He put his arm around her, felt her trembling, and pulled her close. “Take all the time you need to heal yourself. Don’t worry about what happens next.”
“I’m afraid, Tom, and embarrassed.”
He kissed her on the lips and she responded. But he had to pull free. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I love you.”
“You have to leave now?”
He stood, grabbed his bag, and nodded. “I’ll call as soon as I can.”
“Be careful, okay? And come back.”
Chapter Five
The man who removes a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.
—William Faulkner
Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues” played on the stereo as the pickup’s tires crunched across the gravel driveway. It was always difficult, pulling away from the ones you loved and not knowing if you’d ever see them again.
The lyrics entered his head as though Cash was singing directly to him: “When I hear that whistle blowin’, I hang my head and cry.”
Crocker wondered if he should have told Holly that he was going after Farhed Alizadeh, the man who had planned her kidnapping in Libya and ordered the killing of Brian Shaw. Maybe it wouldn’t have helped. Part of him wanted to stay with her, but a stronger sense of obligation compelled him to complete the mission and get Alizadeh.
How satisfying will that be, for Holly particularly? Crocker asked himself as the pickup hurtled down a country road, past modest houses where families were returning from work and school and starting to prepare dinner. He hoped the death of his rival would give Holly some feeling of closure.
He was uncharacteristically unsure of himself when it came to dealing with emotional matters, and he scolded himself for not saying goodbye to his teenage daughter. He’d hardly had occasion to talk to her during the few days he’d been home. In the competition between family and SEAL team for his attention, it seemed as if the team always won.
Crocker stood at a magazine kiosk in Dulles International Airport, looking down at the face of disgraced general David Petraeus, when he remembered that his father’s birthday was next week. He punched the button on his cell phone that speed-dialed his father’s number.
“Dad?”
“Tom, what’s wrong?” the eighty-two-year-old asked in a voice deepened and withered with time.
“Nothing. We missed you at Thanksgiving.”
“Holly was kind enough to invite me, but I was too busy to drive up.”
Tom’s father lived in an apartment in Fairfax and had been kind of lost since Crocker’s mother died three years ago. He spent most of his time volunteering at the local VFW, Post 8469, where he was commander.
“Too busy doing what?” Crocker asked.
“Serving turkey dinner to a bunch of beaten-down disabled vets.”
He admired his dad and wished they had more time to spend together. “How are things?” he asked.
“I could complain, but no one would listen. Sure sucks, getting old. But I made a new friend. A young gal named Carla, who works as a waitress at the local diner. She’s a single mom raising a son. Dale’s his name. Nine years old and already teaching me how to play video games. Can you imagine, an old fart like me?”
Crocker heard his flight being called and saw Akil waving at him from near the gate.
“Dad, I’ve got to go.”
“Where you calling from?”
“Dulles. I’m about to board a flight.”
“I’d tell you to stay out of trouble, but I know you can’t do that. Call me when you get back. Give my love to Hol and Jenny.”
“Will do.”
Approximately eight miles east of where Crocker’s dad lived in Virginia, thirteen-year-old Alex Rinehart sat in front of a TV in his grandparents’ basement, using a remote to flip through the channels. He was dressed in a black-and-white-striped shirt and jeans, and had a full face with a tangled mop of dark hair and sad, slightly Asian eyes. He looked like a normal, healthy, well-cared-for teenager. Hours earlier he had returned from his new school, the Bethesda–Chevy Chase Middle School.
Alex had been a student at the school for only two weeks and was already excelling in algebra, computer studies, and pre-calculus. But he was woefully behind in English, social science, and American history. A good deal of that had to do with his refusal to speak or write since the death of his parents in Bangkok.
A school-appointed developmental psychologist named Cathy Struthers sat in an armchair to his right observing him as he watched TV. She noticed that he quickly flipped past shows that dealt with personal relationships and, especially, family—Friends, Seinfeld, 1600 Penn, Modern Family. He paused at an old episode of Law & Order, but as soon as a distressed father appeared on the screen, Alex switched channels. He finally settled on a rebroadcast of Jeopardy!