Page 42 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)
THIRTY-THREE
Kabul, Afghanistan
It took several days to finally get an appointment with someone at Camp Eggers, a U.S.
Military facility in Kabul. Rhys was issued a visitor’s pass at the gate and had to navigate through several checkpoints before being finally admitted into the inner sanctum and allowed to meet with a two-star general, who hopefully had the power and, more importantly, the desire to help him.
Rhys was ushered into a waiting room and then invited into a utilitarian office dominated by a large desk and several cabinets.
The papers on the desk were organized into neat piles, the exposed wood surface gleaming with polish.
General Hewitt was a tall, trim man with the bronzed skin of someone who’d spent time in the field, and the gray hair of someone who’d lived to tell about it.
His dark eyes gave nothing away as his gaze followed Rhys’s approach.
“Mr. Morgan,” the general said as he invited Rhys to sit down. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee…or tea?” he added, perhaps recalling that Rhys was British.
“Coffee, please,” Rhys replied. He tried to relax, but his injuries were paining him, especially once he lowered himself into the hard chair.
It’d been several days since the attack, and his bruises were beginning to turn a greenish yellow, a vast improvement on the angry black and blue of the morning after the beating, but his ribs still ached every time he took a deep breath, and his lower back was sensitive to the touch .
“So, what does the BBC want with us?” the general asked once the coffee had been served by his assistant. “I hear you pulled quite a few strings to get an appointment.”
“I’m here on a personal matter, General.”
“Oh?” General Hewitt leaned back in his chair, his dark gaze fixed on Rhys. He had the air of a man who was about to deny any request made of him, no matter how insignificant.
“General Hewitt, on December sixteenth, a young man by the name of Ali Khan was brought to the Cure Hospital of Kabul. He’d been severely injured when he drove over an IED. He was brought in by American military personnel.”
“We don’t treat civilians at military facilities,” the general replied. “Protocol was followed.”
“I’ve no doubt; however, Ali was a guide for a British photojournalist. Her name is Jo Turing. I checked with all the other hospitals in Kabul, and no British woman was brought in around that time, alive or dead.”
“I see. Was she one of yours?”
Rhys nodded. “If your troops came across Ali, chances are they also found Jo. I need to discover what happened to her, sir. For the sake of her family. If she’s deceased, then I would like to take her remains back to England, where she can be laid to rest by those who love her.”
General Hewitt laced his fingers in front of him and stared at Rhys. Whatever he had been expecting to hear, it obviously wasn’t a plea for remains. “Mr. Morgan, if you leave your contact information with my assistant, I will investigate and have someone get back to you.”
Rhys was about to protest, when the general held up his hand. “Mr. Morgan, you have my word. I will make inquiries. It might take a few days, but you will be hearing back from this office. ”
“Thank you, General Hewitt,” Rhys said as he got up to leave and accepted the general’s outstretched hand. “I will wait to hear from you.”
“You will.”
Rhys was promptly escorted from the building and walked toward the gate by an armed guard, who remained in place until Rhys got into the Jeep and drove away. There wasn’t much for him to do but return to the hotel and await word from Camp Eggers.
Rhys left the car in the car park and entered the hotel, his eyes straying to the Internet Café sign in the foyer.
He knew Quinn was going mad with worry, but he’d emailed her once, telling her that he was well and following Jo’s trail, and hadn’t contacted her since.
Gouging out his own eyes was more appealing than telling Quinn that Jo was most likely dead, but he had to prepare her for the news that was sure to be confirmed in a few days’ time.
Rhys stopped at reception, purchased a Wi-Fi code, and proceeded to an empty computer station in the café. He opened a new email and began to compose a message to Quinn. Having deleted eight possible versions of the truth, he gave up and emailed Gabe instead:
Gabe,
All evidence points to the fact that Jo was killed in an explosion. I will try to bring back her remains for burial. It’s the only thing I can do to give Quinn some peace of mind. Do your best to prepare her for the news. I should have more concrete information in a few days.
Regards,
Rhys
Rhys had time left on his session, so he checked his email, answered several communications from work, replied to Rhiannan’s endless inquiries about his well-being, and sent messages to his mother and brother. Just before he closed the browser, a message from Gabe popped up:
Rhys,
Thank you for letting me know, and thank you for not telling Quinn just yet. I will do my best to prepare her, but please, allow me to break the news to her, if Jo is, indeed, deceased. Stay safe.
Gabe
Rhys logged out and headed to his room with a heavy heart. Jo was almost certainly deceased. The only question remaining was whether there was anything left of her to bring back to England.