Veil of Silence (3 page)

They were shown to a small kitchen.  Marsha was sure it was usually used for staff, but with the children in attendance she didn’t mind.  She wasn’t done with her meal—helping the children try to use spoons, something they were familiar with from the camp, instead of their fingers—when two men came into the room.  One of them was a major, judging by his uniform.  Marsha slowly straightened up from her chair and rose from it, ungainly at best with her stomach protruding before her.  She tried to stand at attention, uneasy in her pregnancy. 

“At ease, Captain,” the major greeted her.  “I’m Major Scott.”

“Lieutenant,” she corrected him as she spread her legs in a relaxed stance, her hand going to her back to help support it.

He looked down at his paperwork for a moment and then back up at her.  “That’s right, you didn’t know.  Your paperwork had just gone through when you got on that helicopter.  Your promotion was verified,
Captain
.”

Marsha looked at him for a moment and then couldn’t help the smile.  She had wanted that so long ago.  It had been her goal at the time.  It seemed another lifetime ago.

“These your children?” he asked, stupidly.

“Yes, sir,” she answered, realizing he was just making conversation.  She felt very nervous.  Then she saw Linda hovering behind him and she was looking at Marsha warmly.

“I need to talk to you, Captain Gagliano,” he said formally.

“Yes, sir.  Of course, sir.”

“Linda will watch your children for the time we need to talk,” he informed her.  “Are you comfortable with that?”

She glanced at her children.  They were oblivious to the tension of the adults.  She glanced up at Linda.

“Just coloring and maybe some Legos?” the woman offered with a smile.

Marsha was relieved actually.  The children had never seen a television or a computer and she didn’t want to frighten or overwhelm them.  “Of course,” she agreed with a smile.  She leaned down to the children, “Moray will be right back,” she told them in Tajik.  Both children looked up.  Bahir had some jelly on the edge of her mouth that Marsha quickly wiped away with the napkin she had been using.  Marsha could sense the major’s impatience and quickly finished and followed him from the room.  She smiled tremulously at the friendly woman as she passed.

“In here,” the major indicated another office, allowing the woman to walk before him.  The other man from the previous day followed them both into the room.  “Have a seat,” he offered solicitously, her pregnancy obvious despite her outfit.  It was evident the outfit was of the finest cloth.  It actually became her, made her look elegant, despite her ungainly demeanor due to her pregnancy.

Marsha was nervous, but she had expected some sort of military intervention.  They would want to know what had happened to her.  They would want to know what had happened to the helicopter.  They would want to know what had happened to the other passengers—the pilot and the copilot.  She swallowed, wishing she had eaten more at breakfast before this meeting.  She was nervous.  Used to years of staying quiet, her silence would not be appreciated by these men.

“This is Mr. Wynn.  He is with the State Department.  He will have questions for you as well,” the major introduced the man.

Marsha wasn’t sure if she was to shake his hand, but as he made no effort to hold his out, she nodded at him coolly.  Still feeling she was at attention in the chair as she sat up straight, she felt the baby kick.  It had wanted a full breakfast too.

“Now, let’s begin,” he started.  He opened a file at the desk and began to grill her.  Her answers were straightforward; she did not elaborate or embellish.  She would only answer direct questions.  She didn’t offer up any unnecessary information they didn’t ask for.  She wouldn’t add anything although they waited for her to do so.  She simply waited for them to ask more questions.  The waiting game between them made for some rather lengthy pauses between questions, then the major or Mr. Wynn would finally give up their wait and ask another. 

Marsha wasn’t used to this…not anymore.  After years of being in the military, being subjected to a tribal husband had ‘taught’ her her place in his world.  She was used to being ordered about, not questioned.  Her opinion, her contribution, was never asked for.  It wasn’t needed.  Her ‘husband’ had known enough for both of them and he frequently made this known to his new ‘wife.’  It had taken Marsha a long time to learn to become subservient to a man…
any
man.  Raised in America, she had fully believed that women were the equal of men.  She learned differently in Zabi’s world.  It would take more than a few days to become accustomed to being able to speak her mind or share information freely as they desired.  Her hesitancy seemed to perturb these two men.

“So you don’t know exactly where their camp lies?” the major asked, annoyed.  Her unwillingness to cooperate made him suspicious.  He’d already seen pictures of what Captain Gagliano, formerly Lieutenant Gagliano, looked like and this woman looked very similar, but her hair was longer, much longer, and she was definitely older.

She shook her head.  “They lived in caves some of the year.  Other times they were nomadic,” she tried to explain helpfully.  She was tired.  This had gone on too long, and she was pregnant.  She’d also walked far too much in the past few days for a pregnant woman.  She’d gone without food, water, and sleep to escape.  She needed rest.  They apparently weren’t going to give it to her.

“How can a trained officer in the army be unable to escape?” Mr. Wynn asked with a barely concealed scoff.

“How long was I gone?” she asked a question of her own finally, feeling stupid.

“You don’t know?” he asked, haughtily.  It was obvious he didn’t believe her.

She shook her head, wondering if they would answer her.

“You have been classified as MIA for five years,” the major informed her.

Marsha stared at him.  She couldn’t believe it.  It had been FIVE YEARS?  She knew there had been different seasons.  The tribe, after all, moved to better grazing grounds and hid from soldiers on both sides to avoid the war.  She’d had three pregnancies, four if you counted her miscarriage, but FIVE YEARS?  She had another thought.  “What about my wife?  Our daughter?”  She’d thought about them frequently while she was gone.  Five years meant that her daughter was six and a half now and in school.  How had Heather coped with her gone for so long?  Had she moved on?  The thought that her wife had found another was not a comfortable one to her.

“Your wife?” the major asked, looking down at his paperwork again.  His eyes widened slightly.  He’d missed that detail.

“Has she been informed that I’m alive?”  A pleading note had entered Marsha’s voice. 

“Ah, yes, it says here that she’s been getting your paychecks,” he tried to keep his voice neutral, but a tone in it indicated his disapproval.  It seemed to Marsha that he was old school. He felt that DADT, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, should have been kept forever and never repealed.  She shouldn’t have been allowed in, or since she had been, she should have kept it quiet, not openly been a lesbian.  She gritted her teeth at things she would have liked to say as she saw his reaction.  The spirit in her of five years ago was starting to haunt her psyche and worm its way up through the cracks of the shell she had created.

“That’s it?” she asked, knowing he didn’t wish to share.

“Well, we can hardly tell her until we have verified your identity,” he told her formally.

She had to accede that this was correct.  It wouldn’t do to tell the family of someone missing and presumed dead that she just might be alive.  What if they were wrong?

The questioning continued.  When it showed no signs of ending, and she could hear crying through the door, she finally put up her hand.  “We will have to continue this at another time, sir,” she said, directing it at the major.  “As you can see, I’m pregnant,” her hand indicated her stomach.  “I have children to attend to.  I’m also exhausted from my escape,” she said pleadingly, hoping he would understand.  She saw the suspicion in his eyes and she was sorry for it.  She’d always been truthful and outgoing.  She’d been a stellar lieutenant.  She’d worked hard to achieve that rank and had looked forward to the possibility of becoming a captain.  Having achieved it and not known it, was a bit of a letdown.  She felt robbed of something so simple.

“Are you refusing to answer any more of our questions?” Mr. Wynn asked, suspiciously.

“No, sir,” she objected politely, with no emotion in her voice.  “I am saying I need a break.  I will of course answer your questions.”

“Then I think I would like to know…” he began again as though she hadn’t halted the interview, but she interrupted him.

“You weren’t listening, sir,” she held up her hand to stop him from continuing.  “I need rest.  I need to attend to my children.”  From the sound of it, Amir was working up a head of steam and when he got like that, he demanded attention.  He wasn’t named ‘king’ for nothing.  Zabi had taken so much pride in his only son.  He had spoiled the boy at every opportunity.

“We will let this go for now, Captain Gagliano.  I will make sure you are supplied with more clothing,” he indicated the fine clothes she was wearing.

“I’ll look pretty funny in uniform,” she attempted to joke.

He smiled stiffly, but nodded at the observation.  “You are dismissed…
for now
,” he told her as though the entire idea had been his.

Marsha pulled herself up out of the chair.  She had sat for too long and was very stiff.  The straight posture she had been taught was against her now and the baby inside protested, kicking her rudely and causing her pain.  No emotion showed on the captain’s face as she got herself up to a standing position.  She was actually surprised that Mr. Wynn offered her no help when he saw her struggling, but she wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t have refused him anyway.  “Thank you, sir,” she said to the major as she stood at attention for a moment.

He nodded curtly, dismissing her further.  He watched as she made her way to the door.  The outfit made her look regal and for some reason this annoyed him further.

CHAPTER THREE

“Captain Gagliano, this way please,” the major led the way to a conference room where a panel of different officers was waiting. 

Marsha gulped.  She was feeling decidedly uncomfortable in the sweat clothes they had provided her.  They were made for physically fit men, not overly pregnant women.  The baby was active this morning and she was certain her own nervousness was causing it to jump on her bladder.

“Please have a seat, Captain,” she was offered, facing the panel of what would be her judges and jury.

“Would you like a glass of water?”

“Is there anything else we can get you?”

They tried to make her comfortable, but it was difficult for such a pregnant woman to actually
be
comfortable.  She had seen the looks as she entered the room.  Apparently they hadn’t known that the missing servicewoman had been pregnant, at least most of them hadn’t.  She privately relished the shock on their faces.  She knew this wasn’t going to be pleasant.

She saw that there was a typographer in the corner ready to record everything she said.  She noted a camera set up in another corner.

“Captain, this is a formal investigation to go into the events of…” their voices droned on and on with the details of the dates and times.  She couldn’t really comprehend that it had been five years; however, three children and one miscarriage later, she should have realized the possibility.  It was so different back in the village.  Part of the year they lived in the caves and part of the year they lived in tents.  It was determined by the cycles of the year, not the dates.  An early spring or a late winter could determine when and where the village moved.  “We convene here for your convenience,” he told her as though doing her a great favor, but Marsha wondered if they didn’t want her to leave the embassy.  The days here had been heaven except for the questioning they had attempted.  Knowing she was safe, even temporarily, had been a relief.  Far from Zabi and his demands, the embassy meant possible freedom.  The questions would continue whether she answered them or not.

“Captain, will you tell us the events in your own words?” the voice continued.  She knew it wasn’t the major she had met.  As everyone had been introduced, she had nodded to them, but for some reason her mind couldn’t grasp the names.  Thank goodness they wore their insignia on their dress blues or she wouldn’t know who was who.  It was a lot easier to address them by rank than by a name she couldn’t remember.  Strangely, not all of them had a name plate on their chest.  Marsha wondered at that oversight…were all these people with the army?

“We were leaving Afghanistan that day.  We hopped into the UH-1.  There were six of us…” she began, but the door to the conference room opened again and a man stood there looking at the occupants.

“Can I help you, Captain?” the major challenged the interruption.

“I am Captain Lance McKellan.  I am the appointed legal representative of Captain Gagliano.  I’ve been sent by JAG.  You were not to begin this…
interrogation
,” he deliberately hesitated at the word, “until I had a chance to speak with my client!”

“This is an informal…” the major began to bluster, gesturing helplessly.  Marsha narrowed her eyes at him.