Griffin had called while they were on the bus and he and Connelly were doing well, despite the fact, as Griffin had put it, that being forced to shave his beard had surely “scarred and traumatized him for life.” They had arrived at the house of Connelly’s retired doctor friend without incident and Connelly was getting treatment.
Desh took the driver’s seat of the used pick-up when the transaction was completed. “Where to?” he asked.
“Get back on 95 north,” replied Kira. “Let’s go to my place.”
“You have a place? After all this time on the run?”
Her eyes danced playfully. “It’s a motor home. I live in a trailer park.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Why do you say that?” she said impishly.
Desh shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re a brilliant scientist whose discoveries could change the world. You just don’t picture someone like that in an RV.” He smiled broadly. “Albert Einstein living in a trailer park just seems wrong to me.”
She laughed. “That’s why it’s so perfect. A trailer park is the last place the old me would ever think of living and the last place anyone would think to look. And this way, I can change locations every month or so and still have a sense of home.”
It was a sound strategy, Desh realized, once you stopped to think about it. “I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve never been to a trailer park.”
“You’re in for a treat then,” she said. “I have three RVs as a matter of fact. One on the East Coast, one on the West Coast, and one in the heartland. The last two are just safety valves. I paid for a year at the trailer park in advance so they’ll be there for me if I need them.”
“I can hardly wait to see it,” said Desh, stopping at a red light. “So tell me about your search for Moriarty.”
“I will. But not now. I’ve been doing all of the talking. It’s your turn.”
“In my defense, I was too busy doing the mistrusting and glaring for that.”
“Given what you were told, I can’t blame you,” she said. “But tell me about you. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to know anyone. How did you end up in the military?” She paused. “Or did you feel like you really didn’t have a choice?”
For just a moment Desh had forgotten that she had made a study of him, but her question reminded him immediately. His father had been a general, a fact that she well knew as evidenced by her question. She certainly hadn’t wasted any time on small talk, although with everything they had been through, he realized, small talk at this point would be a little ridiculous.
“I had a choice,” he answered. “Definitely. Dad wasn’t like that. He loved being in the military but he wanted me and my brother to do what made us happy. In the end, I joined up, not because he pressured me, but because he set such a good example. He was compassionate and friendly and had a great sense of humor.” Desh paused. “Most people picture military lifers as rigid, inflexible, authoritarian bureaucrats—and many of them are—but not my father.”
“What did your mother think of it all?”
“She had a similar philosophy. She wanted us to be happy. She admired my dad, but she made sure we knew the sacrifices we would be making if we joined up. Funny,” he added, “my brother joined up also. Went to Annapolis. I sometimes wonder if either of my folks had put pressure on us if we would have done something else, just to rebel.”
Desh hadn’t spoken of his father for a long time and his eyes reflected a deep loss.
“I’m sorry about your father,” said Kira softly.
He nodded. “If anyone knows about loss, it’s you,” he said. “Did any of my records say how it happened?”
“No. Just that he died in action.”
“Which is a misrepresentation,” said Desh dourly. “He was in Pakistan at a weeklong meeting with regional military leaders. He died buying fruit at a market near his hotel. Just another terrorist bombing. Ironic: he had seen a lot of action in his career, but he died off-duty and out of uniform.” His lip curled up in disgust. “They probably wouldn’t have bombed the place if they knew he was a general. They actually prefer killing civilians,” he said bitterly. “Generates more terror that way.”
Kira sighed supportively. After a few seconds of silence she said, “How’s your brother doing?”
“He’s doing well. I didn’t get to visit with him very often before I left the service. But since I became a civilian I’ve been seeing more of him.”
“Do you regret leaving the military?”
“Honestly, no. I feel a little selfish and maybe a little cowardly; but no. I was ready to leave even before the disaster in Iran. When you’re in the Delta Force you don’t form strong attachments to anyone outside your team—you can’t. Not really. And I didn’t want to go through life that way. I wanted to be a husband and father someday.”
They drove on in silence for several minutes. “You mentioned Iran,” began Kira hesitantly. “What happened there exactly?”
“You must have read the after action report.”
“I skimmed through it,” she acknowledged. “But it was lengthy and I didn’t read it carefully. Besides,” she continued, “If we’re going to be allies, David, the more insight we have into each other, the better. I’d be interested in hearing these events in your own words.”
Desh shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell,” he lied. He had planned to stop there when it occurred to him that Kira had bared her soul at the restaurant. Maybe it was his turn. He sighed heavily. “Okay, I’ll give you an abbreviated version.”
Desh paused and gathered himself. “Intel had finally located the leader of a terror group, Khalid Abdul-Malik. He was responsible for a series of bombings of churches and synagogues around the world, all timed during religious services to maximize casualties. He was headquartered just outside of Sanandaj, on Iran’s western border. We were sent in to capture him if possible, kill him if not. Our insertion was flawless.”
Desh tilted his head, remembering. “Satellites had picked up Abdul-Malik and some of his key lieutenants on the move, headed toward the nearby town of Mahabad, and we planned an ambush.” He shook his head, a tormented expression on his face. “But we were ambushed instead,” he said sullenly. He fell silent for several long seconds and then added, “They had been expecting us.”
“You were set up?”
“No question about it. I have no idea how.” Desh turned away from Kira and kept his gaze focused steadily on the road ahead, bracing himself to continue. “We were all taken prisoners, me and the three other members of my team. Since I was team commander, the terrorists decided to punish me by torturing my men to death in front of me—men who I loved as brothers.” He looked as if he might vomit. “My head was tied in position and my eyes were pried open. I couldn’t turn my head and I couldn’t look away.” He shuddered. “There are tortures beyond the imaginings of the most gifted horror writer,” he whispered.
There was a long silence as Kira waited for him to continue.
“I won’t describe what happened next,” he said finally. “I wouldn’t do that to anybody. Suffice it to say they were tortured and then butchered.” Hatred welled up in his eyes. “And these sick bastards enjoyed every minute of it, too.”
“How did you escape?” asked Kira softly.
“They had finished with my men,” said Desh, his voice now dead and emotionless. “I was next. There were three guards with me at the time. While one of them was peeing out back, one of them slipped on a pool of blood and fell. A man has only six quarts of blood in his body. Six quarts doesn’t seem like a lot until you’re covered in it, and you see the rest spilled on the ground. Eighteen quarts is hard to imagine.”