She did not appear particularly incensed, or even emotional, Laramie just leaning forward with her forearms crossed on the table, telling him off over coffee. Cooper took a few slow sips, letting time pass, swirling the bitter, chocolately fluid around his mouth with each taste, depositing the cup on its saucer between sips to draw out the time between each sip-to-taste-to-swallow. Knowing there was more on the way from the analyst across the table.
“An adult human being,” Laramie said, “would respect another adult human being’s decisions and, despite such decisions being difficult and painful, or even hurtful, retain some sense of interpersonal decorum. Even a bratty child, taking a friend’s tormented, thoughtful, deliberate decision to return to work personally, would eventually come to grips with his boorish overreaction and call, maybe apologize, or even, for Christ’s sake-you horse’s ass-take my goddamn call when I show the maturity and patience to dial up that goddamn beach club in search of you, knowing Ronnie’s already been told to screen my fucking call.”
Her words were delivered in so matter-of-fact a fashion that Cooper felt as though he’d tuned into one of the lower-rated local newscasts that competed with Ricardo Medvez’s nightly displays of knowledgeable warmth.
Despite being in no mood to explain himself-despite never being in the mood to explain himself-Cooper said, “Hell, I called. Twice now.”
“Popping your rude head above the surface after ducking me for a year is not the kind of ‘eventually’ I was talking about.”
“‘Eventually’ is a relative term,” he said. “Subjective, even.”
She looked at him for a while, still leaning on her forearms, but losing some of the detachment factor. A little color worked its way up the sides of her neck in pinkish splotches against her pale skin. He could feel the crackle in the air as she fought to keep the color beneath the collar of her blouse.
“Here’s what’s going on,” she said.
Then Laramie started in on the sordid suicidal exploits of Benny Achar and the ramifications of his act as incurred by a hundred and twenty-five late and former citizens of Hendry County. She covered Achar’s false identity, the reality and likelihood of what could come to pass if Achar were one of many, and the engineered version of the facts as presented in the news media. Then she told him she had been asked to head a counterterrorist unit whose purpose was to identify and possibly destroy Achar’s comrades, if any, and those responsible for compelling Achar to action in the first place.
“So that’s all,” Cooper said.
Laramie ignored him and concluded with a brief explanation of her theory that Achar had meant to use his bomb-launched spread of the filovirus as a message-as bread crumbs for them to follow. She didn’t mention the similarity between the counterterror strategy she’d outlined in her independent study paper and the organization she now appeared to be working for. Including Cooper’s interruption, it took Laramie thirty-four minutes to lay out her briefing.
Since Cooper’s fourth cup of coffee was giving him a headache, he ordered eggs Benedict from the menu. When Laramie attempted to wave off the waitress, Cooper asked the woman to bring Laramie an order of granola served with seasonal fruit.
“Skim milk, please,” Laramie said before the waitress padded away.
When they were alone again, Cooper said, “That was interesting how you told the whole story of Benny Achar and your role in matters,” Cooper said, “without mentioning who it was who put you on the case, or whose jurisdiction this ‘counterterrorist unit’ happens to fall under.”
Laramie didn’t say anything.
“Also,” Cooper said, “I find it just as interesting when a five-foot-four female satellite intelligence analyst with smooth skin and tremendous legs tells me it has become her job to ‘identify and possibly destroy’ international terrorists. Perhaps,” he said, “instead of offering you advice, I should loan you the gun I’m packing just east of my right hip.”
Laramie leaned back slightly from the table and folded her arms across her chest.
“Wow,” she said. “Was that your only-partially-infantile way of offering me an apology? The smooth skin and tremendous legs part?”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”
“Knowing you as I do, which, I believe, is marginally better than you know yourself, I’ll take it as your apology. I know it’s all I’m going to get.”
They were silent until the food came. Cooper was halfway through his breakfast, and Laramie one bite in on her first wedge of cantaloupe, when Laramie said, “So what do you think?”
“Of the Achar predicament, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Cooper considered the query.
“Who do you have on your team,” he said. “Your ‘counterterrorist unit.’”
“I’ve been interviewing from a pool of candidates. Volunteers from various walks of life who’ve been background-checked to the hilt. Plus,” she said, talking faster, “I’ve contacted a former professor of mine, who we’ll probably bring on board.”
Cooper looked up from his eggs Benedict with a look of moderate disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He thought of something else to say, then decided his growing irritation with matters wouldn’t be helped much by the nasty comment he had in mind, shelved it, and said, “And how is Professor Eddie doing?”
“He’s doing fine.”
Laramie left it at that.
“To give you answers,” Cooper said, “or advice, I’d need to know more than what you included in your half-hour speech. Probably need to dig into whatever documents you’ve got-I don’t know, transcripts of interviews, maybe whatever paper trail you’ve got on the guy back to whenever it was he first turned up under his false identity. I do have some experience in crafting a new identity, of course. But other than my own background, I’m not sure-”
“Wait a minute-unless you’re skipping the boat trip, there’s no way-”
“I thought you wanted my advice?”
“But I can’t just send you off on your boat with a copy of classified files-”
“Sure you can.”
“Look. You know I want-we want-need-your help, but it won’t work if you’re providing it from Conch Bay, or San Juan, or wherever it is you’re heading on your boat.”
“No? Well thanks for the breakfast, anyway. Always prefer to set sail on a full belly.”
He waved for the waitress to bring the check.
“You can’t just say no, or dictate how this is going to work,” Laramie said, and Cooper could see the pink coming up her neck again. “You do understand that if Achar was one of a dozen sleepers, each targeting a vast water table or some other vital area, that thousands-even hundreds of thousands, or more-could die.” She leaned in again, full of emotion for a change. “And you’re just going to go back and lie out on the beach?”
“Actually,” Cooper said, “yes.”
She stared at him.
“Perhaps,” Cooper said, “you and Professor Eddie can continue to work with your team of Salvation Army volunteers and solve your little riddle on your own.”
The check came and Cooper deposited a couple of twenties on the tray without checking the total. He thought of a story he’d once heard about Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr.-outside a Vegas casino, Sinatra asks Sammy if he’s got change for a twenty, and Sammy says, “Twenties are change, baby.” Cooper couldn’t remember who’d told him the story, or whether Sammy had been the one asking for the change, but he’d heard it a long time ago and it had stuck with him since.
“Listen-wait, you goddamn pain in the ass,” Laramie said. She had reached her hand across the table but didn’t quite touch his arm with her fingers. He felt their warmth, though, resting an inch from his wrist on the cool glass surface of the tabletop. “I can get you some of the documents in a diplomatic pouch. They’ll be encrypted and I’ll work out a way for you to get the code. But it won’t be everything, and you’ll need to weigh in quickly-if Achar’s suicide bombing wasn’t ordered by his employers, they may have discovered what he’s done by now. Rung the alarm, I mean-and that could mean the other sleepers may be activated. We might have a month, a week-a day.”