Chapter 18

It was well after dark before Brandon decided he could leave. Of the six thousand three hundred and seventeen people on the Allure of the Seas, nearly two thousand were still unaccounted for. If the number of bodies James saw himself was any indicator, they were all dead. James had used his sport coat, shirt and undershirt as bandages and tourniquets for the people that needed them as he sped his little motor boat back and forth from the dock to the ship that afternoon, leaving him bare chested and without anything to put on, not that he was capable of caring at that point. The ship had stopped sinking only a few moments after the main deck went under, leaving the smoke stacks and a bit of fence line protruding from the waves. Boats were still flying back and forth, scooping people out of the water and bringing them to land but at this point, they were nearly all corpses.

James’ hands were both cut and bleeding, though he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to hurt them. His body, which had held up so well through the labor of pulling people from the water was now screaming in pain and he felt uncertain that he could make it back to his apartment where he was sure Eve was waiting in a frenzy of concern and worry. He sat on one of the concrete blocks in place to prevent vehicles from driving down onto the docks for a moment, hoping a bit of rest would help the pain subside, but it was of little help. He could feel the pain pulsing through him and the now slightly familiar fogginess that came before passing out from a combination of pain and exhaustion. He wondered if maybe, for all his eagerness to help, he might end up in one of those ambulances himself, but he shrugged off the idea. Not him. There were plenty of people that needed more help than he did.

He eased off the concrete block and turned toward the sea of people between him and the gate. He wondered if Eve was amidst the masses, looking for him, wondering if he’d been hurt or killed. He hoped not. He’d never find her in the crowd and didn’t have the strength or energy to do so. He was just glad she’d been deep in the island doing her work far from harm’s way this morning. The idea of her body being amongst the others he’d seen today hurt more than any of his injuries. He decided the only thing that could make him feel better, the only thing that could pull his attention away from the way the dead bodies felt in his water logged hands, was Eve. He needed her like a sick man needs medicine, and he could only hope she was getting his bed warmed up for him.

It took twenty minutes to weave his way through the mobs of people, some calling out names, some administering first aid, some seemed to simply be walking around taking in the sight. The gate was all the way open, allowing vehicles to come and go between the tiny island hospital and the field hospitals the Red Cross had already set up in the expansive parking lot down the street from the pier. James sauntered through wearing only a pair of ruined dress pants and what had been his best dress shoes. His ribs and back, still yellowed from the bruises he’d received two weeks before were swollen, his head hung low and his eyes were welling with tears that even James wasn’t sure were the result of the pain, the death, or the exhaustion. James knew this had been a terrorist attack. It was just the type of attack Deep Throat had instructed him to keep his eye out for, just the type of attack his agency was trying to prevent. Just the type of attack he should have been looking for signs of instead of arguing cartoons with his girlfriend. The more you are one thing, the less you can be something else. James had failed in his mission. He should have been in the streets with his ear to the ground, looking for signs of trouble, looking for any indicator that this might happen. Two thousand people are dead, James thought to himself as a wave of nausea came over him, and I should have seen it coming. He stumbled down the street, past Ramon’s coffee shop. It was closed tonight, which was unusual but a relief to him. He didn’t want to see any familiar faces while he tried not to vomit. As he came over the crest of the hill that led to his apartment, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to see Eve anymore. Not with all this blood on his hands.

James didn’t look up toward his apartment as he limped down the slight hill. He was too afraid Eve was standing there waiting for him. He couldn’t face her. It wasn’t that James felt responsible directly for the attack. He was well aware that even if he had been paying attention, even if he hadn’t been distracted, he still may not have ever seen it coming. That, however, was little solace. Knowing that he may not have seen it coming meant that he could have. His understanding that the chances of him foiling the terrorist plot from his usual post at Ramon’s coffee shop were slim… but inherently, recognition that the chances were slim is recognition of the chance… that one chance in a hundred, or a thousand, even a million that James, or rather Brandon Webb, on his game, focused and attentive might have seen something, heard something, felt something. That tiny chance that through his actions, or rather inactions, James had allowed two thousand innocent people to die was too much to stomach. That chance was everything James Carter was trained for. That chance could have made him a hero.

But he was no hero. James had lost sight of everything but Eve and in doing so, he’d lost any reason he felt like he deserved a second chance at a happy life. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as he approached his apartment. When he opened them and looked up, he expected to see Eve standing in the doorway, arms clenched around herself with worry… but he didn’t. Instead, as he walked up to the small brown and white building he lived in, he found his front door hanging open, kicked in from the looks of it. The single light bulb that hung from his ceiling was still on, swaying back and forth as if to indicate that the intruder had either just left or was still inside. James froze and listened for any sign that someone was there. He waited a long minute in silence before deciding to step inside. He knew that he was in no condition for a fight, but the laptop was in his apartment when he’d left and he had to know if it was missing. He had to know if Eve was all right. He stepped inside as quietly as possible and clenched both his fists in preparation for a fight he knew he couldn’t win.

Fortunately for James, whoever had kicked in his door had come and gone. His bed was on its side, every drawer, cupboard and cabinet had been torn open and every one of James’ meager possessions was laying on the floor. Every one except the laptop. His nightstand was on its side, but whoever had searched his place wasn’t interested in his gun. The pistol case, still closed and locked, lay just off to its left. This hadn’t been a robbery. Whoever had done this was looking for the laptop specifically, and they had found it. James ran faster than he would have thought he could and scooped the lockbox up off the floor. His wrist brace was soggy and loose from being soaked all day and James gritted his teeth as he pulled it off via a loose piece of cloth near the fingers. The skin beneath it was wrinkled and purple, but still opened the lock on the safe. He removed the pistol from its container, racked the slide back to insert a round into the chamber and tucked it into the front of his pants. He then picked up a grey tee shirt off the floor in front of his closet and slid it on over his bare shoulders before walking into the bathroom, picking up an ACE bandage and wrapping it around his hand. Once it was secure, he rearranged the pistol so the hand grip would be more accessible to his still broken, but somewhat useful right hand. He knew that he would be a better shot with a broken hand than he would be trying to shoot lefty. He checked his left pocket, the cell phone he had been too busy, then too afraid, to check was still there and it was time he used it.

He dialed the number one, which was the only contact in the phone (appropriately saved with the name “1”) and waited. Seconds ticked by painfully as he paced back and forth across the remnants of his small apartment, racking his brain for who could have known who he was and what they were looking for. Of course, the first person that crossed his mind was Eve, she knew everything about him and was conspicuously absent, but the idea that she could betray him like this, or play a part in such an attack seemed absolutely impossible. He grew nauseous again at the very thought of it. If not her, then who? There had to be something, someone that he was missing. The ringing stopped with a click.

“H… hello?” Brandon’s voice cracked.

“You’ve been compromised. Prepare for extraction at checkpoint Sierra, sixty minutes.” A click followed the voice to indicate that the other party had hung up. James wondered how much they knew about the attack, his situation, and Eve. James wondered how much he knew about Eve.

“James?” Eve’s voice spilled through the still open front door, “are you here? Please tell me you’re here…” She continued as she stepped through the door. She stopped when she saw James standing in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the tattered remains of his life. Her eyes were swollen like they had been that morning, but this time wet with tears. Her makeup was running down either side of her face and her nose was red from running and being blown.

“I’m here.” James spoke quietly, still unsure if Eve could have had anything to do with what had happened in his apartment.

“What the hell happened in here? Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere and…” Eve began to sob and she ran across the room to wrap her arms around James. His concerns dissipated when he felt her small frame, quivering with fear and sobbing into his fresh tee shirt. She was just a kid. He felt ashamed and embarrassed for wondering if she could have been involved.

“Someone knows who I am, Eve. Did you tell anyone?” He placed his left hand on her cheek and looked into her eyes.

“No… God no, I would never,” she choked out between sobs, “James I swear to you, I would never…” she looked scared. Scared of him even. Did she really think he would hurt her?

“I believe you… but I still have to go. They’re pulling me out in less than an hour,” he spoke quickly, hoping she could keep up emotionally.

“What? You’re leaving? Will I ever see you again?” Her eyes grew wide at first, then began to close a bit as fresh tears muscled their way to freedom.

“I promise you Eve… I’ll find a way to reach you.” He didn’t have any idea how he could keep that promise.

“I don’t want to lose you James… I can’t lose you…” Her eyes were drifting off as they tended to when she started to think like that.

“I’ll think of something, I promise, but right now I have less than an hour to get to the police department and I’m not that great on my feet. Will you walk with me?” Eve nodded before he was done asking and James looked around the room for anything he needed to take with him.

There, on the floor and scattered on the counter of his small efficiency apartment was everything James Carter, or Brandon Webb, had known for the past two years. The fork he’d bent one night when he’d lost his small screw driver and tried to pop out the pins on his pistol with it, the half empty bottle of scotch he’d been drinking as he wrote his report, a small wardrobe of designer imposter suits and polo shirts. He stepped away from Eve and picked up a broken chunk of the only glass he ever used to drink his scotch and looked at it for a moment. He closed his eyes and considered what he’d lost, then dropped the glass back onto the floor and walked out the door for the last time.

They walked hand in hand down the wet dirt road in silence except for the occasional escaped wisp of Eve’s crying. When they were less than a mile away from the police station, James stopped and turned to face her.

“You have to leave me here, I can’t let them see you with me when the chopper comes in, do you understand?” Eve nodded like a child that was being scolded, “I’m going to create an email address on mail fire, do you know it?” She nodded again.

“It’s the free e-mail thing college students use, right?” She asked in return.

“Exactly. I’m going to make an account called…” he paused as he thought, “fleming island at mail fire. The password will be Eve, can you remember that?”

“Yes, but…”

“Log into the account and check the e-mail draft folder, I’ll save a message for you in it as soon as I can safely write one, okay?” He had placed his hands on her shoulders as he spoke.

“I can’t lose you James…” she repeated again as she had before.

“You won’t, I promise.”

“I… I love you.” She whispered so softly he barely heard her, but when he realized what she said his stomach felt like it had fallen out.

“I love you too Eve. We’ll be together again, but you have to go now, okay? Fleming island, I’ll message you, but you have to go now,” tears welled up in James’ eyes and he wondered to himself if this was the last time he’d ever see Eve. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she pressed herself into him for a kiss. He could feel his pistol, still tucked into his belt, pressing into her stomach as she pressed her lips into his. After a long moment, she came back down onto her heels (she had to stand up on her toes to reach him) and stepped back.

“I meant it you know,” she said as she stepped backwards slowly, “I love you James Carter.” She brought her hand up and gently touched her lips, her eyes had gone soft, as if she was staring at something a thousand miles away, “don’t let this be it…”

“It isn’t… I promise.” James promised himself as well as her before turning away from her. He had to get moving, time was running out. He took one step and turned his head back toward Eve. She was still standing just a few steps away, her fingers barely touching her lips, her eyes distant but every bit as beautiful as they were the first time he’d seen them. He turned back toward the police station and walked away from the woman he loved.

He reached the police station with ten minutes to spare. It had a helicopter pad in the back of the building that usually housed the chopper the local law enforcement would use in drug busts and the occasional sea rescue. The helicopter was missing; James assumed it was helping continue the search for survivors, or bodies, floating near the sunken cruise ship. He could hear the telltale drumming of helicopter blades in the distance and knew they weren’t coming from the police chopper. He placed his hands on the waist height stone wall that surrounded the grounds of the police department, then pressed his left leg over it. Once he could shift his weight onto that foot, he pulled his sore right knee up and over the stone before continuing past toward the building. He wouldn’t go inside, simply walk past it and meet the inbound chopper on the pad. He could hear it closing in behind him and it grew louder as it approached. He reached the outskirts of the small pad as the flood light from the chopper shone down on him for a brief moment then went out. He assumed Deep Throat was onboard and had positively identified him. He turned and looked into the windows of the busy police station, no one seemed particularly concerned with a helicopter coming in as the people inside ran around answering phones and caring for the injured that they had apparently started delivering here as well. Then he saw him. Ramon, handcuffed amidst a group of three other men, his face was sullen and blood was clearly dripping from his nose. The chopper touched down behind James and just before he turned to get on board, Ramon looked out the window and caught James’ eye. The two stared for a moment, then Ramon nodded and James stepped in the open door of the huey.