The Coopers recounted the horrific story that Roarke had read about the night before. It was tenfold more difficult to hear in person.
“It was an afternoon in September 2004.” She gave the exact date, something Roarke already had in his file. “Richard was part of an Army Special Forces squad that was sent to clear out Iraqi terrorists from an apartment building in Baghdad. I still don’t know who they were. Sunnis or Shiites? They’re all the same to me,” Gloria said, dissolving into tears.
Bill cleared his throat and continued for her. “Richard and his buddies were lured into the building. It was pretty crazy just before the election. Everyone seemed to have a gun and Americans were being picked off right and left. It was insidious. They never should have been sent in. A CNN reporter said so. I have the tape. Apparently they heard that from a colonel who admitted it after the fact. After the fact! Why didn’t he make that decision before he sent those boys in? They pleaded with their commander. The whole thing was up in the air for an hour. The news interviewed someone who said that they were being pushed in to show the Iraqi Interior Ministry that the U.S. was fully committed. Well, the order stood. Richard and the others did what they were told.”
Gloria squeezed her husband’s wrist. “Richard was one of six. All brave boys. All with dreams, too. All with parents like us, still wondering who in their right minds could have ordered them into that death trap. No more than a minute after they went in, the apartment building exploded. Five floors. The whole thing collapsed in seconds.”
Bill fought back his own tears, determined to finish. “No one else was there. Only the six of them. It took weeks before they cleared out the rubble. They found parts of them, Mr. Roarke. Only parts of them. Arms, legs. Faces blown off.” He stopped one more time to collect his thoughts. “It was a huge explosion. One of the most destructive. You want to know the worst of it?”
Roarke and Davis didn’t need to acknowledge the question. The answer was already on Bill Cooper’s lips.
“We don’t even have Richard back. His body vaporized in the explosion.”
There was a long silence, which no words could effectively fill.
“Oh, we did get a letter from the Secretary of Defense. It was signed by a machine.”
The proud, lonely parents talked about their son for another twenty minutes. For part of the time, he wasn’t dead. Richard Cooper was alive and vibrant.
Eventually, they ran out of things to say, or at least the desire to talk anymore. The Coopers retreated to the quiet sadness that had engulfed them for years. They buried him again, and it was time for Roarke and Davis to leave.
“What will you be able to do with what we’ve told you?” Gloria asked as they approached the door.
They looked at each other, not wanting to lie, yet not able to tell the truth. “We’ll discuss the command issues you brought to our attention,” Davis offered.
“And I promise you, we’ll look at every aspect of the investigation into his death,” Roarke added.
“Thank you,” Gloria Cooper quietly responded.
“There is an additional thing that could help us,” Roarke said.
“Yes?”
“Can you loan us any photographs of you with Richard.”
The Coopers showed their confusion over the request.
“Family shots. Maybe over the years of all of you together.”
“I don’t understand.”
Roarke tried his best to deflect the question, not wanting to explain the real need. “I think the nation owes you a debt of gratitude. You have a story that should be heard. Also, I can tell you right now that you and the other parents of your son’s squad will receive a proper letter. That will happen if I have to go to the president myself.”
Davis swallowed hard. Of all things, that would be the easiest for Roarke to accomplish. But they didn’t know that. They really thought he was with the FBI.
Roarke continued. “It may be of little consequence now, but that’s one wrong that will be righted.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Cooper said, forgetting she’d actually asked a question. She went back for the photographs, taking pictures out of frames that lined the hallway. While she was away, Roarke let his eyes wander around the house. It was decorated with new furniture, original paintings, crystal fixtures, and marble. Everything was beautiful, as if chosen by a designer with little regard to budget.
“Here you are,” she said. She let her hand lovingly graze across the top photograph. “This is the last picture we took together. At our old house.”
Roarke saw proud parents and a handsome son. They stood at the front door of a modest Cincinnati home.
“Our neighbor took it.” She was about to hand it to Roarke when she asked, “We’ll get these back soon?”
“Yes, I promise. Thank you again for inviting us into your home,” Roarke added. He gazed around one final time. “It is magnificent.”
“We can thank Richard,” Bill Cooper volunteered.
“Oh?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he added. “Insurance policies he got abroad. We didn’t know about them, but then Richard always was dramatic. We went from living paycheck to paycheck to having money in the bank. It was quite a surprise to us. But he always said he’d take care of us. I guess he has.” He opened the door for his guests. There was nothing further to say.
Chapter 55
Shannon Davis tugged at Roarke’s arm before they were at their rental car.
“What was that all about?”
“What was what?” Roarke looked like the cat that swallowed a canary.
“How long have I known you?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Since service.”
“Yes,” Roarke answered.
“So I can tell when you flash onto something. It just happened in there,” Davis explained.
“When we get in the car,” Roarke said. He tossed Davis the keys.
A block away, Roarke got the third degree again. “So?” Roarke turned in his seat to face the FBI man. “You saw their house. Pretty spectacular for two blue-collar retirees.”
“Cooper said it. Their son’s insurance policy kicked in.”
“For that?” Roarke pointed his thumb in the direction of the house. “That’s more than insurance.”
“Come on, not if he had a million-dollar policy. And what’s to say it wasn’t more?”
“And the premiums? Not on the pay of a Ranger. No, there’s more money there than from an insurance company check. Besides, Cooper said it came from an insurance payment abroad. What’s the chance of that?”
Davis steered to the side of the street and rolled to a stop. “Their son sent the money?”
“Somehow, yes,” Roarke answered. “Stay with me for a minute. He goes into a death trap, furious over the command decision. Everyone dies — well, maybe everyone. His body is never recovered. Assume he survives the bomb blast. The only one. He’s obviously changed by the experience. He comes out vowing revenge. He blames his immediate supervisors. He blames the president. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if we check the record and discover that people involved in the decision to take the building met a rather sudden and tragic end. Okay, he’s officially dead. Figure he wants to come back to the States. But he needs money. He makes some inquiries, probably internationally. What does he do? He acts and he kills people. Cold-hearted. Cold-blooded. He becomes an assassin — a highly paid assassin. Maybe the highest the world has ever known. The new Jackal. He has money in offshore accounts. He sends a little stipend to Mom and Dad.”