Court said, “You were close to me during the firefight. Behind a column. But you ran over to the other women, too. You were going to try to save them yourself.”
When she did not respond Court said, “Weren’t you?”
Zoya looked out to sea. “I saw that you had Chamroon. I went over to the women just for cover. I was looking for a gun. I would have shot you if I’d found one.”
“Well, I am glad things turned out the way they did.”
Zoya, still looking into the silvery moonlight, just said, “Tell me why you did it. I want to understand.”
Court scratched the back of his head. He didn’t know how to explain himself, because normally he would have no need to. But for some reason he wanted her to understand. Not to justify his actions, but instead to help her, because he could tell she was completely adrift, both as an intelligence officer and as a person.
“Occasionally one is presented with moral questions that are different from the mission itself. I don’t like it. I would rather keep things simple, but life gets in the way of the job sometimes. At that spa in Bangkok, in that brief moment, you and those other women were the most important thing. The mission is my job, but sometimes I divert a little, for the sake of others.” He smiled now. “Doesn’t make me a great guy. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to shoot some asshole through the forehead five seconds later.”
Zoya sighed. “I believe in keeping things simple, too. But it is not always possible.” A stray cloud passed in front of the moon, dimming the light on them both. Zoya asked, “Have you ever killed an innocent person?”
From the timing and placement of the question, Court realized she was asking it for her own reasons, not really to elicit information from him. Still, he hesitated a long time before answering, and he answered truthfully: “Yes.”
“Under orders?”
“Yes.”
“Does that help? That you were ordered to do it?”
Court thought about his answer. “No. Not much. Not enough, anyway.”
Zoya nodded now, staring deeply into Court’s eyes. “You and I have so much in common.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Court said it with sincerity. He stood. “We should try to get some sleep.”
Court and Zoya each moved bedding from the king-sized bed, as they had the night before. She made a small and neat pallet for herself in the walk-in closet, and Court just tossed a pillow and a blanket on the floor on the far side of the bed from the entrance to the room.
After getting ready for bed they both lay down, fifteen feet apart and unable to see each other, but they continued talking across the room. Mostly they talked about nothing. Every now and then, however, they would discuss some aspect of their plan for the next day.
The conversation trailed off and then picked back up for a few minutes, and it trailed off again.
Court lay there in the dark now, gazing around at the room he could see from his position, using the significant moonlight that poured in from the glass door to the balcony.
For ten minutes he heard only his own breath, his own heartbeat.
And then he sat up.
He didn’t think he had made any noise, but he heard a stirring in the closet almost immediately. He climbed to his feet, and a few seconds later he heard Zoya rise, as well.
She whispered, “What is it? You heard something?”
Court moved around the bed, closer to her.
She stepped out of the closet now, revealing herself in the moonlight. She wore a plain white T-shirt and blue cotton track pants; her hair was hooked behind her ears, but a little drooped down in her face. She cocked her head, trying to listen for whatever noise caused the American to get up.
But the American hadn’t been stirred by a noise.
He stepped close to her, face-to-face, close enough to where he could feel the warmth of her body. He put his arms around her and pulled her close to him. He kissed her deeply, and for a brief moment, she kissed him back.
Then she pulled away, not out of his grasp, just back a little. With her hands gently on his hips she looked up at him. “This isn’t keeping things simple.”
Court said, “It is for me. Doing nothing feels impossible.”
Zoya said, “I just… you remind me of someone. I worry that it is affecting my actions.”
“Someone good, I hope?”
She blinked hard, and Court wondered if she was going to cry. It was certainly not the emotion he’d hoped to elicit from her right now.
But she recovered and said, “Someone very good. Someone so good that it worries me that perhaps I am projecting something onto you. Hoping for too much from you. Normally I have a hard time letting my guard down, it is dangerous to do, but…”
Court held her tight. “You’re safe. Tonight, you’re safe.”
He kissed her again, and now she brought her hands to the sides of his face, pulled him even closer, and together they stood there in the dark, kissing and touching and breathing each other’s air, and then they moved back into the closet, lowered down on the floor, and for now, for tonight, they were both safe, and tomorrow’s dangers seemed like they were still far out to sea.
CHAPTER
FIFTY
Court woke well before the first light of dawn. The room was darker now than it had been with the evening’s moonlight, and here in the closet it was pitch-black, but he didn’t need to see a thing. He was behind her, with his bare chest against her back and his arm around her naked stomach and his nose in her hair at the back of her head. He didn’t know where his clothes were — he’d have to do an after-action review later to relive the events of the past several hours, just to reassure himself that it had actually happened.
Court looked out of the closet, waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim. He found everything still in its place and no new threats in the world, a world that felt very different suddenly. He moved his hand from in front of her to rub his eyes, but she lay still. Returning his hand, he brushed his fingertips across her stomach, feeling her abdominal muscles move as she breathed. He retracted his hand a little to her hip, and he felt warm skin over her hip bone. He stroked up a few inches and stopped. There was something there on the skin on her back. A scar, no more than half an inch in diameter. He knew it was a bullet wound instantly, because he had similar marks on his own body. He lingered there, touching it out of curiosity, then realized what an awful thing he was doing and started to move on, angry at himself.
Zoya spoke, and though her voice told Court she’d been sleeping, she displayed neither a hint of shyness nor anger. “That was a 7.62 round. In and out. Three years ago. I was wearing body armor, but not side plates. Stupid.”
“Side plates suck,” Court said.
“Not as bad as getting shot.”
“No argument from me.”
She added, “Must have been a ricochet, didn’t even break the ribs.”
“Where did this happen?”
“Chechnya.”
“I hear that place is a hellhole.”
She rolled over to face him, though they couldn’t see each other at all in the darkness of the closet. “Most every place I’ve been sent is a hellhole.” And with that she kissed him deeply. “But it’s not so bad right here.”
He started to put his hand on her body again, but she clasped his fingers in hers. He thought she’d had enough of his touch, and he was about to apologize, but she surprised him by saying, “That one is nothing. Feel this.” She placed his hand on her upper back, between her shoulders and just to the right of her spine. This scar was three times the size of the other.
“What happened there?”