He paused momentarily to reflect on the day’s events. He knew the end was coming … he’d known for years … but the finality of the moment was still overwhelming. When he received the signal, his whole world had changed, just as they’d planned. His emotions were mixed—on one hand he’d lost a mentor and father figure, but he was also honored to have been trusted with such a key responsibility.
Each event had been building to this moment. The Huddled Masses killings, the response by Whiskey Tax, the symbolism of Sumter, the diversion created by the explosion at Valley Forge, all had cleared the path, but this would be a direct hit on the United States military. One in which the president would be left with no choice but to declare war on citizens of the United States.
He stepped out of the van, and walked to the front door. He ignored the American flag, hanging limply in the sweltering Georgia afternoon. He knocked on the door, and announced, “General Washington Carpet Cleaning.”
When there was no answer, he knocked again. The third time he called out Jared’s name. When he did, the door swung open, and a giant of a man stood before him. But it wasn’t Jared. The man grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him into the house.
***
He clenched the bomber’s arm, and swung him against the ropes. He waited for him to rebound in his direction, so he could drop the hammer elbow on him—the crowd would cheer wildly, and he would reward them with a flexed bicep.
But this wasn’t a professional wrestling ring, and the bomber just crashed into the hard wall and crumbled to the ground. Disappointing, but it would have to do.
Coldblooded Carter pounced on his prey. He grabbed the man by his ponytail, and lifted him to his feet. He released two right-hand punches to his face, sending him meekly back to the floor.
He shouted for the bomber to get up, but he remained motionless. “You’re bleeding on the carpet—I thought you were here to clean it, not color it!?”
“How did you …”
“How did I figure out that the devil went down to Georgia, and he planned to blow up Fort Benning? I got a call from my friend JP, and he let me know that he thought there might be some carpet bombing going on in the area. I was tired after driving all morning, and coming off a long night, but since I was only an hour away in Atlanta, I figured what the hell. How many times in life do you get to beat the crap out of a terrorist?”
“Where is Jared?”
“You mean the enlisted traitor, who conspired with you in your attempt to blow up the base, and the innocent men and women he claimed to serve with?”
“Where is he?”
“He’s upstairs with my girlfriend. Trust me, you got the better end of that deal.”
“I have a bomb. You can kill me if you want, but you’re too late.”
Carter took a seat on the couch, not feeling the urgency. “So I heard. I’m told it’s a dirty bomb, powerful enough to take out a ten-mile radius.”
“If I was you, I’d make a run for it. This isn’t your fight.”
Carter put his feet up on the coffee table. “If you were me, you’d be all sorts of awesome, and wouldn’t be lying like a beaten lump on the floor. And this is very much my fight, which is now going to be yours.”
“Do you have some sort of death wish?”
Carter laughed. “Every time I wish someone dead, it never comes true, so I don’t waste my time with that anymore. Wishing and hoping isn’t a strategy … but having the 789th Explosive Ordinance Disposal Company on your side is. I don’t know if you’ve heard of these guys, but they’re the best bomb disposal unit in the army, and luckily they’re located right here at Benning.”
“This isn’t just some roadside IED. This device was years in the making.”
“I’ve come to the conclusion that there are two types of people in this world—those who break things, and those who put them back together. I’m a breaker, as in, I break skulls. But those guys outside who are risking their lives, they’re fixers, just like you used to be, Kevin.”
“That’s not my name.”
Carter pointed to the seat across from him. “Why don’t you take a load off?”
The bomber didn’t move, but his emotionless expression had cracked. They were making progress.
“I don’t know why you look so worried—if that bomb is as good as you say, then we’re gonna get blown to pieces in a few minutes. What could I do to you that’s worse than that?”
The bomber cautiously moved to the seat. Carter stared at him—he looked a little different with the longer hair and goatee, but he never forgot a face.
“What was that like, 2004 when you went missing?”
He didn’t respond, but he would have been as bad a poker player as he was a terrorist.
“I spent weeks trying to track down leads in Iraq, with my boys JP and Byron. Almost got our asses killed a bunch of times. Most people thought you were nothing but dust and bone at that point, but JP never bought that theory, and forced us to keep digging.”
“They tried to kill me, you know.”
“Who did?”
“The United States of America.”
Kevin Sturges had graduated Harvard Medical School at the top of his class, and had begun a residence at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world when 9/11 hit. Overtaken by a combination of duty and patriotism, he left to join the military. The army made the young, good-looking doctor from a well-known Boston family the face of the American soldier. As the story went, he left the base by himself one night in 2004, seeking to help a group of soldiers that had been wounded in a firefight. That was the last time he’d been seen or heard from.
“When I was serving at Dawood Military Hospital I saw things—drug use, kickbacks to locals for our medical supplies, which were always running low, and sending soldiers with concussion symptoms and PTSD back into battle. When I brought this to my commander’s attention, everything began to change.
“They liked their golden boys to be seen and not heard. And when I spoke louder, I was sent to that illegal war in Iraq as a punishment. I signed up to fight those responsible for taking my friends’ lives in 9/11, not that. But to the outside world, I was still the star of their recruiting poster. And when a high-profile American soldier was killed, that football player, they wanted their star doctor to confirm their story that he died from friendly fire.
“It would have taken a first-year med student two minutes to see that there was nothing friendly about this man’s death. It was obvious that he’d been executed. And since there was no enemy near his company that day, he had been executed by his own men … murdered. And I refused to go along with their lies.
“I started to receive an even colder shoulder, for doing the right thing, and I got mad. So I contacted a book publisher in the US, and planned to write a tell-all about the murdered soldier, and other horrors and lies I’d witnessed. But word must have gotten out, and the idea that their golden boy would turn on them, when the war-effort had hit its lowest point in popularity, and just in time for the elections, was unacceptable for those in charge. So I was taken out one night in a Jeep, and all I was told is there was a “situation that requires your skill-set.” I guess that skill was surviving against all odds in enemy territory.”
“Yet you lived to tell about it. Lucky us.”
“With the controversy stemming from the previous high-profile ‘friendly fire,’ they couldn’t risk shooting me. So they left me to die. And of course, they painted it so that I did so in the most heroic way, trying to help fallen soldiers.
“I was captured the next morning by Hakim’s men, and brought to him. I was the first to diagnose his kidney disease, and over time we built a mutual trust. They treated me with respect, and even offered me a safe return to the Americans. But I chose to stay … the Americans were now my enemy. I became his personal doctor, always on call, and came with him when he returned to the United States. Not even Qwaui knew where he was, but he trusted me.”
“Which makes
you Dr. Samuel Abdul Mudd. And I hate to break it to ya, but the reason for the hospitality was that you were keeping him alive. Hakim always struck me as a pragmatist, unlike Qwaui, who was a true believer. He wouldn’t have sent his doctor to do his dirty work for him, and then take all the credit.”
“Great leaders get courageous men to follow them.”
Carter shrugged. “Never met the man, but I’m familiar with his work. Specifically how he treated those he had no more use for, like my friend Byron, who ended up paralyzed, and our guide, Milos, who was killed. Or how about that mother in the shopping mall gunned down before Christmas, or that family who was tossed overboard in West Palm. And Tino Fernandez shot on national TV … okay, Tino probably deserved it, but the others were innocent.”
“I might not always agree with the methods, but when fighting the world’s most powerful tyrants, it must be done in unconventional ways. The United States is broken—they have turned into all that they fought against in 1776, and Hakim is the one with the courage to bring the revolution. And there are plenty of us willing to fight behind him.”
“Sounds like a plan … at least until you help Uncle Al win the so-called revolution, and then they reward you by declaring you a non-believer, and turn you into the Headless Horseman … except without the horse.”
“He has always respected my beliefs.”
“Well, lucky for you, you worship the one God that will be acceptable in this post-revolution world—Hakim.”
“The revolution will continue, no matter what happens here.”
“So I’ve been told. Then no harm in telling me who your friend upstairs is … and your other buddy who was working the guard gate.”
“I’ve run a free private clinic in Columbus this past year out of my apartment. I treat soldiers with PTSD, depression, and general shell shock. They don’t get the proper medical treatment they need, or the proper support. But they’re afraid to say anything, thinking they’ll be labeled and lose their position. I provide complete privacy.”
Carter laughed, which seemed to irritate the doctor. “What’s so funny?”
“People like you crack me up—you have all these fancy degrees, yet you don’t know anything. I only went to the School of Hard Knocks, but I still know there is no such thing as a perfect society or country. You know why? Because societies are made up of people, and like my Pop used to say, there’s more horses asses in the world than there are horses. And the only guarantee is that those in power are gonna take a dump on the peons.
“So when things break, you can either blow it up, or you can try to fix it. And that’s the thing about you that’s not making any sense to me … you’re a fixer, not a breaker. That’s why you became a doctor, it’s why you joined the military, and it’s the reason you pointed out all that shady stuff that was going on. This bomb thing is just not working for me … and certainly isn’t working for you.”
Carter took out his gun, and set it on the coffee table. “There’s one bullet in it, so do what you wish. You can take the easy way out and kill yourself. You can kill me, but since I’m your only friend right now, that wouldn’t make much sense. Or you can take option three—which is leave it right where it is. Then we can walk out of here and you can peacefully turn yourself in. It’s up to you.”
“Why would I want to live?”
“Revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“My friends JP and Byron think it’s hollow, but I believe in it. We all need a dream to get us out of bed in the morning, and sometimes man’s dream is to kill the bastard who tried to kill them.”
As Dr. Sturges mulled over the offer, Carter made his final pitch, “I promise you that I’ll investigate your claims—and if I find you’re telling the truth, I will hunt down the people who tried to kill you. I don’t care how high on the food chain they are. And then maybe you’ll have the pleasure of testifying at their trial. Or even better, maybe you’ll win the revenge lottery and they’ll end up in the same prison as you.”
Sturges picked up the gun, briefly looked at it like it was a magic lantern that held the answers, and set it back down. He surrendered.
Carter raised him to his feet, pulled his arms behind his back, and secured the prisoner.
“You carry handcuffs with you?”
“They’re my girlfriend’s … long story.”
“They’re going to kill me when we walk out there. What I know is too dangerous for them.”
“Not with me by your side they won’t.”
They walked out into the bright afternoon sun. Carter and his prisoner, followed by Mistress Kate and hers. They handed over the prisoners, who were stuffed in the back of a military vehicle, and driven off.
“The explosive has been deactivated,” said the leader of the Bomb Disposal Unit. Carter expected no less.
“Can we get a photo?” another member of the group called out.
Carter obliged, as always, before realizing they weren’t talking about him. They wanted a shot with Kate.
Carter stood off to the side, enjoying the warmth of the sun beating off his face, and taking in the curious scene before him. His phone rang—he knew it would be that worrywart.
“I thought retirement was supposed to be less dangerous. What’s all the commotion about?” JP said.
“Hey—that’s my line.”
“Role-reversal seems to be the theme of the day.”
He looked at Kate, dressed for tonight’s show in a leather catsuit, surrounded by happy soldiers, and playfully hitting them with her whip.
Carter smiled wide. “Tell me about it.”
Epilogue –
Reunited, & it feels so good
Chapter 72
Rockfield, Connecticut
Memorial Day
I sat on the grassy slope. It was the same place Ethan and I used to sit when my father would take us to watch Little League games before we were old enough to play. It was hard to believe the participants in those games were now in their mid-forties. Time kept marching by, and there was no bigger reminder of that than attending your high school reunion.
I glanced up at the cloudless sky and sniffed the smell of barbecue. Even this reunion-cynic would have to admit that the weekend was perfect. Saturday was an informal gathering, in which the highlight was renting out a small movie theater in New Milford, where we watched old videos of our glory days, including our prom, on the big screen. We even stopped by our old stomping ground, The Natty, and had a ceremonial beer for old time’s sake. I think we scared off a few teenagers who were hanging out, and hoping to avoid lame old people like us.
Sunday was the official event at Hastings Inn. It was a dress-up, grown-up night, and ended with words of wisdom from our class adviser, Murray, who toasted: To the future of the past, as presently constituted.
And for those who stuck around for the Memorial Day holiday, we held a family picnic today at Lefebvre Park. The park was named after a French general who assisted General Washington during the Revolutionary War, which I think means I’ve officially come full circle.
I viewed the festivities from my perch. There were people I hadn’t seen in years, plus the regulars like Steve Lackety, Herbie, and a very liquored-up Vic Cervino. Rich Tolland was playfully tossing a football around with his cute, chubby kids.
I took special note of Allison Cooper, who had a big smile on her face as she mingled about. Gracie and Chase were at her side, looking lovably bored, as kids their age often do. But it wasn’t the same smile I remember. We never fully get back to who we were before the storm hit.
I felt a presence behind me and I spun around—old paranoias die hard. My intuition proved correct, as danger was approaching.
I wasn’t going to get up to greet Bobby Maloney, so he was forced to sit on the grass beside me, overdressed for the picnic in his fancy suit.
“I just wanted to thank you for putting our differences aside, and let you know that I’m going to announce my candidacy for First Selectm
an tomorrow,” he delivered his prepared line.
I reached out my hand and we shook. “I look forward to a great competition between us, and may the best man win.”
His face tensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I told you I wouldn’t stand in your way, Bobby, but I never said I wouldn’t run against you.”
He looked ill. I had my critics, but there was no way anyone was beating Peter Warner’s son in this town, if I ran.
“I had no idea you were even interested in politics … are you a Democrat or a Republican?”
“What are you?”
“I’m a Republican.”
“Then I’ll be a Democrat. It doesn’t really matter—same disease, different doctor.”
Part of me felt bad that I’d ruined the remainder of Bobby Maloney’s holiday weekend. But the other 99.9% thought it was pretty funny. I had no interest in politics, but I planned to let the possibility of me entering the race linger up until Election Day just to tweak him.
Although, I did have to become a politician in the time following the Valley Forge explosion. The next day, Gwen, Allison, and I were summoned to a secret meeting with some folks who were very high up on the food chain. At that meeting it was explained to us what really happened with Huddled Masses, in case we were confused, and thought we’d witnessed something else. The bottom line was, there was no way that the American citizens were to ever know that the world’s most notorious terrorist leader was hiding out right under their noses, and cleaning their carpets.
As an obsessive seeker of the truth, this was a concession I thought I’d never make. But I guess making compromises that were once unfathomable was part of growing up. Besides, I had more people to worry about these days than just me, and I couldn’t risk putting any of the people I care about in danger.
Huddled Masses (JP Warner Book 2) Page 27