Devil's Harbor (35 page)

He tried, but he couldn't get a clear line on Linda, not at this distance with both women backlit like that, making it hard to distinguish one from the other.

“What've you done to her? Where the hell are her clothes?”

“The doctor was prepping her for surgery,” said Linda. “You got here just in time, Finn. He'd already found a buyer and was all set to operate. You've saved her life.”

Finn kept his gun pointed at Mona's head. Linda's was directly behind it. If only Mona would wake up, tilt her head a few inches to the right. He stepped carefully into the room, holding his gun up with both hands. The floorboard creaked beneath him.

“It's over, Linda,” he said. “Serpil's dead. So is Cutts. Rhonda's gone. There's no one left.”

“You know I don't give a damn about them, Finn. Cutts got his kidney. Serpil was in it for the money. I don't give a damn about money.”

“You don't want to die, Linda. Think of your daughter. Think of Lucy.”

Linda gave a bitter laugh. “You think I think about anything else? Lucy's
all
I think about, Finn. She's all I have.”

“So put down your gun. For her.”

He inched forward. Linda and Mona were framed in the door, light spilling out from behind them.

“You think this is setting a good example for her?” he said.

“That's funny. You're hilarious, Finn. Why don't you come over here, tell me some more jokes.”

Finn took one agonizing step closer. “It's over, Linda. Can't you see? What can you possibly get out of this?”

“Navidad.”

His throat constricted. “Not going to happen,” he said.

“Navidad for your wife. It's up to you. You choose.”

Something cold and black snared Finn's mind. The skin around his eye twitched and he had to make a willful effort to think straight and to keep his voice even. He kept inching slowly toward the two women.

“She's no good to you now, Linda. The doctor's dead. Who'll operate?”

“Finding the doctor's not the problem—the problem is finding the donor. It took me months to find that girl, Finn. And Lucy doesn't have any more time. You can always find another doctor if you have enough money. But Navidad is rare. I found her. She's mine. Give her back.”

“There's no way that's happening, Linda. Forget it.”

A beat. He moved a half a foot closer.

“Then say good-bye to your wife.”

Another beat.

“I don't believe you'd let Lucy die, Finn. I saw you with her from the very start. You risked everything for her, going to Escondido. You're a
good
man.”

Her words hit a nerve. Finn wasn't so sure he'd done it for Lucy. Maybe he'd done it for his own reasons; maybe he'd done it to get Diego his pipes and drums and goddamn honor guard; maybe he'd done it to prove to Mona that she could count on him to do the right thing. But right now he had only one objective. He thought he saw Mona's head move slightly.

“You had good motives, Linda. I understand that. Anybody would. But you did a bad thing. And now it has to stop.”

Every second felt excruciatingly long. He took another step. Linda shuffled back into the room a little.

“Come any closer and I swear I'll shoot her,” she said, her voice trembling. She sounded vulnerable and desperate, like she had that night aboard the
Belle,
when Lucy had been “kidnapped.” Except this time, Finn knew it was authentic.

He steeled himself. He'd closed the gap. He was now no more than fourteen feet away. But still he didn't shoot. He had to be dead sure of his shot, and right now he wasn't.

“I care about Lucy, too, Linda,” he said, “Of course I do. Why do you think I agreed to go to Escondido? I
want
to help her. But not like this. I want to help her the
right
way.”

“Don't be na
ï
ve. It's too late for the right way, Finn. You think I didn't try? It's not how the world works. Lucy will be dead in days without a new kidney.

“You see, you got nothing on me, Finn. One way or another, this is the end of the road. If Lucy dies, I have nothing left. She
has
to get that kidney. So give me Navidad, or I swear to fucking Christ I'll kill your wife and you, too, if I can. We can all go to hell together.”

If Hell exists, it must look a little like this,
thought Finn.

“Even if I did agree, how would it work? Who puts down their weapon first?” he said.

“You do.”

He shook his head slowly. “I handed you my gun once already, Linda. You should've killed me when you had the chance.”

“Believe me, I don't know why I didn't.”

“You made the right decision.”

She laughed.

“Put down the gun, Linda. This is your last chance,” he said, his voice even. He pressed a little tighter on the trigger. He breathed steadily and deliberately, tried to relax the stiffness out of his arms.

This time, he definitely saw Mona move her head a little to the side. Linda seemed not to notice.

“Now you know what it feels like,” said Linda.

“Like what feels like?”

“Having to choose between two lives. We all pretend we're good people, don't we? That we wish others well. But when you're forced to choose—we all choose the same thing. We look after our own. You're just like me, Finn. We're the same.”

“You're wrong, Linda. I'm nothing like you.”

“You'd choose Navidad over Mona?”

“No.”

“There's no other option here.”

“You're not getting it, Linda. I
have
to shoot you.”

Linda's eyes opened wider. “You'd sacrifice your wife to save a child who means nothing to you, not even your kin?”

“Yes.”

She tilted her head to one side, a little farther away from Mona's, and for the first time Finn saw a line of light dividing Mona's head from Linda's. He had his sights lined up on Linda's face. He saw her quizzical expression.

“Why?” she said.

“Because anything else is unforgivable.”

He pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was tremendous. Linda's head snapped back. A wet, red cloud appeared in the air behind her, a splattering of airborne blood lit up in the bright light spilling out of the room.

Linda fell back, pulling Mona back with her. Finn heard the thud of both women's bodies hitting the floor together.

And then it was very quiet.

He ran over and pushed the door all the way open. It wasn't a bedroom. It was an operating theater. The white light was coming from a giant lamp on an articulated arm over an operating bed. He saw LED lights flashing from the display of a life-support machine in one corner; he saw the glint of surgical instruments laid out on a stainless steel tray next to the bed. There was a refrigerator against the wall. The room smelled of gunpowder and antiseptic. He felt queasy. He dropped to his knees, pulled Mona into his arms, and held her tight. Over the top of her head, he looked at the red-black hole he'd put in Linda's forehead. He saw the puddle of blood spreading on the floor underneath her head. Her eyes were still open. He saw her black pupils distend and absorb the gold shards in her beautiful sad green irises.

He looked down at Mona. She was coming to. He put his left hand on her cheek and said her name.

She opened her eyes.

Finn picked her up and carried her out of Serpil's operating theater.

Navidad was still cowering under the kitchen table. Mona turned her head briefly toward the child, then rested it against Finn's chest.

 

EPILOGUE

Finn stood at attention by Diego's casket and waited for the priest to finish speaking. Like his peers standing shoulder to shoulder with him, he wore full-dress uniform: dark blue Ike jacket with a white braided cord piped through the left epaulette. The leather strap of his felt campaign hat was digging into his chin, the hat tilted forward just so. Everyone was ready for the flag-folding ceremony: the pipes and drums had performed their piece; the honor guard had draped the Colors over the coffin; the bugler was standing by. The Star-Spangled Banner, the flag of the California Republic, and the Customs Ensign fluttered above the standard-bearers' heads.

It was a crisp, cool fall morning, the rich-blue sky scattered with clean white clouds. Finn saw Mona standing by her parents in the front row of mourners just beyond the casket. Mona was wearing a black dress, her hair neatly set beneath a small black hat, her eyes dark and wet. Her father, Carlos, stood with his hands clasped in front and his shoulders thrown back; her mother, Maria, wore an old-fashioned black veil over her hair.

Hundreds of CBP and coast guardsmen and women from stations across the state and beyond had turned out for the internment at Oceanview Cemetery, and Finn could tell from Carlos's proud posture that he was moved by the numbers, though he was too much a man of his generation to say anything.

The priest started talking about the blanket of freedom and security that Diego had died defending. Finn's mind tuned out. This was the second funeral to which he had worn full-dress uniform in two days. There had been no flag blanketed over Lucy Blake's tiny casket. No one had spoken of the sacrifices she had made for the nation's freedom and security. No one had shown up except for Finn and Mona.

After Lucy's internment, Finn had spent a restless night dreaming of sharks. He had woken in a cold sweat before dawn and seen Mona lying peacefully beside him. He had stood by the kitchen window waiting for the coffee to percolate, watching the lightening sky and trying to think of a reason for Lucy's death. There was none. But he had learned one thing, at least: meaninglessness wasn't the same thing as indifference.

He looked at Mona standing proud and upright over her kid brother's casket, her tilted hat casting a shadow over her almond eyes and down to her lips, and love filled his heart. He thought about all the hard work she'd been doing looking for a home for Navidad. The adoption process in California was prohibitively complicated, but Finn felt confident that Navidad would be okay. She had Mona in her corner.

After they'd come back from Two Harbors, there had been a week of madness, and Mona had stayed with her parents while Finn had dealt with all the different law-enforcement agencies—ICE, the LAPD, the FBI—who'd staked a claim in the case. Rhonda Blake was in jail, awaiting trial. Cutts had died in his hospital bed. After the narcotics were discovered in the extinguisher, Edsall, Luna, Cheng had abandoned their wrongful-death suit and Ruiz and Petchenko had returned to Washington. Glenn had resigned in disgrace. All charges against Finn had been dropped. The media had set up camp outside Finn and Mona's condo, but Finn hadn't granted a single interview, and now they were gradually peeling away. They still ran their stories, but all they had to go on were press releases and the usual leaks.

Amid it all, Finn had snuck out to an AA meeting. He'd met a guy there, ex-MESF like him, who'd been sober awhile. After the meeting, they'd sat down for a cup of coffee together and Finn had told the guy a little bit about himself. The guy had listened, not saying much, which Finn had appreciated. He found himself going to more meetings. He just did it without thinking too much about it. Then, one day, Mona had moved back home.

The priest finished with an Amen, closed the book, and looked down into the pit. The bugler raised his horn. In time with his five comrades, Finn raised his gloved hand in salute and listened to the long, mournful notes of taps. Hairs rose on the back of his neck; he had to keep his eyes fixed on the middle distance and his jaw clenched just to hold it together.

When it was done, Finn stepped to one end of the casket and took hold of the edges of the flag. A fellow CBP marine interdiction agent did the same at the other end. They lifted the flag, pulled it taut, and stepped to the side of the casket, where they slowly folded it lengthwise three times. Then, with measured precision, Finn began to fold it diagonally, moving a small step closer to his colleague with each somber movement. No one made a sound. A shadow fell upon him when a cloud passed in front of the sun, and then cleared when the cloud moved on. By the twelfth fold, he was toe to toe with his fellow agent.

He turned and looked at his wife, at the strength and tenderness in her big brown eyes, and held her gaze a moment longer than protocol allowed. Then he stepped forward and knelt in front of Diego's mother. In his white-gloved hands, he held out the Stars and Stripes.

“On behalf of a grateful nation…” he began.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALEX GILLY
is a writer and translator who was born in New York City and has lived in Australia, Canada, France, California, and the United Kingdom.
Devil's Harbor
is his first novel. You can sign up for email updates
here
.