Collateral Damage

by P A Duncan

  When they were alone, Mai dialed the house, hoping Olga would answer. No such luck with a teenager in the house.

  “Hello? Mums? Popi?”

  “Nat, it’s Mums.”

  “Mums! Where’s Popi? Why did I see you on television?”

  “Slow down,” Mai said. “I was on television?”

  “On the news about that building explosion. Why were you—”

  “Work. I need to speak to Olga.”

  “I want to talk to Popi.”

  “Nat, let me talk to Olga.”

  “Tell me.”

  Mai closed her eyes.

  “Where’s Popi?” Natalia asked. “Tell me what you won’t say.”

  I’m going to fail miserably at this, too, Mai thought.

  “Natalia, Natasha, I’m at hospital. Alexei… Popi was hurt.”

  Silence but no crying. “Is he going to die?” A little girl’s voice.

  “We don’t know.”

  “Are you with him?”

  “Yes.”

  Now, Natalia started to cry. “Why were you there? Why?”

  “I can’t explain all of it, Natalia. Please, let me talk to Olga.”

  “You have to call back, like, every five minutes.”

  “I’ll call when I have news. Please put Olga on.”

  In a few seconds, Olga Lubova said, “Da, da! It is Bukharin?”

  “He’s out of surgery. Did you get in touch with my pilots?”

  “Yes. They are coming home.”

  “Get them on a flight here. I’m at Kansas City General Hospital CCU. Nelson is sending a new phone. Give it to them.”

  “Already here. Roisin O’Saidh called. She wants to know if EuroEnterprises should stand by.”

  “I’ll call her from here, but if she calls back, tell her yes. Don’t tell her Alexei’s hurt. She’ll be too hopeful.”

  “I will help you take care of who did this.”

  “Right now, your priority is Natalia. I’ll let you know if…” She couldn’t voice the obvious. “If something changes… I’ll tell Natalia myself. Understand?”

  “Will not come to that. Take care of yourself,” Olga said.

  Well, Mai thought, that was close to sentimentality from Olga.

  Mount Vernon, Virginia

  Natalia Bukharin composed herself while Olga spoke with Mums. Natalia knew what she wanted to do, and no one would stop her.

  Olga hung up and dialed another number. TWA reservations. Olga was making arrangements for Mums’ pilots to fly to Kansas City on a 6:30 p.m. flight.

  “Four seats,” Natalia said.

  Olga covered the mouthpiece, “Malyishka, please, I am on phone.”

  “Four reservations. We’re going, too.”

  “I will ask Maiya when we speak again.”

  “No. She tried to hide it, but Popi’s dying. It’s my right to be there.” Natalia knew Olga would never argue over family.

  To the reservations agent, Olga said, “I need two more seats on same flight. Yes, yes. Four in first class. Yes, book them. I give you credit card.”

  Natalia went upstairs to pack.

  47

  Faith and Fear

  Boonville, Missouri

  The small town jail had four cells, and John Carroll was the only occupant. Each cell had a pay phone for collect calls, but he’d memorized his phone card number a long time ago. He couldn’t call Jerry or Lamar. He put faith in the fact they both knew to lie low for a while.

  Though he knew she wasn’t there, he called Siobhan. After the beep, voice low, he said, “Siobhan, I… I understand someone got to you. It’s okay. I knew you wouldn’t betray me. You let me go, so we’re okay. We’re good. God, please be safe.”

  Emotion overcame him, and his inability to speak lasted long enough the voice mail shut off. He hung up and sat on the hard cot, trying to corral his frantic thoughts. He’d held it together for the booking and was confident they suspected nothing. From his cell he could see one of their televisions, tuned to the news.

  Prophet was right. The helicopter shots of the building were…

  Carroll looked away.

  He paced, hoping to dissipate nervous energy, the panic about Siobhan. She’d explain when she got the chance. She said she’d find him.

  But she’d been there. How had she known?

  Siobhan had pulled her gun on him, the same one she couldn’t fire at the hotel in Kingman.

  No. She wanted him to be safe. She’d let him go.

  He sat again, elbows braced on knees that wouldn’t stop bouncing. Murmurs from the cops reached him. About the Becker Building. He angled himself so he couldn’t see the television.

  The sounds, the smells, came back, and a sob caught in his throat.

  “No,” he murmured.

  He’d had a mission. He’d executed it according to plan, followed orders. That’s how he had to think about it. Like a soldier. If he kept his head about him, he’d be fine. He’d get a bail hearing tomorrow. His record was spotless, only a few speeding tickets. He’d make bail and be on his way to the first stop on Prophet’s network. He had to stay cool.

  Why had Siobhan pulled a gun on him?

  He wanted to hear her voice again, but too many calls might be a problem. He couldn’t let anything blow back on her.

  He tried to get comfortable on the cot. Through the bars, he caught a glimpse of something on television. A firefighter carrying a naked, dead child. The crawler on the broadcast read, “Dozens of Becker Daycare Children May be Dead.”

  A daycare? Prophet had re-conned that building. He never said…

  He quelled the tremor building in his gut. If he trembled, the cops would know.

  No fear. No regrets. No remorse. Soldier up.

  Sudden weariness overtook him. No, he had to think. Bail hearing tomorrow. He had cash in the car if needed or… Prophet had given him the number where he’d go after…

  Carroll dialed that number. Prophet might be pissed he got caught, but he’d front his bail. The phone rang thirty times with no answer, and Carroll’s hand shook when he hung up.

  He was okay. Prophet was still on his way. The whole thing had happened, what? Two, three hours ago? Yeah, he needed to wait a bit.

  He paced for almost an hour and called again. No answer. Fatigue overcame panic. He stretched out on a cot barely long enough for his frame. No dead Iraqis had followed him here. He slept as if he had no care in the world.

  48

  Fear and Faith

  Kansas City, Missouri

  When her chin hit her chest, Mai roused with a jerk, the stitched cut on her head throbbing anew. She scanned the monitor showing Alexei’s vitals and saw no change. She stood, stretched to get her circulation going, and decided she needed coffee. A nurse at the CCU station directed her to the vending area, and when she returned with a cup of vile brew in hand, she saw Lucas Walker talking to the nurse. The nurse pointed, and he walked to Mai.

  “I’ve looked for you in every hospital and clinic in this city until an EMT told me he’d brought you here,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “A few stitches,” Mai replied.

  “Alexei, is he…?”

  “He’s here,” she said, nodding toward Alexei’s alcove. “Grave condition. He lost a lot of blood. Your personnel?”

  “A few cuts and bruises. All accounted for except… Damn it, she survived that son of a bitch in Patriot City. I want to get my hands on who did this.”

  Karen Wolfe was missing.

  Walker blinked, cleared his throat. “You need anything?”

  “No. When Alexei is stable, I’ll come to the site, render assistance.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  Something inside her broke, pushed its way past her lips. “I couldn’t stop this, asshole. I have to do something or go mad.”

  Walker’s arms encircled her in a tight embrace, and that felt…comforting. “I understand,” he said, “even though I’m an asshole.”
/>   She left the comfort of the embrace with reluctance. “Sorry.”

  “Call me if you need anything,” he said.

  Mai nodded. “Did you get what I passed on to the FBI?”

  His mouth turned down. “The official word is we’re continuing to investigate a middle eastern angle.”

  Fucking Emmet Brasseau needed his ass kicked.

  Walker said, “I got friends in the local police departments around here. I’ll make some calls and pass your info along. One way or another, we’ll get the bastard.” He gave her another hug before he left.

  In an adjacent cubicle, a woman sat by a bed with a man missing an arm and a leg. She wept into a towel. Is that what I’m supposed to be doing, Mai wondered. Am I supposed to cry and be useless?

  No, she had to stay strong. Why, she wasn’t sure.

  When she got to Alexei’s bedside, a nurse was at the IV stand, injecting something into the tubing.

  “What are you doing?” Mai said.

  “His heart rate isn’t steady. The doctor ordered some medication.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “You were talking to that black policeman.”

  “He’s a policeman. What’s his color got to do with it?”

  The nurse flushed and looked away.

  “If anything about his treatment changes, I don’t care whom I’m talking to, I get told immediately,” Mai said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The nurse didn’t turn her head away fast enough to hide her eye roll.

  Let them bitch, Mai thought. If she didn’t think he’d die en route, she would have already had him on an air ambulance to Bethesda. She took her seat by the bed and drank the worst coffee she’d ever tasted, but she welcomed the buzz.

  Alexei’s hand was atop the covers. So pale as to be gray. When she lay her hand over his, it was cold. She kissed his palm.

  “Alyosha,” she murmured, “open your eyes. I need to know you’re in there.”

  Not a twitch. The knot in her chest tightened. She went into the toilet in his room, turned the water in the sink on full blast, and let the sob escape. It hurt her head, but she did what she hadn’t done in a long time; she wept. Even that she controlled. No more than a half-minute of it. She splashed cold water on her face and returned her mask to its place.

  Back at his bedside, her heart leapt. His eyes were open, slitted, but open. A hand on his head, she leaned down. “Alyosha?”

  His eyes moved. Maybe. Something was wrong. Alexei waking with an endotracheal tube… Why wasn’t he fighting it?

  “Do you know me?”

  Barely visible behind the narrow split of his eyelids, his eyes shifted toward her. Mai groped for the call button and pressed it.

  “Yes?” the nurse said.

  “He’s awake. His eyes are open,” Mai said.

  The nurse rushed in, checked the readouts, and called his name, asked him to look at her, but his eyes stayed fixed on Mai and closed. The nurse wrote something on a slip of paper.

  “That was good,” Mai said. “That he woke.”

  The nurse finished writing and looked at Mai with practiced compassion. “Sometimes, they gather a little strength right before… You know.”

  “Shut up,” Mai said. “Shut up and get out.”

  After the nurse left, Mai pulled the chair closer to the bed. She folded her arms on the bed, rested her head on them, and slept.

  Mai woke at 2200 with a stiff neck and shoulders, twenty-four hours since her epiphany, for all the good it had done.

  Alexei’s vitals showed no change, good or bad, and she went for another cup of coffee. The coffee gave her a second wind but also fueled her displeasure when she rounded the corner to find not only her pilots but Olga and Natalia at the nurses’ station, all talking at once. Mai waited until she was right behind to clear her throat.

  When Olga looked at her, Mai said, “You’re fired.”

  Olga shrugged, but Natalia said, “I wasn’t going to stay home. Mums, you’ve got blood all over you.”

  “I’m aware. You shouldn’t have come. You’ll only get in the way,” Mai said. “Wait here. I have business with Gwen and Renee.”

  “I’m sorry,” one of the nurses said, “because we’re maxed, only family can be here.”

  Mai pointed to Natalia. “Mr. Burke’s granddaughter.” She looked at Olga, wondering how to explain her.

  “I am beloved Alex’s only sister,” Olga declared.

  Why not, Mai thought. She and her pilots went to the elevators.

  “I’m sorry we weren’t available,” Renee said.

  “No problem,” Mai replied. “Recurrent training has its purpose.”

  “Roisin put us onto something called FEMA. We’re going to be shuttling urban search and rescue teams here,” Gwen said.

  “Good. Get our bags from the airplane first.”

  Gwen smiled and pointed to the bags stacked by the nurses’ station. “I had to stop by and make certain Herself wasn’t damaged by a non-current pilot.”

  Mai managed a smile in return. “Someone has their priorities straight. I’ll let you be on your way.”

  “The replacement mobile phone is in your bag,” Renee said. “I know you’re not the praying kind, but Gwen and me said a few Our Fathers for Alexei.”

  “Thanks.”

  Olga and Natalia had found Alexei’s alcove but stood outside, peering through the glass wall. Natalia trembled, and Olga had a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “Natalia,” Mai murmured. When the girl hugged her, and Mai felt the quaking. “You can go in and see him,” Mai said.

  “Will he know I’m here?”

  “Talk to him, and we’ll see. No schoolgirl hysterics.”

  Natalia pulled away and gave Mai a steely look, much like what Alexei gave Mai on occasion. Mai blinked away tears.

  “Mums, I don’t have hysterics, and don’t be mad. I insisted Olga bring me to see Popi.”

  “She must have thought it was the right thing to do. Go see Popi.” Once Natalia was inside, Mai said, “All right, you’re not fired.”

  “Is relief I have. Bukharin is her blood. Is her right, and no need for you to be alone. Is he better or worse?”

  “I think he woke briefly. I think he knew me.”

  “You need to change clothes. Malyishka was upset by blood.”

  “I haven’t wanted to leave him, but now that beloved Alex’s only sister is here, I’ll find a hotel room.”

  Olga grimaced, meaning she smiled, “I have booked suites at Hilton and hired car and driver.”

  “Definitely not fired. Let me go in with Natalia a moment, and I’ll head there.”

  The old man in that bed couldn’t be her grandfather. The neatly trimmed beard she’d finally grown accustomed to made him look elderly and weak. When she was small, he’d let her ride on his shoulders for hours, and she’d felt as if she rode atop a giant. He had always, always been there for her.

  The machines and their sounds unnerved her. Too many tubes with different colored fluids going in and from him. She’d seen her father in hospital after the car accident that killed her mother. She hadn’t cried then either, but she was just as scared.

  Why was Popi here? Why had this happened?

  Natalia had never understood exactly what her grandparents did. That hadn’t mattered until now.

  Mai was at her side, and Natalia had questions to ask. A lot of questions to ask.

  “He’s not moving. That thing is breathing for him,” Natalia said.

  “Because he was in surgery,” Mai said. “They reduce the stress on his body by letting the machine do the breathing. When I hold his hand, I think he squeezes it. He’ll be glad to know you’re here.”

  Natalia went to the side of the bed and slipped her hand in her grandfather’s. She looked at Mai and shook her head.

  “Talk to him. He can probably hear you even if he doesn’t respond. Speak Russian.”

  “Popi, it’s me, Natalia.” She looked a
t Mai again and tried not to cry. “Mums, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Anything at all. It doesn’t matter. It’s your voice he needs to hear.”

  Natalia sat in the chair by the bed and held his hand in hers. His fingers twitched, and even if she were enough of a science nerd to know it was a reflex, it made her feel better.

  “I’m going to the hotel to shower,” Mai said. “The nurses monitor everything. If something changes, they’ll come in a hurry.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mums.” She smiled at Mai. “We’ll be fine.”

  Hilton Hotel

  Kansas City, Missouri

  Water, hot as Mai could stand it, sluiced over her in the shower. The suite’s mini-bar had only tiny bottles of Jack Daniels. She’d gulped those while waiting for room service to deliver a regular bottle of it. The neck of a whiskey bottle was perfect for gripping, and she let the water rinse the blood away while she held the uncapped bottle away from the spray.

  She tried to remember a worse mission.

  The British government considered her IRA mission a rousing success. That was a bombing with bodies, too.

  Where had she gone wrong?

  Lost her objectivity. A forgivable offense. Always a possibility when using sex to cultivate an asset. She’d refused to work that way, but had that particular ethic been her downfall?

  She’d fucked in the backseats of limos and in four-star hotel rooms before she was eighteen. Why had this particular rule been so important to her? She’d known operatives, male and female, who’d fuck anyone to get what they wanted. She’d always considered that a failing. She hadn’t wanted to be defined by her gender, to conform to the stereotype. Now, as her blood and Alexei’s swirled down the drain, she wondered if that had been too high a horse to ride.

  How had John Carroll gotten to the point where he could drive a bomb to a building, light the fuse, and walk away?

  Had she pushed him there?

  No, he’d started down that road himself. She should have shown him another path.