Chapter 31

He opened his eyes and waited silently for a few beats. Unfortunately there was no difference from them being closed. He moved his head to the left, hoping that a different point of view would help. No joy. He repeated the process but this time to the right, it took a tremendous effort as his muscles had atrophied.

"Damn that hurts!" he thought.

Then he heard a soft voice out of the darkness say, "Well look who's awake, how do you feel, John?" asked Ann.

"I ... I ... feel like crap. Why are we in the dark? Turn a light on, or open the curtains."

John spoke clearly, but it was obvious that it was taking a great deal of effort. He was very weak. Ann took his pulse and then fluffed his pillows without answering, in an attempt to avoid telling John that it was the middle of the day, and that the room was filled with sunlight.

She didn't have to tell him though, he could feel the warmth of the sun on his face vacillate as she moved about his bed and, at times, blocked the direct rays of the sun.

"Oh ... Damn! It isn't dark, is it? I can feel the sun on my face. I'm blind!" he said with a firm calm resigned voice.

"It would seem so, John. The doctor did warn us that this might happen. But remember ... he also said that it would, in all probability, be a temporary thing. Only time will tell. The good thing is that you're awake, again. It's been a long four months and we all have been very worried for you."

Stunned John asked, "Four months? Have I been out that long?"

"Actually ... four months, one week, and three days," said Ann.

"Damn it all! No wonder I feel like crap!"

You are going to need a lot of physical therapy to get your muscle mass back. However, I don't see any reason that you can't rebuild your strength to its former magnificent level."

"Well that's something, anyway," John said morosely, as the reality of his blindness started to weigh on him.

Once the four members of Thor's Hammer entered the camp, they were bowled over by the bodies of their women slamming into them at warp speed, accompanied by squeals of joy and delight.

Not one man was able (or willing) to remain standing after the strength of the impact. Then there were the kisses. The men's faces were being covered with loving, emotional kisses, along with tears of joy. In time, they all calmed down, and the men were able to remove their gear and talk to their girls. For the time being, there was no talk of anything but love and tenderness.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to speak of other things.

Asha broke protocol for the first time in months by allowing all to remain in camp with their men, after Evan informed her that Jacob's crew would not bother them.

Each couple moved off into the bush, along different points of the compass, for privacy.

The next morning, they all had that look of being well loved. They were alternately dreamy eyed, and perky, as they went about preparing the morning meal. Perpetual smiles were plastered on their faces.

After the meal, Evan—remembering his promise to Donna not to take too long— spoke up.

"Listen up, everyone. We have a decision to make. You all remember how the Reapers helped us that time ... well, they saved us, really. Now, it's our turn to help them. They are going up against Vezza, and have asked us to protect their innocents. This is a personal, from Jackie."

The other seven members of Odin's Own looked at each other and then toward Evan. They all said, almost in unison, that of course they would help out.

Then Evan looked at his beautiful woman, Asha, smiled and said, "But I guess we could wait a few hours before we break camp and move out today."

Within seconds the camp clearing was empty again and intimate sounds were coming from the surrounding woods.

Walter lay in a pool of sweat! Margaret sat beside his bed, holding the hand of the man that she had to admit, finally, that she loved.

Regret is a horrible thing, when you know that there is absolutely no way to correct the mistakes that have been made.

She knew that this man, her man, belonged in a hospital but he had argued and finally begged her to let him die here, here with her. It would be soon now she knew. Walter was slipping in and out of consciousness and lucidity.

Walter stirred. He turned his head toward her, and spoke quite calmly; and, it seemed, without pain.

"Margaret, I love you. I'm sorry that I didn't do things differ..."

His last word faded, incomplete, from his lips. The spark of life left his eyes. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Margaret stood and tenderly closed Walter's staring, lifeless eyes.

She then went to her desk and picked up the list that he had prepared for her. In the past days she had learned all about the things that he had done.

He had explained that the people who were looking for him, would go after his friends, thinking that they had what was wanted. That put her in imminent danger.

The list was a series of things that needed to be done, and who to notify. All of these things needed to be done almost simultaneously in order for Margaret to get out of town safely. She was going to have to disappear.

In the last few weeks Walter had made arrangements for a new identity for her and had deeded over his secret offshore property and accounts.

She looked down at the paper through blurred tear filled eyes and wailed, "YOU STUPID BASTARD! We could have had a life together! What a waste! What a waste..."

Margaret crumpled the paper to her chest and slumped into her desk chair, weeping inconsolably. She continued for half an hour.

Finally, she stopped. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and took a deep breath. She flattened the paper out on the desk, picked up the phone, and began to make the needed calls.

Once all the calls were made, Margaret packed a small carry-on bag with a few clothes, and her toiletries. She set it next to the door.

Next she went around the house, and gathered photos and some small mementos. She put them on the kitchen counter.

She then poured herself a large neat scotch, took a long swallow, and sat down in front of her past. She had collected her past together, in the form of small trinkets and photos.

With a sigh she looked at each photo and then removed it from its frame. When finished, she went to her bedroom, and got out her largest shoulder bag. Then she got her everyday purse.

She stuffed the purse into the bag and then returned to the kitchen, where she placed all of the photos and the knick-knacks in the bag, too. The bag went into the front hall next to her carry-on bag.

Just as she set the bag on the floor, the doorbell rang. After a slight hesitation she answered the door. She found three men standing on her front steps. It was obvious that the man standing at the doorbell, and the man beside him, were subordinate to the third man.

"Mrs. Walters?" asked the third man using the prearranged code name.

Margaret nodded, and stepped aside, so that the three could enter.

"He's down the hall, on the left," she said.

"Where are the keys to your car? We need to move our van into the garage."

"In the bowl, on the counter, next to the back door."

The third man nodded to his workers and they moved off, one to move the car and the other to prepare the body.

"I'm Mr. Clean," said the man as he guided Margaret into the living room. "There are some things we need to cover, before things move any further. Do you understand?"

Again, Margaret nodded, and pointed to an envelope on the small table next to the front door. Mr. Clean walked over, picked up the envelope, and opened it. After counting the money he returned to Margaret and sat down next to her.

"You realize that you must leave tonight, and never come back? Right?"

Margaret nodded, the knot in her throat preventing speech.

"Have you gathered the things that have special meaning to you?"

Again she nodded.

"Is there anything that you have a question about? Did Mr. Walters explain everything? I mean you realize that you cannot contact any of your family, right?"

Margaret tried to answer but was unable. She cleared her throat and tried again.

With a squeaky voice she said, "I'm divorced, we had no children, and I have no other relatives. They're all dead."

"All right, then. Here is what will happen tonight. We will handle the body, as per Mr. Walters' instructions. You will be taken to the airport where you will board a private jet that will take you to Greece. Here are your papers," he said as one of the men carried what looked like a body into the house.

Margaret gave a start and asked, "Wh ... what's that?"

"It is the body of a street person that died of a drug overdose yesterday. She was stolen from the morgue to act as your surrogate. You do realize that this house will be destroyed tonight, don't you?"

"Yes, but I guess I didn't think it all the way through. Please continue," she said regaining her composure.

Minutes later she sat in the front passenger seat of the van as they drove away. When they were a block away, there came a terrible explosion and fire. She looked into the eyes of Mr. Clean for an answer.

"The result of a leaky gas pipe and a candle," he said flatly.

Margaret turned and settled into her seat and thought, "Well, I guess there really is no going back, now!"

Two days later, she was sitting on the balcony of her new villa, overlooking the blue Aegean Sea.

She looked into the drink in her hand and then saluted Walter with it, "Thanks, big guy."

She was now worth several millions of dollars, and owned this wonderful home. The appointment for her plastic surgery had been made, and soon she would have a new face to go along with her new life. What else could she ask for?

With a deep sigh, she sipped her drink. She stared out across the water, and smiled, even if a bit regretfully.

It was all over the media, in print, on TV and radio, and electronically.

The headlines of the papers roared in a full-page spread,

SENIOR SENATOR WALTER LOCKHART FOUND DEAD!

The news was short lived, though. As soon as it was learned that he had died of a brain tumor, the furor itself died. Death by natural causes was not 'sexy' enough for the media, these days.

None of the senator's misdeeds were discovered, because he and Margaret had done their work well. They had covered all the evidence. Instead of being remembered for black ops and misdeeds, he would always be remembered for the good works of the foundation he had set up just before his death.