Chapter Seven
April 15, 2006
Ministry of National Defense, General Staff Headquarters, Taipei, Taiwan:
Inhaling from a Marlboro, Pierre Renard sat in the antechamber of the Minister of Taiwanese defense.
He had just verified the identity of the mole who had thwarted his theft of the Russian nuclear warheads. During the attempt, the Deputy Defense Minister had made a hasty departure from the island.
Renard had then proposed a new plan to enact his revenge against mainland China for his bullet wound. The Minister had agreed to it, and Renard was looking forward to an evening of pondering the details over cognac when his phone chimed.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello, my love,” Marie said.
Marie had been distant from his mind. The sound of her voice excited and confused him. He had no time to sort out his feelings for Marie but doubted he could understand them if given eternity.
“How was your flight?” he asked. “Keep it sanitized. There are listening and descrambling stations in Taipei.”
“I’ve had several flights, most recently landing in Chicago.”
“It sounds like you’re in a nightclub. Am I paying you to display your charms across the states?”
“No, my dear. It seems that a new interest of mine has traveled a long way this evening to visit a friend. He’s quite handsome, you know.”
Renard recognized one feeling for Marie - jealousy.
“Handsome? You’re already enamored with him?”
“Not yet, but I cannot say how long I will be able to resist. He’s seen me also, and I’m confident he was impressed.”
“Then you will continue per plan?” he asked.
“Yes, but I must add that he has an attractive friend here in Chicago. I guess the handsome ones run in packs.”
“Then I suppose you will enjoy seducing both men.”
“I will let you use your imagination.”
As Renard noticed that Marie had hung up on him, he could not tuck away thoughts of Marie preparing to seduce a man at his request. He slid the phone into his blazer.
His Marlboro became ashes, and he pressed it into an ashtray. He could not admit to himself that he loved Marie, but something within him ached. Before he could mentally tag that aching as ‘loneliness’, he stood and set out to design the battle plan for the Minister of Defense.
*
Jake poured a beer for the friend he had met ten years earlier in high school. Grant Mercer, a futures trader on the Chicago Board of Trade, flashed a boyish smile.
“So what’s up, Jake? We haven’t talked much lately.”
“Got a lot on my mind, buddy.”
“Let me guess. Asshole captain still on your ass?”
“He’s on everyone’s ass. As usual. He’s like the anti-John. I wish all skippers could be like Brody.”
“Your mentor?”
“Yeah.”
Mercer sipped his beer.
“You seem down,” he said.
“Yeah, I am. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Is it the accident?”
“Back the fuck off!” Jake said.
Mercer raised his eyebrow.
“Sorry,” Jake said. “I don’t want to talk. I came here so you could help me forget about it.”
“Well, if you want to talk, we’ll talk,” Mercer said. “If not, we can run around and chase women like the mindless slaves to our penises we are.”
As a result of the depression that accompanied his anger, Jake’s libido had all but died since the accident.
“Maybe after a few beers,” Jake said and slammed a beer. “Speaking of which, we’ve run out.”
“Okay. Let’s go,” Mercer said. “We need a new scene.”
*
A piercing whistle escaped from between Mercer’s fingers. A cab hit a U-turn on Wabash. Deafened, Jake cast an evil eye at Mercer but caught sight of an attractive woman in her mid-thirties standing behind them. He recognized her from the bar.
The woman’s curves kindled the strongest lust he had felt since his accident, and his primal sex drive seemed foreign. While Jake froze, Mercer drew Marie into a conversation.
“Hey, that’s some nice accessorizing. The green and yellow pastels go well with your dark brown hair,” Mercer said.
“You have a sharp eye for an American man. Either that or you’re just a good bullshiter,” Marie said.
“It’s a little of both, actually. Hey, what’s that accent? Are you French?”
“I flew in from Paris just today.”
“Fantastic. Jake here speaks French,” Mercer said.
Oh shit, Jake thought. I’ve just forgotten every word.
“I have yet to set my watch. Vous avez l’heure?” Marie asked.
“It’s almost eleven,” Jake said.
He thought the lady showed a little class by offering the English hint.
“If you want to hear me speak French,” he said, “you’re going to have to bribe me or get me really drunk.”
“Neither task sounds too hard,” Marie said.
“She’s got you there, buddy,” Mercer said. “You’re an underpaid drunken sailor.”
Jake stuck out a hand. “Je m’appelle Jake.”
“Marie. Enchantée.”
Mercer extended his hand to finish the salutations.
“We’re going to Stanley’s,” he said. “Care to join us?”
“Oui.”
*
Stanley’s, a wedge-shaped tavern on a rare Chicago diagonal street at the corner of Sedgwick and Lincoln, became a dive at night. Scattered peanut shells covered the floor. The stench of cigarettes and perfume was overwhelming, and speakers pumped out a pulsing beat.
Jake pushed to a table and ordered drinks. Marie excused herself and went to the ladies’ room.
“She’s hot!” Mercer said over pulsating music.
“No doubt. What’s she see in us?”
“A ménage à trois, of course,” Mercer said and flashed the impish smile that had always made Jake laugh.
“Get serious! I think I’m in love.”
“You’re in lust,” Mercer said.
“Maybe. But she’s built, educated, and refined.”
“She can’t keep her eyes off you,” Mercer said.
A waitress brought drinks. Jake slid a beer in front of Mercer and watched his friend scan the room.
“When she comes back,” Mercer said, “I’m going to excuse myself to talk to some buddies I see across the room. After you talk a while, take her across the street to Gamekeepers. It’s quieter.”
Marie returned and Jake handed her a beer.
“What are you two discussing?” she asked.
“You,” Mercer said.
She laughed.
“Tell me about you instead.”
“The Board of Trade is a great place to get filthy rich, and I plan to stay there until I die of an ulcer. Look, you two will have to excuse me. I see some friends, and if I don’t talk to them now, they’ll just barge in on us later.”
Mercer walked away.
“That leaves me alone with the naval officer,” Marie said and smiled.
“And it leaves me with the attractive French PhD.”
“You flatter me.”
“Just stating the facts, ma’am.”
Jake sipped his beer. It was a local microbrew that left an aftertaste of hops.
“So, tell me what you do in the Navy,” Marie said.
“Pretty much since my last year at the Academy, I’ve committed myself to the dream of commanding a submarine. So I became a submarine officer.”
“I know a man - a close friend, actually - who commanded a French submarine.”
“Do you know how much power a commanding officer has?” Jake asked.
“My friend mentioned that he missed the authority he once had.”
“Did your friend ever tell you any good stories about what it’s like to command?”
“He told me how he loved the power, but he also mentioned that political forces constrained him.”
“True.”
Marie leaned forward.
“I’m sorry, Jake. I cannot hear you.”
Jake motioned that Marie should follow him out of the bar.
At Gamekeepers, Jake drank a pint of LaBatt while Marie sipped from a vodka martini. He talked about his newest hobby of rock climbing.
Marie described the beauty she had seen while hiking between the rustic towns scattered among the wooded hills of the Luberon region. Their conversation flowed for hours.
Jake had suffered weeks of poor spirits, but a beer buzz and an intriguing woman had lightened his heart.
“I would like to hear more about your career,” she said.
“Well, unfortunately, I got assigned to a Trident Missile submarine with a bastard for a captain. It’s been hard.”
“I read Caine Mutiny. Your captain is not named Queeg, is he?”
Jake smiled.
“We call him Ahab. I volunteered Bly and Queeg, but they didn’t stick.”
“They say that absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Marie said.
“My captain proves that theory, but I also know a guy, a really good friend, who commands a submarine and is loved by his men,” he said. “So maybe you can have power and keep your integrity.”
“I understand that a submarine is a good place to wield power,” Marie said. “But if you really want power, then why limit yourself to a submarine? You could influence more people and earn more money by running a company.”
“Good point. But there’s an allure to submarines that you can’t find anywhere else. Picture wielding amazing destructive force in absolute secrecy.”
“I doubt I would like that,” Marie said. “War does not appeal to me. I can only imagine the allure.”
And now, that’s all I can do, he thought.
Marie’s gaze became soft and inviting.
“It’s late, Jake. Would you be willing to escort me to my hotel? I’m new to town, after all.”
Part of him wanted to accept the invitation. Another part resisted. He decided that he would be a gentleman and escort her.
*
A cab brought Jake and Marie to the Sheraton Towers lobby. He slipped the cabbie a generous tip and led her through the lounge and back into the cool night where they stood before a wall overlooking the Chicago River.
A breeze blew and she shivered. Jake placed his arm around her. He watched with anticipation as her lips moved toward his.
“Wait!” he said and turned his head.
Marie pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I thought you were attracted to me.”
“I am.”
Jake held her.
“A piece of machinery on my submarine blew up and cut me pretty badly. It left me practically impotent.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “But you’re still an interesting person.”
The comment lifted his spirits.
“Can I talk to you again?” he asked.
“Certainly. Why not?”
“Thanks,” Jake said. “I appreciate it.”
“Perhaps we can talk tomorrow. Perhaps even meet for lunch. It’s your decision.”
“Take a cab to Einstein Bros Bagels on Clark Street, by North Avenue. When I’m in town, Grant and I always eat there from about eleven to noon.”
“I will meet you there at eleven.”