Dark Specter by Michael Dibdin Read Free Book Online Page A

because he had drawn a pretty high number in the lottery and had thought he was safe.
    Now that the date when he had to report for induction was looming closer, however, he seemed strangely resigned to his fate. Again, we thought we knew why. With his level of education, Sam would almost certainly be able to land a clerical job and put in his year’s tour of duty filing reports and typing letters. Nevertheless, the situation inevitably created tension in our midst. Larry’s turn was also coming up soon, and he had a number in the low teens, making it almost inevitable that he would be drafted. From time to time he talked of taking a bus up to Canada, or maybe applying to join the National Guard, but he never did anything about it, and we all knew he never would.
    The rest of us were safe. Vince had already been turned down because of his bad eyes and generally poor health, while Greg and I were protected for the moment by the student deferment. We never openly discussed the matter, but this manifest inequality slowly drove a wedge into the heart of our intimacy, splintering it apart. One night just before he left, Sam freaked out for the first time in our company, raving on about the world being divided into two kinds of people, the ones with real souls and feelings, and a bunch of phonies who were just pretending to be alive.
    Nothing came of it, however, and a couple of days later Sam packed up his belongings and set off to start his two months’ basic training at Fort Lewis, in Washington State. Our farewells were awkward and subdued. A month later a woman I’d been seeing on and off for the past year invited me to move in with her. I was glad to leave. Larry had also been drafted by then, and Vince and Greg were spending more and more time with people I didn’t know. That stage of my life was over. It was time to move on.
    I never expected to see any of them again.

P earce and Robinson were sitting in the parking lot at Taco Time when they got the call.
    “I wouldn’t’ve went if I’da known,” Pearce said through a mouthful of chicken tostada.
    Kimo Robinson sipped his banana shake tentatively. He’d felt like grazing on something, but his stomach couldn’t hack spicy food any more. He felt queasy just watching Pearce feed, lettuce shreds hanging off his bristles, hot sauce dribbling down his chin.
    “But you’re there, what you going to do?” the rookie demanded, spraying a gobbet of refried beans at the windshield. “Can’t walk out on the wife’s best friend’s dinner. Mandatory detail.”
    “It’s my way or the highway.”
    “Pardon me?”
    Pearce was regarding him quizzically. Robinson shrugged.
    “I saw this program on TV. Some guy who’s written a book, you know? He says men are from Mars and women from Venus.”
    “Jean’s from Omaha,” said Pearce, frowning.
    Two weeks ago Robinson showed up for work, sarge tells him, “Congratulations, Kimo, you’re an FTO for the next three months.” No one liked field training assignments, stuck every shift with some guy fresh from the eleven-week course watching your every move, time to time saying, “Gee, that’s not what they taught us at the Academy.” Plus Robinson didn’t want to hear about Pearce’s marital problems. He wanted to tune into KING-FM and relax with Haydn, Handel, those old guys who knew how to kick back and have fun.
    “Not only is Chari a bitch on wheels,” Pearce continued, “she’s cranked up on medication the whole time. Obsesses over every goddamn thing, never shuts her mouth … I spent the whole evening processing anger. You know?”
    Robinson set his shake down on the dash. He could feel the burn starting up already. Maybe he should see a doctor. “Your core is good,” the guy down at the garage had told him. Guy was talking about the transmission, but somehow the words had stuck. “Your core is good.” Kept coming back to him like the slogan from some cheesy commercial you can’t shake. Maybe because he