“How long did you guys stay in?” he asked.
“Usually no more than five days, sometimes a little longer,” replied John.
“I was never in a war,” he said. “I guess you guys smelled pretty ripe.”
A small smile began on John's mouth. “We didn't shower for a week before we went in. Soap or cologne is a dead giveaway in the bush. Our best defense was to smell like a goat or a camel. And we did.”
After a little more than a week, John was in the mess hall when he saw the Homeland Security guy walk through the door and look around. He walked over to John. “We've been told to send you out tonight. Eight o'clock. Be at the airstrip.”
“Where am I going?” asked John.
“I am not privy to your final destination, but the flight is to Germany,” he answered.
That evening John showed up at the airstrip's temporary hut that served as a terminal. He was dressed in his clean utilities and carried a small duffel bag. After ten days of uninterrupted boredom and three thick novels, he was ready to leave and he arrived early at the hut. He was directed to a C-40B aircraft, which looked a lot like a 737-700. His name was checked off a clipboard list when he climbed the stairs to what looked like a normal passenger airplane, which was half full of military clad personnel. When the flight took off he was told by the pilot that they were headed for Wiesbaden Airfield in Germany and it would be about an eight hour flight.
The landing at Wiesbaden was a bit hard in the moonless night of Western Germany. The plane taxied over to a large hanger. The hanger rollup doors were open and the lights inside were bright. There were military types walking around in the hanger. Three passenger vans rolled up to the passenger door. The line to leave the aircraft was slow as each passenger was cleared by two clipboard carrying military personnel at the bottom of the stairs, directing each passenger to a van. He finally reached the exit door to the stairs and entered the chilly night. Slowly he descended the steps behind a line of people as they were matriculated by the two living, breathing clipboards. John looked around at the activity in the hanger and saw the baggage and cargo unloaded from the airplane. He looked in the far corner of the hanger and he saw a woman dressed in military fatigues. The body movements were familiar, and in the distance the face was familiar. It was Sarah Todd. She was standing in a comfortable pose, most weight on one leg with the universal clipboard in her hand. She was talking with two suits who were standing a bit stiffly. They were listening like they were taking instructions. When John got to the bottom of the exit stairs he gave his name, but did not take his eyes off of Sarah. He was told to get into the front van to get on another airplane. He asked, “Can I have a minute to say hello to an old friend?”
“No, Mr. Trader. They have been holding a DC-9 for you for about thirty minutes. You have to come now.”
John raised and waived his hand and called out, “Sarah, Sarah.” He could feel his heart beat a little bit faster. She slowly turned in his direction, and put one hand in the thumbs up position, and went back to instructing the two men who were with her. John got into the van, and for no particular reason felt himself coming alive, and a smile crossed his face. He spent the 9 hour flight to Washington, D.C. in an exhausted reverie in a flight filled with military personnel. At Andrews Air Force Base, more than exiting the airplane, he wandered off the airplane into a warm Washington morning, half conscious after too many uncomfortable hours on an airplane from half way around the world. He was lodged in the Bachelor Officer's Quarters and told someone would be around that afternoon. John slept the whole day.
About three in the afternoon he was awakened by a knock on the door. He opened it. Standing in front of him was a familiar face. It was Bob. “Hi, Bob,” said John.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Trader,” he replied. “We have to get you fitted for class A's right now. The President would like to see you in the morning.”
“I thought the highest rank in the Navy was Admiral,” said John.
“I am referring to the President of the United States,” Bob replied.
“Oh,” said John.
The Quartermaster of the United States Navy has an inventory that befuddles the mind. There is no size, no body, no shape that he can't just pull off the shelf, and it looks custom fitted. The shirt was starched, the coat lay flat on his body, and the shoes were patent leather. No need to shine those. As promised, at nine A.M. an SUV with tinted windows arrived. Bob got out and stood by the car door, signaling John that it was the right car. He opened the passenger door and was disappointed that he saw no one else in the car. They drove in silence to the White House, and Bob flashed a badge and they whisked through the outer gate. He drove to the East entrance, leaned over to John and said, “I'll wait here. Go through that door. Give them your name. They are expecting you.”
John, a little nervous, walked to the door and gave the uniformed policeman his name. A smartly dressed Marine approached, saluted John, and said, “Follow me, sir.” John followed and stood outside the Oval Office for a few minutes, at ease, with his hat resting on his right hip, held there by his right arm. He was a bit early. At precisely 9:00 AM the door opened and he was directed into the Oval Office. The President stood up. John walked in. The Director was sitting. The President came around the desk and reach out her hand.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Trader,” she said.
“It is an honor to meet you, Madam President,” John replied.
The President returned to her seat behind the desk and told John to sit anywhere. She put her fingers in a cathedral pose and put the tips near her mouth. “Do you know why you are here, Mr. Trader?”
“I'm not sure, but I don't think I'm here for a Court Martial. But I could be wrong,” said John.
“No, not at all.” The President paused and then spoke slowly. “I want to express my appreciation, and the entire country's appreciation, for what you did. Nasar Khalili, or Darby Rhodes, was seriously injured during your escape from Iran. They tell me he will never walk without a cane. You saved his life with that tourniquet. He was a very highly placed person in the Iranian secret police and the Iranian terrorist network. He operated at the direction of the government. He will probably spend the rest of his life in Quantanamo Bay. When he was taken for interrogation, he became very cooperative. You won't know what he was planning, but I can assure you that you saved literally thousands, if not tens of thousands of lives. In the next few weeks you will hear various news stories about terrorists, or terrorist cells around the country being arrested. Some will be reported as the result of undercover operations, others by mistakes by terrorist operatives discovered by FBI personnel, or terrorists who turned in their fellow conspirators. We know, and now you do, that they are all connected, and those terrorists were about to launch a horrible venture on the homeland. You helped prevent that. And, of course, you can never repeat what I just told you. Maybe in ten or twenty years the nation will find out.”
“Thank you, Madam President, but I was going to leave Khalili in Iran. It was Raintree who directed me to retrieve Nasar Khalili for intelligence. He should be here,” said John.
“We know, and he will be here. You both are true American heroes,” said the President. “Now you can return to your life. I understand you are a District Attorney.”
“Thank you for those kind words. And, yes, I am a District Attorney, and I am looking forward to returning to a less hectic life, like the one I tried to leave behind when I was in the Navy,” said John.
“Good luck to you, John,” said the President. “Before you go, is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes, there is,” answered John. “Could you get me the cell phone number of Sarah Todd?” The President looked over at the Director and the Director quietly nodded.
“We can do that,” said the President. Once again she stood up, came around the table and extended her hand. “Goodbye, and good luck, Mr. Trader.” John stood up, shook her hand, and snapped to attention, turned and walked t
owards the door.
Bob was waiting outside in the black SUV with tinted glass. Bob wore dark glasses inside the vehicle that had tinted windows. John concluded that Bob couldn't see out of the SUV and was probably driving functionally blind. As far as John was concerned, the entire government was run in the same fashion, functionally blind, so why not Bob? Bob drove John to the same building he first visited in Washington. Once again he was taken to the same floor where he met Agent Davis. The two spent a few hours discussing John's assignment in Iran. Davis did not ask too many questions, but John was certain the conversation was recorded. John left out some details about the injuries to Rhodes, and intentionally left out the local extracurricular tasks he participated in with Raintree. He wasn't asked about them either. He wondered if Davis even knew. Following discussions with Davis, Trader waited in the break room, read a magazine, and drank coffee until Bob came in and directed him to the conference room. Robert Fordham, the Deputy Director, and Agent Davis came into the room a few moments later. This time Fordham walked over and shook John's hand. “Mr. Trader, you did a remarkable job for us. You did exactly what we wanted. Darby or Khalil is in custody and has been very helpful.”
John speculated about the events, but basically he knew he did not do much. He traveled to a foreign country, identified a fellow he had seen before, got into a difficult situation, shot at a car, dragged that guy into another car, flew out of the country, and then wasted ten days in a Godforsaken military base in Kuwait.
“I hope it is clear that you not mention your reconnaissance mission to anyone, or your contact, or your association with this agency or any of its personnel.”
“I understand,” replied John.
“One more thing. You have displayed imagination, resourcefulness, a bit of bravery, and remarkable efficiency. Those are rare and a great combination of qualities you can take back to your civilian life and be proud of your accomplishments. We have you scheduled on a flight tonight. I am sure you will be happy to know that you will never hear from me, or this agency again, and we trust we will never hear from you,” said Fordham.
“You can bet you last dollar on that, sir,” said John.
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
WELCOME HOME
“When Johnny comes marching home again, Hurrah! Hurrah! We'll give him a hearty welcome then Hurrah! Hurrah! The men will cheer and the boys will shout, the ladies they will all turn out, and we'll all feel gay when Johnny comes marching home.”
--Patrick Gilmore
When the government needs you, they bring you to Washington in a comfortable United Airlines direct flight. When they are through with you, they send you back in a Military Air Transport C-130, sitting on a bench in an inadequately heated interior that stops at every military airbase between Washington and anywhere you are going. The C-130 finally landed in the pitch dark of night at the military airfield closest to his home. He exited the aircraft through the rear ramp. There were no clipboards at the bottom of the ramp telling passengers where to go. Military clad enlisted men, who were busy unloading and loading the airplane, pointed him to the military terminal. Inside the terminal he asked a military person dressed in fatigues where the exit was. The soldier, busy reading a book, pointed to glass doors that opened onto the street. He walked out the doors and found himself alone on a Monday morning on the uncrowded curb. He found a payphone inside the terminal and called a taxi. He waited twenty minutes while watching the night sky begin to turn pale blue. When he got home he opened a beer, left a message on the District Attorney's general voicemail that he would be in the next morning, and turned on the television. John checked his calendar and saw he had a session the next morning that he had failed to cancel. At least he had stopped the mail. Ten minutes later he was asleep in front of the television. He woke up two hours later, turned off the television, went to bed and slept until the next morning.
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
FINAL DISCUSSIONS
“At some time our inner fire dims, but then is burst into flame by an encounter with another human being.”
--Albert Schweitzer
John entered the room to continue what now seemed to him to be an endless discussion with no real results.
“Good to see you Mr. Trader. Nice tan,” said the doctor. “It has been a while. We are getting to the end of the necessity of our conversations, and I think a little more conversation and we can get to the point. Go on, Mr. Trader, and allow me to look further into your mind's eye.”
“Okay,” said John. “But remembering these events and trying to put them in context is causing me some confusion and uncertainty. But I will get on with it. When I returned from the military, I wanted to reconnect with the stable life that I had in my past and hopefully get re-grounded. I was very unsettled. I was instinctively performing evasive action while driving, swerving across the highway to escape a driver talking on a cellphone, which would have been the sign of an IED. Normal clothing felt weightless and flimsy. When I began school I realized that I was carrying my textbooks like a rifle. So I traveled to the past. Ten years ago I went to Sydney with our University Rugby team. The trip was part of a quiet, colorful, simple part of my past. When returning from the military, I went back to Sydney, hopefully to reconnect as I had done in other places. In Watson's Bay I sat on the bench across from the house where a girl who I met in Sydney lived as a teenager. It was a long time since I had been there, and in my memory the house had seemed a lot larger than it was, but then a lot of things in our past seem a lot larger than they really are. Just seeing the house made me feel I could return to the things that were simple and sane in my past. The house was still there and I was still there. It was a warm morning and I wanted to sit for a while and think about that warm breezy now, the same one that I lived ten years earlier. I think Edwina was the only person I ever loved, brief as that love was, and now it was folded warmly, so many times, by the passage of the years, and the softness of memory. The ladies who greeted us in those days when we went from party to party, picnic, to barbeque, to ceremony and to the games, were the girlfriends of our father's and grandfather's generation. They saw us as the yanks that visited them and kissed them when they were young. And they looked at us and thought that the yanks hadn't changed. The yanks hadn't gotten any older, only the women they left behind had. But the women forgot that, at least for a brief moment, and they treated themselves and us to the warm friendship that for them was an ancient rite of passage, and for us was a wonderful welcome. And we met their daughters and granddaughters. It really began for me on one of the many nights at someone's home where we socialized and drank Australian beer. Brad and I arrived late that night. We were in the back of the darkened room, a beer in our hands. The party had been going on and we were late. We looked at the front entryway from across the room, and saw walking in two girls who could only be described as beautiful. The tall blond with a wide smile beamed in the doorway. And with her was Edwina. I turned to Brad and said 'Which one do you want?' I knew he would choose the striking blond. I knew I wanted to meet Edwina. She was beautiful. Two people can be together for a short time and become lost in each other. But it is rare and usually only a fantasy. Edwina and I talked and went into the back yard. When we returned to the house, everyone had gone. Time had slipped by and my ride back to the dorm was gone. She said to come to her family’s home and spend the night. And that same night I saw this same home that I had seen 10 years ago. I met her dad, Sandy, a pediatrician. He lost an eye in a Japanese concentration camp. I met her mother, Mrs. Robertson, and Edwina’s sisters. And my heart races when I think of that morning when I awakened, and ate breakfast with her family, and felt I welcomed and comfortable. I want to capture and hold that moment and bring it back into my life, but I can't. It is only a memory, a good feeling, a real life fantasy that, had it never happened, I would dream that it did. Edwina and I spent the next few days together. I can't remember what we talked about or why we parted those many, many years ago. I'd come back on
this warm morning to sit and watch. I supposed in a few minutes I will walk to the front door and knock and see if anyone answers. I suppose that the love that is never achieved and that is just out of reach is the most desired. To love, and then to have that love, the bliss fades. But the eternal love is the one just beyond our grasp.
“'Hi'.
I heard the words just outside my own consciousness. I opened my eyes. With the sun behind her I could only see the outline of a woman. I said 'Hello'. She moved and sat next to me on the bench. She was dressed in a lightly flowered cotton dress with shoulder straps that showed a tanned and fit body. And I knew who it was. 'Edwina' I said. And she said 'Yes'.
“She was still beautiful. She was slender, and tall, and her brown hair still flowed over her shoulders. And she smiled with her eyes. I loved at that moment, more than I have ever loved at anyone moment in my life.
“She asked me why I had come there. I told her. I had been in an unpleasant and violent place and I had to deal with it in my own way. I told her I wanted to visit some of the special places in my life, to reestablish some sanity and see how it fit together. Her home was very special to me. I told her that I didn't know it then, but I knew now that I fell in love with the teenager who invited me here one night. I hadn't forgotten that day and the days that followed for even a moment.
“'Neither have I,' she said. She paused for a moment. 'Momma died last month and I came over to pick of a few things before everything is sold. Would you like to come in?' We walked down the short walkway and she opened the front door. The inside of the home was smaller than I remembered; the kitchen was not so large. I looked around as Edwina pulled back the curtains and opened the windows.
"Daddy died shortly after you left. It was hard on Momma and me and my family. They cherished him."
"Sandy,” I said.
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