He looked at his watch. It was after one in the morning. He had given the company an eighteen-hour day. A little personal time did not seem unreasonable.
He put on swim trunks and then slid on a terry-cloth robe and headed for the pool.
The corridors were empty, and when he got outside he could see that most of the rooms were in darkness. For all practical purposes he had the hotel to himself. It was not true, of course, because there was still a night staff on duty, but the illusion was there and he savored it. An exhibition was the unrelenting pressure of people day after day. Well, mostly he liked people, but sometimes he craved some personal space.
Silent in his bare feet, he walked slowly down the path that led through landscaped vegetation to the pool. The vegetation was normally floodlit, but at this late hour the lights had been turned off and only the pool in the center was still illuminated.
The water glowed like the entrance to a magical world. When he dived in, he thought, he would keep on swimming down and the waters would part and mysteries beyond compare would be revealed.
He was just about to leave the darkness to enter the pool area when he saw ripples on the surface of the water. He paused, and seconds later a nearly naked woman emerged from the pool. She did not use the ladder but instead levered herself up effortlessly onto the poolside. Her body was long and lithe and glowed in the soft light.
She was not just fit. She was in perfect condition. Muscles rippled under golden skin, and her figure was showed off to perfection by the minimal black fabric of her costume.
She ran her hands back over her head, squeezing water from her close-cropped blond hair. Her carriage was erect, and something about her posture suggested formal training. If she had been a man, he would have thought military. Ballet? Modeling? No, she had the discipline, but there was too much hard muscle there in the upper body. In this case, functionality ran ahead of appearance.
This woman did not just want to be fit. She needed the strength and stamina.
As he watched, she leaned down casually and picked up a towel. She dried her face, and as she did so she turned quite naturally to face in his direction.
"Come on in," she said. "It really would be a cool idea. Don't be shy. It makes me nervous."
Her hands were outstretched. They were not empty.
Shanley looked down at the front of his robe. The red dot of the laser sight rested neatly on his torso. It was not quite central but sat slightly to the left. The red dot was steady.
Rib cage, heart, lungs, and all kinds of other useful bits he was quite attached to in one burst. It looked like a mini-Uzi. Neat trick, that, with the towel.
He stepped into the light. It seemed like a remarkably good idea.
"Ah, Mr. Magnavox," she said slowly. "I saw you on the stand. You were playing with a Stinger missile. Thermal sights, if I recall."
Shanley nodded. She looked at him carefully as if checking, and then the outstretched arms relaxed. He looked at his torso. The red dot was gone. He could feel his heart pounding.
"You don't seem to need them," he said.
He swam hard for fifteen minutes, notching up the lengths in a fast crawl. He was a strong swimmer. The luminous water was as he had thought. It was another world.
Finally he slowed and turned onto his back to float. Stars glittered in the night sky above him.
She had left earlier. Now she stood there with two glasses in her hands. She was wearing a white djellaba trimmed with gold. The hood was down. She had, he thought, the most beautifully shaped head.
He hauled himself out of the pool, conscious that fit though he was, he was making heavier weather of it than she had. Of course, he was a good ten years older, but still…
"I talked to the kitchen," she said. "Irish coffee. Tastes good after a swim."
He put on his robe and took the hot glass. They sat at a poolside table facing each other. His wedding ring glinted in the light as he drank. She wore none, he noticed.
"My name's Shanley," he said. "Don Shanley."
"I know," she said. "I asked. You looked interesting. Married, but interesting."
Shanley smiled. "I'm still married," he said.
She laughed. "You still look interesting," she said. "That doesn't mean I have to sleep with you – even at a trade show where sex seems to go with the territory. I guess I want to talk. I don't know why. It's just one of those nights. I just don't want it to end."
They talked about everyone and everything until the sky began to lighten and there was no choice but to part. They never touched.
"What's your name?" said Shanley just before he left. And then he added as an afterthought, "And rank?"
"Folks call me Texas," she said. "I made captain before I quit. Airborne."
"It shows, Texas," said Shanley. "Thank you. You're a pleasure to meet."
After he left, Texas sat by the pool for quite some time.
7
Kathleen was subdued and distant in the morning.
She breakfasted early and lightly and headed for the coast to do some sightseeing. She wanted to get as far away from Fayetteville/Fort Bragg as possible. The entire area seemed to be making an industry out of preparing to kill other humans, and she found it all depressing. Even the hotel pool offered no relief. During the day it was used to demonstrate equipment by Navy SEALs.
The military presence was unrelenting. And they were all so damned cheerful and gung-ho about it. She was awash in camaraderie and male bonding, and if she was not careful she would drown.
She loved Hugo and would endure what was necessary given their situation, but it was not her world. She understood that Fitzduane did not enjoy being under threat either, but there was a fundamental difference. Hugo was comfortable with his world of weapons. He was not confined to it, but he functioned supremely well in it. It was something of a shock seeing him this way. In Ireland, on the island, Hugo trained with the Rangers, but it was somehow more subdued. Here it was very American and very extroverted, and she felt the whole damn thing was being rammed down her throat.
She had heard that much of the North Carolina coast was very beautiful. Some totally civilian scenery would be nice. She savored the word civilian. It had always seemed such a dull word. Now it carried with it an ethos her heart cried out for.
"You look vaguely shook, Hugo," said Kilmara cheerfully as he found Fitzduane alone having breakfast. "The wife been beating you again, or is it the prospect of yet another warm sunny day? It's disorienting for us Irish. We're like certain types of plants. We expect to get rained on regularly but unpredictably."
Fitzduane did not wear his heart on his sleeve, but Kilmara was someone who was very close to him.
He smiled. "Kathleen is not a happy lady, which is unusual. She awoke not in good form and headed as far away from uniforms and military hardware as possible. I think she plans to roam and sunbathe along the North Carolina coast."
"Lucky North Carolina," said Kilmara. "If you don't mind me commenting on your wife, Kathleen looks sumptuous in a swimsuit. Also, she is right. All this military stuff is bullshit. It's fun, but it's ridiculous. And it gets people killed. If I wasn't a general, I would jack the whole thing in. And hell, man, you don't want a wife who wears jump boots in the kitchen."
Fitzduane did not reply to this sally, which was unusual. He normally enjoyed Kilmara when he was being outrageous. There was something else to all this.
Kilmara gave his friend space and focused on his scrambled eggs. Soon enough, Fitzduane spoke.
"Out of the blue, for no reason that I could think of, Kathleen asked me if I ever thought of Etan. Well, the question was so unexpected, I did not dissemble in any way. I told her the truth."