Danger Close (Shadow Warriors) (39 page)

“You disobeyed orders.”

“Yes. A human life is more important.”

“I see. Then you took it upon yourself to do what was deemed right in your eyes?”

“Yes, I did. Just like Major Lane has,” Cathy hurled back hotly.

Roman dropped back as though he had been shot, the question having outlived its usefulness. Soft titters rippled through the gallery and he frowned, looking at Fredericks, expecting to see him bang the gavel and bring the room to respectful order. He didn’t. Roman could have sworn Fredericks was smiling.

By four o’clock, Mackey was sitting on the edge of the chair, the questioning continuing sharp, intense and unabated. A senate page came over and he leaned down.

“Sir, there’s an urgent long-distance phone call for you from Hawaii.”

Mackey controlled his facial expression as he got to his feet, excusing himself. His heart thudded dully in his chest. He wiped his perspiring brow. It had to be Cornell. What was wrong? Had Boland died? Gone back into the coma like he thought he would? Everything was going to hell in a handbag.

He closed the door to a small office adjacent to the outside corridor. Shuffling to the desk, he sat down and exhaustedly picked up the receiver.

“This is Colonel Mackey. Dr. Cornell?”

“No. It’s Jim Boland.”

Mackey’s mouth fell open. “Jim?” The word came out in a tone of disbelief and shock from his tight lips.

“Yes. Cornell has had me sitting around here for five days now since I got out of the coma. I saw Senator Roman questioning Cathy. I need you to—”

“What do you need?” Mackey buried his face in his hands. Cornell was supposed to keep Boland sequestered and away from all media. His mind spun with options, none of them very good.

“Let me speak to Cathy.”

He raised his head, scowling. “She’s in front of the senate panel right now, Jim.”

“Then afterward.” He was insistent.

Taking a deep breath, Mackey spoke slowly. “She thinks you’re dead.”

An explosion of silence came from the phone line. Finally, in a choked voice, Jim asked, “What in the hell are you talking about?”

As quickly as possible, Mackey covered the chain of events, leaving out his part in the cover-up to Cathy. Boland’s voice was little more than a rasp.

“She doesn’t look good.”

“No…no, she’s doesn’t, Jim. She’s had it. I don’t know how she’s hanging on with Roman at her throat.”

“Get her out of there, Colonel.
Now
. It’s Friday. Get Fredericks to give her the weekend off. I’ve got to get Cathy away from there before she cracks under the strain.”

“Yes. Yes, he’d do that. It’s Friday afternoon. Senator Fredericks wanted some time with Cathy Saturday afternoon, but this is an extenuating circumstance.” Mackey began to hope that maybe, just maybe, his star wasn’t completely down the drain.

Boland’s voice was icy. “Send her to Grand Island, to my parents’ farm. I want to see her alone. I’m not going to walk back into her life with all those damn reporters around.”

“All right. Then you don’t want me to tell her you’re alive?”

“No. I want to be at her side in case anything happens. I don’t know where she’s at emotionally.”

“Pretty close to a breakdown. She took your—” He hesitated saying
death
.

There was silence on the phone and Mackey could feel Boland’s rage.

“Whoever has lied to Cathy is going to deal with me. There’s no justifiable reason for it.”

“There is, Jim. Look, let’s not discuss it right now. Just get home. I’ll contact the Pentagon and get a flight out of Hawaii for you. In the meantime, Cathy will be sent to Nebraska. I’ll contact your parents and let them know you’re both coming.”

“They already know. I don’t want any interference on this, Colonel. No reporters, attorneys or anyone else in on this. Cathy will be back at the hearings on Monday. Do you understand?”

“Yes. And Jim—”

“What is it, Colonel?”

“I’m glad you made it.”

Boland’s voice turned harsh. “Anyone connected with this hearing is going to be sorry as hell I pulled through. Someone’s going to pay for what they’ve done to Cathy.”

BY THE TIME the session ended, it was close to six o’clock. Cathy refused to sit in the wheelchair and hobbled out under her own power, mutely silent to the bombardment of harassing questions thrown by the crowd of reporters that hovered about her. Arnley led the way, finally getting her up to the hotel room. Cathy stopped in the hall and leaned against him as he found the key to open the door.

“Damn,” she whispered emptily, “it’s like your worst nightmare. I don’t know how I made it through today, Buck. How did I do it?”

Arnley said nothing and slipped his arm about her shoulder. He opened the door and led her into the room. “Because you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘
quit
.’ You’re a fighter, kid. One hell of a fighter.”

Cathy disengaged her arm from around his waist. She lowered herself to the bed and nudged off her low heels. Her eyes had been bleak but warmed as she looked up at the sergeant. A sad smile shadowed her mouth.

“Maybe I don’t have the brains to know when to quit.”

He grinned and thrust his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. “Can I get you anything, kid?”

“No,” Cathy answered, her voice barely audible. She lay down, closing her eyes. “I’ve got to sleep, Buck. Tired…I’m just so damned tired.”

CATHY LAY THERE in the darkness after Buck had turned out all the lights and quietly departed. Gradually, the shock of the day began to wear off. In its place was an avalanching wall of pain. “Oh, Jim…” she choked out softly. She drew her legs up toward her body in a fetal position, still dressed in her uniform, unable to do anything but feel the raw anguish as it deluged her.

She didn’t hear the knock at the door at first. Sitting up, Cathy tried to compose herself and blindly stumbled to her feet. Through the peephole, she saw it was Leonard Tucker. She opened the door.

“Cathy?” He frowned and a knifelike sensation twisted in his chest. He walked past her, swallowed up in the darkness.

Without a word, Cathy shut the door. Leonard opened his arms and she came wordlessly, laying her head on his shoulder, his arms awkwardly wrapping around her shoulders. She felt frail beneath his hands and he took a deep, unsteady breath. “How are you doing?”

She managed a hoarse laugh. “Got a hole I can crawl in? That’s about all I feel up to doing right now.”

“I was worried…. Today has been hell on you.”

Cathy lifted her face, barely able to see him in the darkness. “I thought I knew what hell was when I was growing up or crawling around in the Thai jungle on my belly, Doc.” Easing from his arms, she slowly hobbled back to the bed and sat down.
“Today
was hell.”

Leonard couldn’t tear his gaze from her silhouetted profile. “I don’t know how you’ve hung in like you have.”

“Maybe I’m dead and don’t know it.” And then Cathy closed her eyes. “I’d rather be dead.” With a helpless wave of her hand she stared up at him. “I’ve got it all figured out. I’m the scapegoat to this hearing. Blind, deaf and dumb, I walked into it. Lane’s going free. I can feel it.” Her voice wobbled. “And those animals in the hearing are going to make a mockery of the love Jim and I had for one another.”

Tucker flinched as Cathy buried her face into her hands and quietly began to cry. He walked forward woodenly and halted. Crouching down in front of her, Leonard reached out and touched her shoulder with his trembling fingers.

“I can’t stand to see you suffer like this, Cathy,” he mumbled. “You don’t deserve it. You’re an innocent victim in this whole mess.”

She fought back the tears she refused to let fall. “I hurt so much, Doc. I can’t go on. Mac expects me to go back into that hearing Monday and take it again. I can’t…. God, I’m empty…just empty…”

“I know, I know. Just hang on. Can you do that for me?”

Cathy lifted her head, her eyes dark with anguish. “I don’t have anything left, Doc, don’t you see?” She thrust out her hands in front of him. “Look at me. Go on, take a look. This is the real Cathy Fremont.” Her hands shook badly until Leonard reached out and captured them within his.

“Now listen to me, Cathy,” he rasped urgently. “I’m going to get you out of this, child. This isn’t your fault and I helped get you into it.” He gave her a wan hint of a smile. “This is your doctor speaking, and I’m prescribing rest this weekend. Stop drinking the Scotch, sleep and relax. I’ll leave you some sleeping pills if you need them.”

Cathy sniffed. “I’m not sure I’d trust myself with any drugs right now. I might be tempted to take the whole damn bottle and end this pain once and for all.” She was perplexed how he could help her get off the firing line of the hearing. Then she realized it was just his way of instilling her with hope. She hugged him for a long time, needing the strength he gave her in return.

“Just try and rest,” Tucker urged fervently. He released her, his face shadowed and ravaged with his own emotions that were reflected in his eyes. He looked as if he wanted to say something further but thought better of it. “Good night, Cathy.”

“Good night, Doc.” Cathy watched him leave, grateful for his concern. There was nothing Tucker could do to help her and she knew it. Food didn’t appeal to her, but sleep did. After getting cleaned up, she’d go to bed if she could. Cathy had no more than stepped out of the bathroom after a very hot, relaxing bath, wrapped in the white terry-cloth robe, when a persistent knock came at the door. Reporters? They were always hanging around like a pack of wolves. When she saw it was Mac, she opened the door.

“Come in, Mac.”

He gave her a tight smile of welcome and walked in. He appraised her worn features, the puffiness beneath her eyes, the damp tendrils of hair clinging to her cheeks and knew she had been crying. She pushed the door shut and managed to give him a slight smile.

“Thanks. How you doing?”

Cathy followed him into the room and began to towel dry her wet hair. “I’m existing,” she said in a listless monotone, and motioned for him to sit down.

“I can’t stay long, Cathy. Today was a tough one.”

“On everyone,” she agreed softly, sitting on the bed.

“Especially on you.” He rested his hands on his hips, studying her intently.

“You’ve got the weekend off. Today was grueling on you. Medically, you still aren’t a hundred percent.”

She ran her slender fingers through her damp strands of hair. “Things didn’t go well for us today. I’m sorry, Mac. I could see you were disappointed.”

His conscience twinged. “Not with you, Cathy. Look, I want you to go somewhere special for the weekend.”

“Okay.”

How like her to trust him as she always had. She didn’t even ask where. “Will you do it as a favor for me?” he pressed.

Cathy’s green eyes widened slightly. “Of course. What’s the big secret, Mac?”

“No secret.” He steeled himself for her reaction. “I’m sending you to Grand Island, Nebraska, Cathy. I want you to stay with Jim Boland’s parents over the weekend. I think they might be able to help you.”

An involuntary gasp escaped her and she gaped at him. “Jim’s parents? No, I’m not going there. Not now.”

“Listen, it will do you good. Did you realize Jim was writing home to his folks about you?”

Cathy swallowed a sob. “No…I didn’t know. God, Mac, how can I face them after today? I’m in such terrible shape.”

“It will do you some good. They want you there very much. Believe me.” His voice hardened. “Now look, I’ve got the plane reservation ready for you and it’s under an assumed name. If you dress in civilian clothes and hide behind dark glasses, I don’t think the members of the press will recognize you. Buck will take you to the airport tomorrow morning. Buck will pick you up at 0800. Be ready.”

CATHY WATCHED with total disinterest as Arnley placed the small suitcase in the trunk of the olive-green Marine Corps staff car. She got in without a word. Her head ached fiercely and her heart was not ready to meet Jim’s parents. She tried to talk Arnley into dropping her back at the hotel, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

Trying to sleep on the flight was impossible. Cathy kept wondering what she was going to say to Jim’s parents. The whole situation could only prove awkward and embarrassing to all of them. And she would have to wrestle within herself to keep her raw emotions in check. After all, they loved and missed Jim as much as she did.

Realizing how badly she had deteriorated physically, Cathy groped for some way to control her spiral into depression. Somehow, she had to put on a brave front for the Boland’s. But how? She had no strength left with which to resurrect that kind of wall for their benefit. Tears gathered in her eyes and Cathy pursed her lips, fighting them back before they spilled.

Landing at Grand Island in the late morning, Cathy hobbled off the aircraft, refusing a wheelchair. A few people had stared at her behind her dark glasses, but none had identified her from the hearings and, for that, Cathy was grateful. She had chosen a simple black dress with white collar and cuffs that intensified her paleness. Black was for grieving and Cathy felt like the color: empty and bleak. Retrieving her small canvas suitcase and balancing it in her left hand, she limped out of the terminal with the aid of her cane.

The summer temperature was in the mid-eighties, the sky a cerulean-blue with a few mare’s tail cirrus clouds that had always reminded her of angel wings as a child. Cathy felt more of her control slipping. Whatever and whoever she had been was gone. Combat had changed that. And so had Jim Boland, both by his living and his dying.

A friend of the Boland family greeted her at the prearranged meeting spot.

“You Cathy?” he asked hesitantly, coming up to her and smiling.

Cathy nodded tiredly at the older gentleman who appeared to be in his sixties. He had obviously done his best to look presentable in a much worn dark suit that was out of style by twelve or fifteen years.

“Yes. Cathy Fremont. I thought the Bolands were meeting me. Is everything all right?”

“The name is Gabe. Gabe Cannon,” he interrupted with a shy smile while taking off his battered felt hat. “We own the farm next to the Boland family. There was an accident at the Detwiler farm just down the road a piece and they went to help. Said you were to make yourself at home until they got back. Shouldn’t be too many hours.” He picked up her bag in his arthritic hand and hurried to open the door of an old, rusted-out Ford pickup.

Cathy climbed in, vaguely wondering if only tragedy struck around the Bolands’. The wizened farmer hopped in, turned the key in the ignition and the old truck roared to life. It sounded something akin to an old Model-T in dire need of a tune-up. Gabe chuckled indulgently.

“This is a real treat for me, Miss Fremont. I don’t often get to the city with my missus bein’ sick and all. But Cornelia told me I’d better come and get you so you weren’t left standin’ here at this huge airport all by yourself.”

Cathy managed a gentle smile of affection. His white hair stuck out from beneath his brown hat like scattered straw.

“It was awfully kind of you to come, Mr. Cannon. I appreciate your trouble and effort,” she said sincerely.

“Gabe. Just call me Gabe. Nobody goes by last names around here much, missy.” He winked and chewed on a wad of tobacco tucked in his weathered cheek. It reminded Cathy sharply of Buck Arnley.

A feeling of peace stole over her as they left the city behind, heading south on an old rural road. Most of the dark, black soil had been plowed, furrowed and planted with corn, soybeans or wheat.

After five minutes of nonstop commentary about his having seen her on television and how “purty” she looked, Gabe concentrated on chewing tobacco, driving and humming a tuneless song. Cathy closed her eyes, leaning back, the pleasant chunkety-chunk of the engine lulling her to a light sleep. The warm wind gently played against her face and the fresh, crisp country air was like a welcoming perfume to her senses. She inhaled deeply, allowing the tension to give way to the rickety motion of the truck, falling into a fitful slumber.

“We’re here!” Gabe announced, his voice crackling with excitement.

Cathy jerked involuntarily, sitting up and looking around. They were just turning into a long, graveled driveway toward a very large, two-story white farmhouse sitting up on a grassy knoll. Her eyes became misty as she spotted the apple orchard to the right and the faded red swing swaying gently beneath one of the gnarled, gray-limbed trees. To the left, three red towering grain silos stood out like fingers thrust up against the deep blue of the sky. Holstein dairy cows chewed their cud contentedly near the fence as the truck chugged up the steep incline toward the house. A black-and-white collie barked and came running out to greet them.

“That must be Champ,” Cathy said, a slight tremor of excitement in her voice.

Gabe cackled. “Yup, sure is, missy. He’s a good dog. Si Boland and I still take him huntin’ with us every fall after we get the corn silaged and cribbed.”

Cathy tried to choke down a lump that refused to leave her throat. The Ford creaked to a stop and Gabe hopped out, taking the suitcase. They walked up a narrow sidewalk bordered by brilliant orange geraniums. Gabe opened the creaking screen door, motioning her into the spacious kitchen. He set her bag near the table.

“Well, you’re home now, missy. We’re right glad to have you with us. Now, you just get comfortable. Your bedroom is straight through the kitchen and dining room and to the right. Can’t miss it. Si and Martha’ll be back soon.” He grinned, raised his hat to her and then disappeared out the back door.

Cathy stood silent, almost in reverence, as she carefully took note of the kitchen. There was an ancient wood-burning stove, jars of canned tomatoes and apricots on the drain board.

Champ scratched at the door, whining. Cathy smiled and let him in. She petted the dog’s head.

“So, you’re Champ,” she whispered. “Jim told me so much about you.” Her voice cracked. Touching the dog was almost as if she were touching Jim. “Let’s go see that swing,” she told him.

The dog dashed out the door, leaping playfully around Cathy as she limped toward the fruit trees. The scent of apples growing heavily on gnarled limbs surrounded her and Cathy inhaled deeply. Approaching the wooden swing, Cathy stooped over it, fingering the red paint that was cracked and peeled from the hardness of the winter before. The wood was in dire need of a sanding and a new coat of paint. She looked at the swing closely, remembering Jim telling how painstakingly he had fashioned each piece that went into it’s construction.

Cathy carefully sat down in it, rocking it slightly. The fragrance of newly churned earth, mown grass, encircled her and Cathy closed her eyes, the tension draining from her. Champ’s pink tongue licked her fingers and she looked down at him. Leaning over, she embraced the dog, burying her face in his silky black-and-white fur. Everything was just as Jim had spoken of back in Thailand. This was a special place, meant to be shared, but now she could share it with nothing except her too few memories.

Hot, scalding tears squeezed from beneath her lids, and once again Cathy recalled their time together at Hua Hin. How tightly Jim had held her after they had shared their grief over the loss of Sirikit and her baby. She remembered swimming with him in the ocean, their laughter drowning out the call of the seabirds that rode on invisible air currents above them. How she longed for the warmth written on his face, the husky tenor of his voice when he promised to take her home to Nebraska to see the swing he had made.