and other things . . . on his mind . . . CAPTAIN MATTHEW Carrington, U.S. Army Special Forces, sat down at a desk in the temporary office assigned to him at Fort Dix in New Jersey. He was so shocked, he felt gut-shot. After five years of hell in an Al-Qaeda prison, after torture that would haunt him for life, after a badly tended leg wound that gave him a limp, and after six months of multiple surgeries and rehab in a D.C. hospital, he’d thought he couldn’t be hurt any more. He was wrong. He examined the creased and stained envelope in his shaking hands. It had so many forwarding addresses, it was amazing that it had actually caught up with him. From Georgia to three different Army Post Offices to five other addresses, it had traveled, finally sitting in a dead mail box until some postal employee had given it one more shot. He pulled the letter out and read it once again. It was dated more than five years ago. Dear Matt: You’ve been gone for a week now, and I haven’t heard from you.
