All Through the Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  It was a miracle that he hadn’t been lynched.

  Dolphina didn’t bother to introduce anyone to him, but he’d recognized Robin’s sister, Jane, the Hollywood producer, as she’d arrived. She was with another woman—her mother-in-law. Will deduced that from the fact that everyone greeted the older lady as “Cosmo’s mom.”

  He’d overheard all the others’ names—Kelly, Meg, Teri, Van. They were wives of SEALs or former SEALs. There were plenty of children, too, most of them small and asleep in the beds upstairs. There was one teenager—Amy—who reminded him of his own niece, Maggie. Amy had poked her head into the office earlier, no doubt to get a closer look at the evil reporter.

  He headed now toward the kitchen, but Dolphina materialized out of nowhere before he even reached the living room.

  “Any word, Mr. Schroeder?” she asked, her voice as frosty as her eyes.

  “Nothing from Jack yet, Ms. Patel,” he answered. “Is Robin…?” He pointed toward the kitchen.

  She crossed her arms and blocked his path. “It’s better if you just talk to me.”

  It was not what he wanted, but as was often the case these days, he didn’t seem to have a choice. “I have to leave,” Will told her. “It’s not because I don’t want to stay and help, I mean, as much as I can help. But my babysitter is about to turn into a pumpkin, so…”

  She blinked at him. “You said you would go pick up your niece if your sitter couldn’t stay.”

  “Yeah,” Will said, scratching his chin. “I did. But that was before I…” He shook his head. “Turns out I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The temperature dropped about twenty degrees there in the hallway, and it had started out sub-zero.

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said.” His patience snapped. “And I know you think I’m a scumbag, but you know what? I would be one if I brought Maggie back here. My sister Arlene—her mother—is Army Reserve. She’s in Iraq. Maggie and I both work overtime to keep the fear at bay, and frankly, coming here and seeing this—” he gestured around them “—would scare her. And God forbid Robin actually gets the news that Jules is—”

  “Don’t say it.” Dolphina cut him off.

  “Sorry.” He understood more than she knew.

  But then there they stood, just staring at each other.

  “Please don’t get me wrong,” Will finally spoke, more quietly now. “I think this is great, I do. Robin is a very lucky man to have this kind of support from his friends. But…I’m Maggie’s support group. I’m it. And as much as I want to help you, I can’t bring her here.”

  Apparently, he’d rendered Dolphina speechless. For once, she didn’t have much to say.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally managed. And from her sudden inability to bore an icy hole through him with her eyes, it appeared she actually meant it.

  “Me, too,” Will said quietly. Maggie spent every single day waiting for a precious e-mail from her mom.

  “I could babysit,” Dolphina said hesitantly. “For you. If that’s okay? That way you could stay here. I don’t know how realistic it is, but Robin’s got this idea that as long as there’s a chance you can get in touch with Jack Lloyd…Maybe he can somehow help Jules.” She shook her head. “At the very least, it gives him hope.”

  “Hope is good,” Will said. “Hope is…important.”

  She met his eyes very briefly. “If this works for you, I’ll just…get my cell phone and a book. Maybe you could call your sitter and tell her I’m coming over? I’m happy to show her my driver’s license when I get there. You know, so she doesn’t have to worry about leaving Maggie with some stranger.”

  Will nodded. “I’ll tell her not to copy it though.”

  Dolphina actually laughed at that, and she even glanced into his eyes again. But then she frowned. “I still hate you,” she said. “I want to make that perfectly clear. I’m doing this for Robin.”

  He nodded. “I remain hated,” he reiterated. “Okay. I mean, it’s not really okay, but it is what it is.”

  “Write a note for Maggie, too,” Dolphina ordered him. “I don’t want her waking up and wondering who I am and where you are. I don’t want her to be scared.”

  “Good plan.” Will went back into the office, where he’d seen some legal pads on Dolphina’s desk.

  She followed him. “I won’t give her details about what you’re doing here,” she promised. “Just…do me a favor, and if…Robin gets bad news…” She had to choke the words out. “Don’t call me. Just come home so I can leave right away.”

  “All right,” he said, as he scribbled a quick note. He tore the page off the pad and folded it in thirds. “Do you have an envelope?”

  She gave him a disbelieving look. “What, do you think I’m going to read it?”

  “I know you will,” he countered. “That’s why I asked for an envelope. It’s a note to Maggie. I’d like an envelope. Please.”

  Dolphina rolled her eyes at him. “MapQuest me directions,” she commanded as she opened a cabinet and got out an envelope.

  “I can just write them down,” he said, doing just that on another sheet of the legal pad. The route from here out to his place in Newton was pretty direct. Over to Comm Ave., and then west…

  “You want an envelope,” she said, holding it up out of his reach. “I want my directions MapQuested.”

  “Fair enough.” He sat behind the computer.

  And his e-mail alert started to wail.

  Dolphina leaned over his shoulder to look at the monitor. Damn, she smelled good. “What is that?” she asked.

  “Jack Lloyd,” Will told her, quickly scanning the e-mail Jack had just sent in response to Will’s.

  Immediate assistance needed, Jack wrote. Trying to reach the FBI, the Marines—ANY U.S. authority, but not getting through. If you get this, SOS!!! 10 Americans, including FBI agents you asked about, are pinned down in an apartment building. 7 are reporters, all injured in initial bombing. Mobility and speed limited by those injuries—amazing they got as far as they did. But now need help…

  Sweet Mary, Mother of God.

  Jack and an FBI agent named Deb had managed to escape, the e-mail continued, in an attempt to access Jack’s e-mail communications.

  The remaining Americans—including Jules and Max—were under direct attack from the insurgents. With limited weapons and ammunition, time was running out.

  “Go get Robin,” Will ordered Dolphina as he quickly zapped an e-mail back to Jack. Your e-mail received, he wrote. Let me know if you just got mine.

  But Dolphina hadn’t moved. She was staring at the computer screen. So Will said it louder as his e-mail alert went off again, as Jack sent him a four-word reply. E-mail received. Situation dire. Shit. “Get Robin. We need Yashi on the phone, right now. Apparently Jack can’t get through to the authorities, but he can get through to me. We have to set up a communications relay. Dolphina, run.”

  She ran.

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 22

  KANDAHAR, AFGHANISTAN

  During a lull in the fighting, Howard was the first to say it. “Maybe it’s time to surrender.”

  Jules didn’t look up from his position at the cellar window, the weapon he’d taken from the body of a dead Marine—God rest his soul—held at ready. They’d retreated as far as they possibly could. Their current position was strong—outside the window was a small courtyard, surrounded by a high stone wall with barbed wire atop it. There was one gap in the wall where a wooden door had once hung. It was the only way into the part of the building they now occupied.

  He and Max had held off the attack for over an hour since Deb had left to get help.

  But it wouldn’t be long before the insurgents brought in some heavy artillery. As soon as that wall came down, they would be in much deeper shit.

  Jules didn’t need to turn around to know that Max was shaking his head to the suggestion of surrender. He knew, too, exactly what Max was going to tell Howard and the other reporters.

 
“Surrender’s not an option.”

  The insurgents who had them pinned were ultimately as surrounded as Jules and Max were. Although the bad guys had superior firepower right now, the U.S. Marines would be coming, and in a matter of days, they would take them down and out. The insurgents were dead men fighting—martyrs for their cause. And dead men didn’t take prisoners.

  “Go check on the wounded,” Max ordered Howard, and the reporter eventually faded back, out of earshot.

  Max moved up to the window, shifting closer to Jules. And here it came. The conversation he’d been dreading. If Deb had made it through, help surely would have been here by now.

  Max was going to say it—that it was looking more and more likely that Deb hadn’t made it out alive.

  So Jules spoke first. “Deb’s the best. She’ll come through.”

  Of course, even if Deb had survived, there was a chance that news reporter Jack Lloyd’s miracle phone line was now out. But Max didn’t bring that up.

  Instead he said, “You should go. Take Howard. Two of you, moving quickly—you could probably make it out. Get help.”

  “Great,” Jules said, his heart sinking, because he knew that what Max was really telling him to do was to rescue himself. “I get to wander the streets of Kandahar with Mr. Whiney, while you get a chopper ride home? I don’t think so.”

  Max laughed. “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d go for that.”

  “Damn straight,” Jules said.

  Max was silent then, and Jules knew he was thinking about his wife, Gina, and their little girl, Emma.

  Jules looked at his watch. It was nearly one a.m. in Boston. Robin would have gotten the news that Jules was missing by now. He’d be sitting in their living room, in front of their TV.

  Waiting.

  They’d planned to get up early on Thanksgiving, get the turkey stuffed and into the oven, before crawling back into bed. God, Jules loved those long, lazy mornings, just sleeping late with his arms around Robin.

  Right before the first bomb had gone off, close to twenty hours ago, Max had asked him what he and Robin were planning for their honeymoon.

  “You know, we thought we’d stay home for the first part,” Jules told Max now. “Of our honeymoon. It seemed kind of dumb to get married and then immediately leave the one state where we’re legal. Besides, the construction on our bathroom will finally be done by then.” He laughed. “It better be. We were promised Thanksgiving, like it would definitely be finished by now, but it’s not. Anyway, second part, a few days after Christmas, we’re going to Spain. There’s a resort on the coast that’s both gay friendly and alcohol free. It got a great review in Out Traveler.”

  “That sounds nice,” Max said. “It sounds…really perfect.”

  “Yes, it does,” Jules agreed. It also sounded suspiciously like wishful-thinking speak. Like, we both know we’re going to die, so let’s pretend we’re not by talking about next month’s plans.

  “Gina’s pregnant again,” Max told him.

  “Wow,” Jules said, smiling even though his stomach twisted. Max really did think that they were going to die here today. God, Jules so didn’t want to do that to Robin…“Congratulations. I guess you’re moving up into an expert rating in terms of that baby-making thing. Well done.”

  Max smiled. “It’s still…a little too early to talk about with everyone, but…I wanted to tell you.”

  Jules looked at this man who was both his boss and his friend. And he did what he swore he’d never do in a situation like this. He accepted the fact that a possible outcome was that this could be the end for the both of them. Or maybe not both—maybe just one of them. “You should take Howard,” Jules said quietly. “You should go for help.”

  “Leave you here.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Jules answered it as if it were. “I can hold the insurgents off.” He embraced the lie. “Until you, you know, get help.”

  But probably more likely until his ammo ran out.

  At which point his life, and the lives of all the injured reporters, would end.

  Somewhere in Boston, Robin’s hair was surely standing up on the back of his neck as Jules acknowledged that option.

  And there it came. The next wave of the attack—the unmistakable sound of machine-gun fire. It was as if someone, somewhere—maybe Robin’s higher power—had realized that Jules’s faith had been shaken.

  And holy shit, the wall out front dissolved in a massive explosion that made Jules and Max both pull back from the window. The very foundation of their building shook, and dust and debris filled the air, choking them.

  Jules yanked the crewneck of his T-shirt up over his mouth and nose.

  Beside him, Max pulled the last of their ammo clips closer, preparing to rock and roll.

  And in that instant, Jules could practically hear Alyssa Locke’s rich voice, as if his best friend were whispering into his ear. Rule one: You gotta believe you’ll make it out alive.

  Beside him, Max squinted through the settling dust, bracing himself for the attack—for their last stand.

  Last stand?

  Screw that.

  Jules was going to see Robin again. He was going to marry the man in less than a month. And Max was going to meet his new baby, and even get plenty of chances to go for child number three. Enthusiastically, if the way Jules had often seen Max smiling at Gina meant anything at all.

  “Deb’s the best,” Jules said again, shouting over the ringing in his ears. “She’ll come through. You got a name picked out yet for the baby?”

  “Here they come,” Max said. And sure enough, there were darker shadows in the dust as the insurgents moved in.

  “Not yet, huh?” Jules said, his finger tightening on his trigger, waiting for them to move closer…“It’s still early. I mean, when’s Gina due? May? June? Don’t sweat it. You’ve got plenty of time to find the perfect name.”

  “Here they come,” Max said again.

  But they weren’t coming closer. They were fading back. And then nothing moved out there, except the dust and the dirt. But it wasn’t settling. It was…swirling? And that thrumming sound wasn’t his blast-punctured eardrum going haywire. It was a helicopter.

  No, calling that thing a helicopter was like calling a Tyrannosaurus Rex a lizard. It was a gunship, its weapons suddenly blazing, forcing the insurgents even farther back. There were two other helos, right behind it, doing the helicopter equivalent of riding shotgun.

  One of the birds hovered above their recently obliterated courtyard, and a team of BDU-clad men fast-roped down to the ground. They were SEALs—thank you, thank you, sweet baby Jesus. Yeah, and they weren’t just any old SEALs—it was Team Sixteen. That was Muldoon, with Cosmo Richter right behind him. Gillman, Jenkins, Zanella—Jules knew them all. Lopez was there, too, carrying a medical kit—he was their hospital corpsman.

  Jules was going to see Robin again. And Deb truly was the best.

  Jules and Max unbolted the basement door, letting the reinforcements in.

  The SEAL officer introduced himself for the benefit of Howard and the other reporters, who still weren’t quite sure what was happening. “I’m Lieutenant Mike Muldoon,” he announced as Lopez headed for the wounded. “We’re U.S. Navy SEALs. We’re here to get you out.”

  Jules turned to Max. “Michael,” he pointed out. “Michael is a very nice name.”

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 22

  NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS

  “So how did you and Uncle Will meet?” Maggie asked.

  Dolphina focused her attention on the pancakes she was making them for a post-midnight snack. Will’s niece had still been awake when Dolphina arrived at his apartment. Apparently, the reporter gene may have been connected to the one for red hair, because the freckle-faced girl with the wild mop of red curls had been grilling her for the past half hour.

  What’s your favorite color?

  Red.

  Who’s your favorite band?

  The Dixie Chicks.

 
Do you use an iron to straighten your hair?

  No, it’s naturally straight.

  Don’t you think it’s stupid and unfair for a twelve-year-old to have to have a babysitter?

  Not when your uncle wasn’t sure exactly when he’d be home.

  Will says this isn’t a very good neighborhood. Do you think this is a bad neighborhood?

  I’ve never been here before, so…

  Did you need a babysitter when you were twelve?

  No, but I had two brothers, both older, so…

  Are your parents divorced?

  Nope, still married. They live in California. Near Los Angeles.

  The constant barrage of questions was actually good. It kept Dolphina from worrying about Jules, worrying about the e-mail Will had received from Jack Lloyd. Situation dire. Dolphina had left amidst the uproar, as Robin had gotten Yashi on the phone and relayed the information Jack had given them.

  Will had tossed her his house keys and the note for Maggie—sans envelope—which she hadn’t read, thank you very much.

  It took only fifteen minutes to get out here to Newton, and to get the obviously long-suffering sitter on her way home. Dolphina had her cell phone in her pocket, and she kept touching it like some kind of talisman, praying that it would ring and she’d get the news that Jules was safe.

  But it didn’t ring. And Maggie kept up her constant questioning.

  Are you married?

  Nope.

  Have you ever been married? Uncle Will was married once, but his wife slept with someone else. A bunch of someone else’s.

  No, and that might be information that good old Uncle Will might consider extremely private.

  Will? No way. He’s cool—except for the babysitting thing. Besides, he’d never tell you that himself, and frankly, it’s helpful to know when dealing with his bad moods. Have you ever been in love?

  That one had given Dolphina pause, but she’d answered honestly. Yes.

  What was his name? Was it a him?

  Simon, and yes, he was a him.

  Why didn’t you marry him? Did you want to marry him?

  Well, I thought for a while that I did, but it turned out that he’d neglected to tell me that he was already married.