Drone Command

“Soon as you’re out of here, call me.” She winked and mimed a phone receiver to her ear.

A croak escaped Will’s throat, a laugh. And then a long bout of coughing, phlegmy and painful. He leaned forward, face reddened, choking.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” Myers snatched up a plastic sputum tray and held it beneath Will’s mouth. He coughed up yellow mucus tinged with blood, his eyes tearing from the effort. It dribbled on his lip and he spit, trying to clear it out of his mouth, and swatted at it clumsily with his hand. Will was a lifelong smoker and the cigarettes were finally killing him in the worst way. COPD was a bitch, like drowning in slow motion in a puddle of his own mucus.

Troy reached for a sanitary wipe and cleaned away the string hanging between his mouth and the tray. When he got it, Myers pulled the tray away and dumped it in the wastebasket, then pulled the basket over for Troy to toss the wipe. Myers grabbed two more wipes and cleaned off Will’s face and hands. Troy had only known a proud man, strong as an ox, but Will was beyond shame at this point. His eyes were grateful for the care.

“Never thought… I’d have… a president… wipe… my ass… for me.”

Myers squirted antibacterial into her hands from a bottle on the table. “So you knew who I was, did you?”

“I’m… a spook… I’m… supposed… to know… these things.”

Myers beamed. “Our country owes you a lot, Will. Thank you for your service.” Pearce had told her some of his storied exploits. Will was an old-school cold warrior and a fierce patriot. She fought back tears as Pearce squirted sanitizer into his hands.

“Just… keep… an eye… on this… guy… and… we’ll… call it… even.”

“That’s a deal.”

Will’s eyes turned toward the far wall, focusing on the large crucifix in front of him. Pearce watched him labor to catch his breath, finally calming down. A few minutes later, he turned back to Pearce.

“How… was… China?”

“How did you know?”

Myers swatted Pearce playfully. “He’s a spy, remember?”

“Everything worked out fine.”

“Then why… do you… look like… shit?” Pearce’s face still hadn’t fully healed from the beatings he’d received.

“You should’ve seen the other guy.”

Will nodded. “That’s… my boy.” His eyes searched Pearce’s face. He gathered his strength. “So why… the visit? Come… to see… an old man… die?”

“Yeah. You know any?” Pearce said.

Will’s eyes misted. “I… missed you… sport.”

“Me, too. Sorry I haven’t been around.”

Will smiled. He lifted his hand, made a weak sign of the cross in Pearce’s direction. “Te… absolvo… the priest… says that… a lot. I think… it means… dinner’s… at five.”

“I brought you something.” Pearce reached carefully into his shirt pocket.

“A new… pair of… lungs… I hope.”

Pearce held out a black-and-white photo, wallet-size and worn. A pretty young Vietnamese woman. ALL MY LOVE, 1965 written in a lovely feminine hand on the back.

Will’s big hands trembled as he took the photo. Brought it close to his face. His eyes widened. Stared at it as if he were looking into the face of God.

“How?”

“I’m a spook, too. Remember?”

Will’s face beamed as if he were a monk witnessing a miracle.

Maybe it was a miracle, Pearce thought. He couldn’t believe it when a package from Hanoi arrived at the embassy just hours before he left for Hawaii. Dr. Pham had promised Pearce she’d pull a few strings to honor his request back on that helicopter. She said it was the least she could do for the man who had saved her brother’s life, as well as her own.

Pearce knew that when Will and his dad were captured by the Viet Cong they would’ve been stripped of all of their personal effects for intel, and then those items would’ve been shipped off to central headquarters for analysis and, later, storage. Communists were mostly evil shits, but they were fanatical about storing and organizing the things they stole from other people. Knowing Will was with the CIA probably gave his Hanoi case file even greater importance. Pearce hoped Dr. Pham could find Will’s case file, along with his dad’s. Apparently, she had.

“Your wife?” Myers asked.

Will smiled with his eyes. Nodded.

“And then there’s this.” Pearce unfolded a piece of tissue paper. A small silver crucifix was inside, heavily tarnished. Will reached for it. Took it in his long fingers. Tried to open the delicate clasp.

“Here.” Myers took the chain and opened it as Pearce helped Will lean forward. She draped it around his withered neck and fastened the clasp. Pearce helped him lie back down. Will fingered the Christ, hardly believing his good fortune.

“Still fits,” Myers said, patting his other hand.

“I… converted… to marry… her. She… insisted. Her father… too.”

Will shut his eyes, mouth open in a loose smile, lost in a memory.

“God bless you,” Myers said. She stroked his weary head and whispered a prayer. She hadn’t been to confession since she was a child or Mass since high school. But old habits die hard.

Moments later, his smile disappeared and his mouth opened wider. His breaths were short and shallow.