The Devil's bed

Ishimaru moved closer, wedged herself between the bed and Coyote. She bent close to Bo, and her tired face loomed in his vision. “Listen to me, and listen good. We lost four of our people last night. Now that’s a tragedy. I spent the whole morning with their families, and let me tell you I’ve had enough sorrow to last me a lifetime. We need to salvage something good from all this. And you’re the ticket. You saved the life of the First Lady. The Secret Service did its job. You need to be a hero, do you understand? So lose the self-pity, Agent Thorsen. It’s an indulgence we can’t afford.”

There was a small commotion outside the door. Ishimaru straightened and glanced back. The First Lady and Annie Jorgenson stood patiently, waiting to be asked to enter. “May we come in?” Annie finally ventured.

“Sure,” Bo said.

Ishimaru gave him a stern look, then signaled to Stuart Coyote to accompany her outside. Annie went straight to the bed, bent, and kissed Bo’s cheek. “You’ve always told me you believe I saved your life, Bo. I think you’ve repaid the debt.”

“Whatever you say, Annie.”

The First Lady stood in a flood of sunlight, looking almost shyly at Bo. She wore a black silk blouse and a black skirt. In mourning already for those who’d died doing their duty, Bo thought, and he appreciated it. They eyed each other for a long moment. Bo wondered if maybe there was something he should say, but he didn’t know what. Finally she moved near him and sat down so that she could look into his face as he lay on the bed. She spoke quietly, so that no one but Bo and Annie could hear. “I thought I was going to die out there, Bo.”

“I thought we both were. They tell me you saved my life. Thanks.”

“You saved mine,” she pointed out.

“I heard what you said to Moses on the cliff. It took a lot of courage. You spit right in the devil’s eye.”

“He wasn’t the devil,” she said. “But I can’t help thinking of you as my guardian angel now.”

Bo noticed a small white scar above the corner of her lip, noticed how when she smiled it swung to the right like a meter that gauged her happiness. It was such a tiny thing, and yet he found it enormously beautiful. He was afraid his eyes might give his thoughts away, and he closed them for a moment.

“You’re tired, I’m sure,” Annie said. “We should be going.” She started toward the door.

The First Lady rose from her chair but hesitated before leaving. She leaned down carefully, and kissed Bo lightly above his left eye. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He slept some more. In the afternoon, the Washington County sheriff dropped by with Detective Timmons. They asked Bo a lot of questions and took a formal statement. As they were leaving, Sheriff Quinn-Gruber said, “I’ve put aside a couple of bottles of my best honey raspberry beer. We’ll crack ’em open soon as you’re out of here.”

“Thanks, Doug.” Bo managed a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Shortly after that, the two FBI agents who were formally in charge of investigating the murder of the federal agents at Wildwood paid him a visit. They spent a long time talking, and afterward Bo was exhausted. A bit later Maria Rivera came back in. “I’m going off my shift now. Tom Jorgenson sends his best wishes. Perhaps tomorrow you can see him. Now, I think you should lie on your stomach again.”

She helped position him. He turned his head so that he could look out the window toward the east. The afternoon sky was a deep blue made almost inky by the tint on the window.

“It’s not easy, is it?” she said.

“What?”

“Letting go of the feeling you are somehow responsible. Agent Thorsen-”

“Call me Bo.”

“Bo, we cannot presume to know what is in God’s mind. We live and we die according to his will. Blame?” The nurse shook her head, dismissing it. “Life is a blessing and death a deliverance. Both are gifts, and neither is in our hands.” She patted his arm in a motherly way and stepped out of the room.