“Not long, we’re still newlyweds.”
“You mean it’s true?”
“What part didn’t you believe?” Jackson asked.
“Any of it. And you’ve really taken Aqaba?”
“It is what you sent us to do, isn’t it?” Lillian asked, puzzled.
“Well, yes!” Hornby answered.
“We’d like a room. The nicest you can find,” Jackson said. “One with a big bed and a hot bath. Oh, and if you’d be so kind as to arrange for dinner?”
“Anything else you’d like at the moment, Lieutenant?” Hornby asked, clearly stunned.
“Yes, I’ll take a bottle of single malt scotch. Point us in the direction of our room and we’ll be out of your hair for a bit. I’ll report in officially tomorrow. But, meanwhile, I’d start mobilizing.”
Chapter Eighteen
Fourteen months later, Cairo
Jackson sat at the bar at the officer’s club in Cairo. He had arrived just last night, summoned by Hornby. He tilted the crystal tumbler and studied the amber liquid before raising the glass slowly to his lips and taking a sip.
He closed his eyes and remembered his last meeting with Hornby. It had occurred here, in this very bar over a year ago.
Jackson waved the barkeep over and requested a refill. After getting his second drink, he made his way over to the quiet table in the back corner where he’d held his last late-night meeting with Hornby.
“Do you mind telling me what I’m doing here in the middle of the night? I thought you and the Mrs. were taking the night off,” Hornby said as he walked up to the table and sat down.
“Lillian is fast asleep. She’s what I want to discuss, actually.” Jackson stared into his glass. “Now, you know, and I know, that I’m already married.”
“But she doesn’t,” Hornby said. “You really are a scoundrel, Jackson. You have no idea the problems this is going to cause.”
“I’m your bloody hero. You’ll find a way to forgive me. I’ve gotten you Aqaba, haven’t I? And I’ll do more. I need munitions and money, a lot of money. I’ll go back out there. I agreed to help lead the sabotage efforts. The people trust me and respect me. They’ll follow me.”
“What about Lillian?”
“She’s completed her mission. She’s served her purpose.”
“You’re done with her? Tired of her? Is that it?” Hornby waved down a waiter and ordering a drink.
Jackson set his glass on the table and leaned back in his chair. He pulled two letters from his pocket and slid the first one slowly across the table.
“Here is a list of what I need. It’s what I’ve promised in exchange for Aqaba. There are instructions as to where to deliver the items and the money.”
Hornby accepted the letter and put it in his pocket.
Jackson handed him the second letter. “This one is for Lillian. You are to give it to her in the morning.”
“No.” Hornby slid it back towards him. “This isn’t like when you were a boy and convinced me to tell your father that you broke the dining room window with that ball. You’re a man, Jackson. You need to clean up your own mistakes.”
Jackson smiled, placed his hand over the envelope, and slid it back towards the general. “Godfather, she wasn’t a mistake. And neither is the child that she’s carrying. I didn’t trick her. She knew about Maria. She knew about the risks of pregnancy and she chose to take them. I need to know that Lillian and the child are safe and that they are taken care of. There are instructions for my solicitor in there. Make sure she gets them. Don’t say anything to her about the child. She’s not much more than a child herself and I’m not certain she knows yet.”
“How?”
Jackson raised his eyebrow and smirked.
“Well, of course I know how—” Hornby blustered.
“I can count, you know. I’m not a complete git. It’s not the first time I’ve managed to impregnate a woman, I remember the signs.” The deception made Jackson feel only slightly guilty. The truth was he knew nothing of the sort. He had no idea whether or not she was pregnant. What he did know was that with that knowledge, his godfather would ensure her return to the States.
Hornby picked up the letter and turned it over in his hands. “When will you be leaving?”
“Now.” Jackson stood up, swallowed down the last of his drink and placed the glass on the table. “I’ve got to go now.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being a complete bastard or if you actually love her.” Hornby watched his godson walk out of the Officers’ Club and into the night. As he turned the letter over in his hands he said a silent prayer; a prayer for the woman upstairs in the guest quarters and a prayer for the man who was leaving her and a part of himself behind.
“Major Crawford.”
Jackson looked up and stood to acknowledge the general.
“Please, sit. This is a personal meeting.” Hornby pulled out a chair. “I’m afraid I have news, about your wife.”
“Lillian? Is she all right?”
“No, not Lillian. Maria. Remember Maria?”
“Of course I bloody well remember Maria. I haven’t gone daft.”
“Well, you could have fooled me. I don’t know what kind of pagan ceremony you went through to convince Lillian to… But it’s not going to fly. You can’t have two wives, Jackson. It’s simply not done. Although I suppose that’s all been sorted now.”
“What do you mean?” Jackson tried to contain the growing sense of alarm he was feeling.
“There was a fire.”
“Dear God.” Jackson leaned forward and held his breath.
“Maria was killed. Smoke inhalation.”
“When?”
“Just a few weeks ago. I sent for you right away.”
Jackson shook his head and choked back the bitter taste of tears.
“She’s at peace, son. She didn’t suffer. She died in her sleep.”
“If I’d been a better husband, she wouldn’t have been there at all!” Jackson spat.
Hornby reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “You know that’s not true. You did what you could.”
“I should have done more.”
“And know you’ll have that chance. Your obligation here is over. It’s time to go home, Jackson.”
Boston, Massachusetts
It was Wednesday, November twenty-seventh. Jackson stood up and reached for his bag as soon as the train came to a stop. He was filled with nervous excitement at the realization that he was on the last leg of this long trip. He disembarked, still wearing his uniform and overcoat. Officially he was on leave, but soon he would be a civilian again.
He stepped off the train that had carried him from New York to Boston and took a moment to examine his surroundings. The sky was gray and there were patches of snow and ice all about the well-worn area. When he exhaled, he could see his breath. He pulled the collar up on his overcoat and made his way diagonally across the tracks of Boston’s famous South Station.
As he entered the headhouse, he immediately noticed the grandeur of the gothic architecture. The five-story building with its huge archways and glass canopied train-shed was a modern architectural marvel. Jackson spotted a shoeshine stand over in one corner manned by a gentleman and three young boys.
“Excuse me, mate. I need to get over to Birch Street. Can you tell me where I can find a taxi?” he asked.
“Oh, you don’t have to take a taxi. The EL is right through those doors there,” said the man, pointing straight ahead. “It’s much cheaper and it’ll get you there faster. Get off at Tremont, Birch is only three blocks east of that stop.”
“The what?”
“The Elevated Railway. Runs on electric.” The man pointed. “It’s right through there.”
Jackson walked out of the station and looked skeptically at the railway tracks suspended in the air above and in front of him. “Come on, mate, you can find your way from Aqaba to Cairo with nothing but a compass, surely you can get yourself to Birch St
reet.” He crossed the street and made his way towards the train.
About an hour and several wrong turns later, Jackson had managed to make his way through the busy winding streets to find the one he was searching for. When he saw the street sign he smiled. He turned left and immediately began searching for the house numbers…2022, 2024...2026. He was heading in the right direction.
It was late mid-afternoon but the overcast sky made it seem even later. He looked up the street, lined on both sides by old birch trees. He pictured them in summer, imagining how they would look. And then he imagined them in the fall, when they would be filled with vibrant color. He wondered which house was hers…theirs.
“Would you like a paper, sir?”
He looked down at the small boy. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked if you’d like a copy of the evening paper, sir?”
“No, thanks. I believe my wife already takes the paper. I’m looking for number 2032, son. Can you tell me where that is?”
“2032?”
“That’s right.”
The boy pointed across the street and two houses down. “That’d be that one, right there, but—”
“Thanks!” Jackson raced across the street and up the steps of 2032.
As he lifted his hand to knock on the door the memory of their last night together raced through his mind. First he saw the image of her stepping into the bath. Then it was the shape of her arm as she lifted it up out of the water. He remembered the way the candlelight made her golden skin gleam even more, and the way her hair looked fanned out across the pillow of the bed as he hovered over her, sliding in and out of her body, making love to her, worshiping her. He remembered how full and sweet her lips tasted and how her breath had smelled like the chocolate cake they’d had for dessert. But most of all he remembered her last words before falling asleep and the promise he had made her in that letter.
“I don’t want this to end. I love you, Jackson. I’ll see you in the morning,” she whispered.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said as he extinguished the light. “I love you, too.”
But he didn’t fall asleep. He waited. He waited until she was fast asleep and it was well past midnight. Then he climbed out of bed, dressed, and made his way over to the desk by the window. He pulled out a sheet of paper from the top drawer and wrote the last of the two letters that he needed. The one he didn’t know how to write. He looked at her, sleeping peacefully, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. He then focused on the paper before him and by the light of the moon wrote:
My Darling Wife,
It is early morning and you look beautiful. You are sleeping soundly, peacefully, bathed in moonlight. I will forever remember how you looked before drifting off tonight. I have never seen you appear so sated. Perhaps it was the chocolate cake and the wine? But I prefer to think it had something to do with me, and that at least I have left you well loved. I am certain that you will be quite cross when you waken to find me gone. If you are reading this, then I will have managed to convince Hornby and I have returned to the field knowing that you will soon be back in the States and safe. Have no doubt, love. I intend to keep up my end of the bargain. Believe in me, Lillian. I will fight my damnedest to win the bloody war. I will live through this. And, we will be together again. You are home to me now. I will come back to you.
Faithfully yours,
Now and forever…Jackson
Chapter Nineteen
Weeks had passed with still no word. Lillian stood at the front of the class and announced, “I’m afraid that is time! Please pass your papers to the left and then forward. I wish you all a very happy Thanksgiving.”
A flurry of papers made their way across and then down the rows. Captain Robert Kelly moved aside as students began to file through the doors, ready to escape for the holiday. As soon as the aisle was clear he made his way down the steps of the large lecture hall and approached Lillian.
“Good afternoon Mrs.—”
“I thought I told you to call me Lillian, Captain Kelly. How is your wife, by the way?”
“She’s fine, thanks. I’ve managed to do as you’ve asked.”
Lillian sat up straight in her chair. “You know where he is? Is he okay? Tell me!”
“I was actually talking about the other favor.” He pulled a set of documents from his pocket and handed them to her. “But with the war over I should be able to get news soon.”
“The citizenship papers for Ahmed,” Lillian said as she looked them over. “Thank you. This means a lot to both of us.”
“You’re welcome. How is Ahmed?”
“Good! Very good, in fact. He’s been working over at McLean Hospital.”
“I thought he was at Massachusetts General?”
“McLean is their psychiatric facility. It’s just outside of Boston.”
“I know about McLean; that’s where the rich people go to play tennis, ride horses, and eat food the rest of us can’t afford.”
Lillian smiled. “You’re sounding like him! He’s afraid that the patients there are too comfortable. But change is hard, and he has little influence there. In all honestly, he would prefer to be over at the Boston Psychopathic Hospital, working with the indigent. He’s doing some volunteer work over there, using psychoanalytic techniques. The medical school here is actually considering his proposal to fund a research project. He should hear any day now.”
“Wish him luck. It was nice seeing you again.”
“Good to see you, too,” Lillian said. “I mean that. I really appreciate your help. You’ve been…great. Really great.”
“Look, I know someone who knows someone, I’ll see what I can find out. I know that he’s out of Arabia. He spent some time back in England, maybe a few days, before leaving for France with sealed orders from Hornby.”
“Will you let me know if you hear anything more?”
“Of course. Look, maybe I’ll be back with news soon.”
“For Christmas perhaps? Put in a good word for me with Santa, will you?” Lillian walked around her desk and embraced him.
“Will do, Lillian!” Captain Kelly said. “Will do!”
Jackson rang the bell and waited. He held his breath when he heard someone approach. The heavy wooden door swung open to reveal a tall, dark-haired woman with delicate features, soulful brown eyes, and a slightly protruding belly.
“Yes?”
Jackson reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper that had the address written on it. He glanced at it and then at the house number next to the door. “Sorry, I guess this is the wrong address. This is Birch Street, right?”
Her hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh! Dear Lord!”
Jackson raised his eyebrow, obviously surprised at her reaction.
“Your accent! You’re British!”
“That I am. I’m looking—”
“For Lillian,” she finished. “You’re him. Oh my, she’s going to faint dead away. Come in, come in!”
The woman stepped aside and swept out her arm, inviting him into the two-story brownstone. “I’m Janna.”
“Is Lillian here?” he asked looking round.
“No, she’s at school. She’s teaching again over at Harvard. What am I thinking? Set down your bag and let me take your coat.”
“Are you roommates?” he asked, handing her his coat
“No!” She hung it on the rack in the foyer. “I live next door. We’re friends and I’ve been babysitting for her since she’s started teaching again. I’ll have my own little one here soon.” Janna patted the swell in her tummy. “I’m sure the two of them will be fast friends. Come into the living room?”
Jackson’s head was spinning as he followed her into the next room. The walls were painted a soft cream color. There was a large Persian carpet covering the dark hardwood floors and it reminded him of the exotic richly colored carpets of Arabia. On the far wall was a rather large fireplace where there was already a roaring fire crackling. The
walls on either side of the fireplace were lined with floor to ceiling built-in bookcases, stocked with all kinds of books. There were two brown leather sofas sitting perpendicular to the fireplace with a square coffee table in between.
“Did you say—”
“Hi, honey! I’m home!” he heard a familiar voice shout out.
He turned around swiftly. It seemed, suddenly, as if everything slowed down. Ahmed entered the room. As their eyes met, Jackson felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.
“Goodness! Jackson! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Ahmed walked over to him, extending his hand.
Jackson automatically returned the handshake. “I didn’t even know you were in the States, I—”
“Won’t Lillian be surprised!” Ahmed made his way over to the table under the window. It held an assortment of crystal glasses and a small array of liquor bottles. “Let’s have a toast!” he suggested pouring two fingers of scotch out for each of them. “To your safe return!” He handed Jackson a glass and raised his own.
“Cheers.”
The brief silence was interrupted by the sound of an infant crying. Jackson turned his head in the direction of the sound. The scotch tasted bitter in his mouth and he struggled to swallow it. He realized that Janna had said something, but he had no idea what it was. She left the room and he watched Ahmed settle himself comfortably on one of the sofas.
“Sit, Jackson!”
Jackson’s jaw was clenched so tight it hurt. He was filled with resentment.
Too late, too late.
Instead of sitting he walked over to the window and glanced out. “So, you got lucky after all,” he said, staring into the bottom of his glass. “Looks like you’re a family man again. Got to say, I didn’t expect this. Never saw it coming. Don’t know why.”
“I’ve got so much to tell you and so many questions. But what am I thinking? You must meet Hope! She’s simply beautiful, Jackson.”
Without waiting for a response Ahmed stood up and walked out of the room.
The Soldier & The Spy Page 18