Page 4 of What is Lost

“That,” he said, “was pretty damned low. I’m not the first vet to have problems.” Patterson was trying to get his fingernails under his skin was all, trying to find a magic formula that would get John to agree. He couldn’t possibly know what had happened when John walked into a crowded grocery store four months back. Just thinking about it made John’s skin go pebbly with gooseflesh. There’d been a lot of people in the store that Thursday when he’d elbowed his way over to pick up a melon. But then the walls closed in, the gabble of voices got loud, and then John couldn’t breathe, felt boxed in, and heard a panicky voice from his past:Sshh, sshh, don’t cry, kids, please, be quiet, please, please, please, he’ll find us...

That was when he started picking out targets. Decided who he’d have to kill first then second then third to make it back to the exit.

Old lady in red at ten o’clock. Guy with the beer gut at noon. Mom with the kid in the cart, left of the cashier…pop-pop-pop.

As soon as he was out, he’d sprint to his car, dive into the front seat, grab the Glock from theholster he’d attached with Velcro to the underside of the dash because Glocks didn’t have safeties, which meant all he had to do was point and shoot?—

Right then and there, still clutching a ripe cantaloupe so hard it should’ve burst the way the bullet from an AR-15 obliterates a man’s skull, John had decided: Brighter Days, or wind up as a statistic, a one-minute segment on the evening news about yet another veteran who’d decided he liked the taste of gunmetal more than living.

When he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to throttle Patterson, he said, “I came here because I had to.”

“You could’ve chosen a different path. Eaten your gun, run your car off a cliff, put your head in a noose.”

This clown was Captain Obvious. “Yeah but think of the mess.”

“What I mean is, coming here was brave. Working through pain takes guts because you’ve got to tear yourself down and build yourself up until you become a person you can believe in again. Someone who knows that no matter what the world throws at him, he can take it.”

“Is this when we go allmano a mano, roll up our sleeves for a nice friendly arm-wrestle and then pop a beer? Or do we just compare muscles? I got to tell ya, when it comes to abs, I’m about four cansshy of a six-pack. Save the he-man psychobabble for someone else, Patterson. You’ve known me for exactly—” John gave his watch a pointed look. “Twenty minutes. Which, in my book, is about nineteen minutes and thirty seconds too long.”

“I know enough.” Patterson paused. “And I’ve seenallyour files.”

Crap.John’s gut iced. The way Patterson said that…He knows. No matter what Stan said, Patterson...He had to calm down.Breathe, be cool. Just breathe.He wasn’t fourteen anymore. John Worthy knew how to handle questions and innuendo.

“And?” he said. “So?”

“So, I’ve talked to some people. They all agree you’re the man for the job. In fact,theyrequested you.”

“Who’sthey?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that information before you agree. Do that, and then I’ll read you in as much as I’m able.”

Which, John figured, translated into no promises.

“I don’t care who requested me.” He pushed to his feet. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t. It’s getting on three, and dark comes early in Montana at this time of year. I don’t want to be caught on the trail. No good for me. Not good for my horse. We’re done here.”

“Really?” Patterson didn’t move, just keptchewing his damn grass as John headed for his horse. “You’re done with Afghanistan?”

“Yup.” John yanked on a thief knot to free his horse’s reins. “Especiallythere.”

“I see.” Patterson waited until John slotted his left foot into a stirrup then said, “Does that mean you’re done with Captain Keller?”

What?John froze. His hands fisted in his horse’s mane, but he’d be damned if he turned around. He dragged his voice up from the pit of a gut gone suddenly icy. “What does that mean, Patterson?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“Which is a lot of nothing.” Now, he did turn. “Roni’s dead.”

Patterson fired off an imaginary bullet with a forefinger. “And that’s the nub, right there.”

“Nub,” John echoed. “You mean the nub of a problem?”

“About what you’re being asked to do. When it comes to a soldier we’ve been forced to leave behind, there’s rescue, there’s extraction.”

“None of which we got. No one even mounted so much as a simple recon to try and locate much less get her back.”

“I don’t suppose it does any good to remind you that this happened during the Kabul evac and that yourmission,as it were, wasn’t sanctioned.”

Did he detect a note of criticism? Sarcasm in the emphasis onmission? “I believe what you meant tosay was that it was covert, maybe black ops, maybe CIA, but who’s keeping score—and not a military operation. Either way, what difference would that make? We’re not supposed to leave anyone behind.”

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