The Fifth Kingdom (20 page)

The Army personnel walked them to a second building which housed the base’s medical center. They passed a number of exam rooms and dormitories on their way to a small waiting area outside the surgical wing. The CIA agent who had been on the copter was standing guard by the door and at their approach, he came up to them.

“They’ve taken Special Agent Santana into surgery. It may be some time before they’re done.”

“We’ll wait,” Deanna replied and plopped down into one of the hard plastic chairs along the wall. She placed the pack at her feet and Miranda took up a spot in the chair beside her while the agent resumed his guard at the door to the surgical wing.

It was difficult just to sit there, knowing that Bill was fighting for his life. Unable to do anything to help him other than pray that he would be all right.

Miranda didn’t need to be a psychic to know what her daughter was thinking. It was there on her very expressive face and in the way she fidgeted in the seat, tapping her feet in a staccato beat on the tiled floor. Rubbing her hands along the olive green of the borrowed pants.

She covered Deanna’s hand with her own to still the nervous motion. Sought a way to engage her daughter’s thoughts to keep her from worry about Bill.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said, but Deanna only shrugged.

“What’s there to tell? I teach high school to New York City’s upper-crust teenagers. Give lectures and write boring papers that only academics have any interest in.”

Understated,
Miranda thought. “You’re considered an expert in your field. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

But as her daughter shot a worried glance at the door to the wing it brought that kind of accomplishment into perspective. Somehow academic accolades meant little when issues of life and death were involved.

With a comforting squeeze of her daughter’s hand, Miranda said, “Your father tells me you like to travel.”

“Do you and
Papi
talk often?” Deanna asked in response and shot a questioning look in her direction.

“Every other week or so. It all depended on whether our schedules allowed time for a call,” she said, thinking of the many stretches in the early days after she had first left when it had been more difficult to reach out to her husband. Thankfully the advent of cell and satellite phones had changed that and made their exchanges more frequent.

“Why did you call me to come down and help?” Deanna asked, her voice small, like that of a lost little girl.

She stroked her hand along Deanna’s hair, still damp from the shower. Tucked an errant wave behind her ear the way she had so many times when Deanna had been a young child. She had never had a doubt about why she called Gonzalo. About why she had kept the journal filled with bits of her daughter’s life.

“I had shared so little of your life and thought we could share this. Plus I wanted to know how you were doing. I wanted to know what was happening in your life,” she freely admitted.

“Then why didn’t you stay? Why did you leave?” Deanna immediately challenged.

Why?
she asked herself, thinking about the many reasons and how to express them. Wondering how to make it clear to her daughter that it had never been about anything she had done or any failing on the part of her father. That it had always been about her own weaknesses and doubts.

“
Papi
said that you were like the feral cat down at the shore house. That even though you seemed to be domesticated, inside you were still wild and needed to be free,” Deanna offered up in an effort to help her.

“Your father was always a very wise man, which makes me wonder why he decided to marry me,” she admitted, shaking her head as she recalled the rather studious and handsome young man she had first met at a remote dig in Peru.

“He loves you,” Deanna stated without hesitation and sadly Miranda knew it to be true. Gonzalo had never stopped loving her and she wondered if that was part of the reason he had never remarried. But then again, she had never stopped loving him either.

“I don’t deserve someone like him. Or you. I could never be there in the way that I ought to have been.”

This time it was Deanna who squeezed her hand in consolation. “Did it ever occur to you that all we needed was for you to be there when you could? Even if it was only for part of the time?”

No, it hadn’t. Miranda had always been the odd man out amongst the other mothers, especially the stay-at-home moms. She wasn’t the kind to make playdates or do lunch at the mall and shop. The free time that she’d had when she wasn’t on digs was spent researching in libraries as she worked on her various projects. Even the working moms were a world apart from her, with their nine-to-five jobs and holidays crammed into whatever vacation weeks they’d managed to scrounge from stingy bosses.

“Mom,” Deanna prompted and stroked her hand across Miranda’s back.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for even part of the time. But I never stopped loving you,” she said, choking back a sob.

Suddenly they were in each other’s arms, hugging each other hard as Deanna said, “It’s not too late for things to change, Mom.”

“I know that now, DeeDee,” she replied, using the affectionate nickname that she hadn’t uttered in so long.

“Dynamite Deanna,” her daughter said with a laugh and shake of her head. “I’d forgotten that.”

Wiping away tears, Miranda said, “I didn’t. You were always so quick with your mind and full of energy. Special and I know Bill feels the same way.”

The mention of Bill dragged Deanna’s attention back to the door to the surgical wing, which was exactly the opposite of what Miranda had wanted to do. But maybe talking about Bill was precisely what her daughter needed to keep him with her. To prepare her for whatever would happen.

“Tell me about Bill.”

Deanna thought about her mother’s request. Thought about all that she had discovered about Bill in the course of just a few days. There was so much she didn’t know where to begin.

“The first time I saw him, I thought he was an obnoxious ass. He accused me of hiding at Halcyon Prep and I guess it really bugged me because he touched a nerve.”

“You’re not happy there, DeeDee?” her mother asked and laced her fingers with Deanna’s. Urged her to lean back in the chair and relax. The action brought back memories of long summer days along the Jersey shore where their family had spent weeks when they weren’t taking a trek together to some remote location.

“I am happy there. It’s just that I refused to admit how much I liked the time away as well. Maybe because I was afraid that would make me too much like you.”

Deanna risked a quick glance to see if she had offended, but her mother only nodded in seeming agreement. “And Bill made you question that?”

“I guess in his line of work you need to be intuitive because he saw right through it. Saw right through me to who I was. What I needed,” she confessed. But then she shrugged and laughed as she added, “I guess he didn’t expect to have to face what he needed as well.”

“And what was that?” her mother asked, offering a gentle squeeze of her hand.

With a smile, Deanna replied, “Me.”

“He’d be a lucky man to have you in his life,” Miranda said and Deanna looked toward the door again and the agent posted there. It had been over an hour since they had whisked Bill away. She was tired of not knowing what was happening with him. Surging to her feet, she stalked to the door and rooted herself directly in front of the agent.

“I need to know what’s happening with Bill.”

The agent barely shifted a muscle as he lowered his gaze to glare at her.

“You need to go find out.
Now
,” she insisted and the agent must have realized she would not stop until he did as she asked.

With a resigned sigh, he whirled and pushed through the door to the surgical wing, leaving Deanna pacing back and forth in front of the doors.

Her mother came to her side and offered up a calming clasp of her hand. “Bill is going to be fine.”

“How do you know that?” Deanna cried out, fear beginning to overtake her as she recollected how Bill had died in her arms. How it had yanked her heart out of her chest, leaving her feeling dead inside.

“I just know,” she replied with a certainty that was calming to Deanna’s frayed nerves.

The agent pushed through the doors before Deanna could reply, no hint on his face to clue her as to what he might say.

“Special Agent Santana is still in surgery. He’s holding his own, but the doctors expect it will be at least another hour before they’re done.”

Another hour,
she thought. She’d go crazy in another hour.

“Deanna, let’s sit down,” her mother urged and Deanna nodded. They were about to return to the hard plastic chairs when another black-suited man entered, bracketed by two military men. One American, one Mexican. Both of the man had lots of brass up at their necks, a testament to their rank.

“Doctors Vasquez and Adams, I presume,” the man-in-black said. “I’m ADIC Williams. I’m working with Special Agent Santana.”

Gesturing in the direction of each of the officers, he continued. “Colonel Richards. Commander Mendoza.”

Deanna examined the faces of each of the men. “I presume you have some questions to ask.”

“You presumed right. Shall we go?” ADIC Williams said and held his hand out in the direction of the hall and away from Bill. As she scrutinized his features again, it was obvious he would not take no for an answer.

She was determined to have her way as well. “Let’s go. But understand that I plan to be here when Bill comes out of surgery.”

“Let me get this straight. Dr. Vasquez and Special Agent Santana never entered the tomb? Only you went inside, Dr. Adams?” ADIC Williams pressed, obviously dissatisfied with the answers they had already provided during the course of the debriefing.

Deanna understood why, but the truth of it was that in this timeline, she and Bill had never entered Montezuma’s burial place. “That’s right. After we got free of the Primera Mexica members, we headed down the slope toward the base of the hillside.”

“And away from the tomb?” Commander Mendoza asked. He had been listening intently for most of the interrogation while striding back and forth behind the two other men.

She shot a glance at her mother, who smiled and calmly replied. “Commander Mendoza. I have approached the Mexican authorities regarding the study and preservation of the site. Until I have the appropriate permissions, I won’t reveal the location of my discovery.”

“Or what is inside? You won’t reveal that either, Dr. Adams?” Colonel Richards pressed, his annoyance plainly obvious.

ADIC Williams leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the tabletop, white from the pressure he was exerting to keep his anger in check. “You understand Primera Mexico believed there was a weapon inside. Something they could use to assist them in their terrorist activities.”

“Something Bill may die to prevent. Do you think I would dishonor his actions by lying to you?” Deanna replied, certain of one thing as she did so. Bill was the one who deserved to decide what to do with the sun stone. He had paid dearly to protect it with his blood and sweat.

The men backed off after her comment, but she sensed it was only a temporary reprieve. Looking up at the clock on the wall, she realized they had been in the room for close to an hour. It was time to head back and find out how Bill was doing.

Pushing away from the interrogation table, she stood and slung her pack over her shoulder. “Sorry, gentlemen. But I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to be. Mom?”

Her mother likewise rose and slipped her hand into Deanna’s. “I’m with you. It’s time to see how Bill is doing.”

ADIC Williams reluctantly stood and after a quick glance at his colleagues, he said, “I’ll take you back to the medical center.”

At a brisk pace, they returned to the other building, but this time ADIC Williams led them to an Intensive Care Unit. Deanna had noticed that he had received a message while they were in the interrogation room. Now she realized that it had been an update on Bill’s condition. When they arrived at the ICU, a Mexican nurse approached them, metal chart held to her chest.

“We’d like to see Special Agent Santana,” ADIC Williams advised.

“I’m not sure he’s conscious yet, but even if he was, only one visitor at a time. Fifteen minute limit.”

Deanna arched a brow, thinking that she would leave Bill’s side only when she was good and ready and not before. “I’m going in to see him.”

“Of course, DeeDee. Take your time,” her mother said, likewise shooting a warning glare at the nurse.

“Fifteen minutes,” the nurse reminded and Deanna brushed past her to enter the unit.

His mind was scattered like a broken jigsaw puzzle, filled with bits and pieces of memories strewn across his brain that he was trying to put back together to make sense. Older faded memories of his mother holding him, her touch tender and loving. Tears trailing down her beautiful face, her blue eyes pleading with him to understand. She had been protective he remembered now, his mind free of the padlocks he had placed on those recollections in order to shield himself from the hurt they created.

More images joined the jumble of pieces.

Deanna, lying close, her loving arms enveloping him. The scent of her, clean and uncluttered by artificial perfumes. His blood on her hands and arms. The grief on her face as she had told him about his death.

Death,
he thought, fighting it back while wave after wave of pain rolled across his body. Yet the pain was welcome in a way because it reminded him that he was still alive.

A sound registered in his brain. Footsteps heading his way. They became louder and her scent teased his nostrils over the antiseptic smells of the hospital.

Deanna,
he thought, forcing his eyes open and finding it to be an immense battle. When she slipped her hand into his, he somehow mustered the strength, opened his eyes and turned his head in her direction.

“Hi,” he said, his voice raspy and sounding weaker than he cared for.

“Hi, yourself,” she replied. She bent, kissed his cheek and whispered, “I was so worried about you.”

He reached up and stroked a finger along one of the scratches on her face, but dropped his hand immediately, taxed by that simple movement. “Are you and Miranda okay?”

“We’re fine. Only a few scratches and bruises thanks to you.”

His hand tightened in hers as he closed his eyes and bit his lip, experiencing a surge of pain. By his other hand was a button for the morphine drip connected to his IV, but he held back from pushing it.

“Why don’t you take something for the pain?”

“Later,” he replied on a sharp exhale and then faced her once again. “I dreamed about you. You and my mom.”

“Good dreams, I hope,” she said with a smile and kissed his face again.

“Good,” he said, feeling drained. He gathered up his strength again to be with her, afraid that if he released his hold on reality, she’d be gone with it.

“Don’t want to lose you,” he said aloud and grasped her hand more tightly.

She kissed his cheek again and then nuzzled his face with hers. “
Mi amor,
I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

Her words dragged a smile to his face and forced away the fear that the pain and drugs had released. “I love you too.”

She must have sensed that he needed some point of reality on which to focus. She stroked his face with her hand, keeping him grounded with her touch.

“My mom loved me. I saw that in my dreams. She tried to defend me.”

“I’m glad you remembered that,” she said, raising her hand to caress his scalp through the short strands of his hair, her actions comforting.

“You protected me, didn’t you?” he asked, having vague recollections of her pulling him through the air and into darkness.

A furrow worked across her brow. “You remember that?”

Another tide of pain wracked his body, but her gentling touch helped him ride out the discomfort. “I remember,” he said on a sharp breath.

“In the shack you told me that I couldn’t change what was meant to be. What did you mean by that?” she asked, worry evident on her face and in the tension that had entered her body.

“You told me I had died before and I thought, you can change it this time, but I’ll just die again,” he said. When he noted the anguish on her face, he reached up and stroked her cheek again, added, “But not for a while,
querida
. I plan on being with you for a long time.”

His words alleviated some of her distress. With a dimpled smile, she said, “Kind of sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

He grinned, focusing on her to stay alert as his body tried to pull him back into unconsciousness. “Sure of us,” he replied, but it almost sounded distant to him.

“Rest, Bill. I’ll be here when you wake.” She kissed him again and he memorized the feel of her close to him. Allowed the pleasure and promise in that caress to guide him to healing rest.