Martinez left, the aide made an explanation to the men that the slide was a private joke between Martinez and his staff and had accidentally been left in the presentation. “The general has quite a sense of humor about himself,” he insisted.
It didn’t look like it as Duvalier watched him on his way out of camp back to the red-white-and-blue plane.
General Martinez needed to lash out and Lambert was the nearest target. Duvalier watched him pace back and forth in front of her as he dressed her down.
“So, if I could summarize,” Lambert finally said, “somebody knew you were showing up with a slide show, had a slide manufactured, inserted it into the tray that was always in the control of your people, then manipulated the soldier working the slides—one of your staff, I might add—into making your slide projector malfunction in order to humiliate you in front of the troops?”
She had a strange moment when putting her things together in her little space in the barn, that she would never see it again. The premonition bothered her more than she would admit to anyone.
Just in case, she had a few words to Brother Mark about a will. He was used to comforting the fearful, probed her on her concerns, and asked her about the three worst moments of her life and how she got through them. “Now, a long trip to attend some meetings doesn’t sound as bad as that,” he said, after she told him about the time she’d stomped a Quisling to death as a teen. Her first murder.
With that done, he helped her write down a few things on a standard form and they turned it in to the administrative service together.
“Good choices,” he said, as they made their farewells.
He was referring to the disposition of her assets. She had a fair amount of pay stored up, since she was out of the home areas and in the KZ so often she hardly had time to spend it. Much of it had automatically been placed with Southern Command’s bond funds. She arranged for a division between Ahn-Kha and Val, the closest she had to family, except for a few thousand dollars to build a kids’ park somewhere. Her happiest times as a child had been on a few pieces of playground equipment, and she still liked watching kids climb and slide. She wrapped an old red bra and a phony wedding ring in some tissue paper and labeled the package for Val, a little memento to remember her by.
Feeling somewhat more optimistic and lightened—odd how preparing for the eventuality of your death put a shine on the day—she ate what was for her an enormous meal at the canteen and took a last walk around the camp. The nights were growing warmer and there were a few pickup soccer and volleyball games going. She won five straight games of darts in the base lounge, listening to the Fort Seng guitar band play old rock and roll, and returned to the bugs of her attic vaguely proud that she hadn’t given in to her loins when they flared up over a pair of cute sergeants shooting pool with a Bear.
They said bullfighters always wanted sex before a fight, and sometimes in the past she’d given in to lust before an op. But Fort Seng was almost like a big extended family, and there was bound tobe gossip—and if she returned, she didn’t want to deal with the are-we-or-aren’t-we questions.
In any case, this wasn’t an op with obvious dangers, like the exploit in the Hoosier National Forest. It was supposed to be a kind of vacation. Still, she worked her blades against a whetstone as a way of preparing herself for sleep. The
rasp-rasp-rasp
soothed and her breathing slowed and deepened, and after returning the blades to their sheaths she dropped right off, to the sound of horses stamping and swishing.
CHAPTER THREE
“T
ravel.” To the early twenty-first-century ear, the word is full of romanticism. Travel means delicious exotic food, sightseeing, meeting interesting people who might turn into friends or lovers, and above all, a pleasant, relaxing break from ordinary life.
To those
It didn’t look like it as Duvalier watched him on his way out of camp back to the red-white-and-blue plane.
General Martinez needed to lash out and Lambert was the nearest target. Duvalier watched him pace back and forth in front of her as he dressed her down.
“So, if I could summarize,” Lambert finally said, “somebody knew you were showing up with a slide show, had a slide manufactured, inserted it into the tray that was always in the control of your people, then manipulated the soldier working the slides—one of your staff, I might add—into making your slide projector malfunction in order to humiliate you in front of the troops?”
She had a strange moment when putting her things together in her little space in the barn, that she would never see it again. The premonition bothered her more than she would admit to anyone.
Just in case, she had a few words to Brother Mark about a will. He was used to comforting the fearful, probed her on her concerns, and asked her about the three worst moments of her life and how she got through them. “Now, a long trip to attend some meetings doesn’t sound as bad as that,” he said, after she told him about the time she’d stomped a Quisling to death as a teen. Her first murder.
With that done, he helped her write down a few things on a standard form and they turned it in to the administrative service together.
“Good choices,” he said, as they made their farewells.
He was referring to the disposition of her assets. She had a fair amount of pay stored up, since she was out of the home areas and in the KZ so often she hardly had time to spend it. Much of it had automatically been placed with Southern Command’s bond funds. She arranged for a division between Ahn-Kha and Val, the closest she had to family, except for a few thousand dollars to build a kids’ park somewhere. Her happiest times as a child had been on a few pieces of playground equipment, and she still liked watching kids climb and slide. She wrapped an old red bra and a phony wedding ring in some tissue paper and labeled the package for Val, a little memento to remember her by.
Feeling somewhat more optimistic and lightened—odd how preparing for the eventuality of your death put a shine on the day—she ate what was for her an enormous meal at the canteen and took a last walk around the camp. The nights were growing warmer and there were a few pickup soccer and volleyball games going. She won five straight games of darts in the base lounge, listening to the Fort Seng guitar band play old rock and roll, and returned to the bugs of her attic vaguely proud that she hadn’t given in to her loins when they flared up over a pair of cute sergeants shooting pool with a Bear.
They said bullfighters always wanted sex before a fight, and sometimes in the past she’d given in to lust before an op. But Fort Seng was almost like a big extended family, and there was bound tobe gossip—and if she returned, she didn’t want to deal with the are-we-or-aren’t-we questions.
In any case, this wasn’t an op with obvious dangers, like the exploit in the Hoosier National Forest. It was supposed to be a kind of vacation. Still, she worked her blades against a whetstone as a way of preparing herself for sleep. The
rasp-rasp-rasp
soothed and her breathing slowed and deepened, and after returning the blades to their sheaths she dropped right off, to the sound of horses stamping and swishing.
CHAPTER THREE
“T
ravel.” To the early twenty-first-century ear, the word is full of romanticism. Travel means delicious exotic food, sightseeing, meeting interesting people who might turn into friends or lovers, and above all, a pleasant, relaxing break from ordinary life.
To those
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