Firespill Read Online Free Page B

stories he had heard at training school about men going claustro, raving mad in close confinement. The thought made him feel uneasy. He looked at the calendar again—at September—and then up at the top bunk. He wondered what would happen when Lambrecker’s hangover had passed.
    As the Swordfish sailed out of Esquimalt Harbor and Kyle slowly began to unpack his seabag, he found Sarah’s note stuck in the socks. He drew the green curtain across his cabin door and sat down on the bunk’s edge. After all these years, he thought, and felt a deep yearning to hold her, to tell her he would be home soon, that he would never leave her again. He unfolded the note and read, “With you always, My love, Sarah.” He put the piece of paper in one of his tunic pockets. As was his custom, he would not look at the note again until they neared the end of the long patrol. In September.

Two
    September 21
    It was an unusually mild morning as Elaine Horton, whom Kyle and Lambrecker, like so many others, had often seen but never met, walked down one of the wide streets on the outskirts of Sitka in Alaska’s Alexander Archipelago. On either side of the roadway, Colonial-style bungalows, mostly white, lay nestled behind a row of golden-leafed maples, which were interspersed here and there with tall Lombardy poplars whose leaves flickered in the Indian summer breeze.
    Elaine wandered aimlessly along the road in the direction of the nearby woods. She shuffled her feet through the summer’s accumulation of leaves in an effort to block out the sound of the footsteps around her. But even when she succeeded in not hearing them, she could sense their owners’ presence. They were always with her. She had managed, miraculously enough, to escape from the scrutiny of the press these last few days, mainly due to a sudden change in flight plans from Washington. They might as well have followed her; the Secret Service agents gave her the same shut-in feeling. She conceded that they were often necessary, particularly in big crowds, but here in Sitka on her holidays? But she could never convince her aide to leave them behind. Miller was rigid in his insistence that the Secret Service contingent must be on hand at all times, no matter where they were, vacation or no vacation.
    “But Richard,” she protested, as they continued to stroll, “this is Baranof Island—off the Alaskan Panhandle. No one even recognizes me here.” He was about to answer, but was interrupted by a small group of schoolchildren who had suddenly materialized and who were gaily rushing Elaine for her autograph.
    Miller stood by smugly while the Secret Servicemen carefully watched the cluster of well-wishers. After the group had departed, Elaine turned to Miller. “And if anyone does recognize me, it’s precisely because this platoon of yours immediately draws attention to us.”
    Miller, choosing not to dispute the point with his boss, looked around him at the near-deserted street. “Ma’am, I feel safer in New York than I do here.”
    Elaine snorted. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
    “Yeah. I mean it’s so—so open up here. No protection.”
    “Open, my God! That’s exactly why I came here. I can’t fish in Manhattan. I’m tired of skyscrapers and pushy crowds. I like the openness.”
    “That’s why we need all these men,” said Miller, shaking his head.
    “Well, I warn you, Richard. First gap I see, I’m off.”
    Miller smiled indulgently yet with dutiful respect. “You’re welcome to try, ma’am.”
    Despite the lighthearted exchange, Elaine really did mean to have some privacy. The pressure was getting to her. She wanted to push Washington out of her mind, to forget about the daily invasion of her desk by hundreds of reports, all crying catastrophe. Long gone were the days when the Vice-President of the United States was considered little more than a parrot of the President. There had been six assassinations of key political figures since Kennedy, so now