often resulted in death.
Chapter Three
I go on working for the same reason that a hen goes on laying eggs.
—H. L. Mencken
H ours after he got the order to deploy to Istanbul, Crocker took Holly out to her favorite restaurant, Il Giardino. They sat in the atrium under a giant ficus tree wrapped in tiny white lights. A fire danced in the wood-burning pizza oven in the corner. As they sipped fresh Frascati wine and Andrea Bocelli sang “Con te partirò” over the stereo, Crocker gently broached the subject.
“How’s work?” he asked.
“Busy,” she answered quietly. “We’re completing a cybersecurity assessment of the embassy in Kiev.”
Holly’s job title was security threat analyst at the Bureau of Diplomatic Security (DS). DS played a vital role in protecting 275 U.S. diplomatic missions and their personnel overseas, securing critical information systems, investigating passport and visa fraud, and protecting the high-ranking foreign dignitaries and officials visiting the United States.
“The Russians can’t help snooping, right?” Crocker asked.
“With Putin in charge, you know it.” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Everything in and out of there is heavily encrypted. But we’re constantly updating security. It’s a very high-tech game of cat and mouse.”
Because of the analytic nature of her job, Holly was able to work remotely and spend only a few days a month in D.C. When in the capital she stayed with her colleague and occasional rowing partner, Lena. Lena’s husband, a young navy ensign, had died when al-Qaeda hijackers crashed American Airlines Flight 77 into the Pentagon on 9/11.
Crocker was proud of Holly and the work she did. He was about to say something to that effect when the waiter arrived to announce the specials. Holly ordered the pollo alla Sorentina; Crocker chose the veal piccata.
She looked radiant in the gentle overhead light, and emotionally fragile.
He winced slightly and said, “Jenny’s back in school and seems to be doing well. You’re back at work handling important assignments. And I’m sitting on my butt feeling useless.”
Holly’s mouth tightened. “You’ve been training nonstop and working out.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same. You know that.”
“Tom…” She bit her bottom lip as if she knew what was coming, and reached for her glass.
He plunged in. “I’ve talked to the guys on my team, and they feel the same. It’s been three long months.”
“Manny, too?” She was referring to his right-hand man, Joseph Mancini, whose brother had died from a cartel assassin’s bullet.
“Yes.”
“And Davis?”
John Davis, the team’s comms expert, had been badly wounded in Mexico. He’d spent the better part of the past three months convalescing at home.
“He says he’s tired of playing daddy and real antsy to get back.”
“Playing daddy, Tom? Really? So, what are you trying to say?”
“It’s time for us to go out again.”
She ran a finger along the rim of her wineglass and sighed deeply. “When?”
“We leave in the morning.”
“How early?”
“0400.”
She nodded solemnly, but he could see that she was steaming inside. “Okay.”
Throughout dinner she’d remained uncharacteristically quiet as he talked about possible vacation spots for the summer and plans to build a new house. Even when they returned to the bedroom of their temporary apartment and made love, her mind seemed elsewhere.
Part of him wanted her to get mad at him and tell him what she was really feeling. But they both knew, and understood, that there was no middle ground. He did what he did, and that wasn’t going to change until he got too old to do it, or dropped dead.
He awoke at three, quickly showered and dressed. He thought Holly was still sleeping when he kissed her goodbye.
When she turned and looked up, he saw that she had been crying.
He leaned over and said, “I’ll call you when I