Authors: Roy David
She stared at him, her mind in turmoil. How did they know it was the only one? Was he bluffing – or could they really tell?
Northwood kept up his gaze, steadfast and intimidating. Alex swallowed, suddenly with no fight left. She didn’t want this turning into a prolonged set-to. Her eyes moistened as she thought of Steve and his advice to ‘let it go’. How she wished he could be here at her side right now.
‘You bastard,’ she hissed, defeat evident in her slumped shoulders. Turning on her heel, she darted for the exit. She could feel Northwood’s eyes tracking her, burning. She did not look back so she didn’t see the thin cruel smile of triumph on his lips.
Her body was still shaking as she hailed a cab back to the Carlyle. This bruising round with Northwood might be over – for the moment, she thought. But she vowed with a ferocious passion that if the opportunity ever arose, she would resurrect the whole contest anew.
* * *
Showered, changed and feeling more glamorous than she had in ages, Alex gave McDermott a shy smile when he complimented her on her turnout.
‘You’re looking pretty smart yourself, Lieutenant,’ she said, admiring his regimental dress uniform.
For the rest of the short journey to the reception, they rode the chauffeur-driven Cadillac in silence. She sensed McDermott’s nervousness so quit the small talk.
‘You ready for this?’ Alex touched his arm lightly as they pulled up at the venue.
McDermott nodded. He gazed up at the monolith, which in the inky-blue murk beyond the glare of the streetlights, seemed to stretch ever-upwards. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ he groaned.
They walked through the ground-level mall, McDermott’s boots click-clacking on the hard walkway, taking an elevator to the sixty-sixth floor. Two security men stood outside the doors to a private entertainment suite. Alex flashed their invitations and she and McDermott went in. A buzz from the guests already assembled dropped a couple of notches as they entered. Cameras started flashing, immediately making McDermott shift, uncomfortable with the attention. He felt like retracing his footsteps right back to the quiet of his hotel room. A waiter came by with a silver tray of champagne.
‘Go on, enjoy yourself,’ Alex said, thrusting a glass in McDermott’s hand while choosing an orange juice for herself. He took a tentative sip. Not realising how dry his mouth had become, he knocked the rest of the glass back in two gulps.
From the middle of a pack of people, Kowolski came bounding over.
‘Just great to see you guys,’ he bubbled. ‘Lieutenant, let me introduce you to a few people,’ he said, dragging McDermott away. After a few strides, Kowolski turned round. ‘By the way, Alex, you look good.’
Alex watched McDermott standing bashfully by Kowolski’s side among a group of guests, a couple of the men in uniform.
Several of the women seemed to be sizing up the lieutenant. The cut of their clothes, the glitter of the jewellery brazenly stated they were from the right side of town. Alex wondered if their obvious interest in the lieutenant might be for their daughters – or themselves. A frown crossed her brow when she also observed McDermott accepting another glass of champagne. What had she started?
‘One helluva story,’ the deep voice beside her exclaimed. Alex turned to see the man towering above her, immediately noticed the three stars of his general’s uniform and that he was slightly drunk.
‘Are you with anyone?’ The general seemed to rock on his heels as he spoke.
Alex wasn’t sure how to take the question. The man looked older than her father. Surely he wasn’t trying to pick her up?
‘I’m with Lieutenant McDermott – I was embedded with his unit in Baghdad,’ Alex said, mimicking the clicking of a camera.
The general’s hopeful bushy eyebrows dropped half an inch, his mouth turning down at the corners. He gestured towards McDermott. ‘A good soldier – I was part of the lieutenant’s homecoming committee at the airport. He’s done us proud.’
‘Ah, yes, you made the front pages hugging him,’ Alex remembered.
The general puffed his chest out. ‘So, a photographer? Interesting life. Never been to Iraq myself. What did you make of the place?’
Alex looked him in the eye. ‘Well, if you must know, General, it was a total crock of shit.’
He let out a belly laugh that shook his vast frame, almost spilling his drink. He leaned towards her, so close she could see a couple of stubby hairs at the base of his nose that he’d missed while shaving.
‘Sweetheart, Afghanistan and Iraq are only numbers one and two on our list. There’s another five to go.’ He drew away, taking a swig of his drink, with a defiant ‘well what do you
think of that’ look in his eyes. ‘But thank God I’ll be out of it by then – retiring soon.’
Alex stared at him, shocked. ‘Five… what, countries?’
The general nodded matter-of-factly. ‘You go and ask a certain Mister Clark about it.’
Racking her brain, the only Clark of any prominence Alex could come up with was Wesley Clark, the retired former NATO Supreme Allied Commander in the Kosovo war. Did she mean him? The US declaring war on five more countries? Surely the general was talking nonsense.
Someone called him from nearby. ‘Sorry, young lady, I gotta split. I take it you won’t be going to Iraq again,’ he said as a parting shot.
‘Not on your life, never mind mine,’ she shouted after him.
* * *
Kowolski beamed. He’d left McDermott talking to a couple of prominent columnists, one from
The Times
, the other from the
Washington Post
. Everything seemed to be going well. The lieutenant had loosened up, cracking a couple of jokes – even if they were terrible. People still laughed – out of politeness or respect. Kowolski couldn’t figure which but at this moment didn’t care.
He felt a tap on the shoulder. Alex faced him, confrontation written all over her face.
‘Look,’ he said, knowing what was coming, lowering his tone. ‘I know I didn’t mention the President but if I had, would you have still gone ahead with it all? I couldn’t take the gamble that you’d cry off. Everything just seemed to come together out there. Anyway your results are fantastic. You’re very talented, Alex.’
‘Bullshit, Kowolski. You pig-stuck me like a slaughterman. You know exactly what I think of the lot of them yet you took me for the big ride.’
‘It’s the job – it goes with the territory, Alex. Someday I’ll
explain, not now. When all this Iraq shit’s over and I get back here permanently, I was hoping we might work… I’ve got a few plans.’
‘Count me out, buddy boy,’ Alex said, her face earnest.
He stood closer, glanced about him. ‘But you don’t even know what I’m suggesting. Nothing’s ever what it seems. I’ve had my fill, Alex.’ He spread his arms out, palms upwards, as if in appeal. ‘Being out there, seeing things first hand – it makes you think. War can change people, you know.’
‘Jeez,’ Alex said, brushing a hair from her face. ‘You telling me you’re actually human?’
Kowolski allowed himself a weak smile. ‘Can a leopard change its spots? You might be surprised, Alex.’
They conversed for several more minutes, skirting Iraq and its implications and concentrating on her exhibition – which, she admitted, was looking good. Spotting McDermott momentarily on his own, Kowolski excused himself and left Alex to join him.
He put an arm around the lieutenant’s shoulders, like a father to a son. ‘I want to show you something,’ Kowolski said, ushering McDermott over to stand at a quiet corner of the room. They stood facing a massive picture window, almost floor to ceiling, the impressive brightly-lit Manhattan skyline stretching out before them. Nearby, the art deco Chrysler building, its terraced crown illuminated in all its glory.
McDermott stood transfixed, his eyes following the radiance of this impressive building’s spire pointing to the heavens.
Kowolski stared straight ahead. ‘How’s the knee?’
‘Getting stronger every day, sir. I could probably get along without the stick.’
‘Keep the stick,’ Kowolski said. ‘Definitely keep the stick.’
For a moment there was silence between them. Kowolski eventually pulled several folded pieces of paper from his pocket. They were stapled together and Kowolski carefully unfolded the file, handing it to McDermott.
‘This is the rough itinerary for the following few weeks,’ Kowolski said.
McDermott looked at the list. His head spun as he tried hard to focus on the contents. Eventually skipping over the detail, he registered only the names of the places – Boston, Philadelphia, Washington, Charleston, Miami. Then Houston, Okalahoma City, Los Angeles.
‘We’ll probably skip New Mexico and Arizona,’ Kowolski said. ‘Television and newspapers mainly, the odd radio show.’
McDermott’s hands dropped to his side, shoulders sagging. ‘I can’t do it, sir. I just couldn’t do it.’ Eyes screwed tight shut, he began to sway.
Kowolski quickly retrieved the list, put an arm out to steady him. ‘Take a good look out there, son,’ Kowolski said, sweeping his free hand at the window as if he’d just conjured the glittering vista from thin air like a magician. ‘See it, take it in. This could all be yours – it’s all at your fingertips. You won’t be in the army for the rest of your life. Think about that. Everyone in the whole goddamn country will know Lieutenant Matt McDermott and what he stands for. The top companies, banks, finance houses – they’d all be falling over themselves to have you on board. You could snap your fingers and name your own salary.’
McDermott shook his head slowly. ‘Get thee behind me,’ he hissed from the corner of his mouth.
Surprised, Kowolski glanced around nervously, hoping no one had heard the remark. ‘Hey, take it easy fella, I just mean you could…’
‘GET THEE BEHIND ME, SATAN,’ McDermott thundered, turning away abruptly. He stormed unsteadily across the room and out of the door before Kowolski or anyone else could stop him.
* * *
Alex returned to the Carlyle in a cab feeling rather deflated, the evening having fizzled out with McDermott’s sudden departure. Worried where he’d got to, and blaming herself for not keeping a check on his drinking, she stepped out of the elevator and approached his room with trepidation. She tapped lightly on his door – no answer.
Kowolski brushed off the incident, claiming it was one of McDermott’s awful jokes that had backfired. Alex got no further than that. But she knew the lieutenant was the sensitive type. Who knew what he could get up to with alcohol on board?
In her own room before getting ready for sleep, she tried to call Steve but couldn’t get through. She poured herself a glass of water and lay on the bed in a bathrobe flicking through the catalogue of her exhibition. The people at the photo lab had done a brilliant job of that, too.
A loud thump in the corridor startled her. She looked at the clock, realised nearly an hour had passed and that she must have dozed off.
Still groggy, another thump quickly followed by a groan, set her heart racing. Shouldn’t she just call down to reception and report it? Looking through the door’s spyglass didn’t help – she couldn’t see a thing. Another groan sent a shiver through her. In two minds whether to open the door or not, she let curiosity get the better of her. Making sure the security chain was in still place, she inched the door open a crack.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she said. McDermott lay slumped in a sitting position, his back against the door. When she opened it fully, he fell into the room. Glancing both ways along the corridor, she was relieved no one else had ventured out to investigate the noise. She spotted his walking stick, further up the corridor and quickly retrieved it.
By now, McDermott had managed to crawl through the doorway and lay on his back, moaning.
‘Someone downstairs in the bar bought me a drink. I had a
large bourbon,’ he mumbled, barely intelligible. ‘The ceiling’s moving up and down – up and down, round and round.’ He started giggling.
Shit, this is all I need, she thought. ‘Let’s see if we can get you on the bed, okay?’
With much huffing and puffing, she managed to get him to a standing position, leaning on her heavily for support. Suddenly, he pushed her away, stumbling towards the bathroom and knocking over a chair in the process. Seconds later, she heard him throwing up.
Several minutes passed before he reappeared just as quickly, lurching past her and flopping on to her bed. Alex watched, horrified, as he went out cold before she could protest.
She couldn’t leave him like this; sleeping in the uniform he’d wear to meet the President. Starting with his feet, she undid the laces of his boots and eased them free. She managed to get his tunic half off before he groaned, turning sideways. That helped her – a tug of the sleeve and, thankfully, it came loose. For a second, she considered his trousers but then thought better of it – to save McDermott’s embarrassment in the morning rather than her own.
Resigned to sleeping in the armchair in the corner of the room, she suddenly hit on the idea: she’d use his room next door. If she could find his key, she’d be assured of a reasonable night’s sleep.
Feeling a little guilty, she began searching his tunic, which she’d draped over a chair. Her fingers felt what she thought was the room card key. It was the same size, a folded piece of card, with the Carlyle’s gold-embossed shield and crown on the front. But, below that, the words ‘Central Park Runner’s Guide’.
Alex opened it up. What the hell was McDermott doing with a runner’s guide in his current state? There was a map of the park showing the different routes and their distances from the hotel. She was intrigued to read an estimated 20,000 people a day used the ‘reservoir route’. As she went to return it, she
noticed a series of numbers written in pen on the otherwise blank back page: 31–1–4 and 47–26–3. She stared at them. For a moment, she thought they might be someone’s telephone number – an admirer from the reception. She repeated the numbers to herself, but they were meaningless and she put the card back.
Eventually finding his key card, Alex threw her clothes into a bag and made sure McDermott was comfortable. She was just about to leave the room when he started mumbling in his sleep. She turned, heard him call for his ‘mom’, then say something about a baby.