Independence Day (52 page)
“I think I agree with Katie,” said Dewey, smiling and waving to Tacoma. “Hector, do you have Bokolov’s number?”
Tacoma nodded to Dewey, raising his hand like a gun and firing his index finger at him.
“Did he just wink at me?” asked Dewey.
“He doesn’t have a shirt on,” said Calibrisi, incredulous.
Tacoma stepped to the bar. He wrapped his arms around Dewey, then Calibrisi. He nodded to the bartender, who brought him a bottle of beer.
“Okay, before you guys say anything, I have three points I wanna make,” said Tacoma, looking at Dewey.
“Let me guess,” said Dewey. “You met someone who delivered a kill shot to your flak jacket–covered heart.”
Tacoma shook his head.
“First, I can’t help it if some magazine names me to their sexiest man alive list. Now, if you ask me, I should’ve been number two, but that’s water under the bridge. Second, I didn’t know about those two chicks they stuck in the picture.”
“
Chicks?
” asked Katie. “Can you possibly be more offensive?”
Tacoma took a big swig from the bottle.
“And what’s third?” asked Dewey.
“What?” asked Tacoma.
“You said you had three points,” said Dewey. “That was two.”
“I think I said two. I had two points.”
“Do us all a favor and put a lid on it for a few minutes, will ya, Mr. Sexy?” said Dewey.
Tacoma, slightly chastened, nodded, then grinned.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, man.”
Just then, the hostess approached.
“Your table is ready.”
They followed the hostess to a table in the dimly lit back room. They ordered several bottles of wine along with dinner. They caught up as they ate, eventually enjoying Tacoma’s regaling them with his various exploits since the fateful day he killed the terrorist in New York harbor. At some point, they all realized Tacoma was not, in fact, bragging. He was as surprised, dumbfounded, and amused by it all as they were.
After dessert had been cleared and there followed a lull in conversation, Dewey glanced at Calibrisi. His mind flashed to the beginning of it all. Castine. Calibrisi had flown up not because of the coming attack, not even because he needed Dewey. He came that day to rescue him. Dewey wasn’t good at saying thank-you, at least not with words, but he allowed a smile to come to his face. He picked up his wineglass.
“Here’s to Hector,” said Dewey.
“Here, here,” Tacoma chimed in, raising his glass.
“To our fearless leader,” added Katie.
Calibrisi smiled in silence and raised his glass, moving it to the other three.
“So what are you going to do about Gant and Roberts?” asked Dewey, after downing the remaining wine in his glass.
“Josh is spending some time in one of our more out-of-the-way stations,” said Calibrisi. “If there’s ever a terrorist threat in Biak, he’ll be the first to know.”
“Biak?” asked Katie.
“An island near Papua New Guinea,” said Calibrisi. “Apparently there’re still some cannibals running around, but personally I have my doubts.”
“What about Roberts?” asked Dewey.
Calibrisi smiled knowingly, but didn’t answer Dewey’s question.
Just then, the waitress brought over the check, which Calibrisi grabbed before anyone else could.
“So what are you up to tonight?” he asked Katie.
“Nothing too exciting,” she said. “I might stay in the city. I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t Igor live near here?” asked Tacoma, grinning at Katie.
“Yeah, I think he does,” said Calibrisi.
Katie smiled mischievously and then turned to Calibrisi.
“How about you?”
“I’m headed back tonight. I haven’t seen Vivian in a week.”
Calibrisi looked at Dewey.
“What about you?”
“Me?” asked Dewey. He looked at his watch. “Oh, shit. I’m actually going to see something.”
“Something?” asked Katie. “Or someone?”
“Someone. It’s nothing.”
Dewey got to his feet.
“You’re not leaving yet,” said Tacoma. “Let’s hear it.”
“No way.”
“Come on, Grampa. Who is she?”
Dewey shot Tacoma a look.
“Someone whose identity is above your pay grade, studmuffin.”
“So you won’t tell us who the lucky lady is?” asked Tacoma, flashing a smile.
“Tell you what, tough guy,” said Dewey, “let’s arm wrestle. You win, I’ll tell you her name. I win, I get that leather jacket.”
Dewey sat down. He put his right arm up, resting it on the table. Tacoma placed his arm on the table. Their hands met and clasped tightly together.
A small crowd started to gather in the back room to watch—waiters and waitresses, a few people from the bar—until there wasn’t any more room left.
“We go on three,” said Dewey. “Katie, you call it.”
“Honestly,” said Katie, “you two are like little children.”
“Katie,” said Dewey.
“Fine,” she said, smiling. “One … two …
three.
”
Last year, I brought my then six-year-old daughter to the Flatiron Building in New York City. This is the headquarters of my publisher, St. Martin’s Press. When Sally Richardson, the company CEO, heard we were in the building, she insisted on us coming up to her office to say hi. Sally was, as usual, incredibly busy. But she put everything on hold to welcome us. We caught up and shared some laughs. Feeling bad that we were taking up so much of the boss’s time, I suggested we should go so that Sally could get back to work.
“Now hold on just a minute, Ben,” said Sally. She then turned to Esm
é
. “Esm
é
, before you leave, could you do something for me?”
“Sure, Mrs. Richardson.”
Sally patted the empty seat next to her.
“Would you please read aloud to me?”
Esm
é
walked over and sat down next to Sally on the big sofa. For the next ten minutes, she read aloud to Sally and the rest of us. It was a moment that reminded me why I became a writer, and why, with every book, I’m fortunate enough to have St. Martin’s Press on my side.
So thank you everyone at SMP, with special gratitude to Sally, Keith Kahla, Jennifer Enderlin, George Witte, Martin Quinn, Jeff Capshew, Lisa Tomasello, Krista Loercher, Paul Hochman, Justin Velella, Kelsey Lawrence, Melissa Hastings, Rafal Gibek, Jason Reigal, Ervin Serrano, and Hannah Braaten. And a special thank-you to the late Matthew Shear, whose laughter and kindness I will never forget.
I would also like to thank the talented group of people who represent me: Nicole James, Aaron Priest, Chris George, Terra Chalberg, and Rachel Sussman.
As with every book, a number of technical experts offered me their guidance and thoughts. Thank you for your help: Gail Riley, Matthew Bunn, Alex Mijailovic, Kevin Ryan, Jonathan KomLosy, and Rorke Denver.
An extra, very sincere thank-you to Nicole James and Keith Kahla, who demand nothing but the best from me, and then help me find it with their brilliance, toughness, patience, and, above all, humor.
Finally, a heartfelt thank-you to my family, Shannon, Charlie, Teddy, Oscar, and Esm
é
. I’m very proud of you—each of you—for your own unique and wonderful gifts. You make me laugh, keep me humble, and always find a way to show me your love when I need it most. A hundred times a day, I think to myself, look at how lucky you are, the only person alive who can look at the five of you and and say the words, this is my family.
BEN COES
is the author of the critically acclaimed and
New York Times
bestselling Dewey Andreas novels, including
Power Down, Coup d’
É
tat, The Last Refuge,
and
Eye for an Eye
. He lives in Wellesley, Massachusetts.
Follow the author on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/bencoes
. You can sign up for email updates
here
.
ALSO BY
BEN COES
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CONTENTS
