Chapter One

            Richard sat on the long window seat. He wore only his undershorts, comfortably dry. As he rubbed his hips then his arms, warming his body, he looked down at the floor at his wetsuit, surrounded by a small slowly growing puddle of sea water. He had cut short his early morning “stay in shape” surfing outing because the lightning was getting brighter and the thunder sounded nearer but toward the west in the Pacific Ocean..
 

              He licked salt from his lips as he pulled his legs up tight against his chest, admired his strength, felt the feeling of freedom, and pressed his back against the inside wall of the long window seat. He was thankful that life had been good to him, even though much of his past activites, including locations, had been and remained a mystery to him. He took comfort knowing that his home overlooked the Pacific Ocean, was large and comfortable for him and his son, Dickie. He frowned again and looked west as the rolling dark clouds got darker and lightning splintered the morning air as it raced to the green of the ocean. The day hasn’t even had the chance to get bright, he thought.
 

             He picked up his heavy bath towel from the floor and slowly tapped droplets from his body, his chest, and patted himself dry. He laid the large towel between his legs, squeezed it, enjoying the feeling and listened as the house’s atuomatic heating system clicked on. He nodded, enjoying the warmth of slowly moving air against his skin. He listened to the soft air sounds and then his thoughts turned to the telephone call he had gotten early last night.
             He was annoyed that his surfing had been cut short, and he arched an eyebrow trying to figure the identity of the caller He did not know the voice. And yet... 

            “Who is this?” Richard said. He ran his hand inside his shirt and unbuttoned two buttons. His skin was dry from spending too much time in the sun, surfing.
             “The time may be near. Inside the L.A. Times, tomorrow. Read!” the voice said.
             “What?” Richard said. He realized he had shouted.
             “Yo, Dad,” Dickie said walking into the living room from the kitchen. “You called?” Dickie wore a white cook’s apron over his bikini briefs, his only attire besides his beat up sandals.
             “No, son,” Richard replied, as he heard click on the other end.
             He didn’t know if he should mention any of these calls to Dickie. Dickie had never asked about the time he spent in service, and yet, what had happened during the war and events that might begin to unfold could very well affect Dickie’s future, and have a major impact on Dickie’s life. 
             He heard Robert Fowler, his buddy from Tokyo and CIC days, say, “Being prepared for what may come is not only the Boy Scouts’ motto, it’s smart. Knowledge beats stupidity anytime, except in the Army.” Richard recalled Robert’s and his laughter. The thought raced across his mind. That was a long time ago. Guess Robert is still happy up in Oregon. He thought about how much he enjoyed hearing Robert laugh. Good old Robert, he thought. Strange guy, but a good and very intelligent man.
             Suddenly, Dickie stood near him. He quickly glanced at his son, who stood still facing Richard, and licked the end of a long wooden spoon. Richard enjoyed the sight of his son: honey blond hair like his mother; her startling large, blue eyes, they dominate Dickie’s handsome, pleasant face and he knew that Dickie was his most precious asset; his most precious son. 
             He wanted to hang on to Dickie forever. He knew the time was at hand when he told Dickie everything he knew and had deduced about events, tragedies, and fun times, that happened to him and to him and Robert as a team, in Korea, and various times afterward. He would tell Dickie about his CIC friends, Army buddies, and comrades, and try to explain to his son why the same destiny hadn’t happened to him. He would tell him what price had to be paid. He thought, I will say, “I think I know what has been going on over these past many years. I’ve been kept. That must be it. That has to be it. For some reason, I’ve been financially supported. No questions asked. Why?”
             Richard argued with himself. He knew he would have a hard time explaining to Dickie the source of the money, who sent it or how much he got in cash. He hesitated to try and find the reason that he knew he might receive a telephone call someday. It looks like, now, someday is here.
            “Nothing, son,” he said, as Dickie raised his eyebrows.
             “Oh,” Dickie said, smacking his lips, “I thought you wanted me for something...”
             “No,” Richard said and turned to walk back toward the wide bay windows in the living room. “I’m glad you built a fire in the fireplace. It feels good...”
             “It’s January, Dad, too damned cold for Southern California...”
             “You’d better put on some clothes, clothes that are warmer than your Speedo,” Richard said.
             “I will. I was on my way to my room when you called me.”
             Dickie’s voice faded. Richard glanced at the fire as he passed the two long white cloth couches and continued to the front windows.
             He heard, The time may be near. Inside the L.A. Times, tomorrow. “Read what in the L.A. Times?” he said and folded his arms across his chest. Again he heard the voice in his mind. “What the hell!” he said and looked outside at the heavy clouds. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew the sun was setting somewhere westward. 

             Richard heard Dickie come in from outside and knew his son wasn’t taking any chances with lightning either. He smiled as he heard Dickie hum and knew he was near the rear entrance on the ground level. He smiled again as he heard Dickie take the stairs two at a time and shook his head as his son entered the room slapping the L.A. Times newspaper against his arm. Dickie wore no clothes, not even his sandals.
             “Did you surf in that condition?” Richard asked. 
             “Dad?” Dickie said. “Come on. Of course not.” He handed the rolled newspaper to Richard. “I gotta protect the jewels and give you some grandchildren someday.” 
             Dickie knew his father looked at his body, up and down. “Come on, Dad, nobody can see in here anyway and I’ve got to take a shower to get the salt off me.”
             Richard nodded and stared at his son as Dickie turned and walked slowly across the living room toward his bedroom door and knew he would saunter through his bedroom, walking like a high school athlete, into his bathroom and before long, he would hear Dickie singing off-key in his shower.
             He chuckled, listening to his son, and tapped the newspaper against his knee, felt the room getting warmer, hesitated to open the newspaper and thought, Dickie’s physically a little larger than me, perhaps, in most departments, but... He heard Miriam say, “Your kid looks and walks exactly like you. He looks like you if you watch him from behind.”
             “Why not? He’s mine!”
             “He certainly is yours, darling,” she always said. “He’s a carbon copy of you!”
             Her voice became harder to remember as he recalled different events in their short married life. He saw their church wedding and heard, “Miriam, do you take Richard...” He no longer smelled her cologne. All her personal affects disappeared when she left his life. He would never believe she didn't love him. And yet, he asked himself many times, Why did Miriam leave me? I know she loved Dickie. I thought she loved me. 
            It had been almost ten years since she left. Ten years without her love. He thought about the softness of her neck, her lips and shivered. Why did she leave? Richard asked himself many times. “Richard, do you take Miriam to be...” Where did she go? He choked back his emotion.
             As he stood up and stretched, he pulled his briefs up around him and walked to the closest long white couch. He rubbed his skin and picked up his terry bathrobe, put it on and sat facing the fireplace. 
             The time may be near. Inside the L.A. Times, tomorrow. Read! The voice said. He took a deep breath and opened the front section of the newspaper. At the top of page four he read the byline. His eyes raced down the page and suddenly many answers to questions he had came to light. He read:
 

By Roberto Joe Tally
ASSOCIATED PRESS 

     Hundreds of American servicemen were shuttled through a clandestine network of prison camps in China during the Korean War, say formerly secret U.S. Army intelligence reports, which speculate that many died in captivity from malnutrition or lack of medical care.
     Rumors have persisted for years that China, which intervened on North Korea's side in the 1950-53 war, took large numbers of U.S. captives for interrogation and indoctrination in camps inside China and never accounted for them.
     Declassified reports in the files of the Army's assistant chief of staff for intelligence now make clear that the United States knew of the prisoners, closely tracked their movements and feared for their lives. 
     On a visit to Beijing in January, Defense Secretary William B O’Connor asked top Chinese officials to open People's Liberation Army record archives and other files that might help account for missing U.S. servicemen. About 8,100 are unaccounted for from the Korean War.
     Mr. O’Connor got no explicit assurances from President JiJang Zemchang, but an O’Connor aide present in the meetings said lower-level Chinese officials indicated Mr. JiJang's nonresponse should be interpreted as tacit acceptance.
     China has consistently maintained that all POW questions were settled at the end of the war. Chinese troops entered the fray in the fall of 1950 in a surprise offensive that killed and captured thousands of U.S. and other U.N. troops.
     It has been well documented that China, with Russian help, ran most of the POW camps in North Korea. Less well understood has been the extent of POW camps in China and what became of American and other prisoners held there.
     "One of the most significant features in U.N. POW treatment and policy is the movement of U.N. POWs into Manchuria and into South China," an Army intelligence summary dated Dec. 15, 1951, said. Its unidentified author added that he believed "Manchurian camps house a great many U.S. POWs, and Manchuria is a staging area or collecting point for U.S. POWs."
     The report is one in a series of eight written at regular intervals during the war by Army intelligence officers attempting to track POW movements. Each is titled "UN Prisoners of War Camps and Conditions in Korea, Manchuria and China," and labeled "secret." They were declassified in 1996 at the request of Mark Mercer, a New York-based reporter for the syndicated TV program Outside Reality, but were not publicized until now.
     The Dec. 15, 1951, report said a "careful assessment" of available intelligence on prison camps led to the conclusion that about 2,500 American POWs were being held in Manchuria, about 1,500 in other parts of China. "Specially selected groups are sent to China in relatively small numbers to undergo political indoctrination," the report said. “Of those POWs processed in Manchuria, the ones not going to China are apparently being sent to mines and labor camps in Manchuria itself."
     "Because of obvious diplomatic complications ... it follows that the communists would neither wish to return these men to U.S. control nor admit to their existence at this time," the report said. It cited "almost conclusive evidence" that some POWs were being supervised by Soviets.
     "These factors, together with the usefulness of U.S. POWs in a slave labor capacity, render the ultimate fate of any U.S. personnel in Manchurian camps in grave doubt," the report said. Intelligence reports often are based on information from sources whose reliability is questionable, and wartime reports often contain errors and misunderstandings. Even so, the Army intelligence documents leave little doubt that the Chinese prison camps existed and that Americans were held in some. A report dated June 20, 1952, said more than 1,000 American POWs were held in a former military prison outside Nanking, now called Nanjing. "A Russian colonel named Sergei Nokiakov is in charge. All POWs are 20-25 years old, brought here from Peking (Beijing) in December 1951 for re-indoctrination in communist thought," the report said, citing a source rated as "fairly reliable."
     A Feb. 15, 1952, report said without elaboration that about 500 POWs at a camp 10 miles east of Mukden, China, were being indoctrinated "pending dispatch to USSR."
     The Aug. 20, 1952, installment said POWs were grouped according to perceived political leanings. Those judged by the Chinese to be promising for anti-Western propaganda were kept in what the Army described as "peace camps."
     The largest of this type as of May 1952 was at Chungchow, a clandestine city, not known and not on any intelligence maps, in the Manchurian region of northeastern China, the August 1952 report said. "2,000 POWs here; they will not be exchanged," it said, meaning they would not be returned at the end of the war. 
     It reported other peace camps in Beijing, Dandong and Shanghai. American POWs also were reported in Chinese camps in Harbin and Tsingtao, now Qingdao. The last in the series of Army intelligence reports, dated Jan. 20, 1953, said that because of a lack of reports on 12 prison camps in China since April 1952, it was assumed all 12 had been abolished. There was no word on disposition of the prisoners.

             Richard stared at the leaping flames and red hot logs in the fireplace. He knew that he must contact Robert again. How could he contact his buddy without them knowing he did it? He knew he must be clever about it because he had to protect Robert from any harm from those that Richard now judged to be potential enemies. He recalled asking Robert specific questions about the Counter Intelligence Corps training school in Dundalk, Maryland, some details about the time they served in Urawa-Shi and Tokyo but Robert didn’t remember many events the way Richard had, and this surprised him, mostly because they were together all of this time: same place, same people, same events.
              He stood and turned as Dickie walked into the room. He wore his sweats and running shoes and carried a black doctor’s bag. Richard knew the bag contained money! And lots of money. He wondered what he would do with more money than he earned from the business and this free loot that came in a doctor’s bag periodically. He still didn’t know why he received it or who sent it. He had exhausted all possibilities, thinking about and analyzing the situation and resigned, accepted the money but never deposited it in banks. He judged it was very wise and also handy to store it in the basement in a room only he knew how to get into. Not even Dickie, he thought. Not even my kid knows about the room. Someday, maybe I will tell him about the room. Someday. It’s a good thing he doesn’t go down into the basement often. And when he’s there, he flirt with Veronica. She’s closer to his age than mine. Pretty and a good housekeeper. “Whatcha’ got there, bud?” he said.
              “Dad, you have really got to have your hearing checked.”
              “What are you talking about?” Richard asked, as Dickie handed the bag to him.
              “Didn’t you hear the back doorbell?”
             “No. Did you?”
             “No, but I left my sandals outside and when I went to get them, after I showered, this dumb bag was sitting right on top of them. Some nerd left it right on my sandals...”
             “Dickie,” Richard said and smiled, feeling that the black bag was full and locked. “There is no back doorbell.”
             “Oh, that’s right. I keep thinking were in the other house. Still not use to all this room and the luxury...”
             “Yeah,” Richard said. He tested the lock. It’s secure.
             “You know, Dad. The small house, up the beach. I miss that little place, don’t you, Dad?”
             As Dickie spoke, Richard smelled the sand and sea that permeated the two inside rooms of their first little house on the beach. It is older and more of a shack, but it was home. He recalled sleeping on the floor and feeling the sand under his blanket in one part of the house. His image, the person he presented to the world, was that of an ingenious beach bum coupled with a drive and great ability to develop personal computer software. It was his professional cover, and he didn’t know why he did it. Maybe it was because Miriam left him and Dickie. He didn’t understand much of his life.
             His thoughts returned to the “little shack,” as he and Dickie called it. It was and probably still is a surfer’s ideal home by the sea. And we sold it for $400,000. A steal, Richard thought many times. Richard nodded, acknowledging his son’s comments and waited for Dickie to leave the room. 
             Dickie left his father, and walked toward through the livingroom then through the dining room and disappeared through the doorway that opened onto a hall and the rear stairs. “I’m going running, Dad,” he shouted. “See you later!” His voice echoed in the hall and got fainter. “OK?”
             “Yeah, son,” Richard said, purposely raising his voice.
             He walked to his large oak desk, took the scissors from the top of his small desk and cut easily through the leather strap. He opened the bag. Again, now how many times is this? he saw U.S. bills. Twenties, tens, fifties, hundreds, probably thousands of dollars. Life is so easy when you don’t have to work. The guys at my company do all the work and I’m the owner in name only. Ah architecture. Ah, engineering! Well, I help out once in a while. Seldom, he thought as he moved aside packs of bills that appeared to be newly printed and chuckled. Those guys! They’re doing OK though. I’m glad. Leaves me time to do — what? What you want to do, tiger. “Right,” he said talking out loud.”“What I have to do,” he said.
             He glanced at the front bay windows, knew he made the right decision when he decided to install one-way thermo-pane bay windows. This house drew attention from the neighbors when I bought the seaside lot and built a three story modern structure: lean and stark, almost Japanese style. Total cost? About $1,000,000.00. We can see outside, but nobody can see in from the outside, anyway. He added a thought. I guess these days they can hear inside my house, but they can’t see inside. He chuckled. He hoped ‘they’ couldn’t see inside.
             He took a deep breath, and his robe fell open as he walked toward the hall. He pulled his briefs down as he walked, stepped out of them and swung them around his finger as he headed out of the room and into the long hall. He opened the hamper door and tossed them inside. That’ll take them to the basement wash room. More clothes for Veronica to wash, and he was glad she wouldn’t be washing clothes today. He needed to be alone. Needed to think. Make his plans.
             He leaped up the stairs that led from the second story, had no trouble taking them, two at a time, up, up and exhileratingly up to the third floor where he had built his pride: a large bedroom and large bathroom. He rushed into his bedroom, glanced at the pale tan carpeting, still thick and clean underfoot, the lighter yellow drawn drapes, a wide chaise longe that he fantasied about and bought only for making wild, unending and most importantly, violent love, and threw his robe, threw it on the rumpled covers of his king-size bed, ignored his long and wide, highly polished wood desk, his computer, stopped to check his reflection in the mirror that ran along half the room’s wall and reached to the ceiling. He admired his body. “Not bad for a guy approaching fifty, sometimes at mach speed.” 
             He pressed his hand hard against his belly and straightened his shaft threading his skin, as he turned from side to side. “Not bad at all, monsieur,” he said. He wondered about his competency in the French language and how much his ability to speak convincingly in French as he had done in the south of France before, had deteriorated. He seldom spoke French anymore. When he did, Dickie shook his head. He studied Provence French before 
             He ran his hands over his buttocks, testing his body strength, firmed them and knew he was still ready for bear, but it ain’t gonna’ last forever. He slapped his butt again, giving himself an approving boost, and walked quickly across the large room, painted and decorated in shades of tan, toward the bathroom, across the pale and off-white tones of the bathroom, approved of the dark blue accoutriments and parafinalia and finally stepped into his wide, three shower head stall. He shut the door behind him, turned on the middle faucet, faced the needle spray, enjoyed it against his face, and listened to the voice in his mind. The water turned hot quickly and he thought about and saw his desk in CIC Headquarters in Tokyo. 

            He pushed his chair back from his desk, shook his head and wanted to shout about the identity problem he was having with a known Japanese communist. He wrestled with the name, Watanabe, FNU and couldn’t make sense out of the movements of this suspected agent. Why? he thought, or how could this guy be in the north, on Hokkaido, at the same time he’s in the south, in the city of Sasebo, he checked the report’s location again, Yep, Sasebo, that big naval base, and holding secret meetings in Tokyo? Three, four, five reports having this fellow in different parts of Japan. How does this sucker get around? He couldn’t fly. How could he be in those different places at the same time? Could CIC agents be wrong about this guy?

            He inhaled the strong soap aroma, and smiled as he massaged his body slowly, pressed himself harder in different places, doing a body massage and saw Robert walk into his office at CIC Headquarters. He recalled he welcomed Robert’s intervention but was puzzled by Robert’s action.

             He looked up at his Robert. “Hey there, buddy,” he said as he raised his eyebrows. Robert stood motionless. Richard asked, What? arching his eyebrows.
             Robert stared at Richard as though asking a question in his mind, suddenly turned and walked out of the room. Richard frowned and shook his head. He checked his wristwatch. 10:20 am, he thought. Not time for lunch. What’s wrong with him? Oh well.
             He looked around the six desk office and realized that all five of his co-workers, five men and a WAC were not at their desks. “Probably on coffee break,” he said. I wonder what’s eating Robert?
             He pushed his swivel chair back from his desk and looked first at one set of papers, labeled Hokkaido, another pile: Tokyo, another: Sasebo. Richard knew he was completely confused and fingered slowly through the various agents’ reports checking report dates. And all of them are rated A-1, he thought. You can’t get more sure of yourself than that.
             He rubbed his lips slowly with his tongue and moved his tongue over his teeth. He looked up. Robert stood inside the room near the door. He frowned more this time and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. 
             “What’s your story?” Richard asked. “What’s going on?”
             Robert rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and said, “What time are we going to have lunch?”
             Richard looked at his watch. The morning had passed quickly. “It’s 11:45,” he said. “Let’s go in about five minutes,” he said.
             “Why five minutes?” Robert asked.
             “I’ve got to get this Fnu guy organized in a pile. I can’t believe that Fnu could have been in so many places at the same time. Something’s terribly wrong. Either the reports are...”
             “Something is wrong. And it’s you, buddy,” Robert replied.
     “What do you mean?”
     “The name you’re stating as FNU?”
             “Yeah.”
             “It’s not a first name, big guy.”
             “What the hell is it then?” Richard asked.
             “Dickie, babe. FNU means ‘First Name Unknown’. You should know that tiger! That’s old stuff. Gads, it’s a good thing you didn’t say that at The Fort...”
             Holabird, Richard thought.
             They laughed. Robert arched an eyebrow.
             “Is it still five minutes?” he asked and flared his nares. 
             Richard recalled he was still laughing as he stood and walked toward Robert. They left the office.
             “I’ve got to take a leak,” Richard said.
               “Yeah. I’ll go get a table in the diningroom for us,” Robert said and headed for the wide marble stairs.

             He reached through the shower stream and turned on the radio volume knob. He rubbed the radio’s tile surface, was glad he had insisted on a built-in radio in his shower, because he enjoyed FM music as he showered. The station played a Tango. He laughed and roughed his body heavily using a large sponge and bar soap. He buried the soap in his sponge and moved it over every part of his body. He couldn’t believe he had made that silly mistake but laid it to fatigue. The cap words FNU, means first name unknown, he thought. He was surprised that Robert had let him live it down. Robert would wang a person once but let it go after that. He had never continued criticizing a horrendous mistake because he knew he had made his point: he was right, the other person was wrong. Richard chuckled again. He thought, But the entire CIC detachment had been working long hours. Everyone in all CIC detachments, in Japan, had been working long hours, what with the big pushes by the Chinese and North Koreans and the punishing advance by the American GIs, Brits, Turks, and other Allied Forces... 
             He thought about his encounter with four husky, young Turks at the main army hospital, in Tokyo, and was amused that he still became physically aroused recalling the stories they told, their personal acts of pleasure, heavily sexual but he had concluded natural for them. He especially enjoyed their stories of personal prowess with their ladies. Six times a day! They did it six times a day and ate enough food that would stuff three American men. Six times a day? Unbelievable sex lives. And they proved it!
             He briefly recalled the test in someone’s private residence, I don’t even know who made the arrangements, probably Robert, the scene with the eager, naked Turks, the large Japanese woman and how she screamed with great pleasure. He knew why he recalled the scene periodically. It aroused him as he and Robert had watched the young guys strip, then prepare themselves for their turn. It is not just a simple memory. It was an exciting part of his life. A large money bet he lost with the Turks. And it nearly killed the Japanese woman, even though she was used to a lot of attention on all parts of her body.
             He had enjoyed the event and would soon remember the test again, for other reasons, but now his mind clicked back to his luncheon with Robert, the same day, after he recovered from the memory lapse regarding FNU.
             It wasn’t an easy meeting. He knew he was guarded, not because he knew anything, but because he too suspected something was ‘in the air’, something was going to happen and whatever it was, it would happen soon. But if he told Robert that he suspected something was about to explode in CIC, his words would sound self-serving, hollow and he knew Robert wouldn’t believe him. 
             He showered, while his mind returned to CIC Headquarters, Tokyo, as he walked down the wide marble stairs that wound down to the first floor, passed through the long hall, that led to the dining room, and greeted other buddies as they headed to lunch. He walked into the dining room, paid no attention to the many conversations and saw Robert, who waved to him.

            “What do you mean?” Richard asked. He squirmed in his chair. He wasn’t certain why, being innocent, he felt as ill at ease as he did, especially talking to his best friend.
             “Something’s going on and I want you to tell me what you know.”
             Richard knew what Robert meant. He had observed a change in attitude among many army personnel: co-workers in CIC. He couldn’t put his finger on the reason. 
             He thought about a recent observation. There was a sudden softening of voices in the showers, more intimate conversations, almost as though the men spoke to each other about last wills, a confidentiality between certain men in the dormitory, at breakfast, lunch and dinner, even when the circular dining room tables were full. Conversations seemed forced — not natural.
             Richard knew Robert’s feeling but didn’t know anything, didn’t know who to ask or what to say and he knew when he denied anything to Robert, if it wasn’t what Robert wanted to hear, his buddy would not accept the answer as the truth. 
             He looked directly at Robert. “I don’t know any...”
             “I think you do.”
             “Why do you think that?”
             “You mean to tell me you didn’t remember anything about FNU?”
             “I’m tired, Robert. For cryin’ out loud. Forgive me! We’ve been working about twenty hours a day, I’ve got a constant erection and can’t do anything about it...”
             “Come on...”
             “Come on yourself.” 
             “You got hands...” Robert sipped water.
             Richard didn’t want to tell Robert that he too felt the electricity in the air, a change in atmosphere. “Don’t you know that I would tell you if I knew anything important?”
             “I’m not sure.” He screwed his lips to one side. He performed that facial gesture when was nervous. It must have worked on the intended person when Robert was a kid.
             “What does that mean?” Richard asked.
             “It means you work in one section and I work in another section and never the two shall meet.”
             “Bull shit,” Richard said.
             The young Japanese waiter poured coffee.
             “That’s fine, Yosh,” Richard said.
             “Thanks Yosh, Robert added.
             “I like Yosh better than Yoshi,” Yoshi said as he bowed and walked to another table.
             “Good lookin’ guy,” Robert said.
     Richard nodded.
             “Yeah,” Robert replied. He rubbed himself between his legs. “I know what you mean by how you feel. You know.” He motioned to Richard’s crotch. “I’m a man too. We all are. Well except for the WACs. And I’m still not certain about Gwen.”
             They laughed.
             “Yeah,” Richard said laughing. “She can probably tell as dirty a joke as anyone. You’ve worked with her on some cases, right?”
             “Yeah, Robert said. “Good old Gwen Toller. I’ve been tempted to try and get a handle on her.
             “You are hard up, buddy,” Richard said. “The last few days I felt as though it would happen in the shower, but then each time, when I was alone and before anything could happen, Pierce walked in.”
             Robert leaned forward and said softly, almost a whisper. “What do you say we get smashed tonight? At the Club? Downtown? We’ll ride in the truck and not come back until the last truck drives us back here to headquarters.”
             “OK,” Richard said. They stood ready to leave. They laid chit on the table and Yoshi bowed. 
             “Aring-ato-gosai-mas! — Thank you!” he said, sucking wind through his lips. A sign of respect.
             “Do-i ta shi mashta! — Don’t mention it,” Robert replied. 
             Richard winked at the waiter. “You’re a damned polite, Jap guy, Yosh,” he said. They laughed. “Are you getting any?”
             Yoshi smiled and frowned. “Nan-desuka? — What” he asked.
             “Sorry, Yosh. Bad joke,” Richard said. “Sorry.”
             “But I don’t understand.”
             “Neither does he, Yosh. He needs something. We all need something.”
             “Ah so desuka? — Is that so?” Yoshi said as he picked up his tip. “Wakaru! — I understand.” I told you before when you wanted to be skivvie boys.”
             “Thanks, Yoshi. We gotta’ go now,” Richard said, following Robert as he threaded his way out of the large diningroom. 
             Richard thought about Yoshi as he followed Robert. The three young men, two American, one Japanese, were the same age, in their early twenties, and over the past several months had become good friends, not only in CIC Headquarters, but in several extra-curricular activities that Richard knew he could never forget. The American GIs could not associate with any Japanese except in service situations, serving the American Occupation Forces of Japan, but they could visit with and associate with, openly, any Japanese cleared to work in CIC headquarters. Yoshi Matsumi and his family all worked for the occupation after the second world war. Richard always had the impression that Yoshi knew more than he related. He liked Yoshi most of the time. He didn’t want to think about evenings in Yoshi’s small two room home. He didn’t want to be aroused.

             Richard walked out his shower and stood on the thick pile bathroom rug and slowly dried himself. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror, and heard thunder roll far away. “Damn storm is getting closer!” Suddenly he heard the heavy rain of many years ago. He and Robert jumped out of the Army truck into the rain. thunder They were in a downpour.

             Richard and Robert jumped out the back of the last chauffeured truck from the CIC Club where they drank heavily and stopped counting at an even dozen drinks each. Robert staggered and reached for Richard as the heavy rain wet them through their Hawaiian shirts and their desert pants issue: tight khaki short pants.
             They stumbled up the wide concrete stairs up to the front double door of Headquarters. Robert stopped. “Listen!” he said.
             Richard chuckled. “What now, sir?”
             “Do you hear anyone else walking up these stairs. Don’t you think it strange we were practically alone in the Club? Where the f...”
             “Don’t say it. You gotta clean up your language.”
             Robert opened the door. Richard bowed, entered and motioned for him to follow. Thunder rolled across the skies as the heavy door closed behind them. The hall floor was dry. They both noticed that there hadn’t been much foot traffic either in or out of headquarters this evening. They looked at each other and wondered why none of the other men had needed to party.
             They staggered toward the long flight of stairs and smiled at the two men who were Charge of Quarters.
             “Hi, CQ guys,” Robert said.
     “We’ll sign you guys in, OK?” Hiroshi asked.
             “You got it baby,” Robert said and whispered. “I still say something strange is going on. Somewhere,” he said speaking softer.
             “Give it a rest, Robert, will you?”
             “Good lookin’ Nisei, that Hiroshi, don’t you think? But he acts funny to me.”
             “I heard that,” Hiroshi shouted as the moved slowly up the stairs. 
             They laughed and continued laughing and suddenly they stepped onto the third floor landing, turned and ambled toward the large dormitory. They moved slowly past the Can’s doorway and noted not one man was taking a shower. 
             “The longest fuckin’ shower in the world. Nobody on the crappers either,” Robert said, straining to see inside the long room.
             “Yep,” Richard said. “Longer than the shower in basic training.”
             “That one was square not long like this one,” Robert said.
             He pushed open the wide dormitory door and they were shocked to see a room packed with their comrades in various stages of dress. 
             “What’s going on here?” Robert said. “See I told you. You don’t suspect something with every fuckin’ agent stationed here, now bedding down in this dorm?”
             Richard didn’t answer. He frowned.
             Some men read, others ironed clothes, some checked their uniforms while others seemed more interested in their civilian clothes. Nearly all chifforobe doors were wide open. Activity was heavy around them. One man stood naked with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist and he wore only his Army helmet.
             “What a crew,” Robert said.
             “But it looks like everybody’s home, doesn’t it?” Richard said. “I’m going to forget a shower tonight, Robert. I’m tired and believe it or not, I’m getting a headache.”
             “You can’t drink, Dickie. I told you that before. Take a couple aspirin or something.”
             They walked slowly, winding their way toward the double bunks. Richard thought that the room even though filled with activity was strangely somber. 
             “Hey, Rich,” Robert said as they walked near the GI wearing only his helmet. Richard had not seen this soldier before. He looked at his face. The man’s eyes stared back at him. He couldn’t see the book the man held but Richard’s impression was that the guy was evil. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind.
             The soldier put one foot on a single bunk, his bunk.
             “What, hey?” Richard said, responding to Robert.
             “Do you remember that I told you about this new guy that came into headquarters just a few days ago?”
             “Yeah, what about it?” Richard asked. He’s built like a well designed tank. Got muscles and curves in the right places. He could hunt bear with a switch. Richard chuckled inside at his private joke. He glanced at the handsome minister’s face and noticed he needed to shave. A little shadow, he thought. On his jaw.
             “Well, this guy here is the guy. His name is Jonathan!” Robert pulled the towel away from soldier, and he didn’t move or respond. “And will you look at this guys’ equipment?”
             “I can see,” Richard’s eyes opened wider. His mouth fell open. The man continued looking at Richard drawing attention from other men because he was now stripped naked. A few of the men, busy and close to Jonathan, began to clap their hands. Jonathan turned his head, looked at them, and they stopped clapping. One shrugged his shoulders.
             Richard wondered why Robert always found new ‘friends’ to introduce him to. He often thought, Robert seems to get excited in making new friends then telling me about them. Richard had decided long ago, when he first met Robert, that Robert was indeed eccentric, good looking, interesting and always busy concocting another piece of interest for both himself and Richard. Richard had great affection for Robert and knew he would never understand him. Just accept him, Richard said to himself, on many occasions. Don’t try to understand the guy or what goes on in that mind. Richard remained motionless and near his bunk. He smiled.
             As activities quieted down, Jonathan finally moved and rubbed his belly. He was in no hurry to cover himself, but held his long towel in front of his body as he moved closer. Jonathan smiled. Richard noted that Jonathan didn’t blush, as some men do when they’re naked and with strangers. He had seen the phenomenon in showers and the barracks during basic training, in Kentucky, and at Counter Intelligence Headquarters, barracks in Maryland. He didn’t recall ever seeing the same pink body blush in high school, junior high or grade school. Maybe there wasn’t enough to blush about. He had not even thought about it until Robert, not too long after they met, mentioned that a certain man in their training class blushed every time he got naked. It was true. After a few days though, the man didn’t blush. He was acquainted with other class members. We were all friends.
             Richard had looked sideways at Robert and shook his head. Only you would think of something like that, he thought. Blushing! What’s next? 
             Jonathan walked closer to Richard. “What are you reading?” Richard asked.
             “The Holy Bible,” Jonathan said. “My name’s Jonathan James. They call me Reverend J.J.”
             He’s not embarrassed! “Why do they call you Reverend?” Richard asked.
             “Why?” Jonathan asked as though the answer was obvious.
             “This guy is studying to be a minister,” Robert said.
             A body like that and he’s studying to be a minister? He looks like a rip-’em up, tear- ’em up athlete? Richard hoped he could get to sleep quickly, but the hope dimmed as Jonathan was only a few feet from him. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled again. Richard winced. He glanced at Jonathan again. He’s gonna’ be a minister and his face is evil to me. He looks so powerful. Maybe that’s the reason he’s in CIC. Hm. Richard didn’t approve of his own thoughts. He was confused by Jonathan and Jonathan’s manner. 
             He returned Jonathan’s friendly smile and manner. “I’m pleased to meet you,” Jonathan said and extended his hand. 
             Richard shook his hand and said,”Good luck in your chosen field of what...”
             “I was born into it,” Jonathan said and turned. He strode back toward his footlocker and bunk. Richard speculated that if three women were in the room they would jump him. 
             Born into it. Born into it?. The thought went around in Richard’s head. At least the guy knows what he wants to do with his life. I wish I knew.
             “Yep. I feel that I’m going to need a lot of help real soon,” Jonathan said as he placed his Bible on his cot, with loving care, walked to his chifforobe, opened a drawer, and took out a pair of khaki shorts. He snapped them open and put them on, tucking himself in. He buttoned them, sat down and continued reading.
             Richard noted Jonathan’s almost reverent movement and admired the young new acquaintance as he sat reading on his cot. Suddenly Jonathan looked more like a little boy instead of the muscular, well-built and very well organized soldier he had become.
             Robert and Richard stood near their double bunk bed and finished undressing. They put their wallets, chit paper money, and badges in their chifforobe drawers. 
             “I’m gonna’ sleep in my skivvies tonight,” Richard said.
             “Me too,” Robert said. He yawned and stretched his body upward. “Boy. All of a sudden, guy, I’m really tired.” He plunked onto his bottom bunk and pulled the sheet and blanket over his body.
             Richard closed the door to the chifforobe, climbed up onto his top bunk, slid under the sheet and pulled it up over his body. He stared at the square flower patterns on the ceiling of the large dormitory room, but couldn’t see them clearly. The lights went out. “Just as well,” he said to himself and closed his eyes.
             “I just wish I could get rid of this feeling.” Robert said in a low voice.
             “What feeling?” Richard said, yawning.
             “Something big is gonna’ happen. I mean really big.”
             “Yeah, I know.”
             “What do you know?”
             “Shut up, Robert. Dammit!”
             Richard closed his eyes and put his pillow over his head.

             Richard felt pressure against his back and butt. His body bounced toward the ceiling and back again as he squinted to open his eyes. The room was bright with sunlight. He watched the ceiling rotate and heard, “Will you look at this room?” from Carl Harmon, a friend and drinking buddy. 
             Richard thought about his friend Carl as his opinion of Carl, his personal identification to Richard, raced though his mind. He agrees with my every thought, enjoys getting drunk with me and Robert, doesn’t like to be touched, anywhere, is very friendly and super smart. Lives in his own world and that world is not penetrable. 
             Richard laughed and shouted to Robert, “Will you stop kicking my mattress?”
             Robert shouted angrily, “Will you look around this fuckin’ room?” He stopped kicking Richards bunk.
             Richard rolled over, flew out of the bed and guided his body so his feet hit the floor at the same time.
             “Oh, that was cute,” Robert said. “Nice, dive!”
             Richard stood motionless. “I’m stunned,” he said and grabbed the top of the double bunk.
             “I bet your feet are stinging, too,” Robert said. He sat up on the edge of his bed and tucked his shaft back inside his shorts.
             “From the looks of this room, I mean,” Richard said, and moved slowly away from their bunk, located in a corner of the room, toward the room’s center. He moved almost as though stalking a prey. He took in every object in the room, men, bunks, towels, and abandoned clothes. The silence got louder as he moved among the empty bunks and cots.
             The room contains over two-hundred bunks. That number was the number most often mentioned about the size of the large dormitory. The previous evening there were over a hundred men bedding down in the room! Richard smacked his lips and tasted his tongue. Strange taste in my mouth. Tastes like metal and rose petals. He had a feeling of foreboding in his gut. We’re we knocked out? Now where are all of those guys? Where did they go? Are they gone? He blinked rapidly and continued to meander toward the large windows.
             He counted the number of men in the room and said, “Twenty-one. There are only twenty-one men here and today is my twenty-second birthday. Too bad there aren’t twenty-two men left,” he said softly. His voice sounded distant and fearful. “That would be a strange coincidence.” His thoughts bored him as he continued surveying the room. He knew he wasn’t solving the questions he asked himself. “Where are they?” He spoke softly, mostly to himself. A few men sat in their khaki underwear, and were puzzled by the absence of buddies. They acted as though they had been sedated. They were drowsy. Richard stopped walking, stood in the center of the dorm, and put his hands on his hips. He looked at Glancey Chiles, who leaned against one of the wide and tall French windows. He scratched his rear-end, then his crotch, and shouted, “The motor pool is empty, guys! Hey! Give a look. Not a frigin’ truck or sedan in sight!”
             “What do you mean?” another voice asked.
             “What in hell do you think I mean, Revel?” Glancey said. He turned and looked at Revel Casey, his closest friend. “Get your ass over here and you’ll see an empty motor pool parking lot.”
             “I don’t get it, Richard,” Revel said, as Richard moved past him toward the eight tall French windows, lined up in a row, letting in the morning light. Richard felt a tightness in his chest and noticed Revel and Glancey, without thinking, rubbed their chests. 
             “What’s with your chest, Revel?” Richard asked.
             “It feels funny,” Revel said.
             “Does it feel tight, like something’s going on inside?” Richard asked.
             “Yeah. Sort of,” Revel said.
             “Mine feels funny too,” Richard said.
             “Me, too,” Glancey added. 
             Richard glanced at his wristwatch and noted it was 6:30. In the morning, he thought. What an early hour, he thought. “I don’t know, Revel,” Richard said, answering the tanned soldier. You’ve really got a nice tan, buddy” Richard said and touched Revel’s shoulder.
             “I’m black, you idiot, Revel said. 
             They laughed. 
             “You’re more like shopping bag tan, tiger,” Richard said. “But no kidding. Hey! You’ve got a scratch on your shoulder too.”
             Revel looked at his shoulder. How did that happen?” He paused and looked at it. “Holy.”
             “Don’t say it,” Richard said, joking.
             “Hm,” Revel said as he examined a large scratch. “It itches too.”
             “Probably the clap,” Glancey said.
             “Same to you too,” Revel answered. He stood.
             “It looks more like a needle scratch,” Richard said.
             “Or a hypodermic needle scratch,” Glancey said for all to hear. He arched his eyebrows saying what do you think about that?
             “You’ve thought about that too, huh?” Richard asked. Hm! A hypo? His right arm was sore close his shoulder. He looked at Robert. Robert rubbed his shoulder.
             “You got that one right, buddy,” Glancey replied.
             Richard knew Revel followed him toward the windows to Glancey who remained fixed leaning against the window pane. They stopped close to Glancey and looked down into the parking area. No trucks, Richard thought. What has happened?
             “No trucks,” Revel said. 
             “You got it, pea-brain,” Glancey said. “This is scary, Richard.” He screwed his lips together and shook his head. “What the heck.”
             “You got that one right, padnuh,” Richard said, trying to spark a little humor into a puzzling situation that grew stranger the longer he was awake. The large wide door to the hall opened and slammed against the wall. Richard and Revel jumped.
             “What in...?” Glancey said. Every man in the room looked at Pierce Forbes as he strolled into the room, humming and rotating a toweled finger in his ear drying himself. The men frowned at Pierce, who wasn’t aware that they stared at him. Richard looked at Revel and Glancey. They didn’t speak to Pierce nor he to them, but they returned his glances with puzzled expressions and raised eyebrows.
             What a deal, Richard thought. Pierce is the twenty-second guy left. Happy birthday to me. To me. He wondered what was going through the minds of his buddies and comrades. It was like the world, at least the world of this room, had slowed down and there were no answers. More like a bad dream, Richard thought.
             It was as if Pierce, whom they had known well, for over a year, was suddenly an alien from the outreaches of space. Not their co-worker in their daily dedication and struggle against Communism. None of the men took their eyes off him. They frowned and to a man continued to stare in silence at Pierce as though he were prey and they were stalking him for dinner. They didn’t move.
             He went, with his usual slow speed, to his chifforobe, continued humming, shoved his shaving kit onto a shelf, smelled his underarms, took his aftershave and splashed his face. “No cologne today,” he said. His voice echoed in the nearly empty room. He looked up as though trying to trail or catch the sound of his voice, that sounded louder with less bodies in it. He turned and glanced slowly around the room. Taking his time, he stared back at all of the men looking at him. None smiled as they usually did in the morning. 
             “I’ll put my shorts on. Don’t worry, you guys! I haven’t had time yet. Besides, you see me naked every day,” he said. 
             His voice trailed into silence. His last words weren’t audible. He frowned, blinked a few times, shrugged and guessed they weren’t staring at his meat or his body. He turned, took out his undershorts and put them on. He looked back at the men. He turned around quickly. Faster than most of his buddies knew he could move.
             “What is it with you guys...? He rotated his shoulders and stretched. Oh!” he said, as though he had been made a gift of a great revelation. “Oh well. Oh, yes! Er! I saw Captain, oh what’s that guy’s name. Miro! Yes, Captain Miro a few minutes ago, in the shower, and he told me to tell you guys someone would come here, in this dorm, very soon and explain everything.”
             The men remained silent.
             Glancey took a few steps toward Pierce. He stopped and leaned back against the wall window. “Mr. Pierce, sir,” he said using his examination tone. “Please, sir, explain the absence of over a hundred men? Will you? Can anyone? Over a hundred agents? Gone!” Glancey’s tone became more sarcastic the longer he spoke. “That should really be rich and informative for us stay at homes.”
             “What else did he say?” Robert asked, as he stood up next to his bunk. He dropped his shorts, picked up his shaving kit, slung a towel over his shoulder, stepped into his shower clogs and headed toward the door. “Well what else did jerko say? I’m gonna’ shower. I don’t get it.” Robert stopped and stared at the doorway as Richard, followed by Glancey and Revel, walked slowly back to their bunks. Captain Miro stood unsmiling in the doorway. He acted as though he waited for silence. The world couldn’t have been more silent than the stillness and uneasiness inside the dorm, that morning.
             “It’s happened and you know what you need to know. Ask no questions, hear no untruths. Stay out of trouble.”
             Glancey hated Captain Miro’s mustache. He whispered to Richard. “Every time that guy talks, I harbor strange thoughts...” “Hopeful thoughts.” Revel added.
             They laughed quietly among themselves..
             “You guys are bad. Is that true?” Richard asked Glancey.
             “Kiss it,” Glancey said without taking his eyes off Captain Miro.
             “Any questions?” Captain Miro asked.
             The room remained silent. Questions in the form of thoughts were rampant but not spoken. Richard knew in time the event would become common knowledge. He already had a few good ideas. He knew Robert would probably have a duffle bag full of conspiracies, abductions and top secret missions and it would be fun speculating about their missing comrades.
     Robert brushed past the captain. Other soldiers turned and went on with their business. They prepared to shower and shave before breakfast.
             “Just go about your work as though nothing happened...”
               “Yeah, even though most of my co-workers, guys that I have to interface with, are among the invisible now; they’re gone,” Glancey said. “I’m really upset.”
             “We’re all upset, I’m sure,” Richard said.
             “I’m not upset,” Robert shouted. “Now, there’s more SOS for me.”
             There was never a lack of shit on the shingle, for anyone, Richard thought. He shook his head at Robert. “Shame, shame,” he said. 
             “Even that minister stud, Jonathan is gone,” Pierce said. “He owes me money.”
     “That’s the least of my problems,” Robert said, his voice echoing in the hall. Richard watched Robert walk. His very white buttocks were the last part of his body to vanish. He disappeared through the doorway to the long shower room that housed eighteen showers in a single row, twelve commodes, twenty-four wash basins with twenty-four body length mirrors secured flat against the wall next to each wash basin.

            Richard knew that Robert had always understood what the least of his problems were. He stretched his briefs around his waist, snapped them against his belly and enjoyed the sting. He knew he would call Robert. He hoped he would be available to talk. He discounted the thought that a call to Robert would be dangerous to him. Why? We’re civilians now. Yeah, right! Somewhere that may be true.
             He wondered what the most of Robert’s problems were. He recalled thinking that someday he would ask him and probably not find the answer.
             He stepped into the draft of the ceiling fan, It went on automatically when heavy steam occupied the bathroom. He picked up the wall telephone and dialed Robert’s number in Oregon. Where does he live now, he thought. Oh, Portland. Yes, Portland.
             The buzz of a busy lined sounded. He hung up. He finished drying his body, tossed the towel onto a bench and walked into the bedroom toward the thirty foot long sliding doors of his walk-in closet, choked with suits, shirts, shoes, ties, topcoats, hats and personal jewelry. Some of the items he didn’t remember buying. Maybe Miriam bought them. Maybe. He dressed slowly and thought about one of his last winters in Chicago. Why did I go to that announcer’s school anyway?

            Richard pulled the collar of his topcoat high around his neck, glad he had worn his winter scarf and knew Jack Banyon, his new acquaintance and friend who was also a student at the announcer’s school would be late. Jack was personally entertaining to Richard. Richard knew that Jack thought of him as a close friend, but Richard didn’t think of Jack necessarily in the same way. Jack was too zany, too disorganized to make it into the inner circle of Richard’s personal friends. Richard had personal friends and he knew who they were. Jack was only, entertainment.
             He huddled inside one of the doorways of Marshal Field’s on Wabash Avenue. He tapped his shoes together, becoming restless waiting for Jack so they could go to dinner before they went to class.
             He knew he was alone on the street. No cars drove by. Everyone’s eating dinner, he thought. It is the dinner hour. For everyone in Chicago except Jack and now me.
             He smiled at his face in the window pane and watched the trail of his breath in the cold air as it rose around his head and disappeared. He became aware that another man in a topcoat and hat pulled down low over his face, walked toward him headed toward Randolph Street. He looked back in the window at sports togs and thought about what he would have for dinner. He hoped Jack wouldn’t object to having dinner at Stouffer’s Restaurant. His mouth watered as he decided he would have chicken croquettes, mashed potatoes, green peas, maybe soup, coffee, bread and butter.
             The man walked past him as Richard glanced at his reflection in the window pane. Then he took notice of the stranger. The man turned and looked at Richard. Richard watched him. He couldn’t see his face. 
             “Corrigan!” a familiar voice said.
             Richard turned and moved slowly toward him. He recognized John. “John Masters!” he shouted. “Don’t tell me it’s you, John,” he said. Richard pulled him close. They embraced. John winced and pulled back a little. “What’s the matter, John?” Richard pushed him back gently and looked into his face. “What’s the matter with you, John?” he asked. His voice was more demanding,
             “Nothing. Why?”
     “What happened to you guys?” The vapor from their breaths circled around them in the cold winter air.
             “A lot happened,” John replied. 
             He didn’t look well to Richard. 
     “Are you still working?” he asked.
             “Not to my knowledge,” Richard replied and wondered why he didn’t just flat out say, “No. I’m not working.”
             “Well, I didn’t know whether you were still ‘on the job’, as they say and working or out of service and not working — on duty or what...”
             You’re rambling, John. Richard actually didn’t believe John’s comment, but he had other important questions that needed answering. “Come on, John. You can tell me. Who am I gonna’ tell? Where did you guys go?
             “Well, we were split up. Some went to Europe, the Soviet Union or so we heard. Some went to China and I think some are still there.”
     “Where?” Richard asked.
             “China,” John said. 
             Richard saw that John looked forty not like a man in his mid twenties. “John, after four years. You’re telling me? Some of the guys are still in China?”
             “Well, the powers that be worked it both ways. Some of us went in as friends, in high advisory positions, while some of us went in as prisoners of war.”
             “Went in?” Richard asked.
             “Into China, I mean. That’s what I know about.”
             “China?” Richard said. His head began to throb. “China?” he repeated. He noticed John shiver as they talked. “Are you OK?” John looked at him.
             “John. Are you OK”
             He shook his head slowly.
             “John, how did you go into China?”
             “Prisoner,” John said.
             “Oh, John,” Richard said and touched John’s arm. He felt thin. He’s thinner than I remember him.
             “What are you doing in Chicago now?” John appeared somewhat frail. Troubled. “Are you working?” 
             He nodded.
             “Where? 
             “At a local university. I can’t tell you which one.”
             “I think I know.” He took John’s arm and led him toward the shelter of an entryway. 
             “What are you doing there, John, wherever you are?”
             “I’m a student.”
             “And you’re working?”
     “Yep.”
             Richard shook his head. “Communists?”
             John nodded. They looked at one another for a short time. “Why did you get out, Richard? You would were a great agent. 
             Richard listened as John talked. His words hinted that he knew something about Richard that perhaps Richard didn’t know. 
             “Didn’t the gang...”
             “Gang,” Richard said. Slang for CIC coordinators. 
             “Didn’t they want you to go to Monterey? Become a sleeper or was that just a rumor?”
             “No. It was actually proposed,” Richard said. “But I wanted to get married. I wanted to have a family. But what do you know about me being an agent?” Richard asked. “I never did much...”
             “You know,” John said. 
             “No I don’t,” Richard said. He laughed nervously
             John smiled as though he didn’t believe Richard’s answer. He thought Richard joked or didn’t want to talk about his work. 
             “How about you, John?” Richard asked trying to get more information.
             “I guess you would call me a lifer, Rich. I’m in it for the long haul as they say.”
             “You look tired.”
             “I am.”
             “Hey, John, for old time’s sake.” He pulled John closer to him and hugged him again. He’s too damn thin. Skinny. He never used to be. He patted his back. He wished he could help John. He wished he could remember more. Why do I see John in strange, unfamiliar places? Not well. Is it my imagination? Dreams? Bad dreams? What? 
             John’s face is thinner than back a few years, in Tokyo, the night of the big disappearance. He looked at his friend and controlled his emotions. Why do I feel guilty? “I wish you luck, John. And, a long and happy life. We’ll probably not meet again.”
             “I know,” John said. He looked down at the sidewalk. He was embarrassed.
             “Yeah,” Richard said.
             “I got to go now,” John said. He winked. 
             He’s brave. They’re working him to death.
             “You, too,” he said. “The best of everything.”
             Richard watched John turn and walk away from him. He walked to the corner of Wabash and Randolph Street, stopped, looked back once. waved and walked out of sight. 
             He’s developed a limp and doesn’t look like a kid anymore. If I only knew what was and is John’s characteristic that has always made me want to protect him? A younger brother thing, perhaps? Well, I did protect him a couple of times. At least I think I did. Don’t know where, right now, but... And, he saved my life once. A long time ago. A long time ago.