'All I'm saying is, we don't know everything that's ever been alive on the planet.'
'Point taken,' the lieutenant said, 'but this thing lives above-well above the surface of the planet. How do you explain that?'
'Some kind of escape pod,' Davis said. 'I mean, you guys know about the asteroid, right? The one that's supposed to have wiped out the dinosaurs? Suppose this guy and his friends-suppose their city was directly in this asteroid's path? Maybe our thing was the only one who made it to the rockets on time? Or maybe it built this itself.'
'Like Superman,' Lee said, 'only, he's a vampire, and he doesn't leave Krypton, he just floats around it so he can snack on the other survivors.'
'Sun,' Han said.
'What?' Lee said.
'Yellow sun,' Han said.
Davis said, 'He means Superman needs a yellow sun for his powers. Krypton had a red sun, so he wouldn't have been able to do much snacking.'
'Yeah, well, we have a yellow sun,' Lee said, 'so what's the problem?'
'Never mind.'
'Or maybe you've figured out the real reason the dinosaurs went extinct,' Lee said. 'Vampires got them all.'
'That's clever,' Davis said. 'You're very clever, Lee.'
'What about you, sir?' Lee said.
'Me?' the lieutenant said. 'I'm afraid the scenario I've invented is much more lurid than either of yours. I incline to the view that the vampire is here as a punishment.'
'For what?' Davis said.
'I haven't the faintest clue,' the lieutenant said. 'What kind of crime does a monster commit? Maybe it stole someone else's victims. Maybe it killed another vampire. Whatever it did, it was placed in that coffin and sent out into space. Whether its fellows intended us as its final destination, or planned for it to drift endlessly, I can't say. But I wonder if its blood-drinking-that craving-might not be part of its punishment.'
'How?' Lee said.
'Say the vampire's used to feeding on a substance like blood, only better, more nutritious, more satisfying. Part of the reason for sending it here is that all that will be available to it is this poor substitute that leaves it perpetually thirsty. Not only does it have to cross significant distances, expose itself to potential harm to feed, the best it can do will never be good enough.'
'That,' Lee said, 'is fucked up.'
'There's a reason they made me an officer,' the lieutenant said. He turned to Han. 'What about you, Han? Any thoughts concerning the nature of our imminent guest?'
'Devil,' Han said.
'Ah,' the lieutenant said.
'Which?' Lee asked. 'A devil, or the Devil?'
Han shrugged.
XI
2005-2006
To start with, the lieutenant called once a week, on a Saturday night. Davis could not help reflecting on what this said about the state of the man's life, his marriage, that he spent the peak hours of his weekend in a long-distance conversation with a former subordinate-as well as the commentary their calls offered on his own state of affairs, that not only was he always in his apartment for the lieutenant's call, but that starting late Thursday, up to a day earlier if his week was especially shitty, he looked forward to it.
There was a rhythm, almost a ritual, to each call. The lieutenant asked Davis how he'd been; he answered, 'Fine, sir,' and offered a precis of the last seven days at Home Depot, which tended to consist of a summary of his assistant manager's most egregious offences. If he'd steered clear of Adams, he might list the titles of whatever movies he'd rented, along with one- or two-sentence reviews of each. Occasionally, he would narrate his latest failed date, recasting stilted frustration as comic misadventure. At the conclusion of his recitation, Davis would swat the lieutenant's question back to him. The lieutenant would answer, 'Can't complain,' and follow with a distillation of his week that focused on his dissatisfaction with his position at Stillwater, a defense contractor who had promised him a career as exciting as the one he'd left but delivered little more than lunches, dinners, and cocktail parties at which the lieutenant was trotted out, he said, so everyone could admire his Goddamned plastic leg and congratulate his employers on hiring him. At least the money was decent, and Barbara enjoyed the opportunity to dress up and go out to nicer places than he'd ever been able to afford. The lieutenant did not speak about his children; although if asked, he would say that they were hanging in there. From time to time, he shared news of Lee, whom he called on Sunday and whose situation never seemed to improve that much, and Han, whose sister he e-mailed every Monday and who reported that her brother was making progress with his injuries; in fact, Han was starting to e-mail the lieutenant, himself.
This portion of their conversation, which Davis thought of as the Prelude, over, the real reason for the call-what Davis thought of as the SITREP-ensued. The lieutenant, whose sentences hitherto had been loose, lazy, tightened his syntax as he quizzed Davis about the status of the Plan. In response, Davis kept his replies short, to the point. Have we settled on a location? the lieutenant would ask. Yes sir, Davis would say, Thompson's Grove. That was the spot in the Catskills, the lieutenant would say, south slope of Winger Mountain, about a half mile east of the principle trail to the summit. Exactly, sir, Davis would say. Research indicates the mountain itself is among the least visited in the Catskill Preserve, and Thompson's Grove about the most obscure spot on it. The location is sufficiently removed from civilian populations not to place them in immediate jeopardy, yet still readily accessible by us. Good, good, the lieutenant would say. I'll notify Lee and Han.
The SITREP finished, Davis and the lieutenant would move to Coming Attractions: review their priorities for the week ahead, wish one another well, and hang up. As the months slid by and the Plan's more elaborate elements came into play-especially once Davis commenced his experiments dosing himself with adrenaline-the lieutenant began adding the odd Wednesday night to his call schedule. After Davis had determined the proper amount for inducing a look through the Shadow's eyes- and after he'd succeeded in affecting the thing a second time, causing it to release its hold on a man Davis was reasonably sure was a Somali pirate-the Wednesday exchanges became part of their routine. Certainly, they helped Davis and the lieutenant to coordinate their experiences interrupting the Shadow's routine with the reports coming in from Lee and Han, which arrived with increasing frequency once Lee and Han had found their adrenaline doses and were mastering the trick of interfering with the Shadow. However, in the moment immediately preceding their setting their respective phones down, Davis would be struck by the impression that the lieutenant and he were on the verge of saying something else, something more-he couldn't say what, exactly, only that it would be significant in a way-in a different way from their usual conversation. It was how he'd felt in the days leading up to Fallujah, as if, with such momentous events roiling on the horizon, he should be speaking about important matters, meaningful things.
Twice, they came close to such an exchange. The first time followed a discussion of the armaments the lieutenant had purchased at a recent gun show across the border in Pennsylvania. 'God love the NRA,' he'd said and listed the four Glock 21SF's, sixteen extra clips, ten boxes of.45 ammunition, four AR-15's, sixteen extra high- capacity magazines for them, thirty boxes of 223 Remington ammo, and four USGI M7 bayonets.
'Jesus, sir,' Davis had said when the lieutenant was done. 'That's a shitload of ordnance.'
'I stopped at the grenade launcher,' the lieutenant said. 'It seemed excessive.'
'You do remember how much effect our guns had on the thing the last time…'
'Think of this as a supplement to the Plan. Even with one of us on board, once the thing shows up, it's going to be a threat. We know it's easier to hit when someone's messing with its controls, so let's exploit that. The more we can tag it, the more we can slow it down, improve our chances of using your secret weapon on it.'
'Fair enough.'
'Good. I'm glad you agree.'
Davis was opening his mouth to suggest possible positions the four of them might take around the clearing when the lieutenant said, ' Davis.'
'Sir?'
'Would you say you've had a good life? Scratch that-would you say you've had a satisfactory life?'
'I…I don't know. I guess so.'
'I've been thinking about my father these past few days. It's the anniversary of his death, twenty-one years ago this Monday. He came here from Mexico City when he was sixteen, worked as a fruit picker for a couple of years, then fell into a job at a diner. He started busing tables, talked his way into the kitchen, and became the principle cook for the night shift. That was how he met my mother: she was a waitress there. She was from Mexico, too, although the country-apparently, she thought my old man was some kind of city-slicker, not to be trusted by a virtuous girl. I guess she was right, because my older brother was born seven months after their wedding. But I came along two years after that, so I don't think that was the only reason for them tying the knot.
'He died when I was five, my father. An embolism burst in his brain. He was at work, just getting into the swing of things. The coroner said he was dead before he reached the floor. He was twenty-seven. What I wonder is, when he looked at his life, at everything he'd done, was it what he wanted? Even if it was different, was it enough?
'How many people do you suppose exit this world satisfied with what they've managed to accomplish in it, Davis? How many of our fellows slipped their mortal coils content with what their eighteen or twenty-one or twenty-seven years had meant?'
'There was the Mission,' Davis said. 'Ask them in public, and they'd laugh, offer some smartass remark, but talk to them one-on-one, and they'd tell you they believed in what we were doing, even if things could get pretty fucked-up. I'm not sure if that would've been enough for Lugo, or Manfred-for anyone-but it would've counted for something.'
'True,' the lieutenant said. 'The question is, will something do?'
'I guess it has to.'
