Remember, It's Our Honeymoon

by Mairsile Leabhair

  Startled from sleep, Vicky asked excitedly, “What’s wrong?”

  “You were making love to a sheep.” Aidan laughed, putting down her video camera and grabbing the digital camera, snapping pictures as fast as the camera would allow.

  Vicky looked at the fat, round, wooly, smelly animal. “Oh, my God! Please tell me you’re kidding!”

  “I don’t know whether to be jealous or insulted?” Aidan tried to say it with a straight face, but her twinkling green eyes betrayed her.

  “Oh, you! That’s just nasty!” Then, to get back at her lover, Vicky added, “But, you should probably be jealous, that ewe was a really good kisser.”

  “Now who’s being nasty?” Aidan poked her in the ribs and began tickling her until she squealed uncle.

  Suddenly their playtime was interrupted by the sound of a large helicopter hovering overhead. The lovers ducked their heads and shielded their eyes from the pushback, while the sheep bolted every which way, as the helicopter came down a short distance away.

  “Do you think they’re upset with us? I mean, it seems like we have been sleeping our way across Ireland,” Vicky said, more out of nervousness than jocularity.

  As the chopper lowered to the ground, three men wearing uniforms and carrying assault rifles, jumped out before the skids touched down.

  Apprehensively, the honeymooners stood up, and Aidan instinctively stood in front of Vicky to protect her. Vicky held on to Aidan’s arm with both hands, to help ease her trepidation, as the three men came running towards them.

  “You’re coming with us!” one of the men demanded.

  Chapter Seven

  By the end of the second day of darkness, of complete blackness, Joyce was playing the ‘what if’ game. What if her eyesight didn’t return? What if she could never operate again? She lived to do surgery, everything else was just icing on the cake. Ellen tried to keep her entertained, but what she needed was to feel the scalpel in her hand, to smell the sterile operating room again, and hear the heart beating in the patient’s chest. She feared she would never again walk into an operating room, and her depression left her empty and angry.

  Antsy to know if her eyes could see again, Joyce told Ellen she was going to the bathroom by herself this time, explaining that she needed to feel independent, even if it was just to go to the bathroom. My God, has it come to that? Being independent enough to go to the john by myself? She closed the bathroom door behind her, took off her mask and took a deep breath. Then she reached for the light switch.

  From the other room, Ellen heard a piercing scream that made her heart jump a beat, and she rushed in to find the mask on the floor and Joyce using her fingers to feel her face. Joyce’s eyes were almost completely swollen shut, caked over with scabbing. She had bruising under her eyes, and traces of blood trickling from the cracks in the scabby crust.

  “My God!” Ellen quickly turned off the light and closed the door to where only a small shaft of light filtered in. She needed the light to illuminate her way to a washcloth. Soaking it in warm water, she wrung out the access and gently began cleaning Joyce’s eyes, enough that she could see her pupils through the scab. And what she saw put fear in her heart. Joyce’s normal iridescent hazel eyes had turned a dead, pale, glassed over gray. There was no distinction between the iris and the pupil. They were eyes of the walking dead. Ellen tried to administer the drops, but her hands were shaking so much that the drops ended up on Joyce’s cheeks than in her eyes.

  “Is it that bad, Ellen?”

  “No, honey, they’re looking much better today.” Ellen feign confidence, and tried again, this time getting the drops between the narrow slit of the scab. Putting the mask back on over Joyce’s eyes, she said, “You shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart. Remember what the doctor said?”

  “He said I would be better in three days, but I can tell, I’m worse.”

  “Were you able to see anything at all, Joyce?”

  “No, can’t see a thing,”

  For the first time since this happened, Ellen was glad Joyce couldn’t see.

  “But the pain is really intense. I think my eyes caught on fire when I turned on the light.” Joyce wanted to rub her eyes, but stopped herself.

  “Here,” Ellen reached into the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of pills, “here take a couple of these. The doctor prescribed them for pain.”

  “Well, okay, but that means you’re not getting any tonight.” Joyce’s lame attempt at humor fell flat, because they both knew she was too depressed and in too much pain to do anything tonight anyway.

  She took her pills and Ellen led her to the bedroom and undressed her. Together they lay down, Ellen rubbing her back, singing quietly to her, and it wasn’t long before Joyce fell asleep.

  But there were no pills to help Ellen’s restlessness, as she tossed and turned. She finally gave up, and went into her office to do some work. She had several email inquiries for wedding designs, but had to turn a lot of them down because it just wasn’t possible for her to take a job right now.

  When the morning finally dawned, Joyce woke both excited and apprehensive about seeing the ophthalmologist that afternoon. She fidgeted most of the morning and drove Ellen to near distraction, by asking her what time it was, every five minutes. Finally, the time had come to go see the doctor. Ellen helped her into the car, and with cautious optimism, she drove them to the doctor’s office.

  “Shield your eyes while I take off the mask,” the ophthalmologist instructed. Joyce did as she was told and the nurse switched off the light. Pulling out his penlight, the doctor shined his light in first the right eye, and then the left. The glaring light made her eyes feel like they were burning again and Joyce recoiled from the pain. The doctor pulled out a new mask and placed it over her eyes. He nodded at the nurse to turn the lights back on and when he saw Ellen’s worried face, he tried to comfort her with a supportive smile. Then he gave Joyce the bad news.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. McMillan, there has been no improvement. In fact, the tests indicate it has gotten slightly worse.”

  “Oh, no!” Ellen exclaimed before she could control her mouth.

  “Yeah, what my wife said,” Joyce added dejectedly. She knew already that her eyes were worse, but she had set herself up with expectations that left her even more deeply depressed.

  “Try not to worry. This could still reverse its self. Your pupils are still dilating under the light. That’s a good sign,” the doctor said encouragingly.

  Ellen thought, thank God he can still see them, because I thought they were dead.

  “It’s just going to take longer than originally thought. Keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll prescribe a different antibiotic and an eye salve for the scabbing. Come back here in, say a week‒‒”

  “A week! Fuck that! I can’t wait another day. I need to go to work now.”

  The doctor was not put off by her outburst, he expected no less from a surgeon. “And you will, as soon as we get this infection cleared up. In the meantime, keep the mask on, stay out of the light and take your medicine as prescribed.”

  “Thank you, doctor, I’ll see that she does,” Ellen said, wondering how in the world she could keep Joyce calm for another week.

  The doctor looked at Ellen and saw the tears in her eyes. He squeezed her arm sympathetically, and then left the two of them alone in the exam room. As Ellen helped Joyce down from the exam table, she saw the strength literally melt from her wife’s usually strong shoulders.

  “Sweetheart, please don’t give in, don’t give up now. We’ll get through this.”

  “It’s all right, Ellen. Let’s just go home, I’m suddenly very tired.” That was the last straw for Joyce. Her balloon had just been deflated of all resolve. There was nothing left but darkness, literally and figuratively.

  The drive home, which was on the opposite end of the city from the clinic, was quiet, weighed down by Joyce’s aura of despair. Ellen was desperate to get Joyce to talk, even if it meant pro
voking her anger.

  “We should get a second opinion, Joyce.”

  Joyce said nothing. She sat slumped in the seat, her head back against the headrest, the black mask covering her eyes, and if Ellen didn’t know better, Joyce would look like she was asleep.

  “Maybe he’s wrong,” Ellen persisted. “Or maybe there’s a different medication you could be using. We need a second opinion.”

  “I’ve been poked and prodded by two doctors already, and they both agreed on the diagnosis and treatment. How many more will it take?”

  “Exactly three more,” Ellen joked.

  “That’s not funny, Ellen. Why would you want to put me through that kind of torture?”

  “Because you’re fucking scaring me right now, that’s why,” Ellen said more angrily than she meant to. Taking a deep breath to quiet her nerves, she said, “You’ve given up so easily, and that’s not like you.”

  Joyce retorted sharply, “Yeah, well this is the new me, get used to it.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Why won’t they tell us anything, Aidan? We have a right to know why we’re being kidnapped.”

  Aidan explained, “They probably don’t know, Vick. They’re just following orders.”

  “Now I wish I’d listened to you. We’d be stretched out on that riverbank, listening to the pretty birds singing right now if I had.”

  The British Army Air Corps Gazelle helicopter landed at the Royal Air Force station in Aldergrove, Northern Ireland, eighteen miles northwest of Belfast. As they disembarked the plane, a black limousine with tinted windows, pulled up beside them. The last thing Aidan wanted to do was get into a dark limo and be driven to God knows where. But just as she started pushing Vicky back, Steve Holden, President Trenton’s lead Secret Service Agent, stepped out of the limo and greeted them.

  Vicky instantly relaxed when she saw him. She had come to know Steve when President Trenton’s mother was a heart patient at St. Frances Hospital. She quickened her steps and greeted him with a relieved smile, “Steve, fancy meeting you here?”

  “Ms. Montgomery, it’s good to see you again. The President requests a meeting with you both.” Steve held the car door open for them and soon they were driving off the tarmac and down the road.

  “Steve, what is all this about?” Vicky knew from past experiences that he wouldn’t be at liberty to answer her question, but she had to try, just the same.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not‒‒”

  Vicky sighed, “I know, Steve, I know.”

  Thankfully for all concerned, it was short drive to the Belfast Airport, where Trenton’s airplane was parked.

  As they entered the plane, Vicky asked, “Steve, can we at least wash our hands, before we meet with the President? We’re sweaty and sticky, um, we were, um, petting sheep when they kidnapped us.” Vicky blushed, though she knew there was no one more discrete than Steve.

  He showed them to the bathroom. Once they closed the door behind them, Vicky asked nervously, “Aidan, what do you think he wants to talk to us about?’

  “I don’t know,” Aidan said, “But he went to a lot of trouble to get us here.”

  “That’s true. How do you suppose they found us?”

  “Not sure. Probably GPS on our cell phones.”

  Mr. Trenton greeted them as they entered the sitting area. Except for his secretary and secret service detail, there was no one else in that section of the plane.

  “Vicky, it’s good to see you again. Did you get my wedding gift?” Trenton had a soft spot for both Vicky and Aidan, because of their history together. Vicky nursed his dying mother in the hospital and Aidan saved his life from a terrorist attack at the same hospital. A person tends to get attached after something like that.

  “We did, Mr. President, and I apologize, but we have not had a chance to open our gifts yet. It was very kind of you to think of us though, thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” he said as he escorted them to his office at the back of the plane. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to the wedding, but you know how it is, when duty calls, you have to answer it.” Waiting for them inside the room was Aidan’s boss, Tom Bradshah.

  When Aidan saw him, she knew whatever the reason for being there, it had to be work related and it had to be about the Irish connection to the Little Rock terrorist.

  President Trenton got right to it, “Speaking of duty, Tom emailed me your idea about the Irish connection, Aidan, and I’d like to bring you up to speed on some Intel we just got.”

  “Now?” Vicky blurted out. “Mr. President, we’re on our honeymoon, couldn’t this have waited?” Vicky was not shy when it came to business matters, even if it was the former President of the United States.

  “Yes, and I do apologize about that, but this concerns national security.” He turned to Aidan and said, “Your idea is correct Aidan, there is a connection. The CIA has confirmed that one of Bin Laden’s lieutenants is headed to Ireland. We think he’s going there to recruit people, and to find someone to bank roll his next attack. We believe he’s the one responsible for orchestrating the hit on the hospital via encrypted emails and texts. He has masterminded several attacks like that throughout the world, and we have not even come close to catching him.”

  Vicky gasped; it was still too soon for her. The hospital barely survived that attack financially, because even though the plan failed for the most part, the fear it put into the public eye almost reduced the hospital to shambles. It cut especially deep for Vicky, who loved that hospital as if it were a living, breathing, caring friend. She reached for Aidan’s hand under the table.

  As for Aidan, she was seething. After what the attacker’s did to her wife, terrorizing her, hurting her, and the death and fear they had caused, Aidan’s only thought was to hunt down the bastards responsible and stop them before they could hurt anyone else.

  Trenton continued, “Chatter indicates that the person he is secretly rendezvousing with is a member of the Irish Republic Parliament. Now, normally, I would not be involved at this level, but because of my connection with the Prime Minister, and with both of you, plus the terrorist attack on me personally, I feel it’s my duty to involve myself. So, with the White House’s blessings, I have appointed myself in charge of this mission. I need you, Aidan, to help me with this task.”

  Aidan and Vicky looked at each other as if they were asking how this affected them. Neither of them knew much about Ireland other than it was very romantic, a great place for a honeymoon, and that Aidan’s mother’s family came from here.

  “Sir, with all due respect, what can I do? I don’t know anyone here, certainly not anyone in the parliament. This is the first time I’ve ever been to Ireland.”

  Bradshah turned to Trenton, who looked at Aidan in shock, “You don’t know?”

  “Know what, sir?” Aidan was getting nervous. Have I forgotten something?

  “Aidan, what do you know of your mother or your family?” Trenton asked.

  “Well, I just learned that I was adopted, sir, and my adoptive father has always told me that my mother died giving birth to me. I never knew her, and he never talked about her family. All he would say was that she was from Ireland. It was my intention to see if I could find her family while we’re over here.”

  Trenton and Bradshah exchanged looks and Bradshah shook his head, “This could complicate things, sir.”

  Trenton disagreed, “On the contrary, I think it will benefit us.”

  Aidan’s military training prevented her from interrupting, but Vicky had no such qualms and besides, she didn’t care who they were, they were talking about her wife and she wanted to know why.

  “Please, what are you two talking about?” she asked tersely.

  “Oh, my apologies, Victoria,” Trenton replied, “Aidan, when you signed up with Homeland Security, they did a thorough background check on you and your parents, as is standard procedure. As you might imagine, they didn’t find anything on your mother, but we assumed that you knew
your Aunt, Peg O’Malley, is a member of the Irish parliament. We want you to‒‒”

  “Fuck me!” Aidan blurted out. “I have an aunt?”

  Trenton chuckled, but Bradshah exclaimed, “Mr. President, I apologize‒‒”

  “Don’t worry, Tom, all things considered, I’d be surprised if she didn’t say that.”

  Aidan’s jubilation quickly turned to embarrassment as she tried to explained, “I’m sorry, sir. All this time I thought I was alone, you know? I mean I had hoped to find a distant cousin maybe, but an Aunt, wow…” Aidan forgot about them again and darted her eyes back and forth trying to make sense of it all.

  Grabbing her lover’s arm, Vicky exclaimed, “This is wonderful news! Maybe we could meet her while we are over here?”

  “Actually, Victoria, that’s exactly what we need Aidan to do,” Trenton said, and then clarified, “We have been in contact with Senator O’Malley and she has agreed to help us. And Aidan, she is very excited to meet you too. She didn’t know you were alive either.”

  Aidan let out a gasp, thinking, my God, an aunt, my mother’s sister!

  Trenton continued, “We have the permission of the Prime Minister to conduct this investigation as unobtrusively as possible. Aidan, you will report directly to Bradshah, and he will report to me. I in turn, will keep the Prime Minister and President Sherman advised.”

  Aidan looked over at Tom Bradshah, feeling better about the plan knowing he would be there as well. But something was missing in this scenario. “Sir, I know nothing about Ireland’s politics, what exactly is it I’ll be doing?”

  “We want you to attend their annual ball tomorrow night, and then the next day your Aunt will host a luncheon in your honor. It will be a way of introducing you to all of Parliament. The Prime Minister has rearranged his schedule to attend both functions, so everyone else will do the same. In the political arena, if you’re not schmoozing with the other delegates, you’ll get left behind. That is why we believe the parliament member in question, will make an appearance. You will use those two opportunities to profile and photograph each individual you come in contact with. From those photos we can create a profile on each person, cross match it with what’s already on file and hopefully narrow the list down.”