Early Warning

The Comet landed in a different kind of dark from American dark — much deeper, no glow of nearby cities or streetlights or even headlights making their way from one empty spot to another. Wherever they landed — it was August 13 here, almost the 14th — Frank knew they were somewhere in Iran, but it was not a base or an oil field. It was a quiet place, dry-smelling. The door opened. Three men came up the stairs and began carrying away the sacks. When the man picked up the last two of the ten sacks, Louis stood up to follow him. Frank stood up to follow Louis. Louis had his jacket on, and when he came to the top of the stairs, he slipped into his coat, but that didn’t stop Frank from noting the rectangular outline just barely discernible against Louis’s chest.

At the bottom of the stairs, Louis broke into an easy trot. The three men with bags were dim in the dark, almost out of sight. Frank was on Louis in a moment, grabbing his wrist and pinning it high and tight behind his back. Louis grunted. Frank said, “I can break your arm, Louis, easy as pie.” Louis twisted, and Frank lifted the arm even higher. Louis bent over, and Frank reached around with his left hand and slipped it inside Louis’s coat and jacket. He felt the stiff rectangle and pulled it out. There was only one. He stepped away from Louis and flipped through the packet. Louis stumbled forward, caught himself, but didn’t do anything other than press and rub his right shoulder with his left hand. He said, “You dislocated it.”

“Want me to put it back in?”

“What the fuck do you care, Freeman? It’s not your dough.”

Frank smiled. Arthur had rebaptized him yet again.

A car pulled up — something nondescript and old, but heavy. The driver got out and opened the trunk, and the ten bags of money were piled in it. The trunk was closed. The driver then opened the back door on the passenger’s side, and Louis got in. The driver closed the door. The driver had a beard. He didn’t say anything. The three men who had transferred the bags came over and stood rather close to Frank — as close, say, as New Yorkers would stand, closer than Iowans would stand. He felt mildly uncomfortable. After about two minutes, the passenger door of the car opened again, and Louis got out. The man to Frank’s left gestured for him to get in. Frank got in. The door closed with a thud.

The fellow in the car was wearing a U.S. Army uniform, two stars on his collar. He held out his hand, and Frank shook it. “Mr. Freeman. Thanks for your help. Arthur speaks highly of you, and, my Lord, we couldn’t do a thing or take a step without Arthur. If this shebang goes over, we have Arthur to thank, once again.” He cleared his throat. “Looking iffy at this point, I must say. Why this had to come to a head in August is a mystery to me. Must be the hidden hand of the Soviet menace. You got anything to report?”

Frank shook his head.

The man stared at him, the hardness of his gaze belying his casual tone. But how long had Frank been telling lies? As long as he could talk. Finally, Frank said, “Routine operation, sir.”

The man nodded. His jacket strained over the pistol in his armpit. Frank waited for him to hold out his hand for the packet of bills, but he didn’t. He rubbed his forehead, as if he had a headache. He said, “Well, then. MacIntosh is staying with me here. I believe you are going back via Majorca. To Cuba? I can’t remember. I had some food put on the plane. Good luck to you.”

The man knocked on the ceiling of the car, and the passenger door opened. When Frank got out, he was alone beside the plane. Louis and the three men had been taken away, and now the big car drove off, too. It was dead quiet. Even the air was still. The only movement was the flight of two huge birds, probably some kind of vulture — they landed maybe thirty yards away and picked over a carcass for a minute, then lumbered into the air again. Frank had seen vultures before, but as he watched, something about the air and the light entered him and terrified him. The crew of the plane could easily shoot him and leave him here; he would be bones in a day or two. But that wasn’t it, exactly. He looked upward, at the endless stars across the flat sky, and recognized nothing — not the Milky Way or the Big Dipper or even, for a moment, that dishlike sliver that was the moon. For thirty-three years he had thought that the unknown was a friendly thing. Now that idea vanished in a millisecond. He swallowed hard, then ran his hand down the side of his trousers and felt the packet of money in his pocket. His assignment. It was reassuring.

By the time they landed at Stewart, his watch had run down. Arthur was there, as if he had never left, at the bottom of the stairs.

“Nice plane,” said Frank.

“Something borrowed,” said Arthur. Frank took Arthur’s right hand and slapped the packet of hundred-dollar bills into it. Arthur barely glanced at them, just put them in his pocket. He said, “You met McClure?”

“Two-star general?”