The Killing Grounds: an explosive and gripping thriller for fans of James Patterson

‘I think you’re trying to deflect. This session is about you. Do you often try to avoid conversations about yourself?’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Do you feel yourself getting angry?’

‘No… It’s just… it’s difficult.’

‘What is?’

‘This… you… Maddie… the whole situation.’

‘Now I feel we’re getting somewhere. Tell me about Maddie.’

‘She left me.’

‘And how does that make you feel?’

‘I want to say I feel bad, but I can’t feel anything. For a moment I did but now not a damn thing. It’s like I’ve rubbed a tube of Lidocaine on my insides. There’s nothing there.’

‘And what about your daughter?’

Cooper gave a side glance to Cora, who was busy examining Mr. Crawley. He lowered his voice. ‘You mean do I feel anything about her? I do, but only when I’m with her. When I’m not, it’s like I’m locked off, she doesn’t exist anymore.’

‘That’s common amongst people with PTSD, especially people with combat trauma… You don’t like me saying that do you?’

‘Come on, Doc, you sound like a broken record. I haven’t got that and besides, it was a long time ago… I’ve moved on.’

‘I don’t believe that any more than you do.’

‘Like I say, it was a long time ago.’

‘Seven years.’

‘I know,’ said Cooper. ‘You don’t have to tell me that.’

‘The brain is very complex, Mr. Cooper, it can either be your best friend or your worst enemy and these things, especially trauma-based mental health issues, can last a very long time. May be there for the rest of your life. It also has a way of lying dormant, it doesn’t always hit the person straight away. And there’ll always be triggers. And as we’ve discussed before it’s not so much about curing the problem – if it were only that simple – it’s about the management of it. And let me tell you this: the more you try avoid your issues, the less control you’ll have over them, and before you know what’s happened they’ll grow to the point where they take on a life of their own.’

‘I’m not saying it’s always easy. At times it feels like I’ve a monster living inside me. Destroying everything I touch and those around me, and when it’s done creating havoc, that monster turns on me, pushing me to the edge and there’s nothing I can do to get away from it. It just devours me whole….’ Cooper trailed off, feeling like he’d said too much. He shrugged his shoulders, adding, ‘But hey, we’ve all got our demons, haven’t we? It’s no big deal.’

‘Why is it so hard for you to accept what I’m saying? Why are you always so adamant on rejecting my diagnosis and lessening your problems?’

‘Doc, you know I’m proud of having served and fought for my country, but here’s the thing: I’m okay, I got through it all, but I know some guys don’t and I won’t have you comparing my situation with my brothers – those military vets who really do suffer in silence, whose voices aren’t heard until it’s too late, and they put a gun to their head and blow themselves away. They’re the ones who end up losing everything after giving everything to their country. I won’t disrespect them like that. My problems, if I have any, don’t even compare. Jesus, I was on a yacht when it happened, not on the goddamn front line.’

‘You don’t have to be in a combat situation to be traumatized, however in your case I think you were. Look at the facts, Mr. Cooper: you were a serving officer at the time and although you were taking a couple of days’ vacation, you still came under attack. As a consequence of this attack your life and others were in danger. You had no control and felt there was no-one there to help you. You were injured and so was the other person with you.’

‘My injuries were nothing. Hurt my back, that’s all.’

‘Yet you take medication for it.’

Cooper was evasive. ‘Maybe. Sometimes… I dunno.’

‘Look, my point is your behaviour has got all the hallmarks of combat-related PTSD. All the hallmarks. And furthermore, you lost Ellie, and I don’t believe you’ve dealt with the guilt.’

‘I’d appreciate it if we didn’t go down that road.’

The hair-gelled doctor stared hard at Cooper. ‘Let me ask you this. You get flashbacks?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you feel disconnected from emotions?’

‘Yes.’

‘Heightened alert?’

‘Yes.’

‘Nightmares?’

‘Yes.’

‘Unable to sleep?’

‘Yes.’

‘… You still sleep with your knife?’

‘Yes, if Maddie or Cora aren’t about. Maddie was never keen on it. Made her feel uneasy. Worried I’d jump out of my sleep and not know who they were. Fill in the rest.’

‘Feel unable to relate to family or friends?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you alter your reality with the abuse of narcotics or alcohol?’

‘No, but whilst we’re on that subject, I’d appreciate it if you could write me another prescription for those pills.’

*

Cooper opened the car door for Cora. ‘Sorry it took so long but now we can go and get on a plane tonight and have some real fun.’

‘Daddy?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you still love her?’

‘Of course I do. Listen, I don’t want you to worry about that. I’ll never stop loving Mommy.’

‘I don’t mean Mommy, I mean Ellie.’

15

The long cream hallway, adorned with family photographs, on the second floor of the Executive Residence, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, is a section of the White House only the first family, and those closet to them, get to see. And it was here in the quiet hush of the early morning that Cooper found himself.

‘Coop!’ Jackson stuck his head round the door of the east bedroom, his face conveying delight.

‘Hey buddy!’ Cooper gave a wink and a smile and watched as Jackson walked towards him with a wide grin on his face.

Even from part-way down the hall, Cooper could see the thick raised scar running down Jackson’s forehead; the result, as well a constant reminder, of what happened on the boat with Ellie that day.

For a while no-one – least of all Cooper – had thought Jackson would recover from his head injury, but he’d been flown to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, an eminent neurological hospital, and slowly things had begun to turn around.

Rehabilitation had been long and painful and frustrating for Jackson, but he was a fighter. And he’d battled. Battled hard. And eventually after sixteen arduous months, that fight had paid off and he’d been discharged – though he certainly hadn’t been left unscathed.

His head injury from the boom had been of sufficient force to twist and turn Jackson’s brain on its axis. Interrupting the normal nerve pathways. Tearing and damaging its surface and leaving him with a left-side partial paralysis. A direct corollary of his injuries.

And the large, disfiguring scar ran visibly but the deeper, unseen ones ran right to the heart of Jackson, triggering him on occasion to be lost, unreachable in the dark, debilitating days of depression.

Cooper grabbed hold of Jackson before he was really near enough to do so. Embracing him and making it last long enough to let Jackson know he cared. Damn, it seemed easier than words.

‘Can anyone join in?’

John Woods stood a few feet from Cooper and Jackson, immaculately dressed in a tailored blue suit, a starched white open shirt and a pair of mismatched socks. His warm smile reflecting in his green eyes. ‘Coop, it’s really good to see you. We were worried… Hey Cora, it’s good to see you. Don’t you look beautiful? I like your dress. How about a hello hug?’

‘No.’

‘Please?’

‘No.’

‘Just a small one.’

‘No.’

Cooper put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You want to show him Mr. Crawley, honey?’

‘No.’

Jackson smiled. ‘Maybe she knows you’re a democrat, Dad.’

Cooper returned the smile John was giving him. But he knew his was more guarded. ‘Good to see you too, sir.’

John Woods shook his head. ‘Do we have to go through this every time? Coop, come on, it’s me.’

Cooper said nothing.

With a sigh and still with his eyes on Cooper, Woods said, ‘Okay, guys, I gotta get out of here.’

‘Hold on,’ said Jackson. ‘Let me go and get that book you wanted to read… Oh and Dad, change those socks… Cora, why don’t you come with me? I’ve got something for you.’

‘A flamingo?’

‘I’m afraid not. Is that what you want?’

‘No.’

‘Has anyone told you, you’re a funny little girl?’

‘No.’

‘Well hurry up, Jackson,’ said Woods. ‘I’m on the clock.’

*

Cooper followed President Woods into the West Sitting Hall, an informal yet elegant living room, classically decorated in creams and quilted gold. They stood by the large lunette window looking out onto the West Wing.

‘Jackson looks happy. Is it for real?’

Woods shrugged. ‘Who knows? He hasn’t been good recently. Sometimes I don’t know how to reach him, Coop, he’s like you in that respect. Maybe that’s why you understand him so well. Each time I think I’ve got him back, a few months later, like a wave it hits him, and I lose him all over again.’

Cooper stayed silent. Watched the Secret Service through the window doing their morning sweep of the White House grounds. Then after a time, he drew his attention away. Turned to Woods. Made sure his manner was biting. ‘Is Rosedale something to do with you?’

‘What?’

‘Rosedale. Is he something to do with you?’

Woods shook his head. ‘Come on, Coop.’

Cooper’s poise stayed hostile. He knew when somebody was trying to be a wiseguy. ‘Is he or not?’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Stay out of my life when it comes to my work.’

‘You want me to stop caring? Is that what you want Coop?’ Woods’s tone appealed, but he was wasting his time.

‘I don’t need babysitting, and especially not from Rosedale. I want you to stop thinking you can make it alright.’

‘Then tell me what you want.’

‘I want you to tell me the truth about Rosedale. Is that so hard?’

Woods poured himself some water from the glass decanter sitting on the French antique silver tray. Tried to ignore his toothache. Gestured to Cooper who shook his head at the unspoken offer of a drink.

‘Look, okay. All I did was make a few calls. Granger and I go back a long way, you know that, so it wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like I was calling up a stranger. And Granger was happy to give Rosedale a job.’

Exasperated, as Cooper often was by Woods, he said, ‘Of all people. Rosedale?’

‘Relax. Rosedale’s a good guy. He’ll look out for you. Okay, he has his oddball ways but he’s one of the best. He owed me a favor, plus the man was bored. God knows why he thought retirement would suit him… Look, I know you’re pissed, but Granger’s been keeping me in the loop. Coop, there’s been too many near-misses in the past and now, according to Granger, it’s started again.’

‘The hell it has, and Granger should keep his goddamn nose out of my business.’

‘It has, Coop, and I know why and so do you.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh I think I do. It’s about why you went back to Africa, when you said you wouldn’t. Breaking your promise to Maddie.’

‘What do you know about Maddie? You’ve never even met her.’

‘And is that my fault? You’ve kept her away, Coop. God knows what you tell her.’

‘I don’t tell her anything. Might surprise you but you’re not the conversation of the day.’

‘Why is it that every time I see you there’s so much hostility?’

‘Listen John, I don’t want to talk about that. Let’s just stick to the point shall we?’

‘Which is?’

‘That I just want everyone to understand that they need to keep out of my business and realize I was just doing my job.’

‘No, that doesn’t cut it… Granger told me about Ellie’s death certificate finally coming through… I’m so sorry.’

The heat behind Cooper’s eyes began to blur his vision. He pressed his palms into them. ‘It didn’t just magically come through. Granger couldn’t send off for it fast enough, could he? Almost as the clock struck seven years, he was applying to court for a notice of legal presumption of death.’

‘Coop, it’s only right. You know as well as I do, if the accident had happened in US waters, the death certificate would’ve been issued years ago because the element of peril would’ve accelerated the presumption of death. It’s only because it happened in international waters that things were different.’

‘I don’t need a legal lecture. I know how it works.’

‘Then you know it’s the first time Granger has been able to get some kind of proper closure. Maybe now this is the time for you to get it too.’

‘Closure? Because of a piece of paper saying she’s….. so we’re all supposed to just shut it away and pretend it never happened?’

‘You know I don’t mean that.’

‘Then what do you mean, John?’

‘What I mean is, it’s there. Written down. It’s like an anchor to hold onto. It’s tragic, but maybe now it’ll help you accept it. Accept what we’ve been saying for years, rather than it send you spinning.’

‘So this is about you being right, is it? And now you want me to just get on with my life?’

‘Yes, because you were doing good with Maddie and with Cora. You’d moved on. I could see it. We all could.’

‘Had I? Or is that what you all wanted to believe, so that’s all you saw?’

‘Jesus, listen, Coop. Do not throw your life away over this. Nothing’s changed. Not since yesterday or last week, or last month or even last year. Everything’s still the same. You’re just struggling to see it now the death certificate’s come through. But you need to accept this… It’s finally over.’

‘And what if it’s not? Think about… No… no, just hear me out. So let’s say I accept it because there it is on that damn piece of paper. The date stamps her death… But what if she’s alive and the day after the date stamp there’s no-one there to keep on looking for her? Don’t you see, John? If the truth dies, I’ll kill her all over again!’

‘Goddamn it, Cooper. The truth is she’s dead! The best thing you can do is try to get things sorted with Maddie.’

Cooper shook his head and eyes wide he counted on his fingers.

‘One… Two… Three. Three skiffs that day. Three, not two. I know how many there were. I’m not crazy. I wasn’t then and I’m not now.’

John Woods strained towards Cooper. ‘There were witnesses Coop. And they all say there were only two skiffs.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Jesus. I can see it. That look in your eye. I haven’t seen it for a long time, but it’s come back and it scares me Coop. No-one wants to lose you… Think about Jackson. How do you think he’d cope if anything happened to you? Please, just tell me you’ll accept it. Accept it’s over.’

Cooper’s eyes darted manically round the room. His breathing. Shallow. Short. Teeth grinding down. Biting hard. Panting, he rested his gaze back on John. ‘Whatever you say… I accept it.’

‘Coop…? You okay?’

‘Fine.’

‘Your mouth’s bleeding.’

Cooper touched his lips with his fingers. Saw the blood. ‘I’ll be damned, must’ve bitten my tongue.’

‘You sound real strange. Coop, are you on something?’

‘No.’

‘You know you can trust me, right? I don’t want to see you going down that road again.’

‘It wasn’t that bad.’

‘Come off it. You were doctor shopping with the best of them. What was it? About twenty, twenty-five different doctors, all writing prescriptions for you in different aliases for painkillers, benzos and opiates, and God knows what else. The way you were and what you did, it’s amazing the court only sentenced you to psychological sessions.’

Cooper shifted uncomfortably. He said, ‘It’s not like that anymore. It’s all good.’

‘I hope so Coop, because you don’t realize how much your behavior affects everyone around you. I’m not laying the blame here but when you just took off to Eritrea and then fell off the radar, Jackson was in a real dark place. I wasn’t sure what I’d find from one morning to another when I went into his room…’

The president stopped. Embarrassed. Overwhelmed. Cooper decided it was probably a bit of both. But whatever it was, he wasn’t going to push it, he could see John was unprepared for his emotions taking such a stranglehold.

After a minute or so, and regaining his composure, Woods continued. ‘Jackson needs you, Coop… he values your friendship above anything else.’

‘And that’s why I lie to him is it? Because my friendship’s so valuable…? It’s all based on a house of cards, John.’

President Woods stared at Cooper in disbelief. ‘You want me to tell him the truth? Is that it? Is this what this is all about?’

Cooper tried his best to mirror Woods’s look of incredulity, but the pills were making his face feel strange. Kinda numb. ‘The truth?’ he said with scorn. ‘Don’t make me laugh, John. Everything’s secrets and lies. So no, that’s not what I’m saying. I just want you to keep the hell out of my work and my business. So you don’t have to worry, I’ll continue being part of your lies. Though, on reflection, I guess it also makes it convenient for you to keep Jackson in the dark because we both know it sure as hell would destroy you if it got out.’

‘Wait a goddamn minute, you really think…’

‘Hey guys…’ Jackson, burst exuberantly into the room with Cora piggybacking. He stopped by the door. Frowned. Glanced at Cooper. Glanced at his father. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I was just telling Coop about last month’s Redskins game.’

Jackson pulled a face. ‘Why does everyone say they’re talking about football when they don’t want to say what they were really talking about?’

President Woods winked at his son as he popped a peanut in his mouth. ‘Okay, I was actually telling Cooper he needs to look after himself.’

‘He’s right, Coop.’

Not wanting to get into it with Jackson, Cooper picked up a small framed photo of the president standing next to Captain Beau Neill. ‘I haven’t seen this before.’

Woods moved round to look at which of the numerous photographs sitting on the mahogany cabinet Cooper had picked up. He gave a small laugh. ‘That’s the day your Uncle Beau became Captain. He had to go and see the promotion board, but he’d been staying with me and he’d left his jacket at the base. My car wouldn’t start, so I had to get my next door neighbor to give him a lift on the back of his Harley to get there in time, and you know how much Beau hates bikes… They were good times.’

There was a knock on the door.

‘Yes?’

A young woman, with a quiet demeanour and hair scraped back too tight, entered. Said,

‘Mr. President, they’re waiting for you downstairs. Senator Walmsley’s call is due in seven minutes.’

‘Thanks, I’ll be with you in a moment.’

John Woods waited for the woman to leave the room, always liking to create a discernible divide between his private and public life. ‘Jackson, I’ll see you tonight. Coop, will you still be around later?’

Cooper gave a small nod. ‘I don’t think so, sir, so I’ll see you around.’

16

In the wet steaming air, near where the muddy brown waters of the Congo River ran deep, Papa Bemba stood over the mounds of unmarked red clay graves. It was best this way. Best for the possessed to remain without a name. To die alone. Unmourned. Unseen. Far away from the living.

Emmanuel had started to ask questions, when there should have been none to ask. Shown concern where there was no place for his scrutiny. And though he’d been warned, his asinine tongue had plagued his words. Voicing his opinion against what he’d learned. Then driven on by an injudicious spirit, and demons which had taken over his mind, Emmanuel had tried to direct others to his way of thinking.

When the illness had struck Emmanuel he’d known it was just. Unlike the others, his illness had been one where repentance and payment were not enough. He’d needed to be an example, to show the villagers how unwise it had been to question Papa Bemba.

Then afterwards, Emmanuel’s family had come to speak to him, asking him the whereabouts of their son. The whereabouts of his body. Wanting to give him a burial he didn’t deserve. But Papa Bemba hadn’t told them because he hadn’t known. Though once he’d thought about it, it seemed so clear. Emmanuel was obviously walking amongst them. Part of the living dead. Because how else had his body disappeared from the hut? Emmanuel had gone. Risen up to walk again. And it was obvious to him that with the power of wicked prayer, Emmanuel’s family had brought him back from the dead – getting him to walk with evil once more. But his family had paid the price. A heavy price. And the sorcery had been burnt out from them just like the others.

‘Papa Bemba are you ready to go?’

He nodded, turning towards the voice of Lumumba, a worthy man, who’d worked for him for six years.

‘I am. What time is it?’

‘Nearly four o clock. Shall I take you to them?’

Papa Bemba stayed silent for a moment. Although his certainty in his calling was irrefutable, and he would continue to follow the path set out before him, there was a lot of work to be done.

Smiling and using Lumumba’s arm to guide him across the uneven ground, Papa Bemba spoke. ‘No, I want to rest, I need to think more about Emmanuel. The others can wait.’

Lumumba sounded uneasy, something Papa Bemba picked up on.

‘Are you sure?’

Papa Bemba laughed, tapping the man on his arm. ‘Quite. But do not trouble yourself my friend, for their time amongst us is at a close. My mission is to subjugate sorcerers, and those who wish to block my path. I realize the only way to overcome the darkness is by the blood of the suffering, and with your help, I will pick them off one by one.’

17

‘Goddamn it…! Goddamn it…! Is this how it’s going to be?’ John Woods swept the phone off the Resolute desk in the Oval Office, taking with it the gold rimmed white china cup half filled with bad tasting coffee. Landed on the cream foot-rug left over from the Obama administration.

‘I thought Senator Walmsley was on board?’

‘He was.’

Woods, ignoring his tension headache, stared at Edward ‘Teddy’ Adleman, his chief of staff and a trusted friend who’d been part of the last administration.

‘Then if he was,’ replied Woods, ‘why the hell isn’t he now? He knows we were going to give him what he wanted on the main immigration bill, as well as on some of the smaller points. Jesus, short of blood, I’m giving him everything he asked for. Now all of a sudden he’s backing out on our reforms.’

‘Mr. President, it’s not just Senator Walmsley.’

‘What are the numbers now?’

‘Nothing’s changed since yesterday.’

‘Bullshit. Shall I tell you exactly what’s changed since yesterday…? Around about three hundred people in this country including kids have been shot in murders or assaults, suicides and suicide attempts, as well shooting accidents, all since we had our last conversation. So don’t give me the line about nothing having changed, Teddy… Now give me the numbers.’

‘Okay like we discussed yesterday two thirds of Republicans are aiming to block, as well as a number of moderate democrats. We gotta face it: there’s no way we’re going to gather up enough bipartisan support on these new measures.’

‘Jesus Christ, what is wrong with these people?’

Adleman, a tall, dignified Afro-American, shook his head solemnly. ‘Come on, John, you know how it is.’

‘I do, but every day I keep having hope that someone up on Capitol Hill will eventually decide to do the right goddamn thing. That they’ll wake up and realize they have a responsibility to the country. What about any of the senators who backed health care? Have you tried them? There must be some of them who are open to negotiation on this?’

‘You got to face it John, they’re not happy with you. You got a hostile senate and you know what you’re offering on immigration won’t even tempt them to read the new gun control proposals. They’re not interested. A lot of people see your immigration policies as too liberal. They want less immigrants, not more. You’re not going to be able to bargain for these gun reform unless you completely change your ethos on the Immigration and Naturalization Act. Right now we have one of the biggest divides in this country that’s been seen for a long time.’