Kate's secret

Darkness edges ever closer as the blue sky turns orange, then red. Storms lighting pillowy grey clouds in the distance warn that the mission here in An Najal will soon need to be finished. Houses in this desert town seem alike, it is the differences that cause worry, and pain. Breech, raid, capture, and interrogate. Over and over the job can be monotonous, but training keeps you vigil, and seeing someone die in front of you because you were anything but. Victories are small, and losses are devastating, but in the mix of all this chaos blessings reveal themselves. People hide things, bad things, that is why we are here. So, every object must be tossed, turned, or gone through to ensure they are not harboring terrorist or their weapons. I am a trained killer; however, I am also a bibliophile, and that is my passion. So, when in the hurried tossing of a suspected terrorist's home I was shocked and surprised to see a copy of the Celtic Twilight by Yeats perched on the shelf I was destroying. Not much makes a soldier pause in war but when it does it is sure to have significance, that was my favorite book. Mine was a later edition, with clean-cut pages, solid binding, and clear, crisp print. This book was worn, well-read, and loved. It was old, antique, when I held it in my hand, I could sense the fragility. The pages were rough cut, known as deckled-edged. The pages had the look and feel that instantly let you know it had years, of experience, this book had seen some things. I gently opened it up and moved through the pages remembering days past, shady trees, and a good book. A photo slid from its hiding place within the pages teetering precariously, seconds from descending to the trash-littered floor. Quickly I nudged it back in and opened the book, it rested at the end of the story 'A Coward', the next favorite, 'The Three O’Byrnes, and the Evil Faeries'. The whole time I spent mesmerized by my lucky find, I was even more mesmerized by the photo of a lovely young woman. I hadn’t heard the call for us to fall back and was thrust back into reality by the violent hand of my platoon leader. “We gotta go!” He yelled, and I was vexed with a troublesome thought. Should I take the book and the photo within, or leave it to the thin man in woolen robes who looked at me from the corner as if I held his delicate infant. As I turned I held out the book to him and he snatched it up as fast as he could and held it tight. I thought that it was a strange reaction but I didn’t have the time or inclination to ponder such things. We loaded up and drove out as the storms rolled in, safe for today, nothing was found, and nothing was gained. Rolling down the dirt road seemingly hitting every hole that existed I pulled the photo from that book from his pocket and examined it. She was probably in her twenties, wearing a yellow sundress. Her golden hair glistened in the sun and he could make out a flag pole in the background with an American flag. It has fifty stars I thought, then hell opened its flame-drenched mouth and everything went black.

Weeks later in a field hospital outside of Riyad, a tired and troubled nurse sits holding a singed photo. She remarked that the soldier who had recently died held on to this photo as if his life depended upon it. His file says he has no family, so who is this? Why was she so important? Let it go! Her friend insists, it is not healthy to dwell on these things, we have work to do. Determination built inside her until she knew what the next step would be, she would find out who this girl in the photo was.

End of shift, a comfy bed, and what should be as much sleep as she can get, but that photo won’t leave her mind, it is incessant in its eagerness to be revealed. After an hour of staring at ceiling tiles, she bolts from her bed and darts for her desk, a computer, the internet, an idea. Simply post the picture of the girl online and someone will surely know who she is. Happy and content with her actions she sits back and watches as the comments roll in. First one, then another, then after waking from an hour nap, over a thousand.

“Holy Crap!”

“I would ask if you posted this photo, but I caught you red-handed, the image is still on your computer,” he says looming over her.

She bolts upright to attention when she sees his silver oak leaves upon his epilate. He nudges her out of the way and keeps her at attention while he sits down in front of her computer. He maneuvers across the screen deleting and wiping from her hard drive any of the aforementioned images. She stands silent watching as the focus of her newfound mission in life is being erased, and she doesn’t know why.

“I assume you are enlisted by how fast you jumped to attention nurse,” he states.

“Yes sir, Specialist Vera Page Rn.”

“That wasn’t a question.” he insists.

“Sir may I...”

“No you may not!” he snaps back.

“You have really stepped in it Specialist, I know you have no clue what is going on, and that is how your Government wants it. You are not to speak of this to anyone! You are not to mention the photo to anyone! Or... There will be dire consequences.” he explains.

“What is going on?” she pleads.

“Best you don’t know Specialist, where is the original photo?” he demands.

A spark in her ignites the fires of defiance, she turns face forward and remains silent and still at attention. Her conscience's indignation is evident by her silence and the blank thousand-mile stare she has employed. Incredulous the Lieutenant Colonel turns to face his adversary, he bores a hole right through her with the fomenting rage building within him.

“Did you hear me?” he screams spital flying from his lips to her cheek.

“I don’t know where the photo is, sir.” she calmly replies.

“You had to have it! You just scanned it in the computer thirty minutes ago!” Where the hell is that photo Specialist!” he screams.

“Feel free to look around sir, it probably fell to the floor,” she replies sarcastically.

He paces back and forth willing himself not to act in a manner that he so desperately wants to, but at the same time he is not about to get on his hands and knees, he is not about to give her the satisfaction. Suddenly the door burst open and two soldiers, military policemen enter her quarters walk straight up to him, and snap to attention.

“This must be next-level stuff if you beat the MPs here! What is going on with this photo Colonel?” she asks.

“Take her away!”

The next morning she awoke in her holding cell to Reveille, then soon after, even before her breakfast, her lawyer arrived.

“You have really stepped in it Specialist, I am not certain how to defend you if you do not cooperate with Army Intelligence,” he states.

“Intelligence? What the hell do they want with a photo of some civilian?” she wonders.

“It gets worse,” he reveals.

“How could it possibly get worse?” she asks.

“Your post went viral, it has bounced around the internet so much there is no possibility of putting that genie back in the bottle, if you know what I mean?”

“Viral?”

“Yeah, that’s when a post gets so many reposts it is everywhere. I think...” he questions himself.

“I didn’t want it to go viral, I just wanted to know who she is!”

“Was.”

“What?” she asks.

“The girl in the picture is dead, I assume by the language they were using when they briefed me. Rumor has it that she is at the center of a rape allegation with a V.I.P. In the Jordanian Royal family. She is holding up some peace agreement, or rather knowledge of her is holding it up. They had gone to considerable efforts to make her disappear and with one little post, you reignited a storm of controversy. Now with all the rumors and conspiracies flying around her story will never go away and your government blames you.” he explains.

“Fuck me!” she exclaims sliding off her bed onto the floor.

“Exactly...” he says as he hears some faint sounds from outside and wanders to the window for a look.

While he stares outside Vera places her face in her hands and weeps, worried that her life as she knows it is over. Then she begins to hear the sounds building outside, and she looks up to her lawyer who turns and smiles.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” she demands.

“You have got to see this.” he insists helping her to her feet.

Vera walks over to the window and peers out into the courtyard. A steady stream of people, military and civilian gather outside and march with signs protesting her arrest and confinement. Signs read Justice for Vera and Kate, release Vera now, and remember Kate.

“I take it her name was Kate?” Vera asks.

“Kate McCormick, she disappeared six months ago, and nothing came of the investigation. That’s when the conspiracy began to take shape, turns out it was true.”

“Why are you smiling?” Vera asks again.

“This changes everything, I can work with this, but we need to keep the protest going strong.”

“How are you going to do that? This is the military,” she asks.

“CNN, FOX News, and the other networks will love this, and that will give you some wiggle room.”

“Hopefully enough to wiggle out of here...”

And they laughed.