Chapter Thirteen

“Are you coming?” Leuters reached over the passenger seat of the car to grab his satchel.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Carlos held his phone in the air and examined the screen. “I’m just going to call the financiers and find out how far off they are.” He moved the phone through the air, looking for a signal. “I’m right behind you.”

Leuters hoisted the satchel over his shoulder and balanced the bronze sword precariously on his leg as he unlocked the front door to his casa. When he stepped into the empty house, his nose was hit with the pungent smell of dirt. It smelled wet, like potting soil.

“What in the . . . ?” The odor came from the living room, and the couch seemed to be the source of the overpowering scent. He lifted the dust skirt to

investigate. It took a few seconds to comprehend what he saw: multiple bags of fertilizer and plastic bottles filled with clear liquid that were connected by bundles of wires that routed to a stopwatch.

“Bomb!” he yelled. “Carlos, bomb!”

The countdown clock flipped to display the number three. Leuters turned and ran toward the door. He felt the heat on his back before he heard the sound of the explosion. The impact lifted him into the air and carried him out the door as if he were a bird in flight. He felt the hot sting of metal followed by the crash of his body against the unforgiving ground. And then he felt nothing at all.

***

The beep of the heart monitor. The sound of oxygen released from a metallic tank in rhythmic spurts. The quiet murmur of voices. The clink of the clipboard against the metal bedframe. Leuters was suspended in an eternity of these sounds. Time and space had no meaning.

It took all of his might to open his eyes. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious. A nurse in the room sensed him stir and rushed to his bedside. She rubbed his shoulder and shushed him. She was a pretty Hispanic girl who wore too much makeup.

“You are in the hospital,” she said. “There was

an accident.”

It all came rushing back.

Africa. MFS. The pharmaceutical rep.

Prison. His father. The bronze sword. The mission.

And finally, the bomb.

“Carlos?” he slurred, attempting to push himself on

his elbows.

“Shhh.” She lightly pushed him back to the pillow. “He’s just fine. He has been here to see you every day. He will come again tonight.”

Leuters was grateful that Carlos had stayed outside to make a phone call. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if any harm had come to his friend.

“I’m going to get the doctor.” The nurse tucked the sheets tightly around him. “You stay right here.”

Leuters nodded. He was too weak to go anywhere, anyway. The haze of heavy narcotics draped over him like a wet blanket. He closed his eyes and floated in a thoughtless state of nothingness.

“Mr. Garcia?” A gentleman’s voice pulled him from his drug-induced meditation.

He opened his eyes. A man in his thirties who wore blue scrubs and a white lab coat stood by his bed. He looked at the clipboard in his hand and examined the medical chart.

“Do you know where you are?”

Leuters nodded.

“My name is Dr. Lopez.”

Leuters nodded again. It was difficult to speak under the veil of the medication.

“Do you remember what happened?” Dr. Lopez asked.

“Explosion,” Leuters answered in a hoarse whisper.

“That is correct,” the doctor confirmed. “I have some difficult news.”

“I’m a doctor,” Leuters explained. “I am familiar with the terminology. Do I have internal injuries?”

“A few broken ribs.”

Leuters exhaled. A few broken ribs he could deal with.

The doctor placed his hand on Leuters’s arm. “There’s more. You lost your right leg. The sword you were carrying when the bomb went off severed your leg when you landed. We did everything that we could. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have a leg?” His voice rose an octave.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Garcia. There was nothing we could do. However, with rehabilitation and the use of prosthetics, you will be able to walk again.”

“Without a leg?” he moaned.

“With the use of prosthetics.”

Leuters wept openly. A flash of images played through his mind. He saw all of the things that he would never do again: run down the beach feeling the wet sand break between his toes, walk barefoot in the wet green grass, pick up discarded socks and underwear from the ground when he was too lazy to bend over. Jogging, walking, skiing, swimming. Nothing would be the same again.

“I would rather have lost anything else: a kidney, a lung, an eye.” His head dropped to the pillow, and the hot tears that flowed down the side of his face dripped onto the pillowcase. He wouldn’t be able to dance with his wife at their wedding or wrap his feet around hers when they made love. He hadn’t met her yet, but he had dreamed of her since he was a boy. His mind flashed the image of him making love with only one leg.

It broke his heart.

“I rather would have died.”

“I know it is a shock,” Dr. Lopez said compassionately. “I assure you, you can lead a relatively normal life.”

Leuters had taken his legs for granted. They were his. A part of him. He owned them. And someone took them away.

“Who did this to me?” Anger rose up his spine, a fire from deep in his core.

“The police have no suspects,” the doctor said quietly.

“I must talk to Carlos,” he stated, determined.

“We have called him. He will be here soon,” the doctor assured him. “Can I get anything for you? How is the pain?”

“Tolerable,” Leuters’s answered resolutely.

His single-sighted focus was on discovering who did this to him and exacting revenge.

“Dr. Garcia,” the doctor said as he put his hand on his shoulder. “This is a lot to take in. You can expect to experience the various stages of grief. Just allow yourself to move through them. There is no wrong way to feel. Your life will change, but you can live a happy and productive life with a few minor adjustments. We have arranged an appointment with the hospital therapist to help you process what you may be feeling in these initial stages.”

“I am only feeling one thing right now,” Leuters said evenly. “Vengeance.”