Page 8 of A Hero Comes Home

“Uncle Abe told me. Did I tell you that Uncle Abe’s deli was featured on that Food Network show, Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives? They called his Reuben sandwich ‘Reuben’s Greatest Masterpiece.’”

“That’s nice. So, who’s the guy Sally is dating?” he asked nonchalantly.

“A Navy SEAL.”

A SEAL? Fuck! “That’s nice.” You hypocrite wife of mine! You berated me up one side and down the other for being in the military. You constantly demanded that I quit. Called me a selfish bastard. Now you take up with the most military of all the services? Shiiit!

“Actually, he’s an ex-SEAL. He’s working on that treasure-hunting team in Bell Cove now.”

An ex-SEAL? Who’s now a hotshot Indiana-Fucking-Jones? Oh, that’s better. Not! “I hope they’ll be happy.”

“If you must know, that’s why I’m here.”

“Ah, so you’re not here out of friendship. You have ulterior motives.”

“Don’t be a dick. The brass figures it’s time for you to go home.”

“Let me guess. They sent you here to convince me that it’s in my best interest to do what they want when they want?”

“C’mon, man! You don’t want Sally to go getting married or something when she’s already got a husband.” He could tell that Izzie was trying to make a joke to ease the situation.

Jake wasn’t laughing. In fact, he showed no emotion at all. It was a trick he’d learned during his long imprisonment. The best way to fight his torturers was to not reveal his feelings. After a while, it became second nature. “And you know what dating leads to.” Izzie winked. Another lame attempt at humor.

Jake maintained his stone-cold expression.

“Apparently the guy likes kids.”

Crap! “I hope they’ll all be happy together.”

His friend was nervously peeling the label off his beer bottle, which raised some warning flags for Jake. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark . . . or, rather, Germany, and one particular hospital room. Jake sensed that this wasn’t just about his friend visiting him and casually asking about his plans to go home.

Jake could feel the red mist begin to form, a sure sign he was going to lose it any minute now. That’s how the rages usually started. A mist in the distance, like a sunrise on the horizon. Sometimes, he was able to tamp it down at that stage. Other times, it swelled and got brighter. Still a haze, but hot. He could feel it. Then the haze would become thicker, more liquid, like water, coming at him in waves. Blood, that’s what it became. He could not only see it, but smell it and, in the worst cases, taste it.

No! I can stop this. He gritted his teeth, clenched and unclenched his fists, and took several deep breaths before he calmed down. “All right, Izz, give it to me. The whole story. The brass sent you here to soften me up for . . . what? Spill! What is it you haven’t told me?”

Izzie inhaled deeply, to brace himself.

Or was it to give Jake time to brace himself?

“They’ve informed Sally that you’re still alive.”

The waves were back. Crimson red. A slaughterhouse scent on the wind. A metallic taste on Jake’s tongue. “Without getting my permission?”

“No choice. ‘Gotcha!,’ that WikiLeaks-style internet site, got wind of your rescue and deets on the two guys who didn’t make it out. They’re running with the story tomorrow, half of their facts twisted and unverified. It’s a goat fuck about to happen if the Pentagon doesn’t get a handle on the announcement themselves.”

Jake licked his lips and swallowed hard, fighting the urge to hurl. “Sounds like a classic case of preventive damage control, fucked-up military style.”

“Bingo!”

“When, exactly, did they tell Sally?”

Izzie glanced at his watch. “Taking into account the six-hour time difference, about an hour ago.”

Waves crashed in his head. A tsunami. Slowly, he lowered his legs off the coffee table and stood. Inch by inch he turned to Izzie. “The pricks!”

“They’ve arranged for you to call Sally in a few hours,” Izzie informed him. “Three a.m. at the latest, which would equate to nine p.m. back home. Not much time to prepare, but everything’s happening at warp speed. Sally will be expecting your call. So, no reason to . . .” Izzie’s words trailed off as he realized he was talking too much and too fast.

Jake gazed at Izzie as if he hadn’t heard right. “Is that so? Have they arranged what I should say, or when we should meet, or whether we should have sex before or after saying hello? Did you bring cue cards with you?”