by Eric Meyer
He paused for no longer than a second. "Bring her inside."
The doctor called an orderly who placed Rachel, who was still unconscious, on a gurney that looked like a library trolley with two planks fastened to the top. He wheeled it through a door and into a classroom. He tried to follow, but the medic held up a hand. “This is the operating room. You cannot come inside.”
“Yeah, I get. It’s a sterile area.”
He spluttered as he tried to suppress a laugh. “Sterile? No, it’s not sterile. There’s no way we can recreate the sterile conditions of a proper operating room. It’s just that it’s too crowded.”
When he looked through the door, Nolan understood. It was overcrowded, and then some. A few seconds later the door opened again, and he saw men and women in bloodstained white gowns, bent over tables that looked like school desks. Nurses assisted, passing them scalpels and instruments, and mopping away the blood. There was a lot of blood. It was like an abattoir. When the instruments became too bloody to use, a nurse would simply wipe the blood off on her gown and reuse the scalpel or forceps. Sometimes the instrument was a stainless steel amputation saw, and in the corner of the room he noticed a waste bin filled with amputated limbs. It was a scene from the very depths of hell, and before they closed the door, a doctor cursed as an artery opened and blood spurted on the ceiling, creating a pattern like a Jackson Pollock original. Then the door shut, and all they could do was wait.
They paced up and down through the rest of the night. Several times the doctor rushed out of the room, went to the head teacher’s office, and reemerged carrying vials of drugs. Just as the first rays of dawn were showing in the sky, he emerged gray and exhausted. His expression said everything.
“You are related to this woman I have been trying to save?”
“No. Yes. No…” He didn’t know what to say, but Stern stepped forward. “I am her godfather.”
He nodded. "I'm sorry, we did everything we could, but the damage was too catastrophic. The bullet chewed up several of her internal organs, and she never stood a chance."
Nolan felt something dark and heavy pressing down on his body. Right then he wished it would squeeze the life out of him. Despite the deception, he’d thought long and hard through the night, and he understood if he were in her position, he would have done the same thing. He also believed her when she said her feelings for him were genuine. Now she was gone, and the time they’d spent together was just a memory.
“You did your best. I know you did.”
“We did everything possible. There was nothing more we could do, absolutely nothing.”
“I believe you.” He looked at Ryder, “About that money, did you count it out?”
He patted his pocket. “All done.”
“Give it to him.” John-Wesley handed over the money, and Nolan shook the guy’s hand. "Buy yourself some drugs and stuff like that. Anything you want.”
“In the end we failed. This is an enormous sum of money. Are you certain?"
"You earned it, Doc. Put it to good use.”
“I will, I promise. Is there anything else I can do?”
“I want to see her before we leave."
“Of course.”
“There is something else. She’s Jewish, is there a Jewish cemetery close to Aleppo?"
"It is outside the city, and I will make the arrangements."
He was about to turn away when Stern stopped him. "Make it for today, and I will say Kaddish."
“As you wish.”
The funeral was a somber affair, and Nolan couldn’t shake the devastating sense of loss. She was a pearl beyond price, and his harsh words just before the end would have gone deep. There was no rabbi to say the right words, so Stern officiated. Nolan murmured a prayer over the grave, and they left. Ryder still had hold of the flight case as they walked back to the vehicle.
"John-Wesley, I shouldn't have done that. Used State Department money to try to help Rachel."
"Yes, you should. She was part of all this, and she did as much as any of us to save the mission. Besides, there were plenty of Kurds in that hospital, so the money will go where it was intended.”
"What I mean is, you have your own problems with your aunt back home who’s sick. If you want to take the same amount of cash as I gave the doctor to try to save Rachel, it's up to you. I won’t object.”
He frowned. "Thanks, but no thanks. It’s not my way, Boss. You had no choice with Rachel. I have choices. I can try to raise the money in other ways. I'll manage. "
“Okay, then we have one task left to do. It's time we delivered that case to the Kurds, and we can go home.”
They drove back into the city. The battle had died down, and they found Abdul Karim in the same place they’d left him, waiting and surrounded by his men. His face was expressionless as they walked inside.
“You came back.”
“I said we would. We brought your money.”
He nodded to a man who opened the flight case, and a collective sigh came over the group when they saw the neat stacks of high denomination dollar bills. He stared at Nolan.
“Did you have any serious problems getting it to us?”
“Routine stuff, nothing we couldn’t handle.”
He wasn’t fooled. “Lieutenant, I see something deep and dark in your eyes. You are a man who has lost someone dear to you.”
He nodded. “Yessir, she was dear to me.”
“It happens in war.”
Except it wasn’t the war. It was theft, by one of their own. “Not only in war.”
* * *
Before the flight took off, he had a long conversation with Admiral Jacks and explained about the dirty bombs. And how they were still in Youssef’s basement.
“The Syrians need to know about them, Sir. They’ll have to get them out and find a way to destroy them.”
“Jesus Christ, what a screw-up. Don’t worry. I’ll get this handled on a Presidential level. Although there’s no way Bashar al-Assad can ever know how close he came to taking a bullet from one of our own men. It never happened, Nolan. When they ask how we know about these bombs, we’ll have to tell him we’re acting on intelligence received. If they found out about our involvement, it could start another war. That’s the last thing they need over in Syria. Remember, it never happened.”
“Copy that, Admiral.”
They were an hour out of San Diego on a civilian flight. Nolan was thinking about the old Yazidi, Misha. In the end he’d driven away in the Land Cruiser. The Nissan was dented and pockmarked with bullet holes, while the Toyota was relatively undamaged.
“Take the Toyota, and if you want to sell the Nissan for scrap value, go ahead. We won’t be needing either of them, ever again.”
“You’re sure?”
“You earned them, Misha. Without you, we’d never have made it.” He held out a hand, and they shook.
“Lieutenant, if you’re ever in Northern Syria, and you need a cab, you call me. I promise you the best rates.”
“Pal, this is the last time I’ll come here. I’ve had a gutsful of Syria, and besides…” He had to clear the choking sensation in his throat, “Returning to this place would bring back memories. Memories I’d sooner forget.”
But we also had a tiny fraction of time together. I’ll treasure that for as long as I live.
Thinking about her he smiled, and he glanced at Bryce who was sitting next to him. The Master Chief misunderstood and grinned back at him.
“I can't wait to get back home. We took enough shit back there to last us a lifetime. All I want now is to see my family, a hot shower, a warm bed, and a warm wife.”
Ryder looked at Nolan and winced. “Some guys have all the luck.”
He wasn’t so sure. “I dunno, John-Wesley. It’s more than luck. Some guys live their lives better. They make the right choices. You and me, we’re going back to…what? Nothing. No, worse than nothing, a possible murder charge.”
“We didn't have a choice, Boss. Whe
n you see a guy beating up a girl, even murdering a girl, you have to act. That's what sets us apart from the rest of them. That's why we do what we do.”
I'd sooner do it with a girl to go home to.
Ryder sensed his mood. “She was exceptional, Rachel. In the end, she loved you more than anything. She gave her life for you, what more could a girl do?"
He tried to make some sense of his grief. “There’s nothing more she could have done. Ryder, I've been meaning to ask you. When I came to in that tunnel, you were holding a knife, and the blade was covered in blood. The knife you'd used to kill Waverley.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Did he make a grab for the gun?”
Ryder didn't answer at first. He was thinking it through. Finally, he shrugged. "That's what it'll say in my report. He went for his gun."
"If you say so.”
"Boss, it’s true. I’m just not saying when exactly he went for his gun. If someone asks me anything about timescale, I'll plead the fifth.”
“You can't do that in the U.S. Navy, John-Wesley.”
He didn’t look concerned. More like a man who’d thought it through. “Then I'll suffer a memory lapse. It was so confusing down there. Dark, and the muzzle flashes dazzled me. I really couldn't say for certain.”
“You’ve never been dazzled in your life.”
“Then it must have been an illusion.”
“What about the promise not to kill Waverley?”
A pause. “It’s like this, Boss. A promise only goes so far. After that, a man has to do the right thing.”
He nodded. “I just wish it’d been me who killed him.”
“Next time, Boss. Next time.”
* * *
The minibus stopped outside the administration block, and he spotted a cop cruiser parked outside. Nolan entered the Admiral’s office, and a cop was with him, a Police Captain wearing the insignia of the San Diego PD. He came to attention and saluted, and Jacks told him to stand easy.
“About that business outside the bar when that guy died. I had my Shore Patrol track down every vehicle that was parked outside that night, and they found one with a dashcam that the owner had left running. It bears out your story, so you and Ryder are in the clear.”
Nolan felt a slight easing of the knot in his guts. “That's good news, Admiral. Is that why Captain Ferrero is here?”
“Not exactly. Captain Ferrero is liaising with the Washington cops about that other business. The plan was to take you and Ryder back into custody, but a new witness has come forward at the last moment. A guy who was driving past, and he saw Waverley stab Mrs. Shapiro in the street. So now you’re in the clear for both murders." He grimaced, "They say these things come in threes, but don't bank on it. I'd say you've used up your quota of luck for the next five years.”
Nolan thought of Rachel. "Maybe for a lifetime, Admiral."
"Maybe. I've had your verbal report, but I want everything in writing so I can tie up the loose ends and report back to State about Waverley. By the way, I forgot to congratulate you on pulling it off. It can't have been easy."
"It was complicated."
“I guess it was. A shame about Custer, and there was no way you could have got him home, but at least your unit didn't suffer other casualties. "
He didn't reply. He'd suffered two further casualties. One was the girl he'd grown to love in such a short time, and the second was a broken heart.
When he didn’t reply, Jacks continued. “That'll be all for now, Lieutenant. I have a few loose ends to tie up with Captain Ferrero. You're dismissed. You should relax for a few days. Find yourself a girl. Enjoy yourself.”
He thought about Rachel, and it would be a long time before he got over her, if ever.
"Yessir." He looked at Ferrero. "By the way, the witness to Helen Shapiro's stabbing, did he give a name?"
Ferreira nodded. "He was a guy by the name of Nathan Stern. An Israeli Colonel, over here on some business to do with the Israeli Embassy. Is it important?"
"It’s not important, no."
“Okay. By the way, the Admiral tells me you’ve been operating inside Syria. What’s it like? A shithouse, like everyone says?”
“It’s a killing ground, Captain. A butcher’s shop.”
He saluted Jacks, spun on his heel, and left the office. He'd arranged to meet Ryder for a few drinks. No, not a few drinks. He intended to consume a great deal of alcohol. He’d go on until he’d drunk San Diego dry, or he passed out.
He was leaning against the bar when Ryder entered. He signaled for two more beers with whiskey chasers, and he told Ryder about Stern.
“The Colonel came through for us. Gave a witness statement about that business in Washington.”
Ryder looked surprised. “He saw it happen?”
“I believe he was in Israel at the time, so I doubt it.”
“He was a good guy.”
After more drinks than they could count, they staggered out of the bar. Neither man wanted to go home. Neither man had anything to go home for. All they had was a friendship forged in the U.S. Navy SEALs, and a shared desire to get drunker than any sailor in San Diego. Before they could make up their minds which bar to go to next, a car pulled up alongside them.
The window wound down, and a man looked out. “I thought you might need a lift to the next bar."
Nolan gave him a stupid, drunken grin. "Colonel Stern, why am I not surprised?"
"Life's full of surprises Lieutenant. Get in. I know a good bar.”
“We’ve just been in a bar.”
“This one’s better.”
They shrugged and fell into the vehicle. He drove them to bar and set up the drinks. They sat at a table, and he looked like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Eventually, he murmured, “I'm sorry about Rachel. She was an amazing person."
"Yes, she was."
"I envied you with Rachel, Nolan. Back in Israel I don't have anyone. Special Forces, it's not a life that encourages relationships."
"No, it does not."
Stern was struggling to keep his emotions in check. “You know she was my goddaughter?”
“Sure we knew, Colonel. You told us before.”
“Right. How about a toast? To Rachel Dayan, she was brave, and she was beautiful, like her sister Helen. To Rachel and Helen.”
They raised their glasses. "Rachel and Helen."
He pictured her beauty, her strength, and strangely, a kind of fragility she possessed.
Like she was a ballerina, fragile on the outside, yet sprung steel on the inside. She was everything. And I’ll never forget her.
