'Oh, baby.'
He held her tight and it was fine: his wife, he'd slept next to her for years now, the same strong, tough beautifull woman, about as good as they made them. Her smell was achingly familiar. Strawberries, she smelled of strawberries always. He first saw her in a picture wrapped in cellophane that came from a young Marine's boonie hat.
The rain was falling. There was a war. He fell in love with her then and never came close to falling out in all the years since.
'Where did you come from?' she said.
'How did you get here so fast?'
'They didn't tell you? Damn idiot me, I got me a new hobby. I parachuted through the storm. Pretty exciting.'
'Oh, Bob.'
'I never been so scared in my life. If I'd had clean underwear, I'd have pissed in the ones I was wearing.
Only, I didn't have no clean underwear.'
'Oh, Bob--' 'We'll talk about all that stuff. That's up ahead.'
'What in hell is this all about?' she finally asked.
'He came for met That's what these people say.'
'Yeah. It has to do with something that happened a long time ago. I have it half figured. These geniuses think they know all the answers, or they can figure them. You up to this?'
'Yes. I just want it over.'
'Then we'll get it all straightened out, I swear to you.'
'I know.'
'Bonson?'
Bonson came over.
'She's ready.'
'That's terrific, Mrs. Swagger. We'll try and make this as easy as possible. Are you comfortable? Do you want anything? Another Coke?'
'No, I'm fine. I want my husband here, that's all.'
'That's fine.'
'Okay, people,' Bonson said in a louder voice, 'we're all set. The debriefing can begin.'
He turned back to her.
'I have two lead analysts who'll run this. They're both psychologists. Just relax, take your time. You're under no pressure of any sort. This is not adversarial and it has no legal standing. It's not an interrogation. In fact, we'll probably share things with you that you are not security cleared to hear. But that's all right. We want this to be easy for you, and for you not to sense reluctance or authority or power or discretion on our part. If you can, try and think of us as your friends, not your government.'
'Should I salute?' she said.
Bonson laughed.
'No. Nor will we be playing the national anthem or waving any flags. It's just a chat between friends. Now, let us set up things for you, so you have some idea of a context in which this inquiry is taking place, and why your information is so vital.'
'Sure.'
It began. The crowd settled, the kids obediently found chairs, and Julie sat relaxed on the couch. There were no harsh lights. One of the questioners cleared his throat, and began to speak.
'Mrs. Swagger, for reasons as yet unclear to us, factions within Russia have sent an extremely competent professional assassin to this country to kill you. That's extraordinarily venturesome, even for them. You probably wonder why, and so do we. So in the past seventy-two hours, we've been poring through old records, trying to find something that you might know that would make your death important to someone over there. May I begin by assuming you have no idea?'
'Nothing. I've never talked knowingly to a Russian in my life.'
'Yes, ma'am. But we've put this into a larger pattern.
It seems that three other people in your circle in the year 1971 were also killed under circumstances that suggest possible Soviet or Russian involvement. One is your first husband--' Julie gasped involuntarily.
'This may be painful,' Bonson said.
Bob touched her shoulder.
'It's all right,' she said.
The young man continued, 'Your husband, Donny Fenn, killed in the Republic of South Vietnam 6 May 1972. Another was a young man who was active with you in the peace movement, named Peter Farris, discovered dead with a broken neck, 6 October 1971, dead for several months at the time. And the third was another peace demonstrator of some renown, named Thomas Charles 'Trig' Carter III, killed in a bomb blast at the University of Wisconsin 9 May 1971.'
