Still Alive Pt. 02

He did, and correctly.

"Now, spell Ashuri Mato," she said, pronouncing her name in its origin's accent. "That's what's on my birth certificate."

"Sounds almost the same, but can't even guess how it's spelled."

"That's why I anglicized it. I'm Ashuri Mato⁠—technically, Mato Ashuri because surnames go first in Japanese names. It's how I'm known at home and when I visit Japan, which I do frequently, but I'm Ashley Martel everywhere else."

"What does it mean?"

"Loosely translated, red jasmine."

Mark smiled. Martel knew he was studying her, too, but with words.

"If it's not too personal a question, how are you doing? I mean, I saw you jog here, so I guess you're physically back up to par?"

He nodded, briefly looking wistful, and she noted that, as well.

"I was in sick bay for three days at JONATO Doha before they airlifted me to the ICU at Reed. I was there almost two weeks more. The black eyes and bruises finally finished fading last week."

"Jesus. Yeah, I know you were pretty seriously worked over."

"Coleman told you?"

She nodded, but knew it was only a partially honest answer because what she had learned about Wright's condition from Adam was the surgery to his jaws.

"Yeah. They sent me through the wringer pretty good. Are you at all squeamish?"

"Not typically," she answered vaguely but honestly.

"I had broken upper and lower jawbones. Lost two molars." He tapped the left side of his face. "My nose was shattered and displaced almost a half inch out of line. They also did something to me which made it uncomfortable to walk for weeks, let alone jog or run … sorry. I'm probably going too far. An MF surgeon fixed my skull, but I'll need dental implants in maybe a year when bone density returns to normal."

She studied his facial features carefully. Everything seemed perfect, which made her curious. "Nothing's even showing now, so why do you say your surgeon wasn't good?"

"Sorry?"

"You called him a mother effer."

The man's laugh was sudden and pleasant to Ashley's ears. "That's not what I meant. He was a maxi … maxillo-something-or-other. I'd have to look it up. MF is easier to say, but probably shouldn't do that anymore."

Ashley smiled warmly. She decided that, if the man was faking his optimism, he was doing a phenomenal job of it.

"And, of course, one of the men wanted trophies along with information, so …" He wiggled three fingers which had simple adhesive bandages over each of their tips, hiding what Martel assumed would be an uncomfortable visual reminder to the man every time he changed them. "That's all I remember up to the point I awakened in sick bay."

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you've improved. I truly am. From what your commanding officer told me, there was some doubt early on because of how severely dehydrated you were."

"Yeah. The person who was trying to tape me back together on the way to the base wouldn't let me drink much water and apparently couldn't even stick a needle in my arm to get IV liquids in me, or so said the nurses there. Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything," Martel said.

"Wolfram Resources. What's that?"

"It's the private security company I work for. I'm one of four asset logistics managers."

"Sounds interesting. What does that entail?"

"Mostly making sure the right people have the right stuff for the job. Like the men who found you."

"Incredible. I guess all I can say to that is … thank you. Jeez. I know it sounds incredibly shallow, but seriously. Thank you and everyone else who had anything to do with getting me out of that situation."

"About that. Do you have any idea how you fell into it?"

"A person I once considered a friend showed up to the base one afternoon. Adam was there that day, too, by pure coincidence. While we were eating lunch, one of my NCOs came to the mess and told me he was being held outside the perimeter and wanted to talk to me. When I met him there, he said something had happened to his daughter, and that he needed to take me to her.

"I guess I got hit by a Taser. The next thing I knew, I was tied into the chair where your company's men found me."

Martel watched Wright's entire carriage shift. "You said 'considered.' Past tense."

"The motherfucker sold me out. Excuse my French."

She held his gaze for several silent moments.

"So … it was you," she whispered.

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"Mark, how long were you in captivity?"

"I was told it was about three days."

She nodded. "How do you think Wolfram was able to track you down so quickly?" she asked.

"You're good at your jobs?"

"Not that good. It's because I had already been looking for you for a month."

Wright's brows stitched. "Oh?"

"Wolfram was working a DoD contract I had to abort, much to my chagrin, on the Al Bahbijn peninsula," Ashley quietly answered. She saw Wright slightly though visibly pale in front of her. "It began weeks before. We were to gather information, more specifically, photographs of cadre leaders once DoD intel learned they'd be flying together en masse . Wolfram staged people in the area to do just that, waiting for the flight to return to its origin. As I'm assuming you're aware, it never did."

He remained silent.

"Our liaison in the Corps sent a drone there as soon as Marine intelligence units reported the incident. It observed an individual who'd hidden himself under a freaking ingenious infrared invisibility shield for an effing multi-kilometer hike. The person was only visible to the drone for maybe five seconds as he climbed into a vehicle a few hours before sunrise. A truck or a van, doesn't really matter. I had tea⁠—"

"Stop. Just … stop talking."

She silently observed him for moments if not minutes. She'd hoped for a "tell," and the manner in which Wright palpated his brows with his hands was as clear as the sun in a cloudless sky.

"2006, Pablo Fuente, the head of the Sogamoso cartel," Martel said in a near whisper. "You were the communications director as a volunteer with the Red Cross when he was killed in Bogota. Kumar Bhudraja, the long-suspected leader of a sex trafficking ring in southeast India. You were, again on liberty, assisting in another humanitarian effort immediately before his body was found in Amalapuram in 2007. Seven months later⁠—"

"What do you want , lady?" Wright barked loudly enough to draw unwanted attention to the table they shared.

"Nothing."

"You're waving dates, names, and places in front of me, insinuating that I had something to do with those people. You're about to ask me to do something, thinking you have leverage on me, or you're wearing a wire. Is that it?"

"It's nothing like that, Mark, but it'll take some time for me to convince you. I can name three other interesting events, but I don't suppose I need to."

"Forgive me if I think you're full of shit," the man said, turning and leaning forward in his chair to adjust the laces on his shoes, his right hand's fingers moving slowly and awkwardly.

"Mark," she calmly said.

He ignored her.

"Wright, look at me. Please?"

He did so after finishing his task.

"I promise I'm not trying to entrap you or anything like that. I'm only wanting to fill some gaps."

He chortled as he rose from the table. "Is that a fact?"

"I know you have no reason to believe anything I say, but it is. You're an impressive man. To be completely honest, I'm kind of amazed by you."

"You're an interesting character, Ashuri Mato. Have a nice evening," he said and began walking toward the exit.

"Farah Salman."

Wright froze, then turned to face her. The intensity of his glare showed fire as he stepped uncomfortably close to her.

"Do not say that name. Ever ," Wright demanded.

"I don't believe she betrayed you."

"I don't believe that for a minute. The man who did this to me said she was his lover," he said, holding up three bandaged fingers.

"He or someone on his team murdered Kahn and his daughter."

Wright was visibly stunned, but only for a moment. "Doesn't change anything. Kahn or Salman talked to someone. Someone with connections. I don't know who, when, or why, and I don't really think I care. And to think she asked me to …"

"Asked you to what?" Martel prompted after his pause stretched, even though she already suspected what he'd chosen not to say.

"Forget it. Doesn't matter. I don't … I can't care anymore."

"Considering what I've learned about you, I have a very difficult time believing you don't want closure."

"That's my problem, not yours."

"I want you to know something. A little peak at the inside."

He scoffed. "Going to open your kimono, huh?"

Martel went silent and stoic until the sting faded. She required several moments. When Wright exhaled with a low groan and cast his eyes downward to the tiled floor, she knew he had realized his offense.

"Wow. How nice," she said. Though her tone was neutral, her expression wasn't.

He nodded slowly, dashing his eyes to anything but hers. "Please forgive me. What I said was … yeah. It was insulting."

"Just a little bit."

Wright humbly shook his head. His face showed embarrassment and regret. "God. I took this conversation to hell, didn't I. Like I said earlier, I'm a jarhead, but I'm not usually an ass-hat. If you can bring yourself to believe me, I am truly sorry. There's no excuse for what I said."

His genuine sincerity self-deprecation went a long way in defusing the tension.

She offered him a smile. "It's okay."

"No, it isn't. You should've slapped me in the face. This side, please, because the other has been through enough."

His droll request made her chuckle, and that earned her a meek smile. Their eyes darted between each other's.

"I won't," she said softly, "because I accept your apology."

He cleared his throat nervously. "I interrupted you. What were you going to say?"

"I want you to know that everything I've found, every document which cross-references you to certain specific events, is locked in a file server so secure that even the owner of Wolfram can't get to them. No one but me has access. When I saved the second password for the folder in the keychain, I deleted the last character. I'm the only one who knows what it is. If anyone other than me tries to open the folder, the odds aren't good they'll be able to before the data is digitally shredded."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm hoping you'll believe that I have no intention of hanging you out to dry. In further transparency, I'll tell you that the people who provided the information I was able to correlate wouldn't care about such security for themselves, but they don't see the big picture."

"And if they did?"

"If they all got together and compared notes, I imagine they could possibly figure things out on their own, but I doubt they ever would. DoD bureaucracy is pretty weighty, as I'm sure you know."

She watched him in silence for several moments.

"You are a very intriguing man, Wright."

"You're an enigma to me, too, Ashuri Mato."

She chuckled. "Your pronunciation is excellent. My parents raised me bilingually, but are you hiding the fact you actually speak the language, too?"

"No, but I have a good ear. In my opinion, pronouncing a person's name as accurately as possible is a sign of respect."

"I like that. But why am I an enigma?"

"You said it yourself. You're a very attractive woman of Japanese descent with a Midwestern accent, a decidedly non-Asian-sounding pseudonym, who has a weird-ass job, and deals with a crayon-eater like me without flattening him."

She felt her face burn with a blush. "I didn't say 'attractive.'"

Mark didn't realize he'd added the adjective. His mind reeled in tumult because he knew he'd said it willingly and honestly. He couldn't determine whether or not to walk it back. He decided he shouldn't. He couldn't. It would turn the truth into a lie.

"Sir? Ma'am?" both heard, but their eyes remained fixed on the other's.

"Excuse me?" said the same voice after some time.

Wright turned toward the person.

"I can't count down the cash drawers with you inside. We closed at six," an employee advised.

"I guess we lost track of time. We'll get out of your hair," he said.

The barista escorted them to the exit which she unlocked, opened, and resecured after they stepped outside.

"When I asked you to meet me here, I was planning to buy you a coffee, but you bought your own. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast and I think I got a little hangry. Might I buy you dinner as a peace offering?"

"Yeah. I'd like that. What do you have in mind?"

Wright stepped eight long strides, backward, without taking his eyes off her. He pulled open another glass door and pointed inside. "Tapas?"

Ashley laughed hard and nodded, retracing Mark's humorous steps and entered the bar. At 6:20, it was the beginning of the bustle, but not overly crowded.

"¡Bienvenidos !" called out several of the staff in a greeting.

"Two, please," Wright advised the hostess, holding up a pair of fingers of his left hand.

The woman checked the computer, pulled some wrapped cutlery and menus from a sideboard, and escorted them to a four-top table.

"Tapas, huh? This'll be a first for me," Ashley said.

"I spent a few months in Spain when I was TDY'd to Naval Station Rota. It's in Cádiz. That's where I was introduced to some of the best cuisine I've ever had, including tapas," Wright explained as they took their seats.

"How many countries have you been to?" Ashley asked as she began to study the menu.

"I stopped counting, but I'm guessing I've spent a few months in at least fifteen, and passed through dozens of others on various duties. Spain was, by far, my favorite, though. It's been the only time I've been on an aircraft carrier."

"That had to be an experience."

"Other than getting lost onboard almost every time I went from point A to B, it was."

"Why were you on a carrier? I thought that was all Navy," she asked.

"There are Marines on almost all their ships. A carrier will have at least three or four hundred if there's a Marine Air Wing attached to it. The Corps is actually part of the Department of the Navy."

"That's interesting," she said honestly.

"I doubt it," Mark said with a chuckle, "but thanks for humoring me. Now, please. Tell me more about yourself."

"What would you like to know?"

"You said you were born in Kansas City. Which side of the river?"

Ashley laughed because, knowing Wright was from a place relatively nearby, he'd understand the distinction between the two. "Kansas side. I lived in Overland Park."

"I lived in one of the 'burbs of St. Louis, Kirkwood, until I joined the Corps. Adam Coleman decided he needed a degree first, so he went to OU in ROTC. Took him only four years to earn his gold bar. Took me more than twice that to earn mine, but at least mine was silver when I was commissioned. But, he turned it around on me pretty quick. His oak leaf is silver, mine is still gold."

"Yet you're still close friends."

"We are. I was his best man when he married his wife, Erin."

"I actually knew that," Martel said. "Full disclosure. I met Adam, Erin, and Shannon at Lambert last Tuesday, in case you didn't know."

"Adam told me. He said Shannon mentioned her booty cooties."

Martel laughed lightly and nodded.

"I never would have expected it," he continued. "Both Adam and I would tease those girls mercilessly when we were young. In all honesty, we were total tools all the way up through middle school, but they grew to be … well, they changed. Neither of us expected he'd marry one of them, but … I guess Adam was lucky."

Ashley watched his mien drift toward maudlin but refused to chase it. She knew he had been burned at least once, and heartbroken at least twice. She hoped a word Zoomers were using on Twitter might pull him back over the line.

"Count yourself blessed that you have such close friends. After talking with them for just a few hours, I know they think you're amazeballs," she said with matching energy.

Mark tried to hold in his laughter, but failed. "Yeah, they're okay. Now, stop shifting it all back to me. You grew up in Kansas City. College?"

"I went to Southern Methodist in Dallas. Got my bachelor's in psychology and enrolled in the SMU Dedman School of Law."

Mark grinned in a manner Ashley thought quite cute. "Ah. You're an attorney?"

She shook her head. "I earned my Juris Doctor in 2003, but never sat for the bar exam."

"Why not?"

"Mostly because of what happened two years earlier." She quieted until it was clear the reference was clear.

Wright nodded knowingly before they were joined by their waitress.

"Since you're no stranger to tapas, and you've obviously dined here, would you mind ordering for me?" Martel asked her companion.

He smiled and nodded, then spoke to the waitress.

"Dos sangrías, el media ración de albóndigas, berenjena frita con miel, y uh … el trío de empanadas. Oh. Aguas con hielos, tambien, por favor ."

"Por supuesto, señor, " the waitress said as she tapped on a digital tablet.

Ashley grinned. "Impressive. Fluent?"

"Hardly," Mark said. "Enough to get by."

"What did you order?"

"I don't know. I was only reading random things off the menu."

"Uh-huh," Martel said, doubting his honesty, because it was bilingual, and he barely looked at it before ordering.

"Where were we?" he asked. "You earned your JD two years after nine-eleven. What happened then?"

"A man's name kept popping up involving stuff going on in the Middle East. The news usually wasn't good. It was … controversial. He was an employee of Graygear⁠—"

"If I'm remembering correctly," Wright interrupted, "they had a bit of an image problem."

"You are, and, yes, they did. I dove deep into it when four particular people were called to testify before a congressional subcommittee about specific things the company had done. One of them blew the whistle. Hard . I immediately developed a crap-ton of respect for that man considering how he handled himself."

"Let me guess. That person founded Wolfram Resources."

Ashley smiled and nodded. "Exactly. Jeff Wesson, and I work for him now."

"So how does an unlicensed law school graduate connect to a private security firm?"

"I convinced Wesson to bring me on as a paralegal helping his in-house counsel. I was an unpaid intern for three months before he hired me. As I got more familiar with the inner workings of his company, and the way it did certain things, I stepped out of my box a little and started wheedling my way into the logistics part of the operation and was officially promoted to the role. There's a total of four of us now."

"Nice. You've apparently done very well for yourself."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because people are staring."

"What are you talking about?" she asked in a whisper.

"Look at me. I'm an oaf wearing running shorts and a Marine Corps tee-shirt sitting with a woman whose hair is immaculately styled and is dressed like a stylish executive."

"You're not so different than that guy over there in tie-dye and denim shorts that are cut off … ugh … way too much," she said, subtly pointing through her palm to another table. "Except you don't have a beer belly showing under your shirttail and you've had a haircut this year."

"Wow. Thanks," he said after he'd stolen a glance to where she was pointing.

His uninhibited laughs were a contagion which afflicted her.

"You know," Ashley said, "it's easy to see how people like Adam, Erin, and Shannon became your friends. You're a very likable person."