Logan and Dev arrived first and found Harp and Barney sitting in the lobby. Barney had insisted that Harp be taken by one of the ambulances so he could be checked out after his hostage ordeal.
“What did the doctor say?” Logan asked.
“About me?” Harp said, surprised.
“Yeah, Dad. About you.”
“Said for a man my age, I seem to be in perfect health.”
Logan looked at him skeptically, but Barney nodded.
“Yeah. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have believed it, either.”
“Means I’m going to be around for a while still, so you should remember that,” Harp said.
“Great,” Logan replied, rolling his eyes in mock disgust. “I hear you’re pretty handy with a tire iron.”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“You should have seen him,” Barney said, swinging his arm through the air. “He didn’t even think about it. He just did it.”
Beaming, Harp said, “See? I can be useful.”
“Of course you can, Dad. I’ve always known that.” Logan paused, then said, “I have something for you.”
Harp raised an eyebrow, curious. “What?”
Logan pulled the envelope from Len out of his pocket, and held it out. “Just a little late on my promise.”
Harp lit up. “Thank you. I…I appreciate it.”
The outside door opened and Sanchez and Callie came in.
“When we have a little time,” Logan said to his dad, “we’re going to talk about what’s inside.”
“I thought you said you didn’t look,” Harp said.
“I did. Sorry, Dad.”
“Oh.”
“But I didn’t read it.”
Harp hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. We’ll talk.”
“Mr. Harper? Mr. Martin?” Sanchez called out. “Are you coming with us?”
They proceeded into the emergency room, where they learned that both Richard and Alan were in surgery. They found Sara, Diana, Rachel, and Kurt in a private room waiting for news of their loved ones. Emily was there, too, wide awake and clinging to her mother.
There was a happy moment of reunion as Logan and the others walked in.
“Boy, was I wrong about you,” Diana said.
Logan shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
“Thank you,” Sara told him. “Is…Dr. Paskota…”
“Probably in surgery right now,” Logan said. “And under arrest. It’s over.”
Judging by the look on her face, she didn’t agree. He knew she was thinking about the client still out there who’d paid for Emily’s existence.
He looked over at Rachel and Kurt. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes alone? We need to talk to Sara and Diana.”
Rachel nodded. “We’ll be in the cafeteria.”
Once they were gone, Logan turned his attention back to Sara and Diana. “I know you’re still worried, but this can be over if you want it to be.” He glanced at the other two women in the room. “Sara, you already know Callie. The person with her is Special Agent Sanchez with the FBI. I think you all have a lot to talk about.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY — SEVEN
Alan slowly opened his eyes, finally waking from his surgery. His head was still a bit cloudy, but the searing pain in his leg seemed to be gone. He knew that was just temporary, the drugs he’d been given dulling his senses.
He closed his eyes again, trying to piece the evening back together, and wondering what had happened. After several seconds he realized something was pressing against his hand. He forced his lids open and glanced down.
“So you are awake.”
He froze. Despite the words, he thought he might still be sleeping, lost in a dream.
Using what strength he had, he forced himself to look to his right.
“Hi,” Sara said.
It was really her. She was sitting in a chair beside his bed, holding his hand.
“Hi,” he managed.
“The doctor says you’re going to be okay. A little sore for a while, but okay.”
He stared at her, unable to form any words.
She smiled. “You will have to stay here for another couple days, though.”
“Oh,” he said, suddenly tense. “Emily. Where is she?”
“Rachel has her. They wouldn’t let me bring her in.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She just wants to see her dad.” She hesitated. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was never about you. It was…my past.”
“Don’t,” he said.
“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”
He watched her for a moment. “Are you going to disappear again?”
“Never. I promise.”
He could see the pain and the truth and the love in her eyes.
He squeezed her hand. “If you do, I’ll send Logan to find you again.”
She laughed, and after a second, he did, too.
C HAPTER E IGHTY- E IGHT
Three Weeks Later
Manila, The Philippines
Logan met his father in the lobby of the hotel.
“You ready?” he asked.
Harp looked nervous, but he nodded and tried to smile.
Logan guided him out the front door to the car waiting for them at the curb. Harp climbed in first, sliding over so that Logan could get in behind him. Moments later, their driver was navigating them through the notorious Manila traffic.
It took nearly an hour to reach their destination southeast of downtown, near Aquino International Airport. The sign out front read:
MANILA AMERICAN CEMETERY AND MEMORIAL
They passed through an open gate in a gray, barred fence, but had to stop just on the other side for a guard. The driver rolled down his window and the guard stuck his head in.
When he saw Harp and Logan in the back, he said, “American?”
“Yes,” Logan said.
“Okay. Park over there.” He pointed at a white building off to the right with the word VISITORS etched in the stone at the top of a small portico.
Suddenly, it was like they were in a different world. The chaos of Manila disappeared, replaced by an empty road running up a tranquil, grass-covered hill. At the apex of the gentle slope, Logan could see their destination.
“I can ask if it’s okay to drive up there,” Logan said to his father. The road did go all the way up.
“I’d rather walk.”
They exited the car and headed up the road. On either side of them was a well-kept expanse of grass, lined with row after row of white stone grave markers, crosses, and Stars of David. These were soldiers and sailors and marines who had died in World War II, but Harp and Logan weren’t there to see one of those tombstones.
As they neared the end of the road, the monument came into full view. Two arcs, each half of a circle separated enough so that a wide stone walkway ran through the openings at either end. The arcs, constructed of a similar stone, were maybe fifteen feet high, the curving roofs held in place by dozens of walls set up like dominos in side-by-side pairs.
These were what the two Harper men came to see. Carved on both sides of the walls were names, nearly forty thousand in all. These were the ones who had never been able to receive a grave like their fellow servicemen buried nearby. There was nothing of these men to bury, for they were the missing in action.
“Just a second,” Harp said as they reached the steps that led up to the arcs.
“Sure, Dad.” Logan was actually glad to rest a moment.
As a former soldier himself, he couldn’t help but think about those he’d served with who had never come home. Those he was surrounded by here were as much his brothers and sisters as the ones back in Afghanistan had been. A wave of sadness and loss threatened to overwhelm him. Feeling his eyes grow moist, he turned away from his father and took a few deep breaths.
When he was finally back in control, he said, “Whenever you’re ready, Dad.”
They found the wall they were looking for about halfway down the arc on the right. Logan spotted the name first.
HARPER THOMAS J AVN ORDNANCEMAN 2C USN KANSAS
Harp let out a gasp when he saw it. He reached out and touched the letters, gently brushing against them as if they might vanish if he pushed too hard.
For nearly five minutes, neither of them said a word.
Then Harp pulled Len’s envelope from his pocket and removed the one that was inside, the letter he had sent to his brother, Tom.
Harp had finally told Logan this was the trip he and Len had talked about so many years ago, the one Len was never able to make, the one he wanted to make sure Harp didn’t miss, too. Logan had immediately booked the flight, and now here they were.
Harp broke the seal, but seemed unable to pull out the letter.
Logan leaned over and carefully removed the paper from inside.
“Here, Dad,” he said, handing over the letter.
“I don’t know if I can,” Harp said.
Logan smiled at him. “I do.”
For several seconds, silence threatened to take over again. Then Harp looked down at the words in front of him, the words he had written as a child, and began to read aloud.
“Dear Tom…”
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-31da3b-9865-c543-cebb-f0d5-3994-cbcdfd
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 23.03.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.39, Fiction Book Designer, Fiction Book Investigator, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
Battles, Brett
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Every Precious Thing lh-2 Page 26
