It had all happened so fast, and now she had to deal with varying measures of anger, grief, desperation, despondency and fear. She thought back to the conversation she had had with Van Arenn when they had returned from the mission. Had she tried hard enough to persuade him that this place was sliding into disaster? If she had been stronger, firmer, less of a pussy, would her friend be alive now? On the other side of the barracks, Van Arenn’s pine kitbox was jutting out from where he had left it in his capsule. Garrett walked over and shifted it out, sliding open the catches on the lid. As she looked through the photos and keepsakes, she felt an immense feeling of pity. The most recent picture he had was a two-year-old snap of Garrett posing on the chopper with the latest firearms consignment from the Pentagon. Beyond that, he had a beat-up black and white photo of a fat old man with glassy eyes and missing teeth whom Garrett assumed was Van Arenn senior.
