by Brian Nelson
He told them how he had lost his sight, waking up in the darkness. About Khamko and Naru. How he had befriended Karuma and how the boy had taught him so much. How his sight had returned at the water hole, the overwhelming beauty. They listened, enthralled. Eric told them about the hunting, the poachers, their long trek to the underground lake, and finally, the massacre.
He had been worried that they wouldn’t get it. That they were too engaged in this world to empathize with “primitive” culture. He was relieved to see most of them had tears in their eyes. Jane gripped his hand tightly.
“Such a waste,” Curtiss said. “Will we ever learn?”
Eric was grateful for them and knew he was lucky, but he also felt that he shouldn’t be alive. He should have died there in Namibia, and every breath he took felt like a crime.
Jane seemed to sense his distant thoughts, and perhaps felt hurt by them. “You’re still there, aren’t you?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but for a moment no words would come. Then he nodded. “I can’t let it go . . . and I don’t think I ever will.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Bill said. “You’ve seen a world that few ever do. You’ve seen the madness of what we have created. Don’t forget that.”
They stayed and talked for a time, but by midnight it was just Eric, Jane, and Bill.
Finally, Eric turned to Bill. “I need to ask you something. And I need to trust that you won’t tell anyone regardless of your answer.”
Bill didn’t respond right away. “I must admit that trust is something that is becoming rare around here, but yes, I promise.”
“They accepted me as part of their family. I have to honor that by doing whatever I can for them.”
Bill squeezed his eyes to mere slits, not understanding.
“Whatever I can,” Eric said emphatically.
Chapter Fifty-Five
The Pact
December 17, 2026
Washington, DC
Twenty-four hours later, Admiral Curtiss was working late in his study when he heard the tap on his window. For a moment he tensed, remembering he’d stowed his sidearm in his gun locker. But then he relaxed. He was on base and if anyone wanted to hurt him, they wouldn’t bother knocking first.
The tap came again, more insistent. “Admiral, open up, it’s Sawyer.”
Curtiss went to the window. Why would he come so late without calling or texting? Then Curtiss’s mind filled in the blank. Because he doesn’t want any digital traces of his whereabouts. Curtiss’s fear spiked.
He raised the window but saw no one. Curtiss stepped back and heard the man scramble through the window. A second later the SEAL appeared. The first thing Sawyer did was embrace him. Curtiss felt the man’s emotion in his touch. Something is very wrong. Sawyer whispered in his ear. “NCIS is on their way. We’ve only got a few minutes. They already picked up Loc. Patel . . . he . . .” Emotion choked the man’s words.
Walden, Curtiss thought. He figured it out.
He felt a cascade of emotions undulate through his body—anger, frustration, and regret. I still have so much to do.
He returned Sawyer’s embrace, his muscles flexing full. He was savoring life now because everything he did from this moment forth he would be doing for the last time.
“I’m sorry, Nathan.”
“Don’t be,” the SEAL said. “We understood what we were doing and we joined you willingly. I hated what we did, but I’d do it again. We all would . . . because we saved more lives than we took.”
All Curtiss could do was nod. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
“Yes, sir.”
The SEAL moved to the desk and placed two pistols on it. Sig Sauer P220s. Then he produced two suppressors and began threading them into the barrels. He looked at Curtiss, a tinge of guilt on his face. “I didn’t want to wake the boys.”
For a moment, Curtiss’s mind raced ahead to the grisly scene. Hopefully, NCIS would arrive soon and cordon off the room. If they didn’t, then either his wife or one of his sons might find them first. For some reason he imagined Logan, his eldest, opening the door to find his father and his “uncle” dead. But Curtiss pushed the image away. It couldn’t be helped now.
He picked up one of the Sigs, ejected the clip and inspected the rounds. Luger hollow points. A good choice. He reinserted the clip and advanced the slide, putting a round in the chamber. Then he thumbed the safety off.
A sudden silence came over the room. It was as if the world had taken a long exhalation, and the night seemed to close in around the two men. After all that they had lived through, after all they had survived, this was how it was going to end.
“Nathan, it has been an honor serving with you.”
Sawyer looked down at the pistol he was cradling in his hands. “Yes, it has, sir.”
Curtiss heard a creak at the door.
“Daddy?”
Curtiss spun around. His eight-year-old son, River, stood in the doorway. His eyes were nearly closed, mere slits against the sudden light of the room. He held up a hand to shade them.
“River, you need to go back to bed right now.”
His father’s stern voice knocked away his drowsiness and for the first time he seemed to take in the scene. “Uncle Nathan?” Then his eyes fell on the pistols. “Dad?”
“Son, I need you to go upstairs right now.”
The boy froze. He knew his father well enough to know that he had to obey, yet he stayed rooted to the spot. The strangeness of it, the odd supplication in his father’s otherwise steely voice.
A tear escaped Curtiss’s eye. “River, I need you to go. Please.” Something in the night seemed to snap, and the boy rushed to his father and wrapped his arms around him.
“Don’t send me away.” A deep thud came from the front door, then the sound of wood splintering. Curtiss tried to push the boy away, but it was too late. Four NCIS officers, dressed in SWAT black, swept into the room.
“Drop the weapon! Hands in the air. Do it now!”
For a split second, Curtiss’s eyes narrowed. He thought of shoving River away and pointing the gun at the men. Suicide by cop. But he rejected the idea. He didn’t want one of these rent-a-cops accidentally shooting his son or the life-long case of PTSD it would give River.
“Do it now!”
He raised his free hand in supplication and set the sig gently on the desk. Then he embraced his boy as the four officers closed in. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
River clutched tightly to his father, but rough hands ripped them apart. Quickly the men handcuffed his father. “Admiral James Curtiss, you are under arrest for violating the Uniform Code of Military Justice, including one thousand four hundred and fifteen counts of falsifying official statements, one hundred and twelve counts of false imprisonment, one hundred and thirty-five counts of cruelty and maltreatment, eighty-five counts of maiming, and one count of murder.”
Curtiss said nothing as the charges were read. River turned his head and saw his mother in the doorway, her hand over her mouth.
“Under Article 31 of the Uniform Code you may not be compelled to incriminate yourself or answer any questions the answer to which may tend to incriminate you . . .”
River then remembered Uncle Nathan. He turned but the man was gone.
One of the NCIS agents approached the open window, peered for a moment into the darkness, then turned away.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The Fifth Tribe
December 17, 2026
Walter Reed Military Hospital, Bethesda, MD
“Dr. Singh says you are not being a very good patient,” Jane said.
“I’m a very good patient,” Eric countered. “I just don’t need another test to find out something I already know.”
“You had a major blow to your head, Eric, bad enough that you lost your si
ght. Don’t you think it’s worth getting an MRI?”
“No.”
Jane shook her head.
At that moment Mei barged into the room, breathing hard. “Something’s happened. Over at Curtiss’s house. Police.”
“What? Slow down.”
Jane went to the girl, who almost collapsed into her arms. Jane guided her to the small sofa in the room.
A moment later Lili and Xiao-ping came in. “She won’t talk to us,” Lili said. “Said she could only tell you.”
“Take a deep breath,” Jane said to Mei and tucked some loose strands of hair behind the girl’s ear.
The girl obeyed, breathing deliberately, her eyes trying to focus on Jane.
“It’s Curtiss,” she said, “he’s been arrested.”
“Arrested?” Jane said, “For what?”
“I don’t know. I was upstairs in Logan’s room. I didn’t mean to stay, but I fell asleep. Suddenly there’s a bang and shouting. The place was full of police. They took Curtiss away then they made us all come down to the kitchen.
“Mrs. Curtiss was furious, fighting them every inch of the way. She knows it’s political and she doesn’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“About the children. They say that he kidnapped and tortured children.”
Eric and Jane exchanged a skeptical glance.
“When did this happen?”
“I don’t know. Forty minutes ago. I came as fast as I could.”
Eric pulled out his iSheet. “It’s already on the news.” He opened the device to its biggest size. Dan Williams, the anchor for NBC news, sat behind his horseshoe desk: “This story is just breaking: reports of the torture and murder of children by US forces during the Syrian War. In a shocking report, Pentagon officials have confirmed that Admiral James Curtiss, a former Navy SEAL and war hero, led a rogue operation to kidnap, torture, and sometimes kill children related to the leaders of the warring factions in Syria.
“Joining us now is our Defense Correspondent, Josh Hewitt. Josh, what can you tell us?”
“Yes, Dan, a major scandal is rocking the Pentagon tonight: the abduction and torture of children at the hands of US soldiers. He’s what we know so far: It appears that as many as a hundred and thirty-five children were kidnapped. Their ages ranged from fifteen to as young as six years old. All of the children have been linked to high-level officials involved in the Syrian conflict, including leaders of the Islamic Front, the Syrian Free Army, Al-Qaeda, ISIL, and the government of President Bashar al-Assad. It appears that Admiral Curtiss used US Special Forces including Navy SEALs to kidnap the children then blackmailed the various leaders into accepting the Zurich Peace Accord. Details are still coming in, but it appears that if the leaders resisted the admiral’s demands, then the children were tortured on video. We have several reports claiming that many of the victims lost fingers, toes, and even hands. It is believed that the videos and amputated body parts were then sent to the Syrian leaders. The Pentagon says that one child was killed during the operation. It appears that about half the children were released after the peace accords were signed, but in order to ensure that certain leaders did not renege on the deal, many children were kept in a secret compound in Egypt for the past three years.”
“Very disturbing, Josh. How did this story break and why are we just hearing about this now?”
“It appears that we owe a lot to General Chip Walden, Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He’s emerging as the hero in this story. He just finished a press conference wherein he explained how he directed Air Force Intelligence to begin looking for the children after he became suspicious of the Syrian peace process. Thanks to his efforts, the children will now be reunited with their families. The Pentagon is stressing that this was an illegal operation and not condoned by the US government. Walden said that Admiral Curtiss and at least fifteen other naval servicemen and women are now in custody and will face court martial.”
Jane turned off the iSheet. Mei immediately began crying. “It’s not true. It can’t be. It can’t!”
“Of course it’s not true,” Jane said, wrapping an arm around the girl. “It’s Walden trying to get control of the lab.” Yet in her heart, Jane doubted her own words. The story was horrific and shocking in its magnitude, but it was quintessential Curtiss. In it she saw the same cruel logic that she had seen so many times before. The incarceration and mistreatment of 135 children (and the death of one) in exchange for what? Peace for millions. Stability in a war-torn part of the world. The lives of thousands of US soldiers who got to come home. That’s pure Curtiss, she thought.
She brought Mei closer, tucking the girl’s head under her chin. “Everything is going to be okay.” But this, too, was a lie, and she knew it. A great purge was coming. Anyone who had ever touched Curtiss was now tainted—CNO Garrett, Bill Eastman, Jack Berhmann . . . even Eric’s job and her own were now on the chopping block. Every decision that Curtiss had made could now be questioned, giving Walden and his allies carte blanche to restructure the NRL as they saw fit. Which, of course, included helping themselves to all their technology.
There were two taps on the door and to Jane’s amazement, Bill Eastman and Jack Berhmann came in.
“We came as soon as we heard,” Jack said. “If we are going to survive this, we’re going to have to stick together.”
Bill continued. “The thing that I have feared for so long is coming to pass. The technology we created is slipping out of our control. Worse, it is being handed to someone more interested in accumulating his own power than using it for the good of the country and mankind. I feel that it is now our duty, our obligation, to fight back.”
“How can we do that?” Jane said.
“I honestly don’t know,” Bill replied. “All I know is that I’ve been irresponsible. Eric’s story made me realize many things. Most importantly, how far I’d gone astray. When I was a boy, I learned important lessons about friendship and community and simplicity. But I forgot them as I tried to change the world. I see now that I am a lesser man for it.
“I’ve been on the sidelines for too long. I’ve watched idly as our society split into different factions, yet I refused to act, hoping that things would work themselves out.
“Now the time has come for me to pick a side . . . or perhaps it’s up to us to make our own.” He looked at them each in turn. “I cannot tell you what course we need to take, only that the path we have been on is wrong.”
There was a moment of silence.
“I’m in,” Eric said.
Bill came up to him and clasped his hand.
“Me, too,” Lili said, and Xiao-ping nodded his approval.
Jane didn’t answer right away, but turned to Mei. “How about you?”
The girl wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”
“Okay,” Jane said. “What do we do?”
An hour later, Bill and Jack said goodbye and left Eric’s room. Bill knew they had a lot to do and little time to do it in. Foremost in his mind was the possibility that he might not have a job at the NRL much longer. If they could fire Oppenheimer for political reasons, he thought, they can certainly fire me. He would have to do his best to curry Walden’s favor for as long as possible in order to maintain his access to the lab’s technology.
He was about to ask for Jack’s advice, when his eyes fell on the two bodyguards that had escorted them from the lab.
Over the past year and a half he had grown accustomed to bodyguards . . . who were all Curtiss’s handpicked SEALs or Marines. He had befriended them and trusted them.
But these two men were new, picked by Walden, which meant they wouldn’t hesitate to eavesdrop on Walden’s behalf if they could. That’s why Bill had insisted they wait near the nurses’ station—outside of earshot from Eric’s room.
As Bill saw them he gave a
heavy sigh of annoyance. He didn’t like either of them. One was an overweight MP who didn’t look like he could pass a basic physical, much less a fitness test. The other was a heavily tattooed marine who clearly resented babysitting two scientists.
Irritated, Bill walked past them without a second glance, hoping to get into the elevator with Jack before they could catch up.
But the Marine scrambled to his feet and stuck his hand in the closing door at the last second. It slid open again.
Jack checked his watch as they waited for the fat one to catch up. “How did it go?” Fatty asked through panted breath.
“Fine,” Jack said.
The man inclined his head for more information, but none was given.
In the parking lot, the four men walked up to the black Ford sedan.
Jack finally broke the silence.
“Eventually you’ll have to tell them everything.”
Bill knew that Jack was referring to Eric and Jane not the two bodyguards.
“I almost did, but I think it’s better if we wait a little longer.”
Bill heard a jingle as Fatty produced his keys, then the car alarm chirped.
At that moment Bill heard a strange phhhissst sound and felt a sudden movement of the air. The fat bodyguard’s hand flew to his face reflexively, then he crumpled to the ground. Bill looked down at him, and in the low light of the parking lot lights, saw that his eye was a dark mass of blood. “Wha . . .” He looked across the roof of the car where Jack stood with the marine. The two old friends shared a puzzled look.
Phhhisssst.
The marine beside Jack collapsed without a sound.
Bill turned quickly to the right, then the left, trying to understand, but saw no one.
“Good evening, gentlemen.”
Bill turned once more and saw a handsome man emerge from the shadows. He was wearing a naval officer’s uniform, a black overcoat with the silver oak leaf of a commander on his shoulder. In his hand was a silver snub-nosed semiautomatic pistol with a suppressor that was dripping water.
