Wrath & Righteousnes Episodes 01 to 05 (13 page)

She didn’t move. She
couldn’t
move. For a long moment she just stared, her heart slamming in her chest. She glanced toward the door, then back to the beautiful gift again. She reached out for the headband then pulled her hand back. For now, it was enough just to look at it and know that it was there.

She held her hand to her mouth, then jumped out of bed. She ran into the kitchen, slamming back her bedroom door. Rassa turned in surprise as she burst into the kitchen. She ran toward her father and fell into his arms. Pressing her face against his shoulders, she cried like a baby in his arms.

Sara Brighton watched her husband pack as she sat on the edge of their bed, legs crossed, her nightgown pulled tightly around her knees and tucked under her feet.

Like all military officers, Brighton had spent much of his career on the road and it only took him minutes to pack for the trip. One suit bag and one carry-on, the general had it down to an art. His travel bag was like his schedule, tight and precise. And he always traveled light; no fluffy bathrobes, extra clothes or personal pillows. The only non-essential item he would carry would be whatever history book he was reading at the time. For the major items he kept a pre-packed military suitcase in the back of his closet which contained a fully packed toiletry bag, underwear, dark socks, Air Force shirts, two dress uniforms, dark leather dress shoes, a long overcoat and athletic gear.

After joining the National Security staff, Brighton was surprised to discover how often he had to travel with only a few moments’ notice. (He had to laugh at seeing the look on his neighbor’s face the first time a military helicopter set down in their cul-de-sac to whisk him away. In a town that lived and died by perks, even the Armani-suited attorney had trouble matching
that
power play.) Because of the short notice requirements, Sara had learned to launder his clothes and repack his bag immediately upon his return, for neither of them knew when he would have to head out again.

As Brighton stuffed military papers into his briefcase, Sara watched in silence, twisting a strand of light hair in her fingers. She frowned, then adjusted her nightgown, pulling it over her knees.

“How long will you be gone?” she asked intently.

“Couple days,” Brighton answered. “Three days in Saudi Arabia. A quick hit and go.” Overseas trips like this were no more unusual for him than a trip to the mall.

“Saudi Arabia is a long way to go for just a few days,” she said.

Brighton pressed his lips and nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“You say you have some meetings with the Saudi military commanders?”

“Yeah. We’ve had a little problem with some of our joint operations we need to iron out.”

“Joint operations? As in command and control or operational missions?” After years of being married not only to her husband but also to his job, Sara had the basic concepts of military operations and lingo down.

Brighton dropped to his knees and looked under his bed. Pulling out
A Short History of the World,
he shoved it into his briefcase. “There are some operational options we’re looking at,” he explained.

Sara considered. Operational missions with the joint Saudi forces. She knew what that meant. If one read the daily papers, especially the
Washington Times,
one could add two and two together and come up with a pretty good estimation of the top-secret information that was briefed to the president in his
Presidential Daily Brief.
For weeks now, even months, the
Washington Times
had been saying that King Faysal was preparing to move against many of the terror camps that had sprung up along the Iranian border across the Persian Gulf, many of which were, ironically, funded originally by the Wahhabi fundamentalists that ran his own kingdom. Many of these terror camps had been used as the operations centers from which they attacked targets within the kingdom, and the king had decided he had no choice but to act. A house divided will not stand, and the terror these Islamists were wracking within his own kingdom had to come to an end.

Sara thought, formulating in her mind some of the issues her husband would discuss with the Saudi commanders. Would the United States provide military or intelligence assistance? Almost certainly. Air assets? Without a doubt. Ground operators? Probably Special Forces, but nothing that would ever be mentioned in the press. All in all, she knew there was no way the Saudis moved without significant U.S. support. How would that play with the government in Iran? Iraq? Bahrain, Egypt and Qatar? Perhaps the better question was how would it play if they didn’t act? If the United States partnered with the already weakened Saudi king, might that more likely lead to his downfall, something that was a tremendous concern in the West? How would the Iranians react if they suspected the United States had aided the Saudi attacks on Iranian soil? Worse, how would they react if they perceived the Americans as too weak to take action in a case that so clearly had national security considerations at stake?

Sara bounced the possibilities back and forth, grateful for the thousandth time that she didn’t have her husband’s job. It was a lose-lose proposition. Indeed, most of the issues he dealt with had little positive potential but were bottomless pits when it came to the downside.

Which explained why he was so tired and on edge all the time.

She counted the months until the next election. A little more than a year. If the president wasn’t reelected, something that looked likely now, the new administration would bring in their own team. Although ideologically Brighton would be much more aligned with the new administration, he would still be reassigned. At that point, they would have—no, they would
get
—to move on.

She approached the possibility with very strong, mixed emotions. Personally, nothing would make her happier. It would be like casting off irons, her family would be so much better off without the stress of Neil’s job. But both of them would miss being in the middle of the fight.

The fight.
Funny how the word seemed to capture the mood now. And funny how it was something that she thought about all the time.

While Neil seemed to concentrate on the battles overseas, it was the battles that were taking place at home that had her more on edge.

It was certainly different than it used to be. The tone of society’s dialogue had become so emotional and ill willed. The sides were evenly split, and both of them hated each other. There was very little common ground between them. Everyone ascribed the worst intentions to their political opponents, to the point that the loyal opposition had been replaced by characterizing the other side as the
enemy
. The president, the man her husband had made a commitment to serve, had been the first to coin the phrase, she hated to admit. Worse, it seemed as if there was an open and visceral opposition toward anything that was good, even against those who had sacrificed so that others might live free. “
Dumb Jock Killed in Afghanistan
,” a small but influential newspaper headline had read in reporting the death of a well-known athlete who had volunteered for the war. Sara had printed the article from the Internet and pasted it in her journal. As a sign of the times, nothing seemed to say more.

But after years of life in Washington, she knew her way around and wasn’t fooled by everything that she read in the press.

They could still keep things together. Things weren’t completely hopeless, and that was her job, to keep her husband buoyed up. To give her young sons hope.

Sara considered in silence, completely lost in her thoughts, until the sound of the ticking clock brought her back to the room. She looked at her husband, who was staring at her.

“Did you say something?” she asked him.

“Do you know where my security badge is?” he asked for the second time.

“You left it on the counter downstairs. I tucked it the zippered pocket in your briefcase.”

“Thanks,” he answered quickly as he checked to make sure that it was there.

Sara pulled the two pillows and leaned back against the headboard. “So you’re coordinating some operational issues with the Saudis?” she asked again.

Brighton nodded quickly but didn’t offer more and she didn’t press. He always told her what he could, which wasn’t much anymore, and she had grown used to his silence about the things he was involved with at work.

She shivered lightly and pulled her arms close to her body. A cold front had moved through and a fall chill filled the air. The house was quiet around them. Luke and Ammon had gotten up early and were already gone.

Something strange happened yesterday,” she murmured.

“What happened?” Brighton asked.

Sara hesitated. “Well, you know the Burkoughs at the end of the block?”

Brighton hesitated. He didn’t know his neighbors well. “He works for State?” he asked.

“No. Other side of the street. Young black family. He’s an associate in one of the law firms on D Street.”

“OK. I know who you mean.”

“Great family. I like her a lot. She works for the Red Cross.”

“Yeah,” Brighton answered absently. The comings and goings of his neighborhood would never be of much interest to him.

“They have two daughters,” Sara continued. “The oldest girl, I think she’s seven, put her hand in a nest of black widow spiders yesterday. It gives me the willies just thinking of it. She was bitten at least six times, I was told. She’s in the hospital. They think she will make it, but she is a
very
sick little girl.”

Brighton’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding!” he stammered.

Sara only nodded.

“A nest of black widows! I’ve never heard of such a thing. They are predatory insects, they don’t nest together, they eat each other, I thought.”

Sara shivered and looked around their room as if she expected to see spiders crawling up the walls. “I don’t know, Neil. But she isn’t the only one who was bitten. A couple kids at the school have been bitten too. They say it’s the warm winters we’ve been having. Warm winters, no snow or freezing temperatures to kill the spiders like the normal winters would. I was listening to the radio. They said there’s an infestation of black widows that reaches throughout the South.” She shivered again. “I want to get our house sprayed,” she said.

“Do it,” Neil said. “Call the exterminators first thing this morning.”

“I already did. They are swamped. Can’t be here for three weeks.”

“Three weeks!?” Neil replied in surprise. “You’re kidding.”

“No honey. I wish I was.” She looked around the room again and pulled the blanket up. “Yuck again. A ball of black widow spiders! I tell you, I’m not going down to the basement until the exterminators come.”

“Have you seen any spiders?”

“No. But I haven’t been looking until the past couple days.”

Brighton thought. “OK,” he said. “Stay out of the basement. And keep your eyes peeled anytime you’re outside or in the garage. This is an old house; there are too many dark places for them to hide. And be careful in the garden. Check your shoes and gloves. I’ll spray the house and yard first thing when I get back. That will get us through until the exterminators come.”

Sara nodded. “OK. I’ll be careful. But the first time I see a ball of black spiders rolling toward me, you’ll find me somewhere in Maine where the winters are
very
cold.”

Brighton smiled and reached down to kiss her cheek. “It’s a really nasty thought, isn’t it? It would give anyone the creeps.”

He checked his watch. He had a day packed with pre-departure meetings. His military executive jet was scheduled to take off from Andrews Air Force Base a little after 4 p.m. He had a pile of work he would complete as they crossed the Atlantic Ocean, then they would stop and refuel in Germany before heading to Saudi Arabia where he would arrive early the next evening. “Got to go, babe,” he said as he stood from the bed.

“All right, General Brighton. Have a good trip, SIR!” she teased as she pretended to salute.

Brighton looked through the open doorway to the twin’s room down the hall. “Where are the boys?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Intramural football practice, I think. But they both told me to give you a goodbye kiss for them.”

“Cool. I like it when you kiss me. No offense intended to the guys.”

Sara smiled and stood up, put her arms around his neck and kissed his forehead wetly. “That’s for Luke,” she said then kissed his right cheek. “And this one’s for Ammon.”

Brighton grinned in pleasure. Puckering his lips, he closed his eyes. “And from you?” he asked expectantly.

Sara looked at his closed eyes then took his hand and shook it. “That’s from me,” she said.

He smiled and pushed her back, making her fall on the bed. “I don’t think so,” he laughed as he tickled her bare feet.

She giggled then sat up and kissed him once goodbye. Before she let him go, she looked at him for a long time, holding his face with her hands as she stared into his eyes. She looked at him like this every time he went away and had done so since his first combat deployment during the Persian Gulf War.

“Couple days, right?” she confirmed.

“Five days. Three in Saudi Arabia, a couple days enroute."

“I always miss you.”

“You know I’ll miss you, too.”

She took a step back and let her arms fall to her side. “You’re going to see Crown Prince Saud bin Faysal?” she asked.

“Yes, we’re going to get together after my other meetings.”

“Where are you meeting?”

“At one of his homes in Riyadh.”

Sara looked worried. She knew something was up. The crown prince didn’t call in the middle of the night just to set up a time to get together for a chat. She studied her husband. “I think he’s in trouble,” she said.

“The entire freaking kingdom’s in trouble! Everyone’s in trouble. It’s the times that we live in.”

“Yes, I understand that. But he is particularly vulnerable. And he is a good friend.”

Brighton nodded quietly as he wondered if Prince Saud was still a friend. Things changed quickly within the kingdom and it had been so long since they had talked, and in a world of constant turmoil, he had learned to never assume anything. Allegiance could be as shifting as a desert wind.