At the Brink

by Anna del Mar

  The smoke, the stink of burning gasoline, the charred chunks splashing in the ocean. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe in Afghanistan. But here?

  Lily. She had to be alive. She had to.

  My mind knew without a doubt what I’d witnessed. A limpet mine—no, two limpets, a small, disabling one and a large one, blowing the Vagabond to pieces. I’d seen mines like those many times as a SEAL. Hell, I had placed them myself to disable enemy watercraft.

  The flashback almost knocked me off my feet.

  Helmand Province, Afghanistan. I stood by the door of the walled baked brick compound. Our mission was to infiltrate hostile-controlled territory through the Helmand River and eliminate one of the world’s most accomplished terrorists, who doubled as the boss of the largest opium-producing network in Afghanistan.

  By all accounts, it had been a successful mission—based on solid intelligence and executed flawlessly. We had netted numbers one, two and three in the network as they met in the innocuous little villa on the banks of the river. I was on my way out when I noticed that some of the guys lingered at the house next door, including Petty Officer Santos, Lieutenant Junior Grade Roberts and Corpsman First Class Elton Chavez.

  I motioned for Riker, Mac and Amman to move out, then strode back into the mud house.

  “What’s the holdup?” I stepped over the bodies piled in the main room.

  “CYA,” Santos said, taking a picture of one of the dead terrorists.

  “Cover your ass, sir.” Chavez took a DNA swipe of the blood of another one of the dead men. “We wouldn’t want the Afghans or the Navy Jags accusing us of war crimes.”

  “Next we know, they’ll say these fuckers were at a prayer meeting.” Lieutenant Roberts aimed his camera at the crates of weapons we’d found in the house, already wired for detonation.

  Amman stuck his head in the door. “Three mikes to pick up. Got to go.”

  Chavez’s head snapped up. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” Santos said.

  “A sound, coming from the pile.”

  I whirled on my heels. “Quiet!”

  There was a noise among the dead. Someone praised Allah. And then a grenade wobbled out of the pile and bounced off the wired crate of weapons...

  A third explosion rattled the cove, forcing me back to the present. Tears burned down my cheeks. Santos and Roberts were dead. Lily. Was she dead too?

  I maneuvered to the explosion’s epicenter and dropped the anchor. My mind turned into a precision tool, noting the tides, the debris radius, the oily smear, flaring with flames in places. Three minutes. That’s how long it had taken me to race out here. A person could drown in less than that. I shed everything that weighed me down and, pushing off the gunwales, dove into the water.

  The water was probably not very cold but it felt like ice to my body. Fear burned inside me like a high-grade fever. I drew on my training as a combat swimmer to shake off the shock. My arms and legs pumped in trained sequence, propelling my body through the water, challenging my endurance. Years of additional training sharpened my strokes, streamlined my course and maximized my swimming efficiency. My heart drummed a desperate beat and my lungs burned, but I motored through the water at top speed.

  In my mind, I divided the scene into a grid and calculated the probabilities for debris distribution, taking into account the wind, currents and explosion patterns. Only one scenario offered any probability of survival. It entailed the first explosion hurling Lily out of the boat prior to the other two explosions. Even then, the odds of survival were low, less than two percent. The hell with the odds.

  I swam along the grid’s main axis, moving forward from the original point of impact, dodging the fires by swimming beneath or around them. The gas fumes burned my lungs. The saltwater stung my eyes. But visibility was optimum. The sun’s rays pierced the ocean’s clear waters and illuminated shallow sea beds ranging from fifteen to twenty feet in depth. A school of fish darted around me in disarray. A blackened and mangled motor lay on the seabed.

  My muscles ached with the effort. My lungs struggled to compensate for the punishing speed. I didn’t care if it exploded like the Vagabond. Despair gnawed at me like a remora attached to my guts. I couldn’t give up. I was going to find Lily.

  Swimming wasn’t just part of my training. It was part of my genetic makeup. I’d grown up with it, mastered it and used it to achieve success at the pinnacle of my career. Then came that time when the mere thought of swimming across the cove—never mind the bay—had been a farfetched dream in the middle of a nightmare. I hadn’t given up then and I wasn’t going to give up now. I swam for my life, which was directly linked to Lily’s.

  And then I saw her. Thirty feet or so at my three o’clock, sinking down through layers of refracting sunlight, framed by crimson tentacles of blood. Panic propelled me through those last few strokes. I closed the distance in seconds that felt like years and took a deep breath before I dove, five feet, ten feet. My ears popped. Fifteen feet. I caught her arm. Her hand was listless in mine. The sun illuminated her face as I pulled her up to the surface. Her eyes were open but empty of light.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Lily

  The sound of discord woke me up. A whispered quarrel ensued—someone was very upset. I opened one eye and spotted Josh having an argument with a man in a white jacket, a doctor. Josh looked nothing like his usual self. Actually, he looked terrible. His clothes were all rumpled. His hair stuck up every which way. His dark beard’s shadow was way past six o’clock and purple smudges underscored his eyes.

  The memories began to trickle in. I remembered the pictures, the boat, the darkness closing in on me. My brain came online but I was in pain and I couldn’t process my thoughts clearly. Instead, I struggled to figure out where I was and how I’d gotten here. My left arm was bandaged. My left leg was propped up. My right arm was hooked to an IV. My throat felt raw. But it was my head giving me all the trouble. I tried to lift it up from the pillow and suffered a blinding burst of red.

  “Lily?” Josh’s voice sounded very near. “Lily, sweet, are you awake?”

  I flinched. “Let’s use our inside voices, shall we?”

  “Thank God.” Josh’s face swam before me. “You’re back.”

  “Back from where?”

  “You stopped breathing, Lily. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “What happened?” I tried to remember but ended up wincing in pain instead. “Oh, God. My head... It really, really hurts.”

  “You took a bad blow to the head,” Josh said. “You’ve been fighting a hematoma exerting pressure on your brain.”

  “Where am I?” I took in the room.

  “We medevacked you back to Boston. You’re at Mass General.”

  I was at the hospital? I threw one leg over the side of the bed and tried to roll out.

  Josh held me back. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I can’t be here,” I said, mortified.

  “Why not?”

  “I have no health insurance.”

  “I’ve got it covered,” he said, easing me back on the bed. “Now, please lie down.”

  “Hospitals bills are a lot to take care of,” I said. “I know. I’m still paying Mom’s.”

  “Lily, for God’s sake, will you stop fussing and lay still?” Josh said. “The doctor says you need to rest. Don’t be stubborn, okay? Tell her, doctor.”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “Miss Boswell? I’m Doctor Patel. How do you feel?”

  “I have a humongous headache.” I settled back into bed under Josh’s watchful eyes, but only because he was so upset. “How long was I unconscious?”

  Josh looked at his watch. “Four days, twelve hours and twenty-three—no—twenty-four minutes.”

  I opened my mouth
and closed it. “That’s a long time.”

  “I’ve been worried sick,” Josh said. “The moron here kept saying you’d wake up any time.”

  “I beg your pardon,” the doctor said in a proper British accent. “He is rather an unpleasant man, isn’t he?”

  “Please,” I said. “Be patient with him.”

  “I shall try, Miss Boswell, but only because you asked.” Dr. Patel cracked a smile. “Can you see me well enough?”

  Nodding was out of the question. “You’re blurry, but I can see you.”

  “The CT scans show that you suffered a hairline fracture and an epidural hematoma to the temple involving the middle meningeal artery. The hematoma is resolving on its own. As it does, your headache will subside and your vision will improve. My best guess is that you hit the water head first. Can you move all your toes and fingers?”

  Everything felt achy and rusted, but everything worked.

  “Brilliant,” the doctor said. “You’ve sustained some contusions, cuts and scrapes. You had a lot of water in your lungs, but the pulmonologist is pleased with your progress. You’ve got a sprained ankle and a compound fracture of the radius and the ulna.”

  Well, that explained that throbbing pain in my arm.

  “But the good news is that the orthopedic surgeon operated on your arm while you were under,” the doctor announced cheerfully. “Mr. Lane extracted Doctor Carl Lowenstein from a conference in Beijing and flew him here. He insisted only the world’s premier arm reconstruction specialist would do. With a proper rehab course, your prognosis to restore full use of your arm is excellent.”

  “Beijing.” I looked at Josh. “Really?”

  “He’s the best.”

  “I believe the worst is now behind us,” Doctor Patel said. “I’ve assured Mr. Lane that our hospital staff is eminently qualified to address your injuries, but he seems to have trust issues.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Does he ever.”

  “I can assure you, Miss Boswell. My team and I have worked hard. I haven’t been home in days. We’ve gone well beyond the standard of care.”

  “Maybe your standard of care,” Josh grumbled, “but not mine.”

  The doctor sighed.

  “Josh, please.” I wasn’t exactly sure of what had happened, but I could see that Josh had had a very difficult time. “I’m sure you’ve been through a lot.” I squeezed his hand, trying to soothe him. “But let’s be kind to Doctor Patel so we can get out of here.”

  The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. You’ve had major surgery and I’d like to keep you under observation for at least another forty-eight hours.”

  “I want to go home.” I turned to Josh and pleaded with him. “I hate hospitals. People die in hospitals. People languish in hospitals and never go home again.”

  Something clicked in Josh’s eyes. “Can you arrange to have her looked after at home?”

  Doctor Patel shook his head. “It’s an expensive proposition.”

  “Do it,” Josh said. “Right away. If Lily wants to go home, she’s going home.”

  “My dear Miss Boswell, I wish you a swift recovery.” The doctor shared a suffering smile with me. “In time, you will heal. Mr. Lane, on the other hand, has no hope.”

  I laughed and winced at the same time.

  As soon as the doctor left, Josh took my hand, kissed it and held on to it, melting my heart with the simple gesture.

  “What on earth happened?” I asked.

  “What do you remember?”

  I closed my eyes and made an effort to think. “I was on the boat and then there was a noise, really loud, like a blast. It hit me from behind, sent me flying, I think.” I remembered the water coming at me very fast. Darkness. The sunlight shining above me. It was peaceful. A shadow breaking up the light. Josh. I remembered something else, something important...

  “Yes, sweet, that’s what happened,” Josh said. “You were hurled out of the boat.”

  “Was there something wrong with the Vagabond?” I thought of another possibility. “Oh, my God, Josh. Did I wreck your beautiful boat?”

  “You didn’t wreck the Vagabond, so please don’t worry. Okay? There was an explosion. We’re investigating.”

  An explosion? Investigating? My brain might be working slowly, but I knew what he wasn’t telling me. “Someone tried to kill you,” I said. “Who?”

  “Hush, Lily, it’s all right. We don’t know who yet, but I can assure you, we’re going to find out.”

  “But if someone tried to kill you they might still be at it.”

  “We’ve taken all the necessary precautions,” Josh said. “You’re no longer in danger.”

  “Me?” I shouldn’t have scoffed, but I did and instantly regretted it, because the pain in my head flared. “No, not me, Josh. Whoever did this was after you.”

  “It’s one of the possibilities we’re investigating.”

  “But—”

  “Lily, calm down,” Josh said. “If you want to help, the best thing you can do is talk to Riker and Mac, who are waiting outside. They have some questions for you. The explosion happened in Mac’s jurisdiction and Riker has joined the probe. But I’ll only allow them to come in if you can handle it. Try to relax. Okay? Do you think you can do that for me?”

  “I can handle it.” I was worried sick about Josh. “I’m good.”

  “Hey, Lils,” Mac said when he came into the room. “How’s my soul sister feeling?”

  “Like I’m ten feet under water.”

  “Are you up for a little chat?” Riker said.

  “Sure.”

  “If she gets tired, you two are out of here,” Josh warned.

  “Let’s go over everything that happened,” Mac said. “Shall we?”

  He asked me a lot of questions, walking me patiently through my experience at the helm of the Vagabond, writing down everything on his little notebook while Riker listened quietly.

  “And before this happened,” he asked, “did you see or sense anything out of the ordinary?”

  I thought about that. “Everything was fine.” I frowned. “I do remember seeing something by the dock the day before. I thought it was a manatee or something.”

  “Josh mentioned that,” Mac said.

  “The fuckers got in like frogmen do.” Josh’s voice was hoarse with fury. “A diver placed those mines. I should’ve looked into it when I had the chance, before any of this happened.”

  I squeezed his hand. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “What about before you got to the cove?” Mac said. “Did you ever spot any strangers hanging around? Did you receive any odd visitors, phone calls, threats?”

  “Um, well.” I avoided Josh’s gaze. “I didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary, but...”

  “But what?” Josh’s stare was glued to my face. “What is it?”

  I gnawed on my lips, which felt as harsh and gritty as sand paper.

  Josh rumbled. “Lily?”

  “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to worry you,” I said. “You’re always so busy and everyone depends on you for everything...”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Nothing happened,” I said, “but, um, someone wrote some nasty things on my door.”

  “On your door?” Realization dawned on Josh. “Damn it, it was the night I was in Philly, wasn’t it? That’s why you were upset. I knew it! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I tried to deal with it on my own,” I said. “I didn’t want to bother you. I went to the police.”

  “The police?” Josh glowered. “You went to the police instead of coming to me?”

  “I filed a report.” My head ached. “I took pictures. They’re on my phone.”
r />   “We retrieved your personal effects from the cove,” Riker said. “The phone is among them.”

  Glaring equal parts of rage and dismay, Josh stalked to the bag in the corner and began ripping through it like a man possessed.

  “Anything else?” Mac asked softly.

  I rubbed my eyes. “Someone texted me on my cell. I saved it to show it to the community relations officer. It should be there.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Josh stalked back to my bed, strangling the phone in his hand.

  “I’ll take that.” Riker pried the phone from Josh’s fingers and examined the pictures and the text.

  “I can understand that there are few screw-ups wanting to kill me,” Josh said. “But Lily? Who the hell wouldn’t like Lily?”

  It was such a sweet thing to say, even if said with so much anger. I closed my eyes.

  “I know you’re tired, Lily,” Mac said. “Just a couple more questions, all right?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Who do you think sent you these?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you think of anybody who could have been involved with these texts?” Riker said.

  “That’s why I went to the police,” I said. “I didn’t want to make any false accusations against anyone or get anyone fired.”

  “Fired?” I thought Josh’s head might explode on the spot, but he took a deep breath and got his temper under control. “Lily, just tell us, please. I won’t get mad. I won’t rush to judgment. I swear.”

  So I told them, about the party, about what Thomas Stratton had said to me, about Ernest Chamberlain’s offer, and my confrontation with Lisa Artiaga in the bathroom.

  “I knew that night was rough on you,” Josh squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I just didn’t know how rough.”

  “Lily’s statement adds quite a few new blips to our radar,” Riker said.

  “Who else you got?” Mac said.

  “In addition to Chamberlain, Stratton and Artiaga, I’ve got the protesters from the Hell on Earth Church, that odd guy, Shepard, and Shah, the fanatic imam. And that’s only my short list.”