Dark Zone

18

A Navy aircraft was waiting for Lia after she finished with the doctor. It was a P-3 Orion, a large four-engined aircraft generally used for long-range spying missions. Thoroughly impressed, Fashona told her it meant Rubens was pulling out all the stops for her.

Lia shrugged. Beyond tired, she followed Fashona across the apron where he had parked his aircraft and nodded when a Navy chief petty officer came out from the plane and asked if she was Ms. DeFrancesca.

“We know you’ve been through a helluva time, ma’am,” said the chief. “You’re in Navy hands now. We’ll take care of ya. Flying you direct back to the States. Not a care in the world. Leave the worrying to us.”

Lia forced herself to smile for him. Though in his thirties, he came off considerably older, ancient even — the wise old man of the sea, she thought. She climbed up the stairway to the aircraft’s rear compartment. The Orion — it was due back in the States for an equipment overhaul — boasted a large array of electronic sensors operated from consoles in the fuselage; the interior looked more like a high-tech computer lab than something that flew around the borders of hazardous airspace. The chief led her to a small lounge, insisted on giving her a blanket, and then went to “grab some grub.” She found his doting father routine a bit much to take — another sign, she realized, that she was coming out of the fog that had descended on her in Korea.

It was like a fog, wasn’t it? She saw it through a haze. There were bits missing — the end. How had she escaped?

She couldn’t remember all of the assault. Just being punched.

Maybe she hadn’t been assaulted.

I was assaulted.

Raped.

That was the word. Better to use it. Better to face it.

The doctor and nurses hadn’t, actually. They had a kit and they had pills, but they hadn’t actually said “rape,” had they? They hadn’t even said “assaulted,” or “attacked.” As if you could avoid the reality by not naming it precisely.

“Here now, ma’am,” said the chief, appearing with a tray. A covered bamboo basket sat in the center; it was the sort used as a steamer and held two trays. At the top was a fish dish; below were some small dumplings and fussily cut vegetables. The chief had also found chopsticks — and a bottle of Sapporo beer.

“Nice airline,” said Lia, trying to joke though her heart wasn’t in it.

“Like I said, ma’am. Navy’ll take care of you. Not a care in the world for you.”

“Thank you,” she said. And then she started to cry.