"I will. I'm no hero. You know that."
"Okay. Get moving."
Cash started toward the door.
"Wait. Norm? Good luck." Railsback half rose to extend a hand.
Surprised, Cash shook. Hank's palm was moist and cold. "Thanks."
He left Hank staring out the window.
It was suppertime before he got home. There was so much to do, so many people to talk to. Time fled as if some light-fingered thief were stealing his life-hours while he was preoccupied.
Malone. He was the worst chrono-bandit. Every time Cash turned around, there the agent was, pushing him for that New York address. The man wanted the stalk for himself. Apparently there were points to be tallied with Langley.
This was the downhill side. The big slide to the brink of the pit. Time seem to flow at an ever-increasing pace… He couldn't relax, couldn't rest. He kept remembering the shot-gunned cat. This was no good. He was working himself into another state of nerves…
Carrie, Nancy, and their offspring didn't help. They made his home scene seem like there was a Sicilian wake taking place amid the goings on at Little Big Horn. He finally fled to his bedroom, to lie staring at the ceiling, reviewing the insignificance and disappointment of his life.
It hadn't been much. Wouldn't become much. He hadn't contributed anything. History wouldn't have noticed at all if he had never been born. The highs and lows, the goods and evils, those hadn't touched but a handful of lives.
Not much of a bright side, thinking that, if you hadn't saved the world, at least you hadn't helped destroy it.
The next thing he knew, Annie was shaking his shoulder.
"What time is it?"
"Two." She eased down beside him.
"I have to leave pretty soon."
"I know."
He rolled toward her, pulling her close.
There was a gentle sorrow to their loving, an expression of unspoken fears. For Norm there was a thirty-year-old dйjа vu. There had been another such night early in 1944, before he had marched off to war.
They hadn't been married then. Had not been lovers till that final night…
Alpha and Omega?
Annie refused to go to the airport, just as she had refused to go to the railway station back then.
Le Quyen watched her husband depart with the same sad eyes.
Matthew did the driving. It was a cool, silent morning. They had the freeway almost to themselves. There was a heavy dew, and the air smelled of rain.
Cash didn't notice Beth till after they had boarded the plane. She couldn't hide there. There weren't a dozen passengers to get lost among.
"Beth!" he exploded. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Going to Rochester."
For half a minute he was too confused to say anything. Then, "Girl, you just march yourself right back home."
She sat down, buckled her seat belt.
"Come on, Beth. This isn't any job for you."
She ignored him.
He started to summon a stewardess, to have her put off the plane. Then he realized that people were staring, realized how foolish he would look and sound. He plopped down, angrily fastened his own belt.
Tran stared out a window with a bemused smile.
"I don't think it's funny," Cash told him. "This isn't some vacation trip."
"I was reflecting on the paradoxes in chains of command."
"I don't follow you."
"How many times have you threatened to crucify your lieutenant because he wouldn't let you do things your way? How many times have you ignored him? You set the example for her."
Cash looked at Tran sharply. He wanted to claim that these circumstances were different. But he couldn't. That would have been pure hypocrisy.
He grinned. "You got me dead to rights."
Having listened to the conversation, Beth remarked, "It's too late anyway, Norm." The engines began to whine. "So let's get on with the job."
He gave her a look that promised he wouldn't forget, but said only, "What else can I do?" He sighed, closed his eyes.
"Wake me up when we get there."
He wouldn't sleep. Flying frightened him too much. Every little creak from the airframe would be sandpaper across raw nerves. Safety statistics didn't mean a thing to the primitive cowering at the back of his skull.
Frank Segasture, true to his promise, was there to meet them.
Cash embraced the man. "How the hell are you, you runt wop? Getting a little chunky there, aren't you?" He jabbed a finger into the man's spare tire.
Segasture was short, broad, and swarthy. He looked more like a movie Mafioso than a detective. He took the insults with a grin. "When you going to wake up and start wearing a hat? What the wind ain't bleached it's blown away. Kids started calling you chrome-dome yet?"
"Hey, Frank, when the dust settles let's go out and get plowed. I haven't gone clubbing since that time in D.C."
"In Rochester? You got to be shitting me. Man, people around here go to Cleveland for excitement." He eyeballed Beth while he talked. She reddened, tried pretending she didn't notice.
"Oh. This is Major Tran. And Beth Tavares."
"Ah. The lady on the phone. The one with the sexy voice." He ogled her. "Maybe we can learn something from you guys in the sticks. I never had a partner like this."
Beth blushed more deeply, moved nearer Cash.
"Tran, did you say? The Viets are in on this, too?"
"Just personal curiosity," Tran replied. "I was a police officer myself. I find this case extremely interesting."
"That it is. You guys had breakfast yet? Didn't think so. With that outfit you're lucky the plane even got here. Come on. Let's get your bags and go. I've got us set up at the Holiday Inn. It's only a couple of miles from the house."
"I'm not hungry," said Cash, puffing as he tried to match Segasture's pace. "Let's just go out there…"
"Down, Sherlock. There ain't no rush. She hasn't showed yet. Might as well take it easy till she does."
"She hasn't?" Sudden fear rolled over Cash. Had he guessed wrong? "But she's had plenty of time…"
"Hey! Don't get an ulcer. Okay? We'll know if… when she comes in. And where she goes."