The Road to Omaha (53 page)

“You forget your grammar, but by God, it
is
!”

“I don’t believe it! I thought he died
years
ago!”

“Never on stage, he didn’t! He never died on stage—he was always magnificent!”

“The finest character actor of our time! The Walter Abel of the seventies and eighties.
Brilliance
personified!”

“What the
hell
is going on?” shouted Colonel Cyrus, his naturally endowed but untrained voice no match for Ethelred Brokemichael’s clandestine unit of actors. “Will somebody
tell
me?” he yelled, trying to be heard above the din as the men of Suicidal Six crowded around “General MacKenzie Hawkins,” shaking his hand, patting him on the shoulders, one overwrought man kissing his Players Club ring. “
Goddamn
it! Will someone explain what this is all
about
?”

“Let me try!” said Dustin, breaking away from the others, his eyes dazzled. “You obviously were recruited late in this operation so you would have no way of knowing, but this
isn’t
that clown Hawkins, but one of the theater’s most outstanding artists! We all saw him when we were younger, studied his performances, followed him into Joe Allen’s—that’s an actors’ bar—and bombarded him with questions, trying to absorb whatever he could impart.”

“Impart
what
? What are you
talking
about?”

“This man is Henry Irving
Sutton! The
Sutton,
Sir
Henry—”

“Yes, I know,” interrupted Cyrus softly, in his voice the essence of abject defeat. “After a long-gone English actor named Irving, who had nothing to do with the bank or a
tailor on First Avenue.… Wait a
minute
!” yelled the mercenary suddenly. “Who the hell are
you
people?”

“Each of us gives only his name, rank, and serial number,” replied Marlon, overhearing Cyrus’s question and reluctantly turning away from the adulated Sutton, who was accepting the accolades of his peers with brilliant humility. “I say this in sadness, Colonel, for I once had a small role in a Sidney Poitier film, and he, too, was and is a marvelous artist.”

“Name, rank, and—what the
hell
are you
talking
about?”

“Just what I said, Colonel. Name, rank, and serial number, according to the laws of the Geneva Convention. Nothing more.”

“You’re
soldiers
?”

“Very accomplished ones,” answered Dustin, glancing over at his hero, namely Henry Irving Sutton, who was now holding his worshipers spellbound recounting past triumphs. “We accept the risks of combat without uniforms, but to date it’s never been a factor.”

“
Combat
?”

“Select covert activities, gray to black operations—the reference to ‘black’ having nothing to do with race, of course.”

“I
know
what ‘black’ operations are, I just don’t know what the hell
you
are!”

“I just told you, we’re a military unit specializing in clandestine activities, missions involving maximum security.”

“And this Nobel committee crap is one of those operations?”

“Between the two of us,” said Dustin confidentially, leaning toward Cyrus, “you’re lucky we are who we are, or your pension might go down the tube. That man
isn’t
General Hawkins! You were taken in, Colonel, flimflammed, if you know what I mean.”

“I was …?” said Cyrus, staring, as if in a catatonic state.

“You certainly were, sir, as was obviously Mr. Sutton—Sir Henry. He’d never tarnish his magnificent reputation
by being involved in a global conspiracy to cripple this country’s first line of defense.
Never
!”

“First line of defense—a global conspiracy …?”

“That’s as far as our briefing went, Colonel.”

“This is too fucking much!” said Cyrus, as if coming out of a trance. “Just who
are
you and where do you come from?”

“Fort Benning, under the command of Brigadier General Ethelred Brokemichael. Our specific names are neither relevant nor called for at this juncture, but suffice it to say we’re called the Suicidal Six.”

“The
Suicidal
—! My
God
, the Delta Force to the max? The most effective antiterrorist unit ever put into the field!”

“Yes, that’s what we’ve heard.”

“But you’re … you’re—”

“That’s right, we’re actors.”

“
Actors
?” yelled Cyrus so
fortissimo
that Henry Irving Sutton and the adoring crowd around him fell silent, staring at the mercenary in astonishment. “You’re—you’re
all actors
?”

“And as splendid a group of confreres as I’ve met in years, Colonel. They play their parts to perfection. Notice the care they’ve taken with their clothing, the proper European cuts, the subdued colors as befits distinguished academics. You might also drink in the consummate attention they’ve given their tonsorial effects—flicks of gray, not overdone, to add a few years to their ages. And their postures, Colonel, the ever so slightly stooped shoulders and the minor concavities of their chests, as we observed entering the room; and the pince-nez and the tortoiseshell glasses, all are marks of men in sedentary professions with strained eyes.… Yes, Colonel, these are, indeed, actors—
fine
actors.”

“He notices everything!”

“Such observation!”

“Every minute detail—”

“
Details
, gentlemen,” proclaimed Sutton, “are our secret weapons, never forget that.” A chorus of “Never!” “Certainly not!” and “How could we?” followed the proclamation until the elderly actor held up his hands. “But, of
course, I don’t really have to tell you that. I understand you convincingly deceived several million people with your performance at the airport.… Well
done
, shepherds of Thespis! Now, I want to know each of you. Your names, please.”

“Well,” began the spokesman, Lars Olafer, none too subtly, nodding at the mercenaries, “without certain people present we’d enthusiastically introduce ourselves by our real names, but our orders are to stay with our sobriquets, which is most embarrassing to me personally.”

“Why is that?”

“To be frank, an undeserved title, one you’ve earned but I haven’t.… I’m called ‘Sir Larry,’ for my first name is really Laurence.”

“With a
u
?”

“Oh, of course.”

“Then I say you
have
earned it. When Larry and Viv were together, we quaffed many an ale together, and in truth there’s a certain similarity in your appearance to that skinny but terribly likable fellow. I played the First Knight in his and Tony Quinn’s
Becket
, of course.”

“I may die right here on the spot—”

“You were
great
!”

“
Magnificent
!”

“
Extraordinary
!”

“Passable, if I do say so.”

“Can we cut the bullshit, if
I
say so!” shouted Cyrus, the veins in his thick neck pronounced.

“I’m called The Duke.”

“I’m Sylvester—”

“Marlon’s the name.”

“Dustin—y’know, y’know … am I, am I right, right,
right
?”

“Telly’s the moniker, General, baby. Wanna lollipop?”

“You’re all
superb
!”

“And this is all
preposterous
!” screamed Cyrus, clutching the lapels of Dustin and Sylvester. “You bastards
listen
to me!”

“Hey, my black good buddy,” said Roman Z, softly patting the broad back of his recent cell mate. “Don’t shoot up your blood pressure, man!”

“Blood pressure,
hell
, I should shoot every one of these sons of bitches!”

“Now, pilgrim, that’s downright primitive,” said The Duke. “Y’see, mister, we don’t believe in violence. It’s actually just a state of mind.”

“State of
what
?” roared the dark-skinned mercenary.

“Of the mind,” explained The Duke. “Freud called it the frenzied extension of the imagination—we use it a lot in acting classes, usually with improv, naturally.”

“
Naturally
!” Cyrus released his helpless hostages. “I give up,” he mumbled, sitting down in the nearest chair as Roman Z massaged his shoulders. “I give
up
!” he repeated, shouting, his wide eyes appraising the crowd of lunatics in front of him—and below him. “You’re the
Suicidal Six
? The antiterrorist Delta Force unit
songs
have been written about? Nothing makes
sense
!”

“In some ways, you’re right, Colonel,” said Sylvester in his normal Yale Drama School voice, “for we’ve never had to fire a gun or basically injure anyone beyond a sprained wrist or, at worst, a cracked rib.… We just don’t work that way. You see, it’s easier on everybody. We impersonate our way into and out of missions, frequently intimidating the targets, but every now and then making a friend or two.”

“You’re breakouts from a funny farm,” said Cyrus, “or maybe you’re not really from this planet,” he added numbly.

“You’re too hard on us, Colonel,” protested Telly in his normally cultured voice. “If all the armies of the world were made up of actors, wars could be mounted as civilized productions, not uncivilized slaughters. Merits would be given for individual and collective performances—the best orations, the most convincing snarls, the finest crowd reactions—”

“Then, of course,” interrupted Marlon, “there’d be points for costuming and set decoration, for the most creative props, as in weapons and
mise en scène
locations—”

“As well as plot and story development,” broke in The Duke. “I suppose you could term them military tactics.”

“Let’s not forget
direction
, for God’s sake,” cried Sir Larry.

“And choreography,” added Sylvester. “A choreographer would have to be an organic extension of
any
director, under the circumstances.”

“Wonderful, simply
wonderful
!” exclaimed Henry Irving Sutton. “An international academy of the theatrical arts could be set up to judge the forces in the field, in the air, and on the water. Naturally, military consultants would be included for semblances to authenticity, but their consultancy would be secondary, the primary judgments made on the basis of creativity—of conviction, characterization,
passion
!… 
Art
!”

“Right on, pilgrim!”

“Hey, Stella, he got it right!”

“You … you … you are with … with … with it!”

“Speak the speech, I pray you—”

“Beautiful, sweetheart. Have a lollipop!”

“Yeah, yeah, we don’ need no howitzers t’ blow the gooks away!”

“
What
?”

“Well, he’s gotta be right, y’know what I mean? Nobody gets
shot
. Nobody gets his face in a bucket!”

“
Eeeowweeah
!” bellowed Cyrus, his scream worthy of Anouilh’s dictum. “I’ve had it! I’ve really
had
it!… 
You
, Sir Henry
Horseshit
! You were military—I heard that certifiable Hawkins say you were a goddamned hero in North Africa! What happened to
that
man?”

“In a primitive sense, Colonel, all soldiers are actors. We’re terrified, but we try to pretend we’re not; we know that at any moment our precious lives may be taken from us, but we abandon that knowledge for the irrational reason that the immediate objective is paramount, although in the core of our minds, we understand that it’s merely a statistic on a map. The problem with soldiers in combat is that they must
become
actors without proper training, proper professional training.… If all the drenched, mud-sunk foot soldiers understood the rules, they’d do as Telly says, and snarl viciously while firing above the heads of other young men they don’t know but might have a drink with in some bar in another time and place.”

“
Bullshit
! What about values and beliefs? I’ve fought on different sides, but never against what I believed in!”

“Well, then, you’re a moral man, Colonel, and I commend you. However, you also fight for the most questionable motive of all. Money.”

“What are
these
clowns fighting for?”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea, but I doubt it’s financial remuneration. As I understand it, they’re fulfilling their lifelong theatrical ambitions—in a rather unorthodox way, but obviously with considerable success.”

“I’ll sure as hell give them that,” said Cyrus, turning to Roman Z. “Have you got everything?” he asked.

“Every
zing
and everyone, my enduring friend.”

“Good.” The huge chemist turned back to the actors, singled out Dustin, and spoke. “You, shorty, come over here.” The diminutive performer looked questioningly at his comrades. “For God’s sake, man, I just want to talk to you privately. Do you think my friend and I would take on the entire Suicidal Six?”

“I wouldn’t even think of ‘taking on’
him
, pilgrim. He may not be your size, but he’s black belt karate to the tenth order, and they don’t come no higher.”

“Oh, come on, Duke, I’d never use that stuff unless we were all in real trouble. And certainly not against a nice guy like the colonel. He’s just upset, I can understand that.… Don’t worry, Colonel, I wouldn’t harm you. What is it?” Dustin walked with the stunned Cyrus to a far corner of the suite as the mercenary kept staring down—way down—at the actor. They stood next to a window, the night lights of Boston throwing a glow over the city, and Cyrus spoke quietly.

“You were probably right a few minutes ago when you said I could lose my pension. You see, I did come on late, actually only a few days ago, and I had no reason to think this man wasn’t Hawkins. Hell, from what I’ve seen of him on television, he looks like the general and sounds just like him—why wouldn’t it
be
him? I’m really grateful, Dustin.”

“That’s okay, Colonel. I’m sure you’d do the same for me if our positions were reversed—say somebody was impersonating Harry Belafonte and you being black knew he wasn’t but I didn’t.”

“What …? Oh, yes, I certainly would, Dustin, I certainly
would. But just so I can get a clearer picture of this whole dirty business—officially, you understand, and since we’re both on the same side—just what
was
your mission?”