transparent pin stuck into the island of La Palma, part of the Canary chain. It was all he had of Tisa.
Harry noted the tension creeping into Mercer’s neck and saw the shadow lingering in his storm gray eyes when he turned from the map. “You were attracted to her.”
“She was attractive,” Mercer admitted.
“Quit dodging. That’s not what I asked.”
No matter how much Mercer wanted to avoid the issue, he knew his friend wouldn’t let him. “Yes, I was attracted to her.”
“She’s the first since Tisa and now you feel guilty about it.”
“Yeah.”
“Six months is an eternity and it’s a blink of the eye. I can’t tell you how to feel about this but I will tell you that being attracted to another woman is not a bad thing. You do realize that since Tisa died you’ve held yourself to a standard most married men can’t touch. Guys find women attractive every damned day and you can bet that not one of them feels the least bit guilty. But you, you see it as an act of deepest betrayal. This isn’t mourning, Mercer, it’s self-inflicted punishment.”
“What if I can’t help it?”
“You’ve always found a way in the past.”
“What do you mean?”
Harry lit another cigarette, gathering his thoughts. “You beat yourself up every time something in your life goes wrong. You blame yourself whether it’s your fault or not. Most people don’t take responsibility when they screw up but you do even if you don’t. This isn’t a character flaw, or maybe it is but not a bad one to have, except each time it costs you a little more to find your center again and come to grips with whatever just happened. It’s been six months since you lost Tisa and you’re no closer to putting her death behind you.”
Mercer’s anger flared. “I won’t put her behind me.”
“Not her, you dope, her death. You haven’t put her death behind you. There’s a distinction and maybe that’s where you’re stuck.”
“What do you mean?”
“I bet you relive her death every day but don’t relive her life.” Mercer didn’t deny it so Harry continued. “You’ve turned her into the symbol of some perceived failure, a memory where you can unload all the guilt you carry around. You don’t celebrate the short time you were with her and that’s not very fair. To her I mean.”
Mercer was rocked by what Harry had said. In a rush he realized it was all true. Tisa’s memory had become a wound he would reopen just so he could revel in the guilt he was certain he deserved. This
“So how do I put my life back together?”
Harry leaned back on his stool, jetting smoke from his nose. “How the hell should I know? It’s your life. Ask that Cali woman out on a date. Or maybe spend a week at a resort watching honeys parade by.”
Mercer hadn’t been to a beach in years and couldn’t imagine himself sitting around leering at bikini-clad hardbodies, nor did the prospect of dating Cali hold much interest, not at least until he found out who she was and whom she really worked for. That thought reminded him that he needed to contact Admiral Lasko. He dialed Ira’s cell, ignoring the red light indicating that the handset’s batteries were low.
“Your being back early can’t be good news,” Lasko said in greeting, having finally mastered caller ID. Ira Lasko was a former submariner who then transferred into Naval Intelligence. John Kleinschmidt, the President’s national security advisor, had tapped him shortly after his retirement from the navy to work for the White House. Lasko possessed a mind that could think on both strategic and tactical levels and intuitively understand the link between the two. He was below average height and had a slight build but he more than compensated with a commanding voice, boundless energy, and a pugnacious attitude to go along with his shaved head.
“No and no,” Mercer replied. “No, I didn’t find any coltan. I’ll call Burke at the UN tomorrow, then fax him a formal report later this week. And the second no is because I found something else that isn’t good news.”
“You want to get together?”
“I think we should. I’ve got a couple of items that need to be analyzed.”
“I’m stuck in the office until eight. I’ll meet you at that Thai place I like near the Pentagon City Mall.”
“Eight thirty at Loong Chat’s. Got it.” After some of the swill Mercer had been eating over the past weeks, the idea of Thai food sent a spasm through his guts. He’d grab a sandwich before the meeting.
“I’m off,” Harry announced. “Drag, get up.”
The dog didn’t even lift an eyelid.
“Drag, up. Walk time.”
The basset rolled onto his side, his back to Harry, an annoyed growl rumbling from deep in his chest.
Harry walked over, favoring his prosthetic right leg, which always bothered him when he napped with it on. He shook the hound, causing waves of fat to ripple under the dog’s loose skin. Drag finally righted himself, his stubby legs barely able to keep his belly from rubbing the couch’s leather. He managed to get a single wag from his tail before it sagged like a deflated balloon.
Harry clipped the leash to his collar and, as his name implied, had to drag him from the couch and toward the library and the curving stairs beyond. Mercer smiled as he heard Harry tug the recalcitrant dog across the tile foyer to the front door. Harry called up, “If you finish with Ira before midnight I’ll be at Tiny’s.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ira was already at a table when Mercer stepped into the trendy Thai bistro. A trio of women sipping cosmopolitans at the bar eyed Mercer as he entered the room carrying a never-used gym bag. He didn’t see them but spotted Ira at a table near the back. Ira already had a pair of drinks waiting. Lasko had removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, but couldn’t shed his thirty years in the military. He sat straight, with his fingers laced, while his eyes never rested.
“You look beat,” the deputy national security advisor said by way of greeting. They didn’t bother to shake hands.
“You have an eye for the obvious. The past few weeks and especially the past five days are something I wouldn’t mind forgetting.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a slam dunk. You go in, find some minerals to make the CAR rich. The UN gets to look good and a little rubs off on us.”
“Problem is the minerals aren’t there, which I suspected all along, and whatever riches the CAR might eventually have are going to line the pockets of warlords.”
“I read a brief about someone coming down from Sudan.”
“Caribe Dayce. Charming fellow. All muscle. Favors a machete. He’s dead.”
Ira didn’t show surprise. “You?”
“I wish.” A waiter came to take their orders. Mercer demurred. The sandwich he’d had earlier lay like a stone in his stomach. Ira ordered enough food for two. Mercer continued when the young Asian had stepped away. “Dayce actually had me and a woman named Cali Stowe staked out for a firing squad when this group of”-Mercer wasn’t sure what to call his rescuers-“soldiers came out of nowhere and gunned down all of his men.”
“Locals? Peacekeepers?”
“Neither. I don’t know who they were. They just came out of nowhere, did their thing, and warned me to never come back.”
“Who is Cali Stowe?” Ira rarely made comments until he had all the facts.
“That’s one of the things I’d like you to find out for me. She claimed to work for the CDC but when I called I got the impression she was using them as a cover. Also when we parted ways at Kennedy I saw her get into a government car. If she’s on Uncle Sam’s payroll I’d like to know why she happened to be the same place I was.”
“I can make a few calls. Anything else?”
Mercer plucked Chester Bowie’s canteen from the gym bag and set it on the table. He then withdrew the misshapen bullet from his pocket. The copper glinted in the restaurant’s dim lighting. “I’d like these looked at by an expert. Especially the bullet.” Mercer took nearly a half hour to tell him the story he’d heard from the old woman
