by S. J. Lynn
“Jesus, who slept with your mother?” Ryan asks as he saunters over.
I let out a frustrated breath. “That was Jane. She’s leaving in two days. Doesn’t make any damn sense.”
“Why not? She’s just a volunteer. A temp. You hated when you found out she came here. What’s the big deal? Aside from the fact that you love her,” he adds.
I glare at him. “I don’t love her.”
Ryan scoffs, “Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that. By the way, your nose is too big for your face.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
We ride in silence as I take Ryan to see Phillip. It’s the only way I can think to show honor and respect to Ryan and my brother. I’m hoping he will understand.
The place where they’re holding Phillip’s body is not far from where General Mayfield was being detained. Just thinking about how close they were doesn’t sit right with me.
I park my truck, open the door, and wait for Ryan to follow me inside.
“What the hell is this place?” he asks as I enter a code to unlock the door.
“You’ll see.” Heading inside, I yell to make sure no one is here. There’s another door in the back just as Leonard said there’d be.
“Do we have clearance to be in here? I mean, I know you are a sergeant and all, but this looks—”
“Trust me. I have clearance.” I punch in the code for the other door and it unlocks and opens.
“Damn. It’s freezing in here,” Ryan states as we walk in.
I flip on lights and one by one, they flicker on, illuminating a single casket in the center of the room. My body freezes and not because of the cold. There’s no way I could have prepared myself for this.
“Uh . . . Phil, is that—there’s a dead person in here,” Ryan states.
Ignoring him, I walk to the casket. “This isn’t going to be easy for you.”
It’s not going to be a walk in the park for me either.
“Seriously, Phillip. Are you on drugs? Because you can tell me.”
“No. I’m not on drugs. Come here.”
Ryan cautiously approaches the closed casket and looks down at it. A million things must be running through his mind.
“I could get fired for showing you this, but you’ll find out eventually, and I want to be the one to tell you.”
Ryan doesn’t say anything, and so I slowly open the lid. With each inch, my body starts to sweat despite the cool temperature in the room.
My eyes remain shut, not only because I’m not sure I’m ready to see Phillip, but because I’m preparing for Ryan’s reaction. But nothing comes.
I open my eyes. Ryan stares wide-eyed at Phillip. My brother’s body is chalky and stiff as a board, and it takes everything I have not to storm out and blow a hole through Mayfield and the other piece of shit that did the actual shooting.
“Shit, Phillip. Is this . . . is this your brother, Wes?”
I snap out of my daze. I didn’t consider he’d think it was me. Damn. My mind is not focused. I wish it were me.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then, you’re a triplet? You’ve never mentioned another sibling.”
“No, Ryan.”
I can almost see the wheels turning inside his head as he finally puts it together. His gaze whips from me down to my brother. He sucks in a sharp breath and brings his fist to his mouth.
“No. No, no, no. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real,” he chants.
“I’m afraid it is. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I couldn’t.” Even to my own ears that sounds ridiculous.
“All this time.” He looks at me. “That’s why you seemed so different. I thought it was because of our last tour, but—”
“I know this is difficult for you, but I need to ask you about that.”
“I’ve should have been able to tell you apart,” he says, ignoring me. “Phillip and I have been best friends since grade school. I should have been able to tell,” he repeats in a voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. I made sure I acted as much like Phillip as possible.”
He shakes his head and looks down at my dead brother. “Why is he dead and you here? Why the pretending and all the secrecy?”
Taking a moment to sort through my thoughts, I answer, “He was murdered.”
That gets his attention. His head snaps back up. “Murdered?”
“Yes.” Shit. There’s no way to really explain any of this without coming clean. “I’m CID.”
Ryan looks stunned. “CID? Phillip never mentioned that.”
“At my request. I’m an agent who investigates wrongdoing in the army. The last thing I needed was someone to recognize me when on a mission,” I explain.
“Explains a lot,” he adds almost sullenly. “But, it doesn’t explain why my best friend is dead and why you’re impersonating him. You said he was murdered?”
“Yes.” I explain everything to him. How Leonard thankfully saw Phillip before anyone else made it back to the house, how Leonard called me first, and since Phillip was shot only once, we decided I had a fighting chance to pass it off as if he just received a flesh wound. It’s obvious neither Mayfield nor the other guy checked to make sure Phillip was dead, or they’d have questioned my appearance much sooner.
“Shit, man. This is messed up.” Ryan rubs the front of his face and runs both hands through his hair. “I should ask how you’re doing. He’s your brother after all.”
“I’ll be much better when I catch the son of a bitch who killed him.”
“Who do you think it is? I’d say you could ask the general, but from the rumors I’ve heard, he was involved in some dirty work.”
I don’t answer.
“Wait. The general?” he asks incredulously before looking around the room as if to see if anyone overheard.
He doesn’t need to worry. This place is secure. “I can’t say much about the general in regards to the things he’s been dismissed for, but in regards to my brother . . . he definitely had a hand.”
“So, he didn’t kill Phillip, but he had someone else to do it? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, what did Phillip do?”
I shake my head. “It’s what he found out.”
Ryan turns around and paces the room. “We have to find who did this.” He points at Phillip’s body. “And you’re going to let me help. He was my best friend.”
“Ryan, you can’t. It’s dangerous, and you have a future ahead of you. Think of Mandy.”
“I didn’t ask your permission. I’m helping. And don’t worry about Mandy.”
I want to argue, but don’t have it in me to fight.
“Suit up.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jane
Jets sound above me. The engines boom loud in my ears. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve grown accustomed to the sounds.
I finish patching up a soldier’s wounded leg when I hear a loud crash. My staff and patients all get in an uproar.
My legs hurry me to the opening of the tent and I peek out. Chaos. Everyone is running around. There’s thick smoke everywhere. Missiles. We’re being attacked.
“Jane!” a nurse shouts when she spots me. “Come quick.”
I don’t worry about gloves. Running out of the hospital, I head out to see what all I can do. There’s both wounded soldiers and locals all over the camp. Nurses and doctors frantically try to get them all in. Others have just improvised and made areas outside to accommodate everyone.
“Jane, over here!” she shouts again.
“Coming!” As I run to her, she stoops down and picks up something before turning around to me. My heart stops. In her arms is a baby of no more than five months old. It’s crying hysterically, and her arm is barely attached to its socket. From the explosion or something else? Gunfire? I can’t even tell.
People continue to rush around and shout. My heart thumps l
oudly and my ears feel like they’re full of water, and I freeze, panicked. I see no one but this baby.
In the distance, someone’s calling my name. “Jane!” The nurse jolts me out of my trance. “She needs immediate care. All the other doctors are busy.”
“Give it to me.” I take the baby, hold it close to my chest, and race to my station. More vehicles and choppers arrive. “I have empty beds,” I shout to those who can hear me before heading inside.
“It’s okay, baby. You are going to be fine.” I put her on the first clean bed I come to, which happens to be closest to the entrance. I’m able to make out that it’s a girl. She’s still screaming as she bites her small, untouched hand. I start to cry as I frantically search for morphine. I’m still on autopilot and can’t seem to snap out of it.
Her screams pick up. They’re almost piercing. Finding the right amount of morphine, I grab an IV and surgical tape. A sudden commotion next to me catches my attention. New patients are being rushed in.
“Where do you want them?” A nurse I’ve never seen before asks.
“Find a bed—an empty one—and place them on it. You”—I point at a nurse—“prep as many people as you can. Decide who can be saved, who can’t and who can wait.”
“Got it,” she says before scurrying off.
“You,” I point at two nurse’s assistants, one of which is mine. “Make sure that everyone’s station is securely stocked. I want someone on cleanup. Now clear my station. This is urgent.”
Not listening to any more people, I fix the baby with an IV and plenty of fluids. She’s severely dehydrated. I give her just enough morphine to calm her down before I prep her for surgery.
Someone comes up beside me. “How’s she doing?” The woman is Afghan. Her hair is a mess, her clothes torn, and she’s covered in black soot.
“Not well I’m afraid.” She’s going to lose her arm. “Do you know her or who her parents are?”
The woman bows her head. “I’m her mother.” She swallows. “Her father didn’t survive. I tried to hide her behind some big rocks until I could get some help to bring me here. She was covered in dust from the explosion. But . . . I couldn’t protect her from it.”
“You did all you could,” I say while placing my hand on her arm.
She nods and looks down at the little girl who is now sleeping. “You’ll let me know how she is doing?”
“Yes,” I assure her. “I’ll have to ask you to step outside now. I need to get started on her surgery.”
The mother’s eyes fill with tears. “You’ll save her, won’t you?”
“I’m going to try.”
It’s not what she wanted to hear, but it’s all I could offer. Once she leaves, I take a moment to calm myself. My hands are shaky, and I wonder how I’m going to perform this operation. I’ve only done a few by myself since I’ve been sent here, and this by far is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
Scrubbing my hands and arms, I glove myself and get ready to put on my protective mask. “I need a nurse!” I yell.
“I’m Suzy. I’m a nurse a couple of tents down. I’m here to help.” She’s old enough to have plenty experience and looks to know what she’s doing.
“Okay, I just need you to hand me my tools as I ask for them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she says.
We quickly get to work. I’ve been at this surgery for over an hour trying to safely remove her arm, and eventually I do. The monitor beeps. Her vitals are quickly dropping with every second that passes, and I’m not sure I can do anything about it. She’s lost too much blood.
“There’s nothing else you can do,” Suzy says as she places a sympathetic hand on my shoulder.
I nod my head. She’s too young to die, but her immune system and little body can’t handle the stress of the wound. But I have to move on.
“Give me some more morphine,” I say to the nurse.
She gives me an understanding look before she retrieves the medicine. It’s the only thing I can offer her.
“Thank you.”
Reluctantly, I move to other patients. It’s a while before I can get back to the baby.
Taking the bed, I bring the girl to the equipment room in the back, trying to escape the madness out front.
She looks so peaceful, almost like she’s sleeping. I remove my gloves, toss them in a nearby trashcan, and wash my hands before placing a finger in her tiny hand. Her eyes open just barely as she lightly squeezes.
“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”
The little girl hiccups and her fingers unclench as her hand falls. I’m in my own personal nightmare as I watch this baby’s life fade. What I’m experiencing right now can only be described as being separate—outside from my body. Time stands still.
Without warning, my knees buckle from under me as I keep a firm, steady grip on the side of the bed, and I cry. I cry so hard I can barely catch a breath. I won’t be able to handle telling her the babies’ mother.
And like the sun shining through a dreadful storm, I feel him. Then I hear him.
Wes!
He’s shouting for someone to tell him where I am. But, I can’t move. I’m numb.
Footsteps approach, a shuffling of hurried feet. They stop completely before taking measured steps toward the bed where the lifeless child now lays. I hear an intake of breath before a muttered curse follows.
“Oh, Jane,” he says while coming over to my weeping form. He squats down in front of me, and I can only make out his black army boots.
“Hey.” He wipes the tears from my cheek, and the dam opens. I’m so happy he is here.
“I . . . I couldn’t save her. I tried, but I couldn’t!”
“It’s okay, baby. I got you. It’s all right.” He scoops me up into his arms not seeming to care about any of the blood. Moving over to a bench where we keep various items, he clears a spot and sits down with me on his lap as he rocks me. His hands rub my back in a loving caress while the world continues to fall apart around us. “I’m so sorry.” He holds me until I am able to calm down.
“They need me out there,” I say while trying to climb off his lap.
He takes my chin in his hand so I’ll look at his face. Worry lines crease his forehead. “You aren’t going anywhere until you assure me that you are okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“If you need to have a minute—”
“I don’t have a minute.” I stare him in the eyes. He knows I’m right, he just came from outside. “My God, Wes. What the hell is happening?”
He shakes his head, perplexed. “I’m not sure,” he says honestly. “All I know is I wish you’d already gone home.”
“But, I’m not. And now I need to suck it up and get back out there. Are you okay?” I ask, realizing for the first time that he may have been caught in the crossfire. I take a moment to scan his body while running my hands over his chest and down his arms.
He grabs my wandering hands. “Jane, I’m fine. There were sudden gunfire and explosions near base. I got here as fast as I could, but I had to make sure everything was being handled back there first.”
“I know. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
He cocks his head to the side, looking past me. “Go. I’ll take everything from here,” he says.
“But, her mother will—” Before I can turn around to look at the girl, he stops me.
“Jane. Don’t do that to yourself. I’ll make sure the baby is taken care of.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him I’ll deal with it. But there’s no time. And, I trust him.
“Okay.”
Not looking back, I head out into the madness. It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wes
After Jane leaves to take care of things outside, I make a few phone calls and wait around until someone comes to take the baby to a safe place. I was able to speak to the mother. She was devastated, naturally, but she asked me to thank Jane for trying to save her dau
ghter.
My phone rings as I start toward my truck. “McClintock.”
“Wes, it’s Dylan. I think I found the place where they’re keeping the women.”
My steps falter briefly before I climb into my vehicle.
“Where?” I ask and start the engine
***
As soon as I hung up with Dylan, I had called Ryan. Without Leonard, I needed all the help I could get.
“You think this is it?” Ryan asks as we near the suspected hiding place where the women are kept hostage.
“I’m not sure, but it’s worth a shot.”
We park far enough away from the site to avoid detection. This place is literally out in the middle of nowhere. It looks abandoned with its cracked walls and sunken in roof.
“It seems too small,” Ryan says.
It couldn’t be more than 500 square feet.
“He’s not 100 percent certain, but has reason to believe this could be it.”
As we get closer, I signal Ryan to crawl on his hands and knees as we scope the perimeter.
“Boss,” Ryan calls in a hushed voice and waves me over. I’m stunned he still chooses to call me boss. “Look at this.” Right where Ryan is standing is a loose board. He steps over it and taps his foot, a hollow sound echoes back. It’s not solid ground. We both look at each other before bending down to lift the whole thing.
There, underneath, is a latch.
“Hold this while I try to get this open,” I say.
The latch is a little rusty and difficult to push back, but eventually, it gives. Ryan moves the board aside and helps me open it.
Stairs, lights, and walls. An underground layer. Just as I suspected.
“I’ll go down first,” Ryan says. “I trust you better to back me up.”
As I descend the stairs, I listen for any sounds. Nothing. There’s just the smell of wet dirt. This is not what I would call high-quality work, but for the materials used, it’s pretty impressive. It’s rather large down here, but ventilation is non-existent. My whole body is drenched in sweat within five minutes.
Dylan, you better get here fast.
Ryan checks one tunnel, and I search the other. I come to a metal door with a little glass window in the center. It’s so dark on the other side, I’m unable to see anything.