Gone Tomorrow

embarrassing it is.”
    “You don’t want me in the Senate?”
    “I don’t care how you spend your time. I’m curious, that’s all.”
    He asked, “Why won’t you tell me where it is right now?”
    “Because I have something else to do first. And I need you to keep the cops out of my hair while I’m doing it. So I need a way of keeping your mind on the job.”
    “You could be conning me.”
    “I could be, but I’m not.”
    He said nothing back.
    I asked, “Why do you want to be in the Senate anyway?”
    “Why wouldn’t I?”
    “You were a good soldier and now you’re richer than God. Why not go live on the beach?”
    “These things are a way of keeping score. I’m sure you have your own way of keeping score.”
    I nodded. “I compare the number of answers I get to the number of questions I ask.”
    “And how are you doing with that?”
    “Lifetime average close to a thousand.”
    “Why ask at all? If you know where the stick is, just go get it.”
    “I can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “It’s going to take more resources than I could mobilize.”
    “Where is it?”
    I didn’t answer.
    “Is it here in New York?”
    I didn’t answer.
    He asked, “Is it secure?”
    I said, “It’s safe enough.”
    “Can I trust you?”
    “Plenty of people have.”
    “And?”
    “I think most of them would be willing to give me a character reference.”
    “And the others?”
    “There’s no pleasing some folks.”
    He said, “I saw your service record.”
    I said, “You told me that.”
    “It was mixed.”
    “I tried my best. But I had a mind of my own.”
    “Why did you quit?”
    “I got bored. You?”
    “I got old.”
    “What is on that stick?”
    He didn’t answer. Springfield was standing mute, in the lee of the TV cabinet, closer to the door than the window. Pure habit, I guessed. Simple reflex. He was invisible to a potential external sniper and close enough to the corridor to be all over an intruder the second the door swung open. Training stays with a person. Especially Delta training. I stepped over and gave him his gun back. He took it without a word and put it in his waistband.
    Sansom said, “Tell me what you know so far.”
    I said, “You were airlifted from Bragg to Turkey, and then Oman. Then India, probably. Then Pakistan, and the North West Frontier.”
    He nodded and said nothing. He had a faraway look in his eyes. I guessed he was reliving the journey in his mind. Transport planes, helicopters, trucks, long miles on foot.
    All long ago.
    “Then Afghanistan,” I said.
    “Go on,” he said.
    “Probably you stayed on the flank of the Abas Ghar and headed south and west, following the line of the Korengal Valley, maybe a thousand feet from the floor.”
    “Go on.”
    “You stumbled over Grigori Hoth and took his rifle and let him wander away.”
    “Go on.”
    “Then you kept on walking, to wherever it was you had been ordered to go.”
    He nodded.
    I said, “That’s all I know so far.”
    He asked, “Where were you in March of 1983?”
    “West Point.”
    “What was the big news?”
    “The Red Army was trying to stop the bleeding.”
    He nodded again. “It was an insane campaign. No one has ever beaten the tribesmen in the North West Frontier. Not in the whole of history. And they had our own experience in Vietnam to study. Some things just can’t be done. It was a slow-motion meat grinder. Like getting pecked to death by birds. We were very happy about it, obviously.”
    “We helped,” I said.
    “We sure did. We gave the mujahideen everything they wanted. For free.”
    “Like Lend-Lease.”
    “Worse,” Sansom said. “Lend-Lease was about helping friends that happened to be bankrupt at the time. The mujahideen were not bankrupt. Quite the reverse. There were all kinds of weird tribal alliances that stretched all the way to Saudi. The mujahideen had more money than we did, practically.”
    “And?”
    “When you’re in the habit of giving people everything they want, it’s very hard to stop.”
    “What more did they want?”
    “Recognition,” he said. “Tribute. Acknowledgment. Courtesy. Face time. It’s hard to know exactly how to characterize it.”
    “So what was the mission?”
    “Can we trust you?”
    “You want to get the file back?”
    “Yes.”
    “So what was the mission?”
    “We went to see the mujahideen’s top boy. Bearing gifts. All kinds of gaudy trinkets, from Ronald Reagan himself. We were his personal envoys. We had a White