The Enemy

probably the only other human on the planet who liked coffee as much as I did. He started drinking it when he was six. I copied him immediately. I was four. Neither of us has stopped since. The Reacher brothers’ need for caffeine makes heroin addiction look like an amusing little take-it-or-leave-it sideline.
    We found a place with a W-shaped counter snaking through it. It was three-quarters empty. It was harshly lit with fluorescent tubes and the vinyl on the stools was sticky. We sat side by side and rested our forearms on the counter in the universal pose of early-morning travelers everywhere. A guy in an apron put mugs in front of us without asking. Then he filled them with coffee from a flask. The coffee smelled fresh. The place was changing over from the all-night service to the breakfast menu. I could hear eggs frying.
    “What happened in Panama?” Joe asked.
    “To me?” I said. “Nothing.”
    “What were your orders there?”
    “Supervision.”
    “Of what?”
    “Of the process,” I said. “The Noriega thing is supposed to look judicial. He’s supposed to stand trial here in the States. So we’re supposed to grab him up with some kind of formality. Some way that will look acceptable when we get him in a courtroom.”
    “You were going to read him his Miranda rights?”
    “Not exactly. But it had to be better than some cowboy thing.”
    “Did you screw up?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Who replaced you?”
    “Some other guy.”
    “Rank?”
    “Same,” I said.
    “A rising star?”
    I sipped my coffee. Shook my head. “I never met him before. But he seemed like a bit of an asshole to me.”
    Joe nodded and picked up his mug. Said nothing.
    “What?” I said.
    “Bird’s not a small post,” he said. “But it’s not real big either, right? What are you working on?”
    “Right now? Some two-star died and I can’t find his briefcase.”
    “Homicide?”
    I shook my head. “Heart attack.”
    “When?”
    “Last night.”
    “
After
you got there?”
    I said nothing.
    “You sure you didn’t screw up?” Joe said.
    “I don’t think so,” I said again.
    “So why did they pull you out of Panama? One day you’re supervising the Noriega process, and the next day you’re in North Carolina with nothing to do? And you’d
still
have nothing to do if the general hadn’t died.”
    “I got orders,” I said. “You know how it is. You have to assume they know what they’re doing.”
    “Who signed the orders?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You should find out. Find out who wanted you at Bird badly enough to pull you out of Panama and replace you with an asshole. And you should find out why.”
    The guy in the apron refilled our mugs. Shoved plastic menus in front of us.
    “Eggs,” Joe said. “Over well, bacon, toast.”
    “Pancakes,” I said. “Egg on the top, bacon on the side, plenty of syrup.”
    The guy took the menus back and went away and Joe turned around on his stool and sat back-to with his legs stretched way out into the aisle.
    “What exactly did her doctor say?” I asked him.
    He shrugged. “Not very much. No details, no diagnosis. No real information. European doctors aren’t very good with bad news. They hedge around it all the time. Plus, there’s a privacy issue, obviously.”
    “But we’re headed over there for a reason?”
    He nodded. “He suggested we might want to come. And then he hinted that sooner might be better than later.”
    “What is
she
saying?”
    “That it’s all a lot of fuss about nothing. But that we’re always welcome to visit.”

    We finished our breakfast and I paid for it. Then Joe gave me my ticket, like a transaction. I was sure he earned more than me, but probably not enough to make an airline ticket proportional to a plate of eggs and bacon with toast on the side. But I took the deal. We got off our stools and got our bearings and headed for the check-in counter.
    “Take your coat off,” he said.
    “Why?”
    “I want the clerk to see your medal ribbons,” he said. “Military action going on overseas, we might get an upgrade.”
    “It’s Air France,” I said. “France isn’t even a military member of NATO.”
    “The check-in clerk will be American,” Joe said. “Try it.”
    I shrugged out of my coat. Folded it over my arm and walked sideways so the left of my chest stuck out forward.
    “OK now?” I said.
    “Perfect,” he said, and smiled.
    I smiled back. Left-to-right on the top row I wear the Silver Star,