McCullough shook his head. “He didn’t say.”

“Who brought him?”

Another head shake. “He just walked in. Had a vehicle out front and a base pass from the CO. Said he wanted to talk to you in private.”

“Did he say anything about Grif?”

“Wanted a sit rep. We gave it to him. Same I just gave you.”

“Okay. Do me a favor, if he comes back to see Grif, call me.”

“I don’t think you want to get in the middle of that.”

Max smiled. “Yeah, but I do. Where’s Grif now?”

“I’ll check.”

Max pulled on the clean BDUs McCullough had left on the bed and had just managed to get the fly buttoned when he returned.

“Grif’s pretty zoned. Like I said, he won’t know you were there.”

“Yeah,” Max said, “he will.”

McCullough shrugged. “Come on.”

Grif looked disconcertingly vulnerable with the tubes and lines attaching him to monitors and IVs. She gripped his hand and leaned close. “Hey, Grif, it’s Deuce. You’re back at base, in the hospital. You’re doing fine.” She wondered when he’d be transported to one of the regional hospitals. A wave of loneliness caught her by surprise. Rachel was already gone, and soon Grif would be too. She cleared her throat. “Oh, and your equipment all checks out. Laurie will be happy about that. Just make sure you get your ass out of bed and get through rehab quick so you can get home where you belong.” She released his hand and straightened. “See you, buddy.”

She walked out just as the sun came up. She’d been right the night before. By dawn, it was all over.

*

“Dad, it’s me.”

“I was informed you were all right.”

Rachel almost laughed. She supposed she was all right, by all ordinary criteria. Physically, she was bruised and scraped and scratched and sore, but nothing that wouldn’t mend with some sleep, good food, and a week or so of anti-inflammatories. Somewhere inside, though, she was bleeding. That would mend too, but she wondered about the scars. When she looked in Max’s eyes, she realized the shadows she saw were really scars. “I am. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“We’ve been in touch with the embassy. Arrangements are being made for your transport stateside. I imagine we can get you headed home in the next twenty-four hours.” He paused and when Rachel didn’t reply went on with the merest hint of irritation. “Is there something else you need?”

“What? No. I don’t need anything.” Home. She immediately thought of her tent and Amina sleeping across from her. Wasn’t home simply the place where you felt most yourself? She tried to imagine herself in her condo in Manhattan, making fundraising calls and organizing meetings with donors, or at a political gathering disguised as a dinner party at her parents’ mansion in Falls Creek, accompanied by a beautiful woman with all the right breeding and all the right credentials who was looking for just the right wife. Those places seemed more like a foreign country to her than the stark, arid plains and dense, overpowering jungles of Somalia ever had. The people here—Amina, Grif, Max—knew her better than anyone from her past. “Dad. I’m not leaving right away.”

“What? You can’t be thinking about returning to the aid camp. From the reports, it’s been pretty much demolished and that whole area is a rebel stronghold.”

“No, I’m not thinking about going back,” she said, and the words hurt. She’d accomplished something there, touched lives, made a difference. Now it was all lost. But that didn’t mean her conviction had been shattered. If anything, her desire to bring resources to those who had none was even stronger. “I want to meet with the organization directors in Mogadishu, and I need to see that the other members of the team are all taken care of.”

“Rachel,” he said in that flat voice he used when he’d made a decision and didn’t see any point in further discussion, “there are certain circumstances of which you’re unaware—”

“I think I know what some of those circumstances are,” she said, thinking of Carmody’s interrogation. She suspected some kind of interagency power struggle was going on, and she’d ended up in the middle of it either by virtue of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or because she was her father’s daughter. “I’d be happy if you filled me in so I’m not guessing.”

“I’m afraid that’s something I can’t go into right now. Suffice it to say your continued presence in the area is not a good idea.”

“Unless I’m given a credible reason to leave that doesn’t have to do with some kind of political agenda, I’m staying.”

“I really don’t think it’s wise for you to linger. That entire region is not nearly as stable as you might think.”

She did laugh then, a hollow sound that almost hurt. “Dad. I think I know that better than most. I just saw three of my friends murdered yesterday morning.”

“I’m…sorry you had to witness that. Obviously the plan to get you out was not as well-executed as it should have been. Believe me, we’re looking into that.”

“Dad, do you know someone by the name of Carmody?”

“Should I?”

“I think so.” She doubted Carmody was her father’s man—he’d never have interrogated her the way he did. So if he wasn’t on her father’s side, maybe he was against him. She’d probably already said too much on a line she couldn’t trust was secure. “He’s been around.”

“Has he.” Her father’s voice had grown cold, and she could see the diamond edge to his eyes as he considered all the ramifications of a stranger probing into an operation involving not only his daughter, but security at the major US base in the region.

“I spoke with him briefly earlier.”

“Interesting. And perhaps another reason for you to reconsider your stay.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Could you put in a word for me with Captain Pettit for transport and that sort of thing?”

“That’s already taken care of, but if you insist on staying, I’ll assign security to you. They can drive you and see to anything else you might need. Someone will be there before the end of the day.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“Rachel, there are times when I know better than you.”

“Are there any times when you don’t?”

He sighed. “I’d hoped this trip and a firsthand look at the realities of these situations would temper your enthusiasm, if not your stubborn streak. I can see that it hasn’t.”

“No,” she said softly, thinking of the hours in the foxhole, peering into the dark—looking where she once would rather have looked away. She’d been changed, but not in the way he’d hoped. “I need to stay.”

“Then I’m afraid you don’t have any choice. If you’re staying, you’ll have protection. Otherwise, you’ll be on a plane this afternoon.”

He knew she’d accept. They’d played this game all her life. She had no choice and he knew it. She didn’t know the area, she didn’t have any personal resources readily available, and she couldn’t disregard safety issues. She wasn’t foolhardy about her own well-being, and she wouldn’t put her father and others in political jeopardy by making herself a target, even though she seriously doubted she was in danger. The best she could do was accept his compromise. All things considered, he was giving in without as much of a fight as she might have expected. “All right.”

He paused. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I love you. Say hi to Mother for me. Tell her I love her.”

“Yes. Well. See that you take care of yourself.”

“I will,” she whispered.

The line went dead and she slowly set down the receiver.

Her vision blurred. She was so very tired. All the false energy, and probably false courage, the adrenaline had provided had burned away now that she was safe. Safe was relative, she supposed, but at least no one was likely to shoot her here. The idea of curling up under the covers and closing her eyes was incredibly appealing, except she feared when she closed her eyes she’d be back in that hot humid tent, listening for the sounds of someone coming to kill her. She straightened and rubbed her tired eyes. Her weary, bruised, and battered mind could form only one thought. She wanted to see Max. With the world coming apart around her, Max was the only island of sanity.

Chapter Twenty

“Are you sure about this, ma’am?” the driver asked.

Rachel stared at the sand-colored metal box and tried to imagine living inside it. She guessed it to be about twenty feet long—it would fit inside her family’s garage with room to spare for a few of their five cars. Two wooden steps without a railing led up to a single door with a shaded Plexiglas window. At about the midpoint of the long side, another window was filled by the rear end of an air-conditioning unit extending out several inches. The roof was flat. It looked like every other metal box in row after row of metal boxes lined up along dirt lanes just wide enough for two Humvees to pass in opposite directions. The stenciled black letters C-19 were the only things distinguishing it from the others. She swallowed. “Yes.”

“Would you like me to wait?”

She studied her surroundings through the front and back windows of the Humvee. She could maneuver the streets of an unfamiliar city with an unerring sixth sense of direction, but left alone in this repetitive maze she might just wander forever. “Where are we, exactly?”

“At the northeast corner of CLUville—that’s what we call this part of the base.”

“And where would headquarters be?”

He pointed forward. “About twenty, twenty-five minutes in that direction if you’re a brisk walker and don’t mind the heat.”

“I’ll be fine. There’s no need for you to wait.”

He squinted past her at the living unit. “Yes, ma’am.”

He sounded about as uncertain as she felt and his indecision was enough to spur her out of the vehicle. She needed to do this. “Thank you again for the ride.”