by Hawk, Nate
Kelly was wide-awake during the nurse’s examination and she quickly noted his mental and physical improvements. She knew that a disinclination to talk was a psychological behavior-barrier that survivors of violent trauma often exhibited. In fact, she knew this from her own personal experience before she became a nurse. She knew with time that he would be more verbally responsive. Besides being empathetic to physical and emotional trauma, being patient and consistent was her job.
“Kelly,” she began.
He shifted slightly and focused his eyes on her.
“As the doctor indicated, we will be moving you shortly. I work as a floating nurse, which means I move between units to where my expertise is needed the most. My supervisor had told me that we currently are understaffed in general recovery, due to the large number of patients. Doctor Gerrard has asked me to continue as your primary nurse in general recovery.”
Kelly was listening and he appreciated the encouraging news of his ongoing recovery. He liked Nurse Evans’ friendly yet professional approach and more so he appreciated not being talked down to or worse, coddled. He knew he hadn’t been very sociable, which wasn’t really a concern for anyone, but he realized that she had taken a special interest in his recovery. He took a breath and glanced her way.
“Nurse… thanks for keeping an eye on me.”
“Please,” she began with a gentle smile, “call me Megan. And this is the profession I’ve chosen so I get paid to deliver my very best. It is my pleasure to help you rebuild so we can get you out of here.”
She glanced down at Kelly apprehensively and decided he was ready to be pushed harder.
“Sergeant Gibbs has told me a lot about you. She’s mentioned some things to me that she thinks will help you. For instance, I know you were a Marine. I’ve seen blast injuries like yours before, during the time I spent as a nurse in Iraq. That training really helped prepare me for your specific type of injuries. It’s brutal but what you are going through is going to become tougher over the next month if you want to recover to your full potential. I’ll be a gentle as I can, but you have to dig deep, Marine, and get through this. I want you to walk out of this hospital and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen, regardless of the short-term cost. We’re all out of wheelchairs here.”
Kelly saw then that Megan was different, more special than the other staff, and he felt for a fleeting moment that someone was again in his corner. She cared for him as an individual and not just as another patient or victim. She was someone who understood what he was going through. She seemed like someone whom he could trust. Kelly thought about it and nodded his head as she turned and walked through the doorway. He didn’t nod off and fall asleep this time. Instead, he laid there and thought about what had happened, wondering what he had done or not done to find himself laying there, nearly destroyed. He didn’t wallow in the self-pity of being broken, bruised and bloodied. Instead, he thought of Jen and Brady, killed violently through an act of terrorism that had been out of his control. Why had he survived? Why had the innocent ones perished? Kelly was a believer of Karma. Had the things that he had done as a Marine or other events in his personal life come back to haunt him yet again? It sure seemed that way. He found himself struggling to comprehend what it all meant. After a while, the overwhelming tiredness began its aggressive offensive yet again. It pulled forcefully at his head, turning his focus towards the pillow. His body knew it needed rest to replenish its strength, if he were to continue recovering from the wounds he had sustained. For the first time since the blast he felt a bit of life creeping back into his soul.
***
Chapter 17
The High Value Interrogation Group, currently deployed to cover the geographical region that included Boston, consisted primarily of three interrogationists. They were Trent “Hands” Wheeler (FBI), Owen “Tiny” Tucker (CIA) and present from the world’s largest employer was Ron Baldwin (Department of Defense). Ron Baldwin was older and appeared to be the wisest of the three. For whatever reason, in his many years of working with the Department of Defense, he had not acquired a nickname. He had a serious but approachable demeanor and was very organized, generally considered to be the most balanced of the three. Hands Wheeler was technically in charge. Both he and Tiny Tucker were cut from the same cloth, with huge postures and even bigger personalities that screamed, “Go, Go, Go”. They also possessed the experience to quickly locate and manipulate a suspect’s worst fears as a means of obtaining the information they desired. Best yet, their consciences allowed them to sleep well at night after doing so. There were other professionals nearby, available as needed, but not directly involved at that precise moment. These included linguists, terrorism analysts, medics, and others supplemented by additional government agencies. Djabrail was looking at three intense men, perhaps the oldest being the only one with a grain of “good cop” hidden somewhere in his DNA.
Djabrail was wheeled into the facility in a hospital bed, wide-awake and scared beyond any comprehension. Now that his fluid levels had been brought up and his condition had stabilized, his mind was functioning again. It would be an understatement to say he was scared shitless. He wasn’t a hard ass and he had no intentions other than fully complying with the men’s demands. Maybe if I tell them the truth they will have mercy on me, he thought.
In addition to his lack of foresight, Djabrail was a coward. The three professionals saw this right off and sighed to themselves as they knew none of the tools they had prepared would be needed to break this coward’s will. This had been a bit of a disappointment but the three agents still held out a little hope that perhaps Djabrail had some fight hidden somewhere inside of him. They knew people like him usually feared death at the beginning of an interrogation so that was the angle they would exploit. Agent Baldwin sat back with his arms crossed and stared at the pitiful creature before him. Hands and Tiny mentally warmed him up with the promise of lethal injection, This moment! Right now! if he did not comply immediately.
Djabrail immediately started crying, sobbing and wailing like the coward he was. The muscle of the HIG had broken him in seconds. They left the room to cool off and let Djabrail compose himself. Fifteen minutes later, in a psychological ploy, Ron Baldwin approached him with a Coke. Ron knew from experience that it was time to build a rapport. The action engendered a textbook result. Djabrail was spilling the details as if his life depended on it. The truth was that he was a dead man either way.
The three men were all there taking written notes and recordings of the interrogation for their respective agencies. Yes, there were only two pressure cooker bombs at the marathon. Yes, his brother had planned almost everything himself, or so he said. Yes, Bekhan had apparently been out of the country and in Dagestan the year prior for training. Yes, he had returned with renewed energy to spread what he deemed the Will of Allah. No, there was not any continuing or unfolding terrorist attack. This was mostly already known to law enforcement as these two scoundrels had done everything possible not to be discreet. They had left an obvious trail of digital and physical evidence that implicated themselves. The HIG team had begun to warm up, so one at a time they began removing their suit coats and rolling up their sleeves.
“What we want to know is who else helped you in any way or knew you were planning the attack.”
“Nobody,” he whined as he shifted around his bed in discomfort.
Hands took the opportunity to jump in and get aggressive.
“So you want us to believe that Bekhan decided to bomb the marathon on Friday? He then went around and purchased all of the materials, constructed the devices and detonated them on Monday? We know there’s more to this, so cut the bullshit and give us some answers, asshole.”
Terror flashed through Djabrail’s eyes.
“OK, OK. His boxing coach was maybe involved. They had been talking about…,” he paused for a moment.
His face contorted from a moment of shooting pains originating from his wounds. The pain eventually subsided a
nd he continued.
“They were talking about something big but Bek never told me. Whatever it was involved the Syrians and had been going on for months.”
“So what, bombing and killing innocent people at the Boston Marathon is just a walk in the park, huh asshole?” Hands added with his Jersey accent.
At least the little puke was talking. Hands realized if he didn’t knock it off Djabrail might grow weary of talking. Silence sure wasn’t going to help any.
“No, that’s not what I mean. But listen, this was something else, something bigger, that’s all that I know. Another thing is, Bek became obsessed with some lady that he said was spying on him. I never understood what he was talking about but he told me afterwards that he ‘got her’. That’s really all I know,” he said convincingly.
“He was obsessed with her,” he admitted for a second time.
***
Chapter 18
Kelly was hearing the muted sounds of the busy Boston streets outside as he watched out the window. The car engines were accelerating rapidly. The beep beep of their horns reverberated off of his window as seemingly everybody in traffic was angering someone else. Each driver was adding their car to the congestion, making it worse. Each driver was adding to the noise and pollution, making that worse, too. All of this part of the me-me-me focus of each commuter wanting to arrive home as quickly as the traffic would allow. Kelly could almost smell the energy of the street. He could feel a muted version and he wished that he was out there instead of stuck in a damn hospital bed. He saw people walking and conversing with each other. He heard and felt the throbbing of car audio systems as they occasionally passed by blaring rap music. Some people were walking alone, quietly, looking at their phones. Others were listening to headphones in an effort to escape it all. Kelly thought escaping it all sounded pretty good.
Kelly noticed the older people seemed more content in their strides but the younger ones were moving as if they did not have enough time to get all of their tasks accomplished and needed to move faster still. He could smell the scent of food coming from sidewalk vendors and outdoor cafés. No, that’s not possible, he thought. He was smelling cafeteria food from the hospital itself. Although he could only see a small part of it, the old town architecture was still there, smiling down from its perch above. He thought about how good it would feel to stand up and try to walk out to the streets.
Kelly was adjusting to a new room, now that he had stabilized. He was recovering as comfortably as one could in a hospital and especially under his circumstances. He made no effort to get up and walk. Instead, he thought of Jen. The television had been turned on and its noise and influence had triggered his subconscious into a familiar daydream. It was not one of his own experiences but rather that of Jen’s. His own mind was providing him a vision of an unfortunate situation that she had experienced nearly ten days prior. It had ended badly with the police being called and his fiancée had of course relayed the event to Kelly afterwards.
Jen was seated attentively at the outdoor café, with her long-time friend and previous co-worker, Kristin. They met there every week at the same time in an effort to keep up with each other’s lives. Kristin was in many ways the opposite of Jen. Physically, she was blond and heavy set. Jen’s brown hair and green eyes were a complete contrast. It was Kristin’s personality that Kelly had quickly keyed in on, though. He was not able to fully understand the dynamic between the two friends. Kelly wasn’t sure why they were even friends at all. What satisfaction did Jen get out of the friendship? Kristin was always complaining and carrying on and she always had what appeared to Kelly to be self-induced drama in her life. The only commonality the women seemed to share was being single mothers to same-aged sons.
Their meal had just arrived but neither woman made a quick move to begin consuming it. They were dining at a French bistro in downtown Boston called Le Fromage. The ladies had both ordered Choucroute Garnie, an especially flavorful sauerkraut with sausages, salt pork and potatoes. There was nothing wrong with the food; to the contrary, it smelled quite good. The weather was great; and it was one of the first days that the outdoor seating had been open that season. The ladies were there to talk with each other so the cuisine and the weather, although exquisite, had been more of a secondary consideration to their conversation. Yet, they began to nibble as the time flew by. Kristin had found someone new in her life, too, and Jen hoped it would be a more positive experience for her this time. Jen had talked a lot about Kelly and their upcoming wedding. They had a spirited chat about Kelly’s upcoming marathon and how excited he was that the department had allowed him to run in it. It is always great to get caught up, the two friends were thinking.
As they were talking, the two women noticed two men at a nearby table. Initially, the men had seemed well composed but one had suddenly gotten a little too loose and loud with his words. Jennifer and Kristin both paused their conversation and looked over at the men. One was actually quite calm and reasonable, hardly noticeable to the ladies at first. His back had been to them and he had done nothing to garner attention to himself. But the other man, he had been the problem. He was apparently worked up about a shortcoming and had let go the words “Syrians” and “explosives” as he began to rise up from his seat in a dynamic fashion. The man suddenly appeared riddled with uncontrollable anger.
He was nearly standing at that point, when the tail of his untucked shirt caught on the chair back and revealed a secret. Much to the surprise of the ladies sitting nearby, he was wearing an enormous black and chrome pistol. It was so big that it almost looked like a toy but the women were confident it was not. The man was conscious now of his two mistakes and adjusted his shirt and shut his mouth. Something inside told him that he should just sit down but that voice wasn’t very persistent and besides, he never listened to it. The more reserved man quickly set cash on the table for the bill and prepared to leave. He had seen this side of Bekhan before and knew the situation would end badly.
Bekhan made eye contact with both Jennifer and Kristin and slowly but confidently approached their table. Needless to say the women were frightened and that only stimulated the man further. Bekhan looked at the plate and said the strangest thing to them.
“Couple of nosy women,” he hatefully spat, as he sized them. “I see you’re dining on some disgusting and impure pork,” he said as his face contorted in misplaced anger.
Two large men who were seated nearby took note of the escalation in volume and stance and began to advance, behind the seated women. At that same time, Kristin pulled a can of mace from her purse. She wasn’t one to sit around and be a victim, or stay calm for that matter. She tried her best to hit the aggressive man right in his eyes with the stream of spray, but her best wasn’t good enough. Perhaps it was her haste or the intensity of the moment. Maybe it was lack of practice. Kelly thought it was probably just her ability to always mess things up.
Whatever it was, she failed to make contact with the aggressor. Instead, the stream continued on towards the other man that was walking away to the sidewalk. It didn’t get in his face either but he did turn around. The short facial hair worked well as a disguise but the eyes gave him away. That was when Jen recognized the second man from her past. Jen hadn’t told Kelly because she was fearful what he would think, especially just days before their wedding.
Unfortunately, Kristin’s counterproductive measures only emboldened Bekhan as he reached for his waistband and pulled out a fifty caliber Desert Eagle.
“You wanna fuck with me, huh?” he asked with fury and arrogance in his eyes.
He wore a twisted smile on his face, as he thrust the barrel in hers, causing the women to freeze in terror. In the meantime, the airborne mace that had been discharged from the can was beginning to disperse itself around the seating area, becoming a sharp irritability in everyone’s throats.
“Come on, man. It’s not worth it,” the more reserved man wisely offered to Bekhan. The words were spoken softly as he tried to mask
his voice. Finally, satisfied that he had dominated the altercation (and the women), the lunatic seemed to reason with himself. Bekhan lowered the gun and backed away from the men and women who had frozen upon seeing his firearm.
On his way out of the outdoor seating area, Bekhan grabbed the cash that his associate had left on the table to pay the bill. Then the two men seemed to vanish into the Boston crowd.
***
On the same day that Kelly reminisced on the situation involving Jen, another man was savoring his role in the altercation. Niko found himself mostly satisfied with how it had gone. Always one to plan the next move, he was reviewing how his last one had gone. Had there been any worrisome flaws in his plan? So far, so good, he thought to himself. He was even impressed at how well his plan had played out. There were so many variables that he had successfully molded to advance his own agenda. Bekhan had been so predictably uncontrollable that his actions had given Niko the most concern. But Niko had been right. He had been able to handle Bekhan.
Niko had kept tabs on Jennifer for years. She’d even changed her name for perceived privacy but the documentation was public record so that didn’t slow Niko down. The circumstances surrounding them had always left Niko very unsatisfied. It was an emotional asterisk that he still felt compelled to address. He wished that he had killed her years before but the opportunity hadn’t presented itself. Then he found out that Jennifer had begun dating a cop. He knew that if and when she told him what had happened, well, the man would probably come gunning for Niko. Niko felt that, at the very least as a preventive measure, it was time to take her out. He knew it was a risk but pitting Bekhan against her should take any suspicion away from him. Niko realized the biggest variable was whether the FBI would tie him to the Boston bombings.
