Empire

“My husband is a patriot. And a born officer. He is not troubled by the things he does to defend his country. He has killed people, even though he’s a gentle man by nature, and yet he does not wake up screaming in the night from combat flashbacks, and he doesn’t lash out at the children, and he shows no sign of traumatic stress disorder. I know what he looks like when he’s worried about his own safety, or when he’s intense about fulfilling an assignment, or when he’s annoyed at the stupidity of superior officers. I know what those things do to him, how it shows up in his behavior at home.”

“And this is new.”

“Captain Cole, what I want to know is why my husband feels guilty.”

Cole didn’t know what to say, except the obvious. “Why do husbands ever feel guilty?”

“That’s why I haven’t confided these worries of mine to anyone. Because people will assume that I’m assuming he’s having an affair. But I know for a fact that this is impossible. He feels guilty. He’s torn up inside about something. But it’s something to do with work, not with me, not his family, not his religion. Something about his present assignment is making him very unhappy.”

“Maybe he’s not doing as well at it as he thinks he should.”

She waved that thought away. “Reuben would talk about that with me. We share self-doubts with each other, even if he can’t go into the specifics. No, Captain Cole, he is being asked, as part of his work, to do something he fears may be wrong.”

“What do you think it might be?”

“I refuse to speculate. I just know that my husband has no qualms about bearing arms for his country and using them. So whatever he’s being asked to do that he hates, or at least has serious doubts about, it isn’t because violence is involved. It’s because he isn’t in full agreement with the assignment. For the first time in his military career, his duty and his conscience are in serious conflict.”

“And if I find out, Mrs. Malich, I probably can’t tell you what it is.”

“My husband is a good man,” she said. “It’s important to him to be a good man. He has to not only be good, he has to believe that he’s good. In the eyes of God, in my eyes, in his parents’ eyes, in his own eyes. Good. What I want you to do for me is tell me if he’s not going to be able to get through this project, whatever it is, believing that he’s a good man.”

“I’d have to know him very well to be able to assess that, ma’am.”

“He asked for you to be assigned to him for a reason,” said Mrs. Malich. “A young Special Ops hotshot—that describes you, yes?”

“Probably,” said Captain Cole, shaking his head.

“He wouldn’t take you out of the front line, where you’re needed, if he didn’t think you’d be needed more working for him.”

That was logical, if Malich was indeed the man his wife thought he was. It gave Cole the reassurance he needed.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I’ll keep your assignment in mind. Along with whatever assignments he gives me. And what I can tell you, consistent with my oath and my orders, I certainly will tell you.”

“Meanwhile,” she said, “let me assure you that you do not have to keep secret from him any part of our meeting today. I certainly intend to tell him I met you and exactly what we talked about.”

“Please don’t tell him about the cookies I hid in my pockets,” said Cole. “I know you saw me take them.”

“I made them for you. Where you choose to transport them is entirely your affair.”

All the way back toward the Beltway on Route 7, Cole tried to make sense of Mrs. Malich’s behavior. Was she really going to tell Major Malich about the assignment she had just given Cole? In that case, would Malich regard Cole as compromised somehow? Or would Malich simply give up and tell his wife what she wanted to know?

Or was there some game going on between them that was far more complicated than Cole could suppose? Cole had never been married or even had a girlfriend long enough to really think that he knew her. Were all women like this, and Mrs. Malich was unusual only in being so candid about her conniving?

Whatever it was, Cole already didn’t like it. It was outrageous to be given an assignment by your commander’s wife, though heaven knows it happened often enough when it consisted of moving furniture or running errands. Cole could see no way things could turn out that would not be detrimental to his career.

Had she been drinking? Was that it?

No, there had been no sign of that.

His cellphone went off.

“Captain Coleman?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Major Malich. What does it mean when I get to the office and find you gone off somewhere?”

“Sorry, sir. I should be back within thirty minutes, sir.”

“How many hours do you think you get for lunch?”

Cole took a deep breath. “I was visiting your wife, sir.”

“Oh, were you.”

“She makes excellent cookies, sir.”

“Her baking is none of your business, Captain Coleman.”

“It is when she offers me cookies, sir. Begging your pardon, sir.”

“So what did she want with you?”

“I called her, sir. Since I couldn’t learn anything about you or my assignment there at the Pentagon, I hoped to discover something about what you expected of me by talking to your wife.”

“I don’t like you intruding into my personal life, Captain.”

“Neither do I, sir. I don’t see that you left me a choice, sir.”

“So what did you learn?”

“That your wife is so worried about you, sir, that she enlisted me to try to find out what your clandestine operations are.” How far should he go with a new superior officer, and on a cellphone, no less? He plunged ahead. “She believes you’re morally troubled about those operations, sir.”

“Morally troubled?”

“I think the word she used was ‘guilty,’ sir.”

“And you think this is any of your business?”

“I’m convinced that it’s none of my business.”

“But you’re still going to do it.”

“Sir, I’ll just be happy to find out what we actually do in an office so secret that the secretary treats your subordinate like a spy.”

“Well, Captain Coleman, she treats you like a spy because the last two clowns we had in your position were spies.”

“For your wife, sir? Or for some foreign power.”

“Neither. They were spying for people in the Pentagon who are also trying to figure out what I’m doing when I’m not in the office.”

“Doesn’t the Army already know what you’re doing?”

There was a moment of hesitation. “The Army owns my balls and keeps them in a box somewhere between Fort Bragg and Pakistan.”

Sometimes a non-answer was a perfectly usable answer. “It’s a mighty big box, then, sir. This Army’s got a lot of balls.”

This time the pause was even longer.

“Are you laughing at me, sir?” asked Cole.

“I like you, Coleman,” said Malich.

“I like your wife, sir. And she likes you.”

“Good enough for me. Coleman, don’t park. Don’t even come to the Pentagon. Meet me at Hain’s Point in half