"On my survival? Thank you, sir.”
"Don’t be sarcastic, my boy. You put the mission over. Too bad about Wells, of course.”
"I have a feeling he will come back to us. He’s doing an important job for now.”
McFee made a slight sound that might have been a dry chuckle. "He’s doing it quite well at the moment. The Ndolo have broken out of Kipora, thanks in part to the additional arms the gold and ivory made possible.”
' A note of excitement sounded in Durell’s voice. "They have Ausi on the run?”
"For the moment, yes. But it will be a long war. We can’t predict the outcome with any certainty.”
"At least the breakout is good news, sir; thanks for passing it along. Deirdre’s waiting for me, so if you don’t mind—”
"Oh, that isn’t what I called about. It concerns Kenneth Dager. Top priority.”
Durell’s face turned sober. "I reported that it was impossible to bring out his body, sir.”
"It’s not that, Samuel. We understand. His father understands.”
"Well, then?” He glanced at Deirdre. She smiled. Yellow weaverbirds flashed in the palms. He heard the intake of deep breath.
"Senator Dager is of the opinion that the sacrifice of his son’s life in the pursuit of his country’s higher interests—”
"That’s a strange way of putting it, sir,” Durell intervened. "My report described what happened and why.”
"I’ll come right out with it: Senator Dager wants his son decorated posthumously.”
Durell spoke with forced calmness. "He wasn’t told the truth?”
"State can’t or won’t. Neither will Defense. They’re scared out of their wits by the thought. Both are on my back.”
Durell made no effort to restrain his anger, now. "What am I supposed to do about it?” he snapped.
"Senator Dager already has been led to believe his son died heroically: you’re supposed to write an appropriate commentary.”
Durell stood up.
McFee continued, "Just something to hang in his den, you know. Inscribed under a suitable letterhead.”
"Sir, I can’t believe you would countenance certifying Kenneth Dager’s phony 'heroism’ merely to appease superiors scared of Senator Dager. I won’t do it.”
"If I order you to?”
Durell’s voice was icy. "You won’t get the chance.” He slammed down the receiver and stared hotly out to sea. Deirdre slipped her fingers into his and waited for him to cool off. He wondered if McFee was only testing his resolve or would have given him that order. He got his answer moments later when a waiter approached and handed him a telephone message just received. It read: "Have a good vacation. Regards to Deirdre,” and was signed, "D. McF.”
Durell felt like smiling again, and tugged her gently up from the table, admiring the way the breeze sculpted her long legs against the fabric of her dress. "I’m going back to bed,” he said.
"But you just slept sixteen hours straight.”
"That’s the trouble,” he said. "Come on.”
Assignment- Tyrant's Bride Page 19