by Kim Hornsby
“What are the meds?” Jamey asked.
“Classified.”
He figured they wouldn’t tell him, but he had a good idea of what they used. The malaria medication given to military personnel prompted weird dreams and Sixth Force had been experimenting with dosages of mefloquine to bring on REM and paranoia with selected prisoners. In the past Jamey’d been told that the drug was used by Sixth Force to get prisoners to that state of paranoia about keeping Taliban secrets and prompted them to dream about those secrets.
Tomorrow’s prisoner would probably be all doped up on a double dose of mefloquine and paranoid as hell in the dream. If he even got in, it would probably be a shitfest in there.
The next morning, when the guards came for Jamey, he’d already been to the gym for a work out, taken a shower, and eaten a big breakfast of eggs, waffles, bacon, and two cups of coffee. He’d also had time to write another letter to Tina. After thinking long and hard about the possibility of dying in Afghanistan, he decided that in the event of his death, she needed to know some things. He hoped that if the letter arrived in her brightly painted mailbox at the end of her palm-lined driveway, she’d read it. At the very least, he needed her to believe that he was sorry for interfering and had lived with the guilt over his part in Hank’s death every day. He loved her, never meant to hurt her, and hoped someday she’d understand why he’d written that letter to her parents. He had no regrets about doing that, only about not telling her sooner.
Jamey put a stamp on the envelope, gave it to his bodyguard, #3 today, and asked him to mail it if anything happened. The guard just nodded. He knew Freud was talking about his death. The guards never said much, but then, he was pretty sure the guards assigned to him weren’t supposed to fraternize with the talent. It was a solitary existence in Afghany, with no one to talk to except his team, and he sure as hell didn’t want to become friends with any of them.
As they walked outside into the blinding sunshine, Guard #2 joined them at the barracks door, and the three men jumped in a jeep that took off down one of the main roads in the base. Jamey always wore sunglasses here. They helped with the drastic transition from dark buildings to desert sun. For this mission, Jamey hadn’t had time to grow his hair long or grow a beard and moustache. Instead, he’d been given a disguise--a moppy blonde wig, and enough facial hair to make him look like ZZ Top. On the way to the plane from Pops’ house, he’d laughed at his reflection in the car’s rear view mirror. “How’s this?” he’d asked Milton at a stoplight.
Milton looked over. “I wouldn’t know you if I saw you out there.”
Last time he’d been in Afghanistan, Jamey had long, almost curly hair and a bushy beard with a handlebar moustache. He’d worn blue contacts and a fake beer belly under his uniform.
Today they went to Kandahar’s hospital, not the building where they kept the selected prisoners for Sixth Force, this time. When they pulled up to the hospital, Jamey had to ask, just in case these guys had information he didn’t. “What’s going on? More tests before the jump?”
Jumps were always done in a building that contained jail cells. The guards ignored him. Jamey would’ve been worried if suddenly they started talking, giving away information.
Milton met them on the second floor of the medical center, an Americanized facility that was as good as almost anything back home.
“You’re going to jump here, Freud,” he said. “Precautions.”
Jamey nodded. Last time, when his heart stopped, he’d been resuscitated, and brought back. They’d had to rush him over here. This time, he’d already be within reach of medical intervention.
Jamey would be fooling himself if he didn’t consider that he might die today. Even though he’d been doing innocent jumps lately, these dreams in Afghanistan were deadly, and the risk was about a thousand times higher than dreaming of playing soccer with Jade or Jasmine.
Milton ushered him down the hall, they turned and went through a set of double doors guarded by two soldiers with AK47’s. Three pods branched off from the center of the room, and the men entered the pod to their immediate right. Jamey’s team of experts was just inside the door, talking, gathered around a long table and waiting for the star of the show to arrive. Him. Over here, Jamey was Freud, a superstar psychic phenomenon.
He nodded at the doctors assigned to his team, and looked through a set of glass doors to the next room. His other bodyguard, #1, stood at ease at the end of a bed, mostly hidden by a sky-blue curtain.
If all went well, Jamey’d probably be in the dreamer’s mind within an hour or two. He wouldn’t pretend he couldn’t jump. Now that he was entering dreams again, he might as well admit that he was back on Sixth Force. Being on the base, he felt a strong sense of duty again. If he was lucky, he’d finish this mission and be released like Milton said. Maybe this was the one time Milton wasn’t sugarcoating the mission and he was telling the truth about letting Jamey go after this.
At these times, Jamey always felt bad for the dreamer. Soon he’d be in the guy’s head where he’d be able to feel his emotions as if they were his own. Dream jumping wasn’t as carefree and risk-free as everyone thought. It was dangerous work, frightening and emotional. He empathized with the dreamer, and that was rarely pleasant on these missions.
Jamey looked around the room and got a clear idea of the mood. Tension was always high before a jump, but more so today--the stakes were higher. Everyone in that meeting room knew the jumper might die or come close, like last time. Jamey had a sense of their trepidation. They were worried for his life. Him too.
Most everyone here had been in attendance the day they had to restart his heart. And today, they weren’t just fearful for his safety, but fearful for the success of the team mission. Something big was at stake. He could feel it from the group in the room. He still hadn’t been briefed. Hopefully he’d get in, get the work done, and get out before his life hung in the balance. If he didn’t, they’d have to act fast if his heart stopped again.
The prisoner’s feet at the end of the bed were barely visible from the end of the drawn hospital curtain. Jamey assumed the prisoner was out cold. They’d never let him see the jumper, or let Jamey near him unless he was sedated. No one was to know the identity of Freud, only Milton. And no one on his Sixth Force team had ever seen Freud without a disguise except Milton.
After a nurse took Jamey’s vitals, he was led to the patient’s bed. Walking around the curtain, he stopped dead in his tracks. His heart stopped. He recognized the dreamer. It was Atash. The kid from the almost fatal dream jump, three months earlier--the Taliban youth he’d thought was dead because of his botched dream jump. “What the hell?” He turned to Milton.
“This is your subject.”
“I thought he died.” Jamey was astounded he hadn’t guessed. “You told me he died.” The first story he’d been told was that they had to eliminate him. Then the story changed and Milton denied the prisoner had been killed. He said the prisoner had died from an allergic reaction to a new dream drug used, and they hadn’t been able to revive him. Had they even wanted to revive him? After all, Atash called Jamey “The Dream Man” when he woke, which pretty much told the U.S. Military that the prisoner had previous information about dream jumping when he’d been captured and guessed that he had an interrogator planted in the dream to extract information.
The strange thing was that when Milton said Atash died, Jamey believed the story. He hadn’t guessed otherwise. How the hell did that happen? Nightmares about cutting off the young man’s head had been haunting Jamey for months.
“We needed him.” Milton explained in a low whisper. “We also needed you to think he was dead.”
“How didn’t I guess?” Jamey stared at the unconscious prisoner in the bed.
“Let’s just say Sixth Force has someone who helped with that. The information was classified.” Milton’s eyes were hard. A look that meant he was done talking.
Jamey shook his head and hoped to hell that no one was me
ssing with his mind now. He advanced to the prisoner. “You know he might be a jumper?”
Milton nodded and everyone but the guards leaned forward slightly, listening.
“He might have been planted to catch me in a dream. Last time he almost had me.” Jamey turned to Milton. “You need to fill me in on everything you know about him now, before I get into this guy’s head and risk my life again.”
Chapter 20
“Jamey went back to Afghanistan?” The bottom fell out of Tina’s world, and she was free falling. “What?” Her hand flew to her mouth.
Pops shifted in his chair at the kitchen table. “Just a short mission, this time. They came to get him.”
She shook her head. “They’ll keep him longer, figure out some way to get him to spend months jumping.” She knew how this worked. Jamey had told her everything about Sixth Force and warned her never to be lured to war by these people.
Pops shook his head. “Jamey made him promise and told me to keep the home fires burning.” Pops looked like he believed it.
Tina’s heart pounded against her chest, and she couldn’t get enough oxygen for a breath.
“Do you want a drink of water? You don’t look so good.” The old man rose to get her a glass from the cupboard.
“He did this, this going back to the war, because he thought he lost me. It’s my fault.” She blurted, gasping for air. Men were dying over there in Afghanistan every day.
“Take a drink.” Pops’ brow was wrinkled, his thick eyebrows scrunched together. “It didn’t have to do with you, Kiddo. His superior officer needed him to come back for one last jump. Something top secret. I think they suspected Jamey was jumping again somehow, and came to get him. Milton needed Jamey to come back for tests at the very least. But, there’s a mission and if he can, Jamey’s jumping in to do it. Just a quick one, then he’s planning on being back here to spend the summer with his daughters.”
Tina’s breathing had calmed, and she reached across the table to grab Pops’ hand. “I’m not sure how much you know about what happened with me and Jamey recently, but I thought your son betrayed me. I thought he ruined my marriage for his own gain.” Her heart twisted to remember what she’d thought of Jamey. “I blamed him for the death of my husband. He doesn’t know that I figured out why he did that.”
Pops squeezed her hand. “I know about the letter to your parents. He told me. He also told me that he still believes it was the right thing to do.” He smiled kindly at Tina. “Darlin’, who knows if Hank would’ve died some other way, or if he’d have left you, or stayed? Thing is, no one knows if we can actually change the future. Maybe it’s all pre-destined and we’re just pawns. Maybe when Jamey saw Hank dead in that dream about your wedding, the knowledge he’d write the letter was already factored in. We don’t know.”
Pops was right. And this was exactly what she’d been thinking. She shook her head. “I need to talk to him and tell him I’m a stupid ass, and I probably don’t deserve him.”
“He’ll be back soon, and then you can tell him. I doubt he’ll agree with you though, about not deserving him.” He patted her hand and looked so convinced that Jamey would walk around the corner any minute, she wanted to cry.
The silence that hung between them brought her emotions to the surface, and tears filled her eyes. Finally, she admitted what couldn’t be held back. “My father passed away. We buried him today.” It almost felt good to say that out loud. “Life can be short. I made a terrible mistake with Jamey.”
“I’m so sorry, Tina.” Pops’ face crumpled. “Sometimes a loss like that reminds us what’s most important.”
Tears fell from her cheeks and landed on her sleeve. “Jamey’s concern was from love.” She shook her head. “I suppose I wanted to blame someone.”
“He knows that. He’s a smart guy. He’s got to know you’ll see the truth eventually. Jamey’s got to feel that somewhere in his heart.”
Tina took another drink of water. Maybe. For the first time she noticed he wasn’t hooked up to the oxygen. She set the glass on the table a little too forcefully and a wave of water sloshed out the top of the glass. As she wiped the spill with a nearby napkin, she added, “Can I get a message to him?”
“Not this time, they said. When he was doing a regular tour, he called home every week, but this one’s different.”
She wiped the tears from her face. There was nothing she could do except wait.
Pops moved to the closest chair to sit beside her. “I’m sorry about your Dad, Kiddo.” He looked sorry and Tina leaned in to hug him, the tears starting again.
After a good cry, she pulled away and blew her nose on another napkin. “Thanks for being a shoulder to cry on.” She tried to smile. “Literally.”
Pops patted her shoulder. “Anytime. I’m known for my absorbent shoulders. And this kitchen table might not look like much, but it’s known for catching tears.”
The phone rang, and both Pops and Tina startled. She hoped it was Jamey even though the likelihood was slim. Still, Jamey had such intuition sometimes.
Pops picked up the phone. “Well, hello you sweet, little thing,” he said. “How was swimming tonight?” he covered the mouthpiece, and mouthed the word ‘Jasmine’.
Tina nodded and blew her nose on a napkin, embarrassed it was so loud, then gave Pops a sheepish shrug.
“You can come over tomorrow and get the letter your dad left for you two,” Pops said. “He didn’t want to email you because he wanted you to learn to read good, old-fashioned letters.” Pops laughed.
Jamey had written the girls a letter. Had he thought of writing one to her, or had he completely given up on them before he left?
“I know he was really sad to miss the big game, but by the time you come over to get the letter, he might be home.” Pops sounded so sure.
Just then, Tina had a flash of recognition, like déjà vu, but different, more tangible. She’d been in a dream recently with Jasmine, and they were swimming. It was strange that she’d been dreaming of the twins. And watching soccer. She was on the sidelines of a soccer game, watching Jade and Jamey play a game with a professional team. That was all she saw of the dream, and then it faded. She tried to retrieve more, but it was gone as fast as it appeared. Had she jumped a dream with Jamey on two separate occasions?
Waiting for Pops to get off the phone, Tina thought about piggybacking dreams. The night she and Jamey sat in front of the fire, Jamey had jumped Jade’s dream. Tina had waited for him to come downstairs while staring into the fire. Had she lost consciousness? When Jamey finally joined her, he’d asked how long he’d been gone, then admitted that he’d jumped. What if she’d dozed off in front of the fire, jumped in to Jade’s dream, and Jamey was only able to get in because of Tina? Oh, and skeletons were chasing them until Jamey sent them away. Skeletons, soccer, and swimming. Maybe Jamey wasn’t jumping on his own after all.
Tina said her goodbyes to Pops after he got off the phone, hugged him, and made him promise to call when he heard anything.
“You’ll be the first one I call,” he said. “Or if he just walks in the door, I’ll hand him the phone before he even sits down.”
She believed him.
On the drive back to Mercer Island, Tina tried to remember the soccer dream. Figure out who was jumping and how. If Jamey wasn’t able to get in on his own, if it had been her jump that he’d piggybacked, he’d probably be home sooner than Sixth Force thought. Without the golden ability, he was pretty much useless to them.
Tina woke to the realization that her father was dead, and the love of her life was back in the war zone, possibly enduring life-threatening dream jumps. No calls from Pops yet. She dressed in jeans and a cream V-necked sweater and headed down the hall. Her mother was still asleep and snoring lightly, so she went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Millie was back in the kitchen, cleaning from the funeral reception yesterday.
“How’s your mother, Kristina?” Millie asked from the dining room doorwa
y.
“Still asleep. I hope she sleeps most of the day.” They nodded at each other like they knew how hard this next week would be for her. Tina added two heaping tablespoons of sugar to her coffee. Jamey had been trying to get her to use less processed sugar, so she stopped at two. Jamey. Visiting Pops last night and talking about him had settled her troubled heart. A bit. Still, she worried. No one was safe from bombs and Taliban attacks. What the hell would she do if he never made it back? The thought made her nerves sizzle and her heart jump to her throat. She took a sip of coffee, stared out the window, and told herself it was crazy to think that way. “Millie, I’ll clean the rest of this. Just leave the mess.”
Millie was disinfecting the counters, wiping furiously. “This is what I get paid for, sweetheart. You do something else. Oh, I forgot to tell you that your mother’s cousin, Amy, called last night. I told her you’d call back this morning.”
Amy lived in Alberta, Canada. She hadn’t been able to make it for the funeral because she and her husband had farm animals. “Getting help at the last minute is hard,” she’d told Tina on the phone earlier that week. “But I’m working on it. I want to come spend some time with Liz,” she said. Growing up, Amy and Elizabeth had been fast friends.
When Tina finished her coffee, she called Amy from her father’s desk.
“I’ve got a flight to Seattle tomorrow. I’ll stay a few weeks,” Amy said. “I have to be home when the grandkids get out of school.”
Tina thanked her and they hung up. Then, turned on her father’s laptop and typed in “Kandahar.” According to everything she read, it was tricky and dangerous for civilians to go to Afghanistan. Especially Kandahar. That area was less populated, closer to the border where insurgents snuck in from Pakistan, and the southeastern mountain range between countries was full of caves where bands of Taliban hid.