Northern Virginia
The start of a sunrise glared around the edges of the blackout curtain like the corona of a solar eclipse. A little fabric tape would seal the edges completely, but Lilith Fumagalli hadn't gone that far. Not yet. The view from the living room was actually quite nice, down the hill and through the trees, but it was too early for nice views. More coffee was needed and maybe her pair of shades.
It wasn't a coincidence that her home outside Alexandria faced west. Lilith Fumagalli preferred sunsets to sunrises.
With the curtains drawn against the morning, the light from her laptop illuminated the living room with cold electric light, as God intended—or if not God, then at least the DIA when there was still work to be done, and there was always work to be done, weekend or not. At least here, she could stay in her robe.
Her work phone rang, but that was expected.
The number on the screen wasn't.
Wasn't he in France?
"Hello, Frank," Lilith Fumagalli answered with a sigh. "It's a little early to be walking down memory lane, isn't it? Are you drunk or just lonely?"
"Hey, Lil," said Frank through her cellphone, "it's a warm afternoon here. And I'm not lonely—"
"—Just drunk then?"
"Hold on—," he answered, followed by sounds like fabric across Frank's phone speaker. "Sorry, you caught me in the middle of something."
"Frank, you called me—and from your work phone, the one they retired. Like you. You were supposed to surrender your phone along with your disguise kit and poisoned blow darts. Remember?"
She wandered through her house as she talked, shades drawn across brightening windows. Frank was breathing on the other end like he was walking somewhere fast.
"I'm a government contractor now," Frank said between breaths. "They let me keep it."
"Oh, bullshit!" Lilith laughed.
"And the blow darts."
He could be fun like this, and it'd been a while since she'd had any—at least since the Black Fish report had squatted in her laptop like an unwelcomed tenant. Gallows humor was one thing, but a dozen dead service members were another.
"Frank, I'm in the middle of something, here, so why are you calling me on a Sunday morning?"
Lilith searched for a cigarette before remembering that she'd kicked the habit a decade ago. Instead, she found herself in the kitchen pouring more coffee. The bottle of sauvignon blanc nearby a tempting alternative. Frank and wine went together like, well, wine and cheese.
"It's the only time our busy schedules are open," Frank said, then, "Hold on again—"
"Our busy schedules? You're out of the game now. What exactly are you busy with?"
But there was only the sound of walking on the other end. There were sounds of traffic. Some voices. Wind whipped across his phone with hiss. What is he doing? Three patient seconds passed before Lilith drifted back to the report open on her work laptop and the dozen dead soldiers she was trying to answer for. Details from the after-crash report ran in sequential order in her mind while Frank blathered about France.
Low altitude.
Poor visibility.
Experienced pilot.
Remote interference suspected.
Codeword in Farsi? Black Fish.
Frank was back on the line, rambling about routine.
"—really, my mornings are filled with people-watching and my afternoons soaking up the sun. My days are booked."
Lilith shut her laptop.
"Fascinating, Frank. When do you find time for all the drinking?"
"Oh, that's a given, darling. I've always been good at multitasking."
"Yes, you have! You've always had a knack for fucking-up one thing while simultaneously fucking-up another."
Frank laughed at this and Lilith laughed, too, but at the absurdity of another conversation with Frank Fumagalli, her ex-subordinate and ex-husband.
"Listen," Frank said, "Cal's here now."
Oh.
"And it made me think of you," Frank continued. "Well, the four of us."
Double oh.
Molly was dead four years, now, but Lilith knew what he meant. Cal and Moll', Frank and Lil'; four people split into two couples. Now there were three of them and nobody was a couple. Funny how the math worked out on that one. Sad, really.
She said, "You really convinced him to sell everything, pack up, and move to France—of all places, with *you—*of all people."
"It'll be great for him!" said Frank. "Where else should he be?"
Lilith considered between sips.
"Not in Florida," she admitted. "Not in that empty house now that he's retired." She couldn't help glancing around her own empty home and its patient shadows.
"He didn't want to retire."
"I know," she said.
"And he's only been overseas once—for Paris with Moll'."
"I know," she said again, squinting against the sauvignon blanc headache that hit her like an unexpected call from her ex. There was silence on the other end of the line that lingered until she filled it. "Frank . . . I know. Trust me, I wish all four of us could go back to that cafe again. Remember when you dove into that canal like a maniac?"
She snorted a laugh that Frank didn't return.
"Come to Nice," Frank offered, ignoring her barb about the canal in Paris.
"It's not the same anymore and you know it."
The Frank she was married to for thirty years would have taken this as a challenge. Instead, her phone was silent save for what sounded like Frank moving again through a crowd.
"Goddamn it, Frank. What are you doing?"
"I'm following two purse snatchers while Cal is acting as bait."
"Cal has a purse? Never mind—I don't want to know. Whatever it is you're doing, Frank, just stop. Don't suck Cal into any of your bullshit."
On the other end of the line there was the ambient sounds of a city: a car horn in the distance and a muffled voice passing by.
"Okay," Frank said at last.
"I mean it," said Lilith.
"Okay," he said again.
Thirty-plus years of marriage stuffed itself into the intervening silence.
"Listen, Frank," she said eventually. "He's been going through it—a tough time—since Molly, of course, but more recently, too. Take care of him, will you?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said without sarcasm.
"I mean it, Frank."
Some laughter again from Frank.
"We're retiring in southern France, Lil," he said. "It will be sunshine, wine, and people-watching down at the beach. When we get bored, I'll take him to Monaco. Maybe Rome. What could go wrong?"
"A lot."
Frank ignored her.
"We've been best friends for forty-five years, Lil, and it's time for Butch and Sundance to ride again."
Lilith laughed. "Okay, cowboy. But remember how that movie ended."
But if Frank remembered the shootout in Bolivia, he didn't say. He was already gone.