Randy White - Hunter's moon

Wilson took several breaths of oxygen, then said gruffly, “Tell him the truth.”

Harrington cleared his throat. “I was using the stuff we had on your pal Tomlinson to keep you working for us. I don’t apologize for that, damn it. We need assets like you, Ford.

“But now that you’re both guaranteed a pardon”-Harrington grimaced at the former president-“I guess the only leverage I have is your sense of duty. I discussed it with President Wilson and we thought that if two plank members of the Negotiators asked you to keep working, you might reconsider.”

I turned from Harrington to Wilson, then looked at the door. “I’m confused. You said a meeting of three plank members. Who’s the third?”

President Kal Wilson was staring at me with his intense green farmer’s eyes. He continued staring until a gradual and numbing awareness forced me to face him. He nodded. “That’s why I couldn’t risk running for a second term.”

I sat back in my chair digesting this, remembering Wilson in my lab exactly one month ago saying, “I ran across other globe-trotting Ph. D. s with backgrounds as murky as yours. Scientists, journalists. .. even… politicians.”

Wilson said, “I’m right about this, Ford. Stay. ”

I returned to Florida undecided.

We all accumulate past regrets and I began to fear my indecision would become another. Shortly after I got home, I sent the president a telegram-an anachronistic touch I thought he would appreciate.

RIGHT AGAIN STOP AS USUAL STOP AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS STOP FORD

Two days later, I was beneath my stilt house, patching a hole in the shark pen, when I got word Kal Wilson had died.

I am still awaiting my instructions.