The Marching Season

that. That's the way he'd do it."
    "I think the information is good," Michael said. "Devlin knew we would be skeptical. That's why he met face-to-face, to show us he was serious."
    "You're probably right," Graham said. "I'll try to push things along quietly from the inside. In fact, I may pop over to Ulster and handle it myself. I need a break from Helen. She's entered a new phase, retro punk. She's spiked her hair, and she listens to nothing but the Clash and the Sex Pistols."
    "This too shall pass," Michael pronounced solemnly.
    "I know, but I'm just afraid the next one will be something worse."
    Michael laughed for the first time in many days.
    The Marching Season 179
    At Cannon Point, Elizabeth laid a pair of large quilts on the floor of the bedroom. She placed the children on the quilts, first Jake, then Liza, and surrounded them with stuffed animals, squeeze toys, and rattles. For twenty minutes she lay on the floor between them, playing, and making the same silly cooing sounds that drove her mad before she had children. She sat down on the end of the bed and just watched them. She had forced herself to abandon her trial preparations and focus on nothing but the children for the entire weekend. It had been wonderful; that morning she had taken the children for a long walk along the Shore Road, then to lunch at her favorite restaurant in Sag Harbor. It would have been perfect, except for the fact that her husband and her father were both in London.
    She marveled at how different the children were already. Liza was like her mother: outgoing, social, talkative in her own way, eager to please others. Jake was just the opposite. Jake lived in his head. Liza was already trying to tell everyone what she was thinking. Jake was private. He kept secrets. He's four months old, she thought, and he's already just like his father and his grandfather. If he becomes a spy I think I'll shoot myself.
    Then she thought of the way she had been treating Michael, and she immediately felt guilty. She had no right to resent Michael for accepting the Northern Ireland task-force job. In fact, she had come to the conclusion that it had been foolish of her to allow him to leave the Agency in the first place. He was right. It was an important job, and for some reason it seemed to make him happy.
    Elizabeth looked at the children. Liza was chattering at a tiny stuffed dog, but Jake lay on his back, gazing upward through the
    180 Daniel Silva
    window, lost in his own secret world. Michael was what he was, and there was no use trying to change him. Once, she had loved him for it.
    She thought of Michael in Belfast, and a chill ran over her. She wondered what he was doing—whether he had gone to dangerous places. She would never get used to the idea of his leaving home and going into the field. Such a silly term, she thought: "the field," as if it were some sort of pleasant meadow where nothing bad ever happened. When he was away she had a constant ball of anxiety in her abdomen. At night she slept with a light burning and the television playing softly. It wasn't necessarily that she feared for his safety; she had seen Michael in action before, and she knew he could take care of himself. The anxiety came from the knowledge that Michael became a different man when he was away. When he came home he always seemed a bit like a stranger. He lived a different life when he was in the field, and sometimes Elizabeth wondered whether she was a part of it.
    She saw headlights on the Shore Road. She went to the window and watched as a car stopped at the security gate. The guard waved the car into the compound without telephoning the house first, which meant the driver was Michael.
    "Maggie?" Elizabeth called.
    Maggie came into the room. "Yes, Elizabeth?"
    "Michael's home. Can you watch the children for a minute?"
    "Of course."
    Elizabeth ran down the stairs. She grabbed a coat from the hook in the entrance hall and wrapped it around her shoulders as she hurried across the drive toward the car.
    She threw her arms around him and said, "I've missed you, Michael. I'm so sorry about everything. Please forgive me."
    "For what?" he said, kissing her forehead softly.
    The Marching Season 181
    "For being such a horse's ass."
    She squeezed him, and Michael groaned. She pushed him away, a puzzled looked on her face, and pulled him into a patch of light leaking from a window.
    "Oh, my God. What happened to you?"
    20
    LONDON *■ MYKONOS        ATHENS
    One week