Part Six: Jim

WHEN ALL IS TOLD

Blair stumbles behind me. I turn, reaching out my arms, and manage to catch him before he falls. "Blair!"

He rights himself and takes a step away from me. "I'm fine, Jim. I just -- "

I don't let him finish. "That's it. We're staying here until it's light enough to see. For both of us to see," I add when he starts to argue.

"I think we ought to keep going. We don't know how close they are -- "

"Blair." I close the distance between us and put my hands on the back of his neck, lacing my fingers together against the warmth of his skin. He hasn't said anything about being tired, but I can feel his muscles trembling with exhaustion.

Damn. I should have noticed -- I should have asked him how he was doing instead of pushing both of us too far. "However close they are, they won't be getting any closer until morning. Even if they're looking for us, it's not smart to explore unknown terrain in the dark."

"What if they're stupid?" But he drops his bag on the ground as he says it. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he's about ready to collapse.

"I suppose that's always a possibility. But I can't hear anything out there that could be a group of soldiers. Even if they are on the move, they're still not close enough to reach us tonight."

Blair sighs unhappily but he doesn't try to pull away from me. "So we're staying here until morning?"

"We're staying here."

Neither of us says anything as we make camp in a small clearing a few yards from the riverbank. Actually, I make camp; I hadn't realized just how dark it is. Blair must have been following me blindly for at least a couple of miles.

I wonder why he didn't say anything... no. I guess I know the answer to that. All he can think about is making sure the Direma are safe. I was supposed to be the tribe's protector, but all I've been thinking about is what's going to happen to me and Blair if the strangers Manamo saw are really looking for us.

I light a small fire; not for warmth, but to give Blair enough light to see and to keep animals away while we sleep. When I'm finished, we eat what we brought with us from the village.

There's hardly any conversation between us; finally, though, Blair takes a deep breath and blurts, "Jim, what if they're not looking for us? Or what if we miss them? What are we going to do then?"

I'm glad it's too dark for him to see my face. "We could go back...."

"Would the Direma even let us back into the village?" His voice is tight, and I realize how hard this is on him. "We'd always be a danger to them. I mean, could we guarantee that no one would ever come looking for us?"

I want to say yes. I want to tell him that if no one's looked for us -- for him or for me -- after this long, they're not likely to start now. I want to say that, but I don't. Because I know it's not true, and he'd never forgive me for lying to him. So I don't say anything.

"I didn't think so," he says sadly. Pulling his knees to his chest, he stares into the fire. "There's... something else I wanted to ask you about."

"What's that?" I want to go to his side and put my arm around him, tell him that everything will work out. I don't think this is the right moment for that, though.

He huddles into himself. "What if... Jim, what do we say if anyone asks about Vaughan?"

"We tell them half the story," I answer at once. Blair turns to me, his eyes wide with surprise. Shrugging, I toss a small stick into the fire. "I've been thinking about it too, sweetheart. As far as we're concerned, we haven't seen him since he left the village the first time. He never came back, and we don't know what happened to him. End of story."

Blair shakes his head, not quite convinced. "What if they don't believe us?"

"There's a good chance they won't believe us. But there's no way they can prove anything different."

I can see his brain working, trying out the holes in the story. "If they find his -- his body -- "

"That's not very likely. It's been out there a few months -- it'll be hard to identify whatever is left, and that's if they can even find anything. And if they do find his body -- "

"Or part of it," Blair puts in.

"Or part of it," I agree. "And if they can identify it, it's pretty unlikely that they'll be able to figure out how he died. And even if they're able to do that, there'll be no way of knowing who did it. The Direma aren't the only tribe in the area, remember?"

Blair looks at me ruefully. "You have been thinking about this."

"Yeah." I finally allow myself to go to the other side of the fire and sit next to him, but I don't touch him. "I'm sorry, Blair. I wish there was a way to discuss this that isn't so...."

"Gruesome? That's a pretty tall order, Jim." He slides an arm around my waist, almost absently. "He deserved whatever happened to him -- before and after he died. I just...." He glances at me and continues. "I don't want Vaughan chasing us for the rest of our lives."

"I know. I don't want that either." Wrapping my arms around him, I pull him against my chest. He snuggles into me with a weary sigh as we make ourselves comfortable on the ground. And for once, I fall asleep before he does.

I'm not sure which awakens me -- the warmth of sunlight on my face, or the smell of burning paper. I sit up quickly, and Blair looks over at me. "Hi." Turning back to the fire, he deliberately tears another page from one of his notebooks, rolls it into a tube and sticks it into the fire. It's consumed in seconds. When it's gone, he starts looking for another page.

I control my impulse to go over to him. "Blair? What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer me at first; he just keeps poring over the pages in front of him. Finally, he says, "I got to thinking last night -- there's a lot in here about your senses, right?"

"Right."

He still won't turn around. "And if it's really the Army out there, it might not be the best thing in the world if they found out what you can do. Or... if they found out about us."

"Maybe." Getting up, I stretch and walk over to the fire. I sit down next to him. The thin, fragile skin beneath his eyes looks smudged and purplish -- did he get any sleep last night? "And there's a reason you didn't talk to me about this before deciding to destroy your notes?"

"Yeah." Smiling wistfully, he shrugs. "It would have been real easy for you to talk me out of it. This isn't as final as it looks, Jim -- I still remember most of what I wrote about, and it might be better to recreate the experiments in a more controlled setting, anyway...."

I lean over and kiss the side of his neck. I never thought about that -- my God, if the military found out about my senses, they'd never let me go.

Let me go.... Would they let me go anyway? I never thought about what I should do if I ever got out of this place. Do I want to stay in the Army? And what about Blair? Somehow, I doubt that the military decided to accept gay relationships while I was stranded. They could probably court-martial me for a dozen different reasons.

"I think that's it." Blair tears out a final page and adds it to the fire. It's nothing but a thin sheet of black ash in seconds. He pokes it apart with a stick, and we watch as it disintegrates into cinders. "There's still a lot left," he murmurs as he puts the notebook back with the others in his bag. "But I don't know...." He trails off, biting his lip.

I wait for him to finish his thought. When he doesn't, I gently ask, "What don't you know?"

He doesn't answer at first. "I kept all those notes because that's what an anthropologist is supposed to do. Even with everything I burned, I've still got the makings of a great paper in there, you know? The information on the herbal remedies alone -- man, I know researchers who would kill to get their hands on that part. But... what if I publish all that, and other anthropologists decide the Direma are worth studying? They'd be invaded again, only this time the enemy would have tape recorders and cameras instead of arrows or guns."

"You could always change the details, couldn't you?"

Blair shakes his head. "Not a chance. It's one thing to have a single anonymous subject. An anonymous tribe? No one would accept that." He looks at me and, to my amazement, smiles. Not a big smile, but there's nothing forced about it. "Guess the Direma will just have to stay our little secret." He pauses. "Do you think... maybe I should burn all of my notes. It might be safer."

"No." I drape an arm around his shoulders, and he leans against me, watching the dying flames. "You might be able to publish them someday."

I feel Blair shrug under my arm. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Blair, we bought them some time, but we can't guarantee that no one from the outside will ever find them. The best we can hope for is a few more years to live their lives the way they want. And anyway, you need something to remember all of them by."

"Okay." I look at him, unable to keep from grinning at his immediate agreement. He blushes slightly and returns my smile. "Told you it'd be easy to talk me out of it, remember?"

It's not long before we're on the move again. We barely speak, relying on touch and shared looks as we move along the river. My hearing is focused all around us as I try to pick up any sign of the soldiers, making conversation impossible. Words could never be enough to convey what we want to say to each other, anyway.

All too soon, I hear something. Blair sees it in my face. He swallows hard and asks in a hushed voice, "How far away are they?"

I shake my head and try to pinpoint the location. "Probably half an hour away, considering how rough the terrain is around here...." Snapping back into focus, I look down into Blair's suddenly frightened eyes. "And they're coming this way. They're speaking English," I say in response to his unspoken question. "They're Americans."

Blair drags his eyes away from mine and draws in a deep, shuddering breath. "I... think I just changed my mind, Jim. Let's go back."

All I can do is wrap my arms around him. He's shaking... I'm shaking. I want to grab him and turn around, go as deep into the jungle as we can, so deep that no one will ever be able to find us. "It'll be all right." That's all I can say, over and over, trying to convince myself more than Blair.

I want to tell him how much I love him, that nothing means anything to me without him -- God, why did I have to live so much of my life without him? Why couldn't I have met him someplace safe, someplace we wouldn't have to worry about being dragged apart?

But I know that if I say any of those things, we'll both start thinking about goodbyes, and that'll make the pain so much worse. Instead, I try to lose myself for a few minutes in an attempt to memorize every aspect of him -- his scent, the depth of his eyes, the taste of his mouth as our lips come together one more time.

When we separate, neither of us says anything. Holding tightly to his hand, I lead him out of the jungle.

Just like I promised.

We should have gone back into the jungle.

Concerned, I glance over at Blair. He looks pale and sick next to me. "You okay?" I ask quietly.

He gives me a weak smile. "Don't worry. I'm just a little airsick."

"Not worried?"

"No. Well...." His smile falters. "The last plane ride I took didn't end too well."

I lay my hand on his arm as he leans back into his seat. We're sitting in the back of a small airplane. There are soldiers in back of us and in front -- not that we're being guarded. I'm sure it's nothing like that.

It took forever to convince them that Blair and I were who we said we were. After that, everything that happened became one big blur. We were put on a jeep for a long, jarring ride that lasted hours. At the end of the road was a small airport and a close-mouthed major who wouldn't tell us anything more than that we were going to be flying directly, except for refueling stops, to Los Angeles.

Blair's hardly said ten words since our last stop. He asked -- and demanded, and pleaded -- to be allowed to call his mother. They won't let him. Security reasons.

A sergeant comes back to where we're sitting. "Would either of you like some coffee? It tastes like cat piss, but it's hot." Blair shakes his head without opening his eyes.

I turn to the sergeant. "Thanks. Maybe later." Nodding, he leaves us alone.

Looking over at Blair, I try to think of something that'll cheer him up, or at least reassure him, but he's fallen asleep. Good. It'll make the time pass a little quicker for him.

I've completely lost track of what time it is when we finally get into Los Angeles. Blair's dead on his feet as we're hustled off the plane. I keep a hand on his elbow -- anyone watching will probably think it's to steady him until he wakes up all the way. He and I know the truth.

A solitary figure walks toward us. "Captain Ellison. You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

It takes me a few seconds to recognize him. "Colonel Oliver?"

He looks around the tarmac. "I hate airports, don't you? Come on." He walks away, waving for us to follow him.

"Jim?"

I glance down at Blair as he blinks dazedly around him -- how the hell is he managing to keep going? I fight down the urge to sweep him into my arms. "That's Colonel Oliver. He's my -- he was my commanding officer."

Blair looks after him, then back at me. "Should we go with him?"

I can't help smiling. Like we have a choice? "Yeah. Come on." He barely notices as I lead him over to a long, black car and help him into the back seat. Oliver gets into the front seat next to the driver.

Blair rouses himself long enough to look around in alarm and ask, "Where are we going?"

Without turning around, Oliver says, "We have a facility not far from here."

"A facility. Sounds cozy." I take his hand and give it a warning squeeze. He's ready to say more, but he looks at me and closes his mouth. I let go of his hand and turn to the window.

It's almost painful for my eyes to adjust to the scenery that flashes by. It's been so long since I've seen anything but the infinite shades of green of the jungle -- here, everything seems dull and gray. Even the sky isn't blue enough, and the clouds look stretched out and lifeless. The air is intolerably dry, leeching all the moisture out of my skin.

It's a long drive, but none of us says anything. Blair and I don't dare talk to each other, and Oliver plainly doesn't intend to answer any of our questions yet. The driver... well, he probably has his orders.

None of this makes any sense. Why all the secrecy? I know the procedures for MIAs -- nothing about this situation feels right. There's not much I can do about it, though -- hell, there's nothing I can do about it except wait.

After forty-five minutes or so, the driver turns onto an unmarked road. It's deserted except for our car, and it's not long before we're being waved through a well-guarded gate. Blair gives me a look that's halfway between fear and impatience. All I can do is shake my head and ask him to be quiet with my eyes. He gives me a minute nod and turns away.

We come to a stop in front of a long, gray building. More gray. Whatever else happens, I want to end up somewhere with some color besides gray.

My door is opened by a young corporal with extremely short, pale blonde hair; she steps back without meeting my eyes. Blair glances at me as the door on his side opens as well. Without saying anything, we both get out. I don't wait for anyone to give me permission before I walk around the back of the car to stand at Blair's side.

I can tell that he just barely keeps from putting an arm around me -- I know that's what he was going to do, because it was my first instinct as well. I satisfy myself by resting a hand on his left shoulder, then letting it slide down a few inches to cover the tattoo, hidden beneath his shirt. He looks up at me, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a brief smile.

Colonel Oliver straightens his uniform jacket as he joins us. "Captain Ellison -- Mr. Sandburg -- follow me." It's not a request. Blair and I fall into step together as Oliver leads the way into the building. No one follows us. Somehow, I don't find that very reassuring.

Through a hallway, down a flight of stairs, up one corridor and down another -- we finally come to a stop in front of a doorway at the very end of a dead-end hallway. Oliver opens it, then stands aside. "We need to talk, Captain. But it can wait until you've had a chance to rest and get cleaned up."

Neither Blair nor I move. I look past the doorway -- it looks like a typical bland, featureless hotel room except for the lack of any windows. Two beds, a dresser, a door leading to what's probably a bathroom... better than a cell, I suppose. I turn to Oliver. "I want to know what's going on here. Now."

I can't pick up anything from his face or voice. "We can discuss that later, Captain. Mr. Sandburg, we haven't had a chance yet to notify your mother, I'm afraid."

It takes Blair a few seconds to answer him. "Why the hell not?"

If Oliver is at all sorry, he does a good job of hiding it. "We'll try again later -- when we reach her, the call will be forwarded to the phone in your room. You won't be able to make any outgoing phone calls, though." This time, Blair doesn't say anything at all; Oliver doesn't seem to mind. "I've taken the liberty of getting some new clothes for you two." He glances at Blair again. "I hope they fit."

"Thanks. That's real generous of you." Blair doesn't try to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

Oliver ignores him. Indicating the direction we came from, he says, "There'll be a guard posted around the corner. You can ask him for anything you need. You're probably hungry -- I'll send down something to eat. We can begin the debriefing when you're ready." Nodding affably to me, he walks away without looking back.

Blair stares after him, then looks up at me. Now that Colonel Oliver is gone, he stops trying to hide his anxiety. "Okay. What do we do next?"

Sighing, I open the door a little wider. "Like the man said -- rest a while, get cleaned up." It's not what I want to do. I want to get to the bottom of this, but until I figure out what's going on, I can't do anything that might endanger Blair.

We enter the room together and stand at the threshold for a few seconds, neither of us willing to go any further inside. Blair breaks the spell by walking to the dresser and rummaging through the drawers. He pulls out a pair of jeans and holds them against his legs. Shaking his head and tossing the jeans on a chair, he says, "Those are probably supposed to be yours...."

As he searches for something to wear, I check out the room. I wouldn't put it past Oliver to have surveillance devices stashed around, but I can't see or feel anything. Extending my sense of hearing, I listen for the whirring of a camera or tape recorder -- nothing. Of course, that doesn't mean there's nothing there. I want to ask Blair for his advice, but if someone is listening in, that's not a safe topic of conversation.

Blair looks up and watches me; as I turn around, I see confusion, comprehension, and anger chase across his features. Before I can shush him, he demands, "The bastard has us bugged?"

It's hard not to smile. As much respect as I have for his ability to adapt, Blair would be a lousy spy. "I don't think so. All the same...." I trail off, hoping that he'll get the message: whatever we say to each other, we'd better be discreet.

Grimacing, Blair nods. He pulls out another pair of jeans and looks at them in despair. "This is their idea of my size? You know, this explains an awful lot about why the public has such a poor opinion of the military's ability to assess situations. Never mind that they're too long -- how the hell am I supposed to keep them from falling down?"

"Maybe there's a belt in one of those drawers."

"Are you kidding? They're probably afraid you'd turn it into a catapault or something -- " He breaks off as I hold up my hand. Someone is coming.

Waiting until the footsteps come to a stop outside, I open the door to reveal the corporal I saw earlier. She's startled, but it only takes her a few seconds to recover. Nodding at the wheeled cart beside her, she says, "Colonel Oliver said you requested a meal."

"Not exactly," Blair says drily behind me.

She shoots him a quickly masked sympathetic look as she pushes the cart inside. It's not much -- scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee. Then again, the way I feel, I probably couldn't handle much more.

Straightening up, the corporal stands at attention. "Will there be anything else, Captain?"

I know the question is just a courtesy; even if she wanted to get us something else, there's probably nothing she could do. Even so, the touch of human concern in her eyes is a welcome sight. "Thank you. This will be fine." The corporal nods smartly and leaves the room.

When she's gone, I close the door and push the cart over to one of the beds. Sitting down, I tell Blair, "Come on. We might as well eat it while it's hot."

Blair seats himself cross-legged beside me, and I hand him a plate. God. My first scrambled eggs in how long? It takes me a little while to get used to using a fork again, and Blair seems a little uncomfortable with his as well; even so, we manage to eat everything in sight in a few minutes. When we're down to a cup of coffee apiece, I shove the cart out of the way and rejoin Blair on the bed.

Forks. Hot coffee, electric lights, soft beds... how long will it take me to get used to all those things again? How long before I get used to not being able to touch Blair in a hundred small, casual ways when we're in public?

Leaning against my shoulder, Blair gazes into his coffee and sighs, "Man, what I wouldn't give for a window right now. It feels so weird to just look at walls...."

Caught by the drowsy sadness in his voice, I bend down to look at him. His eyes are drooping -- looks like everything that's happened over the past few days (is it two or three days since we left the Direma? I honestly have no idea) has finally caught up with him. I take the coffee from his hand before he can spill it and set both our cups on the small nightstand between the beds.

"Come on." I strip him out of his filthy clothes, and he doesn't protest when I stand up so he can stretch out on the bed. Pulling the covers over him, I sit down beside him. "Why don't you take a nap while I get this debriefing out of the way?"

He blinks up at me, fighting the urge to sleep. "What does Oliver want to talk to you about?"

Shrugging, I push his hair back. "It's hard to say. Probably just a standard debriefing." I don't believe that, but I don't want him to worry right now.

"Define 'standard'," he says around a yawn.

"You know. Standard. They'll ask me if I saw any signs of drug trafficking... they'll ask for information on the terrain, or if I saw any Cuban missile bases. Standard."

He smiles. "Shake them up. Tell 'em you saw UFOs." He's asleep before I can answer.

I sit and watch him for a few minutes. What would I be willing to do or say to protect him?

What wouldn't I do?

Standing up, I go through the dresser and pick out things that look like they'll fit. I go into the bathroom, but I leave the door open so in case Blair wakes up, he'll know where I am.

I force myself to keep the shower brief, not allowing myself to enjoy the sensation of hot water pouring over my body. Just for a second, I'm tempted to wake Blair up so we can share this, but I reject the thought immediately. He needs to sleep a lot more than I need to hold him. Besides, if I had him in the shower with me, I'd never be able to make myself get out. We can always do that later, I suppose... if there is a later for us.

Reluctantly, I turn off the water, get out of the shower and towel off. Grabbing one of the disposable razors from the medicine cabinet, I shave myself quickly -- it goes a lot faster with one of these than the straight-edged razor I had in Peru. I'm dressed in a few minutes.

The new clothes feel scratchy and uncomfortable -- one more item for my list of things to readjust to. I stare at myself in the mirror as I realize that I'm wearing civilian clothes. Wouldn't it have been easier -- not to mention more appropriate -- to find me fatigues, or even a uniform?

What the hell is going on here?

Leaving the light on, I walk out of the bathroom. Blair's sound asleep, curled up on his side away from me. Once again I wonder whether I should wake him up before I leave to talk to the colonel... no. There's no point in disturbing him. He knows where I'm going.

I sit carefully on the edge of the bed and rest my hand on his shoulder. I want to lean over to kiss his temple, the hinge of his jaw, the curve of his shoulder -- but I don't. Discreet. We have to be discreet, right? At any rate, my touch is enough to reassure Blair, even if he's not awake. He murmurs my name in his sleep and snuggles into the blankets.

It's hard to get up and leave him -- watching Blair sleep is probably one of my favorite things. It's always amazing to see this bundle of energy and curiousity settle down to an utterly limp, relaxed -- trusting -- state. It's soothing to just watch him like this, and the last thing I want to do is leave him. I don't want to leave him alone and undefended....

But after one last look, I do get up, and I do leave, because I don't have any other choice.

At least this room has a window.

I stand in front of it, staring out at the meticulously kept lawn and the anonymous shrubs. I know that for L.A., this much greenery is considered downright lush. It looks dull and half-dead to my eyes.

The door opens and closes behind me. I don't turn around. After a few moments, Colonel Oliver says, "I realize you've been away, but it's still customary to salute a superior officer, Captain Ellison."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir."

I hear Oliver's hard, dry laugh, and the scrape as he pulls out a chair. "Have a seat, Captain." He looks me over as I sit down across from him, my back to the window. "Quite an improvement."

"You mind telling me what the hell this is about?"

"Not at all," he answers calmly as he goes through a stack of documents. He pulls out a piece of paper and reads it over. "You can tell Mr. Sandburg that we've gone through his notebooks, and there's nothing classified in what he wrote. He can do whatever he wants with them. From what he said about those natives -- Diremas? -- they're of little or no strategic importance to us."

"He'll be glad to hear that, sir." It's all I can do to keep my voice level -- what if Blair hadn't thought to edit the notebooks? It sure wouldn't have been something that I would have thought of.

If Oliver notices the tension in my voice, he doesn't let on. "Now." He pulls out a thin, tattered black book. He places it in the middle of the table, then folds his hands neatly in front of him. "Tell me what you know about Doctor Harold Vaughan."

Vaughan....

I should have been expecting this. I was expecting this. I force myself to answer, "As far as I know, Vaughan is dead."

"We had assumed that as well, Captain." Oliver stares at me coldly. "What do you know about his death?"

Take it easy, Ellison. You and Blair talked about this. Time to see if you can pull it off.... "Six months after their plane crashed, Vaughan decided to leave the village. I advised him against it, but it was his choice."

"You told him it was dangerous, I assume. But he decided to leave anyway."

I nod. "Yes, sir. He was... increasingly irrational." I think about telling him that the tribal elders were glad to see him go, but I decide against it. It's safer to answer only what Oliver asks directly. Never volunteer anything. That's the first thing they taught me about interrogations. Now it's time to see how well I learned my lessons.

"Ah." Oliver looks at the book, then up at me again. "And you have no idea what happened to him, or where he might have ended up?"

"No, sir. I don't. But I find it unlikely that he made it out of the jungle alive."

"Unlikely or impossible?" The expression in the colonel's eyes is one I've seen countless times -- in the eyes of a man who was sure I was down for the count, in the face of a poker player who's just drawn an inside straight. Oliver knows something. God knows how, but he does.

Well, I've played my share of poker, too. "I'd say it was unlikely, but I can't be absolutely certain that he couldn't have found his way out by himself."

"I'm so glad you said that, Captain Ellison." He takes a folder from the pile at his elbow and slides it over to me. "These photographs were taken in Lima -- if you say Vaughan left after six months, the timing would be just about right."

Oliver keeps talking, but I lose track of his words. The photos are grainy, the resolution is terrible -- but I don't have any trouble identifying Vaughan. And standing beside him, the man he'd called Luis. The man who'd held a gun on Blair while Vaughan tried to rape him....

"So it looks like he managed to get himself out after all." Putting down the photos, I force myself to meet Oliver's eyes. "Where is he now?"

"Well, that's something of a mystery, Captain." Oliver pulls one of the photos over to himself and points at Luis's face. "This is the man we were really after. Imagine our surprise when the man he was talking to turned out to be a long-lost anthropology professor. What could they have had in common?"

"I have no idea."

"Neither do we." Oliver's voice is almost cheerful. "The other man is Luis Neva -- he'll transport drugs, guns, stolen art, anything that'll fit in his plane. These pictures were taken during a sting operation. Unfortunately, Neva -- and, presumably, Dr. Vaughan -- took off on a flight to an unknown destination. So much for our sting. A lot of work went to waste there."

Nodding, I say, "I'm sorry to hear that. Do you think their plane crashed?"

"That was our first theory, too. That was the official version... until three weeks ago." My heart lurches. If Oliver notices, he doesn't give any sign. "That's when a survey team came across Neva's plane. It had been set down in an extremely remote clearing, practically in the jungle itself." He shakes his head. "Neva must have been offered -- or promised -- a lot of money to risk a landing there. And would you like to hear the really interesting part?"

He doesn't wait for me to answer. "Some distance away -- actually in the jungle -- we found the wreckage of the plane that Mr. Sandburg and Dr. Vaughan crashed in. It had been scavenged... a fairly professional job, too." Oliver stops talking and stares at me, unblinking. "Now what do you suppose Vaughan was looking for?"

I meet his gaze. "Could be he was looking for the original site of the Direma village. Of course, by the time he got there, we had moved."

"Why would you have done that? It's lot of work to move an entire village." Oliver sounds honestly curious.

I'm not buying it. "The hunting was getting bad, and the river there was almost fished out -- there was a lot of competition from neighboring tribes. Besides, they were worried about being discovered by outsiders. That all happened after Vaughan left -- he wouldn't have any way of knowing the village wasn't where he thought it was."

"Mmm." Oliver nods solemnly. "Yes, that makes a lot of sense. So what you're saying is that Vaughan and Neva probably got lost and...." He trails off suggestively.

"There's no way to know what could have happened to them. But the odds of them coming across another tribe that would give them shelter rather than just killing them outright... well, it's -- "

"Unlikely," Oliver finishes for me.

"Yes, sir. Unlikely."

"Unlikely," Oliver repeats. Standing up, he starts pacing the room slowly. "Yes, that's probably a fair assessment." He stands behind me; from his voice, I can tell he's facing away from me, staring out the window. "But what could they have been looking for? They must have had a very good reason to put themselves in such a dangerous situation."

I stand up as well; whatever is coming next, I can handle it better on my feet. "I don't know, sir."

"No, no... there's no way you could know that, is there? Oh -- " The colonel waves a negligent hand in the air. "There was one aspect of Neva's business that I neglected to mention. He was quite involved in various aspects of the sex trade." I can see Oliver studying my reflected face in the window. "He regularly supplied new... employees, shall we say? Yes, employees to most of Lima's whorehouses. I'm told that his specialty was finding people who wouldn't willingly sell themselves. He was quite renowned for that."

It's hard to keep my reaction out of my face -- God, hard doesn't even begin to describe it -- but I do my best. "Sounds like there wasn't much he wouldn't do."

"Not much at all," Oliver agrees. He's silent for several seconds. "Tell me, Captain. You and Mr. Sandburg seem quite... friendly."

He knows.

I keep my face and my voice noncommittal. "I suppose we are."

"Understandable. After all, you were the only two Americans in the village -- aside from Vaughan, of course. It was only natural that you'd spend quite a bit of time together. It was only natural that some sort of friendship would arise between you." He turns on me sharply, but I'm expecting it. "Is that what happened?"

I look at him levelly. "Yes, sir."

Nodding, he turns and goes back to pacing. I watch him closely as he says, "I suppose it is. Of course, Dr. Vaughan had a slightly different interpretation of your relationship."

"Did he?"

"Oh, yes. But if Vaughan was, in fact, irrational -- that was the word you used, wasn't it? If he was irrational, that would explain how he could have misread the situation." He sits down again and nods at the book. "We found this in Neva's airplane. Were you aware that Vaughan kept a journal while he was still living in the village?"

It's almost impossible to speak normally. "No, sir, I wasn't aware of that."

"I'm not surprised. It's probably not the kind of thing the doctor would have shared with you. Especially since you and Mr. Sandburg are, as you say, friends." He picks up the journal and flips through it idly. "Unlike Mr. Sandburg's notebooks, there doesn't seem to be much in here of scientific value. Well, that's probably not quite true -- a psychologist might find it very interesting. You can read it if you like. If fact, I think it might be a good idea for you to read it."

Sitting down stiffly, I stare at the book as he pushes it slowly to my side of the table. I look up at him. "Why are you doing this?"

He folds his hands in front of him. "The day after tomorrow, several high-ranking officers from the Pentagon will be here -- they have some questions to ask you about the helicopter crash. You're going to tell them that it was a routine recon mission, and as far as you know, the 'copter went down due to simple engine failure. Just an accident. An act of God."

I stare at him -- dear God. I'd never realized that the crash had been anything but an accident. "You bastard." His eyes flash, but his face remains expressionless. "You want me to help you in some kind of cover-up --after you were responsible for killing my men? Why the hell do you think I'd help you?" I barely keep myself from shouting.

"Because you have no choice," Oliver says coldly. He points at the journal. "The media would find that very interesting, wouldn't they? It'd be the story of the decade -- well, of the year, anyway."

He stands up and leans forward on the table. "Be smart, Captain Ellison. Say what I tell you to say, and that journal will remain private. It'll be... lost in somebody's filing cabinet. You'll receive an honorable discharge, and you'll have quite a bit of back pay waiting for you. As a gesture of good faith, I'll even promise to keep the media away from both you and Mr. Sandburg."

Swallowing hard, I stare at the wall. "You could have just had me killed -- "

"Yes. That was one of the alternatives I considered. But it'll be much more convincing if you're here to confirm my story." He pauses. "And, of course, if I should require you to assist me at some point in the future, I'm sure you'll be more than happy to help, won't you? For old times' sake."

He could have had me killed -- he could have had Blair killed. He still could. "All of this... just to give you an alibi?"

"That's right. Well, there is one other reason." I'm almost beyond caring, but I wait for him to go on. "Your brother, Steven, has been a very generous donor to some very important people. He might be... upset if he were to find out that I'd had his brother killed."

"But he won't mind his brother being blackmailed?"

"Well, it's not as if you were ever that close, is it? Besides, I find it hard to believe that you'd want to tell him what I'm blackmailing you with." Oliver stands up straight and walks to the door. He turns back and says, "I'll give you a chance to read the journal before you make a decision. When you're ready, tell one of the guards." He's gone before I can say anything.

He's so happy to be Ellison's whore.

I hear them every night. They don't care who hears them, or who sees them. They're all over each other, in daylight, in public. In front of me.

All Ellison has to do is smile, and Blair gives it up. He acted so innocent back in the states -- good little student, teacher's pet. I bet there wasn't much he wouldn't do for a grade.

I walked by their hut last night. The door was open. Ellison had him flat on his back, kneeling on top of him. Blair was putting on quite an act for him -- groaning and wriggling beneath him, pretending he didn't want anything else in the world but Ellison's cock going down his throat, or up his ass.

I never got a chance to see which direction Ellison decided to go first. The old woman was watching me, and the chief, so I had to leave. They'll be the first to get it.

And now they're sitting outside, talking to the chief. Ellison is sitting down, and Blair's standing behind him. He's got his arms looped around Ellison's neck, leaning over his shoulder -- if I didn't know better, I'd think he was in love with Ellison or something.

If he's going to be a slut, he might as well be my slut. I'll give him everything he needs.

He'll be such a good little slut.

Kurali was wrong. It wasn't enough to kill Vaughan twice. A hundred -- a thousand -- wouldn't be enough to cleanse the world of his perversions.

Dropping the journal to the table, I scrub my hands on my pants. It's irrational. I know how irrational it is, feeling like I'm stained by just touching it. But knowing that it was something Vaughan touched -- something that he held, and studied, and obsessed over....

I can't stand it. I push myself away from the table and go into the small bathroom. After what feels like ten gallons of hot water have poured over my hands -- and I've splashed five gallons of icy water on my face -- I feel ready to go out and face the past again.

The past. Like the future isn't terrifying enough.

There's no way I can avoid facing either one, is there? I sit down again, but I can't bring myself to pick up the book. It could be forged. I wouldn't put it past Oliver. If he wanted some way to control me, to make sure I never talked, he could have made up all those sadistic fantasies to scare me....

I want to believe that -- God, is the situation really that bad, that blackmail seems so much better than the reality? And the reality is that there's no way that anyone but Vaughan could have written this. There are too many details here, too many things that I know he said and did to Blair while all of us were still with the Direma. Oliver couldn't know any of this.

As I reach out, I'm pleased to see that my hand is steady. Surprised, but pleased. I lay the journal face up and carefully straighten it so that the edges are aligned with the edge of the table. It sits there, black and tattered and evil. I stare back at it, like I can erase its words with my mind.

That isn't what I want to do to the book. I want to throw it, tear it apart, shred it, burn it -- and then I want to get on a plane, fly down to Peru, and find whatever is left of Vaughan's corpse so I can take my rage out on the man who caused all of this.

And after I've done that, I want to go after Oliver.

Which, of course, is the worst thing I could do. Right now, he's holding all the cards. I can't do a thing....

That's not true, though, is it? There is something I can do.

I can protect Blair. I can keep him from knowing what's in this book. I can make sure no one else ever knows.

And that makes it easier to bear. Keeping quiet simply because Oliver ordered me to... there's no way I could do that. But to spare the man I love from the pain and humiliation that the publication of this journal would bring? Looking at it like that, it's the easiest thing in the world to do.

It's the only thing in the world to do.

I stand up and walk away from the table. The journal stays where it is. I don't look behind me as I leave the room and walk past the expressionless MP standing sentry in the hallway.

Pausing in front of my room, I wait and I listen. They must have had a chance to contact Blair's mother by now -- if he's talking to her, I don't want to interrupt their conversation. But even though I can Blair's heart and breathing, I can't hear him talking to anyone.

Damn, I hope he managed to get in touch with her. The waiting is killing him. Taking a chance, I push the door open and enter the darkened room as quietly as I can.

Blair is sitting on the bed closest to the wall, wearing nothing but a bathrobe that's far too big for him. Either they really guessed wrong on the size on that, too, or he's wearing the one that's supposed to be mine. He has his hands over his eyes -- I can read the strain in his posture, but he doesn't look unhappy... he doesn't look unhappy. What the hell does that mean, anyway? Why am I so convinced that I can be sure what he's feeling?

I close the door softly behind me, and Blair looks up. He manages a shaky smile. "You get everything sorted out?"

"More or less. They've decided to give me an honorable discharge."

His smile widens, and I can almost feel his relief and his pleased surprise. "Hey, man, that's great!"

"Yeah." I'm grateful he doesn't know that much about the military -- he might not realize how unorthodox the whole thing is. I hope he doesn't, because if he does, it'll lead to a lot of other questions I don't want to answer.

I cross the room to join him on the bed. I don't care anymore if someone is spying on us -- I need to hold him, and the hell with everything else. We both settle back against the headboard. My arm goes around his shoulders at the same moment his arms go around my chest, our bodies fitting themselves together without any input from our brains.

As we relax into each other, I breathe in the mingled scents of Blair and soap and shampoo and I realize that I've never seen -- smelled -- him really clean. It takes me a few seconds to adjust, but he smells good this way.

The air in here is blessedly warm and moist from the steam of the shower. I wonder how long he stayed in there -- God knows it was next to impossible for me to drag myself out of it earlier. It's too bad we couldn't share the shower....

After a few seconds, I feel his warmth radiating into me through the thick terrycloth of his bathrobe. The heat brings me a little comfort and starts to blur the memories of what I read. Needing to touch him, I rub my hand up and down his back. "Did you get hold of your mother?"

"Yeah." He nods, but doesn't raise his head. All the same, I know he's smiling. "Mom was.... well, you know how mothers get."

I don't, but there's no reason to tell him that right now. "Bet she can't wait to see you."

"She was out of town until a couple hours ago -- that's why I couldn't reach her at home -- but she's catching the first flight to Boston -- "

"Boston?" I can't keep the surprise -- or the fear -- out of my voice. "Why Boston?"

Sitting back just enough to look at me, Blair gives me a concerned look. "To find out if I'm still in the anthro program, for one thing. I mean, you would not believe the waiting list to get in, and if I was declared dead, they probably gave my place to someone else, which really sucks. I've got to get that straightened out. Then there's my grant money, and the loans... who'd have thought coming back from the dead would mean so much paperwork? And Kerwin probably hocked all of my stuff by now -- I don't even know if he's still in the same apartment, or -- "

"Yeah, you're right. You've got to go." This is what I wanted, isn't it? This is why I always told myself I had to get him out of the jungle. He's not like I was... not like I am. When the 'copter crashed, all I had was the hope of getting back someday and going back to my Army career. Now I don't even have that. But Blair -- he has a life back here School, friends, family -- what the hell right do I have to be upset about it?

But I am upset, and -- no surprise there -- Blair picks up on it right away. "Jim, it won't take long, promise. We can be there and gone in a week or two -- less, if you've made plans or anything...."

We. He just automatically assumed.... Reaching up, I tuck his hair behind his ear. "Blair... I've got to go through God knows how many debriefings before they'll give me my discharge. I can't go to Boston with you."

"Oh." His face falls, but not for long. "Well, the paperwork's waited this long, so a little longer won't hurt, right? I could call Mom back and tell her to catch a flight for L.A. instead. That shouldn't be a problem -- she really wants to meet you, Jim."

Yeah. I bet she does. I bet she can't wait to meet me. I wonder how Blair is planning on introducing us? Mom, this is Jim, the guy I was shacking up with in the jungle. "I... think it would probably be better if you go on without me, Blair. You two need time alone together, and anyway, chances are I won't have any time between meetings."

"I don't care about that, Jim."

"Well, I do." I keep talking before he can object. "This is your mother, and you've been apart from her for too long as it is. It won't hurt me to lose you for a few weeks." No more than going without air for a few weeks, anyway.

His hands twist in my shirt. "Jim, don't -- "

"Shhh." I stroke his hair back again. "I know how bad you want to see her, Blair. And I can't imagine she'd want to share you with me -- not for a while, anyway." I know sharing him with anyone is the last thing I want to do.

Sighing, he drops his head to my shoulder. "So while I'm off being mothered within an inch of my life, you're going to be running from meeting to meeting? That sucks, man."

"Yeah. I know. Believe me, I know. But when I'm done here, I'll head up to Washington. I should probably try to connect with my brother again. We need to talk." Oh, Steven and I definitely need to talk. "When you get done in Boston, you can always fly out there if you want -- "

"If I want? Where else would I want to be?" The fear in his voice doesn't come close to covering up the love, but it twists my heart all the same.

Neither one of us says anything for a long time. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can almost ignore the quiet hum of electricity that surrounds us. Funny, that's something I never noticed before. Must be another senses thing....

Blair's arms tighten fractionally, and I shake myself out of my reverie. Brushing my lips against his forehead, I return his embrace. His heart is slowing... good. He'll sleep soon, and I can lie here and hold him and watch over him for one more night.

"Jim?" His voice is sleepy.

"Hmm." I'm too occupied with the way his hair smells and feels as it slips through my fingers in loose, damp waves to give him a more coherent reply.

"They're really going to let you leave the Army? Just like that?"

"...No. Not just like that. But you don't have to worry about it."

Snorting, Blair nuzzles the side of my neck. "That's so reassuring." He's quiet for a few seconds. "What are you going to do? I mean, if you're not in the Army anymore...."

What am I going to do? I wish I'd had time to think of some kind of convincing lie, but my mind's blank. "Well, I've got almost five years of back pay waiting for me. I can live on that for a while -- at least till I figure out what comes next."

"Yeah, I guess. Do you get a pension or anything?"

My pension... I smile at the irony. "I wouldn't count on it."

"You've got to be kidding, Jim -- after everything you went through, they're not even going to give you a damn pension?" He sounds genuinely angry on my behalf. "There must be something we can do about that, isn't there?"

I can't help laughing. "What, you're my financial planner now?"

"Well, someone's got to look out for you, man."

"Job's yours if you want it." I keep rubbing his back, relishing the way his body slowly melts against mine. "Blair?"

"Uh-huh."

"Tell me. Who's this Kerwin who's got your stuff?"

"You're jealous. That's so cute." His laughter is soft and warm as it caresses my neck. "Cute, but unnecessary... Kerwin's my roommate back in Boston. He's in the anthro program, too. And he only likes girls."

I smile into his hair. "He doesn't know what he's missing."

"He doesn't care, either. I mean, he really likes girls." He hesitates; when he starts talking again, his voice has turned serious. "Jim? When I talked to my mother...."

"She must have been -- I don't know. Thrilled, hysterical, angry that you didn't call before?"

He takes a deep breath, but doesn't raise his head. "She couldn't stop crying, man."

Oh, God. It must have been so hard on him... on both of them. "You'll see her soon. By this time tomorrow, if you can get an early flight."

"You think so?" My fears lift just a little when I hear the anticipation in his voice, even though it's taking him away from me. I only wish I had someone besides Blair to miss that much.

When I talk to him the next morning, Oliver is pleased to hear my decision. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was actually surprised.

Sitting down behind his desk, he looks up at me in satisfaction. "I assume Mr. Sandburg's conversation with his mother went well?"

"How soon can he see her?"

Oliver raises his eyebrows. "As soon as he wants. Well, as soon as the doctor finishes with him."

I hide my grimace. Blair's getting a checkup now -- he didn't want it at first, but he changed his mind after the doctor told him a few cheerfully graphic stories about intestinal parasites he'd found in the bodies of people who'd been drinking tainted water. Not to mention the barrage of blood tests they're going to do, checking everything from AIDS to anemia.

Oliver's phone rings, and he picks it up. He listens for a few seconds, then puts it down without saying anything. Looking up at me, he says, "Captain Ellison, you have a visitor."

"Who is it?"

He doesn't answer; he just stands up and walks to his door. "I'll let the two of you talk in here. It's a little more... private. Ah, here you are." He holds the door open a little wider. "Mr. Ellison. How good to see you again."

Steven? I''m too stunned to say anything as my brother walks into the room and Oliver exits. He looks... well, he looks good. Older. Nervous.

"Jim?" The muscles in his right arm twitch as he decides whether or not to extend his hand to me. He decides not to. "When they called me, told me they'd found you -- I didn't believe it."

I finally find my voice again. "Yeah. Kind of surprised me, too." He just keeps staring at me, looking me up and down. If we'd had a better history -- if we'd ever been brothers in anything but name -- I'd feel sorry for his confusion; I'd just hug him and worry about what to say later.

I stay where I am. "You look good, Stevie." He's too shocked at my resurrection to react to the nickname that I could always rely on to send him into a frenzy. Even though it's the last thing I want to do, I steel myself and ask, "So how's the old man?"

It takes a few seconds for the question to sink in, and his face closes up. "Jim, maybe you'd better sit -- "

"Oh, Christ." I lean against the desk. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. With his temper, it's a wonder he lasted as long as he had.... "How long ago?"

Steven shrugs. "Just over a year."

"Stroke? Heart attack?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "Liver cancer. He was diagnosed a few months after your 'copter went down."

Cancer. Looks like Dad finally found something tougher than he was. Before I can stop myself, I say, "That's not a good way to go."

As statements of grief go, it's not much. Of course, considering my feelings about Dad, it's probably a lot more than Steven was expecting to hear. "No. It's not." He looks away from me for a second. "Just before he died -- I don't know if this'll make any difference to you, Jim, but he said he was sorry he never had a chance to put things right with you."

Now it's my turn to be stunned. The idea of my father being sorry for anything.... If Steven is disappointed that I don't react to what he told me, he hides it well.

Before I have to think of anything to say, Blair comes into the office. "Hey, Jim. They told me you were -- " His words dry up as he sees Steven. "Oh. Sorry."

I stand away from the desk and walk to his side. Brushing my fingers against his shoulder to reassure him, I say, "Blair, this is my brother, Steven. Steven, Blair Sandburg."

"Hi." Blair hesitates, then sticks his hand out. Steven takes it automatically. "I was... uh, we were both in the jungle."

Steven doesn't conceal his surprise as he looks at me. "I thought you were the only one to survive the helicopter crash."

"I was." Putting my hand on Blair's shoulder, I guide him to a chair. "Blair's airplane crashed about a year ago in the same area." Turning my back on my brother, I ask Blair, "What did the doctor say?"

"Well, he won't promise that I don't have any tapeworms, but he and the colonel say I can leave anytime I want. It's just...." He trails off and glances at Steven, blushing slightly. "I was going to call the airport to make a reservation -- now that I'm allowed to use the phone and everything -- and then I realized, well -- Jim, I have no idea how I'm supposed to pay for it. I didn't exactly bring my American Express card with me, you know? Mom's expecting me in Boston tonight -- I tried to call her to see if she could wire me the money, but she's not in, and if I'm not there...."

"Oh, geez." Straightening up, I say, "I've got my back pay. As soon as the paperwork goes through -- " I stop as Blair's face falls. Paperwork. God knows how long that would take....

Steven clears his throat. I'd almost forgotten about him. As I turn around, he says, "You said you were going to Boston?" Blair nods dejectedly. "I've got offices there -- one of my vice-presidents has to fly out here to a meeting. I was going to send the company jet out there tomorrow to pick him up, but there's no reason it can't sit there for one night. It's at the airport now."

Blair's face lights up -- it's so hard to resist leaning over and kissing him. "Oh, man, that would be great!" He bounces out of the chair. "I'll go tell Oliver -- he said as soon as I was ready to go he'd arrange for a driver -- " He's out the door before Steven or I can say anything.

Finally, Steven clears his throat. "Looks like Oliver is eager to get him out of here."

"Yeah," I say bitterly. It just proves the kind of hold the colonel has on me -- it doesn't matter where Blair goes, he's not going to be out of Oliver's reach if I doublecross him. Damn. Damn him.

"How much longer do you think it's going to be?"

Leaning back, I stretch out my legs. "I don't know. Steven said he was going to go check on the plane."

"You haven't changed your mind? You could still come with me." Blair's voice is barely a murmur, pitched for my ears alone.

I look at him. He's staring at the carpet beneath his feet, hands dangling limply between his knees. I can't see his face but I know he's trying to compose his features.

Yeah. I could go with him. God knows I want to. I could get on that plane. The hell with Oliver -- he's got my silence. What more does he want from me?

We wouldn't even have to go to Boston. I've still got my knife. Once we were in the air, I could pull it out and make the pilot fly south instead of east. As long as I didn't hurt anyone, I don't think Steven would mind. He's probably expecting it.

It wouldn't be easy to get back to the Direma, but I think we could do it, if we wanted to bad enough. We could live out the rest of our lives there. We could watch Joramo and the other children grow up, and maybe Kurali could finally teach Blair how to hunt. We wouldn't have to whisper and seek out quiet corners so no one will guess what's between us. And I'd have the right to kill anyone who threatened the man I love....

And Oliver would come after us sooner or later. Or if it wasn't him, it'd be someone else. Even if no one ever came, I'd always wonder -- and maybe Blair would, too -- if we're just together because we're afraid to be apart.

Not caring if anyone walks in and sees us, I put an arm around Blair's shoulders and hold him close. I whisper, "I wish I could go with you, baby. But I can't right now."

Turning slightly on the bench, Blair wraps his arms around me. "I know. I just wanted you to know that I... that I don't want to leave you." His breathing is slow and deliberate. It's a frightening contrast to the way his heart is thumping, and I can tell he's barely keeping control of himself. I'm afraid that anything I say will make it harder on him, so I hold him a little tighter instead of answering.

After a few moments, he says, "It won't be that long."

"No."

Another deep breath. "A couple of weeks, tops. We can do that, right?"

"Sure." Oh, Blair. I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. Steven. "Someone's coming. It's probably time for you to go." Even though there's no way anyone's near enough to hear us, I'm whispering.

"No. Not yet." He pulls away from me and shakes his head furiously. "Jim, I don't know what to say to her -- I'm not ready for this -- "

I know how he feels. "Tell her you love her, and that you missed her."

We both stand up; I have time to bend down and kiss him softly on the lips before standing a respectable distance away from him. Steven comes into the lounge. He looks between us, but he doesn't say anything.

I speak first. "Is the plane ready?"

Steven nods. "It's waiting on the runway."

"I guess I'd better go, then." Blair looks at Steven uncertainly. "Thanks. I really appreciate this."

My brother shrugs. "I've got to send the plane out there anyway. It doesn't make any difference whether it's empty or you're on it -- besides, it'll get you there a lot faster than a commercial flight. In fact, call my office as soon as you find out where you and your mother are going to be staying -- I can pass the number along to Jim."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure," Steven says a little awkwardly. He won't look at me. Oh, boy. Someone else has figured it out.

"I... appreciate that." Blair's too nervous to say much more. He looks at me, his heart in his eyes. "I'll see you soon?"

I nod. "As soon as you get everything in Boston wrapped up, I expect to see you."

He smiles at me. "Okay."

Walking him to the door of the lounge, I let myself put an arm around his shoulders, but nothing more passes between us before he's gone. Maybe Steven doesn't know about me and Blair. Maybe he does. I just don't want to discuss it with him -- not now, maybe not ever.

I turn away from the door as it closes and stop listening to the retreating footsteps. Blair can't see me anyway, and it hurts too much to think about him going. "Someone's really waiting to be picked up in Boston?"

"Of course there is."

"Who?"

Steven shrugs. "I'll think of someone."

"Thanks. And thanks for -- " At a loss for words, I nod at the empty lounge. "I don't think he was up to sitting on a plane full of people for a couple hours. He's... out of practice with crowds."

"How about you?" Folding his arms, Steven leans against the wall.

"I can handle it."

Nodding, Steven shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "Oliver told me that he was going to keep this out of the media. Do you think he can?"

My mouth twists. "Oh, yeah. He can do it."

Steven seems at a loss for anything to say. Finally, not looking at me, he asks, "Jim... what do you think you're going to do now? If you're not in the Army...."

I don't care what I do. "I haven't thought much about it."

"Well, maybe you should. There's something I've been thinking about...." I let him lead me away.

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