discipline from a bunch of . . . from people not self-evidently more intelligent or more experienced or otherwise more deserving of respect than I. That I already knew all I wanted to know about combat and disguise and sabotage and a few other black arts, and that if he wanted to hire me he could hire me as a consultant anytime, but that I had no interest whatever in going through basic training—again—and putting on a funny blue suit and being paid dirt wages just to get in on his fun.”
“That must have impressed him,” she said dryly.
“It made my point.” He said it without bravado. “That I’m no soldier, that I’m not interested in dying or killing.”
“My hero,” she said, pulling him closer to her side with a tug of her hand, meshing her fingers in his. “What are you interested in?”
“You know. Old books.”
“Besides old books?”
He grinned. “A little noise and smoke can be fun.”
“Besides making things go bang?”
“I’m interested in keeping us alive,” he said.
She glanced toward the thick copse of elms and oaks that intruded into the lawn. “Come in here with me,” she whispered, smiling. “I have an urge to live a little. . . .”
The library’s tall windows overlooked the morning lawn. “What will we do about him?” Jozsef turned away; he’d been watching the two young people by the wall.
“Give him one more chance. After this morning, let him go,” the commander said. He stood at the fieldstone fireplace, warming himself at the crackling oakwood fire.
“You said you could recruit him. . . .”
“I’ve tried. Mr. Redfield is his own man.” His smile was thin. “He was taught well.”
“Is it safe to let him go?”
“Her welfare is important to him. Of the greatest importance.”
“He is in love with her, you mean.” Jozsef’s expression was invisible against the glare of the high window. “Does he have any idea of how she can be hurt?”
“Do any of us?” It wasn’t cold in the high-ceilinged room, but the commander kept chafing his hands at the fire.
“Yes, well . . .” Jozsef pulled at the flesh under his chin and cleared his throat. “If we let him go, he must be isolated.”
“I’ll arrange it.” The commander’s voice was a bare whisper past the gravel in his throat.
“Can you guarantee it?”
“Not absolutely.” The commander turned hard blue eyes on his companion. “We’ve got limited choices, old friend. We can explain things to him, ask him to come along. . . .”
“We can’t tell him more than he knows already. Not even she must know.”
“She will take the case, I think. He may not want her to.”
“If he refuses, you know what we must . . .”
“I hate these drugs of ours,” the commander said vehemently. “ Hate using them. They go against the principles you taught me yourself.”
“Kip, we are in a struggle that . . .”
“A man’s own memory . . . a woman’s . . . lying . It’s worse than no memories at all.”
For several seconds Jozsef watched the weather-beaten man who stood by a blazing fire but could not seem to warm himself. What winter was he reliving in memory?
“Okay,” the commander said. “If he won’t join us on this . . . this Falcon business, I’ll isolate him.”
Jozsef nodded and turned back to the window. The couple who’d been standing at the wall had disappeared into the trees.
They tumbled in the autumn leaves, gasping and giggling like children. The smell of mold was as rich as a winery cave, the very smell of it intoxicating, filling her with the joy of life. Their breath steamed in the sharp air. The moment arrived, like the edge of the first rapid, when the emotion they were riding tipped into the current of their blood, and they felt not at all like children. Her dancer’s finely muscled body was pale white against the black of her coat, spread open on the leaves.
There were microscopic
“That must have impressed him,” she said dryly.
“It made my point.” He said it without bravado. “That I’m no soldier, that I’m not interested in dying or killing.”
“My hero,” she said, pulling him closer to her side with a tug of her hand, meshing her fingers in his. “What are you interested in?”
“You know. Old books.”
“Besides old books?”
He grinned. “A little noise and smoke can be fun.”
“Besides making things go bang?”
“I’m interested in keeping us alive,” he said.
She glanced toward the thick copse of elms and oaks that intruded into the lawn. “Come in here with me,” she whispered, smiling. “I have an urge to live a little. . . .”
The library’s tall windows overlooked the morning lawn. “What will we do about him?” Jozsef turned away; he’d been watching the two young people by the wall.
“Give him one more chance. After this morning, let him go,” the commander said. He stood at the fieldstone fireplace, warming himself at the crackling oakwood fire.
“You said you could recruit him. . . .”
“I’ve tried. Mr. Redfield is his own man.” His smile was thin. “He was taught well.”
“Is it safe to let him go?”
“Her welfare is important to him. Of the greatest importance.”
“He is in love with her, you mean.” Jozsef’s expression was invisible against the glare of the high window. “Does he have any idea of how she can be hurt?”
“Do any of us?” It wasn’t cold in the high-ceilinged room, but the commander kept chafing his hands at the fire.
“Yes, well . . .” Jozsef pulled at the flesh under his chin and cleared his throat. “If we let him go, he must be isolated.”
“I’ll arrange it.” The commander’s voice was a bare whisper past the gravel in his throat.
“Can you guarantee it?”
“Not absolutely.” The commander turned hard blue eyes on his companion. “We’ve got limited choices, old friend. We can explain things to him, ask him to come along. . . .”
“We can’t tell him more than he knows already. Not even she must know.”
“She will take the case, I think. He may not want her to.”
“If he refuses, you know what we must . . .”
“I hate these drugs of ours,” the commander said vehemently. “ Hate using them. They go against the principles you taught me yourself.”
“Kip, we are in a struggle that . . .”
“A man’s own memory . . . a woman’s . . . lying . It’s worse than no memories at all.”
For several seconds Jozsef watched the weather-beaten man who stood by a blazing fire but could not seem to warm himself. What winter was he reliving in memory?
“Okay,” the commander said. “If he won’t join us on this . . . this Falcon business, I’ll isolate him.”
Jozsef nodded and turned back to the window. The couple who’d been standing at the wall had disappeared into the trees.
They tumbled in the autumn leaves, gasping and giggling like children. The smell of mold was as rich as a winery cave, the very smell of it intoxicating, filling her with the joy of life. Their breath steamed in the sharp air. The moment arrived, like the edge of the first rapid, when the emotion they were riding tipped into the current of their blood, and they felt not at all like children. Her dancer’s finely muscled body was pale white against the black of her coat, spread open on the leaves.
There were microscopic
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