Mercer had been hit about six times, but it was hard to tell with all that blood. He’d seen this before—no head or heart wounds, but lots of internal and external bleeding. He’d bleed out in about two minutes.
Brodie crouched beside him. “Can you hear me, Kyle?”
Mercer gave a small nod.
“Thank you for that. Brendan Worley is dead—or will soon be.” He looked into Mercer’s eyes. “You’re going home, soldier. Your dad will see you again.”
Mercer again nodded.
Brodie looked at Mercer’s face, which was now white.
Taylor took his hand and said, “We leave no man behind. You’ll be home soon, Captain.”
Mercer’s body rose in an arc, then fell, and it was over.
Brodie closed Mercer’s eyelids and stood. He walked over to Worley, who was still alive, and said, “You’re under arrest for… whatever.”
Worley stared up at Brodie and shook his head as though he didn’t agree that he was under arrest, or he was reprimanding Brodie for screwing up something that Worley had worked so hard to do.
Taylor looked at Worley. “You lost your way, Colonel. We all did.”
Worley was taking long to die, so Brodie and Taylor walked away and stood in the hot sun on the abandoned airstrip. A noisy group of howler monkeys, who’d gone quiet during the shooting, started making odd noises, almost like howling laughter, thought Brodie. Best-laid plans, gone to shit right at the end. The great cosmic joke.
He said to Taylor, “Can we say mission accomplished?”
“Maybe. When we’re airborne.”
“Right. Okay, let’s call Dombroski and get out of here.”
Taylor nodded, something still on her mind. She looked over at Kyle Mercer’s body. “People talk about leaving part of themselves behind in war but… when I got home from Landstuhl, that’s not how I felt. I just felt like I’d been changed, and maybe not for the better, and maybe for no good reason.”
Brodie thought about that. “War’s a thing that happens to you, even if you volunteer. Because you don’t really know what the hell you’re signing up for. You didn’t, I didn’t. Kyle Mercer didn’t.”
“We are still responsible for what we do.”
“We are.”
Taylor looked back at Worley, who seemed to have stopped breathing. “Leave no man behind. Even him.”
Brodie looked at the bloodstained bodies of Brendan Worley and Kyle Mercer lying in the grass next to the airstrip, and he thought back to the many somber ramp ceremonies he had been a part of at the military airfields around Baghdad, when the flag-draped coffins were escorted through a column of uniformed soldiers and loaded onto the C-130s to be taken to Dover. Brendan Worley and Kyle Mercer wouldn’t get that kind of send-off when they headed home, but they’d get something. More importantly, they wouldn’t get left here.
Taylor said, “This is another place that we can leave, but it will never leave us.”
“We can handle the baggage.”
“I’m thinking I belong back in Civil Affairs.”
“I’m thinking I finally found a good partner.”
“I will never again work with you or for you, Mr. Brodie.” She added, “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”
“Sleep on it.”
Taylor shook her head and smiled. “We’ll see.”
Brodie looked around. “Time to call home.”
Taylor agreed. “Time to go home.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not have been possible without the valuable insight and perspective of a number of Venezuelans, both expats and current residents, among them Nilhza Mas-y-Rubi, Angel Zambrano, Fabiana Zambrano, Ander Zurimendi, Paloma Azpúrua, and Catalina Goldstein.
We also wish to thank Alex’s friend Taylor Krauss, who assisted with some of the Spanish translation.
Alex also wishes to thank his wife, Dagmar Weaver-Madsen, for her unwavering love and support, as well as her valuable feedback over the long process of writing this book, during which time we welcomed to the world our beautiful daughter Margot.
We also want to thank Bob Atiyeh, private pilot, who gave generously of his time and knowledge in the writing of the flying scenes in this book.
The authors are grateful for the opportunity to thank our editor, Marysue Rucci, for her keen editorial eye, and her tact and patience in dealing with this new father-son collaboration.
And finally, thanks and gratitude to Dianne Francis and Patricia Chichester, Nelson’s super-assistants, who make miracles happen.
* * *
The following individuals have made generous contributions in charity auctions in return for having their names used as a character in this novel:
John F. Collins—NYU Winthrop Hospital/Mollie Biggane Melanoma Foundation and Ted Haggerty—Boys & Girls Club of Oyster Bay–East Norwich. I hope they enjoy their fictitious characters and that they continue their good work for worthy causes.