  Don laced his hands together behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “I know. You’re right.” He was quiet for a time. “What are you going to do?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you. There’s nothing I can do. It’s all out of my hands.”

  “Can you accept that?”

  “It’s not a matter of accepting it. That’s just the way this is.”

  Don eyed him. “Let me ask you a question.”

  Shel nodded.

  “Why were you in the chapel?”

  “Don’t go reading more into that than is there,” Shel warned. Don had always wanted to bring him in closer to the church—not necessarily his church, but any church Shel could attend.

  “I’m not reading anything into it. I’m just asking.”

  “The chapel was a quiet place to think.”

  “Outside could have been a quiet place to think too.”

  Shel knew that was true, and he didn’t know why he hadn’t gone outside.

  “You needed comfort, Shel. If how I feel is any indication, I know this is bad for you. This . . . military stuff, that’s more your world than mine. And I think you probably know more about what was in Daddy’s mind the night he shot that man.”

  Shel’s voice got thick. “Daddy was twenty-one. He wasn’t much more than a boy. He was away from home, surrounded by men who wanted to kill him, in the company of strangers who took death for granted, and was seduced by every vice you can imagine over there. Everything that he’d known or thought of himself had been left behind. On top of that, he was more scared than he’d ever been before in his life.”

  Don just looked at him.

  “Yeah,” Shel said, “I know what was going through Daddy’s mind that night. It’s gone through my mind too. Young soldiers make mistakes.”

  “Do you think a military court will hold Daddy accountable for what happened over there that night?”

  Shel let out a tense breath. “I don’t know. This would be a close call, and there are a lot of people still sensitive over what happened in Vietnam. But the bottom line is that even if the military chose not to find any wrongdoing on Daddy’s part, Daddy’s still going to fault himself. Now that this is out, things could be even worse for Daddy. Have you thought about that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if the military court doesn’t see fit to punish Daddy, Daddy may decide to punish himself.”

  Don paled as he realized what Shel was talking about. “You’re talking about hurting himself?”

  Shel remained quiet.

  “Daddy wouldn’t do that,” Don said.

  “Daddy lost Mama,” Shel said. “He doesn’t have a good relationship with either one of us. Other than that ranch, what does he have that’s going to keep him alive?”

  “I don’t want to believe that.”

  “Believe what you gotta believe. But I’ve seen men that were cleared by military investigations who ended up taking their own lives because they allowed a fellow soldier to get killed or accidentally killed one themselves. The choices you’re asked to make out in the field are life-and-death. They’re not easy, and guilt comes awful quick and hard.”

  “There is one thing you can do for Daddy,” Don said.

  Shel looked away because he knew what was coming, and he really didn’t want to hear it.

  “You can pray for him,” Don said. “You can ask God to touch Daddy’s heart and make him strong enough to live through this. No matter what happens.”

  “That’s not how I deal with things,” Shel said. “You’re the believer. Not me.”

  “Doesn’t take much to be a believer, Shel. Just a little faith. About the size of a mustard seed.”

  Shel wished he could believe that, but he’d never been able to find even that little amount of faith. Facing what he was facing now, with everything beyond his control, faith wasn’t what he wanted to reach for—because he feared that would be even less effective than trying to find an answer himself.

  56

  >> La Quinta Inn

  >> El Paso, Texas

  >> 1337 Hours (Central Time Zone)

  Will wore the Bluetooth headset for his cell phone to keep his hands free as he went through the paperwork involving the Army’s investigation into PFC Dennis Hinton’s disappearance. Something niggled at the back of his mind, not quite within his grasp, but never going away. Over the years with the NCIS he’d learned to pay attention to those details.

  “So McGovern confirms the story that Tyrel McHenry shot Hinton?” Will asked.

  “That he shot Hinton accidentally, yes,” Maggie answered.

  “But he was drunk at the time.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Did you get the impression McGovern was telling you the truth?” Giving up for the moment on whatever it was he couldn’t quite think of, Will got out of his chair and looked out the window.

  The sun was bright and hard over the desolate countryside that began just beyond the motel parking lot. Mirages created by the heat shimmered over the twisted trees and scrub brush that dotted the landscape.

  “I believed him,” Maggie said. “Remy and I leaned on him pretty hard. We left him with the impression that we could take his medical check away if he was involved in any of this more than he said he was or if he was lying about it now.”

  “Hinton’s body is still out there?”

  “That’s what McGovern said. Remy and I gave him maps, and he tried to locate the area where Hinton’s body was left, but—”

  “It’s been forty years and we can’t trust what he thinks he remembers.” Will felt frustrated.

  “I don’t think he was exactly sober that night, either. Tyrel wasn’t the only one who had been drinking. All of them appeared to have been intoxicated.”

  That caught Will’s attention and he knew he was tracking down part of what was bothering him. “Not everyone,” he said softly. “You and Shel both agreed that Hinton wasn’t drinking that night.” He turned back to the papers on the desk.

  They’d taken a suite at the motel, then set up a skeletal operations base. Estrella manned the computer system in one corner of the room and maintained a connection with the databases back at Camp Lejeune.

  “Right,” Maggie said. “I’d forgotten about that.”

  “I almost had too.” Will turned from the desk and paced the room. During the past hours, he’d thought about Shel and about the ties that bound father and son so fiercely.

  Even Will’s divorce and his son’s feelings of betrayal hadn’t destroyed the bond between them. It could have, though. He was keenly aware of that. Only by the grace of God had his family remained intact as much as it had with all the changes they’d been through.

  “We know Victor Gant ran a tight crew,” Will said. “He still runs one now. The biker gang might be large, but there are only a handful that control the power within the group.”

  “Or that know what’s going on everywhere,” Maggie agreed. She’d looked over the same information he had and arrived at some additional insightful conclusions, but none that were any more on target than what Will had seen.

  “Then why go into the jungle that night to get an illegal shipment of drugs with two men who weren’t part of your unit?” Will asked.

  “As cover,�
�� Maggie said.

  “Cover from whom?”

  “The CID had been keeping a watch on Victor Gant’s activities. That’s in the reports we’ve seen.”

  “Two men isn’t a lot of cover,” Will pointed out.

  “But maybe all you need.”

  “Tyrel McHenry was still new to Qui Nhon. Dennis Hinton had been there for most of a year. He knew who the players were.”

  “Meaning he knew who Victor Gant was?”

  “Or he had a pretty good idea.”

  Airport noises sounded in the background at Maggie’s end of the connection. She and Remy were already booked on a flight back to El Paso and would be in late that night.

  “I don’t know where you’re going with this,” Maggie admitted.

  “Tyrel McHenry approached Victor Gant in the bar that night,” Will said, churning it through his mind as he put the pieces together. “Why didn’t Gant just blow McHenry off?”

  “Why should he?”

  “Because Victor Gant ran a tight group. He didn’t let anyone into his group that he didn’t trust. That’s covered in the CID reports as well. Since Victor Gant was part of the CIA-sponsored assassination teams, he had a blank check to do whatever he wanted when it came to personnel.”

  “As long as he kept turning in the results they wanted.”

  “He did,” Will reminded. “Seventy-three confirmed kills’ worth.”

  “Tyrel McHenry wanted to get to know Gant, but Gant had no reason to get to know him.”

  “I think he did,” Will said. He shuffled through the papers.

  “Hey, Will,” Maggie said, “we’re boarding our flight. I’ll talk to you again in a little while.”

  “Sure,” Will said. “Get some rest on the plane. I’ll talk to you soon.” He clicked the phone off and called out to Estrella.

  “What?” Estrella asked.

  “Maggie’s e-mailed a map—”

  “I’ve already got it. I can print it out if you’d like.”

  “I would. I want to see how big of an area we’re dealing with there. In the meantime, do you have the name and number of the CID guy who investigated Hinton’s disappearance?”