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Page 57.

Hannah and Rick's expressions said yes.

"That palace across the street," Romain said, "was once ARBED, our national steel industry headquarters. We were one of the top seven steel producers in the world. It was the major source of Luxembourg's wealth, with powerful labor unions, worker safety, pensions, and all that. Then an Indian bought it, along with half the world's steel production."

Mélu added, "It's not that they're Indian, or even that family. It's the general cast of characters that Wan represents and wants to lead. Those zillionaire owners—whether Indian, Chinese, French, German, or U.S.--are not going to care about our country, our workers, our people. There is no patriotism among corporations."

"Just the profit motive," Hannah said. "It's all falling into place now."

"And no religion," Romain added, "no matter how they tell the rabble that Jesus wants it or that Mohammed speaks through whatever idiot the corporations have illegally placed in power."

"Money is the only religion for them," Mélu said, concluding in German, "Profit über alles."

Romain added, "Nichts ausser Profit." Profit and nothing else.

"Back to Bagnolet and the Bar-39," Hannah said. "I watched two goons I knew worked for Wan—Yolo and Savia—attack Fincoff when he knew they were trying to drug him, and he tried to escape."

"So that's what I stumbled into," Rick said. "I've been in ambushes before. Just not in Paris or New York or anything—more like some desolate stretch in the oil countries where people don't use their left hand to eat, and women have to wear bags over their heads to show they are some man's property."

"It was an ambush," Hannah agreed. She pulled on his arm. "I fell in love with you even though you were half out of it. I just had to save you. And I admit—you'd be useful to me. All that's changed."

"Let me process this," Rick said, suddenly thinking of JAG and what he needed to do before he ran out of time, pills, and sanity. His companions fell silent around the table, eating quietly and marinating in their own thoughts. He was committing himself to this woman and they'd talked about all this already. Nothing changed. He still had the burner in his backpack. "I have to go to the bathroom."

He rose, and strode from the room. He went downstairs, rummaged through the backpack, and found the throw-away phone. He took it into the guest bathroom, locked himself in, and called JAG in K-Town.

"Blah blah blah," said some private first class.

"Let me talk to Major Walsh. This is Rick Buchan."

Kendra got on the line. "Richard. I was hoping you would call."

"Progress." It was a question.

"Working on it."

"How long?"

"Not clear. Don’t hang up, please."

"You have ten seconds. Talk." The call must not be traced. He plugged the sink and started water running.

"I can get you off. I am talking to Dennis Prager. You remember him?"

"He died in the explosion."

"No, he is the only one who lived. He says you were framed by Lieutenant Sherwin."

"Who?" Even as he asked, he held his head and felt memories flooding in. Yes…

"Lieutenant Sherwin was the FOD—Field Officer of the Day. He was in charge of operations. He had instructions to keep you guys out of that area."

"But he sent us anyway."

"Yes. He had his reasons—wrong reasons, bad reasons, stupid reasons. I'm getting the goods on him. Look, Buchan, all you need is reasonable doubt. I can get you a General Discharge."

"I want Honorable."

"We'll work on an upgrade. Six months after separation, we can petition the Pentagon."

"Not good enough, but keep working on it."

"Buchan, wait—"

"Please, Kendra. I'm scared. I need time to think." He rang off and dropped the phone into the full sink. It fell in, sizzling, bobbing, twisting in circles, as its battery fried in a massive watery short circuit.

Sounded like there was light at the end of the tunnel. He needed Hannah in on the plan. Unlocking and opening the door, he realized what he was doing. He was committing to this PAX thing. He loved Hannah and would go to hell and back with her and for her. He'd been fool enough to soldier for the foreign corporations who owned the media (*Endnotes #4)

…Time to serve a better cause. He went back up the stairs.

Hannah, Romain, and Mélu sat looking at him expectantly.

"I'm in," he said. It was not a question.

"Then it's settled," said Mélu, rising. She gathered their dishes, with Hannah helping. The two women went off on their own, deep in some conspiratorial conversation. Romain lingered over his coffee.

Rick went into the bathroom. He took the dead phone out of the water, let the sink drain, and dropped the phone into a little trash can by the sink. Soon, he'd get another burner phone. Hopefully, that would be the last time he'd need to call Kendra before turning himself in and hoping for a clean break with the Army and his past. He'd done his part. It was time to move on. He'd found his future. Her name was Hannah Smith.

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