Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(92)

Samuels sat across from him, facing the cove. "To you, too."

"Things didn't go so well with Dan," Bob murmured, staring down at his coffee.

Samuels nodded, still gazing out at the water.

"And from what Hannah told us about Max, he didn't fare much better." So much had come to light recently; her life with her father had gradually been revealed, and it was a life that made Bob want to weep with pity. Every day Peggy seemed to have something more to tell him. Hannah continued to avoid Bob, but he now saw that he wasn't the only one. Frightened and shy, the girl kept her distance from most men. He felt equally awkward with her, to a degree he didn't really understand, but he made a greater effort to be tolerant.

"We've both had a lot of years to think about this. Time hasn't made it any easier, has it?"

Bob shrugged. "I tried to forget. The bottle didn't help. Without AA and my wife, I'd be dead by now."

"How long have you been sober?"

"Twenty-one years."

"Good."

"How about you?" Bob asked. Each man had dealt with the tragedy in his own way. Bob had relied on alcohol, Dan had gone deep within himself and Max had drifted for years, never settling in one place or one job.

"Nothing I could say or do has the power to change what happened," Samuels admitted. "I blamed myself. I was the one in charge, the one responsible. I couldn't bring those villagers back from the dead, but I could dedicate my life to my country. I've served the military to the best of my ability."

Bob slowly raised his eyes to study the other man. Looking at him closely he saw haggard features that revealed the torment of the years. His mouth thinned and he swallowed hard.

"I know what you mean," Bob said quietly.

"I'm glad you suggested we talk, but for another reason." Samuels paused long enough to sip his coffee. "After I learned about Max's death, I decided to find out what I could. Two men dead within such a short time made me wonder whether you and I were at risk, too."

Bob considered mentioning his own fears, but remained silent.

"I felt it was important to finally confront the past. I'd spent all these years living with what I'd done. I was up for a Congressional Committee appointment, and I knew that my background would be investigated. What I discovered shocked me and it'll shock you." He gazed out at the cove again. "The massacre was documented in the files of Army Intelligence."

Bob's mouth fell open. "How could it have been? We were alone—no one knew. Someone talked?" Bob refused to believe it. Dan hadn't, and he'd kept his own mouth shut all these years.

"No. A reconnaissance group was there, hidden in the jungle. Snipers had been deployed to the village because of reported Viet Cong activity."

"Just a minute." Bob held up his hand, stopping the other man. His mind was racing, and he actually felt dizzy. This was more than he could take in all at once. "Are you saying someone actually saw everything that happened and reported it?"

Samuels nodded. "A sniper and his lookout. And," he added, "they're both dead. One died later in a helicopter crash, and the other had a heart attack about five years ago."

"The army knew all along what we'd done?"

Again the other man nodded. "As you can imagine, the authorities were eager to bury it as deep as possible, although the army's Criminal Investigation Command had the details." He still hadn't looked at Bob but kept his eyes focused on the water view.

Still Bob didn't fully comprehend everything Samuels was telling him. "The village was controlled by Viet Cong?"

Samuels forcefully expelled his breath. "In some ways I think it might've been better if I'd been killed that day. I've never forgotten what I did, or the sight of the women and children I murdered."

"I haven't forgotten, either," Bob added, struggling to retain his composure.

Samuels brushed a hand over his face. "We were doomed the moment we set foot in that village."

The murders of those men, women and children had shaped all four men forever afterward. They could no more go back into the jungle and alter the events of that long-ago afternoon than he could shrug off this load of shame and remorse. Knowing there'd be no official reprisals didn't make any difference to how he felt. Bob sipped his coffee and let it moisten his dry mouth.

"For years I suffered from flashbacks," Samuels confessed. "I was on antidepressants and sleeping pills. I didn't sleep through an entire night for ten years after I got back from Nam." He shrugged. "Often I still don't."

"For me it was nightmares," Bob said.

They were both quiet for several minutes after that, and Bob thought about those other two men, the sniper and his lookout, and what they'd seen. They'd reported it to army intelligence but obviously had never gone to the press. Was that on orders? Or out of loyalty to soldier comrades? He wondered how that experience—and that secret—had affected them. Bob decided he couldn't think about that anymore, not right now.

He broke the silence. "A friend of mine has a couple of questions regarding Russell. I'm hoping you wouldn't mind talking to him."

Samuels's eyes narrowed, and Bob saw his hands clench. "Who is it?"