Home is the Hunter

Home is the Hunter

A novel by James Tannehill

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright July 2009 by James Tannehill. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. ISBN 1448620716 EAN-13 9781448620715 Published in the United States of America.

ONE Sebastian, Florida. The oversize hammock slung between two Sego Palms beside the Inter Coastal Waterway, swung gently as he moved, sitting up to look at the woman lying beside him. Her eyes were closed but he knew she was not sleeping. He slipped his hand into the space between the buttons of her shirt and slowly walked his fingers across the tan skin until he found her breast, which he cupped, then squeezed gently. Without opening her eyes she asked if hed lost something. Nothing lost here Kim, everything in the right place, he said. She opened her eyes and looked at him. Jack, she said, A hammock is great for loafing, sunning,

reading, and maybe just swinging in the breeze. What it is not good for is the type of physical activity you have in mind. How do you know what I have in mind? Are you kidding? I guess youre right. Would you call sex, physical activity? Definitely. Maybe wed better go in the house where physical activity is accepted. What about Claire? she asked. My housekeeper will no doubt be taking her afternoon nap. Thats convenient. What about the dog? Harry, the ever present Labrador, was sprawled out under them. Harry is on perpetual nap. But we have to be quiet. Since when? Later he lay on the hammock alonewhich wasnt quite as cozyhaving slipped out and left her sleeping in the bedroom. Well, he wasnt quite alone; Harry hadnt moved. He welcomed the time alone to think about the one problem on his mind at the moment. Not that it was a huge problem, in fact maybe one that existed only in his mind. Kim had been here almost a month now and he had the strong feeling that she was not only no closer to making a decision about living with him in Florida, but that if it came it would not be in his favor. It wasnt what she said so much as what she didnt say. When he brought up the subject she either said nothing or moved off in another direction; subtle, but it was there.

Theirs was a good relationship, he thought, but right now he had to wonder if what was between them had all come too quickly. Was it love or just the high level of emotion generated by the hunt theyd shared? It had to be more than a simple attraction between a man and woman sharing an adventure. In any case, there was no way he could substitute Florida for France. In fact, since he was not a great admirer of the French in general, feeling that they were just too damn French, he wondered why anyone would want to do that. There was, he thought, that small bit of France at Epcot. Not enough. The fact remained that Kim lived in France, that was her home, her way of life, and it seemed to be where she wanted to live. The key word there was seemed. Kim loved the weather, the house, Claire, and their lifestyle in general, it seemed. She also seemed to be not totally happy. Jack had no immediate solution to that problem. But he did have an idea. St. John, US Virgin Islands. Two days later Kim, Jack, and Harry, whod been flown down as cargo, and not to his liking, were in the hilltop house on property that Jack bought six years ago. A friend was staying with Claire so he had no worries about her since he only planned to stay a week. Hed considered going by boat but that was a relatively slow journey and what he wanted was a quick change of venue; maybe it would work and maybe it wouldnt, worth a try. There was the problem of her travel agency; he had convinced her

that taking more time off shouldnt hurt the business, after all she was the boss, and she had good help that had been with her for years. Nevertheless it was a sore spot between them. She had a home, a life, and a house in another countrynot insurmountable but daunting. Of course there was no reason they couldnt have a cross-Atlantic relationship, probably wasnt the first, but it would be far from the ideal. Kim was asleep. The already warm sun had moved across the pool, up over the small island to the east, and was filling the living room. It was just another average day in paradise. Harry must have been suffering from a bit of jet lag because he wasnt awake yet, not being his usual pesky self and looking for the morning feed. Jack put the coffee on and looked out over the hillside. What was not to like here? Two thirds of the 28 square miles were preserved as National Park land, which meant that nature would survive without having to give battle to the developers. It was one reason hed bought here. Another reason was that people minded their own business. St. John, he mused, was like Florida years ago except it was an island, smaller, less populated, and more importantly would stay that way. The Arawak Indians were the first settlers. If they had only known what was in store they would have put up a blockade around the island. But like Indians in other places they thought their simple way of life was secure and would last forever. The pale face of Columbus was supposedly the first to see the islands. It seems doubtful that this traveler, however experienced and seasoned that he might be, could possibly have covered all the

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territory he was supposed to have seen or founded. Perhaps there was no one else to blame or credit. And St. John was on his second visit. Anyway, it is said that he named the island group Once Mil Virgenes. Or 11 Thousand Virgins. He might have trouble today. Jack had studied the history of the islands. The United States bought the islands in 1917, mostly with the idea in mind of creating a naval base to defend against the Germans. (The Germans?) Then in 1956, thanks to a wealthy man named Laurence Rockefellerwho could buy many countries outright, let alone a small islandthe future of the island of St. John was set, forever. He donated most of the island he had acquired to the National Park Service. With that donation came the caveat that it would remain in its natural state. The National Park Service owns about 60 percent of the island. This is the only reason that it remains pristine to this day. There had been a period of almost two years with Jack busy on assignments, before he had the idle time to put serious thought into the design and building of his home. In between all this was the problem of seeing to Claire, getting the best medical attention that was available. Jack wasnt quite into the total Green Thing, not about to sit up in a tree for weeks eating only leaves and grass. But he did think that we should be doing more to protect what was becoming more and more fragile: our environment. With this thought in mind he wanted to design a house that made full use of the dun and wind, which were both in abundance. Had it become a point of discussion he probably

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would have said that there should be a balance between using and abusing our natural resources. So, with the help of a neighbor and a friend building had begun. The neighbor, who would become a close friend, had a home on the top of another hill within eyesight. His name was Timothy Slavin. Together they had cleared and leveled the land and built the house from a bare plot. Planning and building was all the fun, well almost, it was often punishing work in the heat and they took advantage of the often cooler mornings and evenings to get the outside work done. Slavin often wondered why someone who obviously had a few bucks put away would work so hard. He never asked so he never got an answer. Wherever possible recycled materials were used such as rubber from tires to make roof tiles. On the roof were solar panels to power the refrigerator and hot water heater; rather than heat water 24 hours a day the heater worked only when manually started and stopped. Much of the materials that were used in the building of the house were new and innovative. But it all worked. Of course Harry, having no duties in the building process, slept through all of this activity in a nice shady spot. The house sat on the top of a hill known as Mary Point; no one had any idea who Mary was and there was no point to the land. Directly across the water to the East was an uninhabited piece of land known as Great Thatch Island. Perhaps there was a guy named Thatch. Would that indicate that there might be a not so great Thatch? The coffee machine made its final gurgles and he filled a mug and went out to sit by the pool. Still no

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sign of Harry, which was not a bad thing. Still no sign of Kim, which also was not a bad thing. The two of them were probably worn out from travel. Looking around he was pleased with the house. It was about 80% completed. There was some painting to be done, nothing major, a few small areas, and a few outlets needed a plate, but otherwise the house was ready to go. Was Kim a good housekeeper? Was she a stickler for neatness and order? He had no idea. Hed seen her home in France briefly but had no recollection of the small stuff. When he thought about it there was a lot he didnt know about Kim, things that would make a difference in how they got alone. Romance was one thing, a nice thing. But it took much more than that to live a life together, a happy life anyway. Why so serious this morning, he wondered? He and Kim would work out just fine. Without Slavins help, he mused, he would still be working on the foundation, maybe still trying to clear the land; the guy was a worker. And then there was Sam Willoughby. Sam was a native islander, a man who sometimes drove a taxi on St. Thomas, some times worked on boats, some times did a lot of things. Jack had used his taxi many times and he and Sam got along, establishing a kind of friendship. But he wasnt aware of anything beyond that. One day Sam just showed up early in the morning, asked what parcel of land Jack wanted cleared, and started working. From then on he was a regular worker. Sam refused payment in money. But he did accept liquor and cigarettes. So, with Sam and Slavin he had a good crew, small but effective.

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Slavin, retired Navy, much of his time as a Seal, often called the house Morgans Marvel because he claimed it was a marvel that the damn thing got it got built. Slight of build, maybe 59, wiry more than muscular, soft spoken, well read, he came across more like a college professor than a member of that elite military outfit. Some times after a few drinks and the mood was right, he would relate some of his experiences, mostly the funny ones. According to him all he did was swim around in dirty water in a lot of places around the worlda broad understatement if there ever was one. One time Jack got a sneak peek at Slavins uniform jacket hanging in the closet and was stunned at the many rows of decorations. He was indeed a modest man. According to the Law of Slavin, it was always cocktail time somewhere in the worlda valid point and he never hesitated to pour out a husky drink; he claimed it was good for the circulation. Of course once he started cocktail time while they were on the job, it signaled the end of their working day. Looking around, sipping his coffee, Jack realized that he was proud of the house and filled with a certain pride in building it. His thoughts drifted. With a certain sense of satisfaction, he wondered what could have happened to Colonel Sauvain from that business in Haiti? Hopefully he was doing a long stretch in some miserable prison. Maybe hed been too easy on the bastard; some of the men with him on that would have gladly tossed him out of the plane. But it was donehistorythe past, that place where they speak a different language, that place to which we can never return. With Kim here he felt obligated to shave and as he was finishing up and toweling off, he saw a blur of fur move across behind him in the mirror. Could it

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be that the weary traveler, Harry, had arisen and was looking for breakfast? He checked his bowl then looked at Jack questioningly. Yes Harry, its empty. And dont give me that long face. When you sleep late you pay the price. Its that old responsibility for your actions thing. Harry just stared, probably wondering what the hell his master was talking about and why. Feed me. Harry was fortunately blessed with the three essentials of pet ownership: love, discipline, and exercisebeing a bit light on the last two lately. Of course he was getting old and liked lying in the sun, or shade, instead of getting all hot and sweaty from exercise. But if it came to a boat trip he was always ready. With Harry fed, Jack sat down with a cup of coffee and booted up his laptop. He could only get a dial up connection so it took a few minutes. A message from his answering service gave him a signal on the top of the screen that he had a call. He disconnected and picked up the phone. Jack? Hope I didnt call too early. No way, Slavin. At least some of us are up. Meaning that Kim is still abed, as they say. Hed met her yesterday when he picked them all up from the ferry at Cruz Bay in Jacks Land Rover. Thats correct. Whats up? Youre calling this early either because your house is on fire oryoure out of vodka. Cute, Jack. Youre lucky Im an easy going guy and tolerate your twisted sense of humor. It so happens that youre wrong on both counts. Speaking of drink, I have great new vodka for you to try. And whats the name of this special delight? Its Russian, ZYR. Jack said the letters Z-Y-R? Never heard of it.

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You must trust the master. Oh, I do, Jack told him. So, whats up? At that moment Kim came into the room wearing shorts and one of his tee shirts with the Dolphins logo. She looked a bit rumpled and tousled but no less beautiful in his eyes. Harry promptly went to hertraitor dog. Jack waived to her and signaled one minute. She poured herself a cup of coffee and went out to sit by the pool. Harry trailed her. Jack said, You there, Slavin? Jack, I got some new electronics gear that Id like to test, and with you just getting here and needing supplies, I figured youd want to come along, make a day of it. Of course you can bring Kim and Harry. What do you say? Ill have the ZYR iced. Electronics gear? Well, that and some new sail we can put up in no time. My new GPS unit is state of the art, the latest, gives a lot more than just your position. This baby gives weather, cloud formations, water temp and depth, even tells where the fish are gathered, almost hooks them and brings them up for you. Typical Slavin, Jack thought. Does it clean and filet the fish for grilling? It was rhetorical and Jack went on. Sounds good, Slavin, especially the iced part. Let me talk to Kim and Ill call you right back. Jack topped off his coffee then went out to kiss Kim and sit next to her by the pool. The chairs were wooden, Adirondack type, not particularly comfortable, but Slavin had them shipped in as his contribution to the house. One day hed get cushions. It wasnt high up on the list. He told her about Slavin and the run to St. Thomas. You want to go along?

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After a moment she said, I think Ill pass. But I will give you a list of things you need. He noticed that she used you and not we. Im not all that big on boats, she said. She looked around and smiled. Id like to paint a couple of these chairs. You dont like white? I dont mind white but what would you think of one bright red and one bright yellow? Might brighten up the place. I dont know if I have any paint but I can have some sent up from town. He was a bit disappointed but tried not to show it. Harry, you want to come along? You love boats. Harry probably knew the word boat. Anyway he perked up and looked from Kim to Jack. That is if I can tear you away. Kim said, Go, Harry. Harry stood up and Jack said, Ill be damned. Whatever happened to loyalty? With Kims list in his pocket and Harry sitting on the back seat, he drove off to the cove where Slavin was at anchor. Docking space in Cruz Bay and the surrounding area was at a premium. Harry jumped out as soon as the door was opened and raced to greet Slavinanother victim to his licking. He got into the dingy without being told. Glad you could make it, Slavin said. Looks like a good day, no weather around. Is Kim not up to a sea voyage? He asked with a smile. She has a home in France, far from the sea, and I dont think shes big on boats.

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Slavin considered that for a moment. On St. John weve nothing but sea all around us. Do you think shell like it here? Jack could see where he was going and didnt want to go in that direction. Time will tell. Speaking of which, are you still seeing Francine? Well, were still alive the last I heard. Shes away on a buying trip right now. Slavin met this gorgeous French-Vietnamese woman several months ago at the post office in Cruz Bay. Her story, he supposed, was a typical one for that period after the war in that a mother and father set out with a two year old child to leave a country that was now changed forever, and a life that no longer existed for them. After paying an exorbitant amount of money, they finally left port after two days of waiting on a crowded, hot deck, packed in like sardines with no room to move. What kept them going was the hope for a better life. It would come, but only after more suffering and hardship. On the second day out with food and water already low, and tempers short, the boat ran into an unexpected storm, a sudden time of black sky, gale winds, and a sea that built to mountains of water. Had they been in a boat that had been cared for and maintained and at least to some degree seaworthy, they might well have survived the storm. The truth was that all these poor souls, having little choice but to pay an exorbitant amount of money to find a new life, and stuffed in like fish in a can, had been put to sea in a rotted vessel. In a panic of screaming men, women, and children, the boat quickly took on water and sank into the sea in minutes.

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Most of the nearly two hundred passengers died. Francines father, separated from them early on in the confusion, was one of them. Her mother went into the water clutching her child, holding her tight and at the same time clinging to a piece of wood that had been a cargo hatch cover. She told Francine later that they were both close to death in the cold water. But she held on, to her daughter, to the hatch cover, and she held on to her belief that they would survive. After almost ten hours in the water the passengers were rescued by a Dutch freighter making its way eastward. For her mother it was a supreme test of physical endurance for her aging, yet still firm body. She struggled to control the twitching in her arms, and the shaking of her entire body from the chill. And beyond all that was the dread of failing her family. For Francine, who had the raw strength of her youth, it was more the fear of the dark and the unknown, the mental pressure more fearsome than the physical exertion. Due to both bad weather and the mechanical problems of an old ship the journey to San Francisco took nearly three weeks. Largely due to the times, the uncertainty of her country surviving yet another political upheaval and foreign invasion, her mother had wisely put money into French banks. With that money she was able to find an apartment in a nice section, at least a better section of the city. While there was a large Vietnamese community and many friends to be made, help offered, a new way of living to be found, her mother wasnt happy in the surroundings. There was just too much of everything in the wrong proportions. It was, perhaps, too much America for this woman of French custom and while she made an effort to adjust, it wasnt enough.

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In less than a year they moved. She had read of a place with French influence, near the water, that she thought might be the place for them to settle down. They moved to New Orleans. Again she found a large community of fellow countrymen, and women, who were glad to welcome her into their new way of life in this grand country. But it was not an easy road for the immigrants. In the home of the brave and the free, the cradle of democracy, there was an underlying feeling of prejudice toward anyone who was different; it was basically a universal feeling, whether admitted or not, a distrust of some culture or belief that wasnt understood. Oddly enough, Slavin always thought, America was no different in that respect than any other part of the world, except that we were supposed to be different by virtue of our system. He didnt know of a country without prejudice; the degree, the extent of the bad feelings might vary. But he felt it was a basic human fault built in by a grand mistake. Francine didnt run into much of the bad feelings personally. She wasnt out in the working area in contact with people. She knew from the way her mother felt and acted, that her people were not fully accepted in this strange land. Her mother told her about the difficulties their people were having about the shrimp fishing rights. Why would there be a problem over such a simple thing, Francine wondered? Surely there was enough for all. For all her good feelings about her adopted country, there was much she didnt understand. She could never accept the idea that in a country so rich in almost everything, people still fought over such simple things.

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She could understand such feelings in her old home; they were a small country struggling to survive in a large world. But here in America? On the positive side there was an enjoyable French flavor to New Orleans, indeed a large dose of things French. But it wasnt the country of her mothers birth. It wasnt France and it wasnt even Europe. Francine had nothing to say about it. They moved, once again, a big move this time, to a small town outside Paris where Francine eventually grew up and was educated. She was like her mother in some ways in that she wanted her own life, the life of her choosing. She moved around after college and ended up in the Virgin Islands. It turned out to be the place for her. It was a sorrowful parting that was made somewhat easier by the fact that they were a semi-wealthy family. Her mother could enjoy the European lifestyle she wanted, and needed, while Francine could find her way in the Caribbean. They would see each other often, which meant that the daughter would make frequent trips to France. The mother was finished traveling.

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TWO It being too early for the new vodka tasting, Slavin quickly put on a pot of coffee even before casting off the lines. He then started the inboard motor and eased out of the tiny cove. After rigging the sail for the run across the water to St. Thomas, they both sat in the aft cockpit for coffee and a smoke. Harry was sprawled out on the forward deck after having sniffed the wind for any bad weather and decided that there was none; the dog had a natural nose for the sea as well as great balance. Jack had seen the dog ride out rough sea with waves coming in over the deck, the boat rolling and pitching and Harry stood in his wide sea stance; periodically hed shake the water off. On top of that the dog loved being in the water and swam like awell, a Labrador. Of course when it was really bad Jack put a jacket on the dog and tied him to a lifeline.

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As was customary on these supply runs, Slavin produced quality Cuban cigars and Jack lighted up; he limited himself to only two of these per trip. They smoked in silence for a time, watched a fine morning take shape, just enough Easterly wind under a vivid blue sky to make it worth watching. Also watching Harry, Slavin turned to Jack. Ever think of selling that dog, Jack? You gotta be kidding, Jack answered quickly. Of course Slavin knew the answer. This was a little thingan almost comical routinethat they went through often, both knowing the lines by heart. Slavin knew damn well that Jack would never sell Harry and that a turndown was automatic. Jack said, You know hes the best damn dog on the island. That he is, Slavin said, nodding. But you know, Im a wealthy man and I can pay any price you ask. You a wealthy man? What are you smoking, Slavin? Youre the one smoking the good stuff; a mere figure of speech. Wealth, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. With that he pulled on a line to tighten a forward sail; the boat was rigged with pulleys and power winches so that Slavin could run it alone, if need be, from the position in the stern. The sea was calm and there was little boat traffic. Jack said, Francine is on a buying trip? For that boutique she has in Cruz Bay. A tourist trap? Jack asked with a smile. Slavin laughed. Arent they all? I guess thats what you would call it, nice clothes, but expensive, the kinds of stuff you take back and wear as an Island insider. Didnt I tell you about her place? You probably did. Are you serious about this woman?

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Slavin shrugged. What is serious? Do I like her? Yes. Does she like me? Maybe a bit. He held up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. Would this classy, beautiful creature go for a worn out Seal? I doubt it. So, to answer your question, I could be very serious. Youd take her home to Mom and Dad? Both dead, Jack. Jack didnt want to touch that one. So just take her home. Youve got a nice house and a beautiful boat. You in love with my woman? Slavin kidded. I could easily be in love with that gorgeous woman of yours. That is if I didnt have a great woman already. Slavin turned serious for a moment. Do we just fall in love with any pretty woman we see? Is that what the male does? After a long thoughtful moment, Jack said, I think were attracted, initially, to what we think is beauty, a visual treat that sends the heart pumping at full throttle and the blood surging through what we hope are clear arteries. From there we go in deeper and eventually either sink or swim in a relationship. I like sink or swim, Slavin said. I try to keep it in your scope of things, Slavin. When he came right down to it, Jack thought, he didnt know a whole lot about Timothy Slavin. He knew that hed gotten away from a rough childhood in a small Pennsylvania coal town; hed said that much one day. But he didnt offer much detail; nothing about siblings. He did say that hed gone on to a State college, because there wasnt much money, was one helluva good defensive back on the football team (if he had to say so himself, and he did with pride, not bragging ) and then promptly went into the Navy for

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no good reason other than that he had nothing better to do. After boot training and some time on a destroyer, he finagled his way into training for the Seals in California. It was there that he found home. He loved it all: the mental stress, the physical challenge, the pride that developed as they trained, and maybe most important of all to him was the comradeship, the family they became over time. Neither one of them said anything for a few moments as they watched the sail snap tight in the breeze that was still from the East; later in the day it would turn around and they would ride home on the Western wind. Jack relit his cigar and thought about his life which, he considered, was generally good. Hed like things to settle down as far as Kim but he felt that would take care of itself in time. He was wrong about that. Slavin interrupted his thoughts. So whats new in the world, old buddy? Big election coming up in the US of A, huh? Big? I guess it is a big one. I know were in big trouble, the country I mean, but I dont think either one of these guys can really make a difference. Its hard to move or make changes to something set in concrete. On top of that one is too youngbut hes bright and full of the correct rhetoric, he tells them just what they want to hearand the other one is too old. Jack gave a last pull on his cigar then tossed it overboard. Too old like us, Slavin said smiling. When he smiled the white teeth broke up the tan, leathered face and red beard; the chin whiskers still had a lot of color but the head was going gray. I hear you. But you know something? Whatever we had we either earned

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or could pay for in the not too distant future. Credit was to be used only in the last resort. I remember my mother being furious at my Dad for getting a Sears Credit Card so that a washing machine could be paid off at $10.00 a month; if my father was making $80.00 a week it was a lot. Like anyone else we wanted better things and a better way of life. The difference is that we were grown up, we could wait; we could postpone instant gratification without going into hysterics or into a deep physiological trauma. Its a different world, Jack said, grinning. Were stuck in the old while the new one is passing us by. I didnt know you were so upset with the human condition. Its the humans Im upset with; the planet is fine but the inhabitants need to be totally rehabilitated. We have too much and much of the rest of the world is starving. Is it any wonder that they hate us? I guess not, Jack said, wanting to shift the conversation. It wasnt that he didnt care or wasnt concerned about the things that bothered Slavin. He didnt really think that there was a lot he could do to change the human condition. He was thinking about Kim. Enough bullshit, Slavin said. No one cares what we think. And no one believes we are in a war for survival. Let them stay with Dorothy in Oz; there was actually no 9/11; there is no fanatical group that wants to kill every last one of us; no group wants to see the end of our form of government. Keep dreaming, America. With that, Jack said, well move on to another topic. Youre right, Jack. No point in going into this crap. I want to set up my new gear. He got up and started to go forward then turned back to Jack. Ill tell you

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this: were well on our way out of democracy and into something else, whatever it might be. The thing is, we dont realize it. Letting that thought go because it was ugly to contemplate, and still curious about this new equipment, Jack asked about the GPS. Yeah, its GPS, but very high tech, the latest in that field. So, whats it going to do for you? This will do everything for me. This gear not only has position data as to where I might be on this earth, to within a few feetif you really want to know where you arebut it also has the capability of keeping me on course, gives me air and water temperature, wind direction and strength, forecasts, and all kinds of stuff. Unfortunately for you and me, it does not make a vodka martini. How do you know? You havent tested it yet. Ah, Slavin advised. But we will on the way home from St. Thomas with a fresh supply from the Duty Free. We will put it to the supreme test. Harry looked up for an instant, gazing at us, and then put his head back down on the deckhe wasnt big on politics. We Labs, he thought, know about the sky and the water and all that stuff. This was a day to enjoy the warm sun and the cool sea breeze somewhere at the end of this were biscuits. In a few moments Slavin came back from whatever he was doing forward and came to sit next to Jack. He was untangling wires and very busy. Then he was putting screws in to hold a gray box in place on the control panel. Evidently their previous conversation was still on his mind for Slavin said, Ill tell you one thing, on our human condition, I never had to press one for Spanish in Mexico.

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Jack let that one go. Still busy, Slavin looked up and asked if Jack would like to make an Atlantic crossing with him. This new equipment must be damn good, Jack thought, speechless at the thought. You gotta be kidding. The two of us in this boat crossing the Atlantic Ocean? Well, we could take Harry. We could take Harry, Jack said, shaking his head. And thats a selling point? What the hell does Harry do when were pounded by rough seas and the wind is blowing so hard we cant even go on deck? What does an old Labrador Retriever do? Do? He does what we do: he hunkers down in the cabin. What else? You dont give that dog enough credit, Jack. Labs were born for the water. Take a look at that dog. One look tells you he is raring to go for a long sea voyage. Are we looking at the same dog? Harrys big thing was to jump into the shallow water, once the anchor was dropped in the small cove, and swim into the beach. Im not seeing Harry the Sea Dog here. There is nothing in Lab history that says they like to cross the Atlantic in a 35 foot boat. With a white hull, as were most boats, Slavins Blue Dolphin differed only in the huge, gold replica of the Seals emblem on the main sail. It was unique and could be spotted for miles. Actually, Slavin said, its only 32 feet. But shes a good sturdy boat and as sound as any of these new boats, maybe even better than the new ones with all that chrome; that shiny metal doesnt make her sail any better. After a moment he went on with what Jack considered nothing more than fantasy, a pipe dream. With the gear Im putting in today shell be

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ready for whatever the ocean wants to throw at us. You want to come along? I hadnt really thought about it. We could have a blast, Jack. Slavin was really getting into thisand all before cocktail timelooking up at the sky and waving an arm. Cant you see us challenging the sea: The wind charging at our sails, racing us along, plowing through the waves, the sea dark under a sky of gray? Jack looked at him for a long moment, awed, not really knowing how to take all this. Then he said, Start without me. Aw. Wheres your sense of adventure? Slavin said. Its around somewhereon dry land. Jack, of course, had a boat, but he used it strictly for local cruising; the thought of a cross-Atlantic run was a bit much. I cant see myself on the bounding main challenging the sea. My biggest challenge to date, my lifetime search, is to find the perfect vodka martini. He didnt mention that there was Kim to deal with, a sore spot. Slavin gave him a big smile. A noble quest indeed, one youve been on as long as Ive known you. Any progress in your search? Modest. Today, Slavin announced proudly, with my help you will take a giant step forward, perhaps in fact even end your journey, bring this quest to an end. On the way home we will conduct a test, a full examination and rating, of the Russian vodka ZYR. I can hardly wait, Jack told him, mostly serious. Slavin went forward once again, getting a brief look from Harry, then came back to sit in the cockpit with Jack. Let me get this set up and well take a good look, he said, fiddling with some wires at the back of

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the equipment. Its supposed to do everything but toilet train. You have someone or something to train? Not at the moment. But you never know. Jack let that one go; it was beyond the conceivable. A dog? Maybe. A new born to train? Impossible. They both looked at the console. The display, bright and fairly large, was a mass of green figures, bars, graphs, and numbers moving about. Jack said, A pinball machine? Slavin looked down his nose at him but didnt comment. After a moment he touched a key on the panel and it all changed to a new scene with new numbers. He went on, touching keys and marveling at each new scene like a kid with a new video game. He was in his glory. Jack watched and pretended more interest than he actually had in this kind of thing. He wasnt all that serious about a boat, motor or sail. Besides, all this electronic gear was of no interest and certainly not worth the trouble to install. Now Slavin, on the other hand was a sea creature; he loved all of this crap and wallowed in it like a school of dolphin at play. He might well be a dolphin in the guise of a human, waiting for their moment to cause a flood and overthrow the clowns in Washington. At least drown them out. Pun surely intended. Not likely. Unfortunately. In any case, the trip back across the bay was a smooth skimming across the flat sea with a light breeze. Maybe it was just good sailing. Maybe the new high tech gear gave Slavin an edge. Maybe it was the ZYR. Maybe Harry was using Labrador juju. Who knows?

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Jack, while not seeing the end of his quest, had to agree with Slavin that he had taken a huge step forward with their tasting of the ZYR. It was everything Slavin had said it was and maybe even more. He promised himself to get a good supply. Kim drank wine. At the town of Red Hook, the hub of inter island travelthe ferry left from here and anyone with a small boat tied up or anchored here, or near to this pointthey found Sam waiting among the taxi drivers. On the drive up to Charlotte Amalie Sam brought them up to date on his life, activities, and romanceshe fancied himself a ladies man. He waited while they shopped. Havensight, located next to the cruise ship dock, and for that reason does a lot of business, is a place of many stores. It is also a place where gullible tourists pay too much for lots of things and still go home happy. Locals like Slavin and Jack, use mostly the Duty Free to buy liquor and do their food shopping at neighborhood grocery stores. Sam drove them back to Red Hook. On the return trip across the still calm sea, the two of them got seriously into the testing and drank most of the bottle. It was a small size, a 750 mil. They each had a case for future consumption. Harry, not into Happy Hour, slept most of the time, perhaps saving his strength for that dramatic swim into the beach. One of these days, of course, hes not going to make it, Jack considered. Filled with good spirits, literally and figuratively, ,Jack drove home not expecting the surprise that awaited him.

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THREE As Jack crested the hill and drove along the dirt road that led to the housepaving would come one day in the futurehe saw a car parked behind the house, a car he didnt recognize and he slowed down and was immediately on the alert. Kim didnt want a car and very few people came to see him, invited or not. It appeared to be a rental, not a cheap compact, an expensive rental. He was concerned for Kim and would have liked a bit more discreet entrance, but Harry bounded off the moment he opened the door. So much for stealth. There was a bit of barking, nothing more than usual, nothing that seemed out of place and Jack went in through the back door. Kim! he called. Out here, Jack, by the pool.

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He went out to find Kim and a stranger sitting by the poolin unpainted chairs he noticed. She got up and came to give him a hug. Shopping go alright? Like a breeze. Theres someone here to see you. From Washington, she added after a pause. Jack looked at him for a moment. The man stayed seated, watching them, cool and calm in a lightweight summer suit, almost unwrinkled; along with expensive rental car he liked expensive suits. The signs told him this was not a lowly messenger. Turning back to Kim, he said, Let me unload first than we can talk. Walking to the Land Rover he couldnt help but wonder who could be here from Washington. What could they want of him? Jack and Kim made several trips back and forth, between the car and the kitchen, putting away any perishables as they want along and letting the rest go for the moment. Jack said, Any idea what this guy wants? Havent a clue, Jack. Hes been here about an hour and all hes talked about is the weather and boats. She studied his face for a moment, looking for some sign that Jack would like to be back in action. Its probably a good bet that he has an interesting proposition for you. A proposition? You know, a job, an assignment. Would you be interested? Thats an unfair question, Kim. You know Im trying to get us together. She did know that, and she was well aware of his feelings for her; that wasnt in question. What she didnt know was how he would feel about taking another assignment if it was offered, and she had the strong feeling that one would be offered. She knew the

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feeling, the rush that came, that need to still be a part of it. On occasion she still felt the pull herself. Once in the game it was difficult to give it up entirely. So, all we really know, he said after a moment, is that he has good taste in cars, clothes, and that he probably owns a boat. Not much to go on. Lets see what he has to say. Jack had a pretty good idea that it would be another recruiting effortbut by whom, which agency? And what would they be looking for him to do this time? A spot of killing? No. That business was over. Going back into the field meant leaving; not leaving Kim because they werent really together yet, but it was leaving his life in any case. How many families did he know in this business? How many actual, living-together men, women and children? He could count them on one hand. Was it that operatives needed that rush over all else? Harry, the ever vigilant watchdog, defender of life and property, and could-be master of the seas if Slavin had his way, sat peacefully on the tile deck beside the man, panting, but otherwise unperturbed as he was petted. Jack wondered if he should have gotten a Doberman. Harry the Doberman didnt have the right ring to it somehow. Harry the Pit Bull? Jack shook hands and the man introduced himself; this being something less than a social encounter, it was stiff and awkward, a tension in the air. He noted a bulging, expensive-looking briefcase by the chair. Add briefcase to list of pricey things. Kim sat back down with a glass of wine, waiting. Im Gerald Shelton, he said, and then looked at Kim, a bit sheepishly, Jack thought. Id like to speak

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privately. This is top secret between just three people and Id like to keep it that way. Who are the three? Jack asked. You, myself and DCIA. That high huh? Well, Ill tell youare you called Gerald? Never; Shelton will do. I can see why. Well, Sheltonher name is Kim by the waythat lady probably has a higher clearance than I do; probably higher than yours. Anyway, youre among high level very secret people here, so go ahead. Harry is also cleared for the highest canine stuff. Ah, Shelton said, uncomfortable at the threesome and definitely not at ease, for whatever reason, with a woman in the room. But his orders were explicit: get Jack Morgan involved in this operation, at any cost. In the unfortunate (for Shelton) event that he failed to do that, he had a fallback, a last ditch desperation move, that meant, should he use it, that not only had he failed but that it was very likely the end of his career. So, failure was not an option, not conceivable. A long moment of silence passed with each of the three wondering, for different reasons, how this would affect their lives. Jack thought about Kim. Kim thought about Jack. Shelton thought about his career, or the end of it, if he was forced to call the phone number he was given, to revert to the fallback position. He was too young to retire. Jack, feeling a slight buzz from the earlier ZYR session with Slavin, had only a bottle of water for the moment; too late for a totally clear head but he could make 80%, at worst maybe 70%, which should be enough to deal with Shelton. What a name!

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Out of the silence Shelton asked if Jack had heard of an Owen Walker. Rings a bell: young IO put on trial, something about treason, never proved, ran an agent that was never identifiedwho by the way provided grade A intelligence from what I readlots of smoke but damn little fire. I thought the guy was innocent. What the hell did he do wrong? Run a blind agent? How many Intelligence Officers have done that? Pure bullshit. All this was in Venice? Nodding, Shelton said, Youve summed it up nicely. Theres more to it but well come to that in a moment. What happened to Walker? Jack asked. He was acquitted, got his pension and retired two years ago. Not a bad deal for him. Jack, unimpressed, said, Not a bad deal for the agency, maybe, but he lost his job and his reputation. I dont call that a good deal for Walker. He should have never been put on trial in the first place. Kim watched the two of them, listening, and thinking: Jack seems to know an awful lot about an incident that very few people even heard of, maybe too much, and he seemed especially interested in Walker. Was she blowing things out of proportion? After all she wasnt in the best of moods at the moment about their relationship. That was one problem. This was another. Or were they a part of the same? Jack wanted to hear more; he was interested but nowhere near the point of any kind of commitment. Why was he even interested to any degree? So, what does this Walker have to do with me? Jack asked.

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Shelton took his time in answering, trying for the correct balance of sincerity, patriotism, and a touch of adventure in his offer. Was that the right approach? This was all so exciting that Harry actually opened his eyes, once. Walkers agent had the code name of Cygnus. Why Cygnus? I dont know. Maybe we were into outer space at that time. Anyway, Cygnus, which means the swan by the way.... Jack interrupted. Im familiar with Cygnus. It was a lie but he didnt want to be patronized by Shelton. Shelton seemed momentarily surprised. Really? Not many people would know that. I had to look it up. Jack waited. The sun was dipping lower and shadows started to overtake the pool. Anyway, Shelton resumed, After over a year, a period in which nothing was heard of Cygnuswho by the way is considered one of the best spies of our time by the agency, at least in Southern Europethe agent reappears. Jack said, One of the best? This in spite of the fact that Walker ran the agent blind and for which he was later brought up on charges. Seems like you should have cut him a bit more slack. Talk about the goose and the golden egg? I know its bad. But I had no part in any of that. Somehow I knew you were going to say those exact words. But someone did. What the hell. Its over and done with. Go on with your story. On second thought, wait until I fix myself a drink. Kim, more wine? Im good, she said. Shelton, you want a drink? Ill have what youre having. That means vodka on the rocks. Fine with me, Shelton said.

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After they were all settled once again, drinks in hand, Jack asked what he meant by Cygnus coming back. Cygnus, he said, disappeared at the same time we pulled Walker out of Venice. Walker was stationed in Venice? Well, not really stationed. He was in there on his own and had been for three years. That doesnt sound unusual to me. Cygnus decided to disappear when the controller was taken away, no reason to stay around after the security blanket was removed. I would probably do the same thing. It is always a matter of trust or the lack of it and when that is removed it becomes a matter of survival. An agent out in the field lives in fear and uncertainty, promises but no guarantees, and with the constant threat of being caught. Take away the security factor and there is sometimes panic. This is hardly the ideal environment for an agent. Shelton, intent, as if to devour Jacks every word, was like a student in class, an older one. Kim waited and tried to keep focused, struggling to rein in her wandering thoughts, her fears actually. Jack said, So Cygnus comes back. So what? Shelton took a long swallow of his vodka and smiled. Now here is where it gets interesting. He hoped. This guy has a flair for the dramatic, Jack thought, or is trying for one. Get on with it. Shelton continued, We get word through an excellent sourcea very discreet and discerning, rarely heard from source, in Romethat tells us that Cygnus is back in action and has vital information on AQ operations. This is all top secret. And? Jack said.

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And, Cygnus will turn these documents over to us. Cygnus will turn this data on al-Qaeda for nothing? Yes, for free. Why would Cygnus do that? There has to be a catch somewhere. You and I know that there is no free lunch in this business. I agree with you on that point; usually there are a lot of conditions, a heavy price tag. In this case though, the only catch is that Cygnus will only deal with Walker. There are no other conditions, no caveats, which is unusual, just that it has to be Walker. After a moment, Jack smiled. I like it. I like the irony of it. And when I think about it I like this agent. Cygnus is obviously aware of how you screwed Walker and wants to give a bit of payback. Shelton was not smiling. Kim gave a half smile, thinking that Jack was finding too much to like about this whole thing, and weighing her options. Jack broke the long moment of silence. You have to use the guy you screwed. I love it, Jack said. I dont see a problem. You convince this Walker to come backmaybe not so easy, but thats your own faultand he goes to wherever and gets the info. Whats the problem? The meet is in Venice. Florida? Jack asked. Not seriously. Kim rolled her eyes. An unsmiling Shelton said, Italy, Jack. Venice, Italy. Fascinating place from what Ive heard: boats, canals, lots of water, narrow streets, and gondolas run by guys in funny, flat hats, all very romantic. So send

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Walker off to Venice and hope he doesnt fall in a canal. Does he swim? I wish it was that simple. First off, we dont know if we can trust Walker. He could get the documents and disappear. This whole thing could be a wild goose chase; no one knows, including Walker, the identity of Cygnus, who might well have a separate agenda. Though I cant imagine what that might be. Neither can I, Jack said, thoughtfully. This Cygnus is Italian, Venetian? We assume that to be true; Walker controlled the agent in Venice. Actually, he admitted, we dont really know. Jack nodded. Theres a lot we dont know. From your point of view, I can see where you might not trust Walker. But you have only yourselves to blame. Youd find him a lot more trustful if you hadnt stuck a knife in his backthat tends to make one a bit less patriotic, not quite so quick to jump in and help your country. In the old days, we had trust, a belief in who was running things and where we were going as a country, and there was a unity and a sense of purpose. Now were not sure whats behind the flag, or more aptly who. Shelton looked down for a moment, as if accepting a blame that was actually wide spread and culpability that went way up beyond his pay grade. These are different times, Jack. To go back to where youre talking about would mean Pearl Harbor and World War Two. Thats ancient history Im not that old. I dont remember Pearl Harbor. I can remember Vietnam and I have learned enough to know that our last good war was WWII. No war is good. But that was our last victory. And do you know why we won? Because we were one country with one common cause, one language, and a deep belief in our

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way of life. After that came only a tie in Korea, then a loss in Vietnam; we were clearly going downhill. Jack finished his drink in the silence that followed. He brought himself back to the present and said to Shelton, Is Walker agreeable? It was rough going until he heard that it was Cygnus. But he is on his way to Venice as we speak. Good for him. This is not for me.

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FOUR The subject of their conversation, Owen Walker, was at that moment comfortably settled on an Alitalia flight bound for Venice. Hed been bumped up from Business Class to First on nothing more than the whim of the customer agent at the counter; she did it because she could. He was on his third drink. What better reason. There was nothing to see of course in the darkness of night, some 35,000 feet above the Atlantic, he stared off, drifting into memories. As always, when he went back in thought, the first image was of the small, dusty, prairie town in Oklahoma where hed been born and spent the first six years of his life. If a gritty western movie was to be filmed today, a High Noon type for example, there

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would be no better setting than his home town, if they cleaned it up a bit. That town, while a vivid and constant image, was only a brief moment in the course of his life. Life does take strange turns and it took one for a rangy boy named Owen Walker. On a perfectly normal, clear, sunny day in Lawton, Oklahoma, Owenss parents were killed in the crash of an oil tanker and the beat up station wagon belonging to the Walker family. Owen was in school and didnt hear about the accident until later. Looking back, he could only wonder what it would be like, what he would be like today, if he had stayed in that small town. That topic was always an open door to all kinds of speculation. The truth was that it was a place he didnt want to visit. What did visit him, whether he welcomed the intrusion or not, was the vivid memory of riding out to the State Park on his bicycle. He sat in the tall grass staring out at the large herd of mangy buffalo. He hadnt looked up at the sky nor given a thought to the weather. When it suddenly started to rain he was startled for a moment but didnt move. Just as the buffalo did, he sat still and let the rain wash over him, cleansing, washing away the past. He wondered at that moment what kind of world he lived in that had to pass laws to protect the creatures of nature. Shortly after his parents were buried in the one cleared plot in the small cemeterythe rest of the place was so overgrown one had to hack their way through the growth to find a headstone, let alone read ithe heard from an aunt in Oklahoma City. He was dumbfounded because he never heard of an aunt, anywhere.

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Though there was help, from friends, the school, and Social Services, he struggled with the awful fear of getting by without a mother and father. This was more than enough for a kid his age to handle. What scared him was a strange woman coming into his life, in fact anyone coming into his life. He was not without feeling, far from it. But it was his nature, unusual for a boy his age, to be able to accept, adapt, possibly adjust, and then move on. With what turned out to be a sharp mind and an innate ability for languages, Owen was a natural for intelligence work. But that was way off in the future. At first he thought of this slim, stern-faced new person in his life as simply the strange woman, not as his aunt Amanda Walker, and it would take time to change that image. But it did change. Because she was a woman without a husband, a politician no less, and confident in who she was, ahead of her time in many ways, his aunt presented an intimidating figure to a young boy. He would always remember the no nonsense way she quickly settled the family affairs, what little there was, mostly unpaid bills, when his parents died. Owen dutifully packed up his few possessions and went off to live in her house in the big city. His favorite four year old bike would become a casualty of the move, giving way to a brand new one within the week. Not that she was a careless spender. She was a careful one, convincing Owen that his bike wouldnt last much longer and should be replaced. Two of her teachings hed always remember: thrift in his use of money, and loyalty to friends. Amanda Walker was a self made woman before there was any such thing, before the term came into being. Here was a woman who looked beyond the

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gender restraints of society, who knew who she was, even if no one else did, and knew where she would take her life at an early age. And she knew where she would take Owen. Not for her was the old path. To say that she was before her time didnt cover it. In the days before anyone could even imagine such a thing happening, this woman ran for and won local elections. Within 12 years she ran for federal office and was one of the first women in congress. As for Owen, without a conscious effort on his part, life had changed for the better and he was young enough, still flexible, nave, trusting, so that he could adjust to a new world. Some of his new found luxuries, like a room and bathroom of his own, called for a major adjustment. But he took it all in stride. He had no way of knowing that his coming into her life, thrust actually, was like a transfusion, a surging new element brought into her basically dull life. She would be forever changed as would he; both for the better as it turned out. Important to her was that he would have a good education. Without making an issue of it she guided him from a state college into what she considered a better place for him in that standards, and reputation, were above average. She was not a snob. She was far too practical to be a snob. With her it was a simple question of knowing where you wanted to go and how to get to that place. He would not be pampered nor spoiled. He would learn, to the best of her ability, that life had highs and lows, and that one made the best of any situation. Most important of all was to be true to ones self. Every native-born Oklahoman considered themselves to be some part Indian, and in fact probably were some part. The question, always left to

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interpretation, was the part. One of the things she taught him, along with the premise that he was 1/8th Indian (he would always wonder how she arrived at that figure) was to honor that heritage and to respect the heritage of every one. Amanda had that uncommon ability to use wealth without it using her, without it actually becoming a factor in her life, or at least a factor in her character. Owen would grow up to be a person much like his aunt, which was a good thing. She was upset with him for a time when he chose to go to work for the State Department. She considered them to be wimps of the worst kind. Of course Owen had to live with the criticism because he never told her that he actually worked for the agency. Dispute their few minor differences, mostly politics, and with the wimps at State, they remained close until her death three years ago. She was a memorable woman. His thoughts went into fast forward, moving nearer to the present. Aside from the one important agent hed run in Venice, that in itself a painful memory, there was the relationship with Gina. Relationship? Too harsh a word. She was far more than simply another person in his life. But that was one story. Cygnus was yet another. Life seemed to be a series of loosely connected events that led to one ending. Sometimes he felt there was nothing to be gained by going back to the past, that foreign place where they spoke a different language, a strange tongue we once knew, and from which we can not only never return but will forever question.

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FIVE The tense period of silence that followed might have been called pregnant. It might be called anything. It definitely was not a pause that refreshed. Jack eyed their glasses, saw they were ok and went to refresh his drink. After they were all settled once again, the silence still ominous, it was Shelton that broke the spell. Im sorry you feel that way, Jack, sorry you dont see the danger we face with AQ and other terrorist groups. Most of the country doesnt seem to accept the fact that we are engaged in an active war, dont believe that there are actually groups out there that would like nothing better than to see this country destroyed. Save the rhetoric, Shelton. Im one of those who see the danger. What I dont see is where I fit into this.

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I dont see why you need me. He glanced at Kim but saw nothing in her face to read. We need you to ride shotgun, to oversee this, keep an eye on Walker and do what has to be done to make it work. There arent many like you still around, Jack. Im looking for a compliment in there somewhere, Jack said. What youre saying is that Im one of those dinosaurs left who can still pull the trigger without having a total nervous breakdown at the sight of a dead body or need psychiatric care because I killed a human being. Does that about cover it? Well, Shelton started thoughtfully, Id like to see it on a higher plane. Im not saying that we want you to kill anyone. We just want someone with the capability to do what has to be done in a bad situation. Youve been through all this before; sometimes we have to clean up some element of our society, a job many agree has to be done, mostly after the fact, but no one wants to do the work. Again, Im not even suggesting that this is going to happen. This to me looks like a simple job, no rough stuff, no drugs, and no bad guys really, nothing like that to be a problem a simple matter of picking up some documents. Getting back to what I was saying, some can do it and some cant hack it. From what Ive read of Walker, he might not be the one to handle a serious problem. I think I get it. What you need here, what youd like, is Dirty Harry but with a bit more diplomacy. You have a way with words, Jack. The answer is still no. You understand that Im only the messenger, following orders. And high-priced messenger at that, Jack thought. This is like having the team manager personally run

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down to the bullpen and bring up a relief pitcher, on his shoulders. I dont have the authority to let this end with you not accepting, Shelton said, clearly disappointed, not in his own effort, hed done his best, but in what would surely be a hard time from the director, aggravation he didnt need. He didnt want to even think of the other person in this, the one who was above the director. In other words, Jack mused, he isnt authorized to take no for an answer. Poor guy. Hes in the proverbial spot between a rock and one helluva hard place. Do you mind if I make a phone call? Go right ahead, Jack said. He actually felt sorry for the guy. As Shelton moved off, Jack turned to Kim, looking for some expression, some body movement, anything that might give a clue as to where she was on this and what her thinking might be. It was with some reasonable doubt, as the lawyers say, that he had turned down the offer. Jack had looked for help and got none. Kim was giving nothing away. More wine? Jack asked, thinking: help me out here, Kim. Definitely. Jack fixed drinks for both of them and then came back to sit by the pool. It was getting dark by now and the lights on a timer, hooked up to a solar panel, would soon come on. The darkness seemed unimportant to the moment. Shelton seemed to be a long time on the phone. If it bothered Kim that the two of them sat in silence while a serious question was hanging in the balance, she didnt show it. Jack was actually relieved to see Shelton come back and hand him the phone. It was at least a temporary

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reprieve; a stay of execution is what Jack would call it if he had to find a name. A female voice on the phone said hold for the president. The president of what? Jack wondered. Jack Morgan? The raspy voice went on, This is Tom Ashley. Tom Ashley, like he was the next door neighbor. Hello, Mr. President, Jack said. Lets keep it informal, Jack. Theres only you and me; this is a scrambled, secure line on my end and I dont think youll be saying anything to jeopardize national security. So call me Tom. Where the hell is St.John, he added laughing. In the CaribbeanTom. Calling the president by his first name didnt come easy, not just yet, and Jack was sure he was kidding about St. John since he knew, as did most of the world from his campaigning days, that the president had served on submarines in his military service; he sure as hell knew the Caribbean, along with much of the undersea world. Good. I knew but it had slipped my mind. No wonder, thought Jack. He must have one helluva lot on his mind. Why not, Jack thought. And what better opportunity could one have to air political beefs or tout some party line, whatever, than to be talking directly to the president. Unfortunately Jack was not into that and in fact thought the term politically correct (who ever came up with that one?) was an oxymoron. Okay. Tom it is. What can I do for youTom? Kim looked at him and rolled her eyes as if to say, dont get cute with the president. I know it sounds trite and corny, Jack. But its actually not what you can do for me but what you can

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do for your country. That was a wonderful piece of rhetoric by Jack Kennedy and it certainly applies in this situation. There seemed to be nothing to say and nothing to do but wait for the president to tell him how he could help his country. So he waited and thought. If anyone could help this country, now struggling with a financial meltdown, along with an immigration problem, bankrupt state governments, and unemployment, to name a few, it was the president, lame duck that he may be. The president started out slowly and thoughtfully, lining up his presentation, Jack thought. Not a bad idea. We have a situation here that at the same time needs both a delicate touch and a firm hand. He waited for a reply but got none. Has Shelton filled you in? He has to some degree. Has he made it clear just how important this stuff is? I think I grasp that part, Jack said. Well, you sound a bit weak on it to me. Let me embellish, Jack. As I understand it this Cygnus somehow has come up with vital information on Al Queda, not only names and places, location of cells and the like, but specific stuff on how they get their money and where its hidden. In the pause, Jack jumped in. How do we know this is legitimate? And why is this Cygnus giving it to us? To your first question, we dont know. I do like candor, Jack thought. Based on past record, the president continued, from what intelligence tells me, this agent is to be trusted, first rate, always top level and accurate. Secondly, as to the why, the only answer Ive heard,

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the only one that makes at least partial sense, is that there is a unique bond here between controller and agent. Now to me, a relative outsider to the intelligence field, that doesnt make a whole lot of sense. Maybe you see it differently. Jack considered that for a moment. Mr. PresidentTom, while its not the least bit unusual for a strong relationship to develop between the two, in fact its completely normal, given the whole range of events and emotions that happen in the spy business, this one seems a bit over the top to me. Are you saying its a phony? Not at all. What Im saying is that its different, which doesnt make it false. Any other thoughts? the president asked. Let me see if I have this straight. Word was leaked to us from a known source, in Italy, that this agent had valuable information for us but that the agent would only deal with Walker. Is that the gist of it? Thats the way I read it. It has a faint odor to it but I dont know what it is or why it is. Do we have an exclusive on this? Is this ours alone? As far as we know. We have no way of knowing if this has been leaked. I follow you. Exactly what is it that you want me to do? What Id like you to do, Jack, is watchdog the whole operation. Hook up with Walker and see this thing through to whatever end. You have total control and the full authority of the president, meyou ask and you will receive. If there is a problem along those lines you let me know. Some awesome power here, Jack thought, a big ego thing, but he was still swinging between yes and no. Ego was not a factor. Hed often carried high level ID

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and rarely used it except to shake self impressed desk jockeys up and get them off their ass. The phone was still, silent, ominous, as was the atmosphere around the pool. Jack felt a hunger pang but pushed it aside. Shelton seemed to have lost a bit of his cool exterior, or maybe it never was real. Perhaps Kims thoughts were too deep because nothing showed. Harry snored, occasionally. Finally, Jack said, I need to sleep on this, Tom. I can understand that, Jack. And you probably want to talk it over with your young lady. (Kim would like being called a young lady). But dont take too long. This information is vital. Were looking at a sell by date of tomorrow. Next week it could all be gone, useless. I hope youll decide for your country. Ill have Shelton leave his bag with you; data, photos, IDs, everything on Walker including where hell be staying, anything we have that might be of help. There is also an intelligence contact in Venice. If anything new comes in tonight it will be sent by courier. Later they lay side by side in the quiet, humid night; the only sounds were the chirping and squeak of some night creatures. The times of uncomfortable heat and without some degree of cooling breeze were fewthe house being on a hilltop benefited from any bit of wind in every directionso Jack saw no need for air conditioning. Earlier, they had sex rather than making love, satisfying yet functional, lacking in the emotion and passion that was usually present, neither concentrating on the moment but rather projecting on what lay ahead, or might lie ahead. After a few moments, Jack asked if she wanted to talk about it.

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She turned to lie half on him, breasts first moving across him then crushing into him. Theres really nothing to talk about, Jack. No matter what you might say to make me feel better, even to the point of telling me that you wont go, the fact is that you want to do this. I know you and I can see it in your eyes. Im not going to sit and wait for you. Im going home. You must do what you feel you have to do. Jack wondered how to take what she said: not a goodbye and yet not the kind of send off he would prefer, not a patriotic wave of the flag by his sweetheart as he went off to do battle with evil. Get real. You know I love you, he said. Do you see why I want to do this? Do you understand how I feel? I think I do, Jack. And I love you too. This will work out if its meant to be. For now, go do what you feel you must. But dont expect me to be happy about it. She slid over to cover his body, her face buried in his neck, biting, her legs spread. He entered her quickly and they moved as one, slowly at first, then quickly, thrusting, with a violent passion.

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SIX Conversation was hard to come by the next morning as Kim packed and made ready for her trip. Harry dogged her every move and wondered what the hell was going on. Jack practically did the same thing, but not as dogged. A long hug and she was gone. He suddenly felt very much alone. He called home to check on Claire. She was fine and her friend would stay as long as Jack would be away. Dont worry about her, Mister Jack, shed said. Would she never stop calling him Mister Jack? Probably not. Harry was not the least bit upset when he was left with Slavin. Sometimes he wondered about that dog.

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After the peace and tranquility of St. John, entering the busy terminal at Miami was a shock, an unexpected jolt to his system. Even the airport in St. Thomas, which handled a fair amount of tourists, in season anyway, was by comparison a tiny backwater to this huge, bustling mass of humanity. People were everywhere: long lines at ticket counters, some just waiting and watching, some lying down on the carpet, groups moving from one part of the terminal to another, dragging bags and herding tired children. One young man was tying up an entire section of the counter in trying to get his surfboard loaded. On top of all this commotion and noise the terminal was sweltering When Jack called to tell him hed accepted, Shelton said that all travel arrangements had been made and that all he had to do was show his passport at the ticket counter. It had turned out to be true in St. Thomas. As he stood waiting in a long, slow moving line at Alitalia, a customer service representative who was pre-checking tickets, looked at his paper work and moved him out to a separate, much shorter line. It turned out that he had a First Class seat. He was duly impressed, not with himself, but for the powers that be working in his favor; it told him that his mission had some clout. This was only a start but a good one. As often as he had traveled on the government tab, he could remember only one other time that hed flown First Class. He got off the plane in Rome smashed on what surely had to be cheap champagne served by the airline; good stuff would never do that to him. What with a recommended check-in two hours before flight time, and the security lines moving fast, Jack found that he had time to spare, a good hour to kill before boarding.

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Any traveler with any amount of time in an airplane knew that drinking lots of liquids, but not booze, was the doctor-recommended plan for healthy flying. Along with that were such sensible suggestions as to unloosen shoelaces, get some sleep, eat a light meal, etc. etc. To each his own. Jacks own in this case, and surely in his best interest, would be to have a touch of vodka to take the edge off. The edge of what? He went into a bar. After a slow scan of the bottles behind the bar and, regretfully seeing no blue bottle of ZYR, he ordered a Kettle One. Would there be ZYR in Venice? Italy was closer to Russia, geographically anyway. A big man with a big woman came in and sat down beside Jack and in a heavy Southern drawl ordered two Jack Daniels, one on the rocks for him and a Manhattan for her. A Manhattan? She looked as if she would enjoy a bottle of beer and popping off the cap with her teeth. She had very white teeth. And they looked strong. But then looks can be deceiving. Maybe she was one of those belles who sat under a parasol and sipped her Julep. You never know. When their drinks came the big man took a sip, and then turned to Jack . Will you join us in a drink there, pilgrim. In a drink? We all jump in the glass? It was pure John Wayne but sincere. Jack gave him a polite turn down. Having boarded the flight early, and settled into the wide leather seatthere were definite advantages to First Classhe wondered who would be sitting next to him on this long flight; sometimes that meant the difference between an enjoyable trip and a nightmare.

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As it turned out he neednt have worried because the unusual had occurred and the seat was empty, something hed never seen on any previous flight. He ordered Vodka that he really didnt want, hoping it would help him relax and maybe get a little sleep. The fact was that no matter what he took or drank he never could get into any kind of a restful sleep on a flight. So partly for that reason, what with the time difference, he went against all advice from the experts and always took a nap at his destination. So what do they know? It was better to stagger around in some other country, hardly knowing what wonder of the world you were supposed to be looking at, in awe, and waiting for the slow moving clock to catch up to your body hours back home? Ridiculous. He sipped his drink, idly thinking that it was probably some very expensive, highly rated vodka, and in any case, whatever it was, it wasnt as good as ZYR. That damned Slavin was a trouble maker. Of course its all relative. Way back, when he was young and poor, he thought Andre champagne was the greatest. There was only a black void outside the small window. Wouldnt it be great to keep flying West at such a speed as to never see night? Never see a sunset. Closer to reality he thought about Kim and how taking this job could effect their somewhat tenuous relationship. It wasnt what might be called a calculated risk. As he saw it there was no risk, or shouldnt be one. He loved her and he loved his country. In theory that should work. In reality it was not such a sure thing. Granted, it is difficult to turn down a request from the president of your country. But that is a lame excuse if he were looking for one. Kim wouldnt buy it on that level. She would say that

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there must be a balance and in the end, or near the end if it was coming to one, before that final curtain comes down, and the two of them go separate ways, a decision has to be made and priorities have to be established. Did he want to go on taking these jobs for the government? Was he ready to settle down, make a new life with Kim? He wasnt sure. What he did know was that he was trying to make a definitive black and white out of a gray situation. Knowing this, and understanding what he had to do, he still wanted to push it aside and not face the issue. Looking back, he felt that they had parted on good terms and for a while he was safe and didnt have to make a decision. He wasnt proud of that but knew it was a reality. Time would surely tell, maybe not completely tell one way or the other, but certainly would be a factor. With that he turned away from that subject. This job, he mused? It seemed a simple one, short and sweet. There was only Walker and his agent involvedand Jacks contact who shouldnt be much of a factor. But then there was the Walker tale, a saga in itself, certainly a bit weird, no, more than a bit, very strange, beyond different, and when his mysterious Cygnus was thrown into the mix it defied logic. Maybe he was making too much of this whole thing. Call it a quirky assignment and get on with it wouldnt be the first one. And if it came to killing? Well, he thought, sometimes its called for, like in Durango when hed located the senators missing daughter; with the job, and with it the territory, came both the good and the bad, standard, no options, not like buying a new car when one can pick and choose the goodies to end up with the perfect toy.

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His was a different world. The fact that he had accepted that world, and had to fit in, didnt mean that he was in total agreement with all of it. The world of everyone else was pretty much the same, an acceptance, a give and take, resigned to what had to be done, taking the happiness with the sadness, working and always looking for something better. Far too heavy thoughts, he decided, turning away from the black night outside. Jack idly watched the Flight Attendant moving down the aisle serving dinner. She was attractive. Was it a prerequisite for the job? Hed heard somewhere that the best-looking women were assigned to First Class. It could be true. If it was it was horribly sexist. But it all came down to money. The passengers sitting up herethe seats were even better than the ones further backhad paid the big bucks for better food, service, better everything. Some of them thought the ridiculous price of their ticket entitled them to be obnoxious, rude, and demanding. She seemed to handle it well, though he did see her smile through clenched teeth at times, doing what had to be done. Of course, the passengers were paying more and getting less so maybe that had a legitimate beef. Wasnt that the way of it? What ever had happened to the glamour of air travel when people used to dress up? Ah, he was showing his age. There was nothing wrong about showing your age, he thought. It was in acting otherwise that presented the problem. What would happen to the quality of service on a plane carrying 500 people? What would happen to the terminal? Build new ones. He tried to imagine just

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two planes bringing in 1,000 passengers and an equal number, or more, of bags at one time. Then, suddenly, she was leaning over his seat, putting the tray of food on the drop down table in front of himhed ordered filet mignon. Odd coincidence he thought as he read her name tag-Alex; his contact in Venice was named Alex. GgShe was a very attractive woman in a handsome, mature sort of way rather than pretty in the way of the young that does not always stand the test of time. Hers was a face with the fine bone structure that made a striking face and would always draw a second look from both men and women, the women filled with envy, the men with something elseperhaps desire and a bit of fantasy. In a quick and perhaps harsh judgment, he wondered if her life was nothing more than being a glorified waitress in the sky. She seemed to show more depth than that in her manner and bearing, or perhaps he merely thought he saw something more. In any case it didnt matter. Or so he thought at the time. Dinner was what it was, as good as gourmet packaged can get, better than what the peasants got in the back, and surely enhanced by an above average red wine. Still, he couldnt see how it justified the high fares. He finished dinner; put the tray on the table next to him in the empty seat. Then he got out his laptop and booted up. Eventually AOL came up with the familiar Youve Got Mail. Was the guy with that voice paid residuals he wondered? He faced a batch of useless mail: porn sites, investment offers, low mortgage rates, low-priced prescription drugs, lots of free offers that werent free at all if you looked into them, and several remedies to enlarge his penis. That one was a bit insulting.

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Lastly and almost missed was something from Slavin. The gist of if was that Harry was fine, Francine had come back from her buying trip and all was well with the two of them, and if he needed help let him knowhed be in Venice in a heartbeat; he loved the idea of land being surrounded by all that water. Slavin was a piece of work, flaky in some ways, no, maybe a bit eccentric, but Jack couldnt think of a better man to have watching his back, should it come to that. He sent Slavin a short e-mail saying that he would keep in touch. Then after a quick glance at some of the sites that caught his eye he shut down. He put the lap away and reclined his seat, knowing that sleep was not going to happen, but still hoped for a good nap or any part of one. He was awakened for landing by the same attendant after a short, though surprisingly restful sleep, and given a wash-up hot towel and breakfast. She had left her card on the breakfast tray and that puzzled him since there was no further contact or communication except for a broad smile as he left the aircraft. Whatever was going on she seemed to be enjoying. Soon he had departed the aircraft and entered a terminal bursting to the seams with tourists; this was the lifeblood of Venice. His used and well-stamped passport, in another name of course, brought nothing more than a quick scan by Italian customs. The Marco Polo Airport, also known as Venice International (VCE) is about 4 miles from the city on the Venetian lagoon. After a stop to change his money into Euros, Jack followed the signs outside the terminal doors to the Alilaguna water bus. He bought a ticket to the Piazza San Marco.

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It was the first time, he reflected, that he had ever taken a boat from an airport to his hotel. Wonders never cease.

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SEVEN About the time Jack was landing, Walker, on his second day in Venice, sat on the small balcony of his hotel, enjoying his coffee and looking out over the inevitable canal. He and Cygnus were a part of the same image, he thought. In retrospect he saw things in a broader picture, a different slash of the brush, the colors and meaning all changednone the less beautifulbut he wondered now how he could have run an agent hed never seen and really knew nothing about. It was something unheard of in the company and hiding that fact in his meeting with the brains at Langley had caused many a tense moment and no amount of questions and strange looks. But his stuff was so good, his information from the source so timely and important that the oddity was always given a pass. Or so he thought. In the end hed failed.

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On that last day, with the light rain closing in, and the fog creeping over the water and up onto the Piazza San Marco, when he was nearing a meet at the drop, hed suddenly seen the figures closing in from all sides. At that moment he realized that a trap had been set for both himself and Cygnus. The last he saw of his agent was a shadow in a raincoat and hat dashing off into one of the narrow streets. Langley couldnt leave well enough alone. They had to know more. The simple truth was that he hadnt been trusted, not at the beginning and certainly not at the end. It was all a game of deceit and mistrust, an exercise of lies. But they missed. In the end, though Cygnus got away, in not being careful enough and alert hed failed to protect his source. That was the last he saw of his agent. He could rationalize away his blame, and the guilt. After all he had no way of knowing what was planned. There was no way he could have done other than he did. But the feeling never left him and the pain persisted. After that was a recall to Washington, hearings, accusations, an end to his career. The worst of the accusations was that he was taking the money that was meant to pay his agent and using it for his personal use. If they really knew Walker they would know how ridiculous the charge. But of course knowing their employees wasnt in the program. About that time his heavy drinking started. If it werent for his loyalty to his agent he wouldnt be here now. He was very close to saying screw them. Were they to be trusted even now? Quickly his thoughts drifted once again.

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His jobhe was actually a NOC or non official coverhad been the manager of an agency that specialized in providing experienced, bi-lingual guides to the many travel companies that brought the hordes of tourists into the city on the water. No one could conceivably visit Italy and not see Venice. Business was so good that it was one of the most profitable ventures in the companys extensive portfolio. In fact, many of his business meetings had been centered on the problems of too many tourists coming to the city: sewage, accommodations, noise, crowds, and a general over taxing of all facilities. Nothing concrete had come forth at the meetings by way of solutions because in the end it was the dollar, or the Euro that counted, at least to the majority, or the most vocal. There was an expensive plan in the making from Rome to build a set of locks at the entrance to the city to help the flooding problem. In time, some thought, Venice would disappear into the sea. There were those who thought that might not be such a bad happening.

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EIGHT Seven hours ahead of Walker, in a village southeast of the city of Tadmur in Syria, some 80 miles from the border with Iraq, a meeting was being held. The group sat in a semi-circle on the carpeted floor of a modest house, a dwelling no different from all the others on the street except for the surrounding wall and the guards posted front and back. This might be taken for nothing more than a town meeting but for the AK-47 rifles they all held at their side. The Russian weapon, readily available on the open market, or on any market, seemed to be in the hands of rebels and terrorists the world over. Selling any kind of weapon was a large part of the Russian economy; they were universal merchants of death. Those attending were not young, all men, one with a long wispy beard, and all wore plain white robes and sandals on their feet. They differed as well in that they were all lean, hard, weary men who lived the nomadic

life of the hunted, those with a price on their heads. With the large bounty their capture could bring, they had few friends and couldnt even trust relatives or family. Facing the group around him, the obvious leader, was a man whose face was known now as the most wanted in the world. He wore a dusty robe, his thin face tan and weathered, wispy beard long and unkempt. His dark eyes bore into the one he questioned. What is being done about this problem of the documents? Have you found a leak in our organization? We can find no leak, the man said. Then how can secret information about us be available to the West? We dont know. If there is such a leak we cannot find it, the man said slowly after a pause. He spoke softly as if hoping not to be heard. Have we been penetrated? the Leader asked, impatient, growing angry over the lack of suitable answers to his questions. Again a long pause. Then the soft voice came. I do not think we have been penetrated. The Leader nodded his head, not in agreement, but in frustration. How did we find out about thiswhere did it come from? I have heard of this agent Cygnus. We learned that the documents would be given to the American by Cygnus. Yes, I know this. But how did we learn these things? Where did it originate? We learned this from a well placed informant, a believer in our cause, one of the faithful who knows the true

The leader interrupted. Yes. Yes. Please spare me the rhetoric. The Leader had been schooled in England and knew that language as well as his own. Our informant has a high position in the Italian government; more than that we dont know. There was some mention of an attorney being involved. Has this attorney been questioned? the Leader asked. It was decided that such contact would not be wise. He nodded and said nothing for a moment. This brings me to ask the obvious. What is being done now? We have learned that the exchange will take place between Cygnus and the American in Venice. The leader nodded thoughtfully. This Cygnus againa thorn in our side for several years now. Why have we been unable to find this person? He asked to himself. Then he went on. After we find this Cygnus and recover the information we must silence this person permanently. This information must never reach the Americans. It will be done. Who is the American? The one who controlled Cygnus from the beginning. In a rare moment of what he considered to be high humor the Leader said, The plot thickens. It was my understanding that the CIA operative handling Cygnus was discharged in disgracethanks in a large part to our efforts to discredit him. How is it that he is once again connected to Cygnus? We dont know. He must have been called back into service at the request of Cygnus. That is the only possible reason for his being involved now.

Do we have nothing more on this man from our source in Washington? Without waiting for the disappointing answer he expected, he added, He will be dealt with? We will take care of the American as well. There are many loose ends here. I hope you realize, he said once again, how important it is that the information never reaches the Americans. I know the importance of this mission. Venice is quite an unusual choice for thisexchange. Do we know why it is in Venice? We only know that Cygnus has always operated in Venice. The Leader shook his head in disbelief. Cygnus has always operated in that city and yet we not only cannot find this person, we know almost nothing about this mysterious figure that somehow finds out about our inner structure and offers it to the West. I find this unacceptable and beyond belief. We must double our efforts, around the world, to put an end to Cygnus. Do I make myself clear? Yes. We have good people. And these good people are our own countrymen? How can so many of our brothers not be recognized in that place? Only one man is our own. The rest are locals hired for this in Venice. The American has been followed since he left America. There will be no mistakes this time. There cannot be any mistakes this time, Kamal. If there are, you personally will pay the price of failure. Do I need to remind you of Afghanistan, or of your failure to hold the northern sector against a handful of the American Special Forces?

There was nothing but silence for a few minutes before the group got up from their seated positions and went on their way.

NINE A dismal morning, Jack thought, light rain, boring gray sky, not unusual hed read for this time of year. He stood forward on the boat holding on to the railing, watching the vaporetto, or water bus, gondolas filled with tourists, and taxi acquei, water taxi, pass in both directions; the water was choppy in the narrow channel from the traffic. He had to smile, again, at the thought of taking a boat from the airport to his hotel. Venice was a different place. He got off the boat and walked through Piazza San Marco, the smaller square between the water and the main piazza. At one time this had been water but was since filled in, and once, in the early days, it had been the site of public functionslike executions. Live entertainment was a bit rough in those days. Pulling up the collar of his raincoat against the damp chill, he walked on into the main square and past the Basilica di San Marco on his right. Leaving

the square he passed under the clock tower, built in 1496, that represented all that is Venice, and went through several narrow calli, or streetsnot one of which was straightthat eventually led to his hotel. People actually lived here. His hotel was off behind the piazza and close to where Walker would be staying. Jacks first concern was to locate him and set up surveillance. He was already a day behind Walker. But it wasnt as if he was a hostile; they were on the same side and seeking the same result. As basic as that seemed, even people within the same agency were often reluctant to cooperate with one another. He wondered about the infighting in a super large department like Homeland Security, which in theory was a good idea, but in actuality had to be a nightmare of bickering and turf protecting. Jack unpacked in what he found to be a spacious, ornate room, from another era, more like a suite, and huge by European standards, which was a shame, he thought, since hed probably spend little time here enjoying the space. Maybe when this was over hed come back here, stay in this hotel and play tourist. Would Kim be along? His body clock was off; he was dragging and needed a nap. Under other circumstances hed have no problem taking some time out. On this job he didnt have that kind of slack, in fact he had none; he kept thinking back to what the president said about how time was a factor. Any intelligence data had a time frame. It all had a sell by date beyond which it became questionable and perhaps useless. With important stuff like financial data on AQ it was moved up to instant; it took only moments using modern banking methods to move billions of dollars. There was definitely no time to waste.

An inquiry and a phone call at the desk told Jack that Walker was not in his room. Where the hell was he? It was almost noon. Would he be out looking at the sights and ducking the pigeons? Hardly. Was he out having a nice lunch? Possible. But not very likely since the man, like Jack, was here on critical business. It seemed unlikely, in fact absurd, since Walker had lived here for several years, that he would be out playing at being a tourist. None of this thinking was of any help. In spite of getting nowhere at this very moment, so to speak, Jack still had a positive attitude and still felt that this would be a short assignment. He just had to get the pieces together and get come control. Hello. There were other places hed rather be, France to name one. That wasnt going to happen if he didnt get his act together soon. At Walkers hotel, hed decided to press a bit. I was supposed to meet a friend but hes not here, he said to the concierge, trying to show an exasperated look and asking for help. It worked. Who is your friend, sir? Jack gave him the name. The concierge took only a moment to glance at his laptop behind the counter. I believe you might find your friend at a business luncheon. He gave the name and address. A bit odd that hed know that, Jack thought, unless hed looked at Walkers messages. So he was a snoop. Werent they all? At least he knew where to look.

TEN An hour earlier. The man known as Kamal to some, and by a different name to others, sat at the bar in his hotel waiting for a call on his cell phone; he was not one who followed the teachings on alcohol. Though he had little confidence in the strangers hired here in Venicehe trusted no one but his own peoplethere had been no problems with following the American. The waiting was the worst part, the inactivity, something he had little tolerance for and an unaccustomed assignment for him. He hadnt been a happy follower when promoted from the action cell to the planning. His most satisfying times in their war on the infidels, he mused, were the days he was actually a part of the bombings, ambushes, and kidnappings. But he was not a fanatic, not one of those who could give up their lives and crash into the towers in New

York, or the suicide bombers; he placed more value on his own life. No. These days it was from among the young zealots, the dreamers and super idealists that they found their followers. Turning to look again at the attractive woman at the end of the bar, he remembered the last woman hed taken in the heat and dust of their camp. This was not his world, this place of the soft and decadent where the women were independent and bold to the point that they expected to be equal to the men. But this would change. Their war would be won in time because they were patient and they were dedicated to a common cause, united in a way the infidels could never understand. His phone rang then and he pressed the button and said simply, Yes? Is this Kamal? Of course it is you idiot. Who else would be at this number? He said, Never use names. Give me your report. The American is still at his hotel but I think he may soon be on the move. And why do you think that? At this moment he had grave doubts about the people hed employed here; failure was not an option and he could certainly see that as a possibility. From what hed learned, the stolen information concerned not only financial matters such as secret bank accounts and holdings all over the world, but listed followers and agents as well. Exposing this information could well lead to closing down their entire apparatus, but even worse, lead to the capture of their leader. No. Failure was not an option. On the other hand, success meant power, much power, in a world in their control. The hired man said, I think he will be moving soon because a message came for him this morning.

And were you able to intercept this message? Since Kamal had been educated in the west, in the United States and England, his English accent was often disconcerting what with his dark skin and sharp Arabic face. He actually enjoyed the surprised expression when he spoke to people. Unfortunately I was not able to do that. The messenger came without my seeing him. Kamal interpreted this to mean that the incompetent one was probably sleeping or watching an attractive woman, of which there were many in Venice. And you think this message has some meaning? Well, you did say that the American is here to meet someone. The message must be for that reason. Good thought. The man has some intelligence, more than I would give him credit for having. And what has happened since the message was delivered? he asked. Nothing. Should I go in and take the American? I was hasty, Kamal said to himself. The man is an idiot. No. Do not approach the American. We are not so much interested in the American as we are in the person he contacts. Watch and follow him and then report to me. Do not lose him. The moment he gets to his destination, and you are sure of that, call me. Is that clear? Yes. This is perfectly clear. If he waited for more conversation he was disappointed. The line went dead. He was annoyed at being treated like a common peasant by this arrogant man, this foreigner. But then, what else could he do? What did he know but this kind of work? He did the best he could do but his wife was constantly pressuring him to do better for the family. What else did he know but this kind of work? Even though the money on this job was very good,

more than he normally made in six months, hed still like to throw this man Kamal into the stinking canal. A man had his pride. When Owen came out of his hotel, crossed the small bridge, and made his way along the crowded calle, the sun was peeking through the clouds and he thought it a beautiful day in Venice. On such a beautiful day what could go wrong? A lot could go wrong if the note was actually from Cygnus and he made contact. In this crowd it would be difficult to spot a tail, not that it mattered, not yet, and he didnt even bother to look for one. He didnt doubt for a moment that some faction, maybe several, was watching his every move. But the show couldnt start until Cygnus came on stage. Jack wended his way to the restaurant where the business luncheon was being held. It was a careful, slow process using his map without which he would never have found the place. Even with the map he made several wrong turns and was often damning the city of Venice. Why couldnt the founding fathers have laid Venice out in a nice neat grid, like Washington, or Philadelphia? It would be neat, functionaland boring. The thinking was, hed heard somewhere that one could never get lost in Venice a dumb thought. Okay, so you would eventually hit water no matter which direction you went. But finding water wasnt quite the same as finding your hotel. One couldnt sleep in the Grand Canal. Then again the place did have its charm. The restaurant lookedwell, old, and maybe even old enough to have been built by the founding fathers. Just inside the door he checked the raincoat hed been

carrying and went on into a large room with a long, dark, highly polished bar on the right. Behind the bar was a series of small mirrors in a line rather than one huge one. Three bartenders were very busy. In front of the bar, both seated, and standing elbow to elbow, was a lot of well dressed men and women. The hum of conversation, Jack thought, though constant, loud, and certainly animated, was different from the softer tone of a social meeting later in the day, or perhaps a tryst that was all eyes, emotion and tenderness. Here they seemed to want to make a point, were more focusedit was a business meeting. Before Jack moved on he made a sweep of the bar people. Pointless, he realized, to look for someone unknown. Which one might be Cygnus? The answer was that anyone of them could be the elusive master spy. How would contact be made? In this mob it should be easy. Thinking about it, Jack thought this place and this sort of setting was a wise choice for a meeting. Walker had moved past the early surge of people hed known, or who had known him, surprised at the number who remembered, and gradually elbowed his way out to the floating patio where a bar had been set up. What he needed badly was a drink. He ordered his first Jack Daniel Manhattan. Having identified Walker from photos in his package from Washington, Jack had gradually maneuvered, vodka in hand, into a position to watch and hear this scenario play out. Before Walker had a chance to turn around with his drink and survey the crowd, a man next to him said, Im Sergio Venetti and who might you be? Owen Walker. If that makes any difference.

The man smiled broadly. No offense, Mr. Walker. I have the bad habit of perhaps being overly friendly with strangers. Its my nature. Owen turned to look at him: a smooth, confident man with the looks of a matinee idol (dubbed of course). He kept staring at him for some sign of recognition, anything that might mean he was other than he appeared, but he saw nothing in those dark eyes. Was this nothing more than a casual meeting and conversation? Sergio said, Im the speaker today. I hope you will find me interesting. Im sure I will, Mr. Venetti. The little peacock. Please. I am Sergio to everyone. I dont recall your face from our meetings. Thats because Ive been away for a while. Ah. Its nice that youve come back. And what is your business, Mr. Walker? Tourists and tourism. Wonderful! That is exactly what I will be talking about today. We Venetians are annoyed with the crowds and the inconvenience caused by our guests, not to mention the overtaxing of our facilities. But we must realize that we are dependant on them for our very existence. I am tired of all these complaints. Having said that, he turned and walked away. Thats a good point, Sergio, Owen said to his back. Odd duck. There were people here that he recognized and who no doubt would remember him, these he wanted to stay away from and not get tangled up in small talk. At the same he wanted to make himself available. The few people on the patio showed no interest. With that in mind, and drink in hand, he went into the dining room and made his way slowly through the room and back to the front door. Aside from a lot of

curious looks from people he didnt know, and didnt want to at this point, no one made any effort to approach him. It was as he turned to look back into the room that he saw a man coming towards him, a man vaguely familiar that he knew hed met but couldnt put a name with the face. The man smiled broadly and said, I can see from your face that you dont remember me, Mr. Walker. We met before at one of these meetings. Putting out a hand he said, Carlo Orsini. Upon hearing the name Owen suddenly remembered the man. Count Orsini isnt it? Ah yesthe old title. Im surprised you remembered. It meant little then and even less now. It is rarely used these days. Please call me Carlo. Count Carlo Orsini was not someone he actually knew but someone he knew a lot about. From an old, slightly mysterious and wealthy family that had at one time owned lots of land in the south, it was rumored, that like many of the wealthy today, he had Mafia connections. It was a silly rumor because the Mafia was everywhere and an integral part of the country. It was also probably true. Aside from that, he was known to have holdings in manufacturing companies both in Italy and in the newly formed countries that broke away from Russia. A lesser-known business interest was the sale of arms to anyone and everyone. Mafia or no, the man had connections all over Europe and a yacht that could only dock at piers that were as long as a football field. He was both powerful and dangerous. The immediate question was could this be Cygnus? With such a background it was certainly a possibility, if not a bit farfetched; the Count certainly didnt need the extra income, or the stress, not to mention the

threat to life and limb. Stranger things had happened. But he couldnt think of one. Owen said, And how are things with you these days? How is business? Quite well, thank you. It is nice to see you back in Venice. Are you back for good? No, just a visit, a business trip actually. The Count puffed on his gold cigarette holder before answering. My business is fine, Mr. Walker. Call me Owen. Owen. As I was saying, my business is good. But, again that smile, it is my personal life that is so wonderful! How is that? You havent heard? Heard what? I just got back. I have married the most beautiful and wisest woman in all of Italy. Owen said, Now thats an accomplishmentmy congratulations. He gave a quick glance around the room. Is the lucky woman here? From what he knew of the Count he wasnt sure that lucky was the proper word. You compliment me. I am the lucky man. She had an earlier appointment but she should be here momentarily. Then, with the anxious, nervous look of a groom waiting for who would be the love of his life, he added, Im certain that she will be here any minute. Owen was standing with his back to the door when the Counts face lit up. Ah. There she is now. You will surely agree that she is exquisite. What with the Count carrying on as he washe certainly had the wealth and lived the lifestyle to accommodate a beautiful womanshe had to be

something special. And she was all that and more. The woman checked her coat and came over to them. With words that came out in a bare whisper, Owen said, Hello Gina.

ELEVEN By this time Kamal had gotten the word and was waiting outside the restaurant with two of his hired men. He felt strongly that this place was where the American and the spy would meet. He would watch and wait. Surely the documents wouldnt be passed in the restaurant, so both the American and the person he came out withthis would certainly be the agent would be followed to their destination. Once the information, both documents and whatever could be gotten from the two of them, they would have to be killed. His work here was important, perhaps the most important event in his life, and there could be no mistake, and as he dwelt on that he had other thoughts. Yes, hed come a long way from that skinny child in the dust of a training camp in Lebanon to the present. But was it enough? He wasnt getting any younger and what did the future hold for him but more of the same. As it looked now the worldwide war against the infidels would last for years, and with that

in mind he was destined to run and hide for the rest of his life as a terrorist in that continuing battle. On the other hand, if what hed been told was true and the information he was after was invaluable, worth literally millions to his leaders, it would be worth as much or more to the other side. Hed had some experience in these matters, and as well, had spent enough Time in places like London, Paris, Miami, and even New York City, to have a taste of their life as compared with cities in the Middle East. Carrying this thought a bit furtherthis treason of the worst kind that would bring a slow, horrible and painful death, if he were caughthe could readily picture countries bidding with him for the information; he could picture himself in a villa on the French Riviera surrounded by beautiful women. He ended this bit of fancy with the ironic thought that either way hed be running and hiding. The difference was that with lots of money the days before his eventual death would be much more pleasant. Coming back to reality, he looked around, noting that the sky had cleared and that his men were reasonably well hidden, or at least not conspicuous, though in the case of those two morons that wasnt easy. To this point he had assumed that the two inside would meet and come out together then go to wherever the stolen documents were hidden. Simple. Too simple. To complicate things for him, he considered, this might be merely an initial meet, the first of several to follow in an attempt to throw off anyone following. This would mean that he and his men would be led a merry chase around the city. That wasnt a pleasant prospect given what he had to work with as far as surveillance. He could only hope that the American came out with someone rather than alone.

TWELVE Hello Owen. No words came as he stared into those eyesthat face. But another time spent with her came back as clear as day: Capri. One bright and clear morning, on the spur of the moment, a day when both of them were filled with the carefree, wild feeling of their romancemade even more so because they were old enough to appreciate the sheer abandon of itthey took a gondola over to Piazzle Roma and rented a car, a convertible. Their insane idea, as Gina called it, laughing all the while, was to drive down south to Sorrento and from there, depending on their mood, maybe take a boat over to the romantic Isle of Capri. The itinerary was left open. They would stop when and wherever they chose and if they made it to the Isle so be it. As it turned out they did. But they never made it to dinner.

He had a picture of the bright sun on her hair, loose, long and shiny, blowing in the wind and her special smile that was Gina. She pulled her hair back from her face with both hands and tied it behind her head with a blue bit of cloth. The night in Sorrento was spent in a Cliffside hotel with a view of the bay and across the blue water was Naples. As she stood on the balcony taking in the view, she suddenly turned and came into the room to stand in front of him; he was sitting on the side of the bed with a towel around his waist. With a quick movement she reached down and loosened the towel, let her light robe fall to the floor, then pushed him back onto the bed. She slid onto him then, covering his face and neck with kisses, then over his chest and moved down his body until her head was between his legs. After a few moments of that he couldnt stand anymore, couldnt wait for her, and grabbing her by the hair pulled her up. As she sat straight up on him he went into her and she arched her back, moaning, pressing down to get all of him, riding his body. Naples. As she stood on the balcony taking in the view, she suddenly turned and came into the room to stand in front of him; he was sitting on the side of the bed with a towel around his waist. With a quick movement she reached down and loosened the towel, let her light robe fall to the floor, then pushed him back onto the bed. She slid onto him then, covering his face and neck with kisses, then over his chest and moved down his body until her head was between his legs. After a few moments of that he couldnt stand anymore, couldnt wait for her, and grabbing her by the hair pulled her up. As she sat straight up on him he went into her and she arched her back, moaning, pressing down to get all of him, riding his body.

Then later she screamed, collapsed on his chest, and lay still. She said softly, That was good. Owen nodded and held her tightly. They ate in the room and drank a bottle of champagne. Before they went to sleep they made love once again. In the late morning after a huge breakfast they drove down to the docks and took a ferry over to Capri. The day was glorious, bright and sunny, and they walked up the hills holding hands as lovers will, looked in the quaint shops, took it all in, then rode the cable car back down to the dock. Gina had her arm in his and said, We cant leave without seeing the Blue Grotto. Im sure its nice, Gina. But what I want to see is you in our room. Besides, youre a travel agent. Havent you seen it? Get your mind out of the bedroom, Owen. This is something to see. Sure Ive seen it, but not with you. Whats wrong with the bedroom? Absolutely nothing is wrong with the bedroom. I love it and well be back there soon enough. I want you to see this.

Once again she was right because the cave, with only a narrow openingto enter the small cave they lay flat on their backs in the bottom of the boatwas a rare sight. Inside the cave the water was the bluest hed ever seen. He remembered that they both sang at the top of their lungs with the boatman as they circled the cave. Owen came out of his memories to hear the Count ask in a questioning voice, You two know each other? Gina said, Yes, I already know Owen. In fact were good friends, or at least we were. Are we still Owen, still good friends? With that she leaned forward, hands on his waist, and kissed him lightly, on the lips. Softly, she said, I wanted to get in touch with you. But those were difficult Times for all of us. To say the least, Owen thought. Carlo said quickly, I had no idea. You two know each other? How can this be? Gina turned to Carlo and spoke into the awkward silence that followed. You remember, Carlo that I was, and still am in the travel business, as was Owen. It was only natural that we would meet somewhere along the way. Dont you agree? Nodding, Carlo said, I suppose so. But he clearly didnt understand any of this. More silence. Then Owen said, You look wonderful, Gina. In a simple, clinging black dress and her dark hair in a single, thick, shiny braid that fell almost to her waist, it was a stunning look that only Gina could pull off, making beauty out of simplicity. She had the face for it and the body and the thing was, she

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never thought of herself as beautiful; she laughed and changed the subject whenever he brought it up. His eyes never left her but he was sure that everyone in the room was looking their way. She looked back at Owen then. Ive heard a little about youfrom time to timethat youve been living the good life. Someplace in Virginia? How did she know that? She must have thought about him once in a while and kept track of his whereabouts; he was both flattered and happy about that because she wasnt someone easily forgotten, nor was his feelings for her. Youre not exactly pale yourself. Summering on Lake Como? She laughed. You know me, how I love the sun, how I follow the sun in fact. But its not the same anymore. Owen didnt know how to read that. Was it her life in general without him that didnt measure up? Get real. Was it the people shed been with up north? Was it her new husband? It could be any or all of the above. In any case it was none of his business, just as he had no business wanting to take her in his arms. But he did feel that way. Gina asked, Will you be here long, Owen? I wish it would be longer, he thought. Her eyes gave nothing away, but he had the strong feeling that she knew all about his being here. Just long enough to take care of some business. Carlo watched and didnt say a word, probably couldnt. Are you back in the business? she asked. Tourism, I mean. Id heard that you retired.

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You hear a lot, Gina. Youve got good sources. But then you always did have good contacts. Could she also know about Cygnus? Most likely not, and most likely he was reading far too much into their conversation. Thank you, Owen. If Im going to compete with the men I have to be good. Isnt that right, Carlo? After a long moment he said, Yes, my dear Gina. Turning to Owen, he said, Ive tried to get her to stop meddling in the business world. Goodness knows she doesnt need the money. But she insists that the business world is a vital part of her life. He shrugged. What can I do? Owen smiled. With Gina, youd best do nothing but let her run. Owen turned away and again scanned the crowd. And again, he saw no one showing the least interest in himsome were looking in his direction now, but at Gina. Of course the luncheon meeting had just started, and of the fifty or sixty men and women here hed spoken with only a few. He had expected something to happen by now. This was beginning to look like a wild goose chase in so far as his mission was concerned. But as far as Gina The general hum of conversation around them had lessened as seats were being taken for lunch and the presentation. Carlo said, Perhaps we should find a place at the table. Gina said, Will you sit with us, Owen? Id love to. Then he turned to Carlo and added, That is if your husband doesnt mind. Mind? Of course not. Please join us. He took Ginas arm and led them off towards a long table near the center of the room.

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As he neared the table, walking a few steps behind Gina and Carlo, a man approached. Bon Giorno, he said, and then added quickly, But I guess its a bit late for that isnt it? Its hardly morning. My Italian is limited to say the least. Im Jack Morgan. Why did he do that Italian bit? Dumb. He automatically looked at Walker for some sign of recognition, some common ground, but of course there was none since Walker didnt know him. My pleasure, Owen said, shaking the outstretched hand. With his other hand Jack deftly dropped a tiny homing device into Walkers coat pocket. And who the hell is Jack Morgan? Could this be his contact? He had to move carefully. Do I know you? No, Jack said. But were in the same line of business. They shared eye contact for a long moment. Walker sensed that there was some connection here but had no idea as to who or what since no one told him that he had someone riding shotgun. And what is it you do? Walker asked. Hoping to give Walker a clue, Jack said, Oddly enough we used to work for the same company. Now you might call me an entrepreneur. Walker didnt seem to get itmaybe he was stunned by this gorgeous woman that he seemed to know. There was definitely a story in that pair. Jack decided to just tag along, invited or not. So far the whole thing seemed to be a bust; hed talked to at least a dozen people at

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this little lunch and no one reacted in any way. Was Cygnus even here? Walker didnt seem to be looking for anyone which struck Jack as odd. Carlo looked like he was waiting to be discovered but already knew he was a star. Gina drew them all to her like a magnet. The table was long, extra long, probably two pushed together, maybe three, but it wasnt wide and Jack figured he had his best chance of seeing and hearing all, or as close to all as could be, by sitting across from Gina; not that looking across the table at her was hard to take. Jack thought dinner was good but over the top: soup, pasta, meat, fish, salad, cheeseif these business people ate like this every month, or however often they met, theyd all need Slim Fast. Of course with this feast came lots of wine. If they had any interest in current problems on Venice youd never know it from the din of conversation that made hearing anything across the table almost impossible. In spite of this raucous mood that filled the restaurant, the little man who was the speaker took his place at the front of the room and patiently waited for quiet. It took the best part of five minutes to happen. Many of the members, knowing how tedious this part of their meeting could bethe dinner which was the best part, and the only reason many of them came, was overquickly signaled the aged waiters for more wine. After all it wasnt as if they had to listen, no one would test them, and they only had to remain upright in their chairs. Some found a lot of interest in watching

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the passing boats on the canal behind the speaker. Gina was seated with Walker on one side and Carlo on the other. Walker was doing his best to focus on the speaker, or at least give that impression, but wasnt totally there yet, so he did feel the slight movement, a brush contact, by Gina at his side. Neither one turned from the speaker. After waiting for what seemed to be a decent interval, and glancing around the table to see if anyone had noticed, Walker casually reached into his pocket. The speaker, in what he thought were persuasive terms, but in reality were barely a notch above dull, was pushing for cleaning up the Grand Canala project that all agreed should be done but no one knew how to finance. Walker pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket and glanced down to read it. Stunned at what he saw in a quick scan, he took a long moment to read it carefully. After he did that he was more confused than ever. The note gave directions to a meeting place at a building on the canal after the luncheon. At least contact had been made. How was Gina mixed up in this? She could only be acting as a messenger for Cygnus. There was no way she could actually be Cygnus. What seemed more likely was that she was acting as a courier for her husband. Carlo seemed to be the more likely spy. But why wouldnt Carlo contact Walker directly? He was sitting right beside the man. In a mystery novel he would now commence to take all the time he

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needed to question every suspect, examine every clue, and eventually find the spy. The reality was that there was no time. Looking for some kind of clue, any help at all, Walker turned to look at the Count. Carlo caught his look and merely smiled; there was no conspiracy in that face. Ginas attention was fixed on the speaker. Across the table, Jack was watching Walker closely but his face gave no hint of anything out of the ordinary. He was, however, on his second drink at the table with wine to accompany dinner. Was this Walker a lush? Since Walker had read the message his mind was a blank. None of this made any sense and he was glad when the damned meeting finally ended. At least then he could move on, meet with Gina and get some idea of what the hell was going on with her and this document business. Gina stood and gave one last look around the restaurant. Her plan, for better or worse at this point, for there was no turning back, was moving into the final phase in Venice. How it went would have an effect on the rest of her life. To Jack, who was now looking at her difficult not to look when the gorgeous creature stood up for all to seeGina seemed preoccupied, troubled perhaps, and definitely not in any kind of a party luncheon mood. But then he didnt know her and maybe that was her look for these things. Then she gave Walker a kiss on the cheek, more social than romantic, and moved away towards the door with Carlo, still biding

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goodbyes to his fellow business men and women, following in her wake. Yes she left a wake, an aura, a space of awe. Everyone sort of melted away except Jack who lingered making small talk with a few people he didnt even know and finishing his vodka. What with the device hed slipped in Walkers coat he could do a loose tail on him. Then he tuned out the business talk going on around him and let his thoughts wander. What is it with Walker and Gina? Unless he was way off base here, he saw or maybe felt something between them. While that kind of thing was not his strong point he was sure of his feeling here: the air between the two of them sizzled. He was envious. There had been a time with Kim He moved away from that subject. Gina was married but yet had a thing for Walker? So what? What did that have to do with his mission here? Walker was here to get documents and Jack was his back up. End of story. That simplistic scenario lasted about one minute. It ended when a stranger, a large, military type, or ex-military, now going a bit to fat around the middle, introduced himself to Jack. Bob Greene, he said. With three es. Three of them? Jack said. Good for you. Do we know each other? Greene, with three es, was a southern boy and it was reflected in his voice. No we dont. But we should, he drawled. And why is that?

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Because were on the same side, like the Gators and the Seminoles, more or less. You follow football? Not college. No matter. Like you, Im after the documents. This is becoming a parade. What documents? Jack asked. Greene smiled. Dont jerk my chain, Morgan. We both know about the paper work. So lets not waste time. Some secret, Jack thought. We must have read different newspapers. What are you talking about? Im talking about the stuff on the terrorists, the inside material that this fellow Walker is supposed to pick up here in this stupid city. Now are you telling me you know nothing about all that secret stuff? Im telling you nothing because I have no idea what youre talking about. Do you work for some government agency that dreams up these things? Greene looked at him for a long, slow moment. Have it your way, Morgan. We could have worked together on this, make it a whole lot easier. Ill end this and make it easier right now, Jack told him. I dont do government inter agency crap. I dont do politics. And I most definitely do not get involved in any kind of turf wars. You kiddies solve your own problems in the sand box. Greene looked away, still calm and collected, then back. No politics? Didnt you come here

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representing the president? Wouldnt you call that political? No. Id call that respecting the office of the presidency and doing your duty for the country. It has nothing to do with politics. Greene nodded with a smile. Id have to agree with you there: respecting the office and doing your duty for the country sure isnt politics. I like your style, Morgan. Still doesnt change the picture. It does for me. Do what you think you have to do but stay off my ass. I dont want to see you again. You can bet Ill be seeing you, Morgan.

THIRTEEN Walker had hoped to follow Gina but he lost her in the crowd leaving the restaurant. He reverted to the directions on her note and went

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to a spot on the canal where he could get a boat across; the water taxi station was very close to the restaurant. In one sense it was good planning, the boat across, he thought, it would make it easy to spot a tail. What hadnt been taken into account were the heavy water traffic and the throngs of people waiting to cross. In this mob hed be easy to follow. Cant win them all. He edged into the line and waited. Looking around he saw no one who seemed to be interested in him. After what seemed an hour but was probably no more than a matter of minutes, he made the crossing, jumped out and went quickly along a narrow cobblestone walkway along the water. The directions were to a boathouse, which was fine, but this area was full of them, all old, and all looked as if a good wind would blow them away. Why the hell would she send him to a place like this? To make matter worse there seemed to be no numbers. He moved along looking at all the buildings as if some sign would appear to tell him which was the right one. He thought he heard someone behind him and quickened his pace. Bad move. He promptly slipped on the wet stones and went down hard on one knee. Getting up was painful and he knew it was more than a bruise. He struggled to his feet and limped on. Suddenly he saw a building of stone and wood with boarded up windows and outside one of them was a block and tackle fixed to an iron ring.

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It was definitely a boathouse. The note had specified a boathouse. There appeared to be no way into the boathouse on the canal side, at least none that had been used in the lasthundred years? He did see a narrow passageway between the buildings and he moved into that, hoping for some kind of entrance. Almost at once he saw an oversize door or rusted metal, ajar, creaking as it swung slightly in the weak wind. He leaned against the stone to catch his breath. He couldnt go much further. Should never have had that wine with dinner. Who was he to meet? Would Gina be here as some sort of liaison between him and Cygnus? How did she get mixed up in this? What role did she play? His head was starting to pound. And Cygnuswould the super spy even show up? Not for the first time he questioned his motives for coming to Venice. If not for Cygnus he wouldnt be here at all! Damn his agent. He made up his mind right then and there that hed be on the first plane out in the morning, documents or not. He pushed the door aside and moved into a large dark room, then waited for his vision to adjust. When it cleared enough to see in the dim light he could make out the outlines of boats, rope and hanging nets. There was no doubt about this being a boat house. The question was: is this the boat house he was supposed to find? They were all over the place. A gentle squeaking of the hanging ropes and tackle was all he heard.

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Kamal had sent one of his men into the restaurant to keep an eye on Walker and report anything out of the ordinary. He sat now at a table across the street having coffee and a fresh roll; hed quickly come to like the thick coffee. He especially liked the three spoonfuls of sugar that he added. The crowds moved along in clusters of noisy men and women. Suddenly his man came out of the restaurant and looked all around for Kamal. When he finally spotted him he dashed across the street. The American met a woman in the restaurant, he said, turning to look back at the door. What woman? That one, he said, pointing to Gina coming out. Follow her, he ordered. And report back to me at the house. When Walker came out Kamal quickly finished his coffee and fell in behind with his goons to follow. They were only moments behind him when they came to the boathouse to find his man waiting. What are you doing here? Kamal demanded, angered at the stupidity of the man. I told you to follow the woman. The woman is inside, he answered calmly. Are you certain? I saw her enter with my own eyes. Kamal promptly ordered all of them to stand against the stone walls and wait for his orders. Looking over the building with a strong measure of doubt, Kamal wondered if his people had followed the wrong man, and

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woman. Could this decrepit building be a meeting place? How could the woman be involved? Maybe the papers were hidden inside. And maybe this was not a meeting about the papers at all. He decided there were far too many maybes. It seemed likely, or at least possible, that this man Walker had met a contact in the restaurant and a meeting had been set up to pass over the papers. Kamal knew as well as anyone else that as far as financial data on the terrorists went, it had to be acted on quickly; the sell by date was yesterday. This could also be nothing more than a meeting of lovers, a tryst of sorts. But would such a thing be set up here? Kamal was not without thoughts of love and romance. One daywhen this was over and he was a rich man He was not armed nor were any of his men; to be caught with a weapon in Venice was a serious crime. He stepped inside and searched the dark room. Was that a moving shadow across the far wall? He stopped to look and listen. Walker had made his way, stumbled actually, to a wooden stairway at the back wall of the building. If Gina was supposed to be here where the hell was she? Why would anyone, any sane person that is, set up a meeting in a pitch black, falling down boathouse? Could she be on the second floor? And could all these people be crazy? As he was about to go up the steps he thought he heard a voice. Had he

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really heard someone? He stood still and listened. A feeble light came through the spaces between the boards on the canal side of the building; the guy who built this place was one sloppy worker, or maybe he, or she, was a chef or a florist, anything but a carpenter. Again the voice out of the dark. Walker. Over here. It was definitely Gina. Where are you? he asked. I cant see a damn thing. Come to my voice, Owen. Im at the back wall by the canal. He looked towards the voice and thought he could make out the outline of a body on the far wall. He started to her, slowly, because he couldnt move any other way at the moment, what with his head in a buzz. It was a good thing because twice he stepped onto rotten boards and went down to his ankle. Gina reached out for him and pulled him close; they stood against the weathered, rotten wood wall. Walker hugged her tight. The feel of her body was pleasure enough for a few moments as he let himself go in her arms. If he could only stay in their protective warmth, he thought. But he had to come back to reality, or at least to what passed for it at the moment. Unfortunately there had to be answers. It was the way of our life. Taking her face in his hands he asked, What is it, Gina? Whats going on? What are you doing here? What are we doing here? Where is Cygnus?

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After a few moments she said, Im Cygnus, Owen. I was your agent for all that time. Do you understand what Im saying? He really didnt know what she was saying. Gina is Cygnus? There is no time to explain, Owen. You were followed. Where are the documents, Gina? Theyre not here. There is no time to explain. They heard the sound of people moving near the door. Gina! Where are the documents? Check out the drops, she said. Now go. She pushed him away and went to move away herself. As she turned away she brushed against the rotted wood and it gave way, splintering into small bits. Gina crashed through the wood and down into the canal. Owen watched for a moment, stunned and unable to move. Gina disappeared in the black water. They were coming after him and he had to get away. Was he kidding? The best he could do was to hide and hope he wasnt discovered. He crawled until he came to a boat propped up on one side. He slid under the boat and passed out. Kamal didnt believe what his men told him, that the woman had gone into the canal, and he ordered a thorough search which, after time, turned up nothing. What now? He wondered. The woman went into the canal and the man has disappeared. Where was Cygnus? Was this even a meeting of

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the two? He was no closer to finding the documents than he was when he was sitting in the desert, a time, which now made him feel sad and defeated. What would happen to his dream? But there was still the American. He was here somewhere. His men were too damned afraid of the dark to do a proper search. No matter. He lined up his men outside and asked what they had seen. Had the woman definitely gone into the canal? A definite yes. What about the man? A definite no. He saw his dream slowly fading away but he was not finished yet. Somehow the man had gotten out of the building but he would be found. He would have his men watch the Americans hotel. By the time Jack got out to the street in front of the restaurant most of the guests had gone. He hung around for a few minutes watching the scene. He didnt see the man of the three es. No doubt he was slinking around somewhere. After a time he looked at the device to locate Walker, then got out his map and went to find him. There was much to ponder as he navigated the streets. For one thing, and the least important probably, Walker seemed to be heavy on the sauce, in fact, might well be an alcoholic. It was something to store away and remember. Then there was Gina. From what he observed of the two of them during lunch there was definitely a relationship there, or had been at one time. They showed all the subtle, but

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distinct signs, of two people who had shared intimate times and were much more than friends. His gut feeling was that they were still in love. That was nice but didnt make much sense what with her being married and the two living an ocean apart. Maybe he was way off base on that one. So they had once been lovers. So what? He was probably wrong to link that and the documents. It didnt make sense. He took a lot of wrong turns and spent a lot of time looking at his map. But eventually he came to the source of his strong signala boat house? This place fit right in with the rest of this and made no sense at all. He stood looking at what appeared to be nothing more than a deserted, neglected boat house and wondered if his homing device was working. It would be a hoot if hed followed some indigent person to their dark living place. Would they dare have indigents here in this almost mystical land of domes and bell towers? His signal was high bright. If Walker was anywhere near, at least electronically, it had to be here. While these gadgets werent infallible, it occurred to Jack as he looked from his receiver to the building, that this might be one of those times of infallibility. Nevertheless, he was here and he might as well check it out. Though the building seemed to be deserted he went into the room carefully, and quietly; the only light came through a back wall that was open, the hole ragged through the shattered wood. Moving closer he saw that it appeared to be recently done, the ends of the

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wooden slat a lighter color. Walker? Did he fall into the wall? According to his signal Walker was very near. He started to slowly scan the room from left to right. Hanging ropes. Boats apparently up on blocks. Fishing nets probably hung up to dry. Block and tackle. About it all was a musty smell, old air, rotted wood, decay, neglect, all lending to the conclusion that it hadnt been used in years. So why here? Why would Walker be meeting anyone in an abandoned boathouse? He was only following instructions? It still didnt make sense. It boggled the mind. He would have to find out who owned this building. As he turned to leave, figuring that his electronics had failed himsometimes the government got good stuff, but on the other hand they often paid big bucks for inferior gear he heard a faint sounda moan? There was definitely movement. Someone was in the building. He didnt think the bad guys were hiding out under the boats waiting to shoot him, and if they were they would have done so by now; that is if they had the balls to come into Venice with weapons. He called out. Walker! Is that you? Walker! No sound for a few moments. Then he heard, Over here. Jack concentrated on the spot where he heard the voice and in a moment he made out a body lying on a sheet of canvas under a boat. He knelt beside the figure. Who are you? Walker asked.

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Im Jack Morgan. We met at the restaurant. But never mind that. Are you injured? I fell on those damned wet cobblestones and hurt my knee. You smell like a brewery. I should be so lucky. How about you get me out of here? Jack wasnt feeling a whole lot of sympathy for Walker at the moment. He asked, What are you doing here? What the hell are you doing in a deserted boathouse in the middle of nowhere? Is there something Im missing here? There probably is a lot. Walker tried to sit up but promptly fell back down. I came here to meet Gina. Why would you meet Gina here? I thought the idea was to meet Cygnus. Was Gina the gobetween? You dont get it, Morgan. Gina is Cygnus. Enough, Jack thought. I definitely dont get it, Walker, and I doubt if you do either. Sit up and well get you out of here. It was a long, slow journey back to the hotel with Jack practically carrying Walker all the way. This being the eve of one of the big festivals in Venice, of which there were many, revelers starting early and some already in costumes took the two for being fellow early party people and wished them well. Not surprisingly, Walker wanted to go right to sleep, and Jack, also not any surprise, wanted him to stay awake. Jack gave him a pen and paper. You dont sleep until you write down every single thing you know about Gina acting as Cygnus. And I mean everything. How

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you communicated. How often. If you had dead drops where were those drops. You get the picture? Walker got it but didnt like it. Have a heart, Morgan. Im in pain and I need a drink. You may be in pain. And you may be in more pain if you dont start writing. And as far as a drink, forget about it. Youre useless to me, Walker, and your ass is out of here first thing in the morning. Now start writing. Walker took up the pad and pen, gave one last annoyed look at Jack, and then started to write. Are you 100% certain that Gina was Cygnus? Jack prodded. Walker looked up and thought about it for a moment. As sure as I can be. She told me she was. What else is there? I mean, when you think back about her, is it conceivable in your mind, looking back at your relationship, that she could be Cygnus? I dont know what youre looking for, Morgan. We had a wonderful thing between us. We spent a lot of time together. Exactly, Jack interrupted. You spent lots of time together. In all that time did you ever have any feeling that she might be someone other that the Gina you knew? Thats a dumb question, Morgan. Hes right, Jack thought. And of course yelling at Walker didnt help the situation. He went to the mini bar and poured himself a vodka and sat down on the couch. It didnt help but it had to be done. He had to push himself and he had to push Walker. Time was the crucial element: if A-Q knew about financial

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leaks it was only a matter of minutes, seconds actually, to make adjustments and move huge amounts of money out of danger and into a safe haven. This was not brain surgery. This was basic terrorist survival 101. Jack sipped and his thoughts wandered. He was tired. He was accepting the dubious premise that Gina was Cygnus. Accepting? What choice did he have? There were no other players. She certainly didnt have the documents in that boat house; there was a limit to credibility. That meant she had them stashed in some other place and the most logical was the dead drops she had used with Walker. After all, she was pretty sharp to have operated all that time without being known. Yes, she was one bright lady. Then there was the relationship between Walker and Ginaunusual to say the least. He couldnt imagine that and didnt want to go there. Despite his fighting sleep he was gradually drifting off. He slipped into that first not-so-deep layer and dreamed. It was a relaxing, glorious day in the sun, lazing, fishing, looking at the sea and watching his dog race around the deck. Harry, leave the damn fish alone! In a tee shirt, shorts, and deck shoes, under a cloudless sky, hed just hauled the sailfish out of the water and it flopped and twisted on the deck. Harry howled and pranced around, jumping in at the fish and then darting away, playing in his own way. Only once had he actually

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nipped at a catch and that had been a barracuda; maybe he had sensed its violent nature. Its body colors glistened in the sun for the few brief moments before death. It was a beauty, a good six feet long and maybe fifty pounds. He sat down with a cold beer to enjoy his catch, Harry at his side. Suddenly the fish, no longer a docile sailfish, but a huge white shark, opened its mouth, fierce teeth flashed, and it jumped right at his face. He woke up with a start. The damned couch was huge, had lots of cushions and looked like it would be comfortable. Wrong. It was hell on the back. He thought about the dream. He was not one of those who saw some deep significance, an inner, intense meaning to dreams. But he accepted the fact that those who delved into such things were probably rightthere had to be some trigger to set it off. He just didnt want to think about it. Life already had enough complications and far too many questions. He looked over at Walker; hes getting a lot done with his eyes closed and the pad lying on the floor. And he snored. Aw well, they could pick it up in the morning. It had been a long day and tomorrow would be longer.

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FOURTEEN Not surprisingly, Jack had slept late and awakened to a bright morning, the warm sun in a clear sky just edging over the roof line. It was nice enough to have his breakfast on the small open balcony, which he did, ordering up from room service a full American breakfast and a pot of coffee. He got dressed then went in to see about Walker, saw that he was still sleeping, heard his snoring, then bent down and picked up the pad that was lying on floor beside the bed. Scanning through the pages it looked like Walker had done a thorough job. At least there was a lot of writing and maybe hed have someplace to start. He tore off any page with writing and went out to the balcony to wait for his breakfast. While he waited he called his contact but got a constant busy signal and

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finally hung up. He wanted to get his stuff out of his hotel and hopefully get set up with him. That was expecting a lot from a stranger. He wasnt comfortable working with someone he didnt know but he really had no other option. Now that hed been seen with Walker, his hotel would no doubt be watched. Hed just have to make the best of it. On the street below costumed revelers were already out in forceVenetians loved to party; loved to start early and end lateand the noise was building. It occurred to him that all this activity should be a help to him and a hindrance to anyone trying to follow. An interesting thought. Another thought to be considered was that in a costume, one that wasnt too outrageous, he might even go unnoticed in the crowd. As long as it wasnt some purple velvet thing with pantaloons and a huge, plumed hat. As it turned out he was conspicuous by not being in costume. The slight breeze coming across from the Grand Canal to the East of his hotel carried a slight scent of oil in with the dampness, a musty smell that pierced the warmth. All of this business seemed just a bit lighter and he felt better with a good, hearty breakfast put away. Still no sign of Walker. He called his contact once again and again got the busy signal. Could his phone be out of order? Hed try again from his hotel and if he still couldnt get him hed have to go to the apartment cold. He much preferred to have their meeting prearranged but it seemed that

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he might have no choice. Maybe he wouldnt even want to be bothered. Maybe he was no longer in the business; this kind of contact information can get dated fast. There were lots of maybes. First, he had to get into and out of his hotel with his things without being noticed. Pushing his way through the crowds, which were even larger than he might have imagined, Jack thought this all might work out just fine. Of course, if he was being followed at this moment hed never be able to pick out his watcher. Was it that pirate looking through a patch that wasnt a patch? The clown with huge red nose? Or the one who looked like a peacock with a glorious spread of rainbow feathers and a long beak? Hopefully hed never know, he thought, slipping into his hotel lobby. In the room he quickly stuffed everything into his bag and then went down to check out. Since he hadnt booked any definite length of stay he had no problem checking out. Your meals have been delicious, Jack said, lying to the concierge; hed never had so much as a sandwich in the place. The man beamed, almost blushing. We take pride in our kitchen. I wonder if I might see it. While it was a flattering comment to the hotel in general, and an indirect compliment to him personally, it was a bit out of the ordinary to let a guest tour the kitchen at this hour. To the vain, compliments always trump. Im sure

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the kitchen staff wont mind, he said. Just go through that door. Ill look after your bag. No. Thats ok, Jack said, quickly grabbing his bag. I like to have it with me. The concierge chalked it up to yet another eccentric tourist and let it go; dealing with all kinds of strange people was part of his job. Jack smiled and waved to the few workers in the kitchen as he passed through the cluttered, noisy area of banging pots and hissing stoves. The few workers who were on duty for the breakfast period smiled and waved back as if it was quite normal to have a guest come through the kitchen with his bag. He was in a tiny alley full of garbage cans. From there, after pulling out his map and getting a fix on her apartment, he made his way out to a slightly wider street and headed off to find her place. It was slow going what with the crowds and not knowing the city; he silently cursed Walker; this should have been his job, his responsibility, and his damned problem. The man was a drunk and a loser. But hadnt he been there himself? Known black moments of his own? After what seemed like an eternity of wrong turns and being totally lost, he finally got back on track and found her building. For a time he stood looking at a tall, weathered, wooden gate; the house was identified by a numberit appeared to have been hand hammered brass fixed onto a stone wall that came right to the gate. This place, this man, was literally the key to it all. If he could work secretly out of here and

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find the documents it might work. He couldnt think of a Plan B. He wasnt all that sure of Plan A. Jack pulled a hanging chain several times and waited. Somewhere in back of this stockade front he thought he heard a bell ringing. Here goes nothing. And for a few moments there was nothing. The gate creaked open and Jack looked at the woman behind the gate. Alex? He asked, thinking this was probably the wrong address; easily enough done in this city. She could be his wife? Im sorry. I must have the wrong house. I was looking for an Alex. For a moment she couldnt think of who he was or what he was doing at her door. Then some of it came back: written notice that a Jack Morgan might be coming to her for help. Odd that shed had so little contact with the intelligence community in several years, now in the past year this was the second one. The other man wanted her help in getting opera tickets; there was never any talk of intelligence. Curious more than cautious she looked at him for a long moment, his face, clothes, and his bag. Then she said, Yes, Im Alex. Im Jack Morgan. And you are... Alex? Yes, I am Alexshort for Alexandra. I am often mistaken for a man, my name, until they see me of course. She smiled at the thought. Of course. There cant be any mistake once they see you. Pretty name. Thank you. I was contacted about you. She looked around up and down the street to see if any of her nosy neighbors had seen him.

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Not that she cared personallythey all knew each other without being friendsbut secrecy might be important to this man or his mission. Come in please. He stepped into a narrow hallway and took a moment to look at her, wondering as he did so, how best to ask her to put him up for a few days. Experience had taught him that being direct and as honest as possible was the best way; at least not feed them a pack of lies. Even in a mans shirt, worn outside jeans, and paint smeared, a daub of blue paint on her face, hair in a pony tail that reached halfway down her back with a stray hairs slipping out around her face, she was a very attractive woman. She noticed his look and waved a hand to her head to tuck in some stray hairs. With a rolled up shirt sleeve she made a futile swipe at the paint on her face. She reminded him of one of the early Bond girls, Swedish born, nice bone structure. What was her name? Maud Adams? He broke into the silence between them. I know its a lot to ask, but I need a place to stayfor only a few days. I cant use my hotel without being followed. What Im here to do its importantI need to be able to move around Venice without being followed. Do you understand what I mean? She smiled. And do you know your way around our city? You got me there. Im afraid the answer is no. So you will need a place to stay and a guide. Is that correct?

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Feeling as if this stranger had just thrown him a life preserver, he said, That is true. I hate to be an imposition. I should be here no more than a few days. You must not be so apologetic, Mr. Morgan. I freely offered my services to your CIA several years ago. It is a diversion for me. How did that come about? Jack asked. That is a long story for another time. Let us get you settled first. Come, bring your bag. She led him up a wooden stairway onto another hallway. Off this was a small living room, bedroom, bath, and at the end a small kitchen. This is my living space. I work above. You can leave your bag here. Jack dutifully followed her up yet another stairway to the top floor. It was one big room with a tiny bath room at one end. Aside from a battered couch against one wall there was no furniture. The musty smell again but added was damp cloth, paint, oil, canvas. A huge skylight let in plenty of whatever light was available. Strewn about the room were both finished pieces and paintings in various stages of work. He thought there was a certain order to them despite being scattered. She was probably working on the one sitting on an easel, a local scene, canals, boats, sharply defined and filled with bold colors. Since he knew next to nothing about paintings he couldnt think of a comment. You must excuse the mess, she said by way of apology. Is this all your work? I mean are all of these your paintings?

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Oh no. Most of it is my fathers work. He isor was the painter. His talent was not handed down to me. I dabble with paint on canvas, she looked down and smiled. One must have the talent to paint, have the inner sight to see each scene, the feel in the hands of what must come to life, and the eye for color, shading, tints, blending it into a picture. It is all too much for me. I have a lot of canvas with paint on it. She laughed at herself. There was a refreshing openness about her, Jack thought. I think you do more than that, Alex. Thank you. But you havent looked at my work. True, he really hadnt seen her work. He couldnt imagine that some of her fathers talent would not rub off on her. He made up his mind to look at her work. Not that it would matter: he didnt know a damn thing about art. He said, Your father is dead? Yes. But let us go down and have espresso. We can talk. I will sleep up here and you can use the bedroom. Thanks but no. You sleep in your bedroom. Ill sleep up here with your mess. I cannot do that with a guest. Im not a guest. End of discussion. Lets go down and have that coffee. They sat at a small table in the kitchen that seemed full of cooking instruments and he wondered how often she fixed meals; she seemed to live alone. She poured from a silver espresso pot with a black handle and then sat down.

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She brought out the lighter side of Jack and he joked, Can you get me some tickets to the opera? She didnt get it for a moment and then burst out laughing. You have a sense of humor. I like that in a man. I like that in a woman. Then after a moment to get serious, he asked about her father. He was a fine man and a good painter. He had a few showings of his work here in Venice and was well known, at least here in Italy. He left this to me, she waved an arm. He left me this entire building, and of course his unfinished works. You loved him? Yes. He was a good father. And your mother? Jack asked. She looked away and thought for a moment before coming back to look at him. My mother was so different: so neat and precise in her thinking, sohow would you say it, factual? But then she was a lawyer. But she was not a cold person. The opposite in fact, a woman filled with passion. They were apart in their minds; they had different concepts of the world. My mother thought often of how to fix the troubled world. My father figured it was beyond saving and that anyone who tried was a fool. It is a wonder to me, now that I think about it, that they even got married let alone lived together. Sometimes that difference works, Jack said. Youve heard the old expression that opposites attract?

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That can only be true in the beginning. It would not last. I think it worked for them because my mother traveled a lot. How did they meet? She looked at him for a moment. You have a rare quality of the masculine gender. Oh? And what is that quality? You are a rare man who can listen. I dont know how rare. I think its the company. I could look at you and listen all day long. She smiled and actually blushed. You are also one to flatter. I dont know about that either, Alex. How did your mother and father meet? Many years passed before I learned about things like that, she said thoughtfully. My father was a man who could listen. But he was a man whose quiet way didnt give you anything to hear. I remember that it was on a cold and damp day in the winter that he first talked about the two of them. He hated the cold, said he couldnt create in such weather. He asked how any man paint with frozen fingers? It was a slight exaggeration of course but he could swing to the extreme. The house was never cold. Sometimes it was too hot. He swore never to be chilled in his own house. Jack smiled. He was a bit eccentric? Arent we all? I think that most people who create are a bit eccentric. That is not a bad thing. True. So, how did they meetthis odd couple?

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Yes. I think that is theman odd couple. My mother, as I remember, was attending a conference in London, some sort of Law Enforcement Group that she advisedI think it later became Interpolanyway she went to the Tate to see an exhibition and he was there trying to arrange a showing of his own work. That was the start. And what happened to them? Did they get sick? No, they were in good health; my father did smoke and eventually his lungs might have given him problems. They were both killed in an auto accident in the Swiss Alps; my mother was Swiss, from just across the border. She was a lawyer; a lawyer and a painter, she mused. How did they ever get together? She seemed eager to talk and Jack let her go. Sometimes it was best to listen. Her question was rhetorical and he said nothing. More espresso? she asked. That small pot held a lot of coffee. She filled his tiny cup. Then she surprised him with a question. Are you a secret agent? Im afraid not. Besides, it wouldnt be a secret if I told you. Is that important? It is not important. I am curious. You see, my mother somehow got connected with one of our intelligence agencies, SISMI I believe it was we have several different onesand after time became a liaison with your CIA. She never talked about it and I never asked, though I sometimes heard them arguing about it. They seemed such an incongruous pair and I often wondered how they stayed a couple. How did they stay together?

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Alex smiled. Probably because they led separate lives and spent much of the time apart. My father was a big man and my mother was tiny. That does seem like an odd pair, Jack said. After a long silence she asked, How can I help you with your work? It sounded strange to hear what he did to be called work; just another guy going off to his job at the office with his briefcase, one hour for lunch, back home at 6 oclock, tired as much from the travel to and from as from the work day, dinner with the children (3.4 was the average), a bit of TV, then off to bed. Of course hed never lived that life but he could imagine the thousands, maybe millions whose day was an exact replica. Youre help enough, a big help, by letting me stay here, Alex. I suppose that is true. But it seems like so little on my part. Have you eaten? I had a huge breakfast at the hotel. You Americans like a big breakfast? Some of us do. One day I will fix a big breakfast, she said, pleased to have found a way to do something. I hope I wont be here that many days. Not that I mind staying here, but I am imposing on you. Id like to wrap this up and go home. And where is home? Home is in Florida; in the United States. Have you ever been to the states? I went to New York once with my father for a showing of his work. I remember he was very angry.

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Why was he angry? Didnt they like his paintings? It wasnt thatthey wanted to buy. It was because they were so rude and acted, as he put it, like a bunch of savages. He was not a man with foolish pride. He was a man who totally believed in what he was painting but not to the extent that he thought all his work was one masterpiece after another. He knew that he had some good work. He also accepted the fact that he had a lot of average workno painter produced an eternal treasure on every canvas. What he considered to be poor, or at least below average, he stacked close to the wall, behind the others. Jack said, He sounds like an interesting man, one Id like to have known. I take that as a compliment and I thank you. Jack finished his espresso and stood. Ill take my bag up to the loft. I still would prefer that you use the bedroom. It is the least I can offer. You offer too much already. You never told me how I can help you. Maybe you can help me. Well talk about that after I unpack.

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FIFTEEN Kamal stood now in the narrow calle facing the building to which his men had tracked the remaining American. He had been in congested and crowded cities in his travels. But he had never seen such a city as Venice with narrow, twisting streets that formed a formidable and almost impenetrable maze. It had been purely a matter of luck that they had seen him leaving through the back of his hotel. One of the American spies, he was told, had gone home and was definitely out of the picture. That was another stroke of fortune for he could now concentrate on just the one man. This one had been followed here to a building in the Cannaregio District which was across the Grand Canal from St. Marks Square. Kamal cursed this festival, or whatever it was, for it made him stand out as if he was a

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naked man. The other thing putting him in a foul mood was this situation. Not only did he stand, this was a quiet residential neighborhood which meant he had to be careful; these people would be nosey and watchful, see all and spread all around among the neighbors. It was much the same in his home country. People had a love of gossip. Another question was why this building. The entrance looked like any other with a house number and a large wooden door. What had brought him here? The obvious answer was that he was here to meet a contact. His man told him that the door was opened by a woman and that while they did talk for a few moments they did not appear to know each other. If they were not friends it was a matter of business between them. This was interesting. The woman could be made to talk easier than the man, if it came to that. Of course, he first had to grab the woman. He was checking to see how many people were in the building. In the meantime there was nothing to do but observe, and try to be inconspicuous.

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SIXTEEN Jack came down from the loft to find Alex still sitting at the table. She had changed to a different shirt, with paint spots, but freshly laundered. All unpacked? she asked. There really wasnt much to unpack. I love that skylight in the loft; must give you lots of light for painting. Yes, it is nice. I wont tell you how much trouble it was for my father to have that installed in the roof. Not to mention the bribes. You had to pay bribes to put it in? Bribes are not unusual in Venice, nor in any part of Italy I think. It is a way of life and does not bother us. It sure as hell would bother me, Jack said. Then he regretted coming on as critical to their way of life in the typical ugly American style. She seemed not to notice or take offense. After a moment she asked him about his mission and how she could help. Im not prying into your affairsis that the right word? He told her that it was. But I have offered to help your CIA. That is you? Well, Im freelance. But you can say that I am CIA. Im looking to find some very important documents that may be hidden in Venice. If they are hidden how will you find them? By hidden I mean a place known to both of those involved, a secret place for them to transfer information. You mean a dead drop.

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Yes, he said laughing, A dead drop. How do you know about such things? I am a painterand a spy. Then with a smile she added, Most of what I learn is from reading the American spy novels. In that order? Jack asked. Yes. I think in that order. What I want to do most is paint. But often there is nothing coming from my hands because there is no image in my mind. The canvas stays blank. Those times are very frustrating. Do you create? Do you write or paint or anything? Create? He had to smile at the thought. What he usually created was more violence, though he liked to think there was a noble purpose in there somewhere, a question of righting wrongs, a white knight and that sort of thing, making the world a better place. At times it all seemed very vague. He said, Im afraid my talents, if there are any, lie elsewhere. I dont write, paint or play the piano. Though I wish I could do all three not at the same time. You seem to have your priorities straight. For that very reason I dont want to have you involved in this any more than is necessary. At first I was thinking of having you go with me. Now Im not so sure about that idea. All well and good for you to play at this spy business but there is a serious side to our games and people do get hurt killed actually. She almost pouted. But how will you find these places when you are a stranger in Venice?

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Ill muddle through. Seriously, you can tell me just how to get to them, maybe draw me a map. I was talking with my father once about those who draw maps. He thought they were unimaginative people who were wasting their talents. He had very strong ideas about talent and how it should be used. You loved your father? Yes I loved him. She said nothing for a moment. Perhaps more than loved, she added thoughtfully. I think perhaps that in a certain way I was in love with him. Does that strike you as a terrible thing? I compared all men to him and they came up short. All men? Well, the two or three that Ive met. You are making fun of me? Never. I often look for the lighter side; try to find some humorit can be found in almost everythingand that lack of seriousness, a more grim approach, is often mistaken for something other than true feeling. But back to your father. I cant relate to a father because my father died when I was very young. On top of that any relationship is different with a woman. This was going in a direction he didnt want to go so he quickly and shifted the conversation back to business. Ill tell you about the first drop that I want to start with today. She pushed a few wisps of chestnut hair back into place. I sometimes find humor in my painting.

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Really? How can you do that? he asked, wondering if she was putting him on; whats good for the goose. Sometimes in the colors, how they match or clash, give life to the painting, almost smiles at me. Sometimes in the subject; I see feeling in the trees and flowers; a sagging roof; it isnt only people that smile. She was starting to lose him. Back to the drop, he said. Yes. Where is it? Beside the Fenice Opera House. Do you know it? Oh yes. It was destroyed by a fire in early 1996 but has been rebuilt. There were many stories about it. Some said the hoses from the fireboats were not long enough to reach the fire from the canal so there was a delay in fighting the fire. There was much damage. Why would they have a drop in such a busy place? she asked. Good question. Maybe for just the reason that it is busy, crowds and activity, lots going on, no one would notice. Is it in the opera house? No. According to the information I got from the man who was originally supposed to handle this whole thing, there is a narrow space between the opera house and the building next to it, barely wide enough to pass through. There is a loose stone in the wall of that building, ten feet in; a white chalk mark near the street, three stones in and five high, tells whoever checks the drop that something is to be picked up.

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She was enjoying this and her face showed it. It all sounds so mysterious, like a spy movie. I never thought they did things like this. She was a pleasure to look at and her smile appealing. He was determined to keep her as far away from this as possible; hed take her advice and directions to the drops but definitely not take her with him. Its crude when you think of the high tech gadgets of today. But it is simple and maybe for that very reason it works. She drew him a detailed map that included water taxi numbers and their destinations, which calli to take (he would have been lost in the maze), an almost a step by step guide literally a Find Fenice for Dummies. He looked it over. This is great, perfect. I want you to do me a favor, Alex. A favor? The way she said it made him realize he was already asking more than enough. But this was different. Yes, a favor. The information Im looking for is very important, so much so that there are people willing to kill to get it and people may well be killed because of it. Do you follow me? She nodded and he went on. I dont want you to be one of those. Someone may well have followed me here. I can deal with that problem. What I dont want is for you to be connected with me. I want you to stay clear. While Im out this morning I want you to stay here in the apartment. Will you do that for me? If that is what you want. It was a small lie. Along with her serious, artistic, creative side, a

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part of her had always been curious and rebellious, almost childlike; the more restrictions put on her the more she would tend to run to freedom. Good. Let your artistic juices flow. Do some great painting while Im out. She nodded as if to let him know she would do what he requested. The reality was that she had no intention of doing what he wanted and was already making plans to go out and get them a costume, some kind of disguise. After all, he had come to her for help. Hadnt he? He could not be out on the streets without a costume. He would be adead duck? What a strange expression. So she patiently waited for him to leave. Besides, at a time like this, what with spies and documents and all, who could even attempt to paint? Kamal had sent all but one of his men home. They had all been up most of the nightnot that the long, dark, lonely hours for this bunch had come up with anythingand they would be worth even less, if that was possible, in a tired state. Questions formed in his mind. Who was the woman? It appeared to be just the two of them in this house. They had seen no one else come or go. If they were lovers she could be a valuable hostage. Why even think such a thing? He had to find some answers. The first of which was who was in the house. The idea of using the woman had a certain appeal. But it would have little meaning, in fact none, if she was nothing more than a fellow

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agent, another cog in the wheel of their intelligence apparatus. Kamal had known women. He knew that they were at the same time a problem and a blessing.

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SEVENTEEN Some sun, some clouds, Jack thought, looking up at the sky as he stepped out into the calleand lots of people; of course Venice would probably perish without them. He wore what he referred to as dressy casual: tan slacks, loafers, dark blue Hathaway shirt and a Burberry windbreaker. His instincts made him check every face for a possible tail. In this mob it was a difficult job. Who did stand out though, like that dark man leaning against the wall, was someone not in costume, like himself. By the same token, the crowds would help him to get clear of any surveillance. The dark man was definitely watching Jack.

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Wouldnt you think that man would put on some kind of ridiculous costume? Wouldnt you think I would, Jack said to himself. In all his years in this game hed never had to do the costume bit. There was that Mardi Gras parade in Haitibut that was a story already told. What he hadnt told Alex was that his first stop was not the opera house but to a place where he could get a weapon. Using his encrypted cell phone he called ahead to make arrangements. Nestled at the foot of the Dolomites at the northern end of the Po Valley, the largest agricultural plain in Italy, and not far from skiing and beaches, an hour and a half by train from Venice, is Aviano Air Base, a vital (the governments term) link in the NATO defense chain. Just how important this base is, in what is now a rusted chain, is up to interpretation, even more so since the idea was to protect against aggression from Russia, a one-time villain now wearing, badly, the cloak of a good guy. Russia, disavowing the old brutal, inhumane, slave government, as if it never was, and claiming to be a new and improved democratic version, is now seeking membership in the aging partnership. Of course there is the old clich about the fox and the henhouse; someone said using them is the best way to get simple ideas into the heads of idiots. In any case the base is a boon to the Italian economy in the area. If a shot were fired (in anger) anywhere in Europe the men and women stationed here

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would certainly put down their pasta, bring their kids in from day care, and rush off to defend the countryor one of the countries. There had been an American presence in Italy since the end of WWIIa very long time. In this case it seemed amiable. But then the Italians were a friendly bunch. In many other places around the world where we had overstayed our welcomeif in fact we were ever welcomerelations were not always as cordial. As they say in the State Department lounge, sipping chilled martinis, after working hours of course: win some, lose somecountries that is. At the main gate Jack showed the presidents letterafter all what good is clout if you dont use it?and was issued a temporary VIP ID tag which went on a chain around his neck. In charge of security at the Aviano Air Base was a dynamic duo known, unofficially of course, as the Odd Couple. The senior of the two was Major Stein, an unattractive man of average height, pale skin, and overweight; very recently he started, reluctantly because he hated exercise, to work out at the base gym. His weight was one problem though not the only one. His other problem at the moment was whether to make this army his career; he was at the point of no return with a not-sogreat last report from his superior officer figuring in the decision. If he could go no higher, was being a Major enough? What never helped was a mention of a fat major in his fitness report.

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He had been in a state of funk when the call came in from the Base Commander. He listened and then hung up in a state of bewilderment. He had often gotten calls from his immediate superior, and other selfimpressed officers about some minor offense that needed to be fixed; like those who thought they were above base regulations and chose to drive at high speed or just ignore red lights. He was used to that type of call and had developed an I-dont-give-a-damn attitude that put it all in perspective. Fuck them. The brass had to obey the laws like anyone else. This call was different. He sat for a moment staring at the tan wall, at the pictures of the president and of the Base Commander; pompous bastard was what he was thinking. In his three years here at Aviano he had never spoken to the Base Commander, the man in charge of the entire base. He was someone up there, possibly even a fictitious character. How many men or women, grunts that is, ever actually talked with General Eisenhower? Or General Patton? Well, Aviano wasnt on that grand a scale. After several moments Major Stein finally came back to earth and to a semblance of normality. He called out to his adjutant, one Lieutenant Kenesha Lewis clerk in the adjoining office. Lieutenant, you ever hear of a Jack Morgan? Lieutenant Lewis was the opposite of Major Stein: milk chocolate skin, trim, and a to-diefor figure plus a to-live-for face. While she might have been the top name on all the dance

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cards in Aviano, if there was such a thing, she was career oriented and spent her spare time not in slight relationships but in study for the next level in her field. Her long term plan was to enter law enforcement in the civilian world. After a rather long pause, Is this a joke or a trick question? Theirs was a mostly easy relationship though he felt she secretly had little respect for her pear shaped boss. She actually ran the day to day operations of security at the Aviano Air Base. Is this a new man reporting in? Lewis asked. No joke. No trick question. No new man reporting in. A longer pause than the first. Jack Morgan, Lewis said thoughtfully. Does he have any rank? Losing patience, the Major said, No rank, dammit. No nothing. Have you ever heard that name anywhere on the base? A curious and perplexed Lewis got up from his desk and went to stand in the doorway of Major Steins office. The name doesnt mean a thing to me and I know most of the men around heresir. Should I know this guy? Stein thought about that for a moment. Im not sure, he said finally. Its not every day that I get a direct call from the general in charge of this base. In fact its not any dayit doesnt happen. Who is this guy? Hes not military. Maybe a spook? Lewis offered. Stein nodded. Maybe. Whatever he is this man Morgan will be in here today. Make sure

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he gets whatever he wantsanything. Is that clear? He asks and he gets. Anything? Lewis said smiling. He must have a lot of juice. A spook with a lot of juice, she said. He does sound interesting. Stein stared at her. A lot of juice? Yes you could say that. Isnt this all a bit strange, major? Strange? Yes. But thats not our concern. Maybe youd like to call the general personally and tell him hes given a strange order? Youre damn right I would, Lewis thought. Id like nothing better than to give that old fart a piece of my mind. I dont think so, she said. Ill just sit here in anticipation of the arrival of Super Spook. She was making fun but in reality she did feel a bit of excitement, after all Aviano Air Base in Italy was not exactly on a par with Andrews AFB in Washington. In what seemed like a long time to Lewis, though only a matter of twenty minutes, the man she had waited for came into the security office. Her mouth hung slightly open as he came in and said, Hi. Im Jack Morgan. Im here to get a few things. Can I be one of them? Lewis thought. Damn. She meant to put on a new pot of coffee. Please sit down, Mister Morgan, she said. It is mister? Jack smiled. If you mean am I an officer the answer is no. My military time, a long while ago, was in the Marines, a grunt, and definitely not an officer. Im called Jack by the way. He looked at her for a moment, thinking that she was attractive, very, but even more

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importantly, to him anyway because he had a deep feeling and a respect for the military, was that she had the look of a neat, orderly, no nonsense soldier. In her eyes, and in her general bearing, and manner, he read a pride of purpose in what she did. Would it make a difference? he asked. Not to me. Are you ready for my shopping list? That brought a smile. Ready when you are, Jack. Easy on the canned goods, theyre heavy. Not much really: a Walther PPK, 9mm, two magazines, and ammo of course. A sound suppressor would be nice. While developed way back in 1929 and later made famous in the James Bond movies, the Walther, with updates and improvements, had remained the favorite of many; it was small, light, easy to hide, and extremely reliable. The weapon had been a standard with German police for years and was not allowed to be exported. She looked at him for a long moment. Tough order, she finally said. If you wanted a Beretta, no problem, thats standard now. But a Walther? She thought about it for a few minutes. Oddly enoughguns were a part of her lifeshe did know a soldier who owned one. He was a gun nut and treated his guns as delicate instruments, which in effect, in the proper hands, they were. The question was would he part with it. Probably not. And she didnt have the time to get into bargaining. In thinking about it she remembered that there were one or two models in the armory. Odd, and she didnt remember why. But she

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was sure of it. I think I can get you the Walther. Take me a few minutes. You might want to get some lunch and by the time you get back Ill have it for you. The officers mess is just down the street to your left. Thats very kind of youLieutenant Lewis, he said, reading her name tag. I hope Im not putting you to too much trouble. He looked like a nice hunk who just happened to be a spook. The base appeared to Jack to be like most hed seen in that it was neat and orderly. What hed never seen at any base was litter or graffiti; it just didnt happen and if by chance it did it was cleaned up within hours. He was reminded of the old saying in the military: If it doesnt move paint it; if it moves salute it. He did notice one unusual thing about Aviano in that it seemed to be spread throughout the community in several areas, rather than centralized into one installation. Odd arrangement he thought. But it would put the base people in close contact with the locals. When Jack came back to the security office after a pleasant lunch down the street he saw Lt. Lewis sitting at her desk, big smile, and his stuff laid out in front of her. You didnt mention a holster. Youre right. I forgot. A gun does look sloppy bagging out a pocket. No problem. I got a shoulder holster, leather, nice piece of work. She held up the pistol, announcing: What I have here for you is a Walther PPK/S, the S probably for silencer.

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Jack enjoyed her presentation. Probably. And it looks new. Well, almost new. Along with that I got two full magazines of 9mm like you wanted. It has a 3.2 inch barrel. Does that cover it? Youd like some machine guns, maybe 30 caliber, to go along with this? You did well, Lieutenant Lewis. Im sure it wasnt all that easy to find that weapon here on the base. I really do appreciate it. Thank you. Would you happen to have a shooting range around here? I thought youd never ask. Theres an indoor range here almost under your feet. Great. Can I use it? For you Mister Morgan Its Jack. Jack. Youve got the keys to the Aviano kingdom. Ill take you down. The range consisted of about ten stalls, very modern layout, automated target return, and was looked over by a big man named Sergeant Michaelson. He wasnt too keen on a civilian using his range until he was given the facts of life by Lieutenant Lewis. After that he couldnt be more attentive or cooperative. Lewis got them ear protectors and ammo; she said she would wait until he fired first. Was she that good or that bad? Jack wondered. Did she want to see how well he shot then adjust her shooting, up or down so as not to embarrass him? He knew the Walther, had used it many times, and felt totally in control. He slammed in a magazine, moved the barrel to slid a round into the chamber,

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balanced his weight on both feet, got into a comfortable stance, then brought the Walther up quickly with both hands and fired off six shots. Lewis looked first down at the targets and then at him. Ive heard of rapid fire but that was about as fast as Ive ever seen. Youve done this before. A few times. Lets see how I did. He pushed the button that smoothly slid the target from the pits to the shooting position. Jack yanked the target out of the clips and took a close look. A tight circle of five shots were in the center ring. One was out and up a bit from the center. Not bad, Jack, she said. Jack smiled. That high oneI was aiming for the ear. He took out his target sheet and put in a clean one. Lewis laughed. Ill bet. Let me show you how to shoot, spy man. In her own stall, Lewis went through the same motions with her 9mm Berretta. Jack could tell she was good just from the confident way she stood and fired. When her target came back they saw five holes in the center ring and one off to the left of center and down a bit. I was aiming for his gun hand, Lewis grinned. Sure you were. But he was left handed, Jack kidded. Nice shooting, Lieutenant. Thank you. I guess we have a draw. No draw. Yours were tighter, Jack said. Back upstairs in the office Jack thanked her for all shed done.

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They exchanged a warm look. Youre very welcome, Jack. I have to tell you that it was mostly a stroke of luck that you got that PPK. Were loaded here with Berettas but a Walther is rare. You sure know how to use that thing. In any case its been my pleasure. If you happen to find yourself near Aviano sometime in the future, be sure to stop in and see me. Id like that. And be careful out therespook They dont call us that any more, lieutenant too undignified, and no one is scared of us anymore. Were Intelligence Officers. Now thats an oxymoron, she said with a laugh. Ciao Caio, he said.

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EIGHTEEN Jack sat in the window seat of the train and watched the countryside roll by in a blur; his thoughts were elsewhere. He was trying to see a larger picture here and get a better feel of what this was all about. At the moment it was a muddled mess that included Gina, now deceased, Walker, not deceased but disabled, Alex the volunteer spy who painted, that CIA employee whose name he forgot, some important documents to be recovered, and no doubt other various villains who were after the documents. The others had to be villains because he was the good guy. Get back to the documentsthe most important part of all this. The start was here in Italy with Cygnus, who turned out to be Gina. It

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would be helpful to have a bit more on Gina, how she came up with this, and from where, and how did the story get out. That part seemed to be a closed circle with nothing in the middle. We know Walkers part: messenger boy, flunky, fallen star so to speak, no real bearing on anything except maybe for his relationship with Gina. Again, the circle with no middlea donut. Jack smiled at the thought but wasnt pleased. It all came back to the documents. Only if it was current and timely, like bank account locations and codes, would it be important, and if that was the case he had to get moving. Late afternoon now, the clouds bringing on an early darkness as the train neared Venice. He thought too of Kim. He didnt quite see a happy ending there, not yet. He was able to push her out of his mind and into a dark corner. But that was not the answer. From the train station he found the water bus he wanted and went across the canal. Then, stepping off the vaporetto, he first started off in the direction of Alexs apartment but changed his mind and went in the direction of the opera house. The quicker he checked the drop the better. Not only did he want to wrap this up but if the information had to do with financing, time was vitalmoney could be moved easily and quickly these days, almost in the blink of an eye. Afterward, with documents in hand, he would take her out to a nice place for dinner, maybe have some branzino, sea bass, definitely not the squid risotto that turned the teeth

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black; he could picture the two of them looking at each other in hysteria after that meal. One of the drops, he recalled, was out on San Michelle, the cemetery island. That should be interesting. Lets hope I can make the recovery before that, he thought. The poet Ezra Pound was buried on that island. Creepy place to have a dead drop. Maybe they used it as a last resort (no pun intended)the very last. La Fenice, a large, impressive, stone structure with a pillared front is located not far from the Accademia Bridge, one of only three bridges over the Grand Canal. Hanging over the main doorway was an ornate golden sign: Gran Teatro La Fenice. Jack looked at it and thought: This is probably not the architects best work. He stopped just short of ugly. Of course, in all fairness it might well be beautiful inside, perhaps grand, ornate, and steeped in the old Venetian opera house traditional architecture whatever that might be. Hed never know unless Alex bought tickets. Lots of people coming and going but no one seemed particularly interested in him. When he went into the narrow space between buildings some gave him a quick look then turning away; probably thought he had slipped in there to take a pee. He moved in and carefully counted the stones, in and up from the bottom, it had to be exact. Finding the spot he wiggled the stone, already loose, back and forth until it eased out of the space. Get the documents and go home. End of story.

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Reaching into the dark space he was reminded of a time when hed done the exact same thing he was doing now. Where was it...somewhere in Central America? No matter. When he reached in a snake bit him. Fortunately it wasnt poisonous. No snakes here in Venice and nothing in the space. He was disappointed and kept feeling around in the stone wall opening. Nothing. What the hell was going on here? There were two more dead drops. Was it just a question of picking the wrong one? Like one of those quiz shows where you guess whats behind the door. Win a big prize and dont forget to pay the taxes. He still didnt want to accept this drop being empty and reached in again and felt all around. Accept it, Jack. The documents are not here. No taxes to pay. Now he had two doors left. Which to choose? One drop was in a church and the other out on the cemetery island. He was inclined to go for the church only because he really didnt fancy going out to an island full of dead bodies. Dead bodies were one thing, a few at a time he could handle, but a whole island of them? He put the stone back and started off to Alexs apartment. He suddenly realized that he was famished. She had left the key, as promised, in a potted plant to the left of the outer door. It seemed like a long time that hed been away, though it was only a matter of hours, and he was anxious to see her. Although temporary, as they all had been, she was his safe harbor, his link to the

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real world, a bit of thread that held his tenuous web together. It had all happened before. Before Vietnam hed met a woman. They wrote often and she sent a picture. When he went on R&R to Kyoto, Japan, he had the picture painted on silk and sent to her. They had all the elements of a lasting romance, no, a start to a relationship. She was very excited about his coming home. Her father would let them use his car and all was in readiness. When he got back home he never called her. Hed come back alive and that was all that mattered. She had played her part and now the play had ended. He pushed his way through the merry crowds of costumed tourists that jammed the tiny calli. A woman dressed as what he assumed to be a princess, long blond curls, sparkling blue outfit with the balloon skirt touching the ground, grabbed him and planted a wet kiss on his lips. Bella! she cried and moved on. He wiped his mouth and his fingers came away colored a violent red from her lipstick. The Carnival has very old origins, the official start dates back to 1296, and while it celebrates the passage from winter into spring, it is also a time where anything is possible when wearing the mask; the humble can become powerful. There was an interruption in Carnival for almost 200 years, and then it was rediscovered around 1980. But wearing the masks is more than just fun; for the Venetians it is a tradition. Putting on a mask in Venice means one can take forbidden

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liberties, a chance to gamble without being caught, as with the kissing woman. And the masks can run into very expensive creations. This assignment that appeared to be routine, Jack considered, may prove to be more dangerous than he first thought; maybe his holster should be full of tissues? Right now he felt a lot more confident with the Walther resting against his chest. Jacks mood was good as he turned the key and went past the garden and into the hallway door of the apartment. All was quiet and dark. Why no lights? He stood still and listened. Not a sound. Alex! he yelled, once, then again, Alex! Where could she be? Shed hardly be out at this hour of the evening. Maybe she went out for some last minute food shopping. She hadnt mentioned making anything special. From habit he eased out the Walther, checked the magazine and safety, and worked the slide to put a round in the chamber. He went up the stairs quietly holding the gun at his side, trigger finger extended over the trigger guard. No one on the second floor. He went up to the loft. Only quiet, a faint musty odor, and the stronger, pleasant smell of paint and canvas; this was her workshop, her laboratory, from which came her very own creations, the often painstaking products of her imagination and her talent. It didnt take a brain surgeon to decide that there was no one in the apartment. Jack put the Walther back in its nesting place, turned on the lights, took off his jacket

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and sat down on the sofa. Hed give her 15 minutes thenthen what? Go look for her? Look where? Go out on the calli and yell out her name? Who would even hear? She might have gotten tied up in the carnival crowds. No. She was a local and surely knew how to circumvent the mobs. The locals had it all down pat. They knew where to shop away from the tourist prices. They knew all the tricks to avoid these pesky, annoying, but essential visitors. So he waited and tried to keep the bad memories away. The good ones he let in. One of those was certainly Kim. He was sure that he loved her but was he in love with her? How did she feel about him? There was only one way to answer that question and this was not the time. Restless, he went up to the loft, her gallery, and browsed through her canvases. Most were turned to face the wall for some reason. Were they early efforts that she didnt like? Or were these the ones she did like? Did it have something to do with the paint process? He had no idea. Her current work, the one on the easel, was a scene over the rooftops to a dome in the distance. It was full of shadows, rays of sunlight creeping between the buildings, manycolored roofs; it had starkness to it that he thought was good work. His feelings about paintings were similar to what he felt about wine: if it tastes good its good wine. He went back down to sit on the sofa. Enough, he thought, however long its been; he couldnt sit here like the proverbial bump on a log. His internal alarms werent blasting yet but his gut feeling was that it wouldnt be long.

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Leaving some lights on, he locked up and went outside to lean against the stone wall. His thoughts wandered. He had the strong and uncomfortable feeling that something was not right; it was a gut feeling and while it might be strictly conjecture and perhaps seeing what wasnt there, he still trusted those gut feelings. Added to this one of unease was a bit of feeling helpless. More than once that unexplainable look into what might be there had saved his life. Of course the feelings, gut or otherwise, didnt come with an answer. He suddenly remembered a lesson taught a long time ago: Keep searching, look beyond the obvious and you will find what should not be in the picture. Across the calle he suddenly noticed someone who didnt fit. Not only did he not fit he was obviously watching this building. Now why would the man do that? Jack might easily have passed him by, chalking it up to his high state of tension, except that when their eyes met the man looked scared and took off in a hurry. An amateur obviously, Jack thought. Rule number one for the watcher was to avoid eye contact. He didnt remember rule number two. Why would the man run? He was guilty of something. He knew something that he didnt want Jack to know, something that would piss Jack off if he knew. He was right. After a moment Jack took off after him. He caught up with him when the man tried to get through a narrow space between buildings, tripping him and then pinning him to the

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ground; he held him down with a knee on his chest. Jack slapped him once just to get his attention. Now heres the deal, Jack told him as he again screwed in the silencer, or more accurately the sound suppressormaybe he should just leave the damn thing screwed in Im going to make you a deal you cant refuse. Even as he said it Jack felt theatrical and had to smile. The man appeared to be Italian and spoke English with strong accent. I do nothing with the woman, he said boldly as if this would get him off the hook. I no hurt the woman. He had a confident look in his eyes that said he really thought he had nothing to fear from this man. This time he was wrong. Win some and lose some. Jack said, Do you have a name? Antonio, he whispered. What? Antonio, he said louder. Fine, Antonio. You know things I need to know. Capisce? Jack didnt wait for an answer. You know things I need to know now. Not later. Not tomorrow. I want to know this now. We dont have time to debate the issue. With that Jack shot him in the thigh. The mans eyes popped open in disbelief. He grabbed his leg with both hands and started screaming. Jack leaned down close to the mans face, near enough to smell his bad breath. He grabbed him by the shirt. Shut up! Its a nice

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clean wound. If you were a real soldier in a real war this would be your fast ticket home and a Purple Heartyoud be a hero. Do you have Purple Heart Medals in your country? No matter. Jack pressed the Walther up against his nostril. Just so we understand each other. I have no patience, zero tolerance with people who mess with me or my friends. The woman is my friend. Capisce? Heres the deal you cant refuse. You tell me what I want to know, all about the woman, and I wont let you bleed to death. Sounds fair to me. Talk and I stop the bleeding and call the police; youll get help fast. Keep your mouth shut and you can bleed to death, slowly. Ive never done it myself. But Ive heard its not a pleasant way to die. Youre still a young man. Its not your time to die unless you want it to be. Think about it. Weigh the pros and cons of what might be the most important decision of your lifetime. Youve got ten seconds. The man looked at Jack, still wide-eyed and not for a minute believing in what was happening. Then he looked at Jack, his leg, and the blood stain that was spreading on his trouser leg. Accepting that what he saw was real and was indeed happening, it didnt take long to make a decision. When he was finished telling all he knew, Jack took off the mans belt and made a tourniquet around his thigh to stem the bleeding. Hold on to the ends of the belt, keep it tight. Chin up, Antonio, youre going to make it. Jack dialed the police on his cell phone and hurried away from the scene.

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Its that language barrier, he thought; always helps to speak their language. The second drop would have to wait.

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NINTEEN Jack was preoccupied as he walked, not even noticing the many costumed people that passed by. Hed only been gone a few hours, up to the air base and back, so this man Kamal, as he was called by the group, cant have had Alex for very long. But torture didnt take long; pain took even less time. And how long was long? As an afterthought, he wondered why it was accepted, and almost admired, when the terrorist (sometimes nicely called an insurgent) tortured or even beheaded a uniformed soldier in the name of their cause but it was a criminal act when we even used mild persuasion on a civilian. He thought double standard and fumed for a moment then let it pass, shifting his thoughts to Alex.

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When he came right down to it he didnt really know her, the inner person, and so had no idea of how strong she might be, or how long she would hold out under questioning. Why should she hold out at all? And after all, what did she actually know? Not much. Only the location of the dead dropsthe whole ball game. She had the key to the whole damn thing. He had no doubt that she would be put under a lot of pressure, to put it mildly, to tell what she knew. The question was how important did she think the information was? This wasnt her job. She was a volunteer, a helper, one who had no reason to endure physical pain for the cause. Would she see it that way? Or would she go the other way and be determined to tell them nothing? As to that he could only guess, but he could totally understand if she told them everything. He would not be her judge. What was critical, one way or the other, he figured, was getting to her as quickly as possible. Having gotten precise directions and information from the cooperative fellow hed shot in the leg, Jack almost ran towards the location. From what he remembered it was very close to the boat house where Gina had gone into the canal. He marked that up to nothing more than an odd coincidence. It was dark now and very little light came into the alleyway. His target turned out to be just two buildings away from the boat house.

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After looking long and hard, Jack discovered a man standing in the doorway; he would never have seen him if he hadnt moved. Jack continued to study the man who was obviously a guard. When he moved again Jack saw the outline, against the lighter background of a canal, of a short barreled riflehe was definitely not a tourist. Jack started towards the man suddenly acting as one whod had too much to drink, staggering and stumbling as he got nearafter all it was carnival. The man glanced at him once then turned away which was good. What he wanted here was a quick assessment by the guard, a decision that he was no threat, and then the guard ignoring himwhich was just what he got. The guard looked away. When he did that, Jack covered the short distance between them in a few steps and promptly left him lying on the street from a chop to the back of his neck by the Walther. There were three of them, the bleeding man had said. Jack was pretty sure he was telling the truth. One was not tempted to lie when death was staring you in the face. What was the point? Its not like there would be a discussion on the subject while your life ebbed away. Nor would you get a second chance. As far as dead drops went in the espionage sense: One down and two to go. Much like Alexs building, at the address he was looking for, the door opened to a narrow hallway than ran to the back, and a canal; he could hear water lapping against the stone

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foundation. He stood motionless and listened for a few moments until he decided that there was no one else on this floor. The feel and smell of dampness was everywhere, a part of Venice. He was going up a stairway quietly, almost crawling, and when still not up to the top looking at eye level with the floor, he was able to see a man in the hall in front of a door. There was no one else in sight. Obviously the man was not guarding an empty room. He was either guarding the leader or Alex. Either way that was where he had to go. There was no chance of surprising this one since he was too far down the hall; Jack would be dead meat before he took two steps. Halting one step from the top, Jack rose up slightly and fired a single, suppressed shot. The noise of the man falling onto the wooden floor like a bag of laundry wasnt much, but it was louder than the shot. He waited to see if anyone had heard the shot and might come out of the room to see what was going on. After a few moments he went to the door and eased it open, only a bit at first, then all the way. He quickly moved to stand to the right of the door, out of the silhouette and against the wall. There was one window in the room, beside the bed, which provided the only light that was reflected off the water. He waited for his sight to adjust to the dim light. Finally then, he was able to make out a bed. Letting his eyes adjust still more to the limited light he eventually saw Alex. She was tied spreadeagled on a bed, struggling at her bonds and making muffled noises through a gag in her

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mouth as if she was trying to tell him something. Her shirt was open and her breasts showed white in the darkness. Her jeans were pulled down below her waist. She was indeed trying to give him a message. Even without understanding what she was trying to tell him, he sensed and knew: There was a third person in the room. It had to be Kamal. He could only be in the small pocket of darkness on the other side of the room, in the corner. Was he standing? For some reason most of them stood. The professionals knelt or even lay on the floor. He didnt figure Kamal for a pro. Bringing up the Walther, holding it in both hands, he fired two shots at medium height and two low shots into the corner. Almost at the same time he felt a jolt then a searing pain in his left shoulder. He was hit but so was Kamal he heard him fall. And then he heard him moaning. Jack hit the light switch behind him, wincing from the pain in his shoulder; the room went suddenly full of light. Seeing Alex on the bed, tied, and probably abused was more than Jack could deal with in a rational wayhe was fucking mad. He turned to Kamal who was moaning while at the same time inching towards the weapon hed dropped just a few feet away. No way are you going to make that, Kamal, you poor bastard, Jack thought. Jack had never considered his work as a good or bad thingit was a profession. Yes, the killing had been easier when he was young. In

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those days of youthful ignoranceyes thats exactly what it was in the light of today, though some liked to be kind and call it merely being naivehe was convinced that he could and would change the world. Change it not in a big way. Improve it by exterminating the vermin. Someone had to do it. Kamal stopped moving for a minute to catch his breath. His hand was just inches away from his weapon but it might as well have been yards away; the effort it took to reach the weapon was more than he could manage. He looked up at Jack with an odd expression. Was he hoping to live or to die? To live, would take time and a lot of help. To die would be an instant. And then there was that promise to the believers of finding a wonderful world in death. I can help you with that, Jack thought. If you want to go to that Promised Land, the virgins and all that, then be my guest. He shot Kamal between the eyes. He moved to the bed and with his good hand undid the gag and untied the ropes that held her. He was aware of the pain, the burning in his shoulder, and knew that it needed care, but that was nothing compared to what Alex had faced. She pulled her shirt together to cover her breasts as best she could. Jack pulled the sheet up over her waist. Youre hurt, she saidYour shoulder. And my best jacket too. She managed a bit of a smile. I am not so bad. Did he?

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No. There was no rape, no time. Had you come later it might have been different. Thats one good thing. And the other is that you are not hurt so bad. You were lucky. Why did they always say that in the movies to the good guy? What was lucky about being shot? Was it because he wasnt dead? The bad guys were never told that they were lucky. Alex sat up, swung her legs around and sat up at the edge of the bed. Jack was still caught up in the moment but Alex rebounded quickly and moved on. We need to take care of your wound. With that she tore off a large piece of the sheet and made a sling for his arm. Then she tore off another piece and had him press it against the wound. Hold that tight, she told him. Then with a smile she said, We must stop the bleeding on your best jacket. Dont you need a doctor? he asked. You need a doctor. We need to get out of here. How do you know about these things? When Im not painting I read. Medical booksnon fiction? Many doctors write fiction; some not so well. Real life is written disguised as fiction. Dont you agree? True. Did you ever think of being a nurse? No, I never saw myself in a white uniform. Its just that medicine did interest me. From your CIA I have a doctor to call. He will come to my house and take care of your wound. A hospital would be better but then you would

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have to answer a lot of questions. That would not be good. I agree. She seemed to have taken charge and while it annoyed Jack a bit, he realized that he was playing on her turf. And after all, she wasnt flaunting power or anything of the kind. She was merely seeing that what had to be done was done. With a pang of guilt he was beginning to feel, just the early twinge of feeling, that Alex just might be his kind of woman. Darkness hadnt lessened the enthusiasm, or the numbers it seemed, of the celebrating crowds dancing and partying in the calli. Venetians loved to party and it was good cover for Jack and Alex. Before they left the building where shed been held, she took a large piece of ragged, dirty cloth that had covered the bed and wrapped it around her like a shawl. If they were an odd looking pair, she in her sorry looking shawl and Jack holding a bloody arm in the make shift sling, you would never know it from the little attention paid to them. As they were going up the stairs in her building Alex said, Of course there is no more talk of where you will sleep, Jack. Ill bring your things down from the loft and put them in the bedroom. He sat down and struggled out of his bloody jacket and shirt; the wide, leather shoulder holster was now torn having absorbed some of the effect of the bullet. The makeshift bandage was a mass of red. Guess I cant argue with you on that one. You must be tired. How about you go clean up

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Im sure youd like a showerand Ill put on the pot for some espresso? She stopped to look at him in the hallway. Ill try not to use all the hot water. Can you handle itwith your arm? First let me put a clean bandage on you. Then I will take my bath. Alex went into the bathroom and came back with an assortment of gauze, pads, and tape. I do the best one-handed espresso in Venice. How about we wait until I take a shower to put on fresh bandages? It doesnt seem to be bleeding as much. That makes sense, she said. But first I should call the doctor. He can wait. Im not in critical condition from a little shoulder wound. Go take your shower. You wont drip into the coffee? Drip? Drip what? Blood, she said smiling. Go! Jack fixed the pot and then sat down at the small table. He was tired. No, he was exhausted. As much as he wanted to have the doctor look at the wound, what he wanted even more was to get out of his dirty clothes, get cleaned up, and sleep. He had actually dozed off when Alex came in from her shower and asked him if the coffee was ready. Its not only ready, I have to inform you that it might be the best cup you ever had. She looked at him but didnt say anything. She was wearing jeans and a light blue shirt; it was definitely too small for her father so it must have been hers. Normally, he might

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speculate on what was underneath the robe, if anything. But tonight he was too tired to even think along those lines. Too tired that is, until he took a good look at her. While she did look tired with dark circles under her eyes, and generally worn out, at the same time she looked fresh and clean and smelled nice. She was one beautiful woman; all the more reason to be careful. Her long hair was damp and falling in ringlets halfway down her back. Blue eyes, he noticed for the first time, a light blue like an autumn sky. She seemed totally unaware of how beautiful she was and would probably laugh at him if he told her. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then she broke eye contact. She said, You go shower and Ill call the doctor. Can you manage? No one has asked me that since my mother when I was five. Yes, I can manage. Not that I couldnt use a little help, he added with a faked leer. What kind of help? Well, maybe my zipper will get stuck. Go! Thoughtfully, she watched him go off to the bathroom, wondering once again why she compared all men to her father. Her memory of him removed the parts she didnt want to fit; the truth was that he was not perfect. Nor was this Jack Morgan. Nor was any man. Had she turned those few men away, the ones who had desired her, for nothing more than minute flaws, slight imperfections? No wonder she was still alone. She was alone but

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pretending otherwise, making believe she was a happy single woman. She had women friends who were perfectly content being alone and living what they described as the perfect life without men. She was not one of those. Some said that two women were a better match, at lest more compatible then two men. Perhaps that was true, for some. She had reached the point where she felt she would adjust to those differences between man and womanthe right man. After all, nations of seemingly insurmountable differences found a way to coexist; sometimes at a great cost. What price could be put on a relationship? Did the sheer glitter of polished gold make it worth more than the raw stone freshly dug from the soil? Gold was gold. In this man, Morgan, she sawenough. Why was she even thinking along these lines? This man, like the othersand especially this one would come and go. But did she want him to go? For better or for worse he had been thrust into her life at a point where she was at her most vulnerable, at her weakest time emotionally. She let her thoughts drift away. Later, Alex had to smile when she saw Jack come out of the bathroom wearing one of her fathers old bathrobes. Her father was a big man, tall and broad, while Jack was tall but not heavy and he looked just like he was: a person wearing someone elses clothes, the robe dropping almost to the floor. She pushed the image of her father away.

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You could be in the circus, she said, trying to lighten up; the heavy thoughts of her father and men in general still lingering in her mind. As a Bedouin camel driver? No; as a clown. Now sit down here and lets have a look at that shoulder. She seemed almost professional as she gently removed the old bandage, now wet, cleaned the wound and put on a fresh pad. The bleeding seems to have stopped. The shoulder is red and sore in spots but Im sure the doctor can give you something for the soreness. You were very lucky that it was not into the muscle or the bone. She put the arm back in the sling and then moved closer, gently resting her body against his chest. Hold me for just a minute, she said softly. Just hold me. He held his arm in the sling crudely around her, encircling as best he could, and stroked her hair with the other; she trembled and he held her closer. Youve had a rough time. I was wondering when all this would hit you, or if you were strong enough that it wouldnt hit you at all. Which is it? So far youve done a good job of holding it all in, Alex. Do you want to let it go now? She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. It was so terrible, Jackand if you hadnt come for me? He interrupted gently. But I did and its alright now. And then the shootingyou shot that man. It was him or me, Alex. There was no time for a trial by jury or a moral discussion about killing. Do you understand? If I didnt kill him

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he would have killed both of us. Killing is never a pleasant thing to do. That means that you have done it before this. Yes; I have done it before in a different lifetime; it was done by a different person than the one you see now. Back then it was a part of the job I was doing. But you dont do that work anymore? she asked, wiping her eyes with her hand. No, he told her, pulling her close to his chest. After a few moments he let her go. Then when she turned away he slipped the weapon into the sling. But she did see him. I dont think you will need that here, she said. You never know, Alex. They were still sitting with their espresso, both too tired to talk, when the bell on the front door rang. Jack eased out the Walther. She put a restraining hand on his arm. Its probably the doctor. He watched and waited while she went down to the door. In a moment he heard her talking to someone as they came up the stairs. The doctor, whose name he told them was DiCario, was a short, round man, with a poorly done comb over, wire-rimmed glasses, droopy eyelids, and wearing a baggy suithe even wore a tie whose color had nothing to do with the color of the suit. To complete the picture he carried a wrinkled black bag that resembled a piece of an old alligator. Jack gave Alex a look that said: Are you kidding me?

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She smiled. Dr. DiCario is well known in his field. And what field is that? Jack asked. Im not sure. We could ask. Never mind, Jack said. He turned to the doctor. Just do you job, Doc, fix me up, I have things to do. What things to do, Alex asked. The doctor was cleaning the wound and Jack looked at him and then Alex, deciding that it was OK to talk. There is the other drop. Not for you. While you get some rest Ill check the dropa church isnt it? Thats right. But Id prefer to be along. Too bad, she told him. The doctor seemed to be enjoying their exchange as he finished cleaning up the wound and putting on a bandage that went over his shoulder. Its not a bad wound, he said, looking at Jack. Not a serious wound. Clean entry and exit. Must have been a small caliber, maybe .22an assassin weapon? Was this guy a medical doctor or James Bond in disguise? In any case, he went on without waiting for a comment from Jack. You have more bruising than tearing and it should heal without a problem. There was some blood loss but not a significant amount. Someone put pressure on the wound immediately. Was it you? Its very important to stop blood loss. No. It was her. He turned to Alex. Good thinking. Looking at Jack again he said, Ill give you a shot to ward off any infection. Give the arm some rest and change the bandage daily. Ill be back to

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check on you in two or three days. Any questions? Jack had no questions. But he did have problems with the idea of spending two or three more days here. He hadnt planned on being away this long and he was concerned about Claire. Hed use the satellite cell and call tomorrow. The doctor washed his hands and put things in his bag. Looking at Alex, he said, Make sure that shoulder gets some rest. And with that he was off, briskly moving down the stairs with Alex behind him. What could be the rush for the little man? Jack wondered. Was Dr. DiCario that busy? Maybe he did brain surgery for those instant gratification folks with money and a troubled mind. Alex came up the stairs and stood in front of Jack. Without a word she gently ushered him from the table to the bedroom. She pressed him down into sitting on the side of the bed. You heard what the doctor said? You mean 007? Which part? Hed didnt say a whole lot. The part about rest. That part was very brief, Jack said. I suggest we go check out that drop and then call it a night. And I suggest that we forget the drop tonight. She reached down and picked up his legs and put them on the bed, twisting him around so that he was laid out flat. Jack was feeling just a bit light headed. Youre not much fun tonight, Alex, he said.

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This is not a time for fun. Those were the last words he heard before he went into a deep sleep.

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TWENTY Alex stood looking at what is certainly the most famous church in Venice and arguably the most famous in all of Italy: St. Marks Basilica. The gleaming basilica, just off the Grand Canal, dominates Piazza San Marco, not only as an imposing structure with its outer coverings of various marbles and carvings and domes, it is probably one of the best examples of Byzantine architecture in the world. Oddly enough, the basilica like the Opera House, also suffered damage in a fire; but that was many years ago. These Venetians must be more careful with matches. She had a detailed plan of the floor which was designed in the shape of a Greek cross, and as well, had a map of just where the dead drop

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was supposed to be. She thought it odd to have the drop in such a crowded place, but again, with the crowds might come the best of covers. As soon as she was sure that Jack was in a sound sleep, which took only moments, she slipped out of the house and walked the short distance to the basilica. Both of these drops, the opera house and the church, were close by and easy to service. She didnt even want to think about the third one on the cemetery as she joined the crowds of people shoving their way into the church, even at this late hour. Once inside, the first thing she was amazed at was the gilded mosaics that covered the walls and ceilings. She smiled to herself at the thought that she had never been to the famous basilica before. Not so strange, she mused; there were no doubt lots of people who lived in New York who had never been to the Empire State Building; lots of Romans had probably never been to the Vatican. Etc. Had all the Egyptians seen the pyramids? As an after thought, as she tried to fit herself into the spy role, she looked around to see if she was being followed. Was she kidding? There were probably hundreds of people here. How would she know? Jack was an experienced operative. How would he know? She hadnt a clue. Maybe he faked it. Caught up in the sheer beauty of the basilica she thought it would be nice to paint here, or to paint someone here. She wasnt into painting buildings. The floor, she noticed, as she counted out the pews, was a mixture of mosaic and marble in geometric patterns and animal designs. One

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could spend hours in this place. She came to the 12th pew from the entrance. Unbelievable! There were people sitting in the pew. Of all the empty pews in this basilica how did they come to sit in the one she wanted? She sat down in the 11th pew to wait. The first five rows were filled by a group of some kind who may have been tourists; she saw two priests with them and could hear their recitation of some rite, but she couldnt make out the words. In the face of this awesome beauty in the hands of man in building the basilica, and in the quiet aura of this holy placethe aura not in the hands of manshe couldnt help but to think and reflect. Her mother, she thought, in the sometimes harsh reality of memory, in the accompanying wisdom of hindsight, and assuming the mantel of grand overseer and supreme judge of character, was a cold person. Lets be honest; she was a cold bitch. Of course Alex didnt see that then. Her father certainly did. But what he wanted more than anything else, even above the acceptance of his paintings, was that Alex have a home life free of the divisive element of parental discord and constant bickering. What helped to offset that was the vast difference in their work and in their goals. Her mother, Sarah, a pragmatic person who was well suited to her occupation as a trial lawyer, spent long hours in either work, preparing a case, or in the pursuit of witnesses and facts to support her case.

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Her father could care less about both the law and lawyers; he considered lawyers just a step beyond criminals, a short step. And while he rarely voiced his opinion to his wife, he often made comments aside that Alex overheard. Alex knew when her father was upset with her mother because he would launch violently into his painting, splashing paint in all directions to no apparent objective. He would come away exhausted and perspiring and open a bottle of wine. Sometimes he would talk to Alex and sometimes he would sink into a deep silence. Ultimately, he said to her one time, it was not his desire to burden his daughter. Had they gone on to have a sonwell that would be different. With a son it could be man to man. He was a bit of a chauvinist, Alex thought. But he had nothing but a deep love for his daughter and a strong desire to see her living a happy life. He died far too young, she thought. Her mother had died when it was time. She saw them so differently, both now and then. The family, or what looked like a family to Alexa man, woman and two children blessed themselves and got up and left the pew. How many times had she blessed herself in the catholic ritual? Her mother had pressed for Alex to attend parochial school while her father, not a practicing member of the church, in fact a borderline atheist, went along in the name of family harmony. He didnt consider it a sell-out on his part, a betrayal to his basic belief, or rather a betrayal to his lack of a belief,

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but rather as a gesture on his part to have a united family. He was an artist and he had the free spirit of an artist. He was also a product of his catholic upbringing, a creation of the Jesuits, themselves a rebellious group. While it was fine to think, challenge, protest, be of liberal thought and action, the family was sacrosanct. She had often talked with her father, or rather listened, as he painted. She loved to sit on the floor in the room of oils and canvas and dream of creating her own masterpiece. Sometimes he talked and at other times he worked in silence, never speaking for hours on end. He never spoke about his work, never talked of good or bad paintings, and never once mentioned that he would like to paint a masterpiece. Perhaps he knew his limitations. But he never stopped painting for fear that he would not be a success. Alex moved up and went into the 12th pew. She never noticed the man who had followed her, the man who had introduced himself to Jack at the business luncheon as Bob Greene of the CIA. She sat down and marked out the distance into the pew where a message would be taped to the underside of the pew in front. In later years when her father was aging but not getting older, and her mother was old but not aging, she mentioned to her father that she would like to write. He looked up from his canvas and studied her for a few moments. She didnt know what to expect from his expression.

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Writers are the most unhappy people in the world and the most self-centered, though they would deny both of those attributes vehemently. They strive to be not of the society in which they live and yet yearn to be accepted by that very same group. As for me, he said thoughtfully, I can vent my frustration with paint on the canvas. What can a writer do? Can he write ugly words? Write a bad story? And remember, for every successful writer there are hundreds of failures. It is like a roll of the dice. Confused at his words, she asked, So are you telling me not to be a writer? I would never tell you to be or not to be anything, Alexsounds like Shakespeare. I would only tell you to follow your heart and soul and do what you want to do. The only one you have to satisfy is yourself. Success, and I take that to mean acceptance by the people with money, and along with it fame, which is nothing more than adoration by the ones without money, only last, relatively, a mere moment in the course of your life. I know nothing about writing; to me it is a strange pastimecertainly a lonely endeavor to say the least. You might say that painting is also a solitary and lonely life. That is true enough. But one cannot compare the brilliance of colors in painting, no matter how good or bad the work, to the drabness of print in the written word; it could be a beautiful novel but it is still without color. One other thought comes to mind as far as writing. In fiction it all must make sense, fit together, all questions answered and the plot tied in a neat bundle. Life is not so neat and

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orderly, not as smooth in the telling. Real life can leave unanswered questions. Beyond that, my dear Alexandra, I would wish you a happy life in whatever you choose to do. She smiled at the time her father had grown a beard. When he saw the gray and how old he looked he promptly shaved it off. Kneeling, at the exact spot marked on the paper, and casually looking around so as to be inconspicuous, she felt under the seat. There was nothing in the spot. Wondering how this could be, she slid along the kneeler, sliding her hand along the smooth wood. In a few moments she had searched the entire surface of the pew and found nothing. Either the information was wrong or she had the wrong pew. She moved up one row and repeated the process. Again she found nothing. Perhaps this man Walker was wrong? But didnt he set up the drops? She was disappointed for Jacks sake. But there was nothing else for her to do here. She left the church and made her way home. On the way she stopped at a favorite shop and bought some fresh pastries to have with coffee in the morning. Jack should like that. Jack, a short distance away, was into a deep but troubled sleep as the memories came back. He had been out four days now in the hunt, four days with little sleep in the unrelenting heat, and the constant fear of exposing any part of his body to the sniper. On the third day his spotter, Washingtonhe couldnt remember his first name nowhad made the mistake of

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showing a tiny bit of his head. Both he and it were gone in an instant. He was good, the other shooter. The Marines called their enemy sniper GC for Gary Cooper in the movies of Sergeant York. It was a dumb thing but things like that helped to keep some small sense of sanity and control, and a bit of humor. Oh he knew GC alright; they were both hunters to the death; the best of theirs and the best of the Marines. It was a million dollar gate; a Vegas dream match. Jack had a reason for being here, a good reason. He had left Washingtons body where he fell; there was no such thing as a proper service and burial. Jack would come back one day and take care of that part. His body ached and was stiff from holding a fixed position for hours. When he did move it had to be very slowly and very carefully. Today he would end it. Today he would move to the higher ground at exactly the right moment of the sun; that time when visibility in the dense jungle was poor in the lengthening shadows that came with dusk. Getting the advantage of the high ground was always best for the shooter and bad for the target; it was difficult to find cover from someone shooting from above. The downward angle made for a clear shot. But GC would know this. He would probably move at the same time. Jack would have to be better. Jack would have to be perfect.

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He took another look through the scope. Everything looked the same. He didnt think GC had made his move yet. He ate the last of his food and took a sip of water, never taking his eyes from the slowly dipping sun. Depending on his position, how deep he was into the jungle, how dense the growth around him, the dark came at different times. Jack carefully collapsed the scope legs and stored it in his pack. He rolled onto his back and lay his rifle along his stomach. He was ready to move. Now! He slid backwards until he had the cover of the boulder to his left. Then he stood and moved fast in a bent over at the waist position. He only had moments. He found his spot, lay down and looked through the sight on his rifle. He scanned the area GC had used, then tracked upward in the path he might take. Then he saw him and watched as he too settled into a prone position. But Jack had the angle. Then he had GC in his sights, looking right into his scope and into his eye. He pulled the trigger. The eye blew up and he saw the face behind it was Kamal! No! I cant do this anymore! Jack sat up in bed screaming. Sarah! Sarah! Alex had just come into the hall below when she heard him yelling. She ran up the stairs and sat on the bed next to Jack.

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Its okay, Jack, she said putting an arm around him. He had a strange look in his eyes. Its all right now. Its over, Jack. They sat that way for a while, their bodies close, neither saying a word. Then she said, Who is Sarah? He didnt answer for a few moments, staring off into space. His eyes started to water and then tears streamed down his face. He said, Sarah iswas a nurseLieutenant Sarah Keane, USNR. She was a lovely lady who cared about saving lives. He stopped talking and after a time Alex said, How did you meet? She was at a forward medical post. Alex waited for him to go on. This was obviously painful for him and while she wanted to know just how it all happened, she didnt want to rush him or bring any more pain. I was brought into the medical tent; I had shrapnel in my legs from a land mine. It was nothing serious but I did need some attention. She took care of me and we talked. She volunteered for active duty; she didnt have to be in that miserable place. She was a nurse and saving lives was what she did. Was she pretty, Jack? She was a handsome woman; handsome. You looked at her a second time because she was nice to look at. And she was nice inside. Her light blue eyes were like the color of an early morning sky and her light brown hair was long and shiny. Never knew her hair was long, always had it pulled up and tucked in when she was in uniform. But in Saigon, her in civvies,

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she wore it down all the timereached below her shoulders. Jack turned to look at Alex then, waited a moment, and then said, She was attractive like you but in a different way. Was that the only time you saw her? Alex asked, not sure if the comparison was a compliment. But she knew that we remembered what we wanted to keep, no matter how true or accurate. I was with her up front for a few days and then she was gone. I went back to my unit and she went back for training or something. And that was it? For a time. A time? Then I ran into her when I was back in Saigon. We were both on R&R. You know what that is? Alex shook her head. It is officially Rest and Recreation for the troops. We call it Wreck and Ruin. Go on. We spent five days togetherand nights. Every morning when we woke up Id say Good morning Sarah, you look beautiful. And shed say, Good morning Jack, you look beautiful too. She loved the spicy Vietnamese cuisine, the fish, not the meat; she stayed away from the meat for some reason. We played tourists in Saigon, the temples and all, like it was all just a vacation. The war was far away and we pretended that it didnt exist. And after Saigon? Alex said.

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After Saigon? After Saigon the world turned to hell. What do you mean, Jack? She came back up to the front, to the forward hospital. I dont know if she requested it or not, but there she was. One day a Marine captain forgot the sniper zone and was hit as he walked from one area to another. He lay there crying and screaming according to what I heard. Sarah, in the excitement of the moment, forgot where she was as well and ran out to help the wounded Marine. Alex sensed what was coming but hoped she was wrong. The sniper got her. GC shot her right through the heart. No, Alex said softly. Yes. She died right there next to the captain. When I heard the story, about a week later, I decided right then and there to hunt him down like an animal and kill him, if it took the rest of my life. My company commander threatened to court martial me if I left the unit. But I knew he didnt mean it. He was a good officer; cant say that about a lot of them. Lieutenant Parker, in the end, just before I left, offered me his personal side-arm, a combat colt. That was the highest award he could give, for a man to offer me his weapon. I refused. But I promised that I would come back to the unit, if I was alive. He said: you damn well better come back alive or Ill have you in the brig. Wonder what happened to him? So you killed him, this GC? Yes, I killed him, he said thoughtfully. Does winning make me the better animal?

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Animals settle their differences by fighting. Humans are supposed to be above that; they talk and settle their differences in a civilized way. Alex thought it was best to get out of this whole thing and changed the subject. Are you hungry? Ill fix you something. Jack swung his legs around as if to get out of bed. We can go out to eat. That would not be good, Jack. Maybe another time. Ill fix you some soup and maybe a sandwich. Alex went into the kitchen and heated some soup, then filled a long slice of Italian bread with ham and cheese; she was suddenly hungry. Just as well, because when she brought her offering into the bedroom she found Jack fast asleep. She pulled the sheet up over him and slipped quietly out of the room. She sat in the kitchen eating what shed fixed for him and contemplated her future with this man. Was there a future with this man?

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TWENTY ONE Before the clouds awakened to bring their subtle shadings, the bright and clear early sun creeping over the roof tops found Alex in the loft working on a painting. It was a time of the day she loved. This particular painting had been a problem in that she couldnt quite find the proper colors for the water in the canal which was constantly changingin contrast with the buildings at the waters edge. It was difficult as well, the colors aside, to concentrate on her work when just one floor down, in her house, asleep in her bed, was a man who was upsetting her life in a positive way. She had always been a strong woman and she would get over thiswhatever it was with Jack, and get on with her life. Did she really believe this?

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She heard him stirring below and put her brush aside. She carefully wiped her hands and changed from her painting shirt to a clean, ironed, pink one. She went down to the kitchen. Surprisingly, she thought, Jack looked fresh and rested, showing no signs of the emotional night before. He sipped a coffee. Good morning, Jack. I have some fresh pastries from the bakery. She got the bag, opened it up and gave one to Jack. These are fresh and probably the best in Venice. Good morning, Alex, he said, taking one out of the bag. How did it go at the drop? I take it not so well since I dont see any documents around. I assume we struck out at drop number two. One more and were out. Struck out? Missed the boat. Swung at three strikes and never hit the ball. Its a sports thing. What happened? I dont know your baseball. It is not a big sport in Italy. Anyway, I went to the church and looked for the papers. There was nothing. I even checked a different pew and still there was nothing. Perhaps your friend Walker gave us the wrong information. He still had his shoulder in a sling and it ached slightly. Its possible I suppose but there is still one more drop. We can go to the cemetery today, get the documents and wind this up. You will go home tomorrow? The answer was that he would leave in the morning, yes, but most likely not for home. There was a visit to France in mind. He said,

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Ill probably leave tomorrow. Thinking back to St. John and his last times with Kim, he remembered that he felt something was wrong between them, not just superficially, but deeper, like she was holding something back, something important. Not that she indicated that there was anything wrong, nothing in so many words, just a gut feeling. Hed found in the past that the gut was usually right. Yes, he could go to France tomorrow and get things settled between them. Perhaps he should call first. Hed do that when they got back this evening; hed call Claire as well. Alex was looking at him, no words, just watching him in thought. He seems troubled and she didnt think it was about the documents. There must be another woman, she told herself. Well, it is not for her to worry about. She had no claims on him and she had never expected them to last in the first place. Men were so stupid. When compassion was called for they acted as if they were mind struck. When passion was needed they preferred to watch the television. In a rare moment of total dedication to their woman, an expression of their complete love, they made the monumental decision to buy her flowers and considered themselves romantics. She was tempted to ask about another woman but decided to let it go. Most men could barely handle one woman, badly, let alone two. Jack bit into one of the pastries then held it up. These are wonderful, Alex. Thank you.

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No. I must thank you for putting up with me and taking care of me. That was more than you asked for wasnt it? She shrugged. It is all part of the job. I dont think so, Alex; its not like they were paying you. All they should be asking of you, and all they should hope to get, is for you to put me up for the night, maybe two nights, and if youre really feeling generous, maybe feed me a crust of bread or something. No one said you should be required to tend to my wounds, he was smiling now. And certainly none of those idiots in Washington should be asking you to play Freud to my fragile mental state. Alex laughed. Fragile? You are too hard on yourself, Jack. And you, Alex, are far too easy to get along with and far too nice a person. Without realizing what he was doing, Jack reached out and covered her hand with his. This outward sign showing that he cared for her, however slight, was not what she wanted to happen at this point. What she wanted was for him to either get totally into or totally out of her life. But of course things didnt happen that way, not in real life. This being your last day in Venice, she said, we will have dinner out at one of my favorite places. Great idea, Alexoutstanding. The only thing isand let me emphasize this on the part of the US government, which is a notoriously cheap bunch of crooksI will pay for dinner. Let this be my treat to thank you in a very small way for all youve done for me. So, I hope you

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have the most expensive restaurant in Venice in mind. I never thought of the money. But the food is excellent. Ill take your word for it. Are you ready to be buried? he kidded. Buried? I mean go out to the cemetery island. Oh. Yes, Im ready for that. I hope youre not, Jack said. I hope you will live a long and happy life after this. She looked into his face but didnt say anything.

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TWENTY TWO Venice was not a place where one could simply dig a hole in the ground for the dead and then cover the body or coffin with dirt; not in a city, an island to boot, where the water table is almost at ground level. As well, this was a spot of land with severely limited amounts of real estate to be had and used. Finding a place for the departed citizen was a real challenge. This was a piece of land with unique problems. One didnt want to see bodies floating along the calli in a foot of water like some kind of a horror movie. So, a few years ago, back around 1800, give or take a few years, someone with a lot of clout in the Napoleonic government, and maybe offended by the not always pleasant odor of the place, decided that the city needed a cemetery.

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Not only that, this person or persons, knew just the place: the two islands just north of the city, San Michele and San Cristoforo. There was one small difficulty however; there was a river that separated the two islands. No problem. The river was filled in and thus the San Michele Cemetery was born. The acreage, though mostly allocated to Catholics (this is a Catholic country) has sections for Greek Orthodox and Protestants; the Jews have their own space on a different island. The most notable Protestant buried in San Michele is probably Ezra Pound, the poet. There may be others but theyre not famous yet. The boat was fairly crowded; Jack and Alex stood by the railing. As they boarded and afterward hed looked over the other passengers for someone who might be following them. Initially he saw no one then on a second sweep spotted that man from the restaurant, the agency man. What was his name, Greene? Hed keep an eye on him; he seemed harmless enough. The only other interesting person, annoying was a more descriptive term, was a large woman who held a small ugly dog to her breast, the dog yapping in a shrill tone the whole way across to the island. Jack stole a sideways glance at Alex and thought how handsome she was with the wind blowing her hair. Shed been quiet since they left the house and boarded the boat and he wondered what was on her mind. They had spent a few days together but there was nothing started between them in a serious way.

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As well, he was looking ahead to finding these so-called vital documents and closing out the Venice affair, if it could be called an affair; more likely an incident. Hopefully we would find, our side that is, that the information would be of great value in breaking up the terrorist network and crippling it financially; nothing functions without money. It was exciting to think about that but in truth hed lost some interest in the whole thing. Was it that dreamthe face of Kamal? Maybe it was that and more, all of it, the past years catching up with him and finally taking its toll. And it was Kim. He would call her the first thing when they got back. Nearing the walled island, he said to Alex, Youve been very quiet. Is there something on your mind? Something bothering you? This will all be over soon. Ill be out of here and you can get back to your painting. She turned to him with a bit of a smile. Yes, this will all be over and I can paint. He waited for more but she didnt say anything. Best let it alone. As the boat neared the cemetery Jack saw the imposing gate in the brick wall that in itself was ornate. He looked over the drop location again on the map Walker had given them. It seemed pretty simple to find the spot. Again he wondered why the man had chosen this cemetery for a dead drop. What the hell was he thinking? Maybe he wasnt thinking at all. Maybe he was on the booze and had a weird sense of the macabre. More likely it was never intended to be used. Perhaps Walker thought it to be the best drop simply because of it being

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out of the way. No matter how he looked at it Jack thought it was asinine to have a drop out here. But it was almost over. Stepping ashore, Jack was impressed with the orderliness of the place, well groomed and tended. This must be the Catholic section. With Alex at his side, and Greene no doubt tagging along behind them somewhere, Jack paced off the distance to a prominent statue, then went off to a counted number of stones directly in front of the statue; there was a flat stone covering a grave with the name Camerlengo. The flat stone appeared to be fixed in place, but in fact it swung up to reveal a space insidea dark space. He could see nothing inside. He reached into the darkness and felt around. The only thing he felt was a thin piece of paper that turned out to be, when he pulled it out, an envelope addressed to Owen Walker. What the hell? he said softly. What is it, Jack? Well, its not what we came here to find. Its just an envelope for that man Walker, the one who drew up the map. What does it mean? she asked. Damned if I know, Alex. Arent you going to read the letter? Read some ones mail? Jack kidded. He was beginning to see a touch of black humor to this whole thing. I certainly am going to read it. Alex watched him tear open the envelope and stare at the paper inside for a long moment.

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Is it bad news? Its news, Alex, definitely news, but not what we came to find. Alex really didnt care what was in the envelope; this part was not in her job description. She wanted to get out of this place and have a nice quiet dinner somewherewith Jack. But she saw from the expression on his face that he was disappointed. Im sorry that it is not good news, Jack. Well, he started slowly, it does tell me a little, not enough, and not what I wanted to find, but thats the way it goes. Lets get out of here. They turned away from the grave stone to find Greene looking at them. Got some news, Morgan? Nothing in this for youGreene is it? Greene, with three ees. You mean youre not going to let me read it? Jack smiled. You know what they say? Its a need to know thing and youre not needy enough. Besides if I let you read it Id have to kill you. Thats pretty drastic, Morgan. No big deal to me. I only have to report to my boss, tell him it was all nothing and thats it. You, now you on the other hand, have to report to the president. Thats big time stuff. I dont envy you. Its no big deal, Greene. Hes just another man. Yeah. I heard the storyputs on his pants one leg at a time just like you and me. Thats a lot of bull. Some one probably puts his pants on for him.

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Pants or no pants, Jack said. Were out of here. Keep your powder dry, Greene. You do the same, Morgan. My best to POTUS. Ill give the president your regards. They walked to the boat and saw no sign of Greene. Jack had actually gotten to like the guy.

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TWENTY THREE Jack had no idea where they were in the city once they got off the boat, and knew even less about where they were going. Alex seemed to take some pleasure in that; it was not the blind leading the blind but the seeing leading the blind. All he knew was that after several turns left and right into impossibly narrow streets, and then more turns into narrower ones, they crossed one of the many bridges and there in front of them was a building with a window above a doorway and a balcony with flowers. On the street below was a restaurant. Painted on the wall above the trattoria was the street name: calle larga. To Jack it was typical Venice and he had to admit that this city was like no other.

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A man who seemed to be the owner came to greet them. When he saw Alex he went ecstatic, greeting her like an old and dear friend. Jack watched as he hugged Alex and talked for several minutes in Venetian. Eventually they got around to him, standing there like a boob, and Alex introduced Jack to one Mario Panzi, their host. She chose to sit at one of the tiny tables outside. Under other circumstances Jack would have thought the night muggy and uncomfortable. But tonight he could pass that by for two reasons: he was with a handsome woman named Alexnot that he had romantic notions, she was just nice to be withand maybe more importantly this business was finally over. It was not over to his satisfaction, and there were still lots of questions. But basically it had come to an end. He wanted to call Kim and move on with his life. Let Homeland Security take care of the bad guys. He also had to call Claire. Alex brought him back out of his thoughts. She showed a big smile. Do you like it? This place? Yes, this place. So far I love it. But how is the food? he kidded, knowing it had to be a favorite of hers. The food iswell, you will see in a moment. May I order for you? Go right ahead. As Alex talked with the owner, giving our orders, in some detail it seemed, and apparently catching up on the news, between

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them, Jack drifted off in thought to another time and another place. Mexico. Shortly we came down from a small mountain and into a valley that was relatively flat. Off to our right I spotted a rundown building that could be a store, and in front were what looked like two gas pumps. I hoped they were still in the gasoline business; the pumps with an "ESSO" logo went out about twenty years ago, maybe thirty. Kim said, "If you'll get us a couple of cold drinks, cold anything, I'll handle the pumps." "Deal," I told her, opening the door and climbing out into the furnace. Turned out it was a country store overfilled with stuff, junk actually, but I did find a battered thermos chest with cold drinks. Reaching down through what was mostly water rather than ice, I pulled out two of the coldest bottles of some kind of light green liquid--the Spanish label probably meant something important as far as calories and sodium but it was Greek to me. I popped off the two tops, draining mine in two gulps, then grabbed another bottle, popped it, and went outside. It had an awful taste but it was cold. Kim had company: two young, muscular men in bright shirts and jeans stood in front of her, close I thought, and not friendly close. Off to one side was an immaculate, old car, worthy of Classic Status in the states, one of those over-sized things with lot of chrome and shiny metal. A flag of some kind was tied to the antenna. My first glance told me these were unwanted guests coming on to Kim and I sensed it was a violence thing as much as

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sexual. There was a tension in the scene that sent off my alarms. They looked at me and seemed to disregard me as a threat, then turned back to her. Setting the bottles down next to the pump, I moved in close. "Problem, Kim?" "Nothing I can't handle." Cool and calm, she gave me a half wink which I interpreted as, "I'm confident. Get ready." Whatever was happening here was something she'd either dealt with before or had been trained to handle; another little item that added to the mystery of this woman. She seemed totally in control. The two men were talking and laughing like a couple of good old Mexican boys having fun, maybe bragging about what they could do with this beautiful woman. Kim had plans of her own and when one of them put his hand on her shoulder things turned serious in a hurry. She brought her right knee up, quick and solid, right between his legs. He doubled up, howling in pain. Before the other one could react I'd stepped in close with my leg between his, delivered a straight stiff arm into his neck, and yanked his leg out from under him. He went down like a felled tree. Kim pushed her guy backwards onto the dirt. Mine still had a bit of life in him and I put a foot on his neck to hold him in place. "Don't even think about getting up!" There didn't seem to be a language problem because he stayed put. While this close-in stuff had never been my thing--I worked from a distance, sometimes a long distance--I had been trained a long time ago and the moves came on instinct. In any

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case, it was time to move on. I grabbed our bottled drinks and we climbed in the Rover and spun out of there onto the highway. For a time we drank without a word. The drink was still cold. "Nice moves back there," I told her after a few moments. "You weren't so bad yourself." We shared a grin. "I hope that's the last of them." "Me too, Kim agreed. Jack heard Alex say, Me too, indicating the wine for both. Ive ordered the house wine, Jack. Its very good here. If thats alright with you. By the way, how is your shoulder? You havent mentioned it all day. Not bad. It aches a bit now and then, the stitches pulling I guess, but nothing serious. The doctor will be around tomorrow wont he? Forgot about that. Guess I wont be leaving tomorrow. With a broad smile she said, Oh, thats too bad that you cannot leave tomorrow. Jack wasnt exactly upset about it either. He returned her smile. I can see that youre heartbroken. Dont you want to get rid of me and get back to your painting? One has nothing to do with the other. I know that you will not be staying in Venice, even for a short time. You have come into my life quickly and will go out of my life just as fast. I want to use every minute of what time we have. As for my painting, I have the rest of my life to paint. Right now I do not feel anything in my hands. That is not right. I mean I am not inspired to put anything on canvas.

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Tomorrow, Alexandra, I want you to show me all of your stuff and I want you to get back to work on your painting. Yes sir, she said with a mock salute. We will see. Either this is a one man operation, Jack thought seeing the owner come to their table with the wine, or were getting special attention; thought he saw no one else inside. Mario graciously uncorked the wine, sniffed the cork and nodded his satisfaction. It is a good wine, this one, you will enjoy. He poured a bit into Jacks glass and went away. Suddenly remembering that he wanted to call Claire, Jack said, I have to make a call. Will you excuse me? Certainly, but have some wine first. Knowing Mario, it is probably something special. He looked into her eyes for a moment. Are you thinking of getting me drunk and seducing me? Do you have a better plan? Actuallyno. I cant think of a better plan. You mean to tell me that you would take advantage of a man hurting from his wound? A wound received in defense of his fair maiden? Fair maiden? I am not so fair and I am not a maiden. But I can be very gentle, she said. Hold that thought. Ill be back in a moment. He took a few steps away and stood in the cobblestone street. His encrypted phone was amazingly fast; in just moments after punching in the number he had Claire on the phone. Hello Claire, its me. How is everything?

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Mister Jack! Everything is good. My friend loves your house, says she could live here. Thats nice. Maybe she will one day. How are you feeling? And I want the truth, Claire. Some days not so good. But most days are good. Remember Claire, Im not that far away, and besides, I expect to be home in a few days. That wasnt exactly truehe might well spend several days with Kim in Francebut he wanted to keep her spirits up. She was a gutsy lady. Hows Harry? Harry is getting old, Mister Jack. I think he misses you: he just mopes around and sleeps mostly by the bed in your room. Dont think hes sick or anything. We all get old, Claireexcept you of course. He heard her chuckle. Take care and Ill be back soon. Call me right away, or have someone call me, if you dont feel well. Okay, Mister Jack. You going to see that lady friend in France? Goodbye Claire. His next call was to that lady friend in France. Amazing, he thought how one could whiz around this planet in seconds and talk with someone, anyone, and anywhere in the world. Thinking of which reminded him that he also should call POTUS. He could wait. How many people would even consider keeping the leader of the greatest power on earth waiting? First things first, he had found, was generally a simple rule of thumb, elementary actually, easy to deal with, but that didnt mean it was trouble free. It was a bit like beauty was in the eye of

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the beholder. The problem was with the damn beholder. Charles ici, the male voice said. Who the hell is Charles? Calm down, he told himself; it was probably a relative visiting. Charles here, like he lived there. Jealousy was rearing his ugly head but Jack pressed on. Jack Morgan here. Can I speak with Kim? Im an old friend, mostly in truth, but old friend was pushing it a bit. Or was it? Ah, I speak English. Good. May I speak to Kim? She will be home within the hour. Can I give her a message? Jack wanted to ask what the hell Charles was doing in her house but didnt. He said, Yes. Tell her I called and ask her to please call me when she gets home. He gave Charles the cell number. Maybe it was her brother? Jack wondered if he was over doing this, but that voice didnt have a brotherly tone. Coming back to the table he saw that Alex was busy watching a pigeon that had swooped in and made a landing near her foot. After giving us both a pigeon glaredeviant devil, we could turn him over to the glass blowers, thought Jackit started pecking around looking for scraps. As long as he doesnt call his friends, Alex commented. True. Now where were we? You were saying something about a fair maiden. Oh yes, my fair maiden Alexandra, and how I got wounded in your defense.

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She rolled her eyes. Thats stretching it a bit. Thats how heroes are born, he said laughing. Now whats for dinner? First of all, do you like the wine? Its a house special. Jack rolled the wine around in the glass, eyeing the lines that ran down the side of the glass, legs as they were called. Then he sniffed and tasted. Nice, nice and grapy, just a hint of nuts. A hint of nuts? Ive never heard that before. I just made it up. Seriously, its a nice smooth red. I must give my compliments to Mario. At that moment the owner came with an antipasto platter that would easily feed five people. Jack looked at it and shook his head; if he lived here hed weigh 200 pounds, the first day, and after thatblimp. The huge platter included several kinds of cheese, salami, olives, baked red peppers, and even some anchovies. And then there was the freshly baked bread. Jack said that he loved the wine which pleased Mario to the extent that he commented: I have ordered this particular wine for over twenty years; Alexandra was only a baby. Alex said, You exaggerate a bit, Mario. He chuckled. Maybe so, Alexandra. It is a pleasure of the old. We see what we want to see and remember what we want to remember. Now enjoy our dinner. There is much to come glorious pasta and a baked fish with my own sauce, herbs, and vegetables from my own

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garden that will delight your taste buds. At that he looked up at the sky and kissed his finger tips. I have also a bit of my risotto left, made just a few hours ago, that you must finish for me. And for dessert He let that hang in the air as if he couldnt find the words. Hes obviously overcome, Jack thought, as I will be with this eating marathon. Did you eat here often, Jack asked. If she did shed weigh another thirty pounds. No, I did not eat here as often as you might think. In the early years, before my father found some acceptance of his talent, some showings of his work, and with it some money, he came here and was mostly fed on the cuff. Is that the right expression? Jack nodded and asked, But didnt your mother have money? She had always been successful, and wealthy by my fathers measure. But he would never accept money from her. Jack considered that for a moment, shaking his head. I dont see how they survived as a couple. They survived, Alex said thoughtfully, because while they were a couple they also remained single, keeping their own interests alive and doing what they each wanted to do. That sounds easy. But I think it is not so easy. One tends to push into the other ones life in a way that is intrusive. Does that make sense, Jack? I think it does. We live in a world where one half of the married couples do not make it. I dont think there is an easy solution, a silver bullet.

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As well, Alex continued, As I might have mentioned before, I think the fact that my mother traveled a lot was a major factor. She smiled. They could not fight if they were not in the same house. When the main dish of baked fish came, they both tasted and let out a sigh of contentment. Its marvelous, Jack said. The sauce alone, dipped into with some bread, would be a meal in itself. The man is a genius. Alex just savored, nodded, and said nothing. On the table was also that little bit of left over risotto that had to be eaten. They ate for a time, sipped the delicious wine, and said nothing for a few moments, both drifting off into their own thoughts: Jack was struggling with a bit of guilt over the fact that the mission, and its failure, was not his main concernit used to be so; Alex was trying to overcome the touch of sadness she felt in knowing that it was probably over between her and Jack. Not that she was deeply in love or even partly in love, but the potential was there with this man: he was fun to be with and made her laughsomething not many men did because they were so busy trying to impress her about themand he had sensitivity, he could cry, and did. So far she had managed, sometimes barely, to deal with being alone, living her life as she chose, which is what she wanted, and all the while struggling with the truth of it: she was lonely. Of course there was great satisfaction, a fulfillment like no other, in bringing her mental pictures, her visions, to a real being on canvas nothing surpassed those times. She imagined

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that it must be the way a writer feels in bringing his thoughts, through words, into being a living place with real people. They both brought life to an illusion. Much like the movies, she thought, except that they were a total illusion, a complete fabrication, often not even filmed in the actual locale of the story. She saw that as a betrayal to the arts as she saw them. She looked up to see Jack staring at her, a melancholy look on his face. Perhaps he feels a bit sad, she thought, as I do. But is he sad about us having to part? Or does he miss the other woman? She couldnt help but overhear his call to France. So you will go home tomorrow? Not home; a stop first in France and then one more before home. She sensed that the mood had changed between them, shifted with their feelings from light to something more serious, and while she was tempted to ask more about the woman, a part of her said no, that it was not a good time. Better, she thought, just to use this time and not look ahead. She did venture one question. Would you perhaps stay in France? He thought about that for a moment. Thats not too likely, Alex. Reluctantly, and it took all of her will, she let it go at that. They were quiet then, finishing their dessert, as if the curtain was coming down on the scene and there were no lines left to be said. There was no return call from Kim, or from the president.

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After thanking a gushing Mario, and hugs all around, Jack paid the bill, adding a huge tip. As they were getting up from the table Alex asked about his shoulder. He rubbed it abstractly and lied that it was fine; in reality it ached and he wanted a pain killer and some sleep. As it turned out he never got to the pain killer and sleep was a while in coming. Later she came to him. Lost in thought, he lay on his back in tee shirt and undershorts; there was no need for a sheet in the warm evening. He felt her warmth, breathed in the scent of her body, her damp hair, before he saw her in the dim light. She knelt on the bed beside him and pulled down his shorts. Then she leaned over him, her hair hanging down, and took him in her mouth. In moments he was erect and ready. But she waited, looking up into his face. His breathing was heavy. Then she moved to straddle his hips, positioning herself over him, and slowly lowered her body down onto him, taking all of him inside of her. She wanted to please and satisfy them both without hurting his shoulder. Was it too much to expect? She rode him, gently at first, then fast and then even faster. After a time they both gasped and she fell away exhausted. Later, in the moment before she fell asleep against his body she asked if she had hurt him. Are you in pain? Does your shoulder hurt?

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Yes Im in pain. But its not my shoulder that hurts. Before she could say anything else she could tell from his breathing that he was sound asleep. So much for his pain, she thought.

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TWENTY FOUR As was her custom on any morning with some decent light, Alex was at work in the loft; she had been there for sometime before she heard Jack moving about below. Her mood, not that great to start withthough the sex had been good last night and she had no reason to complain on that scorewas getting worse as she gave another long look at the canvas she was working on. Something wasnt right. What the hell was it? The color? The scene itself? No. What was bothering her was her behavior last night: she had practically thrown herself at the man. Another no; she hadnt practically thrown herself, she had thrown herself. It wasnt like her and she couldnt understand her behavior. On top of that she knew damn well that he would be leaving. So

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what was the point? Maybe the point was the very fact that he was leaving. In any case, she seemed to be coming into a new phase of her life. Here she was reaching out to a man? Good God; she wasnt that old. Why could she not want a man at any age? Was she thinking want or desire? Did she want company or just sex? If it was a matter of company she could get a dog, or a cat. Sex was another matter. Forcing herself to push such thoughts aside, and smiling at the thought of a pet, she pulled the flap down over the canvas to preserve what color she had, wiped her hands, made a swipe at putting her hair back into some kind of order, and went down to the kitchen. Jack was sitting at the tiny table. Good Morning! Good Morning yourself. Did you sleep well? Not bad. How about you? After a rough time at the start it was good. But you look tired. Is the shoulder bothering you? The doctor should be here today. The shoulder is okay. Morning is not my best time, he added. That wasnt true. Most mornings he was in a fine mood but not this one. He could well understand the president not returning his call, after all the man did have a few other things on his mind, a few. What bothered him was not hearing from Kim; it bothered him and he wasnt sure why. Obviously she didnt put the same importance as he did on them seeing each other. But was that fair? Maybe she did feel the same as he did but was very busy at work, what with the

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terrorist business and all. He didnt know that much about Interpol but he had a good idea that it wasnt always a nine to five job; nothing in law enforcement was 9-5, except maybe a data clerk. Then there was the bad feeling he got about Charles. But again, he could be reading into this something that wasnt there to begin with. He could be a brother; or a visiting relative, though he answered the phone with a certain ease and confidence, as if he lived there. Give it up, Jack. Your imagination is running wild. To top things off the killing dreams had come back, not long ones and not in detail; he thought hed been able to put them away in a dark corner where they would never be found. Some things cannot or will not stay hidden. In thinking about it he could see that his life, and along with it his work, and the world for that matter was changing, had already changed, and it had passed him by. He had come face to face with getting old, well, older, and he was not happy with what he saw. Alex could see only that he was away somewhere, a place not too happy to judge from his expression. She wondered where he was and if she should bring him back. Jack glanced at her and came back on his own. Have some coffee, Alex. Even though I made it its not too bad. She poured a cup of coffee and sat down across the table from him. Where were you just now? You didnt look too happy about it wherever it was.

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Just thinking about life, Alexand getting older. No wonder you made such an awful face. Getting old is not even worth thinking about. It will come whether you like it or not. Youre still young, Jack. Im certainly still young. Lets have no more talk of that. Nowyou must be hungry. Why do you say that? She smiled. Well, it was an active night for you, difficult, you being an injured man and all. You were the active one. Do we have any idea when the doctor will be coming? No. Why do you ask? Just wondering about time. Id like you to show me some of Venice and then Id like to catch an afternoon flight to Paris. It wasnt exactly true that hed like to catch the flight to Paris. More and more he felt that he should take the flight, if for no other reason than to clear up what had developed into a conflict of his feelings. It wasnt all that long ago that he left Kim and yet it seemed like a long time when compared to the few wonderful days in Venice with Alex. It made no sense. Were his emotions barely skin deep? Was it just the sex with Kim? What was different about Alex? They both lived here in Europe and he lived across the ocean. Maybe he should go home and forget both of them. But that was something he could never do. She brought him out of his thoughts. We could do that. I would like to show you my work.

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Id like to see your work. And dont look so glum, Alex. There is always next time. Will there be a next time, Jack? He didnt answer right away. I dont know, he said finally. After what seemed like a long period of silence she said, I have some eggs. Are you an egg person? No. But I am an omelet person. If I do say so myself; I make some nice omelets. Im a creative person, Jack. I dont doubt that for a moment. But Id like to treat you, take you out for breakfast. There is nothing creative about that. I beg your pardon. It takes a lot of thought to decide where to eat. Thats a big decision right there, and a bit creative. Then once we get there it requires a lot of mind work to decide what to eat. Now if that doesnt call for some creativity I dont know what does. Not impressed, she nodded. I will fix an omelet and then I will show you my work in the loft. After that we will take a walk. What about the doctor? We will leave a note for him. Sounds good. What have we left out? Weve left out the woman in France, Jack. Ouch; best not to touch that one. She had breadno doubt gotten from Mario last nightthat she warmed in the oven to go along with the omelets. Whats in this? he asked, savoring the pleasant taste. Only some mushrooms and herbs from my garden. Did you notice my tiny garden when you came in?

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No. I must have missed it. This is delicious. How can you have a garden here where land is so scarce? Thats why it is only a tiny garden. In the loft they roamed the spacious room while she told him about both her works in progress and the past pieces. She didnt linger on the older paintings, figuring that they were nothing but a part of the learning process and not very good. While Jack knew next to nothing about paintingshe would know a Monet only if it was signedhe spent a few moments looking at her older stuff and thought it was very good; she definitely had an eye for color and substance. The way he looked at it, art was either good or bad depending on the eye of the beholder. He had no doubt that there were hundreds, maybe thousands of very good people out there creating what could be a masterpiece if it was only seen by the right person. He stole a glance at her from the side as she told him about the paintings. She doesnt know how beautiful she is, he thought. She changed into a skirt and blouse for their tour of Venice, her hair pulled neatly into a pony tail. In an instant flashback he saw Kim with her long blond hair in a pony tail. Since they would be passing through San Marco she told him about both the cathedral and Doges Palace. Would you like to tour the palace? I dont think so. I dont know about Doges Palace, but as far as cathedrals if youve seen one youve seen them all.

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They walked towards the Grand Canal. Some tourists come here expecting a place like Disneyland. Are you kidding? Not at all. They dont seem to realize that this is a city like any other with working people, rush hours, and the rest of it. We will make use of the vaporetti because it is off hours. And tour they did starting with the Campanile in St. Marks Square. She told him, using her best tour guide voice that the tower is over 300 feet high and in addition to providing a sensational view of the rooftops of Venice, a sight in itself, it houses five bells that toll every hour. Thank you, Alexandra. That was very well done. It all passed in a blur and while Jack for the most part was fascinated with the city, he was really not into the tourist thing. But Alex seemed so proud of her city and so anxious to show if off that he tried not to show his boredom. He did perk up at San Moise, which she told him had the reputation of being the clumsiest church in Venice. How could one not see something so described? Having seen it he wasnt quite sure of how or why it got the name but it was different. And of course there was the Bridge of Sighs. They made a stop to watch the glass blowing which was a hot but fascinating experience. Jack bought her an exquisite blue goblet. Throughout it all Jack kept checking his cell phone but there were no messages. Where was Kim?

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When they stopped for lunch at a trattoria where they could sit outside he checked on flights to Paris. He could catch an Air France flight leaving at 5:55 and arriving in Lyon at 7:20. He figured the hour was not too late as to be an inconvenience for Kim; her house was roughly 20 minutes from Lyon. Late afternoon found them at Harrys Bar, a must see, and the original. While some French diehards insisted that the original bar was in Paris, they were misguided, as was Hemingway who some say started to babble after a time, proclaiming that both he and the bar were originals. But then who wouldnt start to babble after the second martini went down the hatch? Especially if it was properly made that is with only the whisper of that evil word vermouth passing over the chilled glass. There would be just enough time for one drink before he would have to pack up and be off to the airport. She looked up from her glass of white wine. You will not see the doctor today. Well, I can certainly find a doctor in France; shouldnt be a problem. Is she very prettythis woman Kim? She is very pretty but then so are you, Alex. I have never been called pretty. You are both pretty but in different ways: she has long blond hair and is fair-skinned; your hair is long but darker and your skin is just a shade darker. She is originally from South Africa and she has that touch of a Germanic look. Then he smiled and added, But she cant paint.

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How do you know that? I dont really know it, but I dont think she does. She finished her drink. Wed better be going if you are to catch your plane. And thank you again for the beautiful goblet. It was my pleasure, Alex. I hope you will show it in a proper place. She grinned. Oh yes, it will be next to my bed. Later, Jack packed and ready to go, they stood in the lower hallway. He kissed her long and hard and hugged her, feeling the firmness and the scent of her body. Ciao, she said softly into his ear. Ciao, he answered.

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TWENTY FIVE Jack had much to think about during the flight: the important documents that never were; what to do about his relationship with Kim; and as well, Claire, the president, Alex. Lets face it, he considered, his relationships except for Claire were not exactly a model of stability. The president didnt count; the only friend he could count on was his pet dog, and even then he might get bitten on a bad day. He could even surmise that someone beat him to the documents if it hadnt been for Ginas note to Walker. Turning his thoughts back to Kim, what he hoped to do with this visit was to convince her to move to Florida, not a very realistic project he didnt have great hopes for any successbut it was something he would give his best effort. He didnt think that their different life styles

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were an insurmountable problem. But looking at it now he thought that she had to give more. He loved her and thought he was in love with her. What he wondered about was how Kim felt: was she in love with him? It was a good question because it would take a lot to convince her to change her lifestyle. If she wasnt really and truly in love with him it would never go. The more he thought about it the more the odds went up against him. He would give it his best shot. Besides, it wouldnt be the first time hed faced long odds and it wasnt like it was the end of the world. His flight was 15 minutes earlythose pesky unpredictable tail windsgetting into Aeroport Lyon-Saint Exupeny, the formal name which no one used. The city of Lyon, third largest in France, thought kind of low profile, an industrial city of about 400,000 people, was 15 miles out from the city proper, which was about par for city airports. A modern city, it had excellent transportation from the airport in case he needed to use it. His plan, however, was to hire a car and driver like he did the last time and sweep Kim off her feet with the best of wining and dining in total luxury. Of course he knew all of that was not what really counted, not with a woman like Kim who was not impressed with the flashy and the noisy. Maybe he was turning her off with the fact that he was wealthy? Was having money a bad thing? Not when he was being brought up. Hed earned his the hard

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way and he had no feelings of guilt on that score. Dont go there. He was what he was and in any case he wanted to have everything working for him that he could possibly use. Only a fool goes into battle without all the armament he can find. The scene at the baggage carousel was an exercise to the extreme in rude behavior by a few human beings. To judge by the way they pushed and shoved and elbowed to get to their bags youd think they all had to get to a hospital immediately for brain surgery. Come to think of it a lobotomy might help with some of them. Just as he saw his bag coming and he was sliding into position to grab it, his cell phone rang. As far as he knew no one except the president had the number. He almost stood at attention at the thought of talking with POTUS. Not quite. He moved away from the crowd and clicked on. Jack Morgan here. A female voice answered. Is this the famous Jack Morgan, the one who rescued the senators daughter? Kim! How are you? Where are you? And how did you get this number? Thats an awful lot of questions, Jack. How about some answers. How did you get this number on a secure phone? Jack, I work for Interpol. I traced back your call to me: simple. I should have known. Now, where are you and how soon can we get together? Are you at home? Ill drive out.

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Im not at home. Im staying at a hotel in town because Im flying out to South American tomorrow; something to do with a favorite candidate in the upcoming election being accidently shot to death. The whole thing looks suspicious and weve been asked to look into it. Sounds strange to me: Interpol looking into a shooting? Well, she said, thinking about it, Not into the shooting itself but into the political aspect of the death. Im not a detective. No matter. What Im hearing is that we have only tonight. Is that right? Thats all we have, Jack. Then she added in a serious tone, I want to see you tonight. He didnt like the tone but he was excited about seeing her. Where are you staying? she asked. Im at the Sofitel. Ooh. Nice. Im a bit further down the line but then Im on an expense account. Ill be there in an hour. A thoughtful Jack closed his phone and went back to the process of retrieving his bagwhy are the first bags checked in for the flight the last to come out? They were on the bottom of the pile? An airline mystery? And how did bags get lost with that big airport code on the tag? Vision-challenged baggage handlers? He finally retrieved his bag and went outside to get a taxi to his hotel. Jack had found that most rooms in European hotels were on the smallish side so he always booked a suite. Money wasnt a factor. He liked to be comfortable.

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Checking in was easy and quick. He told the concierge that he needed a suit pressed right away, which in this type of establishmentread expensivemeant that the employee who would take his suit was right behind him, in fact wanted to open the door for him. Jack wasnt a man who had a lot of clothes. He was a man who had the best of clothes. Besides, Claire would never put up with too muchtoo much of anything. He only had two suits, both hand tailored in London, which speaks for itself. To go along with those were made to order shirts and perfectly matching ties, which he hated to wear. In anticipating his meeting with Kim hed brought one of the suits, the navy muted pinstripe along figuring that he wanted to look nice when meeting Kim. The current style might be grungy and unshaven, what he called the hobo look, but it was not for him. Nor would he shave his head in order to be in tune with the times. He was reminded of the lyrics of a song written by an Irish singer that hed heard in a Dublin pub, whose name he couldnt recall: I want to be different, just like everybody else. While he waited for the suit to be picked up he unpacked and then went to the mini bar and poured Absolute vodka on the rocks. Far from being the suave lover, Jack was a bit nervous at seeing Kim again. After all, things are different nownot that it was so long agobut today was a far cry from Mexico and the hunt for the senators daughter, and even their time together in France. Yes, it had been an exciting time, a time of purpose and meaning, a time of adventure. And maybe that was the cause of it

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all. Maybe there was nothing there that was real, like the set of a movie where so often the male and female leads fell in love and sometimes even married. So often it didnt last. How could it? How could fantasy survive in real life? When the false fronts of the stores and the sets come down it is a time and place that is preserved on film but gone forever as real. Showered and shaved, Jack went down to the bar to meet Kim. He hadnt long to wait, in fact no wait at all; as he sat down at the bar she came in and sat down next to him. Hello, Jack. He stood, pulled her up from the stool and kissed her long and hard. You look fantastic! You look pretty good yourself. They sat and after a moment she said, Since we dont have all that much time, and this place has a good restaurant, a couple of stars anyway, why not stay right here for dinner? Fine with me. He ordered her a Manhattan. So, I hear you were in Venice, part of that Cygnus thing? Thats right. How do you know about that? Smiling, she said, Jack, I do work for Interpol; we have our sources. Hows the arm? Shoulder, actually. You know about that too. Im impressed. Its getting better. Remind me to give you the name of one of our doctors here; we have some of the best. You know about the Cygnus papers, the papers that never were?

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I heard about it. I also heard that the infamous spy Cygnus died in the canal. Were you there? Not right on the spot but nearby. Im surprised you didnt have someone in Venice. But we did, Jack. Did you run into a guy using the name Greene? That one? A big guy? Using CIA as his cover? Thats the best we could do on short notice. And anyway, our big bosses didnt give the whole thing much attention; too much else going on. Looking a bit smug, Jack said, Bet I know one thing you dont know about Cygnus. Oh. And what is that, pray tell. The world renowned spy is a woman, was a woman. You must be kidding. Honest truth. Cygnus was a beautiful woman. You know this first hand? You must have seen her. Jack nodded but didnt say anything for a moment. Then he thought it might be a good idea to change the subject; he really didnt want to get into the unfinished business of Cygnus. So, youve been busy at work? Very busy in fact: terrorist activities all over Europe. It seems to be getting worse every day. You mean were not winning? Her drink came; she sipped it and jokingly proclaimed it worthy to drink. Its too early to tellits only just starting on a worldwide basis, and getting more and more organized every

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daybut at this point Id have to say no, were not winning. Were not winning because the idea of a global threat and the concept of worldwide war have yet to be accepted as just that, a worldwide threat. But dont get me started on that business. No, he agreed. Lets talk about us. She frowned and he could see that she was carrying a burden of some kind, something unpleasant that she had to deal with and talk about with him. He waited as she thought about it, getting it sorted out in her mind. This is not easy, Jack, she said finally. It cant be that bad. Youve asked me to live with you in America, she reiterated. I cant do that for a couple of reasons. Tell me, Jack said grimly. First of all your country scares me: youve lost your identity, your nationality, your being; what other country in the world would have an election to determine what the national language will be? Can you think of that happening anywhere else in world? France will always be French. But what will your country be in 10, 20 years? Maybe thats the price of democracy. Thats just the point, Jack. What you have is not a democracy. What you have isfor want of a better term, a constitutional republic. Your constitution supersedes everything, even laws that are duly passed by the majority. And the look what happens. The law, if challenged by even one person is often thrown out by your liberal courts because it violates some personal freedom or the liberty of some individual.

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Think about that, Jack. Its absurd. Every law passed by the majority of the people for the good of their society, restricts someone from doing something they might want to do. Thats the nature of law and order. Yes, law does restrict conduct. But isnt that a basic premise of a civilized society? She stopped and Jack stared, speechless for a moment. After hed let that settle as much as it could, which wasnt much, he asked if she wanted another drink. No. Im fine. Maybe some wine with dinner? Whatever you want, Kim. Personally, Ill have another one. They were quiet for a time; Kim looking down at the table and Jack looking at her. This was coming at him in a rush, a bad rush. Im disappointed, Kim, and I dont know what to say. Im not crazy about the idea that our relationship, or whatever it is between us, depends on the world condition, or for that matter the state of America. Sure we have our problems. But so does France. Youre country is into a recession, so is mine. You have an immigration problem, so do we. Your banks and financial investment houses are riddled with greed and corruption, as are mine. Its a universal sickness, an epidemic of going bad. So its not as if you live in the perfect state, Kim. That came out stronger than he wanted and he wished hed bit his tongue. So far this seemed like an evening with her that would leave not much tongue left.

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We have our problems, Jack. But as I said, France will always be French. And what will the United States of America be? She had a point there. He couldnt imagine a person in France having to dial 1 on the phone to get the French language. I guess its good that France will always be France, he said with just a hint of sarcasm that she missed. As for my countrywho knows? Well be some kind of a mongrel. But there is more, Jack. What more could there be? Youre upset that I speak English? Jack, be patient and help me here; this is not easy. I do have strong feelings for you. We shared some precious moments. He waited in the pause that followed. Strong feelings he thought, doesnt sound quite the same as love. It sounded like he was getting a verbal Dear John. He said, Shared is past tense, Kim. Its gone. Its over. Where do we go from here? And I still cant believe that our relationshiphow I hate that word!is related to the condition of the world. Well, the state of my union anyway. Were not the world, Kim, you and I, and Im sorry if I cant get all teary about the sad condition of the world, much of which is self inflicted. And its not as if my country hasnt tried to help. Weve poured millions of dollars into every sorry place in the world. Granted, the money was either poorly administered or not controlled at all, and went into a Swiss account of the corrupt leader instead of to those who needed help. But the point is we tried. And we keep on trying.

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Youre getting yourself all worked up about this, Jack. Then she smiled. I dont want you to have a coronary right here in the restaurant. Yeah, I know. I hate restaurant coronaries; ruins a lot of good meals. I think Ill have another Manhattan, Jack. Jack picked up their drinks. Lets finish these at the table and Ill reorder. In moments the waiter came and Jack ordered drinksdinner was still undecided and a very special and very expensive wine. Not that he ever ordered strictly by the price and in this case he would have paid any price. He normally ordered by vintage and from the experience of good taste, or if he didnt know the wine, by ratings. He couldnt recall ever having a bad wine. One day just for the hell of it hed like to spit out a mouthful and send the bottle back. Theyd probably fire the waiter. When the waiter came with their drinks they touched glasses again. Jack said, Lets get this evening on a lighter vein; which wouldnt take much. Fortified with a healthy slug of her drink, Kim came back to the other thing. I have to tell you about Charles. Before you get into that, dont you think we could rise above the cultural and political differences between our two countries and make a go of it? Is all that so important to you? Perhaps we could, she answered thoughtfully. But it would be a constant problem. And then there are my feelings for Charles. Things are so different now, Jack.

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Thats putting it mildly. He wondered how it all happened so quickly, turning his world upside down. How could it be love one minute and a failed relationship the next? So tell me about Charles, he said, resigned as to what had happened and wanting to know the full story. Wasnt that a bit masochistic? Charles is living with me, she said flatly. Jack tried not to show the shock he felt ripple through his body. How long has this been going on? The minute he said it he regretted asking the trite question. But it was done. Only for the last few days. The last few days! Incredible, Jack thought, unable to hide his feelings. Talk about spontaneous. Not too long ago you and I were almost living together. Where did this guy come from? Did he just appear at your door one day and you took him in like a stray? Please dont be angry with me, Jack. And it wasnt like that. He watched her eyes fill up and her lip tremble a bit; it wasnt easy for her. What the hell, he thought; it wasnt easy for him either. Is there any point in ordering dinner? he asked. As if she never heard the question she said, Ive known Charles for several years. Then we were living together. Hes in the army, a majoror he was in the army. At the time you and I met in Mexico he was in Afghanistanwe had separated: I couldnt live with his constantly being away in the fighting. It was a lot to take in at one time. How did you meet?

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She wiped her eyes and paused a moment then looked at him. He wanted so much to put his arms around her. We met at Interpol. He was a military liaison and our paths happen to cross. It wasnt love at first sight by any means; Charles is not a handsome man nor is he a charmer. It was just something about him. So why are you in love with the guy? By comparison I should knock this guy out of the running without breaking a sweat. Jack asked, And when he came back? What was different? When he came back he wasolderwiser sadder. Hed aged a lot. And what else? Hed lost a leg in Afghanistan. Without a doubt there goes dinner. She reached across the table and put her hands over his. Can you understand, Jack? Youre a part of my life, a part of my love, but hes a larger part and he needs me. You dont think I need you? She looked at him for a moment. No, Jack. I dont think you need me. At least not in the way Charles needs me. You need me for the moment, for the duration of the job youre doing now, someone to cling to, security. You need me to be a safe harbor to have waiting, the girl back home. And when its over and you come back, if you come back, your needs are not the same. Youll be happy for a time, outwardly content, and then start looking for a way to go off again. Charles needs me all the time. Arent you confusing love with sympathy?

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Perhaps I am, but a woman needs security in a relationship and I get that with Charles. I love you Jack but you and I are not for the long haul. Jack noticed the waiter standing by waiting for their dinner order. Kim said shed just have salad; Jack would have salad and a steak, medium well done. He could be feeling miserable with a full stomach as well as on an empty one. You shouldnt have ordered wine, Jack. Why? Because Ill drink it of course and it will turn me into a sloppy, weepy mess. Everyone is entitled to be a sloppy, weepy mess once in a while. You can always eat more salad. They were quiet then for a time, each going off into private thoughts. The wine came and Jack rolled it around the glass, sniffed deeply, held it up to the light, nodding as if he saw something, then tasted as the waiter watched intently. He wasnt all that sure what the hell he was looking for with that routine; he had a simple rule that if the wine tasted good it was good wine. After all, wasnt it about taste? Despite the fact that he was a relatively wealthy man, less so by todays inflated standards when athletes averaged over a million a year, A-list movies stars made ten times that amount, and tickets to a baseball game were out of sight for the average family, Jack was basically a commoner at heart. He feared for the future of a country, his country, which placed material things and wealth above everything else.

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They touched glasses, again. That brought a smile from Kim. You remembered the wine, the one I liked. Of course I did. Can Charles do that? Thats not fair, Jack. Youre right; Im sorry. It occurred to him that while he was doing the right thing, as the so-called jilted suitor, in trying to find a balance between his anger at her and his affection for her and at the same time avoid being a pain in the ass, he wasnt doing a very good job. This was all new territory. Dinner came and she toyed with her salad. Jack carved out a piece of his Filet Mignon and held it up for her inspection. It looks great. I should have ordered the same, she said, trying to lighten up their mood, her eyes still red and watery. Its not too late. Would you like me to get one for you? I could never eat it all. Then well share mine. He cut his generous thick slab of beef in half and put half on her plate. Bon appetite. You know, youre not making this any easier for me by being so damn nice. Its a weakness of mine. In school I was known as damn nice Jack. She smiled but didnt say anything, in fact neither one had much to say from then on, both their minds occupied with what had been said earlier, and what was in the future for them, if anything. Kim considered that they might stay friends, writing now and then, perhaps even develop into good friends over time. But that same

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element of time, coupled with distance, would keep them forever in separate worldsa difficult barrier to cross. Besides, as she thought about it, she had the strong feeling that Jack wasnt the type to have that kind of a relationship with a woman. With him it was either all or not at all. Tonight, she decided, it would be all. After they had finished dinner and Jack paid the check, leaving a generous tip, he asked if she wanted company for the short trip back to her hotel. I can take a taxi, she said. Ill take one with you. Fine with me. I want to give you the name of that doctor to contact. You sure its no bother? No bother to me. Youre the one with an early flight. Jack paid the taxi driver and walked with her up to her room. She opened the door and went in, leaving the open door in front of him. It was also a suite, he saw, not nearly as lavish or roomy as his, but a comfortable one nevertheless. Maybe Interpol was loosening up the purse strings. Of course he had no idea of what she did for them nor how high up she might be on the power pole. After a few moments she came back from the bedroom and handed him a piece of paper. The doctor, she said. She had on a white terry robe. She opened the robe and let it slide down over her shoulders to lie on the floor at her feet. She wore nothing else. He stepped closer to her and she felt his hands cup her breasts, and then

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roam over her body. She shuddered and felt herself being picked up and carried into the bedroom. Had she set the alarm? She could always catch a later flight.

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TWENTY SIX After a busy couple of hours Jack was finally seated in a KLM flight to Amsterdam there were no direct flightsand then on to Dulles. As with any air travel these days, he thought, it takes a whole day to get anywhere. Hed leave Lyon at 10:20; arrive in Amsterdam at 11:55; then wait until 1:15 to depart for Washington, arriving at 3:40the whole damn day to basically fly across the Atlantic. Lindberg had done it in less time. But of course he didnt have passengerslucky him. Earlier hed awakened in Kims bed in Kims hotel room to find her already gone. There was no note. There was only the lingering scent of sex and sweaty bodies. Not that there was anything wrong with that. But it would have been nice to see some sentimental touch to

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their parting. Like what? A long love letter left on the dresser with a red rose? Give it up. Back at his own hotel he made a few phone callshe had favors to call inwhich had to be made before he could book a flight. In short order he had the information he needed and was on his way to the airport. Along the way a quick visit to the doctor Kim had recommended had taken care of his shoulder. The doctor had cleaned the wound and put on a fresh bandage, telling Jack that it was healing fine. Fortunately the flight wasnt full, at least not in First Class, and not having anyone in the seat next to him, blissful as it was, he used the uninterrupted time to write up his report to the president. There wasnt a whole lot to put in the report and for that very reason it took a while to compose. He wasnt one to lay on the bullshit and blow up his part in the assignment to the point of praise and a possible medal. It had been a routine, and in the light of hindsight, dumb assignment. Except for Cygnus it might have all turned out differently. At the thought of the master spy his thoughts took off in different directions. Or was it, to be politically correct, spyess? Probably not. Those folks, who apparently have nothing better to do than sit around and think these things up, seem to go for a more genderless term. Why a beautiful woman, or any woman, would prefer being called an actor instead of an actress was beyond his comprehension. Was there something wrong with basic femininity?

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With the report finished and sent off to Washington, it was time for a drink and he looked for theFlight Attendant? Remember when she was a stewardess? What a degrading term. He thought about that for a moment: Stewardess to Flight Attendant. Would the next step be to Flight Manager? Where were we, as a society, going with that? It seemed to be just one more step into a genderless world; the garment industry was already there with unisex sizes. How would one liked to be called a unisex? Sounds like some sort of four-legged creature with antlers and dirty, smelly fur. In a pensive mood, with a head full of questions and not enough answers to go around, he sipped his vodka on ice and looked out the oval window into the dark night. This business in Venice was supposedly so important that the president himself got involved. And yet he never returned Jacks call. Was it suddenly not so important? Had something changed? What was different? What about Gina/Cygnus? This all revolved around her. The only definite that he could see was that she had the starring role, which was a no brainer; but as to the how and why of it all he could only wonder. Soon now he would have some answers. An interesting bit player in this, well, maybe not so interesting as much as necessary, and one that held no mystery for Jack, was Owen Walker. Kim, on the other hand, knew at least the basics of the Venice business but really didnt see it as anything special? Why not? Wasnt Interpol interested in all things terrorist? And

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that guy Greene? Where did they find that loser? Maybe loser was too strong. He was just on the downhill side of his career; an experience we will all have one day. The only serious person, it seemed to Jack, was Kamal. To him it was literally a life or death situation and he got the latter. After all, he was a bad guy. There was certainly deception here, on the part of many, but it all came down to Cygnus. He thought then of Alex: beautiful, interesting, helpful, talented, and a pleasure to be with, not to mention good in bed. Did he leave something out? Yes. She was bright and full of life and made one helluva an omelet. Was there enough between them to bring her to Florida? Could Jack live in Venice? Get real. Taking precedence over all his feelings was the depressing thought, a premonition, a prediction almost, was that hed done his last job. He wasnt old, whatever that meant, but he had crossed the border, an invisible line between young andlets call it not so young. As much as he didnt want to accept the premise, the fact was that there were a whole lot of guys out there who were younger, stronger, and brighter, to do the work hed done over the years. The attractive woman, call her what you will, the one tending to the passengers, came to his seat and asked if he wanted another drink. What with the sour mood he was in it was easy to say yes. Perhaps because of her in her smart uniform, he was reminded of a time at another airportHeathrow? Anyway, he was waiting to board his flight and the Singapore Airlines

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crew came by pulling bags and heading for their gate. Hed stared at them in awe: never had he seen such beautiful women; not only the physical beauty, but a fine delicate look like that of exquisite china. The long coats they wore had a lining that was like a tapestry equivalent to something he might see in a museum. Their personnel director had done one helluva job of recruiting. From that point on hed always wanted to fly Singapore Airlines but somehow never did get the chance. The attendant came back in what seemed like only moments with the menu. Their menu in the back of the plane, in steerage as he called it, would be very brief, if they even got onea choice between chips and peanuts. Hed been there once and didnt have any feelings one way or the other, certainly not guilt; it was the way of the society. What was that quote from the bible? The poor will always be with us. He wasnt sure he had the right take on that line. Still relatively filled from his steak last night, he ordered a stuffed flounder dish that showed promise in being a light entre. With due credit to the suffering airlines, financially that is, his meal came on rather nice china with decentlooking silverware. Hed read about some of the horrible cut backs in service and counted himself lucky. Would they soon have to pay to use the loo? Toilet to you non-Brits. Credit cards accepted. Worse still, would there be a charge on the barf bags?

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What if one had to use the lifejacket? No refunds or exchanges on drowning. If it came to that the rest was irrelevant. After finishing his meal he pushed the seat back and actually dozed off for a time, something he rarely was able to do. But he paid a price: he dreamed and went to another time. Late morning in Mexico. Coming down out of the mountains and turning onto Highway 45 that led to Durango, the land changed from barren and rocky to a fertile valley of cattle and crops. A place of great contrast, he thought: extensive forests, picturesque deserts, lush plains, and of course the special land by the sea. It was easy to see how such diversity here, coupled with a great climate, and a cheap labor pool, had drawn the film industry. Whatever he expected in this city half way between El Paso and Mexico, it wasnt the wide paved streets laid out in a perfect grid. Nor was it the spacious parks that dotted the area. Whatever westerns they made here were shot out of town. "I'm impressed," Kim said. "Nice little town. Do we have a place to stay?" Aside from a "good morning," these were the only words out of her since we got up and on our way. He wondered why she had come to Durango in the first place. It might well be a nice little town with an interesting past as a movie center, but as a big time tourist attraction for Europeans? He didn't think so; Cabo San Lucas over on the Baja Peninsula

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maybe. But Durango? So, while on the one hand he had the strong feeling that she was other than what she presented, and felt that he should find out about her, on the other hand he wondered if it really mattered. She wasn't on their side so she had to be on his, somewhere on his side. He said, "I don't know about a place to stay. But I do have a contact here and he does own a piece of a hotel. That's a start." "A good start, Jack? What's the name of this place?" "Casablanca." She gave me a full thirty second look. "You're kidding?" "Why would I be kidding? That's the name of the place." "And your friend is named Rick?" "I take it you've seen the movie?" Big smile; One of my favorites." "Too bad, he said. My contact is named Karl." With a shrug she said, "Maybe they'll have a nice white piano." Yeah, and maybe hell play As Time Goes By. Yes, he thought, there had been special times with Kim. Now she was off being a rescuer with Charles. Some women needed to be there in their own way. He was more sad than hurt. He was awakened by that woman who tended him in the air with a question about coffee. She gave him a warm towel to freshen up. Coffee would be fine.

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Coming right up, sir, she said far too cheerfully; guess she slept better than he did. Ill bring a breakfast menu. That would be nice. She came back with a small silver pot of coffee, with the fixings and a menu. Later, after a full American style breakfast fortunately not what the Brits thought we Americans had every day, with that stewed tomato, ughhe felt almost human. After a smooth landing and baggage claimed right where it should be, and he was off to the car rental area. Since he knew the town and the address but next to nothing about the state of Maryland, other than that it was a fishy place, he got a very detailed map from the rental clerk who, when asked, said that she had never heard of the small town he mentioned. But he wasnt dismayed since the Maryland shore was loaded with such small towns, places that were filled with the hale and hearty, those folks who loved the sea and winter. It was a pleasant drive south in nice weather; reminded him a bit of the New England coast except that it was much more rugged up north. A tiny dirt road led down towards the water from the main highway. There was no sign or mailbox, nothing to indicate that anyone lived at the end of the road; but that was the intent. Coming to a house that was indeed at the end of the road, the water just yards away, he noted the house number, surprised that they had one, and was sure he was at the right place.

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He could see that the two story house had just been redone with new siding that was designed to give the impression of shingle, oldlooking casement windows that were no doubt impervious to every kind of weather and a door in the same style. It was all done in such a cleverly designed way as to make it look like an old house. Someone had put a lot of money into this place. He parked in front of the house, got out and put on his jacket against the chill, and went up the wooden steps to the door. He knocked and waited. In a few moments the door was opened. Jack said, Hello Gina.

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TWENTY SEVEN She didnt say anything for a moment as they looked at each other. She was stunning, as usual, in a light weight turtleneck sweater and jeans, her long braid of hair hanging down her back. If she was upset or surprised she didnt show it; this was one cool lady. She said, Its Mister Morgan isnt it, from Venice? Good memory for names, he thought. Please call me Jack. Can I come in? Oh, yes, excuse me; its a bit of a shock. It wasnt a shock at all; she knew that one day someone would come looking for her and unfortunately it just happened to be now. I hope you will pardon my bad manners. Please come in.

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Under the circumstances I can totally understand. It was a lie. He couldnt really relate to a woman being this cold and calculating. He walked past her into a foyer where he saw a wooden coat rack with several items of winter wear, coats and hats. The hallway went straight to the back of the house. Off to the left was what was probably a living room and behind it a dining room. On the right side of the foyer was a small stairway, a few steps and a landing; from there one could go down into the kitchen or up to the second floor. From what he could see the rooms were spacious and tastefully decorated. Beautiful house, he said. Is Owen around? Hes working out back. Please come in and sit down, she said, gesturing to the living room. Let me take your jacket. He sat in a leather chair near the fireplace, not that it was cold but it looked comfortable, and waited while she hung up his jacket. She came in and sat opposite him. Not quite cool enough for a fire yet, she said, a bit uncomfortably he thought. After a moment of quiet she said, Have you just come from Venice? He nodded. How are the weather and the tourists? In that order Id say: comfortable and numerous. Already I miss Venice. Im sure we have much to talk about. But first, can I offer you something to drink: coffee, tea, something stronger? I pick number three.

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She smiled. I would like something stronger as well. He told her what he would like and she got up and went to a well furnished bar in one corner of the room. Then, drinks in hand, vodka for him and a martini for her, she asked how he had found her. Not too difficult if you have the right connections. I wouldnt even be here if it werent for that letter you left for Owen; I would have accepted your death just like everyone else. Of course you had no way of knowing that Owen would be sent home without ever seeing your letter. I thought it was a good plan, she said thoughtfully. It was a good plan, Gina. But like all plans the unexpected pops up and throws everything out of whack. How did it all start? How did it start? It started years ago when I first found out that money could be made, a lot of money, by selling information. At first it was just small time, bits of information I saw on peoples desks, that kind of thing. Then, as I got to know important people what I saw or discovered became that much more valuable to certain groups. Before I knew it I was in deep at the heart of all kinds of intelligence data from all over the world; one becomes swept away by what is perceived of them. Then at some point you went big time and became Cygnus. One part I dont get. You were making lots of money and married a wealthy man. What was the problem? Big time? she said with a smile. Im not sure that I understand the expression. Yes I

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was making a lot of money and yes I did marry a wealthy man. But that was later. I became Cygnus to protect myself, and in doing that I could also protect Owen. You were afraid of what exactly? I was afraid of what I had become and afraid that eventually someone would find out. I had made enemies much more quickly than friends. Do you have any idea of how it is like to live in fear every day? To be living in a false world? Living in a world of deceit? Do you have any idea of the loneliness? He thought about that question for a moment. She didnt seem the type to go all soft and blubbery with fear. But then, first impressions can be wrong. Maybe she was just looking for sympathy? If she was it would have to come from Owen. No, I dont know living like that and I can only imagine how you felt. So, when did you decide to get out? What went wrong? No one knew your identity. Owen, she said. Owen? He didnt know you were Cygnus. He didnt know. I lived a double life with him: we were lovers and he was my contact, my controller. But they couldnt leave things alone. They had to know. And so they laid that trap for me. Owen knew nothing about it. His people would destroy both of us just to have their way, to be in control. They drove him to his drinking. He wasnt always that way. At that point I knew that I not only had to get out but that I had to totally disappear, forever. She seemed not so cool and collected, he noticed, as she told him about her problems;

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she had chosen a dangerous game and there was a price to be paid. And so you faked your death. That was a dangerous plan, Gina. People could get killed. Someone did get killed. I never wanted anything like that, Jack. I only wanted to get out. She spoke with a trembling lip; her eyes watered. Was she cold and calculating as he first thought? They were quiet for a moment, the silence heavy between them. Just then Owen came in and walked across the room and shook hands with Jack. In a ratty-looking, dirt-stained sweatshirt, and wrinkled chinos he looked like an urbanite taken to the country lifewhich he apparently was now. He was tan and looked fit. This seemed to be the right life for him. Hows it going, Jack? Fine, Owen. You look good. Yes, this life agrees with me. I think Gina agrees with you. You mean you dont miss the company, Jack kidded. Not for a moment. Would you like another one of those, he asked, pointing to Jacks glass. Maybe a short one. Evidently he had the drinking thing under control. Ginas drink was fine. Owen came with their drinks and sat down. After a moment he said, I take it you know the whole story now? Not the whole story. Theres a lot I dont know. But I dont see the point in rehashing the whole thing. Im curious though, werent you ever suspicious that Gina was Cygnus? Not even for a moment?

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He smiled and looked at her; lovingly, Jack thought. Not for a moment, Jack. Shes good. In fact I still have trouble believing it. And now, Owen, in the brilliance of hindsight would you do it all over? I probably would do it all again. You know, there are three main problems about life theres more than that but three is enough. First of all were on a crowded road. We can ignore all those other people, use them, help them or love them. Along this road we face many choices, many different roads branching off, and decisions to be made. And to top it off there is no going back. Oh we can go back to a place from our past. But its not the same. We cant go back in time. Thats pretty heavy stuff, Owen. Are you taking a philosophy course? No. But with a clear head Ive been able to think lately. Good for you, Jack said. Its time for me to be on my way. He stood. Good luck to the both of you. He turned to Gina. May you never see another spy. Lets hope not, Jack. At least with you I know our secret is safe. You can depend on it, Gina. Later, driving back to Dulles he mused that it was the end of an erathe era of Cygnus; the era of Jack Morgan for that matter. Now he knew about the infamous spy from more than reputation, knew that she had the basic fears and problems of anyone else, perhaps more than most, and that she wasnt a whole lot different than him. He saw now the futility of trying to be decent in an indecent profession, in

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a world that basically didnt care. She was a woman who became hopelessly enmeshed in a web of her own making and in searching for a way out found that the next best thing to being actually dead, a suicide, was to stage her death. It must have been a fearful time for her. It led him to realize that although he wasnt to the stage of thinking suicide or faking his death, he too was at the end of his rope, tired of what he was doing, ensnared in a web of his own. He was looking at the end of Jack Morgan as an active intelligence officer; the end of a shooter; the end of a life. He thought then of home. Claire, his all-around house person, critic, spiritual guide, and mother, had been running his house for the last ten or twelve years; along with Harry the last two. She was a great cook. When he first sampled her cooking at one of those diplomatic things at the home of a French official in Haiti, he decided then and there to steal her from the unappreciative frog. And he did just that. All this happened in that period of his life when he was into something new in service to the government; it didn't work out and he went back to what he knew best. Not until much later did he learn her story. The daughter of a missionary couple whose small church was burned to the ground on some trumped up political charge, with the parents in the church; she made her way into the city of Port-au-Prince and started out on her own. She was a child and she survived. By the time he came to know her she had worked her way up into the well-to-do circle of mulatto

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families, and from there into the international diplomatic group. He came to learn that she was far more than just a good cook. She was a warm, caring human being with a heart as big as her ample body. She was his rock in this world. Of course, they did raise some eyebrows the few times she insisted he go shopping with her. This was still the south. When she went in for a routine physical exam, that he insisted she have, she was soon diagnosed as having a rare form of cancer. She was never anything but positive about her condition. There were many trips to specialists all over Florida and many experimental programs tried. At this point, the best report was that she was in some dormant state, not remission, and that was fine with him. And Harry, though he was in good health at the moment, wasnt exactly a puppy any more. Come to think of it, Jack Morgan, the Caped Crusader of his time, probably couldnt do 50 pushups anymore. Did he actually do that? He thought the hand was still as steady and the eye still sharp. But was it really? To keep going in this business meant eventually coming face to face with someone younger and faster; it meant that one of these days he could be dead. It was like the old western story of the aging marshal, still thinking he was up to the job of keeping the peace, and then meeting the inevitable: a bad guy with a faster gun, or even a good guy with a faster gun. Hed stay over in Washington and catch a flight to Orlando in the morning.

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It was time to go to his island in the Indian River, halfway between Melbourne and Vero Beach, in the town of Sebastian. It was time to go home.

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TWENTY EIGHT Having stayed over at Dulles several times over the years he knew a good place to stay in nearby Chantilly, a few miles from the airport. A quality place in the past he hoped the place had kept up to its high standards; a lot of them, he noticed, had not. Besides that, he was tired and wasnt into searching for a bed, physically or on the Internet. Those days were gone. Looking around as he checked in, the hotel appeared to be just the same, which in this case was good. In the neat and tidy room he unpacked only what he would need and pulled out his SAT phone to call Slavin. Hello, Jack. Where are you? Layover at Dulles. Hows everything? Dulles huh? You know why they named it that? Because its a dull place. Everything is good here. Harry misses you.

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Speaking of Harry; Im flying home tomorrow. Are you going to be sailing north like you usually do? In the summer, Slavin sailed north on the Inland Waterway to visit friends or relatives in Boston. Negative. Francine wants to see the Panama Canal. So we wont be sailing north this summer. Why? What do you have in mind? You havent screwed up with her yet? Not this one, Jack. This one is a keeper. No problem. Will you ship Harry back for me? He hated to subject Harry to that horrible plane ride in cargo, but in this case he had no choice. He made a promise to himself that he would make it up to Harry. He had no idea how. Gourmet biscuits? Will do. Ill get him on a flight tomorrow or the first thing the next day. What about your boat? Good question. Ill be down to get it one of these days. Right now I want to get home and see how Claire is doing. Great lady, Slavin said. Hed met her in past summers when he was heading north with his boat and had stopped in to visit. Tell her I said hello. Bye the bye, whats with you and Kim? Dont ask. Ooh. Its like that. Sorry I brought it up. You should have gone back to France with her, ole buddy. Water under the bridge, Slavin. Yeah. But it was one helluva bridge. Anyone on the horizon?

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A possible. I did meet a nice lady in Venice. Good. Then youre not a total loss to us thriving, vibrant males. You have a way with words. A man of both words and deeds, Jack; the motto of us Seals Spare me, Slavin; no Seal ever said that. Take care and keep in touch. You too, Jack. Let me know about that Venetian woman. Can we call her an Italian Keeper? Youd best start looking at gals right here, Jack, gorgeous American girls. Goodbye Slavin. Their relationship was such that they could kid each other, sometimes brutally, and offer advice, sometimes harsh, without any hard feelings; they remained the best of friends. He checked the timenot too late to call Claire. She answered on the fourth ring and sounded tired or maybe full of sleep. Did I wake you, Claire? No. But I was very close. You coming home, Mister Jack? Not the same around here. Very close, Claire. Im in Washington. How are you feeling? Do you still have enough medicine? My medicine is fine. Sure is awful-tasting stuff. Claire, its medicine not desert. The important thing is that you take it regularly. How are you feeling? Im going to take you to see the doctor when I get back. Im feeling fine, Mister Jack. Probably a lie, he thought. No, not a lie in her case. She would never lie. Just a stretch of

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the truth so that he wouldnt be worried about her. You can tell your friend she can go home tomorrow. I should be back by late afternoon. What you going to do about Harry, Mister Jack? I miss that dog. So do I, Claire. Slavinyou remember him? The navy guy with the boat?well anyway, hes sending Harry home either today or tomorrow. Not to worry. Harry will be home soon. And so will I, Claire. Go to bed now. Ill see you tomorrow. Good Night, Mister Jack. There was no way around it; she always did and always would call him Mister Jack. He disconnected and sat thoughtfully for a moment staring into space. In remission, as it was called, was not the same as cured. It was actually an incorrect term because it implied that there was a reduction, a lessening, which was not always the case. At best the medicine was stemming the tide, a finger in the dyke to temporarily hold back the flow or the spreading. But it was temporary the finger would hold for only so longand it was not the perfect solution. The permanent cure, if it ever came would take money and timelots of both. For now he would do what he could for Claire; get her the best treatment that money could buy. Still in a thoughtful mooddepressed was the more accurate term for the way he felthe went to the mini-bar and fixed an Absolut on the rocks. Drinking, he had read somewhere, was not the solution to depression. In fact drinking, if it did anything, made the problem

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worse. But he had no intention of going that route. How great could a man feel when hed been dumped by the woman he loved? Bad question. Tempted as he was to have dinner in his room and go into a sulkyes, that was the only word for ithe showered and then put on a suit and tie; he would go down to a well rated restaurant just steps away from the hotel and be an apparently happy single man enjoying a good meal. It would require a bit of acting on his part but what the hell. Was Iago a happy soul? As he tied his tie he idly wondered what Alex was doing at this moment. Walking into the restaurant, whose front was unimpressive, he went to a surprisingly crowded bar; surprised because we were supposedly in the middle either a depression or a recession, depending on your persuasion, and the airlines were crying the blues about no air traffic. The people here were definitely not locals. Even Disney gave depressing gate numbers. So where did all these people come from? Didnt they know there was a recession on? Wherever they came from, he thought, they believed in dressing down; he was the best dressed man, or woman, at the bar. He caught a few looks as he squeezed in to sit down on a stool. He ordered and got his drink, then sat and looked around. It took only a few minutes of looking and even less time listening to the inane chatter in the buzz of conversation from the mob at the

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bar to make him get up with his drink and go into a table in the dining room. The maitre de followed him with a disapproving eye and finally, after he sat down at a table, moved him to one against a wall, away from everyone. The restaurant wasnt crowded and there were empty tables. Maybe he had a thing about tables. Jack was not in the mood for bullshit of any kind. What he wanted was a good meal. A waiter appeared promptly with a menu and then, seeing that the man already had a drink, moved a few steps from the table. Jack waved him away. Give me a few minutes. The menu was extensive and without prices. Smiling as he did so, he remembered a time in his lifewhen he was very young and very dumbtaking a girl out to a nice place to impress her, when no prices on a menu struck terror in his heart. Of course he had no business even bringing a girl to such a place. It was a student time when he was relatively poor. He had never been actually poor and he couldnt relate to that life. What he had been was low on money, a common student illness a plague actually. Jack sipped his drink, studied the menu, and occasionally glanced around the room. Several items on the menu looked promising: the filet mignon, a veal shankhed hed often seen lamb shank on a menu but rarely veala flounder stuffed with crabmeat, and a lobster dish. He had just about settled on the veal shank when he was aware of someone standing at his table and looking at him. It wasnt his waiter.

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Jack looked up and studied her for a moment. Her dark pants suit that looked somewhere in the middle range rather than top of the line, and sensible heels, brown hair pulled in at the back of her head in a twist, coupled with a no nonsense look told him she was here on business not pleasure; everything about her suggested neatness and order. Her suit was a snug fit; where would she be carrying a gun? Never mind Slavin. Dont get ideas about this one. After a moment Miss Efficiency spoke. Youre Jack Morgan. It was a statement rather than a question. Without waiting for an answer or a comment, she pulled out a folded leather credential case and flipped it open. He looked at a picture of her, wearing pretty much the same expression that she showed now (hard to tell about the pants suit since it was a head and shoulders shot), a badge, Treasury Department seal, and the large words: United States Secret Service. Before he was informed by someone who knew about such things, Jack, like most people, thought of the Secret Service as the presidential body guard, and not much more. In fact their primary job was to protect our monetary system. Who knew? Jack said, You got my attention. Who are you? Do you have a name, Miss Efficiency? It was hard to read on your ID. Without my reading glasses that is, he added. She looked away then back at him with a bit of a smile. Give this guy some points right away

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for honesty and no bullshit, she thought. Ill take that as a compliment? I would if I were you. It wasnt meant to be insulting. The name is Nancy Matheson of the presidents personal detail. Im here at his direct order to give you a message; a very short message and one I dont understand. But then, to understand is not my job. Why dont you sit down, Agent Matheson. You can deliver your message just as well from the sitting position. She sat and seemed to relax a bit, putting her arms on the table and leaning forward to talk to him. Do I really give the impression of Miss Efficiency? He glanced down at the wedding band on her finger. Maybe it should be Mrs. Efficiency. She shrugged. Thats for self protection. Ive been divorced for over a year now. Id prefer Nancy. You got itNancy. Does one offer you a drink or are you considered on duty? Im on duty. Please go on with your dinner. I can talk while you eat. Have you eaten? Too busy. Maybe later. The waiter came back, first asking her for an order, then turning to Jack. He ordered the veal shank. I think I might have another one of these, he told the waiter, pointing to his drink. Its not that bad. Can I call you Jack? I dont mean to be informal or forward, its just that the president told me so much about you that I feel as if I know youyour record in the Corps,

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and your government work after that, the senators daughter business, just about all there is to know about Jack Morgan. Jack is fine with me. I guess a guy cant have a private life anymore, especially when someone blabs all over the place. Youre talking about the president? Yes. He gets some special privileges? I think he probably does, Jack. You cant expect an exceptional record like yours to be locked away, can you? Id like to think it was possible. Besides that, its kind of dull. She didnt say anything for a moment. Then, Did you notice that your table is off by itself? I wondered about that. That was my doing. You clever thing. Well, you got your privacy. Lets hear it. She leaned forward. The president told me to tell you thatand this is a quotewe had to do it this way; Cygnus was ours. Does that make any sense? Is that it? Jack studied her and at the same time thought about the presidents words. Cygnus was ours? Gina was working for the government? Was that possible? So, his going to Venice was part of the plan; hed been used big time. Why let it bother you? Its not like he was a virgin. Judging from your expression I guess it wasnt good news. It wasnt good or bad; it was just news, he told her. Oh, she said suddenly. There is one other thing he said to pass on.

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And He said to tell you Semper Fi. Now that I know aboutthe Marine Corps motto. Jack smiled. I didnt know hed been in the Corps. Sonofagun. It still didnt excuse him using me. In fact it made it worse. He could have told me. He came back in his thoughts to Agent Matheson who stared at him. The waiter came with his dinner. He looked at the plate and sniffed the aroma of well cooked meat. You sure you wont have something? Its on me. Doesnt this veal look nice? It sure does. I dont know about dinner but I would like that drink now. Oh? Yes; Im now officially off duty. Ive done my duty and now Im off on leave. Good for you. He called the waiter over and ordered her a Jack Daniels Manhattan. Jack sampled the veal which was cooked to the point of falling off the bone and simply sighed. Its not too late. Here he was two nights in a row having dinner with an attractive woman. Her drink came; she took a long drink, and then sat back in a show of pleasure. I needed that, she said. She took another sip and smiled. You sure you dont want something to eat? No thanks. The president went to an embassy party earlier and I had a chance to grab a few snacks while everyone was gabbing, just enough to kill my appetite.

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That explains the outfit. I thought you were dressed rather formally just to come here and see me. You do rate, she said with a smile. But you dont rate that much. You said you were now on leave. Whats with that? I am now officially on leave, she said, as if announcing something of great importance, which of course it was to her. In fact my being on leave had something to do with my being here. The president thought, as he told me, about having you brought to the White House; he really would have done that but I convinced him that it was late and not a good idea. Anyway, when he learned that you were on your way home, to Florida, and that I was on my way to Florida to visit my parents, he did the old two birds with one stone. Jack looked up. Thats a terrible expression. Why would you want to kill two birds with one stone? Where are your parents in Florida? They live in a place called the Villages. Its a huge place not far from Orlando. Ever hear of it? Ive heard of it but never been there. Selfcontained community isnt it? Yes, it certainly is self-contained. Everything and I mean everything from shops and its own bowling alley to its own hospital and TV station. The problem is that they never want to leave the place. So youre flying to Orlando. She nodded. This is a surprise visit. You mean your parents dont know youre coming?

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Nope. They were quiet then as he finished his dinner and she finished her drink. It was not an uncomfortable quiet, just reflective on both their parts. Well, she finally said, Its been a long day for me. Its been nice meeting and talking with you, Jack. Im off to a long sleep. Ill be right behind you. Ive enjoyed our talk. You wouldnt happen to be on the 9:30 American flight would you? Shaking her head, she said, No. The 9:12 Delta. Jack said, Ill see you at the limo in the morning. Good night. Jack turned to watch her walk away. Nice figure. Cant tell about the legs in those trousers. But she has a nice figure.

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TWENTY NINE Earlier, a continent, a couple of centuries, and a culture away, The Leader, had now moved into a cave in the rugged mountain area near Kunduz, north of Kabul from a hideout near the Syrian border in order to more closely direct his fighters. He looked around at the assembled commanders. Bundled up against the cold mountain air, with only their eyes showing out of the head piece, these were tough, lean men, browned from the weather and old beyond their years from the almost constant waging of war in their lifetime. They had defeated invaders for hundreds of years and they would do so again, or die in the process. Iraq was slowly being lost to the infidels, he considered. His ragged, poorly equipped bunch had fought the good fight. Now the tide

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was slowly shifting in favor of the well equipped and stronger soldiers of the enemy; the people were tiring of the fighting and death and had lost faith in the battle against the infidels. Then too, he thought sadly, not only faith in their cause was lost but also the supply of young fanatics willing to have themselves blown to bits was getting shorter. The battle now was in Afghanistan. But even there his forces had been gradually pushed closer and closer to the border with Pakistan. More American troops were coming into the country on a daily basis. At the thought of that country he silently cursed the Pakistani. Before they were bought by the Americans he had found a haven just across the border in their country; he could hide in the mountainous terrain forever. He could carry out all the raids and produce as much destruction as he might chose, then just as easily, he could run back across the border, knowing full well that the Americans would never cross the line. Now all that was changed; the Pakistani were being trained and supplied by the infidels and were becoming a force to be reckoned with. To add to that the American drones were bringing bombs right into his tunnels. He looked at his top aide, nodded thoughtfully, then said, So there were no documents and we have no traitor? Without waiting for a comment he went on. And so we executed one of my best men thinking he was the traitor. No one said anything. And this spy, Cygnus is dead? Is that correct? He asked, stroking his long wispy beard.

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That is correct. Some innocents die in a war, he said to no one in particular. His war was not going well at the moment but he would get into that later. What of this American who killed Kamal? Will Kamal be avenged? We have already contacted friends of our cause in America. Where is this American? He is in a place called Florida. And you assure me that he will be killed? We have those people after him now. Good. Now turning to our plans to fight the Pakistani and the Americans? Those were the last words The Leader ever spoke. A SEAL Team that had been inserted a week ago, had carefully followed one of the commanders up the rugged hillside and watched him go into the cave. Their orders were to observe and report, not to contact. The team was almost unrecognizable as American fighting men with their beards, tan faces, robes, and the flat hat that the Afghanistan wore. Of course the object in fighting a different kind of war, one that was not universally accepted, being waged by small bands of men rather than a large force was to appear as natives, to blend in and go unnoticed, or at least not conspicuous. What the team had witnessed in following a rebel commander was verified by another team following another commander: there was a high level meeting going on in the cave. With this in mind the SEAL team leader promptly called in an air strike.

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The cave took two direct hits, one above the cave entrance and one right into the entrance. The Leader and four commanders died almost instantly.

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THIRTY Jack slept well and was up early, packed and ready to go, and gone downstairs to breakfast well before the limo would be leaving for the airport. There were several other people in the dining room but no sign of Nancy. Still no sign of her when he finished his coffee, grabbed a paper to read later, and went out to the limo; his bags would be brought down from his room and waiting by the trunk to be loaded. The driver apologized to Jack through the open door. Were waiting for one other person. No problem. In a few moments Nancy came rushing out of the hotel and jumped in the back seat next to

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Jack. Sorry to hold you up. My damned alarm didnt go off. She wore a dark brown skirt and a crmecolored blouse, her hair up in what appeared to be a hasty ponytail, a few strands escaping down over her ear. If it were anyone but you Id be swearing and carrying on. She looked at him for a moment. I doubt that; youre not the type. Im kidding, Nancy. Did you sleep well? Their bags were loaded and the limo started off for Dulles. Not too well. I usually dont sleep well the first night away from home. How about you? Like a baby. Lucky you. Typical weather, she added, looking out at the gray sky. Hope its better in Florida. Its usually better in Florida. Not that youre impartial. Youll see, Jack said. How long will you be staying? A week for sure, maybe two, depending. Depending? Depending on how much I can take of The Stepford Wives community and how we get along. We havent been close in a few years now; which is mostly my fault. I have a busy job that I can make even busier if I want to go that route. You know what I mean? I suppose I do. Maybe youll mend the fences with them. Into a lull in the talk he told her about his island, Claire, and Harry.

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She listened carefully but didnt say anything. The hotel was only about 6 miles from the airport and should have been a short drive under normal conditions. This morning they were not normal and the drive took twice as long. Still, they arrived at the airport in plenty of time. The driver stopped at her terminal first. She gave him a light kiss on the cheek and went off. He watched her walk away. She does have good legs. She had been a brief bright spot and he was sorry to see her go. Not that he was looking to get into another relationshipheaven forbid. But she was nice and good company. She also made him realize how much he missed Kim. He was in a gray mood under a gray sky as he boarded the aircraft. The flight attendant, attractive, was far too perky with her cheery Good Morning! He didnt respond and afterward felt like Scrooge on Christmas Eve denying children their presents. It wasnt a Good Morning. Kim had given him the brush off (and after all theyd been through together) and Nancy was off to visit the Land of Oz. Where was Alex? She was on the other side of a big ocean painting the Grand Canal. To put it very bluntly, he was not doing well with relationships. Well, Claire loved him. So did Harryas long as there wasnt an attractive woman around. All was not lost. After what seemed like a long time waiting, the aircraft finally moved out onto the take-off runway, sat for a moment as the engines

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revved, then went hurtling down the runway and lifted off. This was a critical part of the flight for many but not for Jack. What he hated was landing. Sure; it was a miracle to get the damn hunk of aluminum aloft and moving in the sky. That was enough. But to get it down to bang onto the concrete at 200 mph and wobble along, engines reversed and whining in protest was the worst. No one would do that with a car. As far as he knew there were damn few accidents on take-off. Landing was another story. Miss Perky was around promptly, smiling and asking if he wanted anything. To be parked at the Orlando terminal now would be nice. He asked for coffee. Once again the seat next to him was empty. Did he offend? He gazed out the window at a brilliant blue sky above and a mass of clouds below that resembled a huge down comforter. Provided that one could go fast enough, he wondered, heading forever west, always chasing the sun, could it be that they would never see the dark of night? How fast would they have to travel? Now thats a dumb thought. He was feeling a certain sadness about his life, a slight feeling of failure creeping in and it was troubling. Venice hadnt exactly been a smashing success. But then what else could he have done? He could hardly recover documents that never existedexcept in the mind of Gina. He had rescued Alex and in the process shot one bad guy.

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The more his thoughts wandered into it the more he realized that it all came down to Kim. He had wanted and needed her more than either he or she realized. Was that at the heart of it? Not that he had to have a woman with him to find any satisfaction in what he did. But they sure did help. With or without one he knew that he had to start over; he was finished with the killing. When the plane shuddered through a bit of turbulence, he was jolted back from a troubled place in memory to the slightly better present. He heard the ting of the alert and buckled up his seat belt. Miss Perky came around and gave him a big smile as she checked to see that everyone was buckled up. Not wanting to get into further self-analysis, he opened up the newspaper. It took only a few minutes of reading to get the gist of what was happening in the world: war, famine, greed, unemployment, fraud, bailouts, lots of money being spread around, and big bad news for the auto industry that had been poorly managed for years. And the stock market, still showing signs of shock, and remaining in a traumatic state, bounced up and down daily like a yo-yo; only the very wealthy could afford to buy now. Everything was normal. He idly watched the TV until it was time to grit his teeth, grasp the armrests, and hold on for dear life at landing. He should be over this by now. Passing through the huge, modern, and always crowded terminal, he went down one

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level to baggage claim, then on to car rental. He picked out a Chrysler Sebring Convertible and was on his way. Jack was not in alert modehe was home after all, off duty as it wereand never noticed that he was being followed. Taking the road that is now known as SR528 or the Beach Line, which used to be known as the Bee Line, (for the obvious reason that it went straight across the state from Orlando to I95) he drove east towards the Atlantic Ocean. He idly wondered why the name changes. Maybe Bee Line was a bit too folksy and Beach Line a bit more trendy and PC. Who was it that had the time to sit around and think these things up? Maybe they should get a regular job. He was doing the speed limit in the right lane and enjoying the warmth of the sun. It was a divided highway and traffic was light. His thoughts wandered. Venice was whatsix or seven hours ahead? Getting too dark there for her to be painting. What would Alex be doing now? The thought vanished and he came back to driving. For those few seconds he was still driving the car but was not here, mentally. His sub-conscious was in control? That was a scary thought. Glancing up at the rear view mirror he suddenly noticed a car that was a bit closer than a tail gater; this one was right on his bumper. Why the hell would that car be so close on a nearly empty road when the left lane was wide open for passing? Then he felt the bump as the car hit his rear bumper. What the hell was wrong with this guy?

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Jack speeded up hoping to get away from the clown behind. Was he drunk? The car stayed right on his tail. Jack slammed on the brakes and hoped the car would overshoot and maybe lose control. No such luck. The car shot by then got back in behind Jack. Enough of this, Jack decided in a hurry, putting the gas pedal to the floor. Maybe he could outrun them. The Sebring was fast, easing up to 90 mph with no sweat, and feeling as if it could go for lots more. But the car behind him, a Mercedes, was no slouch in the speed department, having been designed to run on highways in Europe where there wasnt even a speed limit. He wasnt about to out run that car. What was left but to speed up and slow down, play with them a little, in an attempt to get them to lose control? It was worth a shot. Then the Mercedes that had dropped behind, but kept pace, suddenly pulled into the left lane as if to pass. It was intentionally too close and clipped the left front part of the Sebring. Jack struggled with the wheel trying to keep to a straight path, to at least stay on the road. But the speeding car was too much force to control and it shot off the road into a shallow swampy ditch where the motor stalled out; he was stuck in the foot or so of water at the side of the road. He tried restarting the car but it was no use. Then, giving up that idea as futile he got out of the car and started slogging his way up the short distance to the road. The Mercedes had stopped some 50 feet up the road.

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What the hell was going on? They were definitely not friendlies and he was unarmed. Another car came racing up and screeched to a stop on the highway in front of Jack. His mouth dropped open in amazement as he saw Nancy jump out of the car ready for action and going into a shooting stance. Incredible! Where the hell did she come from? The Villages was in the opposite direction-west. Her group protecting the president had to be the best; hed never seen it done better: legs apart, knees slightly bent, a two-handed grip on her weapon aimed at the intruders. She was all business. Two men got out of the Mercedes, one on either side, both were armed and looking at her. One managed to get off a wild shot before Nancy cut them both down. In the next moment a State Trooper car pulled up with lights flashing. The car blocked one lane and traffic immediately slowed. Nancy, cautious person that she was, carefully put her weapon down on the road and slowly got out her credentials. Holding them aloft she said, Keep cool. Im on your side. The trooper advanced cautiously, hand on his holstered gun. When he got close enough he looked carefully at Nancy and at her open leather case. What do we have here? Bonnie and Clyde? Nancy looked down at her weapon. Okay to pick this up now? Yeah, he said. Now tell me what is going on here. Jack held up his agency credentials, his real ones.

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The trooper studied it carefully. Both government, he said to himself. She said, We wouldnt want this to go on our records. He nodded and smiled. Ill see that it doesnt go anywhere after I file it, deep. Nancy explained that she was driving behind the Mercedes and saw the whole thing. Those two, she said, pointing to the men on the ground, definitely tried to run the other car off the road. The trooper nodded, ready to believe but not totally convinced. So you shot them, the two of themjust like that. It wasnt exactly just like that after all they did get out of their car and come at me with loaded weapons. I think we could call that selfdefense. Dont you? I recon we could, Miss Secret Service. Let me have a look at these two and run a check on that plate. You just winged them? Trooper, if I had wanted them dead they would be dead. When he walked away she turned to Jack and shrugged. Nancy, what are you doing here? Is that any tone to use when I just saved your life? He smiled and repeated his question in a softer tone, adding, Its just that Im in shock. Would you believe my parents are away on a Caribbean cruise? Jack laughed out loud. No, I wouldnt believe it. Are you sure? I called from the plane. Theyre definitely away for the week.

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The trooper came back; his name tag said Dustin Hargood. He pointed back over his shoulder at the men on the ground. Good clean shooting; theyll live. Ill call an ambulance and a tow truck. And get car rental out here. She said to Jack, Do you want to take a look at those two? Maybe youll recognize them. They walked over and stood looking at the two. Both were in a conscious state, but in shock, murmuring softly. It was a sad sight and Jack could almost feel sorry for them, almost. Never saw them before, he said. Why would they be after you? You have any enemies around here? None that serious or as careless. Trooper Hargood came back with his clip board and poised pen. He said, The car is registered to come corporationno help there, at least until we check it out. The two occupants both have long records. My guess is that they were on a job for hire. You got any enemies here? I mean working for the CIA and all. Jack said, We were just talking about that. No doubt Ive made some enemies along the way, its part of the job and Ive been in the business a long time. But the thing is, I havent been that active with the agency for a while now, small jobs here and there but nothing in the big picture. What Im saying is that any enemies I might have made would be old like me and inactiveprobably taking to the porch rocking chair. Trooper Hargood studied him and nodded. You dont look so old to me.

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Take my word for it. An ambulance with flashing lights and siren going came to a screeching stop beside the trooper car. The Beach Line by this time was starting to back up. In moments a second patrol car pulled in and the trooper got out and started to move the traffic. Then two rental cars pulled up on the shoulder as well as a tow truck. It was suddenly a busy place. Aware now of the heat, since theyd been standing out in it for twenty minutes or so, Jack and Nancy stood watching as the ambulance crew took away the two men and the Sebring pulled out of the muck and loaded on the truck. Lets get in out of this heat, Jack said, moving to her car. Car rental is here but you dont need one, Nancy said. Why is that? Because Im here and I have a car. She put the AC on full blast. Youre right. I forgot about that. Are you offering me a ride? I am if youre offering me a place to stay. I dont know if you would like a house on an island. How many rooms? she asked grinning. Several. I havent counted lately. And you have a boat? I did the last time I looked. And you know how to operate the boat? I mean, you wont run us on the rocks or anything?

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My dear, I have successfully navigated the seven seas, he said in a poor imitation of someone in the movies. Seven? However many there are. Arent there seven of them? The trooper came over and she lowered the window. All set? Youre good to go. Dont run into any more old friends. Thanks for your help, Jack said. Good hunting. I dont expect to do any more of that. But you never know. Jack said, Where were we? You were telling me how you were someone just short of Captain Bligh, a terror on the high seas. He was a tyrant. I never said that. Well, some sea person. So, youre coming to see my island? Is that an invitation? It is definitely an invitation. Oh by the way, I do have a dog. I hope Slavin shipped him home. You told me about a dog. Harry isnt it? It is Harry. Hes an old Lab. And I think you mentioned a Haitian housekeeper. All true. Her name is Claire. Trying to keep a straight face she said, And you expect me to put up with this for a week? Im trying for a positive mindset. Do you think its safe here? I mean with guys out to run you off the road

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I think youll be okay, Nancy. You didnt have any trouble with those two guys. She laughed. They dont call me quick draw Matheson for nothing. I am wondering, though, if I can take the stress of this place. Give it a try. She started the car. Lead on, captain.

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THIRTY ONE He directed her onto I-95 south and then off the interstate heading east and down Route 1 that ran along the shore. She said, Its a pretty drive here along the water. Is it like this all the way down the coast? Unfortunately its not; this is the best of it. The further south you go the farther you get from the water. How did you come to buy an island? Isnt that only for the very rich? Today its only for the big money. But when I bought, back before the real rush from the developers, land was still reasonable, just barely. The builders were knocking hard on the door with handfuls of cash. I was lucky. Whats Claire like?

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Whats she like? Shes a beautiful person from Haiti who has been with me for a lot of years. He went on to tell her the story of Claire, her early years in Haiti, the brutal death of her parents, and how he came to steal her away from a French diplomat. He left out the part about her battle with cancer. And then there is Harry, Nancy said. Ah yes, Harry. Now there is the real problem in this family of mine. Hes a spoiled chocolate Labrador, rotten spoiled, has Claire under his spell, gets whatever he wants, and is the greatest con dog I know. His greatest weapon is licking and giving you his big, sadeyed look. But hes a good watch dog? Youre kidding. Harry? That dog would show a burglar where the safe was, if I had one, and then stand there waging his tail as it was opened. A watch dog he is not. Need I say more? I guess not. He sounds adorable. See what I mean? Already youre under his spell. And you keep him because? Jack thought about that for a moment. Because hes beautiful inside, like Claire, and hes my pal. I know that hed stick with me until the end of his life; maybe even give up his life for me. They rode in silence for a time. Gee. I never asked. Do like dogs? Havent had one since I was a kid. But yes, I do like dogs. Ive often wished that I had one with me on duty. When properly trained they

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are the best security; and they never bitch about the duty hours. Good thing she does. Nancy said, What do you make of those two back there who were looking to run you off the road? Not only run you off the road but they got out of their car armed and ready to finish the job. Yes, Jack said thoughtfully. I definitely owe you one. Exactly what is it that you do for presidents? If I told you Id have to kill you, Jack told her, smiling. Hey. We work for the same man. Only kidding. Im what you might call a handyman. In this particular job he simply asked me go to Venice. She eyed him curiously. You mean to tell me that the President of the United States, on the phone himself, called you personally and asked you to do him a favor and go to Venice? Thats it basically. He went on to tell her the whole story, leaving out only Alex. Now, do I get this right? she asked. The Man asked you to go over there and ride shotgun to be sure we got important stuff on the terrorists. But there were no documents and the master spy, that woman Gina, who was actually Cygnus, was supposed to be killed but wasnt dead after all. On top of that the president now tells you that the whole thing was a scheme to get this Cygnus, who is really our agent, safely out of the game. Does that about do it?

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That pretty much covers it, yes. You sound doubtful. She looked at him and rolled her eyes. Now why would I be doubtful, Jack? Its a story that makes perfect senseif it was in a cheap spy novel. But were talking real life here. Nancy, what can I tell you? Reality, on TV anyway, is the big thing these days. Oh, turn in here. Here? she said, looking at a narrow dirt road that ran about 10 yards to the river. This is it. And over there, he pointed across the water to a large house, is where I live. And that barking I hear is a welcome from Harry. And how do we get over there? That inflatable right there is mine. Get your stuff and get aboard. They were halfway across the river when Harry came charging down the slope from the house and stopped at the waters edge, barely; he had his legs in the water and was barking his head off; he would be in the water and swimming to the boat in an instant. Jack didnt want to have to pull Harry out of the water so he goosed the outboard up a bit. It was one thing pulling Harry out of the water when he was a pup. It was quite another now that he was full grown. Jack brought the boat right up onto the grass, cut the motor and jumped out. Harry was all over him, tail wagging and tongue licking. Then Harry turned his attention to Nancyhe had always been a charmer with the femalesand jumped up on her and started licking. Jack knew that it was pointless to yell

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at Harry to get down; his affection would run its course no matter. Nancy was petting him and Jack said, Dont encourage him, Nancy. Tell him to get down. She did but it didnt make any difference to Harry. Whats on the other side? she asked. On the other side is the Inland Waterway. I have a dock and keep my boat there. Looks pretty nice. They got their bags out of the boat and went up the slight incline to the house. Claire was waiting at the door. Mister Jack! Jack looked at her for a moment and was shocked. He saw a gaunt woman, thin and tired, her hand visibly trembling, a far, far cry from the slightly plumb, always smiling woman that he knew. Then he hugged her, this time gently, in a way hed never done before. The cancer was taking a toll that nearly brought him to tears. Though he knew what she would say, he asked, How are you, Claire? Im fine, Mister Jack. She was obviously not fine. She was dying faster. Until now, and he had searched literally worldwide for the very latest drugs, cost not being a factor, the medicine she had been taking had held back the advance of the cancer. But the tide of the one-sided battle with a superior force, the outcome of which was never in doubt, had shifted in favor of the enemy. This was one war he was not winning. Hed call the doctor first thing and make an appointment.

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He let go of Claire and stood back to introduce Nancy. Claire was already looking at her, smiling, and ready to welcome his guest. This is Nancy. Claire reached out with both arms and gave her a hug. Welcome, Miss Nancy. I hope you will enjoy your stay here. Harry was still looking for attention and pesting Nancy. Claire said, Harry, get down! Behave. Nancy told her that it was alright. Hes no problem, Claire. And could you call me just Nancy? Dont bother, Jack told her. Ive been after her for years about calling me Mister Jack. Shell never change. She looks kind of thin and well, not so good. Is she okay? She says she is but Im not so sure. Im going to take her to the doctor tomorrow. Ill come along. Not necessary. You stay here and relax, get some sun, chill out, keep Harry company. I have to get my shoulder looked at anyway. Claire said, Show the lady to her room, Mister Jack. She might like to freshen up or maybe take a rest, maybe a swim. The pool man was here yesterday, fixed that thing you have that cleans the bottom. Good idea, Claire. He took her bag. Come with me, Nancy. He showed her to her room that she thought was lovely. Im going to take a brief nap myself, he told her. After that a shower and by then it will be cocktail time. See you later. Have a swim if you like.

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I might just lie down myself for a little bit, she said. Your house is beautiful. And Claire youre lucky to have someone like her. Thanks again for having me, Jack. She hesitated in the doorway Something on your mind? he asked. Nothing important I guess but about those two men. What about them? Do you think there might be more of them out there? You havent exactly led a priest-like existence, Jack. Some priests have been pretty wild, Nancy. Anyway, I think were pretty safe on my island. I have sensors around the property down by the river. And then he added, unable to keep a straight face. There is Harry. She smiled but let that one go. See you later. Later, Jack went into the kitchen and watched as Claire fixed a tray of hors de oeuvres. How are you feeling, Claire? And dont tell me fine. Does that medicine kill your appetite? You look thin to me. You worry too much about me, Mister Jack. When my time comes Ill be ready and Ill go; nothing for you to worry about. Thats easy for you to say, Claire. Youve been with me whatover ten years? Youre my family. Now dont you go worrying about me, Mister Jack. Like I told you, when its time Ill go. She wasnt one to talk about herself and especially didnt like to talk about her ailments. Whatever pain had, and it must have been a

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lot, she bore with a quiet dignity; that was her way. Were having your favorite tonight: baked Sea Bass. Thanks, Claire. But maybe I should do something on the grill. Save you from cooking and cleaning up. You can go to bed early. No way, Mister Jack. I like to fix your favorite meal when you come home. He should have known what her answer would be since she was not one to give in to self pity. What do you think of Nancy? Shes one attractive woman. But then you always seem to have attractive women. This one seems older, serious, and different in a way from the others. When you gonna settle down with one of them? When I find the right one, Claire. You dont find the right one, she said thoughtfully. You find the one you love and through your love she becomes the right one. Laughing, Jack said, Well, well, who knew? Claire, the philosopher and counselor to the lovelorn. We have to get you a couch. She handed him the tray. Get out of here. Fix that woman a drink. I have work to do if you want your dinner on time. Any time is fine. Nancy came out on the patio in tan shorts and an orange polo shirt. She was lean and trim, a firm body and long legs, the picture of a woman who worked hard at staying in shape. Of course her job demanded it. She looked at the table already set with candles. I hope Im

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not too informal here, Jack. That table is gorgeous. Off to one side of the patio was a fully stocked bar in a bamboo motif. Harry, Super Dog, had been lying quietly at Jacks feet, quiet and content that is until Nancy came out. At the sight of her he put on his little welcoming committee thing and went to her to get in some licks. He was not only a shameless flirt with the women, but was a con artist as well. If he didnt behave, Jack considered, he could send him back to St. John. But down there hed pull the same routine with Francine. The dog was a dilemmaand a treasure. Dont worry about it. Claire always tries to show off with someone new. But if I ever came to the table with wrinkled shorts or a shirt that needed to be pressednot that your outfit does she would send me away hungry. Nancy laughed. I think she might be good for you, Jack. Keep you from becoming a slob. Slob? Yes. A slob is a messy and extremely common individual of the unkempt variety who is very crude and of little use to society. Is that the definition from some brilliant mind on the hill? There is no such thing, Jack. That is my own definition. Good for you. What would you like to drink? She looked away out over the river for a moment. The house faced the east so that the setting sun behind them was already casting shadows. A few boats made their way both north and south on the Inland Waterway. Some

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were large expensive yachts passing through from the old money in the south to the even older money in the north. It was all relative. Nancy looked at him for a questioning moment. What can you do behind the bar? Jack feigned being insulted. I can do anything behind the bar. Some of the most noted barkeeps in Europe, Asia, and New Jersey, have come to me for advice. Nodding, Nancy said, That does mean a lot. How about a very dry vodka martini with a twist? Jack raised an eyebrow. How common. I expected something a bit more exotic. Maybe later, she said. For now just work on getting it very dry. No problem. I do something I call the Sahara martini. Cute. Sahara of course being a desert in Africa or some place? No. Its a town near Princeton, he kidded. Have some snacks while I fix your drink. Jack went to the bar and pulled out a prechilled long stem martini glass. He put in a few ice cubes and a splash of dry vermouth, swirling it around to coat the glass. After a few moments, in which his thoughts shifted back to Claire and soured his mood, he threw out the vermouth (who drinks vermouth?), tossed in an olive, and filled the chilled glass with already icy cold vodka. The result, hed found from experience, was a potent but enjoyable drink that should not be repeated in the same 24 hour period, maybe 12 hours. Of course some rules were meant to be ignored.

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What should have been, and could have been, a wonderful evening in that it was a gourmet dinner in the company of a attractive woman, and in a gorgeous tropical setting no less, was somewhat less than that for Jack. Claire was dying, as she had been for a long time, but faster now. What more could he do? What more could anyone do? Get her to see the doctor as soon as possible, of course. But was that enough? What more could the doctor do? Give her a different medicine? In this fight it was all he had. There were no hi-tech weapons he could use and no silver bullet. As an old warrior, a shooter, one who could take the fight to the enemy, knowing all the time that if he prepared carefully and stuck to his plan he could win, he felt helpless in this fight that he knew he would lose. With losing Claire he would lose a part of himself. He decided to call the doctor in the morning and insist on an appointment right away. This was unheard of in Florida medicine where the patient numbers were astronomical and the doctors pretty much ran the show. Still, it was an enjoyable evening and an excellent dinner. Claire went off to bed early. Jack and Nancy sat on the patio looking out onto the river. The evening was warm and muggy. Nancy said, I had the news on before and they said something about a shuttle launch? I must have missed it. What time was the launch? She looked at her watch. Right about now. They took their drinks and walked down to the river searching the sky to the north where

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the Kennedy Space Center space center was located. We should get a good view from right here, he told her. And in just a few moments they did get a wonderful view: the rocket shot up into the darkening sky with an orange tail, arcing out to the east, the booster dropping off and then only a glimpse of the shuttle shooting off into space. Its a thrilling sight, Nancy said, eyes glued to the sky. It is that, Jack said. Its something were proud of here in Florida and no matter how many times these people have seen it, they still look forward to watching another one. Nancy declined another drink. Dinner was wonderful, Jack. Be sure to tell Claire. I certainly will tell her. Walking back to the house she said, You sure you dont want me to come along with you tomorrow to the doctors? I feel badly at the thought of me lying in the sun by the pool, like a typical tourist, and youre taking her to the doctor and talking about life and death. You are a tourist, Nancy. Lie in the sun, swim, and enjoy your vacation. I dont really know your routine and what you go through every day in protecting the presidentIm sure it is one big load of stressand Im also sure that you deserve this time to goof off. No reason for you to spoil all that by getting involved in my problems. I guess youre right. But family is everything, Jack. And right now you and Claire seem like family to me. They sat on the patio in the dim glow of the pool lights.

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Tell me about your family, he said. You have time for this? We have all night, Nancy. She didnt say anything for a few minutes. Perhaps she was running through a slide show of her life, he thought, and was wondering how to present it all. He watched her and waited, thinking: I sure as hell wouldnt want to be laying my life out on the line at this point, or at any point. Most of that part of ones life that isnt known, what was hidden in that black hole of memory, and for good reason, should never be known. Thats why it was put there in the first place. She said, My story isnt one of those ragsto-riches, poverty-to-wealth stories that people seem to love. Too bad, he said with a smile. Didnt we all rise above our impoverished environment? Youre being sarcastic? Probably. But get on with your story. I came from a good family, a catholic family, not wealthy, but comfortable and I cant ever recall wanting anything I couldnt get with good reason. We lived in a college town in eastern Pennsylvania. My father was a professor and my mother, while she had a degree in education, chose to devote her time to helping the poor. It wasnt any kind of a noble or self serving thing for her. People needed help and she could help them. She set up the first soup kitchen in a section of town that was not receptive to such things. The poor and needy will always be with us, she liked to quote freely from her version of the bible, and

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we should take care of them. But not in my neighborhood was the thinking of most. There is, or more accurately was, a brother and a sister, she said strongly. My brother Tom died in the first Iraq war. And what the fuck was that war all about? she asked in a rare burst of profanity. Pardon my French. My brother died for oil. Is that sick? Jack could see that she had more than a normal share of feelings that had been repressed for a long time, for whatever reason, and he let her go, waiting. She was quiet for a long time and he finally asked, What about your sister? We were never close. I think shes teaching out west somewhere. I tried teaching for a while but couldnt stand it. I put in for the Secret Service one day on a lark and what do you know they took me. Were you a gun lover? Were you a good shot? I didnt know the first thing about guns. But remember, this was before women broke the barrier. There were no women in the Secret Service when I got in. So it was a question of timing? Pretty much. Ive never regretted the choice. Do you know Im close to retirement? I went in young and Ill be out young. Good for you. Ready for bed? I know I am. See you in the morning, Jack.

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THIRTY TWO Looks like everyone slept late, Jack thought, including Harry, as he came into the empty kitchen. It was a rare sight not to find Claire in the kitchen bright and early with a big smile, getting things ready for breakfast. She had been doing that for years now and maybe shes taking a well deserved morning off. Jack put on the coffee and then sat down at the kitchen table. There was no reason why Harry wasnt up. Maybe he could be trained to put on the morning coffee? It was another beautiful morning in Florida, the sun creeping up into a sky streaked with pink and orange. Already a few early boaters were on their up and down the waterway. In a few minutes Claire came in from her room, said good morning, and then started her

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daily routine with breakfast. Jack thought she looked tired. And she looked sick. No, Claire, he said. Today you sit down and I get breakfast. Now come over here and sit down at the table. Claire did as she was told but was clearly not happy about having to sit and watch him make breakfast. Just then Nancy came in with Harry. Did I hear something about breakfast? she asked. Its on me, literally, Jack said. Claire was shaking her head. You dont know where all this stuff is, Mister Jack. Ah yes, but I can learn. Jack put a napkin over his arm and came to the table to serve Claire coffee. Coffee, Madame? She giggled and he asked how she wanted her eggs. I like them scrambled with some onion, Mister Jack. Then thats what youll have. How about you, Nancy? Fancy some Eggs? I sure do garcon. Im starving. Dont try to dazzle me with a few words of French, Nancy. Actually, I speak it almost fluently. As I do German. We did live in Europe for a time. Im impressed, Jack told her. Then he proceeded to fix breakfast for the three of them. It went well and Claire seemed to enjoy being waited on, though Jack noticed that she didnt eat much and he was more and more concerned about her health. Today hed see what the doctor had to say. Nancy finished her meal and then, seeing the look on Jacks face, decided that it would be a good thing to give them some time alone.

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Ill take Harry out for a walk, she told them. Harry, upon hearing the magic word immediately jumped up ready to go. See you later. Neither one said anything for a few minutes. Jack could see that she had something on her mind. Id like to go home, Mister Jack. Isnt this your home, Claire? Yesit has been my home for a long time; youve been very good to me, Mister Jack, all that treatment and medicine. This is a wonderful home. But I know Im dying and I want to see Haiti again. Jack nodded. Do you have any relatives there now, any family? I dont know about any family. Then why do you want to go back? Just to see my country again. You might be disappointed, Claire. From what I read Haiti is in worse shape than it has ever been, a lot of poor and hungry, no jobs, corrupt government. You might not like what you see. Haiti was always full of poor and hungry, Mister Jack. I think it will always be that way. And we never had much by way of jobs. And the government was always bad people. It might not be what you want to see. Ive been there before, Claire. I have seen the worst of the worst. Will you go with me? Of course I will, Claire. Ill make the arrangements when we get back from the doctor. What will you do about Harry?

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Ill have that lady from the kennel come and be with him. You wouldnt put him in a kennel? Never. Shell come and stay here. I wouldnt want Harry in any kennel. It wont happen. I pay her more for a few days than shed make in a month at the kennel. Believe me shell jump at the job. The doctor, a woman named Vanay, had an office behind the Sebastian River Medical Center. She was young, attractive, dedicated and serious about her work. After what seemed like a long time to Jack, she came out to talk with him while Claire was still inside an examination room. She was very upset. Im afraid there is nothing else I can do, Mister Morgan. She is dying and I have no new drug, no way to prevent what will happen to her. I wish I had better news for you. There are some new experimental medicines that we might try. Do you really think they will help her? Unfortunately, no, I dont think it would make any difference. How long are we talking about, doctor? I have no idea. There is no way to predict how long. She seems to be suddenly going very fast. Does that make sense? It is to be expected in her advanced stage. We may be only talking of days now. Thanks, doctor. Claire was lying down in her room after they came home from seeing the doctor. Jack and

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Nancy sat on the patio. Harry was absent for some reason, maybe chasing birds or rabbits or whatever. Could there be a female Labrador around? Jack told her what the doctor had to say about Claire. Im sorry, Jack. Shes your family. Yes, she is family to me. I took her from Haiti and I guess I have to take her back to Haiti. That was all a long time ago. What about Harry? she asked. Ill have someone stay here. Well, I can be here for another five days, if you dont mind. Ill look after him. Jack smiled. And leave my house to some stranger? Im certainly not some stranger, Jack. Are you looking for trouble? Only kidding, Agent Matheson. Keep cool. I think Ill go make some phone calls. Thanks for offering to help, Nancy. You could have gone off somewhere to enjoy your vacation without all this from me. Its definitely more interesting here than any hotel, Jack. Are you getting hungry? I can fix some sandwiches. Maybe Claire would like something. I doubt it about Claire. We can have something to eat after I make those calls. Jack came back after a few minutes. Not a big run on tickets to Haiti, he said. I think most people are trying to leave, not enter. Were booked for a flight tomorrow. Nancy said, Shell like that. What will you do in Haiti, Jack?

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Oddly enough I have friends in Haiti, if theyre still in the country. She looked surprised. You have friends in Haiti? I was there for a time, more than a time. Yes, I made friends in Haiti. Would you like to tell me about that? Nancy said like a school teacher giving a quiz. You mean like what did I do on my summer vacation? Exactly. He told her about the clinic that was run by the ex-nun Amy, and ended up with the death of Father Smith. Im sorry I was a bit flippant, Jack. After hearing you tell it, I can see that this was a serious time for you and they were good people and dear friends. No problem, Jack said, serious and thoughtfully. But the memories were a problem. Nancy pondered the story and finally came out with a question. Were you in love with this woman Amy? Probably. A long silence followed. Then Jack said, You mentioned lunch? Later, after lunch and a nap, Jack went out to find Nancy by the pool. Have you seen Claire? he asked her. No. I thought she might be in the kitchen. She must still be in her room. That was very unusual, totally out of character, and Jack pushed himself to think it just meant that she was resting. But it didnt feel right and he

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stayed in a reasonably comfortable early denial stage. They lay side by side on lounge chairs in the slowly fading sun; though the afternoon was still hot and muggy. It was a lazy Florida afternoon and Nancy seemed to be enjoying her down time and mellowing, which was good, Jack thought, after all it was her vacation, or one week of it anyway. He on the other hand was having trouble getting into a relaxed mood because the thought of Claire wouldnt let him rest. Finally he said, I think Ill go check on Claire; she might need something. When he got up to go, Harry got up as well and tagged along behind. Thats probably a good idea, Jack. She answered his knock and he went into the darkened room to find her lying down. Harry didnt wait for an invite and walked right in to sit on the floor by the bed. If anything, Jack decided, looking at her, shes even thinner than this morning and older. Are you alright, Claire? Do you need anything? She dropped an arm over the side of the bed to pet Harry. Im fine, Mister Jack, just tired. Ill be getting up soon to start fixing for dinner. Not tonight, Claire. Are you hungry? Not much. Im cooking tonight and Ill fix you some soup. What are you going to cook, Mister Jack? she asked a bit skeptically he thought. Claire, I can do a lot in the kitchen. As it happens, tonight Ill cook on the grill. I saw a

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couple of nice steaks in the fridge. We still have some of good sauce? Should be some in the cabinet. Ill be getting up in a few minutes. Ill fix a saladwell, maybe Ill let Nancy do that partand have baked potatoes. It might just be that Ill fix a gourmet meal, Claire. What do you think about that? Jack knew that a meal and cooking was the last thing on Claires mind, facing death as it were, and soon apparently, but he wanted to cheer her up and get her mind on other things. Claire managed a soft laugh and said, Wont be as good as my cooking. No argument there, Claire. Nothing will be as good as your cooking. Now get some rest. Ill come back when its time to eat. Oh, I almost forgot. I got our tickets for tomorrows flight to Port-au-Prince. That brought a big smile. Staring up at the ceiling, she said softly, Going back to my home. Come on, Harry, out of here. Nancy looked up when he came out to the patio. How is she, Jack? I dont knownot good. She seems to be dying by the hour. Did you tell her about going to Haiti? I did; it was one thing that brought a smile. Nancy said, I sense a but here. But...I have to wonder if shell make until tomorrow. Shes a strong lady, Jack. And you have to think positive. If she really wants to go back to Haiti shell hang on.

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Do you really believe that? No; Im not sure that I do. But I wanted to cheer you up. It has to be cocktail time and Ill let you handle that part. What about dinner? Im doing steaks and spuds on the grill. Thats it? How about a nice salad? I thought youd never ask. I was thinking Greek. You have any black olives and feta? Claire would know. Lets go look. The two of them went into the kitchen and foraged the many cabinets and the refrigerator for food. In a few moments, having turned up all kinds of tid bitsand black olives and feta Jack was actually feeling good and looking forward to their snacks and dinner. Nancy could do that, he thought: sense a downer and turn it into an upper. Nancy was already into fixing her salad. Looking up from the large bowl that she was using to fix and toss, she said, There was some mention of cocktails? There was such a mention. What will you have? They were playing roles, Jack thought, actors, each making light of what was anything but light, pretending that the stark drama was a comedy, in an effort to cheer up the other. And that was not such a bad thing, Jack considered. They could not reverse the cancer that was gradually conquering her body. They could not turn death into life. Im waiting for your drink order, Nancy? Drink order? How about a Jack Daniels Manhattan? Coming right up; goes well with a steak.

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I dont expect it to last that long. Is there no wine? I think I can find something suitable. We do have a fairly decent wine cellar. I thought there were no cellars in Florida. Just a figure speech, Nancy. Youre right we dont have cellars. The water table is too high or something along those lines. Jack came back in from the patio bar with her drink and then started to get the steaks ready for the grill. Did you look in on Claire, Nancy asked. Not for a while. It might be a good idea if you did. At that moment Claire came out of her room. Dont worry about me. I see you all are messing up my kitchen. Would you like something to eat, Claire, Jack asked. Maybe some iced tea? He thought she looked a bit better; maybe she just needed the rest. How would she do on the trip to Haiti? Iced tea would be nice. Coming right up. You go sit down on the patio and keep Harry company. With the salad made and the steaks marinating, her iced tea in hand, Jack and Nancy went out to sit on the patio with Claire. This tea is nice on a hot day, Mister Jack. They both thought she looked better and in good spirits, considering. In a moment, Claire, uncharacteristically, started to talk about her life in Haiti. Jack looked and listened in amazement. Had he never given her the chance to talk before this? Shed never seemed to want to talk about herself in any way.

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She told of walking to her small schoolroom along a dirt road and chewing on a stalk of sugar cane; that part was a real treat. The church her father ran didnt bring in much money for them but they had enough. Then, just as now, she explained, the people got along with the bare necessities and yet werent unhappy; or rather they made whatever their life was into a bit of happiness now and then. She wasnt that old when the church was burned down and her parents murdered. Claire paused a long time then in her narrative, looking out into some middle distance as if getting it all clear in her memory. She snapped out of it then. Im going in the kitchen and have some of that soup. You two stay here and enjoy each other. Jack and Nancy shared blank looks. Jack wondered if Claire had some kind of miraculous resurgence, a charging of the old batteries that brought a new spark of energy. What do you make of her? Nancy shook her head. Doesnt seem like the same woman. Whatever it is Im happy for her. Jack was happy too but at the same time was afraid that it would be short-livedlike a light bulb giving one huge burst of almost blinding light before going darkbut as always he managed to put those negatives off to one side. Good or bad, he was able to do that and in a moment of contemplation he wondered if it would all catch up with him one day. Claire didnt stay with them on the patio for dinner, claiming, in what Jack thought was

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childlike pleasure that she had to get ready for the trip tomorrow. Dinner finished, the salad and steaks devoured, the last glasses of a fine California Merlot in hand, they sat looking out at the river. It was a reflective time. Im sorry, he said to her, sorry that you got into all this on what was supposed to be a vacation. You could have gone to Disney World and had more fun. Disney is fantasy, Jack. And life is more than having fun. How serious we are, he kidded. Are these words of wisdom from the depth of the Secret Service think tank? These gems are from the depths of Nancy Matheson. Dont apologize, Jack. I made the decisionand you welcomed me here. What was I going to do, sit in a motel for a week? This has been a great time and I thank you. I thank you too for making it a real vacation for me. You didnt hit on me or be a pain the ass like your typical male macho ape who thinks all women are waiting just for him. Ugh. Being here has been like spending a few days in real life. She looked around. This is all like my life, Jack, and you are all family. Does that make sense? I guess it does. Speaking of all that, I wondered why an attractive woman like you isnt married. Is there no husband and kids in the suburbs waiting for you to fix the swing set? Funny you should bring that up. Yes, as a matter of fact, I was marrieda long time ago, a time when I was young and dumb.

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We all had to live through that period, Nancy. The miracle is that we survive and grow up to be a bit smarter. I was still in college and was madly in love with this guy. Whatever it was it wasnt love or anything near it, maybe lust was a better word. It was a wild sexual thing for both of us and that was all it had going for us. It was my Catholic upbringing that told me that we should be married before the sex. She looked at Jack for a long moment. Then she said, I could do an entire semester on that subject. Anyway, we split soon after it began. At that point I decided that I would devote my time, all of my time, to first of all finishing college with top grades and secondly to get the Secret Service to accept me with open arms. The first part was the easiest but not by much. I got the grades and then went after the SS. Eventually it all came together. For me it was the end of men and the beginning of dedication to my career. Jack looked at her and smiled. Too bad, about the men that is, theyre missing out on a good thing, and theyll never know. Thanks, Jack. I have to admit youve given me a new perspective on the species. I take that as a compliment. And what about you? Was there a marriage in your past? Was there a woman you fell for and married and later came to regret the whole thing? No, nothing like that in my history. You mean to tell me that there were no women? I didnt say that; there were one or two women. But my lifestyle just didnt lend itself

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to that kind of a relationship, to a permanent arrangement. He was quiet then, in a reflective moment. What he didnt feel was guilt. Hed done all he could for Claire in getting her the best doctors and medicine money had never been an object. No, what he felt was regret for the lost years, times that could have been happily spent in a relationship. Was it too late? Had that part of his life come and gone? That was certainly a depressing thought. Why so serious, Jack? I thought I was the only one who had the world on my shoulders. No; youre not the only one. Well, its not quite that serious. It makes me think back to something I read, cant recall the author. It went something like: Yesterday is gone, forget it; tomorrow may never come, dont plan on it; today is here, use it. Thats probably good advice, Jack. She yawned. It must be this Florida climate: Ive done nothing but laze in the sun and Im dead tired. Youre letting go of a lot of that northern job stressthats good. Will you be alright taking care of Harry and being alone here? She looked at him from under raised eyebrows. Me being alone here! You gotta be kidding. Ooh. I take that one back; that had a bit of a male chauvinist ring to it. You see why Im not in a successful long term relationship? Yeah. But I have the feeling youre a quick learner. On that note, I think its time for bed. Goodnight, Nancy.

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Goodnight, Jack. Harry followed Jack into his bedroom and curled up on the floor.

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THIRTY THREE Claire never made it back to see her home country one last time. Bright and early, Jack was up and moving in the weak light of dawn, getting his bag ready and putting on the coffee. Hed let Claire sleep as long as possible; the trip to Haiti was not that long, for a healthy personwhich Claire was notbut what with the drive to the airport, going through a security check and waiting for a flight, it consumed most of a morning in a tiresome way that challenged a healthy person. Going anywhere, no matter how short the trip, ended up taking the better part of a day. He poured himself a cup of coffee and went out to sit on the patio and look at the sunrise. Much like a shuttle launch, a Florida sunrise never became old hat and routine to a resident.

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It was a part of life here. Like the people of Boston going to Fenway Park to cheer on the Red Sox and sing Sweet Caroline. As Tevye in the Fiddler on the Roof would say, it was tradition. Harry passed up his food and prowled around, unsettled and acting strangely. He even moaned a few times. Jack attributed it to his leaving? Finally, at the last minute, when there was just enough time left to get on their way, Jack went and knocked on Claires door. No answer. And no response to several knocks. Jack pushed open the door and went into the room; Harry shoved his way in before Jack and went to stand by the bed. He looked at the bed and moaned softly. Looking at Claire lying peacefully in her bed Jack knew then what Harry seemed to know all alongshe was dead. Jack fought back the lump in his throat; that he could control, but he couldnt stem the tears. He took his coffee and went out to sit on the patio. Harry didnt come with him. The sunrise seemed just a bit dimmer, the sky not as blue, and the sun not as bright. The entire world was just a bit off center. After a time Nancy came out with her coffee and found him sitting, trance-like, just staring off into spaced. She gave him a one-armed hug from behind. Im sorry, Jack. Her door was open and Harry was making an awful noise so I went into her room. I know how much she meant to you. They sat there for a long time, side by side, silent.

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Finally he said, Im going to make a few calls. Later, after the police came and the medical team did their thing, and Claires body taken away, Jack sat in the kitchen with Nancy, petting Harry, wondering what he would do now. Already the house had taken on a different aura, a place that seemed foreign and unwelcome to Jack. Of course, that was ridiculous, he thought. Its the same house on the same island. Or is it? Nancy spoke into a long period of silence. What will you do now, Jack? I dont know. My parents will be home today; talked with them this morning. The first time they leave the place in I dont know how many years and their cruise is cut short because of the swine flu epidemic. Great, I mean great that youll be seeing them. Maybe weve had a bit too much reality around here in the past few days. And now with Claire dead It hasnt been all that bad, Jack. I am sorry about Claire. Ill be glad to stay longer if you want, if I can be of any help. Why would you do that? It came out stronger than hed intended, his sorrow turning into anger at anyone and anything. She saw his anger for what it was and didnt take offense. Because, Jack, I happen to like you, and I liked Claire, and of course Harry, and for whatever reason Ive been literally thrust into your life, with all the warts. Romantic, it hasnt been. Real and full of life it

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has been. So here I am, for better or for worse as they say. Jack had to smile. Nancy, there is no worse with you. You are like a big burst of sunshine. Youve been a big help already. She wasnt sure how she wanted to take that, on the one hand afraid to read into it that he felt the closeness that she felt, and at the same time afraid that she couldnt deal with those emotions. For years, most of her life, she had to admit, she had held men at bay, telling herself that her career came first and that it was all she really wanted in her life. Sometimes she even believed it. But in the harsh light of hindsight, when she gave herself a good hard look, she knew that she wasnt content with it all and had sacrificed having a love life, or any kind of outside life the job for that matter, for the sake of her work. How many traveling stints with the president did she volunteer for when she could have let others go? Gee, she might even get a good service award. Sure, she was next in line, good record, probably get promoted to chief of the White House detailbig deal. Would that make her bed any cozier on a cold night? Maybe it was just a phase, she thought, no, hoped, that it was a feeling that would pass. And was all this stirred up and brought to a head because of Jack? She didnt want to go there. Keep in touch, Jack told her. Later, with Nancy gone off to the Villages to spend some time with her parents, Claires body taken to the funeral home, and a strange, unnatural silence permeating the house, Jack

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walked from room to room in a fog. Until now hed never stopped to think how big a part Claire held in his life, how important her role. She would chuckle if he ever told her, in that funny way she had, but she was his rock, his homeport, and of course totally taken for granted. He remembered how, when he told her he was off on yet another trip, she would ask where he was going and get out the proper clothing. And she would iron; heaven forbid he should start out with wrinkled clothes. Harry followed him from room to room and was just as gloomy as Jack. Maybe more so Jack didnt whimper. He went out and sat by the pool and petted Harry at his side. What do we do now, old buddy? Harry gave him his best big, brown-eyed, soulful look, but didnt have an answer. There was no rush to do anything. The next day services were held at Claires church in Fellsmere, a small community south of Sebastian that was once a grand tourist spot in its best daysbut was now reduced to a cluster of mostly run down homes, shabby farms, and the poor. Claire never accepted that change as permanent. She saw better days ahead for the town and the people and worked for that to happen. More than just being an active member of the church, she was involved in action groups that worked for a better community. It was no surprise that the church was packed.

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Jack was one of only a handful of whites and yet he wasnt uncomfortable or feeling out of place as he sat, sweating in the pew. The church was a simple wooden building without air conditioning and it was a long, hot service. The big, noisy overhead fans did nothing but move the hot air from one place to another. At the end, though it might seem disrespectful to her memory to some, he was happy to leave. Two days had passed before Jack came to the decision to sell the house and the island. There was no longer any reason to stay. It was creepy now. He and Harry would be best in another place, away from here where they could make a new start. There was the house on St. John. In Slavin, he had, for some reason that he couldnt quite pinpoint, what he never had here in Sebastian: a good friend. Perhaps it was the travel. That day he put the property on the market. He got an e-mail from Nancy. Though she seemed to be enjoying her time with her parents he sensed that it was not all that great. Not that she wanted to get back to work; it wasnt that, but something else. He wrote back and told her about his plans. He didnt hear from her again. That same afternoon the real estate person, a rather large, friendly southern gal named Gail Beauregard, came out to look over the property. She made a lot of notes on her clipboard, and did a lot of nodding. Finally, she asked if he was firm on the price. Money is not the issue, he told her. Dont give it away. But dont price it out of the

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market. Does that make sense? As well, you can include the furniture. It sure does, Mr. Morgan. You can count on us getting a good deal for you. I know I can. And so began the huge job of moving. Since the furnishings would stay, Jacks task was to get his personal stuff into some kind of order. He carefully went over all his clothing and marked a lot for donation. He boxed the majority of his stuff and called for a UPS pickup. How much did he need in St. John? Then he did the same with Claires clothing. But it was easier: all of it went to her church thrift shop. At the same time, he had to get the boat ready: clean it up, throw out the junk, check the engine, and get it shipshape. During all this activity Harry watched and moved from room to room after Jack. Was it his imagination or did Harry spend an extra few minutes looking at Claires bed? Then the big day came. Big it might have been in term of Jacks life. But it was just another gorgeous Florida morning to the rest of the world: a sky full of blue and not a cloud in sight. The marine weather report looked good. As for Harry...? Harry was still in his whimpering stageget over it!but he did come aboard and settle down. The novels would use the term heavy heart. Jack wasnt sure about that but if it meant that he was sad and near tears at leaving his home then he indeed had a heavy heart. Harry was getting a last look as well with his front paws up on the low railing.

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Hows your heart, Harry? Jack started up the engine then waited for it to settle down into a smooth, low rumble, then he threw off the bow and stern lines. This was a busy time for him and he rushed back into the cockpit to take over the controls. It was also a noisy time. He almost didnt hear someone calling from shore, though he did see Harrys tail going and hear his barking. Nancy came running down the grass. She was in shorts and a tank top and lugging a big bag. She came to stand on the dock looking up at Jack. Have any room for a passenger? What are you doing here? What about your job? All gone, Jack. My papers are in and I am a free woman. Mind if I come aboard? Be my guest, Nancy. You need help with that bag? Im good, she said stepping aboard, trying not to step on Harry. By the way, where are we headed, Jack The island of St. John, USVI, he yelled down. Ever been there? No. You sure you dont mind me coming along? I can earn my keep, clean out the bilges, heave on the main mast, rig sails, and all that sort of sailor thing. Im a hardy sort. I dont doubt that you are a good sailor. But we dont do that main mast sail thing on this boat. This one is power. All I do is steer. Ive never taken to canvas and sails. I think you do more than steer.

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How do you know youll like my island? Its kind of a quiet place, not much night life and all that kind of thing. Ill try and produce some night life, Jack. This time hitting on me is allowed.

The End. And the Beginning.

JT Melbourne, Florida June 2009

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Though the author thinks alone and writes alone, he or she gets a lot of covert and overt help along the way from many sources. My thanks to my wife Barbara who gave all kinds of help. And to Kathy & Steve, Susan & Mike & Jeremy, and Carol. And to mans best friends: Loki & Keel.

You can contact the author by e-mail: jimtfl1@aol.com

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