All this was running through my head, so I asked for clarification. “Me, Captain? Am I going someplace?”
“You think I'm talking to the fish, Cooper? I'm old, but I ain't that old.” He sprinkled food flakes into the tank.
“No, sir. I don't think you're old, sir. So what's it about?” I asked.
“First things first, Cooper. Your resignation is not accepted. As for what it's about, and I take it you mean the case, we don't know. That's why we're sending you. Basically, what we have is an American scientist eaten by a fish.”
Yuck? The picture of a man being attacked by a giant clown fish flashed into my mind. I was also a little puzzled. It sounded like this scientist had met his death through misadventure, and accidents — ones befalling American scientists or otherwise — usually fell within the jurisdiction of local law-enforcement agencies.
I was about to ask why the DoD was involving itself when Schaeffer said, “The scientist works — or I should say, worked — for a company doing some research for us.”
That explained it. Research funded by the Department of Defense was usually highly sensitive, on account of it mostly having something to do with killing people — in the defense of our nation, of course, so that made it OK. “What was he doing for us?” I asked.
“ Need-to-know basis, Cooper, and you don't. For that matter, neither do I, which is why I haven't been briefed on it either. There are, however, a few more details in the file, the one with your name on it, on my desk. Read it before you get on the plane.”
I'm getting on a plane? I swallowed hard. I don't like flying, which I know is weird coming from an Air Force officer, but I had reasonable grounds for the problem: I'd been shot out of the sky a couple of times during my tour in Afghanistan as a combat air controller. Lately, I'd been doing some work on that issue with an Air Force shrink. It seemed I was about to give it a test.
Schaeffer cooed, “Out you come, fellas… chow time.” One of the clown fish made a tentative break from the submarine, tempted by the flakes sinking through the water, but it turned and fled back to the safety of the sunken sub when something spooked it, most probably the vision magnified by the water of the captain's approaching lips formed into the shape of a cat's puckered anus. Or was it a kiss? I really needed to get the hell out of there.
TWO
I sat and stared at the floor and recalled our last phone conversation. It went something like this:
“Japan,” I said.
“Where?” asked Anna.
“Japan. Yokohama, Japan.”
“What's it about?” she asked, and then said, “Never mind.” We both knew I wouldn't/couldn't elaborate. More of that need-to-know crap.
“What about you?” I said. “You missing me?”
“No,” Anna said.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Okay, maybe just a little.”
“You're calling eight inches a little?”
She laughed. “Don't kid yourself, baby.”
“How are you spending your spare time?”
“Bible study. I've joined a group.”
“Yeah, right,” I said. It sounded lighthearted and friendly enough, but the truth of it was our long-distance relationship was suffering. The conversation had become stilted, the gaps between the exchanges widening. We both knew where it would end, but neither of us wanted to admit it — not out loud, anyway.
“When am I going to see you?” she asked.
That was the question on both our minds. And we both knew the answer.
“You tell me,” I replied.
The conversation's first bracket of silence followed.
“I saw a quote the other day,” she said, abruptly. “Do you want to hear it?”
Whether I wanted to hear it or not, I knew I was about to. “A quote by who?” I said.
“John Steinbeck.”
“Right, the piano people.”
“No, you idiot. That's Stein way. Steinbeck was a writer.”
“Oh, yeah, him.”
If it's possible to hear someone roll their eyes, that's what I heard.
“Steinbeck said, ‘There's nothing sadder than a relationship held together by the glue of postage stamps.'“
I paused. “You sure that wasn't Hallmark?”
“Yes.”
“Just as well we communicate via e-mail.”
“And why's that?”
“No stamps.”
This time, she paused. “Do you ever take anything seriously, Cooper?”
“I'm serious about you.”
“Are you?”
“What do you think?”
Another loud burst of silence followed.
“Then what are we going to do about it?” she asked.
“About seeing each other? I don't know,” I said, but I was thinking that we were going round and round the mulberry bush. There was one way to break the vicious circle — marriage. We'd discussed the M word before, but neither of us was ready for it. Not yet. Aside from the fact that we hadn't known each other all that long, and didn't even like each other when we first met, Special Agent Anna Masters wanted to concentrate on her career and I was still gun-shy after my last attempt at unholy matrimony. And with good reason. Brenda, my ex, had married our relationship counselor, the guy she also happened to be having an affair with while I was paying him to sort out our marriage. I'd forgiven her, but I still wanted to smack the guy around some — I enjoyed it so much the first time. And in the back of my mind, I wondered whether I actually believed in the institution of marriage anymore. I had trust issues, apparently.
“Christmas is coming up. You could get leave,” I suggested. “I'm sure Ramstein would get along fine without you.”
“No, I can't. I had so much time off after I came out of the hospital. What about you coming here?”
“Possible, I guess. It depends on the case I'm working.” We both knew me tripping over to, Germany Ramstein Air Base, would, in reality, be impossible. Like Anna, I'd had too much time off already, even if it was spent recovering.
“OK, then…” she said, with more than a touch of hopelessness. “So…”
“Hey,” I said, attempting to change the subject, “I haven't told you; I'm making real progress with the flying thing.”
“That's good,” she said.
I still needed to take a nervous dump before I got on a plane, and my palms sweated. But I could now travel drug-free, at last. “No more sleeping pills.”
“That's really great, Vin. Congratulations. Pity you can't put it to good use and get on a plane to see me.”
Silence. So much for changing the subject.
“Sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”
More silence. The way we were going, I could see a point in the future where our phone calls would be mostly dead air.
Anna sighed impatiently. “Y'know, the trouble with men is that you're all spineless.”
“A bit sweeping, don't you think?”
“It's true. You and I both know where this is going.”
“And where's it going?” I said spinelessly.
“See what I mean? You and me, us, our relationship — it's going precisely nowhere, and you know it. But do you want to take charge? No. Oh, for Christ's sake, Vin… We had fun, when we weren't being shot at or involved in car crashes. We should have just left it at that.”
And that was pretty much where we left it. There was a little discussion about us both being free agents, but nothing, thankfully, about us remaining friends — a surefire admission that we'd never speak to each other again.
The Boeing bumped around on some air currents and a light indicated that I should strap in. There being no lap restraints in the lavatory, I made the mental adjustment that it was time to take a seat without a hole in it.
I washed my hands, pushed open the concertina door and, leaning forward, climbed up the aisle toward my seat. The aircraft was still gaining height and the attendants were a little while from serving coffee and tea. The sessions I'd been doing to combat my fear of flying were working; I was almost getting on top of things. Actually, once airborne, it wasn't the fear of flying that chewed on me, it was fear of un-flying, like maybe the plane would suddenly realize it was doing something it shouldn't and drop out of the sky. Irrational, I know, but that's a phobia for you. I repeated the mantra: The higher you are, the safer you are, the higher you are, the safer you are, the higher…