Consummate Betrayal

by Yungeberg. Mary

  He interrupted her. “Look, I do understand. You want forgiveness, absolution, or whatever your religion calls it. You want me to say I forgive you? Accepting your apology is the same thing, isn’t it? But if it makes you feel better – I forgive you. Now, can we agree not to discuss this again?” Waiting impatiently for her to reply, he realized his whole body had tensed up. He took a deep breath, twisting his shoulders and forcing his clenched fists to relax. Why couldn’t she move on and leave him alone?

  His mother huddled on the chair and wiped at the tears that had trickled down her face. “Thank you, for your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it. For years I’ve agonized over how terribly I hurt you and I’m so sorry. I was foolish and full of such harsh judgments, but I’ve learned about grace.” Janice paused, and then gave him a timid smile. “Oh, Rowan – God loves you. He cares for you and wants to help you. And your father and I want so badly to get to know you again. Being here, having that opportunity – is an answer to our prayers.”

  Barely able to keep his temper in check, he quit listening and shook his head. Nothing had changed. Janice still couldn’t resist any opportunity to shove her religion down his throat. He swung his feet to the floor and stood up, glaring down at her with his arms crossed. “Enough, OK? We’re stuck here together for the foreseeable future. If you want to get to know me, then we have to move on. And one other thing – don’t hound me about how wonderful God is, all right? Is that too much to ask?”

  Janice stood up to face him and he noticed that her hands were shaking. “Whatever you want is fine with both your father and me. All that matters to us is a relationship with you and Danielle. She’s a lovely woman, and we’re so happy you’ve found someone like her.”

  Janice quit talking and looked at him, biting her lower lip. Surprised at her willingness to concede, he searched her face for mendacity, but saw only determination. Her eyes were nearly as dark as his and reflected the same impassioned persona, which made him uncomfortable. Weary of the exchange, wanting only to escape, he sighed. “OK, great. You’re right about Danielle and thank you. I’m grateful for her every day. But I have to go now. Some other time maybe we can talk more.”

  When he turned to leave she grabbed his arm. Irritated, he pivoted back toward her. Janice gave him a faltering smile. “Thank you again, for everything. We are grateful to be here. Your father worried about being deported to Iran because of all the lies. He couldn’t survive something like that, and neither could I. You’re a wonderful son – so good to us.” She squeezed his arm and let go. “I just wanted you to know that.”

  Rendered speechless, he could only nod and turn away. Unreasoning anger swept through him as he wiped stinging tears from his eyes. Her words had touched him – and he didn’t like that, at all.

  * * *

  Sitting in companionable silence with Michael on the patio overlooking the Pacific, Rowan was glad that no one else was around. Sunlight glinted on the waves and the rhythmic rush of the water calmed his mind. Glancing at his friend, he took another bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, thinking about what he wanted to say. Swallowing and sipping his coffee, he laid the sandwich down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t ever repay you for getting me out of Quantico. If you hadn’t…” An involuntary shudder caught him off-guard, and he took a steadying breath.

  Michael frowned and shifted in his chair, fiddled with his cup of coffee and shrugged. “All in a day’s work, my brother, you know that. You don’t owe me anything.”

  He stared into the always assessing cobalt eyes. “Well, I’ll be on the owing end to both you and Gabriel – and your parents for a long time as far as I’m concerned.” He sighed. His colleague would surely gloat over his next admission. “You know, the shrink was a good idea.”

  Michael chuckled, lips twisting in a wry smile. “I know and you’re welcome. Be sure you mention that to Chad sometime. The poor guy has a conscience, unlike you and me. He still feels bad about doing that without consulting you.”

  Relieved more than he’d like to admit by the subdued response, he nodded. “I’ll talk to Chad. But Mike, I’ve got a question. Do you still have my guns?”

  His friend’s face broke into a huge smile. “Damn it, that’s the last thing I expected you to ask me about. Hell yes, your 36 and18 are here. Didn’t Chad tell you about the cache of small arms I collected? Your pistols are part of that.

  Speaking of the 18, I’d like to take that sweet baby back to South Dakota. Anyway, you gave me the 18 after the Mexico operation, per usual and Chad nabbed the 36 before the FBI or CIA found it. The suppressors for both pistols are in the gun cases, with the weapons. You can practice all you want out here and not alarm the locals.”

  Pure pleasure coursed through him at the thought of his personal weapons being in his hands again. It felt good to think that he could put even one part of his life back together. He’d been helpless for so long… But now, he couldn’t wait to feel the solid, balanced weight of the forty-five caliber 36 in his hands, breathe in the acrid scent of gunpowder when the tendrils of smoke rose from the barrel, and run his finger along the smooth steel slide. “Thanks Mike. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that…and I hope I can handle them. After…well, I’ve been working out. But my fingers tingle sometimes and I can’t tell if my hands and wrists are getting stronger.”

  Michael looked at him and then looked away, staring at the water while he spoke. “You’ll handle those weapons just fine.” His friend dragged his gaze away from the hypnotic waves back toward him, the normally mocking face serious. “Rowan, I need to tell you this – Asal discovered who betrayed you to Muusa Shemal.”

  Nonplussed, he could only stare. How many more revelations could he handle? “OK, lay it on me.”

  Michael glanced at the ocean again and sipped his coffee before speaking in a low voice. “I’m sorry, it was Sa-id Harandi. According to Asal’s internet sources, Shemal tortured him for at least a week, until Sa-id identified you and then the bastard slit his throat. Washington Post archives have the story of his disappearance and later the discovery of his body, if you’re interested.”

  Grief for his gentle, courageous friend brought stinging wetness to his eyes for the second time that morning, but he blinked it away, embracing deepening anger instead. His emotions were on a rampage, and it was starting to piss him off. Sadness overcame the anger as he remembered New Year’s Eve, the last time he’d been with his friend. He rubbed his eyes and gave Michael a bitter smile. “Thanks for telling me. You know, somehow, the monsters who’ve perpetrated this debacle on me and everyone else out here have got to be held accountable.”

  Michael folded his hands in front of him on the table. “What do you have in mind?”

  Watching Michael’s face, thinking about the wheels turning behind the fierce eyes, he leaned back, braced his hands on the table and let the pent-up frustration and rage fuel his words. “What I want is retribution – for everything that’s been done. I want to eliminate the principal players.”

  He snorted. “And for God’s sake, when I turned on the TV this morning, you want to guess what I saw? Someone put together a cozy story about America’s most wanted homegrown terrorist – me. Goddamn it. That’s not right. I want my country to know I’m innocent.”

  The vehemence drained away and his shoulders slumped. “This crap will never be over. I know that. I’ll be wanted by the CIA, the FBI, the Muslim Brotherhood and hell – all the radicals, for the rest of my life, but I can’t sit and do nothing.”

  Michael shot him a speculative look. “Let me think on this for a while. It’s going to take some detailed planning. Rowan, I have to ask – are you willing to leave here? Because you understand, what you want to do will be difficult from a remote location.”

  Nodding at his colleague, he slurped the rest of the coffee, angered at how the cup rattled when he sat it back on the table with a shaky hand. Eyeing the half-eaten sandwich, h
e wondered if he’d ever recover or be himself again. Just the thought of captivity sent panic rippling through his gut.

  Lost for a moment in memories of utter helplessness, hard fists and cold steel cuffs, he shuddered. Blinking to clear the images, he took a deep breath and met Michael’s concerned gaze. “Eventually, if it’s necessary, I’ll start the ball rolling with Chad and Ralph. But first, I need to spend some personal, quality time with my 36 and 18.” He managed a smile. “I’ve missed those damn pistols.”

  Michael looked relieved. “And I’ve missed you, Rowan. It’s great to have you back.”

  * * *

  Twisting uncomfortably on the leather sofa, Rowan wondered if meeting with his shrink on this particular day was a mistake. The study felt claustrophobic. After watching the disturbing images of himself on TV and then talking to his mother and Michael, he already wanted – and needed – to hit the beach with the bottle of whiskey.

  Angelo sat across from him in his usual spot and looked at him, hands folded in his lap. “Rowan, if you feel up to it, I’d like to talk to you about September 11, 2001. From what you’ve told me, that day played a pivotal role in your life, precipitating your involvement in black ops and the private jihad that’s netted so many dead Islamists.”

  He stared at the psychiatrist and tapped his fingers on his knees. Blowing out a gusty sigh, he wished the conversation wouldn’t go down this road, then figured, as he always did when faced with the psychiatrist’s gentle probing, what the hell. “Well, you see Doc, after September 11, 2001, revenge was all I cared about. When I heard that the president was discreetly looking for an American who could speak Arabic and Farsi, had a Middle Eastern background, someone who could handle a gun and a knife and wanted to serve his country, I knew I was that man. I’ve never looked back, never regretted even one life that I’ve taken.”

  Angelo looked thoughtful. “Do you realize that you’ve never told me why you chose that path? Did something happen to you personally on that day or were you, like so many other Americans, inspired to serve because of the horrific act of terror on our own soil?”

  Jaws clenched, he stared at the psychiatrist. It had been ten years and he’d never talked to anyone about losing Michelle on that day. Ralph had held him in his arms when he collapsed while watching the tower implode, knowing in that moment that he’d lost everything. But other than his fellow workers at Ground Zero in the days afterward, he’d never brought it up to anyone else, and over the years, he’d shoved the terrible pain deep inside.

  Now he felt his chest tightening and tried to take a deep breath. How did Angelo do this to him? “That morning, my fiancée Michelle was having breakfast at Windows on the World. She was pregnant. I’ve never told anyone else. We’d only known for a month. But sometimes I still think about it. A baby, for God’s sake, and you know – a family.” He paused and washed a hand across his face.

  Angelo leaned forward and he could see the compassion in the older man’s face. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Rowan. If you feel up to it, tell me more. Sometimes walking back through the memories facilitates healing, if you’re guided by someone skilled in the art. I’d be happy to walk through those memories with you.”

  A shuddering sob escaped from his lips. He looked at the doctor, panic-stricken. He drew a sharp breath as the sense of an overwhelming presence shimmered around him. He remembered that presence. The voice, filled with kindness, whispered through his mind… Don’t be afraid, Rowan. Let me help you. What the hell was happening to him?

  Angelo stared at him, a puzzled look on the kind face. “Are you all right, Rowan? I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn. My passion is for healing, but if you’re not ready, I understand.”

  For the third time in a few hours, tears filled his eyes. Hot and stinging, they ran down his cheeks while a hard lump in his throat made speaking impossible. He opened his mouth and closed it as a tidal wave of emotion rushed over him.

  Sobs he couldn’t stop shook his shoulders. It was as though someone had opened the floodgates in his heart. Hunched over on the sofa, thankful for the heavy shelves of books that absorbed the sound, he gave up and wept, covering his face with his hands. He must be losing his mind.

  Eyes tightly closed, he didn’t move away when Angelo sat down beside him and put a comforting arm around him. Inexplicably drawn, he leaned into the other man’s shoulder until the tears subsided. Exhausted, but feeling more at peace than he had in years, he took an unsteady breath and opened swollen, aching eyes. Angelo sat watching him, a patient look on his face. Shock rolled over him and he turned sharply to where Angelo should be – sitting next to him.

  The psychiatrist looked embarrassed. “Rowan, please accept my apology. I’ve never been so insensitive before.”

  Still disconcerted, he blinked at the doctor. Now he needed the solitude of the beach, where he could think and try to make sense of what had happened. Thinking how good a cool wash cloth would feel on his burning face, he took a deep breath. “It’s all right, Doc, don’t worry about it. You know, maybe we should take a break. It’s ah, I’ve never…” He needed to leave, before another wave of emotion blindsided him. Standing abruptly, he nodded at Angelo. “If I need you, I’ll find you. Otherwise, I’ll catch you in a couple days, or whenever.”

  Angelo stood up, brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re all right? I don’t want to leave you hurting. Do you need to talk or would you like some company?”

  Company was the last thing he wanted. “Nope, I’m fine, Doc. No worries. I’ll see you later.” Before Angelo could say anything else, he slipped out the door and shut it quietly.

  Heaving a ragged sigh, Rowan gazed for a moment at the closed door and then headed outside, down the brick walkway toward the beach. Head bowed, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his cutoffs, he walked. The sand burned the bottoms of his feet until he hit the water, enjoying the coolness as the waves crawled up over his ankles. The breeze refreshed him and he stopped. Lifting his head to the noon-time sun, he closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of the salt air.

  Opening his eyes, he sighed again and kept walking. After mindless minutes, he found himself on the hidden section of beach where he and Danielle still liked to meet. They kept a couple beach towels in an old wicker basket and he grabbed one, spread it on the sand and plopped down. Drawing his knees up, he wrapped his arms around them and buried his head. Oh God, not again. Clenching his jaws, he tried to brace himself, but it did no good.

  Another wave of raw emotion rolled over him. After all the years, he grieved for Michelle and the child whose eyes he’d never gaze into, the likeness he’d never have the pleasure of contemplating. The overpowering presence settled around him and the voice spoke again. I held them in my arms, Rowan…they were never alone. It was too much. His body shook as he wept. He’d never allowed himself to cry, and now he couldn’t stop.

  After a while his sobs subsided, and he raised his head, resting his chin on his knees. His head ached, his eyes burned, and he’d never felt so empty. Before he could absorb that, another wave of sadness covered him, and he grieved over the wreckage of his life, the career and the reputation he’d been so proud of, the staggering humiliation, the wounds to his psyche and the scars on his body.

  Each degrading act he’d endured played in his mind as he sat, hands over his face, tears running freely, while the shimmering presence settled around him yet again. The voice whispered with such tenderness he could barely breathe. Each time they hurt you, I was there beside you. At last the images stopped, and he lay flat on his back, wrung out, with an arm across his eyes. His enervated mind couldn’t process anything else. He fell into deep, exhausted sleep.

  * * *

  Someone whispered his name. “Rowan, are you awake?” Gentle fingers traced the line of his jaw and then his collar bone, slid across his chest and down to his belly, making him shiver. “Rowan, it’s time to wake up.”

  Mouth open, he laid on the towel feeling like he
’d been run over by a truck. His lips were caked with fine, salty sand. It layered his neck and chest beneath the shirt he never buttoned and gritted under the waistband of his cutoffs. The arm over his eyes felt like a lead weight. He coughed and grimaced as he sat up. “What time is it?”

  Danielle sat cross-legged next to him on another beach towel, smiling while he stretched and yawned. Then her face turned serious and she grabbed his hand. “It’s six-thirty already. Angelo called me earlier and said you were upset after your meeting. I thought you’d probably be here. Are you all right?”

  Blinking at her through burning eyes, he didn’t know what to say. He felt like hell. “I’m fine, just tired and cold. When we get back, I’m going to take a shower and hit the sack.” He gave her a crooked smile and squeezed her hand before letting go and struggling to his feet. Reaching down, he grasped her hand and pulled her up. “Wanna go to bed with me?”

  She slid her arms around him and murmured into his shoulder. “You look like it’s been a rough day. I’m so sorry. I wish you’d talk to me, so I could help you.” Her voice sounded so wistful and sad, he felt guilty. Her hands roamed up into his hair and pulled his head down. She kissed him softly and he knew his lips must feel like sandpaper, but she didn’t seem to mind. And God, she felt so good and so warm pressed against him.

  If only he had the energy, he’d make use of those beach towels. But the weariness he felt was more than bone deep, it had invaded his soul. Danielle pulled away and he could see the concern in her eyes. He put his arms around her, letting his hands wander down to her hips. “Don’t worry, I’m OK. You’re right though, it’s been a long day…draining.” Hesitating, knowing he’d probably regret it, he continued. “We can talk for a while, but I’m not sure how long I’ll last.”

  She looked up at him in the fading light. “This is never going to be over, is it? They’re never going to let up about you or believe that you’re innocent, are they? Oh my God, I hate the people that did this to you.”