Hailey's War

Jodi Compton Hailey's War

The first book in the Hailey Cain series, 2010

Dedicated to the memory of

Stuart Compton, 1921-2009

Author’s Note

Hailey’s War is a work of fiction and takes the usual liberties with the nonfiction subjects its story touches on. I drew on multiple sources in researching all of these subjects. However, I want to note that Hailey’s reflections on the history of the Golden Gate Bridge are largely derived from Tad Friend’s article “Jumpers” in the October 2003 issue of the New Yorker, a fascinating piece that also inspired the documentary The Bridge.

prologue

JULY 4

The moon rises over the mountains of central Mexico, a nearly full moon in a sky the deep blue of an hour past sunset.

Get up.

I’m lying on a slope just down from a rural highway, lying in a mix of slate and grass and dirt that is damp with blood. There is dirt in my eyelashes and blood in what little of my hair I can see. There isn’t much pain, but I’m very, very tired.

Get up or you’ll die here.

My memories of what happened are inexact. I remember driving on a narrow highway through the mountains and into a dim tunnel with rough stone walls. Then this, looking up at the mountain ridge and the sky. I don’t know how I got from the tunnel to here. It seems impossible, but I think I was shot.

I search my memories for some explanation. A rough voice: You’re one of our most promising cadets. I hate like hell to see this happen to you.

No, that was too long ago.

A younger voice: Pack up just what you need, I’m getting you out of L.A.

That’s not it, either.

I’m so tired, I just want to close my eyes. Except for that moon. It’s getting brighter and higher, like God lifting his lamp, looking for his lost sheep.

I think the highway is up the slope, above me. If I were nearer to it, someone might see me. It might make a difference.

I get to my hands and knees, swaying, and put the waxing moon in my sights.

On your feet, soldier. You can do this. You’re made outta this.

Then I stand up.

Part I

one

NINE DAYS EARLIER

“Do you ever think about Jonah?”

“Jesus, is that my Bible? I haven’t opened that thing in years. So you’re talking about the guy that was swallowed by a whale?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I’d have to say I don’t think about him. I wouldn’t think you would, either. I didn’t take you for particularly religious.”

“I’m not. That’s my point, though. When you’re not raised religious, you think of Jonah as the swallowed-by-a- whale guy, like Noah is the ark guy. But when you actually read the Book of Jonah, it’s not what you expect.”

“You read the whole book?”

“It’s three pages long.”

Morning in San Francisco. Jack Foreman, tall and thin, in his early forties, with a premature streak of gray in his light brown hair, was across the room, already dressed at quarter to eight, already having cleared away last night’s Ketel One bottle and two glasses, showered, dressed, and fixed and consumed breakfast and an espresso. He was now scanning the headlines of both the San Francisco Chronicle and the Los Angeles Times, and at the same time keeping an eye on CNN with the sound off. I was still in his bed, naked, with my hair half raveled in the braids I forgot to take out last night, reading his Bible for no particular reason other than that it had caught my eye while Jack was still in the shower.

“The thing that’s strange about the story is, Jonah doesn’t seem to be scared of anything, even when he should be.”

“No?”

“No. The story goes that God tells Jonah to go to the city of Nineveh to preach, and Jonah doesn’t want to, so he gets on a ship for Spain. God sends a violent storm, and the ship’s crew is scared. But when they go down to the hold to find Jonah, he’s sleeping.”

“Yeah?”

“Sleeping. Through a storm that has veteran sailors scared. So they wake him up and tell him, ‘We’re pretty sure we haven’t done anything to anger our gods, might you have done something to anger yours?’ And Jonah suggests that if they think this is the case, maybe they should throw him overboard.”

“Huh.”

“They’re way out at sea. Jonah’s effectively asking to be drowned. The crew says no