It was still cool and crisp when Eli Germaine stepped outside for a cigarette. The sun was just coming up as a fat chartreuse disk above the hills to the east. He stretched with a weary groan, having spent the night as McCullough poured out every detail of a fantastic story. Germaine’s head was still spinning, trying to make sense of it all.
The door opened behind him, as one of the Federal Agents joined him, looking every bit as exhausted and bewildered. The man was tall and blond, with athletic Ivy League looks. He was in a dark brown suit, a blue and white silk tie folded and tucked in the pocket of his bright white dress shirt. Germaine offered him a cigarette. The agent politely waved it away.
“Trying to quit, thanks.”
“Heard all that?”
“Do we buy it?” asked the Agent.
“Hundred percent,” Germaine replied, pushing a cigarette into his lips. He fumbled in a pocket for the lighter. The cold air helped rouse him. “At least that he believes everything he told us. Whether or not it’s true…The kid was almost relieved to get it out.”
“Question is, what do we do with this?” The Agent, born and bred in Arizona wasn’t as accustomed to the cold. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, as he rocked on his heels, as if that would help to warm him.
Germaine flipped the top on his silver Marine Corps lighter and brought the tapered golden flame up to the cigarette. “That I leave to you Federal guys. I’m going to get some breakfast.”
“I’ll need a copy of his statement?”
“Anything you need,” Germaine replied.
“I’ll send this to Washington.”
“Time enough to stop a war?”
The Agent shrugged. His words were hollow and cold, more a product of a lack of sleep than anything. “I don’t know anyone in Iran. Do you?”
Germaine frowned. The Agent couldn’t see it, but Germaine knew only too well the horrors of war and didn’t all appreciate the Agent’s flippancy. “We may all know someone in Iran before long.”
The Agent was silent for a moment. A chill ran through him, one deeper and very different from the chill of the Michigan morning. He felt a little foolish for the comment and could almost feel Germaine’s dissatisfaction. It wasn’t like him so say something that irresponsible, but trapped in the moment, he didn’t see any good way back. The moment hung heavily for a long moment.
“Pretty impressive how you connected with McCullough,” the Agent said, humbly.
“Bond between men who have been in combat,” said Germaine, with a half smile, taking a subtle shot at the lawyerly Fed. He took a long drag on the cigarette and flipped away into the frost-touched green grass. “Somehow he got all turned around and misplaced his loyalty. I was just helping a fellow Marine and a good American find them again.”
“We’ll see.”
Germaine was less than pleased with the reply, though he knew it to be an honest one that was perhaps accurate. Still, he took all of this very personal. As he started for the door Germaine stopped and laid a hand heavily on the man’s shoulder, specifically intending to make a point.
“Whatever comes of this,” he said, “I expect that to weigh heavily on this man’s case. Are we clear?”
“And Brower?”
“We gave him every opportunity. He made his choice.”
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