An Enemy Within (25 page)

‘Another crazy guy,’ she whispered, switching off the light and closing the door behind her.

*  *  *

Across town, Richard Northwood sat at his desk reading a fresh intelligence report from Baghdad. He leaned back in his chair, rubbed his tired eyes. A feeling of relief swept over him. As far as Alex and her threat were concerned, he was off the hook. Her reaction when he bluffed her confirmed she had indeed only made the one copy of the al-Tikriti file.

That was why he asked the tech boys back at Langley to wipe all her emails from her main server and her computer. She might be upset when she found out – but it would enforce his warning that the CIA was not to be messed with. Despatching a trusted assistant to oversee the operation, they’d confirmed that every one of Alex’s emails had been wiped at a stroke – without anyone reading as much as a line from any of them.

Northwood’s only remaining worry; if Alex would shop him to his wife. But he felt fairly sanguine on that score. She wasn’t the type.

Even in a war, there were some things you didn’t stoop so low to do.

19

Lieutenant Matt McDermott woke with a start. For a few seconds he thought himself back in his Baghdad quarters. Jumping out of bed, dizziness overcame him. He reached out to steady himself on a chair. His tunic hung neatly over the back of it. Running his fingers lightly over the fabric, recollections of the previous night flooded back.

His head thumped. Finding a glass of water on the bedside table, he gulped it down. He let out a long, labouring sigh. A sense of foreboding clung to him like a shroud. This was his big day and it scared him rigid. Worse, Kowolski was going to put him through the mangle with a whistle-stop tour of heaven-knows how many towns and cities.

‘Alex,’ he called out, his mind in a whirl. The bathroom door was open – no sound from within. Had she slept alongside him, or in the armchair, got up early? He felt guilty he’d acted so badly. Flexing his bad knee, it felt stronger. His walking stick lay in the corner. It had been useful but he could manage without it. Kowolski’s insistence that he still use it annoyed him. It was a sham. But no more than his whole life had become a depressing, never-ending charade.

There was a way out, however. He’d prayed harder than he ever had in his life, begged forgiveness, sought guidance. And he now felt the Lord had concurred with the only solution left open to him. McDermott knew that God would tell him when to act.

He glanced down at his creased trousers. His shirt, too, needed pressing. Studying the bedside phone, he pressed the button marked ‘laundry’.

‘Yes, Miss Steadman,’ the voice answered, throwing him.

‘I’m not who you think… I mean, I… Can you have someone press a shirt and trousers in a hurry?’

‘Sure thing, sir,’ the maid said with a hint of amusement that was lost on him. ‘Just leave them in the bag from the closet and put it in the corridor. Have a nice day.’

‘Have a nice day,’ he mimicked.
You swap places with me – that’d be a very good day
.

Stripping to his underclothes, he found the bag, filled it, and put it in the corridor. He thought about ordering breakfast, but couldn’t face the idea. Rather, he badly needed a shower. On his way to the bathroom, he reflected on his brief conversation with the laundry maid. He’d told her he wasn’t who she’d thought. That was a remark he would dearly love to tell everyone who would get to know him over the next little while.

*  *  *

McDermott took great care to shave without nicking himself. Accepting a medal from the President with a face ‘like a patchwork quilt’ – as Kowolski had put it – would upset everyone. Not quite finished, he heard the doorbell chime. He grabbed the bath-towel, wrapping it around his waist, and went to answer it. Flecks of shaving foam fell on the carpet.

Opening the door revealed a man he didn’t know. The guy carried a large bunch of red roses and, tucked under one arm, what McDermott guessed was a box of chocolates.

The man looked surprised. ‘Oh, pardon me, sir,’ he said, giving McDermott the once-over. ‘I thought this was the room of Alex Stead.’

‘That’s right – it is,’ McDermott said.

Steve Lewis took a half step backwards. His jaw dropped. Anger flashed in his eyes so that, when he took a step forward, McDermott thought he was going to be attacked.

Steve thrust the flowers and chocolates so hard into McDermott’s bare chest that everything fell on the floor.
‘Buddy, you tell her from me she’s a first-class bitch,’ he stormed, turning on his heel.

Shocked, McDermott scrabbled to pick up the pile at his feet. By the time he looked up, the corridor was empty and all he could hear were hurried footsteps echoing down the staircase. Panic set in. What on earth had he done?

*  *  *

He surveyed himself in the mirror, decided he’d pass muster. His fingers reached into the top pocket of his tunic. McDermott withdrew the hotel’s running guide. Silently reciting the numbers to himself, he turned to the back page to check. They were locked in his memory.

The room phone rang.

‘Alex. Where are you?’

‘Right next door.’

Ten seconds later, he opened the door to let her in. She flopped into the armchair.

‘You look smart, Lieutenant. Feeling okay?’

She could see he was not. Something was troubling him, big time. He looked a bag of nerves.

‘I’ve screwed up, Alex. You had a visitor.’ He gestured to the battered bouquet and the chocolates on a coffee table.

Detailing the early-morning incident, he gulped, his eyes blinking furiously. The quavering of his voice intensified as he watched her slowly sinking in despair, the look on her face crushing him. ‘I’d dashed from the bathroom – just in a towel. I guess he thought…’

‘Just tell me what he looked like,’ Alex snapped, fearing the answer.

McDermott’s description of the man meant only one person.

‘Steve,’ she said, jumping up, immediately bursting into tears.

‘He was so angry… just disappeared. I’m sorry, Ma’am.’

‘Why didn’t you try to stop him? You could have shouted…’

‘Everything happened so fast,’ he said meekly, his body drooping. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’

Alex made for the door. He stopped her, his hands gently on her shoulders.

‘You won’t have time to find him now. Your show opens soon.’

She realised he was right. Her exhibition opened in an hour. McDermott was cutting the ribbon. Kowolski had invited the media. She knew she’d never find Steve in time, which made her more distraught. Where would she begin to look?

‘Maybe he’ll come back,’ McDermott said, hope in his voice.

Alex’s eyes blazed. ‘He won’t come back, you fool,’ she spat. ‘I thought you were trained to think on your feet. Do you realise what you’ve done? ‘‘Everything happened so fast’’,’ she mimicked. ‘You’re supposed to be top gun, Lieutenant. Remember the raid? The goddamn Silver Star?’

Right then she felt the urge to slap his face, punch him, kick him, rouse him from this lumbering, unedifying torpor that had brought them to this. He was not the man she’d known in Baghdad.

‘You might be a ‘‘hero’’, McDermott,’ she said, emphasising the word with as much sarcasm as she could find, ‘but, right now, you’re nothing but a pain in the goddam fuckin’ butt.’

Sinking back into the chair, she buried her head in her hands, sobbing, eyes closed. When she eventually opened them, McDermott was crouching beside her. He touched her hand. She saw he was crying, too.

‘Everything’s gone wrong, Alex,’ he said, his voice low, breaking. ‘I’m really sorry. It’s all one big awful mess.’

‘What has?’ She knew she sounded petulant, but reckoned she had every right.

Now he took her hand in his. She stared at him, puzzled at his deadly serious expression.

‘I’m no hero, Alex. It’s a fraud,’ he said softly. ‘I killed a baby, a beautiful baby boy, his folks, too.’

Alex gasped, raised her free hand to her mouth. What was he saying? Was he out of his mind?

‘His big brown eyes have lived with me ever since, every minute of every day – even in my sleep. I see him all the time. And I never knew his name…’

He broke down totally now, his body heaving in great sobs that shook Alex to her core. He lay his head on her lap.

‘I did wrong, Alex, terrible, terrible wrong. Our dear Lord wants me to atone for my sins.’

She began to lightly stroke his neck, unable yet to take it all in.

What had they done to this poor man? Just what in the name of God had they made him do?

*  *  *

McDermott walked grim-faced with Alex into the reception foyer hosting her show. She linked arms with him at the last minute, gave him a squeeze. Now that he’d told her the full story, she understood his anguish. It was a dreadful secret to bear. Although it had left her with mixed emotions – anger, pity, confusion – part of her was glad he’d shared his deeply disturbing burden. She could feel the torment he’d been under when he explained everything.

‘Who else knows?’ Alex had said, aware she had to tread softly. ‘Kowolski?’

McDermott shook his head.

God, she thought, if Kowolski ever did find out – how would he take it?
Like an atomic bomb
, she considered. She had to admit it was to his credit that he wasn’t part of the pantomime – at least not to this extent. So Kowolski had been duped, too. For a fleeting moment she almost felt sorry for him.

‘You’ll have to live the lie,’ Alex told him, not sure she was entirely right. ‘It happens to everyone at some time in their life. You can’t change the past. Be strong, think of the greater good.’

She didn’t really believe her own words. This government,
the President, his despicable war-mongering cohorts, the Richard Northwoods of the world – they’d be the beneficiaries of McDermott’s intolerable dilemma. But, what was it to them of the broken spirit of just another soldier fighting for the flag? Thousands had made the ultimate sacrifice; ten times more injured, physically maimed for life. As many again had to carry the miserable burden of their mental scars within a grotesque mask that no one but themselves could see.

*  *  *

Steve Lewis watched the pair of them from behind a pillar at the rear of the fifty or so people gathered around the exhibition ribbon. Sickened that Alex had obviously been two-timing him, spinning him a pack of lies, he still wanted to catch sight of her one last time before he left town.

His stomach churned at the thought he’d lost her. Their months of long-distance courtship had meant absolutely everything to him. She’d said the same. Now he felt such a jerk.

Alex was preoccupied with the media. Smiling and laughing, she posed effortlessly for their pictures. A television reporter ushered her aside for an interview.

Then, McDermott was asked to step forward to cut the tape. Cameras flashed as he flourished the scissors and snapped them shut to signal the exhibition was open. The foyer resounded to the applause.

Steve stole one last glance at Alex and quickly turned away from the scene. He didn’t see a waiter bearing down on him, carrying a tray of drinks. The waiter tried to avoid him but failed, colliding full tilt. Glasses flew in all directions, tumbling as if in slow motion and landing on the tiled floor with a tremendous crash.

For a moment, Steve froze. Everyone at the reception looked his way. His and Alex’s eyes met. Sidestepping the mess, he hurried towards the hotel exit, dashing through without looking back.

‘Steve!’ Alex shouted in vain. But he had soon disappeared.
Giving chase, she ran after him into the street. People hogged the sidewalk in both directions. She couldn’t see him anywhere. Frantic, her heart thumping, she hesitated, didn’t know which way to go. Eventually turning right, she threaded her way through the crowds, bumping into people and not stopping to apologise. After travelling a block, she gave up.

She stood outside a shop, body bent in devastation. Among all these people – coming and going in their daily lives – she had never felt so alone, so bereft. Her tears flowed freely.

He saw her from a doorway where he’d taken refuge, just in case she’d decided to follow him. Satisfied no one else was with her, he reached out.

Alex felt the gentle touch on her shoulder. She spun round. ‘Oh, Steve, thank God,’ she spluttered.

He stood back, taut, eyes flashing with indignation. ‘Why, Alex? After everything we said to each other, just tell me why,’ he said, arms tightly folded.

A smile lit up her face. Then she started laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘You crazy, crazy guy,’ she said, sniffing, reaching in her pocket for a tissue. ‘McDermott slept in my room – I slept in his.’

‘What?’ Steve frowned, trying to take it in. ‘I thought…’

‘Of course you did. He crashed out in my room, drunk. I stayed the night next door.’

‘Oh, jeez,’ he said, starting to laugh. He held out his arms. She fell into his embrace, smothering him with kisses. They clung to each other for so long that a group of Japanese tourists stopped to stare and giggle. One took a photograph.

Strolling back to the hotel, arms around each other, Kowolski strode forward to greet them. ‘Well, who’s the lucky guy?’ he said, eyeing Steve.

Introductions made, Kowolski guided them to a far corner of the foyer, away from the guests arriving for the presentation. ‘There’s someone here I want you to meet, Alex,’ he said, checking his watch.

She saw the old couple sitting on a sofa. The man perched on the edge of the seat, his body language stiff and uncomfortable, the woman fidgeting with a large handbag. McDermott sat between them. He stood up as they approached.

‘My folks,’ he said, gesturing. McDermott’s father, older than Alex imagined and with a shock of white hair, got up.

‘Our boy’s been telling us about your time out in Baghdad an’ all,’ he said, shaking hands all round. ‘Your photos sure look good, Ma’am.’

Alex sat down next to McDermott’s mother, immediately striking up a conversation in an attempt to put her at ease. Kowolski’s phone rang so he excused himself, sauntering away.