Keely relaxes, now that he has assessed Neumann and found him not to be a physical threat. "Any specific posting you have in mind?"

"I'm interested in assuming the type of role you played aboard the Guam," says Nick. "Coordinating incursions onto foreign soil. Marines are more comfortable having one of their own run an operation. I thought maybe you could talk to me about what it takes to do that kind of a job. I mean, since you did such a fine job with my team."

Keely grimaces. "Boy, that was a screwup. I'm sorry I couldn't talk to you about it more aboard ship. Regulations. Of course, you were hardly in a condition to speak with anyone when they hauled you aboard."

"Sure," says Nick, squinting his eyes, remembering.

"Radio malfunction," continues Keely. "I'm sure Colonel Andersen told you. We didn't pick up your distress signals until you were patched through the open airport communications channel. In the future, remember to guard that as a last resort. Not a secure com link."

Nick swallows his hatred of this man. His anticipation grows. He tells himself it won't be long now. "We had a man down," he says evenly. "We were being pursued by a superior enemy force. Operations command had not responded to our signals in over seven hours. Does that count as enough of a last resort?"

Keely rummages in his breast pocket for a cigarette. He slumps in his chair, assuming his usual arrogant posture. "Look, Lieutenant, no one likes to dredge up the past. The basic intel was on the money. You took out Enrile. We achieved the mission goal. We still don't have a clue as to who set up the ambush. Anyway, your boys fucked the extraction. It was a navy job to maintain the ship's communications equipment in proper working order. If one of your radios was on the fritz, what was I supposed to do about it?"

Nick smiles and says that he understands. Behind the smile, he maps out the progress of his assault. He plans every blow that he will deliver to this man's lying body. He has chosen Langley for an express purpose- so that Keely will never feel safe again, so that for the rest of his life he'll cower before turning a corner and hesitate before opening a door, so that he'll always wonder who'll be there to meet him and pray it won't be Lieutenant Nicholas Neumann.

"What's past is past," Nick says amicably. "The reason I came, Mr. Keely, is to get a tour of the navy liaison facility. I'm sure Colonel Andersen mentioned it. I thought maybe you'd give me some pointers about which channels would be most receptive to my requests for duty."

"Sure thing, Neumann. Follow me." Keely throws the butt of his cigarette into a cold cup of coffee, which had been left on the table. He stands up and tucks his creeping belly into his pants. "You okay on that leg?"

Nick follows Keely down a featureless corridor: linoleum floor, eggshell walls, all strictly government issue. They are returning to the visitor center after having visited the Satellite Imaging Department- run by a former marine named Bill Stackpole, a close friend of Colonel Andersen's.

"Jack, I've got to use the head," says Nick as they approach a rest room. "I might need a hand." The visit has gone well. Nick and Keely are now friends. Keely insists he be called by his first name.

"A hand?" asks Keely, and when Nick offers an embarrassed grin, Keely obliges. "Sure thing… Nick."

Nick waits until Keely is inside the rest room, then moves quickly. He drops the cane, then turns and grasps the unsuspecting man by the shoulders, spinning him around while throwing an arm around his neck to pin him in a headlock. Keely yelps in fear. Nick seeks the carotid artery, and with his free hand, blocks the flow of blood to the brain for five seconds. Keely collapses to the floor, temporarily unconscious. Nick removes a rubber doorstop from his pocket and wedges it under the door. He knocks twice and hears the same signal given in return. A sign stating that the rest room is out of order has been placed on the door. Stackpole has delivered.

Nick limps to Keely's prostrate body. Despite the pain from his leg, he bends over to slap the ruddy face twice. "Get with it," he says. "We have a hot date."

Keely shakes his head, instinctively avoiding a third strike. "What the hell is going on? This is a secure government facility."

"I know it's a secure facility," says Nick. "I fucking secured it. You ready?"

Keely raises his head and asks, "For what?"

"Payback, brother." Nick's right hand flashes downward and catches Keely across the cheekbone, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

"It was the fucking radio," gasps Keely. "I told you already."

Nick draws back his left foot and kicks the agent in the face. Blood splatters across the tile floor. "Give me the good news," he says.

"Forget it, Neumann. It's beyond you. We're talking realpolitik, policies that influence the well-being of millions of people."

"Fuck your realpolitik, Keely. What about my team? What about Johnny Burke?"

"Who the fuck's Burke? That green looie who got shot in the gut? That was his fault, not mine."

Nick reaches down and grabs a patch of Keely's scalp. He brings the man upright so that he can stare into his eyes. "Johnny Burke was a man who gave a shit. That's why he died." He butts Keely with his forehead, crushing the older man's nasal cartilage and breaking his nose. "You're dirty," he says. "I smelled your stink back in the ops room of the Guam before we went in, but I was too fucking naive to do anything about it. You set us up. You knew about the ambush. You sabotaged the radios."

Keely pushes both hands to his nose, trying to stanch the flow of blood. "No way, Neumann. It wasn't like that. It's bigger than you think."

"I don't care how big it was," says Nick, towering over Keely's quivering body. "You set my men up and I want to know why." He draws back his boot and freezes, suddenly sickened by his bloodlust. For nine months he has dreamed of this moment. He has imagined the crunch of his fist against Keely's cheek. He has told himself that his actions will constitute only revenge and that Johnny Burke deserves at least this measure of satisfaction. But now looking at Keely's prostrate form, ropes of blood hanging from his nose, he is no longer sure.

"Yeah, all right," says Keely, throwing his hands to his face in an impotent gesture to ward off the blow that does not come. "I'll give you the story." He drags himself to a corner of the rest room and puts his back to the tiled wall. He blows a clot of blood from his nose and coughs. "The Enrile hit was sanctioned by the NSC, the National Security Council- we wanted to show the Philippine government we were behind them in their efforts at building a long-lasting democracy in the American tradition. I mean without all the Marcos cronyism and corruption. Understand?"

"So far."

"But some members of the Philippine government didn't think the plan was sufficient. It wasn't enough to accomplish their goals."

"Sufficient for what?" asks Nick.

"To bring back the U.S. in a bigger way to the Philippines. You know, like the old days. Capital investment, new business, a spigot of dough opened full bore. They needed an excuse to bring America charging back into the Philippines."

"And that excuse was American blood?"

Keely sighs. "A plea from a fellow democracy. Our boys killed planting freedom's flag. Christ, it works every time. If you heroes had just died like you were supposed to, we'd already have ten thousand servicemen back in Subic Bay where they belong. We'd have a squadron of F-16s sitting pretty at Clark Airfield and half the Fortune 500 bursting down the doors trying to get back in the P.I."

"But that was your gig, wasn't it? Setting us up. The NSC didn't know shit about that. Right, Keely? That was between you and your pals in the P.I.?"