“Yes.” As with any discussion about his friend’s final hours, he turns away, as if not wanting to be reminded.
“In that case, wouldn’t he have told you if he thought you were wrong? He helped you rescue those girls. Did he suggest for a moment that wasn’t what you should be doing?” I move slightly so I can see his face.
Finn’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again.
“Well?”
The words when they finally come seem to be forced out through gritted teeth. “Pooh acted as if it was the right thing to do. There was no way he was going to leave those girls.”
My shoulders slump. It’s a question that’s been going around my mind, but will Finn accept the implications? “Pooh died as a hero, yet you were thrown out. Surely he was as equally guilty as you were found to be?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t understand, I disobeyed a direct order.”
“So did he.” My words seem to bounce around us, echoing at least in my head. Finn doesn’t move, he doesn’t even blink. I continue to press my case, softening my voice. “You’re lucky to be alive, Finn. You might have been killed as well. Anyone setting off an explosion while not giving you time to get clear, well, the assumption might have been you both were killed.”
He needs time, I give it to him. When the silence drags out too long, I ask, “Want a beer?” Without waiting to see if he does or does not, I move away. If it hasn’t occurred to him before, he’ll need time to process my point of view. What do I know about how SEALs work? As a civilian, I just can’t help but feel something was wrong. Finn got punished for being alive. It was Smythe who killed Pooh, not him.
I take my time in the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of wine and taking a few sips before returning to the man who looks like he’s barely moved. I place the beer down in front of him. When I do so, he grabs hold of my hand, holding onto it as though it’s a lifeline.
“Pooh and I gravitated together as we both had the same type of minds. Smythe already hated us. He didn’t have much time for any of the team, but me and Pooh, we had smarts that Smythe didn’t have. One time, we didn’t hold back pointing out a huge fuckin’ hole in a plan, and Smythe had to backtrack. Pooh, I always thought was destined for promotion because of the way he thought outside the box.” He pauses. “Both of us, well, we’d join dots together. He was into computers like myself, and it was almost a game to us to work through a mission, discussing what if this, and if that, then what.”
“You were the thinkers.”
He stares at nothing, thinking back. “Tailor, Gun, Slice and Buster, they weren’t slouches, but they were more likely to look for the obvious, while Pooh and I would dig under that. Smythe hated us. In hindsight, probably more so than the rest of the men in the team.”
“So it could have been deliberate.”
Haunted eyes meet mine. “I wish you’d never suggested that. I thought it was a fuckup, accepted Smythe was a coward and out of his depth. Never dreamed it could have been premeditated.” His hands push back the long hair which has flopped over his forehead. “Fuck, Cat.”
The thought that Pooh could have been deliberately killed seems to have hit him hard. “Can you leave it now and come to bed?”
He ignores me. “At the time, we never knew who the girls were, or how they came to be there. They disappeared in all the confusion. I only knew their first names. What…” His words die off, he swallows, and begins again, this time more firmly. “What if they were innocent victims? What if the setup was to delay Pooh and I getting away?”
Suddenly on his wavelength, I realise what’s so horrific for him. If the terrorists didn’t plant the kids there, it must have been someone working with the SEALs. Someone who set up what was essentially murder.
His hands slam down on the table. “All the blame was put on me for keeping Pooh back. But you’re right. It wasn’t just me, it was he who agreed. Maybe tacitly, but he wasn’t going to be able to leave Nazia and Marjan. I accepted the blame though I had no control or rank over him. I never fuckin’ questioned it. I didn’t defend myself—”
“You were in shock, Finn.”
He grimaces, and then nods. “I wanted to be punished. Pooh had never seen his kid. Three lives torn apart, one literally, but his wife and child, how could they get over his loss? I didn’t argue, didn’t let my lawyer put up a defence, as I thought I had none.” He purses his lips. “I could never have blamed a dead man.”
“Neither of you are to blame,” I tell him firmly.
His head moves to one side and back to the other. “I took it all on my shoulders. Even when they gave me the chance, I didn’t even point the finger at Smythe. I didn’t ask fuckin’ questions, Cat. It didn’t cross my mind.”
He rolls back his chair and pats his lap. I’m more than happy to accept the invitation. Parking myself on his lap, I wrap my arms around him. He breathes in deeply, and for a moment, I let him take my strength.
“I couldn’t understand,” he starts after a moment. “It makes no sense. If the terrorists had planted the girls there, it was to raise an international incident. Fighting would have escalated, and more, not fewer, US forces would have been sent in. Us rescuing the girls meant there were no civilian deaths.”
“You’ve said that before,” I remind him.
“But if they were nobodies? Maybe no one would have cared, and me, and Pooh would be dead, and the death of the kids covered up.”
“The girls had family, surely?”
He raises and lowers his chin. “They did. Fuck, Cat. All I’m doing is going around in circles.”
22
Stormy…
As the weeks have passed, I’ve become more and more comfortable living here with Cat. Since the talk a week or so back about whether I was wrong to take sole responsibility for Pooh’s death, I’ve let go of some of my grief about his loss, and focused more on that night instead.
Cat had been right. Pooh was equally responsible, though it irks me to blame the man who paid with his death. But instead of pushing him to the back of my memory, I’ve resurrected him instead. Although I’m known as a loner, it was him I’d trusted to bounce ideas off. A position that’s now been taken by a woman.
Cat might not have the background or experience that we had, but I’ve been impressed by her mental agility.
Clouds are starting to build overhead as I start my way down the ladder. Once on the ground, I take a few steps back. Looking up, I feel a sense of pride. The roof looks solid now, and I did it all by myself—with a few tips from YouTube videos of course.
Rubbing my palms, one against the other to brush the loose mortar off, I turn and make my way back into the house. I’m heading to the bathroom to wash up when I hear Cat’s voice.
“Yes, it was nice to catch up… No, I doubt I’ll hear from him, but if I do… I’m sure he’ll turn up… Bye.”
Though she’s entitled to talk to anyone she wants, so far, no friends have been in touch. Seems her childhood friends had moved on, and those from the city hadn’t stayed in touch as she’d been gone for over a year. I raise my eyebrow in question.