Page 101 of Whisper

And worse.

Haddad, the outsider with the Arabic name, the quiet one, the weird one who left on the weekends, wasn’t invited to their testosterone party. Willfully obstinate in the face of idiots, purposely distant and hostile toward people he found distasteful, he’d widened the gulf between him and his new unit into a canyon.

“I swear to God, Haddad, you act like you don’t even want to be a part of the Army anymore. You getting soft for your little Arabic friends? Wanna ‘conscientiously object’? When we get over there, you gonna be with us or against us?”

The countdown was on. The invasion of Iraq wasn’t amaybeany longer.Whenwas the only question.

David’s eyes narrowed. “I have nothing to prove, Sergeant. I’ve served honorably for fourteen years. All of a sudden, I need to prove that I’m not a bad guy? ’Cause of my skin? My last name?”

“No, ’cause of your piss-poor attitude and your fucking abysmal performance.”

David didn’t have the energy for this. He didn’t have the energy for anything anymore. He was in the field more nights than he was at his shitty apartment. They trained for days, weeks. Leaping out of helicopters, storming pretend Iraqi villages, taking down pretend Saddam army checkpoints and bases and installations. Planning for assaults on Baghdad and fighting street by street. Urban warfare was drilled into them, and they spent their nights occupying buildings in their pretend Iraqi training city, taking out the entrenched Saddam forces, red team members from another unit posing as Iraqis.

For the first time since he’d joined the Army, he didn’t believe in the mission. Didn’t care about his team, either. The bonds between him and his unit were a tattered mess. The mission rang hollow to him. Zahawi’s words, his interrogation, kept replaying in his mind.

He’d thought Zahawi’s question about the US invading Iraq was insane, was ridiculous and naive. No way would the US entrench itself in a two-front war. Noway.

But here they were. Practicing for an invasion.

How had Zahawi’s trembling lips foretold the future of American foreign policy?

Was everything a giant circle? One big Möbius strip, taking him looping like a roller coaster, around and around and around again? Was it prophecy? Destiny? Or a hideous cosmic joke?

He just wanted to gohome. Back to Kris, make the long drive north to Falls Church and let himself into Kris’s apartment. Plant himself face-first in their bed and wake up curled around Kris.

Something, somewhere, must have shown. He’d lived his life never letting anything slip, not ever, but after Afghanistan, and Kris, and Zahawi, he wasn’t so good at keeping everything hidden anymore.

Maybe he should have been mad about that. Mad about his past becoming his present and his secrets becoming known. A petty part of him sometimes lashed out at Kris in his thoughts. If it weren’t foryou, in Afghanistan, being so fucking perfect, being like pomegranates and honey for my soul.If it weren’t for your take-no-prisoners attitude and your fucking amazing brain, the way you knew your shit and made everyone respect you. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re perfect, in every way. And I’m so fucking lucky you even look at me. If it weren’t for all of that.

His sergeant was slowly turning purple. David hadn’t responded to him. “I’veheardthings about you, Haddad,” his sergeant hissed. “Heard you like to suck cock. Is that why you’re a Goddamn disgrace? That why my men can’t stand you? I get more complaints about you than every other soldier put together. I don’t have time to make you a man, turn you into what you need to be.” His sergeant looked him up and down, like Paul had once looked at Zahawi. “Get your shit together, Haddad. I have exactly no room for fuckups.”

The “or else” hovered unspoken between them.Dishonorable dischargeseemed to burn into his forehead. Almost half his life had been given to the Army. Would that be his grand exit?

Would he even care anymore, if it was?

They finished processing the gear and checking out for the weekend. David ignored the stares, the snorts, the barely concealed ill humor sent his way. He hopped into his truck and hit the road.

Hands shaking, he grabbed his phone. He nearly cracked the case, nearly shattered the screen. His vision blurred, rage distorting the edges. His foot floored the gas. His engine roared.

The phone connected after three rings. “Captain Palmer.”

“Captain. It’s Haddad.”

“Haddad?” Shock colored his former captain’s voice. “Uhh… what’s up?”

“You free? Can I buy you a beer?”

Palmer’s silence was heavy.

“I need your advice, sir,” David breathed. His voice shook. “I need your help.”

“I’ll be at the Liberty Bell at eighteen-thirty.”

“Thank you, sir.”

David had shredded his napkin and the label on his beer by the time Palmer sat down across from him, exactly at eighteen-thirty at the Liberty Bell bar off base. Palmer took in the mountain of shredded paper, the nearly empty beer bottle. David called for another round.

“I need to talk to Sean,” David said quietly. “And ask his advice from Captain Palmer.” He looked up, through his eyelashes. He was asking to talk off the record, keep whatever was said between them out of the Army.Don’t ask, Don’t Tellhovered over him like the sword of Damocles.