TOMMY KARR SAW Dean as soon as he came out of the customs area on the first floor of Narita Airport in Tokyo. Karr watched the crowd, making sure Dean wasn’t being trailed by anyone. Satisfied, Karr circled around outside and found Dean waiting at the taxi stand.
“You’re on the wrong line,” Karr told Dean.
“Do I know you?”
“I hope so.” Karr winked at him, then nodded with his head, leading Dean back into the terminal.
“I thought we were staying over,” said Dean.
“We are. There’s a courtesy van from the hotel.”
“Wouldn’t we rather take the cab?”
“And blow our expense account?”
Karr led Dean around to the minivan, which he had used earlier to get here. The driver hopped from the cab as soon as he saw them coming, greeting Karr with a loud “hello” and taking Dean’s bag.
“Loves country music,” said Karr, climbing in through the sliding door. “How’d the sales go?”
“Not bad,” said Dean, not missing a beat.
“Make quota?”
“Just barely.”
Karr kept up the sales banter all the way to the hotel. Dean, though he played along, seemed even more somber than usual.
“Somber” wasn’t the right word, exactly. “Contemplative,” maybe. Or just “taciturn.” Guys who didn’t talk much always seemed like they were thinking about something. Karr wasn’t sure whether that was true or not. Dean always denied he was thinking about anything, so how would you know?
Dean got a room two floors above Tommy’s. They scanned it for bugs, then turned on a white-noise generator so they could talk.
“So how was your flight?” Karr asked Dean.
“Long.”
“Where are we going?”
“They didn’t tell you?”
“Telach said you’d brief me.”
“Vietnam.”
“What are we going to do, get a do-over on the war?”
Dean frowned. He wasn’t much for Karr’s jokes, which struck Karr as more fun than if he had been.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” Karr told him. “And worry about it later.”
“Yeah, all right.”
“There’s this sushi place downstairs that looks really good.”
“I’m not eating anything that hasn’t been cooked,” said Dean.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
THEY ENDED UP in a restaurant several blocks away, circling around and splitting up at one point to make sure they weren’t being followed. Dean knew the precautions were overkill—no one had any reason to be following them at this point—but he didn’t object when Karr suggested them. He let Tommy be Tommy, cracking sardonic jokes in the restaurant and making funny faces at the emotionless waitstaff, trying to get them to laugh. He was in many ways just a big kid—a very, very big kid—and Dean knew that Karr had a tendency to deal with stress by pretending to be the class clown. He was one of those guys who would probably be telling jokes in the helicopter as it touched down in a hot LZ.
Better than puking, Dean thought.
Personally, he found it better to be quiet.
Maybe the mission was a “do-over” in a sense. Phuc Dinh—how could he have missed him?
He hadn’t. Phuc Dinh was definitely dead. And it had definitely been him—the photo was positively ID’d when Dean got back to camp. The scar cinched it.
Better to be quiet before battle, Dean thought. Quiet your mind as well as your mouth—he tried to push the memory of Longbow and Phuc Dinh away, focusing on the here and now of the Tokyo restaurant.
“What do you think this is?” Karr asked, holding up a piece of sashimi.
“Fish.”
“Sure, but what kind? Sea urgent, you think?”
“Urchin.”
Karr winked, then swallowed the food whole. “Definitely urgent.”
Dean couldn’t help himself; he cracked a smile and raised his hand to signal the waiter for another beer.
“How was your vay-kay?” Karr asked.
“If you mean vacation, it was fine.”
“Bag any mooses?”
“I was hunting mountain lions.”
“Get any?”
“One. Almost bit off my head before I brought it down.”
Karr thought it was a joke and smiled. “Why do you like hunting, Charlie? What’s the attraction?”
The waiter came over with Dean’s Sapporo. He took a sip, and then answered Karr’s question by asking if he had ever gone hunting himself.
“Only for girls,” said Karr. Then he laughed so loud everyone around them turned to see what was so funny.