Brett Battles - No Return

The uniformed man saluted Lars. “Lieutenant Commander. Good to see you, sir.”

Lars returned the salute.

“Lieutenant Commander Andersen,” the civilian said, shaking hands with Lars.

“Thank you for doing this,” Lars said. He gestured toward Wes. “This is Wes Stewart. Wes, this is Dr. Handler and Lieutenant Truax.”

“Mr. Stewart,” Lieutenant Truax said, shaking Wes’s hand.

“Are either of you carrying cellphones?” Dr. Handler asked. “There is some very sensitive equipment in the building, so please turn them off for the duration of your visit.” Once they’d complied, the doctor said, “If you’d be so kind as to follow me.”

Dr. Handler led them down a central hallway to a door marked RESTRICTED ACCESS, then paused. “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about what you will see here. It’s not necessarily classified, but it could be … well, disturbing to certain people. We’re only showing you this at the request of the lieutenant commander.”

“I understand,” Wes said.

There was an access pad on the wall beside the door. As the doctor waved his badge in front of it, the lock clicked. He pushed the door open and a wave of cool air spilled out.

“There are coats just inside,” Lieutenant Truax said.

One by one they stepped through. The room they entered wasn’t much larger than the mudroom of Wes’s aunt’s house in Wisconsin and appeared to serve a similar purpose. Hanging from pegs on the wall were several black jackets. They were separated by size. Lieutenant Truax took one down and handed it to Wes.

“It’s not that cold,” Wes said.

“It will be,” Lieutenant Truax told him as he donned his own jacket.

“We’re only using this facility because of the sensitive nature of this case,” Dr. Handler added. “I hope you can overlook the inconvenience.”

With a shrug, Wes pulled his on.

Once they were all properly attired, the doctor opened the door at the opposite side of the room. The air that came out this time was not cool, but cold.

The new room was about forty feet deep and fifty across. White cabinets lined three of the walls, while a long counter with several sinks lined the other. In the center were three large, evenly spaced tables, the two closest of which were empty. The third, however, was not.

The doctor led them to it. “This isn’t going to be pleasant.”

On top, a white sheet covered the obvious form of a body.

“Are you ready?” Lars asked Wes.

“Yeah, sure.”

The doctor pulled the sheet back just enough to reveal the body’s head and shoulders. The corpse was so severely damaged by fire it was almost impossible to imagine the person it had once been.

Bile began rising from Wes’s stomach.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Handler asked.

“I’m fine,” Wes said, attempting to sound convincing.

“This is Lieutenant Adair,” the doctor explained. “I understand you think there might be a problem with identification? I can assure you this is the lieutenant. Both DNA test and dental records have proved that.”

Wes gave his nausea a few seconds to settle, then took another look at the face, trying to spot any familiar features. But it was impossible. Anything recognizable had been obliterated by flames.

“If you knew who he was already, why did you run a DNA test?” he asked.

“Dr. Handler did the test because you questioned the man’s identity,” Lars said, annoyed.

“Okay. If you say it’s Lieutenant Adair, then I’m sure it is.”

Lars stared at his friend for a moment, then frowned. “Lieutenant Truax, could you please tell Wes why you’re here?”

“Yes, sir,” Truax said. “I was with the search-and-rescue team deployed to the crash site.”

Wes gave Truax a second look, but couldn’t remember him from the accident site. Still, there had been dozens of people running around, so the fact that the lieutenant was unfamiliar didn’t mean much.

“Lieutenant Truax was one of the men who removed the pilot’s body from the plane,” Lars said. “Isn’t that correct, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir. That’s correct.”

Lars nodded at the corpse. “And is this the body of the man you pulled out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you know Lieutenant Adair?” Lars asked.

The lieutenant paused. “Yes, sir. I’ve met him.”

“Did you realize it was Lieutenant Adair when you recovered the body?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Because someone told you who it was?”

“No, sir. I recognized him.”

“But you didn’t get there until after he’d already been burned in the fire,” Wes said. “How the hell could you have recognized him?”

“I didn’t recognize him from his face, sir. It was his scar.”

“Scar?”

Lieutenant Truax nodded. “On his arm.”

“Here,” Dr. Handler said.

He lifted the sheet and pulled an arm out from underneath. He twisted it ninety degrees, and there, in a diagonal slash across the side of the corpse’s arm, was a three-inch scar.

“Told me he got that cutting wood when he was a teenager,” the lieutenant explained. “Said a bow saw slipped.”

Dr. Handler placed the arm back under the sheet.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Lars looked at Wes. “If there’s anything else you want to ask, now is the time.”

Wes shook his head. “No. You’ve been very thorough. Thank you.”

The doctor led everyone back through the building and outside. There he first shook Wes’s hand and then Lars’s.

“I hope this helped,” the doctor said.

Lars and Wes got into the truck. Once they were back on the road, Wes said, “I don’t know. Maybe you were right. Maybe it was him who I saw.”

Lars let out a low, exasperated laugh and shook his head. “Maybe?”

“I’m saying I could have been wrong … I just … Look, if you say that was the guy who was in the cockpit, then I guess I believe you.” He didn’t know what else to say. Seeing the dead man had kind of knocked him sideways.

Lars said nothing for nearly a minute. “I want to make one more stop.”

The house was in the section of the base reserved for high-ranking officers. If Lars hadn’t been living in town, this was probably the area he would have called home.

“So who lives here?” Wes asked once they were both out of the car.

“Follow me,” Lars said.

The home was on a small hill that rose above the street. A set of seven steps led up to a walkway that split the green front lawn into two on its way to the front door.

Lars pushed the doorbell, and it was only a few seconds before a man in his mid-forties answered. He was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, and looked very familiar to Wes.

“Lieutenant Commander Andersen,” the man said.

“Commander Forman,” Lars replied.

Forman? This was the guy who had questioned Wes at the crash site. Without the uniform, Wes hadn’t made the connection.

“Hello, Commander,” Wes said.

“How are you doing, Wes?” Forman said with a smile.

“Fine, sir.”

“It’s good to see you again, despite what I assume are the circumstances of your visit.” He glanced at Lars. “I take it there are still questions.”

“I don’t think he’s completely convinced, sir.” Lars’s tone sounded almost like an apology.

Wes looked at his friend, surprised. “I said that I believe-”

“Why don’t you come in?” Forman said, cutting him off. “Can I get either of you gentlemen something to drink?”

“No, thank you, sir,” Wes and Lars replied in unison.

“Please, follow me.” He led them to an office near the kitchen. Door shut, they all sat down-the commander behind the desk, and Wes and Lars on the sofa in front of it.