The Devil's Footprint (17 page)

Shanley
nodded.
 
She looked at him carefully as
if checking, and then the outstretched arms relaxed.
 
He looked at his torso.
 
The red dot was gone.
 
He could feel his heart pounding.

"You
don't seem to need them," he said.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

He swam hard
for fifteen minutes, notching up the lengths in a fast crawl.
 
He was a strong swimmer.
 
The luminous water was as he had
thought.
 
It was another world.

Finally he
slowed and turned onto his back to float.
 
Stars glittered in the night sky above him.

She had left
earlier.
 
Now she stood there with two
glasses in her hands.
 
She was wearing a
white djellaba trimmed with gold.
 
The
hood was down.
 
She had, he thought, the
most beautifully shaped head.

He hauled
himself out of the pool, conscious that fit though he
was,
he was making heavier weather of it than she had.
 
Of course, he was a good ten years older, but
still...

"I talked
to the kitchen," she said.
 
"Irish coffee.
 
Tastes good after a swim."

He put on his
robe and took the hot glass.
 
They sat at
a poolside table facing each other.
 
His
wedding ring glinted in the light as he drank.
 
She wore none, he noticed.

"My
name's Shanley," he said.
 
"Don
Shanley."

"I
know," she said.
 
"I
asked.
 
You looked interesting.
 
Married, but interesting."

Shanley
smiled.
 
"I'm still married,"
he said.

She
laughed.
 
"You still look
interesting," she said.
 
"That
doesn't mean I have to sleep with you — even at a trade show where sex seems to
go with the territory.
 
I guess I want to
talk.
 
I don't know why.
 
It's just one of those nights.
 
I just don't want it to end."

They talked about
everyone and everything until the sky began to lighten and there was no choice
but to part.
 
They never touched.

"What's
your name?" said Shanley just before he left.
 
And then he added as an afterthought,
"And rank?"

"Folks
call me
Texas
,"
she said.
 
"I made captain before I
quit.
 
Airborne."

"It
shows,
Texas
,"
said Shanley.
 
"Thank you.
 
You're a pleasure to meet."

After he left,
Texas
sat by
the pool for quite some time.

7

Kathleen was
subdued and distant in the morning.

She
breakfasted early and lightly and headed for the coast to do some
sightseeing.
 
She wanted to get as far
away from Fayetteville/Fort Bragg as possible.
 
The entire area seemed to be making an industry out of preparing to kill
other humans, and she found it all depressing.
 
Even the hotel pool offered no relief.
 
During the day it was used to demonstrate equipment by Navy SEALs.

The military
presence was unrelenting.
 
And they were
all so damned cheerful and gung-ho about it.
 
She was awash in camaraderie and male bonding, and if she was not
careful she would drown.

She loved Hugo
and would endure what was necessary given their situation, but it was not her
world.
 
She understood that Fitzduane did
not enjoy being under threat either, but there was a fundamental difference.
 
Hugo was comfortable with his world of
weapons.
 
He was not confined to it, but
he functioned supremely well in it.
 
It
was something of a shock seeing him this way.
 
In
Ireland
,
on the island, Hugo trained with the Rangers, but it was somehow more
subdued.
 
Here
 
it
was very American and very
extroverted, and she felt the whole damn thing was being rammed down her
throat.

She had heard
that much of the
North Carolina
coast was very beautiful.
 
Some totally
civilian scenery would be nice.
 
She
savored the word
civilian
.
 
It had always seemed such a dull word.
 
Now it carried with it an ethos her heart
cried out for.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

"You look
vaguely shook, Hugo," said Kilmara cheerfully as he found Fitzduane alone
having breakfast.
 
"The wife been
beating you again, or is it the prospect of yet another warm sunny day?
 
It's disorienting for us Irish.
 
We're like certain types of plants.
 
We expect to get rained on regularly but
unpredictably."

Fitzduane did
not wear his heart on his sleeve, but Kilmara was someone who was very close to
him.

He
smiled.
 
"Kathleen is not a happy
lady, which is unusual.
 
She awoke
not
in good form and headed as far away
from uniforms and military hardware as possible.
 
I think she plans to roam and sunbathe along
the
North Carolina
coast."

"Lucky
North Carolina
,"
said Kilmara.
 
"If you don't mind me
commenting on your wife, Kathleen looks sumptuous in a swimsuit.
 
Also, she is right.
 
All this military stuff is bullshit.
 
It's fun, but it's ridiculous.
 
And it gets people killed.
 
If I wasn't a general, I would jack the whole
thing in.
 
And hell, man, you don't want
a wife who wears jump boots in the kitchen."

Fitzduane did
not reply to this sally, which was unusual.
 
He normally enjoyed Kilmara when he was being outrageous.
 
There was something else to all this.

Kilmara gave
his friend space and focused on his scrambled eggs.
 
Soon enough, Fitzduane spoke.

"Out of
the blue, for no reason that I could think of, Kathleen asked me if I ever
thought of Etan.
 
Well, the question was
so
unexpected,
I did not dissemble in any way.
 
I told her the truth."

Kilmara was
silent under the cover of hunting for some marmalade.
 
He did not really understand American
breakfasts.

He was also
very fond of Etan, Boots's mother, and had been quite upset when she had opted
for a career ahead of Fitzduane.
 
Particularly when she still loved the man.
 
But people were nothing if to perverse.
 
He was also very fond of Kathleen.
 
He thought his friend had excellent taste in
women.
 
A Japanese name also came into
his mind, but he could not quite recall it.
 
That was the trouble with these military conventions.
 
Soldiers all drank as if there were no
tomorrow.
 
Of course, sometimes they were
right.

"Some men
can sleep with a woman and then wipe the encounter from their mind as if it was
of no consequence," said Fitzduane.
 
"You can do that, Shane.
 
I
can't."

"Sometimes
it is of no consequence," said Kilmara.
 
"Sex should not be confused with romance, though I admit they can
overlap.
 
But if you carve the name of
every woman you have slept with on your body, you'll end up looking like an old
oak tree on lovers' lane.
 
Well, I like
my bark pristine.
 
I also believe in
concentration of effort.
 
Remember only
the good ones — and for heaven's sake, be quick or selective."

Fitzduane
smiled.

"So what
did you tell Kathleen when she asked about Etan?
"
Kilmara
asked.

Fitzduane took
his time replying.
 
"I think about
Etan every day," he said.
 
"She
is the mother of my son.
 
Every time I
see Boots I am reminded of her.
 
I think
of what might have been — of what should have been.
 
And it makes me a little sad.
 
She was my lover and she was my friend.
 
I've adapted, but I miss her."

Kilmara's cup
of coffee was frozen in midflight.
 
"You said all that, Hugo?" he said.
 
"Holy shit!
 
Someone is going to have to lock you
up."
 
He rolled his eyes.
 
"Basic training:
 
Women do not like to be reminded of other
women unless you have a ménage à trois.
 
What am I going to do with
you!
"

"I also
said that I have never been happier than with Kathleen and I love her with
every atom of my being," said Fitzduane quietly.
 
"And that's true also."

Kilmara
waggled his hand and beamed.
 
"Well,
for an idiot you recover well."
 
He
frowned.
 
"And you did this all over
breakfast?
 
Now,
that
is ridiculous."

Fitzduane
smiled and then changed the subject.
 
"Where is Maury?" he said.

"In his
mobile home," said Kilmara.
 
"He has got an encrypted mobile phone that he talks to Lee Cochrane
with.
 
Mark my words.
 
Those guys are plotting."

"What
about?" said Fitzduane.

"Think of
them as travel agents," said Kilmara.
 
"I think they are still planning to get you to
Mexico
.
 
They have this thing about Tecuno, and they
think you are the best man for the job.
 
Kind of flattering in its way."

"Not a
chance," said Fitzduane.
 
"I have
enough firefighting to do at home."

"With
Kathleen?" said Kilmara, slightly taken aback.

"With
Boots," said Fitzduane with a smile.
 
"My sweet little five-year-old son.
 
You
know,
the one
who was found playing with your loaded service automatic the last time you were
staying.
 
He nearly got it into action,
too."

Kilmara went
pale.
 
He remembered all too well.
 
Terrorism was something he was used to
dealing with, but a curious five-year-old was a higher order of threat
altogether.
 
And television made the kids
familiar with safety catches and the like.
 
Boots had found he was not strong enough to work the slide and had been
experimenting holding the weapon in a vise and using two hands when he was
caught.
 
He was an ingenious little
monster.

"You've
got a point," Kilmara said with some feeling.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

About fifteen
minutes away from the main exhibition, live-firing demonstrations were being
given in a converted quarry.
 
You could
evaluate weapons just so far in a booth.

Fitzduane and
Kilmara took the shuttle bus over.
 
They
had not told either Dana or
Texas
,
so they felt a little bit like kids dodging school.
 
On the other hand, it would have been a
foolish terrorist indeed who tried anything.

The passengers
were equipped with every conceivable kind of weapon to try out on the
range.
 
In addition, both men were armed,
though automatics were as nothing compared to the exotic firepower they were
surrounded with.
 
Fitzduane reflected
that the domestic pop-up toaster might not have seen much development over the
last half century, but certainly weapons manufacturers had not stunted their
ingenuity.

It was hot in
the quarry, and a blazing sun in a clear blue sky indicated that it was going
to get hotter still.

About forty
attendees were gathered in a rough semicircle behind the firing line.
 
Perhaps a third were uniformed, and the rest
wore every from black T-shirts emblazoned with slogans — matched with fatigues
bloused into combat boots — to suits and ties.
 
More than a dozen were women.

"I don't
know whether this is fun or horrible," said Fitzduane.