Paul folded the letter-sized paper into thirds, slid it into the envelope, then dropped it onto his desk. The cold medicine he’d taken this morning had left him groggy without alleviating his symptoms, and over the past few days, his cough had turned into a nasty rattle deep in his chest. He eyed the bottle of Tylenol perched on the edge of his desk. He’d take one if he wasn’t already overdosed on a half dozen other over-the-counter meds. At this point, he had a better chance of surviving a firing squad than getting rid of this cold.
“I understand congratulations are in order.”
Paul glanced up at the open doorway. The ambassador stood leaning against the doorframe, dressed in a blue button-down shirt and tie, with his arms folded across his chest.
Paul cleared his throat. “Welcome back. I thought you weren’t going to be able to get a flight in until tomorrow.”
“I was able to catch a private plane from Kinshasa. And I apologize for missing all the action. Though I understand you did fine without me.”
“It’s good to have you back, sir.” Paul took a step back and reached for a tissue to blow his nose. “But I wouldn’t get too close if I were you. A week without sleep hasn’t helped me shake this blasted cold.”
“Then why aren’t you at home?”
Paul tossed the tissue into the already full trash can beside his desk. “I had some paperwork to finish up, but I’m heading there now.”
“Good, because you look awful.”
Paul ignored the ambassador’s grin. “Thanks.”
“On the up side, helping to save an entire refugee camp and splintering what was left of the rebel group isn’t bad for a week’s work.”
Paul dismissed the praise. While finding a way to divide the rebel forces between the refugee camp, the rebel base camp, and a bogus prison convoy had worked, he hadn’t been one of the forces on the ground. “We got lucky, but we also had a lot of good men out there risking their lives.”
“I understand your assistant wasn’t quite so lucky.”
Paul reached up and scratched his day-old beard. His attempts to trap the mole relaying information to the rebel base camp had worked better than he’d expected, but he’d never wanted to believe Mercy was behind the intel leaks.
“They arrested Mercy outside the embassy Friday afternoon after it was confirmed she was the one who had passed on the false information I gave her about the prison convoy. Turns out that one of the leaders of the Ghost Soldiers rotting in prison right now is her fiancé.”
The subsequent arrests over the weekend of key rebel leaders and dozens of their soldiers had turned out to be a fatal blow to the rebel faction. And for Paul, it helped to alleviate the sting of Mercy’s betrayal. It had also managed to scatter any remaining rebels, essentially guaranteeing that the bloody conflict was finally over.
The ambassador shook his head. “None of my ex-wives would have risked prison for me.”
“And your current wife?”
Paul felt the automatic twinge of regret over his too personal comment, but the ambassador only laughed. “One day when we’ve got a free afternoon and a full bottle of Jack Daniels, we’ll discuss the vices of our wives.”
“That day might have to wait, sir.” Paul hesitated a moment, then picked up the envelope from the desk. “There is something else I need to mention.” “What’s that?”
“I was going to give this to you tomorrow, but since you’re here now . . .” Paul handed the envelope to his boss.
The ambassador ripped it open and started reading the letter.
“You’re resigning?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My wife needs me, and it’s time I was there for her.”
“Wait a minute. You haven’t slept for days, you need to see a doctor . . .” The ambassador leaned forward. “Listen. I’ll grant you a leave of absence. As much time as you want.”
Paul shook his head. “It’s the end of the line for me. If I don’t walk away now, my marriage will be over, and I don’t want that to happen.”
The ambassador tapped his fingers against his chest. “Look at me.
Vices aside, I’m juggling a marriage and a career. It can be done.”
“Now that says a lot coming from a man who’s now on his — what is it, third wife?”
“Fourth.” The ambassador dropped the letter back onto the desk in defeat. “So don’t use me as an example.”
“I’ve taken my family for granted for too long. I’ve decided that it’s time I started being a husband to my wife.”
He already had it planned out. He’d find some quiet, nine-to-five job where no one was trying to blow him up or where he had to save the world. Come summer vacation, he’d take the kids to Disney World and Maggie away for their next anniversary. He was going to spend Christmas with his family, celebrate the twins’ birthday with his parents, start going to church again, and maybe — if he found the time — write that book he’d always wanted to write.
“You’re too good to walk away from this, Paul, and I’ll make sure all my acquaintances in Washington know that. Besides, you’d hate working behind a desk all day.”
Paul couldn’t help but laugh. “So now that I’m quitting you’re going to broadcast my worth to all of DC?”
“Just promise me you’ll think about it.” The ambassador leaned against the desk. “I can get you a raise, a new post in Europe . . .” None of that even mattered anymore.
“Twenty years ago I’d have jumped at the offer. But if I leave now . . .” He glanced at the photo of his twins. “I might just be able to save my marriage.”
The ambassador moved toward the door, a sliver of approval registering in the older man’s eyes. “If you ever change your mind, let me know.”