“I can find my own way, thank you,” she said with a smile.
“That’s fine during daylight, ma’am, but at night it’s best not to be out alone. ”
She thanked him again for his help and as he turned to go back inside, she peered around him for another glimpse of Angel. He’d gone back to cleaning his rifle.
13
“Can I ask, ma’am, is he a wounded warrior?” The clerk at the airline check-in desk gestured to where Rivera waited in a wheelchair outside the barrier.
Zanna regarded Rivera through the man’s eyes. Neat haircut, smart casual clothes, the calm scanning of his surroundings. His bearing, even in a wheelchair spoke of self-discipline. She turned back to the clerk. “Yes, he is, but please don’t make a fuss. He wouldn’t like it.” Too bloody right, he wouldn’t.
“No fuss, ma’am, but I’ve given you seats with easier access.” He handed over the boarding cards.
Zanna’s eyes widened. “Thank you, you’re too kind.”
“Not at all. It’s the least I can do to show my thanks.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I’ve upgraded your return seats too. If you’ll wait over there, I’ll have one of our golf carts take you to the departure gate.”
At the gate, Rivera declined the use of another wheelchair and used his crutches to board the plane. The attendant led the way to a seat in First Class.
“There’s been a mistake,” Rivera said.
“No mistake, sir. These are your seats.”
He looked over the attendant’s shoulder to Zanna. She nodded with a smile. Once seated, the attendant offered a choice of champagne, wine, or fruit juice as a pre-flight drink. Rivera selected an orange juice, took an offered newspaper and popped in his MP3 earbuds.
Zanna also chose an orange juice. Well, looks like we won’t be chatting then. I hope Amanda is having as much fun.
During the four and a half hour flight, Zanna wrote up some case notes. Rivera read, and after the in-flight meal reclined his seat and dozed. The first time she met him, he’d fallen asleep. Then, on the massage table. Now, here. She grinned. Am I that boring? He rolled his head in her direction and she quickly looked away so he didn’t catch her if he woke. Gant said he would have accompanied Rivera and asked me to ‘Stand in for him’. He’s usually so precise, why did he phrase it that way? In what capacity would he have attended? As friend or physician?
* * *
A half hour taxi transfer brought them to the hotel. It was nearly 10:00 pm local time when they arrived. Rivera asked if there was still time to get something to eat. Yes, if they’d like to go straight through, a bellhop would take their bags up to their rooms. They finished checking in and made their way toward the restaurant. Rivera stopped at the doorway, propped his crutches on the wall outside and took a step on his left foot.
What the hell are you playing at? I was hoping you weren’t going to make me do this. “Gunnery Sergeant Rivera, what part of ‘minimal full-weight bearing’ do you not understand?”
His shoulders stiffened.
“Minimal refers to having to stand on it in the shower or something, not wandering around willy-nilly. The respect and care you give your leg at this stage will pay off later. I know you’re a risk-taker and a challenge-accepter. So weigh the risk of sustaining possible irreparable damage for a moment of pride versus accepting the challenge of a steady progression back to full capacity.”
He picked up the crutches and, keeping his right foot raised, used them to enter the dining room. Two men at a table got to their feet.
“Holy shit, brah,” the taller one said, walking toward Rivera, “I can’t believe you’re here! Damn, it’s good to see you again, brother.” He held out his hand.
Rivera gathered the crutches into his left hand and pulled his friend into a shoulder bump. The man raised his hand behind Rivera’s back in a gesture that should have ended in a hearty back slap but he changed it into a gentle pat of Rivera’s shoulder. “You here to eat? You will join us, won’t you?” He guided Rivera toward his table. “You’ve met Tim.”
Rivera shook the man’s hand but omitted the bump. “Good to see you again.”
“Christ, they give you a new leg already?” Tim asked.
Rivera tapped his right thigh. “Not done with the original one yet.”
The first man laughed. “Friggen scuttlebutt had you spread all over Trashcanistan.”
“I irrigated a part of it, is all.” Rivera pulled out a chair and sat.
Zanna stood back while Rivera greeted his friends. When they were seated she went to the table.
Tim looked up at her. “Hey, there. You got any European beer on tap?”
Rivera rubbed his hand over his mouth. “She’s with me.”
Tim stood and pulled out a chair for her. “I humbly apologize for my ignorance, ma’am. Schwarz. Tim Schwarz.”
She took his hand with a smile and told him her name.
The other man half rose. “I’m his respectable older brother, Ben. Same last name.”
The server arrived and took their order: Steak all round. Tim was inquiring about the draft beer option when a loud voice boomed from the entrance.
“Well, look who it isn’t.”
All three men swung around grinning broadly.
Tim jumped to his feet. “Top!”
“Master Sergeant Doyle to you, maggot!” The big man came over and shook everyone’s hand.
“You eating, Master Sergeant?” Tim asked.
“No, I’ve eaten already, but I’ll share a beer with you guys.” Doyle scowled at Zanna. “Do you drink beer, ma’am?”
“Not right now, thank you.”
“A wine, maybe?”
“Thank you, no. I’ll have a San Pellegrino.”
Doyle ordered a pitcher of beer and when it arrived, he poured everyone except Zanna a glass, then tapped the side of his with a knife. “I would like to propose a toast,” he said. “Scuttlebutt has it there’s been a promotion among our number. I know it’s not you two soup sandwiches,” he grinned at the Schwarz brothers who were staring back at him like a pair of goldfish. “It’s not me or I would have had it confirmed. Ergo, and I cannot fathom why this particular dribble chin merited it, you have to assume I am talking about the remaining brother at our table. Gentlemen—and ma’am—please raise your glass in a toast to Gunnery Sergeant Domingo Rivera.
Rivera inclined his head, took a sip, then asked the server to bring him a bottle of the same mineral water that Zanna chose. Everyone, including Zanna, shook hands with Rivera. During the meal, the men chatted about old times. Doyle, it turned out, had been marksman instructor to all of them at different stages during their careers. Rivera didn’t touch the beer again.
When Ben and Tim stood to take their leave, Rivera said he’d go with them. Zanna started to rise too, but Doyle motioned her to stay seated. She picked up the crutches and held them out to Rivera.
“Please don’t forget these.”
His eyes narrowed but he took them and used them.
Once the men left, Doyle said, “So, what’s the story?”
“Pardon?”
“With Rivera hobbling around on sticks. With Rivera and you.”
“No story.”
“You gotta be kidding me. He’s dining with a beautiful girl he barely speaks to. He doesn’t touch his beer, you don’t drink either and you’re telling me there’s no story. Bulls—who are you?”
“Zanna Carpenter.”
“Smart ass.”
Zanna had a clear view of the lobby. Rivera and Tim were waiting for the elevator. Rivera was standing on his left leg and resting his right. Tim was playing around on the crutches, pretending his leg was broken. Ben was talking with the front desk clerk.
Doyle softened his approach. “Look, I know his unit’s deployed in the Stan, right now and he wouldn’t have been authorized leave from there for the funeral of anyone other than a close blood relative. Top is quite capable of adding two plus two.”
“And not making it add up to five?”
“Touché. So what is your role here? Wait a minute, are you his nurse?”
“No.”
Doyle looked sideways at her. “Too quickly answered, so I’m on the right track.”
The elevator arrived and Tim entered still using the crutches. Rivera put his right arm around Ben’s shoulder and hopped on board.
“Listen, I see you watching him like a goddamn hawk. And you’re with him in some official capacity . . . he’s not under arrest, is he?”
Zanna smiled at Doyle’s chivalrous attempts to check himself from using profanities in front of her. No mean feat for many of them. Doyle was a good man, so she went with the truth. “He’s been injured. I’m here to—”
Doyle smirked. “To keep an eye on him. Keep him out of trouble.” Then serious. “What happened to him?”
“IED.”
“Shit. How bad?”
“Bad enough that he shouldn’t be here. His leg needed pinning and he was kept heavily sedated for nearly a week. I work at the hospital as his physical therapist.”
“Damn. Anybody killed?”
“No, just him seriously injured.”
Doyle wrinkled his nose. “If it was as bad as you’re not telling me, I guessing he should probably be in a wheelchair and the crutches are a compromise.”
“Ah, you know him well.”
“He’s turned into one of the finest Marines it’s ever been my pleasure to teach.”
“I see glimpses of that, but has he always been so quiet?”
Doyle rubbed his chin. “I forget who said it, but he’s like a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. If you do ever manage to solve it, let me know, will you?” With that, he stood and offered to walk with her to the lobby.
Reaching her room, her bag was nowhere to be found. She called the front desk and found out all the bags had been delivered to Rivera’s room. Zanna knocked on his door. He answered it, wrapped in a white bath towel. No leg brace, but supporting himself on one crutch.
Thank you for listening about using the crutches. “Hey, I believe you have my—”
He balanced on his left leg, reached onto the shelf by the door and handed over her bag. A woman’s warm laugh came from inside the room.
You’ve got a woman in there? Bloody hell, when did you pick her up? In the flaming elevator! Her stomach tightened and she ran a hand around the back of her neck at the heat rising within. With eyes prickling and a lump the size of a grapefruit trying to close off her breathing, Zanna’s voice cracked when she bid him goodnight. He acknowledged it with another small nod. She followed the pattern on the carpet to her room telling herself not to look back. On inserting her keycard, her resolve broke and she glanced down the hallway. Through the mist blurring her vision, she saw a flash of white disappearing back into his room.
14
On her way to rejoin Gant, Amanda ducked into her quarters to grab a jacket. The sleeping nurses were gone; their beds made and curtains pulled back. Thank heavens, this hut doesn’t reek like the other one. She laughed out loud. Zanna would probably say it’s a new aftershave: Essence of Alpha Male—The smell of a real man.
Two women entered as she was securing her foot locker. “Well,” said the Navy nurse, “I wouldn’t mind if a few more tribesmen looked half as good as them.”
“Ah,” replied the Army nurse, “but they belong to that reclusive group who only make themselves seen on rare occasions.”
The first woman grimaced. “You make them sound like the Taliban.”
“Not quite,” the other one said, wagging a finger. “These guys are way more dangerous.”
Amanda checked her watch. Yikes, five minutes until I’m supposed to meet Will. He’s so bloody punctual you can set your watch by him and he expects it in others. She explained who she was to the nurses and she was sorry she had to dash.
Gant was not in the office. Lieutenant Edmunds said Amanda would find him in the FST. A battered open-top four-wheel drive was parked outside the hospital. The two Afghan tribesmen sitting in the front smoking regarded her with open curiosity. Amanda bowed her head to avoid their gaze and went inside.
A doctor was attending to the ankle of an Afghan lying propped on his elbows. Gant and two more tribesmen looked on.
“Lieutenant Colonel Wallace,” said Gant, “this is Nurse Wilks.”
Wallace raised his head from examining the ankle and nodded a greeting. The patient smiled at her, and one of the other two Afghans gave her a curt nod. The third, with a bushy black beard and slate gray eyes, glanced over his shoulder at her, adjusted the shemagh around his neck and looked away. The man on the table spoke in heavily accented English. Wallace looked to the patient’s compatriots.
Blackbeard laughed and in a clear English accent said, “He’s from Glasgow. He takes some getting used to.”
This was met with a torrent of abuse from The Glaswegian, the only part of which a bewildered Amanda understood was, “Get it right up ye, yer dotey bassa.” Then his accent changed and although still a strong Scottish burr, it was easier to understand. “So, how does it look, sir? Pretty sure it was a through and through, but it feels like there’s a bullet still in there.”
Wallace nodded. “There’s no bullet, but there are stone fragments.”
“Bugger. It certainly felt like a bullet.”
“No bones appear to be broken, but one might be chipped. We’ll need an X-ray to be sure. And we need to remove those fragments.”
“You can do all that under a local, right? We need to be on the move ASAP.”
Wallace arched his brows. “I can do it without any anesthetic at all if you’d prefer?”
The patient ran his tongue inside his bottom lip. “We dinnae need to go tha’ hardcore, sir.”
Wallace laughed and turned to one of his staff. “Jim, you take this. Will, you come get something to eat before taking a siesta. And you, young man,” he extended his hand to the patient, “keep safe.”
“Amanda,” Gant snapped his fingers in front of her. “I said you’re welcome to dine with us.”
“Who on earth are they?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the patient being wheeled away with his friends in tow.
“Let’s just say they’re on our side,” Wallace said. He clapped his arm around Gant’s shoulder and asked his opinion about an operation he’d conducted the day before.
In the dining facility, Amanda and Gant sat with some more members of base commander and orthopedic surgeon, Lieutenant Colonel Vernon Wallace’s surgical team. All armed. Everyone she met outside on the base was carrying a gun whether they were doing PT, lounging around smoking or engaged in work. OK, Zanna, you drummed it in that I was going to a war zone, but this is eerie. To take her mind from it, Amanda told Gant that she’d managed to deliver Rivera’s letter to Torres.
His left eyebrow twitched. “How did you find him?”
“It wasn’t easy. I asked a few people, but no one seemed to know him.”
Wallace laughed. “They know who he is but they don’t know who you are.”
Honor Courage Commitment Page 9