The Red Gloves Collection (46 page)

He tried again. “I know You’re here, God. Talk to me, be with me.” He tightened his grip on the bars. “Get me out of here. Please. Let me find Hannah.”

No audible voice answered him in return, but something strange happened. The scurrying in the background stopped. It stopped for the next few minutes, and there was only the sound of his heartbeat. He relaxed his hands some. “God?”

He waited another few minutes and still the silence remained, and something more. A sense of peace, a knowledge that he wasn’t in control but that God certainly was. No other way to explain it. He settled back onto the floor of the cage and leaned against the bars.

Whether he was there for ten minutes or two hours, he couldn’t tell, but suddenly there was a shattering sound and the rapid explosion of gunfire. Before he could process what was happening, the room filled with light and three Army Rangers tore into it.

“Identify yourself,” one of them shouted.

“Captain Mike Meade, U.S. Army.”

“You’re alive!” The lead Ranger snapped the lock on the small cell. “We have to move fast.”

“I’ll keep up.” Mike could barely breathe. He was being rescued? Was that what was happening? Or was he dreaming, barely holding onto his sanity?

“There’s no time.” The first Ranger helped him out of the cell. “You all right?”

He ducked until he was clear of the bars, and then stood up. “Fine.” Questions could come later. “Let’s go.”

They raced across the dirt floor and up a flight of stairs. As they were running another round of shouts rang out, followed by a quick string of bullets. Mike’s heart pounded in his throat, but he had no time to think, no time to analyze whether it was all a dream or not.

When they reached the outside, he tore around the corner, close behind the Rangers. The loud pulsing of a helicopter made it impossible to hear anything. Where were the others, his gunner and the Rangers who’d been on his chopper? From the corner of his eye he saw bodies on the ground and for half a second he turned to look. The insurgents—it must have been them. All dead. His men must’ve already been rescued. Mike gulped, faced straight ahead again, and picked up his pace.

“Hurry!” One of the Rangers shouted above the sound of the helicopter.

Mike moved faster, keeping up with the soldiers even though his muscles were cramping, his lungs burning inside his chest. He had barely moved in a week. Now he was running on adrenaline, step after step, closer to escape.
God… is this real? Did You hear me?

He blinked and gave a few shakes of his head. Whatever it was, he had to keep moving. Four more steps, five, six, and there she was. Hannah, standing in front of him, twirling in her first princess nightgown.
“You’re my best friend, Daddy. Right?”

“Faster, move it!” The Ranger’s voice snapped him to attention.

Mike pushed his feet through the sand, one after the other, again and again. Ahead of him, an Army helicopter hovered over the roof of the building, not far from the place where he had attempted to hover a week earlier. A rope dangled from an open door, and the first Ranger grabbed it and shimmied up. Mike was next, but he didn’t need help. He was in the chopper in record time, his sides heaving.

“I’ll contact Colonel Whalin,” one of the rangers said to another.

And only then did Mike know one thing without a doubt.

He wasn’t dreaming.

T
he chopper flew to Baghdad International Airport and after an hour of debriefing with military personnel in a private area, Colonel Whalin entered the room. He stopped short when he saw Mike. His steps slowed, and their eyes locked.

When his commander reached him, Mike stood at attention. “Sir, the mission … ” Emotions that Mike hadn’t known before swelled in his chest.
Where are my men?
He coughed, working the words free. “The mission failed.”

“Yes, Meade.” Colonel Whalin’s eyes were steely, but they glistened. “At ease.”

Mike exhaled and let himself fall against a wall. They’d fed him and given him a sports drink to help hydrate him faster. But still he felt weak, overwhelmed. “I’m … sorry, sir.”

“Meade, it wasn’t your fault.” The colonel looked Mike straight in the eyes. “You’ve gotta believe that.”

He didn’t want to ask the next question. “The others? They must’ve gotten out first?”

“No.” An angry sigh came from the colonel. He raked his hand across the back of his head and let out an angry sigh. “Meade, I don’t know how to tell you this.”

Somewhere above his ankles, Mike felt himself begin to tremble.
No… It can’t be…
“They did get out, sir.” He searched his commander’s face. “Tell me they got out.”

Colonel Whalin pursed his lips, stared up at the ceiling, and gave a quick few shakes of his head. When he looked at Mike, there was no mistaking this time. His eyes were full of unshed tears. “We lost them all, Meade. All of them. Insurgents shot them before they ever made it into the building.” He cursed under his breath. “It was a setup, Meade. A bad tip. No one should’ve made it out alive.”

Mike felt faint, his head dizzy. They were gone? All the men on the mission? Why would their captors kill everyone but him? Then slowly it began to make sense. He was in charge; he had the information they wanted. The insurgents would’ve viewed the others as … dispensable.

He bent at his waist and gripped his knees. His breathing was different, more shallow. He couldn’t get enough air no matter what he tried.
Deep breaths,
he told himself.
Slow, deep breaths.
He craned his neck back and looked at the colonel again. “I should’ve died with them, sir. The way it ended … it isn’t right.”

“You’re wrong, Meade.” Colonel Whalin searched Mike’s face. “You followed orders.”

“Sir?” Mike blinked. His head was still cloudy, his mind unclear. He could see his team in the chopper as they crossed enemy lines, CJ at his side, the gunner and the Rangers ready for action. Now they were gone, all of them. He blinked the memory back. “What orders, sir?”

“My orders, Meade. I told you to come back alive.”

The colonel coughed, but his chin quivered. “You did what I asked.”

Mike’s throat was too thick to speak. There was nothing more to say, nothing he could add. The reasons weren’t clear, they’d never be clear, but he was here, alive. His commander was right.

The debriefing lasted another few hours. When they were finished, Colonel Whalin lit a Camel and lifted a piece of paper from the desk in the room. “We have a plan for you, Meade. We’re getting you home as quick as possible.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mike gripped his knees and tried to make sense of everything that was happening. His copilot was dead, the gunner, the Rangers, everyone else on the chopper. But here he was getting special treatment, a quicker trip back to the U.S. Probably so he could be home for Christmas. As if he might have any reason to be home.

Colonel Whalin was going on about the trip home, explaining that he would be placed on a C-130 Hercules cargo plane for a five-hour flight to Ramstein Air Base in Frankfurt, Germany. From there he’d fly on a C-17, a bigger cargo aircraft, back to the States.

“I pulled some strings.” The colonel’s face was still shadowed by the seriousness of the situation. “You got a nonstop to Andrews Air Force Base.”

“Andrews?” That airport was more than a day’s drive from his post. “I’m flying to Maryland?”

The colonel took a long drag from his cigarette. “It’s Christmas, Meade.” The smoke eased out between his words as he spoke. “I figured you’d want to be with your daughter.”

It took several heartbeats before he could fully process the statement. His daughter?
Hannah?
What would Colonel Whalin know about her? He rubbed the back of his head and stood, gripping the edge of the desk. “Colonel, I haven’t seen my daughter in eleven years.”

“You said you were expecting her call?” The colonel cocked his head, curious. “That’s the same daughter, right?”

Mike breathed out. He hadn’t told anyone in the service about Hannah, not ever. “I have one daughter, sir. Her mother took her from me when I enlisted. I haven’t heard from her or seen her since.”

The colonel leaned forward and slammed his elbows on the desk. “How’d you know she might call?”

“A video. It’s a long story.” This time Mike’s heart stopped. “Wait… she called?” He straightened, his mouth open. By the time his heart kicked in he found his voice again. “Hannah called? At your office?”

“She lives in the outskirts of Washington, D.C. I have all the information.” For the first time that day, the colonel smiled.

“That’s why I’m flying to Andrews, sir?”

“Now you’re getting it, Meade. I thought you’d like to spend Christmas with your daughter. The way the flights worked out, you should be there Christmas Eve.”

Mike felt something strange and unfamiliar, a bursting in his heart, a giddiness that spread through him, along his limbs all the way to his hands and feet. Hannah had called? She’d talked with his commander? How was it even possible? Hours earlier he was locked in a cage, death raging around him, and now here he was. Every dream he’d ever had, about to come true.

He closed his eyes.
God… You did this, didn’t You?

In light of the future that lay ahead of him, the horror of the past week faded a little. And suddenly he realized what he was feeling, the amazing sensation making its way through him. It was something he hadn’t felt for years.

Pure, uninhibited joy.

EPILOGUE

H
annah still wore the gloves.

She had nothing if she didn’t have hope, and somehow the red gloves reminded her she could still pray, still believe. It was Christmas Eve, and she hadn’t moved too far from the phone all day. Her mother had given up. She was busy in the office making calls to Sweden. Whenever she passed by, she would pat Hannah on the shoulder and give her a sad smile, as if to say everything would be okay, the sorrow would pass in time.

Hannah would only shake her head. “Mother, don’t look at me like that. He’s okay, I can feel it. I won’t quit believing that until he comes home.”

Her mother would hesitate and move on to some other order of business. There was always an order of business, and for her the order of finding Mike Meade was over.

But it wasn’t over. Hannah refused to believe it. She’d prayed, and Buddy Bingo had told her that God heard everything. And if God had heard her, then somehow she’d get to see her dad again, right?

Hannah walked into the front room and stared out the window. It was snowing again, the way it had been all day. The fireplace was alive, the flames dancing merrily, unaware of the trouble her father was in. She moved closer and turned one of the chairs so it faced the fire.

What else had Buddy said? That miracles weren’t a given?

That idea was the one she couldn’t allow to take root, because then she’d have to believe it was possible—after not knowing about him for so many years, now he might really be gone.

She sat down and faced the fire. “God … where is he?”

Her cheeks were cold, and she lifted her gloved hands to her face. The question floated in the air like the clouds outside. In the flames she could see him, his face the way it looked in the picture, the way it looked in her long ago memories. She was still thinking about him, still remembering, when she heard a knock at the door.

The house staff was off for the day, and her mother and grandmother were upstairs. She stood, stretched, and went to the foyer. They weren’t expecting anyone, so maybe it was a delivery. They delivered on Christmas Eve, didn’t they? If presents needed to get somewhere, right?

She opened the door. “Hello?”

On the step stood a man dressed in Army gear. In his hand he held a worn-looking paper sack. Something about him was familiar, and for half a second she wondered if he was her father. But that was impossible. He might be alive, but he was in Iraq, not Washington, D.C. Whoever the man was, his cheeks were red and he stared at her like he was seeing a ghost.

Just then she had a sudden fear and she took two steps backward. What if he’d come on official Army business, to tell her that her father was dead? Would the Army do that to her? On Christmas Eve? She took another step back. “Can … can I help you?”

He didn’t look at her, he looked through her. And the “something familiar” was more so all the time. Then he swallowed and said, “Hannah?”

Her heart beat faster than before. “Yes?” Why did he look at her that way? Was this how it happened? How families found out that someone they loved was gone? She wanted to close her eyes and make him go away, but it was too late. The conversation had already begun. Now she’d have to see it through.

Then, the Army man’s eyes welled with tears. He swallowed and took a step forward. “Hannah … I’m your father.”

Her body shook and she felt dizzy, so dizzy she had to grab the doorframe to keep from falling. “Dad?” How could he be here? He was supposed to be in Iraq, a prisoner of war. His commander thought he was dead, right?

She blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “How could… I can’t believe it” Her voice faded to nothing before she finished the sentence.

“Look at you, Hannah.” A tear rolled down one of his cheeks. “You’re all grown up.”

And suddenly she knew it was him, knew it because the eyes were the same as the ones in the photographs. But more than that, they were the eyes from her memory. In a rush she ran to him. Her red-gloved hands went around his waist and she pressed her cheek to his chest. “I never forgot you, Daddy.”

He shook against her, and Hannah could tell he was crying. They stayed that way for a while, holding on as if by doing so they could somehow find the years they’d lost. When he finally drew back a little, he searched her eyes. “I looked for you every chance I had.” He held out the brown paper sack. “I kept this with me.”

Hannah took the fragile bag and opened it. From inside she pulled out a folded piece of paper. She handed the bag back to her dad and opened the sheet. It was tattered and creased, but clearly it was a picture she’d drawn for her father. Across the top she’d written
Hannah loves Daddy.