Page 37 of What is Lost

“That’s what I’m saying,” the other guy responded. “Telling you, something’s going on. Friend works on the flight line. He said these Marines got some Afghans with them. Not Zeros, neither, and one’s awoman,and theyhelped. Like with the Moose, picking off targets, one right after the other?—”

“Naw, man.” The med tech, again. “Wasn’t just them. It was a couple of docs, too.”

Ohhh, eff me.His heart skipped a beat. His ears tingled. Switch out this van for a darkened stairway and a boy overhearing his mother say to his dad:We can’t ignore this anymore. We have to talk about Casey.

Casey’s fine.His father, testy, impatient.He’s just a little?—

“Really?” someone asked.

“Uh-huh,” the tech said. “Some of the best shooting my buddy’s ever seen. Said it was a miracle they didn’t hit the plane.”

“You know who?”

“Oh, yeah,” the tech said—and then proved that, indeed, he did know, exactly, who’d been doing the shooting.

John stopped listening after that, perhaps because his heartbeat was thundering so loudly, he couldn’t—or maybe he just didn’t want to listen anymore. What was the point? This was only gossip, and gossip likethiswould pass eventually, though things neverwouldbe the same again. Not after what he’d done.

They’ll just never look at you straight in the eye anymore, son,Stan had said.They’re always going to be uncertain. They’ll always be afraid. Everyone will figure that, no matter how much time has passed, it’s in the blood.

He waitedfor the van to empty then tacked on another thirty seconds as the conga line of soldiers shuffled for the chow hall. When the last soldier had disappeared, he said good night to the driver and hustled in the opposite direction. He’d lost his appetite anyway.

His quarters were adjacent to the gym, wheremany of the Marines were bunked, and an open patch of improbably green grass the Afghan military had used as a soccer field. He slipped into the building through a side door. The facility was skeletal, but the halls were clean, dimly lit, and relatively quiet. The place was almost like a hotel if you overlooked the cinder block walls. Hurrying down the corridor to his quarters, he caught muted gabble and the occasional swell of what seemed like movie music seeping through a few closed doors. Probably something streamed from the internet which they were lucky to have on this side of the airport.

Roni’s room was four doors down from his. He slowed then stopped in front of her door. He knew she wasn’t there; she’d gone off to...well, whatever. She might be taking a walk, having a think.

Or looking for Driver.

And if she’dfound him, what then? Were they merrily chatting away, catching up, getting all buddy-buddy? Were theynotso merrily chatting away?

Were they doing something else?

Don’t do it.He felt the quiet of the corridor, the silence pressing against the back of her door, as a prickle on his skin. She would never bring Driver here. Would she? If she had, would they be...

Stop it.Roni wasn’t property. They weren’t a couple. She could bring whomever she wanted toher quarters. Odds were excellent, however, that she hadn’t. Someone would notice and regs were regs. Officers didn’t go around sleeping with enlisted...which was kind of a laugh. Besides, Driver and the other Marines...or were theyex-Marines? Or Black Ops? Whatever. If theywereno longer Marines, bringing Driver back to her quarters would be totally kosher.

Except Driver and his guys were hanging with a guy from the CIA. Mac would probably cut them a break for this afternoon, seeing as how his Afghan asset had joined in the fun. But slipping off with one of the regular soldiers, like Roni, someone who hadn’t been read in, who wasn’t part of whatever mission they were on? Mac would probably have them executed. Rubbed out. Quietly erased.

For God’s sake.He really did watch too many movies.Suck it up.He gave the door a hard look. He just wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t eventhinkabout checking...

Oh, go on.He knew this voice. This wasn’t his but belonged to a nasty imp who squatted in a dark closet at the back of his mind. Every so often, it slipped a few talons through a crack and pulled open that door just wide enough to whisper. The thing had taken up residence in his brain the night he huddled on that stair and eavesdropped on his parents.Go on, you loser. You know she’s in there with someone who isn’t you.

Turning a guilty look left and right, he put an ear to her door, closed his eyes, and listened...

And got back a whole lot of nothing. No voices, no squeaky springs, no moans or sighs. He listened so hard his ears buzzed.

Nothing.

The hall was so still he heard the squeak of his leather boots as he backed up to study he floor beneath her door. No light. If this were a movie, he’d pull out a paper clip or something and MacGyver his way inside. But what for? Roni wasn’t there. He hoped. No, shewasn’t, and she most certainly wasn’t in bed with Driver somewhere else.

Yeah?The imp let go of a nasty snigger.You sure?

His own windowlessroom was bare bones: a cot with a thin mattress, a television on a bureau, a small bathroom with stall shower and sink. Shucking his gear, he peeled out of his uniform, kicked off his boots, skinned off socks and undershirt, worked his way to his skivvies, and started for the shower.

But then his gaze snagged on his laptop.

He stopped. He knew what he would look for. He also knew that finding it would be of no use to anyone, least of all himself.

Still…five minutes.That’s what he told himself. Five minutes and then he could put this afternoon behind him.

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