Jeff Abbott - Fear

The tape started with the interviewer identifying himself, the date, the location at a U.S. military base in Kuwait.

‘Sergeant Ruiz, I want to talk to you about the events of April second.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Nathan wiped a finger along his bottom lip, caught himself, sat upright. ‘Yes, sir.’

The interviewer summarized the approach Nathan’s artillery unit had taken as the American forces rolled toward Baghdad. Nathan agreed with each point.

‘And then, after you’d fired your missiles, you stopped to await further instructions.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you performed an operational check to see if all systems were functioning properly.’

Nathan nodded. ‘Yes, sir, as always.’

‘And the results?’

‘All was well.’ Nathan swallowed.

‘The infrared beacon that would identify you as American forces was working?’ the interviewer said.

Nathan nodded.

‘I need a verbal answer, please.’

‘Sir, yes, sir, the fireflies – the infrared beacons – were working.’ His voice cracked at the end.

‘So then you stepped away from your post.’

‘Sir, yes, sir, but just a few feet…’

‘And during your absence the beacon failed.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Nathan’s voice stayed steady. ‘I assume so. The backup failed as well.’

‘And how long were you away from the equipment?’

‘Only a few minutes, sir, then I returned.’

‘You didn’t notice the fireflies had malfunctioned.’

Silence.

‘Did you hear the question, Sergeant?’

‘Sir, yes, sir, I heard you. I did not notice the beacon had failed.’

‘Do you only pay attention to the equipment during operational checks, Sergeant Ruiz?’

‘Sir, no, sir.’

‘But you failed to notice that the beacon failed, and the appropriate alarm also failed.’

Four beats of silence, and Nathan’s military impassivity faded into pure pain. He fought hard to put a calm expression back on his face. ‘Sir, yes, sir, but…’

‘But?’

‘Out in the field, sir, the unexpected happens. I don’t know why the system failed. It… just did.’

‘Yet you were responsible for its repair.’

‘That’s true… sir.’ Nathan swallowed; sweat formed on his bruised and battered forehead.

‘And how many minutes before the friendly fire hit?’

‘Nine minutes after we launched our last missile, sir.’

‘Nine minutes and you don’t notice the beacon isn’t transmitting.’

‘Sir, yes, sir.’

‘Nine minutes you had to save your company.’ An awful, heavy silence and Nathan blinked hard into the camera. The unseen interrogator continued: ‘According to Captain Cariotis, during those nine minutes you were talking and laughing with your friends, enjoying the success of your mission. You thought your work for the evening was done, with all your missiles successfully launched.’

‘Sir, yes, sir.’ Nathan closed his eyes and took a long breath. ‘Sir, yes, sir.’ Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. ‘But the fire control could have confirmed for the pilot, sir, that we were American forces… I don’t understand how I alone-’

‘You’re right there, on the scene, with the broken beacon. You could have noticed it. You could have fixed it. You could have alerted fire control there was a problem.’

‘Jesus,’ Miles said, ‘they blamed him for the entire accident.’ His mouth went dry, thinking of Nathan’s nightmare back in Santa Fe, crying out, I fixed it I fixed it I fixed it.

‘Cleopatra, pause video,’ Victor told the computer, and Nathan’s face froze on the screen. ‘Without the working infrared a U.S. pilot could think Nathan’s company were Republican Guard forces. A pilot gets a bad confirmation from fire control after he sees missiles rise in the dark, he fires, and you have dead American boys all over the desert.’

‘Oh, man,’ Miles said. ‘Those poor kids.’

‘Yes,’ Nathan said, behind him, standing in the open doorway. ‘Those poor kids I helped kill.’

Miles stood. ‘Nathan. I meant you as one of those kids. I am so, so sorry, man.’

‘You don’t judge me,’ Nathan said. ‘I went to serve. I went to protect. I’m not a torturer like Groote. I’m not a screw-up like you, Miles.’

‘It was a genuine accident,’ Victor said. ‘They happen in war all the time.’

‘I thought you were my friends. Stupid of me,’ Nathan said. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘I’m getting the hell out of here.’

‘Nathan, you have nothing to be ashamed of – we understand what you must have gone through, why you helped Dodd. Stay with us.’

‘Turn off that tape!’ Nathan kicked his boot into the monitor. ‘You sure are a spy, Miles, a much better one than me. No secret is safe from you.’ He stormed out, through the house, through the front door. Miles chased him, grabbed his arm as he stepped off the lawn into the street.

‘You can help us find Sorenson…’

He pressed a gun against Miles’s head. Miles’s gun. ‘Let go, Miles. Let me go.’

‘I won’t. You’ll have to shoot me.’

‘Miles, please! Please!’

‘You’re not running off. Let us help you.’

‘You’re so full of shit. You lectured me how we had to stick together. You’re dumping me and Celeste to go off with Groote, a fucking animal who… tortured me.’

‘Nathan-’

‘Shut up. Shut your goddamned hypocritical trap, Miles. He hurt me, Jesus, but I kept your goddamn name shut for hours because I thought it was the right thing to do. I wanted to do right. Be strong again.’ He started to sob.

‘Nathan, God, I’m sorry.’

‘I lost every friend I had in the army. All of them. I thought you would understand since you lost all your friends in Florida. I thought

… never mind what I thought.’ He shoved Miles away, leveled the gun at him. ‘You only want me to stay because you’re afraid I’ll call the cops, tell them where you and Celeste are. That I’ll be the hero again. Don’t worry. I’ll treat you better than you treated me.’ He walked backward into the quiet of the street.

‘This is crazy, you don’t have money, you don’t have a car.’

‘I’ll keep my mouth shut about you and Celeste. Unless you follow me. Then I talk till my throat’s sore, you got me?’ Lowering the gun, Nathan walked away from him.

Miles stepped into the street to follow him and the gun came back up.

Miles watched him walk into the darkness and went back inside the house.

‘I’m sorry, Miles,’ Victor said.

‘He might be back in ten minutes or ten hours when he calms down,’ Miles said. ‘He thinks I hate him. I don’t. But he doesn’t understand what trust is.’

‘How much of your plans do you think he heard?’

‘Enough to know I wanted to leave him and Celeste with you. He might have heard that in the car; we thought he was asleep.’

‘Will he go to the police?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, the only law I’ve broken is harboring fugitives, and if I haven’t had the TV on, I can’t know you were fugitives.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You and Groote might need to head out. Just to be safe.’

‘Can Celeste stay? I can’t put her in further danger. She’s been through too much as it is.’

‘You better go while she’s asleep. Otherwise she’ll fight you tooth and nail.’

The faces connected to Frost stayed frozen on the computer screens. Except for the computer on the far left: it displayed Victor’s Web site for trauma patients. He had a poll running, a purely hypothetical question, the one Sorenson had asked him a lifetime ago: If you could forget the worst moment in your life, would you?