Paul McKellips - Jericho 3

“Roger that, ma’am.”

A million things went through Leslie’s mind. None of them seemed good. Certainly she would have heard directly from General Ferguson if something had happened to Camp. She rode the elevator without buttons down to the atrium, walked quickly past the coffee bar and the leather chairs, out the atrium and down the sidewalk past the parking lots to the visitor’s center.

“Mrs. Campbell, what a lovely surprise.”

Ruth looked around at all of the empty chairs in the visitor’s center waiting room.

“I don’t see a Mrs. Campbell in here, Leslie, do you?”

Raines laughed and gave Ruth a big hug.

“How are you, Ruth? Did you drive all the way over here from Lancaster County?”

“All 95 miles from Bird-in-Hand. The old man was driving me nuts, so I needed a drive. I’ve got exactly 20 minutes before I need to drive back home, so I can get supper on the table by five. Seabury gets persnippity if he’s not served supper before the evening news. We always ate, washed the dishes by hand and fed the animals before Walter Cronkite came on.”

“Well then, let’s not keep Mr. Campbell waiting. Is something wrong, Ruth?”

“I took Seabury to see our doctor, Harry Tasner. He’s been practicing medicine in Lancaster County since 1963. Fine man, really. His wife Doris passed a few years back. Harry has never been the same, but he still shows up for work every day.”

“Is something wrong with Mr. Campbell?”

“Two days ago he was out in the barn. The girls and their husbands had already come over for the evening milking. They had just fed the cows. Seabury hasn’t worked — actually worked — in the barn for 10 years. After supper he went out to the barn. He didn’t even turn on the news. I went out into the barn, and there he was, holding a bucket of feed. He didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know why he was even out there.”

“Well, Ruth, I wouldn’t get too worried. Mr. Campbell is getting up there in years. Maybe he was just a little tired, a bit confused after a long week.”

“Maybe so. But yesterday was different. He said he grabbed his coat and went outside about eight-thirty last night. Never even took a flashlight with him. I think I dozed off in my chair while I was crocheting. I never heard him leave. Well, something on the blasted TV woke me up, must’ve been nine-thirty. Seabury was nowhere to be found. I checked the porch. I looked in the barn. I even rang the dinner bell. Nothing. I called the girls, and they came over. We looked for a few minutes, and finally we called the sheriff. The sheriff came over in his pick-up. It’s a beautiful new four-wheel drive truck. Not sure how he can really afford that kind of a truck on his salary, especially with all of those fancy off-road lights and everything.”

“Ruth… did he find Mr. Campbell?”

“Well he drove around the 40 acres for 10 minutes with the girls. Down by the creek, on the far end of our land, there was Seabury. He was sitting on a tree stump, shivering and all upset.”

“Was he hurt?

“No, not that we could tell. The sheriff brought him back to the farm house. After I hugged him, I just about knocked his head off I was so mad. I said, ‘Why didn’t you come home?’ He said he tried to but just got lost.”

“Lost?”

“We’ve lived on those same 40 acres since the 1950s. You can’t get lost out there. It’s all row crops and grazing pastures.”

“What did Dr. Tasner say, Ruth?”

“Said he thinks Seabury’s got hardening of the arteries.”

“Atherosclerosis?”

“No, he didn’t mention that one. Maybe. I don’t know, all those fancy words confuse me.”

“It’s a reasonable diagnosis from a small-town family physician. What does Dr. Tasner want to do?”

“Says I ought to cut back on the pure butter I use in Seabury’s food and that he should have his pressure checked every week over at the drug store.”

“That’s it? Cut out butter and get his blood pressure checked?”

“Well, that didn’t seem like enough to me either, Leslie. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Junior is out gallivanting around the globe playing Army men, and Eileen is still mourning over Jane. I didn’t know who to call.”

“You did exactly the right thing, Ruth. Are you okay to drive home?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes yes. I may be seasoned, but I’m not an invalid.”

“Okay… let me make a few calls. I’ll call you tomorrow, no later than supper, I promise.”

Ruth stood up, grabbed her purse and reached over to kiss Leslie’s cheek.

“You are a wonderful person, Leslie. I knew that the first time I met you. You would make a wonderful daughter-in-law.”

Raines blushed as Ruth summoned one of the guards behind the desk.

“You there, sergeant, walk this old woman out to her car,” Ruth called out to one of the uniformed guards behind the desk. Regardless of their rank, all soldiers were “sergeants” in Ruth Campbell’s mind.

Lieutenant Perkins looked over at Raines who lifted her hands in defense since she was innocent of issuing the order.

“Yes, ma’am,” Perkins said begrudgingly as he locked arms with Ruth and walked her out to her Ford Galaxy sedan for the 95-mile drive back to Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania.

Raines watched Lieutenant Perkins help Ruth into her old Ford Galaxy. She knew Camp would want to know that his father’s health was failing. But just like every military family that deploys, sometimes decisions are made to protect warriors from having to deal with more than one war at a time. Raines decided to step in and handle the family problem herself, a situation Camp knew nothing about.

Datta Khel, Miran Shah District

North Waziristan, Pakistan

When Banks regained consciousness, he realized that he had been placed in a chair at a table. Two AK-47 toting captors stood above him on both sides. A long knife was the only object on the table. He looked up to his left and realized that the guard’s face was completely covered by a Shemagh that was tied around his head, face, nose and mouth. Only his eyes were exposed. He kept looking straight ahead. Banks looked to his left, and the other terrorist was equally as stoic. The wall behind him was covered with a black and white flag. Based on what Banks remembered from the pre-deployment briefings he tried to sleep through, he thought he was probably sitting in front of the Islamic Khilafah — Shahada — the flag of jihad.

“Dr. Banks, I hope you’re feeling better since your nap.”

Banks glared at Kazi. His jaws clenched, and he was determined to take his execution like an American, like a soldier. He said nothing.

Kazi bent down in front of him and placed his forearms comfortably across the table.

“Dr. Banks… there’s a couple of ways we can do this. It’s entirely your choice. But before you choose, I want you to know what a marvelous invention Facebook is. Oh yes, it clearly helped fuel the Arab Spring in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and perhaps even in Syria. What would the Occupy Wall Street movement have been without Facebook? Do you have a Facebook page, Dr. Banks?”

Banks remained silent.

“Let me think… hmmm… yes, yes now that I think of it you do, don’t you… Dean Banks, MD… Board Certified Gynecologist practicing with the Bucks County Women’s Health Clinic, US Army Reservist on a four-month deployment to Afghanistan. Nice of you to wish all your friends goodbye and a Merry Christmas.”

“Banks is a common name. Nice try,” Major Banks said.

“That was my concern too… but when my friends in Philadelphia finally got your 14-year-old son Chad to ‘friend’ them well, then we knew. The family photos are precious. Chad and Brittany look like lovely children. And your wife, Meg — or do you still call her Peggy — she is very attractive Dr. Banks… very attractive.”