Part 11
Shelby knew when she wasn’t wanted. With a few words no one heard, she pronounced the interview done and hurried out. Max was already beelining for Liz, and he didn’t expect it was going to be pretty.
Max took a firm hold of Liz’s shoulders, uneasiness mounting when she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“You know, Max? I should never have interrupted you. I really just came to say I have a ton of work to do, so I’ll be staying late. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He kept his tone calm, brutally slicing through his escalating panic.
“Is that why you drove all the way over here with a flower?”
She looked down at the flower as if she’d never seen it before. “Just . . . silly. I needed a break, I guess. I . . . I have to go.”
Her voice was taut and brittle, her eyes still downcast. He stopped her easily when she tried to turn away.
“Liz, I know about Jonathan.”
She froze. “What?” It was barely a whisper.
“Let’s go somewhere and talk.”
She didn’t resist at all, which worried Max even more than if she’d fought with him. He needed her to feel, to acknowledge her emotions, because logically, he knew, he didn’t have a leg to stand on.
He’d been driving a while, without a clue as to where, when he tried again.
“I’ve heard about Jonathan, Liz, and I’m so sorry. I realize it’s made it hard to be with me, but I swear to you, we can work through this.”
She stared unseeing out the window, and Max fought off despair, his mind frantically trying out different approaches, different words. Twenty minutes went by before he realized where he was going. The beach—where he’d first convinced her to give him a chance. Where the expanse of ocean offered perspective. Where the rhythmic sound of the surf offered soothing comfort.
Where he wondered if his life would go to hell.
They began to walk, their shoes dangling casually from their fingers, belying the tension between them.
“Liz, I know your brother was a combat pilot who died on a mission in Libya. I know you were close, and I know when he died your world collapsed.”
He stopped and faced her, relieved when she finally looked at him. “What I don’t know is if that’s bigger than what we feel for each other.”
He left it there, hanging between them like an open door that she could either walk through or slam shut. She studied him, her eyes searching for . . . something, and he prayed she would find it. He imagined a hundred ways she might react, but never could he have predicted her next words.
“I didn’t know you knew Aaron.”
It was like one of those dreams where individually, the pieces make sense, but together, they’re just strange and illogical. Why was Liz talking about Aaron? This conversation was supposed to be about Jonathan. He’d misunderstood her, that’s all. He just needed to figure out what she’d actually said and it would all make some kind of sense. Any sense. But her eyes swam with unshed tears, and he knew she’d said exactly what he’d heard.
“Aaron?”
“I heard you tell Shelby he was your friend.”
Jumbled thoughts began to claw at him, the answer spinning just out of reach. How did Liz know . . .? Oh, no. God, no.
“You’re . . . Elizabeth?”
Aaron had been wild about Elizabeth, who he’d met when her brother, a friend since basic training, issued an invitation to accompany him to visit her at college—a “target-rich environment” he’d said. Aaron told the story to anyone who would listen about how this friend had told him to enjoy the campus environment as long as his enjoyment didn’t include his little sister. Naturally, he’d fallen for Elizabeth then and there.
Gradually the pieces came together. Aaron’s stories, Liz’s trauma. Aaron had been grieving over the loss of that friend when he went up that day. He hadn’t come back. Liz lost her brother and . . . Max swallowed hard . . . most probably her lover in the space of a week or two. He couldn’t begin to imagine the grief she must have felt. He couldn’t begin to fathom how she endured it. Or how he could help her overcome it.
He pulled her to him, cradling her in his arms as she cried, wishing tears could dissolve the knot of dread that twisted painfully in his chest.
******
They sat on the still-warm sand watching the sunset, an orange and fuchsia celebration of color. Max didn't feel like celebrating, but he counted it as a good sign that Liz was still beside him. Far from the tourists and beachcombers, he knew they would be undisturbed.
"Tell me about it," Max asked.
Liz glanced at him. "I was about to say the same thing."
They sat quietly for a moment, Max watching her stiff and perfect profile.
"You've heard what I thought of him. He was a great guy. I flew with him on the Abraham Lincoln."
"That's the ship . . ."
"Yeah, I talked to him hours before he died."
He watched her mouth press into a thin line, but she held steady.
"I didn't fly that day--food poisoning from shore leave two days before. I'll never eat oysters again. Anyway, he was a good friend and a hell of a pilot. He . . ." Just saying it out loud made his insides turn over in a queasy roll. "He used to talk about his Elizabeth. He had plans for the two of you."
She smiled, a nostalgic, melancholy smile.
"Did you love him?" It wasn't his place to ask, but he didn't care. He had to know.
"Yes." Her answer was so ready and sure, it pierced his heart. But then she went on.
"I did love him, in a way. It was young love—carefree and idealistic and so very naïve. Jonathan brought him to campus one weekend—they were flying together when we first met, later Jonathan was transferred to the Nimitz. I don't think he ever expected us to get together; he just thought it would be fun to bring a friend to campus, and he asked me to find them dates for Saturday night. I was a very serious student and didn't think twice about arranging a date for him when I had none myself. But when we met . . . it was instant attraction. I didn't open a book all weekend, and when they left, we promised to write."
Max sat quietly, battling fiercely against the completely unreasonable jealousy. She dated the guy in college. No big surprise. But it was the acknowledgment of love that hurt; she had yet to offer him that word.
"He came back a few more times over the next year, but he wasn't able to stay long, of course. Just quick trips. I was so proud of him. Of being with him. He was handsome and brave and oh, how magnificent he looked in his dress whites."
She stopped and looked at Max. "I've never seen you in your whites. I bet you're a vision."
"I wouldn't know." He tried to smile. "They tell me it's a babe magnet, though."
She laughed a little then. "Yes, I suppose it is. It worked on me, anyway. I had no idea what he did. Not the reality of it, anyway. It was all glamour and infatuation and hormones. I decided he would be my first."
Max kept his eyes on the sky. "And was he?"
"Yes."
He felt his stomach do another slow roll and swallowed hard again.
"I was awkward and nervous, but he was patient and very gentle. I thought he was my future. After that weekend, I never saw him again."
Resignation and incredible sadness dragged at her voice, and Max's self-pity vanished. She'd been a girl, for god's sake. A young girl's first love was a fragile thing. He knew because of Vicki and the roller coaster ride she'd put the family through the first time she fell in love.
"I'm sorry, Liz."
"I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world before that. I adored my brother and then he brought me Aaron. I knew exactly what my life would be like--a great job, great husband, great kids. Family get-togethers in the company of noble heroes. Can't you just see the flag waving over the whole damn thing?"
Her voice cracked on those last words, and Max realized the tears had returned in spite of her determined efforts to shut them off.
‘The truth is, I bet we only spent what amounted to about three weeks together. The rest was writing, e-mail, and pure imagination. I used to bake things on weekends and send them to him, pretending, I suppose, that I was the little wife back home. Sometimes I wonder if Aaron wasn’t just a version of my brother I could love in a different way. Displacement, they call it, I think.” She shook her head slowly, as if scolding herself. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately,” her eyes met Max’s, “since I met you, actually, and I realize I never even really knew him. I don’t know what his favorite ice cream was or what scared him as a kid or where he saw himself in ten years. What we had wasn’t real; it was just a fantasy.”
She straightened, under control once again.
“Anyway, Jonathan died two weeks later, and the one person I would have leaned on for support died days after that. I was so devastated, I honestly wondered if a person could die of heartache.” She peered at the sea, and Max wondered what she saw. “Some days I almost wanted to.”
She sighed deeply, then looked over at him. “I never talked about Aaron with anyone except Jonathan. Not even my parents knew about him. Maybe I realized even then that it wasn’t real, that if I talked about it, it would go away, so I hoarded our secret like a hidden treasure. I didn’t share him with anyone.” A hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Until you.”
Unsure of what to say, Max only nodded. Liz stood and stepped forward to where the sea surged and slid over her feet. Watching her face—half shadow, half dull glow as she stared into the vast emptiness—Max felt her struggle for her next words, and held his breath as if his very life depended on them.
“I want to try, Max. No one’s ever made me want to try before.” She looked back over her shoulder at him. “Will you help me?”
His heart almost burst in his chest, relief and love rising to the surface like a buoy. He sprang to his feet and cupped her face in his hands, turning them both so that the dim light reflecting from the water might help her read his face as she heard his words.
“I love you, Liz.”
He felt her flinch involuntarily, but pressed on.
“I’ve wanted to tell you that so many times, but I was afraid it would send you running, and I couldn’t take the chance. But now . . .” He brushed his lips over hers like a whisper. “Now you need to know. I want forever from this, Liz, but I’m a patient man. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
He could feel her eyes searching beyond his and into his very soul. The fear in them subsided, softened by . . . hope? Love? His eyes fell from hers to watch her hands unbutton her shirt slowly, deliberately. When she shrugged it off, she reached behind her to unclasp her bra and let it fall as well. When she reached for her pants button, his hands found hers. God, she was beautiful, and never more so than as the soft glow of starlight played across her body until she seemed as much dream as reality.
“Liz?”
There was something new in her face, or rather something missing from her face—the reserve, the thin layer of fear that seemed to linger there except in the heat of lovemaking.
“I know what I’m doing, Max. I know what I want.”
He watched her eyes, seeking truth, and finding it.
“Let me.”
As he helped her from her pants, she unbuttoned his uniform and pushed it from his shoulders. He stared at her lithe, naked form, a storm of emotion thundering through him. Again, she was offering herself into his care. She had promised him to try. It was all he could ask, even knowing that his heart had already committed, and that if, in the end, she couldn’t commit to him, he would forever carry the hollow space that she now filled to overflowing.
She helped him step from his uniform, then rose slowly, running her hands over him in an erotic, thorough exploration. He watched, spellbound, as her dark head glided closer and closer, just above the fiery trail of kisses that turned his blood molten. When she was upright, she tilted her head to look at him.
“Make love with me, Max. In the ocean. We’ll wash away the past together and make a clean start.”
In a single motion either one might have initiated, she was in his arms, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his arousal pressed hot and pulsing between them. Kissing her deeply, he waded in, oblivious to the chilling cold of the Pacific; there was heat enough in the blood that raced through them, in the strong emotions that buffered them.
He stopped when the water was waist high and the gentle waves lapped at their shoulders. Leaning back, Liz looked up at the stars. “Aren’t they beautiful, Max?”
It was the barest of whispers. “Yes.” He wasn’t looking at the stars, but rather at the starlit breasts that seemed to reach for him. Sucking one cool tip into his mouth made them both groan, and without warning, Liz lifted her hips and sheathed him.
The rhythm of the sea was too slow, too patient. They came together in a torrent of need, neither surprised when they exploded quickly and violently, clinging together against the surge of the current around them. Max feared his knees would buckle under the ferocity of emotion that coursed through him in the aftermath, and he stumbled closer to shore until they could lay on the damp, flat sand that the tide had left behind.
As their breathing steadied, Max leaned on one elbow and looked at her, dark hair splayed across the sand, skin wet and glowing, huge eyes filled with love. He yearned to hear her say it, but reminded himself he’d promised patience and time.
“You’re amazing,” he said quietly, enjoying the way she instantly became shy.
“I’d say it’s you who’s amazing, Max. In so many ways.”
The constant pulse of the ocean seemed peaceful now, to match their mood, and pulled them into the quiet world of easy confidences.
“Why did Aaron call you Elizabeth instead of Liz?”
He heard, rather than saw, the smile.
“It was a phase, I suppose. I was tired of being just plain Liz—it seemed dull and ordinary. When I went off to college, I was determined not to be dull and ordinary, so I introduced myself to everyone as Elizabeth. Jonathan couldn’t wrap his brain around it, of course, but Aaron used it to please me. After they . . . died . . .” She rarely said the word out loud. It startled her even now. “. . . I didn’t have the will to keep it up. It never fit, anyway. I’m just Liz.”
He traced her jaw line, feathered a shivery touch across her lips. “You’re not just anything, Liz. You take my breath away.”
He knew how hard it was for her to accept a compliment, and yet she didn’t argue this one. She only shifted closer, nestling her head in his neck, and looked at the sky.
“So, you believe in aliens, huh?”
He smiled. “How much of that interview did you hear?”
“Enough to confirm that you really are a hero,” she said seriously. “Not everyone would have given up a shot at space travel to be with their sick father.”
He didn’t speak right away, remembering the icy fear that had gripped him when he saw his usually indefatigable father lying pale and helpless in a hospital bed. “He would have done it for me.”
Liz didn’t know Max’s father, but was sure he spoke the truth. A child didn’t learn those values without a strong figure to model them. She took his hand, then sought to lighten his suddenly dark mood.
“I believe in aliens, too. You should have become a space cowboy; you would’ve been great. Maybe you could have smuggled me aboard and we could’ve been the ones to discover life on other planets.”
She rolled away, alight with fresh enthusiasm. Throwing her arms over her head, she stretched, her voice filled with anticipation. “And maybe they’d be friendly and intelligent and next thing you know, we’re starting The Federation!”
She laughed at herself, turning to Max with a carefree smile. His smile was strained, his eyes glowing as they raked over her gleaming body.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, except I’d have had to defend your honor . . . a lot . . . if they found out what you look like under your clothes.”
Her eyes twinkled, reflecting the stars overhead. “Same goes. Assuming, of course, that they’re not asexual.”
“Wouldn’t that be a pity . . . for them,” Max said, leaning in for a kiss. “Liz, we will make this work. I promise you.”
She cupped his jaw, watched his eyes, then let her hand drop. “Max, if you knew about Jonathan, why didn’t you ask me about it?”
It still hurt, but he hoped it didn’t show on his face. “I was waiting for you to trust me enough to tell me yourself.”
She lowered her eyes, absorbed his words. “A little like your war stories.”
Checkmate. Two proud, private, stubborn people could make for secrets that shouldn’t exist between lovers.
“I just wasn’t sure you could hear them and still stay. I didn’t want to scare you.”
Her eyes came back to his, a study in sadness and resignation. “It looks like trust was an issue with both of us, doesn’t it?”
Max hadn’t looked at it that way, though he still felt he’d been justified. On the other hand, he supposed she felt the same way.
“A new pact, then. No secrets. But that has to come with a promise to talk everything out. If one of us has trouble with all that honesty, we talk about it. We don’t hold it back. That’s the only thing that can drive a wedge between us, Liz, and I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.”
She hesitated, if only for a moment. Ugly memories and a broken heart lay beneath her scars, safely hidden from the harsh light of reality. But her heart wasn’t broken now, she realized. It was beating strong and full in the glow of Max’s love, and she wouldn’t let the past imprison it any longer.
“Fair enough,” she whispered, hearing the tentativeness in her voice and cursing herself for it. Determinedly, she tried again. “It’s a pact.” They lay quietly, neither wanting to start down another painful road, but Liz’s curiosity and eagerness to know more about the man who had finally demolished her carefully constructed walls won out. “Tell me, Max. Tell me everything.”
It would be hard for her to hear, he knew, but no harder than it was for him to tell. He pulled her close, partly for warmth as the night grew cool, and partly so that she couldn’t watch his face as the memories he had tried to bury took on new life in the retelling.
***A month had passed since Aaron’s death, and a couple of new pilots had been assigned to the carrier. Tensions were high, both on the ship and in Libya, where their routine fly-overs had run into increasing resistance, most notably in the fire of political rhetoric that the media fanned one sound byte at a time. He told her about that night when the sky had lit unexpectedly with anti-aircraft fire, spewing sparks and streaks into the dark like the Fourth of July. The squadron had kept its collective head, veering and diving in controlled chaos until they thought they had come through it.
Most had.
Max, bringing up the rear as second in command, focused below as one final burst of light flashed on the ground. Using night goggles to anticipate trajectory, he realized the plane in front of him would take the hit. Shouting into his helmet radio, he gave warning, then broke formation to force the other pilot to react more quickly. He was a fraction of a second too late. The other plane escaped damage, but the explosion caught Max’s wing. He could have compensated, but the burning jet engine on that wing served as a beacon for the next barrage, and seconds later, the jet was disintegrating around him. He’d had to eject too close to the ground. His chute hadn’t had sufficient time to slow his descent to a safe speed, and he had hit the ground so fast, only a single burst of pain registered before the world went black.
It should have killed him—if not the fall, then the two days of unconsciousness in a harsh climate, lack of medical attention, and hostile patrols. As it was, his locator signal box had miraculously survived, as had he, and the rescue operation—delayed by intensified fighting in the area after the incident—found him with a broken collarbone, multiple leg fractures, a broken arm, and a serious concussion. The fact that he’d had no internal injuries was nothing short of a miracle. Airlifted to his ship, he’d eventually been flown to Germany for recovery, and when he was released, he’d been met with a hero’s welcome, complete with Purple Heart.***
As the story ended, he waited. She lay silent in his arms, and he wondered if his first instincts had been correct—she wasn’t ready to hear it. Then he felt the tremor, the warm drop splash against his chest, and his heart sank.
She shifted until she sat facing him, legs tucked under her. He couldn’t see her face, shadowed as it was with the stars behind her, but he tensed, waiting for her next words, her next move. Slowly, she reached to stroke his cheek. Still naked in the moonlight, she was unselfconscious, but there was no eroticism in her touch. It was gentle as a feather, tender as a mother’s, and suddenly he was seized by the horrible fear that what she felt now was pity. He couldn’t live with pity. Not from her.
“We’ve both lost someone, haven’t we?” she asked softly, but with surprising calm. “I’ve lost family. A lover. You lost a friend. You almost lost yourself. I wonder . . .”
When she stopped, he sat up, hoping to see her face more clearly. His hands rested lightly on her arms, barely able to resist mimicking the clenching in his gut.
“What, Liz?”
He thought she smiled then. “I wonder if we were meant to find each other. I mean, if none of this had happened, would we even be here? Would you have this command? Would I be designing engines for fighter jets? Don’t get me wrong—I would change it all, even knowing we might not ever meet, if I could save my brother . . . Aaron . . . your pain. But I can’t change any of it, and I just wonder.”
They held each other for a long time, opening the memories enough to see the path that had brought them there. It had been hard, and painful, but Max couldn’t regret an hour of his own trauma if it had brought him here. Yes, he would change it to save Aaron; it wasn’t in him to take his happiness at the expense of another. And he would even change it to save Jonathan because he loved Liz enough to spare her that anguish. But as she said, they couldn’t change it, so he would be grateful for the good that had come from it, and make sure he did whatever it took to hold on to it. To Liz.
“Come home with me,” he whispered, his heart soaring when her head nodded against his shoulder.
They dressed and held each other as they made their way back to the car. Max would have taken them straight home, in spite of the talk that would surround their arriving at the base together the next day, but Liz reminded him that she had to take the Captain’s wife’s party ideas to a meeting with Kyle in the morning, so they took the long drive back to base and drove in tandem to the apartment. If Max was worried that the time alone to think would test Liz’s new resolve, he relaxed when she opened his car door and pulled him into a long, lazy kiss.
“How about we stay at my place tonight?”
It was the best offer he’d ever had.
Freefall (AU,M/L, Adult) (Complete)
Moderators: Itzstacie, Forum Moderators
Last edited by Carol000 on Sun Dec 12, 2004 2:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Part 12
The tantalizing aroma of coffee pried her eyes open, and she wondered if there was a more wonderful feeling in the world than waking to Max’s smiling face. Her own smile answered his, only growing wider when he began to nuzzle her neck.
“It’s time to wake up,” he murmured, making her want to stay right where she was.
“But it’s Saturday,” she protested, unsurprised to feel her body responding to his slightest touch. She’d done little else in the 36 hours since they had finally been honest with each other; it felt familiar and new all at once. Eight hours of work was all they’d spent apart in that time, and even that had been interrupted by a quick lunch during which they’d nibbled only on each other.
“We promised to go for a sail with Kyle and Jesse and Svea, remember?” His hands cupped her sheet-covered breasts, and his mouth did dangerous things to her neck. “And then we have the volleyball tournament.” His mouth replaced his hands, and she felt her nipples harden.
“Way too many plans,” she breathed, content to let him arouse her.
The coffee was cold when they got around to it, and the juice was warm. Both tasted wonderful, as did the croissant that had turned hard in the balcony’s morning breeze.
“I could get used to this,” Liz confessed as she looked out toward the ocean. The air was filled with sounds of life—children’s laughter, lawn mowers, car horns, and a neighbor’s radio. It was good to be alive.
“I’m counting on it,” Max replied easily.
He hadn’t pressured her for more than she could give, and that was exactly what made her want to give more. She loved him. There was no getting around it. And soon, she knew, she would be able to tell him. Very soon. She just needed to get used to hearing it in her head before she could get the words out of her mouth.
“Did your sister call?”
“Yeah, early. She pretends to forget about the time difference between Florida and California, but I think she just enjoys rousting me. It’s no big deal; I’m usually up really early anyway.” The devil was in his smile. “At least I am when I’m not exhausted from being seduced by a sexy . . .” He rose slowly. “. . . gorgeous . . .” He moved in front of her chair. “. . . temptress.” He bent toward her, but when she raised her mouth to meet his, she was surprised by a nip at her ear instead. Sighing, she relaxed under his mouth, and then frowned as he pulled away.
“Thanks for coming back to my place last night,” he said, clearly reining himself in. She wondered why. “I didn’t want to explain to her where I was if I missed the call. I guess I like the idea of keeping this just for us right now, too.”
“Then let’s go do something that would shock her.”
It came out so unexpectedly, he wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised, but he felt his stomach quiver at the mix of eroticism and embarrassment on her face. It would have been so easy . . .
He glanced at his watch. “We’ll be late,” he said regretfully, tugging her from the chair.
“Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll leave without us.”
He grinned at her, jubilant at the new flavor of their relationship. “Maybe.”
This kiss was gentle, familiar, and left them both smiling.
“By the way,” Max said as he soaked in the peaceful feeling of knowing she was happy in his arms, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“Chunky Monkey, clowns, and anywhere as long as it’s with you.”
She blinked, trying to make sense of it. “Huh?”
“You said you didn’t really know much about Aaron.” He made sure she was looking at him. She had to understand how important this was to him. “I don’t ever want you to feel that way about me. Those are the answers to your questions.”
Liz had to push “replay” in her memory, but smiled slowly as she figured it out. “Favorite ice cream, what scared you as a kid, and . . .” She faltered, deeply touched. “And where you see yourself in 10 years.”
She could see it, too, and for the first time, it didn’t feel scary. Not scary at all.
******
In spite of her reluctance to go, Liz couldn’t deny the appeal of a beautiful day on the water. The group chatted easily, good friends in spite of the short acquaintance. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement not to be too couple-ish, since Svea was working hard to cope with an absent Alex. As a result, Max was embroiled in an impassioned debate with Jesse and Svea about horror movies while Kyle and Liz lounged a few feet away.
Turning so the breeze would carry her voice away from the others, Liz spoke softly.
“Kyle, I need a favor.”
“You name it,” he said casually. “I’m in a particularly good mood.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she studied him. He really was in a good mood. In fact, she hadn’t heard his usual sarcasm all day.
“Yeah, you are. What brought this on?”
It was an almost boyish grin, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Jesse.”
“Uh-huh. That’s it? Jesse? I’m happy for you, but that’s not exactly news.”
Then she caught the look in his eyes. “Oh.”
“I’m crazy about her and I don’t mean just physically. Amazingly, it’s not as scary as I thought it would be.”
Liz knew exactly how he felt. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, laughing with him when two offended voices yelled, “Hey!” from the other end of the boat.
“Whad’ya need?” Kyle asked.
“Two tickets to the Joffrey Ballet.”
“That’s a hot ticket.”
“I know. I didn’t realize they’d be so hard to find, and I promised Max we’d go. I thought maybe one of your sponsors or something might have some.”
Kyle squinted at her as if she were slightly crazy. “Promised Max? You want me to believe Max wants to go to the ballet?”
“Well, not exactly,” she admitted. “But he said I could choose any activity for a date and he’d come. Ballet has always been a part of my life, and I really want to share this with him. Besides, the new Top Gun class will start in about 10 days and once they’re here, I may not see him much for a while. Plus if I don’t grab this chance while they’re here, it could be months before another ballet comes through.”
Kyle’s smirk was pure evil. “Max at the ballet. Yeah, I’ll find you tickets. Somehow. But on one condition.”
Liz narrowed her eyes warily. “What?”
“I want a picture. Preferably one with Max and a tutu in the same shot.”
“What’s with the whispered conversation?” Max asked, slipping his arms around Liz from behind, unaware of the chuckle she swallowed. “You puttin’ the moves on my woman, Valenti?”
“Not if he values his life,” Jesse threatened, only to be scooped into Kyle’s lap for a deep kiss. Lost in each other, they didn’t notice Max and Liz retreat toward Svea.
“Things seem to be moving forward rather nicely over there,” Liz smiled, glad to see her friends sharing the happiness.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Svea agreed. “Though I could’ve used some warning they were going to take the plunge last night. I would have found alternate sleeping arrangements. As it was, I spent a couple hours out on the balcony being jealous and thinking of Alex.”
“Have you heard from him?” Liz asked.
Svea’s chin quivered before she could control it.
“No.”
“Svea.” Liz reached for her friend, hating the misery in her eyes. Max didn’t miss it either. He’d done some checking, but wasn’t free to tell her where Alex was.
“Svea, that only means that whatever they’re doing requires secrecy. I know Alex like a brother. He’s not blowing you off.”
Svea fought back tears. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I know that whatever he’s doing, wherever he is, it’s dangerous?”
Max felt Liz stiffen, but Svea was right, and nothing he could say would change it. He watched with admiration as Svea pulled herself together.
“And I have you two to thank for making it even worse.”
Liz frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“While I was out there escaping the sounds in Jesse’s room, I got an eyeful from a couple out in the parking lot. They were glued together like stamps to a letter. I was afraid they might undress each other before they made it inside.”
Liz was already blushing, and the sparkle returned to Svea’s eyes. She laughed out loud when Max mumbled something unintelligible and turned to look out on the bay.
“I’m happy for you. For all of you. I just . . . Max, can’t you find out what’s happening?”
Max hesitated, then slid an arm around her. “Alex is fine, Svea, I promise you, but I can’t divulge anything classified. You know that, right?”
She turned into his arms and sighed. “I know.”
Eyes on Liz’s carefully blank face, he stroked Svea’s back and wished he knew what Liz was thinking.
******
Alex all but ran from his car to Svea’s apartment, filled with the relief and anticipation of seeing her again. He pounded on her door, flowers in one hand, the other free to sweep her to him for a mind-numbing kiss. The door swung open and Alex burst through, barely stopping himself from throwing his arms around a tall, handsome man with 5 o’clock shadow.
“Who is it, baby?” he heard Svea call from the bedroom.
“Some sailor,” he answered, eyeing Alex—and the flowers—suspiciously. “What do you want, boy? Maybe you got the wrong apartment.”
Stunned, Alex dropped the flowers and stared. Then, with unnatural speed, he darted toward the bedroom. When he pushed the door open, all he could see was Svea’s sad face, looming closer and closer until her eyes filled his vision.
“You never wrote, Alex. You never wrote. You never wrote.”
“I couldn’t! I couldn’t!”
“Alex!” Now she was shaking him. But the voice was wrong. Masculine. He raised his arms, in defense or aggression he wasn’t sure. “Man, this is the second time in three days. And if you hug me again, I may have to punch you. Wake up, for cryin’ out loud.”
“Huh?”
“You’re yellin’ in your sleep again, man. It makes it hard on the rest of us, ya know?”
The ship. He was on the ship.
“Oh, sorry.” He sat up, groping for reality. “Sorry, Kev. I’m okay now. Go back to sleep.”
“Same dream? Girlfriend throws you over ‘cause she didn’t hear from you?”
It was so lame. He was sorry now that he’d confided in his friend. Everyone was in the same boat. Well, not exactly. The married ones had wives who understood about this stuff. He’d never even thought to explain this possibility to Svea. Max would do it, though. Max would make her understand it wasn’t his fault. At least he’d damn well better.
“I’m tellin’ you, Alex, you’d better get over that freaky love of the regs and find a way to get a message to your woman. An infraction like that can’t be as dangerous as keepin’ the rest of us so sleep-deprived that we screw up on the job.”
“Sorry. I’m okay now. Maybe a walk.”
Kevin yawned. “You do that. Maybe I can find my dream again. Sexy little redhead all hot for me . . .”
Alex laughed and rolled his eyes. “You could sell those dreams on DVD. Different girl every night. I can’t even tell which is your type, Kev. Do you even have a type?”
Pulling the covers up over his head, Kevin smiled. “Female, my friend. Why limit your possibilities?”
With another chuckle, Alex rose, pulled on his pants, and went to find some fresh air.
There was activity on the ship 24 hours a day, but nighttime was quiet, at least when there was no active offensive on. Sailors at duty posts straightened when they saw him coming, but a casual salute was his only acknowledgment. He wasn’t about to bust their chops for relaxing their stance during a long, boring shift. Lights glowed from the bridge, and Alex knew that there, they never let their guard down. Armies, terrorists, even politicians didn’t watch the clock, and right now, they were floating on a sea of tension among all three.
Rampant flu had sent more than a hundred crewmen to Israel already; some even further if they needed more aggressive care. Several pilots were down, too, and Alex had heard reinforcements were coming. He just hoped hostilities didn’t escalate while their ship’s complement was down.
Kevin was right. Alex wasn’t getting enough rest lately, and his nightmares were starting to disturb others’ rest as well. Would it really be so bad if he slipped a letter to the next guy who was lucky enough to get to shore? Just a quick, reassuring note to tell her he was okay and that he thought about her every day? Every night?
He mulled over the idea as he stared into the black expanse off the port bow. What was she doing now? Watching Max with Liz? Kyle with Jesse? Wondering why she was the one who got stuck with the guy who would leave? Deciding it wasn’t worth it?
Okay, now he was having nightmares even when he was wide awake. Time to get a grip. A seriously firm grip. Straightening, Alex took a deep breath of sea air and began to talk himself into returning to his bunk and trying again to get the sleep he so badly needed. Somehow it just didn’t seem right that his mind couldn’t win the battle for control over his body. Of course, that wasn’t just true of sleep, he mused, as he thought again of Svea.
A solitary figure was silhouetted against the glow of the ship’s minimal night lights. Its head rested on forearms that lay across the ship’s railing, and something about the way he swayed ever so slightly from side to side spoke of despair.
“Problem here?” Alex asked quietly, poised for any number of reactions, but the figure only seemed to unfold in slow motion and turned unthreateningly.
“Zhen?”
“Hi, Alex.”
“What’s wrong?”
The broken sigh that preceded his answer meant one of two things—a death in the family or a “Dear John” letter.
“Just got word that my father fell from the 3rd floor of a construction site,” he said, obviously struggling to keep his voice level. “They don’t think he’s gonna make it.”
“I’m so sorry, man. Where is he?”
“New York City. My mom’s with him, but she barely speaks English. I need to be there.” His fist pounded softly on the railing, and he fairly hissed out his frustration. “I should be there!”
“Have you talked to the Captain?”
“The message just came through an hour ago. I’ll ask him first thing in the morning.”
“He’ll let you go.”
“Maybe, but we’re down men as it is. He might not let anyone go who isn’t puking or delirious.”
“Of course he will. For this, he will.”
Zhen nodded, and with one heartfelt thump on the back, Alex left him to his own thoughts. What kind of creep did it make him that he was already planning to slip the guy a letter to mail from New York?
******
Svea slept, lulled by the sun and the gentle swaying of the boat, while Liz rubbed lotion on Max’s back in silence. Their pact of honesty was weathering its first test.
“Liz, I felt you stiffen when Svea was talking about Alex earlier. I want to know what’s on your mind.”
Her hands stilled on his shoulders, then resumed their slow circular motion.
“We said we’d talk about this stuff,” Max reminded her. He wanted to sit up and face her, but sensed that the mindless motion and lack of eye contact might make it easier for her to say what she needed to say.
“I want to put it all behind me, Max. I’m trying, really. But whenever Svea says stuff like that, it’s just in my face, you know? I can’t help tensing up. It’s been second nature for so long—not to think about it, not to talk about it, not to let myself ever need to deal with it again. I’m okay. Just be patient with me.”
Now Max flipped to his back and pulled her down on top of him.
“Careful, children,” Kyle called from the bow of the boat where he and Jesse were digging through the cooler. “Mom and Dad are right here.”
Liz laughed, relieving Max’s mind considerably. “The day you two are responsible chaperones is the day that sea lion quotes Shakespeare,” she teased. “We won’t do anything you wouldn’t do, how’s that?”
Kyle put on his most appalled expression, which got Jesse laughing, too. “Do as I say, not as I do,” he advised, pulling Jesse to his lap for a kiss. Now Max had to join the laughter.
“Hey, Kyle. Remember that time Principal Forrester caught you and Trina Griglione in the art room, and you tried to convince him that you were just doing a body painting project?”
Liz’s giggle was drowned out by Jesse’s huff of disgust. “Body painting? Just how naked were you in a high school classroom?”
“Me?” Kyle answered with self-righteous dignity. “I wasn’t naked at all.”
Kyle’s voice entered a whole new octave when Jesse forced ice down his bathing trunks, and Liz and Max laughed loudly as they watched the battle that ensued. The commotion woke Svea, as well, and she rolled out of the way just in time to avoid becoming a wrestling mat.
Max looked back at Liz and smiled broadly. Her eyes were dancing, her smile was completely carefree, and her laughter was sheer music. Then she turned her eyes on him and lowered her head for a brief, soft kiss.
“I’m where I want to be, Max. With you.”
It was a hell of a good pact, he decided as she curled into his chest. A hell of a good pact.
******
“Yeah, baby, bring it on,” Kyle taunted after finally scoring a point. He and Jesse were a team on the volleyball court and were losing miserably to Svea and Robin, Svea’s colleague from school whose husband was away for training. But losing didn’t seem to concern him; his antics and attitude were keeping his opponents’ spirits up, and Max couldn’t help but admire his skill. No one was better with people than Kyle; that was the main reason he was San Diego’s top radio personality and a sought-after emcee for everything from charity events to school talent shows. Right now, he had Svea and Robin laughing so hard, they were in danger of losing their substantial lead, but they weren’t missing their men . . . at least not for the moment.
“Don’t mess with The Man!” he goaded them. “Volleyball is a man’s game, and only manly men can win it. The writing’s on the wall, ladies. Resistance is futile.”
“Is that so?” Jesse objected. “In that case, I’m on the wrong team.”
She ducked under the net and joined the other two women, a laughing challenge in her eye.
“Ah, the woman doubts The Man. Max, come help me show these lowly women our genetic superiority.”
Max grinned at his friend from behind Liz, who was seated comfortably in his lap. “You’re The Man, Kyle. I’ll just sit here and take notes.”
“Ah, Grasshopper, you are wise.” Kyle struck a pose and flexed his impressive muscles. He was small in stature, but he’d certainly built a powerful physique. Jesse actually licked her lips in appreciation before closing ranks with her new teammates.
“Well, Mr. Manly Man, try returning this.”
Svea launched a killer serve that had Kyle flying across the court horizontally, only to land with an ungraceful thud at Max’s feet.
“‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’ Proverbs,” Liz recited haughtily, though her eyes sparkled with humor. She, too, was quietly appreciating Kyle’s efforts.
Kyle spit sand from his mouth and let out a dramatic moan. The scene made her flash back to the day she had found herself in much the same position, and a certain adorable running mate had carried her inside to check her injuries. Pain was not the sensation she associated with that day. Not by a long shot.
“Kyle! Are you okay?” Jesse was already running toward him. “Baby, are you hurt?”
Kyle looked up at Liz and Max and winked before turning slowly to his back.
“I think so,” he groaned, giving the impression he was anything but.
“You big dummy,” she scolded as she checked him over. “Come upstairs with me and I’ll wash off those scrapes.”
“Could you?” he asked, sounding like a little boy.
“Give me a break!” Svea erupted, giving the final push to Max and Liz’s barely contained laughter. Every face was smiling when they turned en masse toward the intrusive roar of an engine. A Navy jeep had pulled up right onto the sidewalk next to the court, and Thad Owens, in full uniform, hopped out with a salute in one hand and an envelope in the other.
“Oh, God.” Liz rose slowly from Max’s lap and watched him walk toward Thad. The pilot spoke quickly and softly as Max opened the envelope. A quick scan later, he turned to Liz with a grim face and worried eyes. By the time Thad had finished briefing him, she was gone.
The tantalizing aroma of coffee pried her eyes open, and she wondered if there was a more wonderful feeling in the world than waking to Max’s smiling face. Her own smile answered his, only growing wider when he began to nuzzle her neck.
“It’s time to wake up,” he murmured, making her want to stay right where she was.
“But it’s Saturday,” she protested, unsurprised to feel her body responding to his slightest touch. She’d done little else in the 36 hours since they had finally been honest with each other; it felt familiar and new all at once. Eight hours of work was all they’d spent apart in that time, and even that had been interrupted by a quick lunch during which they’d nibbled only on each other.
“We promised to go for a sail with Kyle and Jesse and Svea, remember?” His hands cupped her sheet-covered breasts, and his mouth did dangerous things to her neck. “And then we have the volleyball tournament.” His mouth replaced his hands, and she felt her nipples harden.
“Way too many plans,” she breathed, content to let him arouse her.
The coffee was cold when they got around to it, and the juice was warm. Both tasted wonderful, as did the croissant that had turned hard in the balcony’s morning breeze.
“I could get used to this,” Liz confessed as she looked out toward the ocean. The air was filled with sounds of life—children’s laughter, lawn mowers, car horns, and a neighbor’s radio. It was good to be alive.
“I’m counting on it,” Max replied easily.
He hadn’t pressured her for more than she could give, and that was exactly what made her want to give more. She loved him. There was no getting around it. And soon, she knew, she would be able to tell him. Very soon. She just needed to get used to hearing it in her head before she could get the words out of her mouth.
“Did your sister call?”
“Yeah, early. She pretends to forget about the time difference between Florida and California, but I think she just enjoys rousting me. It’s no big deal; I’m usually up really early anyway.” The devil was in his smile. “At least I am when I’m not exhausted from being seduced by a sexy . . .” He rose slowly. “. . . gorgeous . . .” He moved in front of her chair. “. . . temptress.” He bent toward her, but when she raised her mouth to meet his, she was surprised by a nip at her ear instead. Sighing, she relaxed under his mouth, and then frowned as he pulled away.
“Thanks for coming back to my place last night,” he said, clearly reining himself in. She wondered why. “I didn’t want to explain to her where I was if I missed the call. I guess I like the idea of keeping this just for us right now, too.”
“Then let’s go do something that would shock her.”
It came out so unexpectedly, he wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised, but he felt his stomach quiver at the mix of eroticism and embarrassment on her face. It would have been so easy . . .
He glanced at his watch. “We’ll be late,” he said regretfully, tugging her from the chair.
“Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll leave without us.”
He grinned at her, jubilant at the new flavor of their relationship. “Maybe.”
This kiss was gentle, familiar, and left them both smiling.
“By the way,” Max said as he soaked in the peaceful feeling of knowing she was happy in his arms, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“Chunky Monkey, clowns, and anywhere as long as it’s with you.”
She blinked, trying to make sense of it. “Huh?”
“You said you didn’t really know much about Aaron.” He made sure she was looking at him. She had to understand how important this was to him. “I don’t ever want you to feel that way about me. Those are the answers to your questions.”
Liz had to push “replay” in her memory, but smiled slowly as she figured it out. “Favorite ice cream, what scared you as a kid, and . . .” She faltered, deeply touched. “And where you see yourself in 10 years.”
She could see it, too, and for the first time, it didn’t feel scary. Not scary at all.
******
In spite of her reluctance to go, Liz couldn’t deny the appeal of a beautiful day on the water. The group chatted easily, good friends in spite of the short acquaintance. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement not to be too couple-ish, since Svea was working hard to cope with an absent Alex. As a result, Max was embroiled in an impassioned debate with Jesse and Svea about horror movies while Kyle and Liz lounged a few feet away.
Turning so the breeze would carry her voice away from the others, Liz spoke softly.
“Kyle, I need a favor.”
“You name it,” he said casually. “I’m in a particularly good mood.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she studied him. He really was in a good mood. In fact, she hadn’t heard his usual sarcasm all day.
“Yeah, you are. What brought this on?”
It was an almost boyish grin, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Jesse.”
“Uh-huh. That’s it? Jesse? I’m happy for you, but that’s not exactly news.”
Then she caught the look in his eyes. “Oh.”
“I’m crazy about her and I don’t mean just physically. Amazingly, it’s not as scary as I thought it would be.”
Liz knew exactly how he felt. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, laughing with him when two offended voices yelled, “Hey!” from the other end of the boat.
“Whad’ya need?” Kyle asked.
“Two tickets to the Joffrey Ballet.”
“That’s a hot ticket.”
“I know. I didn’t realize they’d be so hard to find, and I promised Max we’d go. I thought maybe one of your sponsors or something might have some.”
Kyle squinted at her as if she were slightly crazy. “Promised Max? You want me to believe Max wants to go to the ballet?”
“Well, not exactly,” she admitted. “But he said I could choose any activity for a date and he’d come. Ballet has always been a part of my life, and I really want to share this with him. Besides, the new Top Gun class will start in about 10 days and once they’re here, I may not see him much for a while. Plus if I don’t grab this chance while they’re here, it could be months before another ballet comes through.”
Kyle’s smirk was pure evil. “Max at the ballet. Yeah, I’ll find you tickets. Somehow. But on one condition.”
Liz narrowed her eyes warily. “What?”
“I want a picture. Preferably one with Max and a tutu in the same shot.”
“What’s with the whispered conversation?” Max asked, slipping his arms around Liz from behind, unaware of the chuckle she swallowed. “You puttin’ the moves on my woman, Valenti?”
“Not if he values his life,” Jesse threatened, only to be scooped into Kyle’s lap for a deep kiss. Lost in each other, they didn’t notice Max and Liz retreat toward Svea.
“Things seem to be moving forward rather nicely over there,” Liz smiled, glad to see her friends sharing the happiness.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Svea agreed. “Though I could’ve used some warning they were going to take the plunge last night. I would have found alternate sleeping arrangements. As it was, I spent a couple hours out on the balcony being jealous and thinking of Alex.”
“Have you heard from him?” Liz asked.
Svea’s chin quivered before she could control it.
“No.”
“Svea.” Liz reached for her friend, hating the misery in her eyes. Max didn’t miss it either. He’d done some checking, but wasn’t free to tell her where Alex was.
“Svea, that only means that whatever they’re doing requires secrecy. I know Alex like a brother. He’s not blowing you off.”
Svea fought back tears. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I know that whatever he’s doing, wherever he is, it’s dangerous?”
Max felt Liz stiffen, but Svea was right, and nothing he could say would change it. He watched with admiration as Svea pulled herself together.
“And I have you two to thank for making it even worse.”
Liz frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“While I was out there escaping the sounds in Jesse’s room, I got an eyeful from a couple out in the parking lot. They were glued together like stamps to a letter. I was afraid they might undress each other before they made it inside.”
Liz was already blushing, and the sparkle returned to Svea’s eyes. She laughed out loud when Max mumbled something unintelligible and turned to look out on the bay.
“I’m happy for you. For all of you. I just . . . Max, can’t you find out what’s happening?”
Max hesitated, then slid an arm around her. “Alex is fine, Svea, I promise you, but I can’t divulge anything classified. You know that, right?”
She turned into his arms and sighed. “I know.”
Eyes on Liz’s carefully blank face, he stroked Svea’s back and wished he knew what Liz was thinking.
******
Alex all but ran from his car to Svea’s apartment, filled with the relief and anticipation of seeing her again. He pounded on her door, flowers in one hand, the other free to sweep her to him for a mind-numbing kiss. The door swung open and Alex burst through, barely stopping himself from throwing his arms around a tall, handsome man with 5 o’clock shadow.
“Who is it, baby?” he heard Svea call from the bedroom.
“Some sailor,” he answered, eyeing Alex—and the flowers—suspiciously. “What do you want, boy? Maybe you got the wrong apartment.”
Stunned, Alex dropped the flowers and stared. Then, with unnatural speed, he darted toward the bedroom. When he pushed the door open, all he could see was Svea’s sad face, looming closer and closer until her eyes filled his vision.
“You never wrote, Alex. You never wrote. You never wrote.”
“I couldn’t! I couldn’t!”
“Alex!” Now she was shaking him. But the voice was wrong. Masculine. He raised his arms, in defense or aggression he wasn’t sure. “Man, this is the second time in three days. And if you hug me again, I may have to punch you. Wake up, for cryin’ out loud.”
“Huh?”
“You’re yellin’ in your sleep again, man. It makes it hard on the rest of us, ya know?”
The ship. He was on the ship.
“Oh, sorry.” He sat up, groping for reality. “Sorry, Kev. I’m okay now. Go back to sleep.”
“Same dream? Girlfriend throws you over ‘cause she didn’t hear from you?”
It was so lame. He was sorry now that he’d confided in his friend. Everyone was in the same boat. Well, not exactly. The married ones had wives who understood about this stuff. He’d never even thought to explain this possibility to Svea. Max would do it, though. Max would make her understand it wasn’t his fault. At least he’d damn well better.
“I’m tellin’ you, Alex, you’d better get over that freaky love of the regs and find a way to get a message to your woman. An infraction like that can’t be as dangerous as keepin’ the rest of us so sleep-deprived that we screw up on the job.”
“Sorry. I’m okay now. Maybe a walk.”
Kevin yawned. “You do that. Maybe I can find my dream again. Sexy little redhead all hot for me . . .”
Alex laughed and rolled his eyes. “You could sell those dreams on DVD. Different girl every night. I can’t even tell which is your type, Kev. Do you even have a type?”
Pulling the covers up over his head, Kevin smiled. “Female, my friend. Why limit your possibilities?”
With another chuckle, Alex rose, pulled on his pants, and went to find some fresh air.
There was activity on the ship 24 hours a day, but nighttime was quiet, at least when there was no active offensive on. Sailors at duty posts straightened when they saw him coming, but a casual salute was his only acknowledgment. He wasn’t about to bust their chops for relaxing their stance during a long, boring shift. Lights glowed from the bridge, and Alex knew that there, they never let their guard down. Armies, terrorists, even politicians didn’t watch the clock, and right now, they were floating on a sea of tension among all three.
Rampant flu had sent more than a hundred crewmen to Israel already; some even further if they needed more aggressive care. Several pilots were down, too, and Alex had heard reinforcements were coming. He just hoped hostilities didn’t escalate while their ship’s complement was down.
Kevin was right. Alex wasn’t getting enough rest lately, and his nightmares were starting to disturb others’ rest as well. Would it really be so bad if he slipped a letter to the next guy who was lucky enough to get to shore? Just a quick, reassuring note to tell her he was okay and that he thought about her every day? Every night?
He mulled over the idea as he stared into the black expanse off the port bow. What was she doing now? Watching Max with Liz? Kyle with Jesse? Wondering why she was the one who got stuck with the guy who would leave? Deciding it wasn’t worth it?
Okay, now he was having nightmares even when he was wide awake. Time to get a grip. A seriously firm grip. Straightening, Alex took a deep breath of sea air and began to talk himself into returning to his bunk and trying again to get the sleep he so badly needed. Somehow it just didn’t seem right that his mind couldn’t win the battle for control over his body. Of course, that wasn’t just true of sleep, he mused, as he thought again of Svea.
A solitary figure was silhouetted against the glow of the ship’s minimal night lights. Its head rested on forearms that lay across the ship’s railing, and something about the way he swayed ever so slightly from side to side spoke of despair.
“Problem here?” Alex asked quietly, poised for any number of reactions, but the figure only seemed to unfold in slow motion and turned unthreateningly.
“Zhen?”
“Hi, Alex.”
“What’s wrong?”
The broken sigh that preceded his answer meant one of two things—a death in the family or a “Dear John” letter.
“Just got word that my father fell from the 3rd floor of a construction site,” he said, obviously struggling to keep his voice level. “They don’t think he’s gonna make it.”
“I’m so sorry, man. Where is he?”
“New York City. My mom’s with him, but she barely speaks English. I need to be there.” His fist pounded softly on the railing, and he fairly hissed out his frustration. “I should be there!”
“Have you talked to the Captain?”
“The message just came through an hour ago. I’ll ask him first thing in the morning.”
“He’ll let you go.”
“Maybe, but we’re down men as it is. He might not let anyone go who isn’t puking or delirious.”
“Of course he will. For this, he will.”
Zhen nodded, and with one heartfelt thump on the back, Alex left him to his own thoughts. What kind of creep did it make him that he was already planning to slip the guy a letter to mail from New York?
******
Svea slept, lulled by the sun and the gentle swaying of the boat, while Liz rubbed lotion on Max’s back in silence. Their pact of honesty was weathering its first test.
“Liz, I felt you stiffen when Svea was talking about Alex earlier. I want to know what’s on your mind.”
Her hands stilled on his shoulders, then resumed their slow circular motion.
“We said we’d talk about this stuff,” Max reminded her. He wanted to sit up and face her, but sensed that the mindless motion and lack of eye contact might make it easier for her to say what she needed to say.
“I want to put it all behind me, Max. I’m trying, really. But whenever Svea says stuff like that, it’s just in my face, you know? I can’t help tensing up. It’s been second nature for so long—not to think about it, not to talk about it, not to let myself ever need to deal with it again. I’m okay. Just be patient with me.”
Now Max flipped to his back and pulled her down on top of him.
“Careful, children,” Kyle called from the bow of the boat where he and Jesse were digging through the cooler. “Mom and Dad are right here.”
Liz laughed, relieving Max’s mind considerably. “The day you two are responsible chaperones is the day that sea lion quotes Shakespeare,” she teased. “We won’t do anything you wouldn’t do, how’s that?”
Kyle put on his most appalled expression, which got Jesse laughing, too. “Do as I say, not as I do,” he advised, pulling Jesse to his lap for a kiss. Now Max had to join the laughter.
“Hey, Kyle. Remember that time Principal Forrester caught you and Trina Griglione in the art room, and you tried to convince him that you were just doing a body painting project?”
Liz’s giggle was drowned out by Jesse’s huff of disgust. “Body painting? Just how naked were you in a high school classroom?”
“Me?” Kyle answered with self-righteous dignity. “I wasn’t naked at all.”
Kyle’s voice entered a whole new octave when Jesse forced ice down his bathing trunks, and Liz and Max laughed loudly as they watched the battle that ensued. The commotion woke Svea, as well, and she rolled out of the way just in time to avoid becoming a wrestling mat.
Max looked back at Liz and smiled broadly. Her eyes were dancing, her smile was completely carefree, and her laughter was sheer music. Then she turned her eyes on him and lowered her head for a brief, soft kiss.
“I’m where I want to be, Max. With you.”
It was a hell of a good pact, he decided as she curled into his chest. A hell of a good pact.
******
“Yeah, baby, bring it on,” Kyle taunted after finally scoring a point. He and Jesse were a team on the volleyball court and were losing miserably to Svea and Robin, Svea’s colleague from school whose husband was away for training. But losing didn’t seem to concern him; his antics and attitude were keeping his opponents’ spirits up, and Max couldn’t help but admire his skill. No one was better with people than Kyle; that was the main reason he was San Diego’s top radio personality and a sought-after emcee for everything from charity events to school talent shows. Right now, he had Svea and Robin laughing so hard, they were in danger of losing their substantial lead, but they weren’t missing their men . . . at least not for the moment.
“Don’t mess with The Man!” he goaded them. “Volleyball is a man’s game, and only manly men can win it. The writing’s on the wall, ladies. Resistance is futile.”
“Is that so?” Jesse objected. “In that case, I’m on the wrong team.”
She ducked under the net and joined the other two women, a laughing challenge in her eye.
“Ah, the woman doubts The Man. Max, come help me show these lowly women our genetic superiority.”
Max grinned at his friend from behind Liz, who was seated comfortably in his lap. “You’re The Man, Kyle. I’ll just sit here and take notes.”
“Ah, Grasshopper, you are wise.” Kyle struck a pose and flexed his impressive muscles. He was small in stature, but he’d certainly built a powerful physique. Jesse actually licked her lips in appreciation before closing ranks with her new teammates.
“Well, Mr. Manly Man, try returning this.”
Svea launched a killer serve that had Kyle flying across the court horizontally, only to land with an ungraceful thud at Max’s feet.
“‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’ Proverbs,” Liz recited haughtily, though her eyes sparkled with humor. She, too, was quietly appreciating Kyle’s efforts.
Kyle spit sand from his mouth and let out a dramatic moan. The scene made her flash back to the day she had found herself in much the same position, and a certain adorable running mate had carried her inside to check her injuries. Pain was not the sensation she associated with that day. Not by a long shot.
“Kyle! Are you okay?” Jesse was already running toward him. “Baby, are you hurt?”
Kyle looked up at Liz and Max and winked before turning slowly to his back.
“I think so,” he groaned, giving the impression he was anything but.
“You big dummy,” she scolded as she checked him over. “Come upstairs with me and I’ll wash off those scrapes.”
“Could you?” he asked, sounding like a little boy.
“Give me a break!” Svea erupted, giving the final push to Max and Liz’s barely contained laughter. Every face was smiling when they turned en masse toward the intrusive roar of an engine. A Navy jeep had pulled up right onto the sidewalk next to the court, and Thad Owens, in full uniform, hopped out with a salute in one hand and an envelope in the other.
“Oh, God.” Liz rose slowly from Max’s lap and watched him walk toward Thad. The pilot spoke quickly and softly as Max opened the envelope. A quick scan later, he turned to Liz with a grim face and worried eyes. By the time Thad had finished briefing him, she was gone.
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Part 13
It took 20 minutes for Thad and Max to finish discussing the orders. The two men, along with Lt. Ames and one other pilot from the school, were ordered to join the Nimitz, where flu was sweeping the crew, making it impossible to get their planes in the sky. The carrier was in a hot spot situation in the Mediterranean off of Israel as tensions escalated following the death of Yasser Arafat. There wasn’t time to get another carrier in place, and the politicos warned that a strong military presence was essential to preventing the breakout of war. They had only hours to prepare, and Captain Schmidt had been trying to reach Max by phone for two of them already. Finally, he had sent Thad to find him.
Once Thad left, Max took off at a full run for Liz’s apartment. When he didn’t get an answer, he raced to Svea’s apartment, hoping she was there, seeking comfort or exploding in a tirade—he didn’t care as long as he found her. Instead, all he found were the two roommates speculating with Kyle and Robin about what was happening, but they hadn’t seen Liz. Max stepped onto their balcony to sweep the surrounding area and watched, heartbroken, as Liz’s car sped from the parking lot.
It was the closest he’d ever come to disobeying an order. Not that he seriously considered it, but he sure as hell imagined himself searching until he found her and promising never to leave. The odds against this had been enormous; why did this have to happen now?
With the habit of long training and self-discipline, Max started through the steps of preparing to leave. Unsure of when his next shower might be, he started with that, mentally running down a long “to-do” list. He didn’t need to take much—the Navy would see to his basic needs. But he did need to stop the paper and mail, notify his landlord, and ask Svea to water his plants. He needed to call his parents and sister, and he would find the time to leave Liz a note. He couldn’t leave without making sure she knew he would be back . . . for her.
Four hours later, Max, Thad, Jeremy, and Lt. Wesley Johnston sat in Captain Schmidt’s office getting a full briefing. Max filed away every word, but part of his mind was still frantically trying to figure out a way to talk to Liz before he left. When they were dismissed, the four grim-faced men left the building in silence. A twinge of envy pricked Max’s heart as he saw Thad jog toward his wife, who waited beside their car. He watched as they embraced, kissed, embraced again. Then, wiping away tears, Charisse got in her car.
Before Max could stop himself, he ran toward her. Thad stepped aside, already anticipating what his commander wanted with her and willing to give him the privacy to ask.
“Charisse!”
Looking back at him, she rolled down her window and waited.
“Charisse, you haven’t seen Liz, have you? Or heard from her?”
He hated the look of pity that crossed her face, and knew she was thinking exactly what he was.
“No, Max, I’m sorry, I haven’t. I know I’ll be seeing her, though. Is there anything you want me to tell her?”
“Just . . . tell her I’ll be back. Just tell her that, will you? And take care of her for me.”
Her hand rested on his, her eyes understanding. “I will, Max.”
“We’ll be back before classes start next week, Charisse.” Which one of them was he trying to convince, he wondered. “I don’t think they’d send us if we weren’t going to be back for that.”
The doubt in her eyes never reached her voice. “I know. You take care of my Thaddeus, too, okay?”
He nodded, numb, as she drove away.
******
The hangar was a hive of activity, the hum of crisis and conjecture swarming through its cavernous space. Max felt his mood lift, if only a little, as he watched the men and women whose job it was to make sure that equipment was the least of the pilots’ worries. They succeeded. Max knew when he took his plane up, it was as ready as he was.
His eyes swept the bustle of coveralls and tool carts, the sense of longing sharp and painful in his chest. He’d let himself hope he’d find her here. Gathering himself, he shifted his briefcase to his left hand and walked stiffly through the room, returning salutes and accepting well wishes. Once alone, he marched purposefully toward Liz’s office, unsurprised to find it dark and locked.
He wouldn’t accept that he’d lost her, wouldn’t acknowledge the already pressing sense of loneliness. This is what he was. He couldn’t change that. Wouldn’t change that. Why should he have to? He let the anger take hold, a reassuring alternative to the panic that threatened to paralyze him. He wouldn’t apologize for serving his country, for working his ass off to attain a level of competence and recognition that only a few could hope to achieve. He was proud of what he’d made of his life, of what he offered his country. Others valued him; why couldn’t she see that? There were plenty of women . . .
He gradually became aware of the pain in his left hand, and looked down to see his fingers gripping the briefcase until the stiff stitching in its leather handle bit sharply into his skin. Other women didn’t matter. Liz mattered. And she’d sacrificed so much already in the name of men who served and didn’t come back. Well, he would come back, and soon, and when he did, he’d find a way to make sure Liz understood he could be both a naval aviator and the man she would build her life with. No other solution was acceptable.
Wandering slowly now, Max took a back stairway to the lockers where he would find his flight bag already packed with the essentials. Distracted, he was almost on top of them before he saw them, wrapped in an embrace so poignant and desperate, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Lt. Jeremy Ames and Ensign Frankie O’Hara had yet to detect his presence. He smiled sadly, speculating that if he had found Liz, it would have been much the same—eyes only for each other, kisses that were really promises, touches that would have to last.
Willing to leave them to their goodbyes, he turned, only to have his briefcase bump against the handrail. Jeremy and Frankie leapt apart, fearful eyes staring at him from within faces still flushed with love.
He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. It was rather cut and dried on paper, after all. But Liz’s voice echoed in his head: Much ado about nothing. Leave them alone, Max. And hearing her, he found himself agreeing. He couldn’t do what regulations dictated. Rules were for maintaining order, safety, discipline. There were reasons. Good ones. But he saw no reason to make these two people suffer for what they felt. He saw no purpose in telling them to turn their backs on love that wouldn’t be denied, no advantage in ruining two careers that held such promise.
“Carry on,” he ordered, then turned his back and left them gaping.
******
Petty Officer First Class Gabe McIntyre watched with interest as Lt. Commander Evans scanned the room. There was no doubt in his mind what . . . or rather who . . . he was looking for. Liz had come barreling into the hangar earlier in the day as if the demons of hell were on her six, and he’d watched her assemble a diagnostic cart and head out onto the tarmac with a grim face. He’d gotten his own orders to ready four fighter jets only hours before. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening.
Since then, she’d been back twice, once for a tool and once for a diagram, only to head out again without a word. He had finally gone in search of her, finding her exactly where he’d expected, shoulder deep in the engine compartment of the Hornet assigned to Lt. Commander Evans. She’d accepted the bottled water he’d offered, grunted a thank you, and disappeared into the engine compartment again. He’d had no choice but to return to his own duties, bewildered and more than a little concerned for the petite civilian he’d grown to like and respect.
With the maintenance records for Goliath’s jet spread out in front of him, Gabe logged the last-minute checks he’d performed before the pilots took off. As he wrote, he pondered the not-very-covert romance that had blossomed between Max Evans and Liz Parker in the last few weeks. It had started so strangely that morning when Lt. Commander Evans first arrived at the hangar, and Liz had paled and almost swooned. He remembered reaching for her as she began to tilt in his direction, but she’d pulled it together, as had the Lieutenant Commander, who’d looked as if she’d been some unknown species. Had they known each other before? Was there history? Then there was that meeting when he thought the frost in the room might cause the glass in the windows to crack. Somehow between then and now, the ice had thawed, and now they radiated more heat than the engines he worked on every day. It was classic. He just wished he understood it.
“Petty Officer McIntyre?”
The CO’s voice was calm, controlled, and sharp as a razor.
“Sir.”
“Have you seen Parker?”
“Yes sir. She’s out working on your Hornet, sir.”
If he hadn’t been watching closely, he might have missed the flash in those eyes and the muscle jump in that clenched jaw, but to Gabe, is was like a neon sign. Something was up.
“Thank you.”
Gabe watched as Max’s long strides ate up the pavement. Then, shrugging off the slap of guilt, he picked up a clipboard and made his way toward Goliath’s plane. It was his assignment, after all, and he wasn’t the one who’d rolled it into position only two slots down from the CO’s. Sure, he’d pulled all the needed maintenance, but it never hurt to double-check.
Max stood looking up from the base of the ladder.
“Liz.”
The legs and partial torso visible from the ground stilled, but there was no sound from within the dark chamber.
“Liz!”
A hand dropped down; the meter it held blinked like a heartbeat.
“I’m busy.”
The phantom voice was dull, lifeless.
“So am I. Come down here.”
“No.”
Max’s fists clenched, unclenched. “Come down now.” There was a lethal warning in that tightly controlled voice, but the figure on the ladder either didn’t realize it or just didn’t care.
Gabe watched wide-eyed as Max took the first two steps of the ladder, wrapped his arms around the slender figure, and lifted her down. That sparked some life into her . . . and then some.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, hair flying as she whirled on him.
“Trying to have a conversation, damn it. What are you doing?”
“My job. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“I will not excuse you! What is all this? Why did you run off when Thad arrived? Did you think I would let it go at that? Did you think you could block out the last few weeks and make it go away? Are you trying to convince yourself it was great sex and that’s all?”
She almost vibrated with emotion. Max had never seen someone so small look so powerful before.
“This isn’t about sex, you arrogant son of a bitch. This is about making sure this airplane isn’t the reason you don’t come back!”
That was it, of course. He’d known it had to be, but hearing her say it took his breath away. She was living her worst nightmare, but she was here, in spite of everything, making sure his plane was mechanically perfect. His gratitude warred with his frustration.
He knew he had to talk her down from this rage because in an hour, he’d be gone, and this couldn’t be the memory she would hold until he returned. He reached for her, but she stepped back.
“I will be back, Liz. That’s a promise.”
He took a step forward and saw her tremble.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Max.”
“Liz, I’m not your brother. I’m not Aaron.”
She was shaking now, violently. “You sure as hell aren’t, Max,” she shouted bitterly. “They would never have left me if they’d really believed they might not come back. They were naïve, innocent. They thought they were invincible. But you . . . you know. You’ve been there. Shot down. Wounded. Left for dead. You know what can happen, and still you choose it over me! You don’t know what love is!”
He never saw it coming. Gabe was sure of it, because Max never flinched, never reacted before the slap cracked the air like a pistol. Raising his hand slowly to touch his burning cheek, he turned back to her and stared, cold fury melting with the realization that she didn’t believe a word of what she said; her anger had overpowered her reason, and he knew well the defense anger could offer in the face of hurt or fear.
“Yes, they would have left, Liz. You know that. They didn’t leave you. They did their jobs, and had they made it home, they would have done it again. Even loving you, they would have done it again.”
He ventured closer, but didn’t reach for her. Angry tears shimmered in her eyes.
“You can’t beat it out of me, Liz,” he said, so softly that Gabe found himself leaning forward to hear. “I do love you. That doesn’t change what I have to do.”
“Damn you!” she yelled. “Damn you to hell for making me care!”
Then she was in his arms, kissing him brutally, being kissed brutally in return. Her tears slid down his cheeks, and he knew the taste of desperation. His grip on her was rough, bruising, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t loosen his hold. It felt so tenuous, in spite of his fingers biting into her arms.
“McIntyre . . .”
Jeremy approached his mechanic with a question, but it froze on his lips and he stopped dead in his tracks. Eyes riveted on his CO and Dr. Parker, the odd meeting in the stairwell minutes before started to make some sense.
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” he muttered under his breath.
The additional audience was all it took to solidify Gabe’s guilt. He met Jeremy’s eyes and jerked his head toward the hangar. Soon they were comfortably out of earshot, running through the checklist on Jeremy’s plane without a word about what they’d witnessed.
continued in next post
It took 20 minutes for Thad and Max to finish discussing the orders. The two men, along with Lt. Ames and one other pilot from the school, were ordered to join the Nimitz, where flu was sweeping the crew, making it impossible to get their planes in the sky. The carrier was in a hot spot situation in the Mediterranean off of Israel as tensions escalated following the death of Yasser Arafat. There wasn’t time to get another carrier in place, and the politicos warned that a strong military presence was essential to preventing the breakout of war. They had only hours to prepare, and Captain Schmidt had been trying to reach Max by phone for two of them already. Finally, he had sent Thad to find him.
Once Thad left, Max took off at a full run for Liz’s apartment. When he didn’t get an answer, he raced to Svea’s apartment, hoping she was there, seeking comfort or exploding in a tirade—he didn’t care as long as he found her. Instead, all he found were the two roommates speculating with Kyle and Robin about what was happening, but they hadn’t seen Liz. Max stepped onto their balcony to sweep the surrounding area and watched, heartbroken, as Liz’s car sped from the parking lot.
It was the closest he’d ever come to disobeying an order. Not that he seriously considered it, but he sure as hell imagined himself searching until he found her and promising never to leave. The odds against this had been enormous; why did this have to happen now?
With the habit of long training and self-discipline, Max started through the steps of preparing to leave. Unsure of when his next shower might be, he started with that, mentally running down a long “to-do” list. He didn’t need to take much—the Navy would see to his basic needs. But he did need to stop the paper and mail, notify his landlord, and ask Svea to water his plants. He needed to call his parents and sister, and he would find the time to leave Liz a note. He couldn’t leave without making sure she knew he would be back . . . for her.
Four hours later, Max, Thad, Jeremy, and Lt. Wesley Johnston sat in Captain Schmidt’s office getting a full briefing. Max filed away every word, but part of his mind was still frantically trying to figure out a way to talk to Liz before he left. When they were dismissed, the four grim-faced men left the building in silence. A twinge of envy pricked Max’s heart as he saw Thad jog toward his wife, who waited beside their car. He watched as they embraced, kissed, embraced again. Then, wiping away tears, Charisse got in her car.
Before Max could stop himself, he ran toward her. Thad stepped aside, already anticipating what his commander wanted with her and willing to give him the privacy to ask.
“Charisse!”
Looking back at him, she rolled down her window and waited.
“Charisse, you haven’t seen Liz, have you? Or heard from her?”
He hated the look of pity that crossed her face, and knew she was thinking exactly what he was.
“No, Max, I’m sorry, I haven’t. I know I’ll be seeing her, though. Is there anything you want me to tell her?”
“Just . . . tell her I’ll be back. Just tell her that, will you? And take care of her for me.”
Her hand rested on his, her eyes understanding. “I will, Max.”
“We’ll be back before classes start next week, Charisse.” Which one of them was he trying to convince, he wondered. “I don’t think they’d send us if we weren’t going to be back for that.”
The doubt in her eyes never reached her voice. “I know. You take care of my Thaddeus, too, okay?”
He nodded, numb, as she drove away.
******
The hangar was a hive of activity, the hum of crisis and conjecture swarming through its cavernous space. Max felt his mood lift, if only a little, as he watched the men and women whose job it was to make sure that equipment was the least of the pilots’ worries. They succeeded. Max knew when he took his plane up, it was as ready as he was.
His eyes swept the bustle of coveralls and tool carts, the sense of longing sharp and painful in his chest. He’d let himself hope he’d find her here. Gathering himself, he shifted his briefcase to his left hand and walked stiffly through the room, returning salutes and accepting well wishes. Once alone, he marched purposefully toward Liz’s office, unsurprised to find it dark and locked.
He wouldn’t accept that he’d lost her, wouldn’t acknowledge the already pressing sense of loneliness. This is what he was. He couldn’t change that. Wouldn’t change that. Why should he have to? He let the anger take hold, a reassuring alternative to the panic that threatened to paralyze him. He wouldn’t apologize for serving his country, for working his ass off to attain a level of competence and recognition that only a few could hope to achieve. He was proud of what he’d made of his life, of what he offered his country. Others valued him; why couldn’t she see that? There were plenty of women . . .
He gradually became aware of the pain in his left hand, and looked down to see his fingers gripping the briefcase until the stiff stitching in its leather handle bit sharply into his skin. Other women didn’t matter. Liz mattered. And she’d sacrificed so much already in the name of men who served and didn’t come back. Well, he would come back, and soon, and when he did, he’d find a way to make sure Liz understood he could be both a naval aviator and the man she would build her life with. No other solution was acceptable.
Wandering slowly now, Max took a back stairway to the lockers where he would find his flight bag already packed with the essentials. Distracted, he was almost on top of them before he saw them, wrapped in an embrace so poignant and desperate, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Lt. Jeremy Ames and Ensign Frankie O’Hara had yet to detect his presence. He smiled sadly, speculating that if he had found Liz, it would have been much the same—eyes only for each other, kisses that were really promises, touches that would have to last.
Willing to leave them to their goodbyes, he turned, only to have his briefcase bump against the handrail. Jeremy and Frankie leapt apart, fearful eyes staring at him from within faces still flushed with love.
He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. It was rather cut and dried on paper, after all. But Liz’s voice echoed in his head: Much ado about nothing. Leave them alone, Max. And hearing her, he found himself agreeing. He couldn’t do what regulations dictated. Rules were for maintaining order, safety, discipline. There were reasons. Good ones. But he saw no reason to make these two people suffer for what they felt. He saw no purpose in telling them to turn their backs on love that wouldn’t be denied, no advantage in ruining two careers that held such promise.
“Carry on,” he ordered, then turned his back and left them gaping.
******
Petty Officer First Class Gabe McIntyre watched with interest as Lt. Commander Evans scanned the room. There was no doubt in his mind what . . . or rather who . . . he was looking for. Liz had come barreling into the hangar earlier in the day as if the demons of hell were on her six, and he’d watched her assemble a diagnostic cart and head out onto the tarmac with a grim face. He’d gotten his own orders to ready four fighter jets only hours before. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening.
Since then, she’d been back twice, once for a tool and once for a diagram, only to head out again without a word. He had finally gone in search of her, finding her exactly where he’d expected, shoulder deep in the engine compartment of the Hornet assigned to Lt. Commander Evans. She’d accepted the bottled water he’d offered, grunted a thank you, and disappeared into the engine compartment again. He’d had no choice but to return to his own duties, bewildered and more than a little concerned for the petite civilian he’d grown to like and respect.
With the maintenance records for Goliath’s jet spread out in front of him, Gabe logged the last-minute checks he’d performed before the pilots took off. As he wrote, he pondered the not-very-covert romance that had blossomed between Max Evans and Liz Parker in the last few weeks. It had started so strangely that morning when Lt. Commander Evans first arrived at the hangar, and Liz had paled and almost swooned. He remembered reaching for her as she began to tilt in his direction, but she’d pulled it together, as had the Lieutenant Commander, who’d looked as if she’d been some unknown species. Had they known each other before? Was there history? Then there was that meeting when he thought the frost in the room might cause the glass in the windows to crack. Somehow between then and now, the ice had thawed, and now they radiated more heat than the engines he worked on every day. It was classic. He just wished he understood it.
“Petty Officer McIntyre?”
The CO’s voice was calm, controlled, and sharp as a razor.
“Sir.”
“Have you seen Parker?”
“Yes sir. She’s out working on your Hornet, sir.”
If he hadn’t been watching closely, he might have missed the flash in those eyes and the muscle jump in that clenched jaw, but to Gabe, is was like a neon sign. Something was up.
“Thank you.”
Gabe watched as Max’s long strides ate up the pavement. Then, shrugging off the slap of guilt, he picked up a clipboard and made his way toward Goliath’s plane. It was his assignment, after all, and he wasn’t the one who’d rolled it into position only two slots down from the CO’s. Sure, he’d pulled all the needed maintenance, but it never hurt to double-check.
Max stood looking up from the base of the ladder.
“Liz.”
The legs and partial torso visible from the ground stilled, but there was no sound from within the dark chamber.
“Liz!”
A hand dropped down; the meter it held blinked like a heartbeat.
“I’m busy.”
The phantom voice was dull, lifeless.
“So am I. Come down here.”
“No.”
Max’s fists clenched, unclenched. “Come down now.” There was a lethal warning in that tightly controlled voice, but the figure on the ladder either didn’t realize it or just didn’t care.
Gabe watched wide-eyed as Max took the first two steps of the ladder, wrapped his arms around the slender figure, and lifted her down. That sparked some life into her . . . and then some.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, hair flying as she whirled on him.
“Trying to have a conversation, damn it. What are you doing?”
“My job. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“I will not excuse you! What is all this? Why did you run off when Thad arrived? Did you think I would let it go at that? Did you think you could block out the last few weeks and make it go away? Are you trying to convince yourself it was great sex and that’s all?”
She almost vibrated with emotion. Max had never seen someone so small look so powerful before.
“This isn’t about sex, you arrogant son of a bitch. This is about making sure this airplane isn’t the reason you don’t come back!”
That was it, of course. He’d known it had to be, but hearing her say it took his breath away. She was living her worst nightmare, but she was here, in spite of everything, making sure his plane was mechanically perfect. His gratitude warred with his frustration.
He knew he had to talk her down from this rage because in an hour, he’d be gone, and this couldn’t be the memory she would hold until he returned. He reached for her, but she stepped back.
“I will be back, Liz. That’s a promise.”
He took a step forward and saw her tremble.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Max.”
“Liz, I’m not your brother. I’m not Aaron.”
She was shaking now, violently. “You sure as hell aren’t, Max,” she shouted bitterly. “They would never have left me if they’d really believed they might not come back. They were naïve, innocent. They thought they were invincible. But you . . . you know. You’ve been there. Shot down. Wounded. Left for dead. You know what can happen, and still you choose it over me! You don’t know what love is!”
He never saw it coming. Gabe was sure of it, because Max never flinched, never reacted before the slap cracked the air like a pistol. Raising his hand slowly to touch his burning cheek, he turned back to her and stared, cold fury melting with the realization that she didn’t believe a word of what she said; her anger had overpowered her reason, and he knew well the defense anger could offer in the face of hurt or fear.
“Yes, they would have left, Liz. You know that. They didn’t leave you. They did their jobs, and had they made it home, they would have done it again. Even loving you, they would have done it again.”
He ventured closer, but didn’t reach for her. Angry tears shimmered in her eyes.
“You can’t beat it out of me, Liz,” he said, so softly that Gabe found himself leaning forward to hear. “I do love you. That doesn’t change what I have to do.”
“Damn you!” she yelled. “Damn you to hell for making me care!”
Then she was in his arms, kissing him brutally, being kissed brutally in return. Her tears slid down his cheeks, and he knew the taste of desperation. His grip on her was rough, bruising, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t loosen his hold. It felt so tenuous, in spite of his fingers biting into her arms.
“McIntyre . . .”
Jeremy approached his mechanic with a question, but it froze on his lips and he stopped dead in his tracks. Eyes riveted on his CO and Dr. Parker, the odd meeting in the stairwell minutes before started to make some sense.
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” he muttered under his breath.
The additional audience was all it took to solidify Gabe’s guilt. He met Jeremy’s eyes and jerked his head toward the hangar. Soon they were comfortably out of earshot, running through the checklist on Jeremy’s plane without a word about what they’d witnessed.
continued in next post
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Continued from last post
******
They clung to each other and willed the world away. There were no words. Not yet. There was only the solid reality of flesh and breath. And a fierce determination not to let go.
Max breathed her in, more aware of her body wrapped around his than he had ever been, even in the deep intimacy of their lovemaking. At last, he felt her surrender—complete and shattering—leaving him to hold the pieces together through sheer will. What kind of twisted, cosmic irony had brought them together so completely through the vicious act of tearing them apart? He had to leave, and for the first time, he knew, could feel, that she was his completely. She’d gone down fighting, but gone down she had, and now he could only pray that he would be back to claim her.
“Liz,” he whispered, aching when her hold on him only strengthened. “Liz, I have to go, but I’ll be back, I swear it. Everything I’ve ever done in my life has brought me here, to this place, to you. There has to be a reason. You have to have faith.”
She drew her head back, though her arms held him as fiercely as ever. “I do have faith in you. I just don’t trust God anymore.”
The bitter truth of her words was reflected in her eyes, and his heart ached for her. For them.
“Have faith in us, then, Liz. We’re strong together. This . . . this bond between us—I’ve felt it right from the first.”
She nodded ever so slightly. “So have I.”
“I know you don’t want to hear it . . . I know it scares you, but . . .”
She pushed up suddenly and pressed her lips to his, then, as his eyes searched her face, she spoke, and his world stood very still.
“I love you, Max. God knows I’ve tried not to, but I’ve lost that battle. I love you.”
At first, he could only stare, his knees liquid, his pulse hammering. He couldn’t seem to take in any air, but he felt more like he was floating than falling. Surely he would simply rise like a balloon and drift toward the sky as the weight of fear and doubt that had held him earthbound just fell away.
He watched with a sort of detached fascination as her mouth formed a tremulous smile.
“Say something.”
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He could only seek her mouth and pour his love into the kiss that would sustain him, them, until he had kept his promise.
******
Captain Schmidt was not a heartless man, but he had responsibilities, and the fact that the Lieutenant Commander who was to lead a small squadron to the Mediterranean to help control a volatile situation was even now out on the tarmac devouring the base’s most valuable civilian employee was more than a little awkward. Their unmilitary behavior was beginning to attract attention, and there was work to be done.
“McIntyre!”
“Sir!”
“Inform Lt. Commander Evans that there’s a final briefing in the conference room in 5 minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” He would rather have bailed out of a supersonic jet. “Uh, sir, with your permission, sir, I was just finishing up maintenance on the last of the jets for the mission.”
“Fine. Ames, go get him.”
“Sir, yes, sir. Although it’s my plane he’s finishing with, sir, so . . .”
The Captain’s glare could have cut through a titanium engine casing.
“Owens!”
“I’ll do it,” a voice volunteered. Shelby Monseau stepped forward with a smile, earning a bark from the Captain that had the other officers ramrod straight at attention.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Shelby Monseau, KFUN radio.”
“How the hell did you get on this base? This is no press conference. Security!”
Shelby had the good grace to look apologetic. “Oh, is this a bad time, Captain? I’m sorry. Your PR people gave me access to the Lt. Commander for a piece I’m doing, and I just had a little follow-up to do. My name was approved at the gate. I’m sure that publicity about such a fine example of military excellence can only help the Navy’s image, wouldn’t you agree?”
She kept her accommodating smile in place and mentally crossed her fingers. She hadn’t had much time to come up with that one after Kyle had come in to work and told her what had happened. Everyone was worried about Max, but just as worried about Liz, and she had felt it her duty to come check up on whichever one she could find. It was hard not to grin at what she saw in the distance. Jackpot. She managed to find both of them, and she was relieved to see she’d have positive news to report.
“I’m not in the habit of having the press interfere with Navy business, Ms. Monseau. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. And don’t expect that your name will be on that list the next time you try to waltz in here. This is a restricted area.”
“I understand, Captain. I was only trying to help. Oh, look, here comes the Lt. Commander now.” It rubbed against the grain to appear so ditzy, but friendship was a valuable commodity, and playing this out was worth the story, both personally and professionally.
Shelby waved like a star-struck teen and almost laughed out loud at Max’s befuddled expression. Liz, she noted, had stayed behind at the plane, making a show of gathering tools and closing up the engine compartment.
“Shelby, what are you doing here?”
“Leaving,” the Captain snapped.
Shelby managed a wink at Max before closing out the scene. “I guess that follow-up interview will have to wait, Lt. Commander Evans. I’ll call for another appointment in a few days. Looks like you’re going up for a flight. Have a good one!”
She waved over her shoulder and headed for her car, bursting with news for the gang back at the apartment and a dynamite epilog for the article she was writing.
“Evans, if it’s not too much of an imposition, I’d appreciate your presence at a final briefing in the conference room.”
The scathing sarcasm was neither amused nor tolerant, but Max still fought back a euphoric grin. She loved him!
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
The smirks, arched eyebrows, and thumbs up from the hangar’s occupants didn’t help. He thanked his lucky stars that he was walking behind the Captain when an enormous smile leaked out in spite of his efforts to contain it. Thad Owens glanced over with a grin of his own, and Max decided he didn’t care if he did, as Thad had warned, look goofy.
******
Max took a deep breath of sea air and watched a fighter land flawlessly on the carrier’s deck. Smooth, he thought. Very smooth. His first impulse was to go to his cabin and write another letter to Liz that he couldn’t mail, but he knew well the importance of spending downtime with crewmates. They needed to know each other, trust each other when the pressure was on, and that only came with time and effort. With those thoughts in mind, he took a turn and swung into the officers’ lounge.
Today, the small room’s few tables and chairs, bad coffee, and out-of-date music played host to friendships forged by a common time and place. Clusters of officers crowded in, eager to break free of the tension that held the ship in a vice grip. Smoke and laughter wound through the air, and for a short time, the men and women who had thus far escaped rampant flu forgot what lay outside the doors.
“So he lifts the veil and yells, ‘Oh, God, I never saw her in the daylight before!’”
The men laughed loudly at Thad’s tales of life in a small-town church back in Virginia where Thad’s father had been a minister for 30 years. Max didn’t know how true the stories were, but it didn’t matter. Thad had a gift for storytelling, and the men needed the diversion. The constant schedule of flyovers had done their job . . . so far. The show of military presence and power had kept two simmering populations in check, but unless diplomacy scored a major victory soon, the pressure would split the volatile situation wide open.
A week had come and gone. Seven long, tense, demanding days. In spite of reinforcements, the ship was short-handed. Large numbers of sailors had been airlifted to makeshift medical facilities in Israel, and an unfortunate few had been flown to the Naval base in Bahrain for more intensive treatment. Duty hours were long, and spirits low. Only Thad’s stories . . . and thoughts of those last moments with Liz . . . kept a smile on Max’s face.
Alex and he had barely had a moment to catch up. Their brief reunion had been a melancholy one, filled with quiet conversation about the women they’d left behind and plans for their return. Max’s assurance that Svea was fine and understood why she hadn’t heard from him eased Alex’s mind and his dreams, though Alex confessed that his daydreams still betrayed him when he let his guard down. Apparently his days of embracing the unpredictable life of a sailor were behind him.
That initial conversation had been their last substantive one. The flurry of activity in the area had kept Alex busy; as chief radar specialist, it was up to him to monitor his people and the data they gathered on an ongoing basis, as well as to put in his own duty hours and report directly to the Captain. Max understood that, respected it. Meanwhile, he had flown at least twice a day and had attended frequent meetings in which the pilots were kept abreast of the military ramifications of the latest political posturing.
Now, with the long week behind him, it was obvious to Max that his assignment would take more than the few days he’d hoped. He missed Liz terribly, but he was bound by the communications blackout just like everyone else. Both elated by her final words to him and frustrated by his inability to talk more with her before he left, he was wound tight. Wondering what was being done about the incoming Top Gun class didn’t help. All in all, he was hard pressed to follow the conversation taking place around him.
“Any more obvious, and she’d be in your lap.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hot to trot at 4 o’clock . . . sir.” Thad brought himself up short. His friendship with his commanding officer put him in a precarious position, and he sometimes struggled to maintain military formality when they were in a group. “What I mean is, sir, that lieutenant a couple of tables over has been giving you the eye for a good half hour. I have a feeling she might be open to . . . well, . . .”
He shifted awkwardly as Max stared at him. “Sorry, sir.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Who are you talking about?”
“You gotta be kidding, sir,” Jeremy piped up helpfully. “Haven’t you noticed that fine little blonde over there drooling into her coffee?”
His grin faded as Max’s stare shifted. “I . . . sorry, sir.”
“You boys need some R & R. You’re starting to hallucinate.”
“Nothin’ wrong with your men,” Lt. Commander Guthrie chuckled, free to say what his new friend’s subordinates couldn’t comfortably say to their CO. “I think Lt. Harding’s vibes are pretty clear, if you’re interested. And if you’re not, I’d like to check you for a pulse.”
Max glanced over, noting with some embarrassment a trim blonde with an inviting smile. Wavy hair, exotically shaped blue eyes, and a petite body should have caused at least a blip on his radar, but he felt nothing as he caught her eye except an awkward urge to pretend he hadn’t seen her at all.
“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
The snort Thad couldn’t stop had everyone looking in his direction. He weighed the repercussions and decided to risk it. “He never sees it,” Thad told the others, shaking his head in what might have been disbelief. “Wherever he goes, the ladies’ heads turn, but he never notices. I’ve seen women slip him phone numbers on napkins that he just leaves on the table; some just sit and hope, like the lieutenant over there. But does he bite? Nope. He finds the only woman within ten miles that doesn’t show interest and he goes after her.”
As soon as it was out of his mouth, he realized his mistake. He’d taken friendship and shipboard camaraderie one step too far, and you could have rocked a baby to sleep in the quiet that followed. He knew Max was pinning him with a look; he could feel the two points of heat boring through the layers of his skin. He told himself not to look, not to make eye contact, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to those eyes like iron to a magnet.
“Didn’t you leave something out, Lieutenant?”
The tone was cool, almost arrogant.
“I . . . uh . . . I’m not sure, sir. What did I leave out?”
The smile was slow, sly, and completely unexpected. “I didn’t just go after her.” The smile widened and the wink had them gaping. “I got her.”
Seconds of silence ticked by before Lt. Commander Guthrie burst out laughing and the tension shattered. Relief was apparent on every face but Thad’s. He strongly suspected this wasn’t the end of it for him.
It was almost time to suit up. Max pushed back from the table and made eye contact with each of his pilots. They got the message. As they filed out the door, Jeremy hung back. Max could tell something had been on his mind for days, and hoped the young pilot was ready to get it off his chest. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“About last week. I mean, about that last day at Miramar, when you saw . . .”
“Ames, have I ever told you about my friend Spencer?”
“Uh, no sir. I don’t think so.”
Max could see Jeremy was caught between confusion and irritation about the interruption, but he knew exactly where this was going and wanted to nip it in the bud. Max had never known anyone named Spencer, of course, but that was beside the point.
“Spence was a great guy, but he had a problem. He’d fallen head over heels for a woman in his line of command, a junior officer.”
Jeremy paled and concentrated on the floor.
“He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn’t help himself. It just happened. So they snuck around, tried to keep it a secret, but you know how this sort of thing gets out. Well, one day, the tension got to him, so he decided to make himself feel better by admitting the whole thing to his CO, in hopes of recruiting him to their cause and reducing the chances of disciplinary action, or worse, transferring one of them.”
The color was flooding back into Jeremy’s face, but he didn’t move a muscle.
“I tried to talk him out of it. I knew the CO would have no choice but to address the situation, even though he was a decent guy and would’ve felt bad about it. But Spence wouldn’t listen, and he went right ahead and spilled his guts. Wound up transferred to Germany; didn’t see his girl for almost a year. I lost touch with Spencer. I’m not sure how that whole thing turned out.”
A long silence followed his story. When he’d given Jeremy a moment to think, he pretended to shake himself from a reverie.
“Sorry, Ames. I guess being aboard ship is making me nostalgic. What was it you wanted to say?”
Jeremy’s eyes, a jumble of emotions sprinkled with gratitude, met Max’s. Finally, he spoke.
“I just wanted you to know that they’ve assigned me a new plane for today. Something about the fuel line.”
Max returned the long look. “Thanks for the heads up.”
Jeremy’s salute was crisp and ripe with frustration, but for today, at least, Max didn’t have to take aim at romance. He closed his eyes and brought Liz into focus. She lived in him now, a constant presence. He sent her his love and smiled at himself when he thought he felt her send hers back.
******
The evening of make-overs, gossip, and wine had been Charisse’s idea. The uninhibited sharing of intimate details just sort of evolved after the second bottle. Even Frankie O’Hara, Liz’s last-minute guest, had finally relaxed and giggled her way through a surprising story about being caught in the stairwell on base by none other than Lt. Commander Max Evans.
“Max saw you?” Liz gaped. “And he didn’t say anything? That’s gotta be a first for my by-the-book flyboy.” She took another generous swallow and spread her arms wide, wine sliding dangerously close to the rim of the glass. “You gotta love him, don’t you? He’s really so romantic.” Now she sighed and closed her eyes. The others quieted in anticipation of a new story.
“The day after we met for the first time, I went jogging on the beach. I was pissed because he hadn’t paid enough attention to me the day before, but there he was, all cute and sweaty and oh god built. It made my brain stupid just to look at him. So we ran together for a while and then I tripped like an A-1 klutz. Know what he did?”
She opened her eyes now and challenged them to answer. Svea, of course, knew the answer. She’d been an eye witness, after all, and Jesse had heard every detail. But neither woman cared to steal Liz’s thunder. Their slightly sloshed friend was on a roll.
“He picked me up like I weighed nothing at all, and he carried me to his apartment. I barely knew the guy and I wanted to jump him right there.” It hadn’t been quite so cut-and-dried, she recalled vaguely, but damned if she could remember why. “Then he kissed me and I swear my head almost spun off my shoulders.”
They all sighed companionably, each picturing the scene with themselves and their lovers in the starring roles.
“The first time I saw him naked, I almost died. Man, what a bod.”
Unconcerned about the personal nature of the conversation, they nodded their heads in friendly agreement.
“I think I moaned the first time Thad stripped. O’ course, he was already standing at attention, if you know what I mean.”
They giggled together in that exaggerated way women do when the wine and the friends are good, enjoying the release from the daily worry and stress.
Jesse gestured with her hand and leaned forward, pulling the small group into an intimate huddle. “Kyle makes this little high-pitched noise when he . . . you know,” she whispered loudly. “The first time, I thought it was me!”
She leaned back then, laughing gleefully until her expression and her voice turned dreamy. “What a lover, though. In and out of bed. God, I’m horny. Charisse, can I use your phone?”
Charisse jerked her head toward the kitchen, then frowned at Svea. A tear was winding its way down her friend’s cheek and finally plopped into her wine.
“Hey, girlfriend. What’s wrong?”
Svea set down her drink and pulled her knees up tight against her chest. “Alex and I never made love. I wanted to, but I thought . . . I thought it would be more special, more important if we waited. Now . . .”
“Don’t even think it,” Liz warned, moving to Jesse’s vacated seat next to Svea on the couch. “You did what was right for you, and when Alex comes home, it’ll be incredible, I promise.”
Svea nodded like an obedient child, but her tears came faster now. “I love him,” she sobbed, turning her face into Liz’s shoulder, “and I never even told him.”
Liz closed her eyes and said a little prayer of thanks that she had at least gotten out those words before Max left. Where was he now? Was he safe? Was he thinking of her?
Even as she wondered, she felt the warmth fill her. He was all right, and wherever he was, he was loving her.
******
They clung to each other and willed the world away. There were no words. Not yet. There was only the solid reality of flesh and breath. And a fierce determination not to let go.
Max breathed her in, more aware of her body wrapped around his than he had ever been, even in the deep intimacy of their lovemaking. At last, he felt her surrender—complete and shattering—leaving him to hold the pieces together through sheer will. What kind of twisted, cosmic irony had brought them together so completely through the vicious act of tearing them apart? He had to leave, and for the first time, he knew, could feel, that she was his completely. She’d gone down fighting, but gone down she had, and now he could only pray that he would be back to claim her.
“Liz,” he whispered, aching when her hold on him only strengthened. “Liz, I have to go, but I’ll be back, I swear it. Everything I’ve ever done in my life has brought me here, to this place, to you. There has to be a reason. You have to have faith.”
She drew her head back, though her arms held him as fiercely as ever. “I do have faith in you. I just don’t trust God anymore.”
The bitter truth of her words was reflected in her eyes, and his heart ached for her. For them.
“Have faith in us, then, Liz. We’re strong together. This . . . this bond between us—I’ve felt it right from the first.”
She nodded ever so slightly. “So have I.”
“I know you don’t want to hear it . . . I know it scares you, but . . .”
She pushed up suddenly and pressed her lips to his, then, as his eyes searched her face, she spoke, and his world stood very still.
“I love you, Max. God knows I’ve tried not to, but I’ve lost that battle. I love you.”
At first, he could only stare, his knees liquid, his pulse hammering. He couldn’t seem to take in any air, but he felt more like he was floating than falling. Surely he would simply rise like a balloon and drift toward the sky as the weight of fear and doubt that had held him earthbound just fell away.
He watched with a sort of detached fascination as her mouth formed a tremulous smile.
“Say something.”
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He could only seek her mouth and pour his love into the kiss that would sustain him, them, until he had kept his promise.
******
Captain Schmidt was not a heartless man, but he had responsibilities, and the fact that the Lieutenant Commander who was to lead a small squadron to the Mediterranean to help control a volatile situation was even now out on the tarmac devouring the base’s most valuable civilian employee was more than a little awkward. Their unmilitary behavior was beginning to attract attention, and there was work to be done.
“McIntyre!”
“Sir!”
“Inform Lt. Commander Evans that there’s a final briefing in the conference room in 5 minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” He would rather have bailed out of a supersonic jet. “Uh, sir, with your permission, sir, I was just finishing up maintenance on the last of the jets for the mission.”
“Fine. Ames, go get him.”
“Sir, yes, sir. Although it’s my plane he’s finishing with, sir, so . . .”
The Captain’s glare could have cut through a titanium engine casing.
“Owens!”
“I’ll do it,” a voice volunteered. Shelby Monseau stepped forward with a smile, earning a bark from the Captain that had the other officers ramrod straight at attention.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Shelby Monseau, KFUN radio.”
“How the hell did you get on this base? This is no press conference. Security!”
Shelby had the good grace to look apologetic. “Oh, is this a bad time, Captain? I’m sorry. Your PR people gave me access to the Lt. Commander for a piece I’m doing, and I just had a little follow-up to do. My name was approved at the gate. I’m sure that publicity about such a fine example of military excellence can only help the Navy’s image, wouldn’t you agree?”
She kept her accommodating smile in place and mentally crossed her fingers. She hadn’t had much time to come up with that one after Kyle had come in to work and told her what had happened. Everyone was worried about Max, but just as worried about Liz, and she had felt it her duty to come check up on whichever one she could find. It was hard not to grin at what she saw in the distance. Jackpot. She managed to find both of them, and she was relieved to see she’d have positive news to report.
“I’m not in the habit of having the press interfere with Navy business, Ms. Monseau. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. And don’t expect that your name will be on that list the next time you try to waltz in here. This is a restricted area.”
“I understand, Captain. I was only trying to help. Oh, look, here comes the Lt. Commander now.” It rubbed against the grain to appear so ditzy, but friendship was a valuable commodity, and playing this out was worth the story, both personally and professionally.
Shelby waved like a star-struck teen and almost laughed out loud at Max’s befuddled expression. Liz, she noted, had stayed behind at the plane, making a show of gathering tools and closing up the engine compartment.
“Shelby, what are you doing here?”
“Leaving,” the Captain snapped.
Shelby managed a wink at Max before closing out the scene. “I guess that follow-up interview will have to wait, Lt. Commander Evans. I’ll call for another appointment in a few days. Looks like you’re going up for a flight. Have a good one!”
She waved over her shoulder and headed for her car, bursting with news for the gang back at the apartment and a dynamite epilog for the article she was writing.
“Evans, if it’s not too much of an imposition, I’d appreciate your presence at a final briefing in the conference room.”
The scathing sarcasm was neither amused nor tolerant, but Max still fought back a euphoric grin. She loved him!
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
The smirks, arched eyebrows, and thumbs up from the hangar’s occupants didn’t help. He thanked his lucky stars that he was walking behind the Captain when an enormous smile leaked out in spite of his efforts to contain it. Thad Owens glanced over with a grin of his own, and Max decided he didn’t care if he did, as Thad had warned, look goofy.
******
Max took a deep breath of sea air and watched a fighter land flawlessly on the carrier’s deck. Smooth, he thought. Very smooth. His first impulse was to go to his cabin and write another letter to Liz that he couldn’t mail, but he knew well the importance of spending downtime with crewmates. They needed to know each other, trust each other when the pressure was on, and that only came with time and effort. With those thoughts in mind, he took a turn and swung into the officers’ lounge.
Today, the small room’s few tables and chairs, bad coffee, and out-of-date music played host to friendships forged by a common time and place. Clusters of officers crowded in, eager to break free of the tension that held the ship in a vice grip. Smoke and laughter wound through the air, and for a short time, the men and women who had thus far escaped rampant flu forgot what lay outside the doors.
“So he lifts the veil and yells, ‘Oh, God, I never saw her in the daylight before!’”
The men laughed loudly at Thad’s tales of life in a small-town church back in Virginia where Thad’s father had been a minister for 30 years. Max didn’t know how true the stories were, but it didn’t matter. Thad had a gift for storytelling, and the men needed the diversion. The constant schedule of flyovers had done their job . . . so far. The show of military presence and power had kept two simmering populations in check, but unless diplomacy scored a major victory soon, the pressure would split the volatile situation wide open.
A week had come and gone. Seven long, tense, demanding days. In spite of reinforcements, the ship was short-handed. Large numbers of sailors had been airlifted to makeshift medical facilities in Israel, and an unfortunate few had been flown to the Naval base in Bahrain for more intensive treatment. Duty hours were long, and spirits low. Only Thad’s stories . . . and thoughts of those last moments with Liz . . . kept a smile on Max’s face.
Alex and he had barely had a moment to catch up. Their brief reunion had been a melancholy one, filled with quiet conversation about the women they’d left behind and plans for their return. Max’s assurance that Svea was fine and understood why she hadn’t heard from him eased Alex’s mind and his dreams, though Alex confessed that his daydreams still betrayed him when he let his guard down. Apparently his days of embracing the unpredictable life of a sailor were behind him.
That initial conversation had been their last substantive one. The flurry of activity in the area had kept Alex busy; as chief radar specialist, it was up to him to monitor his people and the data they gathered on an ongoing basis, as well as to put in his own duty hours and report directly to the Captain. Max understood that, respected it. Meanwhile, he had flown at least twice a day and had attended frequent meetings in which the pilots were kept abreast of the military ramifications of the latest political posturing.
Now, with the long week behind him, it was obvious to Max that his assignment would take more than the few days he’d hoped. He missed Liz terribly, but he was bound by the communications blackout just like everyone else. Both elated by her final words to him and frustrated by his inability to talk more with her before he left, he was wound tight. Wondering what was being done about the incoming Top Gun class didn’t help. All in all, he was hard pressed to follow the conversation taking place around him.
“Any more obvious, and she’d be in your lap.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hot to trot at 4 o’clock . . . sir.” Thad brought himself up short. His friendship with his commanding officer put him in a precarious position, and he sometimes struggled to maintain military formality when they were in a group. “What I mean is, sir, that lieutenant a couple of tables over has been giving you the eye for a good half hour. I have a feeling she might be open to . . . well, . . .”
He shifted awkwardly as Max stared at him. “Sorry, sir.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Who are you talking about?”
“You gotta be kidding, sir,” Jeremy piped up helpfully. “Haven’t you noticed that fine little blonde over there drooling into her coffee?”
His grin faded as Max’s stare shifted. “I . . . sorry, sir.”
“You boys need some R & R. You’re starting to hallucinate.”
“Nothin’ wrong with your men,” Lt. Commander Guthrie chuckled, free to say what his new friend’s subordinates couldn’t comfortably say to their CO. “I think Lt. Harding’s vibes are pretty clear, if you’re interested. And if you’re not, I’d like to check you for a pulse.”
Max glanced over, noting with some embarrassment a trim blonde with an inviting smile. Wavy hair, exotically shaped blue eyes, and a petite body should have caused at least a blip on his radar, but he felt nothing as he caught her eye except an awkward urge to pretend he hadn’t seen her at all.
“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
The snort Thad couldn’t stop had everyone looking in his direction. He weighed the repercussions and decided to risk it. “He never sees it,” Thad told the others, shaking his head in what might have been disbelief. “Wherever he goes, the ladies’ heads turn, but he never notices. I’ve seen women slip him phone numbers on napkins that he just leaves on the table; some just sit and hope, like the lieutenant over there. But does he bite? Nope. He finds the only woman within ten miles that doesn’t show interest and he goes after her.”
As soon as it was out of his mouth, he realized his mistake. He’d taken friendship and shipboard camaraderie one step too far, and you could have rocked a baby to sleep in the quiet that followed. He knew Max was pinning him with a look; he could feel the two points of heat boring through the layers of his skin. He told himself not to look, not to make eye contact, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to those eyes like iron to a magnet.
“Didn’t you leave something out, Lieutenant?”
The tone was cool, almost arrogant.
“I . . . uh . . . I’m not sure, sir. What did I leave out?”
The smile was slow, sly, and completely unexpected. “I didn’t just go after her.” The smile widened and the wink had them gaping. “I got her.”
Seconds of silence ticked by before Lt. Commander Guthrie burst out laughing and the tension shattered. Relief was apparent on every face but Thad’s. He strongly suspected this wasn’t the end of it for him.
It was almost time to suit up. Max pushed back from the table and made eye contact with each of his pilots. They got the message. As they filed out the door, Jeremy hung back. Max could tell something had been on his mind for days, and hoped the young pilot was ready to get it off his chest. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“About last week. I mean, about that last day at Miramar, when you saw . . .”
“Ames, have I ever told you about my friend Spencer?”
“Uh, no sir. I don’t think so.”
Max could see Jeremy was caught between confusion and irritation about the interruption, but he knew exactly where this was going and wanted to nip it in the bud. Max had never known anyone named Spencer, of course, but that was beside the point.
“Spence was a great guy, but he had a problem. He’d fallen head over heels for a woman in his line of command, a junior officer.”
Jeremy paled and concentrated on the floor.
“He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn’t help himself. It just happened. So they snuck around, tried to keep it a secret, but you know how this sort of thing gets out. Well, one day, the tension got to him, so he decided to make himself feel better by admitting the whole thing to his CO, in hopes of recruiting him to their cause and reducing the chances of disciplinary action, or worse, transferring one of them.”
The color was flooding back into Jeremy’s face, but he didn’t move a muscle.
“I tried to talk him out of it. I knew the CO would have no choice but to address the situation, even though he was a decent guy and would’ve felt bad about it. But Spence wouldn’t listen, and he went right ahead and spilled his guts. Wound up transferred to Germany; didn’t see his girl for almost a year. I lost touch with Spencer. I’m not sure how that whole thing turned out.”
A long silence followed his story. When he’d given Jeremy a moment to think, he pretended to shake himself from a reverie.
“Sorry, Ames. I guess being aboard ship is making me nostalgic. What was it you wanted to say?”
Jeremy’s eyes, a jumble of emotions sprinkled with gratitude, met Max’s. Finally, he spoke.
“I just wanted you to know that they’ve assigned me a new plane for today. Something about the fuel line.”
Max returned the long look. “Thanks for the heads up.”
Jeremy’s salute was crisp and ripe with frustration, but for today, at least, Max didn’t have to take aim at romance. He closed his eyes and brought Liz into focus. She lived in him now, a constant presence. He sent her his love and smiled at himself when he thought he felt her send hers back.
******
The evening of make-overs, gossip, and wine had been Charisse’s idea. The uninhibited sharing of intimate details just sort of evolved after the second bottle. Even Frankie O’Hara, Liz’s last-minute guest, had finally relaxed and giggled her way through a surprising story about being caught in the stairwell on base by none other than Lt. Commander Max Evans.
“Max saw you?” Liz gaped. “And he didn’t say anything? That’s gotta be a first for my by-the-book flyboy.” She took another generous swallow and spread her arms wide, wine sliding dangerously close to the rim of the glass. “You gotta love him, don’t you? He’s really so romantic.” Now she sighed and closed her eyes. The others quieted in anticipation of a new story.
“The day after we met for the first time, I went jogging on the beach. I was pissed because he hadn’t paid enough attention to me the day before, but there he was, all cute and sweaty and oh god built. It made my brain stupid just to look at him. So we ran together for a while and then I tripped like an A-1 klutz. Know what he did?”
She opened her eyes now and challenged them to answer. Svea, of course, knew the answer. She’d been an eye witness, after all, and Jesse had heard every detail. But neither woman cared to steal Liz’s thunder. Their slightly sloshed friend was on a roll.
“He picked me up like I weighed nothing at all, and he carried me to his apartment. I barely knew the guy and I wanted to jump him right there.” It hadn’t been quite so cut-and-dried, she recalled vaguely, but damned if she could remember why. “Then he kissed me and I swear my head almost spun off my shoulders.”
They all sighed companionably, each picturing the scene with themselves and their lovers in the starring roles.
“The first time I saw him naked, I almost died. Man, what a bod.”
Unconcerned about the personal nature of the conversation, they nodded their heads in friendly agreement.
“I think I moaned the first time Thad stripped. O’ course, he was already standing at attention, if you know what I mean.”
They giggled together in that exaggerated way women do when the wine and the friends are good, enjoying the release from the daily worry and stress.
Jesse gestured with her hand and leaned forward, pulling the small group into an intimate huddle. “Kyle makes this little high-pitched noise when he . . . you know,” she whispered loudly. “The first time, I thought it was me!”
She leaned back then, laughing gleefully until her expression and her voice turned dreamy. “What a lover, though. In and out of bed. God, I’m horny. Charisse, can I use your phone?”
Charisse jerked her head toward the kitchen, then frowned at Svea. A tear was winding its way down her friend’s cheek and finally plopped into her wine.
“Hey, girlfriend. What’s wrong?”
Svea set down her drink and pulled her knees up tight against her chest. “Alex and I never made love. I wanted to, but I thought . . . I thought it would be more special, more important if we waited. Now . . .”
“Don’t even think it,” Liz warned, moving to Jesse’s vacated seat next to Svea on the couch. “You did what was right for you, and when Alex comes home, it’ll be incredible, I promise.”
Svea nodded like an obedient child, but her tears came faster now. “I love him,” she sobbed, turning her face into Liz’s shoulder, “and I never even told him.”
Liz closed her eyes and said a little prayer of thanks that she had at least gotten out those words before Max left. Where was he now? Was he safe? Was he thinking of her?
Even as she wondered, she felt the warmth fill her. He was all right, and wherever he was, he was loving her.
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Part 14
“Goddamn laughing birds.”
Max swung his eyes from face to face, wondering if anyone else thought the Captain was losing it. The maintenance crew looked as dismayed as their Captain, but not the least confused. Max, however, had plenty of questions, starting with why he was standing in a maintenance bay with the Captain of the ship and four crewmen staring at some mangled metal on a large worktable.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Laughing Gulls,” Captain Zagorski frowned, deepening the creases in his weathered face. “Whole damn place is lousy with ’em. Took out engines on three planes in as many days.”
Max caught on enough to realize the issue was birds getting sucked into the engines.
“What’s the repair time?” he asked.
“Too long,” Zagorski grumbled. “How do you feel about flying E’s for a couple of days?”
The single-seater Hornets were a pleasure to fly, but Max understood what the Captain was asking. Flying without a RIO meant vulnerability if they should be attacked. On the other hand, there’d been no hostile action taken toward them all week, and it was important to keep up the regular flights over the tense countryside. If anything, the potential for conflict was on the rise; without the obvious presence of the American military, Max had no doubt it would have erupted days ago.
“No problem, sir.”
The Captain gave him a long evaluative look.
“Follow me.” Then, with a glance at the other crew members, “Dismissed.”
They walked in silence from one end of the ship to the other, then turned, shoulder to shoulder, toward the sea. The Captain pulled off his cap, ran short, stubby fingers through his gradually silvering hair, and replaced it again—a gesture Max had come to recognize as habit when the CO was deep in thought. It might have been fatigue that Max saw in his Captain’s eyes just before he sighed and pinned his gaze on Max.
“They tell me you’re the best.”
Max returned the Captain’s gaze steadily, unwilling to agree or disagree.
“That won’t save you if they decide to come after you. Flying solo’s a risky proposition in this situation, and I don’t risk my men casually, Lt. Commander. What about your squadron?”
“Owens is solid, sir. Ames is less experienced, but he can handle himself. I haven’t flown with Johnston personally yet, but his credentials are impressive.”
Zagorski pursed his lips and studied Max through narrowed eyes.
“You married, Evans?”
Liz’s face filled his mind, and he almost smiled.
“No, sir.”
The Captain hadn’t missed the hesitation or the softening of his pilot’s features.
“But I take it there’s a woman.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And does she think you’re dashing in your uniform? Brave? Clean? Reverent?”
Max’s lips twitched.
“Clean, at least,” he answered, and was rewarded with a chuckle before the CO sobered.
“Does she know how dangerous what you do is? I find most spouses . . . or girlfriends . . . don’t. They think it’s all spit and polish, pomp and ceremony.”
Max felt his stomach clench and broke eye contact. Peering several stories down to where the water lapped at the ship, he thought of Liz and willed himself not to wonder what she was thinking now.
“She knows.”
He could feel the Captain’s eyes on him as the silence spun out.
“Too well, from the looks of you,” he said mildly. “Did she lose someone?”
“A brother and a boyfriend.”
They watched the water together until a plane coming in for a landing at the opposite end of the ship drew their attention. When it was safely on board, the Captain turned back to Max, his expression serious, his tone almost fatherly.
“I don’t want heroes on this ship, Evans. They make decisions with their egos instead of their heads. If they survive, people call them ‘the best.’ That’s why we’re having this conversation. I need to know that if I send you and your people up, you’ll be making good decisions. I’ve found that people with someone waiting back home make better ones.”
There was no way to say “I don’t think of myself as a hero” without sounding as if he actually did. There was no reasonable way to explain that getting back to Liz was the most important thing in his life. There was no way to make “I have no desire to defy fate by taking chances with my life or anyone else’s” sound like anything but lip service.
“I’ll be back, sir, with my men.”
When the Captain’s eyes only narrowed and waited, Max relaxed his shoulders and managed a half-smile. “That’s not ego, Captain, but it is my priority. I have good reasons for getting home in one piece, and I know my men well enough to know that they do, too. I won’t be casual about my decisions, sir. I’ll do my best to keep everyone healthy and flying.”
Satisfied, the Captain straightened and laced his fingers behind his back. The late afternoon sun created a halo around his head, and Max thought about a painting he’d once seen where the angel looked much like this man. He wasn’t sure the Captain would appreciate the comparison.
“I’m going to send you up in pairs starting tomorrow, thereby minimizing the target while still making ourselves visible. You’ll go up with Ames, Owens with Johnston. With any luck, we’ll have the F’s ready to go in a day or two. If you detect any hostile action, I want your tails back here. There’s a different game plan for that. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Captain Zagorski turned to leave, then turned back. “What’s her name, Evans?”
“Liz, sir.”
He pursed his lips. “Elizabeth. My wife’s name. Been married 25 years come May.” He nodded in what might have been approval and strolled off. Max watched him leave and pondered the promises he’d made—to Liz and to his CO. He would keep them, he told himself. His wasn’t the only life that depended on it.
******
Alex frowned at his best friend. “E’s? Can’t they just go a day or two without flyovers until the F’s are fixed? Sounds dangerous.”
“We can’t afford to disappear, but we’re going up two at a time instead of four. That way, we’re still in the sky but we risk less. Besides, we haven’t been fired on all week. There’s no reason to think they’ll start now.”
Alex watched a drop of condensation weave its way down the side of his can of Coke and shook off the nerves that sent uneasy prickles skittering across his skin. “There’s a rumor going around that they might lift the communications blackout this afternoon. Got anything you want mailed?”
Max brightened and leaned forward. “Is that what they’re saying? Hell, yeah. There are four, no, five, no four—yeah, four letters in my duffle bag in the storage unit under my bunk. Fifth one’s still up here.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “They’re all addressed and everything. Can you send them off for me?”
“Glad to.” Alex sat back and smiled. “It’s good to see you so gone over a girl, Max. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”
“The one and only girl, my friend. Get used to it.” He stood with a sigh. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“Name it.”
“If anything happens to me . . .” He put up a hand to ward off Alex’s automatic objections. “If anything happens to me, you keep an eye on Liz. Make sure she has support—family, friends, whatever she needs. And let her know I love her.”
“Max . . .”
“And I’ll do the same for Svea.”
They both knew Max ran a much bigger risk than Alex did on a daily basis, but there was no point in stating the obvious.
“Deal.”
“Good. Time to go. See you tonight.”
Alex offered a casual salute; there were rules, after all, even between friends. “Break a leg.”
Max stopped and looked back with a frown. “That’s theater, Alex. Not flying.”
Alex grinned. “Whatever.”
And with an affectionate shake of his head, Max left.
******
Thad and Wesley were on the flight deck waiting when Max and Jeremy reported for duty. Grabbing their helmets—Rocketman and Roadrunner—the two pilots acknowledged Thad as he hitched a thumb toward a room just off the deck.
“Problem?” Max asked as soon as they closed the door and muted the deafening noise outside.
“No, not really,” Thad began, “but I wanted to warn you that communications are rough right now—full of static and all. They said sunspots were messing with it. Anyway, it should be better in a few hours but for now, you’ll have to work at it.”
“Noted,” Max nodded. “Anything else? How did the E’s fly?”
“Smooth as silk,” Wesley answered. “I’m thinkin’ of gettin’ me one of those someday—just for fun.”
“They must be payin’ you more than they’re payin’ me, Kingpin,” Thad grinned, flicking a finger off the call sign on Wesley’s helmet. “Either that or your daddy owns Rockwell.”
“I’ll own Rockwell,” he countered, without missing a beat. “I got a plan. A little seed money, a trip to Vegas . . .” That and a wink seemed to be the plan, and made the men laugh. Heaven knew they weren’t in this for the money.
“Until then,” Max advised, “we’d best do our jobs. See you later. Ames, let’s get at it.”
The two men climbed into their tandem fighters, gave the thumbs up to their crew, and soared into a clear blue sky.
*********************************************************************
Dear Liz:
It’s only been a day, but I miss you so much it hurts. I’m praying that you don’t regret your last words to me. They echo in my head all day and do wonders for my dreams! I’ve never been so happy. Did you get any grief about that last night on base? I know how much those guys love to razz people. You can handle yourself, though. Hell, you can handle anything. You’ve proved that often enough. I’m just sorry if I made it rough on you.
I saw Alex. Tell Svea he’s fine and misses her, too. Thad and Jeremy are also well. The flu has decimated the crew, and it’s all they can do to get enough replacements in. I can’t give details—the censors will probably even delete what I’ve just written—but I think the epidemic is slowing, at least, so I hope to be home soon.
With luck, I’ll be home even before you get this, but if not, know that I love you, and can’t wait to get home to you.
Love,
Max
*****************************************************************
The Middle East was damn small. That idle thought crossed Max’s mind as he and Jeremy cruised the varied topography. You could go from seashore to hills to mountains to desert in the blink of an eye when you could fly at over 1300 miles an hour and cover close to 2500 miles on a tank of fuel. Their assigned flight loop didn’t push that limit by any stretch of the imagination. They had hard-won permission from Egypt, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria to make non-aggressive loops through their air space several times a day, but that whole trip was roughly the equivalent of leaving New York City and looping around New England. Not a real long trip.
Thad had been right about communications. Hearing transmissions from the ship was a little like listening to that old recording of Alexander Graham Bell’s first phone conversation. It took some imagination. Still, everything was going smoothly, and by the time they went up next time, things would be back to normal.
Max glanced over at Jeremy. They were flying side by side, since there were only two of them.
“Nice day,” Jeremy said, his voice clear from such a short distance. Line-of-sight communications weren’t affected by the sunspots. “How about we go have dinner in London?”
“Sorry, Lieutenant. We’ll have to settle for cook’s version of London broil when we get back on board.”
“Not the same, sir.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Max chuckled. “Ames! One o’clock!”
Jeremy saw the flock of gulls a split second later and sent his plane into a sharp incline, hard right, but he wasn’t quick enough. The birds had risen from below so fast and in such quantity, the pilots hadn’t had any warning. Max’s stomach pitched into his throat as smoke spiraled up from Jeremy’s right engine, and he recalled the mangled pieces he’d seen just the day before on board ship.
It was like a scene from The Birds, Alfred Hitchcock’s eerie thriller about a town’s ominous infestation of birds apparently focused on destruction. Jeremy’s plane seemed surrounded by the evil-looking gulls, their long bills, flat foreheads, and huge wingspans mirroring the look of the fighter jet they seemed bent on attacking. Max followed Jeremy’s desperate path to evade them, but he could now see that his lieutenant’s windshield was cracked, and he knew that if it shattered, his pilot could be killed by flying debris before he ever got the chance to eject.
“Eject! Eject!” Max yelled into his helmet radio. “Nimitz! This is Rocketman. Roadrunner is down. I repeat: Roadrunner is down!”
His answer was a scramble of static with intermittent syllables; the interference from sunspots had obviously escalated beyond their original expectations. His options streamed through his mind like a Dow Jones readout as he followed the now erratic route of his lieutenant’s plane. Even as he continued to shout the “Eject” order, he feared for Jeremy’s life. Under normal circumstances, he would report the coordinates and return to the Nimitz. Rescue teams were always on stand-by and were usually a pilot’s best hope. In the meantime, Jeremy was equipped with all the essentials to survive while he waited. But Max had no way of knowing if the ship had received his transmission, and worse, he couldn’t be sure Jeremy’s GPS or sonar beacon would operate in these circumstances. He had to choose between returning to the ship immediately or staying with Jeremy until he could determine his final coordinates.
No contest. He wouldn’t leave Jeremy until he knew where to find him again.
Jeremy still hadn’t ejected, and Max began to wonder if he had lost consciousness. With the precise and sensitive touch of a skilled pilot, Max maneuvered his plane closer to Jeremy’s and attempted to mirror its unpredictable course. Jeremy’s eyes were wide, panic-stricken as the gulls continued to surround him. Max took a deep breath and spoke in a firm, calm voice.
“Jeremy. It’s Max. Look at me; I’m on your left.”
Jeremy turned his head stiffly. “It’s time to eject, Lieutenant. I won’t leave you until I have your coordinates. Then I’ll get help. Just wait until I’ve moved off, then reach up and pull the lever.” As he spoke, Max demonstrated the motion.
The very second the words were out of his mouth, he saw what would happen, and cursed the inevitable. Jeremy’s hand was already moving in response to instructions that had only partially registered. Even as Max veered sharply to the left, Jeremy had pulled his ejection lever and was propelled from the plane, leaving his own plane to spiral wildly into Max’s path. With a prayer on his lips, Max pulled his own lever and shot into the sky.
********************************************************************
Dear Liz,
It can’t have been only three days since I saw you. It feels like weeks. I’ve always enjoyed being on a carrier, but not this time. I just want to be with you.
The sunset was spectacular the other night, and it made me think of that night on the beach when you finally opened up to me about Aaron. I think that was the first night I knew we’d make it. You believe it, too, don’t you? I can’t imagine my future any other way.
If it were up to me, I’d spend all my free time thinking about that night and all the days and nights since, so I have to push myself to keep up the social thing. It’s important to have a good relationship with the other men (and women—but don’t worry, no one could distract me from you) because we need each other in a very real way. We need to know and trust and respect each other so if there’s ever a crisis, we can count on each other. I guess I’m not so different from the others, though. Whenever I do get together with the other guys, they’re talking about their wives and girlfriends, too. For a ship with over 3000 people on board, it sure can be lonely.
Time to go, my love. Dream of me.
Your Max
*********************************************************************
The teeth-rattling landing behind him, Max surveyed his surroundings. The terrain was relatively flat; they were near the sea, he knew. Mountains rose in the distance behind him on the other side of gradually climbing foothills. At least they didn’t have to deal with that rocky terrain, he thought gratefully; if Jeremy was injured, he might need to be carried, and this flat ground would be a blessing. The big question was, had they made it into Israel, or were they still in Lebanon? That would present a much more serious problem. The Lebanese government may have granted permission for the flyovers, but the population might not be so accommodating.
One thing at a time, he reminded himself. His parachute billowed as he slowly deflated it into a compact bundle and stuffed it under rock. As he suspected, he couldn’t get any kind of a fix with his GPS, so he held out little hope for the sonar beacon he’d set. At least he had the essentials: water, maps, flare, matches and magnesium fire starter. He tore off a few strips of infrared tape and attached it to his G-suit in hopes it would make it easier to find him once rescue planes were sent. One piece he placed strategically over a rip in the leg; although he was wearing his liner suit, he knew the nights could get very cool.
As he smeared on his camouflage paint, “green lipstick” as it was commonly referred to, he assessed his—and Jeremy’s—situation. There was no telling what shape Jeremy was in—physically or emotionally—but he hoped he was thinking straight enough to turn on his strobe light so that Max could find him. The first layer of twilight had already seeped into the sky, and Max calculated it was only an hour or so before it was truly dark. He carried no night goggles, since this had been a day mission, but the strobe would guide him without them. He scanned the empty landscape between his position and the horizon, but saw no light. With a scan of the map and a mental calculation of his position, he rolled his sore shoulders and began to walk.
Dusk thickened, and with it, temperatures fell dramatically. Max stopped for a conservative drink from his limited water supply and surveyed in a slow 360-degree circle. Using his finger lights, he studied the map again, then made a minor course change. He couldn’t safely go much longer; if he wound up wandering aimlessly, he was liable to drift further from Jeremy and make it all the harder for the rescue planes to find him. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if Jeremy was taking the precautions he’d been trained for.
A blip of light flashed in his peripheral vision. Standing completely still, Max stared into the darkness, then smiled when the light blipped again. More relieved than he cared to admit, he picked up his pace and turned his thoughts to what steps to take when he found his pilot. Of course, that would depend on what shape he was in. But he knew he was alive and coherent at the very least, and that could only be good.
It was more of a jog than a walk that brought Max to Jeremy’s side, and he frowned at the still form. Was he asleep? Or had he passed out?
“Jeremy?”
When he didn’t get a response, the hair began to rise on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right.
“Lieutenant!”
Only the unnerving click of guns being cocked answered.
*********************************************************************
Dear Liz,
Five days now. I hope that by this time next week, we might be making love under the stars over San Diego. Does that sound sappy? I don’t care. That’s all I can think about when I’m alone in my bunk. I wonder if I ever told you that Thad once said I looked “goofy” when I think of you. I suppose that could be true, although no one on board’s been tactless enough to mention it, but I know that when I shake myself out of a daydream about you, I have what’s probably a silly smile on my face. A small price to pay for feeling this way.
Wesley is turning out to be a nice guy; we hadn’t really worked together much yet. He’s a good pilot, from all accounts, and he’s the resident wheeler-dealer. Big dreams, small bankroll. I’m not supposed to know, but he usually has some kind of game going on—you know, craps or poker. I’m willing to overlook it as long as I don’t detect any tension over it. The guys need a break from the stress, and this is one way of doing it.
Another way is listening to Thad tell stories from back home. I don’t know whether he makes this stuff up or if these crazy things actually happened, but even I wind up listening and laughing at them. Tell Charisse she married a good guy. Maybe I’ll ask him to be in our wedding. Alex can be best man, and Kyle and Thad can be groomsmen. Too many? Too few? What kind of wedding do you want?
It occurs to me I haven’t actually asked you to marry me. I’ll take care of that when I get home. You might want to start practicing saying yes. When you’ve got that down, then you can think about the details—where, when (soon!), bridesmaids, and all that other stuff. I have only one requirement—you.
My letters to you are getting longer. No surprise, I guess. I want to talk to you, hold you, make love with you . . .
Crap, this is getting me both sad and horny—a bad combination. I’ll go to bed now and dream of you.
Love,
Max
******************************************************************
The only things dangerous-looking about the three men were their weapons and their scowls. Otherwise, they looked thin and weary, and it was a fair bet they didn’t have much to lose. Make that a third dangerous thing.
Max raised his hands slowly, keeping eye contact with the man who seemed to be the leader of the group. He had stepped toward Jeremy’s prone body and was wearing a colorful headband around his kaffiyah—the most colorful thing any of them had on. His bony hands gripped the barrel of an AK-47 and pointed it down. Max knelt.
“He’s hurt. I only want to help him.”
The odds that these people spoke English were dim at best, but it was worth a try. He pointed slowly at Jeremy and raised his eyebrows. The man seemed to understand Max’s request, but whether it was a result of spoken language or body language was still a mystery. Taking the quick nod as assent, Max crawled toward Jeremy.
The pulse was steady. That was the main thing, Max reminded himself. Next, he bent to remove the helmet, his heart racing at the sight of blood seeping from Jeremy’s temple, but Max breathed through it and wiped it away as best he could with his fingers. There was quite a gash there, but if he could stop the bleeding, he didn’t think it would be serious.
With his hands raised again, he pointed to a Velcroed pocket in his survival vest, then slowly reached inside for the tourniquet. Satisfied that his captor understood, he pulled it out and bound Jeremy’s head. Pondering how Jeremy had turned on his strobe, Max continued to check for injuries. He suspected a sprained or broken ankle when Jeremy stirred at his touch, and figured on a concussion since he was still unconscious, but other than that, Max found no injuries. Unless they were internal, in which case, God help him.
With only a gesture, the leader instructed one of the other men to turn off the strobe. Well, shit. Jeremy hadn’t turned on the strobe at all. These locals had seen two men eject and had lured one with the strobe from the other. Nicely done.
The third man, the largest of the three, stepped forward and began to pick Jeremy up. The nozzle of the AK-47 squelched Max’s objections, and Jeremy’s body was unceremoniously slung over the back of a reluctant burro. Thoughts of Jeremy’s potential for spinal injuries or internal bleeding had perspiration popping out on Max’s skin in spite of the chill, but as cold gunmetal pressing upwards under his chin had him rising to his feet, he offered no resistance. The appearance of acquiescence would at least extend their lives, and maybe, just maybe, would lead to a way out.
From behind an outcropping of rock stepped two women and a young boy. Max peered through the deepening dusk, cursing himself for not detecting their presence. He may be shaken, but if his instincts weren’t sharp, it would cost him—and Jeremy—their lives. Ordering himself to begin to process details, Max studied the group. Most likely, the older woman was mother to the other two. The age was about right, and she rested a hand on their shoulders in either reassurance or warning. This wasn’t a military unit; it was a family . . . or what was left of one. The mother, frail and suspicious, threw him a cold stare, but the girl, a beauty of 17 or so, and the boy, perhaps 12, seemed more curious. Speculation was cut short when a grunt and a bruising shove in the back with a gun barrel told him they were about to take a walk.
He glanced longingly at the dark and empty sky. This was bad, but it wasn’t the end. After all, he had promises to keep.
*******************************************************************
Dear Liz,
This week has felt like a year. I hope it’s been easier on you.
Everyone’s fine. Thad’s doing the best, maybe because Charisse and he have been through this before. Jeremy is trying. The poor kid wanted to tell me everything the other day, but I managed to discourage him before he got it out. I hate being caught in the middle. How’s Ensign O’Hara holding up? Alex, of course, is going crazy when he has time to think, which isn’t often. I suppose his relationship with Svea is the most tentative of all of us. I don’t think of ours that way anymore. I hope you don’t either.
I had an odd conversation with the Captain today. Some bird or other has been playing kamikaze with our engines lately and the F’s are out of commission for a couple of days. We’ll be flying the E’s, which of course means no RIO. The Captain was afraid I’d play cowboy up there because of my reputation—you might not even know about that, but the stats are misleading; I’m not out to break records or win medals—anyway, he wanted to know if I were married or had a serious relationship. He said people with something to lose make better decisions. I told him I had the best possible reason for getting back in one piece. He asked your name, and when I told him, he said it was his wife’s name, too, and that they’ve been married for close to 25 years. It made me wonder where we’ll be in 25 years, what our kids will be like, how much more our love will have grown by then. All I know for sure is that I can’t wait to start that life with you.
It looks like it might be longer than either of us hoped, Liz, but I’ll be home with you as fast as humanly possible. I hope they lift this communications blackout soon so I can mail these letters. Knowing you’re reading them will make me feel closer to you. Just remember, you live in me now, a warm presence that I swear I can feel. As long as that warmth stays with me, I know we’re okay. Never doubt that I love you.
Almost time to go flying, my love. I’ll write again soon.
Love,
Max
********************************************************************
If Captain Zagorski ever thought that Max was a cowboy, maybe it was simply a premonition of this experience. They were entering a camp of some kind, complete with makeshift tents, a campfire, and livestock on the perimeter. Only they weren’t cows, Max was sure. Most likely goats, though sheep were a possibility. He wasn’t sure he knew the difference between the sounds made by goats and sheep, but that sure as heck wasn’t mooing he heard.
To his surprise, their captors were almost gentle as they lay Jeremy down in a lean-to. To his shock, they gestured for him to stay with his friend, though they stripped him of his survival vest and his boots. A simple but effective tactic for keeping him there, he assumed, since it would be impossible to negotiate the terrain barefoot. Within minutes, the young woman who had walked with them arrived with what he presumed to be milk, and a bowl of soft white spread with slices of toasted bread. He looked at the offerings with suspicion, then noted the hint of concern on the girl’s face. Reaching for the food, he nodded his thanks.
He’d hoped she would leave them, then—he needed to think, and he needed to check Jeremy more carefully for injuries—but when she hovered, he sighed and picked up a piece of bread. He started to lift it to his lips when she reached for him, and he jolted backwards. Her smile was understanding, and this time she reached more slowly. Taking his hand that held the bread, she pushed it toward the bowl and dipped the edge of the bread into it.
“Labneh.”
Max frowned, then pointed at the spread with his free hand. “Labneh?”
She nodded encouragingly and rubbed her stomach. He smiled in spite of himself. Taking a deep breath, he bit in. It was . . . interesting, but she watched him so carefully that he felt compelled to smile and nod. “Mmmmm.”
Pleased, she turned away and reached for a bowl containing water and a cloth. When it became clear she planned to tend to Jeremy, Max put up a hand of warning and shook his head. No one was touching Jeremy but him, at least not until he knew how badly he might be hurt. With a shrug, she handed him the cloth and knelt off to the side.
Max ministered patiently to Jeremy, tending first the head wound, then working his way down. Though he unzipped both the G-suit and the liner suit to look for bleeding and bruising, he didn’t undress his patient, as much to assure no one absconded with his clothes as to keep him warm. All the while, he couldn’t help wonder why they were suddenly being treated more like guests than prisoners. They had been given shelter of sorts, food, and rudimentary medical attention. It just wasn’t making much sense.
Jeremy stirred when Max put pressure on his left ankle, confirming Max’s suspicion that it was sprained or even broken. There was swelling, but only mild discoloration. Knowing he couldn’t diagnose with any certainty until Jeremy regained consciousness, he tried to cushion the ankle with the wet cloth, but the young woman stopped him with gentle pressure to his hand and, with her other hand, offered him a ragged piece of dry linen instead. It looked clean enough, and as he accepted it, their eyes met. He could have sworn he saw apology there.
“Rana.”
Max started at the interruption and looked up to find a fierce-looking man scowling at him over the barrel of yet another AK-47. Apparently this was the gun of choice in these parts. Rana moved her hand quickly, but did not seem frightened. In fact, she rose gracefully and turned to him with a soft smile.
“Yavuz.” She put her hand on his gun and nudged it away from Max. What she said next was anybody’s guess, but it reduced the threat on the man’s face to mere hostility, and Max realized that this was a young man who, unless he was off the mark, was in love with this girl. He probably just didn’t like his girlfriend touching another man. Max could respect that, even if it were the most innocent of circumstances. This was a distinctly conservative culture, after all.
The two murmured quietly for a moment. Then, with a brief warning glance in Max’s direction, the man left them. Rana, assuming that was her name, urged Max to eat more, then pressed the milk into his hand. Appreciative now, Max took two large gulps before his face froze and puckered. Fresh milk. Warm. Thick. And probably not from a cow. His stomach did a slow roll, but when he caught the look of amusement on her face, he swallowed and smiled back.
“Thanks.”
With a nod, she gathered her things and padded softly out of the lean-to. It was only then that Max saw the outline of an armed guard outside. Perhaps “guest” hadn’t been the right word after all.
******
The rumor mill was exploding on board ship. Two jets had yet to return, and it was long past the time their fuel would have run out. Communications had been all but shut down, and speculation spewed like molten lava. Where were they? What did it mean?
Alex looked into the night sky and prayed. It wasn’t something he did often, but he would have converted to twelve different religions if it would bring Max back. He’d just sent Max’s letters to be mailed to Liz that afternoon. He could imagine her opening them, reading them with relief and excitement. But she wasn’t his wife. The Navy wouldn’t be notifying her about what had happened. In fact, they wouldn’t let anyone know for at least 24 hours. If the unspeakable happened, it would be up to him to send her the news, and the thought of it made him want to hurl over the side of the ship.
The next few hours would be about reconnaissance, informants, search and rescue. Maybe by morning, it would all be explained and Max would be back on board. Maybe Alex wouldn’t have to break any bad news to Liz.
Maybe pigs would fly.
“He knows what he’s doing. He’ll be okay. Jeremy, too.”
Alex looked up at Thad and nodded. It’s what guys said to each other at times like this.
“I know.”
They stood in silence, each knowing what the other feared most.
“Goddamn it.”
And they both began to pray.
“Goddamn laughing birds.”
Max swung his eyes from face to face, wondering if anyone else thought the Captain was losing it. The maintenance crew looked as dismayed as their Captain, but not the least confused. Max, however, had plenty of questions, starting with why he was standing in a maintenance bay with the Captain of the ship and four crewmen staring at some mangled metal on a large worktable.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Laughing Gulls,” Captain Zagorski frowned, deepening the creases in his weathered face. “Whole damn place is lousy with ’em. Took out engines on three planes in as many days.”
Max caught on enough to realize the issue was birds getting sucked into the engines.
“What’s the repair time?” he asked.
“Too long,” Zagorski grumbled. “How do you feel about flying E’s for a couple of days?”
The single-seater Hornets were a pleasure to fly, but Max understood what the Captain was asking. Flying without a RIO meant vulnerability if they should be attacked. On the other hand, there’d been no hostile action taken toward them all week, and it was important to keep up the regular flights over the tense countryside. If anything, the potential for conflict was on the rise; without the obvious presence of the American military, Max had no doubt it would have erupted days ago.
“No problem, sir.”
The Captain gave him a long evaluative look.
“Follow me.” Then, with a glance at the other crew members, “Dismissed.”
They walked in silence from one end of the ship to the other, then turned, shoulder to shoulder, toward the sea. The Captain pulled off his cap, ran short, stubby fingers through his gradually silvering hair, and replaced it again—a gesture Max had come to recognize as habit when the CO was deep in thought. It might have been fatigue that Max saw in his Captain’s eyes just before he sighed and pinned his gaze on Max.
“They tell me you’re the best.”
Max returned the Captain’s gaze steadily, unwilling to agree or disagree.
“That won’t save you if they decide to come after you. Flying solo’s a risky proposition in this situation, and I don’t risk my men casually, Lt. Commander. What about your squadron?”
“Owens is solid, sir. Ames is less experienced, but he can handle himself. I haven’t flown with Johnston personally yet, but his credentials are impressive.”
Zagorski pursed his lips and studied Max through narrowed eyes.
“You married, Evans?”
Liz’s face filled his mind, and he almost smiled.
“No, sir.”
The Captain hadn’t missed the hesitation or the softening of his pilot’s features.
“But I take it there’s a woman.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And does she think you’re dashing in your uniform? Brave? Clean? Reverent?”
Max’s lips twitched.
“Clean, at least,” he answered, and was rewarded with a chuckle before the CO sobered.
“Does she know how dangerous what you do is? I find most spouses . . . or girlfriends . . . don’t. They think it’s all spit and polish, pomp and ceremony.”
Max felt his stomach clench and broke eye contact. Peering several stories down to where the water lapped at the ship, he thought of Liz and willed himself not to wonder what she was thinking now.
“She knows.”
He could feel the Captain’s eyes on him as the silence spun out.
“Too well, from the looks of you,” he said mildly. “Did she lose someone?”
“A brother and a boyfriend.”
They watched the water together until a plane coming in for a landing at the opposite end of the ship drew their attention. When it was safely on board, the Captain turned back to Max, his expression serious, his tone almost fatherly.
“I don’t want heroes on this ship, Evans. They make decisions with their egos instead of their heads. If they survive, people call them ‘the best.’ That’s why we’re having this conversation. I need to know that if I send you and your people up, you’ll be making good decisions. I’ve found that people with someone waiting back home make better ones.”
There was no way to say “I don’t think of myself as a hero” without sounding as if he actually did. There was no reasonable way to explain that getting back to Liz was the most important thing in his life. There was no way to make “I have no desire to defy fate by taking chances with my life or anyone else’s” sound like anything but lip service.
“I’ll be back, sir, with my men.”
When the Captain’s eyes only narrowed and waited, Max relaxed his shoulders and managed a half-smile. “That’s not ego, Captain, but it is my priority. I have good reasons for getting home in one piece, and I know my men well enough to know that they do, too. I won’t be casual about my decisions, sir. I’ll do my best to keep everyone healthy and flying.”
Satisfied, the Captain straightened and laced his fingers behind his back. The late afternoon sun created a halo around his head, and Max thought about a painting he’d once seen where the angel looked much like this man. He wasn’t sure the Captain would appreciate the comparison.
“I’m going to send you up in pairs starting tomorrow, thereby minimizing the target while still making ourselves visible. You’ll go up with Ames, Owens with Johnston. With any luck, we’ll have the F’s ready to go in a day or two. If you detect any hostile action, I want your tails back here. There’s a different game plan for that. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Captain Zagorski turned to leave, then turned back. “What’s her name, Evans?”
“Liz, sir.”
He pursed his lips. “Elizabeth. My wife’s name. Been married 25 years come May.” He nodded in what might have been approval and strolled off. Max watched him leave and pondered the promises he’d made—to Liz and to his CO. He would keep them, he told himself. His wasn’t the only life that depended on it.
******
Alex frowned at his best friend. “E’s? Can’t they just go a day or two without flyovers until the F’s are fixed? Sounds dangerous.”
“We can’t afford to disappear, but we’re going up two at a time instead of four. That way, we’re still in the sky but we risk less. Besides, we haven’t been fired on all week. There’s no reason to think they’ll start now.”
Alex watched a drop of condensation weave its way down the side of his can of Coke and shook off the nerves that sent uneasy prickles skittering across his skin. “There’s a rumor going around that they might lift the communications blackout this afternoon. Got anything you want mailed?”
Max brightened and leaned forward. “Is that what they’re saying? Hell, yeah. There are four, no, five, no four—yeah, four letters in my duffle bag in the storage unit under my bunk. Fifth one’s still up here.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “They’re all addressed and everything. Can you send them off for me?”
“Glad to.” Alex sat back and smiled. “It’s good to see you so gone over a girl, Max. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”
“The one and only girl, my friend. Get used to it.” He stood with a sigh. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“Name it.”
“If anything happens to me . . .” He put up a hand to ward off Alex’s automatic objections. “If anything happens to me, you keep an eye on Liz. Make sure she has support—family, friends, whatever she needs. And let her know I love her.”
“Max . . .”
“And I’ll do the same for Svea.”
They both knew Max ran a much bigger risk than Alex did on a daily basis, but there was no point in stating the obvious.
“Deal.”
“Good. Time to go. See you tonight.”
Alex offered a casual salute; there were rules, after all, even between friends. “Break a leg.”
Max stopped and looked back with a frown. “That’s theater, Alex. Not flying.”
Alex grinned. “Whatever.”
And with an affectionate shake of his head, Max left.
******
Thad and Wesley were on the flight deck waiting when Max and Jeremy reported for duty. Grabbing their helmets—Rocketman and Roadrunner—the two pilots acknowledged Thad as he hitched a thumb toward a room just off the deck.
“Problem?” Max asked as soon as they closed the door and muted the deafening noise outside.
“No, not really,” Thad began, “but I wanted to warn you that communications are rough right now—full of static and all. They said sunspots were messing with it. Anyway, it should be better in a few hours but for now, you’ll have to work at it.”
“Noted,” Max nodded. “Anything else? How did the E’s fly?”
“Smooth as silk,” Wesley answered. “I’m thinkin’ of gettin’ me one of those someday—just for fun.”
“They must be payin’ you more than they’re payin’ me, Kingpin,” Thad grinned, flicking a finger off the call sign on Wesley’s helmet. “Either that or your daddy owns Rockwell.”
“I’ll own Rockwell,” he countered, without missing a beat. “I got a plan. A little seed money, a trip to Vegas . . .” That and a wink seemed to be the plan, and made the men laugh. Heaven knew they weren’t in this for the money.
“Until then,” Max advised, “we’d best do our jobs. See you later. Ames, let’s get at it.”
The two men climbed into their tandem fighters, gave the thumbs up to their crew, and soared into a clear blue sky.
*********************************************************************
Dear Liz:
It’s only been a day, but I miss you so much it hurts. I’m praying that you don’t regret your last words to me. They echo in my head all day and do wonders for my dreams! I’ve never been so happy. Did you get any grief about that last night on base? I know how much those guys love to razz people. You can handle yourself, though. Hell, you can handle anything. You’ve proved that often enough. I’m just sorry if I made it rough on you.
I saw Alex. Tell Svea he’s fine and misses her, too. Thad and Jeremy are also well. The flu has decimated the crew, and it’s all they can do to get enough replacements in. I can’t give details—the censors will probably even delete what I’ve just written—but I think the epidemic is slowing, at least, so I hope to be home soon.
With luck, I’ll be home even before you get this, but if not, know that I love you, and can’t wait to get home to you.
Love,
Max
*****************************************************************
The Middle East was damn small. That idle thought crossed Max’s mind as he and Jeremy cruised the varied topography. You could go from seashore to hills to mountains to desert in the blink of an eye when you could fly at over 1300 miles an hour and cover close to 2500 miles on a tank of fuel. Their assigned flight loop didn’t push that limit by any stretch of the imagination. They had hard-won permission from Egypt, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria to make non-aggressive loops through their air space several times a day, but that whole trip was roughly the equivalent of leaving New York City and looping around New England. Not a real long trip.
Thad had been right about communications. Hearing transmissions from the ship was a little like listening to that old recording of Alexander Graham Bell’s first phone conversation. It took some imagination. Still, everything was going smoothly, and by the time they went up next time, things would be back to normal.
Max glanced over at Jeremy. They were flying side by side, since there were only two of them.
“Nice day,” Jeremy said, his voice clear from such a short distance. Line-of-sight communications weren’t affected by the sunspots. “How about we go have dinner in London?”
“Sorry, Lieutenant. We’ll have to settle for cook’s version of London broil when we get back on board.”
“Not the same, sir.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Max chuckled. “Ames! One o’clock!”
Jeremy saw the flock of gulls a split second later and sent his plane into a sharp incline, hard right, but he wasn’t quick enough. The birds had risen from below so fast and in such quantity, the pilots hadn’t had any warning. Max’s stomach pitched into his throat as smoke spiraled up from Jeremy’s right engine, and he recalled the mangled pieces he’d seen just the day before on board ship.
It was like a scene from The Birds, Alfred Hitchcock’s eerie thriller about a town’s ominous infestation of birds apparently focused on destruction. Jeremy’s plane seemed surrounded by the evil-looking gulls, their long bills, flat foreheads, and huge wingspans mirroring the look of the fighter jet they seemed bent on attacking. Max followed Jeremy’s desperate path to evade them, but he could now see that his lieutenant’s windshield was cracked, and he knew that if it shattered, his pilot could be killed by flying debris before he ever got the chance to eject.
“Eject! Eject!” Max yelled into his helmet radio. “Nimitz! This is Rocketman. Roadrunner is down. I repeat: Roadrunner is down!”
His answer was a scramble of static with intermittent syllables; the interference from sunspots had obviously escalated beyond their original expectations. His options streamed through his mind like a Dow Jones readout as he followed the now erratic route of his lieutenant’s plane. Even as he continued to shout the “Eject” order, he feared for Jeremy’s life. Under normal circumstances, he would report the coordinates and return to the Nimitz. Rescue teams were always on stand-by and were usually a pilot’s best hope. In the meantime, Jeremy was equipped with all the essentials to survive while he waited. But Max had no way of knowing if the ship had received his transmission, and worse, he couldn’t be sure Jeremy’s GPS or sonar beacon would operate in these circumstances. He had to choose between returning to the ship immediately or staying with Jeremy until he could determine his final coordinates.
No contest. He wouldn’t leave Jeremy until he knew where to find him again.
Jeremy still hadn’t ejected, and Max began to wonder if he had lost consciousness. With the precise and sensitive touch of a skilled pilot, Max maneuvered his plane closer to Jeremy’s and attempted to mirror its unpredictable course. Jeremy’s eyes were wide, panic-stricken as the gulls continued to surround him. Max took a deep breath and spoke in a firm, calm voice.
“Jeremy. It’s Max. Look at me; I’m on your left.”
Jeremy turned his head stiffly. “It’s time to eject, Lieutenant. I won’t leave you until I have your coordinates. Then I’ll get help. Just wait until I’ve moved off, then reach up and pull the lever.” As he spoke, Max demonstrated the motion.
The very second the words were out of his mouth, he saw what would happen, and cursed the inevitable. Jeremy’s hand was already moving in response to instructions that had only partially registered. Even as Max veered sharply to the left, Jeremy had pulled his ejection lever and was propelled from the plane, leaving his own plane to spiral wildly into Max’s path. With a prayer on his lips, Max pulled his own lever and shot into the sky.
********************************************************************
Dear Liz,
It can’t have been only three days since I saw you. It feels like weeks. I’ve always enjoyed being on a carrier, but not this time. I just want to be with you.
The sunset was spectacular the other night, and it made me think of that night on the beach when you finally opened up to me about Aaron. I think that was the first night I knew we’d make it. You believe it, too, don’t you? I can’t imagine my future any other way.
If it were up to me, I’d spend all my free time thinking about that night and all the days and nights since, so I have to push myself to keep up the social thing. It’s important to have a good relationship with the other men (and women—but don’t worry, no one could distract me from you) because we need each other in a very real way. We need to know and trust and respect each other so if there’s ever a crisis, we can count on each other. I guess I’m not so different from the others, though. Whenever I do get together with the other guys, they’re talking about their wives and girlfriends, too. For a ship with over 3000 people on board, it sure can be lonely.
Time to go, my love. Dream of me.
Your Max
*********************************************************************
The teeth-rattling landing behind him, Max surveyed his surroundings. The terrain was relatively flat; they were near the sea, he knew. Mountains rose in the distance behind him on the other side of gradually climbing foothills. At least they didn’t have to deal with that rocky terrain, he thought gratefully; if Jeremy was injured, he might need to be carried, and this flat ground would be a blessing. The big question was, had they made it into Israel, or were they still in Lebanon? That would present a much more serious problem. The Lebanese government may have granted permission for the flyovers, but the population might not be so accommodating.
One thing at a time, he reminded himself. His parachute billowed as he slowly deflated it into a compact bundle and stuffed it under rock. As he suspected, he couldn’t get any kind of a fix with his GPS, so he held out little hope for the sonar beacon he’d set. At least he had the essentials: water, maps, flare, matches and magnesium fire starter. He tore off a few strips of infrared tape and attached it to his G-suit in hopes it would make it easier to find him once rescue planes were sent. One piece he placed strategically over a rip in the leg; although he was wearing his liner suit, he knew the nights could get very cool.
As he smeared on his camouflage paint, “green lipstick” as it was commonly referred to, he assessed his—and Jeremy’s—situation. There was no telling what shape Jeremy was in—physically or emotionally—but he hoped he was thinking straight enough to turn on his strobe light so that Max could find him. The first layer of twilight had already seeped into the sky, and Max calculated it was only an hour or so before it was truly dark. He carried no night goggles, since this had been a day mission, but the strobe would guide him without them. He scanned the empty landscape between his position and the horizon, but saw no light. With a scan of the map and a mental calculation of his position, he rolled his sore shoulders and began to walk.
Dusk thickened, and with it, temperatures fell dramatically. Max stopped for a conservative drink from his limited water supply and surveyed in a slow 360-degree circle. Using his finger lights, he studied the map again, then made a minor course change. He couldn’t safely go much longer; if he wound up wandering aimlessly, he was liable to drift further from Jeremy and make it all the harder for the rescue planes to find him. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if Jeremy was taking the precautions he’d been trained for.
A blip of light flashed in his peripheral vision. Standing completely still, Max stared into the darkness, then smiled when the light blipped again. More relieved than he cared to admit, he picked up his pace and turned his thoughts to what steps to take when he found his pilot. Of course, that would depend on what shape he was in. But he knew he was alive and coherent at the very least, and that could only be good.
It was more of a jog than a walk that brought Max to Jeremy’s side, and he frowned at the still form. Was he asleep? Or had he passed out?
“Jeremy?”
When he didn’t get a response, the hair began to rise on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right.
“Lieutenant!”
Only the unnerving click of guns being cocked answered.
*********************************************************************
Dear Liz,
Five days now. I hope that by this time next week, we might be making love under the stars over San Diego. Does that sound sappy? I don’t care. That’s all I can think about when I’m alone in my bunk. I wonder if I ever told you that Thad once said I looked “goofy” when I think of you. I suppose that could be true, although no one on board’s been tactless enough to mention it, but I know that when I shake myself out of a daydream about you, I have what’s probably a silly smile on my face. A small price to pay for feeling this way.
Wesley is turning out to be a nice guy; we hadn’t really worked together much yet. He’s a good pilot, from all accounts, and he’s the resident wheeler-dealer. Big dreams, small bankroll. I’m not supposed to know, but he usually has some kind of game going on—you know, craps or poker. I’m willing to overlook it as long as I don’t detect any tension over it. The guys need a break from the stress, and this is one way of doing it.
Another way is listening to Thad tell stories from back home. I don’t know whether he makes this stuff up or if these crazy things actually happened, but even I wind up listening and laughing at them. Tell Charisse she married a good guy. Maybe I’ll ask him to be in our wedding. Alex can be best man, and Kyle and Thad can be groomsmen. Too many? Too few? What kind of wedding do you want?
It occurs to me I haven’t actually asked you to marry me. I’ll take care of that when I get home. You might want to start practicing saying yes. When you’ve got that down, then you can think about the details—where, when (soon!), bridesmaids, and all that other stuff. I have only one requirement—you.
My letters to you are getting longer. No surprise, I guess. I want to talk to you, hold you, make love with you . . .
Crap, this is getting me both sad and horny—a bad combination. I’ll go to bed now and dream of you.
Love,
Max
******************************************************************
The only things dangerous-looking about the three men were their weapons and their scowls. Otherwise, they looked thin and weary, and it was a fair bet they didn’t have much to lose. Make that a third dangerous thing.
Max raised his hands slowly, keeping eye contact with the man who seemed to be the leader of the group. He had stepped toward Jeremy’s prone body and was wearing a colorful headband around his kaffiyah—the most colorful thing any of them had on. His bony hands gripped the barrel of an AK-47 and pointed it down. Max knelt.
“He’s hurt. I only want to help him.”
The odds that these people spoke English were dim at best, but it was worth a try. He pointed slowly at Jeremy and raised his eyebrows. The man seemed to understand Max’s request, but whether it was a result of spoken language or body language was still a mystery. Taking the quick nod as assent, Max crawled toward Jeremy.
The pulse was steady. That was the main thing, Max reminded himself. Next, he bent to remove the helmet, his heart racing at the sight of blood seeping from Jeremy’s temple, but Max breathed through it and wiped it away as best he could with his fingers. There was quite a gash there, but if he could stop the bleeding, he didn’t think it would be serious.
With his hands raised again, he pointed to a Velcroed pocket in his survival vest, then slowly reached inside for the tourniquet. Satisfied that his captor understood, he pulled it out and bound Jeremy’s head. Pondering how Jeremy had turned on his strobe, Max continued to check for injuries. He suspected a sprained or broken ankle when Jeremy stirred at his touch, and figured on a concussion since he was still unconscious, but other than that, Max found no injuries. Unless they were internal, in which case, God help him.
With only a gesture, the leader instructed one of the other men to turn off the strobe. Well, shit. Jeremy hadn’t turned on the strobe at all. These locals had seen two men eject and had lured one with the strobe from the other. Nicely done.
The third man, the largest of the three, stepped forward and began to pick Jeremy up. The nozzle of the AK-47 squelched Max’s objections, and Jeremy’s body was unceremoniously slung over the back of a reluctant burro. Thoughts of Jeremy’s potential for spinal injuries or internal bleeding had perspiration popping out on Max’s skin in spite of the chill, but as cold gunmetal pressing upwards under his chin had him rising to his feet, he offered no resistance. The appearance of acquiescence would at least extend their lives, and maybe, just maybe, would lead to a way out.
From behind an outcropping of rock stepped two women and a young boy. Max peered through the deepening dusk, cursing himself for not detecting their presence. He may be shaken, but if his instincts weren’t sharp, it would cost him—and Jeremy—their lives. Ordering himself to begin to process details, Max studied the group. Most likely, the older woman was mother to the other two. The age was about right, and she rested a hand on their shoulders in either reassurance or warning. This wasn’t a military unit; it was a family . . . or what was left of one. The mother, frail and suspicious, threw him a cold stare, but the girl, a beauty of 17 or so, and the boy, perhaps 12, seemed more curious. Speculation was cut short when a grunt and a bruising shove in the back with a gun barrel told him they were about to take a walk.
He glanced longingly at the dark and empty sky. This was bad, but it wasn’t the end. After all, he had promises to keep.
*******************************************************************
Dear Liz,
This week has felt like a year. I hope it’s been easier on you.
Everyone’s fine. Thad’s doing the best, maybe because Charisse and he have been through this before. Jeremy is trying. The poor kid wanted to tell me everything the other day, but I managed to discourage him before he got it out. I hate being caught in the middle. How’s Ensign O’Hara holding up? Alex, of course, is going crazy when he has time to think, which isn’t often. I suppose his relationship with Svea is the most tentative of all of us. I don’t think of ours that way anymore. I hope you don’t either.
I had an odd conversation with the Captain today. Some bird or other has been playing kamikaze with our engines lately and the F’s are out of commission for a couple of days. We’ll be flying the E’s, which of course means no RIO. The Captain was afraid I’d play cowboy up there because of my reputation—you might not even know about that, but the stats are misleading; I’m not out to break records or win medals—anyway, he wanted to know if I were married or had a serious relationship. He said people with something to lose make better decisions. I told him I had the best possible reason for getting back in one piece. He asked your name, and when I told him, he said it was his wife’s name, too, and that they’ve been married for close to 25 years. It made me wonder where we’ll be in 25 years, what our kids will be like, how much more our love will have grown by then. All I know for sure is that I can’t wait to start that life with you.
It looks like it might be longer than either of us hoped, Liz, but I’ll be home with you as fast as humanly possible. I hope they lift this communications blackout soon so I can mail these letters. Knowing you’re reading them will make me feel closer to you. Just remember, you live in me now, a warm presence that I swear I can feel. As long as that warmth stays with me, I know we’re okay. Never doubt that I love you.
Almost time to go flying, my love. I’ll write again soon.
Love,
Max
********************************************************************
If Captain Zagorski ever thought that Max was a cowboy, maybe it was simply a premonition of this experience. They were entering a camp of some kind, complete with makeshift tents, a campfire, and livestock on the perimeter. Only they weren’t cows, Max was sure. Most likely goats, though sheep were a possibility. He wasn’t sure he knew the difference between the sounds made by goats and sheep, but that sure as heck wasn’t mooing he heard.
To his surprise, their captors were almost gentle as they lay Jeremy down in a lean-to. To his shock, they gestured for him to stay with his friend, though they stripped him of his survival vest and his boots. A simple but effective tactic for keeping him there, he assumed, since it would be impossible to negotiate the terrain barefoot. Within minutes, the young woman who had walked with them arrived with what he presumed to be milk, and a bowl of soft white spread with slices of toasted bread. He looked at the offerings with suspicion, then noted the hint of concern on the girl’s face. Reaching for the food, he nodded his thanks.
He’d hoped she would leave them, then—he needed to think, and he needed to check Jeremy more carefully for injuries—but when she hovered, he sighed and picked up a piece of bread. He started to lift it to his lips when she reached for him, and he jolted backwards. Her smile was understanding, and this time she reached more slowly. Taking his hand that held the bread, she pushed it toward the bowl and dipped the edge of the bread into it.
“Labneh.”
Max frowned, then pointed at the spread with his free hand. “Labneh?”
She nodded encouragingly and rubbed her stomach. He smiled in spite of himself. Taking a deep breath, he bit in. It was . . . interesting, but she watched him so carefully that he felt compelled to smile and nod. “Mmmmm.”
Pleased, she turned away and reached for a bowl containing water and a cloth. When it became clear she planned to tend to Jeremy, Max put up a hand of warning and shook his head. No one was touching Jeremy but him, at least not until he knew how badly he might be hurt. With a shrug, she handed him the cloth and knelt off to the side.
Max ministered patiently to Jeremy, tending first the head wound, then working his way down. Though he unzipped both the G-suit and the liner suit to look for bleeding and bruising, he didn’t undress his patient, as much to assure no one absconded with his clothes as to keep him warm. All the while, he couldn’t help wonder why they were suddenly being treated more like guests than prisoners. They had been given shelter of sorts, food, and rudimentary medical attention. It just wasn’t making much sense.
Jeremy stirred when Max put pressure on his left ankle, confirming Max’s suspicion that it was sprained or even broken. There was swelling, but only mild discoloration. Knowing he couldn’t diagnose with any certainty until Jeremy regained consciousness, he tried to cushion the ankle with the wet cloth, but the young woman stopped him with gentle pressure to his hand and, with her other hand, offered him a ragged piece of dry linen instead. It looked clean enough, and as he accepted it, their eyes met. He could have sworn he saw apology there.
“Rana.”
Max started at the interruption and looked up to find a fierce-looking man scowling at him over the barrel of yet another AK-47. Apparently this was the gun of choice in these parts. Rana moved her hand quickly, but did not seem frightened. In fact, she rose gracefully and turned to him with a soft smile.
“Yavuz.” She put her hand on his gun and nudged it away from Max. What she said next was anybody’s guess, but it reduced the threat on the man’s face to mere hostility, and Max realized that this was a young man who, unless he was off the mark, was in love with this girl. He probably just didn’t like his girlfriend touching another man. Max could respect that, even if it were the most innocent of circumstances. This was a distinctly conservative culture, after all.
The two murmured quietly for a moment. Then, with a brief warning glance in Max’s direction, the man left them. Rana, assuming that was her name, urged Max to eat more, then pressed the milk into his hand. Appreciative now, Max took two large gulps before his face froze and puckered. Fresh milk. Warm. Thick. And probably not from a cow. His stomach did a slow roll, but when he caught the look of amusement on her face, he swallowed and smiled back.
“Thanks.”
With a nod, she gathered her things and padded softly out of the lean-to. It was only then that Max saw the outline of an armed guard outside. Perhaps “guest” hadn’t been the right word after all.
******
The rumor mill was exploding on board ship. Two jets had yet to return, and it was long past the time their fuel would have run out. Communications had been all but shut down, and speculation spewed like molten lava. Where were they? What did it mean?
Alex looked into the night sky and prayed. It wasn’t something he did often, but he would have converted to twelve different religions if it would bring Max back. He’d just sent Max’s letters to be mailed to Liz that afternoon. He could imagine her opening them, reading them with relief and excitement. But she wasn’t his wife. The Navy wouldn’t be notifying her about what had happened. In fact, they wouldn’t let anyone know for at least 24 hours. If the unspeakable happened, it would be up to him to send her the news, and the thought of it made him want to hurl over the side of the ship.
The next few hours would be about reconnaissance, informants, search and rescue. Maybe by morning, it would all be explained and Max would be back on board. Maybe Alex wouldn’t have to break any bad news to Liz.
Maybe pigs would fly.
“He knows what he’s doing. He’ll be okay. Jeremy, too.”
Alex looked up at Thad and nodded. It’s what guys said to each other at times like this.
“I know.”
They stood in silence, each knowing what the other feared most.
“Goddamn it.”
And they both began to pray.
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Part 15
Shivering kept him from sleeping, and lack of sleep made the worry he’d fought off for too many hours loom darkly in his mind. Jeremy hadn’t regained consciousness yet, but that didn’t keep him from shifting restlessly beneath the single thin blanket that had been carelessly tossed to them by Yavuz, if that was indeed his name and not a title or an endearment Rana used. Max had slipped the remainder of his own water, sip by patient sip, down Jeremy’s throat, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. And even taking into account his own chilled hands, he worried that Jeremy was developing a fever.
With an impatient roll of his shoulders, he looked out. The moon seemed closer here somehow, but there was no romance in it. Now it only lit an ominous scene of unforgiving terrain and unreadable captors. Was he being helped or subjugated? Protected or imprisoned? It was hard to tell.
There was no guard outside their lean-to now. Apparently, the lack of shoes and an incapacitated comrade were deemed as effective as prison bars in the remote countryside. A valid position, Max had to admit. Still, he was sure they had men watching their perimeter. Even if he were desperate enough to try an escape, he couldn’t leave Jeremy. No, there would be no escape attempt . . . yet. He would see what tomorrow would bring.
A movement caught his eye, and he watched Rana, face covered, scurry across the campsite and duck behind one of the more substantial tents. Within seconds, Yavuz emerged from that tent and followed. A lover’s tryst, no doubt, and it made him smile. He closed his eyes and reached for Liz, comforted by the familiar warmth that he was sure meant she was out there, loving him, waiting for him. His shivering subsided, and he lay down in the dark. Cuddling up next to Jeremy wasn’t something he’d ever imagined doing, but survival was survival, and they both needed the body heat. Besides, Jeremy would never know, he told himself, and if he could just think of Liz . . . Minutes later, sleep came.
******
“Kyle, I can’t be there for at least another two hours. Just tell Jesse I’ll meet with her when I get home. We don’t have to be at the restaurant to plan the decorations, anyway. She has all the information we need in her head.”
Liz rolled her eyes at the phone as Kyle argued.
“I’m sorry Kyle, you’ll just have to put your libido on hold for a bit. A little exercise in self-control would be good for you. I’ll be finished here by 8. Watch some TV. Do a crossword puzzle. Call around and find us a Santa. I don’t care. Just let me get back to work . . .”
She could almost feel him, almost smell him. He was out there thinking of her, and it had her eyes closing dreamily. She wondered what he was doing. It was the wee hours there, she realized; maybe he was dreaming of her. Her lips curved and a needy little sound rumbled in her throat.
“What? Oh, Kyle. Yeah, I’ll be home at 8.” He was probably still talking when she hung up, but she wasn’t about to lose a moment of this time with Max.
She chuckled at herself. Well, that is how it felt, and it was no one’s business but hers. She never even thought to question it. It simply was. And had been, with him, since the first, in spite of her stubborn resistance. She reached out again, felt the warmth radiating from within her, and frowned a little. There was a heaviness, a . . . sadness? . . . to him today. Probably just tired. Just missing her as she did him.
She wished, desperately, that she had a letter from him, something to hold, smell, tuck under her pillow at night. Even an email to print out would serve. She let the warmth spread and breathed deeply. She would cope, she told herself; no news wasn’t so discouraging when Svea, Frankie, and Charisse were still waiting as well. That made it easy to trust that it was policy, not problems that caused the silence. Besides, she could feel him; he was alive, she knew, and thinking of her. And that was all it took these days to make her smile.
*****
Max watched as the night sky edged ever so slowly toward dawn, and a sense of loneliness washed over him. Thanksgiving was only days away and he had hoped to spend it with Liz, had wanted to make that tacit acknowledgement that she was, indeed, his family now. There was still a chance, he told himself, still time to be rescued and home for the big day.
Thoughts of Thanksgiving stirred something in his stomach and it rumbled angrily. Absently, he passed a hand over it and strove to distract himself.
The camp looked completely different in the thin light of dawn. Or rather, their camp in relation to the whole looked different. Their little campsite was sitting a short distance from a larger, more substantial site where a circle of large tents sat apparently deserted. Max watched with interest as women organized for the morning meal over the small campfire while there was no activity around the larger, more permanent fire pit across the way, and wondered why they would choose to use these cruder facilities.
He didn’t get to wonder for long. The grizzled man who had brought him and Jeremy to camp at gunpoint had returned and, gesturing again with the barrel of his weapon, had Max walking toward the deserted camp. He didn’t have a good feeling about what might await him there, especially since as they approached, a questionable odor wafted toward him, but he was even more wary of leaving Jeremy completely vulnerable. As he looked back, he saw Rana carrying milk toward the lean-to, and felt some measure of reassurance that his lieutenant would be looked after.
Goats. The mystery herd was goats. He could see them now, some huddled downstream drinking, others exploring the sparse vegetation that grew among the rocks of the foothills. A couple of goatherds kept the more adventurous ones contained, but it didn’t look to Max as if there were enough to truly control even this small herd. Then again, what did he know about goats?
With a snarled order, his captor pulled aside a tent flap and waved Max in. It took less than a step before the acrid stench of death and decay assaulted his nose. His gag reflex kicked in and he turned back, only to feel the gun barrel shove him painfully forward. He stumbled, fell, looked up into the eyes of a man who could only wish to die, and retched.
Even as he shuddered his way through the spasms, the old man yelled at him. It may have been curses or orders—it was hard to tell with the dizziness gripping his head and the foreign words echoing off the oppressive canvas walls. With surprising strength, the man hauled him to his feet by the arm and launched into an explanation of the scene before them, pointing in turn to each patient, then, outside, to each of the other tents, and finally tugging Max toward the feeble stream that meant life for man and beast.
When a pottery basin and rags were shoved into his hands, he understood. Some disease had gripped their community. In all probability, they had nursed the sick themselves until the caregivers had become patients. They may have moved the sick into the makeshift camp at first, he hypothesized, and then had to trade places when the ill outnumbered the healthy. If each of these tents held the same scene as the one he’d just endured, he was standing in the middle of an epidemic. He and Jeremy were dispensable. They would be used to provide what care was possible until they themselves fell ill—a desperate but logical means to break the cycle.
Max nodded, wildly searching his mind for answers to a myriad of questions: What disease could this be and was it one he’d been inoculated against before this mission began? How could he keep Jeremy safe? Once Jeremy regained consciousness . . . assuming he did . . . wouldn’t they give him the same assignment? Would he be more susceptible in his weakened condition? Now that Max’s questions about his captors’ intent had been answered, his first priority had to be escape. But he couldn’t leave Jeremy, and who knew when he might be strong enough?
As these first thoughts whirled through his mind, Max made a show of being submissive and agreeable. He bent to the stream and filled his bowl, dampened several rags, and began to walk toward the first tent. Under the old man’s watchful eye, Max began to wipe the face of his first patient, learning quickly to breathe through his mouth to avoid taking in the foul odor. The young man’s fever was high enough to have Max pulling his hand back as he might from a stove—a quick reaction before the full sense of heat even registered. Impatient with himself, he checked again. It didn’t take a medical degree to know this was a dangerous fever.
A quick survey of his patients baffled him. He saw no sores, no signs of vomiting—besides his own. He ordered his stomach to unclench and began to tend to the sick. A woman brought a pitcher of milk to the tent entrance, then left. His captor brought it inside and set it by Max with a wooden spoon and gestured for him to give some to each patient. Milk. Why not water? Could the milk be the problem? The milk he himself had drunk the night before? But he felt no ill effects, and heaven knew, with the goats right there, the milk was fresh. Still, why not water for these high fevers?
Basic hygiene was obviously not a priority with these people, Max frowned. A wooden spoon. Had it been boiled to kill germs he knew would thrive in wood? And the same spoon for each patient. Was the theory that once ill, what difference did it make? Everything was wrong with this scenario, and in spite of his own dire situation, he felt compassion. They were losing loved ones to a disease they surely knew could wipe them out. Their desperate situation had pushed them to desperate measures. And he was it.
The second he touched the third man in the tent, he let out a startled yelp. This man wasn’t sick; he was dead—and had been for some time. He alone accounted for most of the vile stench in the tent. Clamping down on his own physical reaction, he looked over his shoulder at his apparent supervisor and pointed at the corpse.
“He’s dead. Dead. Do you understand?”
With no sense of horror or even surprise, the man nodded and motioned for Max to remove him. That was when the full force of his role here dawned on him. He was caregiver and coroner. No doubt grave digger as well. He was, in truth, the grim reaper’s minion, and there would be no end to it until he himself was too ill to continue. He shuddered with revulsion and felt the bile rise in his throat. Viciously he fought it down, then reached inside himself and did what he always did when the going got rough. He did the job.
*****
I found a reason for me
To change who I used to be.
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you.
Liz sang tunelessly along with Hoobastank and pondered how the popular song applied to her. She had changed who she was. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. She hadn’t changed who she used to be; she had simply found that person again. The one who could love and laugh and trust. It felt good to have her back, as if a heavy mantle had been lifted from her shoulders, leaving her free to live—really live.
Okay, maybe that was overly poetic, but she’d been feeling that way a lot lately. Like she could breathe again. Loving Max and, more important, being loved by him had opened her heart again. This year, she was finding joy in planning the Christmas party. It wasn’t a way to fill empty hours, it was a way to give something, share something outside herself. She’d been too long without that.
She hefted the turkey out of the double plastic bags that strained and stretched under its weight. Thanksgiving was only two days away, and she had plenty to feel thankful for. Looking at the huge awkward bird, she thought back to her childhood home and remembered the way that delectable fragrance would gradually fill the house from early morning to late afternoon until she thought she couldn’t wait another minute, the way the skin turned brown and crisp after all those careful bastings, the way she and her brother would break the wishbone together after dinner and then argue over who cheated—all those crystal memories that once made her cry now made her smile and sigh. Max had done that for her.
She bent to rearrange items in the burgeoning refrigerator. Even though the others were all bringing something to Thanksgiving dinner, she had felt unprecedented motivation to fix every traditional favorite that she’d avoided for so long—whipped sweet potato casserole with that crumbly brown sugar topping, green bean casserole with those little fried onion curls, the secret family stuffing recipe, and sauerkraut—a legacy of her German grandmother’s holiday meal. Of course, there would be pies—pumpkin, mincemeat, apple, and pecan. The folks at work would gorge on those leftovers, she smiled, and she couldn’t wait to watch them do it. This was something else Max had given her.
What, she wondered, had she done for him? At first, she had been difficult, inconsistent, burdened with baggage he couldn’t yet understand. And yet he welcomed her into his life with open arms, lent her an understanding shoulder, and outlasted her with his unwavering faith.
She paused, stared, one hand on the refrigerator door and the other holding a jar of olives. What had she given him? What could she offer him in return?
Brooding was a sneaky state of mind, she reminded herself. You could be humming along with a song one minute and staring into space with a frown the next. She flung it off with an impatient huff. All he’d ever asked of her was love, and that she had in abundance. If that could be enough for him, it would be enough for her as well.
Even with the cool air from the refrigerator spilling out toward her, the warmth swamped her, and she let out a sharp gasp before the smile crept across her face. There he was, reaching for her. Was it her imagination, or did this sensation keep getting stronger, as if the bond they shared was strengthening with time and distance instead of fading. She could feel its fingers oozing through her veins like warm honey, and the sense of well being relaxed her muscles and her mind. Her head fell back, and she could almost make herself belief she could feel his lips on her neck.
“You’re either having an orgasm or you’re about to pass out. You okay?”
Olives came perilously close to becoming one with the floor, but Svea grabbed the jar just in time. Her teasing tone descended into concern.
“Liz? Maybe you’d better sit down.”
An attractive blush tinted Liz’s cheeks, and the embarrassed smile lifted on one side. “Sorry. I was daydreaming. I’m fine.”
Instantly empathetic, Svea relaxed and jimmied the olives into the refrigerator door. “I hear that. I took a bath the other night that was practically cold before I realized I needed to get out.” She grabbed wine before closing the fridge, then turned to pour two glasses. “But I didn’t get out. I just let out some water, filled it up with hot, and started all over again!”
Her laugh was contagious, and Liz realized how she’d missed a close female friend.
“I have a little something for you,” Svea said, a sly smirk on her face. “Take your wine and go sit on the couch.”
“What about the turkey?”
“I’ll take care of it. You just sit down.”
Liz threw Svea a suspicious frown, but did as she was told.
“Now close your eyes.”
Obediently, Liz let her lids fall, but she couldn’t suppress the squirm; no one had given her a surprise in a long time. Something very light brushed her thighs.
“Okay, open them.”
She forgot to breathe when she looked down at the four ragged envelopes, and the tears came before she could even manage a sound. Her hand shook as she reached for them.
“I picked up the mail on my way up.” She waved her own small bundle of mail. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
Liz only nodded as her trembling fingers reached for the first one.
********
If the message delivered to Captain Zagorski had been made of glass, its shards would have left crewmen bleeding for twenty feet in every direction.
“Goddamn son of a bitch,” he muttered, pacing and fuming. “Who do they think they are rescinding permission to fly over? There’s debris for chrissake. It’s not like they’re on a covert mission. It’s bullshit. Goddamn bullshit. Beacon’s only 30 miles over the border. Nothin’ out there but rocks and goats. We’d have ‘em out in hours. Goddamn son of a bitch.”
“Sir? You wanted to see me?”
The Captain looked up and fought mightily to pull himself together. “Yes, Commander. I’ve just received word that President Lahoud and his merry band of . . . and his National Assembly have rescinded permission for flyovers, even for purposes of rescue.”
He shook with the effort of keeping his tone and his words official, and was rewarded with a stormy frown from his second in command. “That’s unheard of. They were on a peacekeeping mission. They were completely nonaggressive. There’s debris, for god’s sake.”
A grim smile thinned the Captain’s lips. “My exact thoughts. But our hands are tied for the moment. Our government is protesting, but they’ll dance with those . . . with the Lebanese officials until the cows come home. We just have to hope our guys ejected safely. Meanwhile, I want to see a new course proposal for the flyovers excluding Lebanon, and I want the Lebanese-Israeli border to figure prominently, especially near the sea, you got that?”
“Yes sir.” He did get it. They would use all the technology at their disposal to find their men from a distance. What would happen then was anybody’s guess.
********
Days of caring for the sick had drained Max physically and emotionally. It wasn’t the filth or even the death, though that would have broken anyone’s spirit. It was the helplessness.
People were dying, and no one knew why. Just yesterday, two young boys had fallen ill, and he had carried their small, limp bodies to the tents. Flushed and glassy-eyed with fever, they seemed to fold bonelessly as he laid them gently on crude pallets; he wondered if they understood what came next—rash, pain, diarrhea, delirium, hallucinations. He knew the tiny community suspected the water. No one had taken a drink of it since he’d been there. It was all milk all the time. He understood their desperation, but he didn’t have a clue how to help them, and not knowing didn’t just mean more of their own could die; it meant he and Jeremy could die, too.
Promises, he reminded himself. He’d made promises. He would keep them.
He tried not to think about the fact that he hadn’t seen or heard a plane in days. He knew the Navy would be looking for them, so either they didn’t know where to look, or something was preventing them from looking. Either way, he and Jeremy were stranded. And he had no idea what to do about that, either.
Jeremy’s return to the land of the conscious had been a huge relief, if somewhat embarrassing. The poor guy had awakened to find his CO curled beside him with one arm flung over his chest. Max could only imagine his confusion . . . no, make that controlled panic . . . at waking to a strange environment with a superior officer cuddled at his side.
###
“Sir?”
“Hmmmm.”
“Uh, sir?”
Jeremy’s attempt to move away is what finally got through.
“Ames!” Max bolted upright. “You’re awake!”
“Yes sir.”
Jeremy’s eyes darted, taking in his surroundings, and Max watched understanding, fear, then more confusion flicker across his face. He sat up with a grimace and touched his ankle.
“Your plane was caught up in a flock of laughing gulls. One engine was out and the other was just a matter of time. They were practically swarming—I’ve never seen anything like it. Anyway, when you didn’t eject, I came alongside and ordered you to as soon as I moved off, but you weren’t exactly tracking and you ejected too soon. Your plane veered toward mine so fast, I had to eject, too. I came looking for you, but you were unconscious, and these people found you before I did. They were smart enough to turn on your strobe, and I followed it. Now we’re both here in this . . . camp. They aren’t military. They’re goatherds, actually, but we’re stuck here, anyway.”
Jeremy narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in concentration. “Yeah, I remember the gulls. They were everywhere. I . . .” He straightened as his chin came up and his eyes shone with intensity. Max wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone come to attention from a sitting position before.
“I let you down, sir. I’m sorry. This is my fault and I take responsibility.”
“At ease, Lieutenant. I’m not placing blame here. That was a freak occurrence, so relax. It’s the here and now we have to worry about.”
Jeremy glanced at Max gratefully, then took another longer look around, It was easy to see the questions bubbling up in his mind, and his mouth moved with the effort to put at least one of them into words. He needed time, Max decided, before he knew the rest. At least a few minutes to absorb what he’d learned so far. In an effort to forestall the barrage that would hit as soon as Jeremy could organize his thoughts, Max made a show of assessing Jeremy’s injuries.
“You’ve been unconscious for over 24 hours. How’s your vision?”
Jeremy evaluated with another squint around the camp, then glanced at his watch. “Okay, I guess, but my ankle hurts like a sonofabitch.” He sniffed the air. “And I stink.”
Max nearly smiled. “No, Ames, that would be me.”
At his Lieutenant’s raised eyebrows, Max sighed. “I have a lot to tell you, but first let’s look at that ankle.”
Jeremy flinched slightly as Max leaned toward him. “One question first, sir?”
“What?”
“When I came to, you were . . . hugging me . . . sir.”
The look on his face was so priceless that Max laughed out loud for the first time since he’d ejected. It was a relief to know he still could.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Lieutenant. Nights here get really cold, and our gracious hosts have given us one thin blanket to share. I was hoping to keep you alive by sharing body heat. It seemed like the lesser of two evils.”
Jeremy nodded, if a bit uncomfortably.
“But if you tell anyone, I’ll let your sorry ass freeze to death next time.”
Now Jeremy’s grin flashed, and Max felt them both relax. This looked more like the man he knew, and nothing could have reassured him more. It was looking like a bad ankle was all they’d have to deal with, injury-wise, at least.
He bent to examine the ankle again, frowning at the colorful bruising, although the swelling had gone down some.
“Can you move it?” Max asked. “Wiggle your toes.”
Jeremy managed both feats, but not without pain.
“I’d say dancing’s out for the immediate future. It’s not broken, but you might have a fracture. Or it could just be sprained. I’ll see what I can do about finding you something to use for a cane or a crutch.”
“So what’s the deal here, sir? Are we prisoners or what?”
Max sat back and wiped a hand across his eyes. Then, resigned, he told Jeremy everything he knew. When he’d finished, what color had returned to the Lieutenant’s face had drained completely.
###
Since then, his duties as medic/undertaker had continued unabated. Fewer people were falling ill—why those two boys had was a mystery to them all—but people continued to die. The irony was, Max was sure some had died of dehydration, and yet no one touched the water. He still felt healthy himself, but the vile nature of his enforced duties made him want to throw up at least once almost every day.
Jeremy was drafted for duty almost as soon as he regained consciousness. Max winced as Jeremy half limped, half crawled from tent to tent tending the ill, and held his head the first time he threw up. The first night, Max held his friend as he cried, and gave him advice on getting through it. Jeremy had been ashamed until Max confided that he’d shed those same tears, retched through that same horror only days before. The shared experience gave them strength
He was sure that Adnan, the group’s leader and the same man who had captured them, understood what he wanted when he asked to go into the woods to find something to fashion into a crutch for Jeremy, but the man stubbornly refused to allow it. Still without shoes, Max wondered how far the man thought he could get barefoot. In one direction was inhospitable rock; in the other was a forest that went from sparse trees to dense woods for as far as the eye could see. Yes, he could disappear in there, but run? Walk? Survive?
A second request was also denied. He’d wanted to wash, desperately, but the answer was a fierce shake of the head—which Max found not only infuriating, but amazing considering how filthy and odiferous he was. He would have thought it in the camp’s best interest to let him clean up, but apparently everyone kept enough distance to avoid the consequences. Or maybe goatherds were just immune to assaults on the nose.
He saw Rana, who was indeed Adnan’s daughter, as he’d surmised the night he was captured, watch him with sympathetic eyes—the same ones she’d turned on him that first night when she’d brought him food. She didn’t challenge her father, nor did he expect her to, but it soothed him just a little to know that someone cared what happened to them.
Discouraged, he threw himself into the lean-to next to an exhausted Jeremy and reached for Liz. It took a minute—a very long minute in which he fought back panic—before he felt her, but when he did, she burst within him like a small, warm explosion of champagne that tickled and fizzed and made him smile. There was still hope, still a chance to keep a promise as long as Liz lived in him.
********
She read the letters over and over, especially the one where he so casually mentioned that he would propose when he returned. Propose. Marry. Have children. Once those ideas were a given when she imagined her future. Later, she wouldn’t let herself think about them at all. Then, when she first fell in love with Max, they had terrified and thrilled her. Now they seemed right. Perfect. Inevitable.
Mrs. Max Evans. No, Ms. Elizabeth Parker-Evans. Liz Parker-Evans. Hell with it. Liz Evans. Wife of Max Evans. Luckiest woman alive.
Lucky? She laughed. She hadn’t felt lucky since college. In fact, she’d felt cursed. And who could blame her? But Max had changed all that. Life had shifted from bearable to beautiful, from lonely to loving. Everything she did took on an edge of excitement. Her perspective came into focus through a lens of love. Even with Max gone, she could feel him and felt more confident in the future than she ever had.
There was a knock at the door. She knew it was Svea. Folding the letters, she kissed them foolishly, then slipped them into her pocket. Just for today, they were hers alone—a cherished secret to be held in her heart and mind, opened like a gift with just a thought. She would share, of course—smile and giggle and sigh . . . tomorrow.
********
It had been almost a week, and the outrage of not being able to go after their own had the ship’s crew tense and snarling. Alex had learned that they even had a fix on one of the beacons, which only served to intensify the collective frustration. Next of kin would have been informed by now. Liz would have Max’s letters by now. There might even be rumors on base about it by now.
Thad had agreed not to say anything to Charisse, even though it was hard on him. He was used to sharing everything with her, and Max and Jeremy were at the forefront of his mind every minute of the day. Still, his need to talk about it didn’t outweigh the hope that there would be good news to report about his colleagues before they had to destroy Liz’s world . . . again. Frankie didn’t know either, though they both felt she would cope better than Liz. She was military. And she’d never lost a loved one to it.
Alex began another lap around the ship. His late night walks were becoming routine, the only outward sign of his angry and worried state of mind. What was Liz thinking? Wasn’t it better to tell her what was happening than to let her imagination run wild? Though he didn’t think her imagination could conjure anything more frightening than the truth—Max and Jeremy had disappeared; the planes launched on the next mission—the only ones allowed over Lebanon after that—had spotted debris; the Lebanese government wouldn’t allow the Navy to search, claiming they would do the searching themselves. Bullshit.
Enough. Liz had a right to know, whether she wanted to know or not. If she found out he’d held out on her, she would never forgive him. If it broke her, he would never forgive himself.
Turning towards the communications center, he began to compose the hardest letter of his life.
Shivering kept him from sleeping, and lack of sleep made the worry he’d fought off for too many hours loom darkly in his mind. Jeremy hadn’t regained consciousness yet, but that didn’t keep him from shifting restlessly beneath the single thin blanket that had been carelessly tossed to them by Yavuz, if that was indeed his name and not a title or an endearment Rana used. Max had slipped the remainder of his own water, sip by patient sip, down Jeremy’s throat, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. And even taking into account his own chilled hands, he worried that Jeremy was developing a fever.
With an impatient roll of his shoulders, he looked out. The moon seemed closer here somehow, but there was no romance in it. Now it only lit an ominous scene of unforgiving terrain and unreadable captors. Was he being helped or subjugated? Protected or imprisoned? It was hard to tell.
There was no guard outside their lean-to now. Apparently, the lack of shoes and an incapacitated comrade were deemed as effective as prison bars in the remote countryside. A valid position, Max had to admit. Still, he was sure they had men watching their perimeter. Even if he were desperate enough to try an escape, he couldn’t leave Jeremy. No, there would be no escape attempt . . . yet. He would see what tomorrow would bring.
A movement caught his eye, and he watched Rana, face covered, scurry across the campsite and duck behind one of the more substantial tents. Within seconds, Yavuz emerged from that tent and followed. A lover’s tryst, no doubt, and it made him smile. He closed his eyes and reached for Liz, comforted by the familiar warmth that he was sure meant she was out there, loving him, waiting for him. His shivering subsided, and he lay down in the dark. Cuddling up next to Jeremy wasn’t something he’d ever imagined doing, but survival was survival, and they both needed the body heat. Besides, Jeremy would never know, he told himself, and if he could just think of Liz . . . Minutes later, sleep came.
******
“Kyle, I can’t be there for at least another two hours. Just tell Jesse I’ll meet with her when I get home. We don’t have to be at the restaurant to plan the decorations, anyway. She has all the information we need in her head.”
Liz rolled her eyes at the phone as Kyle argued.
“I’m sorry Kyle, you’ll just have to put your libido on hold for a bit. A little exercise in self-control would be good for you. I’ll be finished here by 8. Watch some TV. Do a crossword puzzle. Call around and find us a Santa. I don’t care. Just let me get back to work . . .”
She could almost feel him, almost smell him. He was out there thinking of her, and it had her eyes closing dreamily. She wondered what he was doing. It was the wee hours there, she realized; maybe he was dreaming of her. Her lips curved and a needy little sound rumbled in her throat.
“What? Oh, Kyle. Yeah, I’ll be home at 8.” He was probably still talking when she hung up, but she wasn’t about to lose a moment of this time with Max.
She chuckled at herself. Well, that is how it felt, and it was no one’s business but hers. She never even thought to question it. It simply was. And had been, with him, since the first, in spite of her stubborn resistance. She reached out again, felt the warmth radiating from within her, and frowned a little. There was a heaviness, a . . . sadness? . . . to him today. Probably just tired. Just missing her as she did him.
She wished, desperately, that she had a letter from him, something to hold, smell, tuck under her pillow at night. Even an email to print out would serve. She let the warmth spread and breathed deeply. She would cope, she told herself; no news wasn’t so discouraging when Svea, Frankie, and Charisse were still waiting as well. That made it easy to trust that it was policy, not problems that caused the silence. Besides, she could feel him; he was alive, she knew, and thinking of her. And that was all it took these days to make her smile.
*****
Max watched as the night sky edged ever so slowly toward dawn, and a sense of loneliness washed over him. Thanksgiving was only days away and he had hoped to spend it with Liz, had wanted to make that tacit acknowledgement that she was, indeed, his family now. There was still a chance, he told himself, still time to be rescued and home for the big day.
Thoughts of Thanksgiving stirred something in his stomach and it rumbled angrily. Absently, he passed a hand over it and strove to distract himself.
The camp looked completely different in the thin light of dawn. Or rather, their camp in relation to the whole looked different. Their little campsite was sitting a short distance from a larger, more substantial site where a circle of large tents sat apparently deserted. Max watched with interest as women organized for the morning meal over the small campfire while there was no activity around the larger, more permanent fire pit across the way, and wondered why they would choose to use these cruder facilities.
He didn’t get to wonder for long. The grizzled man who had brought him and Jeremy to camp at gunpoint had returned and, gesturing again with the barrel of his weapon, had Max walking toward the deserted camp. He didn’t have a good feeling about what might await him there, especially since as they approached, a questionable odor wafted toward him, but he was even more wary of leaving Jeremy completely vulnerable. As he looked back, he saw Rana carrying milk toward the lean-to, and felt some measure of reassurance that his lieutenant would be looked after.
Goats. The mystery herd was goats. He could see them now, some huddled downstream drinking, others exploring the sparse vegetation that grew among the rocks of the foothills. A couple of goatherds kept the more adventurous ones contained, but it didn’t look to Max as if there were enough to truly control even this small herd. Then again, what did he know about goats?
With a snarled order, his captor pulled aside a tent flap and waved Max in. It took less than a step before the acrid stench of death and decay assaulted his nose. His gag reflex kicked in and he turned back, only to feel the gun barrel shove him painfully forward. He stumbled, fell, looked up into the eyes of a man who could only wish to die, and retched.
Even as he shuddered his way through the spasms, the old man yelled at him. It may have been curses or orders—it was hard to tell with the dizziness gripping his head and the foreign words echoing off the oppressive canvas walls. With surprising strength, the man hauled him to his feet by the arm and launched into an explanation of the scene before them, pointing in turn to each patient, then, outside, to each of the other tents, and finally tugging Max toward the feeble stream that meant life for man and beast.
When a pottery basin and rags were shoved into his hands, he understood. Some disease had gripped their community. In all probability, they had nursed the sick themselves until the caregivers had become patients. They may have moved the sick into the makeshift camp at first, he hypothesized, and then had to trade places when the ill outnumbered the healthy. If each of these tents held the same scene as the one he’d just endured, he was standing in the middle of an epidemic. He and Jeremy were dispensable. They would be used to provide what care was possible until they themselves fell ill—a desperate but logical means to break the cycle.
Max nodded, wildly searching his mind for answers to a myriad of questions: What disease could this be and was it one he’d been inoculated against before this mission began? How could he keep Jeremy safe? Once Jeremy regained consciousness . . . assuming he did . . . wouldn’t they give him the same assignment? Would he be more susceptible in his weakened condition? Now that Max’s questions about his captors’ intent had been answered, his first priority had to be escape. But he couldn’t leave Jeremy, and who knew when he might be strong enough?
As these first thoughts whirled through his mind, Max made a show of being submissive and agreeable. He bent to the stream and filled his bowl, dampened several rags, and began to walk toward the first tent. Under the old man’s watchful eye, Max began to wipe the face of his first patient, learning quickly to breathe through his mouth to avoid taking in the foul odor. The young man’s fever was high enough to have Max pulling his hand back as he might from a stove—a quick reaction before the full sense of heat even registered. Impatient with himself, he checked again. It didn’t take a medical degree to know this was a dangerous fever.
A quick survey of his patients baffled him. He saw no sores, no signs of vomiting—besides his own. He ordered his stomach to unclench and began to tend to the sick. A woman brought a pitcher of milk to the tent entrance, then left. His captor brought it inside and set it by Max with a wooden spoon and gestured for him to give some to each patient. Milk. Why not water? Could the milk be the problem? The milk he himself had drunk the night before? But he felt no ill effects, and heaven knew, with the goats right there, the milk was fresh. Still, why not water for these high fevers?
Basic hygiene was obviously not a priority with these people, Max frowned. A wooden spoon. Had it been boiled to kill germs he knew would thrive in wood? And the same spoon for each patient. Was the theory that once ill, what difference did it make? Everything was wrong with this scenario, and in spite of his own dire situation, he felt compassion. They were losing loved ones to a disease they surely knew could wipe them out. Their desperate situation had pushed them to desperate measures. And he was it.
The second he touched the third man in the tent, he let out a startled yelp. This man wasn’t sick; he was dead—and had been for some time. He alone accounted for most of the vile stench in the tent. Clamping down on his own physical reaction, he looked over his shoulder at his apparent supervisor and pointed at the corpse.
“He’s dead. Dead. Do you understand?”
With no sense of horror or even surprise, the man nodded and motioned for Max to remove him. That was when the full force of his role here dawned on him. He was caregiver and coroner. No doubt grave digger as well. He was, in truth, the grim reaper’s minion, and there would be no end to it until he himself was too ill to continue. He shuddered with revulsion and felt the bile rise in his throat. Viciously he fought it down, then reached inside himself and did what he always did when the going got rough. He did the job.
*****
I found a reason for me
To change who I used to be.
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you.
Liz sang tunelessly along with Hoobastank and pondered how the popular song applied to her. She had changed who she was. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. She hadn’t changed who she used to be; she had simply found that person again. The one who could love and laugh and trust. It felt good to have her back, as if a heavy mantle had been lifted from her shoulders, leaving her free to live—really live.
Okay, maybe that was overly poetic, but she’d been feeling that way a lot lately. Like she could breathe again. Loving Max and, more important, being loved by him had opened her heart again. This year, she was finding joy in planning the Christmas party. It wasn’t a way to fill empty hours, it was a way to give something, share something outside herself. She’d been too long without that.
She hefted the turkey out of the double plastic bags that strained and stretched under its weight. Thanksgiving was only two days away, and she had plenty to feel thankful for. Looking at the huge awkward bird, she thought back to her childhood home and remembered the way that delectable fragrance would gradually fill the house from early morning to late afternoon until she thought she couldn’t wait another minute, the way the skin turned brown and crisp after all those careful bastings, the way she and her brother would break the wishbone together after dinner and then argue over who cheated—all those crystal memories that once made her cry now made her smile and sigh. Max had done that for her.
She bent to rearrange items in the burgeoning refrigerator. Even though the others were all bringing something to Thanksgiving dinner, she had felt unprecedented motivation to fix every traditional favorite that she’d avoided for so long—whipped sweet potato casserole with that crumbly brown sugar topping, green bean casserole with those little fried onion curls, the secret family stuffing recipe, and sauerkraut—a legacy of her German grandmother’s holiday meal. Of course, there would be pies—pumpkin, mincemeat, apple, and pecan. The folks at work would gorge on those leftovers, she smiled, and she couldn’t wait to watch them do it. This was something else Max had given her.
What, she wondered, had she done for him? At first, she had been difficult, inconsistent, burdened with baggage he couldn’t yet understand. And yet he welcomed her into his life with open arms, lent her an understanding shoulder, and outlasted her with his unwavering faith.
She paused, stared, one hand on the refrigerator door and the other holding a jar of olives. What had she given him? What could she offer him in return?
Brooding was a sneaky state of mind, she reminded herself. You could be humming along with a song one minute and staring into space with a frown the next. She flung it off with an impatient huff. All he’d ever asked of her was love, and that she had in abundance. If that could be enough for him, it would be enough for her as well.
Even with the cool air from the refrigerator spilling out toward her, the warmth swamped her, and she let out a sharp gasp before the smile crept across her face. There he was, reaching for her. Was it her imagination, or did this sensation keep getting stronger, as if the bond they shared was strengthening with time and distance instead of fading. She could feel its fingers oozing through her veins like warm honey, and the sense of well being relaxed her muscles and her mind. Her head fell back, and she could almost make herself belief she could feel his lips on her neck.
“You’re either having an orgasm or you’re about to pass out. You okay?”
Olives came perilously close to becoming one with the floor, but Svea grabbed the jar just in time. Her teasing tone descended into concern.
“Liz? Maybe you’d better sit down.”
An attractive blush tinted Liz’s cheeks, and the embarrassed smile lifted on one side. “Sorry. I was daydreaming. I’m fine.”
Instantly empathetic, Svea relaxed and jimmied the olives into the refrigerator door. “I hear that. I took a bath the other night that was practically cold before I realized I needed to get out.” She grabbed wine before closing the fridge, then turned to pour two glasses. “But I didn’t get out. I just let out some water, filled it up with hot, and started all over again!”
Her laugh was contagious, and Liz realized how she’d missed a close female friend.
“I have a little something for you,” Svea said, a sly smirk on her face. “Take your wine and go sit on the couch.”
“What about the turkey?”
“I’ll take care of it. You just sit down.”
Liz threw Svea a suspicious frown, but did as she was told.
“Now close your eyes.”
Obediently, Liz let her lids fall, but she couldn’t suppress the squirm; no one had given her a surprise in a long time. Something very light brushed her thighs.
“Okay, open them.”
She forgot to breathe when she looked down at the four ragged envelopes, and the tears came before she could even manage a sound. Her hand shook as she reached for them.
“I picked up the mail on my way up.” She waved her own small bundle of mail. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
Liz only nodded as her trembling fingers reached for the first one.
********
If the message delivered to Captain Zagorski had been made of glass, its shards would have left crewmen bleeding for twenty feet in every direction.
“Goddamn son of a bitch,” he muttered, pacing and fuming. “Who do they think they are rescinding permission to fly over? There’s debris for chrissake. It’s not like they’re on a covert mission. It’s bullshit. Goddamn bullshit. Beacon’s only 30 miles over the border. Nothin’ out there but rocks and goats. We’d have ‘em out in hours. Goddamn son of a bitch.”
“Sir? You wanted to see me?”
The Captain looked up and fought mightily to pull himself together. “Yes, Commander. I’ve just received word that President Lahoud and his merry band of . . . and his National Assembly have rescinded permission for flyovers, even for purposes of rescue.”
He shook with the effort of keeping his tone and his words official, and was rewarded with a stormy frown from his second in command. “That’s unheard of. They were on a peacekeeping mission. They were completely nonaggressive. There’s debris, for god’s sake.”
A grim smile thinned the Captain’s lips. “My exact thoughts. But our hands are tied for the moment. Our government is protesting, but they’ll dance with those . . . with the Lebanese officials until the cows come home. We just have to hope our guys ejected safely. Meanwhile, I want to see a new course proposal for the flyovers excluding Lebanon, and I want the Lebanese-Israeli border to figure prominently, especially near the sea, you got that?”
“Yes sir.” He did get it. They would use all the technology at their disposal to find their men from a distance. What would happen then was anybody’s guess.
********
Days of caring for the sick had drained Max physically and emotionally. It wasn’t the filth or even the death, though that would have broken anyone’s spirit. It was the helplessness.
People were dying, and no one knew why. Just yesterday, two young boys had fallen ill, and he had carried their small, limp bodies to the tents. Flushed and glassy-eyed with fever, they seemed to fold bonelessly as he laid them gently on crude pallets; he wondered if they understood what came next—rash, pain, diarrhea, delirium, hallucinations. He knew the tiny community suspected the water. No one had taken a drink of it since he’d been there. It was all milk all the time. He understood their desperation, but he didn’t have a clue how to help them, and not knowing didn’t just mean more of their own could die; it meant he and Jeremy could die, too.
Promises, he reminded himself. He’d made promises. He would keep them.
He tried not to think about the fact that he hadn’t seen or heard a plane in days. He knew the Navy would be looking for them, so either they didn’t know where to look, or something was preventing them from looking. Either way, he and Jeremy were stranded. And he had no idea what to do about that, either.
Jeremy’s return to the land of the conscious had been a huge relief, if somewhat embarrassing. The poor guy had awakened to find his CO curled beside him with one arm flung over his chest. Max could only imagine his confusion . . . no, make that controlled panic . . . at waking to a strange environment with a superior officer cuddled at his side.
###
“Sir?”
“Hmmmm.”
“Uh, sir?”
Jeremy’s attempt to move away is what finally got through.
“Ames!” Max bolted upright. “You’re awake!”
“Yes sir.”
Jeremy’s eyes darted, taking in his surroundings, and Max watched understanding, fear, then more confusion flicker across his face. He sat up with a grimace and touched his ankle.
“Your plane was caught up in a flock of laughing gulls. One engine was out and the other was just a matter of time. They were practically swarming—I’ve never seen anything like it. Anyway, when you didn’t eject, I came alongside and ordered you to as soon as I moved off, but you weren’t exactly tracking and you ejected too soon. Your plane veered toward mine so fast, I had to eject, too. I came looking for you, but you were unconscious, and these people found you before I did. They were smart enough to turn on your strobe, and I followed it. Now we’re both here in this . . . camp. They aren’t military. They’re goatherds, actually, but we’re stuck here, anyway.”
Jeremy narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in concentration. “Yeah, I remember the gulls. They were everywhere. I . . .” He straightened as his chin came up and his eyes shone with intensity. Max wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone come to attention from a sitting position before.
“I let you down, sir. I’m sorry. This is my fault and I take responsibility.”
“At ease, Lieutenant. I’m not placing blame here. That was a freak occurrence, so relax. It’s the here and now we have to worry about.”
Jeremy glanced at Max gratefully, then took another longer look around, It was easy to see the questions bubbling up in his mind, and his mouth moved with the effort to put at least one of them into words. He needed time, Max decided, before he knew the rest. At least a few minutes to absorb what he’d learned so far. In an effort to forestall the barrage that would hit as soon as Jeremy could organize his thoughts, Max made a show of assessing Jeremy’s injuries.
“You’ve been unconscious for over 24 hours. How’s your vision?”
Jeremy evaluated with another squint around the camp, then glanced at his watch. “Okay, I guess, but my ankle hurts like a sonofabitch.” He sniffed the air. “And I stink.”
Max nearly smiled. “No, Ames, that would be me.”
At his Lieutenant’s raised eyebrows, Max sighed. “I have a lot to tell you, but first let’s look at that ankle.”
Jeremy flinched slightly as Max leaned toward him. “One question first, sir?”
“What?”
“When I came to, you were . . . hugging me . . . sir.”
The look on his face was so priceless that Max laughed out loud for the first time since he’d ejected. It was a relief to know he still could.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Lieutenant. Nights here get really cold, and our gracious hosts have given us one thin blanket to share. I was hoping to keep you alive by sharing body heat. It seemed like the lesser of two evils.”
Jeremy nodded, if a bit uncomfortably.
“But if you tell anyone, I’ll let your sorry ass freeze to death next time.”
Now Jeremy’s grin flashed, and Max felt them both relax. This looked more like the man he knew, and nothing could have reassured him more. It was looking like a bad ankle was all they’d have to deal with, injury-wise, at least.
He bent to examine the ankle again, frowning at the colorful bruising, although the swelling had gone down some.
“Can you move it?” Max asked. “Wiggle your toes.”
Jeremy managed both feats, but not without pain.
“I’d say dancing’s out for the immediate future. It’s not broken, but you might have a fracture. Or it could just be sprained. I’ll see what I can do about finding you something to use for a cane or a crutch.”
“So what’s the deal here, sir? Are we prisoners or what?”
Max sat back and wiped a hand across his eyes. Then, resigned, he told Jeremy everything he knew. When he’d finished, what color had returned to the Lieutenant’s face had drained completely.
###
Since then, his duties as medic/undertaker had continued unabated. Fewer people were falling ill—why those two boys had was a mystery to them all—but people continued to die. The irony was, Max was sure some had died of dehydration, and yet no one touched the water. He still felt healthy himself, but the vile nature of his enforced duties made him want to throw up at least once almost every day.
Jeremy was drafted for duty almost as soon as he regained consciousness. Max winced as Jeremy half limped, half crawled from tent to tent tending the ill, and held his head the first time he threw up. The first night, Max held his friend as he cried, and gave him advice on getting through it. Jeremy had been ashamed until Max confided that he’d shed those same tears, retched through that same horror only days before. The shared experience gave them strength
He was sure that Adnan, the group’s leader and the same man who had captured them, understood what he wanted when he asked to go into the woods to find something to fashion into a crutch for Jeremy, but the man stubbornly refused to allow it. Still without shoes, Max wondered how far the man thought he could get barefoot. In one direction was inhospitable rock; in the other was a forest that went from sparse trees to dense woods for as far as the eye could see. Yes, he could disappear in there, but run? Walk? Survive?
A second request was also denied. He’d wanted to wash, desperately, but the answer was a fierce shake of the head—which Max found not only infuriating, but amazing considering how filthy and odiferous he was. He would have thought it in the camp’s best interest to let him clean up, but apparently everyone kept enough distance to avoid the consequences. Or maybe goatherds were just immune to assaults on the nose.
He saw Rana, who was indeed Adnan’s daughter, as he’d surmised the night he was captured, watch him with sympathetic eyes—the same ones she’d turned on him that first night when she’d brought him food. She didn’t challenge her father, nor did he expect her to, but it soothed him just a little to know that someone cared what happened to them.
Discouraged, he threw himself into the lean-to next to an exhausted Jeremy and reached for Liz. It took a minute—a very long minute in which he fought back panic—before he felt her, but when he did, she burst within him like a small, warm explosion of champagne that tickled and fizzed and made him smile. There was still hope, still a chance to keep a promise as long as Liz lived in him.
********
She read the letters over and over, especially the one where he so casually mentioned that he would propose when he returned. Propose. Marry. Have children. Once those ideas were a given when she imagined her future. Later, she wouldn’t let herself think about them at all. Then, when she first fell in love with Max, they had terrified and thrilled her. Now they seemed right. Perfect. Inevitable.
Mrs. Max Evans. No, Ms. Elizabeth Parker-Evans. Liz Parker-Evans. Hell with it. Liz Evans. Wife of Max Evans. Luckiest woman alive.
Lucky? She laughed. She hadn’t felt lucky since college. In fact, she’d felt cursed. And who could blame her? But Max had changed all that. Life had shifted from bearable to beautiful, from lonely to loving. Everything she did took on an edge of excitement. Her perspective came into focus through a lens of love. Even with Max gone, she could feel him and felt more confident in the future than she ever had.
There was a knock at the door. She knew it was Svea. Folding the letters, she kissed them foolishly, then slipped them into her pocket. Just for today, they were hers alone—a cherished secret to be held in her heart and mind, opened like a gift with just a thought. She would share, of course—smile and giggle and sigh . . . tomorrow.
********
It had been almost a week, and the outrage of not being able to go after their own had the ship’s crew tense and snarling. Alex had learned that they even had a fix on one of the beacons, which only served to intensify the collective frustration. Next of kin would have been informed by now. Liz would have Max’s letters by now. There might even be rumors on base about it by now.
Thad had agreed not to say anything to Charisse, even though it was hard on him. He was used to sharing everything with her, and Max and Jeremy were at the forefront of his mind every minute of the day. Still, his need to talk about it didn’t outweigh the hope that there would be good news to report about his colleagues before they had to destroy Liz’s world . . . again. Frankie didn’t know either, though they both felt she would cope better than Liz. She was military. And she’d never lost a loved one to it.
Alex began another lap around the ship. His late night walks were becoming routine, the only outward sign of his angry and worried state of mind. What was Liz thinking? Wasn’t it better to tell her what was happening than to let her imagination run wild? Though he didn’t think her imagination could conjure anything more frightening than the truth—Max and Jeremy had disappeared; the planes launched on the next mission—the only ones allowed over Lebanon after that—had spotted debris; the Lebanese government wouldn’t allow the Navy to search, claiming they would do the searching themselves. Bullshit.
Enough. Liz had a right to know, whether she wanted to know or not. If she found out he’d held out on her, she would never forgive him. If it broke her, he would never forgive himself.
Turning towards the communications center, he began to compose the hardest letter of his life.
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Part 16
Whatever time it was, it was still dark, but sleep wouldn’t come. Jeremy dozed beside him, but even he had been restless, fighting in sleep what he could not fight awake. There had been Liz, thank God—the one thing that seemed real about any of this, but the one thing that, in a logical world, wasn’t. He would be curious to talk with her about this phenomenon when he got back to her.
If he got back to her.
He’d buried two more yesterday, one man and one teenage girl. And another woman had been moved from the “healthy” camp to the main camp. Max and Jeremy worked long wretched hours caring for and cleaning up after the sick, and the number of new cases was dropping slightly, but he could sense the hopelessness creeping stealthily into the faces and voices of those still strong enough to do the work of staying alive. He also felt the almost suspicious stares of some of them, as if his and Jeremy’s continued health was due to some special and not necessarily benevolent power. It was probably to their advantage that Jeremy continued to hobble painfully around the camp, assuring the others that they wielded no supernatural gifts.
Now, with fatigue and discomfort battling for the upper hand, haunting images clouded his mind, and he sat up with a disgusted hiss. The cycle just kept repeating like a needle stuck in his father’s old phonograph albums until he wanted to scream with frustration. He was no closer to saving himself, Jeremy, or these people than he was the day he’d arrived, and his only realistic hope right now—that the whole population of this tiny settlement would die and leave him to escape with Jeremy to safety—horrified him. These weren’t terrible people; they were desperate people. There was a huge and important difference.
Shadows, as undistinguishable as clouds in a moonless sky, shifted around him. It would be dawn soon; another day in a future he had neither imagined nor wanted. If the days continued like this, running together in a nightmare of death and helplessness, he feared he might go mad. Were it not for those moments when he swore he could feel Liz with him, he might have believed the rest of the world no longer existed.
A movement almost directly in front of him had him jumping to his feet. Braced for whatever unseen threat drew near, he tensed, crouched, and assumed a combat posture. It wasn’t until after he heard his shoes drop at his feet that he recognized Rana. She gestured for quiet, then motioned him to put the shoes on and follow her. Max glanced over at Jeremy with a frown; he didn’t like to leave his lieutenant unattended, especially injured, but Rana’s smile was guileless, and he went with his instinct to trust her.
She moved silently across the camp, and Max had to admire her grace and speed. It made him think of Liz as she’d run on the beach that first morning. He’d followed his instincts then, too, and they’d been right; he sure as hell hoped they were right now.
Delving quickly into the woods with more confidence than he felt in the deep gray of pre-dawn, Max followed Rana down what must have been a path, though Max could never have seen it on his own at this hour. They walked without words or hesitation for at least 20 minutes, he estimated, before Rana took a sharp turn. Max raised his head and concentrated; even over the rustle of their movements, he was sure he heard water. Was she leading him to a boat? An escape? How could he explain that he couldn’t leave without Jeremy? If he did, even intending to return with help, he feared Jeremy wouldn’t be alive when he got back.
They moved in a new direction for several more minutes. The deepest of the shadows had lifted, even in the woods, and now light teased the air. As the rush of water grew louder, they stepped from the trees and Rana’s smile broadened. With a sweeping spread of her arms, she shared her treasure—a small pond glistening beneath an even smaller waterfall.
Max was only amazed at first. After over a week in a rocky landscape of browns and grays where only treetops and sky broke the monotony, this was an oasis. Deep green vegetation gushed from the earth like the water it fed on. Wildflowers sprinkled along the edge of the trees shouted with violent color, and the dirt where they stood was damp and dark. He didn’t even know he was smiling until Rana laughed—delighted bubbles of enjoyment.
After the surprise of finding such a place, Max looked at Rana in confused appreciation. He spread his own arms and nodded, in full agreement with her obvious pleasure. Surprise turned to shock, though, when she mimed what she meant for him to do. With efficient and meaningful gestures, she made it clear she was offering him what he had so passionately requested—a bath.
The chill of the morning and what certainly would be even chillier water didn’t discourage Max in the least—there was little he wouldn’t have done to clean the stench of sweat, filth, and death from his body. He did, however, hesitate when he reached to unzip his G-suit, and Rana made no move to leave. Even Rana won’t leave me completely unattended, he realized.
The outer layer was shed without embarrassment. After all, he had his liner suit on. But it was another matter to strip out of that. All that was left then were his shorts, and he didn’t think seeing men half naked was par for the course in Lebanon. Noticing Max’s embarrassment, Rana giggled—a sound Max hadn’t heard in a long time. He had to grin in response.
They stood looking at each other in silent debate for several seconds. Then, with a shrug, Rana turned her back. Max stripped quickly and, tucking the liner suit under one arm, ran full speed into the water.
Heaven. Cold as hell, of course, but heaven nonetheless. Using the liner suit to clean himself and it, Max scrubbed every inch of his body, and when he was done, he scrubbed himself again. Glancing over, he saw that Rana had crouched to the side of the overgrown trail they had followed and was examining something in the vegetation; clearly his splashing, grunts of pleasure, and guttural shivering were enough to convince her he was right where he was supposed to be.
Rana’s gesture had been generous and compassionate, so it wasn’t without some guilt that Max continued to make the right noises as he moved slowly downstream. He wasn’t going to bolt on her—especially without shoes or Jeremy—but he wouldn’t be worth much as an officer if he didn’t do a little reconnaissance.
Kicking up as much water as seemed reasonable, he waded knee-deep toward the creek that bubbled cheerfully from the pond under the waterfall’s momentum. Flowing along the path of least resistance, it turned and twisted through the rocky terrain, creating a winding path of colorful flowers, thick vegetation, and smoothed stones. It would, he knew, eventually run right through the small camp that served as village, prison, or cemetery, depending on one’s fate, but what it wouldn’t do was lead to freedom. It wasn’t large enough to fork toward the sea in that direction, and in the other direction—well, waterfalls were notoriously hard to climb. The chaparral that spread out above it only emphasized the hopelessness of that route.
More out of curiosity than urgency, he waded toward the next bend. There wasn’t much time—surely even Rana’s trust had limits—but he’d been too long in a bleak and colorless environment, and the promise of beauty was a strong temptation. Pulling himself up on a large boulder that split the creek for only a few feet, Max looked downstream. The canopy of trees filtered the first traces of morning light, and created a kind of dappled tunnel through which an intermittent breeze pulsed, like a wave working gradually toward shore. Impossibly bright flowers rose unexpectedly from behind rocks and he became immediately aware of animal life thriving around and above him. They were not so alone as he’d supposed.
He bent to climb down and return to Rana when he saw it—the water flowing irregularly around and over a mass of something that instinct told him did not belong there. Peering through the dim light, he watched a bird descend and begin to feast. Its breakfast turned his stomach and kicked his brain into high gear. For whatever reason, animal carcasses—fox was his best guess—were decomposing into the very water that flowed into camp, the water the locals had stopped drinking, the water that the goats still drank.
Typhus. Typhoid Fever. It fit. The symptoms were textbook. Something had stricken these foxes, and that something had driven them to the water. Now they were infecting the very water that these people had depended on. That would explain the sudden and massive onset of illness and the slowing of the disease as they confined their drinking to the less potent infection of the goats’ milk. It would also explain why Jeremy and he were still healthy—they had been inoculated before entering the Middle East. That wasn’t fool proof, he knew, but perhaps the inoculation in conjunction with the diluted exposure from the milk had saved them.
If this were the answer, though, how could it be they hadn’t found it already? This kind of survival knowledge was as old as human existence. Surely they would have investigated, searched for the source of the problem.
Rana’s call of alarm startled Max into movement. He rounded the bend to find Rana wading in, shouting out what he was sure were threats against him for disappearing. He saw relief and anger in her face as he splashed his way toward her, waving for her to come with him. Arms akimbo, she shook her head and peppered him with a tongue lashing that lost nothing in the lack of translation. He’d never heard her speak for so long or with such a harsh edge to her voice, but he had no doubt that Yavuz would find her a less than subservient wife. He rather enjoyed the idea.
His one attempt to tug her toward the creek met with a punch in the stomach and strong tug toward the bank. Impressed and irritated, Max entered into the shortest of debates with himself, and seconds later, he swung her into his arms like a groom carrying a bride. As he turned toward the creek, he could see her scream building, and instantly knew that this small woman could make herself heard back at camp if she put her heart into it. Survival instinct kicked in long before rational thought had a chance to take a breath. As her mouth opened to release the scream, his own descended. The shock of the kiss silenced her, and Max cautiously began to pull back. Perhaps now, at least, he had her attention.
What he hadn’t bargained for was her having any interest in the kiss. It was meant to shock, not arouse. Max felt the shock value slam into reverse when her arms came around his neck and her lips went pliant beneath his. He all but dropped her in the pond in his rush to get some distance between them. Their eyes met, exchanging confusion, apology, and embarrassment.
“Please. I have to show you.”
Wary but calmer, she held his gaze as he set her on her feet in the water, but when he pointed, she looked downstream. If was as if she felt his urgency now, and she let him pull her toward the boulder. When he lifted her up, then climbed up to join her, she began to search the view, sensing there was something he wanted her to see. He moved behind her, looked over her shoulder, and used her arm to point the way.
He knew the instant she saw it, felt her fingers stiffen over his own. When she turned to him this time, her eyes were filled with understanding and, unless he missed his guess, shame. He didn’t have time to understand it; he only knew they had to get back to camp and tell the others. This time, their thoughts were in tune as they held hands to keep their balance in the sluggish run through the water.
At first, they only fumbled with their belongings. Max hopped awkwardly as he tried to pull boots over wet feet. Rana slipped easily into sandals, but cried out in frustration as the beans she’d been picking spilled from the kerchief she’d collected them in. Max bent to help her—food was never wasted in the camp—but stilled his hands when hers touched them.
She rose slowly, touched two fingers to her lips and tilted her head, her eyes a question. Feeling about two inches tall, Max reached for his still-dry G-suit, unzipped a pocket, and pulled out the worn and curling picture of Liz he had begged from Kyle one day when looking through the station’s photo album from the preceding year’s Christmas party. He held it out with one hand and brought a fist to his chest with the other. The meaning was clear . . . and accepted. She traced a finger over Liz’s smiling face and then curled Max’s fingers back over it. Without another hint as to her thoughts, she gathered the last of the beans and hurried toward home.
******
Tension and fatigue. It was everywhere. Even in the officers’ lounge, the usual banter and card playing had given way to quiet conversation and the occasional uncharacteristic flare of temper. It wasn’t just that two of their own were missing; it was the fact that their hands were tied to do anything about it.
“I wrote Liz an email,” Alex told Thad, and then sent the damn thing before I realized it was Thanksgiving there. Helluva nice surprise on a holiday, huh?” He took a sip of beer he didn’t want. Anything to give his hands something to do besides punching something.
“Maybe she’ll be too busy to check it today,” Thad suggested. “You know, family or company or something.”
Alex nodded. Brooded. “I think the Captain’s working on something.”
“Really? What’ve you heard?”
“You know Andy? In communications? I bumped into him coming out of the Captain’s office. He looked . . . revved, I guess, and just said ‘About damn time.’ Made me think maybe something’s been approved.”
“I hear they had a fix on the signal beacon, but that would’ve died days ago.”
“It’s a place to start, though.”
They sat in silence, staring into space.
“I’ve been flyin’ close to the border, but I haven’t seen shit. Nothin’ there but rocks and trees and goats. No sign of military activity. If they’re really looking for those guys like they said they would, I sure as hell don’t see it.” He rubbed his hands over his face and blew out a harsh breath. “They’re out there, and nobody’s lookin’ for ‘em!”
Alex’s fist pounded the table and shook the glasses. A few heads swung his way, but no one questioned him. They just seemed to nod in agreement with the sentiment and turned back to their own thoughts.
“I can’t hardly write to Charisse. There’s nothing I can say about the only thing that’s on my mind.”
“I know. Same with Svea, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Liz knows. We just have to keep our comments hopeful. Don’t let on how nothing’s being done. It’ll only make ‘em crazy.”
The Captain’s aide walked in, jerked his head at the two of them, and walked out. With a curious glance at each other, Alex and Thad followed him.
“Captain wants to see you,” he said. He led them through the narrow halls, stopped at a door, knocked.
“Come.”
He opened the door, then stepped out and closed it after them. Wesley was already seated and looked mildly relieved to see them.
“You wanted to see us, Captain?”
“I have something to tell you that goes no further than this office. Two of you are here because you are part of Lt. Commander Evans’s team. Whitman, I know you and Evans are close, so I’m including you, but if one word of this gets back to me from another source, one or all of you are busted. Are we clear?”
They nodded. Was it good news or bad news?
“I’ve finally gotten word that they’re sending a team of SEALS in to look for our missing pilots. They’ll be inserted at the coordinates we got from the signal beacon. I might as well tell you that only one of them was activated; we can’t know yet what that means. The mission could take a few hours or a few days, but at least it’s a positive step. I’ll keep you posted.”
“When will they go in, sir?” Alex asked.
“Sometime in the next 24 hours. Even I don’t have any details on that.”
“What if . . .?” Wesley swallowed hard, took a deep breath. “What if they’re prisoners, sir?”
The Captain’s eyes went steel-cold. “They won’t be for long. Dismissed.”
******
Dawn had given way to morning, and Max knew they both worried about how long their unscheduled jaunt had taken. In the stronger light, their flight down the path toward camp answered several of Max’s questions and raised others. First, the path was overgrown and barely recognizable in places. This was not a path used by the small community there; in fact, he thought there was a real possibility that the idyllic little cove was Rana’s secret. But a place like that wouldn’t stay secret for long. Perhaps the group had only recently settled here, finding advantages in the nearby water and shelter of the trees. In that case, they may have been blindsided by the onset of illness in so many, and hadn’t yet organized themselves enough to search out its source.
Pine needles clawed at his skin as a branch Rana had ducked slapped him in the face. A little less speculating and a little more attention to where he was going, he told himself. Still, he couldn’t keep his mind from circling back to Rana. This entire escapade fit with the image Max was forming of the small woman flying nimbly in front of him. As the leader’s daughter, she was obviously used to having her way, at least to a point. She hadn’t challenged her father when he refused Max’s request—she had simply gone around him. She hadn’t argued with Yavuz when he’d ordered her away from Max and Jeremy that first night, but had persuaded him out of his anger. She kept a secret of her hidden Eden, but cared deeply about her people—one look at her eyes when she’d spied the dead animals in the creek had told him that. And her compassion had spread easily to him and to Jeremy when they arrived, evident in her quiet tending of Jeremy, the small extra rations of food slipped to them as she passed, and the gentle smiles that eased the horror of these endless days. There was a quick and independent mind at work inside that petite body, a well as a big heart, when it mattered. She would make a strong ally and a formidable enemy, he realized.
Liz would have liked her.
Sounds from the camp reached them before it came into view. Morning rituals were well underway, and Max had surely been missed. There would be hell to pay, but he wasn’t sure which one of them would pay it. He didn’t like his odds.
Adnan and Yavuz turned as one when Rana and Max emerged from the woods, concern and fury blended into outrage on both faces. Yavuz cocked his rifle and aimed at Max before the last branch had snapped into place, and Max pushed at Rana to keep her out of the way even as she sought to leap in front of him. In different circumstances it would have been a comical dance, but this was too deadly for humor.
Impatient with the tug-of-war with Max, Rana strode angrily straight toward Yavuz, lecturing in the same tone she’d used on Max at the pond. He felt the smile twitch at his mouth as Yavuz literally took a step back, but Max wisely kept his face blank. He could only imagine the yarn she was spinning.
At first, the two men were half-listening to her while eyeing him menacingly, but as she spoke, gesturing emphatically, they began to listen more intently. Soon, Max was all but forgotten, and he knew Rana was explaining what he had found. With one eye on Yavuz’s gun, just in case, and the other looking for Jeremy, Max had both eyes widening in surprise as Jeremy hobbled toward him with the help of a crutch. Where the hell had that come from?
“What’s going on, sir?”
“It’s typhoid fever, Jeremy. There’s a pile of animal carcasses way up the creek. It’s infecting the water and, indirectly, the goat’s milk. They’ve got to get it cleared out and move the herd, at least temporarily.”
“What were you doing there,” he frowned with a telling glance toward Rana. “They could’ve shot you.”
Max followed his gaze and shook his head impatiently. “Don’t be stupid. She took me up there so I could get a bath . . . alone,” he added when Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s not the point. I took off down the creek when she was busy picking some kind of bean, just to see what I could see, and that’s what I saw. By the time I’d convinced her to take a look, too, we were a little late. She seems to be doing some pretty fast talking, though. Where’d you get the crutch?”
Jeremy shook his head with wonder at the crude but sturdy crutch. “Damnedest thing. Yavuz brought it to me this morning. That’s when they realized you weren’t there and got all twitchy. You suppose she talked him into making it?”
Max did smile now. “Wouldn’t be at all surprised.”
Adnan and Yavuz were already shouting orders to others in the camp, and turned the slow morning pace into frantic activity. Rana walked toward them, gave Max a wink, then lit into him with a rush of words they both knew he couldn’t understand. Pushing him toward her father and Yavuz, she seemed to turn it on them. They looked almost as baffled as Max did. When she was done, except for the glare that punctuated the end, they looked at each other, looked at Max, frowned, and back to Rana.
Pointing to Max’s shoes, Yavuz had something to say as well, clearly displeased that she’d given him the means to escape while running off to some pond with him. She huffed dismissively, launched into a new rant, made a rude gesture that could only mean she couldn’t possibly have any interest in Max, and left. Before Max had a chance to figure any of it out, he was being marched ahead of Adnan, Yavuz, and a trio of younger men, all carrying tools. Apparently, he was going to spend his day working on a different vile job.
At least this one, he thought, would be doing some good.
******
“Six letters!” Svea couldn’t stop smiling as she pulled napkins through turkey napkin rings and set them around the table. “Six! He wrote every day. You know we don’t have enough of these.”
“Leave mine without, and Charisse is at her folks; she’ll be by later for dessert. That should work.”
“Okay. So, Liz, you haven’t said much about your letters.”
The instant smile on Liz’s face told her all she needed to know. “Thought so. Anything besides ‘I miss you, I need you, I love you’?”
“That was the gist,” Liz laughed, as she basted the turkey, “although it sounds like it might be longer than he thought. Is that what Alex said?”
“Yeah. And his last couple of emails have been sort of short. I guess they’re awfully busy.”
The spoon came to a stop over the turkey, tilted just enough to let the hot juices drizzle down one browned side. “Emails? You’ve gotten emails?”
Wary, Svea met her eyes. “Yeah, one the night before last and one this morning. Haven’t you?”
Liz fought the frown, reached for him. It was always strongest in the evening, so she had looked up the time difference and realized those were his early morning hours. She liked to think she was the first person he thought of when he woke up. But she could swear she felt him now. Or was she just convincing herself she did? “I haven’t checked since noon yesterday. After lunch, we had a problem with one of the new planes Then, just as I was leaving, I heard Gabe and T.J. debating which restaurant to go to for Thanksgiving dinner, so I invited them to come here and rushed off to pick up extra supplies at the store. Maybe I have an email waiting.”
The idea gave her a little shiver of anticipation. She’d have to wait, though. Company was coming any minute. With that in mind, she lit the white tapers on the table.
As if on cue, there was a flurry of pounding at the door, and Liz opened it to two laughing men loaded down with beer. Unless she missed her guess, at least one of the packages was open already.
“Oohhhh, I may break down and cry,” T.J. moaned, taking a deep and deliberate breath. “When do we eat?”
Gabe pushed in behind him. “Hi, Liz. We brought beer. Smells great. You got the game on? Will we be able to see it from the table?”
Laughing, Liz started to push the door shut, but it swung open again as Kyle and Jesse breezed in.
“Damn straight it’s on,” Kyle almost shouted in her ear as he kissed her cheek in greeting. “The Cowboys are getting’ their asses whooped. Gotta love those Bears.”
“Ten bucks says the Cowboys win,” Jesse protested. “Hutchinson can’t hold a candle to Hensen, and besides, the Bears always fade in the third quarter.”
Delighted, Kyle picked her up and swung her around, kissing her soundly as he lowered her to the floor. “God, I love a woman who loves football.”
Jesse’s offers of help in the kitchen ended in a squeal as Kyle flopped into the sofa and pulled her down on top of him. Liz couldn’t help but laugh as the TV went on full volume and the debate got rolling.
“Guess it’s just you and me, Svea. Let’s start setting the food out.”
“Where’s Frankie?”
“Here she is,” Frankie called out. “Your door wasn’t completely closed. I brought fruit salad.”
“Put it on the table, we’re almost ready to eat.”
The three women chatted easily as platters, bowls, and baskets had the table and Liz’s antique sideboard groaning under the weight. Smells piled on top of smells, and soon even the football game couldn’t compete.
“There’s enough food here to feed an army,” Jesse observed. Then, at the group stare, corrected herself. “Navy, I mean.”
They settled in and were about to pass the food when Gabe surprised everyone by offering a short prayer. That one small act bound them in thoughts of friends and loved ones, and Liz, for one, felt grateful to all of them for being her family that day. Gratitude gave way to gluttony moments later as plates filled amidst exclamations and appreciation for all the dishes they had to choose from. Well, choose wasn’t the right word, Liz decided with a smile; there was at least a dollop of everything on almost every plate. A very satisfying sight.
“Frankie, have you gotten an email from Jeremy yet?” Liz asked.
“No, why? Are they allowed to email now?”
“I got one,” Svea said. “Actually, two. But you know, Alex is closer to the communications equipment with his job. The pilots probably don’t even think to go down there.”
There wasn’t a person at the table who didn’t know better, but it wasn’t something anyone wanted to debate. Liz and Frankie least of all.
“We’ll ask Charisse when she comes,” Liz announced quickly. “Svea, tell everybody about Alex’s letters.”
The conversation moved easily into safer topics, punctuated frequently by “pass the stuffing” or “I can’t eat another bite—well, maybe a little of that casserole.” The food was disappearing more slowly by the time Gabe asked Liz about her letters; he hadn’t forgotten the scene on base the night Max left, and the romantic side he rarely acknowledged had been blown away. Liz’s sly smile at his question only tweaked that memory a little harder.
“He’s fine. Working a lot, hanging with Alex when he can, getting to know the other pilots and staff and all.”
Every eye was on her, waiting expectantly. “You didn’t get that glow from a litany of ship’s business, Liz.” Jesse could tell a woman with a secret when she saw one.
“Well.” Maybe this was the time to share. Hadn’t she just called these people her family? Who better to understand her world and share her moments? “Max did say something about maybe . . . getting married.”
She estimated about 3 seconds of silence before the catcalls and high fives and hugs began. Kyle tipped over his chair in his rush to pluck her out of hers; then he swung her around as he had Jesse when they arrived and kissed her on the cheek . . . at first.
“What the hell,” he shrugged with a grin and kissed her noisily on the lips. “A man’s got to take advantage when he can.”
There was so much noise and shouting that the knocking took a while to sink in.
“Put me down, you big oaf,” Liz said, smacking his shoulder lightly, though she was grinning like a fool. “Charisse is here.”
She was still grinning when she opened the door to an attractive woman with blond hair and an anxious face.
“Can I help you?”
“Liz? Are you Liz Parker?”
“Yes, what can I do for you?”
“I’m Diane Evans, Max’s mother.”
“Mrs. Evans! Come in, please. You, uh, know Max isn’t here, right?”
Confusion clouded Diane’s eyes, and she touched a hand to her own pale cheek. “Oh, my dear, hasn’t anyone told you?”
Liz gripped the doorknob, and knew her world was about to change . . . again.
Whatever time it was, it was still dark, but sleep wouldn’t come. Jeremy dozed beside him, but even he had been restless, fighting in sleep what he could not fight awake. There had been Liz, thank God—the one thing that seemed real about any of this, but the one thing that, in a logical world, wasn’t. He would be curious to talk with her about this phenomenon when he got back to her.
If he got back to her.
He’d buried two more yesterday, one man and one teenage girl. And another woman had been moved from the “healthy” camp to the main camp. Max and Jeremy worked long wretched hours caring for and cleaning up after the sick, and the number of new cases was dropping slightly, but he could sense the hopelessness creeping stealthily into the faces and voices of those still strong enough to do the work of staying alive. He also felt the almost suspicious stares of some of them, as if his and Jeremy’s continued health was due to some special and not necessarily benevolent power. It was probably to their advantage that Jeremy continued to hobble painfully around the camp, assuring the others that they wielded no supernatural gifts.
Now, with fatigue and discomfort battling for the upper hand, haunting images clouded his mind, and he sat up with a disgusted hiss. The cycle just kept repeating like a needle stuck in his father’s old phonograph albums until he wanted to scream with frustration. He was no closer to saving himself, Jeremy, or these people than he was the day he’d arrived, and his only realistic hope right now—that the whole population of this tiny settlement would die and leave him to escape with Jeremy to safety—horrified him. These weren’t terrible people; they were desperate people. There was a huge and important difference.
Shadows, as undistinguishable as clouds in a moonless sky, shifted around him. It would be dawn soon; another day in a future he had neither imagined nor wanted. If the days continued like this, running together in a nightmare of death and helplessness, he feared he might go mad. Were it not for those moments when he swore he could feel Liz with him, he might have believed the rest of the world no longer existed.
A movement almost directly in front of him had him jumping to his feet. Braced for whatever unseen threat drew near, he tensed, crouched, and assumed a combat posture. It wasn’t until after he heard his shoes drop at his feet that he recognized Rana. She gestured for quiet, then motioned him to put the shoes on and follow her. Max glanced over at Jeremy with a frown; he didn’t like to leave his lieutenant unattended, especially injured, but Rana’s smile was guileless, and he went with his instinct to trust her.
She moved silently across the camp, and Max had to admire her grace and speed. It made him think of Liz as she’d run on the beach that first morning. He’d followed his instincts then, too, and they’d been right; he sure as hell hoped they were right now.
Delving quickly into the woods with more confidence than he felt in the deep gray of pre-dawn, Max followed Rana down what must have been a path, though Max could never have seen it on his own at this hour. They walked without words or hesitation for at least 20 minutes, he estimated, before Rana took a sharp turn. Max raised his head and concentrated; even over the rustle of their movements, he was sure he heard water. Was she leading him to a boat? An escape? How could he explain that he couldn’t leave without Jeremy? If he did, even intending to return with help, he feared Jeremy wouldn’t be alive when he got back.
They moved in a new direction for several more minutes. The deepest of the shadows had lifted, even in the woods, and now light teased the air. As the rush of water grew louder, they stepped from the trees and Rana’s smile broadened. With a sweeping spread of her arms, she shared her treasure—a small pond glistening beneath an even smaller waterfall.
Max was only amazed at first. After over a week in a rocky landscape of browns and grays where only treetops and sky broke the monotony, this was an oasis. Deep green vegetation gushed from the earth like the water it fed on. Wildflowers sprinkled along the edge of the trees shouted with violent color, and the dirt where they stood was damp and dark. He didn’t even know he was smiling until Rana laughed—delighted bubbles of enjoyment.
After the surprise of finding such a place, Max looked at Rana in confused appreciation. He spread his own arms and nodded, in full agreement with her obvious pleasure. Surprise turned to shock, though, when she mimed what she meant for him to do. With efficient and meaningful gestures, she made it clear she was offering him what he had so passionately requested—a bath.
The chill of the morning and what certainly would be even chillier water didn’t discourage Max in the least—there was little he wouldn’t have done to clean the stench of sweat, filth, and death from his body. He did, however, hesitate when he reached to unzip his G-suit, and Rana made no move to leave. Even Rana won’t leave me completely unattended, he realized.
The outer layer was shed without embarrassment. After all, he had his liner suit on. But it was another matter to strip out of that. All that was left then were his shorts, and he didn’t think seeing men half naked was par for the course in Lebanon. Noticing Max’s embarrassment, Rana giggled—a sound Max hadn’t heard in a long time. He had to grin in response.
They stood looking at each other in silent debate for several seconds. Then, with a shrug, Rana turned her back. Max stripped quickly and, tucking the liner suit under one arm, ran full speed into the water.
Heaven. Cold as hell, of course, but heaven nonetheless. Using the liner suit to clean himself and it, Max scrubbed every inch of his body, and when he was done, he scrubbed himself again. Glancing over, he saw that Rana had crouched to the side of the overgrown trail they had followed and was examining something in the vegetation; clearly his splashing, grunts of pleasure, and guttural shivering were enough to convince her he was right where he was supposed to be.
Rana’s gesture had been generous and compassionate, so it wasn’t without some guilt that Max continued to make the right noises as he moved slowly downstream. He wasn’t going to bolt on her—especially without shoes or Jeremy—but he wouldn’t be worth much as an officer if he didn’t do a little reconnaissance.
Kicking up as much water as seemed reasonable, he waded knee-deep toward the creek that bubbled cheerfully from the pond under the waterfall’s momentum. Flowing along the path of least resistance, it turned and twisted through the rocky terrain, creating a winding path of colorful flowers, thick vegetation, and smoothed stones. It would, he knew, eventually run right through the small camp that served as village, prison, or cemetery, depending on one’s fate, but what it wouldn’t do was lead to freedom. It wasn’t large enough to fork toward the sea in that direction, and in the other direction—well, waterfalls were notoriously hard to climb. The chaparral that spread out above it only emphasized the hopelessness of that route.
More out of curiosity than urgency, he waded toward the next bend. There wasn’t much time—surely even Rana’s trust had limits—but he’d been too long in a bleak and colorless environment, and the promise of beauty was a strong temptation. Pulling himself up on a large boulder that split the creek for only a few feet, Max looked downstream. The canopy of trees filtered the first traces of morning light, and created a kind of dappled tunnel through which an intermittent breeze pulsed, like a wave working gradually toward shore. Impossibly bright flowers rose unexpectedly from behind rocks and he became immediately aware of animal life thriving around and above him. They were not so alone as he’d supposed.
He bent to climb down and return to Rana when he saw it—the water flowing irregularly around and over a mass of something that instinct told him did not belong there. Peering through the dim light, he watched a bird descend and begin to feast. Its breakfast turned his stomach and kicked his brain into high gear. For whatever reason, animal carcasses—fox was his best guess—were decomposing into the very water that flowed into camp, the water the locals had stopped drinking, the water that the goats still drank.
Typhus. Typhoid Fever. It fit. The symptoms were textbook. Something had stricken these foxes, and that something had driven them to the water. Now they were infecting the very water that these people had depended on. That would explain the sudden and massive onset of illness and the slowing of the disease as they confined their drinking to the less potent infection of the goats’ milk. It would also explain why Jeremy and he were still healthy—they had been inoculated before entering the Middle East. That wasn’t fool proof, he knew, but perhaps the inoculation in conjunction with the diluted exposure from the milk had saved them.
If this were the answer, though, how could it be they hadn’t found it already? This kind of survival knowledge was as old as human existence. Surely they would have investigated, searched for the source of the problem.
Rana’s call of alarm startled Max into movement. He rounded the bend to find Rana wading in, shouting out what he was sure were threats against him for disappearing. He saw relief and anger in her face as he splashed his way toward her, waving for her to come with him. Arms akimbo, she shook her head and peppered him with a tongue lashing that lost nothing in the lack of translation. He’d never heard her speak for so long or with such a harsh edge to her voice, but he had no doubt that Yavuz would find her a less than subservient wife. He rather enjoyed the idea.
His one attempt to tug her toward the creek met with a punch in the stomach and strong tug toward the bank. Impressed and irritated, Max entered into the shortest of debates with himself, and seconds later, he swung her into his arms like a groom carrying a bride. As he turned toward the creek, he could see her scream building, and instantly knew that this small woman could make herself heard back at camp if she put her heart into it. Survival instinct kicked in long before rational thought had a chance to take a breath. As her mouth opened to release the scream, his own descended. The shock of the kiss silenced her, and Max cautiously began to pull back. Perhaps now, at least, he had her attention.
What he hadn’t bargained for was her having any interest in the kiss. It was meant to shock, not arouse. Max felt the shock value slam into reverse when her arms came around his neck and her lips went pliant beneath his. He all but dropped her in the pond in his rush to get some distance between them. Their eyes met, exchanging confusion, apology, and embarrassment.
“Please. I have to show you.”
Wary but calmer, she held his gaze as he set her on her feet in the water, but when he pointed, she looked downstream. If was as if she felt his urgency now, and she let him pull her toward the boulder. When he lifted her up, then climbed up to join her, she began to search the view, sensing there was something he wanted her to see. He moved behind her, looked over her shoulder, and used her arm to point the way.
He knew the instant she saw it, felt her fingers stiffen over his own. When she turned to him this time, her eyes were filled with understanding and, unless he missed his guess, shame. He didn’t have time to understand it; he only knew they had to get back to camp and tell the others. This time, their thoughts were in tune as they held hands to keep their balance in the sluggish run through the water.
At first, they only fumbled with their belongings. Max hopped awkwardly as he tried to pull boots over wet feet. Rana slipped easily into sandals, but cried out in frustration as the beans she’d been picking spilled from the kerchief she’d collected them in. Max bent to help her—food was never wasted in the camp—but stilled his hands when hers touched them.
She rose slowly, touched two fingers to her lips and tilted her head, her eyes a question. Feeling about two inches tall, Max reached for his still-dry G-suit, unzipped a pocket, and pulled out the worn and curling picture of Liz he had begged from Kyle one day when looking through the station’s photo album from the preceding year’s Christmas party. He held it out with one hand and brought a fist to his chest with the other. The meaning was clear . . . and accepted. She traced a finger over Liz’s smiling face and then curled Max’s fingers back over it. Without another hint as to her thoughts, she gathered the last of the beans and hurried toward home.
******
Tension and fatigue. It was everywhere. Even in the officers’ lounge, the usual banter and card playing had given way to quiet conversation and the occasional uncharacteristic flare of temper. It wasn’t just that two of their own were missing; it was the fact that their hands were tied to do anything about it.
“I wrote Liz an email,” Alex told Thad, and then sent the damn thing before I realized it was Thanksgiving there. Helluva nice surprise on a holiday, huh?” He took a sip of beer he didn’t want. Anything to give his hands something to do besides punching something.
“Maybe she’ll be too busy to check it today,” Thad suggested. “You know, family or company or something.”
Alex nodded. Brooded. “I think the Captain’s working on something.”
“Really? What’ve you heard?”
“You know Andy? In communications? I bumped into him coming out of the Captain’s office. He looked . . . revved, I guess, and just said ‘About damn time.’ Made me think maybe something’s been approved.”
“I hear they had a fix on the signal beacon, but that would’ve died days ago.”
“It’s a place to start, though.”
They sat in silence, staring into space.
“I’ve been flyin’ close to the border, but I haven’t seen shit. Nothin’ there but rocks and trees and goats. No sign of military activity. If they’re really looking for those guys like they said they would, I sure as hell don’t see it.” He rubbed his hands over his face and blew out a harsh breath. “They’re out there, and nobody’s lookin’ for ‘em!”
Alex’s fist pounded the table and shook the glasses. A few heads swung his way, but no one questioned him. They just seemed to nod in agreement with the sentiment and turned back to their own thoughts.
“I can’t hardly write to Charisse. There’s nothing I can say about the only thing that’s on my mind.”
“I know. Same with Svea, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Liz knows. We just have to keep our comments hopeful. Don’t let on how nothing’s being done. It’ll only make ‘em crazy.”
The Captain’s aide walked in, jerked his head at the two of them, and walked out. With a curious glance at each other, Alex and Thad followed him.
“Captain wants to see you,” he said. He led them through the narrow halls, stopped at a door, knocked.
“Come.”
He opened the door, then stepped out and closed it after them. Wesley was already seated and looked mildly relieved to see them.
“You wanted to see us, Captain?”
“I have something to tell you that goes no further than this office. Two of you are here because you are part of Lt. Commander Evans’s team. Whitman, I know you and Evans are close, so I’m including you, but if one word of this gets back to me from another source, one or all of you are busted. Are we clear?”
They nodded. Was it good news or bad news?
“I’ve finally gotten word that they’re sending a team of SEALS in to look for our missing pilots. They’ll be inserted at the coordinates we got from the signal beacon. I might as well tell you that only one of them was activated; we can’t know yet what that means. The mission could take a few hours or a few days, but at least it’s a positive step. I’ll keep you posted.”
“When will they go in, sir?” Alex asked.
“Sometime in the next 24 hours. Even I don’t have any details on that.”
“What if . . .?” Wesley swallowed hard, took a deep breath. “What if they’re prisoners, sir?”
The Captain’s eyes went steel-cold. “They won’t be for long. Dismissed.”
******
Dawn had given way to morning, and Max knew they both worried about how long their unscheduled jaunt had taken. In the stronger light, their flight down the path toward camp answered several of Max’s questions and raised others. First, the path was overgrown and barely recognizable in places. This was not a path used by the small community there; in fact, he thought there was a real possibility that the idyllic little cove was Rana’s secret. But a place like that wouldn’t stay secret for long. Perhaps the group had only recently settled here, finding advantages in the nearby water and shelter of the trees. In that case, they may have been blindsided by the onset of illness in so many, and hadn’t yet organized themselves enough to search out its source.
Pine needles clawed at his skin as a branch Rana had ducked slapped him in the face. A little less speculating and a little more attention to where he was going, he told himself. Still, he couldn’t keep his mind from circling back to Rana. This entire escapade fit with the image Max was forming of the small woman flying nimbly in front of him. As the leader’s daughter, she was obviously used to having her way, at least to a point. She hadn’t challenged her father when he refused Max’s request—she had simply gone around him. She hadn’t argued with Yavuz when he’d ordered her away from Max and Jeremy that first night, but had persuaded him out of his anger. She kept a secret of her hidden Eden, but cared deeply about her people—one look at her eyes when she’d spied the dead animals in the creek had told him that. And her compassion had spread easily to him and to Jeremy when they arrived, evident in her quiet tending of Jeremy, the small extra rations of food slipped to them as she passed, and the gentle smiles that eased the horror of these endless days. There was a quick and independent mind at work inside that petite body, a well as a big heart, when it mattered. She would make a strong ally and a formidable enemy, he realized.
Liz would have liked her.
Sounds from the camp reached them before it came into view. Morning rituals were well underway, and Max had surely been missed. There would be hell to pay, but he wasn’t sure which one of them would pay it. He didn’t like his odds.
Adnan and Yavuz turned as one when Rana and Max emerged from the woods, concern and fury blended into outrage on both faces. Yavuz cocked his rifle and aimed at Max before the last branch had snapped into place, and Max pushed at Rana to keep her out of the way even as she sought to leap in front of him. In different circumstances it would have been a comical dance, but this was too deadly for humor.
Impatient with the tug-of-war with Max, Rana strode angrily straight toward Yavuz, lecturing in the same tone she’d used on Max at the pond. He felt the smile twitch at his mouth as Yavuz literally took a step back, but Max wisely kept his face blank. He could only imagine the yarn she was spinning.
At first, the two men were half-listening to her while eyeing him menacingly, but as she spoke, gesturing emphatically, they began to listen more intently. Soon, Max was all but forgotten, and he knew Rana was explaining what he had found. With one eye on Yavuz’s gun, just in case, and the other looking for Jeremy, Max had both eyes widening in surprise as Jeremy hobbled toward him with the help of a crutch. Where the hell had that come from?
“What’s going on, sir?”
“It’s typhoid fever, Jeremy. There’s a pile of animal carcasses way up the creek. It’s infecting the water and, indirectly, the goat’s milk. They’ve got to get it cleared out and move the herd, at least temporarily.”
“What were you doing there,” he frowned with a telling glance toward Rana. “They could’ve shot you.”
Max followed his gaze and shook his head impatiently. “Don’t be stupid. She took me up there so I could get a bath . . . alone,” he added when Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s not the point. I took off down the creek when she was busy picking some kind of bean, just to see what I could see, and that’s what I saw. By the time I’d convinced her to take a look, too, we were a little late. She seems to be doing some pretty fast talking, though. Where’d you get the crutch?”
Jeremy shook his head with wonder at the crude but sturdy crutch. “Damnedest thing. Yavuz brought it to me this morning. That’s when they realized you weren’t there and got all twitchy. You suppose she talked him into making it?”
Max did smile now. “Wouldn’t be at all surprised.”
Adnan and Yavuz were already shouting orders to others in the camp, and turned the slow morning pace into frantic activity. Rana walked toward them, gave Max a wink, then lit into him with a rush of words they both knew he couldn’t understand. Pushing him toward her father and Yavuz, she seemed to turn it on them. They looked almost as baffled as Max did. When she was done, except for the glare that punctuated the end, they looked at each other, looked at Max, frowned, and back to Rana.
Pointing to Max’s shoes, Yavuz had something to say as well, clearly displeased that she’d given him the means to escape while running off to some pond with him. She huffed dismissively, launched into a new rant, made a rude gesture that could only mean she couldn’t possibly have any interest in Max, and left. Before Max had a chance to figure any of it out, he was being marched ahead of Adnan, Yavuz, and a trio of younger men, all carrying tools. Apparently, he was going to spend his day working on a different vile job.
At least this one, he thought, would be doing some good.
******
“Six letters!” Svea couldn’t stop smiling as she pulled napkins through turkey napkin rings and set them around the table. “Six! He wrote every day. You know we don’t have enough of these.”
“Leave mine without, and Charisse is at her folks; she’ll be by later for dessert. That should work.”
“Okay. So, Liz, you haven’t said much about your letters.”
The instant smile on Liz’s face told her all she needed to know. “Thought so. Anything besides ‘I miss you, I need you, I love you’?”
“That was the gist,” Liz laughed, as she basted the turkey, “although it sounds like it might be longer than he thought. Is that what Alex said?”
“Yeah. And his last couple of emails have been sort of short. I guess they’re awfully busy.”
The spoon came to a stop over the turkey, tilted just enough to let the hot juices drizzle down one browned side. “Emails? You’ve gotten emails?”
Wary, Svea met her eyes. “Yeah, one the night before last and one this morning. Haven’t you?”
Liz fought the frown, reached for him. It was always strongest in the evening, so she had looked up the time difference and realized those were his early morning hours. She liked to think she was the first person he thought of when he woke up. But she could swear she felt him now. Or was she just convincing herself she did? “I haven’t checked since noon yesterday. After lunch, we had a problem with one of the new planes Then, just as I was leaving, I heard Gabe and T.J. debating which restaurant to go to for Thanksgiving dinner, so I invited them to come here and rushed off to pick up extra supplies at the store. Maybe I have an email waiting.”
The idea gave her a little shiver of anticipation. She’d have to wait, though. Company was coming any minute. With that in mind, she lit the white tapers on the table.
As if on cue, there was a flurry of pounding at the door, and Liz opened it to two laughing men loaded down with beer. Unless she missed her guess, at least one of the packages was open already.
“Oohhhh, I may break down and cry,” T.J. moaned, taking a deep and deliberate breath. “When do we eat?”
Gabe pushed in behind him. “Hi, Liz. We brought beer. Smells great. You got the game on? Will we be able to see it from the table?”
Laughing, Liz started to push the door shut, but it swung open again as Kyle and Jesse breezed in.
“Damn straight it’s on,” Kyle almost shouted in her ear as he kissed her cheek in greeting. “The Cowboys are getting’ their asses whooped. Gotta love those Bears.”
“Ten bucks says the Cowboys win,” Jesse protested. “Hutchinson can’t hold a candle to Hensen, and besides, the Bears always fade in the third quarter.”
Delighted, Kyle picked her up and swung her around, kissing her soundly as he lowered her to the floor. “God, I love a woman who loves football.”
Jesse’s offers of help in the kitchen ended in a squeal as Kyle flopped into the sofa and pulled her down on top of him. Liz couldn’t help but laugh as the TV went on full volume and the debate got rolling.
“Guess it’s just you and me, Svea. Let’s start setting the food out.”
“Where’s Frankie?”
“Here she is,” Frankie called out. “Your door wasn’t completely closed. I brought fruit salad.”
“Put it on the table, we’re almost ready to eat.”
The three women chatted easily as platters, bowls, and baskets had the table and Liz’s antique sideboard groaning under the weight. Smells piled on top of smells, and soon even the football game couldn’t compete.
“There’s enough food here to feed an army,” Jesse observed. Then, at the group stare, corrected herself. “Navy, I mean.”
They settled in and were about to pass the food when Gabe surprised everyone by offering a short prayer. That one small act bound them in thoughts of friends and loved ones, and Liz, for one, felt grateful to all of them for being her family that day. Gratitude gave way to gluttony moments later as plates filled amidst exclamations and appreciation for all the dishes they had to choose from. Well, choose wasn’t the right word, Liz decided with a smile; there was at least a dollop of everything on almost every plate. A very satisfying sight.
“Frankie, have you gotten an email from Jeremy yet?” Liz asked.
“No, why? Are they allowed to email now?”
“I got one,” Svea said. “Actually, two. But you know, Alex is closer to the communications equipment with his job. The pilots probably don’t even think to go down there.”
There wasn’t a person at the table who didn’t know better, but it wasn’t something anyone wanted to debate. Liz and Frankie least of all.
“We’ll ask Charisse when she comes,” Liz announced quickly. “Svea, tell everybody about Alex’s letters.”
The conversation moved easily into safer topics, punctuated frequently by “pass the stuffing” or “I can’t eat another bite—well, maybe a little of that casserole.” The food was disappearing more slowly by the time Gabe asked Liz about her letters; he hadn’t forgotten the scene on base the night Max left, and the romantic side he rarely acknowledged had been blown away. Liz’s sly smile at his question only tweaked that memory a little harder.
“He’s fine. Working a lot, hanging with Alex when he can, getting to know the other pilots and staff and all.”
Every eye was on her, waiting expectantly. “You didn’t get that glow from a litany of ship’s business, Liz.” Jesse could tell a woman with a secret when she saw one.
“Well.” Maybe this was the time to share. Hadn’t she just called these people her family? Who better to understand her world and share her moments? “Max did say something about maybe . . . getting married.”
She estimated about 3 seconds of silence before the catcalls and high fives and hugs began. Kyle tipped over his chair in his rush to pluck her out of hers; then he swung her around as he had Jesse when they arrived and kissed her on the cheek . . . at first.
“What the hell,” he shrugged with a grin and kissed her noisily on the lips. “A man’s got to take advantage when he can.”
There was so much noise and shouting that the knocking took a while to sink in.
“Put me down, you big oaf,” Liz said, smacking his shoulder lightly, though she was grinning like a fool. “Charisse is here.”
She was still grinning when she opened the door to an attractive woman with blond hair and an anxious face.
“Can I help you?”
“Liz? Are you Liz Parker?”
“Yes, what can I do for you?”
“I’m Diane Evans, Max’s mother.”
“Mrs. Evans! Come in, please. You, uh, know Max isn’t here, right?”
Confusion clouded Diane’s eyes, and she touched a hand to her own pale cheek. “Oh, my dear, hasn’t anyone told you?”
Liz gripped the doorknob, and knew her world was about to change . . . again.
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Part 17
Since Liz seemed incapable of offering their guest a seat, Svea ushered Diane into the living room, where the television was already quiet and wary eyes jumped from Liz to Diane and back again.
“I’m sorry to barge in. You’re obviously . . . entertaining. I, uh, wasn’t sure . . .”Diane’s fingers twisted back and forth in her purse strap. Now that she was here, she had no idea what to say. When the Navy had informed them that their son was MIA, she and Philip had cried and held each other and found strength in the sharing. She knew that if it had been Philip who had disappeared back when they were dating or first married, she would have needed someone—someone else who loved him—to hold and to share the weight of not knowing. That’s why, against Philip’s advice, she’d booked a flight to San Diego. She’d heard Max’s voice when he talked of Liz, felt the emotion in the emails he’d sent, and knew this woman held her son’s heart as no other ever had. And if that weren’t enough, Victoria had felt it from him, too; she always was the one who understood Max the best, ever since they were little.
But now that she was here, with all these people . . . Dear God, the poor girl was still standing at the open door, eyes closed, holding onto that doorknob and looking for all the world like she might faint any minute. Why had she thought she would already know? The job, she reminded herself. Liz worked at the base; she had assumed this kind of information got around. But of course, they would have only notified the family, and Liz, in spite of what Diane knew in her heart, was not family in the Navy’s eyes. Now, instead of finding a distraught and lonely girl, she had found a happy girl surrounded by friends on Thanksgiving Day, and had ruined it.
The faces of Liz’s friends were filled with concern, all eyes trying to read her reaction. Svea started back toward Liz, but stepped away when Diane moved swiftly by her and placed her hands gently on Liz’s arms.
“He’s not dead, Liz. We have to believe that. He’s not dead. Just missing. I know they’ll find him soon. We have to have faith.”
Liz opened her eyes and stared at Diane for a long moment, as if trying to focus through a thick fog.
“I’m sorry to be the one to bring you this news. I had assumed you’d heard.” Diane shook her head impatiently. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Philip was right. I shouldn’t have come. I just thought . . .”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Liz said softly. She had searched for him immediately, found him, and felt his love warm her. It was like a drug now that she reached for more and more—an addiction she felt no desire to beat. He was alive, wherever he was, and thinking of her.
Suddenly aware of the heavy tension hovering over the room, Liz realized they were all waiting for her to fall apart. They were braced for screams or tears or perhaps a fainting spell. No surprise, she told herself. How could they understand her certainty?
“Forgive my manners, Mrs. Evans. Please, sit down.”
“Do call me Diane, Liz. There’s no reason for formality.” She sat and set her purse down on the floor where her restless fingers wouldn’t give her away.
“All right, Diane.” Liz knelt in front of Max’ mother and took the woman’s icy hands in hers, drew the anxious eyes to her own. “He’s alive, Diane, just as you said. I know it as certainly as I know my own name. He’s alive and he’s all right.”
The announcement met with an uncomfortable silence.
“Liz?” Liz turned to see Svea approaching her cautiously as she might a wounded animal who could strike out at any moment.
“I can feel him,” she insisted. “I know how that sounds, and I can’t explain how, but I can feel him. I have ever since he left. I know he’s alive.” She turned back to Diane. “It’s true.”
Liz could see the woman wanted to believe, needed to believe, but there was doubt and confusion in those wide blue eyes, too.
“Yes. Yes, of course he is. I believe that, too, Liz. We must believe it. They’ll find him and the other pilot. I know they will.”
“Other pilot?” Frankie rose and knelt by Liz. “There’s another pilot missing?”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s what they said. Max and another pilot both went down, but the details are fuzzy. They won’t tell me much.” Tears began to gather in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “They have to keep so much confidential, you know. Security and all.”
Liz reached for Frankie’s hand and pressed it against hers and Diane’s. “We don’t know it was Jeremy, Frankie. There are lots of pilots on a ship that size.”
“You know as well as I do they send the team up together. It’s either Jeremy, Thad, or Wesley.”
“Most likely, but until we know more . . .”
This time, the knocking seemed to explode into the room, and Kyle jumped up to get it. He’d barely opened the door when Charisse burst in, a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. Confident she already understood the scene before her, she dropped to her knees and hugged Liz, then Frankie. “I’m so sorry. I just got Thad’s email. I’m so sorry.”
“It is Jeremy, then.” Frankie’s already pale skin went ashen, and she swayed from her knees to sit on the floor. Charisse looked pained.
“Oh, Frankie. I’m such a ninny.” She pulled the stunned girl close and began to rock her. “I didn’t mean to just blurt it all out like that. I’ve been talking to myself the whole way over here and it was like we’d already had a whole conversation.” Her eyes met Liz’s, and she stopped rocking.
“Are you okay?”
Liz’s smile was strangely serene. “I’m okay because Max is okay. I know it.” The smile faltered. “I just didn’t know he was missing.” The knot forming around her heart squeezed a little tighter when she said the word out loud. She looked over Charisse’s head to Svea. “I guess that explains no emails, huh?”
Kyle was holding tight to Jesse, who had her face buried in his neck and a considerable portion of his shirt balled in her fist. Gabe and T.J. were standing grim-faced on either side of Liz, as if waiting for her orders. Still kneeling, Liz turned back to Diane.
“I’m glad you came. Apparently, a mother’s instincts shouldn’t be taken lightly. Will you stay a while? We have a lot to talk about.”
A smile played at the corners of Diane’s mouth, and she reached out to touch Liz’s cheek.
“The last email from Max came the day he left for the Nimitz. He didn’t know where you were or what you were thinking, but he was determined to find you before he left. He said he wouldn’t believe you’d run away because you were so much stronger than even you knew. I’d say he was right on the mark.”
Liz felt some of the tension loosen in her chest. It would be good to talk to someone who knew Max as well as his mother did. Someone who wouldn’t tire of sharing stories and hope.
“There are times I’ve thought Max knows me better than I know myself. I guess maybe he does.”
There were seeds of a new bond in the smile they shared. Then Diane stood with a deep sigh. “Well, I’ll let you and your friends enjoy the day. I’m staying in Max’s apartment; he arranged for the management company to make a key available to any of us who wanted to use it while he was gone. I thought I might stay a few days.”
“Then you’ll be close by. That’s wonderful. But please don’t leave. It’s Thanksgiving and we have no fewer than four pies in the kitchen. Why don’t you help me serve them?”
With a grateful smile, Diane nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Liz, we should go,” Frankie said, her voice tight. “You and Mrs. Evans should be alone, and besides, I . . . I don’t think I’d be very good company . . .”
Liz walked back to Frankie’s side and put an arm around her shoulder. “I hope you’ll stay. All of you,” she added, looking up. “This is a day for family, and in his way, Max is family to all of us. Jeremy, too. I think they’d like that we were all here, together, helping each other get through this.”
A solemn silence followed, each person lost in a thought or memory. And there, filling her mind, she saw him as he’d been on that tarmac the night he left—angry, confident, full of promises and determination, until she’d said she loved him, and he had stopped being any of those things. He had only looked at her then, looked at her as no one had looked at her in her lifetime; for just those few seconds, he’d been weak, and knowing she had that power had made her strong—for herself, for him, for them. She would not fall apart. She would not doubt. He’d promised her to come home, and Max always kept his promises.
Determined to lighten the mood, she glared at Kyle, Gabe, and T.J. “Besides, if I make four pies, you eat four pies.”
Understanding his role, Kyle patted both hands loudly against his stomach. “I think I might just need a piece of each. Jesse, go get me some pie.”
Jesse, determined to follow his lead, took up the challenge. With her face still damp, she threw herself onto the sofa and eyed him smugly. “Seems to me, somebody who loses a bet has to get the pie.” She un-muted the television and pointed at it with the remote control. “Cowboys are up by a touchdown.” The smirk deepened. “I’ll have pumpkin.”
As everyone jockeyed for pie and coffee, Liz reached for Max again. She felt him more strongly this time and paused to savor the sense of wellbeing. Then, with the sweet taste of pecan pie on her lips, she said her own private prayer.
******
It was gruesome work. Layer after grim layer of fox carcasses had stacked up over time and were decomposing at various rates. To add to the problem, a quick search downstream had revealed a second site. The few men who could be spared from the duties in camp or with the herd sweated and swore their way through the grotesque remains, and Max was at least temporarily accepted as one of them.
A safe distance away, a large clearing had been found and a fire started. Acrid smoke billowed up from the pyre, choking the air as workers dragged makeshift slings back and forth from the creek. The men rarely spoke, each facing the foul chore with the knowledge that this, at least, represented the first step in their community’s renewed health.
Max worked as hard as any of them, becoming an ad hoc leader without any conscious intent. He was used to commanding, organizing, planning, and those skills emerged unbidden as the group fell into an efficient routine. No one seemed to question why he was the one to suggest, through mime, a better way to remove the remains or a more efficient use of the limited manpower. And no one objected when Max relieved a man overcome by smoke or lifted a shovel from an exhausted digger only to take over himself.
As he worked, Max felt Liz brush his mind over and over. As much as he loved feeling her there, it worried him. On the one hand, it might mean something was wrong. On the other hand, it could mean she wasn’t really there at all, that this feeling was a response to his acute need for her, and that as his hope for escape ebbed, he was clutching even tighter to the reassuring sense of her that he had unknowingly created.
He knew his parents must have been notified by now, and he hated the anguish they must be feeling. They’d been down this road before, and no one should have to bear it twice. But if Liz knew, too, which, knowing the ways of the military grapevine—and Alex—she probably did, he couldn’t even imagine how she might react. Would it cause her heart to shut down out of sheer self-preservation? Would she rail against God and the universe and lose herself to despair and bitterness? Or was this connection between them something real and strong, a lifeline keeping them both safe and sane?
Adnan put a hand on Max’s wrist and studied his captive’s eyes. The American had been digging like a demon for several minutes and the sweat poured off him in steamy rivulets. There was worry, anger, pain behind those eyes. With a nod toward the modest waterfall, he nudged Max in that direction and watched as he joined others who needed to cool their bodies and indulge in a long drink of water. It was safe to drink above the source of the infection, they now knew. Two men had spent the morning following the stream above the waterfall, and had returned with the news that there were no more infected sites. They would be boiling water for months at the camp, he knew, before they would feel safe to trust it again.
Perhaps it would even be necessary to find a new camp, he admitted. Guilt speared through his heart at the thought. If he hadn’t brought his people here, so many deaths could have been prevented. And yet, they weren’t thriving where they’d been. It had taken months to find this place that offered water close by, trees, access to the sea, and the vegetation the goats needed to survive. They had found hope for the future in this place . . . until his son had fallen ill and died. Others followed quickly until more of them were sick than healthy. Now they knew why, but was it too late?
He didn’t understand the American. The man was obviously strong and healthy, but so had been others who had tended the sick before they succumbed. This man had been at it for longer than they had, yet showed no signs of illness. And now he was giving everything to the hard and wretched task at hand. Why?
Adnan watched as Max lifted his face to the curtain of cool water and let it slide over him, then, in an act of quiet despair, drop to his knees and lower his head. The private moment moved Adnan. This was just a man, after all, one who had surely left behind loved ones who grieved for his absence just as he grieved for his own lost son.
The moment of self-doubt passed quickly. Adnan was a leader, and leaders did what had to be done to save those who depended on them. The American was just a tool, and he was a leader who would use whatever tools were at hand. His family, his community came first, and they had suffered for too long.
Even before he had finished the thought, Max was splashing back toward him, ready to begin again.
******
“And this is his high school prom.”
“He looks nervous,” Liz giggled. Nothing could have been more healing, more soothing than immersing herself in the heavy photo albums Diane had brought with her. Max as a baby with cake smeared over a two-tooth smile; Max on the first day of school with his Spiderman lunchbox and slicked-down hair; Max as co-captain of the track team, all legs and ears and that killer smile; Max at prom, stiff in a rented tux that hung on his gangly frame, a tall blond girl with an adoring look in her eye on his arm. And they hadn’t even gotten to the last album yet.
“Who’s the girl?”
“Melissa something,” she said, squinting in concentration. “Everybody called her Mel. A German surname, I think. Smart as a whip. Knew her own mind, too, as I recall. Had a bad habit of getting traffic tickets, though. Drove like a Californian, judging from the traffic I survived coming from the airport. Anyway, they knew each other from AP History. Just friends, but they had fun, I think.”
“Maybe he was ‘just friends,’” Liz concluded, “but she’s got a major crush on.”
“Did she?” Diane studied the picture more closely. Then she turned her gaze on Liz and studied her until Liz shrugged in embarrassment.
“What?”
“My son’s something to look at, if I do say so myself. And he’s had his choice of girls. Then women. You’re the first to stop him dead in his tracks.”
Liz felt the heat rise to her face, but it didn’t stop her from smiling broadly. “He’s the first I’ve wanted to stop in mine for.”
Doubt and sympathy crept into Diane’s eyes and Liz looked quickly away.
“Don’t be embarrassed, dear. Max told me about your brother and the man you fell in love with . . .”
“But I didn’t.” She blurted it out without thinking, then felt guilt wash over her. She’d never said that out loud. Not in so many words. Not even to Max. She’d used phrases like “different kind of love” or “young love,” but she’d never let herself admit that now that she knew real love, she knew she’d never felt it before. Saying it made her feel disloyal, like she’d betrayed Aaron somehow.
Diane just watched her with that understanding face of hers. “I’m sorry, Diane. I . . . I didn’t really mean to say that. I guess I did love Aaron in a way, but I was young and awed by him. It was romantic and foolish and, in the end, based on nothing but wishes.”
“Of course it was,” she smiled, patting Liz’s arm. “That’s the definition of young love. There’s nothing to regret in that. In fact, it’s something to be cherished. I’m sure that was a special time for you.”
“Yes.” It had been. She could see that now. Funny how some of the baggage just fell away when she looked at it like that. Now she put her hand over the one Diane had rested on her arm. “Yes, it was.”
She rose to refill their coffee mugs feeling strangely lighthearted. “Not as special as my time with Max, though. He’s . . .” She turned, set Diane’s mug in front of her. “He’s . . . one of a kind. You wouldn’t believe the grief I gave him after I found out he was military.”
“Oh, I might.” Diane pressed her lips together at Liz’s surprised look. “I’m a fortunate mother, Liz. Max always talks to me when it’s really important.” She took a sip. “You are really important.”
Liz shook her head in resignation. “I guess I don’t have many secrets from you.” She tilted her head. “I think I like that.”
She sighed as she took her seat next to Diane again. “I’m the opposite of Max, I guess. I talk to my mother about everything until it’s important. Then I have a tendency to clam up until she nags it out of me.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Diane laughed.
“She knows about Max, but not much. She knows it was hard for me, though, and she’s the one who encouraged me to give it a chance. I can’t imagine if I hadn’t.”
She wasn’t in the sunny kitchen anymore, sipping coffee and sharing secrets with a woman she hadn’t even known two days before. She was in Max’s apartment, knees and chin still stinging from the fall until his arms came around her, until his lips narrowed her awareness to only one sensation, until her mouth was the only part of her that was alive with feeling. She’d been lost to him then and there. The fight that came after was only the empty flailing of one too proud to admit defeat.
She came back to her own kitchen, but the mists of memory still clouded her mind. “I tried not to love him, but even in trying, I knew it was too late. He has this power . . . he makes it impossible to . . .” She sighed dreamily. “The first time we made love . . .”
The mists were ripped away like a magician’s scarf. Appalled at herself, Liz gaped at Diane. “I mean . . . I didn’t mean . . . I . . .”
Chuckling, Diane squeezed her hand. “Oh my dear, nothing new under the sun, though I’m sure we’d both be more comfortable skipping any confidences in that particular area.”
She rose with a long, melancholy sigh. “I’ll leave the albums with you for now, if you like. I feel the need for a long, cleansing cry, and I’ll need a little time alone for that. I’ve loved looking at these pictures with someone else who loves him. When he comes home, I hope you’ll both come for a visit. Meet Philip. He’s going to love you.”
“We will,” Liz promised.
“Have you . . .?” She felt foolish, but she had to know. “Have you felt him today?”
Liz’s smile flashed. “Yes. He’s all right.”
“Well, then, we can be patient for the rest, can’t we?”
“No.” Liz stood and gave Diane a hug.
“Hell, no,” Diane agreed, and hung on tight.
******
SEALs were trained to move with stealth, accuracy, awareness, and patience. As a group, though, patience was in short supply. Inserted into Lebanon at night, they had found the dead GPS and the folded parachute in short order, but there was little to go on beyond that. Once the soft ground near the beach gave way to the open rock of the foothills, tracking was all but impossible and cover was virtually nonexistent. And since their orders were for complete secrecy—which was the equivalent of invisibility in the open environment—they had little choice but to stay out of sight during the daylight hours. Progress was slow, and “frustration” didn’t begin to cover what they were feeling.
Chief Petty Officer Wayne Logan crouched low and swore softly. The four of them—it had been determined that a squad of four men was more prudent than a full platoon of 8—had fanned out in hopes of picking up a trail. They had a fix on at least three tiny settlements within a 15-mile radius, none military as far as they could tell, and no way of knowing which one, if any, might hold their men. Their only option was to approach each settlement in turn and hope to spot a familiar face—familiar because the two images had been burned into their minds during their briefing. They wouldn’t come back without them, dead or alive.
The sun was their enemy today. Of course, statistically, it was bound to be their enemy 300 days a year in this climate. Still, he thought, had they had rain, fog, or night on their side, they would be moving swiftly over the hard ground and into the low hills where the settlements were scattered. He almost chuckled as he tried to picture a nice dense fog creeping over the dry expanse of Lebanon. He figured it would take Stephen King to accomplish that. As it was, heat rose in shimmering waves from unforgiving rock and light invaded every reluctant crevice. With an experienced eye, he spotted his nearest man. Signals were exchanged that told him the harsh terrain refused to share its secrets. Until night fell, they were stuck, and “stuck” didn’t sit well with SEALs.
He wouldn’t waste the time. Sophisticated equipment showed him detailed topography, distances, and obstacles. The squad would pull together, study their maps and plans, then catch a little sleep. They would reach the first settlement tonight and, with luck, be home tomorrow.
******
It took until almost dark, but they had purged the creek as best they could, then dug and turned the heavy mud beneath the two sites, lining the creek bed with smooth rocks from under the waterfall. The carcasses were ashes, and they, too, had been buried. It was the best they could manage without an expert to guide them. Bloodied hands and exhausted bodies soothed themselves in the cool pond until threat of full darkness pushed them down the trail toward camp. Max merged into the line, one of them for the moment. Crisis was a great equalizer.
They were greeted with food and a fire, but a sense of caution, as well. It was only natural, Max thought. They had spent the day in the intimate company of fatal disease; even loved ones were hard-pressed to embrace them. Once everyone was fed, huge pots of water were set to boil over fires in both camps, and Max noted for the first time the colorful parade of containers lined up against the tents. They must have been working at it all day.
There was begrudging respect, if not welcome, in the faces of the people in camp when they passed by him. And no one had made a move to take his shoes. That was something, he supposed. All he wanted now was sleep. And Liz. If this was a good night, he could have them both.
“You look whipped,” Jeremy said, half-falling to a seat beside Max. He laid the crutch next to him and rubbed his ankle.
“How’s it doing?”
“Swelling’s going down, I think, but it still hurts like a sonofabitch when I try to put weight on it.”
Max sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess it’s a fracture, then. A sprain would be easing up by now. Sorry, Ames.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry, sir. If I hadn’t panicked . . . I still can’t believe I did. I don’t even remember much about it.”
“It’s not exactly something we train for. No one could have been prepared for that.”
Jeremy looked over at him. “You would’ve handled it.”
Max shook his head slowly. “I’m not so sure. It was scary just looking at it.”
There was gratitude in Jeremy’s eyes, but not acceptance.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Jeremy. We’re alive and likely to stay that way. These people don’t want to hurt us, they just want to use us. And we’ll let them until we find a way to get out of here. First order of business is let that ankle heal. When we take off, we’ll be going fast and furious over rough terrain.” Liz brushed his mind again and he felt his heart squeeze. “It can’t be soon enough for me.”
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something—most probably his disappearance—had wrenched Liz off that tightrope of control she’d found just before he left, and he was almost dizzy with fear that this was the last straw for her. For them. But as he responded, let his love envelop her, let the warmth soothe the rough edges of his mind, he knew she was still there, with him, loving him, believing. And if she could believe, so could he.
Firelight flickered over the camp, sending shadows into an eerie dance of dark and light. Max wanted to crawl into the lean-to and draw the thin blanket over his head, but the effort it would take seemed well beyond him at the moment.
“Any more fall sick today?”
“No, but one of the young boys died.”
The horror of it had made Max numb. He could only nod and wonder that the grim acceptance he’d been so appalled by a week ago was part of him now, too. For the hundredth time, he tried to think of a way to get these people some help. How could he make them understand that if he and Jeremy could only get back to their ship, they would find a way? Antibiotics, supplies, education about how to prevent and treat the disease—all these could be arranged, if only he could make them understand.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I guess your day was even worse than mine.”
“Rana helped me,” Jeremy said. “I thought at first she was just bringing milk, but then she just pitched in. She didn’t look good, though. I think it’s all getting to her.”
A shadow blocked the light and Max looked up. Rana stood before him with a bundle tucked in her arm. They stared at one another for a moment, then she surprised him by kneeling in front of him.
“Inta edame.”
He smiled at her and shook his head. “I don’t understand, Rana. You know I can’t understand you.”
“Inta edame,” she said softly, and pushed the bundle toward him. It was a blanket, heavier and softer than the one he and Jeremy had been sharing. “Iza bitriid.”
He reached for it with a nod. “Thank you.”
Their hands touched, and Max jerked in reaction. The heat from her hands set off alarms in his head, and his breath caught in fear. He leapt up, felt her forehead, and then caught her in his arms as she fainted.
Since Liz seemed incapable of offering their guest a seat, Svea ushered Diane into the living room, where the television was already quiet and wary eyes jumped from Liz to Diane and back again.
“I’m sorry to barge in. You’re obviously . . . entertaining. I, uh, wasn’t sure . . .”Diane’s fingers twisted back and forth in her purse strap. Now that she was here, she had no idea what to say. When the Navy had informed them that their son was MIA, she and Philip had cried and held each other and found strength in the sharing. She knew that if it had been Philip who had disappeared back when they were dating or first married, she would have needed someone—someone else who loved him—to hold and to share the weight of not knowing. That’s why, against Philip’s advice, she’d booked a flight to San Diego. She’d heard Max’s voice when he talked of Liz, felt the emotion in the emails he’d sent, and knew this woman held her son’s heart as no other ever had. And if that weren’t enough, Victoria had felt it from him, too; she always was the one who understood Max the best, ever since they were little.
But now that she was here, with all these people . . . Dear God, the poor girl was still standing at the open door, eyes closed, holding onto that doorknob and looking for all the world like she might faint any minute. Why had she thought she would already know? The job, she reminded herself. Liz worked at the base; she had assumed this kind of information got around. But of course, they would have only notified the family, and Liz, in spite of what Diane knew in her heart, was not family in the Navy’s eyes. Now, instead of finding a distraught and lonely girl, she had found a happy girl surrounded by friends on Thanksgiving Day, and had ruined it.
The faces of Liz’s friends were filled with concern, all eyes trying to read her reaction. Svea started back toward Liz, but stepped away when Diane moved swiftly by her and placed her hands gently on Liz’s arms.
“He’s not dead, Liz. We have to believe that. He’s not dead. Just missing. I know they’ll find him soon. We have to have faith.”
Liz opened her eyes and stared at Diane for a long moment, as if trying to focus through a thick fog.
“I’m sorry to be the one to bring you this news. I had assumed you’d heard.” Diane shook her head impatiently. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Philip was right. I shouldn’t have come. I just thought . . .”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Liz said softly. She had searched for him immediately, found him, and felt his love warm her. It was like a drug now that she reached for more and more—an addiction she felt no desire to beat. He was alive, wherever he was, and thinking of her.
Suddenly aware of the heavy tension hovering over the room, Liz realized they were all waiting for her to fall apart. They were braced for screams or tears or perhaps a fainting spell. No surprise, she told herself. How could they understand her certainty?
“Forgive my manners, Mrs. Evans. Please, sit down.”
“Do call me Diane, Liz. There’s no reason for formality.” She sat and set her purse down on the floor where her restless fingers wouldn’t give her away.
“All right, Diane.” Liz knelt in front of Max’ mother and took the woman’s icy hands in hers, drew the anxious eyes to her own. “He’s alive, Diane, just as you said. I know it as certainly as I know my own name. He’s alive and he’s all right.”
The announcement met with an uncomfortable silence.
“Liz?” Liz turned to see Svea approaching her cautiously as she might a wounded animal who could strike out at any moment.
“I can feel him,” she insisted. “I know how that sounds, and I can’t explain how, but I can feel him. I have ever since he left. I know he’s alive.” She turned back to Diane. “It’s true.”
Liz could see the woman wanted to believe, needed to believe, but there was doubt and confusion in those wide blue eyes, too.
“Yes. Yes, of course he is. I believe that, too, Liz. We must believe it. They’ll find him and the other pilot. I know they will.”
“Other pilot?” Frankie rose and knelt by Liz. “There’s another pilot missing?”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s what they said. Max and another pilot both went down, but the details are fuzzy. They won’t tell me much.” Tears began to gather in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “They have to keep so much confidential, you know. Security and all.”
Liz reached for Frankie’s hand and pressed it against hers and Diane’s. “We don’t know it was Jeremy, Frankie. There are lots of pilots on a ship that size.”
“You know as well as I do they send the team up together. It’s either Jeremy, Thad, or Wesley.”
“Most likely, but until we know more . . .”
This time, the knocking seemed to explode into the room, and Kyle jumped up to get it. He’d barely opened the door when Charisse burst in, a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. Confident she already understood the scene before her, she dropped to her knees and hugged Liz, then Frankie. “I’m so sorry. I just got Thad’s email. I’m so sorry.”
“It is Jeremy, then.” Frankie’s already pale skin went ashen, and she swayed from her knees to sit on the floor. Charisse looked pained.
“Oh, Frankie. I’m such a ninny.” She pulled the stunned girl close and began to rock her. “I didn’t mean to just blurt it all out like that. I’ve been talking to myself the whole way over here and it was like we’d already had a whole conversation.” Her eyes met Liz’s, and she stopped rocking.
“Are you okay?”
Liz’s smile was strangely serene. “I’m okay because Max is okay. I know it.” The smile faltered. “I just didn’t know he was missing.” The knot forming around her heart squeezed a little tighter when she said the word out loud. She looked over Charisse’s head to Svea. “I guess that explains no emails, huh?”
Kyle was holding tight to Jesse, who had her face buried in his neck and a considerable portion of his shirt balled in her fist. Gabe and T.J. were standing grim-faced on either side of Liz, as if waiting for her orders. Still kneeling, Liz turned back to Diane.
“I’m glad you came. Apparently, a mother’s instincts shouldn’t be taken lightly. Will you stay a while? We have a lot to talk about.”
A smile played at the corners of Diane’s mouth, and she reached out to touch Liz’s cheek.
“The last email from Max came the day he left for the Nimitz. He didn’t know where you were or what you were thinking, but he was determined to find you before he left. He said he wouldn’t believe you’d run away because you were so much stronger than even you knew. I’d say he was right on the mark.”
Liz felt some of the tension loosen in her chest. It would be good to talk to someone who knew Max as well as his mother did. Someone who wouldn’t tire of sharing stories and hope.
“There are times I’ve thought Max knows me better than I know myself. I guess maybe he does.”
There were seeds of a new bond in the smile they shared. Then Diane stood with a deep sigh. “Well, I’ll let you and your friends enjoy the day. I’m staying in Max’s apartment; he arranged for the management company to make a key available to any of us who wanted to use it while he was gone. I thought I might stay a few days.”
“Then you’ll be close by. That’s wonderful. But please don’t leave. It’s Thanksgiving and we have no fewer than four pies in the kitchen. Why don’t you help me serve them?”
With a grateful smile, Diane nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Liz, we should go,” Frankie said, her voice tight. “You and Mrs. Evans should be alone, and besides, I . . . I don’t think I’d be very good company . . .”
Liz walked back to Frankie’s side and put an arm around her shoulder. “I hope you’ll stay. All of you,” she added, looking up. “This is a day for family, and in his way, Max is family to all of us. Jeremy, too. I think they’d like that we were all here, together, helping each other get through this.”
A solemn silence followed, each person lost in a thought or memory. And there, filling her mind, she saw him as he’d been on that tarmac the night he left—angry, confident, full of promises and determination, until she’d said she loved him, and he had stopped being any of those things. He had only looked at her then, looked at her as no one had looked at her in her lifetime; for just those few seconds, he’d been weak, and knowing she had that power had made her strong—for herself, for him, for them. She would not fall apart. She would not doubt. He’d promised her to come home, and Max always kept his promises.
Determined to lighten the mood, she glared at Kyle, Gabe, and T.J. “Besides, if I make four pies, you eat four pies.”
Understanding his role, Kyle patted both hands loudly against his stomach. “I think I might just need a piece of each. Jesse, go get me some pie.”
Jesse, determined to follow his lead, took up the challenge. With her face still damp, she threw herself onto the sofa and eyed him smugly. “Seems to me, somebody who loses a bet has to get the pie.” She un-muted the television and pointed at it with the remote control. “Cowboys are up by a touchdown.” The smirk deepened. “I’ll have pumpkin.”
As everyone jockeyed for pie and coffee, Liz reached for Max again. She felt him more strongly this time and paused to savor the sense of wellbeing. Then, with the sweet taste of pecan pie on her lips, she said her own private prayer.
******
It was gruesome work. Layer after grim layer of fox carcasses had stacked up over time and were decomposing at various rates. To add to the problem, a quick search downstream had revealed a second site. The few men who could be spared from the duties in camp or with the herd sweated and swore their way through the grotesque remains, and Max was at least temporarily accepted as one of them.
A safe distance away, a large clearing had been found and a fire started. Acrid smoke billowed up from the pyre, choking the air as workers dragged makeshift slings back and forth from the creek. The men rarely spoke, each facing the foul chore with the knowledge that this, at least, represented the first step in their community’s renewed health.
Max worked as hard as any of them, becoming an ad hoc leader without any conscious intent. He was used to commanding, organizing, planning, and those skills emerged unbidden as the group fell into an efficient routine. No one seemed to question why he was the one to suggest, through mime, a better way to remove the remains or a more efficient use of the limited manpower. And no one objected when Max relieved a man overcome by smoke or lifted a shovel from an exhausted digger only to take over himself.
As he worked, Max felt Liz brush his mind over and over. As much as he loved feeling her there, it worried him. On the one hand, it might mean something was wrong. On the other hand, it could mean she wasn’t really there at all, that this feeling was a response to his acute need for her, and that as his hope for escape ebbed, he was clutching even tighter to the reassuring sense of her that he had unknowingly created.
He knew his parents must have been notified by now, and he hated the anguish they must be feeling. They’d been down this road before, and no one should have to bear it twice. But if Liz knew, too, which, knowing the ways of the military grapevine—and Alex—she probably did, he couldn’t even imagine how she might react. Would it cause her heart to shut down out of sheer self-preservation? Would she rail against God and the universe and lose herself to despair and bitterness? Or was this connection between them something real and strong, a lifeline keeping them both safe and sane?
Adnan put a hand on Max’s wrist and studied his captive’s eyes. The American had been digging like a demon for several minutes and the sweat poured off him in steamy rivulets. There was worry, anger, pain behind those eyes. With a nod toward the modest waterfall, he nudged Max in that direction and watched as he joined others who needed to cool their bodies and indulge in a long drink of water. It was safe to drink above the source of the infection, they now knew. Two men had spent the morning following the stream above the waterfall, and had returned with the news that there were no more infected sites. They would be boiling water for months at the camp, he knew, before they would feel safe to trust it again.
Perhaps it would even be necessary to find a new camp, he admitted. Guilt speared through his heart at the thought. If he hadn’t brought his people here, so many deaths could have been prevented. And yet, they weren’t thriving where they’d been. It had taken months to find this place that offered water close by, trees, access to the sea, and the vegetation the goats needed to survive. They had found hope for the future in this place . . . until his son had fallen ill and died. Others followed quickly until more of them were sick than healthy. Now they knew why, but was it too late?
He didn’t understand the American. The man was obviously strong and healthy, but so had been others who had tended the sick before they succumbed. This man had been at it for longer than they had, yet showed no signs of illness. And now he was giving everything to the hard and wretched task at hand. Why?
Adnan watched as Max lifted his face to the curtain of cool water and let it slide over him, then, in an act of quiet despair, drop to his knees and lower his head. The private moment moved Adnan. This was just a man, after all, one who had surely left behind loved ones who grieved for his absence just as he grieved for his own lost son.
The moment of self-doubt passed quickly. Adnan was a leader, and leaders did what had to be done to save those who depended on them. The American was just a tool, and he was a leader who would use whatever tools were at hand. His family, his community came first, and they had suffered for too long.
Even before he had finished the thought, Max was splashing back toward him, ready to begin again.
******
“And this is his high school prom.”
“He looks nervous,” Liz giggled. Nothing could have been more healing, more soothing than immersing herself in the heavy photo albums Diane had brought with her. Max as a baby with cake smeared over a two-tooth smile; Max on the first day of school with his Spiderman lunchbox and slicked-down hair; Max as co-captain of the track team, all legs and ears and that killer smile; Max at prom, stiff in a rented tux that hung on his gangly frame, a tall blond girl with an adoring look in her eye on his arm. And they hadn’t even gotten to the last album yet.
“Who’s the girl?”
“Melissa something,” she said, squinting in concentration. “Everybody called her Mel. A German surname, I think. Smart as a whip. Knew her own mind, too, as I recall. Had a bad habit of getting traffic tickets, though. Drove like a Californian, judging from the traffic I survived coming from the airport. Anyway, they knew each other from AP History. Just friends, but they had fun, I think.”
“Maybe he was ‘just friends,’” Liz concluded, “but she’s got a major crush on.”
“Did she?” Diane studied the picture more closely. Then she turned her gaze on Liz and studied her until Liz shrugged in embarrassment.
“What?”
“My son’s something to look at, if I do say so myself. And he’s had his choice of girls. Then women. You’re the first to stop him dead in his tracks.”
Liz felt the heat rise to her face, but it didn’t stop her from smiling broadly. “He’s the first I’ve wanted to stop in mine for.”
Doubt and sympathy crept into Diane’s eyes and Liz looked quickly away.
“Don’t be embarrassed, dear. Max told me about your brother and the man you fell in love with . . .”
“But I didn’t.” She blurted it out without thinking, then felt guilt wash over her. She’d never said that out loud. Not in so many words. Not even to Max. She’d used phrases like “different kind of love” or “young love,” but she’d never let herself admit that now that she knew real love, she knew she’d never felt it before. Saying it made her feel disloyal, like she’d betrayed Aaron somehow.
Diane just watched her with that understanding face of hers. “I’m sorry, Diane. I . . . I didn’t really mean to say that. I guess I did love Aaron in a way, but I was young and awed by him. It was romantic and foolish and, in the end, based on nothing but wishes.”
“Of course it was,” she smiled, patting Liz’s arm. “That’s the definition of young love. There’s nothing to regret in that. In fact, it’s something to be cherished. I’m sure that was a special time for you.”
“Yes.” It had been. She could see that now. Funny how some of the baggage just fell away when she looked at it like that. Now she put her hand over the one Diane had rested on her arm. “Yes, it was.”
She rose to refill their coffee mugs feeling strangely lighthearted. “Not as special as my time with Max, though. He’s . . .” She turned, set Diane’s mug in front of her. “He’s . . . one of a kind. You wouldn’t believe the grief I gave him after I found out he was military.”
“Oh, I might.” Diane pressed her lips together at Liz’s surprised look. “I’m a fortunate mother, Liz. Max always talks to me when it’s really important.” She took a sip. “You are really important.”
Liz shook her head in resignation. “I guess I don’t have many secrets from you.” She tilted her head. “I think I like that.”
She sighed as she took her seat next to Diane again. “I’m the opposite of Max, I guess. I talk to my mother about everything until it’s important. Then I have a tendency to clam up until she nags it out of me.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Diane laughed.
“She knows about Max, but not much. She knows it was hard for me, though, and she’s the one who encouraged me to give it a chance. I can’t imagine if I hadn’t.”
She wasn’t in the sunny kitchen anymore, sipping coffee and sharing secrets with a woman she hadn’t even known two days before. She was in Max’s apartment, knees and chin still stinging from the fall until his arms came around her, until his lips narrowed her awareness to only one sensation, until her mouth was the only part of her that was alive with feeling. She’d been lost to him then and there. The fight that came after was only the empty flailing of one too proud to admit defeat.
She came back to her own kitchen, but the mists of memory still clouded her mind. “I tried not to love him, but even in trying, I knew it was too late. He has this power . . . he makes it impossible to . . .” She sighed dreamily. “The first time we made love . . .”
The mists were ripped away like a magician’s scarf. Appalled at herself, Liz gaped at Diane. “I mean . . . I didn’t mean . . . I . . .”
Chuckling, Diane squeezed her hand. “Oh my dear, nothing new under the sun, though I’m sure we’d both be more comfortable skipping any confidences in that particular area.”
She rose with a long, melancholy sigh. “I’ll leave the albums with you for now, if you like. I feel the need for a long, cleansing cry, and I’ll need a little time alone for that. I’ve loved looking at these pictures with someone else who loves him. When he comes home, I hope you’ll both come for a visit. Meet Philip. He’s going to love you.”
“We will,” Liz promised.
“Have you . . .?” She felt foolish, but she had to know. “Have you felt him today?”
Liz’s smile flashed. “Yes. He’s all right.”
“Well, then, we can be patient for the rest, can’t we?”
“No.” Liz stood and gave Diane a hug.
“Hell, no,” Diane agreed, and hung on tight.
******
SEALs were trained to move with stealth, accuracy, awareness, and patience. As a group, though, patience was in short supply. Inserted into Lebanon at night, they had found the dead GPS and the folded parachute in short order, but there was little to go on beyond that. Once the soft ground near the beach gave way to the open rock of the foothills, tracking was all but impossible and cover was virtually nonexistent. And since their orders were for complete secrecy—which was the equivalent of invisibility in the open environment—they had little choice but to stay out of sight during the daylight hours. Progress was slow, and “frustration” didn’t begin to cover what they were feeling.
Chief Petty Officer Wayne Logan crouched low and swore softly. The four of them—it had been determined that a squad of four men was more prudent than a full platoon of 8—had fanned out in hopes of picking up a trail. They had a fix on at least three tiny settlements within a 15-mile radius, none military as far as they could tell, and no way of knowing which one, if any, might hold their men. Their only option was to approach each settlement in turn and hope to spot a familiar face—familiar because the two images had been burned into their minds during their briefing. They wouldn’t come back without them, dead or alive.
The sun was their enemy today. Of course, statistically, it was bound to be their enemy 300 days a year in this climate. Still, he thought, had they had rain, fog, or night on their side, they would be moving swiftly over the hard ground and into the low hills where the settlements were scattered. He almost chuckled as he tried to picture a nice dense fog creeping over the dry expanse of Lebanon. He figured it would take Stephen King to accomplish that. As it was, heat rose in shimmering waves from unforgiving rock and light invaded every reluctant crevice. With an experienced eye, he spotted his nearest man. Signals were exchanged that told him the harsh terrain refused to share its secrets. Until night fell, they were stuck, and “stuck” didn’t sit well with SEALs.
He wouldn’t waste the time. Sophisticated equipment showed him detailed topography, distances, and obstacles. The squad would pull together, study their maps and plans, then catch a little sleep. They would reach the first settlement tonight and, with luck, be home tomorrow.
******
It took until almost dark, but they had purged the creek as best they could, then dug and turned the heavy mud beneath the two sites, lining the creek bed with smooth rocks from under the waterfall. The carcasses were ashes, and they, too, had been buried. It was the best they could manage without an expert to guide them. Bloodied hands and exhausted bodies soothed themselves in the cool pond until threat of full darkness pushed them down the trail toward camp. Max merged into the line, one of them for the moment. Crisis was a great equalizer.
They were greeted with food and a fire, but a sense of caution, as well. It was only natural, Max thought. They had spent the day in the intimate company of fatal disease; even loved ones were hard-pressed to embrace them. Once everyone was fed, huge pots of water were set to boil over fires in both camps, and Max noted for the first time the colorful parade of containers lined up against the tents. They must have been working at it all day.
There was begrudging respect, if not welcome, in the faces of the people in camp when they passed by him. And no one had made a move to take his shoes. That was something, he supposed. All he wanted now was sleep. And Liz. If this was a good night, he could have them both.
“You look whipped,” Jeremy said, half-falling to a seat beside Max. He laid the crutch next to him and rubbed his ankle.
“How’s it doing?”
“Swelling’s going down, I think, but it still hurts like a sonofabitch when I try to put weight on it.”
Max sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess it’s a fracture, then. A sprain would be easing up by now. Sorry, Ames.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry, sir. If I hadn’t panicked . . . I still can’t believe I did. I don’t even remember much about it.”
“It’s not exactly something we train for. No one could have been prepared for that.”
Jeremy looked over at him. “You would’ve handled it.”
Max shook his head slowly. “I’m not so sure. It was scary just looking at it.”
There was gratitude in Jeremy’s eyes, but not acceptance.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Jeremy. We’re alive and likely to stay that way. These people don’t want to hurt us, they just want to use us. And we’ll let them until we find a way to get out of here. First order of business is let that ankle heal. When we take off, we’ll be going fast and furious over rough terrain.” Liz brushed his mind again and he felt his heart squeeze. “It can’t be soon enough for me.”
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something—most probably his disappearance—had wrenched Liz off that tightrope of control she’d found just before he left, and he was almost dizzy with fear that this was the last straw for her. For them. But as he responded, let his love envelop her, let the warmth soothe the rough edges of his mind, he knew she was still there, with him, loving him, believing. And if she could believe, so could he.
Firelight flickered over the camp, sending shadows into an eerie dance of dark and light. Max wanted to crawl into the lean-to and draw the thin blanket over his head, but the effort it would take seemed well beyond him at the moment.
“Any more fall sick today?”
“No, but one of the young boys died.”
The horror of it had made Max numb. He could only nod and wonder that the grim acceptance he’d been so appalled by a week ago was part of him now, too. For the hundredth time, he tried to think of a way to get these people some help. How could he make them understand that if he and Jeremy could only get back to their ship, they would find a way? Antibiotics, supplies, education about how to prevent and treat the disease—all these could be arranged, if only he could make them understand.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I guess your day was even worse than mine.”
“Rana helped me,” Jeremy said. “I thought at first she was just bringing milk, but then she just pitched in. She didn’t look good, though. I think it’s all getting to her.”
A shadow blocked the light and Max looked up. Rana stood before him with a bundle tucked in her arm. They stared at one another for a moment, then she surprised him by kneeling in front of him.
“Inta edame.”
He smiled at her and shook his head. “I don’t understand, Rana. You know I can’t understand you.”
“Inta edame,” she said softly, and pushed the bundle toward him. It was a blanket, heavier and softer than the one he and Jeremy had been sharing. “Iza bitriid.”
He reached for it with a nod. “Thank you.”
Their hands touched, and Max jerked in reaction. The heat from her hands set off alarms in his head, and his breath caught in fear. He leapt up, felt her forehead, and then caught her in his arms as she fainted.
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Part 18
Jeremy’s hobbling may have lacked grace, but it didn’t lack speed. As Max gathered Rana’s limp body into his arms, Jeremy was already working his way toward Adnan’s tent, calling for help. The words were English, but the urgent tone was a universal language.
Yavuz stepped out first, his threatening glare bringing Jeremy to an awkward stop near the fire, but by the time Adnan emerged, Max was stepping from the shadows into the light, and the nature of his burden was immediately obvious. Adnan’s cry of anguish could have been that of a wounded animal, so primal and raw its sound. The leader had fled; it was the father who ran without thought to his daughter.
A crowd gathered, but Adnan’s brusque orders had his people stepping back. Without hesitation, he motioned Max into the tent and gestured for him to lay Rana down on a pallet. Max turned to leave, but another barked order from Adnan stopped him. Unsure of what was being asked of him, he shrugged and turned his palms up. Surely Adnan knew he couldn’t understand.
Within seconds, Yavuz entered the tent with a small vessel of water and headed straight for Rana, but when he began to kneel, Adnan snapped out one harsh syllable that had Yavuz freezing in place and his eyes simmering with temper. With one arm, Adnan pulled Yavuz back, and with the other, handed the water to Max, jerking his head toward his daughter’s still form. Yavuz challenged him, and the two men faced off nose to nose, eyes flashing and spit flying. A rare sight, Max was sure.
It didn’t last long. Adnan was the leader, and even future sons-in-law didn’t have the final word on the woman they both loved. With barely restrained fury, Yavuz left the tent and Adnan motioned for Max to care for Rana.
As he tended her with cool cloths, sips of water, and murmured words—the latter as much for himself as for Rana—he pondered what he had witnessed. The only logical explanation was that Adnan feared Yavuz could also fall ill. Max was dispensable, not to mention resistant to the disease. If he cared for Rana and became ill, he could be left to die without consequence to the village. If Yavuz died, the group would be left without an heir apparent.
The next puzzle was much more worrisome. As Max worked drawing damp cloths across Rana’s burning skin, Adnan issued milder orders to his wife and young son. Immediately, they began to pack up their belongings in tense silence. Only an occasional glance from his wife revealed the fear in her eyes. Was the camp moving? Why did one more illness—even Rana’s—warrant this sudden and drastic move?
Max’s internal alarm system cranked up a notch when Yavuz reappeared with what seemed to be his own belongings in small bundles. Max had dozens of reservations about how this would affect his and Jeremy’s situation, but they faded into the background as he considered the logistical nightmare of moving this entire group when so many were incapacitated. The move itself would be almost impossible, but at night? And what about the herd? It certainly couldn’t be moved at night. The tents needed to be folded and stored. How would they carry enough water? Even if they followed the creek upstream, they already knew that the chaparral would make accessing it extremely difficult for some distance. Max was no expert on this sort of thing, but it looked like a disaster waiting to happen.
The family scurried back and forth removing things from the tent, but when Adnan opened the flap and motioned for Max to bring Rana, Max wanted desperately to resist. This was a mistake. Frowning in confusion and frustration, Max lifted her gently and wondered where he was taking her. Waiting outside was one of the community’s few burros, a rope bridle slipped over its nose, its reins draped loosely over its neck. Seeing no alternative, Max maneuvered Rana’s body until she straddled the burro.
“Adnan, she can’t travel.” He gestured toward her precarious balance astride the small beast. “None of them can; they need rest, care. Moving them won’t help. It will probably make them worse.”
He can’t understand you, you idiot, he chided himself, but he couldn’t remain silent in the face of such a dangerous decision. Adnan only looped the reins in front of the burro and handed them to Max. Only as he stood with them in his hand and looked for others who might lend support to his objections did he realize there were no others. Only this family was traveling into the night. And Yavuz, apparently. Then, as he gazed at the reins in his hand, the cold truth struck. He was leaving, too. The family was fleeing with Yavuz and him. The rest of the camp was being left behind.
Jeremy was being left behind.
Dread slid its chilling fingers around Max’s heart. “Jeremy! Jeremy!” Yavuz’s fist slammed into Max’s jaw and he stumbled backwards, then sprawled on the rocky ground. Vicious points of pain kept him vaguely aware through dizziness and nausea.
“Sir!” The voice seemed so far away. “Max! Where are you?”
Max made a show of rolling gingerly to one side, then pulling himself to all fours. Braced for the consequences, he shouted his message. “If they come for you, go! That’s an order!”
Then there was nothing but a flash of pain and someone hauling him to his feet amidst bitter curses, he was sure. His breath was stuck in his throat, his head throbbed, and he tasted the bitter copper of blood in his mouth. For the first time since he’d arrived at the camp, there was a gun barrel at his back, and Max wasn’t sure who was leading whom as he leaned against the burro’s neck.
The journey was a painful blur, but at some point, Max turned to look back and realized the small traveling party had moved fast, in spite of their heavy loads and their unresponsive patient. Sure-footed and confident in his course, Adnan set a brisk pace, and Max had no choice but to follow blindly, unable to think straight enough to assess escape routes or move fast enough to manage one. He was, however, aware of the hostile eyes boring holes in his back, and the warning hiss every time he touched Rana to steady her on the inclines. Adnan seemed not to notice. He was too busy navigating and helping his wife and son to give a thought to petty jealousy.
By dawn, they had reached the mountains that had once seemed a distant landscape. They wound unerringly through a maze of rock, the pale light only accentuating the parade of cave openings that loomed around every turn. Finally, Adnan stopped in front of a narrow opening in the rock and disappeared inside. When he emerged, he gave a nod for the family to begin unloading their possessions. Max’s heart sank lower; if they were going to take refuge in one of these, no one would ever find him, and he was less than confident in his own ability to backtrack to the sea.
He stopped for a moment and scanned the distance—a vast panorama of mountains as far as the eye could see on three sides. Back the way they’d come was a dizzying descent of crags and ledges that eventually led to the foothills and on, somehow, to the sea. Confident or not, he would have to find his way. No one would be coming for him here. It was all up to him. And he’d made a promise.
******
Chief Petty Officer Logan didn’t believe in luck, but then he rarely needed it. He and his squad knew their jobs and that was enough. Usually. But on this mission, it seemed the universe was testing them. Typically, they had a specific target and, with careful planning and timing, were in and out in hours. This time, they didn’t know where their target was, and clues were few and far between. They’d been given a window of three days to complete this mission, and then they were to abort. Day three was looming, and “abort” wasn’t an option Logan took kindly to.
The first settlement had been hard to get to, well guarded, and was, in the end, a bust. Hours of observing sheep and their guardians from uncomfortable perches in trees and behind escarpments had yielded no evidence that anyone was being held there against their will. Another rough few hours across difficult terrain had left one man injured when loose rock cost him his footing, and the fall had delivered a bloody gash to his forehead. That delay brought them to the second settlement at night, when establishing who was in the camp was hopeless. All was quiet, and the tired SEALs had no choice but to take the opportunity to rest.
Morning brought crushing disappointment and with it, hours of lost time. This was much the same as the first settlement where life was plodding along without drama or crisis. Goats this time, and all the chores associated with maintaining them and leading a hard rural life. When the aroma of breakfast cooking wafted his way, he unwrapped a nutrition bar and indulged in several envious breaths before sending the signal to move on. The clock was ticking.
They reached the small camp in late afternoon and set up their now-familiar surveillance. This camp was different from the others—smaller, less active, and set up on what looked like two adjacent sites. The number of tents seemed disproportionate to the number of people they could see moving around, and the herd in the distance was surprisingly small.
“Somebody in there’s wearing infrared tape.”
It didn’t surprise Logan that one of his men had crouched soundlessly next to him. He would have been disappointed if he’d heard him coming. But his news was the first good thing that had happened on this mission.
“Only one?”
“Yeah, so far. Look.”
They watched as a man wearing a G-suit emerged from a tent, leaned heavily on a crude crutch, and hobbled toward the next. All attention and adrenaline now, the squad tracked his movements, then began an orderly assessment of security, weapons, and likely points of extraction. This had to be one of their guys, but where was the other one? Closing in as far as they dared, they watched, hours dwindling into twilight while hope for finding the two missing pilots together faded with the sun. As the first stars appeared, Logan made his decision.
“Let’s do it.”
******
“T-minus 4 days,” Kyle reminded Liz. “Are the troops ready?”
“It’s a Christmas party, Kyle, not a military operation,” Liz said, slapping his hand away from the chocolate candy they were dropping into little Christmas stockings. “And hands off. Don’t you have any self-control?”
“I find self-control to be an irritating obstacle between me and what I want,” Kyle said seriously. “Highly overrated.”
He popped another Hershey’s kiss into his mouth and smiled at her. Jesse rolled her eyes at Liz and handed Kyle the candy canes. “Here, you stuff these in the stockings.” She turned back to Liz with a wink. “Kyle and self-control don’t belong in the same sentence . . .”
“I don’t like candy canes,” Kyle complained, frowning at the boxes of striped candy.
“I know,” Jesse agreed amiably. “As I was saying, Liz, Kyle doesn’t grasp the concept of self-control. I have to hide goodies around the house if I want to get any.”
The smirk bloomed on Kyle’s face. “I resent that statement,” he drawled. “Gettin’ any is never a problem. I always save a little sugar for you, babe.” He began to nibble at Jesse’s neck, and Liz couldn’t contain the snort of laughter.
“You’re incorrigible, Kyle. Why do I like you so much?”
“Good taste,” he suggested, resigned to stuffing candy canes. “Decorations are coming along nicely.”
Volunteers were swarming the large hall, each doing their best to make this place a safe and festive haven for kids who faced Christmas without one of their parents. Svea and Frankie were issuing instructions from either end of a long banner they’d roped T.J. and Gabe into hanging. Red and green garland shimmered in long ropes from the center of the room to each corner, and snowflakes glistened on the windows. Soon they would be covering the tables and setting the stockings at each child’s place, along with centerpieces of poinsettias and holiday balloons. Liz still had to confirm the arrangements that would bring the children to the hall by bus from the welcome center, and there was still the issue of whether to have a piñata this year after last year’s fiasco with Billy Lee and the unfortunate Mrs. Goebel. But all in all, things were falling into place, and Liz conceded it was none too soon. Between work, worry, and this party, she didn’t have an ounce of energy to spare.
Looking over her shoulder at the makeshift stage, she saw Mrs. Evans working intently on a large mural she’d volunteered to make for behind Santa’s throne. Liz was nothing less than awed by it. Chalks were her medium, and the North Pole scene was gradually coming to rich and colorful life. Max had never mentioned there was artistic talent in the gene pool. Nice to know, since their kids sure wouldn’t be getting it from her side.
Liz reached for him, and clamped down viciously on the apprehension that gripped her. It had been harder and harder to feel him this week, and she hated to admit how desperately she needed to. Frankie was being so strong, it shamed Liz to pin her hope—and sanity—on this inexplicable sense of him. She shouldn’t need it, but in spite of Max’s faith in her, she did. He was there, yes, but not as he had been, not available to her at the merest thought. And wondering why that was, she knew, could break her.
A loud moan broke through her thoughts and she jumped up in alarm. All eyes were on Frankie, who stood reading a piece of paper that trembled in her hand. The other hand was clamped tightly over her mouth, and her eyes were wide and wet. A knife sliced through Liz’s heart, and she wasn’t at all sure her legs could be trusted to carry her across the room.
When the ensign who had brought the note looked around, she was grinning. “They’ve got him! They’ve found Lt. Ames!”
Liz felt twin pangs of relief and dread. She couldn’t think what that meant, or didn’t mean. She had to concentrate on . . .
Kyle was at her side, guiding her to a sitting position. With little care for subtlety, he pushed her head down between her knees. Liz wanted to protest, but seeing as she was floating off the chair, it seemed pointless. She decided it was mildly pleasant to sit in one place and sense the room spinning cheerfully. She was almost disappointed when it began to settle, and her mind began to register again. She risked sitting up and found herself surrounded by anxious faces.
“Liz, dear, it’s all right,” Diane soothed. “I’m sure we’ll hear about Max any time now.”
Frankie crouched at Liz’s feet. “Do you want me to read it? It’s from Thad. I asked Sarah to check any email from the Nimitz.”
Liz nodded and squeezed Diane’s hands.
“Frankie, we got word from the Captain today that they’ve extracted Jeremy from Lebanon. He’s in a hospital in Israel, and I don’t have all the details, but it seems he’s okay—just a bum ankle. They’ll be debriefing him for days, I suppose, but I guess he’s been asking someone to contact you and let you know he’s okay. I said I’d do it. The Captain also said that Jeremy’s been going on about getting help to the people who held him, which strikes me as weird. We may have that part wrong. It’s all very confusing right now.
“I don’t know what to say to Liz. The Captain said that Jeremy was with Max almost the whole time, and there’s some confusion as to why they don’t have Max, too, but apparently he was okay the last time Jeremy saw him. I hope that’s some reassurance for her. I think Alex is writing to her today, too. I’ll keep you posted. Thad”
Liz nodded her thanks and wondered vaguely why she couldn’t breathe. She was mildly aware of the buzz around her, like so many bees rushing around the hive. It was Kyle’s face that loomed closest, and as he lifted her, she dropped her head on his shoulder. It felt nice, and she was so very tired.
******
When he wasn’t tending to Rana, he was sleeping, or trying to. He recognized the signs—he was feverish, weak, distracted, and had little appetite. He’d even had his first nosebleed in years, and he’d seen enough of those over the past couple of weeks to know what that meant.
His luck had run out.
He hadn’t bothered to check for the rash. He knew it was there. He wondered idly if it was being responsible for Rana that kept him lucid. He’d always been one to assume responsibility. Or could you actually catch a mild case of typhus?
“J’ai soif.”
Max pushed himself to a sitting position and stared at Rana. Her mother was outside tending a fire and the men, he assumed, were hunting. They’d been anything but short of food since arriving in the mountains. Apparently, there was plenty of game.
“Did you say something?”
“J’ai soif.”
That was French, right? Thirsty. She was thirsty. Since when did Rana speak French? Max reached back to high school and tugged hard.
“Vous voulez de l’eau?”
She nodded and Max reached for the ladle that rested in the small bowl next to her. He eased a few sips down her throat and earned a weak smile.
“Merci.”
“Vous parlez Francais. Pourquoi?”
Her eyes widened imperceptibly, as if surprised to find herself speaking French. “À l’école. Les écoles de Lebanon enseignent en Francais.” She tried another smile. “Vous le parlez, aussi. Quelle surprise.”
He could tell that speaking was costing her energy she couldn’t spare, but they both found enough energy to be pleased that they could communicate, however poorly on Max’s part.
“Seulement un peu. Dormez maintenant. Nous parlerons plus tard.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, a hint of a smile on her face.
Max drank some water, too, aware that dehydration was his worst enemy right now. Buoyed at the prospect of talking to Rana, at least a little, he laid back and reached for Liz. Why was it so hard? Before, he’d had only to think of her to feel her love fill him, to know she was thinking of him. It’s all that had kept him centered in the last couple of weeks. Now the illness was draining his body and his mind, and his heart ached with missing her.
For a brief, joyful moment, he felt her brush his soul. His heart leapt and he reached out, desperate for that sacred communion, but even as he tried to cling to her, he slipped into nothingness.
******
Blood-sucking ghouls weren’t Jeremy’s first choice for a morning greeting, especially since he’d been dreaming of Frankie and the way her red-gold hair fell over that incredibly pale skin when he undressed her, but it beat all hell out of waking up shivering against Max Evans’s beard and knowing you were going to spend another day watching disease claim the helpless.
“Press on that for a minute,” the lab tech said, “and I’ll be right back.”
He watched her leave, and longed to do the same. He wanted to see Frankie so much it hurt, but first he wanted to convince someone that if they found a way to help the people who had captured them, they would find Max, too. He’d been debriefed . . . briefly, he thought with a mental roll of the eyes . . . each of his two days in the hospital, but the doctor had set limits on how long they could hammer at him. He would have been grateful under different circumstances, but for now, all he wanted was for someone to listen to him.
“There you go.” The tech was back putting a bandage on his arm. “They should be around with your breakfast in a few minutes, Lieutenant.”
“Is there anyone waiting to see me? The team from yesterday, maybe?”
“I’ll ask the nurse.”
He laid back and closed his eyes, but his brain began ruminating on the same old puzzles. Rana was sick now, and her family had whisked her off—with Yavuz and Max—in the middle of the night. Why? What did they want Max for? Were they coming back? If only the SEALs had come the day before . . . but that was useless thinking. That’s not what happened, and all that mattered was what happened next.
The tech stuck her head in the door. “They’re not who you were expecting, but I think they might do.”
Jeremy’s face lit with surprise as his parents walked through the door. His mother, a short, round woman with worried brown eyes and a plant in her hand rushed across the room. She all but threw the plant aside before tears and a dismayed little moan warned him he was about to be caught in a frantic clutch. Over her head, he met his father’s grey eyes and saw concern war with pride. An ex-Navy man, still sporting a graying buzz-cut and stiff posture, his father made use of the rigid control he was famous for.
“How’re you doing, son?”
“I’m good, Dad. Ankle’s not mending too well, but other than that, I seem to be fine. They’re testing me for everything on God’s green earth, though.”
“Of course they are,” his mother huffed, fluffing his pillow and blanket with brisk, useless movements. “You’ve been held prisoner behind enemy lines with those terrible people and who knows what kind of diseases crawling about . . .”
“Mom.” Jeremy took her busy hands in his. “I wasn’t a military prisoner, and I wasn’t abused. The people who held us were . . .” He stopped himself before he told her too much. He hadn’t been fully debriefed yet, and if he so much as mentioned Typhoid Fever—even knowing he had been cleared—she would have dived into a tailspin. “. . . they were just goatherds. They needed help and we were cheap labor, that’s all.”
Something flickered over his father’s face, and he knew the former Captain had been using old connections to get at the truth. The thought both annoyed and encouraged him. Maybe there was help to be had here.
“Mom, could you find out where my breakfast is? I’m starved.”
“Why, of course, Jeremy. What are these people thinking not feeding a man who’s been a prisoner.” Alight with purpose, she rushed from the room in search of food.
“Impressive,” his father said, his lips twitching. “She never suspected a thing.”
Jeremy grinned back. “I don’t know how much time we have; she’s pretty scary when she’s playing Mama Bear. Dad, I need some help. I have information that could help get Lt. Commander Evans back, but everyone’s being so damned . . . political about it, I’m afraid no one will act on it.”
“Go ahead.”
“What I told Mom is true. The people who held us are just simple goatherds . . . well, armed goatherds . . . but they’re just trying to survive. Typhus is ripping through their community, and they’re all but helpless. They kept Lt. Commander Evans and me just to care for the sick hoping no more of them would get it.”
The flicker of alarm warmed Jeremy’s heart. His father wasn’t demonstrative, but Jeremy always knew he was loved. And there was some satisfaction in supplying information his father obviously hadn’t uncovered yet.
“I’ve been cleared, Dad. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have let you in. But those people need medical supplies and some health education. Max . . . I mean, the Lt. Commander, found the source of the infection—some dead animals decomposing in the creek upstream—and even helped them clean it up, but they’ve still got a butt-load of sick people on their hands. Now the leader’s daughter is sick, too, and they’ve taken her somewhere. With Max. I just know that if somebody showed up with the right medicine, they’d want her to have it and bring her back. I think they’d bring Max back, too. They aren’t killers; they’re just trying to survive.”
His father studied him for a moment. “That was quite a synopsis, son. You might be on to something. Make your case with the debriefing team, and I’ll make a few calls. The old man still has some friends in high places.”
Jeremy nodded gratefully. It helped to share the burden.
“A person could starve waiting for cold eggs around here,” his mother muttered, bustling in with a tray piled high with his favorites. “I went to the cafeteria, so I can’t promise this will taste like mine, but I’ve got orange juice and pancakes and sausage and a Denver omelet and a blueberry muffin and some applesauce. Oh, and coffee, of course.”
The grin was as much about the Mom you never stopped needing as it was about the food.
“Hell, Mom, we could all eat breakfast from this tray.”
“Watch your mouth, young man, and eat your breakfast. You need your strength. And where’s that girl you’re so crazy about. Shouldn’t she be here?”
Jeremy tensed. He had told his mother about Frankie in a weak moment, but since their relationship was not entirely kosher, he knew his father wouldn’t approve. “Mom, that’s just a casual thing. I haven’t even called her. Don’t make a big deal.”
“A girl? I hadn’t heard about that. Who is she?”
“Just somebody I went out with a few times in San Diego, Dad. It’s not a major thing.”
His father seemed to accept that and dismissed it as quickly. His mother wisely avoided eye contact with either of them and began to cut his sausages into little bites as if he were four years old.
Eyes to the ceiling, Jeremy whispered a mute apology to the love of his life.
******
He wasn't sure which was worse—not sleeping or sleeping. Not sleeping left him gritty-eyed and edgy with images of Max injured, sick, or lost beating against his skull from the inside like so many thunderheads jockeying for the front lines of a vicious storm. Sleeping, on the other hand, opened the door to even more terrifying images of Max leaping from an airplane, arms and legs flailing as he morphed into a grotesque cadaver whose bloody parts were squeezed helter-skelter into a khaki-lined casket.
"Alex!"
The winds buffeted him as if he were a mere rag doll, and he reached out, blindly grasping for something to hold on to. "Alex! Wake up!"
Thad's dark face was little more than a soft blur against the dim light, but it slowly swam into focus, and the worry that lined it had Alex sitting straight up.
"Is it Max?"
"No, man, no news. I just came to see if you were awake and found you moaning and groaning like you were under attack by either hungry sharks or loose women. Either way, I figured I should wake you before you embarrassed yourself."
Part of him meant to smile in response; count on Thad to break the tension. But he was still cold and shaking, and the images from both sides of sleep still loomed. He rubbed hard at his eyes, as if trying to erase his own mind.
"Want to go topside and get some air?"
Alex nodded and groped for his shoes. Thad tossed him his jacket, and they climbed to the deck. The sea's perpetual breeze had him pulling the edges of the coat closer around him, but his lungs took in the fresh air greedily.
"I think I'm losing it," he said quietly, grateful when Thad didn't leap to deny it. "It's worse now than when we didn't know anything. I mean, it's been days since they picked up Jeremy. When are they going to do something? What if he's sick now, too? God, Thad, what if they’ve killed him? Why didn't they . . .?"
He didn't know what the rest of that sentence was supposed to be, so he let it drift. He was letting everything drift, in fact, and he was pretty sure Captain Schmidt’s patience was running out. Sure, he still reported for duty, but his concentration was poor, his mood poorer, and his attention span was shorter than his temper these days. If it weren’t for the daily emails from Svea and Thad’s quiet friendship keeping him at a simmer, he was quite sure he’d have boiled over by now.
“He’s my best friend.”
“I know.”
“Since we were kids.”
“Yeah.” Thad had heard it all before, but as long as Alex was talking, he’d listen.
“I taught him to use a computer.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“And he taught me how to kiss.”
Thad pulled up short and stared. “Man, I don’t think you wanna be talkin’ about that shit.” He looked around nervously. “Even to me.”
It took Alex a second to replay what he’d said, but when he did, and put that together with Thad’s expression—along with the bewildering sense that his friend’s very black face had gone pale—he exploded into laughter he hadn’t thought he was capable of anymore. It took a full minute doubled over against the ship’s railing before Alex was capable of speaking. Wiping at tears with his sleeve, he straightened, then bit back another round of laughter as Thad gaped in confusion.
“It’s not quite so scandalous as that,” he assured him. “There were no demonstrations involved.” Another chuckle bubbled out at the thought; he couldn’t wait to tell Max about this.
That thought sobered him quickly, and he sighed. “I was a total geek in middle school. I think Max saved me from retaining that status through high school. See, we both liked the same girl in eighth grade, but she seemed partial to the bad boy type, and neither of us qualified. I guess you could say our shared rejection drew us together. Anyway, while I introduced him to the magic of computers, he tried to give me anti-geek lessons. The thing I remember most was how he told me a girl likes to be kissed.”
Relieved, Thad warmed to the subject. “Oh yeah? What does a 14-year-old have to say on the subject of kissing?”
“He said no girl likes to be attacked or slobbered on, in spite of what we considered at the time to be our universal training film, Animal House.”
“True enough,” Thad agreed.
“He said technique wasn’t the most important thing. He said you really have to start with eye contact because eyes speak louder than lips. Then he said to touch her face gently because that will tell her what to expect from your mouth. Then, when you finally kiss, you’re already communicating; she already knows you think she’s special.”
Baffled, Thad frowned. “Sounds like good advice, except how would an eighth-grader know a thing like that?”
Alex smiled and stared out into the night. “I asked him the same thing. I mean, I knew he was popular, and girls were always hangin’ around him, but even so, he was shyer and more modest than the other popular guys, and I didn’t see how he’d have had that much experience. But his answer is why I’ve always remembered the advice.”
Even now, Alex had to shake his head in wonder. “He didn’t want to answer me at first, all embarrassed he’d even said anything, but finally—after a threat to my life if I ever told anyone—he said, ‘There’s someone out there who’s meant just for me. It’s like I already know her, already know how that kiss is going to be. I already feel her in here.’ He pressed a fist to his heart, and somehow . . .” Alex shook his head again, as if he were still amazed by it. “Somehow, he made me believe him. Of course, then he threw me one of those lothario grins and said, ‘For now, I figure I’d better just practice til I get it right.’”
Thad laughed out loud and leaned on the rail next to Alex. “Now that I can believe.”
“I took the advice, of course—he had women and I didn’t—but I was never really sure about that ‘somebody out there for me’ thing until he met Liz. And then I met Svea, and it was just like he said it would be.”
A companionable silence settled between them and the air was filled with memories of awkward boys and the women they grew to love. “You think he somehow knew about Liz way back then?”
“Not a doubt in my mind,” Alex answered. Then, with another long look at the inky depths of the sea, he sighed. “Damn it, Max. Where are you?”
Jeremy’s hobbling may have lacked grace, but it didn’t lack speed. As Max gathered Rana’s limp body into his arms, Jeremy was already working his way toward Adnan’s tent, calling for help. The words were English, but the urgent tone was a universal language.
Yavuz stepped out first, his threatening glare bringing Jeremy to an awkward stop near the fire, but by the time Adnan emerged, Max was stepping from the shadows into the light, and the nature of his burden was immediately obvious. Adnan’s cry of anguish could have been that of a wounded animal, so primal and raw its sound. The leader had fled; it was the father who ran without thought to his daughter.
A crowd gathered, but Adnan’s brusque orders had his people stepping back. Without hesitation, he motioned Max into the tent and gestured for him to lay Rana down on a pallet. Max turned to leave, but another barked order from Adnan stopped him. Unsure of what was being asked of him, he shrugged and turned his palms up. Surely Adnan knew he couldn’t understand.
Within seconds, Yavuz entered the tent with a small vessel of water and headed straight for Rana, but when he began to kneel, Adnan snapped out one harsh syllable that had Yavuz freezing in place and his eyes simmering with temper. With one arm, Adnan pulled Yavuz back, and with the other, handed the water to Max, jerking his head toward his daughter’s still form. Yavuz challenged him, and the two men faced off nose to nose, eyes flashing and spit flying. A rare sight, Max was sure.
It didn’t last long. Adnan was the leader, and even future sons-in-law didn’t have the final word on the woman they both loved. With barely restrained fury, Yavuz left the tent and Adnan motioned for Max to care for Rana.
As he tended her with cool cloths, sips of water, and murmured words—the latter as much for himself as for Rana—he pondered what he had witnessed. The only logical explanation was that Adnan feared Yavuz could also fall ill. Max was dispensable, not to mention resistant to the disease. If he cared for Rana and became ill, he could be left to die without consequence to the village. If Yavuz died, the group would be left without an heir apparent.
The next puzzle was much more worrisome. As Max worked drawing damp cloths across Rana’s burning skin, Adnan issued milder orders to his wife and young son. Immediately, they began to pack up their belongings in tense silence. Only an occasional glance from his wife revealed the fear in her eyes. Was the camp moving? Why did one more illness—even Rana’s—warrant this sudden and drastic move?
Max’s internal alarm system cranked up a notch when Yavuz reappeared with what seemed to be his own belongings in small bundles. Max had dozens of reservations about how this would affect his and Jeremy’s situation, but they faded into the background as he considered the logistical nightmare of moving this entire group when so many were incapacitated. The move itself would be almost impossible, but at night? And what about the herd? It certainly couldn’t be moved at night. The tents needed to be folded and stored. How would they carry enough water? Even if they followed the creek upstream, they already knew that the chaparral would make accessing it extremely difficult for some distance. Max was no expert on this sort of thing, but it looked like a disaster waiting to happen.
The family scurried back and forth removing things from the tent, but when Adnan opened the flap and motioned for Max to bring Rana, Max wanted desperately to resist. This was a mistake. Frowning in confusion and frustration, Max lifted her gently and wondered where he was taking her. Waiting outside was one of the community’s few burros, a rope bridle slipped over its nose, its reins draped loosely over its neck. Seeing no alternative, Max maneuvered Rana’s body until she straddled the burro.
“Adnan, she can’t travel.” He gestured toward her precarious balance astride the small beast. “None of them can; they need rest, care. Moving them won’t help. It will probably make them worse.”
He can’t understand you, you idiot, he chided himself, but he couldn’t remain silent in the face of such a dangerous decision. Adnan only looped the reins in front of the burro and handed them to Max. Only as he stood with them in his hand and looked for others who might lend support to his objections did he realize there were no others. Only this family was traveling into the night. And Yavuz, apparently. Then, as he gazed at the reins in his hand, the cold truth struck. He was leaving, too. The family was fleeing with Yavuz and him. The rest of the camp was being left behind.
Jeremy was being left behind.
Dread slid its chilling fingers around Max’s heart. “Jeremy! Jeremy!” Yavuz’s fist slammed into Max’s jaw and he stumbled backwards, then sprawled on the rocky ground. Vicious points of pain kept him vaguely aware through dizziness and nausea.
“Sir!” The voice seemed so far away. “Max! Where are you?”
Max made a show of rolling gingerly to one side, then pulling himself to all fours. Braced for the consequences, he shouted his message. “If they come for you, go! That’s an order!”
Then there was nothing but a flash of pain and someone hauling him to his feet amidst bitter curses, he was sure. His breath was stuck in his throat, his head throbbed, and he tasted the bitter copper of blood in his mouth. For the first time since he’d arrived at the camp, there was a gun barrel at his back, and Max wasn’t sure who was leading whom as he leaned against the burro’s neck.
The journey was a painful blur, but at some point, Max turned to look back and realized the small traveling party had moved fast, in spite of their heavy loads and their unresponsive patient. Sure-footed and confident in his course, Adnan set a brisk pace, and Max had no choice but to follow blindly, unable to think straight enough to assess escape routes or move fast enough to manage one. He was, however, aware of the hostile eyes boring holes in his back, and the warning hiss every time he touched Rana to steady her on the inclines. Adnan seemed not to notice. He was too busy navigating and helping his wife and son to give a thought to petty jealousy.
By dawn, they had reached the mountains that had once seemed a distant landscape. They wound unerringly through a maze of rock, the pale light only accentuating the parade of cave openings that loomed around every turn. Finally, Adnan stopped in front of a narrow opening in the rock and disappeared inside. When he emerged, he gave a nod for the family to begin unloading their possessions. Max’s heart sank lower; if they were going to take refuge in one of these, no one would ever find him, and he was less than confident in his own ability to backtrack to the sea.
He stopped for a moment and scanned the distance—a vast panorama of mountains as far as the eye could see on three sides. Back the way they’d come was a dizzying descent of crags and ledges that eventually led to the foothills and on, somehow, to the sea. Confident or not, he would have to find his way. No one would be coming for him here. It was all up to him. And he’d made a promise.
******
Chief Petty Officer Logan didn’t believe in luck, but then he rarely needed it. He and his squad knew their jobs and that was enough. Usually. But on this mission, it seemed the universe was testing them. Typically, they had a specific target and, with careful planning and timing, were in and out in hours. This time, they didn’t know where their target was, and clues were few and far between. They’d been given a window of three days to complete this mission, and then they were to abort. Day three was looming, and “abort” wasn’t an option Logan took kindly to.
The first settlement had been hard to get to, well guarded, and was, in the end, a bust. Hours of observing sheep and their guardians from uncomfortable perches in trees and behind escarpments had yielded no evidence that anyone was being held there against their will. Another rough few hours across difficult terrain had left one man injured when loose rock cost him his footing, and the fall had delivered a bloody gash to his forehead. That delay brought them to the second settlement at night, when establishing who was in the camp was hopeless. All was quiet, and the tired SEALs had no choice but to take the opportunity to rest.
Morning brought crushing disappointment and with it, hours of lost time. This was much the same as the first settlement where life was plodding along without drama or crisis. Goats this time, and all the chores associated with maintaining them and leading a hard rural life. When the aroma of breakfast cooking wafted his way, he unwrapped a nutrition bar and indulged in several envious breaths before sending the signal to move on. The clock was ticking.
They reached the small camp in late afternoon and set up their now-familiar surveillance. This camp was different from the others—smaller, less active, and set up on what looked like two adjacent sites. The number of tents seemed disproportionate to the number of people they could see moving around, and the herd in the distance was surprisingly small.
“Somebody in there’s wearing infrared tape.”
It didn’t surprise Logan that one of his men had crouched soundlessly next to him. He would have been disappointed if he’d heard him coming. But his news was the first good thing that had happened on this mission.
“Only one?”
“Yeah, so far. Look.”
They watched as a man wearing a G-suit emerged from a tent, leaned heavily on a crude crutch, and hobbled toward the next. All attention and adrenaline now, the squad tracked his movements, then began an orderly assessment of security, weapons, and likely points of extraction. This had to be one of their guys, but where was the other one? Closing in as far as they dared, they watched, hours dwindling into twilight while hope for finding the two missing pilots together faded with the sun. As the first stars appeared, Logan made his decision.
“Let’s do it.”
******
“T-minus 4 days,” Kyle reminded Liz. “Are the troops ready?”
“It’s a Christmas party, Kyle, not a military operation,” Liz said, slapping his hand away from the chocolate candy they were dropping into little Christmas stockings. “And hands off. Don’t you have any self-control?”
“I find self-control to be an irritating obstacle between me and what I want,” Kyle said seriously. “Highly overrated.”
He popped another Hershey’s kiss into his mouth and smiled at her. Jesse rolled her eyes at Liz and handed Kyle the candy canes. “Here, you stuff these in the stockings.” She turned back to Liz with a wink. “Kyle and self-control don’t belong in the same sentence . . .”
“I don’t like candy canes,” Kyle complained, frowning at the boxes of striped candy.
“I know,” Jesse agreed amiably. “As I was saying, Liz, Kyle doesn’t grasp the concept of self-control. I have to hide goodies around the house if I want to get any.”
The smirk bloomed on Kyle’s face. “I resent that statement,” he drawled. “Gettin’ any is never a problem. I always save a little sugar for you, babe.” He began to nibble at Jesse’s neck, and Liz couldn’t contain the snort of laughter.
“You’re incorrigible, Kyle. Why do I like you so much?”
“Good taste,” he suggested, resigned to stuffing candy canes. “Decorations are coming along nicely.”
Volunteers were swarming the large hall, each doing their best to make this place a safe and festive haven for kids who faced Christmas without one of their parents. Svea and Frankie were issuing instructions from either end of a long banner they’d roped T.J. and Gabe into hanging. Red and green garland shimmered in long ropes from the center of the room to each corner, and snowflakes glistened on the windows. Soon they would be covering the tables and setting the stockings at each child’s place, along with centerpieces of poinsettias and holiday balloons. Liz still had to confirm the arrangements that would bring the children to the hall by bus from the welcome center, and there was still the issue of whether to have a piñata this year after last year’s fiasco with Billy Lee and the unfortunate Mrs. Goebel. But all in all, things were falling into place, and Liz conceded it was none too soon. Between work, worry, and this party, she didn’t have an ounce of energy to spare.
Looking over her shoulder at the makeshift stage, she saw Mrs. Evans working intently on a large mural she’d volunteered to make for behind Santa’s throne. Liz was nothing less than awed by it. Chalks were her medium, and the North Pole scene was gradually coming to rich and colorful life. Max had never mentioned there was artistic talent in the gene pool. Nice to know, since their kids sure wouldn’t be getting it from her side.
Liz reached for him, and clamped down viciously on the apprehension that gripped her. It had been harder and harder to feel him this week, and she hated to admit how desperately she needed to. Frankie was being so strong, it shamed Liz to pin her hope—and sanity—on this inexplicable sense of him. She shouldn’t need it, but in spite of Max’s faith in her, she did. He was there, yes, but not as he had been, not available to her at the merest thought. And wondering why that was, she knew, could break her.
A loud moan broke through her thoughts and she jumped up in alarm. All eyes were on Frankie, who stood reading a piece of paper that trembled in her hand. The other hand was clamped tightly over her mouth, and her eyes were wide and wet. A knife sliced through Liz’s heart, and she wasn’t at all sure her legs could be trusted to carry her across the room.
When the ensign who had brought the note looked around, she was grinning. “They’ve got him! They’ve found Lt. Ames!”
Liz felt twin pangs of relief and dread. She couldn’t think what that meant, or didn’t mean. She had to concentrate on . . .
Kyle was at her side, guiding her to a sitting position. With little care for subtlety, he pushed her head down between her knees. Liz wanted to protest, but seeing as she was floating off the chair, it seemed pointless. She decided it was mildly pleasant to sit in one place and sense the room spinning cheerfully. She was almost disappointed when it began to settle, and her mind began to register again. She risked sitting up and found herself surrounded by anxious faces.
“Liz, dear, it’s all right,” Diane soothed. “I’m sure we’ll hear about Max any time now.”
Frankie crouched at Liz’s feet. “Do you want me to read it? It’s from Thad. I asked Sarah to check any email from the Nimitz.”
Liz nodded and squeezed Diane’s hands.
“Frankie, we got word from the Captain today that they’ve extracted Jeremy from Lebanon. He’s in a hospital in Israel, and I don’t have all the details, but it seems he’s okay—just a bum ankle. They’ll be debriefing him for days, I suppose, but I guess he’s been asking someone to contact you and let you know he’s okay. I said I’d do it. The Captain also said that Jeremy’s been going on about getting help to the people who held him, which strikes me as weird. We may have that part wrong. It’s all very confusing right now.
“I don’t know what to say to Liz. The Captain said that Jeremy was with Max almost the whole time, and there’s some confusion as to why they don’t have Max, too, but apparently he was okay the last time Jeremy saw him. I hope that’s some reassurance for her. I think Alex is writing to her today, too. I’ll keep you posted. Thad”
Liz nodded her thanks and wondered vaguely why she couldn’t breathe. She was mildly aware of the buzz around her, like so many bees rushing around the hive. It was Kyle’s face that loomed closest, and as he lifted her, she dropped her head on his shoulder. It felt nice, and she was so very tired.
******
When he wasn’t tending to Rana, he was sleeping, or trying to. He recognized the signs—he was feverish, weak, distracted, and had little appetite. He’d even had his first nosebleed in years, and he’d seen enough of those over the past couple of weeks to know what that meant.
His luck had run out.
He hadn’t bothered to check for the rash. He knew it was there. He wondered idly if it was being responsible for Rana that kept him lucid. He’d always been one to assume responsibility. Or could you actually catch a mild case of typhus?
“J’ai soif.”
Max pushed himself to a sitting position and stared at Rana. Her mother was outside tending a fire and the men, he assumed, were hunting. They’d been anything but short of food since arriving in the mountains. Apparently, there was plenty of game.
“Did you say something?”
“J’ai soif.”
That was French, right? Thirsty. She was thirsty. Since when did Rana speak French? Max reached back to high school and tugged hard.
“Vous voulez de l’eau?”
She nodded and Max reached for the ladle that rested in the small bowl next to her. He eased a few sips down her throat and earned a weak smile.
“Merci.”
“Vous parlez Francais. Pourquoi?”
Her eyes widened imperceptibly, as if surprised to find herself speaking French. “À l’école. Les écoles de Lebanon enseignent en Francais.” She tried another smile. “Vous le parlez, aussi. Quelle surprise.”
He could tell that speaking was costing her energy she couldn’t spare, but they both found enough energy to be pleased that they could communicate, however poorly on Max’s part.
“Seulement un peu. Dormez maintenant. Nous parlerons plus tard.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, a hint of a smile on her face.
Max drank some water, too, aware that dehydration was his worst enemy right now. Buoyed at the prospect of talking to Rana, at least a little, he laid back and reached for Liz. Why was it so hard? Before, he’d had only to think of her to feel her love fill him, to know she was thinking of him. It’s all that had kept him centered in the last couple of weeks. Now the illness was draining his body and his mind, and his heart ached with missing her.
For a brief, joyful moment, he felt her brush his soul. His heart leapt and he reached out, desperate for that sacred communion, but even as he tried to cling to her, he slipped into nothingness.
******
Blood-sucking ghouls weren’t Jeremy’s first choice for a morning greeting, especially since he’d been dreaming of Frankie and the way her red-gold hair fell over that incredibly pale skin when he undressed her, but it beat all hell out of waking up shivering against Max Evans’s beard and knowing you were going to spend another day watching disease claim the helpless.
“Press on that for a minute,” the lab tech said, “and I’ll be right back.”
He watched her leave, and longed to do the same. He wanted to see Frankie so much it hurt, but first he wanted to convince someone that if they found a way to help the people who had captured them, they would find Max, too. He’d been debriefed . . . briefly, he thought with a mental roll of the eyes . . . each of his two days in the hospital, but the doctor had set limits on how long they could hammer at him. He would have been grateful under different circumstances, but for now, all he wanted was for someone to listen to him.
“There you go.” The tech was back putting a bandage on his arm. “They should be around with your breakfast in a few minutes, Lieutenant.”
“Is there anyone waiting to see me? The team from yesterday, maybe?”
“I’ll ask the nurse.”
He laid back and closed his eyes, but his brain began ruminating on the same old puzzles. Rana was sick now, and her family had whisked her off—with Yavuz and Max—in the middle of the night. Why? What did they want Max for? Were they coming back? If only the SEALs had come the day before . . . but that was useless thinking. That’s not what happened, and all that mattered was what happened next.
The tech stuck her head in the door. “They’re not who you were expecting, but I think they might do.”
Jeremy’s face lit with surprise as his parents walked through the door. His mother, a short, round woman with worried brown eyes and a plant in her hand rushed across the room. She all but threw the plant aside before tears and a dismayed little moan warned him he was about to be caught in a frantic clutch. Over her head, he met his father’s grey eyes and saw concern war with pride. An ex-Navy man, still sporting a graying buzz-cut and stiff posture, his father made use of the rigid control he was famous for.
“How’re you doing, son?”
“I’m good, Dad. Ankle’s not mending too well, but other than that, I seem to be fine. They’re testing me for everything on God’s green earth, though.”
“Of course they are,” his mother huffed, fluffing his pillow and blanket with brisk, useless movements. “You’ve been held prisoner behind enemy lines with those terrible people and who knows what kind of diseases crawling about . . .”
“Mom.” Jeremy took her busy hands in his. “I wasn’t a military prisoner, and I wasn’t abused. The people who held us were . . .” He stopped himself before he told her too much. He hadn’t been fully debriefed yet, and if he so much as mentioned Typhoid Fever—even knowing he had been cleared—she would have dived into a tailspin. “. . . they were just goatherds. They needed help and we were cheap labor, that’s all.”
Something flickered over his father’s face, and he knew the former Captain had been using old connections to get at the truth. The thought both annoyed and encouraged him. Maybe there was help to be had here.
“Mom, could you find out where my breakfast is? I’m starved.”
“Why, of course, Jeremy. What are these people thinking not feeding a man who’s been a prisoner.” Alight with purpose, she rushed from the room in search of food.
“Impressive,” his father said, his lips twitching. “She never suspected a thing.”
Jeremy grinned back. “I don’t know how much time we have; she’s pretty scary when she’s playing Mama Bear. Dad, I need some help. I have information that could help get Lt. Commander Evans back, but everyone’s being so damned . . . political about it, I’m afraid no one will act on it.”
“Go ahead.”
“What I told Mom is true. The people who held us are just simple goatherds . . . well, armed goatherds . . . but they’re just trying to survive. Typhus is ripping through their community, and they’re all but helpless. They kept Lt. Commander Evans and me just to care for the sick hoping no more of them would get it.”
The flicker of alarm warmed Jeremy’s heart. His father wasn’t demonstrative, but Jeremy always knew he was loved. And there was some satisfaction in supplying information his father obviously hadn’t uncovered yet.
“I’ve been cleared, Dad. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have let you in. But those people need medical supplies and some health education. Max . . . I mean, the Lt. Commander, found the source of the infection—some dead animals decomposing in the creek upstream—and even helped them clean it up, but they’ve still got a butt-load of sick people on their hands. Now the leader’s daughter is sick, too, and they’ve taken her somewhere. With Max. I just know that if somebody showed up with the right medicine, they’d want her to have it and bring her back. I think they’d bring Max back, too. They aren’t killers; they’re just trying to survive.”
His father studied him for a moment. “That was quite a synopsis, son. You might be on to something. Make your case with the debriefing team, and I’ll make a few calls. The old man still has some friends in high places.”
Jeremy nodded gratefully. It helped to share the burden.
“A person could starve waiting for cold eggs around here,” his mother muttered, bustling in with a tray piled high with his favorites. “I went to the cafeteria, so I can’t promise this will taste like mine, but I’ve got orange juice and pancakes and sausage and a Denver omelet and a blueberry muffin and some applesauce. Oh, and coffee, of course.”
The grin was as much about the Mom you never stopped needing as it was about the food.
“Hell, Mom, we could all eat breakfast from this tray.”
“Watch your mouth, young man, and eat your breakfast. You need your strength. And where’s that girl you’re so crazy about. Shouldn’t she be here?”
Jeremy tensed. He had told his mother about Frankie in a weak moment, but since their relationship was not entirely kosher, he knew his father wouldn’t approve. “Mom, that’s just a casual thing. I haven’t even called her. Don’t make a big deal.”
“A girl? I hadn’t heard about that. Who is she?”
“Just somebody I went out with a few times in San Diego, Dad. It’s not a major thing.”
His father seemed to accept that and dismissed it as quickly. His mother wisely avoided eye contact with either of them and began to cut his sausages into little bites as if he were four years old.
Eyes to the ceiling, Jeremy whispered a mute apology to the love of his life.
******
He wasn't sure which was worse—not sleeping or sleeping. Not sleeping left him gritty-eyed and edgy with images of Max injured, sick, or lost beating against his skull from the inside like so many thunderheads jockeying for the front lines of a vicious storm. Sleeping, on the other hand, opened the door to even more terrifying images of Max leaping from an airplane, arms and legs flailing as he morphed into a grotesque cadaver whose bloody parts were squeezed helter-skelter into a khaki-lined casket.
"Alex!"
The winds buffeted him as if he were a mere rag doll, and he reached out, blindly grasping for something to hold on to. "Alex! Wake up!"
Thad's dark face was little more than a soft blur against the dim light, but it slowly swam into focus, and the worry that lined it had Alex sitting straight up.
"Is it Max?"
"No, man, no news. I just came to see if you were awake and found you moaning and groaning like you were under attack by either hungry sharks or loose women. Either way, I figured I should wake you before you embarrassed yourself."
Part of him meant to smile in response; count on Thad to break the tension. But he was still cold and shaking, and the images from both sides of sleep still loomed. He rubbed hard at his eyes, as if trying to erase his own mind.
"Want to go topside and get some air?"
Alex nodded and groped for his shoes. Thad tossed him his jacket, and they climbed to the deck. The sea's perpetual breeze had him pulling the edges of the coat closer around him, but his lungs took in the fresh air greedily.
"I think I'm losing it," he said quietly, grateful when Thad didn't leap to deny it. "It's worse now than when we didn't know anything. I mean, it's been days since they picked up Jeremy. When are they going to do something? What if he's sick now, too? God, Thad, what if they’ve killed him? Why didn't they . . .?"
He didn't know what the rest of that sentence was supposed to be, so he let it drift. He was letting everything drift, in fact, and he was pretty sure Captain Schmidt’s patience was running out. Sure, he still reported for duty, but his concentration was poor, his mood poorer, and his attention span was shorter than his temper these days. If it weren’t for the daily emails from Svea and Thad’s quiet friendship keeping him at a simmer, he was quite sure he’d have boiled over by now.
“He’s my best friend.”
“I know.”
“Since we were kids.”
“Yeah.” Thad had heard it all before, but as long as Alex was talking, he’d listen.
“I taught him to use a computer.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“And he taught me how to kiss.”
Thad pulled up short and stared. “Man, I don’t think you wanna be talkin’ about that shit.” He looked around nervously. “Even to me.”
It took Alex a second to replay what he’d said, but when he did, and put that together with Thad’s expression—along with the bewildering sense that his friend’s very black face had gone pale—he exploded into laughter he hadn’t thought he was capable of anymore. It took a full minute doubled over against the ship’s railing before Alex was capable of speaking. Wiping at tears with his sleeve, he straightened, then bit back another round of laughter as Thad gaped in confusion.
“It’s not quite so scandalous as that,” he assured him. “There were no demonstrations involved.” Another chuckle bubbled out at the thought; he couldn’t wait to tell Max about this.
That thought sobered him quickly, and he sighed. “I was a total geek in middle school. I think Max saved me from retaining that status through high school. See, we both liked the same girl in eighth grade, but she seemed partial to the bad boy type, and neither of us qualified. I guess you could say our shared rejection drew us together. Anyway, while I introduced him to the magic of computers, he tried to give me anti-geek lessons. The thing I remember most was how he told me a girl likes to be kissed.”
Relieved, Thad warmed to the subject. “Oh yeah? What does a 14-year-old have to say on the subject of kissing?”
“He said no girl likes to be attacked or slobbered on, in spite of what we considered at the time to be our universal training film, Animal House.”
“True enough,” Thad agreed.
“He said technique wasn’t the most important thing. He said you really have to start with eye contact because eyes speak louder than lips. Then he said to touch her face gently because that will tell her what to expect from your mouth. Then, when you finally kiss, you’re already communicating; she already knows you think she’s special.”
Baffled, Thad frowned. “Sounds like good advice, except how would an eighth-grader know a thing like that?”
Alex smiled and stared out into the night. “I asked him the same thing. I mean, I knew he was popular, and girls were always hangin’ around him, but even so, he was shyer and more modest than the other popular guys, and I didn’t see how he’d have had that much experience. But his answer is why I’ve always remembered the advice.”
Even now, Alex had to shake his head in wonder. “He didn’t want to answer me at first, all embarrassed he’d even said anything, but finally—after a threat to my life if I ever told anyone—he said, ‘There’s someone out there who’s meant just for me. It’s like I already know her, already know how that kiss is going to be. I already feel her in here.’ He pressed a fist to his heart, and somehow . . .” Alex shook his head again, as if he were still amazed by it. “Somehow, he made me believe him. Of course, then he threw me one of those lothario grins and said, ‘For now, I figure I’d better just practice til I get it right.’”
Thad laughed out loud and leaned on the rail next to Alex. “Now that I can believe.”
“I took the advice, of course—he had women and I didn’t—but I was never really sure about that ‘somebody out there for me’ thing until he met Liz. And then I met Svea, and it was just like he said it would be.”
A companionable silence settled between them and the air was filled with memories of awkward boys and the women they grew to love. “You think he somehow knew about Liz way back then?”
“Not a doubt in my mind,” Alex answered. Then, with another long look at the inky depths of the sea, he sighed. “Damn it, Max. Where are you?”
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Nichole, bless her, has come up with a great banner for FREEFALL! I was trying to post it with this chapter last night, but there were some technical problems that I hope are resolved now. She's done a great job, and I want to thank you publicly, so Thanks, Nicole!
It's been a heck of a week. Work sort of mushroomed after the death of a well-known educator (she was 100 years old!) and the repercussions are digging into my time in a big way. I even worried about getting this chapter done. Then, when I did finish, it was pretty darn long.
Consider this the MTV chapter. So many things are popping on so many fronts that we jump from scene to scene in a hurry. Try to keep up!
From Chapter 18
Even now, Alex had to shake his head in wonder. “He didn’t want to answer me at first, all embarrassed he’d even said anything, but finally—after a threat to my life if I ever told anyone—he said, ‘There’s someone out there who’s meant just for me. It’s like I already know her, already know how that kiss is going to be. I already feel her in here.’ He pressed a fist to his heart, and somehow . . .” Alex shook his head again, as if he were still amazed by it. “Somehow, he made me believe him. Of course, then he threw me one of those lothario grins and said, ‘For now, I figure I’d better just practice til I get it right.’”
Thad laughed out loud and leaned on the rail next to Alex. “Now that I can believe.”
“I took the advice, of course—he had women and I didn’t—but I was never really sure about that ‘somebody out there for me’ thing until he met Liz. And then I met Svea, and it was just like he said it would be.”
A companionable silence settled between them and the air was filled with memories of awkward boys and the women they grew to love. “You think he somehow knew about Liz way back then?”
“Not a doubt in my mind,” Alex answered. Then, with another long look at the inky depths of the sea, he sighed. “Damn it, Max. Where are you?”
Part 19
It was a strange sort of existence, like floating in and out of two worlds, never sure which one was real and which was the dream. Each seemed completely real when he was there, but Max had enough rational thought left to understand they couldn’t coexist.
In one world, he was with Liz, the love of his life, and when he was there, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
***
Coveralls weren’t sexy. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. But the minute that khaki-clad figure turned, the second those soft brown eyes lifted from under the brim of that frayed cap, his heart was stuttering in his chest. He didn’t mind, really, not when he could see her lips part in pleased surprise or watch her eyes cloud from intent sparkle to misty gleam. This was his woman, and no matter how macho that made him sound, he was ready to take on anyone who saw things differently.
Of course, he was just as much her man, and the thought of her challenging someone to keep it that way sent a sort of caveman thrill through him. Naturally, that sentiment would go unspoken to his grave—he wasn’t a fool—but the smug curve of his mouth would have tipped off anyone who cared to look closely.
As it was, they were alone—his very favorite scenario. As he walked toward her, eyes locked, the very air began to heat. Muscles tensed until they ached, then went lax as if they were melting. Every nerve strained toward her, and he wasn’t at all sure there wouldn’t be a small explosion when they touched.
Cautiously, his fingers brushed her cheek, and current zipped through him as if his heart was pumping warm champagne instead of blood. He wasn’t the only one. The same startled flickers were playing across her face, each one leaving desire bubbling just a little bit more dangerously than the last.
Kissing her became the single most important goal in his life. Lip to lip, tongue to tongue, soul to soul. They flowed and merged into each other like waves on the shore, need driving them to surge together, love urging them to stem the tide and savor the moment. The two instincts warred, an exquisite duel that left them breathless and desperate for each other.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her, knowing that no matter how they loved or what they shared, it would never be enough. She was inside him, flying through his system with his blood and his desire, owning his soul as if it had never been his at all. When she pressed her lips to his neck, he felt his knees turn to water, and was grateful they were outside at last, where the grass would cushion them and the sun would bless them.
He loved looking at her as he slowly exposed her skin to light and air and his eager mouth. Everywhere he touched, her body responded with warmth and small helpless sounds. As he slipped hungrily down her body, from slender neck to silken breast, from smooth stomach to sweet heat, she writhed beneath him and called his name like a prayer. Thoughts of being one with her roared through his head, his heart.
Then he was being pulled away . . . away . . . He fought with all that was in him, but as she dimmed, he was lost.
***
Voices from the other world intruded, pulling him unwillingly to a different existence. In this one, he lived in a cave and cared for a woman named Rana. Often, they were too sick and weak to try to speak, but there was such desire there to communicate, to understand someone so very different, that they hoarded their energy and spent it in hushed and clandestine conversation. They spoke in halting French—at least Max’s was halting—and hand gestures, and shared stories of their lives. They often misunderstood each other, sometimes laughing at themselves with the twisted effort to say what they meant, but the will was there, and eventually, they found a way.
***
“Why are we here, Rana, instead of back at the village?”
She forced her eyes open and offered a weak smile. “You have to understand my father. He feels himself growing older and worries for our people. The most important thing in the world to him is that Yavuz and I are there to lead when he is unable. I think he honestly believed that putting me with the others would keep me sick. That if he took me away from it, I would get better.”
She let her head loll to one side so she could look at him. “I’m not getting better, am I?”
He wanted to tell her she would be fine, but the truth was, he didn’t know . . . about either of them.
“If I could convince your father to let me go, I could get people in here with the right medicine to help all of us. What can I do to make him believe that?”
He thought she’d fallen asleep and sighed in frustration. Then her eyes fluttered open again.
“They’ve already taken your friend.”
“What? Who took him?”
“They think it was your military. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone.”
Max felt relief wash over him, and tried not to dwell on how close he might have been even now to going home.
“Good.” Then his fuzzy mind backtracked. “How do you know this?”
“My father meets someone from the village every two days. He is still the leader.”
She frowned at him. “ They know where we are. Did you think they did not?”
“No, I thought no one knew.”
He watched her watching him through eyes filled with fatigue and sympathy. His own were burning and his throat was dry. In an effort to throw off the feeling of hopelessness, he shared the water with her and lay down. Seconds later, her fingers brushed his.
“We will live, Max.”
He took her hand.
“Yes, we will.”
******
As the day of the party approached, it was clear to everyone that news of Max would not follow on the heels of Jeremy’s rescue. Liz fought off depression with grim determination, focused so intensely on the event it had her friends putting their heads together in search of a solution.
“She needs some time away from here,” Svea insisted. “She’s with planes and pilots all day long. It’s a constant reminder.”
“I heard Gabe say everyone’s treating her with kid gloves,” Frankie added. “They mean well, but you know that’s gotta be making her crazy. I mean, it’s just another reminder.”
“Captain Schmidt will arrange leave, won’t he?” Charisse asked. “It’s really his call and it’s not like he doesn’t know about their relationship after that drama out on the tarmac the night Max left.”
“Listen,” Kyle said quietly, and his voice was so tightly controlled, everyone did just that. “This party will be over after tomorrow. It’s all she’s done besides work for two weeks. If you take away the party and then take away her work, she’ll have nothing left but to brood and imagine the worst-case scenario.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, Kyle,” Jesse said, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “You can be pretty insightful when you put your mind to it. But have you seen how pale and tired she is? I don’t think she can keep going at this rate.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Diane said, edging into the circle. “Well, I do mean to, I guess, so I apologize. But I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. I’ve come to care for Liz very much during my visit, and I’ve postponed going home because I thought she needed me here. But I think right now she needs to go home as much as I do. It’s still three weeks until Christmas. Surely her parents would welcome having Liz home for the holidays, and spending some time with family and old friends might give her enough strength to get through this. The holidays are a cruel time when you’re missing someone you love.”
In spite of her promise to herself, Diane’s voice broke with emotion. “My husband and I have to face this holiday without Max, but at least we have each other. Liz should have someone, too.”
The group stood quietly for a long moment. They liked to think of themselves as Liz’s family, but they knew they weren’t enough for her right now—not when every day with them was another blatant reminder of who was missing. Frankie, especially, felt a unique kind of guilt because her man was safe and well. Other times she resented that she couldn’t express her joy in front of Liz; then she would imagine switching places and perspective came slamming back.
“Jeremy’s due back next week,” Frankie whispered. “She shouldn’t be here for that.”
Diane straightened. “You’ve all done everything you can. Captain Schmidt asked me to let him know if there was anything he could do.” She gave them a watery smile, but there was steel under the sheen of tears.
“I’m about to go tell him.”
******
The key, of course, was not to think. At least not about the most important thing on her mind. She was grateful for the regimented days of engine testing and party planning. They forced her mind outside herself and left her exhausted. Not that sleep was much relief, with its wild dreams and haunting images. She had disciplined herself not to reach for Max so often; the ache that spread through her when she couldn’t feel him was enough to steal her breath and make her dizzy, and even when she did touch him—sometimes as faintly as the flutter of butterfly wings—the relief was offset by the certain knowledge that he was either badly injured or seriously ill. Given what she’d heard about Jeremy’s ordeal, she felt certain she knew which it was.
He could be dying.
She reached for another balloon and stretched it over the helium tank’s valve. She had been right not to trust God, she thought bitterly. And only a fool would permit her heart to believe that Max, a mere mortal, could keep his promise. She was one of life’s victims, one of those people to whom the fates dealt blow after blow until they finally stopped trying to be happy.
Her heart wouldn’t heal, she knew, but she would protect it for the rest of her days within a strong shield of distance and apathy. She would learn not to feel, to do each day only what had to be done. And at the end of the day, she would live alone in a world apart, where no one could leave another scar.
The unnatural quiet in the room had her pulling herself back from the dark place that so often claimed her these days. Across the room, her friends were huddled in a very unsubtle circle, talking about her, no doubt. How could she harden her heart when so many people cared about her? Even Diane Evans was over there, a woman who didn’t know her a week ago and who was already a friend. It was her son who was missing, her child who might be sick or injured. But she was here comforting Liz and helping decorate for a kids’ Christmas party she would never see. Her heart wasn’t closed off; she wasn’t bitter and railing against God and nature. She was open and loving and filled with hope.
Get a grip, Lizzie girl, she scolded herself. Pull yourself together. When Max gets home, you’ll want him to be as proud of you as you are of him.
She straightened and admired the work they’d been doing. Festive decorations had turned a cold, dull hall into a warm and exciting place. Volunteers were wrapping donated gifts and marking them by gender and age level. Platters of cookies had begun to arrive for the next day, sparkling with colored sugar or outlined in red, green, and white frosting. She could almost smell the mulled cider that would fill the air with spices and the nostalgic scent of home.
It was a good thing they were doing. It would touch other hearts that were hurting and bring joy where it was badly needed. Perhaps it was time to take a page from her own book.
Diane Evans marched purposefully from the room as the rest of the group seemed to turn en masse to look at her. It was an uncomfortable feeling to be watched so carefully, as if she were a precious sculpture in the midst of a nervous herd of elephants. As Kyle broke from the group and started toward her, she rose and gifted him with a genuine smile.
******
The days began to bleed together, and reality was only an educated guess. His two worlds blended and shifted like a kaleidoscope; he would have done anything to freeze time in Liz’s world.
The screen door slammed and had Max smiling.
“How was your day?”
Her arms slid up his chest and around his neck, and when her lips met his, he welcomed the tight curl deep inside him. She could make him want her simply by being. The press of her slightly swollen belly against him never ceased to thrill him, and as he kissed her, his hand slid between them to cover the life they’d created.
He watched her face as the heavy lids lifted. She had that look in her eye—the one that had him reaching to turn off the oven. They’d burnt more than one dinner to a crisp by getting lost in each other, and he’d finally learned his lesson.
“Don’t you want to lie down before dinner?” He liked fussing over her, even though she insisted she felt wonderful. She damn well looked wonderful, he thought.
“Mmm hmm.” She tugged him toward the bedroom. Every nerve in his body longed for her, warred with the knowledge that she needed a short rest this time of day.
“Liz? Why don’t you take a quick nap and I’ll finish up with dinner.” Just making the offer took more willpower than military training ever had.
She turned, studied him, and produced “the pout.” His best intentions were vaporizing in the heat that burned through his veins. Her hand rubbed softly over their growing child.
“Well, if you don’t want me any more. I know I’m getting fat . . .”
He knew that she knew he was already defeated. And he also knew they both felt pretty good about that. He didn’t even mind the smug smile on her face as he undressed her, or the small adjustments they made in deference to her changing shape. Their appetite for each other only seemed to grow as the baby did, and he wondered how he’d ever existed without her. Without them, his family.
***
“My father sent me to live with my uncle Nayef in Maghdouche. It is a very Catholic city, which did not please my father, but it was also there I could get a good education and live with someone he trusted. My father is very forward thinking about this, and knows that if our village is to survive, Yavuz and I must know many things.”
“How did you meet Yavuz?”
“I have always known him. We were children together, and his father was my father’s closest advisor until he died. We were always meant to marry. To lead.”
“An arranged marriage. Do you love him?”
She seemed to ponder this question seriously, but in the end, she only shrugged. “I am for him. We are to be the next leaders. He is a good man.”
“And that’s enough?”
“That is what is,” she answered. “And who is for you, Max? The girl in the picture?” She pointed to the pocket that she knew held the photo.
No matter how weak or befuddled his thinking, he never struggled to bring Liz to mind. The smile alone—a rarity these days—spoke volumes.
“Liz. Liz Parker.” He pulled out the frayed photograph and ran a finger lovingly down Liz’s cheek. “ She’s beautiful and kind and smart.” He smiled sheepishly at Rana’s amused expression.
“And you feel love for her.”
“Yes. Very much love.”
“You have known her always?”
“No, only a short time, really. But long enough. My heart has known her. We met through . . . airplanes,” he decided, picking and choosing from his spotty French. “She . . . makes them.”
He felt the warmth of pride and pleasure at the surprise on Rana’s face.
“Very smart,” he said, confirming her unspoken question.
“We must find a way to get you home to her.”
He was shocked at the tears that welled up in his eyes. He hadn’t felt them coming, but once they began to fall, he couldn’t seem to stop, and in an unprecedented defiance of custom, Rana pushed herself to him, and held him as he cried.
******
Jeremy was on the verge of making a break for it. His patience with pointless tests and vague reassurances that his information about Max would be “taken into consideration” was so thin you could see through it. He was tempted to bluff his way out by dressing and walking confidently to the elevators, but he knew there was an envelope in a safe somewhere in the hospital that contained his personal effects, all of which he could happily leave behind except the ring—the signet ring Frankie had given him on his birthday.
He remembered how touched he’d been when she had explained the inscription. To some, it would have looked like an A for Ames linked with an oddly shaped O for O’Hara, but if you looked closely, you could see that the O was really a stylized Omega: Alpha and Omega—the beginning and the end. She had told him that’s what he meant to her, and ever since, he’d worn it on a chain under his uniform with his dog tags. He wouldn’t leave without it.
That ring was the only reason Jeremy was still pacing awkwardly in his room when the doctor came in, looking so harried Jeremy could almost believe she was pulling the weight of his parents who were right on her heels.
“How are you feeling, Lieutenant? Any pain?”
He unclenched his jaw with what he felt was a Herculean effort. “No, ma’am. Just like yesterday. And the day before.” It wasn’t entirely true; the ankle still gave him trouble. But healing in a damn hospital bed wasn’t going to be any faster than healing somewhere else.
“That’s just fine.” Dr. Balani pressed two fingers to her temple before she scribbled a note on her clipboard. “Then I’d say it’s time to spring you, if you think you’re up for it.”
“Yes ma’am, I surely am,” Jeremy assured her, the eagerness spilling out in spite of himself. “When can I go? Now? This morning?”
She shot him a long look over rimless glasses. “Why, Lieutenant, you’re going to embarrass me with all this sentiment.” The devil was in her smile when she realized she’d flustered him. “I could arrange for you to stay one more day.”
Discomfort turned to threat in the blink of an eye. “No disrespect, ma’am, but if you do that, there’ll be bodies all up and down that hall out there.” Jeremy saw his father’s lips twitch while his mother stared wide-eyed at her son.
Dr. Balani’s first chuckle of the day cheered her and helped ease the headache brewing behind her eyes. It felt good to send a boy home under his own steam for a change. “I’ll leave you with a prescription for some painkillers in case that ankle acts up, then I’ll get the paperwork signed for your release. You can go ahead and get dressed.”
“We’ve got a car outside, dear,” his mother said, already gathering the plant and cards that had arrived. “And your friend Thad Owens made sure your gear was shipped here, so you’ve got clean clothes. Harold, get the boy a clean uniform.”
Used to taking orders only from admirals and his wife, Captain Ames dutifully pulled out a uniform and handed it to his son.
“Dad, I can wear civvies today. We’re just headed to the hotel, right?”
Grey eyes met brown and held. “I think the uniform would be best.”
Hot damn, Jeremy thought. He was going to get his meeting.
They didn’t even stop for food, which was fine with Jeremy; he couldn’t have eaten anyway, knowing what hung in the balance at this meeting. He promised himself he wouldn’t leave until someone with clout had authorized a rescue mission. And Jeremy knew exactly what it should look like. He just had to find a way to make them listen.
They drove into Herzliya Pituah in relative silence. Even Jeremy’s mother, who had managed to maintain a strange sort of balance between worldliness and naiveté in her 30-year marriage to a Navy Captain, understood what was at stake here. Jeremy had made sure she knew that the life he was trying to save belonged to the man who had saved him. When they arrived at the American military base, he kissed his mother and watched her walk away, knowing she would have given anything to come with them.
Heat was shimmering up from the asphalt in tight transparent waves as his father led him toward a bland one-story building and their second security check. His father’s ease in navigating the maze of halls told Jeremy how often he must have come here in his effort to secure this meeting. He felt overwhelming gratitude as he looked at the man whose distinguished career had left room to be a husband and a father. They may not have gone on scout campouts together, but he was always there when Jeremy needed him. Like now.
It wasn’t easy to cover his surprise when they stepped into the conference room. He had been expecting one or two officers, maybe an aide to take notes. Instead, there was a roomful of people of varying ranks seated on opposite sides of a horseshoe table arrangement. At the head table were a Captain and an Admiral. Jeremy and his father were shown to seats at the head table. Jeremy’s heart was pounding. This wasn’t the meeting where he would try to convince them to take action; this was where he would help shape the plan.
He recognized Chief Petty Officer Wayne Logan and another of the SEAL team who had rescued him and gave them both a grateful nod. Then he was introduced to a Navy doctor, a SEAL paramedic, a translator, and a security specialist. They already had a rough plan, but they needed Jeremy to bring to the discussion specific details of the camp’s layout, routines, weapons, and political attitudes. Jeremy surprised himself with the level of detail he could provide, including some names and internal hierarchy. He described what Max had told him about the creek, the waterfall, the alleged source of the illness, and what they had done to rectify the situation. He drew a detailed map of the limited area he had seen, and added his speculation on the rest. He described the last night he was there, and the direction Adnan and the others headed when they left camp with Max. He emphasized over and over that the people in this camp had not physically abused him or Max, and that some had acted kindly toward them. Rana’s face lingered in his mind as he spoke.
Ninety minutes later, they left. The plan was in place, and if Max was alive out there somewhere, Jeremy knew this was his best chance to come home. The hard part had been convincing them that he had to go along. He knew better than anyone how his ankle might slow him down, but he also knew the people, and he felt they would be more cooperative if he were there. In the end, it was his father’s support that tipped the scales, and Jeremy understood how hard it was for his father to risk his son again so soon. Not to mention how his mother would make his father’s life hell if anything happened to their only child. So, there was only one thing to do—succeed.
He pressed a hand to his chest and felt Frankie’s ring, warm and real under his shirt. When he was back in San Diego, with Frankie by his side on the ground and Max there in the air, he would breathe again.
******
She could tell from the looks on her friends’ faces that they’d expected a tougher sell, but Liz had needed to come home. She’d kissed Diane goodbye, wrapped her arms around Kyle until he squirmed, and cried a little in a group hug with Charisse, Svea, Jesse, and Frankie. Now, as she approached the brick café with its neon spaceship awning and its windows bright with alien masks, “Believe” posters, and ties painted with little green men wearing Santa hats—the perfect gift for the man who has everything—she felt the cold knot of fear thaw just a little.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Lizzie!”
With a plate of Saturn rings in one hand and an “Alien Blast” in the other, her father managed a loose hug, but his wide grin of welcome warmed her.
“Go get your mother. She’s been waiting to eat dinner until you got here. It’s on the house,” he added with a wink.
It was an old joke. Since she’d been a kid, Jeff Parker had loved doting on Liz and her friends, slipping them after-school fries and fountain drinks, always with a wink and “It’s on the house.” It didn’t cost him but a few cents, yet he’d been their hero and loved the job.
She laughed and rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Okay, be right back.”
He backed away and frowned. “You feeling okay, honey? You look pale. Thin, too.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “You always say I look thin. But don’t worry. I’ve come to let you fatten me up.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s start now. Your dinner will be up in 5 minutes.”
Upstairs was the family’s flip side. Soft comfortable furniture, wood floors scattered with colorful rugs, a Christmas tree decorated with classic ornaments from Wedgwood, Radko, and Precious Moments. The air was heavy with the smell of sugar cookies and shortbread, and Christmas carols framed the perfect picture. Liz took a minute to soak it in. It was wonderful. It was home.
It was so much less without Max beside her.
“I thought I heard the door.” Turning, Liz saw her mother standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hair pulled up in a messy knot and flour splattered here and there on an apron that said “Feliz Navidad.” To their mutual surprise, she burst into tears.
“Oh, sweetheart, come sit down.”
Liz let her mother lead her to the couch, then let the weight of the world loose on her shoulder until her head hurt and her throat was raw with sobs. Nancy Parker rocked and soothed as her own heart broke. When Liz finally sat up, she managed a self-deprecating laugh.
“I didn’t even say hello.”
“You said what you needed to say, little one. That’s what’s important.”
“I guess I’ve been saving that up. I didn’t expect to dump on you like that. It’s just . . .”
“You don’t have to explain, honey. I already understand.”
And Liz knew she did. It helped.
“Hey, dinner’s waiting downstairs!”
Jeff poked his head in the door, then hurried across the room. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing, Dad. Just letting off some steam.” Then, to make him smile, she added, “I’m starved.”
It worked. “Well, I’m just the man to take care of that. You have two minutes to get downstairs, the both of you. If you’re on time, there might be a little surprise for dessert.”
He winked and hurried out of the room. Liz listened to his footsteps disappear down the stairs with a fond smile.
“Okay, what did he dig up this year?”
“Oh, he’s outdone himself. He found these little cakes frosted like red and green flying saucers, and if you eat them right—and he makes sure every customer knows this—inside there’s green ice cream in the shape of an alien.”
“You’re kidding. Where does he get this stuff?”
“I don’t ask,” she grinned, and they linked arms to walk downstairs to dinner.
It took two days to admit, to herself at least, that being home, though great in many ways, was not going to offer the peace she’d hoped for. Her parents were wonderful, old friends stopped by, she even worked a shift in the café just for fun. Now they were coming home from a Christmas comedy at the movies. And in spite of all of it, she felt . . . empty. She couldn’t feel Max at all any more, and the terror was like a cold vice around her heart.
Catching her daughter frowning out the car window, Nancy took Liz’s hand.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Liz breathed deeply and looked at her mother. “I hardly have any. I can’t even think anymore. It’s like I’m standing still in the middle of a great storm, but nothing touches me. I just watch the wind lash out at the trees and the rain sweep by in great waves, and I can’t feel a thing.”
“Oh, Liz.”
“I see Max in my mind—sometimes he’s smiling at me, sometimes he’s hurt and sometimes . . .” A sob caught in her throat, but she fought it back. “I’ve never felt so alone.”
She grimaced at her words, and opened her mouth to apologize.
“Don’t, Liz. I understand. Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated—Lamartine. I know what it is to be in love, even if I am a parent,” she smiled, and made Liz smile with her. “I understand that when the person you love isn’t there, nothing and no one fills that hole.”
Grateful, Liz bit down on her lip and blinked back tears.
“I want to see Jonathan.”
Nancy nodded. “Want company?”
“No, I want to go alone, if that’s okay. I just . . . I need to talk to my brother. I’ll go tomorrow.”
Nancy squeezed her daughter’s hand. She, too, had found comfort sitting under the tree that shaded his grave, running her fingers over his name etched into the stone. “I do the same thing sometimes. It’s chilly, though. You’ll want to borrow my heavier jacket if you expect to stay there awhile. Maybe I’ll send some flowers along, if you don’t mind.”
Liz laid her head back, closed her eyes, and saw the images of Jonathan, Aaron, and Max float together into her mind—a trio of heroes who loved her. She prayed—desperately—that they weren’t truly together now.
******
Well, he certainly had their attention. One by one, the villagers noticed his approach and turned to stare. It was just Jeremy and Lieutenant Pete Sarkis, a Navy translator with a Lebanese grandfather, who walked slowly toward the camp, knowing full well the rest of the armed team was watching from hidden positions around the perimeter. One alert child ran toward Adnan’s tent, and seconds later, a man emerged that Jeremy recognized as Adnan’s right hand.
With Pete’s help, they began a cautious dialogue. The man’s name was Abul. Jeremy explained that they had brought medicine that could both cure the victims of Typhoid Fever and help prevent others from getting it. He said it would be available to all of the villagers if Max were brought to them today.
Their reluctant host postured and threatened. They didn’t need American medicine. Their people were getting better. How dare Jeremy escape and then return to flaunt it. Jeremy waited patiently, relieved to hear in between insults that there had only been a few new cases since the rescue. Still, both men knew the medicine was needed, and they both knew it wouldn’t be distributed without Max.
Originally, Abul offered to send someone to get Adnan and his family. Jeremy countered, saying the person couldn’t go alone; the paramedic would go, too. They argued, bitterly it would seem unless you had lived among them and knew that this is how they settled differences. Ultimately, they reached a compromise: Jeremy, who was obviously still not moving well and would therefore be easier to keep track of, would accompany the courier. That was fine with Jeremy. It gave him a straight shot at finding Max and, more important, assuring that he wasn’t left behind.
Before they left, Jeremy made it clear that others were watching. He asked the translator to stray from the dialogue that had been outlined in their meeting, offering a more compassionate tone to their host.
“We will not leave our officer behind, Abul, no matter what it takes. But I promise that if you make sure he reaches us safely, we will do our best to help with your medical crisis. I have no wish to see your people suffer any more than they already have. We want only to help you and to go home with our friend.”
The two men studied each other. Then, with a quiet order, provisions were packed and a messenger selected. Abul turned to Jeremy.
“I will take you at your word. You have been an honorable man. But if any move is made against my people while you are gone, I will see to it that you and your friend die.”
“Sounds fair.” Jeremy held out a hand, and after a long hesitation, Abul took it.
“You will not be back today,” he finally said. “The distance is too great. We will expect you tomorrow.”
Jeremy eased away from camp and relayed the agreement to the team by radio. He also warned them, emphatically, against any moves that could be seen as threatening. Then, with a quick salute to Abul, he turned to follow his guide to Max.
It's been a heck of a week. Work sort of mushroomed after the death of a well-known educator (she was 100 years old!) and the repercussions are digging into my time in a big way. I even worried about getting this chapter done. Then, when I did finish, it was pretty darn long.
Consider this the MTV chapter. So many things are popping on so many fronts that we jump from scene to scene in a hurry. Try to keep up!
From Chapter 18
Even now, Alex had to shake his head in wonder. “He didn’t want to answer me at first, all embarrassed he’d even said anything, but finally—after a threat to my life if I ever told anyone—he said, ‘There’s someone out there who’s meant just for me. It’s like I already know her, already know how that kiss is going to be. I already feel her in here.’ He pressed a fist to his heart, and somehow . . .” Alex shook his head again, as if he were still amazed by it. “Somehow, he made me believe him. Of course, then he threw me one of those lothario grins and said, ‘For now, I figure I’d better just practice til I get it right.’”
Thad laughed out loud and leaned on the rail next to Alex. “Now that I can believe.”
“I took the advice, of course—he had women and I didn’t—but I was never really sure about that ‘somebody out there for me’ thing until he met Liz. And then I met Svea, and it was just like he said it would be.”
A companionable silence settled between them and the air was filled with memories of awkward boys and the women they grew to love. “You think he somehow knew about Liz way back then?”
“Not a doubt in my mind,” Alex answered. Then, with another long look at the inky depths of the sea, he sighed. “Damn it, Max. Where are you?”
Part 19
It was a strange sort of existence, like floating in and out of two worlds, never sure which one was real and which was the dream. Each seemed completely real when he was there, but Max had enough rational thought left to understand they couldn’t coexist.
In one world, he was with Liz, the love of his life, and when he was there, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
***
Coveralls weren’t sexy. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. But the minute that khaki-clad figure turned, the second those soft brown eyes lifted from under the brim of that frayed cap, his heart was stuttering in his chest. He didn’t mind, really, not when he could see her lips part in pleased surprise or watch her eyes cloud from intent sparkle to misty gleam. This was his woman, and no matter how macho that made him sound, he was ready to take on anyone who saw things differently.
Of course, he was just as much her man, and the thought of her challenging someone to keep it that way sent a sort of caveman thrill through him. Naturally, that sentiment would go unspoken to his grave—he wasn’t a fool—but the smug curve of his mouth would have tipped off anyone who cared to look closely.
As it was, they were alone—his very favorite scenario. As he walked toward her, eyes locked, the very air began to heat. Muscles tensed until they ached, then went lax as if they were melting. Every nerve strained toward her, and he wasn’t at all sure there wouldn’t be a small explosion when they touched.
Cautiously, his fingers brushed her cheek, and current zipped through him as if his heart was pumping warm champagne instead of blood. He wasn’t the only one. The same startled flickers were playing across her face, each one leaving desire bubbling just a little bit more dangerously than the last.
Kissing her became the single most important goal in his life. Lip to lip, tongue to tongue, soul to soul. They flowed and merged into each other like waves on the shore, need driving them to surge together, love urging them to stem the tide and savor the moment. The two instincts warred, an exquisite duel that left them breathless and desperate for each other.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her, knowing that no matter how they loved or what they shared, it would never be enough. She was inside him, flying through his system with his blood and his desire, owning his soul as if it had never been his at all. When she pressed her lips to his neck, he felt his knees turn to water, and was grateful they were outside at last, where the grass would cushion them and the sun would bless them.
He loved looking at her as he slowly exposed her skin to light and air and his eager mouth. Everywhere he touched, her body responded with warmth and small helpless sounds. As he slipped hungrily down her body, from slender neck to silken breast, from smooth stomach to sweet heat, she writhed beneath him and called his name like a prayer. Thoughts of being one with her roared through his head, his heart.
Then he was being pulled away . . . away . . . He fought with all that was in him, but as she dimmed, he was lost.
***
Voices from the other world intruded, pulling him unwillingly to a different existence. In this one, he lived in a cave and cared for a woman named Rana. Often, they were too sick and weak to try to speak, but there was such desire there to communicate, to understand someone so very different, that they hoarded their energy and spent it in hushed and clandestine conversation. They spoke in halting French—at least Max’s was halting—and hand gestures, and shared stories of their lives. They often misunderstood each other, sometimes laughing at themselves with the twisted effort to say what they meant, but the will was there, and eventually, they found a way.
***
“Why are we here, Rana, instead of back at the village?”
She forced her eyes open and offered a weak smile. “You have to understand my father. He feels himself growing older and worries for our people. The most important thing in the world to him is that Yavuz and I are there to lead when he is unable. I think he honestly believed that putting me with the others would keep me sick. That if he took me away from it, I would get better.”
She let her head loll to one side so she could look at him. “I’m not getting better, am I?”
He wanted to tell her she would be fine, but the truth was, he didn’t know . . . about either of them.
“If I could convince your father to let me go, I could get people in here with the right medicine to help all of us. What can I do to make him believe that?”
He thought she’d fallen asleep and sighed in frustration. Then her eyes fluttered open again.
“They’ve already taken your friend.”
“What? Who took him?”
“They think it was your military. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone.”
Max felt relief wash over him, and tried not to dwell on how close he might have been even now to going home.
“Good.” Then his fuzzy mind backtracked. “How do you know this?”
“My father meets someone from the village every two days. He is still the leader.”
She frowned at him. “ They know where we are. Did you think they did not?”
“No, I thought no one knew.”
He watched her watching him through eyes filled with fatigue and sympathy. His own were burning and his throat was dry. In an effort to throw off the feeling of hopelessness, he shared the water with her and lay down. Seconds later, her fingers brushed his.
“We will live, Max.”
He took her hand.
“Yes, we will.”
******
As the day of the party approached, it was clear to everyone that news of Max would not follow on the heels of Jeremy’s rescue. Liz fought off depression with grim determination, focused so intensely on the event it had her friends putting their heads together in search of a solution.
“She needs some time away from here,” Svea insisted. “She’s with planes and pilots all day long. It’s a constant reminder.”
“I heard Gabe say everyone’s treating her with kid gloves,” Frankie added. “They mean well, but you know that’s gotta be making her crazy. I mean, it’s just another reminder.”
“Captain Schmidt will arrange leave, won’t he?” Charisse asked. “It’s really his call and it’s not like he doesn’t know about their relationship after that drama out on the tarmac the night Max left.”
“Listen,” Kyle said quietly, and his voice was so tightly controlled, everyone did just that. “This party will be over after tomorrow. It’s all she’s done besides work for two weeks. If you take away the party and then take away her work, she’ll have nothing left but to brood and imagine the worst-case scenario.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, Kyle,” Jesse said, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “You can be pretty insightful when you put your mind to it. But have you seen how pale and tired she is? I don’t think she can keep going at this rate.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Diane said, edging into the circle. “Well, I do mean to, I guess, so I apologize. But I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. I’ve come to care for Liz very much during my visit, and I’ve postponed going home because I thought she needed me here. But I think right now she needs to go home as much as I do. It’s still three weeks until Christmas. Surely her parents would welcome having Liz home for the holidays, and spending some time with family and old friends might give her enough strength to get through this. The holidays are a cruel time when you’re missing someone you love.”
In spite of her promise to herself, Diane’s voice broke with emotion. “My husband and I have to face this holiday without Max, but at least we have each other. Liz should have someone, too.”
The group stood quietly for a long moment. They liked to think of themselves as Liz’s family, but they knew they weren’t enough for her right now—not when every day with them was another blatant reminder of who was missing. Frankie, especially, felt a unique kind of guilt because her man was safe and well. Other times she resented that she couldn’t express her joy in front of Liz; then she would imagine switching places and perspective came slamming back.
“Jeremy’s due back next week,” Frankie whispered. “She shouldn’t be here for that.”
Diane straightened. “You’ve all done everything you can. Captain Schmidt asked me to let him know if there was anything he could do.” She gave them a watery smile, but there was steel under the sheen of tears.
“I’m about to go tell him.”
******
The key, of course, was not to think. At least not about the most important thing on her mind. She was grateful for the regimented days of engine testing and party planning. They forced her mind outside herself and left her exhausted. Not that sleep was much relief, with its wild dreams and haunting images. She had disciplined herself not to reach for Max so often; the ache that spread through her when she couldn’t feel him was enough to steal her breath and make her dizzy, and even when she did touch him—sometimes as faintly as the flutter of butterfly wings—the relief was offset by the certain knowledge that he was either badly injured or seriously ill. Given what she’d heard about Jeremy’s ordeal, she felt certain she knew which it was.
He could be dying.
She reached for another balloon and stretched it over the helium tank’s valve. She had been right not to trust God, she thought bitterly. And only a fool would permit her heart to believe that Max, a mere mortal, could keep his promise. She was one of life’s victims, one of those people to whom the fates dealt blow after blow until they finally stopped trying to be happy.
Her heart wouldn’t heal, she knew, but she would protect it for the rest of her days within a strong shield of distance and apathy. She would learn not to feel, to do each day only what had to be done. And at the end of the day, she would live alone in a world apart, where no one could leave another scar.
The unnatural quiet in the room had her pulling herself back from the dark place that so often claimed her these days. Across the room, her friends were huddled in a very unsubtle circle, talking about her, no doubt. How could she harden her heart when so many people cared about her? Even Diane Evans was over there, a woman who didn’t know her a week ago and who was already a friend. It was her son who was missing, her child who might be sick or injured. But she was here comforting Liz and helping decorate for a kids’ Christmas party she would never see. Her heart wasn’t closed off; she wasn’t bitter and railing against God and nature. She was open and loving and filled with hope.
Get a grip, Lizzie girl, she scolded herself. Pull yourself together. When Max gets home, you’ll want him to be as proud of you as you are of him.
She straightened and admired the work they’d been doing. Festive decorations had turned a cold, dull hall into a warm and exciting place. Volunteers were wrapping donated gifts and marking them by gender and age level. Platters of cookies had begun to arrive for the next day, sparkling with colored sugar or outlined in red, green, and white frosting. She could almost smell the mulled cider that would fill the air with spices and the nostalgic scent of home.
It was a good thing they were doing. It would touch other hearts that were hurting and bring joy where it was badly needed. Perhaps it was time to take a page from her own book.
Diane Evans marched purposefully from the room as the rest of the group seemed to turn en masse to look at her. It was an uncomfortable feeling to be watched so carefully, as if she were a precious sculpture in the midst of a nervous herd of elephants. As Kyle broke from the group and started toward her, she rose and gifted him with a genuine smile.
******
The days began to bleed together, and reality was only an educated guess. His two worlds blended and shifted like a kaleidoscope; he would have done anything to freeze time in Liz’s world.
The screen door slammed and had Max smiling.
“How was your day?”
Her arms slid up his chest and around his neck, and when her lips met his, he welcomed the tight curl deep inside him. She could make him want her simply by being. The press of her slightly swollen belly against him never ceased to thrill him, and as he kissed her, his hand slid between them to cover the life they’d created.
He watched her face as the heavy lids lifted. She had that look in her eye—the one that had him reaching to turn off the oven. They’d burnt more than one dinner to a crisp by getting lost in each other, and he’d finally learned his lesson.
“Don’t you want to lie down before dinner?” He liked fussing over her, even though she insisted she felt wonderful. She damn well looked wonderful, he thought.
“Mmm hmm.” She tugged him toward the bedroom. Every nerve in his body longed for her, warred with the knowledge that she needed a short rest this time of day.
“Liz? Why don’t you take a quick nap and I’ll finish up with dinner.” Just making the offer took more willpower than military training ever had.
She turned, studied him, and produced “the pout.” His best intentions were vaporizing in the heat that burned through his veins. Her hand rubbed softly over their growing child.
“Well, if you don’t want me any more. I know I’m getting fat . . .”
He knew that she knew he was already defeated. And he also knew they both felt pretty good about that. He didn’t even mind the smug smile on her face as he undressed her, or the small adjustments they made in deference to her changing shape. Their appetite for each other only seemed to grow as the baby did, and he wondered how he’d ever existed without her. Without them, his family.
***
“My father sent me to live with my uncle Nayef in Maghdouche. It is a very Catholic city, which did not please my father, but it was also there I could get a good education and live with someone he trusted. My father is very forward thinking about this, and knows that if our village is to survive, Yavuz and I must know many things.”
“How did you meet Yavuz?”
“I have always known him. We were children together, and his father was my father’s closest advisor until he died. We were always meant to marry. To lead.”
“An arranged marriage. Do you love him?”
She seemed to ponder this question seriously, but in the end, she only shrugged. “I am for him. We are to be the next leaders. He is a good man.”
“And that’s enough?”
“That is what is,” she answered. “And who is for you, Max? The girl in the picture?” She pointed to the pocket that she knew held the photo.
No matter how weak or befuddled his thinking, he never struggled to bring Liz to mind. The smile alone—a rarity these days—spoke volumes.
“Liz. Liz Parker.” He pulled out the frayed photograph and ran a finger lovingly down Liz’s cheek. “ She’s beautiful and kind and smart.” He smiled sheepishly at Rana’s amused expression.
“And you feel love for her.”
“Yes. Very much love.”
“You have known her always?”
“No, only a short time, really. But long enough. My heart has known her. We met through . . . airplanes,” he decided, picking and choosing from his spotty French. “She . . . makes them.”
He felt the warmth of pride and pleasure at the surprise on Rana’s face.
“Very smart,” he said, confirming her unspoken question.
“We must find a way to get you home to her.”
He was shocked at the tears that welled up in his eyes. He hadn’t felt them coming, but once they began to fall, he couldn’t seem to stop, and in an unprecedented defiance of custom, Rana pushed herself to him, and held him as he cried.
******
Jeremy was on the verge of making a break for it. His patience with pointless tests and vague reassurances that his information about Max would be “taken into consideration” was so thin you could see through it. He was tempted to bluff his way out by dressing and walking confidently to the elevators, but he knew there was an envelope in a safe somewhere in the hospital that contained his personal effects, all of which he could happily leave behind except the ring—the signet ring Frankie had given him on his birthday.
He remembered how touched he’d been when she had explained the inscription. To some, it would have looked like an A for Ames linked with an oddly shaped O for O’Hara, but if you looked closely, you could see that the O was really a stylized Omega: Alpha and Omega—the beginning and the end. She had told him that’s what he meant to her, and ever since, he’d worn it on a chain under his uniform with his dog tags. He wouldn’t leave without it.
That ring was the only reason Jeremy was still pacing awkwardly in his room when the doctor came in, looking so harried Jeremy could almost believe she was pulling the weight of his parents who were right on her heels.
“How are you feeling, Lieutenant? Any pain?”
He unclenched his jaw with what he felt was a Herculean effort. “No, ma’am. Just like yesterday. And the day before.” It wasn’t entirely true; the ankle still gave him trouble. But healing in a damn hospital bed wasn’t going to be any faster than healing somewhere else.
“That’s just fine.” Dr. Balani pressed two fingers to her temple before she scribbled a note on her clipboard. “Then I’d say it’s time to spring you, if you think you’re up for it.”
“Yes ma’am, I surely am,” Jeremy assured her, the eagerness spilling out in spite of himself. “When can I go? Now? This morning?”
She shot him a long look over rimless glasses. “Why, Lieutenant, you’re going to embarrass me with all this sentiment.” The devil was in her smile when she realized she’d flustered him. “I could arrange for you to stay one more day.”
Discomfort turned to threat in the blink of an eye. “No disrespect, ma’am, but if you do that, there’ll be bodies all up and down that hall out there.” Jeremy saw his father’s lips twitch while his mother stared wide-eyed at her son.
Dr. Balani’s first chuckle of the day cheered her and helped ease the headache brewing behind her eyes. It felt good to send a boy home under his own steam for a change. “I’ll leave you with a prescription for some painkillers in case that ankle acts up, then I’ll get the paperwork signed for your release. You can go ahead and get dressed.”
“We’ve got a car outside, dear,” his mother said, already gathering the plant and cards that had arrived. “And your friend Thad Owens made sure your gear was shipped here, so you’ve got clean clothes. Harold, get the boy a clean uniform.”
Used to taking orders only from admirals and his wife, Captain Ames dutifully pulled out a uniform and handed it to his son.
“Dad, I can wear civvies today. We’re just headed to the hotel, right?”
Grey eyes met brown and held. “I think the uniform would be best.”
Hot damn, Jeremy thought. He was going to get his meeting.
They didn’t even stop for food, which was fine with Jeremy; he couldn’t have eaten anyway, knowing what hung in the balance at this meeting. He promised himself he wouldn’t leave until someone with clout had authorized a rescue mission. And Jeremy knew exactly what it should look like. He just had to find a way to make them listen.
They drove into Herzliya Pituah in relative silence. Even Jeremy’s mother, who had managed to maintain a strange sort of balance between worldliness and naiveté in her 30-year marriage to a Navy Captain, understood what was at stake here. Jeremy had made sure she knew that the life he was trying to save belonged to the man who had saved him. When they arrived at the American military base, he kissed his mother and watched her walk away, knowing she would have given anything to come with them.
Heat was shimmering up from the asphalt in tight transparent waves as his father led him toward a bland one-story building and their second security check. His father’s ease in navigating the maze of halls told Jeremy how often he must have come here in his effort to secure this meeting. He felt overwhelming gratitude as he looked at the man whose distinguished career had left room to be a husband and a father. They may not have gone on scout campouts together, but he was always there when Jeremy needed him. Like now.
It wasn’t easy to cover his surprise when they stepped into the conference room. He had been expecting one or two officers, maybe an aide to take notes. Instead, there was a roomful of people of varying ranks seated on opposite sides of a horseshoe table arrangement. At the head table were a Captain and an Admiral. Jeremy and his father were shown to seats at the head table. Jeremy’s heart was pounding. This wasn’t the meeting where he would try to convince them to take action; this was where he would help shape the plan.
He recognized Chief Petty Officer Wayne Logan and another of the SEAL team who had rescued him and gave them both a grateful nod. Then he was introduced to a Navy doctor, a SEAL paramedic, a translator, and a security specialist. They already had a rough plan, but they needed Jeremy to bring to the discussion specific details of the camp’s layout, routines, weapons, and political attitudes. Jeremy surprised himself with the level of detail he could provide, including some names and internal hierarchy. He described what Max had told him about the creek, the waterfall, the alleged source of the illness, and what they had done to rectify the situation. He drew a detailed map of the limited area he had seen, and added his speculation on the rest. He described the last night he was there, and the direction Adnan and the others headed when they left camp with Max. He emphasized over and over that the people in this camp had not physically abused him or Max, and that some had acted kindly toward them. Rana’s face lingered in his mind as he spoke.
Ninety minutes later, they left. The plan was in place, and if Max was alive out there somewhere, Jeremy knew this was his best chance to come home. The hard part had been convincing them that he had to go along. He knew better than anyone how his ankle might slow him down, but he also knew the people, and he felt they would be more cooperative if he were there. In the end, it was his father’s support that tipped the scales, and Jeremy understood how hard it was for his father to risk his son again so soon. Not to mention how his mother would make his father’s life hell if anything happened to their only child. So, there was only one thing to do—succeed.
He pressed a hand to his chest and felt Frankie’s ring, warm and real under his shirt. When he was back in San Diego, with Frankie by his side on the ground and Max there in the air, he would breathe again.
******
She could tell from the looks on her friends’ faces that they’d expected a tougher sell, but Liz had needed to come home. She’d kissed Diane goodbye, wrapped her arms around Kyle until he squirmed, and cried a little in a group hug with Charisse, Svea, Jesse, and Frankie. Now, as she approached the brick café with its neon spaceship awning and its windows bright with alien masks, “Believe” posters, and ties painted with little green men wearing Santa hats—the perfect gift for the man who has everything—she felt the cold knot of fear thaw just a little.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Lizzie!”
With a plate of Saturn rings in one hand and an “Alien Blast” in the other, her father managed a loose hug, but his wide grin of welcome warmed her.
“Go get your mother. She’s been waiting to eat dinner until you got here. It’s on the house,” he added with a wink.
It was an old joke. Since she’d been a kid, Jeff Parker had loved doting on Liz and her friends, slipping them after-school fries and fountain drinks, always with a wink and “It’s on the house.” It didn’t cost him but a few cents, yet he’d been their hero and loved the job.
She laughed and rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Okay, be right back.”
He backed away and frowned. “You feeling okay, honey? You look pale. Thin, too.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “You always say I look thin. But don’t worry. I’ve come to let you fatten me up.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s start now. Your dinner will be up in 5 minutes.”
Upstairs was the family’s flip side. Soft comfortable furniture, wood floors scattered with colorful rugs, a Christmas tree decorated with classic ornaments from Wedgwood, Radko, and Precious Moments. The air was heavy with the smell of sugar cookies and shortbread, and Christmas carols framed the perfect picture. Liz took a minute to soak it in. It was wonderful. It was home.
It was so much less without Max beside her.
“I thought I heard the door.” Turning, Liz saw her mother standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hair pulled up in a messy knot and flour splattered here and there on an apron that said “Feliz Navidad.” To their mutual surprise, she burst into tears.
“Oh, sweetheart, come sit down.”
Liz let her mother lead her to the couch, then let the weight of the world loose on her shoulder until her head hurt and her throat was raw with sobs. Nancy Parker rocked and soothed as her own heart broke. When Liz finally sat up, she managed a self-deprecating laugh.
“I didn’t even say hello.”
“You said what you needed to say, little one. That’s what’s important.”
“I guess I’ve been saving that up. I didn’t expect to dump on you like that. It’s just . . .”
“You don’t have to explain, honey. I already understand.”
And Liz knew she did. It helped.
“Hey, dinner’s waiting downstairs!”
Jeff poked his head in the door, then hurried across the room. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing, Dad. Just letting off some steam.” Then, to make him smile, she added, “I’m starved.”
It worked. “Well, I’m just the man to take care of that. You have two minutes to get downstairs, the both of you. If you’re on time, there might be a little surprise for dessert.”
He winked and hurried out of the room. Liz listened to his footsteps disappear down the stairs with a fond smile.
“Okay, what did he dig up this year?”
“Oh, he’s outdone himself. He found these little cakes frosted like red and green flying saucers, and if you eat them right—and he makes sure every customer knows this—inside there’s green ice cream in the shape of an alien.”
“You’re kidding. Where does he get this stuff?”
“I don’t ask,” she grinned, and they linked arms to walk downstairs to dinner.
It took two days to admit, to herself at least, that being home, though great in many ways, was not going to offer the peace she’d hoped for. Her parents were wonderful, old friends stopped by, she even worked a shift in the café just for fun. Now they were coming home from a Christmas comedy at the movies. And in spite of all of it, she felt . . . empty. She couldn’t feel Max at all any more, and the terror was like a cold vice around her heart.
Catching her daughter frowning out the car window, Nancy took Liz’s hand.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Liz breathed deeply and looked at her mother. “I hardly have any. I can’t even think anymore. It’s like I’m standing still in the middle of a great storm, but nothing touches me. I just watch the wind lash out at the trees and the rain sweep by in great waves, and I can’t feel a thing.”
“Oh, Liz.”
“I see Max in my mind—sometimes he’s smiling at me, sometimes he’s hurt and sometimes . . .” A sob caught in her throat, but she fought it back. “I’ve never felt so alone.”
She grimaced at her words, and opened her mouth to apologize.
“Don’t, Liz. I understand. Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated—Lamartine. I know what it is to be in love, even if I am a parent,” she smiled, and made Liz smile with her. “I understand that when the person you love isn’t there, nothing and no one fills that hole.”
Grateful, Liz bit down on her lip and blinked back tears.
“I want to see Jonathan.”
Nancy nodded. “Want company?”
“No, I want to go alone, if that’s okay. I just . . . I need to talk to my brother. I’ll go tomorrow.”
Nancy squeezed her daughter’s hand. She, too, had found comfort sitting under the tree that shaded his grave, running her fingers over his name etched into the stone. “I do the same thing sometimes. It’s chilly, though. You’ll want to borrow my heavier jacket if you expect to stay there awhile. Maybe I’ll send some flowers along, if you don’t mind.”
Liz laid her head back, closed her eyes, and saw the images of Jonathan, Aaron, and Max float together into her mind—a trio of heroes who loved her. She prayed—desperately—that they weren’t truly together now.
******
Well, he certainly had their attention. One by one, the villagers noticed his approach and turned to stare. It was just Jeremy and Lieutenant Pete Sarkis, a Navy translator with a Lebanese grandfather, who walked slowly toward the camp, knowing full well the rest of the armed team was watching from hidden positions around the perimeter. One alert child ran toward Adnan’s tent, and seconds later, a man emerged that Jeremy recognized as Adnan’s right hand.
With Pete’s help, they began a cautious dialogue. The man’s name was Abul. Jeremy explained that they had brought medicine that could both cure the victims of Typhoid Fever and help prevent others from getting it. He said it would be available to all of the villagers if Max were brought to them today.
Their reluctant host postured and threatened. They didn’t need American medicine. Their people were getting better. How dare Jeremy escape and then return to flaunt it. Jeremy waited patiently, relieved to hear in between insults that there had only been a few new cases since the rescue. Still, both men knew the medicine was needed, and they both knew it wouldn’t be distributed without Max.
Originally, Abul offered to send someone to get Adnan and his family. Jeremy countered, saying the person couldn’t go alone; the paramedic would go, too. They argued, bitterly it would seem unless you had lived among them and knew that this is how they settled differences. Ultimately, they reached a compromise: Jeremy, who was obviously still not moving well and would therefore be easier to keep track of, would accompany the courier. That was fine with Jeremy. It gave him a straight shot at finding Max and, more important, assuring that he wasn’t left behind.
Before they left, Jeremy made it clear that others were watching. He asked the translator to stray from the dialogue that had been outlined in their meeting, offering a more compassionate tone to their host.
“We will not leave our officer behind, Abul, no matter what it takes. But I promise that if you make sure he reaches us safely, we will do our best to help with your medical crisis. I have no wish to see your people suffer any more than they already have. We want only to help you and to go home with our friend.”
The two men studied each other. Then, with a quiet order, provisions were packed and a messenger selected. Abul turned to Jeremy.
“I will take you at your word. You have been an honorable man. But if any move is made against my people while you are gone, I will see to it that you and your friend die.”
“Sounds fair.” Jeremy held out a hand, and after a long hesitation, Abul took it.
“You will not be back today,” he finally said. “The distance is too great. We will expect you tomorrow.”
Jeremy eased away from camp and relayed the agreement to the team by radio. He also warned them, emphatically, against any moves that could be seen as threatening. Then, with a quick salute to Abul, he turned to follow his guide to Max.
Last edited by Carol000 on Sun Feb 13, 2005 9:21 am, edited 3 times in total.
Carol/spacemom
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."
Max and Liz: The love that is Roswell--"You have gone through me like thread through a needle. Now everything I do is stitched with your color."