Recall

by David McCaleb

  Carter’s stool screeched on the wood floor as he stood. “Just wanted you to hear it from me. Never know which way these things will turn.” He lifted the tip of one toe, then squinted at Red. “What did Dr. Sato say?”

  “She thinks I’m a brain-damaged assassin.”

  Carter’s lip curled in a sneer.

  Red laughed. “Yeah, the same look I left with.”

  “Least the brain damage part made sense.” Lori bobbed her head playfully side to side.

  Carter glanced at his watch. “Well, that’s Sato. Anything else?”

  “Said she does psych work for the military. Mainly PTSD.”

  “Military? So she contracts with them, too.... She told me CIA. Makes more money in a week than I make all year. Moonlights for the county in her extra time. That’s how we got you in.” Carter’s eyes were bright as he looked back, walking to the door. He grabbed the knob as a loud knocking came from the other side.

  Red put his hands into warm pockets. “Probably from next door. Post office gets confused. Neighbors get our mail. You can let ’em in. We’ll talk again soon.”

  * * *

  Carter’s grip on the doorknob tightened. He squared up and took a breath, focusing on the jamb. The paint on the door’s edge was cracked and a chip revealed bare metal beneath. Why was an alarm sounding in his head? It was as if some random piece of the puzzle had fallen into place, but he didn’t know which.

  He resisted the temptation to throw the door open. Instead, he forced a smile and slowly pulled. The cold frost pushed into the warm room, bringing with it the fragrance of Givenchy.

  Atop a snow-encrusted doormat stood a man in an Air Force long coat. He was as tall as Carter but more muscular, and had silver eagles on his shoulders. MAYARD was engraved on his blue name tag. Closely trimmed gray hair jutted below a flight cap. Sharp-jawed and steel-eyed, he could have been a recruiting poster in his younger years. Water beaded on his patent leather shoes and the hems of his well-pressed pants were wet.

  Carter stood in the opening like a bouncer and scanned the front yard. Nothing moved behind the blue-coated man. A blue Ford Taurus was parked ahead of his squad car, bumpers almost touching. Fresh footprints slogged in a straight line from it to the front door, despite the walkway being shoveled. The colonel’s gaze seemed to pierce Carter and focus on Red. The man raised an eyebrow. “Red! Long time, old friend!”

  The blue-coated colonel stamped his feet hard, knocking the snow from his shoes. “Pardon me,” he muttered, brushing against Carter, as if noticing him only now, forcing his way into the living room.

  Red’s mouth drew into a grin. “Jim!” He extended a hand and, after a firm shake, they ended up in that awkward yet manly hug that happens when one encounters a close friend from the distant past. Red’s body language seemed at ease. Carter studied Lori, but her smile was only slight, nothing he could qualify as an unconscious signal.

  Red made the introductions. “Jim, this is Matt Carter, a detective from the sheriff’s department. New friend of mine. He stopped by to let me know I’m about to be an Internet star.”

  “What?”

  “Long story. Tell you later. Carter, Major Jim Mayard, a very, very old friend, from a previous life.”

  “Colonel,” Carter said, glancing at Jim’s shoulders. “Full bird.”

  “Has it been that long?” Red asked.

  “Four years. Just pinned on. Only three as a light colonel.” Mayard’s words were clipped, but his smile revealed the pride of his accomplishment.

  “And still haven’t figured out you’re a waste of oxygen?”

  “Only rumors.”

  “I can speed up the dishonorable discharge. Remember what we made you do when you couldn’t hold your liquor against that female staff sergeant?”

  Jim laughed and slapped Red on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. A subdued warning entered his voice. “You haven’t changed. The prodigal returns and it’s like I never left.” He leaned close to Red’s ear, but spoke loud enough for all to hear. “The only thing that said female about her were the dog tags.”

  Lori cleared her throat.

  Jim turned to her with arms outstretched. “The real reason for my visit—this sexy lady. How’s the woman in my dreams?”

  “Still waiting for you to ditch your wife.” Lori gave him a hug, standing on her tiptoes. His embrace lifted her from the floor, her frame dwarfed by his. He put her down and straightened his back as if called to attention, gray eyes aimed at Carter. There was a story behind that look, Carter sensed. Jim was smiling. The mood of Red and Lori, bright. No distrust he could discern. But Jim’s eyes . . . their whites were cold and the irises, hard as granite.

  “What’s this ‘Internet star’ thing? Red’s got me curious,” Jim asked.

  Carter extended his hand as he took a step toward the door. “I’ll let Red fill you in, sir. Nice meeting you. Gotta run. You two catch up. Red, we’ll be in touch.”

  Carter stepped outside and shut the door behind him, forcing himself to not look back. His mind was unsettled, thoughts bouncing.

  He’d grown fond of Red over the last couple weeks. Harmon was the kind of guy you could only say good things about. Everyone in town knew him, even the grain farmer with the dental bridge at the diner. He’d sat next to him when Carter had met Red there for lunch. The farmer had pointed to one of his front teeth, explaining how Red had knocked it out in a football game. The guy had even slipped out early and paid for their lunch.

  Fresh snow was frosted over a rough layer of ice on the handle of Carter’s cruiser. He tried it, but it held fast. He pulled up harder and it broke loose with a crunch. His grip slipped off and the handle smacked back down.

  “Son of a bitch!” He cradled throbbing fingers with his other hand. Two nails were folded backwards in the middle. The blood seeped into his cold palm. A snowflake dropped into the middle of the red pool, its pure white contrasting with the steaming deep red. Apart from the pain, a beautiful, delicate sight. The blood pushed its way up between the flake’s crystals, which melted it as quickly as it had appeared.

  An idea floated to the surface. He stared at the blood, just a few drops now, hitting the perfectly white snow beneath the car door. He tried to hold the thought, not wanting it to slip away. What had eluded him about Red? How did such dissimilar pieces fit the same puzzle? He now realized he’d been distracted. The mystery wasn’t the pieces, but the material from which they were made. Seeing Red with the colonel . . . within Red, then, Carter sensed—danger.

  He hunched over, cradling the thought. Had he been sensing his own fear, his own reaction to what he’d unconsciously perceived? If so, why hadn’t he seen it before? Yes, because Red didn’t even know it was there. Other killers had thin facades. But Red had no such thing. He was, indeed, both killer and family man.

  Carter winced as he pushed his fingernails back down. He shook the last blood onto the snow, then got into the Malibu. As he pulled away, the skeletons of winter trees stood in the foreground of a bright orange eastern sky. The sun warmed his face.

  Danger . . . Good to see it there.

  * * *

  Jim Mayard eyed Carter through the living room window as his tires crunched over packed snow. The icy ruts seemed to be hanging around forever on the streets. Unusual, this heavy snow. Moist, like in North Korea during last month’s snoop and poop. He pulled his finger back from the curtains and turned to Red, scrunching his nose. “Seems like a nice enough guy.”

  Red smirked. “You’re just turned on because he called you sir.”

  “Beats the treatment I get from you. Still curious. What’s this ‘Internet star’ thing he said?”

  Red waved his hand. “Plenty of time for that. Hope you’re hungry. My one day off and I’m cooking. You’re a full bird now, so no one notices when you don’t show up to work. Right?”

  “Gotta get to Hampton Roads. But I’ll stay if you’re making pancakes.”

  Red lifted three smal
l pans, one cast iron, from the pot rack above his head. The iron one went on the counter while he held the other two by the handles. His blue eyes shone. The tip of his tongue stuck out to one side. He tossed one into the air and then the other, handles spinning, almost smacking the ceiling. As the second left his hand, he grabbed the iron one from the counter and tossed it in turn.

  Red had the best coordination of any team member Jim had ever known. Could throw a knife spot-on at thirty feet. Did he still remember nothing? Dr. Sato’s warning call hadn’t been a surprise, but she’d said not to ask direct questions.

  Jim glanced up at the wrought-iron pot rack hovering over them like a bomb rack ready to drop its ordnance. He selected a fourth pan. Red was in a steady rhythm, even with the iron one that wobbled clumsily.

  Lori scowled. “You break it, you fix it.”

  Jim returned an ornery smile, then lobbed the fourth to Red, its handle looping.

  Red dropped to a knee and caught it, speeding up the rhythm. He managed a single round, then one of the pans crashed to the floor, followed by another.

  Never could handle that fourth one, Jim mused. “Hope the ’cakes are better than your juggling.”

  Red leaned over the stove. In short order the kitchen smelled of coffee and hot bacon. Jim sat across from Lori as she told him about the Walmart incident. He tried to act surprised. There were no hints Red remembered anything. Red pulled some blueberries from the freezer and Jim’s mouth grew wet—his buddy still remembered his favorite.

  Jim told them he’d spent two of the last four years in South Korea, but was reassigned to Hampton Roads. At least that much was the truth. “It gets harder to make an honest living the higher in rank you go. They keep trying to put me behind a desk at the Pentagon. I keep telling them to go to hell.” He glanced over a sticky plate at Lori. He’d always been jealous of his friend in several ways. Red lived gracefully, even as an operator. So intense on an op, but turned it off like a switch at the end. Those years together, Jim had depended on Red’s spirit to balance him out.

  “Remember how the squad would play basketball at lunch?” Jim asked. “You were such a son of a bitch on—” He hunched his shoulders. “Sorry. Kids aren’t up, are they?”

  Red laughed. “Won’t be long, though.”

  “You were such a son of a bitch on the court. Ran circles around me.”

  Red shoved a triangular three-stack into his mouth. “Yeah. You’d lay me out for a while once you’d had enough.”

  “I’d call it your cooldown.”

  The lights glimmered off Red’s eyes. “Funny. Ref always called it a technical foul.”

  Jim missed that about Red—he never held a grudge. Not like the backbiting political pansies trying to put an end to his squadron. Jim dreaded the conference room full of them in Hampton Roads. He checked his watch. Better be late, to make sure the mood of the room was ripe. He twisted the band on his wrist and stood. “Got to get moving. Thanks for breakfast. You haven’t lost your touch.”

  As he walked to the front door, Penny came downstairs in pink Disney princess pajamas, the bottoms pulled halfway up her calves.

  “Remember Uncle Jim?” Lori asked. “You were only five last time you saw him.”

  Penny looked up and smiled, then hugged his leg without a word, rubbing the sleep from her eye with a knuckle.

  Jim lifted her. “Damn, I mean, you’re all grown. Too big to pick up.”

  Penny smiled, then wiggled herself down and sniffed the air. “What’s for breakfast?”

  Jim’s shoulders drooped, but he leaned on the wall to mask it. “Don’t know why it’s been so long.”

  “Road goes both ways,” Lori said. “Our fault, too.”

  He gave her a quick hug and moved toward the door. “Watch your back, Red. Might not be so lucky next time.”

  His buddy laughed. “I’ve punched that ticket. Shouldn’t run into it again.”

  Jim stepped down the shoveled sidewalk. He sniffed the familiar welcome of the morning cold. He stood next to his blue Taurus and raised a hand to shade his eyes, squinting eastward toward the sun. Funny. It was cold on his face. Nice getting caught up. Even better was Red’s innocence—he still didn’t remember. But with what had happened at Walmart, those memories couldn’t be buried too deeply.

  Chapter 5

  Professionals

  Red woke to a splitting headache. A hangover? He tried to recall last night, but it took too much effort. Hadn’t had anything to drink. The house was pitch black, but then he liked to keep the room dark at night. The mattress felt like a plank. He pushed up. Not a mattress at all. Carpet. Red snickered. How had he fallen out of bed?

  On his knees, he lifted his head, scanning for the faint glow from the bathroom night-light. Turned completely around, but couldn’t find it. Maybe the bed was blocking his view. He reached out to grab it and hoist himself. Instead, his hands landed upon something unfamiliar, hard. There was a dim luminance around the doorway, but from the wrong side. Had Lori moved the night-light to a different socket?

  He straightened, almost lost his balance. Why such a headache? He’d get dizzy with a cold, but didn’t feel one coming on. Looked for the night-light again. He wasn’t in the bedroom, but the hallway. The faint glow came from the clock on the kitchen microwave. Must’ve been sleepwalking and fallen. He’d never done that before. As a bolt of pain jolted his senses, he ran his fingers through hair soaked from night sweats.

  Taking a deep breath, he stumbled downstairs for water, bracing himself with a hand to the wall. Why was the air so cold, but the floor still warm? Have to check the thermostat on the way back up. He pulled the microwave open, casting light over the counter, and reached for a glass. Even that dim glow was too bright. He winced and let go. A big dark smear ran the handle’s length from the kids making hot chocolate before bed. He licked the stickiness from his fingers. Tasted of metal and salt. He frowned and held his hand to the light. Blood, not chocolate. Then a memory shook him—the nightmare before he woke.

  He bolted upstairs and slammed on the light switch in the boys’ room. Jackson was down from his bunk bed, huddled with Nick, eyes huge. He didn’t even squint at the brightness, just got up and ran to Red, hugging his leg. “What’s going on, Dad?”

  Nick’s chest was rising and falling. The boy could sleep through the Second Coming. Red broke free of Jackson’s grasp and sprinted to Penny’s room.

  She, like Nick, didn’t move. His daughter slept so soundly he’d put an ear next to her mouth to hear her breathe. As he knelt at the bed, she frowned and rolled over. Thank God.

  He ran to his own bedroom and flicked on that light, too. Lori should be up by now, asking what was going on. She wasn’t in bed, so he turned to the bathroom. Door closed. “Lori, you in there?”

  No answer. He yanked it open. No Lori.

  Ripped back the shower curtain. Nothing.

  He pulled his hair and paced the bathroom floor.

  Something inside tried to take hold of him. A feeling, distantly familiar, from another lifetime, the same as at Sato’s office. Fear, the gut-felt kind like when he was a kid after a bad dream. Knowing he was awake, but too scared to move, eyes searching the darkness. Only this fear was even more gripping. It held weight, possessed substance. This nightmare was real. His teeth cut into his tongue.

  Footsteps stalked behind him. Too heavy for the kids. A nightstick grazed the doorjamb, then the faint tinkle of handcuff chains. How’d he know what they were? The fear began to crawl within him, but he pushed it back down. Turned and stared down the barrel of a 9mm Sig Sauer.

  “Freeze! Police!”

  * * *

  Red leaned on the cold metal skin of a police cruiser in his driveway. Carter stood next to him, arms crossed, looking well put together considering how quickly he’d shown up. Red looked down at his wet slippers and wiggled frozen toes. Morning would come in an hour.

  A backup cruiser had arrived minutes after the first officer found Red. Soon it
seemed half the police force showed up, then reporters. Red had called his parents, who lived across town. They were both sitting with the kids now in the back of an ambulance, on the way to the hospital to get checked out. Thank God the kids left before the news agencies showed up.

  The cold felt like sandpaper under Red’s feet. “Sorry you had to get up so early.”

  Carter smiled, but said nothing. Frozen air pressed Red’s skin, like he was back in the debrief room. The cruiser across from him was pocked with bullet holes, its metal skin riddled with automatic weapons fire. All windows were shattered. He wrinkled his forehead and pointed to it. “What happened?”

  “That’s the cruiser from my officer that found you,” Carter replied. “Wasn’t like that when he left the station.”

  Red stared, breath frosting in the morning air. Was he kidding? Hadn’t been any shots. Had he forgotten something again? He looked to a black sky. “Anyone hear from Lori?”

  Carter took a step closer and put a hand on Red’s shoulder. “No. Remember anything?”

  A sharp pain stabbed his gut. Was he losing his mind? He wasn’t angry at Carter, but himself. He took a few steps toward a holly hedge at the edge of the yard. Hands on hips, he looked up, groaned, then doubled over and heaved pizza chunks and broccoli into the bushes. Sounded like a good combination at the time.

  After his arms stopped shaking, he raised himself and breathed deeply, staring at the side of his neighbor’s Pepto-Bismol-colored house. He struggled to gather his thoughts.

  Carter broke the silence. “You okay?”

  Red blinked. It was all he could manage at that second. “I’ve got a problem not remembering. You know that. If I had anything to do with this, lock me up. If not, I’m gonna kill ’em.” It was done. He was certain how it would play out.