But he seemed like a bit of an asshole to me.’
Joe nodded and picked up his mug. Said nothing.
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‘What?’ I said.
‘Bird’s not a small post,’ he said. ‘But it’s not real big, either,
right? What are you working on?’
‘Right now? Some two-star died and I can’t find his briefcase.’
‘Homicide?’
I shook my head. ‘Heart attack.’
‘When?’
‘Last night.’
‘After you got there?’
I said nothing.
‘You sure you didn’t screw up?’ Joe said.
‘I don’t think so,’ I said again.
‘So why did they pull you out? One day you’re supervising the
Noriega process, and the next day you’re in North Carolina with
nothing to do? And you’d still have nothing to do if the general
hadn’t died.’
‘I got orders,’ I said. ‘You know how it is. You have to assume
they know what they’re doing.’
‘Who signed the orders?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You should find out. Find out who wanted you at Bird badly
enough to pull you out of Panama and replace you with an
asshole. And you should find out why.’
The guy in the apron refilled our mugs. Shoved plastic menus
in front of us.
‘Eggs,’ Joe said. ‘Over well, bacon, toast.’
‘Pancakes,’ I said. ‘Egg on the top, bacon on the side, plenty
of syrup.’
The guy took the menus back and went away and Joe turned
around on his stool and sat back-to with his legs stretched way
out into the aisle.
‘What exactly did her doctor say?’ I asked him.
He shrugged. ‘Not very much. No details, no diagnosis. No
real information. European doctors aren’t very good with bad
news. They hedge around it all the time. Plus, there’s a privacy
issue, obviously.’
‘But we’re headed over there for a reason.’
He nodded. ‘He suggested we might want to come. And then
he hinted that sooner might be better than later.’
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‘What is she saying?’
‘That it’s all a lot of fuss about nothing. But that we’re always
welcome to visit.’
W’c finished our breakfast and I paid for it. Then Joe gave
me my ticket, like a transaction. I was sure he earned more
than me, but probably not enough to make an airline ticket
proportional to a plate of eggs and bacon with toast on the side.
But I took the deal. We got off our stools and got our bearings
and headed for the check-in counter.
‘Take your coat off,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I want the clerk to see your medal ribbons,’ he said. ‘Military
action going on overseas, we might get an upgrade.’
‘It’s Air France,’ I said. ‘France isn’t even a military member
of NATO.’
‘The check-in clerk will be American,’ he said. ‘Try it.’
I shrugged out of my coat. Folded it over my arm and walked
sideways so the left of my chest stuck out forward.
‘OK now?’ I said.
‘Perfect,’ he said, and smiled.
I smiled back. Left-to-right on the top row I wear the Silver
Star, the Defense Superior Service Medal, and the Legion of
Merit. Second row has the Soldier’s Medal, the Bronze
Star, and my Purple Heart. The bottom two rows are the junk
awards. I won all of the good stuff purely by accident and none of it means very much to me. Using it to get an upgrade out of
an airline clerk is about what it’s good for. But Joe liked the top
two rows. He served five years in Military Intelligence and
didn’t get past the junk.
We made it to the head of the line and he put his passport
and ticket on the counter along with a Treasury Department ID.
Then he stepped behind my shoulder. I put my own passport
and ticket down. He nudged me in the back. I turned a little
sideways and looked at the clerk.
‘Can you find us something with legroom?’ I asked him.
He was a small man, middle-aged, tired. He looked up at us.
Together we measured almost thirteen feet tall and weighed
about four hundred fifty pounds. He studied the Treasury ID
81
and looked at my uniform and pattered on his keyboard and
came up with a forced smile.