Mr. & Mrs. America, Aftermath

The last member of our little group was Russian. Anatoli Baranov was Muslim. He was also a veteran of the Russian Army special forces. Olive skinned with thick black hair, he could have been anything from Greek to Hispanic. He held Masters in religion and history. In a word, despite his smile and easy manner, he looked dangerous. I wondered why he was on the team, but Lord Bevington said he was important, so I let it go.

We all spoke English. I spoke Farsi, Arabic, Hebrew, and French, my natural ability for languages not limited to dead and ancient ones.

Moshe and Emil had Hebrew, Farsi, and English in common. Fatima spoke Turkish, Kurd, Farsi, and French, as did Said.

Anatoli spoke English almost like a native, and had enough Farsi to communicate.

Oddly enough, we could all read, write, and speak Latin, and it became our unofficial language. It put us all at the same disadvantage of having to speak a tongue not native to us. What better way to communicate than with a dead language?

We tended to stay to ourselves, socially at least. We ate together, mostly Middle Eastern dishes. I was surprised than many dishes were consider Kosher, which got me a lecture from both Moshe and Emil.

"We weren't always enemies. In fact, up until the last few centuries we were quite good friends. While your ancestors were huddling in filthy cottages and freezing castles, dying in droves from ignorance and filth, the Muslims and Jews were in a Golden Age. We respected each other, worked together in the pursuit of medicine and the sciences, as well as literature, especially poetry. Every major city had public baths, most had libraries available to the public. Books by famous scientists, tomes on the latest medical techniques, volumes of poetry, were eagerly awaited, consumed instantly, and debated in coffee houses and private homes for months. All at a time when one of Europe's greatest libraries contained nine volumes."

Emil took over after Moshe stopped.

"You Europeans didn't come out of the Middle Ages until the Holy Wars and when we invaded Spain, and practically dragged you kicking and screaming into the modern era. Think about that the next time you hear someone call us ragheads or kikes."

We worked on translating the scrolls. Some were stuff we'd researched before, but a few were new, and the interpretations varied widely. Sherry and I tended to agree most of the time, as did Moshe and Emil. Fatima often had a totally different opinion, and Said and Anatoli had partnered up, so the discussions sometimes got pretty intense.

I knew something was up when Lord Bevington appeared with a stranger, bearing news. Some boys looking for a lost goat discovered a set of caves, unearthed during a small earthquake. It was in Iraq, very close to the Turkish border.

The tribal leader had managed to keep it as quiet as possible, and sought out Said, which led to us. Suddenly we were on a plane to Turkey.

We arrived at a small airport in a nameless city. The powers that be had dressed us in native garb, except for Said and Anatoli, who were in the fatigues of the local militia. There was also a small squad of bodyguards. The area was fairly settled, but incursions and upheavals still occurred.

After a few hours of intense negotiations with the village elders, we ended up donating a few used trucks, some medical supplies, and some small arms and ammo. Oh, and a small bag of cash, of course. I never knew who exactly footed the bills or who ended up with the cash.

We spent less than a week, under constant guard, going in and out of caves, some only accessible if one crawled. Most were empty, a few were tombs that we left strictly alone, but two were treasure troves, full of jars of scrolls and bound leather casks containing books.

One had an entrance so small that only Fatima could fit into it. She crawled back out, shaking with excitement. "At least a dozen pots, sealed. A few scrolls lay on a shelf. I doubt they'll stand movement. I don't know if there is anything else, the cave is partially blocked."

We took hand tools, and with a few militia men under the direction of Said, gently widened the opening. When we thought it was safe, Fatima and Emil went in. We got one container out, placing it into a padded case. Once we were sure of the dimensions, custom built cases were delivered to transport them back to the labs.

We carefully documented everything, even had the village elders pose with the jars, and gave them the pictures and a signed receipt from the British government, stating that they were the property of the village and the province, and that they would be returned, after study, once the area was stable. Sherry, Moshe, and I signed, using fictional names, accepting responsibility for transport. We thought it a good idea to leave the others in the background.

We were there five days, longer than we wanted. The idea behind these trips was to be in and out so fast we didn't have time to show up on anyone's radar. We were never exposed to danger while we were there, although a couple of times I heard artillery fire in the distance, and once there was a massive plume of black smoke visible.

"Oil tankers," explained Said. "It's how they get their money for supplies, smuggling it across the border. We used to do the same thing when Hussein was in power. Now, it's too dangerous for us. We hit them once in a while, to remind them we're still here."

I was very happy to be back in England.

...

I Skyped home once a week, talking to the kids, and Jo. Our conversations were a little stilted at first. I could tell she had lost weight and asked her about it.

"Stress. Besides missing you terribly, we're in the midst of taking over a business for a client just so he can shut it down. Three hundred forty people will be out of work soon. It used to not bother me as much, but since our recent conversations about my career, I see things differently now."

I felt bad about it later, but couldn't resist. "Well, to keep your successful career intact, you don't have much of a choice, now do you?"

She recoiled like I had slapped her. I immediately apologized and changed the subject. We'd talk, until she brought my parents up. I didn't know it at the time, but they were often in the room, out of my line of sight. I usually shut her down pretty fast.

"My parents are dead to me right now, Jo. I don't need to know how they're doing, if they miss me, anything about them at all."

"How can you say that? They're heart broken that you've turned your back on them. I'm just as guilty as your father, and you still talk to me."

"Yes, and I still sometimes wonder why. Good night Jo." The last view I had before I signed off was of her stricken face.

We didn't get to do much with the scrolls before we were off again, smuggled into and out of Iran in less than six hours. Then we slipped into Syria, rescuing scrolls and small artifacts from a Mosque, a Synagogue, and an early Christian church, in less than a day, by splitting up into two person teams. I was a third wheel with Sherry and Fatima.

We took a side trip on the way home, stopping at Dubai to meet two of our benefactors, a Syrian millionaire and a Saudi prince, who turned out to be Sherry's brother. They expressed gratitude for our work, and gave us a small gift, fifty thousand US dollars each, in a local account. I tried to refuse but they laughed, saying it would be a grave insult to not accept their gift.

The Prince caught me away from the others, and begged me to keep an eye on his sister. "It would be very, very bad if she were to be discovered and captured. The insurgents would be sure to make an example of her, which may or may not spark a personal Jihad against them. I love my sister, even if she is headstrong. I suspect being raised among you infidels have a lot to do with it. Swear to me, Jake Trammel, that you will guard her with your life."

I swore solemnly. She had come to mean a lot to me. Not as a love interest, I was still committed to my marriage, but as a close friend with shared interests.

Thinking of my marriage made me sad, and I slipped back to my room for some alone time. I didn't Skype this time, just sent an email, about something that was weighing on me heavily.

"Dear Jo,

I don't trust my voice with what I'm about to say, so I'm doing it this way. Today is August tenth. I know that doesn't mean much to you, but until this year, it was an important day to me. This is they day you told me you had miscarried, and our child had died. I often marveled over the years how little it seemed to register on you, and came to the conclusion that it was a coping mechanism. If you pretended it didn't happen, it didn't happen. Now I see how you could forget so easily, BECAUSE IT REALLY NEVER HAPPENED! There was no little girl to mourn, at least for you."

"I hid my grief from you, not wanting to bring up hurtful memories. But I'd get sad every year. I'd often imagine how she would have looked going up. Which side of the family would she have taken after? Would she have had your personality? Mine? Most likely one of her own. I would imagine she was smart, attractive, and kind. I even gave a guy from the computer lab pictures of you, your parents, me, and my parents, and asked him to do a projection of what she would look like at different ages. They looked remarkably like our girls, especially Polly. I'd lock myself away somewhere every year, and cry for the child I never got to meet. I carried that grief around inside me for over twenty years!"

"I have to wonder, who came up with the idea? You? Sperm Donor? Mike? Whatever, you knew how I felt about children, so you had to realize instantly it would be the one thing that would turn me away from my dreams. I don't know what hurts me worse about the whole thing, that you would conspire to mold me into the man you wanted, or the cold, calculating way you did it? I can see the lawyer side of you very easily in this, so I'm guessing most of the plan was yours."

"Now, I have a different reason to remember this day, it was the day that led me to now. To the realization of the cruelty of those I loved the most, of the fallacy that was my life. Let sperm donor read this. Tell my mother I will eventually forgive her, but I'll never speak to him again as long as I live. Ask him if the lie was worth it now."

"One final thought. In all this, the lies, the manipulation, did you never once feel a twinge of sorrow? You've made it clear you had no regrets, and that you're firmly convinced you did the right thing, but deep down, under your lawyer mask, did you not ever once hurt while doing what you did? Don't bother answering that, I would have a hard time believing anything you said, now."

"And that's the heart of it, isn't it, Jo? Despite all that has come to light, I still love you and want to find a way back to you. But who would I be coming back to? I'm afraid, Jo. I don't know you now. Apparently I never did. Can I learn to love the woman you actually are, instead of the carefully constructed facade you've presented to me over the years?"

"I need you to think about what I've said Jo. Is there anything to come back to? Is the woman I loved in college anywhere inside you? Don't answer me right away, think about it for a few days before you respond. And I'm telling you, get caught in one lie, one evasion, and it will be over."

"I'm out of England right now, so it may be a few days before I can get back to a computer, so don't panic if you don't hear from me for a while."

I didn't even sign it, just hit send.

...

Emil and Said wore beards, while Anatoli, Moshe, and I were clean shaven. There wasn't much of a way to shave without a long process while we were in Iraq, so we let our whiskers grow. Said suggested we leave the beards, to blend in better. We agreed, wanting to call as little attention to ourselves as possible. I had just turned 45, and was amazed how much gray was evident.

We were back in England, with enough material to keep us busy for years. Emil and Moshe took the Jewish scrolls, Said, Anatoli and Fatima the Muslim, leaving Sherry and I the Christian scrolls. They were all surprised when I told them I was agnostic by inclination. It led to several long discussions about personal faith, all enlightening, but none enough to sway me to any one camp.

Anatoli and Said were watching a DVD in our private lounge one night, relaxing after a productive day. They got very excited, calling us all over. "That's us!," exclaimed Said, pointing at the screen.

The movie was Monuments Men, a true story about a group of Allied soldiers in World War Two tasked with recovering art, sculptures, and anything of value the Nazis had looted. They were amazingly successful.

Sherry laughed. "We can't be Monument Men, but we can be the 'Scroll Seven'." It was instantly accepted as the unofficial name of our group. It went on to cause us grief later.

Word was filtering out about a shadowy group that appeared mysteriously and removed artifacts from holy places. It didn't help when Anatoli and Said spray painted "S7" near two of the sites as we left. Rewards got posted, even though they had no descriptions or idea of our numbers.

By now it was mid-November. Jo was horribly disappointed when I didn't return for the start of school, but I was given a year and was in no hurry. She told me she wasn't waiting any longer, and was coming to me in three weeks, for an extended Christmas vacation, and the kids were coming along. I didn't say no, but did tell her I'd book a set of rooms at a local hotel for them, making it clear she wasn't staying in my flat.

Lord Bevington made a rare appearance, calling us all together. He looked grave.

"I've got some interesting news, and some rather bad news. The interesting news is a site was discovered in Syria, that at one time was holy to all three big religions. There were reputed catacombs underneath that had been sealed for hundreds of years. There are supposedly things of great significance to all three located there, a true treasure trove to people like us. Don't ask how the information came to us, but there is speculation that what may be there could rewrite a lot of history. The bad news is that it is deep inside ISIL controlled territory. Thanks to leaving your mark, they would love nothing more than to catch you. It would be a media bonanza for them, and certain death for all of you. The good news is we've made contact with some people who are convinced they can get you in and out before anyone is the wiser. Less than eight hours, if everything goes right."

He paused, letting what he'd said sink in.

"This, like all your trips before, will be strictly voluntary. If you're caught, it won't be any use to try to bargain for you because you'd be killed anyway, probably in a very gruesome, very public way. And if you do go, this will be your last field trip. You've gotten well known, in a shadowy kind of way, much too well. I can't thank you enough on our behalf, and the behalf of the countries involved. I know you mostly don't want it, but a few have offered tokens of their esteem. More about that later. I want you to think about it tonight, time is of the essence, so I'll need to know tomorrow how many are interested. No one will be thought less of if they choose not to go. Good night."

We sat together at the dining table later, looking over the intel on the site, proposed entrance and exit points, and calculating the speed necessary to carry the operation off.

We talked for awhile of general things, avoiding the tension in the room.

"I'm going," I said, to no one in particular.

"As am I."

"Me too."

"I have to go, you idiots would come to harm without me."

It went on until all of us agreed we'd go all together or not at all.

Once the decision was made, we all relaxed. I had brought along a bottle of my favorite bourbon, which I pulled out, pouring myself a drink and offering it to the others.

"Infidel! Do not offend our sensibilities with such filth! Surely there's some good Scotch on the sideboard."

Anatoli laughed as Said brought the Scotch to the table, along with ice and glasses. Moshe had no trouble sharing my bottle, saying he hoped it was at least kosher. Sherry and Fatima opted for wine, and Emil chose rum.

An hour later we were well into our cups, singing in different languages as the urge struck us, laughing at the most trivial of things. We only stopped when the bottles ran dry.

Said and Anaoli drifted off, leaning against each other, singing a Russian drinking song. Fatima was firmly snuggled under Sherry's arm, nuzzling her neck and confirming something I had long suspected. Emil and Moshe had drifted over to a corner, arguing drunkenly over a chess game. I slipped quietly out, going to my flat. The last thing I saw before I passed out was Jo when she was young, smiling, reaching out her arms. I wondered the next morning what it meant.

...

Lord Bevington was a little less than impressed with us the next afternoon, but delighted that we were all going.

"Good! You're an excellent team, and things will go much faster with all of you participating. I can't stress that speed is of the essence, there's a big push on to secure more area, and the majority of the fighters will be north of you. Even so, there will still be insurgents present, so keep as low a profile as possible. Understood? We've secured the services of a dozen men to assist and guard you, but you must avoid confrontation at all costs, Prepare quickly, you leave in six hours. Pete, my boy, a quick word, if you will."

I walked outside into the drizzly, gray, typical day of that part of England in the late autumn. He seemed uncomfortable.

"I'm in a bit of a sticky wicket here, as my dear old grandfather would say. One of your chaps reached out to one of my chaps, and courtesies were extended. Your father is here, Pete, and he insists on speaking to you."

I tensed up, face going red, surprising Lord Bevington immensely.

"I no longer have a father, my Lord, only a sperm donor I have no interest in. I don't want you in an awkward situation, but I absolutely refuse to have any contact with the man. None. If you or the gentlemen who extended courtesies have a problem with that, then you have my apologies, and I'll be gone in less than an hour."

"Good God, old boy! No need for such a reaction, I'll see to it. Sometime down the road, though, if you feel like sharing it, I'd like to know what caused this rift. I remember back twenty years ago how close you were, he even spent a few days with you here, as I recall."

Apparently no didn't mean no to the man, because I saw him lingering in front of my flat later. I turned before he saw me, and went back to the labs. Sherry and Fatima were there, making last minute preparations for our trip, and talking softly. They pulled apart as I entered, looking guilty.

"Relax, girls. I know, and I'm pretty sure everyone else does after your little displays of affection last night. Maybe it's an American thing, but I don't care. In fact, I'm happy for you."

Sherry smiled, but Fatima looked apprehensive. Then Sherry pulled her into a big kiss. Fatima blushed furiously when they broke, but looked happy.

"Now you know why I chose to live in England. At home, it would be very bad for both of us, very bad. So we live here, quietly and discretely as possible. I fear it will be out soon, though, as we intend to marry." Sherry faced me, her look one of defiance.

"I'm gonna be really upset if I don't get an invitation. If you want, I'll walk Fatima down the aisle."

The whole group was fond of Fatima. She was over twenty years younger than most of us, and we treated her like a surrogate daughter, except Said, who treated her like an annoying little sister. She glowed under the attention, later telling me she was happier here with us than at any other time in her life.