The Brave

by Nicholas Evans

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  THEY WERE HAVING a final dinner—or, as Dutch less than tactfully called it, the last supper—at Marco's. They had their usual corner booth with a red-and-white-check tablecloth and old-fashioned oil lamps. Everyone was trying not to let things get too gloomy. The hearing was due to finish the following day and any hope that it would go Danny's way had faded. That afternoon Brian McKnight had warned Tom, Dutch and Gina to expect the worst. He said that, on the balance of the evidence, Colonel Scrase would have little choice but to recommend a court-martial.

  McKnight had promised he would meet them at the restaurant but his place remained empty. Then, just as they were asking for the check, he showed up. He was a little breathless and they could tell at once that something important had happened. Dutch poured him a glass of Chianti and they all leaned in to listen.

  McKnight said his office had received a phone call from a young Marine called Travis Wilson, a private first class in Danny's company who had left the corps six months ago. Danny nodded and said he knew the guy but not well. McKnight went on to say that Wilson had seen the TV news the previous night and heard Harker's claim that he and Delgado hadn't conferred.

  "He says it's not true. He saw them together in a bar in Coronado. After everyone got flown home."

  "Did he hear what they were saying?" Dutch said.

  "Enough. I hope. He's flying in tonight from Omaha. Kevin's picking him up at the airport at ten o'clock. If it all stacks up, we'll put him on the stand tomorrow."

  Colonel Scrase had barely settled in his plush red throne the following morning when McKnight sprang up to ask permission to call a final witness. Wendell Richards, all set to deliver the government's closing argument, looked both irritated and wary. PFC Travis Wilson wasn't anyone's idea of perfect casting. He was short and had a rodentlike face that was covered in acne. As he took the oath, he looked about as nervous as a man could get without actually wetting himself. What he had to deliver however was the verbal version of a roadside bomb.

  McKnight coaxed him through the openers: his rank and experience and what his knowledge was of the incident and of the accused.

  "Travis, on the evening of July twenty-third last year, could you tell us please, where were you?"

  "In a bar called Dee's Place in Coronado."

  "What were you doing there?"

  "Meeting Cindy—that's my girlfriend. Well, she was my girlfriend at the time. We've split up now. Anyhow, we'd arranged to meet at seven thirty, but I got there about twenty minutes early—I'm like that, always early—and I was sitting there, in one of the booths, you know, waiting for Cindy and—"

  "Was there anyone else there that you knew?"

  "Yes, sir. Sergeant Delgado and Eldon Harker. I realized they were sitting in the next booth."

  "You recognized them?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "They were friends of yours?"

  "No, sir. I just knew them both. In Iraq."

  "And did you say hello?"

  "No, sir. Well, I was just about to, but then I, kind of, heard what they were talking about and decided not to."

  "And they didn't notice you?"

  "I don't believe so, sir, no. Dee's is a kind of dark place."

  "How clearly could you hear what they were saying?"

  "Pretty clearly, I'd say."

  "And what did you hear?"

  "I heard Sergeant Delgado telling Harker what he'd have to say if he wanted to get the murder charge dropped."

  Wendell Richards was on his feet immediately to object. And for most of the next half hour he was bobbing up and down like a gopher in a box doing the same. Little by little, however, McKnight patiently extracted from Travis Wilson all he wanted. Wilson said he had heard Delgado, effectively, rehearsing Harker in what he would have to say in order to get off the murder charge and shift all the blame onto Danny. He had even heard the magic words use your goddamn weapon.

  By the time McKnight was done, he looked a good foot taller than when he'd begun.

  Richards had his chance to cross-examine. He tried to cast doubt on what the young soldier had heard, suggesting that he might have some grudge against one or both of the men on whom he'd eavesdropped. But Tom could sense from Richards's demeanor that the poor guy knew the killer punch had been landed. When he was through, McKnight rose portentously to his feet and asked that Sergeant Delgado and Eldon Harker be recalled to the stand and be read their rights under Article 31.

  They had to wait almost a month for the investigating officer's findings to come through. Meanwhile, in the first week of June, Kelly went into labor and gave birth to a healthy eight-pound boy. He was to be baptized Thomas David, for his two grandfathers.

  On a warm and cloudless morning Tom drove across the divide to the hospital in Great Falls and held his first grandchild in his arms. From the window of Kelly's room you could see the Front Range still dusted with snow and Tom snuggled the baby to his shoulder and pointed to the various peaks and passes and told him their names: Sawtooth, Ear Mountain, Steamboat. Gina and Dutch and Danny were there too and the sun streamed in on them all and there wasn't a dry eye in the room. Gina asked Tom if he'd come back to their place for something to eat but he made an excuse that he had to be back in Missoula and drove all the way home again. Perhaps one day he might be ready for that kind of integration, but not yet.

  Brian McKnight called that same evening to say the report had arrived. In two hundred intricate pages Colonel Robert Scrase sifted through the evidence and concluded that Danny had acted in self-defense. He recommended that all charges be dropped. Phone calls were made and everybody exhaled, though nobody seemed inclined to celebrate. Seven innocent lives had still been lost for the one that had been saved. Danny was going to leave the corps and find something else to do.

  He called Tom at the end of June and asked if they could get together and talk over his plans. He was thinking of going to college, he said, and wanted his father's advice. On a whim, Tom suggested they go fishing, something they hadn't done together since Danny was a child. Tom hauled the camping gear from the attic and it all seemed in good enough order. But it was years since he'd fished even on his own and when he checked his lines and casts they'd gone brittle and his supply of flies was pitiful, so he went into town and spent a small fortune at the Grizzly Hackle on Front Street.

  Danny arrived in Missoula in the afternoon two days later and they drove for an hour to one of Tom's favorite stretches of the Blackfoot. They left the car at the trailhead and hiked with all their gear through the forest until they could hear the rush of the river below. They found a good place at the edge of the trees to pitch the tent and gathered some wood for the fire they'd make later and by the time they'd done this the light was fading and they could see the clouds of flies swirling above the water so they rigged up the rods and put on their waders and fished for their supper.

  Danny caught the first, a fine brown trout, some fifteen inches long, and the boy's smile was almost as big. Tom hooked a bigger one but lost it and then lost two more before landing another, two inches smaller than Danny's. It must have taken pity on him.

  They lit the fire and panfried the trout and ate them with some tomatoes and the potato-and-chive salad Tom remembered Danny being so crazy about when he was little. The flesh of the trout was pink and sweet and the two of them kept moaning in ecstasy until they were giggling too much to swallow. Tom brewed some coffee and they sat cradling their tin mugs in their hands and watching the light on the river's bend change from silver to bronze to black while an owl kept calling and calling in the pines across the river.

  Danny told him his plans. He wanted to go for a bachelor of science degree in agribusiness at Montana State in Bozeman. But he was late in applying for the coming fall and, in any case, liked the idea of getting some practical experience first. Dutch had a friend who ran an agricultural supply outfit and was prepared to take Danny on to show him the business. Tom said he thought that all sounde
d great, just great.

  They fell silent for a while. Just the hushed roar of the water below and the owl still hooting across the river. Tom put some more wood on the fire and the sparks spiraled upward between them. Danny stared at the fire for a long time. In the flicker and glow his face looked suddenly a lot older. When at last he spoke he didn't look at Tom, just kept his eyes on the fire.

  "Dad, there's something I need to tell you."

  "I'm listening."

  There was a long pause. The boy took a deep breath.

  "I was guilty."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know all that stuff at the hearing, what they said about me yelling at the women, how I called them hajji bitches and..."

  Danny put his head back and stared at the stars for a while, breathing heavily, as if summoning the strength to go on.

  "It's okay, son. You can tell me."

  "It's not true I thought the guy had a weapon."

  He stopped again and swallowed. Tom waited.

  "The truth is, I didn't care. I just... hated them. Hated them so much, for what had happened. For what had happened to Ricky and all of us. It was like, when the guy reached down, it was like... a good enough reason. Maybe it was a weapon, I didn't know. I was, like, totally out of my head. I didn't know. I didn't care. All I knew was... I wanted to kill the bastards, mow the whole fucking lot of them down...."

  There were tears streaming down his face now.

  "And then it was over and I saw them lying there, saw what I'd done. And it was like seeing them for the first time. Women and kids. Babies, for christsake... And it was me who'd done it."

  Tom shifted around the fire and put his arm around the boy's shoulders.

  "It was me."

  "Danny, listen—"

  "It was me, Dad. I meant to do it."

  There was probably something to be said, but Tom couldn't think what it might be. He pulled him close and Danny hung his head and sobbed and Tom just sat there, stroking the boy's hair and holding him. How long they sat like that, he couldn't tell. A half-moon the color of bone hoisted itself above a shoulder of the mountains beyond the bend of the river and the fire crumpled to an ashen glow.

  "I want to tell you something now," Tom said quietly.

  "What?"

  "I want to tell you about your grandmother and what really happened to her."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  AS SOON AS the telegram arrived, Diane placed a long-distance call to London. Julian Baverstock told her that her father was in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham. He had cancer of the throat and lungs and it was too advanced for any kind of treatment. The doctors had given him two weeks at most.

  Cal made some calls and found that the quickest way was to take the train to San Francisco and, from there, a BOAC flight to London. It was only while they were packing their bags in the cabin that Diane remembered the passports. They were locked in Ray's safe in LA. She cursed herself for a fool but didn't panic. They would simply have to travel by train to LA, she announced, go to the house to collect them, then fly to England as planned.

  Cal said, years later, that he had tried to persuade Diane to let him accompany them and that he would never forgive himself for failing to insist on it. But Diane had been calm and clear and adamant about it, he said. She didn't want to call Ray in case he started playing games. No, it was better just to show up. If Ray was there, she could handle it. If he was out (and she would try to time it so that he would be), she had a key to the house and knew the combination of the safe. She would simply let herself in, get the passports and leave.

  Saying goodbye to Cal when he put them on the train in Choteau was hard. He made them promise to hurry back and stood there on the platform waving his hat as the train pulled away. And they leaned out the window waving until all they could see of him was a black speck against the snow.

  The journey by rail was shorter than it had been by road but it still seemed epic to Tommy. They ate and slept and read their books and stared out in silence at the ever-shifting landscape that grew harsher and more barren by the hour. There was none of the game playing or singing of their trip northward eight months before and it wasn't simply because they were both thinking about Arthur. Another kind of sadness seemed to have fallen upon them and it was all to do with leaving Cal.

  "Are you and Cal going to get married?"

  "Oh, Tommy, I don't know. He hasn't asked me. Anyhow, I'm still married to Ray."

  "But you're gonna get a divorce, right?"

  She smiled at him and stroked his hair.

  "You're sounding more like an American boy every day. Yes, I'm gonna get a divorce. Would you like it if Cal and I got married?"

  "Are you kidding? Of course I would."

  "Then maybe, one day, we will."

  "Would that mean we could always live in Montana?"

  "I don't see why not."

  Tommy was asleep when the train at last pulled into Union Station. When Diane woke him he thought for a moment that she was a stranger. She was wearing a headscarf and sunglasses so that nobody would recognize her. A porter loaded their bags onto his cart and they followed him through the station and found a cab. It was late in the afternoon. His eyes still blurred with sleep, Tommy stared out at the manicured streets, the avenues of palms, the elegant houses with their weedless lawns, the sprinklers making rainbows in the last of the sunshine. And he wondered how he could ever have been excited or impressed by the place for there was nothing here, not a single thing, that was real. It was all for show, entirely contrived and alien.

  The gates to Ray's driveway were open and when they came in sight of the house and the rearing bronze horse there were no cars nor any sign of life to be seen. Diane asked the cabdriver to wait and told Tommy to stay there with him. She took her keys from her purse and said she wouldn't be long. Tommy watched her run up the steps to the front door. She stood there a moment listening, then put the key in the lock and stealthily let herself in.

  She had been gone no more than a couple of minutes when Tommy heard a car coming up the driveway. When he looked around, his heart missed a beat. It was Ray in the Cadillac. He was peering at the cab, clearly wondering what it was doing there. He pulled up behind it. Tommy quickly turned around, lowered himself in his seat and watched the cabdriver staring in his mirror as Ray got out of the car and slowly walked up to the rear door of the cab and squinted in through the window. He was all in black and wearing sunglasses, even in the fading light. He had to take them off before he could make out who it was. Then he beamed and opened the door.

  "Well, for heavensake, look who's here!"

  "Hi, Ray."

  "Tommy, old son, how the heck are you?"

  "I'm okay."

  "What's going on? Where's your mom?"

  Tommy hesitated.

  "She's gone inside? Well, what are you doing out here? Come on, ol' pal, let's go find her. Gee, how great to see ya!"

  "She said to wait here."

  "Don't be like that, come on."

  He reached in and Tommy realized there was no choice. When he climbed out of the cab Ray gave him a big hug.

  "Heck, Tommy, it's so good to see you. I missed you, real bad."

  Tommy swallowed and forced a smile. Ray pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and paid the driver and told him to go.

  "But, Diane said—"

  "It's okay, son. Don't worry. Come on, now."

  He put an arm around Tommy's shoulders and they walked toward the house.

  "Hey, Tommy, have you grown! Man, just look at the size of you!"

  As they reached the front door, Dolores came running out.

  "She's back! She let herself in."

  "I know, I know, it's okay. It's great. Look, Tommy's here too. They've come home."

  She glanced at Tommy and switched on a cold-eyed smile.

  "Hi, Tommy."

  "Hi."

  "Where is she?" Ray asked quietly.

 
"Upstairs. She's trying to get into the safe. I told her not to—"

  "It's okay, Dolores. Everything's under control, ain't that right, Tommy?"

  He slapped Tommy on the back.

  "I tell you what, son. Why don't you go with Dolores and she'll make you one of those chocolate shakes you like? How about that?"

  "I'll wait here."

  "No, you go with Dolores. Do as you're told."

  Tommy would always blame himself for being so weak at that moment. If he'd stood his ground, stayed in the hallway or followed Ray up the stairs instead of allowing himself to be steered off to the kitchen by Dolores, maybe what happened next might somehow have been avoided. One of the things he would later learn was that in life timing was all. A moment either way could make the difference between happiness and misery, between life and death or eternal damnation.

  They went through to the kitchen and Dolores got the ice cream and milk from the refrigerator and asked him questions about where they had been while she made the shake. Tommy wasn't paying attention and didn't volunteer much by way of reply except to say they'd been to Montana. He was trying to listen, trying to imagine what was happening upstairs. He was standing by the table and Dolores told him to sit down and then again more firmly, so he did.

  How long it was before Diane started shouting, he couldn't tell. Maybe five minutes, maybe less. But as soon as he heard her, he was on his feet and the chair tipped over behind him and clattered to the floor and he was off and running. Dolores called after him but by now he was in the hallway and heading for the stairs and he could hear Diane shouting upstairs in Ray's bedroom.

  "Just open the safe, will you!"

  "Diane, for godsake, calm down. Let's just talk for a moment."

  "All I want is our passports!"

  "I know, but I told you, they're not in there anymore."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Well, that's up to you, sweetheart."

  "Let me see for myself."