Page 44 of What is Lost

The pencil jumped from the barrel.

So far, so good.Clicking the slide back into place, he reseated the magazine and nested the gun back into its carrying case. Then he turned to the case by his rifle, the one marked with duct tape. Taking out the weapon from its foam insert, he repeated the process: jacking out the loaded magazine, openingthe slide, and slipping Ustinov’s pencil into the barrel.

Then, finger on the trigger, he aimed for the side of the van and squeezed.

And, a half-second later, thought,Okaaay.

THE USUAL SUSPECTS

AUGUST 2021

After their renditionof a Stallone-Stone evening—or early morning, depending on how you interpreted time—they made it a pointnotto hang together quite so much. All that did, though, was fuel the gossip. Not only was it generally known that they were the two officers involved in the whole Moose thing—something best forgotten, in John’s opinion—but because prior to that, theyhadhung out a lot, both in Kabul and back at Fort Moore.

Still, more aware of her presence than ever before, he would steal a sidelong glance. More often than not, their eyes met—the pull between them wasthatstrong, like an irresistible telepathic command—and he would feel this electric shock in his thighs, his lungs squeezed down, all the spit dried up on his tongue. His heart thumped as hiscock swelled. Sometimes, he lost track of his surroundings and what he was doing in this place. He didn’t exactlyforget, but, for a second or two, Afghanistan and all this chaos and despair disappeared. For that brief moment, the world contracted until there was only her, this woman in the bubble of his desire.

Of course, tongues wagged; there were knowing smirks and raised eyebrows. One tech said something along the lines of John maybe closing his mouth, otherwise he was liable to catch a couple of flies.

Whatever. Even up to his elbows in work and grime and misery...John was happy. It was likeCasablanca, probably one of the most romantic movies he’d ever watched. He first saw the film in college. The auditorium erupted in cheers when, at the end, Claude Rains told his officers to round up the usual suspects. John’s date for the evening...a girl whose name he couldn’t remember...had welled up.Hecouldn’t take his eyes off Ingrid Bergman. The camera had made love to her face, lingering on her features, the lens gauzed so her skin was luminous, flawless, perfect. Her mouth was so lush John’s breath had stoppered in his chest when Bogart tipped up Bergman’s chin, so his thumbalmostgrazed her lips. Bergman was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Until now.

There was only a single thorn.

There were times...all right, virtually every day after the nightmare of The Falling Men…when he would look up from his work—and she wouldn’t be around, anywhere.On breakwas what the charge nurse said, though there was something in thewaythe nurse said that which tickled John’s antennae. Something going on...but what?

Because he did know thewhere.Roni didn’t have to say anything. But when, cheeks flushed and neck mottled, she slipped back into the med tent, he knew exactly where she’d gone. He wasn’t clear on thewhy, mostly because he wasn’t quite ready to look at that one.

Although his thoughts were minnows darting to a shiny lure: invariably swimming around and around the charge nurse’s tone. His expression, as if bursting to spill the beans becausegossip...but restraining himself at the last second from saying anything to John.

Something was up. Thewhywere elusive, but did that matter? No, not really. Well, all right, it sort ofdidmatter, but mostly...no. It shouldn’t matter with whom she spent time when she wasn’t with him or why she slipped out for lengthy periods to which the charge nurse turned a blind eye.

So, don’t go looking for trouble. Just don’t do it.He told himself that virtually every day when Roni disappeared. He was still reciting this same mantra one afternoon about a week after The Falling Men, when, ten minutes after she’d gone, he finished up with a patient, made sure there was coverage, and left the med tent.

He didn’t even have to think. Retracing his steps toward the tarmac, he slid into a wedge of shade where he was reasonably certain he couldn’t be seen from the hangar. The door there was open, but John couldn’t see into the shadows.

You’re being paranoid.He should leave. This was crazy. Just plain old, green-eyed, hobgoblin jealousy and what about? That she had friends? That she wanted to hang with Driver and his buddies?Fine, but why Driver? Why almosteveryday?All right, noteveryday, but just about every other.

To be fair, he looked for Driver himself. At odd times, when he wasn’t with Roni, and even if she’dnotdisappeared on a particular day, he would saunter to the area around the hangar. Why? Just because. Hoping Driver had departed on whatever mission the CIA wanted him and his friends to run? Sometimes when John swung by the Humvees were there. Sometimes, they weren’t. He never wandered over, never poked his head in to say hello. After all, it wasn’t as if he was exactly hard tofind; let Driver come findhimif he wanted a blood-brother.

And that’s what he and Roni are. Just friends. She knows his dad, for heaven’s sake.

Sweating, he swigged orange energy drink and kept checking the time. The minutes oozed by; his own break time would be over in five and standing here, stewing in his own juices, was insane?—

And then she was there as if by magic: slipping from the hangar’s shadows and into the sun. A medic’s pack hung from her left shoulder. A half-second later, they had all appeared, the usual suspects clustered in a small semi-circle: Flowers, Meeks, Harris, that woman and Musa—and then, finally, Driver.

No.His vision irised down, blocking out everything and everyone else. He watched as Driver slid past the others to stand almost toe-to-toe with Roni.No, no.His heart gave a painful knock against his ribs.Hell. Why, Roni, why?

But wait, they weren’t touching. Good...except why did they have to stand so close to each other just totalk? He watched her lips move, saw how she glanced down at her watch, and then she was turning because time to get back to work.

Leave, Roni.His jaws clenched so hard he was surprised his teeth hadn’t cracked.Just leave, just?—

And then she laid a hand on Driver’s shoulder.

No.His mouth went slack. All the spit dried on his tongue.No, no, Roni, don’t.

But then she did. She stood on tiptoe because she was a small woman, after all—and kissed Driver’s cheek.

There was a sudden small crinkle-crack, the feeling of something wet on his fingers, and he looked down to see energy drink drizzling from the crushed plastic bottle his fist had just throttled.

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