by Marie Force
“I remember being really excited that we’d finally found him. We were close a few times, most recently at the four-and-a-half-year mark, but this time we knew for sure we had him. On the way in, the hardest part was going through the steps to make sure we didn’t blow it somehow. Everyone was amped and ready to get it done, so waiting for darkness made for a very long day.”
Julianne barely seems to breathe as she listens to me, hanging on my every word. I can’t deny that her interest in me and my story gives me a little charge. I wouldn’t call it excitement, because that would be giving it too much credit. But it definitely makes me feel… something.
“I remember realizing that my two closest friends had been hit and then being hit myself. After that, everything is kind of a blur. I knew right away I was in trouble because of the amount of blood I was losing. Luckily, the team got me out of there quickly, but my friends weren’t as lucky.”
She consults her notes. “Lieutenant Commander Daniel Jones and Lieutenant Commander Miguel Tito were killed during the raid.”
Hearing their names sends a shaft of pain through me that I feel everywhere. Life without Jonesy and Tito is almost as unimaginable to me as life without Ava. I nod in response to her question, gritting my teeth against the ache.
“Had you known them a long time?”
“We went through officer candidate school and SEAL training together. They were the closest thing to brothers I’ve ever had.”
“I’m so sorry you lost them.”
“Thank you. I am, too. They were outstanding officers, inspirational leaders and the best friends anyone could hope to have.” I’m mortified when my voice catches on those last words.
“Would you like to take a break?” she asks with the sympathy that irritated me yesterday. I don’t want it from her or anyone.
I shake my head. I’d rather get it over with than drag it out.
“After the raid, you lost your left leg and then suffered an infection that put you in a month-long coma. When you recovered, you learned that you’d been ‘outed’ by Al Khad’s organization. What was that like for you?”
“It was…” The weeks that followed the coma are also a blur. I was sick and weak and grappling with the losses of my leg and my friends. My only goal then was to get strong enough to see Ava again. “It was shocking to realize everyone knew my name and my face and that people were interested in me. We operate under a necessary cloak of secrecy, which is why talking about this stuff goes against everything I believe in.”
“Why are you talking about it?”
“The Navy sees this as a good opportunity to shed some light on the sacrifices our members make in the interest of national security.”
“I understand that recruitment is way up since the video was released. Do you feel any sense of pride in hearing that?”
“The Navy has been really good to me. It gave me a career and a life I never could’ve imagined for myself growing up in the foster system. I’ll be forever thankful for that, and I hope if there’re other young people out there looking for a direction in life, they’ll consider the Navy and the many opportunities available to them.”
“I imagine it’s also quite shocking to go from being a private citizen to a public figure practically overnight.”
“You imagine correctly. It’s very strange to be recognized in public, but people have been so nice, too. They thank me for my service and sacrifice. It’s nice to feel that we’re appreciated for what we did.”
“Have you heard from any of the Star of the High Seas families?”
I glance at Muncie, who nods. “You’ve gotten letters from them. They’re in the envelopes of mail you haven’t wanted to deal with.”
I gesture toward him with my thumb. “What he said.”
“You’re going to need to read those letters so you’ll be prepared to talk about them when you’re asked. I suspect that’s going to be a fairly common question.”
“I’ll read them.”
“When you deployed, did you leave anyone special behind?”
The question sparks a wildfire of rage inside me. How dare she ask me that? And just as I’m about to say as much, I get what she’s doing. She’s preparing me to handle that question when it’s asked. I choke back the rage and force my expression to stay neutral. “No.” Under no circumstances can the media ever find out about Ava. They’d go crazy tearing her life apart, and I can’t let that happen.
“Just so you know, your reaction to the question was a dead giveaway that you’re lying.”
“I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Well, now you will, and if you wish to keep that aspect of your life private, you’ll need to react differently.”
“I’ll work on it.” Asking me to be unemotional about Ava is like asking me not to breathe. It actually might be less painful to quit breathing than to school my emotions where she’s concerned, but I’ll do it to keep her safe. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her as far from me and my newfound notoriety as I possibly can.
“I’m sorry to upset you, but I figure you’d rather it come from me than be blindsided in an interview.”
She’s right. Of course I would. I offer a brisk nod. “Are there other questions?”
“Why don’t we take a little break before we continue?”
“Fine.” I struggle to my feet and leave the room, closing the bedroom door behind me. I stretch out on the bed and close my eyes, exhausted from the mostly sleepless night and the toll of having to relive things I’d sooner forget. In the other room, I can hear Julianne talking to Muncie, but I don’t care enough to try to figure out what they’re saying.
I’m so fucking tired.
I close my eyes, just for a minute.
Chapter Five
JULIANNE
I stare at the closed door to the bedroom, feeling bad for upsetting him. “I had to ask him that.”
“I know you did, and so does he.”
“Does he really?”
“He knows you’re only doing your job.”
I wonder what he’s doing in there and if he’s going to come back to continue. While I wait, I scroll through email on my phone, answer a couple of inquiries from colleagues and see a longer message from Marcie that I’ll deal with later. I respond to a text from Amy, who’s at JFK for the flight to San Diego and excited for her trip.
See you soon!
Can’t wait.
I’m glad she’s excited for a getaway, and I can’t wait for her to arrive. Having her here will make this difficult job a thousand times easier on me than it would be without her support. It’s always been like that for me—my older siblings represent safety and security to me. While we fought the same way all siblings do growing up, I always knew that any of the three of them would kill for me and vice versa.
I glance at the closed bedroom door again. “Do you think he’s coming back?”
Muncie gets up from his post at the dining room table. “Let me check.” He knocks on the door, and when he gets no answer, he knocks again before poking his head in. “He’s asleep, and we probably ought to leave him be. He doesn’t sleep much at night.”
“I feel bad about this.”
“About what?”
“It’s like I’m throwing salt on his wounds or something.”
“I was surprised he said as much as he did just now. That’s more than I’ve heard him say about any of it in all the months I’ve been working with him. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re good at what you do, and you’re right to prepare him for what he’s apt to be asked.”
“That’s nice to hear. Thank you for all your help.” I gather my belongings and stash them in my oversized purse. “I guess we’ll pick it up tomorrow. I should have an itinerary for you both by then as well.” I spent hours last night returning messages to producers for all the biggest shows on TV. “Needless to say, there’s a lot of interest.”
“I figured there would be.”
I lower my voice,
lest I be overheard. “My greatest concern is that this is going to make things worse for him somehow. He seems… fragile.” I no sooner use that word than I regret it. “That’s not what I mean—”
“You’re not wrong about that. He is fragile in many ways, but I think he understands that the damage is done as far as everyone knowing his name and face, so he may as well work it to his advantage at this point. After he retires, he’ll be able to accept some of the endorsement deals that he’s been offered. That’ll set him up for life.”
“I can’t see him saying yes to any of that.”
“Maybe not now, but he will. When the time is right and if the offer appeals to him. He’d be crazy not to.”
That may be true, but after having known him for all of twenty-four hours, I can’t picture any scenario wherein he becomes a salesman for some random product. I already know it’s not his style to trade on fame that came to him the way his did.
“I’ll check in with you in the morning.”
“Sounds good. Did you get to do some sightseeing yesterday?”
“Not yet. My sister is coming out for a few days. We’re going to do that together.”
“That’ll be fun.”
“Definitely. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Talk to you then.”
I return to my hotel, where I spend a few hours sifting through emails and answering questions from colleagues who have taken on my other clients so I can focus exclusively on Captain West. If there’s an underlying layer of tension in the correspondence with my coworkers, I suppose that’s to be expected when a junior account executive is tapped to represent such a high-profile client. I ignore the snark and answer their questions, even if the pit in my stomach serves as an ever-present reminder of how far out of my league I am.
Regardless, I’m determined to slay this campaign so I can tell the people in my office to suck it.
I spend an hour hammering out the itinerary for our press tour in New York. We’ll start with The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon and then do the network morning shows, Live with Kelly and Ryan and The View. He’s also booked on the big nighttime shows, including The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, Late Night with Seth Meyers and The Daily Show with Trevor Noah.
In LA, he’ll appear on Ellen, The Talk, Jimmy Kimmel Live! and The Late Late Show with James Corden.
I get a little giddy when I realize how huge this is going to be and how I’m now on a first-name basis with the producers at the top shows in the business.
This is Julianne Tilden. I represent Captain John West.
Watch those doors swing wide open. Everyone wants an interview with the American hero who helped bring down the world’s most wanted terrorist. And if you want to get to him, you have to go through me.
I stand up to stretch and do a little happy dance, filled with excitement for the press tour, even if my client wants nothing to do with any of it. That’s his problem, not mine. I no sooner have that thought when I’m hit with the irrational fear that somehow this’ll turn out to be a hot mess and everyone will blame me.
No, that won’t happen. He’s still wearing the uniform and representing the United States Navy. He will do so with honor and distinction, or so I hope.
With just over an hour until Amy’s flight is due to land, I decide to meet her. I rush through a quick shower and change into jeans, a tank top and a sweater that I knot at my waist in case of frigid AC. I find a pair of striped wedge sandals in my suitcase, slide my feet into them, grab my hotel key and head to the lobby, where the bellman summons a cab for me.
I’m on the way to the airport when Amy texts me that she’s landed ten minutes early.
On my way!
I was with Amy, Rob and his wife, Camille, last weekend before I left for San Diego, but it feels like a month has passed since then, and I can’t wait to see Amy. Her presence will give me the support I need right now, and it’ll be fun to have someone to sightsee with, too.
We agree to meet at baggage claim, and I’m scanning the faces coming down the escalator when there she is. I wave to her, and she smiles to let me know she sees me.
It’s crowded, so I have to cool my heels for a few minutes as she makes her way to where I’m waiting for her. And then we’re hugging like we haven’t seen each other in a month.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“You have no idea how glad I am to be here.”
She carried her bag on the plane, so we head outside to find a cab to take us back to the hotel.
“Ahhh, it’s so warm, but not nasty hot like it is at home.”
“I know. I love it. I could get used to this climate awfully quick.”
“I’m ready for cooler weather in New York. The humidity is so gross.”
“What do you feel like doing?”
“Whatever you want.”
“There’s a cool boardwalk behind the hotel we can check out this afternoon.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We arrive at the hotel a few minutes later and take the elevator up to my room.
Amy crosses the room to admire the view of downtown San Diego and the ocean in the distance. “You don’t have to work anymore today?”
“Nope. I’ve been working mornings with…” I’m not sure what I should call him.
“John?”
“Yes. I’m never sure if I should call him John or Captain West or Captain Cranky.”
She snorts with laughter. “Captain Cranky?”
Biting my lip, I nod, fearful of telling even my sister that I’ve thought of him that way. “He’s rather miserable at times.”
“The poor guy. He’s been through so much. Losing six years of his life, his leg, the woman he loved and his anonymity. I really feel for him.”
“I do, too. Of course I do. It’s just that he’s so… bitter. That’s the only word I can think of to describe his overall disposition. I’m worried that’s going to come through in every interview he does.”
“If it does, it won’t be your fault.”
“I want this to go well for him. I want people to appreciate the ordeal he’s endured and not see him as a pissed-off, bitter, heartbroken jerk.”
“Is he a jerk?”
“Sometimes. But I tell myself he has good reason to be.”
“Still, he shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing that. He’s just so… I don’t know how to describe it. He’s incredibly handsome and intense and sexy. I can totally see why Ava was crazy about him. But there’s a dark side to him, too, and I fear that’s what he’ll show the rest of the world when he gets on TV. That’s not really the image the Navy wants us to portray with this campaign, and if they’re unsatisfied, that doesn’t bode well for me.”
“Hmm, I can see what you mean. How about you come right out and say to him, ‘Listen, I know you’ve had a rough go of it, but I’m sure you don’t want to air out your dirty laundry on national TV, so how about you let me help you craft a persona that’ll work for what we’re doing here, and when we’re done, you can go back to being bitchy and moody?’”
I stare at her, agog.
“What? It’s a good idea. You know it is.”
“I’m just trying to picture myself saying that to a client and how it might be received.”
“Who cares how it’s received? He’s hired you to do a job, and he needs to let you do it.”
“His handler, Commander Muncie, would die laughing if I said that to him. He’s had to put up with the crankiness a lot longer than I have.”
“You need to just put it out there so you can do the job you were hired to do.”
“Eh, enough about him. I don’t have to think about him or his bitchiness until tomorrow.”
“Great. Let’s get a drink.”
Overnight, John becomes the king of the one-word answer and the nonanswer.
“Tell me about your childhood.”
“Why?”
“People are interested in where you came from.”
“I’m from nowhere.”
“So you were dropped from space and landed in a nest somewhere? Or perhaps you were spawned? That would actually make more sense.” I’ve never in my entire life talked to a client—or anyone, for that matter—like I’m talking to him. I want to smack him, which is also new for me.
Muncie does that coughing-to-cover-a-laugh thing that’s become part of my daily routine with these two.
For his part, John seems to realize he’s getting to me, so he digs in, becomes moodier, if that’s even possible.
“Commander Muncie.” I never take my gaze off Captain Cranky. “Maybe you should let the Navy know that Captain West isn’t ready to go public with his story, because he’s not willing to do the work necessary to prepare for the questions he’s going to be asked.”
“How am I not cooperating?”
“You’re not answering the questions.”
“I don’t understand why I have to talk about my childhood when the story is about me helping to get Al Khad.”
“It’s part of the overall story of your life, and for some strange reason, people are interested in your life.”
“My life isn’t that interesting—or it wasn’t until Al Khad’s minions released that video.”
“Let me be the judge of what’s interesting and what isn’t.”
“How about we put my childhood off-limits?”
“Then you’ll have to talk more about the deployment, the mission, losing your leg and your plans for the future. Which is worse?”
“The childhood.”
I’m instantly curious about the details of his childhood. “I know how hard this is for you—”
“Do you? Really?”
He makes a good point.
“No. I don’t,” I say, sighing. “But I’m trying to help you to craft a message you can take to these interviews. How about you help me do that so we can get it over with and then you can go back to being cranky and moody?”
Muncie doesn’t even try to hide his laughter this time.