Page 40 of Never
She rolled out from under the car and got to her feet. She felt weak, and would have liked to sit down, but she didn’t want to look like a wimp in front of the soldiers. She leaned on the fender of the Peugeot for a moment, staring at the bullet holes. She knew that some rifle ammunition could smash all the way through a car. She had been lucky.
She remembered that she was an intelligence agent and she needed to glean any available information from this incident. She said to Susan: ‘Ask if there are any bodies on the high bridge.’
Susan put her radio to her mouth and asked the question.
‘No bodies, but some bloodstains.’
One or more wounded men had been driven away, Tamara concluded.
That left the one she had killed.
Determinedly, she stepped towards the pedestrian bridge. Her legs felt stronger. She walked up to the body. There was no doubt that the jihadi was dead: his head was a mess. She took his gun from his unresisting hands. It was short and surprisingly light, a bullpup rifle with a banana-clip magazine. There was a serial number on the left side of the barrel near the join with the frame. Tamara recognized the gun as having been made by Norinco, the China North Industries Group Corporation, a defence manufacturer owned by the Chinese government.
She pointed the gun at the ground, pulled the magazine release rearward and disengaged the banana clip, then opened the bolt and took out the chambered round. She put the banana clip and the single round into the pockets of her trucker jacket, then she carried the unloaded rifle back to her ruined car.
Susan saw her and said: ‘You carry that like it’s a dead dog.’
‘I just pulled out its teeth,’ said Tamara.
The paramedics were loading the stretcher into the ambulance. Tamara realized she had not even spoken to Pete. She hurried over.
Pete looked ominously still. She stopped and said: ‘Oh, Christ.’
Pete’s face was pale and his eyes stared upwards.
A paramedic said: ‘Sorry, miss.’
‘He asked me for a date once,’ Tamara said. She began to cry. ‘I told him he was too young.’ She wiped her face with her sleeve but the tears kept coming. ‘Oh, Pete,’ she said to his lifeless face. ‘I’m sorry.’
***
A switchboard operator said: ‘I have Corporal Ackerman’s father on the line, Madam President. Mr Philip Ackerman.’
Pauline hated this. Every time she had to speak to a parent whose child had died in the armed services, it wrenched at her heart. She was forced to think about how she would feel if Pippa died. It was the worst part of her job.
‘Thank you,’ she said to the operator. ‘Put him on.’
A deep male voice said: ‘This is Phil Ackerman.’
‘Mr Ackerman, this is President Green.’
‘Yes, Madam President.’
‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Pete gave his life, and you gave your son, and I want you to know that your country is profoundly grateful to you for your sacrifice.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I believe you’re a firefighter, sir.’
‘That’s right, ma’am.’
‘Then you know about risking your life for a good reason.’
‘Yes.’
