The Reckoning Read Free Page A

shawl, a fashion statement, an umbrella, handcuffs, a basket for fruit, a sling to carry their babies. The checkered pattern represents the cosmic tension between life and death. Or knowledge and ignorance. Your pick.” There was a touch of the hermit to him. He loved to talk.
    The strength was coming back into her. “I only wanted directions,” she said. She pointed at the man across the lake bed.
    â€œFrom our gypsy child?” He had a farm-boy smile. “Not a chance. He never comes close, and you can’t get within two hundred yards of him. We’ve put food out for him, in case he’s American. But he leaves it for the dogs. We’re not sure who he is or why he’s like that. He just showed up one day. The first time I saw him I thought, Ah, boy, you’ve reached the end of your magical mystery tour. Look at him, all borrowed together. Peasant pants and Vietcong sandals made of old tires. We know the sandals, we’ve found his tracks, tire tracks. Probably Michelin rubber, from the old Michelin plantations to the east. And no hat, you notice?”
    It took Molly a moment to catch his teasing, the “no hat.” “I thought he was one of you.”
    â€œOne of us?”
    â€œA soldier.”
    Duncan smiled. “In that case, I’m not one of us either.”
    â€œCome again?”
    â€œI’m just a visitor like you. One more civilian.”
    â€œYou’re not a soldier?” Her eyes flicked down at the Che shirt.
    He flashed her a peace sign. “Ever heard of Kent State?”
    She connected the dots. He was talking about the event, not the place. “You were there?” she said. It dated him, though she couldn’t remember the date. Before her time.
    â€œOn the grassy hill, on the very day,” he said. “May 4, 1970. I heard the bullets cut the air. I saw the blood on the lawn. It took me all the rest of the spring and summer to come out of hiding.”
    Some other time. “But I thought they only used their own people for recoveries,” she said.
    According to the information officer, Joint Task Force-Full Accounting and the Central Identification Lab based in Hawaii deployed their own military investigators, linguists, anthropologists, and assorted other experts. At a cost of tens of millions of dollars per year, JTF-FA and CILHI were the official forensic archangels of Vietnam and other foreign wars. They were very territorial about it, she had come to learn. The bones were holy relics. “Sacred Ground” was her working title for the piece.
    â€œThey have their rules,” Duncan said. “They make their exceptions. I’m not the only one. You’ll meet the other soon enough, John Kleat. The captain took us in. We like to think we’re of some small use.”
    â€œYou came together?”
    â€œKleat and me? Nope. I just happened to be in the neighborhood, an archaeologist down from the jungles. My specialty is temple restorations. But I know my way around grid strings and a hole. I help where I can. And I try to keep my place.”
    â€œAnd Mr. Kleat?”
    â€œKleat,” said Duncan, “has come searching for his brother.”
    Molly pricked her ears up at that. “His brother was the pilot?”
    â€œNo, we know that much. But Kleat, he’s philosophical about it. The digging season is like an annual pilgrimage for him. He believes one of these years his brother’s bones are bound to surface.”
    â€œHave you done this before, gone digging for them…the others?” She fumbled, unsure of what to call them. The dead? The fallen heroes? They would have their own lingo.
    â€œThe boys, you mean?”
    â€œThe boys,” she repeated.
    â€œOh, I keep my eyes open when I’m out with my temples. Sort of a professional courtesy, don’t you think?” Duncan looked off across the labyrinth, then back at her. “And what about you,