Bangkok File

Lockhart

Lockhart

A

curious white-tail fawn, barely a yearling from the look of his spindly legs and spotted pelt, was lapping fresh water from the artesian stream that ran through the Shake Davis spread on the edge of town. Shake sat watching, silent and motionless on the old wooden bench under the sprawling limbs of the two live oaks that were a centerpiece on the property. The bench was his favorite little patch of serenity, and he often sat there in the early morning or just before sunset to see how close the deer that lived in the surrounding woods would come to the house. They tended to steer clear when Shake was accompanied by Bear, his Golden Pyrenees, but the big dog was at the vet for vaccinations this evening. And the deer were being bold. He could see the fawn’s parents poking curious noses out of the tree line across the creek.

From atop a stump near his bench, Shake’s mobile phone burbled with a series of tones that sounded like sonar returns. It was an incoming text message. It was also unnatural enough to send the fawn and its folks high-tailing for the deep woods.

Call ASAP. Mission pending. Need you on it.

He was contemplating making the call when Chan Dwyer Davis rolled into the driveway at the wheel of his pick-up. Bear was halfway out the open window by the time she hit the brakes. He’d smelled the deer and headed directly for the stream to investigate.

“Pretty little fawn was up here having a drink,” he said, giving his wife a quick kiss.

“Figured it might have been the deer,” she said, plopping down on the bench next to her husband. “Mr. Bear is in full bloodhound mode.” Their big dog was ranging from one side of the little creek to the other with his sensitive nose scraping the ground.

“How’d he do with the check-up?”

“Better than you did. His vision is fine…yours, not so much. I’m gonna call the optometrist tomorrow.”

Shake reached for the target he’d dropped next to the bench and showed it to her. “I can still see well enough to drop a round on target at six hundred.”

“That’s just muscle memory. You didn’t see it, you sensed it.”

Anxious to change the subject, Shake whistled for Bear and watched him lope easily up the slope toward the house. “Did he get his shots?”

“Yep…whined like a little sissy when the vet stuck him with the needle. Then he forgot about it and made a leap for the treat jar. Milk-Bones and shattered glass everywhere. I need you to go by the office tomorrow and reimburse him for that.”

While Shake gave Bear a vigorous back scratching, Chan picked up his phone and read the text message.

“Guess I knew this was coming,” she said. “At least I’m on hiatus so Bear won’t need a babysitter.”

“I haven’t returned the call,” Shake said, noting the resignation in her voice. “No idea what ‘mission pending’ means. Might just be something they want me to investigate, you know. Might just be a bunch of reports they want me to read and give my opinion.”

“Uh-huh…” Chan rose and patted her thigh, leading Bear to the house for his supper. “What’s that you used to say, Shake? Analysts sit in the dark and read reports. Operators go dark and give them something to read.”

Shake checked his watch and reached for the phone. “I’ll call him back after chow. We can talk it over then.”

Shake Davis punched off the call and sat staring at his iPhone screen for a moment. The mission would take him back to a part of the world where he’d spent several turbulent years in uniform. And he had to admit the area had always held a fascination for him. Even now, nearly half a century after his time in Vietnam and long past the time when he’d learned how ugly life could be in Southeast Asia, those old ceiling-fan countries still spurred his imagination, still prompted romantic images. He hadn’t said yes. There was his wife’s opinion to deal with before he committed. On the other hand, he hadn’t said no. He pocketed the phone and walked from the breezy back porch into the living room.

“So…how long will you be gone?” Chan hit the mute button on the TV and stared at her fingernails. She didn’t need a detailed explanation. The look on her husband’s craggy face told her whatever was pulling at him had nothing to do with scanning reports.

“Hard telling.” Shake flopped down next to her on a saddle-leather couch and reached for the glass of Tin Cup bourbon and branch-water that she’d mixed for him while he was on the phone. “Maybe a day or two in DC for briefs…” He looked over at her as a first swallow of whiskey slid down his throat. She didn’t return his gaze. Chan was a former Intel professional, so maybe the nature of the mission would melt some of the ice he was feeling outside the highball glass in his hand.

“It’s a thing with pirates in the Gulf of Thailand. Gangs of seagoing goons are ripping off shipping. Big bucks involved. The DNI wants reliable eyeballs on the situation so he can make recommendations for action to the White House.”

“I see…” Chan hit the mute button and went back to watching Jeopardy.

Shake retrieved the remote and silenced the TV. “You got anything to say about this?”

“Would it make any difference if I did, Shake?” She picked up her own drink and scrunched around to look at him. “I mean, it never has in the past, has it? You get a call, or you spot some problem that needs a superhero to solve, and there you go. You announce these things as if you’re asking for permission, but that’s not the case is it? I mean, what would you do if I said no…no way…I don’t want you going off on these things anymore?”

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t go.”

“Bullshit, Shake. You might say no, but then you’d mope around here like a martyr and make me feel like I’m a self-centered shrew. I don’t want that. If you want to go on this thing, just go.” She punched up the sound again and turned to watch the screen.

“Well, hell, Chan. I thought we had an understanding.”

“So did I, Shake. It looks like my understanding differs from yours.”

“I’ll call Bayer and tell him it’s no go.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Well, what the hell do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, Shake! Have another drink, watch Jeopardy with me. Try not to get yourself killed.”

They sat in stony silence for a while watching Alex Trebek make a smarmy, condescending correction to a contestant’s pronunciation on their favorite quiz show. Shake cut a look in his wife’s direction over the rim of his glass. While she seemed to be focused on the TV, there was still a noticeable knot in her jaw muscles. It was over as far as she was concerned, but he still had a little residual anger boiling in his gut. He always did when they got into one of these irregular spats, and Chan blew it off as she often did by simply refusing to fight beyond a certain point. It was like being married to a martyr, like some long-buried stoic Asian gene surfaced to make her suffer in silence.

“There’s no call to be pissed off about this, you know.”

“I’m not pissed off, Shake.”

“Yeah, you are. Can we talk it out?”

“Rather not right now.”

“Can we talk about anything?”

“Sure. Pick a different subject and I’m all ears.” She finished her drink and stood with her hand extended for his glass. “I’ll get us refills, and we can talk about whatever you’d like.”

“Except what we were just talking about.”

“That’s right.” She headed for the kitchen where they kept the booze supply, and Shake rose to follow. Maybe he could get the conversation back on topic by taking another tack.

“OK…so how’s the pitch for the new course coming along?”

“Slowly. Too much classified material in the references. I’m gonna have to be creative.”

“Well, you’re good at being creative. It’s one of you best qualities…besides raving beauty and shocking intelligence.”

Chan cut a skeptical look at him as she handed over a fresh drink. She leaned back against the kitchen island and crossed her arms, waiting to see where the conversation might flow.

“I bet those liberal flakes up at UT are shitting peach pits about having an ex-spook on the faculty.”

“It’s not so bad. Most of them are long on rhetoric and short on facts. I kind of enjoy deflating their balloons every once in a while.”

“Yeah, you do seem to enjoy it.”

“I really like the work, Shake, for a lot of reasons. One of which is that I’m getting a chance to counter some of the bullshit that passes for gospel on at least one college campus.”

“I’ll admit that’s important. Probably a hell of a lot more important in the long run than some of the stuff I’ve done.”

“It’s not a competition, Gunner Davis.” She smiled and shifted her gaze to the window that looked out over their long back lawn dotted with pecan trees. “You have done some valuable things for this country. That’s never been in question.”

“So have you, Chan.”

“Yes…and I’m not done yet. I’m serious about teaching, about guiding thought and conversation among the kids who are going to be the future of this country. It’s important work and it focuses effort right here at home—where the future will be built. I’d like to think I will have a hand in making sure that future is what it needs to be.”

“Well, it damn sure don’t need to be some kind of socialist utopia. That’s been tried and it always fails.”

“Yep…you fight it in far-flung places. I’ll do battle right here on the home front.”

“Maybe I should help with that.”

“You could, Shake, but it would involve you adding the word no to your vocabulary.”

“I know how to say no.”

“Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win a war, Shake. That’s all I’m saying.”