When McCoy came into the shop for coffee early the next week, Ivan had been picking up the trash a half hour before. When McCoy heard him, he started getting dressed. He was usually awake when he heard the trash buggy being started. He worried he was becoming lazy after his vacation stretched into month two.

Dylan was in the shop when McCoy got there. He liked to help his father do the trash. Dylan drank coffee with his father, joining in on some of their conversations while waiting for Clay.

Tag came in later. McCoy was there sometimes when he came to work. Tag wasn't an early riser. He covered the shop most evenings and he was responsible for closing up.

Both Ivan and Clay talked about Dylan working into the night when he was editing one of his films. McCoy calculated that Dylan didn't need as much sleep as some folks. He was always full of energy and delighted to be working with Ivan.

"Morning," Clay said, coming into the shop with the medication he had been putting on Ivan's burns, since the plane crash.

"Do we have to?" Ivan asked. "I thought we used that stuff up?"

"We did. That's what Dr. Wilson does. Makes sure we have plenty of burn cream. You don't want to end up with an infection, do you?" Clay asked. "Your body is perfect the way it is. It's my job to make sure it stays that way, Lover boy."

"I suppose," Ivan said. "You could take the day off. Dr. Wilson would never know."

"Hush," Clay said, helping Ivan pull off his tee-shirt.

McCoy watched the TLC Clay added to the application of the cream. His skin looked like he'd just come in after a couple of hours in the sun.

Dylan sat silently by and listened to his fathers' banter.

McCoy thought about Taz and Kodak. He'd seen Kodak fussing over Taz the same way, while Taz was recovering from being shot. Taz would fuss and Kodak would do what needed to be done.

He'd developed great affection for those two without intending to. Taz was the tough 'get 'er done cowboy,' kind of guy. Kodak was the sensitive one who attended to details. McCoy went to Montana to help the general who helped him find his way in life, and when he left, he'd made two forever friends.

He'd never thought about the lives of guys who were gay. Once he knew such guys, he realized they were just as individualistic as everyone else. He'd seen married couples act in a similar fashion.

He didn't know Ivan and Clay all that well, but he liked them. He enjoyed seeing them interact with Dylan. He was a mix of both of his fathers. They were like three peas in a pod.

In some ways, Ivan reminded McCoy of Taz. They were nothing alike physically, but both were the strong silent type. Ivan didn't take the world too seriously, while Taz regarded life as a serious matter.

McCoy heard the jokes and the names given to men who loved each other. Since he met Taz & Kodak, he no longer listened to such nonsense. If someone told a queer joke in McCoy's presence, he walked away.

Such insulting behavior seemed to prevail in the man's world he inhabited. Many men thought in those terms. McCoy would be the odd man out if he spoke up. So, he kept his mouth shut.

One day, he thought he might speak up. He couldn't be the only cop with gay friends.

McCoy had seen Taz and Kodak holding hands while sitting in the rockers on their front porch. He hadn't seen Ivan holding Clay's hand, and he suspected it wasn't something they did in front of visitors. This was the South and a whole other ballgame.

Montana was a live and let live kind of place. The South wasn't .

"Sit a spell, McCoy?" Kodak would ask as he rode up.

"Don't mind if I do," he'd reply.

McCoy earned the respect of Taz and Kodak by finding the man who put a bullet in Taz. They never talked about it. It was in the past, but McCoy felt comfortable rocking with them on the front porch.

McCoy felt he knew what kind of man Ivan was. He knew nothing about Clay. He didn't feel like Clay liked him hanging around the shop. He didn't say anything about it, but McCoy could read people.

The care Clay took with Ivan was admirable. McCoy was never close with another man. He had no attraction to men. His attractions were all about women. He regretted that he didn't have a close male friend. Someone he could talk to, man to man. He had two daughters he adored and he loved Mildred more than life itself.

He was lucky to have them.

The men he was closest to were all cops. When you spent all day with a cop, you didn't want to spend your off time with him. He loved his partner like a brother. He depended on his partner. They depended on each other, but that was a work deal. You can get close to a man who has your back.

The last time McCoy remembered having good boy friends, he was a teenager in high school. He had some great friends back then. They did everything together. Then, his number came up, and he went to Vietnam.

After that, he'd never had a male friend. A guy to fish with, drink with, and to talk to. It was never the same after Vietnam, and he was never close to any men. He missed his high school buddies. They were all married and raising families when he came home. Time had passed them by. Once in a while, he'd cross paths with one of his buddies from a few years before. They'd agree, 'Those were the days.' They promised to stay in touch but never did.

"More coffee, Mr. McCoy?" Dylan asked, holding the coffee pot near McCoy's cup.

"Oh, yes, thank you. I was day dreaming," McCoy said, not realizing how much time had passed.

"Put the coffee pot back. Time to head for school," Clay said.

"Want to come along, Mr. McCoy?" Dylan asked. "See the rest of the cove?"

"If your dad doesn't make me go to school. I'd like to go along."

McCoy sat in the front seat and Dylan sat behind him. The three miles took only five minutes but they went by the fire department, sheriff's station, and Dr. Wilson's office. There was less than McCoy thought there might be. In no time, they were turning into the school.

"You see any pictures Kodak took, Mr. McCoy?" Dylan asked.

"Oh, yes, his pictures have appeared in national magazines. He took a picture of Taz that was on the cover of Time," McCoy said. "He is like you guys. He has a big interest in photographing nature. The year after he went to live on the Montana ranch, Kodak was in a plane crash in the Pacific. They gave him up for lost. He was going on a photo shoot for, I believe, Life Magazine."

"Mid Pacific?" Dylan inquired. "We just came back from there. We spent the summer on a research trip. Dad and I."

"This dad?" McCoy wanted to know.

"Yes," Clay said. "Dylan went diving in the Pacific Ocean. He worked on a documentary film a professional filmmaker was making."

"Impressive," McCoy said. "Kodak spoke of the son of the owner of the campground having the eye of a professional photographer."

"He said that?" Dylan asked.

"You are the one he was talking about?" McCoy said and asked.

"That would be Dylan," Clay said, stopping in front of the school. "See you at three, Dylan."

"We diving today?" Dylan asked, standing in the open car door.

"No, I'm doing paperwork Harry needs. We'll dive tomorrow afternoon, after school," Clay said.

"Kewl," Dylan said. "See you Mr. McCoy."

"See you, Son," McCoy said, as Dylan headed for the front door.

Clay drove toward the exit. Everything was along the same highway. There were no streets turning off the highway. A minute after Dylan got out, Clay was turning back toward the cove.

"Mr. McCoy, I'm going to say something to you, and I hope I don't sound rude," Clay said in rather direct terms.

"Ivan and I are together. I don't expect you to know what that means, and I don't care. Every time I come into the shop, you're there talking to him. Now I don't know your story, but I assure you he has no interest in a man your age. Ivan and I are raising a son together. We don't need any help. We don't date around."

McCoy tried not to laugh.

"He's older than I am," McCoy said.

"He what?" Clay yelped.

"I'm afraid I'm one of those men who looks fifty when he's thirty. I'll also look fifty when I'm 70. My grandfather did and so did my father. I'm happily married to a woman I adore. You met Mildred. I have two daughters I sometimes adore, who are spending time with my mother while we're gone. I don't know much about men who love each other. It's not my thing but Taz and Kodak taught me that love, any love you share, is a good deal for the lovers. I assure you, the only interest I have in Ivan is his coffee, and his welcoming demeanor."

Clay had turned red by the time McCoy stopped talking.

"What is with you being in the shop every day?" Clay asked.

"Ivan has been friendly. His coffee is way better than mine, and I suppose I'm as addicted to good coffee as anyone. Ivan is intelligent and a fascinating guy. I don't get out much. I do work in a man's world. My wife likes to doddle on the beach and collect shells. I like drinking coffee and shooting the shit."

Clay laughed.

"What is it you do?" Clay asked.

"I'm a detective for the Chicago PD. I had eight weeks of vacation on the book. They told me, 'Take it or lose it.' My wife said, 'You lose all that vacation time. I'll divorce you, and here I am."

"Ivan never told me you were a cop," Clay said.

"He doesn't know what I do. He never asked. I haven't said. It's another reason why I like talking to him. He sees me as a camper and we speak accordingly," McCoy said, "You say the word cop to most men, and they immediately stop talking. I don't tell people I'm a cop."

"What do you find to talk about?" Clay inquired. "Ivan is not a guy who has a lot to say."

"You and your son is high on his topics of conversation. He accuses you of trying to save the earth. Dylan, well, Dylan is his own topic of conversation. Quite a young man his fathers are raising," McCoy said. "After what I saw Ivan do at the site of the plane crash, well, I have a great deal of respect for men who run towards trouble. Ivan is my kind of guy, and I'd just as soon you didn't tell him I'm a cop. It will change how he views me. Being a cop isn't a great conversation starter."

"It's the least I can do after accusing you of trying to make time with my man," Clay said with contriteness in his voice.

"I'm tough. I can take abuse," McCoy said with a smile. "Being accused of philandering is a walk in the park compared to some of the things I've been accused of."

"I heard that you have a senator living near the cove and a conservancy of some significance is nearby," McCoy said.

"True on both counts. I'll show you if you like," Clay offered.

"Yes, I'd like that," McCoy said, wanting to spend a little more time getting to know Clay.

On the way back Clay passed the shop and turned into the Conservancy driveway, which bordered the Cove Campground's parking. Five minutes later, Clay stopped next to his Conservancy lab.

"The Conservancy has been here since the last century. This is my laboratory and was built for me. It was finished a little more than ten years ago. Senator McCallister owns, is in charge of, the Sanibel Island Conservancy. Once he tires of politics, he'll return here to run it. Until that time, I run it while he's in DC."

"Now I am impressed. You're more than an average marine biologist," McCoy observed.

"It's what I do," Clay said. "It's the senator who is determined to save the earth. I'm just a marine biologist that does marine biology."

"And have your own laboratory to boot. I wouldn't have known it was here if you hadn't showed me," McCoy said. "We're close to the Gulf here?"

"Just beyond those dunes is the Gulf of Mexico. It's a couple hundred yards to the water. When a storm is passing, I can hear the Gulf raging while I sit at my desk in my office. The senator's house is a half mile away through the forest behind the Conservancy building. The campgrounds are nearly a mile to the south. Harry's house is about a mile from the front door of my lab."

"While at the cove, it feels like nothing is around for miles," McCoy observed.

"Come on. While you're here, I'll show you my lab. I also have a floating lab that is aptly named, Sea Lab."

"Oh, my," McCoy said, being more and more impressed.

They got out of the Buick and Clay opened the door to the lab for McCoy to go in. The reception area was empty.

"One of the ladies from the Conservancy will sit here when we're having guests or something important is going on that brings visitors from all over. The lab is state of the art. As you can see, I have things that I need to analyze. Water samples and things I'm investigating for one reason or another. I try to keep my office neat, but it's a losing battle. I've usually got a half dozen things going on at any given time. I need to report on any anomalies, disease, new species, or something that catches my eye. It might never get beyond this desk, or it might end up moving around the world to places concerned with the health and well being of the world's waterways. I don't get a say in what goes around the world and what is ignored. I do my job and hope for the best, Mr. McCoy."

"The Gulf looks enormous to me," McCoy said. "How do you know where to start?"

"It is huge. You should see the bottom of the Gulf. We believe our world is complete. Everything is there for the taking. Underwater is another universe. We get to see what we're able to reach, but we can't reach the things at the depths of some of the seas. We have no idea what it looks like or how it survives. The beauty we can see is exquisite beyond belief in the portion of the seas we can reach," Clay explained. "I can only imagine how the seas we can't see have evolved over the millennium."

"The first time I went diving, I knew I belonged in the sea. Luckily the man I went diving with was a marine biologist, as well as a college professor who taught me everything I know about marine biology. That professor taught me to be the best marine biologist I could possibly be. It was the senator who introduced us. He wasn't a senator then. He was just Harry the first time I went diving."

Clay watched as McCoy went from bottle to bottle on the shelves his father built for him long before he was a marine biologist.

The phone rang and Clay took the call at his desk.

"Sanibel Island Conservancy, Clay speaking."

"You're there," Harry said.

"Of course I'm here. I'm always here, Harry. You know that."

"I called three times before you answered," Harry said.

"Took the kid to school. What's up, Harry?"

"I wanted to check to see how Ivan was doing. I can't get any information out of him. He always says he's fine," Harry said.

"He's fine, Harry. Fusses when I put the burn cream on him, but he'll live. The burns are healing. He seems none the worse for wear."

"Do some work if you get a chance, will you?" Harry said and he hung up, leaving Clay looking at the phone.

I believe he was checking up on me, Clay thought. Either that, or he was checking on Ivan.

It was ten when the director showed up.

Harry was looking at the bottle of bourbon on the bookcase when his secretary buzzed him.

He was thinking he could get in a bracer before the meeting. The best he could do was long for a drink to settle his nerves.

Most government officials were in need of a drink before meeting with a senator who asked for a meeting.

There was only one agency whose director instilled fear in people he asked to meet with. The senate approved the CIA budget, having no idea where the money went. That was confidential. While meeting with the director, it was best to accept it when he said, 'That's all I'm at liberty to disclose.'

His first meeting with a director was right out of James Bond. He didn't see where the man appeared from, or where he went. It was so disconcerting, he kept looking over his shoulder on his way back to his office. He was a congressman at the time.

He didn't know what he expected, but he knew it wasn't good.

As a senator, he had immense power of his own and his words became law, but as soon as the director called him wanting a meeting, Harry had the same feeling of dread he had after that first meeting took place.

Harry was on his third Director of the CIA. He noticed how similar they were. There was something spooky about all of them, but only the first one appeared and disappeared out of nowhere.

"Senator, the Director is here," a soft feminine voice announced.

"I will see him now," Harry said, as ready as he'd ever be.

Harry looked up at the bottle of bourbon for one final time.

"Harry," the Director said, as the senator extended his hand and found himself in a hug.

The director patted his back like real men do it. It was a bit excessive. They'd only met once, when the new Director of the CIA was sworn in.

"Nice to see you, Harry," the Director said, taking a seat without being invited to sit down.

"Yes," Harry said as he sat back behind his desk. "What can I do for you, Mr. Director?"

"I trust you're well. That show you put on last Tuesday was priceless, Harry. I admire a man who can slap other senators and get them to like it. You are an artist, Harry."

This wasn't what Harry expected. He didn't know small talk had been added to the director's handbook. He waited for the first punch to be thrown. He would wait to find out what the man wanted.

"Yes," Harry said. "We must employ the tools we are provided. Luckily the fish were handy."

"Dead fish? You're the only senator who can get away with dumping dead fish in front of your committee, and in front of the network's news people, and of course, cameras. Olson's snappy response to your outrage. If I was an environmentalist, I'd have given that performance a standing ovation," the director said.

Harry looked at his watch and glanced at the bottle of bourbon.

"We could go on for hours, but I'm about to be called to the floor for a vote. You better come to the point. I'd hate to leave before I know the purpose of this meeting," Harry said with a smile.

"The budget," the man said. "I understood the vote was going to be held at about noon. It's what," he said, "Fifteen after ten."

"All votes are on the schedule for one o'clock. There are discussions, amendments, details to be ironed out, and if we're lucky, when it comes to the budget, we could have a vote by midnight. I need to be on the floor so I don't miss anything. Some senators will slip anything into the budget. It's such a long document, they hope to get it through before someone notices it. I need to know what I'm voting for."

"I need Ivan Aleksa in Cambodia," he said in an official voice.

Harry laughed.

"People in hell need ice water, Mr. Director. Ivan Aleksa will never agree to return to Cambodia. I'll see to it he never needs to," Harry said, picturing Clayton's face if he told him he was sending Ivan away.

"You aren't going to ask me why?" the director asked.

"Doesn't matter. He won't go. I won't tolerate you bothering him. The man did five years for you people. That's enough in one lifetime."

The gloves had come off.

"I expected you'd at least express some interest in why Mr. Aleksa's country needs his services."

Harry turned absolutely red.

"Don't give me that patriotic bullshit. If you want Ivan to do some of your dirty work, it has nothing to do with the country. If the people in this country knew half the stuff you are up to, well, let's say they might not like it. You can't have Ivan Aleksa."

"Senator, Senator, we're all on the same side. If you'll listen to reason, you'll see the logic in why I need him. You don't think I can get him if I want him. This is a courtesy call, Senator, because you were involved with Aleksa's service with us before. I come to you with hat in hand. We're gentlemen, and I have a problem Mr. Aleksa can solve. If you'll listen to me for five minutes you'll understand."

"Mr. Director, come to the point. I'll need to leave when they call me to the floor," Harry said with finality in his voice.

"I'll get straight to the point, Harry."

The director leaning forward, pushed Harry's name plate out of the way. He spoke in a confidential voice that he made sure no one else could hear.

"There's a General Kenji, Khmer Rouge. Nasty piece of work. Tight with Pol Pot and his in crowd. We had him nailed down. Like most of the generals, he slipped away while the Khmer forces were losing their grip on power. You know about the Killing Fields. Kenji's fingerprints are all over it. His men were particularly vicious," he explained.

"We sent a special force in to apprehend the worst of them. He'd vanished. He went into the place where he was hiding out. He went in but he never came out. We had the place surrounded. We were making final plans to take him prisoner or eliminate him as a threat. We took that villa apart. He wasn't inside. Rumor has it, he's filtered back to where he came from before getting involved with the Khmer Rouge. We've been waiting for a year. If he's there, he's well disguised or he doesn't leave his hideout."

"Mr. Director, if you and your minions can't find this guy, how is it you need Ivan Aleksa. He's been out of service for five years. Leave the man be. Try something else," Harry implored. "Leave him alone."

The man did not move away from the front of Harry's desk. He did not sit back or speak louder than a whisper.

"General Kenji is fond of Ivan Aleksa. During Ivan's stay with us in Cambodia, he met with General Kenji on numerous occasions. It was noted by Ivan's handler, 'The man seemed to know when Ivan was about. There was a particular coffee house where Ivan spent time. Invariably, Kenji came to the same coffee house. Ivan and Kenji talked for hours. Yes, Mason saw the bodyguards. He knew Kenji was no ordinary Cambodian. He had no idea he was Khmer Rouge. He stopped coming to meet Ivan during the period the Khmer forces were most powerful. When Mason saw a picture of General Kenji, he told us the story about Kenji and Ivan meeting at that coffee house. It's a long shot, but if General Kenji is in the area, he might come out of hiding to see an old friend. Ivan Aleksa is all we have. We need him."

Harry leaned forward until their foreheads nearly touched. He heard every word the director said.

When the director stopped talking, Harry leaned back in his chair. The director leaned back. He seemed to be satisfied.

Harry was deep in thought.

"You see, we need Ivan Aleksa. It's not dangerous for him. At most, he'd be gone for two, maybe three months. Kenji's bodyguards wouldn't touch Ivan unless it was to get him to go with them to meet with General Kenji at his hideout. Once we have that information, Ivan comes home with a tidy sum in his pocket for services rendered. There's a considerable reward for Kenji's arrest. The last I sum I heard mentioned was $500,000 for the guy who finds Kenji."

"It will all go to Ivan?" Harry asked.

"If it goes the way we plan, Ivan will get it all," he said.

"They take him to Kenji and Kenji wants to keep him around the house for amusement," Harry said. "What then."

"No reason to believe that would be the case. We fully expect him to come to that coffee shop. He's in a place where he's just another peasant to the people living there. Ivan would be allowed to come and go as he pleased if Kenji wants him to come to him. They'd never see him with our people. None of them speaks to Ivan anywhere but in his room, or at a nearby hotel safe room. There's no risk. We only need to draw Kenji out into the open. If we sense there's going to be trouble, we'll take Kenji out. In that event, Ivan won't be involved in that, and he'd be on the next plane out."

"You say there's no risk. There's always a risk," Harry said.

The man in front of him shrugged. There was always a risk. It was a risky world.

Harry knew better than to ask the question he was about to ask, but he wanted to know the answer.

"Why is the CIA involved in capturing Cambodian generals?"

"We made a deal with the present government. We collect the men they want most. They allow us to operate freely in Cambodia. We need to have good relationships with countries in that region."

"You've had a free hand in Cambodia since I became aware Ivan Aleksa was over there. Try again, Mr. Director."

"It gives us easy access to Vietnam," the man said.

"Jesus Christ, we haven't had enough of Vietnam yet? I thought it was over there. Will it ever end?"

"It's never over, Senator. You know that. One conflict ends, another begins. It's a violent world we live in."

"Harry, you're wanted on the floor," his secretary's voice interrupted.

"I'll be right there," Harry said, looking at his watch.

Harry spent a minute tapping a pencil on his desk.

"OK, you've convinced me it is a legitimate mission. I will clear the way for Mason to speak with Ivan. When can I say he's going to be in the cove?" Harry asked.

"Mason was at Langley on Friday for his briefing on this. He's taking care of some private business in that region this week. He asked for a few days. Let's say he'll contact Mr. Aleksa by this Friday."

"You are to inform Mason, when Ivan tells him no, he is to back off immediately."

"As you wish, Senator," the Director of the CIA agreed way too easily.


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