Blue Warrior

Ian bounced the soccer ball on his forehead like a trained seal, barking like one, too. Dorotea howled with laughter.

Pearce squeezed Cella’s hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the last month. You gave me back my health. And more.”

After Pearce woke up in the clinic at Karem AFB, Myers and Holliday arranged for Cella’s father to charter another jet and secretly bring the two of them back to Italy, where Cella could tend to Pearce’s medical needs and her father could provide them both security.

At first, Pearce continued to suffer blurred vision and nausea, along with frequent headaches. But a consulting neurologist prescribed medications, and over the course of the following weeks Pearce went from bed rest to walking and then finally light exercise.

But the best part of his recovery had been learning how to play again. Under the watchful eye of Renzo Sforza and his security team, the three of them hiked and rode horses around the estate and, later, sailed and swam around the less populated areas of the lake. Pearce and Dorotea formed an instant bond, despite the fact the child spoke virtually no English and Pearce spoke neither Italian nor Tamasheq. Within days, the precocious little girl had taught herself a few phrases in English from an online language program. She also insisted on cooking for him, brushing aside the kitchen’s gourmet chef with a flurry of hands and florid Italian. Dorotea’s culinary repertoire was limited to scrambled eggs and butter pasta, which Pearce ate lustily in her presence to her squealing delight, and that made her love him all the more.

She had Pearce’s eyes, no doubt. But Pearce hadn’t raised the issue of the girl’s paternity. Pearce didn’t think it was fair to the child, nor to Mossa’s son, nor Mossa, either, who had protected both Cella and Dorotea with his life. Dorotea was who she was no matter who the biological father might be, and Pearce loved her for that. If the girl wasn’t his, would she be any less beautiful or brilliant?

Cella leaned against Pearce, happier than she’d ever been.

Pearce whispered in her ear. “We need to talk.”

Cella glanced at him. What was in his eyes? She couldn’t tell. She didn’t dare hope, but still. A future together. Maybe more.

“What is it?”

“I’m heading back home,” Pearce said.

Cella paled. “For how long?”

He shrugged. “Forever, I guess.”

“That’s a long time.”

“I belong there. It’s who I am.”

“I don’t understand. You belong with us.”

“I know. Just not here. Come with me.”

Cella’s eyes flared. “Why should we? Our home is here. My father is here.”

“But this isn’t my country. These aren’t my people.”

“Dorotea and I, we are your people.”

“It’s not the same. You heard Mossa. I am what I am, an American and a soldier. My job is to defend my country.”

“You know how I feel about war.”

“I know. I hate it, too. So does every thinking person who has ever fought in one. I hope I never have to fight another one again.”

“You’re a liar. You love it. Why else choose it over us?”

“You know how I feel about you and Dorotea. That’s why I want you to come with me.”

Cella’s face hardened. She turned away from him, arms crossed. She stared at her daughter outside, playing with Ian.

“Her blue eyes are mine, not yours.”

“Blue is blue.”

“She is not your daughter.”

“I don’t believe you. Not that it matters.”

“She was born ten months after Lisbon. I can show you the birth certificate. She is Rassoul’s.”

“You knew all along?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wanted to believe it, so I let you.”

“Why tell me now?”

“I wanted you to know the truth. Now you are free.”

“How does that make me free?”

“I won’t go with you, not for war. But I can’t have you stay for a lie, either.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t care that she isn’t mine.”

She softened, turned around. “I know. You are a good man. But you are determined to leave. If you left and thought she was yours, you would feel guilty for being away, perhaps come back. Now you can go with a clear conscience.”

“I hate leaving without the two of you.”

She touched his face. Searched his eyes. “And yet, you choose it.”

“So do you.”

“I am who I am as well.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

He held her close, whispered in her ear. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

She nodded. “And you as well, you fool.”

Pearce held her tightly. He smelled the summer in her hair. The last light of the sun was falling behind the jagged ridgeline, throwing shadows on the lake.

It would be night soon.

61

Cayo Grande

Los Roques Archipelago, Venezuela

1 July

Jasmine dug her toes into the blinding white sand, admiring the intense clarity of the blue Caribbean. The warm sun caressed her skin, darkening it nicely. Even the mint in her mojito was particularly sweet. The weekend trip to the idyllic Venezuelan island was a first little present to herself, the promise of still better things to come.