He trotted toward the house, and hope burst through his chest as he noticed the flickering of a television. He fumbled with his house key and rushed through the door.
“Carole?” he asked.
He continued to the living room. On the couch, his wife slept. He knelt by her side.
She awoke and her eyes sparkled.
“John?”
“Yeah, honey. It’s me.”
“I was afraid you were dead,” she said. “After you were late coming back, they told us not to worry, but the thought of never having you back scared me.”
“That’s how I felt about you. I’m ready to do it right this time. I’ve stopped drinking. It feels good to have my head clear. I won’t start again.”
“I know you can do it. You’re a strong man, and you’re the best commanding officer in the fleet as far I’m concerned. I don’t care if you ever make admiral.”
“That’s good honey, because after what I did I’m lucky if they don’t bust me to seaman.”
Carole rolled off the couch and walked across the room to a small carton resting on the television. Watching her move reminded him of their honeymoon so many years earlier.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She pulled a full-bird captain’s shoulder boards out of the box.
“Your commodore called me yesterday,” she said. “He let me use this as a little ice-breaker. The order came from the CNO himself. You’re officially ‘Captain Brody’.”
She balanced the boards on his collarbones.
“I’d still love you if you were a Seaman,” she said, “but those do look good.”
Brody kissed his wife.
Wind whipping his face, Jake drew a fur-lined parka hood over his head. Even in June, the wind blowing across the Bering Strait reddened his skin.
He kicked a pebble. He had killed too many men to have placed warheads on the ocean floor, and his plan for vengeance had missed its goal. But he could now see that his anger had driven him to the edge of destruction.
Beside him, Mercer and McKenzie battled two toddlers to a staring match stalemate. Renard approached and placed his hand on one of the children’s pelt-covered heads.
“My Russian is crude,” the Frenchman said, “but I believe that I just traded our trawler for an automobile.”
Jake looked over a wooden dock at the trawler that had plucked him from a life raft. A trout fisherman, adorned in furs like his two children, climbed into the boat.
“Not that I hoped to keep it,” Mercer said, “but you just traded my trawler for peanuts.”
“I would prefer to take my chances driving through a barren land than chancing an ocean trip to Vladivostok,” Renard said.
“What then?” Jake asked.
“No one knows I was involved, no one who would speak of it anyway. We can hide in Vladivostok while we await your new French passports from my assistant.”
“Passports?” Jake asked.
“With new identities,” Renard said. “God willing, you’re all taken for dead by any nation that would care. For simplicity of travel, I’m reinventing you as Frenchmen.”
A breeze caught Jake on the neck, and he coughed.
“Ah,” Renard said. “That reminds me. I should arrange for medical care upon our return. I imagine that it has been a while since you’ve measured your blood count.”
“I feel fine,” Jake said.
“Really? I feel horrible. When I get to Lyon, I will sleep for a week.”
“I’m tired, too, but I think the worst thing is that I don’t know what to do next,” Jake said.
“C’est la vie,” Renard said. “You must live it day by day.”
Renard removed his gloves, tucked them in his pockets, and flipped the gold-plated Zippo under a Marlboro. He smiled as he exhaled smoke, but Jake couldn’t force himself to return the gesture.
“You still appear bothered,” Renard said.
“We came up short,” Jake said. “We didn’t get the warheads to Taiwan.”
“Taiwanese sailors had a warhead in their possession, did they not?” Renard asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then the way I see it, we accomplished our mission but changed our minds for the sake of the Miami. Accomplishments mean nothing if you sacrifice your humanity. Fortunately, we did not have to,” Renard said, “and we still were well compensated for our efforts.”
He smiled.
“Well, I’m HIV positive, I don’t have a home, and the only people in my life are standing here. And Mercer is taking McKenzie with him to Spain before he moves on to South America.”
“It’s best that our little group is not seen together, at least for several years,” Renard said.
“So how many friends does that leave me?”
“One. You will be safe with me in Lyon. You can perfect your French and buy the best medical care.”
“What makes you think I want to perfect my French?”
“For the lovely French women waiting for you in Lyon, of course.”
“Women who want to get HIV?”
“No, mon ami. You’re not the first to suffer from the condition. I asked my fiancée to locate social and support groups in the city. You’re not alone in this world.”
“You’ve looked out for me from the beginning,” Jake said. “I don’t know what to say except ‘thanks’.”
“I told you three oceans ago. I’m genuinely concerned about you.”
Renard blew a cloud that floated over the head of an approaching fisherman. He leaned toward the fisherman and exchanged words in Russian. The man patted Renard on the back, smiled, and walked away.
“The deal is closed,” Renard said. “We have a car.”
“Okay,” Jake said. “But what’s this talk about a fiancée? You never said you were getting married.”
“Marie was not my fiancée until an hour ago.”
“Marie? That’s who you’re in love with? I forgot all about her. If it wasn’t for her, we never would’ve met.”
Renard flicked the butt of a Marlboro into the river and smiled again.
“She did make our meeting possible, but I believe that I have ample place in my heart to forgive her.”
About the Author
After graduating from the Naval Academy in 1991, John R. Monteith served on a nuclear ballistic missile submarine and then as a top-rated instructor of combat tactics at the U.S. Naval Submarine School. He now works as an engineer in the Detroit area. He writes the award-winning Rogue Submarine series.