Free The Falstaff Enigma by Ben Brunson

Austin suddenly realized that when Kemp said "clean" he was not referring to the lack of dirt, for indeed the apartment was filthy; he was referring to the degree of confidentiality they now enjoyed. Austin hoped Kemp was right in his convictions. "Please take your clothes off and have a seat.” Kemp pulled out one of the cheap metal frame chairs from underneath the dining table. Austin began removing what was left of his suit, which he had purchased while on a weekend trip to New York only a month earlier. Kemp walked over to the kitchen cabinets and found a medical kit the size of a small suitcase that he brought over to the table. Austin, now in his underwear, sat down.
    “Do you know what you’re doing?” asked the now anxious analyst.
    “I have done this more times than I can remember. The Company provides these medical cases. They are really quite good.” Kemp spent the next ten minutes cleaning wounds on Austin’s body. Only the laceration on his thigh needed stitches. Kemp had the analyst lie on his stomach on the wooden table. After cleaning the wound, he made two injections of lidocaine above and below the cut. After only a few minutes, the area was numb and John Kemp placed four stitches that closed the wound. They were not pretty and Austin would have a life-long scar to remind him, but the wound was properly closed. Very few words were exchanged between the men.
    “ Now you need a shower. Then try the bed. It's the single greatest asset in this place," Kemp said.
    "Yes, I think I need to lie down for a while." Austin stood and walked to the kitchen sink. He washed his face using his cupped hands. He then turned and walked straight to the bed. Sleep came easily. The emotional exhaustion was complete.
    Kemp put the medical case away. He made a mental list of what was needed, grabbed his car keys and left. He would spend the next two hours buying clothing and food. He decided to stay incommunicado with his handlers until he had fully debriefed Robert Austin. He knew that teams of men would be headed to Ankara. All was in disarray. The man he usually reported to was almost certainly dead in the ruins of the U.S. Embassy building.
     
     
    The door's lock clicked open. The sound penetrated the veils of sleep that clouded Austin's mind. Consciousness came quickly and panic followed on its heels. Austin bolted from the bed and found himself searching for a weapon. Desperation grew as his hands felt their way quickly around the darkened room. He could find nothing with which to strike out. Worse yet, he could not find a reason for his actions, they simply came involuntarily.
    Kemp's eyes fell on the empty bed in the next room. "Austin, are you here? It's John Kemp."
    " Yes, I'm here," came the reply. Austin stepped into Kemp's line of sight and sat down on the bed. He held his head low. He was frightened by his own reactions, his own emotions. They were those of a caged animal and they would not have come from the Robert Austin of a day earlier. He realized for the first time what he had been through and his fear grew because he knew that the event would not leave him for the remainder of his life.
    "Are you feeling any better?" asked the fie ld agent as he closed the door. "You've been asleep about five hours."
    "Physically, yes; mentally, I think it may take some time to feel better." Austin now had his head up and was examining the bags in Kemp's hands.
    "Understandable,” Kemp continued. “ I think you are now a combat veteran. Welcome to the club. It’s not one that I wish on anybody." Kemp noticed Austin's penetrating eyes wandering over the items he had just acquired. "I bought some food and …” Kemp paused long enough to pull a sweater and dress shirt from one of the bags, " ... some clothes. Here, try these on." Kemp handed Austin the items. "I used the sizes from the clothes you took off when you went to sleep. I bought what amounts to a miniature wardrobe for you at a men's store that carries only