Color of Blood by Keith Yocum
Chapter 1
He was not angry. Not now. It was too late for that. As he lay on the ground staring at a pair of shoes that were inches from his face, he felt a profound disappointment. The shoes belonged to the person who had just shot him. How sad and strange that he missed the hints that led to this moment. So many peculiar things had occurred, and now, as the deafening roar of the discharged weapon faded, he could see how stupid he’d been in not figuring it out. He, the smart one! The one too cynical to be taken in by lies. And if regret were not enough to torment him as he slid away, it was that damn poem (a poem of all things!) that kept repeating in his head like a skipping vinyl record: “Happy are men who yet before they are killed can let their veins run cold.”
Six months earlier.
They looked at each other in near silence.
The only sound came from Marty’s school bus–yellow No. 2 pencil he tapped on top of his desk like a droning metronome.
“It feels demeaning,” Dennis said.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Marty said. “It’s nothing of the sort. It’s a project you could take on without skipping a beat. You’d be done in a couple of weeks, maybe a month.”
More silence.
“Dennis, this is the perfect assignment to get you up and running again. Get your sea legs back. Open and shut in a month, max.”
“This kind of thing is more suited for a junior investigator,” Dennis said. “What about that new hire, the kid you hired about a year ago from Army CID?”
“No,” Marty said. “I can’t have some beginner chasing down this one.”
“But an MIA?” Dennis said. “I can’t remember being asked to evaluate a Missing-In-Action investigation. I didn’t think we had purview over that kind of stuff. Operations folks police their own work.”
Marty sighed.
“Dennis, the CIA Office of Inspector General has a wide scope of practice, and you know that. We have efficiency experts, accountants, lawyers, and a small team that does the really crappy work. You’re on that team, and you’re there because you’re good at it. The IG has been asked to review an old investigation into an MIA. I’m repeating myself here, but you’ve just returned from a six-month medical leave of absence, and this is the perfect assignment for you. Please trust me on this one, OK?”
Silence fell over the two men again, but it was different. Dennis’s expression was one of reluctant acceptance. Marty beamed in victory, dancing the kind of small, triumphant jig that managers do every day after cajoling employees to take on tasks they tried to avoid.
“Four weeks max,” Marty repeated.
“OK,” Dennis said, standing.
“Read the report I sent you and get your travel planned. We’ll go over the case tomorrow and get you going.”
***
“How does it feel to be back at work?” Dr. Forrester said.
“OK,” Dennis said.
“Just OK?”
“Well, I suppose it’s better than sitting at home.”
“Must be nice catching up with your fellow workers there,” she said.
“I guess.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about being back.”
“No, I’m glad I’m back at work,” he said. “It’s just that I know what they’re saying about me. I hate gossip. It was easier when I didn’t have to see my coworkers face-to-face.”
“But you don’t really know what they’re saying about you, Dennis,” she said. “Try not to let your imagination get ahead of reality. I’m sure they’re glad to see you. Just get back to work, and I’m sure things will be back to normal.”
She stole a glance at the clock on the wall behind him. Like one of Pavlov’s tired, drooling dogs, Dennis was trained to know the session was coming to a close. He wondered sometimes whether Dr. Forrester knew how irritating that little upward glance was to her patients.
“I’m going to be traveling soon and may have to reschedule some appointments,” Dennis said.
“Really?” she said. “Travel will be good for you, Dennis. Just let me know what dates you can’t make, and I’ll try to reschedule them. I have to say that you’re doing quite well. I’m confident that getting back to work will do great things for you.”
***
There are deep, dark holes and there are deep, dark holes.
Dennis knew he had recently climbed out of a deep, dark hole and was just at the lip of it, timorously peering into daylight. He liked the idea that he was done with the darkness. Still, he was aware of the perverse magnetism of the dark cavern below. He had thought he had climbed out before, only to fall back into the inky abyss.
This time was different, though. He could feel the warm, life-giving sunshine on his face. It would take a lot of energy, he knew, but he wanted to stay out of that damned hole. Dr. Forrester was right. Marty was right. Get going. Move forward; the past will take care of itself. Move toward the light.
***
“I don’t quite understand the problem,” Dennis said.
“What do you mean?” Marty said.
“Why the IG’s office needs to review this investigation.”
Marty looked down at his open file folder, frowned, and glanced up at Dennis. An outsider observing the two men would think their relationship was odd. Their interchanges were punctuated with long silences and small physical gestures like a tapping pencil, or a scratch of the tip of a nose. But it was nothing more than the well-established nonverbal ritual of two adults that had worked together for many years. Dennis, slightly introverted, felt comfortable with silence; Marty, slightly extroverted, used silence as a tactic.