“I had peanuts and they brought us soda to—”
“They gave us cookies too. I liked them—”
“Slow down, children.” Julia placed her hands on their shoulders. “Papa won’t understand you if you both talk at once. Lina, you go first.”
Five minutes passed as the children poured out details about their adventure. Her husband smiled, nodded, said, “Ah” and “Wonderful” and “You don’t say” whenever he could squeeze a word in. They slowed, more because they needed to breathe than the lack of things to say. Hector took advantage of it.
“I will see you soon. I have two more days here in Rome then I’ll fly straight to meet you.”
“Will you bring us something, Papa?”
“Perhaps, Lina. What are your plans for today and tomorrow?”
Nestor shrugged. “Mamá can say it better.”
Julia looked into the camera. “Today we rest. We will watch television and maybe a movie then have dinner in the hotel. Tomorrow they’ve arranged for a tour around the city and a boat ride.”
“I’ve never been on a boat before.” Lina jumped in place, unable to suppress her excitement.
“I wish I could go with you. Maybe if you like the boat trip we can do it again when I get there. I also want to show you where I grew up.”
“Okay,” Lina said.
“I want to go into the jungle.” Nestor remained more reserved than his sister.
“I’ll see what I can do. Now let me talk to your mother.”
The children disappeared into the adjoining room.
“They’re so excited, Hector. This has been a big adventure for them.”
“I’m glad. And what about you? Is it such a big adventure?”
“Yes … most of the time. I worry some. We’re so far from home.”
“You grew up in Caracas just as I did.”
“I know, but we’ve been gone so long. I feel out of place. My family …” There was no need for her to finish. Hector and she were dating when her parents died in an auto accident. An only child, she was all that remained.
“I feared this might stir up old pains.” Even thousands of miles of Internet connections couldn’t hide the concern in his face. “It is why I suggested we turn down the invitation.”
“Nonsense. I’m a woman. I have the right to feel down from time to time. I want to be here when they honor you. It is one of the joys of being married to a great man.”
“I’m not a great man, Julia. I’m just a man who loves his work.”
“You’re a nuclear scientist. How many women can say, ‘I married a nuclear scientist’?”
That made him laugh. “If you were with me at this conference, you would be surrounded by such women. And men too.”
“So you are well?”
He nodded. “I feel fine. A little weary from the travel and the difference in time zones. It is already late here. I am six hours ahead of Caracas time.”
“You must be exhausted.”
“I’m fine. Did you have any trouble at the airport? Did they ask you questions?”
“Someone from the government met us. He showed his identification to the customs agents and security. No one stopped us or asked questions. He even carried our bags.”
“It sounds like they’re treating you well.”
“The hotel room is beautiful. I didn’t expect such luxury. It’s a suite with two bedrooms and a large common room. It has a kitchen with a refrigerator filled with food and drinks. I’m having trouble keeping the children from eating it all.”
“Let them have some fun. This is all new to them.”
“Spoken like a father who will not have to get up in the middle of the night and tend their upset stomachs.”
“Just make sure they’re well when I arrive. I plan to spoil them unmercifully.”
“You always do.”
“I’ll be praying for you.”
Her voice softened. “And we’ll be praying for you.”
They said good night and Julia ended the video call. As she did, it seemed as if the distance between them had grown. It was good seeing his face and hearing his voice, but it came nowhere close to having him near enough to touch, to hug, to kiss.
“Mamá, Nestor hit me with his book!”
“No, I didn’t. Liar!”
Julia sighed, rose, and walked from the computer.
* * *
THE MAN IN THE adjoining room winced when the child shrieked. He pulled his headphones away from his ears just before the boy replied with equal volume.
“Brats.”
He replaced the headphones and continued listening to the activity on the other side of the wall.
CHAPTER 11
J.J. BARTLEY LEANED BACK in his chair in the Atlanta airport waiting area and watched his team leader scowl. Moyer wore a light-blue shirt, a dark-blue tie, charcoal-colored suit pants, and dress shoes and looked more uncomfortable than J.J. had ever seen him. J.J. wore a similar set of clothes, except his shirt was white and his tie yellow. The shoes needed walking in to loosen the leather at the heel and to scuff the slick sole. He only owned one suit, which he wore to weddings and funerals. There had been no time to return home and retrieve it. The off-the-rack garment he wore would have to do.
“You okay, Boss … Eric?”
“I’m fine, why?”
“You look pretty uncomfortable. Suit getting to you?”
“Nah, it’s not the suit.”
“Ah.”
Moyer furrowed his brow. “What’s that mean?”
“What?”
“That all-knowing, smart-alecky ‘Ah.’”
“Not a thing. It’s just that I have a friend who hates to fly. Any time he has to get on a plane he squirms, sweats, and spends a lot of time in the head. Flying upsets his, um, digestion.”
“J.J., how did we get here?”
“We flew in on a commuter.”
“Did I look afraid on that flight?”
“No, but—”
“We’ve done several …” Moyer looked around the waiting area, and J.J. did the same. The place was empty. Their flight didn’t leave for two hours, so they had settled on a less crowded waiting area fifty yards down the terminal. “We’ve done several missions together. You’ve seen me fly on helos and military transport craft. You’ve seen me do HALO jumps. What makes you think a ride in a Boeing 737 is going to put any sweat on my brow?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t like commercial craft. I’m not saying you’re afraid to fly, just that you remind me of my friend. Still, you look uncomfortable.”
“It’s not the suit, and it’s not the flight.”
“You sick? I mean, you’ve hit the latrine several times since we landed.”
“That was two hours ago, J.J. A man’s got the right to use the bathroom when he wants.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
“Good. What say we drop the subject?”
“Will do.”
“Good. Watch our luggage.”
“Where you going … never mind. See you when you get back.”
* * *
MOYER FELT BAD ABOUT giving J.J. such a hard time. The man had just been asking about his welfare. J.J. was observant; he had been trained to be that way. Still, being pressed by a junior member grated his nerves.
J.J. had been right about one thing: Moyer had been using the restroom more than usual. His stomach twisted as if he had eaten a three-week-old sandwich. As much as that bothered him, it wasn’t nearly as disturbing as seeing blood in the toilet.
CHAPTER 12
“WHEN IS HE COMING home?” Gina sat at the dinner table with her mother. Stacy had set the table for three, but only two of the family sat around the oak dining set.
“I don’t know, sweetie.” Stacy set a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. “You know that Daddy takes these trips from time to time and we never know how long he’ll be gone. Maybe this will be only for a few days.”
�
��I hope so. I miss him when he’s gone.”
“He misses you, too.” Stacy looked at her daughter: straight brown hair with blonde highlights hanging past the shoulder, blue eyes that at times seemed brighter than possible, thin frame, and an infectious smile. At twelve years she was still at that wonderful age where parent and child enjoyed each other’s company. Her father often claimed that he lost his free will the day Gina was born. Stacy believed it—and so did Gina. She could play her father like Beethoven played the piano.
Gina was the light in the family, but Stacy wondered how she would change as twelve became thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and— heaven help her—sixteen. Already she was showing signs of shedding childhood and embracing the world of young adults. Soon the hormones would increase from a trickle to a flood, parents would suddenly seem stupid and stifling, and being popular would become as important as breathing. Then again, maybe Gina would be one of those who flew through the teenage years with grace and purpose. Or she might go through it as Stacy had. Stacy’s mother had promised that one day her children would pay her back for the way she treated her mother. So far, one had.
“You made gravy.” Gina pushed the ladle through the thick fluid. “I love gravy.”
“So does your father. I planned the meal before he called.”
“Where’s Rob? He’s late for dinner.”
Stacy wondered when the question would come. “I don’t know. Did he say anything to you?”
“No. He never tells me anything. Did you call his phone?”
“I’ve tried his cell phone several times, but no answer.”
“Did you leave a message?”
“Leave a message? You can leave messages on them fancy no-wire phones?”
Gina put the ladle down. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I left several messages.”
She moved back to the kitchen, removed the fried chicken from the paper towels she used to sop up the excess grease, and placed it on the platter. There was enough food for six people. Rob ate like he had two stomachs, and Eric packed down more food than he should. He remained trim through daily exercise, but someday that would end. His metabolism would change as he approached his late forties, and she feared he would balloon. Considering he was headed to an unknown part of the world to do some kind of military work to complete some kind of mission, a little weight gain seemed like a small thing. He never spoke of the places he went and the work he did. Maybe someday, but not today or tomorrow or the next few years. Maybe never. She often told herself she didn’t want to know.
“Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy.” Gina arched a brow. “My health teacher would have a cow if she saw all this.”
“Invite her over, we can barbecue the cow.”
“Mom, you know what I mean.”
“You know, we don’t eat like this every night. Your father seemed distracted the last few days, and I thought he might like an old-fashioned, heart-clogging meal. You don’t have to eat it.”
“Bet me.” Gina spooned out a mound of potatoes.
Stacy sat in her usual seat and let her eyes drift to the two empty chairs around the table.
* * *
“YOU LOOK A TAD pale, Eric. You sure you’re okay?” J.J. knew he was pressing his luck. Moyer was fair but often impatient.
“I told you, I’m fine. Good to go. Ready to rock. You don’t believe me?”
J.J. forced a smile. “Just wondering if you’re contagious.” “Thanks for your concern, but you’re safe. Like I said, I ate something that hasn’t settled well. I’m feeling better, so let it go.” “Will do. You da boss. I’m just a lowly middle executive for an oil company.”
“And don’t you forget it.” Moyer sat and stretched his legs. “I hate airports. As a kid, I loved them: so many people, noises, and things to see. Now it’s just something to endure to get from one place to another.”
“At least you don’t have to wear a parachute.”
“I’d feel better if I did.” He sighed. “I’m making quite a sacrifice to be here, you know. Stacy thought I needed a pick-me-up and promised fried chicken with all the fixings. Man, she makes a mean fried chicken.”
J.J. closed his eyes. “My mother used to fix country meals. Now I feel guilty if I eat food like that.” “Well, danger is our business, and if it means going toe-to-toewith potatoes and gravy, then I’m willing to risk it.”
“Except your upset stomach would ruin it all.”
“I’d risk it.”
“You miss her already.”
Moyer nodded. “Goes with the territory. I know it. She knows it.”
“That’s the advantage of being single.”
Moyer shook his head. “That’s the disadvantage of being single. When you have a family, you’re fighting for more than patriotic ideals. You fight to make sure your family remains safe.” He paused. “How come you don’t have a girl? A good-looking guy like you should have women dogging his steps. This isn’t one of those don’t-ask-don’t-tell things, is it?”
J.J. laughed. “If it were, then you just asked. No, nothing like that. I do my fair share of dating but haven’t found the right fit. Made lots of friends but haven’t made the connection I’m looking for.”
“This is one of those church things, isn’t it?”
“I suppose. I want to marry, but I need a spiritual woman who understands what I do. I’ve met a number of women who have been impressed that I’m Army, but no matter how fascinated they seem I can tell they don’t like the idea of being married to a military man. They ask, ‘Have you ever been stationed overseas?’ and when I mention being stationed in Germany for a couple of years, the sparkle goes out of their eyes.”
Moyer nodded. “Takes a special woman to hang with men like us. I don’t know how Stacy does it.”
“That’s the thing. In my case, I need someone who understands my travel needs, my work, my love for—“ he grinned—“hardware and things that go boom. And she has to be a person of faith. A lot of people fall in love with love, but then it isn’t long before the relationship starts taking a beating. I believe in marrying for life. The one thing I don’t want to do is have to choose between career and marriage. It’s not fair to the woman, but it comes with the package.”
“I don’t know how you do it. I couldn’t do this work and be a Christian. I’d have to give up one.”
The words soured J.J. “I couldn’t do this without being a Christian. It’s how I keep my sanity. It keeps me human.” He studied Moyer’s expression. “I’m talking about me and no one else, you understand.”
“Yeah, I got it.” After a moment, Moyer said, “You had me worried. I thought the team was going to lose you.”
“Lose me? Why would you think … oh. Afghanistan.”
“You looked pretty shook—no, not shook—troubled. You looked deeply troubled at the end.”
J.J. looked down the aisle: a man and woman, each towing a rolling suitcase, walked by. He waited for them to pass before speaking again. “I won’t lie to you, Boss. It bothered me. Still does. I helped kill a couple of men who did nothing more than follow their sheep into the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, we made the world a slightly better place by defeating a terrorist cell. No worries. I’m not going anyplace the Army doesn’t send me.”
“That’s good. The Army spent a ton of money training you. I’d hate to think my hard-earned tax dollars went for nothing.” “Hey, I pay taxes too.”
Moyer laughed, and it seemed to J.J. that he was looking better. Moyer laughed again. “I gotta tell ya, I’ve never met a man who loves Jesus and guns so much. I don’t claim to understand it.”
J.J. took his fair share of ribbing for being a Holy Roller, but he never let it bother him. Jesus had hung on a cross; the least J.J. could do is take a few jokes and jabs.
He looked down at the luggage near his feet. “Neither do I.”
CHAPTER 13
THE DARKNESS OF THE alley threatened to swallow the dim light from di
stant streetlamps and a late-rising moon. It also threatened to swallow the man who sat on the concrete stoop behind his restaurant. To his left were two dumpsters. In front of the dumpsters, shrouded by the dark, was the blood-stained pavement where his son had died.
The restaurant appeared more tomb than business. A single light burned inside and dribbled through the open back door. The concrete stoop was hard and dirty, but Reuben didn’t care. The pain in his heart and mind was so fierce he could feel nothing else. Estella was inside writing thank-you notes for those who had sent cards and well wishes. She had paused to weep and that was when Reuben moved outside.
He needed air.
He needed to be alone.
He needed courage.
The latter was slow in coming. He knew what he wanted to do, what he longed to do. For the last ten minutes he had stared down the alley toward the street that ran in front of his eatery. The killer had come from that direction. He didn’t need to be a policeman to figure that out. He had walked down the alley, raised a pistol, and pulled the trigger three times. And a good boy, a smart boy, a loving boy, his boy had breathed his last.
Reuben prayed. He prayed God would send the man back down the alley. Perhaps to revisit the crime, maybe to gloat. Maybe to mock Reuben. He didn’t care, just as long as his son’s killer appeared.
The gun in Reuben’s hand felt heavy and cold. It wasn’t a fancy weapon, just a cheap .38 he bought at a sporting goods store. He kept it near the register in case someone thought he had a right to Reuben’s money. But the money didn’t matter now. The restaurant no longer mattered.
He looked at the weapon in his hand and wondered if it would hurt once he placed the barrel in his mouth and squeezed the trigger. He was close to doing it. The courage had at last arrived, but one thing kept his hands resting in his lap: Estella. She would hear the sound. She’d know what it meant. She would run to the back door and find her husband with half his head missing and lying in a pool of blood.
The thought of her losing a son and a husband in one week made the gun too heavy to lift, the barrel too difficult to point.
Certain Jeopardy Page 6