Stephen sat down on the edge of the bench. “Things were quiet right after Carlos transferred in. We were planning a Deliberate Op, but there was some downtime from the chaos. Carlos was Carlos, making fast friends with the crew, offering insight from his time in Peshawar. I’d planned to tell him about you and me on his second night, figured I’d start letting the news out slowly.”
With a sense of the surreal, Corina sat with her back to the gravestone, listening.
“The first mission started at zero hundred the next day and the camp was quiet, everyone trying for some shut-eye. But we were too keyed up to sleep. Carlos had just challenged several of us to a game of Nintendo when Asif entered.”
“Asif?”
“Our interpreter. A Pakistani chap raised on Brighton’s northern shore, a friend from uni, actually. He joined our unit after I recommended him to the joint council.” Stephen carried a detached tone in his voice as he told the story. “I got up for something . . . I can’t even remember what.” It haunted him. “I told Asif to pull up, join us, but something was wrong. He looked sick. Stoned.”
“Oh my gosh . . . Stephen.” He drew her toward truth, unfurling his story. “He was suiciding.”
“Yes.” He fired up from the bench, agitated.
“How did Brighton military allow such a man to be on base? Don’t you run intel on enlistees or civilian employees?”
“He checked out, Corina. There was no reason for suspicion. Nothing popped on his background. He’d gone to graduate school in Pakistan, then returned to Brighton, took a job, and lived a life like every other Brightonian.”
“Apparently not.”
“He’d been influenced by an underground radical sect of insurgents. No one knew. It took us four months to find them and root them out after the suicide. Asif returned to Brighton with a vow to kill members of the royal family for war crimes against his people. All he needed was opportunity.”
“And you gave it to him.” She shivered as the long-awaited details took form on a grassy knoll under the coming of night.
“Asif came to kill me.” The words hit like stones and sank into her. “I knew it the moment I saw him . . . when I realized he was stoned. But I hesitated. I should’ve moved, told the men to get out. Carlos and Lt. Mitchell Bird, noticed something amiss the moment I did.” Stephen ran his hand over his face. “Asif shouted that I had to die and opened his shirt to show he was loaded with explosives. He could barely stand, he was so canned. Whilst I hesitated, Carlos and Bird did not.” He sank slowly to the ground in the middle of the garden. “I don’t know why I hesitated. Why I froze.”
Corina remained where she sat, staring at the last drape of daylight.
“Carlos tackled him while the words were still in his mouth. Bird ran for me, covering me with his big body as Asif detonated himself. We were blown out the back of the mess, hit the concrete, and next thing I remember is waking up in a field hospital. The other four lads were seriously injured and died hours later. I was swept away in secret, and until Command knew what happened, the entire squadron went on communication silence.”
“It’s taken you five and a half years to tell me this?”
“You do realize I’m breaking national security here?”
“Why? Why is it of national security? Why couldn’t Daddy find out anything? Something?”
Stephen shot the flashlight beam at the trees. “Once we sorted out the event, Brighton Special Forces went into action. Eliminated Asif’s little insurgent group. At that point, the biggest concern was copycats. Others of like mind making bold approaches to the palace, the King’s Office, or our homes. The Defense Ministry and the Joint Coalition purposefully held the information, not releasing any details, not even to the families of the deceased, because we couldn’t risk leaks or slips. They sealed the event under Top Secret National Security, with extreme security measures. Just a hint that it was possible to get close enough to a prince to blow him up, we’d all be in danger. I’ll be in grave trouble if anyone finds out I told you.”
“The last five and a half years finally make some sense to me.”
“The security measure taken made it possible for me to play for the Eagles.” He shoved up from the ground and walked among the markers, dragging his fingers over the smooth stones. “I’m glad it makes some sense to you, Corina, because it still doesn’t to me. Men gave their lives for me, and how could I, a mere man, be worth another’s life?”
“What do you think war is about, Stephen? Men laying down their lives for another.”
“For the weak and oppressed, not for the wealthy and privileged. Not for a prince. One, whom when the war was over, would return to opulence and abundance, living a life of splendor, even pursuing his rugby dreams.”
“So the likes of you and I don’t deserve to have our freedoms preserved? We are not worth dying for?” She met him on the edge of the garden, the only light between them from the torch.
“We can buy our freedoms, Corina.” His disdain surprised and tainted her.
“Not always. Nearly every royal house of Europe fell after the First World War. The czar and his family were summarily rounded up and murdered. Freedom is for everyone, not just the weak and oppressed. Carlos, one of the wealthy and privileged, by the way, gave his life to save yours. What does that say about you? About him?”
“Carlos was . . .” He glanced over at her, a small smile cresting his lips. “A very special chap. Never knew a more selfless bloke.”
Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me he was moved to your unit?”
“I’d planned to . . . It all happened so fast. His transfer papers hadn’t even finished processing.”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and joined him on the bench. “So, you just lied to me? Pushed me away when you came home and I flew back here to be with you?”
