“Or you might be dead, yourself.”
Morgan looked at him ruefully.
“Well, why not come back?” Lowry said, changing the subject.
“Because it wouldn’t be long until I remembered what made me leave in the first place. And in any case, I made a commitment to my family, and I intend to keep it.”
Someone outside swiped an ID card and opened the door. Harold Kline walked in, wearing a stiff black suit. He was a slight man with a thin hooked nose and thin lips that hid tiny sharp teeth. In tow was Plante, carrying a slim folder marked CLASSIFIED.
“Lowry,” said Kline, curtly.
“Just leaving, boss,” he said, getting up and slipping past the two men and out the door.
“Code Name Cobra,” Kline said perfunctorily, with affected formality. “I hope you had a pleasant flight down.” He held out his hand, but Morgan just glowered at him. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s get right to it, shall we?” He sat down opposite Morgan, and Plante took the adjacent chair. “Let him have it, Eric, would you?”
Plante took a single sheet of paper from the folder and handed it to Morgan. “This is a copy of the last communication we received from Cougar. The original is still in Afghanistan. We had experts on the ground analyze the paper, and there was no secret message on the paper itself, apart from what’s plainly written. Can you make any sense of it?”
Morgan took the sheet and looked at it. It read:
For Cobra’s eyes only.
A fruit vendor in Kabul once said to me, “Afghanistan is always the same; it is only the invaders who change.” “Well, you know what they say,” I replied, “variety is the spice of life.”I am pleased to report blue skies over Kandahar and hope that things are the same stateside. It reminds me of the days I would tear down the highway in that GTO to make it in time for the daily ritual—remember, in Stoney? The.re is no such happiness to be f.ound here. Still, people persist. Let it never be said that the Afghans are not a resilient people.
Yours truly,
Cougar
It had obviously been hastily written, with no pretension of having a surface meaning. Conley must have been pressed for time.
“Well?” asked Kline impatiently.
“Looks to me like he’s having fun at summer camp.”
“Very funny,” said Kline dryly. “I think that’s very funny. Don’t you, Plante? Listen, Cobra, did you come down here to waste our time?”
“No, you brought me here to waste mine,” said Morgan, with a touch of anger, sitting up in his chair. “You can’t give me this without any context and expect me to tell you what it means.”
“So you’re telling me what?” said Kline.
“I need to know the facts on the ground,” said Morgan. “If you keep me in the dark, you can’t expect me to be able to read, can you?”
“So you want to hear sensitive details about a classified operation because you need context?” said Kline.
He was trying to sound incredulous because he wanted to weaken his opponent’s position, Morgan knew. And so he parried.
“It looks like the idea is getting through your thick skull.”
“What it looks like,” said Kline, on the offense again, “is that you don’t know a goddamn thing, and you’re bullshitting me for some reason. What it looks like is that you want to pretend you’re still a spook. You get a nice little tour of headquarters, and you think you’re working for us again?”
“I think you want something from me, and you want it bad enough that you sent Plante right to my doorstep to fetch me.” Plante looked at him, increasingly uncomfortable with the verbal sparring that was unfolding in the room. Morgan kept a firm stare on Kline. “So are you going to fill me in, or aren’t you?”
“You have my answer,” said Kline curtly.
“Then we’re done here.” Morgan got up.
“I suppose we are,” said Kline, getting up as well. “Mr. Plante, please escort Cobra out of the secure area.”
Kline walked out, and Plante held the door open for Morgan. When they were walking side by side, Plante spoke.
“I know he can be a prick. But decoding this message could be far more important than your spat with Kline.” Morgan continued to walk, half ignoring Plante. “I know I have no right to. But I’m asking you to be the bigger man here.”
“So you’re playing good cop to Kline’s anal-retentive, shit-for-brains cop?” said Morgan.
“I’m playing the handler who doesn’t want to see Cougar’s work fall to pieces,” said Plante, frustrated. He exhaled, and his voice became unusually earnest. “There’s no strategy here, Cobra. I’m not trying to manipulate you. He was your friend, and my friend, too. He died for this assignment. And you know he didn’t take assignments unless he knew they were good and worthwhile.” Plante looked at him. “He was like you that way.”