Shattered Bone (13 page)

“Probably not at this late hour, sir.”

“Richard, it sounds like I need you here,” his commander responded.

“I know you do, sir. But I'm telling you, I need two weeks of leave.”

“Okay, Richard ... I guess you do. I guess you do,” his commander finally responded. “Go and enjoy yourself. Take two weeks. Report to me as soon as you get back into town.”

“Yes, sir. I will. And thank you, colonel.”

There was a quick moment of silence before the colonel said, “Richard, I hope she's worth it. She must be something. Am I right?”

“Sir, if you only knew,” Ammon said, more to himself than the colonel as he quickly hung up the phone.

They spent the entire two weeks together. And by the end of the two weeks, they both knew. They would spend the rest of their lives together. Of that, they were perfectly sure.

Four months later, he told her.

It was a bright night, late in August, with a trillion stars and a cool night breeze. The wide wisp of the Milky Way twinkled overhead as they lay on their backs and watched for falling stars. Far in the distance, across the great canyon, Ammon could barely make out the yalp of coyotes as they barked and howled at the moon. The gentle wind blew along the canyon floor and moaned among the towering spires, pushing the sweet musk of juniper and sage up the canyon walls to the desert floor.

Richard Ammon and Jesse Morrellay against a small grass knoll at Mohave Point, overlooking the south rim of the Grand Canyon. It was almost one in the morning, but neither of them wanted to leave. Jesse had driven from L.A. to Nellis Air Force Base, outside of Las Vegas, to spend the weekend with Ammon. In the morning she had to go back to L.A. Neither of them liked this arrangement, spending only weekends together. It was something that was going to have to change.

But first he had to tell her. It couldn't wait. Before this went any further, he had to tell her the truth.

Richard stared across the darkness of the canyon and swallowed hard. His chest tightened as he practiced the words in his head. He was so nervous. No, more than that, he was truly afraid. What would he tell her? What could he say? How could she ever understand?

She probably would leave him. Just stand up and walk away. He fully expected her to walk out of his life. After all, once she knew the truth about his past, regardless of how he felt now, once she realized that his life was nothing but a sham, how could he hope she would stay?

Jesse wasn't the kind of girl who would accept being lied to. And so far, Ammon's entire life had been a big lie.

Ammon rolled up onto one arm and looked over at Jesse. She lay against the cool grass, less than a foot from his body, her eyes closed, her face illuminated by the pale light of the moon and the stars. He swallowed once again and took a deep breath.

“Jesse,” he muttered quietly. She opened her eyes and smiled. His heart pattered and sank into his stomach. A great sadness fell upon him; a great loneliness seeped into his soul. She was there, yet he already missed her. The fear of losing her tore at his heart.

Jesse smiled again. “I'm sorry,” she softly said. “I almost fell asleep.”

Ammon shifted his arm, rolled onto his back once again and closed his eyes. In his mind, he tried to freeze the picture of her face in the moonlight. Her smile, her hair, her eyes. He wanted to always remember. He might not ever see her smiling again.

“Jesse, there's something I need to tell you.”

She leaned closer and lay her head next to his shoulder. He passed his hands across his face, relieved that she wasn't looking as he brushed the sting from his eyes.

Jesse sensed his mood. She lay there quietly, waiting for him to speak.

Ammon took a deep breath and started talking. And soon, like a great bursting dam, it came tumbling out, washing over him with the urgency of years of loneliness and fear and frustration. “I'm not one of them, Jesse,” he muttered, praying in his heart she would see that was true. “I never was. I never made that decision. It was forced on me as a child. This wasn't something I sought for myself. I never asked to be put in this situation. I'm not evil, or sinister, Jesse. But once here, I had to be loyal. I couldn't turn my back on my people. I never felt that I had any choice.

“But now I do. Now I do, for I understand things now that I didn't know then. I understand the true meaning of freedom. I know what is real, and I know what was only a facade. I now know what is good and what is evil.

“And even were that not true ... even were I still to have considered myself a loyal comrade, it wouldn't matter. My nation ... my homeland ... doesn't even exist. My country is gone and nobody owns me. I am free to get on with my life.”

Ammon paused and stared at her in the darkness. She had turned her face away, unable to look at him. For the past twenty minutes she had not said a word, just stared quietly off into the darkness. A cold chill ran through Ammon's bones.

“I'm so sorry I lied to you Jesse,” he finished sadly. “That's the one thing I didn't want to do. I would do anything to change my past, to deny my existence. To really be able to start over. But I had to tell you the truth.”

She lay quietly in the darkness. He waited, always hoping. Were her feelings intense enough now to bind her? Did she feel the same emotion as he? Did the thought of being without him drive her crazy? Or would she tum her back on him and just walk away?

He didn't know. He could only hope.

But as the moments passed, as he looked upon her staring quietly out into the darkness, his faith started to fade.

“I'll take you home now,” Ammon finally said softly. “I understand. You don't have to explain.”

Ammon started to push himself up.

Jesse turned her face to look up at him. He could see the tears in her eyes. It broke his heart to see her crying. He hated to cause her such pam.

Then, with a quick sweep of her hand, Jesse brushed the tears away. “So, what do we do now?” she softly whispered, reaching out to pull him close once again.

As Jesse gently touched Richard's arm he knew she had made her decision.

Ammon fell back onto the soft grass beside her. A quick shiver ran through his body. His heart heaved and jumped within him. He felt like crying! He felt such relief!

They began to talk. They talked about his past and their future. They looked at all of their options, which weren't very many, then made a decision. And in the end, it wasn't a very difficult thing to do. Because in a world so full of questions and doubts, in a world filled with empty faces and empty lives, in a world of shallow loves and hollow friends, they knew at least three things.

The sun always came up in the east, babies can make people laugh, and, no matter the past or the consequences, they were meant to be together. They needed and wanted each other. Their lives were meant to be one. Beyond that, nothing else seemed very important. Time together was all they asked.

So they drove back to Las Vegas, and at five in the morning, walked the streets of the glittering city until they found an all-night church. It was a small white chapel surrounded by a tiny green lawn.

They paid the Justice of the Peace his fifty dollars, plus an extra twenty for the witness. Ten minutes later, they were man and wife. Bound by love and law, they set out to live their lives together. And nothing could tear them apart.

Except, of course, the Sicherheit.

For there was always the possibility, however small or remote, that Ammon's dealing with the men who once ran the Sicherheit might not be over. One day they might want him back.

And if that ever happened, they wouldn't ask his permission before they brought him in. One day he would just disappear. And if Ammon wasn't particularly happy about that, well, the Sicherheit wouldn't particularly care. He was, after all, their possession.

So, while he and Jesse prepared for that possibility, Ammon had always promised her one thing. He would find a way to get back to her. It might not be easy, and it might take some time, but he would find a way back to his home.

Like his teacher had pointed out, he wasn't Carl Vadym Kostenko anymore. He would never be that person again.

So, as he lay on his moldy mattress and listened to Morozov move around the cabin, Richard Ammon had already made his decision. He wouldn't go along with their plan. At the first chance, he was leaving. He would find a way to escape. He would leave this world of fighters and flying, spies and lying, danger and deceit far behind.

He lay in the darkness and planned his escape.

And prayed they didn't know about Jesse.

LONE PINE, CALIFORNIA

It was still early morning. The sun was just beginning to paint the eastern sky a thin pink as it made its way over the mountains. A heavy dew had moistened the valley floor and left a silvery coat of wet droplets on the maple leaves and thick bushes that surrounded the cabins that looked down on Lone Pine.

Jesse Morrellay sleeping, her long legs kicked out from under her covers, her brown hair flung across her face. The cabin was very quiet. The bedroom, decorated with framed pastel water colors and light-blue wallpaper, was just beginning to brighten with the morning sun. But still the shadows lay deep and heavy. A squirrel pattered across the roof of the cabin and scrambled onto a tree branch that brushed against the wooden shingles. The alarm clock next to the bed read 6:23.

Jesse's breathing was measured and long. Her eyelids fluttered lightly, then came to rest, motionless and calm. Her hair settled to one side of her face as she buried her head into the pillow. Her lips began to tremble as she dreamed of unseen creatures in the dark. She drew her legs up under the covers and wrapped her arms around herself.

On the night stand next to the bed was a stack of letters, neatly arranged and placed in chronological order in a small silver box. They were the letters she had received from Richard Ammon since he had been away in Korea. They were faded and wrinkled from frequent reading. The top letter read:

Dear Jesse,

Once again I find myself in a foreign land, a new home and unfamiliar surroundings. I suspect at times that it is my ordained lot in life to always be a wanderer, never able to set down any roots, although I now find that is my strongest desire. When I awoke this morning and looked at the sun as it rose over the green hills that surround Osan, I couldn't help but wonder what you were doing. I knew it was early evening in California. I figured you would be out on the back patio, tending your roses, and it comforted me some to know that, though half a world away, we both shared the same spot of light.

I've been in Korea for almost a week now. I suppose I am feeling a little bit homesick. If this letter appears a little melancholy, you will forgive me. It's not that I am unhappy or sad. I guess I'm just missing you.

I had my first flight here last Friday. It was good to be in the cockpit again after almost a month without flying. I flew with a guy named Ken Russell. He is the squadron ops officer, so I will be working for him. A decent fellow, he is one of the few guys here who was able to bring his family, so of course there is a certain envy factor for those of us who go home to lonely Q rooms and empty beds instead of going home to our wives.

More than anything, I have been struck by the pace and tempo of the flying operations. Being this close to the North Korean border has real implications for our day-to-day operations. Everyone takes their job very seriously, and people are wound just a little tighter. That is especially true of the South Koreans. All of the South Korean officers that I have met have been very aggressive and hard chargers. Someone told me the real reason we Americans are here was to keep the south from invading the north, not the other way around. After just a week here, I am beginning to believe that might be true.

My first flight was only a familiarization ride, an opportunity to see the area and get a little bit of my bearings. As I flew along the demilitarized zone, I could look across the border into North Korea and watch the surface-to-air missile batteries as they tracked us across the sky. It was a little unnerving, but Lt Col Russell assured me I would quickly get used to it.

On Saturday, three of us new guys took the train into Seoul. It turned out to be a miserable day, rainy and windy and cold. I did make a couple great buys, though. You should see the solid brass beds you can get here for only a few hundred dollars. And real cashmere is as cheap as cotton. I've ordered you a full length cashmere coat. I really think you will like it. At least that is what I am hoping. It is one of my greatest ambitions to, one day before I die, buy you a piece of clothing that you actually like.

I also had my first taste of authentic Korean Kimchi, an experience I will liken to the explosion of Mount St. Helens. Some of us decided that, should there be a war here on the peninsula and should we ever run out of bombs, we could always drop Kimchi instead.

After spending the day shopping and seeing the sights, we had dinner, then got on the late train for the hour-ride back to Osan. As I was sitting in my seat, I looked out on the platform and saw a pitiful sight. A tiny little girl, she could not have been more than five, was walking through the crowd with an old felt hat, begging for money. She was thin and frail, one of the Cho'Sans, or refugees from the civil war in Burma. The only thing she was wearing was a tattered, oversized shirt that hung down to her ankles. No shoes. No jacket. In one hand she held out her old hat, in the other she was clutching a tiny, worn-out, stuffed-toy rabbit. As I watched, someone brushed her aside, knocking her to the platform floor. Coins spread in every direction, scattering among the crowded floor.

Jesse, if you could have seen her, if you could have watched this poor little girl as she scrambled to find her money, still clutching her old floppy rabbit, it would have broken your heart. I know it broke mine. It was such a sad thing to see. No one could have seen this and not have been touched.