“You okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, this? Fine. Not much worse than a sunburn,” Camp said dismissing his burns.
“No, I mean about Jane. Unfortunately we had to deploy you only a few days after her funeral. Not much time to grieve,” Ferguson said, sounding more like Camp’s friend than a commanding officer.
“Yes, sir, I’m fine. The grieving started and ended a long time ago. This was just the letting go part. I’m at peace with the whole thing. Really, I’m okay.”
“So have you talked to her since you deployed?” Ferguson asked with special emphasis.
“No. As a matter of fact I haven’t. I need to call and see how she and dad are doing.”
Ferguson laughed.
“I wasn’t talking about your mother, idiot. I was asking about Raines.”
“Raines? No, I haven’t contacted her recently. I ‘Skyped’ her from FOB Shank when I was stuck there in the snow last month. Not much bandwidth out of Lightning. Is something wrong?”
Ferguson shook his head in disbelief.
“Yes, something’s wrong…she likes you, Camp, and you’re too damn dumb to see it…too blind to appreciate it. The woman has been sending me nonstop emails. Why don’t you head over to the MWR and call her? I think she’d appreciate it.”
“Is the old grizzly playing matchmaker now?”
Ferguson took a long pull on his cigar and filled the room with a billow of smoke.
“You can’t wear the uniform forever, Camp. There’s life after combat boots. Maybe it’s time to start thinking about that.”
Camp got up and walked toward the door.
“With all due respect, sir; I don’t think Mrs. Banks is interested in my lack of a love life right now. But I’ll call Raines if that will make you happy. See you at 1400.”
Camp walked out and down the middle sidewalks of the ISAF compound. The Kabul air was heavy, dirty and disgusting. The local villagers burned wood fires in their cooking pits just about year round. The heavy winter air kept the smoke from escaping over the mountain passes. It took less than two weeks for every American to fall prey to the “Kabul Krud”, an upper respiratory cough that would seldom subside and hardly ever go away until the deployment was over.
Walking into the Morale, Welfare and Recreation building, affectionately known as the MWR, Camp checked in with the Filipino contractor who handled computer check-outs. A piece of wood with the number “7” written in Sharpie ink was Camp’s 30-minute ticket to computer number 7. Twenty-three other soldiers, civilians, contractors and NATO partners were already in the computer room, most of them on Skype talking to friends and family around the world as the war in Afghanistan raged all around them.
“Hello, sailor,” came the voice on the other end as Raines’ image finally caught up with the bandwidth burst. “I was wondering when I might hear from you again.”
“Hello, Leslie. I hope I didn’t call too late.”
“Just getting ready for bed. It’s only 2130 here, but I start at 0600 in the morning. A girl’s got to get her beauty sleep.”
“Well, then you should only need about a half hour. Looks like you’re gorgeous already.”
“That’s coming from the man who currently sees nothing but burka babes.”
Camp laughed and readjusted his headset.
“Geez, Camp…what happened to your hands?” Raines said as she moved closer to her computer monitor.
Camp had forgotten about the bandages.
“No big deal. Just a little grease fire in the DFAC when I was making French fries.”
Raines gave him a dirty look.
“This from the ‘king’ of microwaveable dinners? I don’t think so. But I suppose you’d have to kill me if you told me what happened.”
“How’s the new job going, Les? Do you like it?”
“It’s interesting, not terribly exciting, but fine. Couple of crazies at the gates with posters, but nothing we can’t handle.”
“Typical PETA stuff?”
“More of an international flavor these days. Some kind of loose alliance between BUAV, Animal Aid, SHAC and the Animal Liberation Front. Where did they finally send you?”
“Paktya Province.”
“Is that where the tularemia outbreak was? Where is it?”
“Eastern border with Pakistan, maybe an hour southeast of Kabul as the crow flies. The tularemia thing turned out to be nothing. Hey, could I ask a favor of you?”
“Anything for a sailor. Did you want me to steal a couple hundred lab mice or something?”
Camp laughed as he watched Raines cradle a cup of hot tea with her soft hands.
“Would you mind checking up on my parents some time, you know, just give them a call or something and see how they’re doing?”
“I’d be happy to, Camp. I’ll give them a call. Should I tell them about the bandages on your hands or just lie?”
“Save the bandages for another day. Well, General Ferguson wants to see us in a few minutes, so I’d better get going.”
“Us? Have you replaced me already?” Raines protested with an exaggerated upper lip pout.
“No one could replace you, Leslie. Ferguson sent a retired FBI agent out to work with me. Billy Finn – he’s actually a decent guy.”
“Hmmm…that makes a lot of sense…send an FBI agent out with the trauma doctor SEAL who burned his hands while making French fries in the DFAC. Some things never change, do they Camp?”
“You look beautiful, Leslie…talk soon?”
“I miss you Camp…not so long between calls next time, okay?”
General Ferguson and his coffee-pouring majors were already sitting in his office. The video posted on Chad Banks’ Facebook account was up and playing as a young woman from the US Embassy watched it. Finn and Camp took their places.
“Tina, this is US Navy Captain Campbell and retired FBI special agent Billy Finn,” Ferguson said. “Tina works in the public affairs office at the Embassy. She is fluent in dactylology.”
“Dacty what?” Camp feigned.
“Sign language for the deaf, captain,” Tina said. “There’s really not much to see in the video, and I wasn’t sure if his hand gestures were intentional or coincidental, until this part. I’d say it was coincidental if it weren’t for the letter z.”
“Z?” asked Finn.
“Major Banks’ fingers spell four letters, k-a-z-i. The k, a and i are very discreet and could be random. The thumb between the index and middle finger for the ‘k’, the fist with the outward thumb for the ‘a’, and the fist with the pinky finger up for an ‘i’ could all be random. But the sign for z basically requires that you trace the outline of the letter in the air. You have to make three distinct movements with your finger to communicate the letter z.”
General Ferguson stood as did all of the other men in the room.
“Thank you for coming over here on such notice, Tina. We really appreciate it,” Ferguson said as Tina left. One of the majors walked her out and closed the door.
“So what the heck is kazi?” Ferguson asked.
“Could be the name of the village they took him to,” Camp guessed.
“Could be an acronym, could be a weapon, could be random just like the lady said,” Finn added.
“Maybe it’s a name. Maybe he got the name of the kidnapper,” Camp speculated.
“Why don’t you run that name past Miriam…see how she responds when you say it,” Ferguson suggested.
“Maybe that’s a nickname,” Finn added. “Or then maybe this is all random, a red herring and a waste of our time.”
The remaining major in the room raised his hand as though he was in school and needed permission to contribute to the discussion.
“What is it, major?”
“His file…I’ve been reading Major Banks’ file, and I just found something interesting. His wife…Peggy…she’s deaf.”
“Well, that eliminates random. So was he trying to communicate some type of love code to her?” Finn said
as he stood up and paced the room. “Maybe they do the ‘kazi’, or something.”
“General Ferguson, Miriam said we could find her husband in Datta Khel, Miran Shah District. If her husband is there, maybe there’s a good chance that Major Banks is there as well,” Camp said.
“Where’s the village?”
“North Waziristan region, sir, in Pakistan,” Camp explained.
“Okay, so we send some drones over and look for them.”
“Jim, with all due respect, no one in Datta Khel, Miran Shah District thinks Miriam is still alive. They have no idea that we know anything. If drones all of a sudden start snooping over their heads we might lose the element of surprise,” Finn reasoned with his old friend General Ferguson.
Ferguson got up and walked over to the classified maps on his wall. The major had already planted a red push-pin flag on top of Datta Khel, Miran Shah District.
“Element of surprise, Billy? What element of surprise? Do you think you two are just going to head over to Hertz, rent a sedan, drive over a few miles of IEDs, pass by the Afghan Border Patrol, present your passports to the Pakistani ISI border agents, then conduct an unauthorized incursion into a sovereign nation, while you go knocking cave to cave looking for a dude named Kazi and our Major Banks?”
Camp and Finn looked at each other and considered the scenario without speaking a word.
“Something like that, sir,” Camp finally said.
Ferguson removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead and eyes.
“Make it small. Minimal team. No fireworks. In and out. If it goes bad, you two need to know this mission was never officially sanctioned. If it goes well, it never happened either.”
“Roger that, sir. What about the Terp?”
“What about her, Camp?”
“She can’t stay at Lightning. If she goes back to her village, she’ll be dead within an hour. If she helps us, we need to do something for her.”
“Helps us? Hell, she’s probably neck deep in the whole damn plot. Camp, she was trying to be a suicide bomber. She tried to kill everyone in the hospital. As far as I’m concerned, send her back to her village and let them administer some Sharia Law on her ass,” Ferguson gruffed as he paced the room.
“Sir, I can use the leverage of her son to make her talk, to make her cooperate. But if she talks, and if she leads us to Major Banks, I want refugee status for her,” Camp said.
“SIV? Right, the Ambassador’s staff is going to love that. She failed in her suicide attack, so we’d like to bring her to the states so she can be a greeter at Wal-Mart. You’re asking too much this time, Camp, too much.”
Camp stood and headed to the door as Finn followed behind.
“Finn, how fast can you grow a beard?” Camp asked as Finn turned around and smiled at Ferguson. “Looks like we’re going hiking in the Hindu Kush.”
“Campbell, I never said I would officially sanction this,” Ferguson yelled as Camp walked out.
“Sanction what, sir? This whole thing never happened!” Camp’s voice trailed off down the hallway as Ferguson lit up another cigar.
* * *
11
* * *
University Hospital, Clinic and Research Center
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The nurse walked Seabury and Ruth Campbell into Exam Room #3 and opened the window on Dr. Blauw’s computer screen so the doctor could look at the results from the CT, MRI, and PET scans when he arrived.
“Dr. Blauw will be with you in just a few minutes,” she said as she closed the door behind her.
Old Sea Bee tapped his fingers relentlessly on his thighs. Ruth reached out and grabbed his hand to stop the fidgeting.
“Stop it. You’re driving me crazy, Seabury,” she said as the held hand stopped and the free fingers doubled their speed. The door finally opened.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Campbell, Mrs. Campbell. I trust the process this morning was quick.”
“Everything was fine, doctor. We’re just a bit anxious to get the results,” Ruth said.
“We’re you able to stop in our cafeteria for lunch? There are lots of great restaurants in the area, but I think our cafeteria serves the best food at a good price,” Blauw said as he looked at Seabury’s scans from the CT, MRI and PET.
“I had the soup…Navy bean…my son’s in the Navy, you know,” Seabury said with a great pride.
“Yes, that’s what Colonel Raines was telling me a couple of weeks ago. I’m sure he’s seen a lot of things during his career.”
Blauw looked at the images for several more minutes then closed the screens.
“Okay…let’s talk. The positron emission tomography, or PET scan as we like to call it, measures how much sugar is taken up and into the brain. Before the test, we injected Mr. Campbell with glucose, a diagnostic flourodeoxyglucose called FDG. It’s a short-lived radioactive form of sugar and it illuminates activity within the brain. What we see in the scans is very low activity in the front of your brain. In my opinion, we’re looking at FTD, frontotemporal dementia.”
“What the hell? First you talk about pets, and now you want to send flowers. Can you just speak American?” Seabury said with fierce irritation as the finger tapping tripled in speed.
“I’m sorry, but based on these scans and the psychometric tests we did a few weeks ago, I think you have AD, Alzheimer’s disease. The FDG-PET images are, unfortunately, rather conclusive. But I think you may have had these symptoms longer than you both realized. We may be moving from mild- to moderate-AD rather quickly.”
Ruth reached over and took both of Seabury’s hands and held them tightly.
“What can we do, Dr. Blauw? Are there pills he can take, or can we try herbs? One of my lady friends in Sunday school class started doing crossword puzzles and that seemed to help her some,” Ruth asked desperately grasping at straws.
“Yes, Mrs. Campbell, we should try everything. Let’s start taking over-the-counter Vitamin E supplements each day. Vitamin E is an antioxidant and it might protect some of the nerve cells in the brain from damage. We might be able to delay severe AD with a Mediterranean diet of fish, fruits, beans, high-fiber grains and olive oils. You need to avoid meats, cheese and sweets. I’d also recommend an increase to your exercise, two brisk walks every day.”
“Hell, I’d rather die!” Sea Bee yelled to the shock of both Ruth and Dr. Blauw. “Almost 50 years on a dairy farm, and you want me to give up bacon and cheese and hop on a treadmill? Why, just so I can live another four years?”
Blauw lowered his eyes and stayed silent as Seabury calmed down.
“We’ll also start you on some medications, Mr. Campbell. I’m going to start you with Donepezil, or maybe Aricept, and see if your system can handle it. We may go to Memantine in order to regulate the glutamate if we need to.”
“Dr. Blauw, will any of these pills cure Alzheimer’s?” Ruth asked.
“No, no I’m sorry, but currently there’s no cure for AD. We’re working on it, all over the world in fact, and we’ve had breakthroughs but no cure yet. I spend almost half of my time here doing research with animals, trying to find the next puzzle piece in the equation.”
“Are there any other options? Fish, beans, walks and pills, anything else?” Ruth asked.
“Well, there are some clinical studies.”
“What do you mean?” Ruth asked.
“It’s one of the last phases of the biomedical research process. A scientist has an idea and writes a grant to NIH. NIH awards money, and researchers, oftentimes at universities, conduct basic animal research. The discoveries are then acquired by pharmaceutical and biotech companies as intellectual property. Then they try to develop a medicine or a therapy that targets your disease and is also safe to take. If those applied animal studies are successful, then the Food and Drug Administration authorizes a limited clinical trial where patients with that disease take an experimental medicine, therapy or procedure. That’s a human clinical trial.”
“Well
, I don’t think Seabury will be a human guinea pig,” Ruth said.
“Now wait a minute, Ruth, I like it. My son’s out there on the front lines of God-only-knows-where. The least I can do is get on the front lines of this damn thing,” Seabury said with a new sense of purpose. “When do I start?”
“Well, there are several trials we can choose from. I can make some calls and see which ones will take you. You’re not what we call ‘early-onset,’ so options are limited. I can call you in the next week, to discuss what’s out there.”
“Dr. Blauw, please just set it up with Colonel Raines. She understands all of this gobbledygook better than we do,” Ruth rendered as she stood up and reached for Seabury’s hand.
“I appreciate that, but due to doctor-patient confidentiality, I can only discuss this with immediate family members unless you provide a waiver.”
“Well, I’ll sign whatever you want.”
“Very well,” Blauw said as he wrote out a prescription for Aricept.
Ruth signed the waiver at the nurse station then pulled Sea Bee out of Exam Room #3 on her hand-leash.
FOB Lightning
Paktya Province, Afghanistan
US Army Captain “Sonny” Sanchez closed the door to the private dining room in the DFAC and then put a chain and padlock through the two metal door handles. Fourteen men sat around the four dining room tables, including Camp and Finn.
“Gentlemen, next time y’all call in Special Forces, please make sure you get here on time. We don’t like to wait,” Sanchez said to start the meeting.
“Sorry, captain, but we’re at the mercy of your Army’s ring routes. The birds get here when the birds get here,” Finn said with a little irritation.
“Once we got the order from General Ferguson, we drove 180 miles through the mountains and IEDs at night in the middle of March and made it here on time. I expect the same moving forward from both of you.”
“Captain, I presume you’re aware that Captain Campbell here is a Navy O-6 and a former SEAL?”
“I don’t care if he’s Santa Claus, and you’re his elf. This is my mission, and we go by my book and my clock. Clear?”
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