Page 102 of Whisper
Palmer had kept his secret in Afghanistan. Had covered for one of their former team members when he’d gotten drunk and stupid with a sailor once, four years back.
Two moments in his history with Palmer. Was it enough to trust him?
“You in some trouble about you and your CIA friend?”
The waitress brought over two fresh beers. David grabbed his, downed a long draught. He picked at the label as he set it down. Nodded. “That, and some other bullshit. My new sergeant is an ass.” He took a deep breath. “He said he heard things.”
“Shit.” Palmer glared.
“You think one of the guys?”
“Maybe. Someone said something, someone joked around. I’m sure they didn’t mean it. But who knows who heard?” Palmer screwed up his face. “No one cared, though. I mean, yeah, we all saw.”
Fuck. David buried his face in his hands and groaned.
“C’mon, Haddad, you can’t be like what you two were andnothave guys talking. You were fucking crazy about—” Palmer’s jaw snapped shut. “You were head over heels,” he finished. “It was obvious.” He took a drink, watching David. “Is it still going?”
David nodded. He batted his beer bottle back and forth, sliding it across the table. He’d just handed Palmer the ammunition to drum him out of the Army.
“Serious?”
“I think so.”
“He going to Iraq, too?”
“I don’t— I don’t know.” Panic, the same panic that lived in his guts, that crawled up his ribs, rose inside him. Another war was around the corner and he was lined up to go. How long would he be gone this time? Separated from Kris, back in the Middle East, in the middle of everything he’d run from. In the middle of a reality that had stopped making sense.
“You guys aren’t going to try what you did last time again, are you?” Palmer snorted. “I don’t think that’s really going to work. Iraq is gonna be a whole lot bigger than Afghanistan. Too many people will be eyes on.”
David shook his head. He scrubbed his hand over his face again. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. He felt like vomiting.
Palmer stared at him. “What do you want most in the world, man?”
Kris. I want Kris.
Did that make him a shitty person? Was he turning his back on his brothers, on the military, on his nation? The nation that had adopted him, had taken a broken, lost boy in and made him a man? Was he giving up, turning away when his country needed him?
Palmer leaned across the table. “By your silence, I think I can guess your answer. Look…” His eyes darted around the bar. “There’s this friend I have. Buddy from ROTC. Hehatedthe Army. Did the whole thing for college money. As soon as he could, he popped smoke and got out. He landed at this real crazy company. Under the radar. They do secret squirrel shit. Work with the CIA, DIA, NSA, you name it. Called Blackcreek.” Palmer jerked his chin toward David. “I think you should give them a call.”
“Thank you,” David whispered. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Be careful.” Palmer eyeballed him, not blinking. “Berealcareful, Haddad.”
Washington DC
February 8, 2003
“You brownnosing little shit.” Kris chuckled, throwing his balled-up napkin across the table at Dan. Dan batted it away easily.
Dan was back from Islamabad, rotating through on a four-day, in-person briefing with the director before flying back to Pakistan. He’d flown in for the secretary of state’s presentation to the UN, and to watch it with the director, too.
“Look at you, in with the big boys now. Moving on up in the world. Making waves with the White House. Riding the gay fame card.” Kris smirked.
Dan pretended to bow. “I learned whatnotto do from watching you.” He tried to smile. “How are you doing?”
Shrugging, Kris sighed, deflating against his chair. He toyed with the remains of their bruschetta. “It’s the first time they’ve let me out to see the sun, so I suppose that’s something.”
“Oh, stop.”
