“So Alex and Kelsey stayed together and got married?” Judy focused on the photos in her trembling fingers, her head spinning at her obvious understatement.
“I imagine they still had their share of troubles, but mostly, yeah, that’s what happened,” Roy finished.
No wonder Harley seemed drawn to Kelsey. He had no problem hugging and kissing her on the cheek whenever they’d gone out to dinner with the Stewarts. She was such a petite and beautiful woman. It was difficult for Judy not to be jealous. They looked like they were in love. In fact, they acted almost intimate with each other. He always called her ‘Kelsey Girl,’ a sweet endearment that seemed inappropriate, especially when he’d leave Judy standing there with the gruff and taciturn Alex.
Maybe Roy’s story explained their feelings for each other. Maybe not. If nothing else, it gave her another insight she’d not expected. No wonder Alex was a control freak.
She should have recognized the symptoms sooner. Hers were the same, only her need to control evolved out of her brother’s encounter with a chainsaw and one hard-as-nails English walnut that had once stood in her parent’s backyard. The effect of the kickback from the buzzing saw caused horrific trauma to Joshie’s thigh, more so to his thirteen-year-old sister who just happened to be watching.
That was the day Judy determined to be a nurse. Joshie got a fast as lightning trip to the emergency room, while Judy got the lesson of her life. No one would die while she was around. Joshie didn’t, a seemingly good omen that her decision was more destiny than choice.
The irony that she and Alex had so much in common also explained why he irked her. They were the same—both arrogant because they held other peoples’ lives in their hands, both bossy, and, damn it anyway, they both had to be right. Every single time. Lives depended on it.
“Know what the morale of the story is?” Roy asked slyly, interrupting Judy’s inner examination of conscience.
She looked up into teasing brown eyes.
“Don’t make the boss mad. Might be you who goes flying next time.” He winked at Connor.
Judy relaxed. Alex was an angry man all right, but he had good reason. She stood back to look at what they’d accomplished, her fingers tapping her chin as she scanned the neatly organized mess. “What have we come up with?”
“A collage?” Connor quipped.
Roy joined them at the side of the table, for a moment quiet as he studied their handiwork. “You do a good job, Miss Judy. Thank you.”
“Hardly. It’s easier to work when things are orderly. That’s all.”
“Which explains why you and Harley are a good match,” Connor remarked. “Opposites attract.”
She relaxed. Talking with these men eased her mind. They weren’t so much sexist as protective. Connor took a step back. Before she knew it, he’d climbed onto a chair for a bird’s eye view. He pointed to the far left. “Pull that shot of the catering truck behind the Lincoln Memorial, Roy.”
“This one?” Roy followed Connor’s direction and lifted the photo out of the maze.
Judy spotted another shot of a similar truck near the Roosevelt walkway. She pointed to the truck’s customer window. “What’s this for?”
Connor jumped off the chair and peered over her shoulder. “I don’t know. Looks like a rolled up canvas or something sticking out of the window.”
“What? Stuck between two closed windows that latch upwards? I could understand if it were above the windows. It might be an awning, but rolled up and sticking out the way it is? I don’t think so.”
Before they were done, they had sixteen photos of the same truck from different angles and locations. Nothing looked out of place except for the rolled up canvas. In three of the pictures, it was bent and folded, but in the rest, it was neatly rolled and straight as an arrow. Obviously someone was caring for the mobile food truck—if that’s all it was.
“Damn, Connor. How’d we miss that?” Roy asked.
“Because it’s nothing out of the ordinary. That’s why we needed an extra pair of sharp eyes,” Connor replied. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That it would make a perfect cover for a long barrel?”
“Exactly…”
“But I don’t recall seeing a truck in the vicinity the day Senator Covington was killed.”
“Which means it’s mobile. It would make a good sniper’s hide.”
“You might be right. That could explain how he got so close.”
“And why no one heard anything,” Connor finished. “No one would’ve paid attention to this truck. They’re all over the streets by the Mall. See here?” He offered a picture of three police officers standing at the window of an identical truck. All had a bottle of water in their hands.
Fifteen
She… stabbed me.
Harley sat stunned while Miriam jerked the pack from behind him. “You ain’t gonna need this anymore. Now let’s see what you got that’s so important you tried to hide it.”
“You... stabbed... me,” he rasped, the shock of his precarious situation now loud and clear. Blood poured down the middle his favorite black shirt, the one with the gold badge high on his chest. He blinked. Hadn’t he just been wearing cammies? The darkness shimmered around him. He couldn’t see the blood but he could feel its wet, warm fingers trickling down his stomach. Shock and fear set in. His lungs closed down, making inhalation nearly impossible.
I should pull it out. He fingered the handle, but the slightest touch sent razor sharp tremors straight through him to his back, suffocating him with their intensity. Maybe not.
Dumbfounded, he could only watch Miriam empty his gear bag to the ground, rummaging through full magazines and ammo, his only pair of NVGs, the KA-BAR Alex had given him last Christmas. His crazy dream kept getting better and better. Alex? Who the hell is Alex?
The two-headed dog friend returned with a vengeance and growling like a freight train. It charged straight for him, its claws digging into the ground. Miriam fled, it came so fast and urgently to his side. The strange dog was his friend; he got that now, but Harley was done. He slumped to the wall behind him, skewered and dying. So this is how it ends. Here, without my squad. Alone. Just a two-headed dog... and me.
The creature whined and circled, licking his face with both tongues like it knew him or something. Another light brighter than Miriam’s lit the inside of the cave. Two dark shadows loomed behind the brightness. Her friends? Great. Harley groaned and prepared to die. No doubt Miriam had brought reinforcements to chase the dogs away and finish him off.
“He’s over there,” a man’s voice echoed. Didn’t sound like Miriam.
“Rick?” Harley peered into the blinding beam. “Kent? That you?”
“Corporal Mortimer?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Over here. It’s… me.”
The dog planted its butt on top of Harley’s boots while the men with the bright light drew closer. “We found him,” one of the guys spoke into his shoulder.
“Zack! Knife!” The other guy eased Harley flat to his back. “My God! You seeing this, Lennox?”
Harley squinted around the light, trying to figure out who was talking. Two men knelt beside him, and they weren’t little guys either. They looked more like bouncers. Maybe MPs? The one with the shaved head, the one called Zack, snapped orders into a two-way radio for a medical helicopter and a trauma team. What the hell? Everyone knows they don’t have that kind of stuff in Iraq. They got Army Medivacs. Combat Medics. Battalion Aid Stations. What’d these jokers think, that they were home in the States or something? Were they slime-ball contractors? He didn’t much care. They were Americans.
“Good boy, Smoke. Good boy, Whisper.” The dark-haired man cradled Harley’s head in one of his big hands, and it felt almost strange, the guy was so gentle. He pressed his other hand against Harley’s neck, but he wasn’t choking him. Dark eyes seemed on the verge of—tears? “Hang on, man, we’ve got you now. We’ll take care of you.”
“I
’ve gotta... get back... to camp.” Harley struggled to sit, but he was weak. The most he could do was grab the guy’s arm to get his attention. “Listen to me, why don’t ya?”
“I’m listening, Harley. I’m here. What’s going on?” The man leaned his ear closer, and the nightmare began again. An explosion lit the night sky, sending screaming death all around, only these guys didn’t seem to see it. Were they stupid or what?
“Run!” Harley bellowed. “My damn ride’s on fire! They’re shooting at us! Get—”
“No.” The man held Harley immobile. “Your men are blowing an Iraqi ammo dump. That’s all. Settle down.”
“They are?” Harley strained to see around the big guy. That would certainly explain the smoke and noise. His men were the best at blowing munitions, especially the Iraqi kind. The ground ceased vibrating beneath him. “Oh. Okay. That’s good. Only—” The strobe light movie reel of everything he’d lost flickered in his head. “It can’t be true. My men are gone. Kent. Snakes. All of ’em. Base camp... gotta get to... base camp.”
“We’ve got your men, Harley. Everyone’s been looking for you. You’re the only one still lost.”
“Really?” It seemed too good to be true.
“Yeah, man.” The guy’s eyes glistened with tears and stars.
“Who… are you?” Harley reached up to feel the stranger’s face, afraid he might not be real after all. “You keep calling me... Harley. Do I know you?”
“It’s me.” A tear trickled down the guy’s cheek “I’m Mark. I’m here. Me and Zack are taking you home.”
Whoever this Mark guy was, he pulled Harley against him like a friend. The shoulder bump jostled the knife in his chest, but his arms around Harley felt so blessedly good that he endured it. Adrenaline scorched through him, sending his limbs flailing, but Mark held him still. Nothing better in the world than being found dead or alive by an American soldier. Harley couldn’t help it. Tears came unbidden and he let them. Hell. Brothers don’t care when a soldier cries.
“You’re going to be fine. We’re taking you home,” Mark muttered hoarsely.
The other guy, Zack, loosened the belt on Harley’s leg. The makeshift bandage of someone else’s shirt fell to the ground. Zack pulled a blow out kit, the first-aid supplies all soldiers carried in case they got shot, out of one of his cargo pants pockets. He seemed to know what he was doing when he splashed some kind of antiseptic wash over the wound and wrapped it with elastic tape. Something about these two guys felt so—right.
“Whatever you do,” Zack told Mark, “don’t pull the blade out. Help is on its way. I’m calling Alex next.”
“Alex?” Harley rasped, not sure he’d heard right. That name meant something. “He my CO?”
“Tell him we’re transporting to Washington Central.” Mark eased Harley onto his back and covered him with his jacket. Harley breathed in the scent of American aftershave and sweat from the leather jacket, an oddly reassuring odor when a man’s dying. “No, Harley. He’s your boss. Hang on.”
The two-headed dog sat so close by that Mark had to keep telling it to back off. Harley’s brain cleared. The anxious animal morphed into two dogs again. What a relief. The black dog kept whining and bumping his nose into Harley’s cheek and snuffling dog-kisses across his mouth. You’re so dumb, Mortimer. There’s no such thing as two-headed dogs.
“Whisper, off,” Mark ordered, but Harley didn’t mind the dog. Touching it felt kinda good. Kinda familiar.
“His name’s... Whisper?” He reached for the beast. The crazy animal almost sat on his head. “That’s... a good name. I had a dog once.” I think.
God, he fought for strength to focus, but Harley was losing ground fast. These guys seemed familiar, but they weren’t dressed in cammies. Couldn’t be soldiers. Certainly not U.S. Army. Not unless they were black ops. He needed answers.
“You guys… Green Beret? You John Wayne? Delta Force?”
Mark’s hands smoothed up Harley’s bicep and clutched him tight. “Not exactly. Hang on, Harley. Just hang tight.”
Good enough. Maybe even the best American answer ever, but just that fast, the world fell out from under him again. Out of control panic flared.
“Where... where am I? Who are you? Oh, hell. IED... all of ’em... they’re gone!”
“No,” Mark cried. “You’re safe. The battle’s done. Stop fighting, man.”
Harley gasped. He looked straight into Mark’s eyes. Calm seemed to flow out of this man. The choking sensation ceased. Harley sucked in a deep lungful of the stale damp air. He reached a bloody finger up to touch the guy’s cheek, half afraid the dream might pop like a bubble.
“Mark? That you, man? What... you doing here? Where are we?” A flood of memories roared back at the contact. The man did not vanish. He was real.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Mark choked on his answer. “You’re safe, buddy, and your men are safe too. Help is on its way. Stop fighting the war, do you hear me?”
Harley relaxed. As long as his buddies were accounted for, it didn’t matter what happened to him. Only Kent, Rick, and that little girl in pink kitten pajamas mattered. Not him. Never him. He hadn’t mattered in years.
Sirens screamed from very far away, an odd sound in the middle of a warzone. Mark never once let Harley go, but he didn’t seem too happy with the other guy. “Call ’em again, Lennox! Call ’em, dammit. Get ’em here. Now!”
“They just pulled up.” Zack pushed off the ground and headed toward the flashing blue lights in the distance. “I’ll show them where we are.”
“Who knifed you?” Mark asked, his fingers real gentle on Harley’s cheek.
“An angel,” Harley whispered. “I saw an angel, but then she... she kinda stabbed me.” He stared into his friend’s worried eyes. “Why you crying, man? Why’m I so... damned cold?”
Mark started to rock back and forth, but the gentle motion hurt. Harley groaned and closed his eyes. He wept. Being found by a brother American soldier hurt so damned good. This kind of pain he could handle.
“Lennox. Get the medics over here,” Mark cried. “I’m losing him!”
No, you’re not. I’m just ready to stop fighting. I’m ready to die....
“We’re here,” Zack announced as more lights drove the world of shadows away.
Harley opened a bleary eye just as Miriam dashed from her hiding place.
“It’s-s-s-s mine! It’s-s-s-s-s-s all mine!” The broken bottle in her clawlike fingers flashed once. Quick as death itself, she slashed Mark’s forearm as he hunched over Harley, shielding him from her attack. Like a snake, she rushed in for another stab and feint, but she was not quick enough for the hammer of Zack’s fist.
“Back off, bitch!” His voice boomed and she halted in her tracks, struck down as he connected full force with the side of her demented face. “It ain’t yours now!”
Harley’s scary angel-friend fell in slow motion. Zack’s flashlight caught the rush of blood that spilled from Mark’s arm. It looked so—red.
“Damn! She got you good,” Zack murmured.
The nightmare would not quit. All at once, three medics hovered overhead, and Harley lost track of reality. Was anything real? Did anything matter anymore? Was he really found or worse—was he crazy?
“Press as hard as you can,” one medic ordered Zack. “Hurt him if you have to.”
“I am!” Zack yelled back, and it looked like he was wrestling with Mark, only Mark would not keep still. Zack’s hands were the same bright red as Mark’s arm.
The landscape shifted. Harley lost his view when he was lifted onto something firm and stiff. Gentle hands wrapped a warm blanket around his legs, and he knew he was dying. This was it. The end of his road. He closed his eyes, finally at peace. Mission accomplished. His men were safe.
“How is he, man?” Mark called out, his fingers still clutching Harley’s sleeve from his own prone position.
“You gotta let him go, man,” Zack replied.
“No!” Mark’s bellow echoed in the hollow room.
Harley peeled one eyelid open to see what the ruckus was about. This was a different nightmare than the one he’d been stuck in. He watched the contest between the two giant men. Mark kept trying to hold onto him, but Zack was wrestling Mark to the ground. Whatever was going on, it sounded damned tragic.
“Get off me, Lennox! He can’t be dead.”
Once more, Zack muscled Mark to his back. “That’s not what I meant. Believe me. He ain’t dead, but you gotta let him go so they can move the gurney. You’re holding on too tight.”
Harley reached for the guy who seemed more brother than soldier. “’S okay, Mark. You can let me... go.”
Mark’s dark eyes stabbed through Harley’s fog like very gentle daggers. Slowly, he released Harley’s sleeve. “You good?” he asked weakly.
Harley managed a nod. I am now.
A man can only do so much. The world passed by as the medics carried him out of Miriam’s deadly tunnel. His battle was done. The knife hurt with every step. Harley winced and endured one more time. He’d given all, and yet, he wished for absolution. Closing his eyes, he prayed one final prayer. Forgive me, Mom. I know I’ve been a lousy son, but I love you. Always did. Dad too, even when we fought. Kent. Buddy. Please don’t hate me too much. I’m sure sorry I lived. Maybe now....
The image of the woman with auburn hair intruded. Where was she? Would she forever look for him even though he was dead or was she just another dream like all the rest? Nothing made sense, and yet—it did.
A thousand bright lights landed on him, chasing thoughts of her out of his head. Funny. It looked like the middle of the Ringling Brother’s Circus instead of the Iraqi desert. Police officers stood along the route to the ambulance holding crowds back. A couple hands reached through the uniformed barricade to touch his arms or boots. Some folks even looked like American reporters. They had cameras and more bright lights. What could they be doing here? He wasn’t famous. Sure not important. Just a man doing his job. Just a plain, old soldier...
He turned his face. Soldiers never talk to the press. Any fool knows that.
Harley (In the Company of Snipers Book 4) Page 13
