Джозеф Файндер - The Switch

Artie wasn’t a friend, really, but they were friendly, and a few years ago Artie had taken him shooting at his local gun range. Artie gave him a lesson, using his own guns — a whole slew of them, from a Smith & Wesson.38 revolver to a nine-millimeter Glock, from a little .22 to a massive assault rifle. Artie seemed to be something of a gun nut. He was also a good teacher, though Will wasn’t necessarily a good student. He’d forgotten most of what he’d learned about guns. Guns were not a necessary part of his world.

Not long after that, Will did him a favor. When the staff director of the intelligence committee had gone on a cost-cutting jag and had decided to get rid of most outside contractors like Arthur Collins, Will had put in a word for Artie. He let the director know that his boss specifically wanted Artie kept on retainer, and so he was.

“You’re still the majordomo for Senator Robbins, right?”

Will smiled, nodded. He glanced at the book open on the side table next to where Artie sat. It was called The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle.

“She’s not up for reelection this cycle, is she?”

“Not this year, no.”

“So you’re not here to pitch me oppo work.”

“Not at all.”

“Good. Because I don’t really do that kind of work anymore.”

“Nothing like that.”

Will was circumspect in what he told Artie. He certainly didn’t mention the classified documents pilfered from the committee’s computers. (Who knew if Artie maintained contact with any committee staff members?) He just told Artie about the missing laptop and the furtive guy in Boston who he was sure had it, Michael Tanner. “I need to get it back, one way or another. However you have to do it.”

In reply, Artie just gave him a blank look.

“You asked him to give it back?” He spoke slowly, as if to a child.

“Of course.”

“This would seem to be a matter for law enforcement.”

“Absolutely out of the question. We can’t risk the exposure.”

“Of the senator’s personal information on the laptop, is that it?”

Will nodded.

“Must be some pretty explosive personal information.”

Will shrugged.

“You want me to get it back however I have to. Whether it’s dealing with him directly or breaking into his workplace or his residence.”

“I mean whatever it takes to get it back,” Will said with an arched brow. “ Whatever it takes.”

There was a long pause. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Because it could do real harm to my boss.”

“And to you.”

“For sure. That too.”

Another long pause. Then Artie said, “Not interested. Sorry.”

“Is it about the money? Because I’m not asking you to do this for nothing. I’d pay your normal rates, of course.” He’d wire the funds from the Susan Robbins Victory Fund again. Easily done. Artie was a consultant.

“That’s not what it’s about,” Artie said. He exhaled. “Look, anyone who tells you that nothing can go wrong is lying to himself and you. Believe me, I’ve been a field operator. I’ve had my adrenaline fix. At this point in my life, this sort of risk, I don’t need it. That’s not where I am right now. I like my life.”

“How about, if it gets risky, you just pull out? You don’t need to let it get to that point.”

Artie shook his head slowly. “You want this so much, and you don’t even realize that the wanting of it, that’s not the only way to live.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When I was a kid, my daddy used to take me to the dog track, in Tucson. Watch the greyhounds race, right? And I used to wonder, what must it be like to always be chasing that flannel rabbit doll and never ever catch the thing? But that’s just how the track works. Right? And years later, I had this realization — I’d become one of those greyhounds. Always chasing the fake rabbit and never catching it.”

Will didn’t know what to say. He was uncomfortable with self-examination anyway, and certainly wasn’t going to share with Artie. “Oh yeah?”

“You, my friend, are primed to chase after rabbits. But so’s nearly everybody. The assistant vice president wants to be the vice president, and the vice president wants to be the executive vice president. And he and all the other executive vice presidents want the corner office. Meanwhile, the CEO wants to acquire another company. We all want more, bigger, harder, higher, stronger. I know a hedge fund manager who has more money than God, and he still works Saturdays and Sundays. He misses his kids’ football games, often doesn’t eat dinner with his family, barely sees his wife and kids. It’s all frantic movement toward something we can never attain. All the while, we’re missing out on something. You know what that is, Will?”

“What?”

“It’s life. Being driven by ambition is just as bad as being driven by anger or fear or jealousy. It’s an insatiable drive. You need to know about mindfulness. Thich Nhat Hanh has some excellent books. Or this one.” He picked up the book on the table next to him.

“I see.”

“See, the thing is, Will, you already are what you want to be. Be who you are now. Realize how perishable our existence is. Understand?”

Will didn’t, but he nodded.

“I’m not sure you do,” Artie said. “See that dock out there?” He pointed at the window. Will stood, tugged down a slat of the venetian blinds, and saw the brown wooden dock off to the right.

“Yeah?”

“I have an oyster garden out there.”

“An oyster garden ?”

“Not an oyster bed. I raise eastern oysters in a cage under the dock.”

“Huh. Do you sell them or eat them?”

He shook his head. “When they’re grown, I give them to the Chesapeake Bay Foundation. They plant them on sanctuary reefs. They filter the water. Helps save the bay.”

“Huh.”

“The baby oysters, the spats, they affix themselves to an old oyster shell and then they don’t move. They’re never running away or running toward; they’re just being. ”

Curiosity got the better of him, and Will had to say, “With your job — I guess I never would have expected, you know—”

“I wasn’t always where I am now. In the late nineties I was tasked to do a black op against the Maoist insurgency in Nepal. My assignment was to eliminate one of their leaders. Which I did.”

“Really?” Will was shocked to hear him speak about his prior work so openly.

“Couple years ago I took a trip back to Nepal. And while I was there I tracked down the brother of the man I killed. In Kathmandu.” Artie was looking off into some vague middle distance. “And I tried to make amends to the guy. I came clean — ‘I killed your brother.’ And this guy — his name was Manish — he didn’t look at me with hatred. He’d become a Buddhist monk; he wore one of those saffron robes. The look he gave me. I was expecting — I don’t know what I was expecting. Fury, I guess, or anguish. I thought he’d break down weeping, or lash out at me, maybe even lunge at me. That’s what I was prepared for. But the one thing I wasn’t prepared for? Was how he actually responded. The gentleness in his eyes. The look he gave me. So much... love. I don’t know how to put this in words, but Will? I was the one who broke down. I spent the next month there. Way up on top of a mountain north of Kathmandu. And it’s like I took myself apart, and then I put myself back together.”

“Wow,” Will said. “That’s incredible.” He thought that a lot of what Artie said made sense, but he didn’t want to think about that kind of stuff now. Maybe later, someday.

Artie smiled, kind of a sad smile, his eyes serene. He spread his palms. “Anything else I can do for you?”