Page 96 of Trapped

Chapter Eighteen

Sophia’s look of relief almost took his breath away.

“Why is that so important to you?” he murmured.

“Because it’s important to you.”

When she reached for his hand again and linked her fingers with his, he held on tight.

But there were still questions whirling around in his mind. “Why couldn’t I remember the mission? What the hell was wrong with me?”

“Did you feel betrayed by Luntz?”

“Yes!”

“That’s the key, I think. You had to drive Afghanistan from your mind because the whole thing was such an enormous betrayal of everything you believed in—everything you’d devoted your life to. He was in your chain of command, but he sent you to do something bad.”

“We didn’t know it was bad.”

“Of course not.”

His gaze turned inward. “Is that why Montgomery cooked up that false story about Thailand? Because he knew I couldn’t let myself go back to Afghanistan?”

“I think so. He knew that was safer for you than reality. He gave you memories that were more acceptable.”

When he grimaced, she continued. “Probably he started with the diplomatic mission. And when you wouldn’t cooperate, he added the part about . . . about your going berserk and endangering everyone—to give you more reason to cooperate with him.”

“How did he do all that?” he asked, the question making his mouth so dry that he could hardly speak.

“With mind-altering drugs.”

“Just drugs?”

“Well, techniques to induce the behavior he wanted. Then he started digging back into the Afghanistan mission. Maybe he planted the idea that it was just a dream that you had to deal with.”

He thought about that. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he answered, although deep in his consciousness he felt a small scrap of doubt. But he banished it.

“I kept dreaming about it. But not what really happened. I guess I couldn’t face it—even in a dream.”

“So you twisted it into something else.”

“You’d think I’d make it into something good.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Apparently, you couldn’t go that far. But when you put Lieutenant Calley into the middle of it, you had someone to blame.”

“Yeah.” He heaved in a breath and let it out. “So—am I really suffering from post-traumatic stress?”

“Well, not in the classic sense—if you list all the symptoms.”

“Is that good or bad?”

She shook her head. “We don’t need to fool with labels now. Let’s just deal with what we have.”

He considered that, then said, “Okay. I guess the most important thing is telling you the real story.”

“Yes. I want to hear it. But maybe not here. We could go back and join the others.”

The others. He looked to his side, seeing Jonah Raider. That was a shock. “You were with me in Afghanistan,” he blurted. “No, not really there. You took me back.”

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