Covert Christmas

by Marilyn Pappao

  “Damn, you, Jack.” She got up, arms tightly folded over her stomach. He was forcing her to an edge, an abyss. Holding on to her pain was the one thing that held her together.

  But he was right, and she knew it.

  Her doctors had told her to see a shrink after the plane crash in Alaska—she had been in denial then, and perhaps she still was now. She had never moved beyond that first stage of grief towards acceptance. Suddenly she felt Christmas’s warm little hand reaching up for hers, tugging to go closer to see the baby elephant being bathed. Emotion pricked into her eyes. Somehow that path up ahead into the jungle and over the border into Ivory Coast seemed more daunting than ever.

  And this little boy was urging her to take the next step.

  She had to do it, go forward. And she had to allow Jack to guide them. Again Cass wondered what strange fate of magic had brought them all to this juncture at this particular time.

  Jack stood up, came to her side, touched her shoulder. “We should move,” he said.

  “It won’t work, Jack,” she said quietly. “You know it won’t.”

  “Just keep moving forward, Cass.”

  December 23, 1800 Zulu

  Night fell like a hot velvet curtain and thirst plagued them as they trekked yet higher and higher, Jack hacking a path with a machete, his muscles gleaming in the light of his headlamp. Cass swatted bugs away from her face.

  Wildlife and terrain now presented a different kind of danger. The sound of frogs filled the air, a shrill rising and falling chorus. Something rustled through the leaves at Cass’s feet. She gasped as Jack spun round and whacked his machete down, severing the head of a brown snake, thick as her leg. Its body continued to writhe. “Gaboon viper. Stay back from the head.” He ordered crisply. “A reflex bite could still kill you.”

  “Oh, dear God,” she whispered as she gathered Christmas into her arms.

  “We’ll stop for the night, up ahead,” Jack said, watching her in the light of his headlamp. “Looks like we could all use some rest.”

  He found them a large bombax with buttress roots big enough to make caves. Clearing the forest debris out of one of the deep pleats in the smooth trunk, he checked it was safe. Jack gave them bug juice, and together they huddled into the small enclosure, protected by the giant roots.

  Jack didn’t sleep. He listened to the sounds of the jungle, marveling at how it felt to have Cass in his arms, the smooth swell of her breast against his chest, the sensation of her hair against his face. He loved her even more, if it was possible. Christmas curled at her side, snoring softly as he slept. Jack’s heart went out to the child. He wondered what the future would hold for the small boy once they crossed the border—an orphan in Africa, sadly, was nothing out of the ordinary.

  Just before dawn, Jack tensed at a particular sound, different from the ambient chorus of the jungle. He shook Cass awake gently, put his finger to his lips, whispered in her ear, “Soldiers coming. Don’t move—keep Christmas quiet if he wakes.”

  She jolted upright, eyes wide. “Where are you going?”

  “Up into the tree over there, where I can get a good shot, just in case. Best scenario, they don’t see us.”

  Or smell us.

  Jack was worried about the distinct scent of bug spray on their skin. A good tracker would pick it up instantly.

  He shimmied up the tree, positioned himself in a fork. Within minutes he heard voices, growing louder. Kigali language. Raucous laughter. From the sounds of it, the troop was merry—maybe high on drugs and drink. They’d be lethal in this condition, but maybe not alert enough to notice Cass and the boy, or him up in the tree as they passed beneath. He motioned to Cass again to stay dead quiet. Her eyes were huge. She nodded, hugging Christmas to her chest.

  The pale gray light of dawn fingered and dappled down through the canopy just as he caught sight of the first man. Glistening skin. Red bandanna.

  Rebels.

  Jack’s throat tasted bitter as he saw blood on their fatigues. He could smell death and old sweat on them, but he held steady as seven men passed beneath his branch. The man at the rear paused suddenly, and Jack’s pulse kicked.

  The solider turned, raising stock to shoulder as he scanned the undergrowth—he’d detected something unusual. Slowly Jack lowered his eye to his gun sight, curled his finger against his trigger. He’d taken care not to hack a path into their night hide with his machete, but the men would have seen their earlier tracks.

  But just as he was about to squeeze, the men up ahead yelled for their comrade. The man took one last glance around, and moved on.

  Relief washed through Jack. He slid down the tree, went to Cass, cupped her face. “They’re gone.”

  “Oh, thank, God, Jack. Thank you. I can’t believe we’re still alive, that nothing ate us in the night.”

  Her eyes were luminous, soft like he hadn’t seen them in years. And she looked unusually vulnerable. Even all messed up like this, she had never been more beautiful to him. And Jack could not help what came next. He bent down, and brushed her lips softly with his.

  Chapter 9

  December 24, 0620 Zulu

  Jack felt her sharp catch of breath, then to his surprise, Cass opened her lips a little more, welcoming his kiss, and inside he melted. His heart wanted to say, I love you. I always have.

  He wanted to try to do it right this time, now that they were battle-scarred and world-weary—now that he’d learned what was truly important in his life.

  He’d give it all up if he could have her again. If she’d let him. And the answer he could feel in her body bolstered and fueled and strengthened his resolve. “I’m going to get you both out of here,” he whispered against her lips.

  A small tear leaked out from the corner of her eye and he felt her hand seeking his, slipping into his. He felt her fingering his wedding ring.

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

  “I’ll protect you.”

  “It’s not the jungle I’m afraid of, Jack.”

  He looked into her eyes. And he knew what she was talking about. “Trust in me, Cass. We can do this. We—” He was interrupted by a radio transmission, which stirred Christmas awake.

  Jack surged to his feet, keyed his radio. “Come in—”

  Cass dug into her backpack as Jack stepped slightly away. She removed a military ready-to-eat-meal pouch, and tore off the top. She handed it to Christmas, showing him how to eat it. “And guess what, Christmas,” she said with a smile, “it’s turkey, and today is Christmas Eve. How cool is that?”

  Christmas studied her uncomprehendingly with large, round eyes as he tucked heartily into the meal.

  Jack kept an eye on them as he listened to his commander, who was now at the Ivory Coast staging camp from where the Marines were flying personnel out to the U.S.S. Shackleton.

  “Bannister, we just got news that the entire Kigali royal family was assassinated in the early hours of yesterday morning—all apart from the youngest son. And we’ve learned that King Savungi’s cousin, General Charles Zuma, is behind the coup. Word is also leaking out that a local television news reporter, Gillian Tsabatu, a cousin of the King’s youngest wife, fled with the sole surviving heir to the throne—five-year-old Christmas Savungi.”

  Jack’s fist tensed; his eyes shot to Cass.

  His commander continued in his trademark staccato voice. “Tsabatu has been found dead in her home, along with cameraman Samuel Sekibo. A CBN foreign correspondent, Cass Rousseau, was seen leaving the U.S. residential compound with Sekibo yesterday, during the evacuation. Is she the one with you?” he demanded. “Does she have the king?”

  Jack’s skin chilled under his perspiration, his gaze falling to the wide-eyed boy eating his MRE.

  Christmas was the new king of Kigali?

  He cursed to himself, his attention shifting to Cass who was watching him intently, her entire body wire-tense. Damn her—she knew!

  “If you have the boy, Bannister, I need you to stand down stat, re
main exactly where you are until I receive orders directly from Joint Chiefs of Staff in Washington, because Zuma has issued a statement saying that if the U.S. is harboring the king, he will consider it an act of war on the part of the United States and all its European allies. He will start by killing the American staff at a diamond mine he has already taken hostage in the south. A staff of seventy. General Zuma will also give orders that any foreign national should be slain on sight.”

  Jeezus, this was about to blow. There could be hundreds of foreign nationals still stationed in Kigali. Jack glowered at Cass. She knew exactly who Christmas was and she never told him. She had not trusted him enough.

  “I repeat, Warrant Officer Bannister, do you have the boy?”

  Chapter 10

  December 24, 0702 Zulu

  Conflict churned inside Jack. He was sweltering under the heat as the day’s temperatures rose and seconds ticked. The Ivory Coast border was still a nightmarish trek ahead, up over the ridge through increasingly steep and treacherous terrain. It would take at least another day. He gripped his radio, every muscle in his body strung wire-tight as he fumed at Cass. Two hot spots began to ride high on her cheeks. And bitterness pooled in his gut—he had no doubt at all that she’d known all along.

  She’d tricked him into this corner.

  And now he had one of the biggest decisions of his life to make.

  She mouthed “no,” shaking her head, eyes wide. She’d deduced what Jack was being asked. “Please, Jack,” she whispered.

  Jack tried to swallow the ball of rage growing hard and painful in his throat. She’d lied. A lie of incredible magnitude.

  She’d dared to ask for his help, but had not trusted him enough to tell him the whole story. And it had landed him bang in the middle of an international diplomatic powder keg. She’d forced him to make sacrifices, and she hadn’t come clean herself. Jack felt duped. Used. The anger swelled up from his stomach, all the more fierce because he’d kissed her. He’d fallen deep, fast and hard, again—dared to hope for a future, and she had just blown it all out the water.

  Then Jack’s gaze fell to Christmas, clutching tight at Cass’s pants. He felt a squeeze in his heart and a raw protective power surged into him. Zuma or his men—if they ever got their hands on the boy—would slaughter that child on the spot.

  Could he allow this five-year-old child to become a pawn in Zuma’s game with the White House?

  Now that he’d come this far, could he remain here and wait to see if he was forced to hand the boy over?

  And in spite of it all, in spite of his anger, his sense of betrayal, Jack was drawn further over the line of no return, moving insidiously from soldier—a role that had always defined him—to renegade.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “No,” he said firmly to his commander. “I have Cass Rousseau, but there is no boy.”

  He keyed off, lurched toward her, fury powering his body. He jabbed his finger at her face. “You,” he yelled, “have pushed me into this—you forced my hand and you didn’t even have the decency to give me the truth!”

  She swallowed. “Jack—”

  “I trusted you, Cass. By God, one thing I always did was trust you with the truth, goddammit! You were always about the truth…seeking it in your stories. Or so you led me to believe. And you lied to me—used me. And now? Look what you’ve done—you’ve hammered the nails in my coffin! I’ll be court-martialed when this gets out. I’m going to prison. Do you really understand what this means, what you have asked from me here? Do you not understand what I am doing for you…for Jacob?”

  Both froze.

  There, it had been said. It was out in the open.

  And the vocalization was so powerful it rocked them both, taking on a sentient power of its own, swirling around them. Blood drained from his face. She swayed slightly. Then, galvanized, she hit back, everything she’d ever buried coming out in an adrenalinized rush.

  “Damn you, Jack. Who are you to talk about sacrifice? You don’t make sacrifices for your family. You’re all about your troops, duty to the flag and country over your marriage.”

  “That is not true—and it’s not fair!”

  “You were the one who missed Jacob’s birth! And his first birthday. You were the one would couldn’t be there on our wedding anniversary, or for Christmas four years ago, because of a tour you didn’t have to accept.”

  “I had to accept that mission—”

  “No, you did not. It was for a career move. If you’d been there, maybe…maybe I wouldn’t have taken that Alaska assignment, and I wouldn’t have had to take Jacob with me—”

  “Don’t go there, Cass,” he warned, eyes narrowing.

  “Oh, why not? You’re the one who said I was running from facing it. Let me face you now! Maybe Jacob would still be alive, Jack, if you had been home.”

  He spun away from her.

  Cass’s eyes filled with hot tears. “Look at me, Jack!”

  He did. White-faced, furious, his fists balling at his sides. “How dare you say that? How can you honestly believe it?”

  “Because when we had to move to North Carolina I was forced to turn down my promotion, and find yet another job, with yet another station, and almost immediately you went off on another tour. It was that new station that assigned me the Alaska piece, and I didn’t want to leave Jacob with some stranger over Christmas, so I had to take him with to cover the assignment—”

  “The storm wasn’t my fault, Cass.”

  “We wouldn’t have been on that plane.”

  Silence simmered. Water trickled close by. Shrieks and cries called through the jungle.

  “This is not fair, Cass,” he whispered.

  “You know it’s true, Jack.”

  “You can’t do this. You can’t look back with what-ifs. What happened, happened, okay? We needed to deal with that, move forward. Together.”

  “How could I move forward! You blamed me for taking him with me!”

  “It was a knee-jerk reaction, Cass, and I am so sorry—I was in shock. I’d just returned home from Afghanistan to learn you were in the hospital, almost died, the sole survivor of a plane crash…my son gone…I…”

  He sat, slumping onto a log, and he scrubbed his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Cass. I…didn’t know how to deal.” Jack sat, silent, gathering himself. “I didn’t know how to handle my own guilt. My own sorrow for not having been there for you both. For making so many mistakes. So I hit out instead. If you’d only hung on long enough to let me work through it…long enough to allow me to say I was sorry.”

  He got up, took her hands in his, eyes locked with hers. “But you ran away. You chucked those five years of our marriage, your ring, you boxed up all the photos, all our precious memories, and you shipped them into storage, all after one major fight, and you took off for the first international hot spot you could find. And you haven’t stopped running since. Look at you, Cass, you’re thin. You’re tired. You’re drained.”

  “So I look like crap.”

  “And I love you more than ever.”

  Her eyes flickered.

  “It wasn’t just that one fight, Jack,” she said, very quietly. “It was the last straw.”

  “It wasn’t a straw—it was the death of our son. It was almost losing you. I came home to all that news. It was a shock. You didn’t give me a chance to—”

  “You were the one who hit back at me saying I wasn’t cut out to be a military wife,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “And you were right, Jack. I’m not. I couldn’t—can’t—compete with your loyalty to your country.”

  “Yet now you’re forcing me to give it all up anyway—to face a court-martial, prison, dishonorable discharge.”

  She scrubbed her hands over her face.

  He turned away, inhaling deeply.

  Then he felt a small tug at his camo pants, and glanced down—Christmas, his eyes huge and frightened by their yelling. And for another insane, upside-down second, he saw Jacob again. It
was as if their son was reaching out from some spiritual realm, touching them both. Jack shook off the odd chill, glanced at Cass. And by the look in her eyes, he knew she’d felt it too.

  “Mr. Jack, can we go now?”

  Jack blew out a chest full of air, feeling like a cad. This child had been through so much, how could he have allowed himself, even for one second, to forget why he’d come down this jungle path. He touched the boy’s head, said in Kigali. “You are right, my little man. We need to move.”

  Chapter 11

  December 24, 1745 Zulu

  In heavy silence, they trekked for miles, the terrain growing steeper, more slippery, vines tangling over rocks drenched in moss.

  Jack stopped, gave them each a mug of water sterilized with tabs from his kit. It was almost night. “We’ll try to keep moving in the dark,” he said, packing their mugs away. “For as long as we can.”

  Darkness fell as they were crossing a river, the moon beginning to glint on the water’s surface. Cass heard the terrifying sound of a crocodile splashing, and in her nervousness she slipped. Quickly the current sucked her downriver. The sound of a waterfall thundered below.

  “Don’t move!” Jack yelled at Christmas as he dropped the pack and weapons and plunged into the water after Cass.

  She caught a branch and he managed to pull her out, dripping, shaking. He helped her back along the bank to where Christmas waited, and they slumped to the ground. Jack held her, just held, until he felt the tension in her body releasing. Pushing the wet hair back from her face, he looked down into her eyes. They caught the moonlight from a gap in the canopy above. “You could have trusted me, Cass,” he said, his need suddenly so raw he couldn’t take it anymore. “You could have told me the truth. We could have embarked on this journey as a team.”

  “If I had told you, Jack, what would you have done? Would have informed the DCM, your commander?”

  He dragged his hand over his own wet hair. “I don’t know, Cass. I honestly don’t know anything anymore. The kid’s a political time bomb, yet there’s no way I could hand him over. To either side, not without being able to guarantee his well-being.” He sucked in a deep breath of air. “I don’t even know who I am, anymore. I…” He snorted a laugh. “I lost myself when I lost you. I guess I’ve been looking ever since.”