Between the inquiry and his impromptu interrogation by the lovely FBI agent, he ranked this as one of the worst noncombat days of his career. He didn’t know what the implications for his advancement would be after the inquiry, and now, in the dark of his bedroom, he wondered if his connection to Derek Walsh would be a detriment as well.
If it had thrown his career off track, he didn’t care. The marines stressed loyalty, and Derek Walsh had earned it. Anyone who knew him understood he had nothing to do with the allegations. But no one could deny the shock waves that had been sent across the world as a result of the illegal trade. It still felt manufactured to Shepherd. Why were so many people up in arms and prepared to turn violent about financial transactions? He felt like there was a larger plan in motion, and he had been quietly preparing his marines in case they had to act quickly.
There had been no protesters in front of the base this evening and, ironically, the first decent police presence since the trouble had started. Shepherd didn’t think one was linked to the other. He suspected the police presence was a result of the inquiry and the Americans’ complaints about support.
Just as he was about to nod off, his phone rang. It was his personal cell, which only a few people in the whole world ever called, and none of them about business. He reached over and recognized immediately that it was Fannie Legat. He didn’t know if she had already come home, but for the first time in his life he would have to tell a woman he was too tired to meet her. Maybe thirty had hit him harder than he had expected.
He answered it with a pleasant “Hello” rather than his usual “Shepherd here.”
Fannie’s sweet voice said, “Hello to you, too.”
He loved her French lilt.
She said, “I’m about to fly home now and was wondering if you wanted to meet for brunch. I have the whole day free if you are able to make it.”
He made some quick calculations in his head and said, “I can make brunch about ten, and we’ll have to see what happens from there.” He couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across his face as he stared up at the dark ceiling.
Fannie said, “The plane is at the gate. I can’t wait to see you.”
Shepherd needed a win like this to turn the whole day around. Now he had a reason to sleep soundly and get moving in the morning.
Hot damn!
He knew he needed his rest and shut off his cell phone. As soon as he rolled onto his side, he felt his consciousness slip away as he fell into a deep, well-earned sleep.
It took a full minute for Katazin to recover his senses and slowly start to stand. The cops would be here soon. He grabbed his knife and stumbled toward Tallett, who was still lying on the floor. All he had to do was stick the blade through the man’s throat and there would be one less thing for him to worry about.
As Katazin approached Tallett, the younger man rolled to his knees, then got to his feet. He looked at Katazin for just a moment, then said, “Where’s Alice?” He was suddenly in a panic as he scanned the platform. Without meaning to, Tallett moved away from Katazin to the edge of the platform, where he looked down at the body of his young girlfriend as she lay across all three rails of the N line. Her body sizzled from the electricity of the third rail like bacon in a frying pan. The stench reminded Katazin of Afghanistan. Burning flesh was burning flesh, whether it was in a remote mountain cave or the subways of New York.
Katazin walked up behind Tallett and put his arm on his shoulder as if comforting him, then plunged his knife all the way through the slim man’s neck from right to left, hoping that it would look like a piece of shrapnel from the explosion had caused the damage. Tallett stood for a moment, not even turning his head to see what had happened, then crumpled on the platform and tumbled off onto the track.
In the spreading smoke and suffocating fumes, Katazin could hear a train in the tunnel coming to a stop early. There was no telling what chaos this would spread through the city. He’d better start heading uptown as soon as possible. He still had a lot to do.
27
Walsh felt like it had been a lifetime since he walked across this courtyard and into the Thomas Brothers Financial building. It was hard for him to believe it was only three days ago he had a normal life with a schedule. He was starting to understand how empty that life was and that it lacked a purpose. He decided he’d tackle one problem at a time.
He scanned the courtyard and thought it really didn’t look much different than it had at lunchtime. The same uninterested news crew sat on one side with no one working the camera, and a few lackadaisical protesters halfheartedly marched on the other side. It was nothing at all like the day the shit hit the fan. No one was calling for the end of life as he knew it or protesting the very idea that some businesses dealt with money.
Some of the activity had decreased because of fear. A few bombs set off across the country, especially at Disneyland, had sent a shock wave not seen since the September 11 attacks. Now Walsh was hearing about the bombing at the Whitehall subway station not far from Wall Street. Just a few sketchy reports and an increase in foot traffic coming from the Battery, but it didn’t sound promising.
The situation developing around the country reminded Walsh of an experience in Afghanistan, one that had defined and troubled him for the past five years. Walsh had been trying to figure out how they were losing so many supplies during such a prolonged period of no combat operations. He knew that some of the local workers who came on the base would snatch what they could and sell it on the black market. He understood they were starving and that was what they needed to do to survive, but it was his duty to account for all of the supplies. More than once he had just handed money to would-be thieves and told them not to steal anything from the base. He knew it wouldn’t have much impact, but his conscience had a hard time allowing desperate men and their families to starve.
One evening, he had been working outside the supply tent and had just realized he’d already missed dinner with his friends when he heard a commotion and some gunfire. He didn’t immediately know if it was just a marine blowing off steam or trying to prove a point about what a good shot he was, or if it was something more serious. But as soon as he came around the corner of the tent he saw an Afghani man running with a U.S. military pack on his back. His first thought was that the shots were some kind of distraction so this man could steal from the supply tent. Shepherd wasn’t going to allow that to happen on his watch.
The man was almost within arm’s reach and didn’t even notice Walsh. He acted on instinct and reached out quickly to grab the pack with his right hand and pull it as hard as he could. He twisted the thin man around, and the pack slipped off his back. Walsh was shocked by the weight of it. He wondered how such a slightly built man could’ve even stood up with it on his back. The pack pulled him to the ground as he raised his own rifle in case the man had any ideas about retrieving the pack and running away.
Then Walsh heard gunfire and the man fell. It was only then that he realized there were two other Afghans off to the side. They were both knocked down by gunfire as well.
Walsh saw his three friends, Mike Rosenberg, Ron Jackson, and Bill Shepherd, running toward him just as he realized the pack didn’t contain supplies pilfered from his supply depot but held a bomb intended for the command bunker not far away. His next thought was whether the bomb was set on a timer or needed to be manually detonated. There was a white cord with a handle coming from inside the pack that lay limp on the ground. He realized at that moment that his stupid action had surprised the suicide bomber so completely he had yet to grab the detonation cord.