He turned quickly away, anxious beyond measure to read the file. He put it under his sweater vest and went straight to his cubicle. Glancing around to make sure no one was approaching or likely to interrupt him in the next fifteen minutes, he took the file out from under his sweater, opened it, and read the cover: mega investigation. top secret.
Woods pushed against the weights as he strained to beat his personal record of bench-press repetition. He tried to get to the weight room on the 03 level at least five times a week. It had been three days since he had been there, and he was itching to get back to his schedule. He often found himself at the weight room after midnight, when it was not only uncrowded, but unrushed. Sometimes sacrificing sleep for conditioning was not a good trade, especially when he had to fly, but he found lifting weights reduced his stress.
They had already planned the strike down to the last second, but he needed a forty-five minute workout before he got ready for the brief. The workout helped him keep his mind off all the things that could go wrong.
He wasn’t the only one. The weight room was crowded with sweaty men and two women, two S-3 pilots who worked out every night. Woods was slightly put out because he had to wait for each station.
As he finished his fifteenth bench press, he lowered the weights slowly so they didn’t drop. Sweat rolled down his cheeks as his red face relaxed. Grabbing his towel, he stood up and moved to the next station. He waited for the S-3 pilot to finish and then put the pin in the weights for the leg press.
“Lieutenant Woods?”
Woods hadn’t see the man come in, but he recognized the voice. Great, Woods thought. I am not up for this. Not turning around, he placed his feet on the metal plates to begin his first leg press. He pushed hard and the large column of weights moved upward. Finally, Woods nodded toward the chaplain, just one inch short of rudely ignoring him.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” the chaplain said, unfazed.
Woods didn’t say anything. He pushed the weights up with his legs, his hands solidly gripping the handles on either side of the seat. Straining against the weights, he held his breath and tried not to grunt.
“Your roommate, Mr. McMack, told me I could find you here.”
“What’s up?”
The chaplain stood awkwardly, watching Woods. “May I talk to you?”
“I’m going to keep going, if that’s okay. But say what you want to say.” He pushed against the weights again.
“I’ve been thinking about our last conversation.” He waited for Woods to reply, but Woods was silent. “I have some concerns I’d like to discuss with you.”
Woods let the weights he was holding up with his legs slam down. The sharp sound was like a rifle shot that sent a bolt of fear through the chaplain. “What?” Woods said.
The chaplain walked around the station so that he could look at Woods. “Do you remember what we talked about?”
“Look, Father, if you’ve got something to say, let’s hear it.”
“Yes. I’m sorry for the intrusion. I’ve been thinking about what has happened. I simply wanted to ask you one question.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m concerned about what we’re doing.”
“We who?” Woods said.
“The U.S. I’m concerned about how we got into this war.”
“Why?”
“If someone from this ship went into Lebanon without the country knowing it, without authorization, and it led to an official declaration of war, it may not be, well, it might not be a just war, or the right thing to do. That would be deceitful.”
Woods wiped his face and closed his eyes momentarily. “I’m not following you.”
“When you sent my memo to Congress, we told them how just it would be to declare war. But the actual reason Congress gave for going to war was not for the attack on Lieutenant Vialli, but for the other attacks: the attaché, the Navy commander, and the State Department man. And those attacks were in response to their belief. You, or someone like you went into Lebanon with the Israelis. Wouldn’t that make the war unjust? Wouldn’t the declaration of war by Congress based on deceit be fraud?”
“No,” Woods replied quickly. “We should declare war against this guy for killing Vialli. That’s all this is about. Tony Vialli. They killed him, and now they’re going to pay for it. Simple as that.” Woods got up from the leg press and walked around the chaplain to the next station. He sat on the bench facing out. “And now they’ve killed other Americans. I don’t understand how you can even say that,” Woods said.
The chaplain stood in front of him, refusing to leave until he satisfied some apparently unquenchable desire to talk this through. “Remember how Germany invaded Poland?”
“What?”
“World War II. Remember? Germany invaded Poland in 1939.”
“Of course. Everybody knows that.”
“Well, that’s what brought England into it, and started the real fighting. Remember how it started?”
“Sure. Germany invaded Poland and beat the hell out of them.”
“Yes, but why did Germany invade? What was the supposed reason?”
“Don’t remember.” Woods checked his watch.
“There was an attack on German soldiers around a radio station on the Polish border. Twenty or thirty soldiers were killed. Pictures of the dead bodies with their German uniforms were circulated. Hitler was outraged and said he would defend Germany. He invaded Poland the next day.”
“Okay,” Woods said.
“His response was justified?”
“Maybe, I don’t know—”
“Hitler staged the entire thing,” the chaplain said. Woods was interested, but he didn’t get the point. “The dead Germans were prisoners. Hitler murdered a bunch of prisoners, put them in uniforms at the communications station, and declared that an outrageous attack had occurred. He deceived his own countrymen, the Poles, and the world. He used it as the pretense to start World War II.”
“I gotta keep going here. What are you getting at?”
“If someone from this ship performed an illegal action and our declaration of war is the result of that, we’re in the same boat as Adolf Hitler.”
“It’s not the same at all,” Woods said.
“Why not?”
“Because the Sheikh murdered Vialli.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the Sheikh said so!”
“What if they were there for another reason, and Vialli attacked them? After all, they didn’t kill the children.”
“Right. Unarmed, Tony attacked a bunch of innocent terrorists who just wanted to ride on the bus.” Woods had heard enough. He was losing patience with this attempt to cast the American action in a cloud of moral ambiguity, where, for once, Woods believed it didn’t belong. “Now I get it,” Woods continued, trying to keep from saying too much. “You just make up a scenario to justify doing nothing. Well, I’ll tell you what. I am going to do something about it. You can watch and you can wring your hands. You can complain that it didn’t all line up perfectly, but things in human history rarely do. We’re doing the right thing here. This was going to happen eventually anyway. So we’re going to go after this guy, and we’re going to go all out. If anything else comes of it — if World War III results — then at least we know who our enemies are. Let’s get it over with.”
Woods stood up, took his towel, and left the gym without looking back.
Sami was surprised to see Kinkaid at the agency cafeteria. He’d never seen him there before. It was close to personal enjoyment and Kinkaid seldom did anything for fun. He only ate for fuel. The caffeine was simply the stimulant that allowed him to work ungodly hours without collapse.
He waited in the checkout line behind Kinkaid. “Hey,” he said to Sami, finally noticing him, “What brings you here so early?”