“How’d he do it, Joe? How’d Nick contact you?”
“He let his ‘fingers do the walking’ and looked me up in the phone book.”
“No shit?!”
“No shit. Plus, he used an embassy phone. And in case you’re wondering why it took so long for us to get to you, he’d fallen asleep.”
Grant massaged his arm. “Understandable. He probably hadn’t slept since well before we got him in Shannon. Plus the interrogation. Plus the accident.”
Adler continued. “Again, he didn’t relay complete details, he only said when he woke up, it was already past 0430. He took a chance in staying on the phone as long as he did.”
Grant finally smiled. “Guess I was lucky this time.”
“You’re damn straight you were lucky! And if all that surprised the shit out of you, you’ll love this. When he called, he said — and these were his exact words—‘This is James Broyce.’”
“He told you?!”
“Swear on ‘Sammy’s’ nose!” (Sammy the SEAL, the SEALs’ mascot.)
Grant took another drink of water, then stared into the glass, as he swirled around the liquid. “Why the hell would he give it up?”
“Don’t know. Does it ring any bells?”
“No. That’s why I think the first time I saw him was just in passing, aboard ship.” He put his glass on the coffee table. “Christ, Joe! He saved my life! How can I just let that go?”
“You aren’t planning on trying to make contact, are you? Hell! That was two days ago. For all we know, they could’ve put him on another diplomatic flight.”
“But he could still be in the embassy.”
“Hold it! Just hold it! We can hash out whatever it is you have in mind while we eat.” He went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “All you’ve got is roast beef.” He took out the platter and sniffed the meat. “Smells okay. Want some?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Grant reached into the fridge for a jar of dill pickles, sliced Swiss cheese and horseradish, and put them near Adler. He leaned back against the counter. “Joe, we’ve talked about fate, and whether or not it plays any part in life.”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Think about this. If we hadn’t brought Nick back to the States, if he hadn’t escaped from the agents, if we never got him to the embassy — I’d be dead.”
“That’s pretty damn deep — but probably true. So, let me see if I understand this,” Adler said, shaking a knife in Grant’s direction. “What you’re saying is, it was you, who helped you, save your life?!”
Grant smiled. “Well, I can’t take all the credit, but, yeah. Something like that.”
“Makes about as much sense as any other explanation, I guess.” Adler spread horseradish on the bread, then slapped a couple slices of cheese on the meat.
A knock at the door, and Grant opened it. “Hey, Scott! C’mon in.”
“Called the hospital and they said you’d checked out.” He saw Adler. “Joe, how are ya?”
“Good to see you, Scott. We’re just getting ready to eat. How about a roast beef sandwich?” Adler asked, already taking two more slices of bread from the wrapper.
“Sure. Never turn down food.”
“Now you’re sounding like Joe,” Grant said, slapping his friend’s arm. “Help yourself to something to drink.”
Mullins got a beer, then pulled out a chair. “So, how’s that shoulder, and your head?”
“Both improving. Thanks.”
The three sat at the table, eating and discussing the incident at Henley’s. Mullins asked, “You’re not seriously thinking about contacting him, are you?”
“See. I’m not the only one who thinks that’s a bad idea,” Adler said, before drinking some root beer.
“So, he’s still there?” Grant asked.
“Last we knew.” Mullins’ beeper went off. “Can I use your phone?”
“You know where it is,” Grant said, crumbling up his napkin, then tossing it toward the trash can with his left hand. Adler went and picked it up.
“Well,” Mullins said, walking back to the table, “that Russian replacement plane… ”
“It left,” Grant interrupted.
“Twenty minutes ago, and … ”
“Nick was onboard.”
“Why the hell do you do that?!” Mullins laughed, smacking the table with his palm.
“Well, Skipper, guess a decision’s been made for you,” Adler commented, with relief in his voice.
Chapter 20
President Carr’s secretary, Rachel, stood in front of her desk with an open calendar day book, going over the afternoon schedule with the secretaries and assistants. Her attention shifted and she glanced past the women. “Claudia, look behind you,” she whispered.
Everyone turned around, seeing Grant and Adler walking into the room, both dressed in dark blue business suits.
“Oh, no,” Claudia whispered. She laid her steno pad and her pen on the edge of the desk, then started toward the two men.
“I’ll be over there, Skipper,” Adler said, pointing to a couch near the Oval Office door. He nodded and smiled as Claudia passed him.
She stood in front of Grant, reached to touch the bandage on his head, then pulled her hand away. “What happened?”
“Uh, sorry, but it’s classified,” he winked, but she realized it was the truth. He moved closer to her, looking down into her hazel eyes. “Listen, I want to apologize for not calling.”
“Not necessary,” she said, lightly touching his arm in its sling. “Will you be all right?”
“Affirmative! Hey, why don’t we start over? How’d you like to have dinner with me?”
“I’d like that,” she smiled broadly.
“Good. I’ve still got your home number. But you might have to give me a few extra days,” he said, moving his arm slightly. “Unless you wouldn’t mind Joe driving us.”
“Either way,” she laughed.
“Captain Stevens?” He looked toward the Oval Office door, seeing the secretary. “The President will see you and Lieutenant Adler now.”
He started walking past Claudia. “I will call. Promise,” he smiled. Then he met up with Adler and they went into the Oval Office.
Claudia rejoined the other women, and picked up her pad and pen. The meeting continued, but all she saw in her mind was Grant, his injuries. She wondered: Is this what happens? Is this what it’s like for these men, and for anyone they become involved with? The classified missions to places unknown; separations; worry. She reminded herself they were just going to dinner. But still, she wondered.
Carr sat behind his desk, leaning back, with his hands folded on his stomach. His eyes went to Grant then Adler, then back to Grant. “Grant, what’s the prognosis on that arm?”
“It’ll be fine, sir. Doc’s prescribed therapy. He doesn’t see any future problems.”
“Any leftover issues from the drugs?”
“Tests showed my system was clean, organs working properly.”
“And the concussion?”
“Get an occasional headache, but that’s all.”
“You were lucky all the way around then, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. And I’ll be the first to admit it.” Grant cleared his throat. “Mr. President, have you received any word on how the agents are, the ones who were in the accident?”
“Two broken arms, bumps and bruises, but I’ve been told they’re all back to work.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Carr rocked back and forth. His demeanor left both Grant and Adler uncomfortable, worrying about the upcoming G2.