Operator B

Shit, I never got a ninety-nine on an algebra test in my life!

“Yeah, so I’ll get a B for the course. A’s in everything else.”

Wentz slapped the wheel. That’s my boy! “Hey, that’s great, Pete! Now you’ll make the honor roll! Outstanding! Buddy, we are celebrating this weekend! The Yankees game tonight, King’s Dominion tomorrow, crabbing on the bay all day Sunday, and…you know what? I think maybe we’ll do a little dirt-bike shopping once school lets out for the summer. How’s that sound?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Pete said but it was a glum response, despondent. The boy seemed miles away.

Wentz glanced over. “Hey, partner, what’s wrong? You look like somebody shot your dog…and you don’t even have a dog.”

“Well…Mom said…”

Wentz smirked. “What? What did your mother say?”

“She said you might be bluffing.”

“Bluffing about what?”

Pete shrugged morosely.“About retiring from the Air Force.”

Damn it! Wentz ground his teeth, then pulled the station wagon over to the shoulder and skidded to a stop. He looked right at his son. “Pete, when I told you and Mom that I’m leaving the Air Force, I meant it.”

“Really?”

“Really, Pete. Look, I know it’s been tough on you and your mother. Half the time I wasn’t around—no wonder she divorced me. But we’ve been talking about it for months, and it’s settled. On Monday I retire, your mother and I get back together, and we’ll be a family again.”

“Yeah, but you said that a bunch of times in the past, and then it never happened.”

Shit, Wentz thought. Nothing he could say could make it right. Even the truth was an excuse. “Yeah, but that’s because stuff came up at the last minute that I had to do for the Air Force. You know, stuff I’m not allowed to talk about.”

“Secret stuff.”

“Yeah. That’s why I was never around very much. I had to do it, Pete. When you’re in the service you have to obey orders.”

“I know.”

When Wentz glimpsed his own face in the windshield’s reflection, the basest impulse urged him to punch it, to just put his fist right through the safety glass. In one second he saw all of his regret—and all of his arrogance disguised as service. This is my son, for Christ’s sake, and I’m snow-jobbing him. I’m making excuses. When Pete was four, he’d almost died from pneumonia; Wentz was flying a classified recon op over North Korea. When Pete had hit his first home run in Little League, Wentz was flying at 100,000 feet testing new fuel-tank seals in an SR-71. And when Pete had been sent home from school for fighting, when he’d most needed a father’s counsel and discipline, Wentz had been joyriding a YF-22 Advanced Tactical Fighter over the White Sides Mountain Test Reservation.

Some fucking father, he thought. Always passing the buck to Joyce, always too busy playing Big Bad Top Secret Flyboy.

“I’m telling you, Pete, that stuff in the past—it changes now. Your mother’s giving me one more shot, and it’s no jive this time. We’re patching things up, getting back together, and it’s going to work out.”

For the first time since he’d gotten in the car, Pete looked genuinely enthused.

“And you’ll move back to the house?”

“No, I’m going to pitch a tent in the back yard. Of course I’m moving back to the house! I’ve got my stuff all packed, got the mover lined up. It’s a done deal.”

Pete’s eyes widened on Wentz. “You promise?”

“Roger that, buddy-bro,” Wentz said with no hesitation. “You can count on it.” He pulled the car back onto the road. “And there’s nothing in the world that’ll make me break that promise. Now let’s go watch the Yankees kick some tail.”

««—»»

The office stood dark. Beneath a wan lamp, the folder lay open on the desk.

The leader sheet on the right read:

_______________________________

TOP SECRET

EYES ONLY - RESTRICTED:

OFFICER EVALUATION REPORT (OER)

DEPARTMENT OF THE NAVY, MARINE CORP BRANCH.

Subject: FARRINGTON, WILLARD, E.

Grade: 0-7/DOB 13 FEB 48. SERVICE #220-76-1455

Spouse: (DECEASED)

Children: ONE (F/ADOPTED)

Other Living Relatives: NONE

DE: DETACHMENT 4,

UNITED STATES AIR FORCE

AERIAL INTELLIGENCE COMMAND

FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA.

DUPLICATION OF THE ENCLOSED IS PUNISHABLE BY DEATH VIA AIR FORCE REGULATION 200-2 AND U.S.C. 797 OF THE INTERNAL SECURITY ACT.

TOP SECRET

_______________________________

A personnel photograph was fastened to the left side of the folder, and staring up from its glossy surface was the face of General Willard Farrington.

A hand closed the folder. A sputter was heard. Bold typeface on the folder’s manila cover read:

OPERATOR “A”

It was General Rainier’s hand which closed the MILPERS folder, and it was his voice which muttered, “God damn,” a moment later.

Another officer—a major—sat in the room, submerged in darkness. He was a Tekna/Byman liaison field agent; hence his name was classified.

“Jesus,” Rainier said. “Who would’ve thought something like this would happen?”

“It all went so well for so long, sir,” the Major responded. “Perhaps we took the circumstances for granted.”

Rainier looked up testily. “Yeah, I guess we did. The guy’s been doing it for more than ten years without a hitch.”

“Yes, sir, but remember the retrieval time table. We don’t have another ten years. We don’t even have ten