Two months had passed since the incident with Sharafan. Beau’s hand had healed and arrangements were made for his return home. Problems with his return were temporarily circumvented with the help of his old commanding officer, Admiral Ted Garrett, and with the recommendation of a few select others. At Ted’s insistence they had succeeded, partly on the interest, rather more the curiosity of President Obama, who was in a no-lose situation. He could either save an American or punish him as public outcry demanded. Neither mattered, only what was politically advantageous and at the time, Obama was more concerned with his amendment that had almost passed with the required two-thirds states. In a few more weeks the twenty-second amendment would be voided and Obama was almost assured of a third term. It seemed most Americans, those on welfare, still wanted him as president even with his reckless destruction of the Constitution of the United States. The people on handouts from the government exceeded those that worked to pay for those benefits. People were even being laid off because they didn’t speak Spanish and the local joke in Texas was that you needed to dial two for English when contacting business because the messages were all in Spanish. Ted had informed Beau and he knew the problems and the risks.
Casually he toyed with the small gold ring hanging from a leather cord around his neck, and for a moment his thoughts returned to the friends he left behind in Israel. The general, whose son he had saved, had been most gracious, taking Beau into his home. The general’s wife had given him the gold wedding band hanging from his neck, a gift of gratitude for saving her son. Inside the simple gold band were inscribed the Hebrew words, “Love Eternal.”
In Israel he was a hero, but in the United States it would be different; there would be no welcome home. He was considered many things in the States but hero was not one of them, except to the ones he once led into combat.
Despite the consequences, he must return to warn his country. Would they listen to him? A man most considered a traitor and who had fought to defend another country? Others only thought of him as a coward who fled his own nation. In the Arab world he was still a murderer with a price on his head.
Admiral Theodore Garrett had arranged for a small group of military officers to interrogate Beau in Washington, D.C. From there he would be sent to the Naval Air Station in Corpus Christi, Texas, where he would be questioned again. He would be assigned to Admiral Garrett’s command, where he would remain until a decision could be reached on his status with the military.
Beau was afraid they would not listen, but it mattered little now, because he would soon know whether they would or not. Still, he thought of Cobra’s words about the airlines but mostly he wondered about the second secret.
Time to go home, time to return to Texas and a chance to see his brothers and his friends. But most of all it was a chance to see Moon Shadow.
Chapter 2
THE REUNION
The New Year’s holiday activity filled Corpus Christi International Airport to overflowing capacity with little room to move and find passenger’s destinations. People congregated in masses for business and pleasure. Everything was as it always had been. With dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, the lone soldier went unnoticed; bumping shoulders with tourists he melted with the collage of people.
The airport speaker system broadcast information and warnings: “Remember any inappropriate remarks or jokes concerning security could result in your arrest.” No one listened. All were too busy trying to catch their next flight or shuttles to take them home or away from the airport. Passengers dealt with the DHS groping and search.
The soldier continued his way slowly with the crowds, through a revolving door, and into the daylight. Outside he dropped his duffel bag to the warm concrete walk. Beau was finally home — late December and the weather was still hot and extremely humid, but not unusual for the Texas coastal town of Corpus Christi. In December the weather could be freezing one day and the next over eighty degrees.
Nothing had changed in his absence, yet it all seemed strange and unreal. A flight attendant, running late, pulled her bags on rollers as she raced for the doors to the terminal, while her sweet perfume left an enticing trail. Near the arrival curb, a man kissed a woman and hugged a small little boy goodbye. A police officer busily filled out a citation for an over-parked vehicle. Facing the building, two newspaper boys kneeled down to load their machines.
Beau made his way to the newsstand, placed two quarters in the machine, and pulled The Corpus Christi Times from the rack. He folded the newspaper and slid it under his arm. Everything was peaceful and calm. So was the eye of the hurricane, he thought. His hometown and his country were in the eye, and once it passed nothing but death and destruction would follow. Glancing at the headlines, his eyes caught the warning of his coming, but nothing of the dangers ahead. No one in the airport knew who he was or that he returned to warn his country before the eye passed: a warning he hoped would come before it was too late.
An elderly woman moved slowly to the newspaper machine for the latest news. Her arms were full with bags and she dropped them when she removed the newspaper. Deftly Beau bent over and scooped her bags from the ground.
“Here, let me help you with those,” he said.
“Thank you, sonny.” The words seemed to warble from her old throat. “Could ya bring them to the curb for me so’s I can get a taxi?”
Beau glanced down into her thankful eyes and smiled. “Yes ma’am, no problem.” He swung his duffel bag over his shoulder and followed her. The elderly lady glanced at the headlines as they made their way to where a taxi waited.
“Well I declare,” she bellowed. “This here heathen scoundrel is coming back to our own town. That murderer! The Jews paid him to kill those poor people. And our country is letting him back in. It’s just awful, don’t you think?” She kept jabbing the bold type with her small, shriveled finger. The front-page story was about a returning American officer who had been an Israeli mercenary.
“Maybe what’s written in the article isn’t true. I think we should wait and see if he’s as bad as the papers say,” Beau countered. The taxi driver loaded the scuffed luggage into the trunk. “No. If it’s in the newspapers, he has to be guilty,” she testified.
“What would you say if I told you I was that man?” Beau asked.
The little lady shuffled closer to the soldier, reached up and removed his dark glasses, and peered into the deep blue eyes. After a moment she tilted her head and said, “If you are that man, then the newspapers are wrong. Sonny, your eyes are just too kindly and gentle for this little old lady to believe anything else.” She shook her head. “Eyes tell everything, but they also tell me you carry much sorrow.” A sparkle came from her own as she squeezed his huge hand. “Sonny, I’ve never been wrong about the eyes.”
The taxi driver coughed and the two laughed. Beau waved goodbye as the taxi drove off, then he slid the dark glasses back into position. She never noticed the medal for valor hanging over the left pocket of his uniform. The Hebrew word for “Israel” was inscribed in the center. Beau glanced at the newspaper machine and the bold headlines protected behind glass, and sighed. So they knew he was back. He had hoped to keep it quiet, but it was not to be. Surely Sharafan had seen to that.
Beau held his right hand out, turned the palm toward him, and studied the small finger — or what had been his small finger — to admire Cobra’s work. He made a fist and released it; there was no longer any pain. The bronze tan of his hand and the pinkish tone of the recently healed stub were in stark contrast. His thoughts were filled with Cobra, and he regretted the Syrian pilot still lived. If anyone had seen beneath those dark glasses and into the pair of hostile steel blue eyes, they would have cleared a wide path. The anger passed. After all, he was home.