The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (80 page)

There was a long silence and all the light in my world poured into a deep, dark hole.

“I’m sorry, Caroline … I thought you’d want to know.”

I held my hand over my mouth, as if I could press back the fear that was threatening to choke me.

“Can I see him?”

He sighed. “At the moment the answer is no. You’re not … look, I’ll try and get you access, Caroline, but you’d have to get yourself here and I don’t know how easy that will be. I’ll see what I can find out … but it’s a long shot. I can’t promise anything.”

“I see.”

Breathe. Breathe.

“Thank you, David. Will you let me know … if the situation changes.”

“Yes, of course. I…”

Whatever he wanted to say died as he tried to speak, and the words remained unspoken.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said, quietly. “Goodbye, Caroline.”

The phone line went dead and I stared at the receiver.

Oh, God, no.

No. NO! They were not going to stop me seeing Sebastian. I didn’t care if I’d have to fight the whole damn US Army. My love needed me, and no force of hell on earth could stop me being with him.

And that thought galvanized me into action: now was not the time to go to pieces. I whipped out my phone and scrolled through to find the emergency Satcomms number that Sebastian had given me. Emergencies only he’d said—this sure as hell qualified.

The man at reception looked like he wanted to say something about my liberal use of the hotel’s telephone, but my ferocious expression stopped him.

I dialed quickly, and it was answered on the second ring.

“Grant.”

Oh!

“Captain Grant, this is Lee Venzi. I need a favor: I’m in Kabul but I have to get back to Leatherneck. Can you help me get papers, transport, anything?”

“Miss Venzi?” He sounded surprised and annoyed. “How did you get this number? Look, now isn’t a good time.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s urgent, Captain.”

For only the second time since I’d known him, he swore.

“I’ve just lost three of my men, and a further two are Cat A wounded, and…”

I screamed at him.

“I know that!”

“How the hell do you know that?” he barked back.

“It doesn’t matter—I just do.”

“The fuck it doesn’t! If someone is leaking our movements and…”

I took a deep breath: losing it now was not helping.

“No!” I managed to say, in a more measured tone. “No, it wasn’t anything like that: I have a medic friend at Bastion’s field hospital; I got the information from him.”

“I didn’t take you for a ghoul, Lee,” he said grimly.

“Fuck you, Grant!” I snarled. “I have a
friend
who is just being operated on and I don’t know if he’s going to get through alive so just fucking get me there!”

There was a short pause.

“You’re talking about Hunter, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, trying not to let my throat close up.

“Okay, Miss Venzi,” he said, in a more even tone. “I’ll see if I can pull some strings to get you there. But don’t call this number—and don’t ask me again.”

“I won’t,” I barked into the phone.

“Where are you staying?”

I gave him the hotel’s address and hung up.

I thought he’d try to help me, but he had other men to worry about—other casualties. I chewed on a nail, wondering who else I could call on.

Inspiration struck. There was one more number I could try: Ches Peters—Sebastian’s best friend. A man whom I was pretty certain despised me.

I did the math to work out the time difference—it was about seven o’clock in the evening in San Diego. He had two young kids, so I hoped he’d be home.

The phone rang three times before it was answered.

A child’s voice trilled down the line.

“Hello, Peters’ residence. This is Ben Peters speaking.”

“Hi, Ben. Can I talk to your daddy, please?”

“He’s making popcorn,” said the little boy.

“Could you get him for me? It’s important.”

There was an angry huff, a short pause where I could hear muffled voices, and then I heard Ches come on the line.

“Hello, who’s this?”

“Ches, this is Lee … this is Caroline Venzi … I was Caroline Wilson and…”

“I know who you are. What do you want?”

His voice was cool, but full of unspoken contempt.

“I need your help. Well, Mitch’s, I guess—I know he’s still in the Marines. I’d have called him direct but I don’t have his number.”

I realized I was babbling. I needed to focus.

“Ches, I’m calling from Afghanistan: Sebastian has been hurt. Pretty badly…”

I had to hold the phone away from my face for a moment, stifling the choking sobs that bubbled up my throat.

“How bad?” Ches whispered.

“Bad. They’re taking him into surgery now. They might … they’re talking about amputating his right leg.”

I heard Ches’s shocked curse.

“He’s at the field hospital near Camp Leatherneck, but I’m stuck 300 miles away in Kabul, and without papers. I can’t get to him. I know you think I’m a first class bitch and that I ruined his life, but I’m begging you, Ches, begging you…”

I had to pause to catch my breath, forcing the pointless tears away.

“Please,” I choked out, “if there’s anything you or Mitch can do to get me there. I’m pulling in every favor I can think of, using every contact. I’ll do anything. If you know anyone, anyone at all … please, Ches, please…”

“I’ll do what I can, Caroline,” he said in a stunned, quiet voice. “Give me the details.”

I told him everything I knew, which wasn’t much. But it was more than most people would have known in the same circumstances—and it was thanks to David.

I was sorely tempted to call my editor, but I suspected his immediate reaction would be to tell me to stay put until he got me on a flight home. He’d been shocked into silence when I’d told him the reason I was pulled out of Now Zad, and coming on top of what had happened to Liz, I didn’t know how much help he’d be.

In fact I was pretty certain he’d try to block me getting back to Kandahar.

Desperate as I was to get to Sebastian, I had to think; I couldn’t just charge in. It even crossed my mind to try and speak to Natalie Arnaud: she worked for the UN—she might have contacts. I decided I would wait until morning before I tried my riskier avenues. By then David or Grant might have made some wheels spin, and I was damn sure that Ches and Mitch would pull every string they could.

I went back to my room, and packed up everything, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

When there was nothing left to do, when every last bit of fight and determination had been used up, I lay on the bed clutching Sebastian’s ring, and wept.

They say there are no atheists in foxholes. I say there are no atheists when you’re begging God to keep alive the person you love.

At exactly 5.57
am
I woke up and swore.

Damn it! Why hadn’t I thought of this last night?
This
was why it was important not to go to pieces in an emergency.

I checked my phone and sent up a silent prayer, thanking the saints of telecommunications.

“Sergeant Benson, this is Lee Venzi—you were my bodyguard last week.”

I could tell from his fuzzy voice that he’d been asleep when I rang.

“Miss Venzi?”

“I’m sorry I woke you up, and I’m sorry it’s so early, but I need your help. I’m in Kabul…”

“Kabul?”

“Yes, I’m back at the Mustafa Hotel. I got evac-ed from Leatherneck and, well … it’s a long story. Look, I’ve just found that my … fiancé has been injured and I
have
to get back out there. Can you help me?”

He sounded wide awake now.

“I’m real sorry to hear that, Miss Venzi, but you’ll have to go through the usual channels. Have your newspaper contact the Corps’ Division of Public Affairs and…”

“I don’t have time for that! Listen to me! He’s hurt really badly—I don’t know if he’ll … I
have
to get there. Please, Sergeant … he’s one of your own—he’s a United States Marine.”

There was a silence at the end of the line. Then he said, “Give me three hours.”

Sergeant Benson was as good as his word.

I called Ches to let him know I was on the move, and promised to get in touch as soon as I had any further news.

A hundred-and-fifty minutes later, I was on my way back to Lashkar Gah. Sergeant Benson had moved heaven and earth to get me where I needed to be. I would never forget his kindness.

To say David was surprised to see me would be a vast understatement. But he didn’t waste any time asking me stupid questions either.

As soon as he saw me, he said, “He’s still alive, Caroline.”

“Thank God.”

Those brief words flooded through me, and some of the weight on my chest that had made it hurt to breathe, eased just a little.

He led me through a complex of tents and portable huts, and into what looked like the ICU department of a modern, urban hospital.

“He’s in here.”

The room was small and brightly lit. Sebastian lay on a hospital bed with a number of tubes and monitors attached to him. His left arm was elevated and he was breathing on a ventilator, his chest rising and falling in time with the machine. It was the only sign he was alive: he was so still and pale.

Below his waist, he was covered with a thin blanket which rose in a mound over the cage that protected his right leg.

Thank God—they’d saved his leg.

A man in desert utilities was standing over Sebastian. At first I thought he was a doctor, but then I heard what he was saying, the rhythmical cadence of words repeated too many times.

“O Father of mercies and God of all comfort, our only help in time of need…”

I recognized the prayer for the sick.

“We humbly beseech thee to behold, visit and relieve thy sick servant
Sebastian Hunter
,
for whom our prayers are desired. Look upon
him
with the eyes of thy mercy; comfort
him
with a sense of thy goodness; preserve
him
from the temptations of the enemy; and give
him
patience under
his
affliction. In thy good time, restore
him
to health, and enable
him
to lead the residue of
his
life in thy fear, and to thy glory; and grant that finally
Sebastian
may dwell with thee in life everlasting; through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.”

“Amen,” I echoed, softly.

The man turned around, and I wasn’t surprised to see that he was wearing the white collar of a priest.

I crossed myself.

“Thank you, Padre.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

I nodded. “He’s my fiancé,” I said, quietly.

I couldn’t see David’s face, but I heard his sudden intake of breath behind me.

The priest patted my arm.

“God hears all prayers, my child. And your young man is very strong.”

He gave me a small smile, nodded at David, and left the room.

“You’re marrying him?” asked David, his voice oddly strained. “You didn’t say that when I saw you before in Kabul. You said you’d only just met again.”

I looked up sharply. “I wasn’t lying, David. This is … very new.”

“I’m sorry…” he began. Then he cleared his throat and started again.

“They’ve managed to save the leg for now, but there’s still some doubt about whether it’s viable. The next few days will be critical. There was dirt in the shrapnel and he’s contracted Acinetobacter baumannii—it’s a common infection out here. We’re treating it with antibiotics but…” he sighed. “And he’s been put into a medically-induced coma: we were worried about brain swelling as he received a shockwave from the bomb. Well, that’s quite typical with these sorts of injuries.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“I’m sorry, Caroline,” he said again. “Well, if you need anything…”

Hesitantly, David rested his hand on my shoulder, then turned and left me alone with my grief.

I picked up Sebastian’s hand and held it in my own. The fingers felt cold, so I held them to my mouth and blew on them softly, trying to heat them with my breath, just as he had done, only three weeks before in Chamonix.

Dear God—that seemed a lifetime ago. He’d been so alive, so vibrant, so full of hope, and now...

I held his hand to my cheek and closed my eyes.

“Come back to me, Sebastian. Please, tesoro, you have to fight. You’ve always been so strong, don’t give up now; don’t give up on us. I need you. Come back to me. Please, come back to me.”