Perspectives, An Intriguing Tale of an American Born Terrorist (3 page)

After about 30 minutes the door opened and Mary came back into the room, a different woman, with the cold attitude of a wife now forced to do her duty and take care of her husband. Her presence brought with it fear.

“I’m so sorry,” Jonathan pleaded. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you and that I wasn’t there for you.”

He was hoping that the damage done to their relationship was not permanent. The light in her eyes had turned dark and he sensed that the only compassion left was in the form of a base instinctual pity that one human being would have for a wounded human being.

There was a long cold silence and then she began to talk staring blankly across the room. Her words were in a monotone and strained, “You were there, you were alive and you saved Carly and that was the only thing I had left to live for.” She laughed, “It’s funny the illusions we create. We think everything is going to go just like our perfectly conceived plans. You were my hero. Had I known what I know now, I might not have been able to make it.”

“Come on Mary, you know I would never do anything intentionally to hurt Matthew and Carly.”

“Jonathan, Matthew’s dead and he’s dead because he was in the wrong place, a place that you put him. If I had known, even had an inkling that that building was a target, I would have had them both a million miles from there. You lied to me, Jonathan, and you didn’t let me do my duty as a mother. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you for that.”

Jonathan closed his eyes as the words pierced through his brain and into his heart. Involuntarily the words blurted out, “Did it happen quickly?”

Mary nodded her head yes. “The explosives were planted in different places in the daycare and the blast killed them all instantly.”

“Did they find his body?”

She grimaced as she recalled the image that was indelibly burned upon her brain, “They found him, but they didn’t want me to see him, but I insisted. They had him in a little bag. He was burned so badly, I couldn’t recognize him! I looked him over. Every inch of him, and begged God that there would be something I could recognize, something I could remember.” She looked at him in utter horror, “Jonathan, I couldn’t recognize my own baby! His face was gone and so was one of his legs. Three of his little fingers were so badly burned that there was nothing but little black stumps, no bigger than burnt matchsticks. He was completely naked, I think the explosion and the fire consumed his clothes. And he was covered with black welts. I didn’t believe that it was him. I wouldn’t believe them! There wasn’t one thing that reminded me of my Matthew. I made them prove it to me. They took me to a conference room where they had plastic bags filled with pieces of his hair and little pieces of his body. They had all kinds of reports showing blood and other DNA samples. They proved it through DNA testing. Jonathan, it took a team of scientists to prove to me that the little boy that came out of my stomach was my baby! I’ll never get that picture out of my mind. That burnt piece of broken flesh was my baby!” She put her head down and started to sob, her whole body shaking.

He wanted to hold her and comfort her and tell her how much he loved her but was limited by his shackles. So he just agonized, constrained in his prison, watching her cry.

Finally, she exhausted herself and once again they sat in silence, trying to cope and pull themselves back to the land of the living.

Jonathan broke the silence. Cautiously he uttered the words, “When can I see Carly?”

“I’ll bring her by, but I need to warn you, she’s different."

“What do you mean?”

“She hasn’t said a word since the explosion. At Matthew’s funeral she just sat frozen and didn’t show any emotion. When we walked past his little casket, she reached out her hand and touched it for just a second, as if to assure herself that he was inside and then walked away. I don’t know what’s going on inside her little head. She’s not eating much and the agency has sent a therapist, but the therapist hasn’t been able to tell me anything. She says that her mental functions have shut down because she can’t deal with all the emotional pain from losing her brother and knowing that you were hurt. She’s blaming herself.”

“What did she have to do with anything?”

“The therapist says it’s always the same. People who survive violent events always blame themselves and feel guilty that they survived when someone else died. When it’s a family member, it’s compounded.”

“Will she get better?”

“She said that there’s a 50/50 chance that she’ll come out of it with time, but she’ll probably always need therapy. You waking up may help.”

“Kids are tough, Mary. When we get back to being a normal family, she’ll bounce back.”

Mary recoiled. “How can you say that? How can we ever be a normal family? Jonathan, there’s not much left to this family.”

There was another long barrier of silence, which Jonathan once again cautiously broke through. “How badly am I hurt?”

“You should have asked the doctor.”

“He was in and out of here pretty fast. Please, just tell me what you know.”

“You heard him say that they are going to do tests, so they don’t know the extent of the neurological damage, but miraculously only your left arm and 3 ribs were broken and the doctor said that your burns will heal on their own without graphs. The neck brace is precautionary, because you did receive some neck trauma and they were afraid of paralysis. They said that you were in the right place at the right time and the building fell all around you. Fortunately you were big enough to support everything that fell on top of you. The only other survivors were also in the stairwells.”

“Do they have any idea who did this?”

“The President was on television and it’s the same old lines. He’s using it to justify the war in the Middle East and his approval ratings have shot through the ceiling. Can you believe it? One week the most unpopular President in American history, the next week, the most popular! The flags are back out in all the neighborhoods and there are record numbers of young people lined up to go to war. He says it was Al Qaeda operatives, trained in Iraq and he said the target was the children of federal employees. It was the biggest line of propaganda bullshit I have ever heard!”

Jonathan shook his head knowing Mary’s hostile feelings for the current administration.

She continued, “I don’t care what he says, there had to be someone on the inside. The explosives were surgically planted to kill everyone in the building. If there wasn’t someone on the inside there would be no way to get that many explosives close enough to do that much damage.’”

“Did anyone else survive from my floor?”

She shook her head no. “You’re the only one. The firemen stumbled across you in a cavity within the debris. They airlifted you here.”

“What about Bob?”

She shook her head no. “They had a service for him on Wednesday. Melissa and the kids are devastated. All I’ve done these past 2 weeks is attend funerals and sit in hospital rooms.”

“That’s nice that all of his kids showed up.”

“Yes, it was very emotional.”

“Johnnie and Kristen were in the daycare with Mathew?”

“No, Melissa had the day off and had them at home. Can you believe her luck?”

“Thank God! Did they find Bob’s body?”

”Open casket, amazingly he wasn’t badly burned….died of a head wound. I wish you could have been there. It was probably the only time in my life that I’ve seen Bob with his mouth shut. The President was at his funeral and gave him a beautiful eulogy. He called him a national hero and awarded him posthumously the Distinguished Intelligence Cross. He gave it to Melissa. I wish you could have been there, I know how close you two were.”

“I’m so sorry,” he answered. “I guess I wasn’t there for anyone.”

He felt the weight come on him like a lead curtain being pulled down over his life. Suddenly, exhausted, he closed his eyes and retreated from the pain and was welcomed into the bottomless chasm of emptiness. He was startled awake by a group of nurses prepping him for testing. He looked over for Mary, but she was gone.

The next morning, Jonathan was startled from his sleep by a person leaning over him. He twitched as his brain quickly tried to focus and determine who or what this presence was. He smiled when he realized that it was his 7 year daughter, Carly. She was standing on a chair that she had pulled close to the bed and leaned over him supporting her tiny body with her outstretched arms, looking a little like a baby giraffe with a short neck reaching for a piece of vegetation. Her nose was only about 6 inches from his and she looked bewildered. She seemed to believe that if she stared hard enough and thought long enough she could rouse her daddy from his deep sleep. When his eyes popped open, she jumped back, nearly falling flat on the floor. Mary was sitting on a chair next to Carly reading an Oprah magazine and with the dexterity of major league infielder, dropped the magazine and scooped her up preventing a terrible fall. “Be careful,” her mother yelled, but in an instant, Carly was back up on the chair and once again close to her father’s face.

“Hi sweetie,” he whispered.

She pulled her head back a little and her garnet eyes opened wide with question. She put her hand on his cast and asked without words.

“It’s broken sweetie, but it will get better. Daddy’s going to be okay. I’m so happy to see you.” Jonathan looked over and saw her teddy bear tucked in next to him and smiled. He reached over and stroked his head. Did you bring Bruiser?”

She pulled Bruiser from under the covers and squeezed him tight. Jonathan saw that something was terribly wrong with Bruiser. He wasn’t all there! He was missing an arm and his polyester fur had patches of black. Bruiser’s face was deformed, lacking an eye, a mouth and part of his nose.

Carly didn’t answer as if she didn’t understand his question or was deaf. Mary reached over and grabbed her and put her on her lap. Carly resisted and scrambled back to her chair. Mary spoke tersely, “Believe it or not that’s all that’s left of Bruiser. The fireman who found you picked it up right outside the stairwell. Figured it was hers. Pretty pathetic, huh? Half of his hair is burned off and he’s so mutilated that I can’t stand to look at him. It brings everything back to me. But try to get it away from her. She hasn’t let that bear out of her sight since the day of the accident. You should be honored that she put him next to you. She won’t let me touch him.”

Carly scanned her daddy’s body, looking at all the damage.

Jonathan interpreted her thoughts, “Your daddy’s going to be okay, honey, he’s just a little banged up. In a couple of weeks he’ll come home and then we’ll all be together again.”

Mary looked over at Jonathan, “See what I mean about her?”

Jonathan nodded and said, “Can she stay awhile. I just like having her here with me. Where did all the flowers come from?”

The room was overflowing with beauty. There were bouquets, baskets, vases of flowers everywhere. Their perfume was nearly overwhelming.

Mary answered. “The flowers came from all over. Mostly from people we don’t even know. And there are thousands of cards and letters from well wishers who wanted us to know that we are in their thoughts and prayers. They moved you out of intensive care last night and all this was waiting.”

Jonathan was overwhelmed.

“You’re a hero, Jonathan. A political icon… one of the few survivors.”

Jonathan turned his head away in shame. “For what? I did absolutely nothing!”

Mary agreed silently, but then blurted out, “You saved Carly.” She seemed moved by the realization.

Jonathan nodded, “Can she stay awhile?”

“Sure.”

Jonathan smiled, “Anything more on the investigation as to who did it?”

“You’re not going to believe what happened while you were asleep. There’s lots of new news. Someone leaked everything to the press. It’s on all the news networks and in all the papers.” She handed him the
Washington Post
which read on its front page,
CIA Operation
Blue Heron
the target for July 15th attack on Federal Building. Sole surviving agent Jonathan Anderson is in guarded condition at Washington Memorial
. “You want to know where all the flowers are from? The flowers are from all the well wishers and your new fan club.”

“Holy shit, who would do something like that?” he replied. “Did they give a source?”

“Nope, protecting him or her, probably from the thugs you worked for. But there’s someone on the inside who wants the world to know. And to top it all off there are at least 50 reporters in the hallway wanting confirmation from you and probably another 50 CIA agents trying to keep them out of here, so Carly can only stay until they kick us out, because I’m sure that the agency wants to talk to you before the press gets to you. But we can pretend that you’re sleeping for another hour or so and then I have to take her to therapy.”

“Put her next to me in the bed?”

Carly didn’t seem to mind being up on the hospital bed with all the wires and hoses and noises and for the next 20 minutes Jonathan interpreted her silent language and gave her simple answers that seemed to satisfy her. It was a beautiful symbiosis of pain and security. Ten o’clock came too soon and Mary picked up Carly and walked over to the door.

As soon as the door was open, they were grabbed by 2 escorts and disappeared into the bustle of people outside. Before the door slammed shut, Jonathan spotted Ed Shults, an overweight agent in a blue, poorly fitting suit standing outside his door, like a bouncer at a night club. Ed had worked for him in a couple of operations and was very reliable and extremely loyal. There was another agent standing next to Ed who Jonathan had seen before, but he couldn’t remember his name. The door re-opened and he watched as Ed shoved back an aggressive reporter and then came into his room dragging along his partner. Ed caught Jonathan’s glance and said, “Hey man how you doing? You remember Rob Giardiano?”

“Hey Rob!” Jonathan responded, happy that Ed reminded him of the name that was lost in the fog.

“Did you see the article in the Post?” asked Rob handing Jonathan the paper.