Glenn Meade Read Free Page A

to tell you something. Maybe come at this from another
angle.'
    Weaver looked exasperated. 'Shut
it, Carney. I'm not in the mood.'
    'I think maybe you'll want to hear
what I have to say.'
    'I doubt it.'
    'Just hear me out for one minute.
The moment I heard your name back in the morgue, I felt a shiver down my spine.
I kind of like to think it might be kismet playing its part - fate to you and
me, the kind of thing the Egyptians are so fond of believing in.'
    Weaver's eyes narrowed. 'What the
hell are you talking about?'
    'The article I wrote about you
after
Dallas
.
You never asked how come I knew so much about your personal background, when
there really wasn't that much information on public record.'
    Weaver frowned, nodded. 'I seem to
vaguely recall all the facts were there, all right. But what of it?'
    'Does the name Tom Carney mean
anything to you?'
    Weaver looked totally astonished,
as if I'd hit him a blow. 'Captain Tom Carney?'
    'The same. He was my old man. You
served in military intelligence together, and landed in
North
Africa
during Operation Torch, 1943. You were wounded by shrapnel
after a mortar hit your reconnaissance unit outside
Algiers
. He carried you back to American
lines, under heavy enemy fire. He got a medal for that one, on your
recommendation. He was also wounded twice for his trouble, and got shipped
home.'
    The hardness peeled from Weaver's
face, all his aggression gone, and he studied me intently. 'Well, I'll be
damned. So you're Tom Carney's son.'
    'My old man talked a lot about you
over the years. The feeling I got, you were once good buddies.'
    Weaver nodded, and his eyes
watered, as if he were remembering.
    'He was a good man. Courageous.
Honest. One of the best I served with. I was only sorry we didn't keep in
touch.
    Though I heard he died, what,
maybe ten years back?'
    'Twelve. And still not a day goes
by when I don't miss him.' I looked at Weaver steadily. 'I like to believe that
sometimes lives intersect, even briefly, for all sorts of reasons we mortals
can't even begin to comprehend. Maybe it's written in our stars. Like you and
my old man. You know, it's odd, but my father used to talk a lot about destiny.
And maybe if he hadn't been with you the time you were wounded, things might
have turned out very differently, for both of you. Fate's a funny thing,
Colonel. And when I heard your name mentioned back at the morgue, I figured it
might have been fate lending me a hand. Kismet helping us meet for a reason. This
Haider business has been rattling around in my head for quite a few years, an
enigma that won't go away, and I'd like to get to the bottom of it. So if
there's any way you can help, I'd be grateful. I'm not trying to call in any
family favors, Colonel, believe me. But I reckon my father was a man you could
trust. I'm simply asking you to trust me.'
    Weaver was silent.
    'Maybe you think I'm asking too
much? Two simple questions. Why you're here, and how you knew Haider.'
    Weaver sighed, a long, hard sigh
that sounded like he was trying to expel some kind of pain from deep inside
him. 'Yes, I knew Johann Haider,' he admitted finally. 'A very long time ago.'
    'Now you do surprise me. I know
why I'm here. But what about you? What's your reason?'
    Weaver sat forward in the chair,
his hunched frame suddenly making him appear very old, as if my persistence had
finally worn him down, and there was a tired, sad look on his face. 'Oh, there
are lots of reasons, Carney. Lots of them, I assure you.' He was about to say
something else just then, but appeared to change his mind. 'So, you thought
there might be a story in all this?'
    'I was kind of hoping there might
be. And even if not, I might at least be able to put my curiosity to rest.'
    Weaver hesitated, as if trying to
decide something, then he seemed to make up his mind. 'I think you could
certainly say there's a story, but I doubt it would help you discover what
happened to Franz