Certain Jeopardy (19 page)

IT HAD ONLY BEEN
four hours—more of a nap than a night’s sleep. Or a day’s sleep, in this case. J.J. rose, slipped into the shower and emerged twenty minutes later cleaner, a little more alert, and just as edgy as when he crawled into the sack.

His body felt better but his mind remained fixed on the hostage family. An old enemy was gaining a beachhead in his mind— impatience. He had excelled in all phases of his training, from classroom to gun range, but taking orders—especially orders he thought were off the mark—strained his discipline. He had made it this far by keeping his mouth shut. He was determined to maintain that policy, but every few minutes the image of the trapped woman flashed on his brain. He could see her looking up, her lips working in prayer, and there he was, just a few feet from her position, unable to save her and her children.

It wasn’t that he doubted Moyer’s reasons. He knew that certain aspects of a mission took precedence over others. At any moment a soldier might be called upon to undertake an action that would lead to his death. J.J. had accepted that truth before he enlisted, and his years of experience and training had only deepened his willingness to sacrifice himself for the life of another. Not so acceptable was the idea of sitting on his hands while others faced danger.

He padded across the carpeted room and picked up his cell phone. A text message had arrived while he was in the shower. Jose was awake and restless.

* * *

JOSE LOOKED LIKE
A
man at the end of a fifty-mile uphill hike—stooped, red-eyed, and a shade paler than a Hispanic should be. He slipped into the passenger seat of the rental car and J.J. pulled from the parking lot. Normally J.J. would make a crack about Jose’s appearance:
Didn’t anyone tell you the zombie look is dead?
But he held his tongue. Jose had a right to look bad.

“Where to?” J.J. asked. “Let’s grab a couple of sodas. We only have an hour before we spell Caraway and Pete.” He paused. “Do you think Pete can finish the course?”

“What? You mean because of his injuries? Yeah, I do. He’s stiff as a board, but I think he can move plenty fast enough if he has to. The pain meds I’m giving him won’t affect his alertness or judgment.”

“What about you?”

Jose turned toward him. “I’m fine. Besides, my flight already left. I’m here for another day or two at least. You’re not going to lecture me too, are you?”

“Moyer give you an earful?”

“He threatened to hit me in the throat—several times.”

“Ouch. That might hurt some.”

Jose pressed his lips together. “Can’t hurt more than what I’m feeling right now.”

J.J. could hear the pain in his friend’s voice. “You know what, let’s forget the sodas. Let’s just drive. How about it?”

“Fine with me. I just couldn’t stand looking at four walls or watching any more television.”

J.J. smiled. “At least you can understand the programs. It all sounds like Spanish to me.” He maneuvered the auto through the afternoon traffic. He had no destination in mind. Like Jose, he was happy to just be someplace other than a hotel room. “You know the problem with guys like us?”

“We’re too good-looking for our own good?”

That made J.J. chuckle. “That goes without saying, but I had something else in mind. Guys have a problem opening up to each other.”

“My wife says we don’t open up because we don’t have anything inside.”

“An astute woman. We don’t like to open up, and to be honest, that’s the way I like it most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“I’m not trying to be your counselor, Jose. The Lord knows I don’t have any skills in that area, but I gotta believe that you’re walking on some pretty hot coals. Who wouldn’t be? I’m going nuts thinking about the captive woman and I don’t know her from Eve. I can’t imagine going through what you’re going through with your wife.”

“You’re not going to ask me to share my feelings, are you?” “No. I wouldn’t know what to do with them if you did. I just want you to know that I’m praying for you and your wife.” “I appreciate that, J.J. I really do. I’ve been saying a few prayers myself.”

“Just so you know, if you ever feel like talking, I’m here. Like I said, I have no counseling skills, but I can be a friend.” J.J. saw Jose’s eyes moisten. “Have you asked Moyer about calling your wife? With the encrypted phone and all, he might allow it.”

“No,” Jose said. “She’d need an encrypted phone to hear me. And even if she could hear me, her end of the conversation would be open for anyone to overhear. Can’t risk her saying something that might give us away.”

“Yeah, that occurred to me as soon as I asked the question. Maybe I should have slept another hour. My brain is still a little fried.”

J.J.’s phone chimed. The caller ID showed Moyer’s pseudonym. “Yes, Boss.”

“Sorry to wake you, but we may have a situation.”

“Already awake, Boss. Jose’s with me. We’re taking a little drive before heading over to relieve Billy and Junior.”

“How long ago did you leave the hotel?”

“I left about thirty minutes ago and picked up Jose at his place ten minutes later. What situation?”

“I just walked into the lobby and caught sight of a man and two local cops showing pictures at the front desk. I got a look at one of the photos as I walked by. It was Jose. It looked like a snapshot from a security camera. I have to assume the other two photos are of Shaq and Junior, from the hospital.”

“The tattoo,” J.J. said. The word made Jose’s head snap around. “Hang on.” J.J. pressed the button that put the phone into speaker mode. J.J. repeated what Moyer said to bring Jose up to speed.

“Shaq is with me. Actually, he’s hiding in the bathroom at the moment. Junior and Billy are on surveillance, so we’re clear for now. But you know what this means.”

“We’ve been compromised. Do you know if the person at the front desk recognized the photos?”

“I doubt it. Neither you or I were at the hospital, but if they’ve checked here, they’ll check everywhere.”

“Not good,” J.J. said. “What do we do now?”

“Our new mission is still a go, but we’ve lost hotel privileges. We have to assume they’ll check with the car rental places and will have a make and model and license number for at least one of the cars. We need to lower our profile.”

“Understood,” J.J. said. “The others know?”

“No, I called you first. I thought you might still be in the room. Hang one sec … They’re leaving. Sooner or later, however, they’re going to find the other two hotels.”

“Sounds like time has turned against us,” Jose said.

“It always does, Doc. It always does.”

Moyer hung up.

“Now I’m really glad I didn’t go to the airport,” Jose said.

CHAPLAIN PAUL BARTLEY NEVE
R
felt more like a minister than when helping someone through a crisis. Preaching at chapel services was fun, leading Bible studies was intellectually invigorating, but nothing touched his soul more than standing alongside someone in true despair. Most of his job involved proclaiming truth and offering encouragement. Even when on foreign fields like Afghanistan and his two tours in Iraq, where he worked with soldiers who entered harm’s way daily, he felt most valuable when he could stand by those who had been emotionally crushed.

Although he loved this aspect of his ministry, he also hated it. Over the years he had faced countless tragedies that left him speechless. Words were some of the most powerful things on Earth. Wars started and ended with words. Still, there were times when words were utterly impotent. The best he could do was to hold a hand, put an arm around a shoulder, and silently pray. In seminary he’d had a professor who taught, “A minister is never more eloquent than when he keeps his mouth shut and his heart open.”

Walking through the corridor that led to Lucy Medina’s hospital room, his emotions did battle with his soul. An Army chaplain faced many of the same problems civilian ministers did, but he also faced situations his counterparts couldn’t imagine. This was one of those times.

He stopped two steps from Lucy’s door. Soft voices came from the room. Lucy was not alone, and he felt thankful for that. Bartley inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and prayed, “Lord, give me the right words,” then stepped over the threshold.

Lucy lay in bed, looking at her three guests. Most hospitals allowed only two visitors at a time, but since the other bed remained empty, he assumed the nursing staff would be flexible.

“Chaplain Bartley.” Lucy smiled. A magnificent act of courage, Bartley decided. Army wives often showed strength matching that of their husbands.

“Hello, Lucy. I see you’ve decided to have a party and not invite me.”

“Your invitation must be lost in the mail.” Her smile wavered. “Chaplain, this is my mother, Amanda, and my sister, Charlene.”

“Everyone calls me Char,” the younger woman said.

Bartley shook hands with them and with Stacy Moyer, who stood next to the side of the bed closest to the door.

“How are you feeling, Lucy?”

Tears immediately came to her eyes. “They’re controlling the pain, but I worry about what the meds are doing to the baby.” Bartley saw Amanda and Char exchange glances. “They decided not to move me to the base hospital. They say I’m too unstable.”

“This is a nicer place to be,” Bartley said. “I assume nothing has changed since yesterday.”

She shook her head and drew a hand across her eyes. “No. They still want to … They sent in a couple more doctors. Specialists.”

“They all agree, Chaplain,” Lucy’s mother said, “but she refuses to listen.” Her words carried no conviction. It didn’t take years of counseling experience to see how conflicted the woman was. Bartley couldn’t blame her. She stood to lose her daughter or her grandson or both.

He nodded and waited for words to come, but they hovered in his brain like a cloud of gnats. The very act of reaching made them impossible to catch. He caught Stacy’s eye.

“You know what, ladies?” she said. “We should give the chaplain some time with Lucy. Let’s take a little walk.”

Again, Amanda and Char exchanged glances. Stacy took a step toward them then turned toward the door. They got the hint. Moments later Bartley stood alone by Lucy’s bed.

“You have news about Jose?”

“Yes, Lucy, I do. I spoke to his commander on the base, who spoke with Sgt. Major Moyer. Jose was to fly home today, but the situation changed and he’s still out of country.”

“He’s all right, isn’t he? Please tell me he’s all right.”

Bartley took her hand. “As far as I know. If he had been hurt, I’m sure I would have been told.”

“But he’s not coming?”

“Not right away, Lucy. I don’t know why. There are some things I can’t be told. I believe he is fine but for some reason can’t leave right away. I’m sure he’d rather be here with you.”

“Good.” Lucy looked to the window that overlooked the roof of an adjoining wing.

“Good?”

“They want to take my baby to save my life, Chaplain. Jose would agree with them. He loves his children more than life, but he also loves me. I know this, and I know that if he had to choosebetween me and our unborn, he’d feel compelled to save me.”

“I suppose that’s understandable.”

“It is wonderful to be loved so much, but I know we would both pay for the decision the rest of our lives.”

“What do you mean, ‘pay’?”

“Every time we looked at each other we would remember the decision we made, and the child we sacrificed so I could live.”

Bartley felt as if some creature were eating its way out of his gut. “Lucy...” He had to start over. “I don’t know how to advise you. I used to think ministers had all the answers, but we don’t. We never have. I believe all life is sacred, yet I’m in the Army and we are called upon to engage in war. People die—die by our hands. We do this because we also believe in justice. But I don’t know what is just here, Lucy. You are willing to die so that your child might live, but there is a good chance that baby may perish with you and we lose both of you.”

“As long as there is a chance that I can carry the baby long enough for him to live, then I will try.”

“What can I do for you, Lucy?”

“Pray.”

“I understand you’re Roman Catholic. Do you want me to arrange to have a priest stop by?”

She nodded. “Will you tell my mother and sister about Jose?”

“Yes. May I pray for you?”

“Yes.”

Bartley gave her arm a squeeze, closed his eyes, and prayed, trying to sound professional. Fifteen seconds into the prayer, he gave that up and uttered his words with an honesty that came from the deepest part of the soul.

* * *

STACY WATCHED CHAPLAIN BARTLE
Y
emerge from the hospital room looking thinner and more fragile than when he entered. He stopped to talk with the three women.

“Thank you for allowing me some time alone with Lucy.” He paused and looked down the hall. “Let’s step over here for a moment.” The suggestion made Stacy nervous.

“What’s wrong?” Char asked.

“I had some news to share with Lucy. She asked me to let you know.”

Stacy saw the two women stiffen.

Bartley continued. “As you know, the Army is trying to get Jose back as soon as possible. He made arrangements to fly home but chose to stay—”

“Why would he do that?” Amanda snapped. “He needs to be with his wife and child.”

Raising a hand, Bartley said, “Hang on. Of course, you are right, and I’m certain this is where he wants to be. Apparently something came up.”

“What could be more important than this?” Amanda asked.

“I don’t have an answer for you. I don’t know where the team is or what they are doing. That’s not the kind of information they give a chaplain. I can only assume the situation must be serious for Jose to make this decision.”

“Serious? This is serious! My daughter may die.”

Stacy couldn’t remain silent. “The chaplain knows that. He’s just doing his job.”

Amanda’s face darkened. “Lucy said your husband leads Jose’s team. Why doesn’t your husband let him come home?”

Bartley stepped in. “It’s my understanding that Jose chose to stay.”

“Mother, settle down.” Char placed a hand on the older woman’s shoulder.

“Her husband could have ordered Jose to leave.”

“We don’t know that,” Stacy said. “We don’t know what thesituation is.” She knew enough about soldier-thinking to know that something serious was up, and that made her worry about Eric.

Amanda pushed past Bartley, and Char followed.

“That could have gone better,” Bartley said. “I don’t think I’ll be welcome back anytime soon.”

“Their emotions are getting the best of them. Not that I can blame them.” “

You all right?”

“Just worried about Eric.”

Bartley nodded. “Having a rebellious teenage son doesn’t help.

Let’s go to the cafeteria and have a soda or coffee. We can finish our conversation about Rob.”

“Are you sure you feel up to that?”

“Of course. It’s what we chaplains do.”