Twenty-three

Almost exactly 24 hours later I swam out of a white, gossamer dream. The sensation was pleasant, still dream-like, as I opened my eyes, slowly, wondering where I was. I was lying on my back, covered by a sheet. There was the smell of antiseptics, bandages and ointments. There was a slight vibration, very subtle, and sounds about me which told me I was on an airplane. A moment later a male nurse was by my side, smiling reassuringly. He was a young, handsome man with retreating flaxen hair and pale grey eyes.

“You’re with us now. Good. Don’t move and don’t try and talk. Someone’s here with answers to your questions. Just rest easy. You’re going to be just fine. The head wound is nothing to worry about. We’ve run all the tests. And the knife wound to your side has been repaired.”

He disappeared and a moment later Tony Salcito was standing next to me, looking tired and under strain. “I hear your going to live. Good job, Scott. Thirsty?” I nodded and he poured me a glass of water, then held it to my lips as I drank, nearly emptying the glass. “They always forget about that, in my experience. Okay,” he said setting the glass down, “let me fill you in. There was a Ranger team not far from that camp Stern had. When you get your strength back we need to debrief you about what he told you, but obviously he had help. One question that’s important. Who was he working for?”

I tried to speak, cleared my throat, then tried again. “He didn’t know.” My words came out sounding like a very old man at death’s door. “It was for pay. He thought Iran.” I was exhausted.

“Okay. We’ll follow up on that. Anyway, the Ranger team heard the gunshots. They’d received word that a drone had spotted flashing light in the trees and were already on the way. They had a gunfire locater with them and found you about ten minutes after you killed him. Too bad about that. We’d like to have questioned him, but I guess it couldn’t be helped.

“You were passed out when they got there. They treated you in the field, then called in a chopper from their base and took you to their medical unit, where some first rate doctors patched you up. After that you were evaced to the USS Ronald Reagan. You’ve been in a drug-induced coma ever since. You were moved to the airport and are now on a medical jet that goes on all these foreign trips with the president. You’ll live.”

His demeanor changed as he continued. “We were fortunate and found Grant’s body. You guys gave Stern a hell of a chase. I can’t tell you how bad that hurts, seeing Grant dead. He was like a son to me. He’s not the only one, either. I lost most of my security team.” I thought for a moment he’d tear up. Instead he soldiered on.

“The president was on an earlier flight and is already in D.C. There’s a hell of a power struggle going on. I don’t see how the VP can win, but his people are arguing that he’s president, at least until the real president is back in the White House. Nasty.

“Oh, there’s been a development you’ll want to know about. It turns out the man Msingi killed on the summit was a patsy. Msingi shot Onesphory. He set the other guy up to take the fall. When he left the expedition I guess not all of his people were in on this, and away from us they demanded answers. By the time he’d returned to his village he was ready to spill the beans. He felt pretty bad about what he’d done and wanted to be forgiven. Onesphory was, after all, his nephew. You see, it turns out that his brother, Freeman, put him up to this. The target was never the president, it was always the son. Freeman wanted his own son to take over as chief. I don’t know what the Tanzanian government is going to do with Msingi, but Freeman is out as chief, and no one can find Itosi. We don’t know if he was part of this or not. Either way, he’ll be hurt by it.”

The male nurse murmured something and Tony spoke a word of agreement. “You need rest, so I’ll let you get back to it. Take care, son. You performed a hell of a service for your country on that mountain. I’ll talk some more with you later.”

This simple conversation exhausted me, and before he was out of the small room I’d drifted back into the warm embrace of my diaphanous dream.

When I returned to a much less pleasant reality another nurse was there, this time a young, rather plain woman. She made cheery talk, then adjusted the bed up a few inches and spoon fed me soup as she chatted away about absolutely nothing of consequence. I guess that was therapy intended to keep my mind off weighty issues. It worked. All I wanted was to suck the bowl dry and get back to happy-land.

The third time I came awake an angel was waiting for me with a warm smile. Diana.

“I see you’re with me, soldier,” she said lightly, then leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “You had us worried for a while. The Ranger team didn’t think you’d make it, you lost so much blood.” She patted my arm. “Don’t worry about your hair. It will grow back.”

I was feeling no pain and had forgotten about the fire on my head. I tried to talk, but she said, “Don’t. I’ll just tell you what happened. You can save your questions for later. I’ll be nursing you, so there’ll be plenty of time.”

She pulled up a chair. Ian and Brendan were fine. They’d been shaken up by all they’d experienced, but in the end they’d decided it was a great adventure and were talking about writing a book. They were already home.

“The media is having a field day,” she continued. “Word came out that the president was dead. That, along with the destruction of the airplanes on the tarmac, created an international incident. The VP has been, well, a little excitable. I understand the military had to drag its heels about carrying out some orders. They are very relieved to learn the president is still with us.”

“How is he?” I managed to ask.

“He’ll be all right. Tests say there was no permanent damage. They’ve diagnosed it as a stress-induced cardiac episode. He’ll be back on the campaign trail within a week, I understand. What with all the excitement, he’s leaped ahead in the polls, but that will fade. The election’s too far off for it to hold.

“They recovered Onesphory’s body. He’s to be buried in his village, but there will be a memorial service in Washington.” I must have made a face. “Scott, it was his son, after all.” She paused, then changed the subject. “Quentin really surprised me. I never liked him, but not once did I think he was a murderer, let alone a Russian agent and assassin.”

“I was shocked myself.”

“He didn’t kill you with Grant. Why?”

“He tried. That’s when I was grazed in the head. When he realized he hadn’t killed me, he carried me to his camp. He wanted someone to talk to.” I told her about our conversation. “In most ways,” I said, “he seemed a very different man. He was playing a part, I guess, for a long time. For a while there, I was feeling very sorry for him.”

“Sorry? He tried to kill you. Twice. It gives me the willies.”

“How’s Christopher?” I decided to be nice and use his given name.

She shook her head. “His paper is thrilled with the exclusive he gave them, but the rest of the pool will never forgive him for going around them to file. And…” she paused…”he should have come down off the mountain when he was told to. He’s lost all his toes and might lose a foot. He’s not very happy about it.”

I didn’t smile. It was the hardest thing I’d done since getting shot.

“What else? Oh, Tarja and Aleister are getting married.” This time I smiled. “Yes, I know. She always lands on her feet. I can’t see him lasting long. I doubt he’ll get out of the honeymoon alive. Let’s see. Oh, Tom left with Natasha. No talk of wedding bells there, but he seemed very happy to be off the mountain.” She sat watching me for a minute, then said, “Someone to see you, okay?” I nodded and she ushered Fowl in. “I’ll let you two talk. See you in a bit, honey.” Diana threw me a kiss and left.

Fowl was looking surprisingly good. He was in pale green scrubs, and I could make out bandages. “I see you are up and around,” I said.

“I’ve had worse, but this is getting to be a habit,” he said in that gravelly voice.

“Maybe it’s time you really retired.”

“You got it. Ever been to Pernambuco in Brazil? No? You two will have to come down and spend some time—if you don’t mind hanging out with an old fart. The fishing is to die for, and the young ladies don’t seem to mind my white hair. Either that or they pretend not to, which is good enough at my age.”

“I guess you get no recognition for identifying Stern?”

“Hell, no. And glad of it. They don’t like it when you’re right and they’re wrong. My reward is that they’re letting me go peacefully into the night.” Then he gave me a wicked smile. “At least I got to watch that bastard Noblet get it.”

“Time for some Christian charity, Lester.”

“Charity? To hell with that! He almost got me killed more than once.”

“I like a man who can hold a grudge.”

“In that case, we’re going to be great friends.”

I drifted off into never-never land again. I don’t remember the landing. I was drugged when they took me off the plane. Tony had another talk with me in the hospital, had me sign a document that I’d never talk or publish anything about what had really happened on Kilimanjaro. I was glad to sign it. I never wanted to think about it again.

When I could travel, Diana drove me home from the hospital and spent two weeks with me, fussing around the house, making plans for us, nursing me. Then she had to get back to the White House. “I’ll be in touch,” she said as she left, “and I’ll be here as soon as the election is over, either way. I’ve got my eye on one of the spare bedrooms. This is the digital age. I can do everything I really want to do in slippers.”

Coincidentally, the day she left, my office started bringing work over. It was time to start earning my keep.

I’d never set out to climb the Seven Summits—and, in the end, I hadn’t. I’d come up short on Elbrus and couldn’t see Russia letting me back in to finish the job. I don’t care. It never meant anything to me. On my wall is not a single photograph of me on any of the summits. There’s just the one photograph from Everest.

Me, Tom, Peer and Dawa, in happier days. Peer and Dawa, my friend and Sherpa guide, are dead on Everest.

I was watching SNS just now. Freeman and Mbalule, the president’s former lover and the mother of his son, have split up. She’s moving to Washington, D.C., where, she says, she intends to help the president in his re-election bid.