Chapter Seventeen
Rose woke, not sure what had jarred her out of sleep. Crack! Swearing. Voices hissing, muffled but audible. Her heart began to race. Where was Maji? She hopped from the bed, crossed the space where she’d finally grown accustomed to finding the bedroll and its occupant. She eased open the door, and listened. Arabic. Dammit! Ang and Maji arguing—at one a.m., no less.
She tiptoed to the top of the steps and stopped there. If they wanted her to listen, they wouldn’t be using their private language. Then she heard English.
“Why are we using Arabic? I’m fucking exhausted.” Angelo sounded on his last legs, indeed.
“Because we’ve got civilians upstairs.”
“Ma takes pills. She’d sleep through a nor’easter.”
“Great. You carry her if we have to evacuate.”
“Yeah, yeah. Seriously. Just calm the fuck down, sit, and talk to me, Rios.”
Rose slid quietly down onto the top step.
“You trying to kill me here, Ang? See if you can push me completely over the edge? Watch me snap?” The ragged edge in her voice made Rose hurt for her. “’Cause that went so well last time.”
“You saved our lives. And…I know it cost you.”
“You don’t know jack. Or you wouldn’t ask that…woman…here. After what she did.”
“Iris didn’t kill Palmer.” Ang sounded more level, serious, and reasonable than she knew he could. “She didn’t do anything to us. Mashriki did it all—and we got him, right?”
Maji was silent a few beats, then flat toned. “If she’d stuck to the plan, it wouldn’t have gone down like that.”
“It wasn’t her plan. How was she supposed to know?” He paused. “All she ever cared about before was getting the story. That’s why we picked her.”
Rose realized they must be speaking about Iris Fineman, the journalist.
“So what makes you think she won’t screw us over again?”
“Hannah.” Another pause, before Angelo continued. “She and Iris’s editor go way back. Hannah got him out of Serbia in ’92. He’ll keep Iris on script.”
Maji’s controlled exhales filled the brief silence. “Your op, your call. But keep her the fuck away from me.”
“Look, I get that you’re pissed—”
The stairwell shuddered as something large thumped against it. “You don’t get anything. This isn’t Baku Bay, or Ciudad del Este, or Iran. I can’t be anybody you need me to be. This is home.” Rose heard the anger shred into raw pain. “This is where people know me, my family, my name.”
“Aw, jeez.” Rose heard sobbing, muffled by what she guessed was Angelo holding Maji. There was shuffling, and a nose blown. Then Angelo’s words came, soft but firm. “Maji Rios, you and I have been downrange our whole lives. And so have our families and friends. They just don’t know it like we do.”
“They used to know us, at least. Now we can’t even give them that.”
“Babe, look at me. Please.” A brief pause. “Maybe they don’t know what we do,” Angelo said, “but the ones who count know who we are.”
“Iris isn’t one of them.” A touch of bitterness gave Maji’s voice some of its strength back.
“I hear you. I really do. But we absolutely need Fineman to pull this off. I’d explain why, but it’s better you know less. You’ll understand later, I promise.”
Rose listened hard into the silence, then realized with a start that they were headed upstairs together. She stood and saw them looking up at her looking down at them.
“We wake you up squabbling?” Angelo sounded neither angry nor embarrassed. Something in Maji’s face, however, hardened.
“It’s okay,” Rose offered, trying not to look guilty. “I’ll see you in the morning. I promised Jackie waffles before her golf game.”
When they reached the top, Rose moved to let Angelo pass by on his way to his room. Then Maji followed and went into Carlo’s room without a word to either of them. Well, Rose thought, she deserved a real bed. And some privacy for a change.
Maji was already awake when Rose pushed the bedroom door open partway. The heavy drapes Carlo had liked kept the bright sun out, but couldn’t turn off her internal alarm clock.
“Hello?”
“I’m up.” She stretched under the sheet, propped herself up on both elbows, and inhaled deeply. “Coffee. Hallelujah.” Seeing Rose reach for the light switch, she blurted, “Don’t. Please.”
“Are you hungover?” Rose asked, sounding incredulous.
Maji shook her head, loose hair falling in her eyes. She squinted at the clock. “’Course not. I’m just not used to sleeping so long. My body’s confused.” And I bet I look like hell. She took the cup of coffee, rolling onto one elbow to free up the other hand.
Rose slid onto the bed facing her, her back to the door. With her free hand, Rose reached out and tucked a loose swath of hair back behind Maji’s ear. “Sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
There was no subtext that Maji could see in Rose’s eyes, which shone with their usual intelligence even in the dimness of the stuffy room. “What did you hear?”
“Something about a reporter. Did you mean Iris Fineman?”
Might as well be as honest as you can. “Yeah. Ang wants her help, I think it’s a bad idea. But it is his call.”
Rose’s hand brushed Maji’s ear as she tucked another strand of hair behind it, then pulled back to rest on the bed between them. “Can I ask you something? And you can tell me to go away if I’m out of line.”
Maji blew on the coffee, buying time. The discussions Rose initiated always felt intimate, and she should be pulling away, not helping her get closer. Fuck it. “Go ahead.”
“Back when you gave me that I am not your girlfriend lecture, you said that if we broke the rules, there would be casualties.”
“Good recall. And?”
“Were you her bodyguard?”
Oh. Huh. “No. I was assigned as her interpreter. Free to fraternize, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Rose blushed, but didn’t look away. “Even under Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?”
“A forward operating base is a small town. Lots of people breaking rules, lots of looking the other way.” Maji didn’t add that her team wasn’t stationed at the base and didn’t answer to the chain of command there. “Still, the guys were worried she might try to out me.”
“Why?”
“She was against the war, against US policy. She’s a Canadian. We argued a lot.”
Rose looked unconvinced. “But that’s not why you’re so angry. She did something.”
Maji looked past Rose, fixing her eyes on a point on the wall. She weighed what she could say, and could not. “Fineman was supposed to go into the camp to interview refugees, under our escort. Those were the terms of her embedment agreement.” Well, that much was true. The rest was off the record, but not actually classified. “The night before the scheduled visit, she slipped off base without us, to go in alone. Well, with a local driver as interpreter. They killed him right off.”
“Oh God. Why wasn’t that in the news?”
“Because we weren’t authorized to go in after her.” Not on paper, anyway. None of their missions came with a paper trail. “Hostage rescue isn’t really a Civil Affairs thing. But it takes a while to mobilize strike teams, and we couldn’t just wait while Mashriki held her, knowing what he did to most hostages.”
Rose gave a little shudder. “Of course you couldn’t. But I’m so sorry you lost your friend. No wonder it’s hard to trust a civilian to behave.”
Maji reached out and put her hand on Rose’s. “You’d never put Ang in danger, not on purpose.”
“Or you,” Rose replied, turning her hand to match Maji’s and lacing their fingers together. “I’m sorry for suggesting you might be using the rules to let me down easy.”
Maji laughed, incredulous. “Seriously? That would even be in your head? You really underestimate yourself.”
“Thank you. I didn’t so much, before Gayle. It was a bad breakup, but overdue.”
Maji hesitated to ask. “Was she cheating on you?” Hard to imagine, but then, some people were idiots.
“Nothing that dramatic. Or simple,” Rose conceded. “More like death by a thousand cuts. Insidious, corrosive.”
Maji worked to keep her voice calm. “Abuse?”
“Not like that.” Rose’s eyes dropped to their entwined hands. “I’m not sure I can explain.”
“You don’t have to.” Maji rubbed her thumb on the back of Rose’s hand.
Rose looked up. “But I want to. It might help me figure out how I got there.”
Maji waited, not prompting, just being available. She gave Rose the barest hint of a smile.
“Gayle is gorgeous. There’s no picture of her in my file, is there?”
“No.” The only gorgeous one in there is you, and you don’t seem to know it.
“Well, take my word for it. She’s always very styled, dressed like a rich artist—she teaches art history. I was really flattered when she asked me out.” Rose’s eyes lifted to the wall beyond Maji and focused on something far away. “And before she moved in—long story—she was very supportive, very complimentary. But then the suggestions started. Here, doesn’t that look better? Oh, not that color, really? You look so much better in red. And so on. It just inched down this slope, and I hardly noticed. Then one day I realized that I’d stopped being at ease with her, ever. Everything had to be her way, which means fancy—food, clothes, cars, furniture, you name it. She passed herself off as a connoisseur, and at first I liked that, admired it even. But eventually I realized she just didn’t know how to be happy with any simple, good thing. Not a homegrown tomato, not a nice meal of leftovers, not me without makeup.”
Maji shook her head. “Then she’s an idiot. A pretentious idiot.”
“Thank you. It took me a long time to realize that, though. Finally, one day, I asked myself, who watches their girlfriend come out of the shower, drop her towel, and give her the Look, and then has the gall to say, Wouldn’t you like to put on that teddy I bought you? You look so nice in it.”
That movie clip ran through Maji’s mind, with herself in a supporting role and a very different ending. She blinked, at a loss for words that wouldn’t put her way over the line. “Um,” she tried, then gave up. Swallowing hard, she handed the mug to Rose and slipped out from under the covers, onto the floor with a graceless thump.
“Are you okay?” Rose asked, mercifully not following to check.
“Fine,” Maji answered, her voice not as steady as she’d hoped. “Just trying to remember I’m a professional.”
Maji listened to Rose roll off the bed, and her steps reach the door.
“I’m going to go back down to the kitchen, then. Would that help?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“If you make that cold shower quick, I’ll save you the last waffles.”
“Deal.” Maji waited until the door clicked shut before standing up. You are so whipped, Rios.
Maji reclined on the one chaise by the pool that didn’t have to be moved to find shade. It also afforded a view down the hill toward the Sound while she kept an eye on Rose. The afternoon was dimming fast as clouds moved in from the south. No rumbles yet, though. And unless there was an actual flash in the sky, Rose would keep slicing through the water in her easy, methodical rhythm until all her laps were done. Relentless as a long-distance runner, and equally graceful.
The screen door banged closed behind Angelo, who jogged over to Maji and handed her an iPod and earbuds. “Frank’s home from the hospital. Take a listen, courtesy of Rey.”
Maji pictured Rey slipping into the hospital room in scrubs, never looked at twice.
Rose stood up in the shallow end, water sluicing off her upper half. She removed the goggles and said loudly, “Ang! You taking a break finally?”
“I wish, hon. No Marco Polo today.” He sounded genuinely regretful.
Rose swam toward them and tried to hoist herself out, then looked frustrated. “Give me a hand.”
Ang leaned toward her, his arm outstretched. He nearly pitched in when she yanked on his hand. “Hey! No fair! I got clothes here, a watch.”
Rose gave no ground, still clinging to his hand at the center of their tug-of-war. “Promise you’ll get your suit and come in for twenty minutes, and I’ll let you go. Twenty minutes, Ang.”
“Fine. I’ll be right back. Finish your laps.”
She smiled beatifically at him, resettled her goggles, and resumed her swim as he turned back to Maji, shaking his head.
Maji slid an iPod earbud into the ear without the comm. She watched Tom and Dev come out in their matching khakis and blue button-downs, the hired-security uniforms Angelo had crafted for them. Jackie must be close behind. Sure enough, Angelo’s mother appeared next, in a coverup and sandals. They settled in across the pool, in the sun. Maji gave them all a small wave and gestured to her ears. Tom gave her a nod in reply, while Dev leaned over and spoke quietly to Jackie.
“She’s working,” Maji heard through the comm.
“When isn’t she?” Jackie replied. “Best fake girlfriend Ang ever had.”
Maji shut off their voices in her ear with a single click, and pressed play. She heard the hospital room door, then footsteps and Ricky’s voice: “Wow. You look like shit.” He sounded more smug than sympathetic.
The bed creaked. “You’re lucky I can’t move fast,” Frank rasped. Then, “Why?” in a wounded tone.
“That you gotta ask that, Frank, troubles me.” Gino sounded indulgent, almost patronizing. “Max always said what you lacked in smarts you made up for in loyalty. Like a fucking Irish setter.”
“Whatever I did, Mr. B, I’m sorry. I would have stopped if you’d told me what it was.” Frank’s plaintive tone and undisguised fatigue hurt to hear.
Gino sighed. “Frank. You been with the family what, thirty years or something?” There was a pause. “Who took you in?”
“Max.”
“No, Frank. Max might have got you home from ’Nam in one piece, and got you clean, but he wasn’t capo. It was Pop cut the deal with the Lucchetti family, made you a Benedetti.”
“I’d never hurt the Family,” Frank pleaded. “I haven’t talked to nobody about Ang’s thing.”
A smack sounded sharply, and Maji flinched. “There’s the problem in a nutshell, Frank. It isn’t Ang’s thing. It’s mine. He’s mine, you’re mine. All of this is mine now. Am I getting through to you? Am I?”
“Yes, Mr. B. It’s just…I thought looking out for Ang was my thing. I promised Max, and—”
“You see Max here?” Another pause. “Nobody you answer to lives in that house anymore. You can go fetch for the kid, and drive those girls around, run whatever the fuck errands he says. But you remember this…everything you do for him, you do for me.”
“I thought I was. Honest.”
Gino cleared his throat. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. This one time. From now on, Ricky says I want something, you give it. You hear something I should know, you don’t wait. You fucking tell me. You’re my eyes and ears down there, Frank.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything. Don’t decide what I need to know or don’t. Just tell me. Well, tell Ricky…he’ll decide what’s important. You can do that.”
“Without letting Ang know?”
“Yes, you retard!” Ricky interjected.
“Basta!” Gino spat. “Frank, let me make this as simple as I can. Who owns you?”
“Only you, Mr. B,” Frank answered. “Only you.”
The recording clicked off, and Maji took the earbud out. She clicked her comm back on but didn’t speak. The guys looked relaxed, sitting quietly on either side of the reclining Jackie. Angelo was splashing Rose, who tried unsuccessfully to get behind him and into dunking position. Maji let the recorded conversation filter through her brain. Frank would be reporting to Gino now, that much was clear. Would they need to cut him out of their daily lives? As if they could. No way to do that without tipping Gino off.
Gino was smart enough to figure out what scared Frank more than death, and mean enough to give him a taste of it. How could he do that to a guy whose only fault was looking out for his brother’s and sister’s kids too well? Some reward for thirty years of giving up having a family of his own to live over their garage, always on call. Maji pictured Frank the last moment she’d seen him in the hospital, the flash of panic in his eyes when the nurse had called Rose his daughter. Those sweet brown eyes, so tender like hers. Fuck.
Angelo must know. Maybe that was why Frank was planning to turn state’s evidence, risking his own life to help Angelo take down Gino. And why Angelo was sure they could trust him. Like one of the family. Rose’s words came back to her, infused with irony.
Standing and stretching, Maji felt the familiar dissonance that always hit her at some point in a mission. On the surface, the six of them were just relaxing on a cloudy Sunday afternoon, alert to no threat greater than a thunderstorm. At the first rumble, they’d gather up their towels and traipse inside for drinks before dinner. But Maji would go in and gear up for another performance as Ri, sitting at the table with boyfriend Angelo, both of them chatting with Gino and Ricky like they had no idea what mendacious pendejos they really were.
A distant boom sounded, more like a jet than thunder, and Maji squinted at the horizon, out toward the cloudbank shadowing the Sound. Something larger than a bird, just visible at this distance and up too high for the security cameras to capture, hovered in the sky. A remote-control plane?
Maji picked the binoculars off the café table and zeroed in on the object. Then she waved at Ang, getting his attention without yelling. “Drone five hundred meters out,” she said into the comm, at the same time giving Ang hand signals. “Move!”
Angelo grabbed Rose, speaking low and moving quickly. Dev hoisted Jackie from her chair, while Tom drew his sidearm and covered the four of them, scanning in all directions while moving toward the house. Maji ran for the tree line, heading toward the water under cover of the leafy branches.