“I’m under orders. Unlike you, I report to a democratic nation in me chain of command.”
Jake reflected upon his mental encyclopedia of the world’s submarines and their capability.
“I don’t want to turn this into a ‘my penis is bigger than yours’ conversation, but I just stole a submarine that’s better than anything that Australia has, and…”
He looked to Renard.
“Does he know about our hardware situation?”
“He knows of the Specter.”
“And this is my backup submarine. My primary sub could bring down your entire fleet if I felt like it.”
Cahill glared back at Jake.
“You really think you’re that good?”
“I’ve proven it. Because I’m a mercenary, I get all the action. More than all Australian submarine commanders combined.”
“You have no loyalty to a cause other than money.”
“Gentlemen!” Renard said. “You’ve just met. The least you can do is enjoy some drinks together before you commit yourselves to lives of mutual hatred.”
Jake folded his arms.
“I got nothing against the Australian Navy,” Jake said. “I just don’t like having changes rammed down my throat.”
“Me crew and I were heading home for leave when we got our orders to show up here,” Cahill said. “So we weren’t exactly thrilled when we got turned around. But we’re here, and I’m ready for a coldie.”
“I can always go for drink,” Jake said.
“It’s settled, then,” Renard said. “The club is only halfway completed, but there’s enough seating for both crews. It’s a modest walk from here.”
During the moonlit trek on a bleak stretch of asphalt leading to squared buildings in varied states of construction, Jake sensed Renard lagging. He slowed his gait.
“You having trouble keeping up?” he asked.
“No,” Renard said. “I was actually hoping that we could speak in private.”
“No shit, Pierre. What the hell’s going on here?”
“That’s not what I mean. There’s plenty of time to discuss the factors governing this situation. You don’t need to deploy to sea for another two days.”
“Great. Then you’re flying the wives in, right?”
“You know I can’t do that,” Renard said. “If the crew’s wives knew where we operate, they’d become targets for those whom we’ve wronged. We can’t risk it.”
“I was just kidding. What’s on your mind?”
“I want you to try a new medication.”
Jake reflected upon the antiretroviral drugs that had kept him alive since an accident on the USS Colorado had nearly killed him and left him HIV-positive.
“I feel fine. I get the best medications money can buy. It’s a nonissue.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant a medication for addressing cravings for alcohol.”
Jake stopped walking, causing his Philippine and Australian companions to look over their shoulders.
“We’ll be along soon,” Renard said. “Please, continue and warn the owner that two thirsty submarine crews are approaching.”
The duo continued up the road’s slight incline. Jake glanced to the waterfront at a gaggle of Australian sailors who began their journey to the bar. Beyond the Australians, Henri led a mixed group of Filipinos and Frenchmen from the Wraith.
Jake’s words issued as a raspy retort.
“Your wording was clever. You didn’t call me an alcoholic. You didn’t say I have a drinking problem. You phrased it cerebrally to pique my interest in it scientifically. Nice try, but I’m offended.”
“I only took interest because you yourself have lamented on many occasions that you wish you drank less than you do.”
“I only say that when I’ve got a hangover.”
“Regardless, I grew concerned and conducted exhaustive research. I found a medication that reverses the brain’s learned patterns for desiring alcohol.”
“Proven on lab rats?”
“Well, yes. Followed by tens of thousands of humans since the nineteen nineties.”
“Well, Pierre, I’m not an alcoholic, and don’t give me a diagnosis-by-denial. So I’m not ready to deal with liver damage, brain damage, or any other side effects.”
Renard pulled a Marlboro from his blazer’s breast pocket.
“No need to mock me for the irony,” he said. “It doesn’t work for cigarettes. Nicotine addiction works differently.”
“I’m not taking another pill,” Jake said.
“You mentioned side effects. There are none.”
“Bullshit. Every drug has a side effect.”
“If you must know, the drug blocks your opiate receptors, which require three days to decay and be replaced. So if you have any pleasurable experience like a runner’s high or sexual intercourse, your brain will fail to link any instance of such an experience with pleasure.”
“Meaning I become a zombie for life?”
“No,” Renard said. “You take the pill an hour before you drink, meaning you only take it if you’re going to drink anyway. So, yes, if you’re drinking every day, the medication will prevent your brain from wiring itself towards certain positive activities. But then again, you’d be drunk every day.”
“I don’t drink every day.”
Renard flipped open his gold-plated Zippo lighter and sparked flint into flame below the cigarette’s butt.
“Precisely. Take the pill at least an hour before you drink, and its chemicals will prevent the alcohol from stimulating your opiate receptors. After several months of repeating this, you unlearn the craving for alcohol by unwiring your brain, so to speak.”
“No nausea? No liver damage?”
“None at all. And you still feel drunk. It’s gentle and slow, which is why it takes months to minimize cravings.”
It sounded too good to be true. Jake wondered how such a medication could remain a secret, but then he remembered the absurdity of the world’s medical system. Multi-billion-dollar treatment systems would implode without addicts.
“What happens after a few months if I take it?”
“You just take one before you would drink, if you drink. There are other protocols where the drug is taken multiple times a week or even daily, but for you, I believe that would be overkill.”
“Did you consult a physician about this?”
“Three of them. The best. And given your drinking patterns, they suggested the approach I now offer you. Forgive me for approaching medical counsel on your behalf, but I’ve known you long enough and assumed you’d permit me.”
“But you’re still talking about using the drug forever. Sounds like a pharmaceutical company is creating its own revenue stream.”
“Not that you care about money, but it’s an inexpensive drug. Patents have run out.”
“Costs aside, forever is still a long time.”
“You already take drugs every day to stay alive. For you, this is easy. People with much less personal discipline are doing it, and if you stop drinking, you stop taking the drug.”
“Fine. I’ll order some when I get home.”
“I happen to have some of the medication with me.”
“I should have guessed.”
The Frenchman reached into his blazer again, pulled out a pill bottle, and extended it.
Jake grabbed it and read its label.
“Naltrexone,” he said. “I’ll have to research it for myself before taking it. Do we get cell phone reception around here?”
“Yes, of course. You’ll find many ways to use the drug, and not all of them effective. For you, I recommend The Sinclair Method, which I essentially have already described to you.”
“Sinclair. Got it,” Jake said.
“But will you trust me for now?”
“Sure,” Jake said. “As long as you take one first, just to show how trivial the side effects are.”