by Rachel Renee
My superior and I have our own weapons at the ready. We’re going in shooting, not knowing exactly what to expect, but praying for the best. I try the door and it doesn’t seem to be locked. The voices on the other side halt though.
Did they hear us? I push open the entrance, duck down, and shove my way through. With my heartbeat in my ears and the sound of gunfire resonating externally, Lieu and I immobilize five men in less than ten seconds.
Noel’s jolly exterior is no more. He’s lying against the outside door, the small device that was his lifeline to the outside world shattered to pieces next to a bloody stub of a hand. My hand reaches out for it, the buttons hanging to the plastic by a few wires. I’d anticipated he’d be holding the thing for dear life, and it never crossed my mind it would be destroyed in the process of retrieving it from him. There’s nothing we can do now but hope it shuts off the signal to the bombs. Just as the thought crosses my mind, I’m thrown backward, my body slamming into the door I’d come through.
I must have blacked out because when I open my eyes, the chief is standing over me, his open hand making contact with my cheek. The man I thought was made of steel is glassy-eyed when he says to me, “We fucked up.”
“We did what we thought was best,” is my answer before my mind switches completely on. Then I realize where I am and what happened. “Is she? Did it?” I don’t even want to say the words. We were protected because this place was built to withstand a blast.
All those men and women clearing the camp. Selena. That name lingers on my tongue for a moment, her life plans flashing through my mind as I’m sure they were hers in those last seconds.
I get to my feet, unsteady as I may be, and amble over the bodies of the men in between me and whatever devastation lie beyond the bunker door. Lieu is behind me, close enough that I feel his presence leaning over. We have to move Noel, his white hair tinted pink, well, what is left of it, before we can get out the front door. Lieu did a number on him. A headshot, one through the hand, and yet another lodged in his chest.
His large body was not easy to maneuver, my own head injury causing dizziness anytime I dip forward. Lieu’s actions are a little easier than mine so once he’s involved in the task, Noel is quickly out of the way. My hand is on the knob, but my superior places his over mine before I can turn it. “Whatever is on the other side cannot be unseen. Are you mentally prepared?”
“Can you ever be?”
He doesn’t have to answer. Letting go of my hand is my permission to open the door. I came in blazing, my hands steady and pointed. Now, they tremble as I rotate the knob and open the door.
Lieutenant is the first one out it, the first to gasp at what is waiting for us. I take a deep breath before I open my eyes. You can never be ready and believe me, that isn’t an understatement. The bits and pieces of the humans who were breathing minutes ago are scattered. The buildings located closest, blown to pieces, but not nearly as decimated as the living. I want to cry out because of the injustice. Innocent lives cut short because of greed.
There’s no reason for it, but I glance back in the direction I came from. There, still standing next to the door, is the head of Miguel, now missing part of the left side. I go back to when I first met him, the morning he and Selena entered into the folds of this whole plot to catch a cartel leader. To know then, what I know now, could have saved them.
I’ve heard it one hundred times if I’ve heard it once—knowledge is power. Every mission I complete, the more understanding I gain, makes me realize you can never stop learning.
The chief stumbles among the debris, looking for evidence of life even though we both know there won’t be any within this small area. Men are heading this way though, voices carrying through the wind that’s blowing in between the areas once built up.
I’m still in shock when they reach us, a medic ushering me away from the rubble. “Let me take care of that,” she says to me, placing pressure on the back of my head. “How did you withstand the blast?”
Lieu answers for us both. “We were in the bunker.”
My gaze roams as we wander away, no signs of Selena, nothing to give closure to the life she had lived and lost so quickly. Ten men were lost in the blast, we learned. Soldiers at the beginning of their career all the way to one who was at the end of his. The bomb squad had just radioed in that they were going to contain the explosion with the woman in agreeance—she knew her life was over. But the bomb went off before they’d had a chance to get the others to safety. It was Lieutenant’s shot that set the bomb off, or the last-second press of the button by Noel. We will never know which it truly was.
Lieu is beside himself as the two of us board the 747 headed for Langley. We’ve got to atone for our decisions in those final minutes before the bomb went off. I doubt there will be any lasting repercussions from the agency, but our lives will be altered. His especially.
My wife is still unreachable, but I leave her a message telling her I’ll be home soon. Whatever she’s dealing with, I’ll take on, if she’ll let me. I want to be mad, but something inside of me won’t let a grudge stand against her. Part of this is my fault. When our relationship first started, we kept secrets, thinking we were protecting the other. I kept my mission to myself, which I had been trained to do. She kept pertinent information about her cases under wraps as well. It took something big to make us see that if we worked together, we were better for it. But, old habits die hard. I’ve allowed my job to come before her numerous times, and she’s done the same. If she thinks whatever is going on at home will jeopardize my case, she most likely believes she can’t tell me without repercussions. We’ll have to discuss this together once I’m home.
Langley is bustling when we arrive. A whole slew of people awaits us, and a conference room is cleared simply for this case. Lieu and I are separated at the beginning, each questioned about our actions and cross-examined about the others’ reactions. My head is pounding and there are a few times I want to pass out during the ‘trial’, the concussion leaving me even less a man than I was before.
After hours of the poking and prodding of our minds and decisions, we’re brought back together to close out this part of the case. I say this part because the show will go on—the cartels are not ending. We only stopped a large movement. Word on the street…some of Jose Sanchez’s men have a plan to take over where their leader had left off. Human beings will continue to want to escape their responsibilities and the reality of the lives they’re living. More drugs will be made, traded, and shipped throughout the world. Thankfully, not in those engines I created.
The plant has been shut down while all the cartel supporters are rounded up. The intel I collected has helped them capture a dozen so far. My engine design will still be implemented, because of the light material we used to create it. The new and improved Cauley engine, that includes true engine parts, will be in production at the reopening of the facility.
Jose is imprisoned in the United States, for the time being. The chief and I have signed affidavits discussing his role in the cartel and how we helped capture him. Dom, who I’ve since found out spent so much time in the cartel’s grasp, he became a part of over ten of them. He had so many different aliases within the system that they were able to be combined and multiple new charges brought against him. All because of that bottle I sent to be fingerprinted. He’s in a cell at the same prison as Jose’s in. I wonder if they commiserate with each other over what has come to pass.
Miguel’s body was found at the camp in Mexico City and he will be laid to rest in Chihuahua as a victim of cartel brutality. Thiago and Noel will enter their final resting places with multiple counts of murder, corruption, money laundering, drug trafficking and distribution, among others, buried along with them. Death is the price they paid for their crimes.
I watched as Selena’s family entered the facility here, and the news of their daughter’s death brought both of them to their knees. The award the family received for Selena’s bravery and servic
e to our country won’t pay for the loss of their loved one. Neither will the words I offered of her last minutes. Though they thanked me for spending time with them, sharing stories of how Selena helped the success of the mission, I saw in their eyes the contempt they had for the agency and me. The fact that I was still alive and they wouldn’t even be able to bury their daughter because her body could not be wholly retrieved. I retched in the bathroom after her mother, the woman looking like the spitting image of Selena, hugged me and said thank you. I didn’t deserve those words from her.
The chief and I walked out of Langley with slaps on our wrists and a two weeks’ paid vacation for our troubles. I’m contemplating a month or more away from the office. This case is not one I’m going to get over immediately—physically and mentally.
The agency offers to put us up for the night in a swanky hotel near the airport but I’m ready to go home. More than ready. After months of being away, the wheels touch down in Georgia at 4:03 a.m. on August fifteenth. All of my personal effects are being sent to me by courier later today, so it’s just my person and a small bag exiting the airplane.
I’m eager to find out all I’ve missed. Anticipating seeing my wife and encapsulating her in my arms, never letting her leave the entire time I’m home with her. Whatever she has to tell me, it can’t be worse than what I’ve just experienced. As long as she isn’t leaving, we can make it right.
31
THE APARTMENT IS quiet when I enter. The bolt wasn’t latched in the hopes I would arrive at some point this night. After dropping my small bag inside the door, I move quietly toward our bedroom. The tiny meows of the cats are the first sounds I hear. My heartbeat speeds up in the excitement of seeing them and Eliza.
Both cats greet me upon entering. One reaches up my legs for me to retrieve him, and the other jumps on my back when I do so. I snigger at their glee but then think better of it. Eliza hasn’t stirred and as much as I want to wake her, I’d rather do it another way than by laughing at the cats.
I place Orion back on the ground and Sirius slides down my back as I right myself, scratching me with his claws on the way off. I strip myself of the clothes I’d been wearing for almost two days now and quickly shower off, so I can get in bed clean and free of the physical evidence of travel.
The lump in the bed still looks the same when I shut the bathroom door. I slide into my side of the mattress, hoping to nuzzle up to the one person I missed more than any other. Only, she’s not there. A large pillow, one I don’t remember ever having before, spans the length of Eliza’s side. All I can think is, why didn’t she tell me of the fact she got called in to work?
I am calm, but my patience is being tried at the moment. Once I locate my phone, I call her. It goes straight to voicemail once more. Dialing Coop’s number gives me the same response. Probably means they are on a scene. Dropping the phone on the nightstand, I decide to go to sleep. Maybe she’ll surprise me and wake me from it later this morning.
My dreams are plagued by nightmares, ones with exploding wives and funeral services. When I wake up, the room is bathed in sunlight. The day is partially over and I still haven’t seen or heard from Eliza.
A humming noise comes from the kitchen so I throw some clothes, anticipating the visitor. I know it’s a visitor and not Eliza because she never hums—would never hum. The cats follow me out of the room, meowing the whole way to the kitchen. Martha, the mother figure in my life, whirls around and jumps at my presence.
“Liam,” she shouts. “You’ll give an old woman a heart attack!” She’s clutching her chest, causing me to move rapidly in her direction. When I go to assist her, she slaps me on the shoulder. “Just a saying, I’m fine. Get over here and give Martha a hug.”
I embrace the woman as best I can. She realizes the pain she’s caused when she squeezed me so tight I let out an audible grunt. “What have they done to you?” She tries to lift my shirt to see the bandages she must feel through the thin layer, but I nicely tap her hand and she blushes. “I’m sorry. Motherly instincts. Wanted to check out my boy’s injuries.”
“I’ll heal.” I give the woman a smile and it dawns on me that she’s in my apartment without an invite from me. “Why are you here if you didn’t know I was home?”
“I’ve been helping Eliza with the babies.” She points to the cats. I notice now that she was putting a can of cat food into two bowls when I interrupted.
“Big case?”
Her face scrunches up.
“What? What is going on?” The beat of my heart drums faster the longer I stare at Martha. “Will you please tell me?”
“Eliza wants to be the one.”
“But she won’t. She hasn’t. I’ve tried to be patient, but I’m not sure I can anymore.”
“Well, you don’t have to be. Let’s go see her.”
“Go see her? Where is she?”
“How about I explain on the way? You go make yourself presentable and I’ll finish taking care of the boys.”
By the time Martha and I are on the highway, I’m practically frantic. My hands are shaky, and the rest of me is struggling to stay still as well. She drives, insisting I still need to rest. The first part of the drive, she’s silent. I try to get her to tell me where we’re going, but she merely smiles and keeps right on driving without a word.
About ten minutes into the trip, she places a hand on mine. “Now, I have to tell you. Eliza is in the hospital. She has been for a couple of weeks now.”
“What? Is she hurt? Did she get shot?” I ask so many questions I don’t recall what all spurted from my lips.
“I want to tell you she’s okay. She will explain the rest when we get there.”
“Why couldn’t anyone tell me she was in the hospital? You, Cooper, her parents…I would have come home. She needed me.”
“That’s just it. You would have come home. She knows what your missions mean to you. She feels the same about her cases.”
“She means more. Doesn’t she get that?”
“She does. That’s exactly why she forbade us all to tell you. She’s not going to die. We’ve had it covered. If it had gotten too serious or any closer to…” Martha stops and then starts over. “If it had gotten worse, we would have told you.”
“I want to know these things. No matter what. If I’d known she was being taken care of, I could have finished my mission and not been worried about all the possible reasons my wife was ghosting me.”
“I know. I tried to tell her that. Cooper tried to convince her.”
“He told me I needed to come home. I was planning on it, and then I was…” Captured. “Detained.”
“Well, he worried most of all. You won’t be too hard on any of us, will you?”
“Depends on the state my wife is in when I see her.”
“You’ll find her whole.”
“That’s a relief,” I tease. “Why is she in the hospital?” I give it a go one more time.
A small smirk plays on Martha’s lips. I glare at her, shaking my head at her non-answer. When we pull into the hospital parking lot, she stops at the front door. “You go on up. Room 317.”
The elevator takes too long for the minimal patience I have left. I take the stairs two at a time. When I burst through the door, a nurse is staring at me wide-eyed. “Room 317?”
She points to my right. I’m moving so quickly I run right past it. My name off the lips of my wife turns me around. My shoes mark up the bright white floor of the hospital ward and I grimace at the nurse watching my movements. She shrugs her shoulders and ushers me on to my destination.
“Eliza.” Her name falls from my mouth the moment I see her beautiful face smiling at me. Sitting in one of those plastic lounge hospital chairs, she spreads her arms out wide, awaiting my embrace.
I fall into her arms, planting my lips on hers. There’s something so surreal about the reunion. I’m here but I still feel hundreds of miles away. She tries to move up in the chair, clasping her arms around my shoulders and
pulling herself into me. Only, we can’t get close enough, something is blocking our way. I pull the blanket from her lap, thinking the culprit is attached to that piece of fabric.
Eliza pushes back, almost as if I’ve exposed something she doesn’t want me to see. I lower my eyes at her reaction and that’s when I see it. The thing protruding from her. The object that was keeping us from each other. There are tears spilling from her eyes when I look back to her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry. I wanted to. One hundred times. I knew you’d come back and I thought you’d resent…”
“Stop. I would never. There would have been other missions. You are my life. What I live for. My missions are work. You are my life. This,” I say and place both hands on her stomach. She nods in assurance. “This baby is my life.”
“God, I’m so stupid,” she cries out, tears flowing so freely her nightshirt is soaked.
I reach up, wiping as many as I can with my own shirt sleeve, but I don’t hug her again. I’m upset something so important was kept from me, so I don’t argue with her comment. It was stupid of her to think I didn’t love her more than some mission. One I nearly lost my own life for a couple of times. I would have never known I was going to be a dad. She would have robbed me of that knowledge because she didn’t want me to resent her. She thought I had to choose between work and my life.
“There’s no choice,” I reiterate. “When we said ‘I do,’ I made it. You first, work second. I thought…no, I’d hoped I made that clear to you. Apparently, I didn’t.”