Jericho 3

by Paul McKellips

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay, ah, tell her I’ll be right over. It’ll take me 10 minutes to get there.”

  “Roger that, ma’am.”

  A million things went through Leslie’s mind. None of them seemed good. Certainly she would have heard directly from General Ferguson if something had happened to Camp. She rode the elevator without buttons down to the atrium, walked quickly past the coffee bar and the leather chairs, out the atrium and down the sidewalk past the parking lots to the visitor’s center.

  “Mrs. Campbell, what a lovely surprise.”

  Ruth looked around at all of the empty chairs in the visitor’s center waiting room.

  “I don’t see a Mrs. Campbell in here, Leslie, do you?”

  Raines laughed and gave Ruth a big hug.

  “How are you, Ruth? Did you drive all the way over here from Lancaster County?”

  “All 95 miles from Bird-in-Hand. The old man was driving me nuts, so I needed a drive. I’ve got exactly 20 minutes before I need to drive back home, so I can get supper on the table by five. Seabury gets persnippity if he’s not served supper before the evening news. We always ate, washed the dishes by hand and fed the animals before Walter Cronkite came on.”

  “Well then, let’s not keep Mr. Campbell waiting. Is something wrong, Ruth?”

  “I took Seabury to see our doctor, Harry Tasner. He’s been practicing medicine in Lancaster County since 1963. Fine man, really. His wife Doris passed a few years back. Harry has never been the same, but he still shows up for work every day.”

  “Is something wrong with Mr. Campbell?”

  “Two days ago he was out in the barn. The girls and their husbands had already come over for the evening milking. They had just fed the cows. Seabury hasn’t worked – actually worked – in the barn for 10 years. After supper he went out to the barn. He didn’t even turn on the news. I went out into the barn, and there he was, holding a bucket of feed. He didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know why he was even out there.”

  “Well, Ruth, I wouldn’t get too worried. Mr. Campbell is getting up there in years. Maybe he was just a little tired, a bit confused after a long week.”

  “Maybe so. But yesterday was different. He said he grabbed his coat and went outside about eight-thirty last night. Never even took a flashlight with him. I think I dozed off in my chair while I was crocheting. I never heard him leave. Well, something on the blasted TV woke me up, must’ve been nine-thirty. Seabury was nowhere to be found. I checked the porch. I looked in the barn. I even rang the dinner bell. Nothing. I called the girls, and they came over. We looked for a few minutes, and finally we called the sheriff. The sheriff came over in his pick-up. It’s a beautiful new four-wheel drive truck. Not sure how he can really afford that kind of a truck on his salary, especially with all of those fancy off-road lights and everything.”

  “Ruth…did he find Mr. Campbell?”

  “Well he drove around the 40 acres for 10 minutes with the girls. Down by the creek, on the far end of our land, there was Seabury. He was sitting on a tree stump, shivering and all upset.”

  “Was he hurt?

  “No, not that we could tell. The sheriff brought him back to the farm house. After I hugged him, I just about knocked his head off I was so mad. I said, ‘Why didn’t you come home?’ He said he tried to but just got lost.”

  “Lost?”

  “We’ve lived on those same 40 acres since the 1950s. You can’t get lost out there. It’s all row crops and grazing pastures.”

  “What did Dr. Tasner say, Ruth?”

  “Said he thinks Seabury’s got hardening of the arteries.”

  “Atherosclerosis?”

  “No, he didn’t mention that one. Maybe. I don’t know, all those fancy words confuse me.”

  “It’s a reasonable diagnosis from a small-town family physician. What does Dr. Tasner want to do?”

  “Says I ought to cut back on the pure butter I use in Seabury’s food and that he should have his pressure checked every week over at the drug store.”

  “That’s it? Cut out butter and get his blood pressure checked?”

  “Well, that didn’t seem like enough to me either, Leslie. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Junior is out gallivanting around the globe playing Army men, and Eileen is still mourning over Jane. I didn’t know who to call.”

  “You did exactly the right thing, Ruth. Are you okay to drive home?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes yes. I may be seasoned, but I’m not an invalid.”

  “Okay…let me make a few calls. I’ll call you tomorrow, no later than supper, I promise.”

  Ruth stood up, grabbed her purse and reached over to kiss Leslie’s cheek.

  “You are a wonderful person, Leslie. I knew that the first time I met you. You would make a wonderful daughter-in-law.”

  Raines blushed as Ruth summoned one of the guards behind the desk.

  “You there, sergeant, walk this old woman out to her car,” Ruth called out to one of the uniformed guards behind the desk. Regardless of their rank, all soldiers were “sergeants” in Ruth Campbell’s mind.

  Lieutenant Perkins looked over at Raines who lifted her hands in defense since she was innocent of issuing the order.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Perkins said begrudgingly as he locked arms with Ruth and walked her out to her Ford Galaxy sedan for the 95-mile drive back to Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania.

  Raines watched Lieutenant Perkins help Ruth into her old Ford Galaxy. She knew Camp would want to know that his father’s health was failing. But just like every military family that deploys, sometimes decisions are made to protect warriors from having to deal with more than one war at a time. Raines decided to step in and handle the family problem herself, a situation Camp knew nothing about.

  * * *

  6

  * * *

  Datta Khel, Miran Shah District

  North Waziristan, Pakistan

  When Banks regained consciousness, he realized that he had been placed in a chair at a table. Two AK-47 toting captors stood above him on both sides. A long knife was the only object on the table. He looked up to his left and realized that the guard’s face was completely covered by a Shemagh that was tied around his head, face, nose and mouth. Only his eyes were exposed. He kept looking straight ahead. Banks looked to his left, and the other terrorist was equally as stoic. The wall behind him was covered with a black and white flag. Based on what Banks remembered from the pre-deployment briefings he tried to sleep through, he thought he was probably sitting in front of the Islamic Khilafah – Shahada – the flag of jihad.

  “Dr. Banks, I hope you’re feeling better since your nap.”

  Banks glared at Kazi. His jaws clenched, and he was determined to take his execution like an American, like a soldier. He said nothing.

  Kazi bent down in front of him and placed his forearms comfortably across the table.

  “Dr. Banks…there’s a couple of ways we can do this. It’s entirely your choice. But before you choose, I want you to know what a marvelous invention Facebook is. Oh yes, it clearly helped fuel the Arab Spring in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and perhaps even in Syria. What would the Occupy Wall Street movement have been without Facebook? Do you have a Facebook page, Dr. Banks?”

  Banks remained silent.

  “Let me think…hmmm…yes, yes now that I think of it you do, don’t you…Dean Banks, MD…Board Certified Gynecologist practicing with the Bucks County Women’s Health Clinic, US Army Reservist on a four-month deployment to Afghanistan. Nice of you to wish all your friends goodbye and a Merry Christmas.”

  “Banks is a common name. Nice try,” Major Banks said.

  “That was my concern too…but when my friends in Philadelphia finally got your 14-year-old son Chad to ‘friend’ them well, then we knew. The family photos are precious. Chad and Brittany look like lovely children. And your wife, Meg – or do you still call her Peggy – she is very attractive Dr. Banks…very attractive.”
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  The major’s heart sank to the floor.

  “Did you know that your Chad is in the same Phillies Baseball Fan Club as my friends? He likes baseball! I prefer cricket myself, but baseball is close. Now, Dr. Banks…you have a beautiful home in Doylestown, on Bergstrom Road, no? I saw the photos. It must be very close to the Country Club and Golf Course. Does Brittany still take tennis lessons there? I read one of her posts on your wall. It sounded like tennis lessons to me.”

  Banks began to panic. He felt nauseated as his mind wandered through a million possibilities over what could happen to his family.

  “Okay, stop…stop! I’ll do what you want.”

  “We’re going to film a little video for your family, Dr. Banks. My friends will gladly post it on Chad’s wall, if you like, or Brittany’s. You do this surgery, and if the commander’s wife lives…then we will drop you off on a road by Thunder, just as I promised. Refuse to perform this surgery, or if the commander’s wife doesn’t make it through the surgery…then neither will you. So think of this as possibly a ‘goodbye’ video, or possibly not. But the only way that Chad, Brittany and your wife Peggy will ever see your thespian skills depends on how you act now. Don’t be stupid, Dr. Banks, and don’t be sloppy.”

  Banks swallowed hard and said a quick prayer.

  “One final thing, Dr. Banks…if this doesn’t go well, and go well quickly…my friends will be visiting your house tomorrow morning, while everyone is asleep in that four-bedroom, three-bath house of yours on Bergstrom Road. But I promise you that Brittany will live…she will certainly be able to please a man, don’t you think?”

  Kazi put two sheets of scribbled English on the table in front of the knife.

  “Read them, Dr. Banks…and sound convincing. This is the performance of your life.”

  Paktya Regional Hospital

  FOB Thunder, 203rd Corps, Afghanistan

  US Navy Captain “Camp” Campbell, Billy Finn and Captain Henry walked through the main entry doors and into the Paktya Regional Hospital. The Afghan day workers stood and greeted the trio with the same morning ritual. Miriam was 10 feet behind just as she had been for almost five years. Five other American medics were in the main lobby as well as three more interpreters from Terp Village.

  “Geez, looks like a Shriner’s convention in here. Where’s Mahmoud?” Camp asked in no mood for small talk, hot tea or cultural pleasantries.

  Miriam yelled out the Captain’s question in Pashtu, as she removed the solitary bead from her necklace and put it in the glass vase on her desk.

  “Dr. Mahmoud is down in the emergency room, Captain Campbell. I can take you down there now,” said Miriam as she entered the long fluorescent-lit corridor that led down to the ER.

  “He’s back to work already?” Camp muttered to no one in particular.

  Mahmoud was restocking bandages and wraps in the first-aid cabinet as the three Americans and Miriam walked into the ER. Captain Henry walked over to Mahmoud as Camp and Finn examined the layout of the ER, especially the ambulance access doors.

  “Salam, Dr. Mahmoud.”

  “Salam, Captain Henry. Who are your friends?”

  “Dr. Mahmoud, this is US Navy Captain Campbell and Bill Finn from ISAF in Kabul.”

  Mahmoud covered his heart with his right hand and lowered his eyes in respect.

  “Is there any news on Major Banks?” Mahmoud asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Camp said.

  “I’m sure this was a very traumatic event for you, Dr. Mahmoud,” Finn questioned.

  “I came close to death, Mr. Finn. Allah was faithful, and I was spared another day.”

  Camp walked over to Mahmoud and stood right in front of him. “Captain Henry says that when he and Miriam returned from starting the IV antibiotics for your tularemia patients, they found you bound and gagged on the gurney.”

  “That is correct, Captain Campbell. After they hit Major Banks over the head, he fell onto the woman. She got up immediately and covered his mouth with duct tape. They rolled one table out and another one in. I thought they would kill me right there.”

  “But they didn’t.”

  “No. They made me get on the gurney, and they strapped me in with leather restraints. They covered my mouth with tape as well.”

  “And then they cut your throat?” Finn asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see it?” Finn asked.

  “See what Mr. Finn?”

  “The blade. Was it a knife…a sword…a letter opener? What did they cut you with, Dr. Mahmoud?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. I was trembling with fear.”

  Camp raised his hands slowly toward Mahmoud’s face.

  “May I?” Camp asked as he tilted Mahmoud’s chin up.

  Mahmoud nodded. Camp examined the thin red cut line and scab.

  “You’re lucky to be alive, Dr. Mahmoud, they missed your carotid artery by less than a centimeter.”

  “Really?”

  “Good thing Captain Henry and Miriam returned when they did. You could have bled out,” said Campbell. “Is that the door they brought the woman in?”

  “Yes, and the same one they took Major Banks out of.”

  “The woman…did you recognize her?” asked Finn.

  “No. I was told she was the Commando colonel’s wife. But we have since learned that was a lie,” Mahmoud said as he gently rubbed his neck.

  “Any idea who would have wanted to do this?” Camp asked.

  “No. Major Banks was a very nice person. But I don’t think this was about Major Banks,” Mahmoud reasoned. Camp paused and waited for the explanation.

  “Okay. What’s it about Dr. Mahmoud?” Camp asked.

  “War. Afghanistan has been at war since 1980. These things happen in war all the time,” Mahmoud said.

  “Not with American Army doctors who are here to help,” Camp lectured.

  Mahmoud dropped his head. “War doesn’t care who you are, Captain Campbell,” Mahmoud said sadly.

  Camp, Finn and Captain Henry walked to the doorway and Miriam followed.

  “I’m sure we’ll have more questions, Dr. Mahmoud. Can we talk to you again tomorrow?” Camp asked.

  “Yes, certainly, Captain Campbell. I’m here to help.”

  Finn exited then took a few steps back into the ER. “Dr. Mahmoud, looks like you scored a new pair of Air Jordans. Nice shoes.”

  Mahmoud beamed with pride.

  “Yes, I love American shoes. It’s very difficult to get Nike brand in Afghanistan. Usually it’s only Puma, sometimes Reeboks.”

  “Nice.”

  Finn caught up to Camp and Henry as they walked down the other fluorescent-lit corridor past recovery and the sick bay. Miriam walked closely behind.

  “What do you figure they pay a government physician from Kabul to work at the Afghan Army hospital in Paktya?” asked Finn.

  “Two hundred, maybe two hundred and fifty US dollars a month,” Captain Henry responded as Camp rounded the corner into the surgical recovery room.

  “Looks like Doc Mahmoud just came into a bit of a windfall then. Even on the black market those Jordans had to set him back a hundred,” Finn added. “What do you think Camp, just a lucky guy?”

  “What do I think? I think it was a number seven beaver…a surgical scalpel for internal organs. Precise and accurate. They could have cut him deep and separated his neck from his jawbone. But Dr. Mahmoud wasn’t even stitched up after they slit his throat. He was lucky alright, or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.”

  Miriam kept her head down and remained focused as the four walked through the recovery room.

  “We need more answers. Who else can we talk to?” Camp asked.

  “Checkpoint guards?” Captain Henry offered.

  “What about the colonel who runs the commandos? They said it was his wife?” Camp asked.

  “How about the commanding general? It’s his base. Nothing gets on, nothing gets off, unless he knows about it,” Finn added.
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  “What about some grunts and medics, regular Afghan Joes that work around the hospital?”

  “Captain Campbell, our Army medic team is doing trauma and triage training drills with their Afghan counterparts next Tuesday morning. Might be a good time to ask some questions,” Captain Henry said.

  Miriam stepped up and changed the direction of the conversation.

  “Excuse me, Captain Henry, I just want to remind you that I delayed my leave. I go home this weekend. I have not seen my son in almost two months.”

  “I’m tracking, Miriam. Three days, right?”

  “Yes, sir, I will be at the Thunder checkpoint Tuesday morning and ready to work during the drills.”

  * * *

  7

  * * *

  University Hospital, Clinic and Research Center

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  Sea Bee Campbell, his wife Ruth, and Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines occupied three seats in the expansive yet elegant waiting room. Leslie held Ruth’s hand as Sea Bee stared at the BMW advertisement in his US News & World Report magazine.

  “Planning to buy a new car Seabury?” Ruth asked.

  He didn’t answer, nor did he turn the page.

  “Have you heard from my son?”

  “He Skyped me from the USO in Bagram, but that was a couple of weeks ago,” Raines said.

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Oh, maybe a bit,” Raines said with a smile.

  Sea Bee just glared at the BMW.

  “You like him,” Ruth said contently as she looked around the room at the other patients.

  The office door opened and a nurse called for Seabury Campbell. Ruth took the magazine out of Seabury’s hand and the three of them stood up. The nurse led them to Exam Room #3. The room was large and included the exam table, the doctor’s desk, two leather patient chairs, a magazine rack and a coat rack. The walls were littered with diplomas, advanced degrees, board certifications and awards.

  “Dr. Blauw will be with you shortly.”

  Raines stood while Ruth and Seabury took the two seats.