Chapter 22
Some of the Royal Air Force officers eyed Shane suspiciously as he entered the Officer's Club, but he ignored them as he made his way over to the table where Nowicki and his second-in-command, Lieutenant Jennings, were sitting.
"Glad you could join us, Donovan," Nowicki said, as he called out for the bartender to send over a scotch. "It helps to see a friendly face -- and you at least speak the language."
Shane took a seat. Akrotiri, the Cyprus base they had used for the operation, was a British RAF base, and he could understand why the two Americans might feel uncomfortable. Shane offered some advice. "For starters, we Brits don't call it 'scotch.' It's just 'whiskey.' The barkeep will know you don't mean that swill you Yanks drink."
Nowicki took no offense, but just laughed. Obviously, he had a pretty good head start on the drinking. The lieutenant stood up from the table. "Now that you won't be drinking alone, Captain, I'm gonna hit the rack. 07:00 is it?" When Nowick nodded, the lieutenant left.
"What's at 07:00?" Shane asked.
Nowicki ran his index finger along the rim of his shot glass. "Our flight out of here."
"Heading home?"
Nowicki shook his head. "Saudi Arabia. Looks like we'll be there for at least a month or two. Orders just came in a few hours ago."
Shane did not ask why. Even if he asked, Nowicki probably could not tell him. The orders would be confidential. Shane's drink arrived and he held the glass aloft. "A toast then. To Fifth Special Forces. May it never happen, but if I ever do have to go into a firefight again, there's no group of men I'd rather do it with."
Nowicki picked up his glass and clinked it against Shane's. "To the Fifth. And to 'Spooky' for being the first CIA or ISA or whatever-you-call-it guy that I didn't want to leave behind in the desert."
Shane had to laugh at that. "I'm stuck with that nickname, aren't I?"
"Yep. When I saw Deakins this afternoon, all he could talk about was how 'Spooky' saved his life, how he'd never have made it out of there if not for 'Spooky.' With the way Deakins talks, probably half the army will know it within six months."
Shane shook his head. "Just don't let anyone at ISA headquarters hear it. I'll never hear the blasted end of it."
Nowicki laughed. "So what about you, Donovan? When do you get out of here?"
Shane took a sip from his glass and debated the answer. "Don't really know yet. Depends on when Steve's ready to be moved." And on whether it was safe to take him back to Salem. Shane had spent most of the day reviewing files on Alamain, and had come away convinced that the man was still running his organization from prison.
Steve had always been able to take care of himself, so Shane would not have hesitated to return to Salem under normal circumstances. But these circumstances were hardly normal, were they? Steve was too weak physically and he clearly needed some help mentally. Shane pictured the wounds on Steve's wrists and wondered what other abuse his friend had suffered.
To Shane's surprise, another round of drinks arrived. He had not even noticed Nowicki order them. They were downed quickly as the two men exchanged war stories. Nowicki talked about the Gulf War. His team had infiltrated Iraq and provided intelligence about targets in and around Baghdad. He laughed as he finished what must have been the fourth or fifth round since Shane's arrival. "We lit that city up like a birthday cake." Shane then described the time his boat capsized in the Baltic Sea and how he and his mate in the Scandinavian Security Police floated in the water and fended off sharks for two days. After that, talk turned back to the raid the night before, and the number of empty glasses on the table increased.
"So Deakins told me you're related to Johnson," Nowicki said. "Why didn't you mention that before?"
Shane finished the drink in front of him, then picked up another. He wasn't sure where that one had come from, but was definitely beginning to feel the effect on the alcohol. "We're not related anymore," he said, tightly, just before he drained the whiskey in a single gulp.
Nowicki got the message. "Guess being in the ISA isn't much better on marriages than Special Forces. You're always gone, the little lady's always worried, and all that."
And all that. "Yeah, maybe." Shane blinked a few times. Nowicki seemed to be a little fuzzy. "It's a little more complicated than that. See . . . little over a year ago, Kim thought I was KIA. I'd actually lost my memory. Didn't even know my own name."
Nowicki stared at him. "I think I need another drink before you tell me this one." He ordered another round, this time doubles. The drinks came quickly. "So what happened?"
"I didn't find out who I was for a couple of months. When I did. . . . I found out my name, and where I lived." Shane probably needed another drink for this too, so he drank about half the new glass of whiskey. "So I went home . . . and she's in bed with another man."
"Damn."
Shane nodded.
Damn was right. "You know . . . I could've handled that, probably. Can't really blame her for moving on, could I? I was dead for all she bloody well knew. But . . . ." He finished that drink. How many had that been? He was losing count.
"You telling me there's more?"
"More? Yeah . . . there's more."
There's a lot more, Shane thought, blinking a few times so his eyes would refocus.
"Hold on." Nowicki signaled to the barkeep and they waited for the next round to arrive.
Shane took another stiff drink before he talked again. "She got pregnant. Said the baby was mine, but it was a lie . . . all a lie . . ."
"That sucks, man." Nowicki shook his head.
Shane liked this man. He was like Roman, straight and to the point.
Yeah, it sucked, Shane thought. He closed his eyes for a moment, because the room seemed to be spinning. It seemed a little better when he reopened his eyes. "You want to know the most. . . ." What was the word he wanted? Shane tried to focus. It would come to him. What was it? Oh, yeah. There it was. ". . . most ironic thing? She'd done it before, I mean . . . lying to me 'bout our kid. Turned out that one's really mine, but still . . . ."
"So you dumped her," Nowicki said. "I get it."
"No," Shane said, shaking his head slowly and then let out a weak, drunken laugh. "She walked out on me. Ain't that a laugh." He tried to laugh again, but couldn't, then stared down at the row of now-empty glasses in front of him. He tried to count them, but they kept moving, so he gave up, and looked back at Nowicki. "Yeah, she walked out on me . . . and then . . . then I fell in love with her sister . . . Johnson's wife."
Nowicki roared with laughter, a loud, drunken cackle that drew looks from all the RAF officers in the room. He lowered his voice, but was still laughing as he said, "Oh, man, Spooky. You are -- how would you put it? 'Bloody well screwed.'"
Yes, Shane thought, just before he passed out.
"Bloody well screwed." That just about sums it up perfectly. 
