Authors: David Tindell
“She’s been dropping a few hints, has she?”
Mark laughed. “I guess she has. I’m just starting to pick up on them.” He told Jim about the security firm his old West Point roommate had back in Virginia. “I just sent him an email a little while ago, asked him if his offer is still open. If he says yes, I’ll look him up when I get back there and see what there is to see. I have two weeks’ leave coming, so it’ll be sometime soon.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Jim’s eyes flicked back to the TV screen. Fox News was about to air a special on Jim’s fight in Somalia. Mark pulled up another chair and they watched. A nurse came in to ask about dinner, and in a few minutes they were eating from trays.
During a commercial break, Jim shook his head and chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Mark said, chewing on a piece of Salisbury steak.
“Remember how we used to eat like this back home, watching
Kung Fu
?”
Mark laughed. “Hell, yes. Remember Dad’s favorites? Never missed
Gunsmoke.
”
“Or
Adam-12.
Hey, remember him watching
The Bob Newhart Show
with us, and what he said about Suzanne Pleshette?”
Jim was laughing too, now. “Yeah. ‘Boys, if a schlub like Newhart can get a hot number like her, imagine what you boys will be able to do.’” They traded stories until the show came back on. Bret Baier introduced a guest commentator and Jim dropped his fork onto the tray. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Mark saw the distinguished, silver-haired man on the screen and asked, “You know that guy?”
“Yeah. He’s our master instructor in weapons.” For the next fifteen minutes, the master expertly dissected the combat footage. Toward the end, Jim pushed his tray aside and sat with his head in his hands, fighting to control his breathing.
He felt Mark’s hand on his shoulder. “Easy there, Jim. Hang in there, it’ll pass.”
“What the hell was that?” The shakes were calming down, but he was still scared. Watching the fight had brought it all back with an almost overwhelming rush: the terror, the stress, the fatigue and pain.
“You took a helluva beating, Jim, but sometimes the psychological part of it is worse. It’ll get easier as time goes on. You just have to stay on top of it, and don’t be shy about talking to somebody about it when it gets bad.”
“Does this—does this ever happen to you?”
Mark’s eyes were glistening, remembering way too many dark nights and bad dreams. “Yeah. It does.”
They sat side by side in silence, watching the show wrap up. Political pundits were offering their take on it, but there was nary a word about Mark’s mission. Jim brought that up as the show closed. “They didn’t say anything about your mission. Can you tell me where it was?”
Mark hesitated, then said, “Iran. My unit went in for an HVT. High Value Target.”
“And you got him?”
“Yeah, we did.”
Jim shook his head. “Hell, man, from what Simons said, he must’ve been a pretty big one. People should know about that.”
“I have the feeling you won’t hear anything about that for a long time, if ever,” Mark said. “Iran is a very sensitive subject for the politicians right now.”
“But what Simons told us about the mission saving a lot of lives, what about that?”
“Jim, our people are saving lives every day over here. Sometimes just one or two at a time, sometimes a whole lot more. It’s what we do.”
Jim clicked the remote and sat back in his chair as the TV went dark. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wished that I was over here with you.”
“Well, here you are. Your wish came true.”
“I mean, with the Army, or the Marines maybe, some branch, where I could do my part. This damn knee…” He almost slapped it in disgust, but held back at the last second.
“Hey, you’ve been doing your part. Keeping the home fires burning, keeping the faith.”
“Yeah, sure, farting around with TV commercials and ad campaigns for cell phones and internet service.” Jim pushed his tray aside.
That was almost too much for Mark. His brother didn’t know how good he had it. Safe and sound back home, a safe warm bed every night, nobody shooting at you, no IEDs to watch for on the road to work. “Hey, you want to talk about wishes?” Mark stood up and took a step to face Jim. “If I had a buck for every time I’ve wished I was back home, working a job somewhere, I’d be a rich guy. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m doing here, in the Army, when I could be back home, with my son—“ Mark’s eyes teared up and he turned away, not wanting his big brother to see him like this, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Mark.” Jim turned him around a bit, slipping an arm around Mark’s shoulder. “I guess…maybe we’ve both been looking for something more.”
Mark took a deep breath, calming himself. “For just a second there, I thought you were a typical civilian, big brother. Living the easy life back home while we’re over here, doing the heavy lifting to keep everybody safe. But you chose to come over here. You volunteered. Just like all of us.”
Jim sat down on the bed. “Sorry. The leg.”
“It’s okay,” Mark said, sitting next to him. They were silent for a minute, then Mark said, “You know, Dad told me something before I went away to the Point, and I’ve never forgotten it. ‘Live a life of honor,’ he said. We heard it all the time there, quotes from MacArthur.”
“Yes,” Jim said. “’Duty, honor, country.’ Good words to live by.”
“They’ve worked for me so far.”
Jim massaged his repaired knee. “I’ve thought about Mom and Dad a lot lately.”
“I have, too,” Mark said. “I’ll always feel bad that I wasn’t there when they died.”
“It couldn’t be helped,” Jim said. “They were both very proud of you.”
“Well, they felt the same about you, I know that for a fact,” Mark said.
“Yeah, maybe Mom did, but I don’t know about Dad.”
“Come on, Jim, he was always proud of you. That night after the state championship game, he could hardly sleep, he felt so bad for you.”
“Get outta here.”
“I’m serious, man. A week after the game, Dad was having a beer with some guys after bowling and some clown said something about how you should’ve made that free throw and Dad put him right up against the wall.”
Jim looked at his brother. “Are you serious?”
“Hell, yes. I heard him telling Mom about it, and he ordered me to keep quiet. Didn’t want to give us the idea that losing your temper was okay. But he stood up for his son. Later on when I was playing football, he’d remind me of how you played, how you were a leader on the team, how they never would’ve even gotten to State without you. That inspired me.”
Jim shook his head, and he couldn’t help smiling. “I think a lot about how they lived their lives. Pretty quiet lives, really, but you know something? They lived them honorably.”
“Yeah, they did,” Mark said. “Maybe, when you get right down to it, that’s about the best you can say about someone.”
“People seek that out in different ways,” Jim said. “Most do, anyway. If you hang in there, you can find it.”
“It’s worth the effort,” Mark said.
“Yes,” Jim said, “it is.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Wisconsin
T
hey’d told him
that his return to the States would be hush-hush, but when Jim walked out of the terminal at Dulles there was a large crowd of reporters and dozens of other people, many with signs welcoming him home. Some of the signs looked professionally-designed, and he wondered briefly if certain people in Washington had decided it would make someone else look good if the conquering hero was properly hailed.
But, what the hell, he crutched up to the waiting microphones, said a few words about how glad he was to be home and to have been able to serve his country. The CIA handlers were waiting with something less than complete patience, so he backed away and started toward the idling car when a pretty blonde woman holding a microphone with an NBC tag said, “Mr. Hayes, do you think your experience sends a message to terrorists?”
He was tired and hurting and just wanted to get home, and he let his better judgment slip. He stopped and said, “Yeah. Don’t mess with the U.S.”
If he’d had any hope of quickly fading back into a quiet life in Cedar Lake, that remark made sure it wasn’t going to happen. It was late that Friday night by the time Jim got back to Cedar Lake, jet-lagged beyond belief. He’d slept the last couple hours from O’Hare in the back of the CIA car, then lay awake for two hours in his familiar but somehow strange bed, his cat Spike purring contentedly next to him, before sleep finally came.
The next morning, when he opened his front door to get the morning paper, they were waiting for him. TV trucks with their satellite dishes pointing to the sky, reporters and camera operators jostling for position, and outnumbering them all were the people with signs and flags. Yellow tape tied into ribbons festooned almost every tree in his neighborhood, something he hadn’t noticed the night before. A roar went up as he appeared, unshaven and bed hair and all. He gave them a quick wave, retrieved his paper and stepped back inside.
After a shower and shave he felt a little better, only to discover there was no milk in the refrigerator. He decided to grab breakfast at the coffee shop downtown, then stop by the gym to use the Jacuzzi before going to the supermarket. His knee was sore but he was sure he could still use it to drive safely. How to deal with the horde outside, though? He called a friend, a fellow student at the dojo who was also an editor at the local weekly paper.
“Sam, how do I deal with all these reporters outside?”
“You have to give them something, Jim,” was the advice. “Go out there, be polite, answer a few questions and then say you have to go. Just don’t get carried away.” There was a laugh. “What you said last night in Chicago, well, it sort of fired them up.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Sam. I owe you an interview. I’ll give you a call Monday to set it up.”
Later that afternoon, he made his phone calls. Mickey first, of course. She burst out crying, and when she had calmed down they talked for a half hour. “I’m coming down there, Dad,” she said, and there was no changing her mind. So much like her mother. She’d throw an overnight bag together and be there in a couple hours.
Two other women deserved calls, and he’d been thinking about them all day. What he’d shared with Denise in the past couple weeks was something he was still processing, would always be the best part of an extraordinary experience, but that’s as far as it would go, he knew. He had his life here—wherever that was going to go now, for he knew things would never be the same—and she had hers, with CIA at Langley and in whatever exotic locales she was destined to serve. He dug out the card she’d given him, called the cell number and got her voice mail. Somehow that sealed the deal for him. He hesitated, then said he’d gotten home safely and hoped they could stay in touch.
Gina answered on the first ring.
He got another hero’s welcome when he arrived at the telecom Monday morning. Even Lori gave him a hug; it was a bit awkward, but sincere, and he thought that maybe she wasn’t quite the ice maiden he’d always taken her to be. Many of the other women fussed over him for a few days, and two of them even asked him out, invitations he politely declined.
The guys back in Plant hailed him as the returning conqueror, and it was a good feeling to have, harking him back to that night in high school when he’d made that shot at the buzzer for the sectional championship. They insisted on throwing him a proper welcome-home party at a local bar Friday night after work.
But that didn’t go so well. Someone had bought a DVD of the fight—to Jim’s amazement, one of the news networks was hawking them over the internet—and they asked him to give a blow-by-blow account. Hey, no problem—but when the video started, it was like someone had shut the lights off, and when they came on again he was back in the cell, with the heat and the stench and the terror. He heard the latch on the door again, the creak of the hinges, and this time he knew they’d shoot him, so he threw the first thing he could find at them.
The pitcher hit the restroom door and shattered in a kaleidoscope of glass and beer. Jim blinked once, twice, and then said, “Please, turn it off.” He went home, and kept the lights on all night long, and the dreams, the ones he hadn’t had for a few nights, came back in full force.
The next morning he was tired and grumpy, but at least the reporters weren’t there anymore. Things had calmed down on that score, thanks to new events that had grabbed their attention elsewhere. Jim had never thought he’d be happy to hear about another political scandal or another celebrity meltdown, but they’d taken the heat off him, at least. He was out in his garage just after lunch, thinking about taking his bicycle out for a long-overdue spin, when through the open doorway he saw a gold Nissan Juke pull into the driveway. You didn’t see too many of those, and in fact the last one he’d seen was a few weeks earlier up in Rice Lake.
The woman who emerged was even more beautiful than he’d remembered, her dark hair set off by the midriff-baring white sleeveless top, red shorts accentuating the toned legs. “Hi, Jim,” Gina said.
The pain in his knee and ribs was suddenly gone.
EPILOGUE
Wisconsin
J
im’s first big
surprise on Christmas Eve was that Gina was able to beat the snowstorm. Things hadn’t looked good on the radar that morning, with winter’s first big blast lurking over Minnesota and heading his way, but his phone rang just after six a.m. and she said she would be on the road as soon as she got showered and dressed.
“Are you sure about this?” Jim asked her. “I’m worried about this storm coming in.”
“I can beat it, if I don’t hang around talking on the phone very long. I don’t want to be alone on Christmas, Jim.” Gina’s boys were spending their holiday break in Italy, visiting their grandparents.
“Okay, but promise me you’ll turn back if it gets too bad.”
She laughed. “Jim, I’ve got four-wheel-drive. We’re used to the winter up here, not like you people down south.” Jim had to give her that. Winters up in the far reaches of northern Wisconsin were often more severe than down in Cedar Lake, near the Illinois line. He’d heard people up north refer to his area as the “banana belt” of the state.
He fretted all day, staying busy by cleaning the house from stem to stern, but stopping every fifteen minutes to check the weather on the computer. It was cold in Cedar Lake with an inch or so of snow on the ground, but so far it had been a mild winter. That looked like it was about to change.
Well, that would be fitting, wouldn’t it? A lot of things had changed in the past few months. His knee zinged him a bit as he jockeyed the vacuum cleaner around the living room. The surgery was five months past now, and the knee was in good shape. Fortunately, it had only been a meniscus tear, small potatoes as far as knee problems went. The orthopedist told him that a total knee replacement was in his future, but not for several years. Sooner, if he kept up the martial arts training. He considered that for maybe about fifteen minutes. Would he have it at sixty-five, or sixty? He was back in the dojo two weeks after his return home.
By then the media frenzy had died down. He turned down every interview request that came around, no matter who it was from, and some of them weren’t very happy about it. His patriotism was questioned by a rep from a right-leaning network; another from the left side wondered whether the men Jim had fought over there were even worthy opponents. “I wonder if you’re as tough as they say you are,” the man sputtered. Jim thought briefly about inviting him to come down to the dojo, strap on some gloves and go a couple rounds, but decided against it.
The topper, though, came from a woman who hosted a prominent network morning show, who all but offered to go to bed with him if he’d allow himself to be flown to New York for an exclusive interview with her. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she said, before he hung up on her.
Life in Cedar Lake went on, his included, but it was different. People recognized him, most with a friendly wave and hello, a few others with what almost seemed like fear. A handful had a different reaction. A month after his return he took a Saturday and went to Madison, just to knock around at some stores and then catch a movie. On the way home he stopped at a roadhouse to use the restroom and decided to have a quick beer. Two burly guys in leather were shooting pool, asked him if he was the guy in the video, and challenged him to come outside and show them how tough he was. Things might’ve gotten out of hand if another pair of patrons, a husband and wife, hadn’t intervened. Shorter and leaner than the pool players, the man had nevertheless told them in no uncertain terms, in a voice that brooked no disagreement, that they were to let this man have his beer in peace or they would answer to two former Marine Corps sergeants.
As he put the vacuum cleaner away, a thought of Gina caused him to smile. Since her surprise trip down they’d seen each other every other week, usually at a town halfway between Ashland and Cedar Lake. He’d become pretty familiar by now with places like Marshfield and Stevens Point. For Thanksgiving, he made the six-hour haul up to Ashland and enjoyed the holiday weekend with Gina and her sons, who were home from college in Duluth. He stayed at a local hotel for that visit, although he knew they weren’t fooling the boys.
Right on time at three o’clock, the gold Juke rolled into his driveway just as the snow was starting to come down. The storm had diminished as it swept across Wisconsin and now there would be just enough to make for a postcard-perfect Christmas Eve. As they sat in front of the twinkling tree later that evening, sipping hot chocolate, the only thing missing was a fireplace.
“This is a very nice home,” Gina said, “but you need a fireplace.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” This wasn’t the first time that had happened. It was almost like they had some sort of extra-sensory connection. That was intriguing, and sometimes a little worrisome. It was a lot like what he’d had with Suzy.
He hesitated, then said, “Maybe someday we’ll find a better one, with a fireplace.”
It hung there in the air, and he felt her tense just a bit, reclining there in his arms, and then she snuggled in a little more. “I think I’d like that,” she said.
The second big surprise was about ten the next morning. Jim had just put the turkey in the oven, and Gina was telling him it was way too big, and he said he liked turkey leftovers, when the doorbell rang.
“Are they early?” she asked as she filled the dishwasher with the day’s first load.
Mickey and her boyfriend weren’t due till one o’clock. “Maybe it’s that morning-show bimbo again,” he said as he went to the door.
Gina laughed. “Take her into the bedroom. I’ll get the camera, we’ll make a fortune from the tabloids.”
He opened the door to see a man and woman standing on his small porch. He recognized the woman’s face from the news. He recognized the man’s face, too.
“We were in the neighborhood, thought we’d drop in,” Mark said.
Jim was in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator for the whipped cream. He had just enough room for one more piece of pumpkin pie. From behind him, he heard a familiar mushy swoosh. “Looking for this?” Mark said.
“That isn’t the last piece of pie, I hope.”
“Nope. One more.” Mark held out the whipped cream can. “Don’t pile it on, now.”
Jim snatched the can from his brother. “That’s what Mom used to tell me. But now this is my house, my pumpkin pie, and by God it’s my can of whipped cream.” He aimed at the pie, pressed the plunger, and got only a few flecks of cream and some compressed air.
Mark stopped laughing long enough to spoon a big dollop from his pie slice onto Jim’s. The brothers chuckled as they forked away, walking together into the dining room. Ahead of them, the lights blinked merrily on the tree and the three women sat on the couch, Mickey in the middle, flipping through yet another photo album. In one of the chairs, Mickey’s boyfriend Ian was losing his battle with turkey hangover.
“Anything happen here since you got back?” Mark asked.
“Well, membership at my dojo has gone way up. And people recognize me. When Gina and I go out, the drinks are always free.”
“Yeah, but I mean something really serious.” He gave Jim a concerned look. “Any threats? You know what I’m talking about.”
Jim sighed and said, “You heard about the
fatwa
.” Two months after his return, a Muslim cleric in Saudi Arabia had issued a fatwa, an Islamic legal pronouncement, calling for Jim’s execution. That had led to some secret and fairly tense meetings with the FBI, who said they’d provide Jim with protection, but he asked them to be discreet about it. A month or so later they’d told him nothing seemed to be happening, so whatever surveillance they were doing backed down. At least that’s what Jim assumed, but he had no illusions. Someone was likely to be keeping an eye on him for the foreseeable future; he could only hope they were the good guys, and go about his business.
“I had a couple meetings with some FBI people,” Jim said. “Nothing ever came of it.”
“I met with the General in D.C. when I got back into the country,” Mark said. “He told me CIA was taking it seriously, so he called in a favor and got you some extra backup. Over and above the FBI’s people.”
“I’ve never noticed anybody,” Jim said.
“You won’t.” Mark finished his last bite and set the plate and fork on the table. “The girls are hitting it off,” he said.
“Yeah. Mickey likes them both.”
“That’s good,” Mark said. “One of them will be her new aunt in a few months.” Mark had made the announcement at dinner: he and Sophie would marry in August.
“The other one will be her step-mother one of these days,” Jim said.
That brought a look. “Is that official?”
“Not yet,” Jim said. “But I just made the decision.” He hoped Gina would agree with that decision, but he had a feeling she would. The night before, when he’d presented his Christmas gift to her, he could sense a little disappointment when she opened the box and found a diamond necklace, not a ring. But she got over it very quickly, judging by her passion later on.
“Good job. And speaking of good jobs, I have a proposition for you.”
“Yeah?”
Mark took one last swig of milk from his glass. “I’m leaving the Army, Jim. Six months from now, I’ll be out. As of the first of July, I’ll be an executive vice-president of Odin Security Services.”
“Is that your old West Point buddy’s company? The one you mentioned over in Djibouti?”
“Sure is. I’m meeting him in Chicago in a few days to finalize things, but it’s a done deal. He’s opening a branch office in the Midwest and wants me to run it.”
“Congratulations. Sounds like a good move.”
“It will be. It’ll be tough to leave the Army, but it’s time, I think.”
“Well, you’ve put in what, how many years?”
“It’ll be twenty-five this spring, since I graduated the Academy and took the oath.” He sighed. “I’m sure there will be times when I wonder if I should’ve stayed in. I think about that star. But then I think about all the paperwork that would go with it.”
“If you’ve already made the decision, then you know the time is right for a change,” Jim said, setting his plate down next to Mark’s. In the living room, the girls whooped with laughter as Mickey pointed at a photo. “I’ve been thinking about making a change, too. I was sitting in that cell over there, and I kept saying to myself, ‘If I get out of here alive, I’ll be happy to live a nice quiet life back in Cedar Lake, working at the telecom.’ But you know what?”
“You’re not satisfied with that anymore,” Mark said.
Jim looked at his brother in amazement. “Yeah, that’s right. How did you know?”
Mark looked back with very serious eyes. “It’s what you did over there, Jim. You made a difference. Now, nothing else seems to measure up.”
Jim looked away, past the women in the living room, past the Christmas tree, to someplace far away, a place filled with fear and doubt but also with a sense of purpose, of honor. “You’re right,” Jim said. “It’s not the same.” He hesitated, then said, “I’ve been offered a book deal. I’ve turned down everything else, didn’t want the publicity, but this is different. It’s not about the money, although it would mean a pretty good piece of money, enough to retire on if I wanted to, but when I looked it over, I thought about how there are a lot of guys out there like me, wondering if they can make a difference somehow, wondering if they ever could rise to the challenge.”
“I’ll bet you’ve been getting some mail,” Mark said.
“Yeah, somehow my email address leaked out so I got tons of that before I changed it, and sacks of the paper stuff. It’s starting to let up, but I still get several letters every day.”
“What kind of letters?”
“Lots of offers. Personal appearances. Jobs, even.” He grinned, then lowered his voice as he leaned slightly toward his brother. “Some of the letters from women are really something.”
Mark grinned right back. “With pictures?”
“Yeah. But they go right in the trash.” His grin faded. “A lot of the men’s letters are pretty moving. The stories they tell…I had no idea. Especially the ones who’ve never been in the service. How they’re searching for some kind of meaning in their lives. Even beyond religious faith.”
“Jim, one thing I found out fast in the Army is that people need leadership, they need inspiration. If they get that, they can accomplish some pretty remarkable things.” He rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Write that book. Be a leader, be an inspiration. Even if the guy who reads it is inspired to just lead his own life a little better, be a better husband and father, a better man, you will have made a difference in his life, maybe a big difference.”
Jim thought about that. The mail he was getting from all over the country certainly showed that people were looking for something, were hungry for it. So many of them thanked him for what he’d done, for standing up for his country. Many of them were veterans, welcoming him to their brotherhood. That meant a lot to Jim, more than he ever would’ve imagined.
But underlying almost every letter was a sense of foreboding. Not too many people seemed to be convinced by the TV pundits who assured them that things were calming down. There were more Heydars out there, lurking in the shadows, seeking to tear down, to kill and destroy. They would only be stopped if people of honor stood up and said no, and were ready to back that up with action if and when the words failed.
“Okay,” Jim said. “I’ll do it.”
“Great,” Mark said. “When you get done with that, though, you’ll be looking for something else to do. This company I’m joining does a lot of good work, teaching people how to stay safe, providing security for companies and individuals. We do a lot of work with martial arts masters, putting on seminars and things like that. Now, about that proposition I mentioned. I’m going to need some help in running this security outfit. Somebody I can trust. I can only think of one guy I want to work with. Interested?”
Jim looked at his brother and held out his hand.