Hide and Seek (23 page)

Mac didn’t respond.

“I didn’t think so. Okay. I’ve prepared myself for this. I married J. J. knowing this could happen.” She stood and swayed for a moment. “I’m not the first wife to go through this. I’ll miss him of course. He was the . . . love . . . I’ll be fine. I-I need to make plans . . . plans . . . his parents.” She paused, then raised her hands to her face again. It began with a whimper, then a sob, then a scream muted by her hands.

She tried to quell the storm of sorrow, to tame the unrelenting hurricane of grief. Her head spun. Her knees gave way but she didn’t fall. Paul Bartley stood in front of her, his strong arms wrapped around her, providing the strength that had abandoned her. She made one effort to push away but it lacked power and conviction.

She needed to be held; needed the support of someone as wounded as she.

The sound of sobbing filled her ears. It took a second for her to realize the deeper tones came from Paul Bartley.

In a small apartment, in a medium-sized city, in a small state in a large country, on a planet in the corner of countless galaxies, the universe collapsed.

“NO GOOD, BOSS.” PETE’S
voice poured through the earpiece.

“You know how unhappy bad news makes me.”

“I do, that’s why Weps is gonna finish the story.”

A moment passed before Nagano came on. J. J. looked down the street from his position at the intersection just north of the pharmacy. He could see the van in the street with two of his soldiers hunkered over one of the flat tires. At the south intersection he could see Aliki scanning the streets. So far, no movement.

“Boss, what Junior is too chicken to say is the spare from the other vehicle won’t work. Different size, different lug nut configuration. Different makes; different countries.”

The plan was to use the spare tires from both vehicles to get one up and moving. A good idea gone bust.

“Understood.”

“What now, Boss?”

He had no idea. “Joker, pull back to the vehicle.” J. J. turned and double-timed it down the street.

They gathered around the vehicle. J. J. looked at his men. “Okay, this is how I see it. Whoever did this was alone or maybe had just one partner. Had there been a team of them, they might have taken us on, or set up sniper positions and popped us as we came out. A trained sniper might have given it a go, but the odds would be against success. Two or three men would be needed to make things work.”

“It also means the guy isn’t packing a high-power automatic. He could have gotten my team or yours.”

“Yep, but not both. That was his problem. The question is: Is he coming back with some pals? I don’t like standing around here. Right now, we’re nothing but good target practice.”

“So what’s the call, Boss?” Pete asked.

“Everyone on the roof. I want to check on Hawkeye. He should be up and ready to go.”

“Boss, I recommend we split the team. Let’s not put all our eggs in one basket.” Aliki stood close to J. J. and seemed to be focused on J. J.’s face.

“Agreed. Joker, you, Weps, and Junior take up a position on one of the roofs. Pick one with good cover. I’ll join Hawkeye and Doc. Maybe we can see something from an elevated position. Go.”

The men hustled into the dark. J. J. found the access ladder to the roof over the pharmacy and made his way up. With each rung he rose, he thought of Tess and the babies. A sense of ill ease percolated in him. He was a man of faith but he was not superstitious, nor did he believe in ESP.

So why was he so worried about her?

TESS MADE COFFEE. SHE
didn’t want coffee. Didn’t want tea. She offered both to Bartley. He wanted nothing. She knew what she was doing: finding stuff to do to fill every second; to avoid every thought. It was futile. She burst into tears every five minutes. When she wasn’t crying, Bartley was, not as loudly, but with as much conviction.

“I let my parents know,” he said. “I called them before coming over here.”

“How are they doing? Sorry, dumb question. What I mean is . . . I don’t know what I mean.”

“You’re asking how they’re dealing with the news.”

“That’s it. My brain is muddled.”

He took a ragged breath. “Everything is muddled.” It took a second before he answered the question. “They’ve prepared for the phone call. Every Army parent does. Doesn’t make it any easier, but at least they have a script running in their head about what to do in that moment. I spoke to Dad. He’s made of granite. Mom, eh, not so much.”

“That had to be the most difficult phone call ever.” Tess moved out of the kitchen and to the sofa. She fell to the cushion.

“I went into minister mode. That helped me get through it.”

“Minister mode?”

“Ministers, especially chaplains, are called on to deliver the worst kinds of news. If you don’t know the people involved it’s a little easier, but it is never easy. After awhile, a minister learns to invest everything into the one they’re helping. They have to if they want to be of any value, but what they never tell you is, we do it to shield ourselves from ourselves.”

“And that works?”

“It’s a temporary measure, but it helps. You see it when a mother busies herself taking care of the children. Thinking about them helps her deal with her own pain . . .”

Tess bolted to her feet and moved to the window, turning her back on Bartley. She placed both hands on her belly.

“I’m an idiot, Tess. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes, I did. I made a careless statement without considering the situation.” He stepped to her side and put his arm around her shoulder. She could feel his hand shake. “I guess my brain is muddled too.”

Tears escaped her eyes: rivulets of sorrow.

“You won’t be alone, Tess.” There was tremor in her brother-in-law’s voice. “You have family. You and the kids will have me.”

“I know, it’s just . . .”

“I’m not trying to be a replacement for J. J., but you are family. You are the sister I never had. When J. J. married you, he improved himself and our family.”

“I feel so lost.” She looked at the carpet. “I used to be so independent, so focused on what I want. J. J. was such a surprise. I put myself through college and graduate school. I earned my PhD and I thought that was the greatest thing I could do, then I met J. J. He became my world. Now, I’m pregnant and that has changed my outlook on everything.”

She looked up again, staring out the window, seeing nothing. “I’ve become an expectant mother and widow within a few months of each other. How wrong is that?”

“Very wrong. Life has never been fair. Not this life anyway.”

She blinked back a few more tears. “I’ve tried to pray, Paul, I can’t get the words out.”

“Me either. Prayer has always been the first thing I turn to. I can’t seem to get that to work.”

“Has God abandoned us?” Tess avoided eye contact.

It took longer for Bartley to answer than she expected. She assumed he had a ready answer to a question he must have heard a hundred times.

“Faith is a wrestling match, Tess. At least it is for me. J. J. always seemed better able to trust God. I have always had to work through the theology of it.”

“And you’re the one who became a chaplain.”

He forced a smirk. “Go figure. No, I don’t think God has abandoned us. You are solid in your faith. I’ve seen it. So I’m not telling you anything new here, but the Bible never says we will be protected from trouble. We are promised wisdom and courage in times of trouble. Christians suffer like everyone else.”

“I feel abandoned.”

“Of course you do. You have a right to feel that way. Truth is, I’m more than a little angry with God right now. I’ve told Him so. Not much sense in pretending otherwise.”

“Did He respond?”

“You know I don’t hear an audible voice. God could do that if He wants but He’s never done it with me. God speaks louder than that.” He lowered his arm and put his hands in his pockets. “When I told God how furious I was over this I got the impression He was saying, ‘I know.’ No condemnation, just a sense of love and tolerance. He understands.”

“Do you think we’ll ever understand?”

“Not in this life, Tess. Not in this life.” A few moments passed. “Do you want me to call your parents?”

“No, I’ll do it. I’ll call from the phone in the bedroom.”

He nodded. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“How long do you think it will take for Chaplain Rubin and Colonel Mac to visit the other families?”

“A couple of hours at least. I can’t be sure.”

“I need to call them. Especially Lucy.”

“Why Lucy?”

“We had coffee this morning. She felt something was wrong. I assured her the team was safe. I never imagined being so wrong.”

THE SITUATION ROOM IN
the Kyrgyzstan capital of Bishkek was filled with new technology. Under his leadership, President Meklis Oskonbaeva saw a rise in the technology sector of his country. The process was slow and taxing but headway was being made. Jalal-Abad State University and the Kyrgyz Technical University produced world-class engineers and computer experts. Communications in the country advanced remarkably, and to be fair, Prime Minister Dootkasy helped make much of that possible. It was Meklis’s dream to see his country join Japan, Korea, China, and the United States in technology fabrication. In June of 2011, the parliament passed legislation to build a high-tech park like one built in Belarus.

As a sign of his interest in such matters, Meklis had the White House equipped with computers and software developed in-country. That included a modern situation room with flat-screen monitors and communications that allowed him to converse with other heads of states or monitor news from a number of international news agencies. He didn’t fool himself into believing the control center came anywhere close to those in more developed and richer countries.

As he walked in, his team of advisers rose from their chairs. Sariev Dootkasy was among them.

“Please be seated.” Meklis took his place at the head of a long and wide table large enough to seat twice what was there. “Emil?”

Chief of Police Emil Abirov shifted in his seat. “No word on your daughter, sir. That could be either good or bad news. I have received no communication from abductors.”

The report dropped a hot coal in Meklis’s stomach. He said nothing. He was afraid the dam holding his emotions back would crumble. He encouraged Abirov to continue with a nod.

“Sir, I’m afraid that I have not been able to assign any men to search for her. The crowds are growing. The number of fires have multiplied. What started as debris and tires being burned in the streets is becoming arson. Several buildings have been set ablaze. I have every man on the force helping with crowd control and the protection of other government buildings. I have requested help from departments in other cities but they have riots of their own.” He stopped suddenly.

After a moment of silence, Dootkasy spoke. “Tell the president the rest of it.” His voice was even and devoid of accusation or criticism.

“It pains me to say it, but some of my officers have joined the protests.”

“What?” Meklis wondered if he heard right.

“I am sorry to report that some of my street officers are aiding the protesters.” Abirov slumped in his seat.

In an unexpected show of support, Dootkasy came to the man’s aid. “I am not surprised.” He immediately held up a hand. “That is not to say anything bad about Abirov’s leadership. I was just thinking of Arab Spring, when citizens rose against their government. Egypt for example, Libya, and so on. Military and police often sided with protesters.”

“It’s treasonous,” Boris Gubuz said. He brought a fist down on the table to make his point.

Dootkasy nodded. “Yes, it is, but treason is in the eye of the beholder. To those in power—like us—it is treason; to the man on the street it’s revolution, perhaps similar to our country’s history. You are all familiar with the 1916 revolt against the Tsarist empire. One in six people in our country died. One in six. Some of those were our grand or great-grandparents. The United States War of Independence was viewed by the colonists as a fight for freedom, but the British saw treason. Which was it?”