The Galaxy was headed for Travis Air Force Base, which meant, since Travis was about sixty-five miles northeast of the airport in San Francisco, that Dave and I would have to make that trip and then fly commercial home, he to Scottsdale and me to Albuquerque.  There was no way to make arrangements aboard the big transport, so it was anybody’s guess when we’d finally reach home.

I arrived home at two in the afternoon of what day I had not figured out yet.  Mary was home, but it was Nguyen and Kingsley I was greeted by at the airport.  The CIA had made all the arrangements and even provided the limo to transport White and I from Travis to the airport in San Francisco, and that was without our knowledge that we’d have a connecting flight.   Warm welcome it was not, but welcome nevertheless it was.   I left Dave White at his gate at the airport, my flight to Albuquerque being two hours later.  He left with regret in every part of his expression.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.  “Will we have another adventure?  Working with you was why I became a part of the field operations, but I never got to do anything much but be recognized for stuff I didn’t do or even would do.  We killed a man together.  Does that make us special brothers?

I didn’t know how to answer that question, as we waited on the concourse coffee shop for our flights.

“Yes,” I finally said.  I could not comprehend what it was about what we’d done together that so bound him to me.  Admittedly, I was also a bit afraid of replying in any positive way.  The behavior I‘d exhibited on the mission was exactly the behavior I was trying to avoid and stay away from, but kept being brought to my doorstep time after time.

We parted, and I wondered if we’d ever see each other again.  In war and espionage movies, the characters always came back together for some kind of conclusion, but in real life, like in the returns left to me of my time in the A Shau Valley, real life didn’t usually provide such logical or emotionally satisfying conclusions or even meetings.

My welcome was lukewarm, at best.  Taking off without much advanced notice and especially with Christmas looming just ahead, wasn’t something that was, or was likely in the future, to endear me closer to her.

I spent an hour laying out everything that had happened on the island, as well as before and after.  She wanted to see the photos I’d taken of the windmills more than anything else…which I didn’t find as puzzling, as I’d been with her so long, as I might otherwise have.    I knew she was ‘hunter-gathering’ as those of us in anthropology called it.  She was absorbing as much as she could from the real-life archaeology and believing as little of the spoken words as possible…even mine.

“A man named Quincy, probably not his real name, came to the house to talk to me,” she finally said, making me feel better, simply because her reserved nature was so uncommon for me.

“I don’t know any Quincy, but tell me what he had to say?” I asked, thinking that maybe this new Q person was someone sent by Marcinko or some other weird player I was trying to deal with, or at least accommodate.

“He said that you were on a secret mission that wasn’t sanctioned by the Agency and might lead you to be fired or go to prison. He also wanted me to let you know that nobody on the mission died by your hand, whatever that means.

I was shocked, but said nothing in return, as I thought about who this new character in my life might be.  Why would anyone, Agency or otherwise, show up at my door with advice, counsel, and possibly a warning without my being there?  If the man wasn’t Agency-connected, then just how in hell would he have owned such information, and what might be the point of transmitting it at all?

I discussed that part of my opinion about the visit with Mary, and she was immediate in giving me a reply that made sense.

“Something happened of violence, alright, and you’re suspicions about shooting the target are being verified.  You shot a dead body.  He was already dead.  I grew up in the mafia-infested northern suburbs of Chicago.  Those men, those at the top, don’t sit around by themselves ever.  They are surrounded by cretins of all descriptions protecting and trying to gain favor with them.”

I sat dumbfounded, just staring at her while my mind raced.  Quincy was very definitely Agency, and his purpose was now evident.  The Agency was using an arcane, unknown source to let me off the hook and thank me for the mission, even though the mission was an abysmal failure from beginning to end.  I would not have to be concerned about Interpol or ever traveling to Spain again.  Checking on what cause of death was given to the media and officially on Mallorca would be time-consuming, but we could wait.  There was now little doubt in my mind that the cause would be listed as drowning. It seemed that drowning was a form of natural cause on that island, and maybe the whole chain.

“What are your plans now that Mallorca is over?” she asked.

I knew, the way she asked the question, without using ‘our plans’ instead of my plans, that she was seriously irritated, likely by my conduct somewhat, but more because of the evident developing fact that our lives were anything but our own, and it was all looking to be my fault.   Having a house, great cars, and some money were no replacement for having a significant other who thinks of the family first and wants to be with that family most of all, not running off to some Spanish island.

Mary knew that I had to settle things in Korea, with Allen Weh and International SOS, as well as the insurance office of Banker’s Life of Iowa, which was in the process of changing its name to the Principal Financial Group because the new president, John Taylor, was not a true believer in life insurance. He was all about investments.  I’d gone to a seminar when I was able earlier, before the Agency started consuming all my time, to take some tests to qualify for promotion.  I was an agency manager of a sales office; I didn’t have any idea about what such a promotion might bring, but John was different.  He believed I had remarkable talent and wanted me as the Agency Vice President, to live and work at the home office in Des Moines, Iowa, with him and a flock of home office employees, most of whom I would never be able to be comfortable with, or they with me.

I told Mary my plan for the days leading up to Christmas.  She would have to do the shopping for presents and arrange everything, but not the purchase and installation of our tree.  The tree we always selected together, with me wanting as big a one as our home would hold, and her not wanting that at all. The battles over the size of the tree were fast becoming a family tradition.  Most of my time was going to be spent on the telephone, unless some other crazy stuff came at me from the Agency’s direction.  Julie was in school, as the day wore on, and my sleep deprivation was beginning to make me jittery.

Michael was home, spending his time with Bozo the cat, who seemed mostly irritated with me for not being around, or so I took it.  Attempting to mollify him by petting only caused me to lose a little bit of blood when I rapidly, but not rapidly enough, pulled my hand back.

“Your shadows are waiting in the driveway out there,” Mary finally said as I promised I’d be back before the end of the day to find a tree.

My phone at the office was secure, so I’d not have to go to the base to use an agency-dedicated line.  The report, informally given to my wife by Quincy, probably meant that there’d be no further discussion about what happened on the island, but I had to make sure of that. Nguyen and Kingsley needed money, however, and that issue, plus both of them leaving to take care of their own families for the holiday period, was one I had to deal with right away.

The Range Rover sat idling in the Driveway with Kingsley behind the wheel. I had the feeling when I climbed into the back seat that both men would wait however long it took for me to come out, even if that meant spending the night.

“The vehicle must go to the shop tomorrow to have a car telephone installed,” Kingsley said.  “The new cellular technology is now available, and there’s an antenna on the top of Sandia Peak but it won’t give coverage for too long a distance until other cell towers are located around the state.”

I’d heard of the coming new technology, although the cost was well out of sight for someone at my financial level of life, which meant nothing to the Agency I now knew.  My importance still seemed to be on the rise, although I looked out the windows at the passing desert scenery and thought about just how fast I could fall out of favor if what like didn’t keep providing kindly incidental results that made me somehow look good when everything else looked pretty bad around me. Life was better that way than when I was down in the valley, where I was blamed for everything, except by the Marines with me in the field.

The Rover would be in the shop, which meant that I damn well use it later in the day to pick up a tree, or it would be a little tree Christmas, and that wasn’t acceptable at all.

Pat was at the door when we pulled up outside the office.

“You have a million messages but none truly critical except for one,” she said, handing me a folded-up piece of paper.

 “Who’s it from?” I asked, unfolding the paper, although it only had a phone number, local area code written on it.

  “Do you want me to say?” she asked, looking over to where Kingsley and Nguyen stood nearby.

 “They’re cleared,” I replied, with a sigh, using words I had no real idea what they meant.  Cleared by whom, for whom, with what qualifications?  I could only assume their work with me so far had allowed for certain clearances to be assigned, but I wasn’t sure of any of that.  The mission to Hawaii had served to allow me almost unheard-of speed in getting top secret clearance, or so Tony indicated.  It’s not like anyone or any entity sent me something indicating that.

“He said that he was with the National Labs, and you’d know who he was and possibly why he’s needing a call back.”

I looked at the number on the paper. It wasn’t 505 667-5051, which meant, since it was a 667 number, that the call was from an individual phone, and those numbers were not given out to the general public.

Nguyen and Kingsley would have to wait.  I nodded back at them and went into my office, the door hanging open like I’d never been gone.  As I closed the door, Pat asked if I wanted her to dial and transfer the call when he came on.

“Not this time,” I replied, knowing the amount of curiosity the staff and local population had about anything that went on at the labs, particularly if it dealt with rather bizarre subjects or matter.

 I sat down, relaxed myself and dialed the number after accessing the encrypted line.  If Hans Bethe, the only man I could think of who would be at that number, had a secure line, and that was almost certainly the case, then there’d be no indication at all that we were secure.

The phone rang five times before it was picked up.

“Presuming this is you,” the aged but still deep and strong voice said.

 “How would you know?” I asked, truly mystified.

 “There’s a law enforcement tool that gives this line access to any number calling in, and this was your office line calling in. It’s also a secure line.

 “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that, doctor,” I replied.

“Yes, sensitivity about this is required,” he said, but didn’t go on.

 “What is this about?” I asked.

 “You are in the Ph.D. direct program at the university there. You will need to add a few physics courses to your regimen of study. I will call the department personally and choose for you, as then you will not have to qualify to attend.”

“Thank you doctor,” I said, trying not to rush him but filled with trepidation. There was no way I was going home to tell the family, including Bozo, that I was taking off on another secret or even not so secret adventure.

“I have a pretty heavy course load right now,” I added, in complaint.

Bethe ignored my complaint as if he hadn’t heard it.

“The people you work with have a special relationship with the company that owns your office,” Hans began, as I waited, saying nothing, as I knew he would eventually get to the point of why he was calling.   He went on: “The lab would appreciate it if you would open three satellite offices in Santa Fe, Clayton and Socorro, which should cover the parts of the state where we have an interest.”

“What?” I whispered in shock. Working with Los Alamos scientists like Bethe was analytically difficult as they communicated, almost all of them, like very attentive robots with portions of their minds vaguely gone to somewhere nobody else was likely to understand.  Bethe’s statement of such an exotic communication had come out like he was talking about planting a flower garden or some such.

‘Yes, those people will fund that effort, the company won’t complain, and you can use a skeleton crew to staff the places.”  When he finished it was like I could see him smiling to himself at his acumen, idea, the implementation and because he had to know I was still in shock over such an idea.

“You want three insurance offices with three insurance agents to do what?” I asked, no longer willing to wait and allow him to introduce the project in his own time.

“Yes, that’s it, and the agents can be just there.  The offices will be collection points for information and potential wreckage, more or less.”

“How am I going to make the time to set all that up?”  I asked because Bethe would not be led in the conversation at all. He didn’t seem to be acting like he had an interest in physics at all, which was his life, but maybe in joining in on whatever adventures I was currently having.  Another ‘bluff’ I thought, but kept to myself.

“There’s a special man who will come down when you establish an appointment for him, and he will do all the leg work and most of the other stuff too.”

“Who’s he?” I asked, not to really get an answer, as just now it didn’t really matter.

“His name’s Quincy,” Bethe said, some strange tone of satisfaction in his tone of voice.  “Quincy Adams.”

“Like the president, John Quincy Adams?” I asked, mockingly.

“Who?” Bethe said, not sounding at all like one of the most intelligent living humans on the planet.

“The sixth president of the U.S.,” I replied, giving up.

Knowing that humor is not straightforward with lab scientists.  The mystery of Quincy was both clearing up but also becoming stranger.  If Quincy wasn’t with the Agency, then how was he allowed to have mission information and then go out and interview somebody like my wife?  It didn’t make any sense.  Lab employees were not intelligence agents, ever to my understanding, like priests or teachers. It was too dangerous for them to be agents or even have agents impersonate them.

“Fine, Doctor Bethe, but you have to tell me now what this is all about and why you’re calling me, and why you need ‘collection points’ for wreckage of what?”

“Your discovery is paying dividends,” Bethe replied.

“The behavior of certain physical bodies around and about this spherical body have been too exceptional to believe, too speculative to speculate on or about and too other-worldly or other-universe to exist…until now.”

“Are we talking about…” but I only got that far as Dr. Betha cut in.

“Don’t use that descriptor, not here, even on a secure line.

The descriptor I then knew was UFOs and Bethe didn’t want those who might finally get a transcript of this supposedly secure communication to know that.

“When should I make the appointment for?” I asked.  I presume he’s going to come here…again, to Albuquerque?

“In an hour as he’s on his way,” Dr. Bethe answered, another shock coming into my eardrum but not processing well in my brain.

“I’m shopping for a Christmas Tree with my wife in an hour and I just got back from Mallorca.”

“Oh, vacation?  Mr. Adams is also really good at selecting trees for the coming occasion, I’m certain.”

I needed to get off the phone as quickly as I could and call my wife.  Nguyen and Kingsley waited in the parking lot like they’d waited in my driveway, and I was beginning to feel terrible about how I was treating them.  Quincy Adams was not going to meet with my wife again.  Her attitude toward almost everyone in the intelligence services wasn’t high and I was beginning to fall into that discomforting category.  Jerry Carey, my boss at the new Principal Financial Group was also not likely going to want a nearly brand-new general manager to have three satellite offices when probably no other general manager in the company had that many.  The vacation comment by Bethe made me feel better, however.  It was a ‘tell,’ in that it meant he had no idea what I was doing there or why.

“Are we done here, Doctor Bether?” I asked.  “I can call you after the appointment if necessary.”

“That will not be necessary,” Betha said, “I’ll truly only be interested in the results the points bring in to support this new physics.”

The line went dead, like it usually did when Herbert hung up. Why Herbert wasn’t calling me off the hook was something of a surprise.  I was sure that Pat would have mentioned his calls if there were any.  She’d left a pile of pink message notes on my desk, however, that was fully half an inch high.  I had a few minutes, I knew, so I called his number.  He came on the line right away.  I knew he’d been waiting, although he’d probably never admit it.

“You seem to be growing in size everywhere,” he said, without any preamble.

“I have more offices that are not mine, I have an insurance company for overseas medical that’s not mine.  I have an evacuation company that’s not mine, a college Ph.D. program that’s not mine and a life that’s fast becoming not mine either.”

My frustration and anger were evident in my tone I knew and didn’t really care.  Christmas with my family mattered more than any of it, although I knew that wasn’t true.  Some things in this life are not comparable.

“I need cash for Nguyen and Kingsley and to send them home for Christmas, and do they have clearances for any of this stuff?  Where do I get the cash and how do I get a Christmas tree with my wife who wants me home in forty some minutes and this John Quincy Adams will be here at the same time to discuss more unmentionable things with me. Tony, I can’t work inside a pressure cooker.  I thought I executed a man yesterday, and I’m still not sure I didn’t.  I’m just back and can’t hack this load.”

“I don’t think his first name is John,” Herbert replied, making me want to laugh, after more pouring out everything I could think of in my diatribe.  “Send Nguyen and Kingsley to the base, and I’ll have them taken to payroll.  Five grand apiece?”

“No, ten,” I answered, slightly mollified.

“I’m at the base right now, but I’ll be on the way shortly to your office to take care of Adams.  He doesn’t need you personally, and your staff can also go to work with the office’s expansion.”

“You’re coming here now?” I asked in surprise.

“You should just make it home, as both of us drive faster than Kingsley by far.  Not as fast as Marcinko, though.”

“Oh, please God, not Marcinko again,” I said in frustrated disappointment.

“Sorry, but he’s my ride unless you want to handle all this stuff yourself.  I won’t let him within range of your lovely wife, though.”

The line went dead, although I sensed a slight bit of laughter in the background just before it did.

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