It was the water; I finally figured it out. It wasn’t the clear, fresh aroma of the mid-Pacific that swirled around the island chain of Hawaii. In those waters had been the clarity, the slightly salty sense of crystal purity, and a welcoming temperature that seemed to draw one down into the interior of the planet itself. No such feelings were shared or transmitted by the water approaching the beaches of most of the rest of the world, and that most definitely included Florida.

My wife had decided upon her first visit that the reason so many people went to Florida was convenience. “If they’d gone to Hawaii first, they’d only ever again experience the beaches of Florida by flying over them or driving by them,” she’d yelled once from inside a hotel room shower. Mary, even with her very white Irish complexion, was a connoisseur of beaches. I simply liked them more than the interior portions of the planet’s land masses. The Cuban poet Marti put together words that became part of one of my favorite songs called Guantanamera: “Mountain streams please me more than the sea,” although those lyrics never agreed with me. I was uncomfortable with the waters off Florida, and that bothered me, or, in my most secret thoughts, indicated that it was a bad harbinger of what might be coming on the most mysterious mission I’d run into so far as an espionage agent.

I arrived back in Albuquerque with a plan to execute the mission in six days after speaking with Tony about what was expected. Nothing disturbed me about the cloaked and secret conversation except the fact that the Navy was driving too much of the actual mission, not with its presence but by its unwillingness to share information it had until almost at the point where my team and I would be ‘boots on the ground,’ or sand. I was a Marine in training, if not actual execution, as being in a Marine infantry unit involved in jungle warfare was a pretty far stretch from the Marine Corps overall mission and training. The Murder Island Mission would be an actual amphibious landing, to be made by only six individuals, of which only one was a Marine, and that individual happened to be me.

I made requests. Tony didn’t say no to any of them, no matter how difficult it was going to be to find a couple of Huey Cobras to fly in if we needed them on the island. As far as I was concerned, the big CH-53’s were big and fast, but their side-mounted .50 calibers were nothing compared to the two rotary 7.62 chin-mounted mini-guns, not to mention loaded hard points for missile fire. I wasn’t sure that the Sea Cobras would involve Marine crews or the Navy, but I didn’t care much. The very appearance of those machines overhead would probably do more to save any of us below than the actual firing of the guns.

Night vision, Leica lenses, Icom radios, and the rest were promised, with a five-day delivery that didn’t seem possible but likely was. The Letter of Marque was discussed and would be on hand, as well, although I was fast getting the idea that drugs and money were a long way from what the mission was really about.

Cash for everyone on the team was set at twenty for each, although Rosley and Nash were on the normal CIA payroll since they were not considered field agents but analysts. That they were doing agent field work at my request, nobody said anything about, so their ‘take’ on the mission would be greater than anyone else’s. I knew neither Kingsley nor Nguyen would complain a bit. Quincy might be another matter, but the overpay from the mission was so great that it probably would not be an issue. That amount of cash would buy a cheap house or an expensive automobile, although what it was spent on was not something I even thought about.

Nash, Kingsley, and Nguyen went back to their families to prepare themselves for what was coming, all of them having little idea of what that might be.

Quincy and Rosley went to the office to work at whatever they worked at, which certainly was not the selling of life insurance. My own sales had sagged, so the twenty grand meant a lot to me as well. Quincy’s three offices in Clayton, Socorro, and Taos were being built for the Los Alamos tech area’s UFO work, if there was to be UFO work at all. The changing physics conceptions brought about by analysis of the artifact were bringing the ‘impossible’ articulation and movements of alleged UFO’s back into high interest.

I decided to take Rosley and Quincy up on the tram to the top of the Sandia Mountains above the southernmost slopes. The Sandia tram ran seven days a week, no matter what the season, only shutting down if the winds were above fifty miles per hour on the top or bottom. Neither Quincy nor Rosley had been in combat before, although Nash, Nguyen, and Kingsley were well seasoned, or in Nash’s case, at least observed up close and personal.

I indicated to Pat where we were going and then got the two from the conference room, where they’d made part of the expansive space their office. The real offices are staffed now by agents either selling life insurance or not selling it. The numbers mattered more than the production, since any expenses would be paid by the Agency without question, at least to date.

By the time we got out to the Rover, Allen Weh was standing in front of it. It was a cool day, yet not overcoat weather. Weh was wearing an expensive Burberry trench coat, the padded kind, which was another couple of hundred on top of the two-thousand-dollar buy-in from a London supplier.

“Mind if I make the trip with you?” he asked, with what seemed like a real smile, which was uncommon for him.

I wondered what he wanted, since his social mannerisms were about those of a lizard.

“What trip is that?” I asked, going around to the passenger side of the Rover. Kingsley would have his feelings hurt if I drove, I knew, but sometimes I just wanted to get in and blast off in the thing myself.

“Your staff doesn’t treat most of what you do or say as top secret, not that I lack that clearance,” Weh answered, but I noted he didn’t climb into the vehicle, which I knew was a minimal but evident form of his respect.

“Back seat fits three,” I said, getting in.

“I haven’t been up to the top in three years,” Weh said, conversationally, as he slipped into the seat just behind me. I looked in the rearview mirror. Rosley was in the center, between Quincy and Weh.

Allen looked uncomfortable, with his left side slightly pressed into her right, although she made it like she didn’t even know he was there.

The fifteen-minute ride was made in silence, which kind of bothered me. It was like the break I wanted to take with Rosley and Quincy had been turned into a meeting with Weh. It had to have been Pat who told him where we were going, but there was no point in discussing it with her, as she was dependable but not totally controllable. Replacing her with the strange arrangement of spies and insurance agents mixing in together would be all but impossible.

The tram was empty as it was early in the day. We got aboard, paying the attendant ten bucks each, in cash. Weh didn’t offer to pay his share, but I said nothing. The tram took off with a slight jerk but quickly settled into the smooth rush up along the main supporting cables. The attendant, a young guy wearing a heavy Norwegian sweater and jeans guide the car, placing a cassette in the deck screwed into the side near his control panel.

I smiled at the song. It was by a Nordic group called Roxette. It was a romantic song called “Listen to Your Heart”, which seemed totally out of place for the endeavor I’d rather quickly and haphazardly put together. One of the middle stanza’s caught me though: “Sometimes you wonder if this fight is worthwhile. The precious moments are all lost in the tide, yeah, they’re swept away, and nothing is what it seems. The feeling of belonging to your dreams...” the song played on; the words being shaped in my mind to fit the situation.

At the top, there was a small alcove that served coffee or hot chocolate. We left the car and went over. Everyone ordered coffee except Weh and me. We got small hot chocolates. Weh smiled at that, but I could not figure out why.

There was a long concrete bench that looked out over all of Albuquerque below and then off into the far distance as well. It was beautiful, peaceful, and the sun was warm enough at the thirteen-thousand-foot elevation to feel almost warm.

“Well?” I said into the majestically laid out scene before us, which seemed to demand silence rather than any conversation.

“You’re going down to Florida for some kind of big deal that nobody wants to talk about,” Weh began.

I said nothing, and neither did Quincy nor Rosley.

“Well? I finally repeated when Weh didn’t go on.

“I want you to use the new planes for the trip there and back, if there is a back, I mean,” he said. “No charge for anything, and you can consider it not part of the count of free non-business-related trips per year either.”

“Why?” I asked, not trusting the man whatsoever.

“I’m trying to help,” he said, but the fiber of his tone changed. I knew he was lying, not by what he said but how he said it.

“The budget,” Rosley chimed in.

I looked over at her, and she got my message. There was no way she was equipped to deal with a force of nature like Allen Weh, although her comment was spot on.

“I hear that there may be enough to help Charter Services make a few unexpected expenses concerning the new planes if you choose to make them a part of what you’re doing.”

“You mean you believe I really am what I claim to be?” I asked, not sure at all what Weh really thought way down deep, about what I was doing with almost anything in my life, and some of his. He had a real, financed company because of me, and he had a business structure and future he’d never contemplated before. Not to mention a fleet of six-million-dollar aircraft.

“I don’t know what you are, only some of what you do, which has no logic or explanation I can think of. I don’t mind you, but I don’t like you. We both fought in the Nam, but it was like we fought in different wars. You got the reputation and the medals, but I got the rank.”

“Helps if you don’t get shot three times,” I blurted out, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

“Getting shot doesn’t mean you did something right,” Weh answered, as I went silent. “I’ve heard all the stories about Junior, and they didn’t sit well.”

“You came along because you wanted something,” Quincy said into the silence.

“I’m not doing very well, am I?” Weh laughed out, drinking deeply from his hot paper cup.

“You’re talking to the wrong man here,” Quincy went on. “I made the decision about the budget, not him.”

My eyebrows went up as Quincy looked over at me, slightly nodding his head toward me.

I nodded back, not truly understanding but knowing I’d disappeared right off the mountain top to mentally fly back down into the valley, once again. All I could do was stare down into the abyss in front of me.

“Give Pat an invoice, and we’ll take care of it,” Quincy said. “Yes, we want the planes, two of them, and the fuel and pilots staying down in Miami, maybe even going into Key West if we require. All of it, except for one thing.”‘

“What’s that?” Weh asked, his expression and tone changed once again as he realized he’d got exactly what he wanted.

“You don’t come down there whatsoever,” Quincy stated flatly. “You fought in the war, but you didn’t bring home what he brought home.”

“What did he bring home?” Weh asked, real curiosity in his voice.

“He brought us, and we’re the ones keeping you up here to ride that car over there back down instead of taking the express route.”

I said nothing, staring down into the valley where my soul could not rest.

“Okay, got it, but I need a ride back to the offices,” Weh said, dumping his cup in the nearby trash can and standing up.

“There’s a phone at the bottom,” Quincy said, “make some calls.”

Weh departed without saying another word, as I recovered and realized that the interesting meeting I’d planned about entering a potentially combat-filled mission without combat experience was not going to happen. Weh had effectively taken that intent and tossed it out the window in his own expression of need for funding the rather massive buildup of air transport he’d undertaken. I wondered just what sort of monster I’d helped create in setting him loose with the government backing of International S.O.S.

We spent about an hour hiking over the many trails that lined the very edge of the mountain range’s exposed northern face, occasionally watching for the return of the tram car so we could finish our ‘break’ and get back to the office.

Six days of preparation were not that much time when it was considered just how complex a structure I’d created all at once. The insurance offices still had to function as business centers, and that needed more than Quincy’s capable but limited leadership. And then there was the UFO sub-mission of the three satellite offices and the communications back with Doctor Bethe’s team at the Los Alamos tech area, which remained rather mysterious in its intent if not its funding. Scheduling was going to be a big deal, as just getting on and off the island, including entry and exit from the area, was going to be complex in terms of communication. I’d never met the pilots of the planes, and Weh wasn’t going to be part of the mission to instruct or supervise them.

Once back aboard the tram car, the driver plunked Pachelbel’s Canon in “D” tape into the machine, which was about as calming and motivational a piece as might have been chosen by some expert who could have observed the brief meeting we’d held up at the top of the mountain.

I worked to get myself back together as the car traveled down to the seemingly endless version of the canon the attendant had unwittingly chosen for the ride. I wished I could stop in and visit with my wife, but I knew that was not to be, as there were a million things to be done, or as the famous poet wrote in a poem: ‘miles to go before I sleep.’ Allen Weh, I knew, would continue to be a problem but at least I now understand why. It was Vietnam. It was combat, and the aftereffects were so immeasurable inside most of the men who had survived it. His animosity toward me was genuine, and I knew it wasn’t going to go away. The competition of life, particularly among men, was just too extreme, although denied at almost every turn.

That Weh knew about my A Shau identity, as Junior revealed to me all I needed to know, and I would now begin to treat him much more gingerly than I had before. He was waiting for something while not being aware that he was doing so. He was waiting for me to weaken and fail or be revealed to be a phony or worse. His comparison of himself to me was not healthy nor accurate, but those things, I knew, had little to do with it. Weh was still trying to live up to an expectation of himself as a warrior that hadn’t held up under fire, like my own occasions of running under fire or trying to hide, when I was the company commander. Stuff like that was not retrievable nor acceptable to men like Weh and me. It could only be accommodated as we lived on, hopefully never in a combat position again.

Weh was, and would hopefully remain, unaware that Murder Island could easily turn into a combat environment and situation. It was not part of my life plan to make him aware of that, and Quincy’s observation and action to ensure that Weh would not be exposed was spot on, and I owed the man, but that would have to wait.

Once back at the office, I closed myself in and called my wife.

“So, what happened?” she asked, almost before I could explain anything. Her sensitivity to vocal tones remained astounding.

I blurted out the details of the incident as best I could.

“You already know about him, and so many of the other men who were damaged over there,” she said. “So, stop holding him to such a high standard. He meant nothing about you. It was about him. He was hurt over there, too. You need to not do what he did and make this about you. It was about him. Let it go that way.”

“And what do I do with that?” I asked, my brain was still a bit disengaged.

“Do what you talk about others doing when something like that macho stuff is encountered,” she replied, with a laughing tone in her voice. “Displacement activity,” you call it. When the alpha male cannot be confronted, the bravo male runs off, grabs a branch, and beats up a tree.”

“But I’m the alpha male,” I said, wrinkling my forehead as I spoke, knowing I was having a hard time understanding what she was trying to tell me.

“What did you do when he confronted you?” she asked.

“Nothing at all,” I replied.

“That’s right,” she answered. “That’s your version of beating the tree. You did not throw him off the cliff, thank God and the people you were with.”

I agreed with her, not that I truly understood, and then got off the phone.

“He’s here,” Pat said, as the intercom stopped buzzing to allow her to speak.

“Who’s here?” I asked, mystified. I was thinking of Allen Weh being there to apologize, but the message was worse than that.

“Colonel Marcinko,” Pat said before punching off the button.

My office door opened, and the man stepped through the opening.

“I hear we’ve got an interesting mission to undertake,” he said.

I looked at him; the receiver of the phone was still in my hand after talking to Mary. I had no words. How could the day get worse, was all I could think.

I worked to get myself back together as the car traveled down to the seemingly endless version of the canon the attendant had unwittingly chosen for the ride. I wished I could stop in and visit with my wife, but I knew that was not to be, as there were a million things to be done, or as the famous poet wrote in a poem: ‘miles to go before I sleep.’ Allen Weh, I knew, would continue to be a problem but at least I now understand why. It was Vietnam. It was combat, and the aftereffects were so immeasurable inside most of the men who had survived it. His animosity toward me was genuine, and I knew it wasn’t going to go away. The competition of life, particularly among men, was just too extreme, although denied at almost every turn. That Weh knew about my A Shau identity, as Junior revealed to me all I needed to know, and I would now begin to treat him much more gingerly than I had before. He was waiting for something while not being aware that he was doing so. He was waiting for me to weaken and fail or be revealed to be a phony or worse. His comparison of himself to me was not healthy nor accurate but those things, I knew, had little to do with it. Wet was still trying to live up to an expectation of himself as a warrior that hadn’t held up under fire, like my own occasions of running under fire or trying to hide, when I was the company commander.

Stuff like that was not retrievable nor acceptable to men like Weh and me. It could only be accommodated as we lived on, hopefully never in a combat position again. Weh was, and would hopefully remain, unaware that Murder Island could easily turn into a combat environment and situation. It was not part of my life plan to make him aware of that, and Quincy’s observation and action to ensure that Weh would not be exposed was spot on, and I owed the man, but that would have to wait.