A Glass, and Darkly (Knox #2)
The Outsider (official)
So as through a glass, and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names, but always me.
– General George S. Patton, Jr.
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
- 1 Corinthians 13:12-13
One
The End of Innocence
11 September 2001 – Hilltop Road, Lancaster, Massachusetts
Jeff Knox sat at his kitchen table, looking out across his backyard. Outside, the sun shone bright on this late summer morning in Lancaster, Massachusetts, but that could change in a moment in New England. He hoped the good weather would hold for his shift later that night.
Jeff would fill in as tonight’s shift supervisor for Devens Medical Defense, with one supervisor out on bereavement and another on vacation. A non-transporting ambulance service, DMD provided paramedic coverage to eight towns surrounding Fort Devens and the base.
Working an overnight shift was unusual for him now that he was the division operations manager. Since DMD was part of the Brophy Ambulance Group, Jeff’s seniority in the original Brophy EMS division transferred to the new division when he joined last year. He’d been working for Seamus Brophy since 1993, over eight years now.
The laughter from his wife and children brought him back from his musings. Keiko taught English at Devens Regional High School in neighboring Shirley.
Typically, she was already at work at that time of day. Today, however, she sat at the table with him and their three kids for breakfast because she had taken the day off for a doctor’s appointment. Her presence, while unusual, was welcome.
The coffee maker gurgled behind him, signaling that it was done. With Keiko home for the morning, he made a whole pot. Jeff rose and retrieved his mug, which read ‘World’s Greatest Dad.’
The kids each signed it with different colored permanent paint markers and gave it to him for his birthday in August. He used it every day since opening it, and it was his favorite.
He filled the mug with the dark brown elixir of life known as coffee. He would not defile it by adding cream or sugar. He drank his coffee black and rarely iced. His wife drank her coffee with cream and sugar, though without the ridiculous amounts of both that his younger sister Kara used.
Jeff filled Keiko’s cup and brought it to her. She smiled at him as she listened to what their middle child, Ryan, told her. Jeff stood near his chair, sipping cautiously at his brew, not wanting to burn his mouth. He was tough but not stupid.
Jeff turned on the television in the living room during family mealtime, an unusual occurrence. He wanted to check the weather forecast for tonight’s shift.
The local news stations ran their weather segments during the last five or ten minutes of the eight o’clock hour, right before they switched to their national network’s morning news shows at nine.
Instead of a local newsroom on the screen, he saw a national network broadcast already on screen. It showed an image of one of the World Trade Center towers in New York City. A large hole in one side of the tower streamed smoke into the clear blue sky.
“As you can see,” a reporter said, “a small plane has crashed into the side of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. At this time, we’re not sure what happened to cause the crash.”
Jeff paused while about to take another sip of his coffee. The news reported a small plane crash, but something about the image on the screen didn’t seem right to him.
Jeff remembered that a bomber crashed into the Empire State Building in 1945. That seemed more in line with the image he now saw. The size of the jagged scar on the side of the skyscraper seemed out of proportion for the reported ‘light aircraft.’
Rather than sit at the table with his family, Jeff remained on his feet and watched the images on the screen. The video feed clearly came from an orbiting helicopter. The building’s image slowly rotated clockwise while he watched.
Alex, their oldest child, was the only family member who could see the TV without turning around in their chairs. Keiko, Ryan, and Sabrina, their youngest, continued talking, unaware of the image.
The network news show continued uninterrupted through nine o’clock. The news ticker at the bottom of the screen continued to scroll text as the anchors tried to sound knowledgeable about the incident they were reporting on. The truth was that news anchors rarely sounded knowledgeable to him when they went off-script. The news ticker told him more than the talking heads.
As the helicopter continued its orbit, the South Tower began to slip from view behind the burning North Tower. It was like watching a solar eclipse in a time-lapse film. Jeff started to raise his mug for another sip of coffee just before the South Tower slipped entirely out of view.
A jetliner streaked in from the right side of the television frame toward the towers. He didn’t see the moment of impact, but Jeff saw the inevitable result: a massive fireball that blossomed from the opposite side of the almost invisible tower.
“Whoa!” Alex exclaimed upon seeing the explosion. “Cool!” The heads of the others at the table swiveled to look at him.
Jeff’s mug slipped from his nerveless fingers.
‘Oh, shit!’
As one would expect, the coffee mug fell. The coffee it held rose above the rim, and inertia fought to keep it in place as its container dropped. The mug shattered with a crash, mimicking the explosion he and Alex had just witnessed.
Keiko and the kids turned to Jeff. He stared at the television in shock. The legs of his pajamas and his slippers were soaked with coffee. Steam rose from both, but Jeff didn’t notice. The image of both Twin Towers burning captured his whole attention.
Keiko followed his gaze and gasped when her mind processed what the image meant: terrorism. She turned back in time to see the look on her husband’s face shift from shock to rage.
Jeff came to the same realization at that moment. Tears fell from Keiko’s eyes. The tears were for those who had just lost their lives and for those who would surely die in the minutes and years to come.
Keiko was an American of Japanese descent, and Jeff was a history major with a concentration in military history. They both thought the same thought: this was their generation’s Pearl Harbor.
With that thought, Jeff remembered a quote from Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, architect and commander of the December 7, 1941 attack: ‘I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.’
Their children were all under five years old at the time and didn’t need to see the horror displayed on every network. Jeff scooped the remote off the table before the kids saw too much and turned off the television.
Without looking, he negligently tossed the remote onto the counter behind him. It landed with a sharp <crack>, and the battery cover flew off in a different direction. He then walked to the basement door to retrieve the mop and broom behind it. Jeff swept the remains of his ‘Dad’ mug into a dustpan.
Jeff hesitated before dumping the porcelain shards in the trash. He stared at his kids’ colorful writing on the pieces, wondering, ‘Is this a harbinger of things to come?’ He prayed it wouldn’t be.
The United States would soon hurl its military might at whoever did this. Jeff hoped the American people had the stomach for the long fight ahead. He set the pan aside, and later, he would try to glue the mug back together.
Jeff helped Keiko carry the kids from the kitchen to the living room so they wouldn’t cut their feet on any small pieces of the mug he might have overlooked. He mopped the kitchen floor twice to catch anything the broom missed. Jeff didn’t remember actually mopping the floor. A few minutes later, he loaded the dishwasher without remembering when he had started.
When Jeff returned to the living room, the kids weren’t there, but Keiko was. He could hear the kids playing upstairs. Keiko sat on the couch watching a muted television. The video of the second airliner’s impact played repeatedly, slowed to a sickening frame-by-frame replay. Even at that speed, the plane sped across the open space from the edge of the scene with a fireball erupting behind the already burning North Tower, barely four frames later.
He stepped around the couch to join Keiko and froze. Tears streaked down her face more than before, her face reflecting abject horror. He shut the television off again, sat beside her, and gathered her in his arms.
Keiko turned her face into his chest and cried. He’d never seen her look so out of control, so helpless, not even after her brother Ken was killed.
“My God, Jeffrey!” she whispered. “What is happening?” Having learned Japanese first as a child, Keiko’s speech pattern was more formal than most people’s.
“We’re under attack, Keiko. I know you thought ‘Pearl Harbor’ while I did. That’s exactly what this will be for our generation and our country. I wonder what our nation’s response will be?”
“What if they come to Massachusetts? What if they come here?”
“Then I’ll make it rain lead,” Jeff said in a cold voice, one she’d never heard him use around her or the kids. “‘And I looked, and beheld a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him,’” he quoted.
“Whoever did this will curse the day they were born if they come here and try to harm my family. I will become that rider, and Hell will seem like a vacation spot.”
Soft thumping sounds came from outside. They grew louder while Jeff and Keiko listened. Jeff recognized the sounds: they were those of UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters from Moore Army Airfield at nearby Fort Devens. He released Keiko, rose, and peered out the window.
As the pair of helicopters passed over the house, a flight of F-15s raced across the sky much lower than he expected, moving from east to west. Jeff watched while they curled south. The noise of their engines increased as the exhaust faced the house, then faded again when the jets pulled away.
“I recognized the sound of Black Hawks before, but what was that, Jeffrey?”
“F-15s,” he told her while peering out the window, “a flight of four. Given their flight path, they’re probably out of Otis, not Westover. I’m guessing they came up from the Cape to check Boston’s airspace, then the air over Hanscom and Devens. They’re on their way to Worcester now.”
“MY PARENTS!” Keiko gasped before diving for the phone.
Hiro and Mayumi Takahashi were supposed to fly back to Spokane, Washington, today to correct an issue with the deed to their former home. His in-laws’ new home sat about one hundred and fifty yards from his front door.
Keiko jabbed at the buttons on their phone and waited. She grumbled in disgust, hung up, and redialed. And redialed. And redialed again. Disgust turned to frustration, then to fear, while Jeff watched. Tears fell from Keiko’s eyes again when she could not reach her parents. Jeff sat next to her, placing his hands over hers.
“They weren’t supposed to even be in the air yet, Keiko,” he reminded her. “Their flight wasn’t scheduled to lift off until ten. “They were probably headed out to the runway, and they told everyone to turn off their electronics. We’ll give it a minute.”
Keiko began sobbing again, the worry overwhelming her. Jeff took the phone from her and wrapped her in his arms again. He rocked her and rubbed her back to try to calm his wife. When her sobs stopped, he carried her up to their bedroom and laid her on the bed. Jeff covered her with a blanket, then closed the door as he left the bedroom.
“Daddy? Is Mommy okay?” Alex asked in the hallway. Jeff could hear Alex’s twin brother, Ryan, and younger sister, Sabrina, playing in the boys’ bedroom.
“Come into the guest room for a second, Alex.”
He closed the bedroom door most of the way and lifted his son onto the bed. At four-and-a-half, Alex weighed less than fifty pounds. Since the boy’s last birthday, Jeff often described his oldest’s demeanor as ‘four going on forty.’
“Alex, what did you see on the television during breakfast?”
“A movie. Saw that ‘splosion.”
“Alex,” Jeff said gently to his son, knowing he had to be careful here, “that wasn’t a movie. That was the morning news.”
“Not a movie?” Alex looked confused.
“No, Alex.”
“That was real?” Alex asked. Jeff nodded. “Is that why Mommy’s upset?”
“Alex, what were Sobo and Sofu doing today?”
“Sobo and Sofu …?” Tears welled up in Alex’s eyes. “Are they …?”
“No, Alex,” Jeff said quickly. “No. Their flight wasn’t supposed to take off until ten this morning. They wouldn’t have been on the runway until well after what we saw happen.
“Mommy’s upset because we haven’t been able to talk to them yet. I think their phones are off, and they’re stuck in their plane right now. Come downstairs with me, and we’ll try to call them again, okay?”
Alex and Jeff headed back to the living room. Jeff picked up the phone there and redialed his father-in-law.
“Hello?” Jeff heard in English.
“Hiro,” Jeff sighed. “Thank God. You and Mayumi are safe, then?”
“We are. We pushed back from the gate but sat on the taxiway for a half-hour before they brought us back. The cable feed to the televisions in the terminal is out, and I think cell service here is overwhelmed. This is the first call our knot of travelers has received or been able to make since we deplaned. What’s going on?”
“Hiro, planes – commercial airliners – were flown into both towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. We’re under attack.”
Hiro whispered an epithet in Japanese. He continued speaking in English.
“Yes, we are. We’ll try to get our bags back and head home.”
“Don’t hang up yet, Hiro. There are some people here who want to talk to you. Call us when you get to your house.”
Jeff handed the phone to Alex.
“Talk to Sofu while you head upstairs to hand the phone to Mommy. If she’s asleep, wake her up so she can speak with her parents.”
Alex nodded and ran back to the stairs.
Jeff turned the television on again, and the time on the cable box changed to ten o’clock. When the set snapped on, Jeff was greeted by an image of a smoke-shrouded Lower Manhattan.
The picture changed to a taped scene he could never have imagined: a video of the collapse of one of the towers. Minutes later, all of the major networks confirmed the news. Jeff noticed the news ticker reporting that a plane had also struck the Pentagon. Reports of other explosions in Washington were also mentioned.
Jeff darted to the front hall closet and pulled away a section of the wall. Moving the piece of drywall revealed a safe that held a pistol. His trusty .45-caliber M-1911 was in his main gun safe in the bedroom closet, but this safe held a new Sig Sauer .40-caliber semi-auto that was becoming his favorite.
Jeff tried to clip the pistol’s holster to his belt but realized he still wore his pajama pants, so he held the weapon in his left hand.
Before returning to the television, Jeff scanned his property, paying particular attention to the trees surrounding his yard. They were vulnerable because of all the windows at the ground level of the house. Anyone intent on harming them wouldn’t care about the scream of an alarm’s siren.
Neither would Jeff – he would just kill them.
Jeff’s rage returned. Thousands of his countrymen and -women, people he swore to protect half a lifetime ago, were dead. He knew that some people were happy with that news somewhere. He hoped they would meet an untimely and violent end to match the one they inflicted on his fellow citizens.
Jeff’s knuckles turned white while he gripped the pistol in his left hand. His right hand clenched so hard his knuckles cracked on their own. Jeff’s explosive exhalation startled him and took much of his rage with it.
Jeff had two families to consider, so he needed to stay focused. His family was safe, so he picked up his company cell phone to check on his work family.
“Devens Medical Defense, this line is recorded. Is this an emergency?”
“No, Sheila, it’s Jeff Knox.”
“Hi, Boss.” Three hours into her dispatch shift, and Sheila Klaussner already sounded exhausted.
“What’s our status?”
“Everyone’s in quarters and accounted for right now.”
“Is Tom in the supervisor’s office?” Jeff would relieve Tom Stratton as the shift supervisor at seven that evening.
“Yes, would you like me to transfer you?”
“In a minute, Sheila. Has Tom given you guys any guidance so far after the happenings in New York?”
“A whole bunch of it.”
“Like what?”
“Absolutely no visitors in dispatch except for you or him, no visitors at any of our bases other than known first responder personnel, all non-Army student ride time is cancelled until further notice and will be rescheduled, all bases and vehicles are to be locked tight at all times. We’ve already called our crews to let them know. All meetings with outside personnel have also been cancelled until further notice.”
‘Thank God for good employees,’ Jeff thought.
“Perfect, Sheila. I have no changes or additions to those points. Could you please transfer me to Tom now?”
“Okay, hang on.”
Jeff heard the company’s hold music.
“Hi, Jeff,” came Tom Stratton’s voice moments later.
“Hi, Tom. Good work with locking things down so far.”
“Thanks. Even if it was an overreaction, I figured better safe than sorry today.”
“Absolutely. Is Fort Devens on alert?”
“With loaded automatic weapons visible at the gates,” Tom confirmed. “Paramedic One was politely but firmly escorted out of Cutler Army Hospital and off the base following a call. Paramedic Four is still on-post and allowed to respond with Devens Rescue, but is restricted to the base. Tonight’s crew change will be handled at the Main Gate within sight of the MPs unless we’re told otherwise. I’m waiting for a call from Colonel Lawton about handling resupply and ongoing access to the base for assigned crews and on-duty supervisors. Not sure how they’ll handle the personnel who live off-post and are headed to Cutler in town ambulances yet.”
Colonel Curtis Lawton was the commander of the 308th Medical Brigade, their primary Army contact, and a big fan of their service.
“It’s a damn good thing they already have that fence surrounding the base up. It’s strong enough to stop a semi!”
“P-One reports they saw a crew placing Jersey barriers at the Verbeck Gate on their way out. It looks like they’re setting up a slalom course to slow any speeding vehicles.”
“No moss growing on the Provost or the base engineers, that’s for sure. The Jackson Road Gate off Route 2 will present a challenge.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they closed that gate and blocked the off-ramp today.”
“No argument there. Tom, my in-laws were supposed to fly today.” Jeff heard Tom inhale sharply. “They’re safe. I’ve already spoken with Keiko’s father. I’ll be in early today, but not until Hiro and Mayumi get home. Keiko’s pretty shaken.”
“I can’t picture your wife ‘shaken.’ We’ll be fine here until your family is taken care of.”
The sound of a second incoming call sounded in Jeff’s ear. He recognized the number.
“Tom, it’s the paramedic program coordinator for Quinapoxet College on the other line.”
“Good luck,” Tom offered with a mirthless chuckle. “Call me back when you can.”
“Thanks,” Jeff grumbled back. He ended the call to DMD and picked up the other. “This is Jeff Knox.”
“Jeff, it’s Sharon Jessup.”
The nasal tones of QC’s paramedic program coordinator grated on his raw nerves. Typically, he could handle speaking to her, but today was anything but ordinary.
“Hi, Sharon. What can I do for you today?”
“Bill Jefferson, Mya Short, and Amy Franklin have each called me within the past half-hour to say their ride time for today has been cancelled! They said they’ve been asked to leave your stations, and all student ride time is on hold until further notice! What the hell’s going on?”
The rage he’d let slip from him returned while Sharon was ranting. It had a negative effect on his verbal filters.
“Well, Sharon, terrorists have stolen at least three commercial airliners this morning, flown them into three separate buildings, likely killing hundreds or thousands of Americans and God knows how many people from other countries, knocked down one building which was one hundred ten stories tall, and have thrown an entire country of three hundred million people into a state of near-panic! One of those three hundred million people happens to be MY WIFE! Her parents were supposed to fly today! Why don’t you tell me what the bloody hell’s going on?”
“Uh …”
“That’s right! You don’t know what the Christ is going on any more than I do, so you’ll excuse me if I think about the safety of the people I love here at home, and the ones I work with at DMD, first! I don’t know if my Fort Devens unit will be allowed to stay on-post or be asked to leave. Your students may be needed at their full-time jobs or in the towns they work for today. Let’s pray they’re not.
“Until you hear from me directly, Sharon, no students will ride at DMD until at least next week. If, by some chance, there isn’t an invasion going on, we will likely welcome your students back at that time. Notice of a fourth aircraft down is scrolling across my television now. If this isn’t the End Times, I will speak to you later.”
He thumbed the phone off. Cellphones robbed one of the ability to slam a receiver down and end a call with emphasis.
Jeff turned the TV off again. He dropped onto the couch and scrubbed his face with his hands. He leaned back and sighed, allowing his head to fall back. When he opened his eyes, the image of his wife smiling down greeted him. She ran her fingers through his short, black hair.
“I’m used to seeing you upside-down when you fling me through the air at the dojo, but this is a little strange,” Jeff said in Japanese. As a fourth-dan black belt in karate, Keiko often got the better of Jeff, a second-dan, when they sparred.
“No less strange than you, husband,” she replied in the same language, bending down to kiss his forehead.
Keiko’s brother taught Jeff Japanese when they were roommates in the 82d Airborne after high school. Ken was killed in action during the Gulf War.
“You spoke with your parents, I imagine?” Jeff asked Keiko.
“Yes, Alexander brought me the phone, as you know. Thank you for sending him upstairs. My parents will return to their residence, leave their luggage there, and come here.”
“I’ll have to go in early tonight, but I’ll wait until they arrive before I leave.”
Jeff waved for her to join him on the couch, which she did. Rather than lean back into him, Keiko faced him and pulled herself into a hug.
“How are you doing, Keiko-chan?” Jeff stroked her long, black hair.
“Better, as always, when you do that. What we saw on the television earlier? Is that all that has occurred?”
“No.”
He offered no elaboration. She asked for none.
“With whom were you speaking? Someone from work?”
“‘With whom were you speaking?’ I think your English teacher is showing.”
Keiko poked Jeff in the ribs.
“That person runs one of the programs where our paramedic students come from. She’s a little upset Tom Stratton sent three of hers home early today.”
“With everything that is going on today?” Keiko asked. “One would think she would understand in this situation.”
“One would think, yes. I think we can give her a pass on that today, though. I hope things don’t get any worse.”
“Jeffrey, why is one of your pistols on the couch?”
“Because it’s too heavy to clip to my pajamas.”
Another poke.
“My emotions are all over the place today. I suddenly felt the need to arm myself.”
“You will not bring the firearm to work, though, correct?”
“You know the Commonwealth’s EMS office doesn’t allow us to carry weapons on the ambulance. Bringing them onto the base, especially today, would be a bad idea, too. Alex asked me why you were upset, Keiko. I tried to tell him as gently as I could.” Jeff relayed their conversation.
“He told me, beloved. You handled the subject perfectly. I do not believe Ryan or Sabrina understood what was on the television earlier, thankfully. We will not need to discuss this with them today, although that day will come. Alexander is reading a book in our room for now.”
The couple remained on the couch together, finding comfort in each other’s arms. The sound of Keiko’s soft snores eventually reached his ears. He tried to get his thoughts under control while he held her.
The ringing of the home phone startled Keiko from her slumber. Glancing at the Caller ID screen on the cordless phone, she answered the call from her gynecologist’s office. From her side of the conversation, Jeff gathered that Keiko’s appointment for today had just been cancelled.
“They cancelled your appointment?” he asked when she hung up.
“Yes. They have already had others call to cancel this morning, and … Donna’s sister is believed to have been on one of the planes that crashed in New York.”
Donna Aitchison ran the office for Dr. Marie Nuno. Jeff hugged Keiko tighter when he heard that news.
Part of Jeff wanted to turn the television back on to see what else had happened, but he decided to continue holding Keiko instead.
There’d be plenty of time for more bad news later.
Two
A Brave New World
11 September 2001 – Lancaster, Shirley, and Ayer, Massachusetts
Mayumi and Hiro Takahashi arrived at the Knox house around one in the afternoon, drawing a flood of relieved tears from their daughter; Alex was misty-eyed himself when he hugged his grandparents.
Ryan and Sabrina were still unaware of the day’s events, which Jeff was thankful for, but he knew that wouldn’t last. After three or so hours of visiting with his in-laws, Jeff got ready for work.
He drove the DMD SUV through the eerily empty streets of Lancaster. At 4:30 in the afternoon on a warm, late summer’s day, there should have been scores of kids running across the lawns at the schools in town, playing on playgrounds or in the yards of the houses he passed, but they were all empty.
No customers lined up outside the ice cream stand on Route 70. Only a few cars shared the road with him; without them he’d have thought he was in some post-apocalyptic movie.
“Operations, you can show Sierra One on the air and available,” Jeff called over the radio once on Route 2.
“Roger, Sierra One,” was the brief response.
When dispatch said nothing else, Jeff sighed in relief; no news was good news today. The same, however, could not be said of the news from New York and around the nation; there was plenty of it. After three earlier planes struck the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, a fourth hijacking ended in a passenger uprising.
That group of hijackers was stopped before they reached their objective; the plane crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. Everyone on board was killed.
‘Rest easy, ladies and gentlemen,’ Jeff thought to the brave passengers. ‘Rest easy.’
There were reports of three additional hijacking attempts in the Soviet Union. From the reports, an apparent coordination problem kept those attempts from starting until well after the ones in the US, and the Soviets were on guard.
They placed special Interior Ministry troops on flights as soon as news of the New York attacks broke; takeovers on the three flights were thwarted by ‘direct action.’ Like the US, the USSR ordered a halt to all non-military air travel within their borders after those incidents.
Jeff arrived at DMD’s headquarters in Shirley less than twenty minutes after leaving his house; he backed his truck into the small garage and closed the overhead door.
He swiped his company ID badge through the card reader by one of the doors leading out of the garage. Card access systems and magnetic locks were new and expensive, but on a day like today, he felt they were worth the expense.
Once inside, he noticed the closed, card-reader-secured section doors that compartmentalized the base. Emergency routes out of the building wouldn’t require ID cards. Jeff entered the reception area; he was surprised to see everyone still in their offices along the way.
“Abby, have there been many calls or visitors today?” he asked Abby Sheerer, the young woman in charge of greeting visitors.
“Almost none.”
“Go ahead and start packing up, then; no sense staying until five today if it’s been like that. I’ll send everyone else home to their families early, with pay, of course. Is everyone accounted for?”
Abby blinked at him for a few seconds before answering.
“Oh, yes, sorry!” she exclaimed. “No losses among staff at either division; we got lucky today.”
“Let’s hope our luck holds,” he muttered.
Jeff walked back through the admin wing and let everyone know they were free to go home early if they wished. Everybody took him up on his offer.
After making sure the front entrance was secure, Jeff made his way to the dispatch office. Jeff’s supervisory badge allowed him access to Communications. Heads turned when the door’s lock snapped open, and he entered.
“You guys don’t have the TV on?” Jeff asked in surprise.
“No,” Sheila Klaussner answered. “It was the same stuff, over and over, so we shut it off a few hours ago.”
Jeff nodded in understanding.
“Does anybody need anything? Food? Coffee? A break from the phones?”
“We were talking about ordering out at lunchtime when we were all here yesterday,” Scott Neumeier said, “but with what’s been happening today we ate what we brought for dinner at lunch. I guess we need to start thinking about getting something else for dinner now.”
All three dispatchers on duty were working sixteen-hour shifts that day. Jeff was sure none had left their chairs in hours.
“Kris, why don’t you pull out the Food Protocols binder and see which restaurants are open and for how long? When you decide what you want, order it, and we’ll send someone to pick it up; DMD’s buying today so splurge if you want to, okay?”
‘Food Protocols’ is EMS humor for ‘menus.’
“Thanks, Boss.”
“I want you guys to, one at a time, get up and go for a walk. Keep your eyes open if you go outside, but get up from those chairs and move around. If you need me, I’ll be in the supervisors’ office talking with Tom.”
“Okay, Boss,” Sheila answered.
Jeff nodded and left the room.
He knocked on the doorframe of an office down the hall, and its occupant looked up.
“Hey, Jeff.”
“Hey, Tom, how you doing?”
“One hell of a day …” the man sighed while he stretched.
“It’s been that, that’s for sure. Any new news since I talked with you this morning?”
“Yeah, Colonel Lawson managed to get permission from the new Fort Devens Provost Marshal for us to keep P-Four on the base. They’ll be allowed to come and go, so we don’t have to worry about resupply, and our supervisors will be allowed on the base.
“We’ve all been through the background checks to get access to the base, so it’s not much of an issue. I wouldn’t be surprised if the MPs ask to search our vehicles, though.”
“Me, either. I told Sheila, Scott, and Kris to order something for dinner, that DMD will pay for it, and we’ll have it picked up, or delivered. I also told them to each get up and take a walk; I don’t think the three of them have left the dispatch office all day.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if they hadn’t,” Tom muttered. “I dropped the ball when it came to them today, Jeff. I left them to fend for themselves while I ran around checking on things in the field.” Tom sounded embarrassed.
“They would have been fine if they needed something; it’s not like we didn’t hire them to figure stuff out.”
“True,” Tom admitted.
“Will you arrange pickup for whatever they order, Tom? I want to head over to the base for shift change, and I need to check in with the other crews.”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll pick it up myself.”
“Thanks. I’ll grab some money out of petty cash to pay for whatever you guys want to order before I leave. Call dispatch and tell them you’re ordering something, too.”
“Thanks, Jeff. I appreciate it.”
“You all deserve it after a day like today. I’ll have to figure out how to say ‘thank you’ to everyone who worked today. I’ll be right back.”
Jeff left DMD’s headquarters five minutes later, headed for the Fort Devens main gate. He wove around the newly placed Jersey barriers meant to slow vehicles approaching from Ayer’s Old West Main Street.
The MPs no longer wore their polished helmets and pressed Class-B uniforms; this afternoon they wore full combat gear complete with flak vests and M-4 rifles.
An armed Humvee parked well behind the gate backed them up; another MP manned its roof-mounted M-240 machine gun. The heavy gate security made him uncomfortable. He preferred being behind the guns, not in front of them, especially when unarmed.
“Good afternoon, sir,” one of the specialists at the gate said.
“Specialist Kreiger, good afternoon.” Jeff handed over his base access card.
“What is the purpose of your visit today, sir?”
Jeff looked at the young man who cleared him through the gates at Devens numerous times; the friendly smile he remembered was absent today.
“I’m headed to the fire station to check on my paramedics.”
Kreiger’s partner gave him a thumbs-up to say the SUV was clear; he’d just checked the vehicle’s undercarriage with a mirror. Kreiger handed back Jeff’s ID and waved him through the gate without another word.
As quiet as the surrounding towns looked on his way to work, Fort Devens looked like an angry ant colony. Truckloads of troops and engineering equipment streamed north on MacArthur Avenue, while he headed south to the fire station. More trucks could be seen leaving the Vicksburg Square barracks heading west and south; he assumed they carried troops to relieve those reinforcing the other gates.
‘The terrorists are already changing how we live,’ he thought.
Jeff walked into the fire station. He chatted with the Army’s firefighters and the DMD medics before P-Four’s relief began arriving. With no issues to handle there, Jeff left the base and continued east to DMD’s Ayer garage; they’d finally moved into the old fire headquarters on Washington Street in the spring.
Jeff chatted with the off-going day shift and greeted the night shift’s Gerry Markbright when he wandered out to check his truck. His greeting to Gerry’s partner, Claire Wallace, died on Jeff’s lips when she entered from the parking lot.
“Claire?” he asked, stepping closer. “Claire, what’s wrong?”
“My little brother,” she sniffed while tears leaked from her eyes. “He was on the flight that crashed in Pennsylvania. He called my parents before they tried to take back the plane. Timmy’s … Timmy’s dead!”
Jeff gathered Claire in a tight hug, and she broke down. The rage he worked so hard at controlling that day returned full-force. He didn’t see red; his vision blacked out completely. Jeff was lucky Claire was crying in his arms, or she’d have noticed him shaking in anger. One of the off-going DMD medics saw the look on his face and took a step back. Jeff was able to dial back his emotions after a moment.
“Claire, you didn’t have to come in. Not tonight,” he whispered. She stepped back and wiped her eyes.
“I had to, Jeff. I couldn’t spend another minute alone in my apartment. All I’ve been doing today is watching the coverage and speaking with my parents in Florida.”
“If you want to be here, you can, but I have to be honest with you, if Gerry doesn’t think you’re on your game …”
“I understand, Boss,” she smiled weakly. “I have to try, though. I can’t let them beat me.”
“If you’re sure?” Claire nodded. “Okay. You’ll let me, or one of the other supervisors, know if you or your family needs anything?”
“I promise.”
The other DMD paramedics came over to hug Claire one by one. When Gerry and Claire went to check their truck, Jeff walked out to his. The day shift’s Joe Ernst walked out of the building with Jeff.
“I’ve seen a lot of things in my sixteen years on ambulances, Jeff, but I’ve never seen a look of rage like yours.”
“DMD is family, Joe, and the country is my extended family. Those bastards hurt both,” he whispered with anger in his voice. “I told my wife earlier today that I would unleash Hell on Earth if anyone tried to hurt my family. I meant her and the kids at the time, but these terrorist assholes keep pushing; I’d gut one of them with my bare hands right now.”
Jeff closed his eyes and blew out a long, slow breath.
“I’m trying to keep my rage bottled up while I’m working tonight, but I’ll find a way to vent it tomorrow after a nap. I’ll probably head to the range and unload a few hundred rounds on something.”
“Lead therapy?”
“‘If it’s stupid but it works, it’s not stupid,’ Joe.”
That night’s shift was routine. Jeff responded into Ayer just before midnight for a rollover at the Route 2A/110/111 rotary; Claire Wallace crawled inside the upside-down car to calm and comfort the entrapped driver while the fire department worked to extricate him.
The intoxicated nineteen-year-old repeated over and over in those twenty minutes that he was so sorry (and so drunk); the five minutes he was alone in the inverted car before someone found him literally scared the piss out of him.
Claire stayed with the driver when they placed him in the back of Ayer’s ambulance. She explained what was going on and kept him from hyperventilating. He was so calm that when the police questioned him, he told the investigating officer to keep his license when he handed it over:
“I won’t be needing it for a while,” he said.
Jeff followed the crew up to Ayer Community Hospital on the Groton line. He listened to Claire’s report in the ER while he looked around. The normal joking around behind the nurse’s desk was missing; that gave his anger another boost.
He later found Claire staring into space in the EMS charting area with her report half-written. She snapped out of her trance and noticed Jeff watching her; she returned his sad smile, sighed, and turned back to her report.
‘Claire will be okay,’ Jeff thought. ‘I wish I could say the same about myself.’
Jeff responded to a fire scene in Harvard next. He noticed that everyone seemed to be over-the-top somber. Many also appeared angry, much like he knew he was throughout the day. He knew they weren’t angry at the others on scene, but at the faceless evil that reached out to their country earlier that day.
The Harvard fire was Jeff’s last call of the night. He caught three hours of much-needed sleep curled up on the couch in his office; he packed up his things and put them in his truck before Tom Stratton returned at seven the next morning. Jeff leaned against his SUV while he filled Tom in on the night’s happenings.
Just before 7:30 a.m., his cell phone rang; glancing at the number, he saw it was his best friend from his high school class, Jack Jarrett. He excused himself and answered.
“Hey, Jack! How’s it going?” he asked; Jack lived in Prescott, the town northwest of Enfield, Massachusetts, where Jeff grew up. Jeff’s smile disappeared when he heard sniffling at the other end of the line. “Jack?”
“Jeff, it’s Kathy,” he heard between sniffles.
Kathy Stein-Jarrett was Jack’s girlfriend while the three of them were at the small, private Thompkins School in Enfield; she was now his wife and was due to deliver the Jarretts’ first child in October.
“Kath, what’s wrong? Is the baby okay?”
“The baby’s fine, Jeff. It’s Jack.”
Twenty minutes later, Jeff pushed down on the accelerator; the growl of the SUV’s big V8 engine increased while it accelerated the truck into the hillside curves west of Leominster and Fitchburg. The well-tuned engine sped the marked DMD vehicle westbound down Route 2, back to the valley where he grew up.
The Swift River Valley occupied a mythical and magical place in Jeff’s memory. He loved growing up there. He found comfort there when he returned home from the Army. Most of his family still lived in and around the valley; in fact, he was one of only a handful from his generation who didn’t live there. If he and Keiko could commute to Shirley from Enfield in a reasonable amount of time, they’d have built their house there.
Jeff reached the two-lane section of Route 2 in Templeton just over thirty minutes after he left DMD’s Shirley headquarters; he fought not to turn his red lights on when the car in front of him forced him to slow to fifty-five miles an hour. The SUV’s tires squealed when he sped into the exit for US Route 202 at close to forty.
Prescott, Massachusetts, was still a popular place to live for physicians working at Greenwich Valley Medical Center in neighboring Greenwich; Jack bought and renovated his house after moving back from his residency in Dallas. Jeff knew from previous visits that the Jarretts enjoyed fabulous sunrise views from their back deck.
Kathy Stein-Jarrett opened the front door of the huge 1940s home on Prescott Ridge when Jeff pulled into the driveway; when he approached, her puffy and red-rimmed eyes told Jeff she’d been crying. She began sobbing again when her long-time friend hugged her. Jeff guided Kathy into her foyer, closed the door behind him, and rubbed her back to help calm her.
“Is he still out there?” Jeff asked, and Kathy nodded as she wiped away her tears. “I think I know how to handle this. Do you have any coffee made?”
“‘Coffee?’” she asked, confused at the non-sequitur. “Yeah, I made a new pot about a half-hour ago, why?”
Jack Jarrett stared out over the Swift River Valley though he didn’t see the vista spread out before him. Holding a framed picture in his hands, he replayed scenes from his childhood in his head.
Jack rose from a restless sleep before the sunrise and made his way to his deck; after hours of trying to gather his thoughts, they were no more organized than they’d been at 4:30 that morning. His concentration broke when his nose detected a familiar odor. He nearly jumped out of his chair when he noticed someone sitting in a chair next to him.
“Pretty day,” Jeff commented while taking a sip of his coffee.
He gazed east with his feet perched on the Jarretts’ deck railing. The sun was out, and the trees in the valley waved gently in the mid-September breeze.
“How did you get here?” Jack asked, incredulous.
“Same way you did, Jack. You see, when a man and woman fall in love …”
“Asshole.”
“Takes one to know one, buddy.” Jeff looked down at the picture frame Jack held. “Kathy told me, Jack. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
Jack looked down at the photo in his hands, finally seeing it for the first time in hours. Two young boys smiled up at him from the picture; both wore baseball uniforms, the older boy with his arm around the younger’s shoulders. A teardrop splashed when it landed on the glass.
“This was the last sports team Tom and I were on together,” Jack said in a thick voice. “My bicycle accident was a month later, just after the end of the Little League season in Williamstown.”
A car hit Jack while he rode his bike at age eight; the resulting injuries ended his playing competitive sports and hindered his walking until a corrective operation a dozen years later.
Jeff heard the wood framing the picture creak when Jack’s hands tightened around it.
“They killed my big brother, J