“I’m not sulking,” Ben said with a sulk to his voice.
“What do you like best about Halloween?” Nash asked.
“Candy,” Ben answered. Again without looking up.
“Candy? Anyone can go to the store and buy candy.”
“You don’t go to the store,” Ben explained patiently. This time he looked up from his game. “You probably don’t know that because you’ve never had a kid before.” As if this were Nash’s first Halloween. “You put on your costume and you go door-to-door. And then you ring the bell and say trick or treat and they give you candy. Except Mr. Covey. He gives you a toothbrush and dental floss. That’s because he used to be a dentist. But he gives me candy and a toothbrush and dental floss, if I promise to brush my teeth regularly.”
Mal and Nash exchanged looks. They still didn’t know the fate of Agent Stan Morgan or their neighbor Mr. Covey.
Clearly Halloween was something that still weighed heavily on Ben’s mind. Despite the fact that he’d seemed to be taking everything else in stride, he was still just seven.
“Hmm.... I thought All Hallows’ Eve was a night for remembering the dead. Maybe I have my Christian holidays wrong,” he said, knowing full well he had it right. Nash moved into the living room and sat down on the coffee table. “You know I can’t take you into town for trick or treating, Ben. But what if I could take you to a real ghost town?”
“A ghost town?”
“There are a lot of old mining towns in and around Leadville and Rock Springs. One not too far from here. We could make a day of it. Even camp out overnight if your mom is up to it?”
Nash looked across the room to her. Had he just deliberately called her Mom?
Camping? She was a city girl. This was camping.
“Oh, please, Mom. Please,” Ben begged.
Mal felt his pleas with her heart. He’d called her Mom. Nash had called her Ben’s mom.
She was going kind of stir-crazy cooped up in here. But at the same time she was almost afraid to leave their sanctuary. But a ghost town? Well, if nothing else, this promised to be a Halloween to remember.
“Sure, why not?”
“Great!” Nash said. “If you want to gather some supplies, Ben can help me with the equipment.”
They were ready to leave within the hour. Mal made sandwiches they could eat in the car since they’d wound up skipping lunch in all the excitement. And she’d packed enough food for two days even though they were expecting to be gone just one.
While she prepped the snacks and food, Nash and Ben had loaded up the white Chevy Tahoe. They’d talked about taking the snowmobiles—and there was even a shortcut they could take—but in the end they simply had too much equipment.
The long way around still took less than thirty minutes, and they hit the town well before sunset with a bit of time to explore all the old buildings while there was still daylight.
“You have until sundown to get out of town, Black Bart.” Ben stood in the middle of the street and pretended to draw on the bad guys.
He ran up and down the boardwalk exploring the doorless and windowless buildings. Nash showed Ben how to set the pretend C-4 as if they were bank robbers blowing up a bank. And it was only at that moment that she was reminded they were skirting the law. In fact, she hadn’t yet devised a plan for turning Nash over. Apparently at some point over the past week she’d become quite content to stay at the cabin until the trial.
Their first building to explore was the jail, which still had cells with bars and bars in the windows, but no cell doors.
Next they hiked the half mile up to the actual mine shaft, which was boarded over. Though a child or a determined adult could have slipped inside, neither she nor Nash would allow Ben to give it a try.
Like in most Western ghost towns, once the mine had been abandoned, everything else was, too.
“What kind of mine do you think this was? Gold, silver—or some other mineral?” Ben asked.
He directed their attention to the rusted chute. “The flue makes me think silver or gold. Most likely silver.”
“Gold!” Ben’s eyes widened.
“Ever pan for gold?”
Ben shook his head. “How do you pan for gold?”
“I guess I’d better show you,” Nash offered.
They hiked back to the SUV first where Nash grabbed a tin pie plate. And then they followed the creek back to the flue. The chute angled down the mountain and ended in a long flat section that emptied into the creek.
“This is where the water would flow down. Men would stand around this section here sifting through the sediment for gold or silver whatever was coming out of the mine.” He stopped at the creek’s edge to cuff his pants. And Ben did the same. “Don’t know if it’s true or not. But I remember hearing miners wore their pants cuffed, not to keep them up out of the water, but to steal nuggets coming out of the mine.”
Nash had working boots on and stepped right up to the water with them. He stooped down to dip the pan and picked up a little of the creek bottom with him and then showed Ben how to sift through it.
“I got a gold nugget!” Ben said almost immediately.
Nash patiently explained about fool’s gold and the patience required for panning while the boy dipped the pan again and again. His hands were turning red from the cold water. Nash took a turn until Ben’s hands warmed up.
The creek was freezing, but not frozen over.
“I’d like to give it a go,” Mal yelled at Nash once it was his turn again.
He handed over the pan and then stood back with his cold hand tucked to the pit of his under arms.
She dipped the pan in and pulled it out to sift through the sediment. “Holy Moly! I hit the mother lode.”
“I don’t see any gold. It’s black.” Ben put his chin right up to her shoulder to look over it.
“Beginners luck.” Nash pointed out the shiny flakes to Ben. “This little nugget is made up of lead, zinc and silver—silver tarnishes when exposed to air. Probably have a lead mine here. Considering how close we are to Leadville.”
“We’re rich! We’re rich!” Ben danced around.
“Not quite,” Nash said as he fished out the tiny nugget for her.
They spent another half hour and found two more just like it. By that time everyone’s hands were red and stiff from the cold.
“It’s time we head back to town and set up camp and light a fire.”
They went back to where they’d parked the Tahoe. It was in the schoolyard between the school and the white steepled church. “Indoors or outdoors?” Nash asked.
Mal studied their surroundings—it all seemed so open. “Can’t I just sleep in the truck?”
“If you want,” Nash said.
“Outside, outside, outside.” Ben jumped up and down. “I want to sleep in the tent.”
She could just let him and Nash sleep outside while she slept in the truck. But he looked so happy and excited and they had come here to camp. The sun was starting to set and they really needed to set up the tent if they were going to use it.
“Okay, the tent,” she agreed. There was no way she was missing out on the boys’ fun this time.
Nash showed them how to search for the perfect spot to set up camp. He had them sweep it with pine branches and clear away any rocks that he promised would only give them a restless night. Within very short order he’d assembled their tent, which upon inspection barely had room for their three sleeping bags spread out side by side.
Then he built a fire pit and they gathered wood for the fire.
He showed Ben how to start a fire using only flint and the steel blade of his knife. Mal felt a sudden pit in her stomach at the knife in his hand and grew quiet.
Once the fire was started, they found a couple of almost r
otten wild pumpkins and Nash carved one for Ben and stuck a flashlight in it. Again with the knife. She just kept staring at his hands and the knife in it.
He caught and held her gaze and she felt that pit lift and even managed to shake off the feeling and smile back at him. Actually, when was the last time she’d seen Nash smile? Yesterday and today.
Once the fire was blazing, they set their open can of baked beans right up to the flame. They roasted hot dogs on sticks and Nash showed Ben how to hold his stick so the hot dog wouldn’t catch fire.
They ate until they couldn’t possibly eat any more.
Ben entertained them by singing Nash the songs from every school recital he’d ever missed. From kindergarten right up through second grade.
Mal broke out the s’mores and Nash told ghost stories that made Ben giggle.
Mal alternated between feeling totally at peace and being terrified. When they were quiet, with the wind blowing, it did sound like ghosts moving through the buildings. She found herself scooted closer to Nash as the night wore on.
Once it was pitch-black outside, they all knew it was time for bed.
Mal pushed herself to her feet. “I’m going to go mark my territory.”
Ben giggled. “Girls can’t mark their territory.”
“Wanna bet?” she teased.
“Need a lookout?” Nash offered.
“I think I can handle it.” She grabbed a flashlight, took her gun out of the holster and went to go look for a bush behind the school while the guys headed off in the opposite direction.
When she returned, Nash was putting out the fire and Ben had already settled down inside the tent. Mal crawled in beside him. She took off her heavy outercoat and shoes.
She was wearing what she always wore around the house—her yoga pants and a tank top with a flannel shirt she’d found tossed over it. She settled in beside Ben. Nash crawled in after her and zipped up the tent. As if that was any kind of protection from anything. Now she remembered why she hated sleeping outdoors. It was scary and made her feel vulnerable.
Ben didn’t seem to notice or care.
Nash hung the solar lantern above their heads. “Tell me when you’re ready for lights out.” He folded his jacket and laid his head down on it as if it were a pillow.
Mal thought that was a good idea and did the same. Apparently Ben thought it was also a good idea, too, and bunched his jacket beneath his head. Lying there between them, he had the biggest smile on his face.
Once Mal settled into her sleeping bag she rolled over onto her side to face Ben and Nash. “You can turn the light out now.”
Once her eyes adjusted to the dark, the soft glow of moonlight made it so it wasn’t pitch-black. And it wasn’t so bad. She was quite warm and there were no rocks digging into her backside.
Once all was quiet, Ben sat bolt upright. “What was that?”
Nash scuffed his head. “The wind.”
They got him settled down again. But he did it two more times before Nash put his shoes on to have a look around outside while Mal clutched her firearm. He came back after what seemed like forever to reassure them everything was all right. Finally Ben settled down and Mal wrapped her arm around him, which put her hand smack-dab in Nash’s territory.
She accidentally brushed his stubbled cheek and pulled back.
* * *
NASH WOKE UP the next morning with his arm thrown across both Ben and Mal. The three of them huddled toward each other in the center of the tent. He was the first one up and out of the tent. For breakfast he made bacon and eggs and pan-fried biscuits. He smiled as Mal swore she’d never tasted anything so good.
After they washed up and stretched their legs with a quick trip through town, it was time to leave for home—Nash caught himself. The cabin wasn’t their home. This wasn’t their life. This was borrowed time.
And while he was enjoying every minute of it once he’d decided to try it Mal’s way and simply enjoy this time with his son, he felt the clock ticking down with every beat of his heart.
He caught himself watching not just Ben, but Mal, as the two helped pack up the Tahoe to head back to the cabin. Maybe he shouldn’t be getting too comfortable. No, that was fear talking. They had so little time left together he wanted to spend every moment with the two of them.
As he drove them all back to the cabin, he had a hard time imagining what his life would be like after this. Different, that’s for sure.
Empty. Lonely. Though try as he might, he couldn’t picture that life. For so long now he’d been living a life, not of his choosing, but of his choices, nonetheless. He wondered at the freedom of finally being able to live his own life, knowing full well that the life he really wanted was forever out of his reach.
By the time they reached the cabin, it no longer held the feeling of home. It felt like the first time when they’d pulled up to this strange new place. In that moment he realized that he wanted to be more than just a trespasser in his son’s and Mal’s life.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING EVENING Mal stood staring at the blank corkboard in the kitchen. She’d taken all Ben’s art down and had paper and crayons spread out all over the kitchen counter space.
“More of Ben’s art?” Nash came into the small space fresh from the shower and picked up a drawing from the counter. He’d shaved his head. With his hair short like now, his face looked hardened, with more angular lines. She actually liked his hair long and wavy, but something about this completely masculine style spoke to her softer, more feminine side.
She shook her head and went back to staring at the blank canvas in front of her. “Afraid those are mine.”
He held up the picture with his name on it up to his chest. “I look like Mrs. Potato Head.”
She’d given him a brown oval for a head and had colored in brown eyes with thick black lashes. And she added an angular nose and red lips, and lots of wavy black hair around his head and finally dots for whiskers. And she’d spelled out N A S H / S A Y Y I D in big bold blue letters.
“No, you don’t. Be serious.” She waved off his attempt at humor. “It’s before you cut your hair.”
He turned it over for a second look. “Huh.”
“Help me out here.” Mal took the picture of him and tacked it to the center of the corkboard. “Sayyid Naveed, Bari Kahn and Joseph Tyler were all at Gitmo.” She took the picture she’d drawn of Bari Kahn and tacked it high and to the left of his. Kahn had a fat round head, shorter hair and a longer beard.
“Actually Bari doesn’t have a beard.”
“Don’t judge me. I’m not a profiler. I may have heard of al-Ayman, but I wouldn’t know Bari Kahn if I passed him on the street. Can you do better?” She ripped down the picture. “Please, be my guest. Draw me a more accurate picture of the terrorist.” She extended a crayon.
“His face is scarred.” Nash picked up a red crayon and drew a circle without a beard. And then he doctored the left eye to make it appear droopy and added a scribble to the whole left side of Kahn’s face. And wrote B A R I K A H N under it.
“Okay, so now he’s creepy monster guy.” She tacked the new and improved Kahn up again and added Tyler to the right.
Nash shook his head. “Tyler doesn’t wear a turban.”
“It’s a hat. Marines wear hats.”
“Military wear covers, but okay.” He angled his head as if he was trying to picture it.
She elbowed him for his silent critique. She had used olive-green, desert sand and a color called banana mania to add some camouflage. Then she’d given the marine a peach head and periwinkle eyes to match his brother’s and some short brown spikes under and around his hat for hair.
Nash stared at the board with her. “Okay, so what have we got going on here anyway?”
“I’m trying to figure something
out. You were all in Camp Six.” She tacked what looked like a wooden sign with blades of brown grass on top of a green island, roughly in the shape of Cuba, above their heads. This was obviously to represent Camp Six. “Tyler was a detention guard. You and Kahn were detainees. Tyler tortured detainees.” She quickly drew a rainbow of smaller circles with sad faces and tacked it up next to Tyler. “Did he ever abuse you?”
“No.”
“How about Kahn?”
“No.”
“Why not?” She stared at him intently.
Nash leaned back against the counter with his arms folded and seemed to stop and consider that for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“But you witnessed the abuse?”
“On several occasions. Plus, it was general knowledge among the prisoners that you didn’t want to get on Tyler’s bad side.”
“How would you describe your relationship with Kahn while in the prison—were you close?”
He scowled as if she didn’t understand his predicament. “It was my job to get close to him.”
“I get that.” She drew another rainbow of circles with happy faces and tacked it up next to Kahn. “How many of Kahn’s cohorts were tortured while you were there?”
Nash took a step toward the board. “Mal, you’re brilliant.”
“I know, right?” She added drawings to represent Mullah Kahn and Christopher Tyler to the top of the heap and then stood back grinning broadly. “We know Christopher Tyler wants you dead because of his brother.” She dug a piece of string out of the junk drawer. She tied one end of the string around Joseph Tyler’s tack. “We know Mullah Kahn wants you dead so you can’t testify. And we know they’re both after you. But there’s coincidence and then there’s coincidence.”
Mal outlined a triangle using the string. From Joseph Tyler to Nash to Bari Kahn and then back to Joseph Tyler. “I think there’s a connection between Bari Kahn and Joseph Tyler. Maybe even a money trail. He might have enjoyed torturing prisoners, but I’d bet the whole bank of Monopoly money he was also working for or with Bari Kahn. Just like I’d bet Bari Kahn and Christopher Tyler are connected.”
The SEAL's Special Mission Page 17
