“I think about them a lot,” she said.
“Hollingshead told me that he’s taking personal responsibility for what happened,” Chapel said. “He’s setting up trust funds for them. All of them. They’ll never need to worry about medical care or rent or anything else as long as they live. And the president’s going to give them an apology.”
“I guess that’s something,” Julia replied.
“Hollingshead’s trying to do the right thing. I guess that’s all we can do now.” He looked up. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. “Are we close?”
“This looks like the place,” Julia said.
They were standing outside a little café with an open air seating area. It looked like a nice place — white linen tablecloths, waiters in bow ties. “Do you see her?” Chapel asked.
They were finally going to meet Angel.
Chapel had begged her to let him buy her lunch. He wanted to thank her for saving his life so many times. He wanted to see what she looked like, too. He’d cajoled and pleaded and bargained with her and finally she had relented. She’d sent him — and Julia — an e-mail telling them to be at this restaurant at this time.
There was a woman sitting alone at one of the tables. She had on a floppy hat and sunglasses and she was studying a menu. A waiter poured mineral water from a sparkling decanter into her glass.
Chapel walked across the seating area with a smile on his face. His new arm was still being fitted, so he had pinned up one sleeve of his uniform tunic. He’d put on his best dress blues for this. He walked up to the table and clicked his heels on the pavement. “Ma’am,” he said, “may I have the pleasure of introducing myself?”
The woman looked up with one arched eyebrow. She lowered her menu and looked him up and down.
“What are you supposed to be? Some kind of war hero who picks up random women when they’re trying to enjoy a drink?” she asked.
Chapel’s face fell. Was this some kind of joke?
A waiter tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir,” he said, “I think you’re mistaken. You’re looking for Ms. Angel, yes?”
Chapel blinked in surprise. “Yeah,” he said.
“Right this way.”
The waiter led him to another table where two glasses had been set on the tablecloth. Another waiter emerged from the restaurant with a pair of beer bottles on a tray. He poured the drinks, then departed. The first waiter held Julia’s chair while she sat down. Then he produced a piece of paper from his apron and handed it to Chapel. Without a word he walked away.
“Only two glasses,” Julia said.
“Yeah,” Chapel replied. He unfolded the piece of paper. It was a letter written in a loopy cursive hand. “ ‘Sweetie,’ ” he read. “Um—”
“Go on. Read the whole thing,” Julia told him, grinning.
Chapel read it aloud:
Sweetie:
Sorry to disappoint you. I’m afraid that’s as close as we’re going to get today. If you and I are going to keep working together, we have to keep things a little professional.
Enjoy the drinks. They’re already paid for. Enjoy each other’s company. Get to know Julia a little better. Find out if the two of you still like each other when nobody’s trying to kill you. Enjoy this beautiful weather.
Maybe someday the three of us will get together. One way or another. But for now, just raise a glass for me. And know I’d be there if I could.
Hugs and kisses,
Angel
Chapel set the note down on the table. He grinned sheepishly at Julia. “You think she’s watching us right now?” he asked.
“I’d count on it,” she replied.
They raised their glasses and clinked them together.
The weather that day was, indeed, beautiful.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank Diana Gill and Will Hinton, as well as everyone at HarperCollins who worked tirelessly getting this book ready for publication.
Russell Galen, my agent, deserves special mention, as this book would not have happened without him. He inspired its immediate creation, and then for years he worked with me, refining and exploring the possibilities of this book, shaping its content, and helping me rein it in when it got out of control. Russ went above and beyond his job description on this one.
Most important, though, I’d like to thank the men and women of the U.S. armed forces. This book was written because as I watched them come home from Afghanistan and Iraq I couldn’t stop thinking that these young people had been given a hellish job to do, that they had done it extraordinarily well, and that they never complained. They worked and fought not for glory but for their country, and every single one of them deserves our gratitude.
Author’s Note
This is a work of fiction. The prosthetic arm I describe in this book does not currently exist. Although it is based on real technology, I have in many cases exaggerated its abilities. However I do not wish to take away from the incredible strides made in prosthetics in the last fifteen years. Largely as a result of the high and terrible number of amputees coming home from our wars, hundreds of scientists and engineers have done Herculean work creating new and (much) better prosthetic limbs than existed previously, and the results are simply staggering. The DEKA “Luke” arm in particular is a miracle of design and technology, and it has improved immeasurably the lives of many people who deserve it most. I would be remiss if I did not offer my deepest respect to its creators.
About the Author
DAVID WELLINGTON was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, the city where George Romero shot his classic zombie films. The acclaimed author is most famous for his online zombie serial, the Monster Island trilogy, which was later published by Three Rivers Press. In 2006 he began serializing 13 Bullets, a vampire novel, at www.thirteenbullets.com. He lives in New York City.
www.davidwellington.net