Still Alive Pt. 02

A dose of diphenhydramine and melatonin helped bring a warm, drowsy feeling an hour after her return home, but her thoughts remained focused before she floated into an ethereal dreamscape.

Arlington, VA
Monday, August 24, 2015, 9:00 AM EDT

"Welcome back, Ashley," said the man who entered her office. "Congratulations to you and your team on yet another successful recovery."

"Good morning, Jeff. It was fast as balls, but we got him back. Or what's left of him."

"About that. I just got off the phone with that Bragg guy in Qatar. He called to tell me that Wright regained consciousness this morning. Well, their morning, so I guess maybe ten, twelve hours ago. They think he's out of the woods for the most part, but, as soon as they're sure, they're bringing him stateside for specialized treatment and recovery."

"Did he say where?" she asked.

"No, but I imagine it'll be to a major facility like Brooke Army Medical or somewhere similar."

She looked up the name on her iMac. "That's in San Antonio, Texas."

Wesson shrugged. "If you say so. Why is it important?"

Martel pondered his question momentarily but didn't have a clear answer. "I guess it's not. Just saying."

"Did you go to a wedding over the weekend or something?" Wesson said, seeing an image on Martel's screen.

"Oh, that? No. That's a picture I found in a newspaper archive online. It's old. From like seven or eight years ago."

"An old photograph is an interesting choice for a background."

"Uh … no. Well, maybe. Recognize this guy?" she asked.

Wesson leaned in to look closer and began laughing. "Are you net-stalking the asset we extracted?"

"No!" she argued before considering the accuracy of her answer. She used her mouse cursor to point. "It's the groom. A man named Adam Coleman. Since Wright was his best man, I'm assuming they are, or, at least were, close friends. I'm going to see if I can find him, tell him the barest bones about Wright's status, and see what else I can learn about the major."

"Seldom have you been interested in the postgame. Why now?"

"I honestly can't explain. You remember saying you felt like this guy was somehow close to home?"

"Yeah, and I was correct. He's a U.S. citizen and a damned fine Marine."

"True, but that's not all. I was reading up on him over the weekend. He's an interesting person. By all appearances, the man has been involved in, if not responsible for, a number of … achievements. That fact⁠—"

"It's a suspicion, Martel, not a fact⁠—"

"I know, I know. But, if it's true, it's anathema to his more public persona. On paper, the guy is an angel. He's done tons of volunteer work, has been given high praise by both the Red Cross and Doctors Without Borders, and doing it all on personal leave time, mind you, traveling to relatively nearby locations to ensure they're able to communicate with command centers or doctors remotely.

"I mean … he's a good guy, right? But this other stuff makes him seem so …"

"Psychopathic?" Wesson suggested when she paused.

"You can only use that word if you'd call Dozer, Gleek, and almost everyone else who works for you the same thing."

"So … you?" he added with a chuckle.

"Pot calling the kettle black, boss."

Ashley returned her gaze to the photograph. There was something there she wasn't able to put a finger on. The man simply grasped her attention without her having ever met him.

"The bride is stunning," Wesson commented after a few moments of silence. "And the woman standing next⁠—wowzers. She's got to be her twin."

Ashley burst out laughing. "She was captioned as being the matron of honor, you sleazoid."

"Easy there," Wesson cautioned as he extracted a dozen slips of paper from inside his suit coat. He sorted through them and placed all but one back in his pocket. "In my defense, she's not wearing a ring in that photograph. Wouldn't want your bonus to accidentally fall into the burn box, would you?"

"Sorry!" she yelped. "Just teasing."

He slowly extended a business check, with her name as the payee, until she snatched it from his fingers. She smiled when she read the amount.

"Wow. Thanks, boss. This is very generous."

"You earned it. So did your team. Let me know when you're ready to tee up again."

"Okay. I'll catch up with you later today."

"Nope, I'm sending you home."

"Why?" Martel asked, surprised.

"Same reason I'm sending both Gleek, Dozer, and their teams. I'm giving everyone two days of paid vacay. Call it comp-time. You all worked some long hours last week. We can talk Wednesday."

"I won't argue," she said, smiling.

He nodded and went to distribute bonuses to twelve more people.

She powered her iMac down and was on her way back to her residence within ten minutes.

Washington, DC
Monday, August 24, 2015, 11:15 AM EDT

The photograph she'd found proved to be a gold mine. Public records searches often yielded useful information, but they uncovered next to nothing for Adam Coleman other than marriage records. Not even a mortgage lien. There was nothing useful to get into contact with him. The search of the bride's name produced similar results.

Searches for the matron of honor, however, bore much more fruit. A marriage license, a divorce decree finalized the month after the photograph was published in the paper, and a mortgage lien. The latter document allowed her to search for any phone numbers associated with that address. She found two and called the first one.

"Hello?" answered a person with a feminine voice.

"Hi. My name is Ashley Martel. Am I speaking to Shannon Carter-Rice?"

"I haven't used the hyphen in years, but yes, that's me."

"My apologies for my presumptuousness. Are you Erin Coleman's sister, Adam's sister-in-law?"

"What's this about?"

"I'm trying to reach him. I don't have an email address or phone number for him. My channels for getting something like that take days if not weeks, and I don't have that kind of time. It's concerning a Major Mark Wright. Unless I've completely screwed up my research⁠—"

"Mark ? Adam told me he bumped into him last week. He was Adam's best man. Mark and I walked down the aisle together. I've known him just as long as Adam has, which is decades . What's wrong? Has something happened to him?"

"Yes," Martel answered. "I'm afraid I need to keep details limited for the time being, but I will explain what I can to Adam if you can tell me how to reach him. He's in a better position to know who's allowed to be told what and can tell you whatever he chooses."

"Adam's not active anymore. He's officially retired as of last week. My sister moved back here from Japan a month ago, and he finally got to come home permanently on Thursday. I haven't talked to either of them for several days because … well, I'm pretty sure they missed each other."

"Ah. I get it," Ashley said, smiling to herself. "Could you please give me a phone number so I can contact him?"

"No. I'll pass yours along to him. That way he can⁠—"

"That's perfect. Please. The sooner the better? Tell him it's urgent. He can call me twenty-four seven."

"I will," Shannon said.

"Thank you. Goodb⁠—"

"Wait. At least tell me this. Is Mark okay?"

"He's better than he was four days ago."

"Alright. I guess that's something. Thank you."

The call disconnected.

"It's five o'clock somewhere," Martel said aloud to herself after hours of scouring the web for new information based on news Wesson had emailed that afternoon. "Oh. It's five o'clock here ."

She stepped to a small wet bar and drizzled Hibiki whisky over ice in a rocks glass. She swirled the pour, listening to the subtle tones of the sphere tapping the inside of the crystal. The sound of her cellphone ringing almost caused her to drop the glass she then placed on the countertop.

"Martel," she said, answering a call from an unknown number.

"I'm Adam Coleman. You spoke to my sister-in⁠—"

"I did. Thanks for calling me back."

"You scared her shitless, and she's done the same to me. What the hell is going on with Mark?"

She steeled herself, preparing to inform an undoubtedly close friend of some news he couldn't yet have known.

"Wright was … well, I guess it's fair to say that he was abducted outside the secure perimeter of the Joint Operations NATO base in Qatar."

"Stop. Exactly who are you, and why should I believe anything you say?"

"Wright's commanding officer is Colonel Richard Bragg. You can call him to verify that along with my name."

"I will. Go on."

"He was taken to an abandoned storage facility outside the city, and … well, he was brutalized."

"Oh, my god. When did that happen?"

"He was taken at around 1:30 the afternoon of Sunday the 16th."

"Sund⁠—no. No way."

"Unless the timestamps on the security cameras are wrong."

"I … I was eating with him in the mess … the cafeteria that day. Absolute stone-cold coincidence that we ran into each other. My squadron had an unscheduled stop there, and it's a big base, you know?"

"I do."

"We'd barely finished eating when our conversation was interrupted by a sergeant who said something about a man by the name of Jassim Kahn who'd come to the base needing to talk to Mark. It must have been important, because he did a jackrabbit out of the building."

"You seem quick to recall the name. Why'd it stick in your memory?"

"Mark told me about how they met. Are you telling me Kahn was the one who abducted him?"

"Technically, yes, but I personally think he was under extreme duress, because he was found dead by the people who recovered Wright. Their identities were confirmed. I received word overnight."

"Identities … as in plural?" Coleman probed.

"Kahn's daughter was murdered, too."

He gasped. "Oh, god, no. Farah Salman?"

The tone of Adam's voice chilled Martel's blood despite the Japanese whisky she had been sipping before Coleman's call. "Another familiar name?"

"Yeah. I⁠— Yeah."

"Continue. Please," Ashley pressed.

The colonel remained silent for several moments. "Ma'am, so far, you've asked most of the questions. When do I get to ask my own?"

"You're right. My apologies."

"You've only given broad strokes. I want to know exactly what happened."

"I'll tell you the same thing I told your sister-in-law. I need to keep the details to a minimum. I've said all I can say at this point."

"How badly was Mark injured?"

"They were sorts which would be particularly painful. For a purpose, if you understand my meaning."

"He was tortured," Coleman concluded. "What about the bastards who did it?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't speak to that."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Whichever word you prefer."

"Convenient."

"Necessary."

Martel heard the man sigh. "You're a woman of few words."

"Sometimes."

"Now you're just trying to piss me off. This conversation is over."

Ashley's phone beeped with the termination of the call.

"This is bullshit !" she yelled in frustration. "I can't expect anyone to talk when I can't!"

She scrolled through her contacts list. She tapped one of the entries.

"General Gonzales's office, Sergeant Dempsey speaking."

"It's Ashley Martel. Is he available?"

"Ma'am, it's not even 0700. He hasn't arrived yet."

"Have him call me the moment he does. He has my number."

She didn't wait for any acknowledgments before she tapped the red X.

The Hibiki she had poured an hour earlier had become watered down, but given the price she'd paid for the bottle, she refused to discard it. She dispatched it in two swallows, tossed the ice in the sink, and poured another.

Yamaguchi Prefecture, Japan
MCAS Iwakuni
Tuesday, August 25, 2015, 8:00 AM

"Sir, that Martel chick called from the States an hour ago," the gunnery sergeant said when the general arrived.

"Chick?" Gonzales laughed ruefully. "Dempsey, that chick could pluck every one of your feathers and would probably smile while doing it. Get her on the phone and send it to my desk."

"Aye, sir."

The general went to his office and closed the door behind him. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot his aide had brewed. His phone warbled just as he took his seat at the desk.

"Gonzales," he answered.

"Good morning. Thanks for returning my call."

The man looked at the clocks on the opposite wall. "Good evening, Martel. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm sure you've heard by now."

"About Wright?"

"Yes."

"Of course I have. Your team did an amazing job. The local media outlets are billing it as a power struggle, perhaps a coup within a cadre. How'd you manage that?"

"Well, it could be a smokescreen on their part, of course, but I had my lead man stage the scene to make it look like it. Sure, if they do ballistic forensics, they'll know the rounds came from different weapons, but we left one behind in the hand of one of the bad guys whose head wound could pass as self-inflicted."

"Interesting tactics, Martel."

"It's my job."

"The likelihood of them expending resources beyond identifying the dead is incredibly unlikely. I'm sure the legitimate authorities don't care what happened considering everyone benefits."

"That was my thinking, too."

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"A favor, of sorts."

"I owe you at least one," Gonzales said. "Go ahead."

"I need to know the boundaries about what and with whom I can discuss this whole thing."

"I don't understand."

"I just got off the phone with someone I'm assuming is one of Wright's closest friends. He was the best man at his wedding. He's a Marine pilot. He was very shaken to hear that Wright was hurt."

"Flight squadrons are outside my bailiwick, but what's his name?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Adam Coleman."

The general typed it into an application running on his desktop. "The very recently retired XO of VMFA-266."

"That's him."

"You're posing a tough question," the general said. "OpSec is still reviewing the intel. They've not even had a week."

"Bottom line?"

"Give me two more. If you haven't heard from me by then, consider yourself free to discuss anything with Coleman as long as Wesson is in agreement. Also, you'll need to remind Coleman that, even though he's retired, he's still subject to the UCMJ's regulations regarding information classification, and, for the time being, this is considered confidential with access restricted to those with need to know."

The general heard the relieved sigh. "I understand. Thank you, Ernesto."

"Now, can you do me a favor?" he asked.

"I can try."

"Still trying to finish Sunday's NYT Crossword."

Ashley chuckled. "Clue me."

"Twenty-nine letters total. 'With thirty-nine across, estimating as completely worthless.' All I have so far is FL blank CCI and a smattering of others. Thirty-nine across's clue is 'see twenty-seven across.'"

"Floccinaucinihilipilification."

"I can't even say it, let alone spell it."

"Can you maybe speed things up a few days?"

"No."

"Then I'll leave the spelling as an exercise for the solver."

The lighted button representing the status of the call extinguished.

"That woman is going to end me," he mumbled before he began Googling.

Arlington, VA
Tuesday, September 8, 2015, 9:00 AM EDT

Martel knocked on the jamb of a door. "Have a minute?"

Wesson looked up. "Of course."

"I spoke with General Gonzales a couple of weeks ago to ask him what I can and can't talk about with regard to Mark Wright."

"I know. I talked to him last night. For now, you're free to disclose, only to Colonel Coleman, whatever you deem appropriate, excepting any and all of Wolfram's involvement."

"I don't know how I can do that."

"That's your problem." Jeff said.

"I guess I can live with that. I'd like your permission to travel to St. Louis and talk to Coleman face to face. Phone calls aren't ideal when discussing such things."

"Sure."

"Outstanding. Thank⁠—"

"On your own dime, though."

Martel sighed in frustration.

"Hold your horses. Gonzales told me he's gained ground in pushing for DoD reimbursement for Wright's extraction. I'll cover your travel expenses if he does, so keep your receipts."

"You're the best boss ever."

"I know," Wesson said with a light laugh. "See to your business."

Martel texted Coleman once she returned to her own office.

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get back with you.
I'm now able to pass on more information.
When might you have a few hours to meet with me in St. Louis?

Where are you coming from?

DC.

If you're flying here, I'll make the time. Let me know your flight number when you have it. I'll meet you at baggage claim.

Thank you.

It required less than half an hour for Ashley to secure a seat on the next departure from DCA to STL.

St. Louis, MO
Tuesday, September 8, 2015, 11:51 AM CDT

Though she hadn't checked any luggage, Martel made haste to the claim area in Terminal Two at Lambert International, scanning all the people who didn't appear to be collecting bags. The only photograph she'd seen of Coleman was taken a decade earlier, so she brought to mind every stereotypical trait which might aid her in locating Lieutenant Colonel Adam Coleman, USMC, retired.

He's a pilot, so probably not very tall or short. Physically fit. Probably a crew cut and clean shaven. Forty-ish, she thought to herself as she people-watched.

She soon spotted him. Not by noting any of the distinguishing traits or characteristics, but because he was standing with two women who were obviously twins. She approached the group.

"Are you Adam Coleman?"

"I am," he acknowledged, offering his hand along with a perplexed expression.

"Ashley Martel. I know, I don't look like anyone you were expecting."

"No, ma'am. Your name⁠—"

"It happens more than you might think."

"This is my wife, Erin, and her sister, Shannon. I hope it's not a problem that they came with me. They've known Mark as long as I have and are just as anxious to hear any news you can give us."

Martel shook each of their hands in turn. "Not at all. It's nice to meet you both, and you in person, sir. Is there somewhere we can get away from the hustle and bustle?"

"There's a breakfast restaurant upstairs which stops serving in fifteen minutes," Erin answered, gesturing toward the escalators.

The four engaged in small talk before the waiter arrived with iced water, empty mugs, and a carafe of coffee. Ashley gave the man forty dollars which brought a pleasantly surprised smile along with an assurance they wouldn't be disturbed even after the establishment closed.

"Wright's improving," she began after a sip of brew. "They sent him back here to the US last week. He's still in intensive care."

"Jesus. In an ICU for a week plus more at sick bay in Qatar?"

"I've been told he's in relatively good spirits."

"By whom?"

"His commanding officer, a Colonel Richard Bragg."

"Alright. Yeah. That sounds like some good news, at least," Coleman responded, squeezing his wife's hand.

"If I might ask, all three of you seem to be quite close to Major Wright. Can you tell me … I don't know, the history?"

Erin laughed softly. "To make a long story short, he … well, he and Adam were sort of neighborhood goons. Both boys lived in the same area as us. They'd poke fun at us when they were out on their bikes if we were playing in the front yard."