"Mama, Mama!" Drächen was awake, crying.
Kim was on her feet, walking across the room to pick up her kurta and pull it on, reaching Drächen before David even sat up. There had been a few moments of sleep, anyway. David sank back down to lie on the cot again, tranquil, as Kim put a hand on Drächen's back and then picked her up to rock in her arms. She swayed back and forth and began to sing, in her low, throaty voice:
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.
Der Vater hüt't die Schaf.
Die Mutter schüttelt's Bäumelein,
Da fällt herab ein Träumelein.
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf!
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf! (1)
The sound of the familiar lullaby being sung to his child by someone other than Marie gutted David cleanly in an instant. He closed his eyes, tried not to hear Marie's higher, smoother voice; her native German rolling off her tongue more fluently than it could off Kim's. It wasn't fair that Drächen couldn't hear her mother's voice, would never again feel her mother's embrace.
Kim's back was to him as she held the young child's gaze with her own, willing the little one back to sleep. She continued humming, rocking gently on her feet until the little girl's eyes closed. Pale light was coming through the window as she set Drächen down in her cot, still humming the tune. David was rubbing his face as she turned to him, whispering, "She never frets when Indali is with her. I wonder where Indali is…" Registering his face, his mood, she froze. Searching for what was wrong.
He sat up and started sorting out the clothing, pulling his on.
"Sorry she woke you," he said.
"I'm not," she answered. "I prefer saying goodbye."
David stood up and started going through his pack. Kim felt a sick tug in her belly. Maybe this had been too much to risk, for both of them.
"That song," he said, looking in his pack. "The one you sang to her; how do you know that song?"
"My Oma—my mother's mother—is German. She has sung that song to all of her children, her grandchildren, and now her great-grandchildren. Nothing works better to put babies to sleep…"
He nodded, emotion threatening to burst through his impassive façade. He couldn't look at Kim. He put on his pack, cleared his throat. Pushing David aside, letting Jason take over. Kim sat on the cot next to Drächen, feeling all wrong.
One thing needed to be clarified, between friends, between Marines. "David," she said. "You can count on me to complete this for you, for Drächen. No matter what, that doesn't change."
He nodded, not looking at her. "You'll get the information via blind drop, like we practiced. If three days go by with no contact, you exfil. The money, the clean cards; you have them?"
"Yes." I am not going to cry in front of him.
"Two more days to hear from me through alternate channels at your secondary location: a total of five days. No more. Less if something seems wrong to you. You have the passports to get home if that happens? The files? You're ready to go public to ensure your safety?"
Kim nodded.
"Your contact Stateside; he's completely trustworthy?"
"My cousin was an Army Ranger, and then Delta Force," she reminded him, patiently. "He understands clearances… He won't open anything unless he receives the Code Red from me, or no contact for three days." Kim was sure that John was a better choice than her father. Her Daddy would not be able to resist breaking the seals, out of concern for what she was into. If John never received the code, she knew he would hand her the sealed envelope, fat and heavy with secrets, next time she saw him, and never mention it again.
"David?" He was a million miles away. Looking at something that wasn't there in the room with them.
A photograph: a Marine and a soldier. Identical, high and tight haircuts. Identical blue eyes. Identical last-name I.D patches: WEBB. Arms thrown around each other's shoulders in front of a sign: Welcome to Fort Benning U.S. Army Military Reservation. All bulging muscles and grins. Ready to rip your arm off and feed it to you for lunch.
He shook it off. Looked at her through Jason Bourne's eyes, double-checking his prior assessments. She was a patriot, he knew that. He also knew that her commitment to honor, and to two little girls, was greater than any other she had made. He was still certain she would do what had to be done to defend those passions.
He knelt to kiss Drächen, look at her small, perfect face—long lashes and Marie's mouth—one last time. Marie, this is the last time I'll leave her, I promise. Then he was gone.
Kim curled up with the child on the cot and let her tears roll. When Indali crept in and climbed aboard the cot, she wiped her face and folded the girl in her arms. These children needed her to be a grownup. Her mission was clear.
(1)Sleep, baby, sleep
Your father tends the sheep
Your mother shakes the dreamland tree
And from it fall sweet dreams for thee
Sleep, baby, sleep
Sleep, baby, sleep
Traditional German lullaby