Jericho has never seen the memorial. He never went back to the mine after that day. Now, he is swept by a desire to lay his hands on the plaque, to run his fingers over the letters of his father’s name, his brother’s name. Now, he can do it. He must do it.
Suddenly, Elizabeth, the little girl in pigtails, skips away from a pack of soldiers and rushes toward Jericho. She waves her plastic wand, and a trail of crystalline bubbles floats above her in the breeze. “Will you still be my friend?” she asks.
“Always,” Jericho answers, smiling. A female lieutenant comes over and takes Elizabeth by the hand. Jericho waves good-bye.
Though he does not hear the footsteps behind him, Jericho senses movement. Turning, he sees Kenosha approach. The two men stand there a moment without speaking. Their understanding and care for each other transcends language. “You have changed, Jack,” Kenosha finally says.
Jericho nods. “You have helped me learn.”
“It wasn’t me. It was you. You listened to the voices of the spirits.”
“And now it’s time to go home, Kenosha. I can do it now.”
“Then go, my friend.”
“Not without words of wisdom from your ancestors.”
Kenosha seems to think about it. “Be cautious, my friend.”
“Cautious?”
“Speed traps on Interstate 80. The troopers in Nebraska are the worst.”
Jericho laughs. He hugs his friend. “Now that you’ve saved my life, aren’t you responsible for me forever? I’ve seen that in the Westerns. Isn’t it an old Indian custom that—”
“You were swimming, and I gave you a lift to shore,” Kenosha says. He turns to leave. Several yards away, his golden palomino waits in front of the command tent. “Besides,” Kenosha says, turning back, “you’d be too damn much trouble.” He mounts the palomino and rides off.
Colonel Henry Zwick and Captain Kyle Clancy come walking out of the tent, a cluster of reporters in tow. Zwick stops and jabs his pipe in Jericho’s direction. “Now, there’s the airman you should interview,” the colonel says. “Sergeant Jack Jericho is either going to get court-martialed or win the Medal of Honor.” He turns to Clancy. “Isn’t that right Captain?”
Clancy looks Jericho up and down. “He’s doesn’t follow orders, but he’s got brass balls.”
“Captain, I didn’t get a chance to thank you,” Jericho says. “You saved my life.”
Clancy cracks a crooked grin. “What makes you think I was aiming at him?”
Jericho smiles back and snaps off a salute. Reporters bombard the colonel and the captain with more questions as they walk away. Alone now, Jericho walks slowly toward the flowing river.
“Ser-geant!”
He knows that insistent, bellowing voice. Turning, Jericho sees Captain Pete Pukowlski.
“Sergeant, you’re out of uniform.”
“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.” Jericho salutes again, a new record, two in one day.
“The hell it won’t. You’ll probably be on CNN wearing one of those Eye-talian suits, telling everybody how you saved the world.” For once, Pukowlski’s tone is laced with humor.
“I’ll tell them I owe everything to my captain’s rigorous training.”
“Damn right you do.” Pukowlski returns the salute. “You’re a shitty airman, Jericho.”
“Yes, sir. I know.”
“But you’re a helluva man.”
Without another word, Pukowlski turns and leaves.
It takes Jericho several minutes to work his way from the camp to the shore of the river. Coming down the embankment, he sees Dr. Susan Burns, standing alone, looking across the water that flows through what had been the 318th Missile Squadron. She is pale, and her face is bruised where David struck her. For an awkward moment, they stand wordlessly, watching the river, now flowing peacefully through the rugged landscape. On the other shore, an elk cautiously approaches the water, eying them. They don’t move, and the elk begins drinking from an eddy at the shoreline.
“I came back for you,” Jericho says. “I mean, I tried to come back. I wasn’t going to leave you there.”
“I know. Everyone knows.”
“It’s not that I’m a hero or anything. I had to do it. Even if I wanted to run, I… ”
Susan Burns steps close to him and touches a finger to his lips, hushing him. “Thank you, Jack. Thank you for everything.” She puts a hand around his neck and pulls him down. She is waiting with parted lips.
He holds her in his arms, and they kiss until he feels warm tears tracking from her face to his. At last Jericho pulls back and says, “If it hadn’t been for you, I never would… ”
She silences him again with another kiss. When they separate this time, she says, “Where will you go now?”
“Back to West Virginia. Lay one final ghost to rest.”
Across the river, the elk feeds at a clump of berries.
Susan gives Jericho a hug, then one last lingering kiss, the best of the three. “Washington’s just down the road. Maybe you’ll visit.”
He tenderly wipes a tear from her eye. “I will. I promise.”
He wraps an arm around her and they turn toward the resurrected river, just as a trout leaps from the water, glinting silver in the sun.
AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD
If you enjoyed the high suspense and heart-stopping thrills of “Ballistic,” please try some of my other bestselling sizzlers. “To Speak for the Dead,” “Riptide,” and “Impact” are all number one bestselling Kindle thrillers. “The Road to Hell” is a number one bestselling short-story anthology, which is being offered for a short time at 99 cents for the entire compilation.
About the Author
The author of 14 novels, Paul Levine won the John D. MacDonald fiction award and was nominated for the Edgar, Macavity, International Thriller, and James Thurber prizes. A former trial lawyer, he also wrote more than 20 episodes of the CBS military drama “JAG” and co-created the Supreme Court drama “First Monday” starring James Garner and Joe Mantegna. The critically acclaimed international bestseller “To Speak for the Dead” was his first novel. He is also the author of the “Solomon vs. Lord” series, the thriller “Illegal,” and “Lassiter,” published in hardcover by Random House in 2011. Visit Paul Levine on the Web at http://www.paul-levine.com.