He sniffed a few times, and I realized he was weeping. "I was counting on it, just for a moment or two, that you'd splatter me. That you'd end it for me; make me have some quiet nights for once in my life. And now it ain't gonna happen."
Keith crossed his arms and squeezed himself tight, and then started rocking back and forth, murmuring to himself. I got up on my feet and walked over to another boulder, about six feet away from Keith. I sat down and held the pistol down between my legs.
"Why are you here, Keith? Coming through on your threat?"
He slowed his movements, looked over at me. "So I did do that, huh? I threatened you, right?"
"Yes, you did, back at the submarine museum, earlier today."
"Knew it!" he said, his voice triumphant. "Knew it, knew it, and that's why I came here. Took me a bit to track you down. I came here to apologize to you, for threatening you. I don't remember it that well, but when it came to me, I decided to come down and apologize to you, face-to-face."
I touched my own face, where I had scraped it some against the gravel of my driveway. "That's a hell of a way to apologize, by knocking me off my feet."
His back-and-forth movements slowed even more. "Oh, I had a reason for that, a very good reason. You want to hear it?"
"Sure," I said.
"Well, I figured I was here to apologize to you, for what happened up at the museum. But suppose I hadn't done anything wrong to you at the museum? Then my trip here would be a waste of' time… Lord, how I hate to think of wasting any time, any time at all. So I figured I’d knock your ass over end, and if I hadn’t threatened you, then I’d have to something to apologize to you for.
I touched my face again. "About as much as anything else has today."
Now he had stopped moving. He said, "I can tell by your look, and by your tone. You think I'm nuts, don't you?"
"No, I---"
"Please don't insult what little intelligence I have left, Mr. Cole," he said. "I know what I am, know quite well. A long time ago I was something else, something to look up to."
"Your dad told me. You were a Marine pilot, on an F/A-18. That must have been something, to fly jets on and off aircraft carriers."
"You have no idea," he said, his voice toneless.
"You're right," I said. "I have no idea."
"It's ... it's ... " He paused, seemed to look over my shoulder. "It's a like a tall pyramid you're climbing, day after day. When you first start out, as a recruit, the pyramid's pretty wide and the steps are real easy, to get up to the next level. Then you become an officer, then you enter flight school. The pyramid gets steeper, the steps narrower. You suck it in and keep on moving, no matter what. Then you fly solo, then you fly jets, then you fly carrier jets... The ocean's a big place, Mr. Cole, especially at night when you're looking for a place to land. By then the pyramid's so steep and the steps are so narrow... Doesn't take much to fall off."
"Your dad told me a little bit about it. You had an electrical problem in your jet, right?"
He grinned. "Sounds so innocuous, here on the ground, nice and safe, doesn't it? Electrical problem. Like a refrigerator light burned out, or a fuse that needs replacing. Let me tell you what an electrical problem is, my friend. Flying a huge piece of machinery at night, everything in your grasp and under your feet, everything you can control. A flick of the wrist here and you'r heading to Oman. Another flick of the wrist, and you're heading to Qatar. All that power. All that authority. In your little hands. And this night, you’ve done your patrol, you’re heading back to the ship, heading back to that couple of acres of moving steel on a wide ocean, heading back to you squadron and your buds.”
I kept quiet, letting him talk, now trying to hide the fact that I was still holding the pistol, firm behind my legs. Keith went on. "Amazing thing, from one second to another how things can change. Second one, you're a spit-and-polish Marine aviator, flying a multimillion-dollar piece of machinery. Second two, your electrical equipment fries out. Second three, you're a frightened little child, wondering how you're going to get home and live."
I spoke up, trying to keep my voice calm and not accusatory, not at all. "Did you consider ejecting?"
It looked as if he shivered. "Sure I did. But you've heard stories... about guys snapping their spines, breaking their legs, drowning in the water with the parachute wrapped around your head... Plus, well, it's hard to explain. There's a sense of pride in what you do. You want to bring that jet home to the carrier. You don't want to dump it in the water and face all that bullshit later on. So. Electrical problem pops up and you go through your training, and flip on the backup battery systems. And you look at your dials, and you can't believe what you see. The battery system is dying. You have just a few minutes to land that plane, before everything fails on you... I... I'm sorry. I can't go on anymore or I won't sleep at all tonight. Let's just say I got on the carrier and they had to carry me out of the cockpit. And I never flew again. Never."
"What did you do then?"
He shrugged. "I tried a couple of times to get back into my Hornet, and I couldn't do it. My legs would just freeze as I'd walk across the flight deck. Could not move. So I was assigned to desk duty. First tumble off the pyramid. Then I started having the shakes just thinking of everything that could go wrong on the ship. Even in peacetime, military people die all the time, don’t they.”
"Sure," I said. "Training accidents. Equipment problems. Aircraft collisions.”
“You’re so very right,” he said. “And a two- or three-paragraph story in the newspaper later, and nobody cares anymore. It got so I couldn’t stand being on the carrier anymore. All those steam pipes, the live ammunition, jets taking off and landing... I started spending more and more time in my bunk staring at the bulkheads, just with the shakes, imagining everything that could go wrong... Pretty soon I was shipped back to the States, to a regular base, and after that, I was discharged... More and more tumbles off the pyramid."
"The Porter Naval Shipyard," I said. "It must have been just as hard there. All the machinery. Hazardous waste. Radioactive materials. Welding and cutting of metal. You couldn't stay, could you?"
"Nope. Nobody understood, nobody. The world is such a dangerous place, especially when you've been dumped off that pyramid and are down in the mud. Am I right?"
I turned for a moment and looked at my house. Remembered how it had been the first few months I had lived there after my own little tumble off the pyramid, when my little world had been destroyed and people I knew and had loved had been killed. The long hours spent just looking out at the ocean, or, at night, up at the stars. The hurried trips to the bookstore and grocery store, to pick up reading material and food, so I could stay hunkered down in my new home without having to speak to or see anyone.
Oh yes, I knew it well. Living down there at the bottom of the pyramid, living in the fear and mud and squalor. I looked over at Keith, now saw him almost as a brother. We had both been there. I had been lucky enough to fight and find my own path out. This poor ex-Marine, ex-member of a group dedicated to the service of their country, was still a lost soul. I felt a flush of shame, remembering how quickly I had grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground.
I spoke up. "Yes, Keith. You're absolutely right. The world is a dangerous place."
His rocking motion started up again, slowly this time. "I knew it, always knew it. Thanks for agreeing with me. Not everybody else does, not hardly. And the place is getting more and more dangerous, you know. Strange cars. Strange lights. People from afar poking around and asking questions. All looking for something."
I froze, not even daring to breathe, wondering if I was overreacting to what I had just heard. "Really?" I slowly asked. "You've spotted these things?"
I couldn't see it, but I sensed his smile. "Sure. I'm not stupid, Mr. Cole. If you asked me, I could give you the step-by-step procedure for starting up a General Electric Model4-A turbofan jet engine for an F/A-18 Hornet without missing a step. I get around. I see things. I see a lot."
"And what have you seen?"
"Strangers. Lots of them. In planes and helicopters and dark cars. All looking for the same thing, all of them asking lots and lots of questions. You too, am I right? Even asking my old man. All hunting the same thing. And you want to know a funny thing? Nobody's asked me a thing. Me, who stands in the shadows, who moves around this entire seacoast without being noticed, who sees things, who's ignored. Nobody's asked me a thing."
The hand holding my pistol was starting to fall asleep, getting the pins-and-needles feeling, but I wouldn't move it, would not disturb the moment. "All right, Keith. I'll ask you. Do you know what everyone's looking for?"
He giggled. "Sure. Ten boxes, metal, sealed with metal pack straps, nine inches by nine inches by nine inches, marked on the outside by a swastika and the phrase 'Eigentum der OKW.' OKW means 'Oberkommando der Wehrmacht.' The German High Command. Sure, I know where it is. I even tried to talk to my dad and he blew me off. Thought I was drunk or something. You think I’m stupid?"
I could no longer hear the ocean or the traffic on Atlantic Avenue or any other damn thing. "No, you are definitely not stupid. Where is it?"
"Around,” he said.
"At the shipyard, where you worked?”
“Look,” he said, his voice rising up a bit. “It’s around, okay? Why are you asking me so many questions? Are you trying to steal it from me?"
"No, no, not at all," I said, thinking furiously. "Look, did you know there's a reward for those boxes?"
Now I had his attention. "A reward? Are you sure? How much?"
"How much do you need?"
"Hrnmm," he said, "that's a question. Do you think the reward could be a weekly stipend? Tax-free?"
Knowing what was going through Laura Reeves's mind right at this moment, I said, "Sure. That wouldn't be a problem."
"Okay."
We sat for a few long moments, until I said, "Okay... okay what, Keith?"
"Okay, I'll turn the boxes over. But only to you. You've taken the time to talk to me and I appreciate that. Plus, well, I mean, well, the reward's all mine, right?"
"Absolutely. Turn the boxes over to me, and the reward belongs to you and nobody else."
"Okay."
Another long pause. I took my free hand and rubbed at my face, winced at touching the scrapes from where I had fallen. "Keith, I'm not pushing you or anything. I'm just trying to plan my day here. When you said okay, did you mean you're ready to turn the boxes over to me?"
"Shit, yes, didn't you get that?"
There was a pounding in my chest when I heard that. "Fine. Can we do it now?"
His voice lowered. "Hell, no. Not now."
"Why?" I asked.
" 'Cause it's in a dark place, that's why. A very dark place indeed. And I won't go in a place that's dark, no, sir."
"I could bring some strong floodlights, make it look like it's light."
He shook his head. “Nope. Suppose your lights burn out? Like the batteries on my Hornet? Then where would I be? Nope. Daylight. Tomorrow. That’s when we go in. And don’t ask me
anymore. I'll think you'll be trying to get the reward money."
Despite the emotions racing through me, I was trying to keep my tone nice and calm. "All right. I can see that. Tomorrow it is. What's the best time for you?"
"Ten o'clock," he said firmly. "I get up and watch the morning news shows --- I love those girls on the 'Today' show --- and then I have my breakfast and wash my face. By ten o'clock, I'll be ready. You can pick me up at my apartment. Fourteen Seward Street in Porter. Apartment twelve. That's a one and a two. You'll remember, right?"
"Sure I'll remember," I said. "But Keith... wouldn't it be better if you spent the night here, at my place? You could have my bedroom, I'd make you breakfast and we can watch the 'Today' show together. Wouldn't that work?"
He laughed. "That's a fair offer. And if you were one of the girls on the 'Today' show, I'd take you up on it. But I know my place. I know where the bad things are and what's in the shadows. And if I was at your place, I wouldn't be able to sleep at all. I wouldn't feel right. No, don't you fret. We'll meet tomorrow and you'll get your boxes and I'll get my reward. Fair enough?"
Keith stood up and held out his hand, which I shook I kept the hand holding my Beretta behind my back "Fair enough. Tomorrow, ten A.M. Apartment twelve at Fourteen Seward Street. I'll be there."
He started heading out to the parking lot. "So," Keith asked, "what's in those boxes that is so important anyway?"
I thought for a moment. "Something that needs to be in the right hands. Something that could make this world a very dangerous place."
"Okay." And another quick nod. "That's good enough for me. See you tomorrow, Mr. Cole. And oh, one more thing."
"What's that?" I asked, feeling foolish standing there with the pistol still hidden behind my back.
He waved at me. “I’m glad you didn’t shoot me. And I’m sorry for the trouble I caused. I won’t drink anything tonight, promise. And you can put your gun away. All right?”