Black Harvest

CHAPTER THIRTY

"Did you have to shoot up a church?" Harker sounded annoyed.

Nick held the phone in his left hand. His right wrapped around a whiskey. Sofia at night filled the view from the window. The lights were on, the city a fairytale picture of domes and old buildings. The dark shape of the Balkans loomed against a night sky filled with glittering stars. It was like something from a Walt Disney movie. The only things missing were Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket.

"No choice. They picked the spot. They called the game. They lost. Simple as that."

Nick contemplated the lights of the city. He was coming down from the fight in the church. He felt edgy, wired. His hand gripped the whiskey. How many more times was he going to do this before his luck ran out?

"The men you shot were from the same gang that tried to take Selena in Greece. One of them was Zviad Gelashvili. You took out one of the biggest Russian crime bosses in the world."

"It wasn't us who killed him."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone else is in the game. One man."

"Why didn't you say so before?"

"Hadn't gotten to it. Now I have."

"Who?"

"I don't know. He used a specialized pistol. Full auto, very high rate of fire. Small rounds. Can't be many of those."

"That sounds military."

"Has to be."

"Gelashvili was based in Moscow. Maybe it was Russian."

"Why would the Russians help us out?"

"Maybe they didn't. Maybe they just wanted Gelashvili. He was a problem for them."

"They know who we are. Helping us doesn't make sense."

Nick heard her sigh over the phone. "What about that urn?"

"What about it? There's nothing to tell us what happened to it. No leads at all."

"You're sure?"

"Unless Selena can turn something up. There wasn't anything under that church."

"All right. If you can't get any new intel, come home."

"Roger that." Nick put down the phone.

Selena came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a white robe. Her hair was unkempt, damp. She'd had several drinks before she went into the bathroom. She had a whiskey in her hand. She drained it and poured another from the bottle. It was her fifth, or maybe her sixth. Nick had never seen her drink that much, especially whiskey. Selena was a wine drinker. Hard liquor wasn't her thing.

"How you feeling?"

"Fine." She sat on the couch, drank. He sat down next to her. She smelled of soap and lemon shampoo and some fresh scent that was her. Her breath was strong with whiskey. Maybe she'd had another during her bath.

"Good whiskey," she said. "Helps, at the end of a busy day."

She was beginning to slur her words. He said nothing.

"Another busy day." She raised her glass at him. It wavered. "Get up, see the sights, have lunch. Shoot a few people. Back to the hotel in time for dinner."

"Selena…"

She drank. Her glass was empty. She got off the couch, staggered a little as she went to the bottle and poured another drink.

"Maybe you've had enough."

She rounded on him. Liquid slopped from her glass. "Don't you tell me I've had enough. I'll know when I've had enough."

"What's the matter?"

"What's the matter? What the hell do you think 'sa matter? You made me into a fucking killer."

That's not fair. He didn't say it.

"Oh, shit." She set the glass down, dropped down on the sofa. "Din't mean that."

"I know." He put his arm around her. She put her head on his shoulder.

"Jus' stepped over 'em. Like they were garbage."

It took a second for him to figure out what she meant.

"They were garbage. Those were bad people."

"But they were people. We killed 'em."

"They would have killed us."

"Darwin."

"What?"

"Darwin. Su'vival of the fisstest. Fittest."

Her face turned white. She clapped a hand over her mouth, jumped up and ran for the bathroom. He heard her vomit into the toilet.

Nick waited. The sounds of retching stopped. He heard water running. In a few moments she came to the door.

"Come on, bed time." He helped her into the bedroom and out of her robe. She crawled under the covers.

"Sorry," she mumbled. Then she was out.

Nick went back into the living area and turned out the lights. Sofia sparkled in chains of light along the valley floor. For no reason at all he thought of the closing scene in Gone With The Wind.

Tomorrow was another day.

He used the bathroom, brushed his teeth, went into the bedroom, undressed. He got into bed. Selena snored.

He stared at the ceiling, thinking. She'd been drunk, but the words stung, even though he knew they were untrue. She'd chosen her new life. Not him. He thought of Megan.

What he'd felt for Megan and what he felt for Selena were two different things. Love was too simple a word. The word itself confused him. Megan had been so different. Megan had been at ease with herself and with him. She'd lived in a world far removed from the desolate places where death shaped his days and nights. If she hadn't died, Megan's world could have been his world. He would have left the Corps, become a normal civilian. Never made his appointment with a child and a grenade in Afghanistan. Never met Harker or Selena.

Megan's world had been peaceful. No one would call the world he shared with Selena peaceful. The strain was beginning to show. Selena was becoming more volatile. She wasn't sleeping well. Sometimes he'd see her gazing off at nothing in particular. She was getting the look. He knew she was headed for a moment of truth. Sooner or later, everyone who made violent death part of their job came to that moment. He didn't know how she'd handle it. Maybe he'd talk with Harker about it.

He closed his eyes. It was a long time before he slept. He dreamed.

He's back in the dust of the Afghan street, again. He's in the market, like always. The AKs begin, like they always do. He ducks into a doorway, as he always does. The child runs toward him with the grenade, again. He raises his rifle.

This time, the dream is different. This time, someone is standing off to the side. It's a woman. A naked woman, dark, as if she were standing in deep shade. She looks at him. Her eyes aren't human, they're like deep pools of black with stars in them. The child throws the grenade. He feels the rifle kick back against his shoulder and the child's face changes into Selena's. Everything goes white.

Nick sat up in bed, gasping. Sweat covered him. The sheet under him was soaked. Next to him, Selena had fallen into a deep sleep.

The dream had changed. It had never changed before. It was always the same, playing out the day in Afghanistan when he almost died. It had twisted his nights for years. For a while, it had come less often. Now it was back. Now it had changed.

Who was the woman? No woman stood naked in that Afghan village three years ago. Something had been different about the child's face. Then he remembered. It shook him.

He got up and waited for tomorrow.