Media people were there, reporters with their questions and photographers with their flashbulbs. For the most part they were respectful of Sara and John and Christina and Hey Zeus— The latter was approached on his role driving the Humvee with the wounded Ben inside it, and the former for being Ben’s manager, but after glancing at Sara, Christina said she had “no comment.” Besides, she was somewhat preoccupied with Captain Hanks who’d also been brought to the hospital for his wounds to be treated.
Guy Ritchie and Madonna had joined them. Guy had wanted to stay on the front lines to capture some of the action, but since Ben was his real draw, he came to the army base to photo-shoot there, but of course at a time like this when Ben’s life hung in the balance, a proper decorum was certainly to be observed. He and Madonna visited with Sara but not for too long, to avoid adding to her stress and exhaustion.
“A bloody shame,” Ritchie kept repeating. “He was just about back in our arms… You know, his mission, Exceeding Peace, wasn’t all in vain, I should tell you. Half of bin Laden’s forces deserted him and surrendered to our forces.”
“Really?” John said. “How did that come about?”
“Through one of bin Laden’s top henchmen, a chap by the name of—what was that, Madge, Sabu somebody—“
“Kemo Sabi.” Madonna looked sparks at him.
“Yes,” Guy continued. “He was the brigand who brought Ben back to our lines on his camel, risking his own life, obviously. Ben made a tremendous impact on him. Fellow is a Pastun, which is a warrior tribe in the border land. They have a strict, ancient code of honor that makes them duty bound to help anyone who seeks refuge, even if it’s their worst enemy. This one has three or four wives, and their brothers and cousins and whatnot all being very close, he rounded them up and spread the word, so to speak, about Ben. Love, you know. Love of fellow man.” Ritchie fell silent, as if he’d never taken that in fully before. “By Jove,” he said softly.
“So how did losing part of his army affect bin Laden?” John asked.
“Oh, he’s snookered now. Reports are that he was ‘frightfully’ shaken by his meeting with Ben. And there was something about a young Arab who was hurt in their encounter miraculously recovering, and becoming kind of an Arabic Ben. He had a head wound and apparently…well, the talk is, once it’s translated, he’s begun to spread Ben’s word.”
“And do his thing,” Madonna added.
“You don’t mean,” Christina said, putting her hand to her chin.
“Yes, I do,” Madonna said. “That’s the skinny. NBC has flown Richard Engel in to do an interview.”
“If that sweeps the Arab world—“ Ritchie said, his eyes glowing.
It was too much right now to contemplate. Everyone had all they could think about with Ben’s surgery, which could take hours. Over a dozen doctors were on the surgical team, with twice that many observers from the neuroscientific fields. The entire operation was to be onscreen but no one close to Ben could bear to watch it.
“Regardless of the outcome—” but Ritchie paused, seeing Sara’s face. Glancing at John, he indicated they should go out into the hall.
The two men walked up and down. “What’s really at stake?” Ritchie asked. “I could talk to one of the meds but it’s all mumbo-jumbo. They spell it out to you?”
“What’s at stake,” John said, “is, first, Ben’s survival. And, secondly, how he’ll be if he does survive.”
“What are the odds on the first?”
“Fifty-fifty on both outcomes, apparently.”
“Bugger all! Well, a cup that’s half-full—“
“Or—I suppose there is a third possibility,” John said. “He could be both ways.”
“Jekyll-Hyde? Good cop/bad cop?”
“Something like that.”
Silence for a few moments as they walked on.
“You mean he could be like the rest of bloody humanity?”
“Yeah,” John said. “I guess that’s right.”
Dr. Colonel Margo Fanning at last emerged from the surgical theater, still in her scrubs which looked the worse for wear, even to the cap on her head which almost looked like a squashed chef’s hat. They all stood up, eyes on her face, afraid to even try to decipher what they saw there. John held Sara’s hand tightly as did the other two men the other two women’s. Dr. Fanning looked very weary. She came up to them.
“Well, it’s over. The bullet is out. And the chips have fallen where they may.”
