MARINA

My job can be very tedious. And then there are days like this one. It might not be exciting to stand around in Manhattan on a Sunday morning. It's cold for May. The wind sweeping across the Hudson River is cool and brings some rain drops, but that doesn't bother me. I enjoy the view of fighter jets and helicopters. Tomcat. Cobra. MIG. They used to belong to the Navy, the Marines, even the Soviets. It's ten in the morning; only a handful of tourists are strolling around on the flight deck of the Intrepid. They take pictures and walk over to the next plane. One of them has taken the trouble to open an umbrella. The flight deck displays planes and helicopters, and below there is an annex where the tourists can view the interior of a Concorde and climb into a submarine.

My favorite airplane is not here. The A-10 is still in use and will find its place here once the Air Force decides to get rid of it. I hope it won't ever go into retirement, not just because I'm emotionally attached to it. It's the best close air support for combat troops. There is nothing normal about this jet: it's ugly as hell, which is why we call it "Warthog". Unlike a normal fighter jet, it can fly low and slow. The pilot can see the enemy before shredding him to pieces. I guess someday a Black Hawk will be installed on the flight deck, but that day is still far away in the future. I cannot even imagine how they could possibly withdraw that bird from circulation. In my whole Air Force career, I travelled in a Black Hawk only once. The flight was pretty much unforgettable.

But I need to focus on my mission. I'm not here for fun, even though that's what it looks like as I take pictures of fighter jets. I'm not a tourist. My team is waiting for the arrival of Paul Lindstrom, a man we've seen on a screen in our headquarters. They showed us a couple of pictures and a video. He was amazingly good looking for a criminal, about 6 ft. 4, with an open, friendly face. In a close-up he looked at us from pensive blue eyes, as if to say: Are you okay?

We have a simple surveillance mission today: find out who Paul Lindstrom is meeting during his stay in New York. Listen in to his conversations if possible. No contact, no arrest. This has the advantage that we don't need to talk to each other and we can dispense with pesky earplugs. It's very difficult to blend in when you constantly have to mumble into a button on your sleeve. We can move around freely and unobtrusively as long as we keep our object in view.

The target is not here yet. I lean against a railing and look down on the pavilion housing the Space Shuttle. We all hope that Lindstrom will meet his accomplices somewhere in the visitor's pavilion or in the museum. My supervisor has a directional microphone he would like to use in a discreet fashion, but it might not really work out here. It looks like the wind will ruin the acoustics. In the briefing we were told that the main purpose of today's ops is to identify Lindstrom's contacts.

"If we can find out what they're saying, good, but it's crucial that they have no idea they're being watched", our team leader said.

So I remain totally inconspicuous, taking a wide-angle picture of a Vietnam-era combat helicopter. The sky is darkening. It won't be long until we all get wet. The man with the umbrella wants to photograph his wife in front of a jet, but the wind ruffles her hair. She instructs him to delete the picture at once.

My colleague Aaron kneels down in front of a rescue helicopter, winking at me as I walk past him. I think he likes me. I'm not sure yet if I like his gung-ho attitude or if I find him rather annoying. There are a lot of alpha males and females in my profession. That's a lot of elbows poking into my ribs unless I fight back. Ambitious colleagues are not always easy to deal with. Aaron looks like the type of person who might someday turn into a bulldozer to enforce his will.

The wind picks up momentum now. I close the zipper of my dark brown winter jacket and look over to the entrance of the flight deck. Paul Lindstrom walks through it in a bouncy gait, holding the hand of a little girl. She looks like a third grader suffering from ADHD, jumping excitedly up and down next to Lindstrom and interrupting her babble only when he points at an aircraft and tries to explain something to her. They take all their time strolling past jets and stopping for every single aircraft to read the signs and take pictures. The child is in full control of her big friend. Lindstrom has to adopt a different pose in front of each aircraft, so that the girl can use her phone to create a collection of pictures showing the tall man in every possible state of mind: grinning, beaming with joy, angrily staring into the void, with folded arms, on one leg, and so it goes with a surprising number of variations until they have gone through all helicopters and airplanes.

On the Intrepid, Paul Lindstrom looks even better than expected. He could fill the lead role in a Bond film. He could also play the charming villain. He's fair-haired and wears his dark trench coat open so that it's flapping in the wind. Interestingly, he manages to give his full attention to the girl while at the same time discreetly looking around, as if scanning his environment for potential threats. On the way to the Harrier Jet he passes by Aaron, and I could swear that they have eye contact, if only for a very brief moment. Aaron does the right thing. He takes another long look at the jet, then he withdraws. He takes the metal stairs to the lower deck and disappears inside the submarine.

I wonder where the girl is coming from. Those two seem to know each other very well. We know that Lindstrom has no wife and children. There is no doubt that the girl feels in good hands with him. She visibly enjoys bossing him around for their photo series.

I manage to get a little closer and hear Lindstrom complaining.

"I want to take pictures too", he says. The girl frowns. "And besides, you also need some snapshots of yourself."

The girl hesitates. Finally, she says: "But I always look so small when I stand in front of one of these. Dad once took a picture of me when we we went to see his bird, and I look tiny on that picture..."

Lindstrom laughs. "You were a toddler back then. Now you're a lot bigger. I know the picture, it's on his desk."

He takes her by the hand. "I'm going to snap a picture of you in front of the Concorde."

I stay for a while. The Concorde is located on an annex platform several yards below the flight deck. I watch the two as they disappear inside the supersonic jet, and then I take the stairs to the lower level myself. I lean against a railing and look down onto the river. The water is softly swashing against the concrete. The river doesn't smell of anything. Except for some seagulls resting on the handrail, there is no indication that we are close to the Atlantic ocean. A half-empty tourist ship of the Circle Line glides past. The passengers stay inside because the rain is stronger now. I turn around and notice that a man has joined Lindstrom and the girl. I have never seen him before. He's in an animated conversation with Lindstrom while the girl scampers around the two, not really getting the attention she wants.

The stranger has dark blond hair and is as tall and lean as Lindstrom. But he would not get a role in a Bond film. He's too cute. The way he smiles at Lindstrom, there is too much warmth in his expressions.

Our team leader tries to get closer to the two, but he cannot do more than stroll past them. He won't be able to record more than a few snatches of the conversation, and the wind will turn the recordings into useless noise. There is also a good chance that the voices will be drowned out by the traffic on the highway.

The girl is now holding the hand of the unknown man, and it's safe to presume this is her father. She is still trying - and failing - to draw the attention of the two men. Lindstrom is eagerly listening to the stranger. I try not to look over too often.

After a while, the girl decides that this is too boring. She lets go of her father's hand and hops back towards the Concorde. The two adults follow her slowly, but are still engrossed in their conversation. My colleague Dolors comes towards them and walks by. She looks up, and I follow her gaze. From the flight deck of the Intrepid, Aaron photographs the two men who seem to be discussing something important.

It looks like we're missing out on some crucial information. It would be great to be able to listen to the conversation. Bugging an unsuspecting person is a highly complex matter that can go wrong quickly. Too big a risk, I suppose.

The two men walk side by side on the left side of the Concorde. I'm on the other side. The jet looks surprisingly skinny and vulnerable, but the chassis is all the more impressive. It's always fascinating to look at a plane from below. Just as I try to decipher the inscription on a cargo hold door, I see out of the corner of my eye that the girl has reached the end of the deck and tries to sit on the railing. I look over at the men. They stopped walking and are standing next to the wing. Lindstrom is very close to his friend, almost as if he wanted to whisper something in his ear.

The girl is sitting on the railing and holds it firmly with both hands. I walk faster. When I reach the end of the aircraft, the girl seems to decide that she needs to take a selfie. She fingers her phone out of a pocket and stretches her right arm as far away from herself as possible. But maybe she is not sitting comfortably enough. There may also be another reason why she suddenly tries to move her butt a little further out so that she loses her balance on the railing.

The phone falls to the ground.

The arm she was holding the phone with is moving around frantically.

The other hand cannot hold on to the handrail.

The small body tilts backwards.

As the child falls into the water, I start sprinting towards her and put the few meters behind so fast that I have no time to think. I jump over the railing like an Olympic hurdler.

The pain comes with the impact. Ice cold water shoots up my nose. I'm straight as an arrow and sink like a stone. It almost seems to me as if my shoes are pulling me towards the ground of the river. Everything is heavy. My clothes feels like armor. The water seems to be pushing me down.

With one hand I reach for the dark something fidgeting next to me, and I try to push up the little body. With the other hand I make ridiculous paddle movements while my legs are kicking under me like a dog trying to swim through a pond.

For a brief moment, my head is above water, and I gasp for air. If I were smart, I would make sure that no water gets into my mouth now. But I swallow some of the icy harbor broth. I start coughing. I have to let go of the child, whose head disappears immediately under water.

Right in front of me, a large dark object falls into the water. And another one behind me. A strong hand grabs my arm and pulls me up. I'm coughing and gasping for air at the same time. Someone turns me gently on my back, and then I get towed like a car. I start gliding through the cold water and breathe in some very fresh air. Above me there is only the unfriendly New York sky. I look at the dark rain clouds while I'm getting hauled off. My rescuer is using strong and even movements to navigate us through the Hudson.

We glide around the corner. I can hear a hysterical man calling down instructions to show us the way. The swimming movements of my rescuer don't slow down. He knows exactly what he's doing and where he wants to go. I know I'm in very good hands.

"Just grab it and move on up", he says and pushes me onto a steel ladder that leads up to a concrete wall. I climb the ladder without difficulty. I struggle with the railing. I negotiate the barrier, followed by the man who has been pulling me through the water.

Lindstrom now looks even better. Water droplets are dripping out of his blond hair and down high cheek bones, ending up in the collar of his soaking wet trench coat. He has no eyes for me because he has to help his friends. The girl's head appears behind the concrete wall. Behind her, her father gets out of the water. He lifts the child over the railing, into the arms of My Savior.

My three co-workers are standing at a safe distance under the wings of the Concorde. Aaron takes some pictures of us.

It's at this moment that a thought crosses my mind: There's always some crazy shit that happens to me in New York.

Lindstrom points a finger at my face and then towards the child: "Blue lips, blue lips. Let's run to the car. No discussion."

The other guy puts his hand on my back and starts pushing. I have no other choice but to jog along with the others, passing by a few tourists who look at us dumbfounded. We run through the exit with dripping clothes and the little girl's father points out where he parked the car.

How did he find a parking space in Manhattan? That's the next thought shooting through my head. I tremble all over, while the little girl has broken into heartbreaking sobs. She gets strapped into the back seat. Lindstrom signals with a nod that I should sit in the front. I get into the car and pull the door shut behind me.

Wet clothes on leather feels strange. My icy jeans are sticking to my thighs, and I have to resist the temptation to just take them off. Behind me, a father is trying to calm his crying child. Lindstrom hops in, fastens my seat belt, and starts the engine. The car pulls out of the parking lot with screeching tires. At the next traffic light, we stop. Lindstrom pulls the seat belt over his broad swimmer chest.

He looks at me and grins. "The water was a bit chilly today in the Hudson."

I stare at him.

"I'm Paul, and what's your name?"

The traffic light changes, and Paul gets going, again with screeching tires.

"Marina", I say. I wish I could stop shaking. Why is Paul not trembling?

"And I'm Nick", the girl's father says. He sits in the middle of the back seat, his daughter a wet, sobbing ball of misery on his lap. Nick tries to warm up his daughter as he rubs her back.

"Nice to meet you", I say.

The two men throw a fit, and it takes a while until they calm down. Nick throws his head back and some strange sounds come out. I can't say that I find this situation very funny. I've never felt this cold before, and the girl has a shock to last her a lifetime.

Rain is falling on the car roof. The wipers put themselves in motion.

"Paul", Nick finally says, turning to his friend. "We've got about ten minutes to think something up. Do me a favor and come up with something."

Paul shook his head. "Whadda you mean, come up with something?"

"When Alex finds out what happened, she's going to kill us. No, actually she's just going to kill me. We nned to get our story straight."

We have to stop at an intersection. The heater is blowing warm air into the car.

Paul turns to Nick. "What kinda bullshit do you want to tell her? That a large ship came by and got us all wet? I don't think so. We're just gonna tell her the truth."

Nick closes his eyes in resignation while his daughter keeps shaking on his lap.

We turn right after the intersection.

"Nick, she's not going to kill you, okay?" Paul says as we race down Park Avenue. There is not much traffic to negotiate. My guess is that most New Yorkers are still asleep.

The warm air makes me sleepy. I had to get up at four this morning. The night before, we checked into the hotel just before midnight. I wish I could take a nap now. But I force myself to keep my eyes open. Otherwise I might miss something of the stupidest day of my life.

Nick manages to calm down his daughter. Her name is Caroline. She looks exhausted as she is leaning against her father's wet jacket. Once in a while, she lets out a tiny sob. Her hair is stuck to her head, and she stares out the window, looking at the chic residential buildings of the Upper West Side.

I notice an unpleasant noise emanating from the engine compartment of the car.

"Someone will have to check your timing chain", I say to Paul, who gives me a surprised look before he again turns his attention back to the car in front of us. "And you may wanna do that before it's too late."

"I thought it was the pulleys", Nick objects from behind.

"If you're lucky, yes. But to me it sounds more like the timing chain is disintegrating, and that's a weak point in some BMW models. If the thing breaks, you can basically kiss the engine goodbye."

We drive into an underground parking garage. Paul is visibly enjoying himself as he takes the tight corners much too fast. I find it surprising that Nick is not complaining about it. After all, he has his daughter on his lap, and they are both not buckled up.

"You like squealing tires?" I ask.

"Absolutely." Paul is grinning happily, parallel-parking the car safely without scraping the side mirror on a concrete pillar. "I'm not really allowed behind the wheel."

Nick gently pushes his daughter out of the car and says to me: "Paul turns into a psychopath when he's driving. Normally, he wouldn't have a chance to drive my car. Today was just an exception."

The cold air in the car park reminds me of the fact that my clothes are still soaking wet. We quickly walk over to the elevator. Nick carries his daughter who is now eyeing me curiously. In the elevator, Paul looks at her and says, "Yes, Caroline, that's the woman who has fished you out of the water."

"Not that I know of", I protest. Paul looks at me in surprise. Before we can discuss who has actually fished whom out, the elevator stops, and Nick types in a code.

We enter a chandelier-lit hall. Nick pulls out a key and unlocks a door. In a large, semicircular hallway Nick takes our jackets, which is funny because everything we wear underneath is completely wet as well. We might as well take all our clothes off. He hangs his totally ruined suede jacket on a clothes hook and carries his daughter into a living room to the left. Paul touches my elbow and points to the right. I follow him.

Strangely, Nick did not ask us to take our shoes off, so we now leave a water trail on the hardwood floor, throughout the entire apartment. My sneakers are squeaking with every step. Paul shows me an impressive wardrobe in a walk-in closet and says: "Pick something, then I'll show you the bathroom. Nick's wife is about the same size as you. Fortunately."

I find a pair of jeans, underwear and a fluffy blue sweater. I follow Paul through a bedroom full of bookshelves. His wet clothes are sticking to his body. He has the build of a swimmer: athletic, slim, but blessed with a broad back.

"Where did you learn to fish people out of a river?" I ask as he opens the door to a beautiful marble bathroom. It's about the size of the living room in my parents' house. In the middle, for no apparent reason, there is a round table with a vase. It's filled with a bouquet of red roses.

"Air Force, baby." Paul grins and pushes me into the bathroom. "I'm a pararescue jumper. I can do this in my sleep. Just leave the wet clothes on the floor. We'll worry about that later, okay?"

He shuts the door, and I'm alone.

I take the shampoo that Nick's wife uses, dry myself with one of her towels and then I need to choose between five different deodorants. I imagine how she has to make up her mind every morning.

The light bulbs on the mirror give a frontal light so warm that I look like a supermodel. I wish I could take a selfie, but I prefer to leave my phone alone. There's a strong possibility that it did not survive my leap into the Hudson.

Of course I know exactly where Paul got his swimming skills. In the briefing a couple of days ago, we went through his entire career. PJs are elite fighters in the Air Force. They can do pretty much anything. High altitude – low opening jumps from planes, abseiling from helos, mountain climbing, you name it, they do it. They can save capsized sailors and stabilize wounded soldiers for transport in a helo. They do not just rescue people and give medical care. They are also highly trained warriors, able to defend themselves and their patients.

Together with this impressive skill set, they have to be in perfect shape. Paul Lindstrom was deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, where he flew combat search and rescue missions. He would pick up wounded soldiers from the battlefield in a rescue helicopter and keep them alive on the flight to the hospital.

Who knows, maybe this is the first time he actually got to save someone from drowning. That would explain why he is in such an excellent mood. He seemed euphoric in the car.

I stare at myself in the mirror.

Twenty minutes ago, I was assigned to a dull observation. A routine op. No-one was supposed to make contact with the target person. Now the target is on the other side of the door, waiting patiently for his turn to use the bathroom.

I'm afraid I'm now an undercover investigator.

"Wow, that was fast." Paul says as I step out of the bathroom. "Five minutes and twelve seconds, to be exact."

I laugh and make my way to the kitchen, where I meet Caroline. She immediately hops off the bar stool and looks me up and down, noticing her mother's clothes on me.

"May I offer you something to drink?" she asks with the seriousness of a child who wants to make a good impression.

I sit down on one of the stools. Caroline gets me a glass of orange juice, and we talk. She's an excellent host, answering my questions about her life (she's a New Yorker and proud of it) and her career (third grade). Nick and Paul join us. Nick makes coffee for the adults. We sit down at a big table, and everyone looks at me expectantly.

I'm sort of the guest of honor here. I probably should broach the subject that we have been avoiding until now.

I decide to be straightforward.

"I wanted to pull you out of the water", I say to Caroline who is sitting next to me, watching me with curiosity. "Didn't work. Probably because I never learned how to do this, as opposed to Paul."

"And then Paul had to rescue you", Caroline chuckles.

The two men sitting opposite us say nothing.

"Can you swim?" I ask.

Caroline nods. "Almost. The only thing missing is a bit of practice."

Paul doesn't agree with Caroline's optimism. "You need a lot more practice, sweetie. I can only hope that your parents are renting a house with a pool this summer. And then you and I get to work."

I'm sitting at the window. From my seat, I can watch the traffic move on the Washington Bridge. I can't imagine what it's like to grow up in this huge city.

"I think we're going to settle on a house in the Hamptons, I just need to convince Alex. She wants to go back to Europe", says Nick. He looks at me intently. "You may not have pulled her out of the water. But you tried. If it wasn't for your leap, we would've noticed much too late that Caroline was drowning."

Nick's lips are trembling.

"Just imagine", he presses out, then he stands up and leaves the kitchen. Presumably to compose himself.

Paul smiles like someone reliving a happy memory. "That was one hell of a stunt. I only saw you fly over the railing. You looked like a pro when you jumped."

I laugh. "You know, every time I get myself into trouble, there's someone or something that comes along to save me. I was lucky again this morning. To be rescued by a PJ, that's a privilege."

"And I was saved by my own father", Caroline exclaims, looking very proud. It makes all three of us laugh.

Eventually Nick comes back and sits down with us. He seems to have his emotions under control for now. Paul puts his arm around his friend's shoulders, and we talk until Nick's wife comes home.

Caroline hears the key in the door and jumps up. Nick follows her into the hallway. I can't really hear what is being said. I'm staying at the table with Paul who is leaning in his chair, with his hands on the armrests, and smiling at me kindly. I don't think he's come down from his adrenaline high yet. I say nothing and wait for the new arrival.

It takes a while until Caroline's mother shows up in the kitchen. She is wearing elegant horse riding boots and comes right up to me. Her brown eyes are wide open. I jump up as she extends her hand without saying a word. There's a bit of a horse smell.

We shake hands, and then she says: "I'm Alexandra. Thank you for getting my daughter out of the water. "

"I tried, but actually it was Paul", I say. But Alexandra has eyes only for me.

"Yeah, maybe. Nick told me everything. We really think that you're the one who took the decisive step. This could be the worst day of my life. Instead, it's just the day I have to put wet clothes into the washing machine and throw away three pairs of shoes."

"Why three?" Paul objects. He gets up, walks around the table and gets between me and Alexandra to hug her. "My shoes are just wet. No big deal. They'll be dry by tomorrow."

Alexandra laughs and hugs Paul even tighter. "If you think so. By the way, I like you in red. You should borrow Nick's T-shirts more often."

I stay for lunch. It's raining hard now and the sky has darkened. Nick turns on the lamp that illuminates the table. I'm completely fascinated by dozens of small glass beads. They contain tiny LEDs which emit warm light in a lot of different colors. Caroline is clearly proud of the lamp and keeps getting up to dim the light or turn it up again.

Paul has cooked us an Asian rice meal.

"He's too stupid to drive a car, but he can cook", says Nick.

"What's your issue with driving?" I ask, although I think I already know the answer.

Paul's statement confirms what I thought. "I can't drive nice and slow. I can't be stuck in a traffic jam. I freak out whenever it looks like someone's about to take my right of way. You know, that kinda thing. I spent too much time in a war zone, I guess. I know plenty of people with exactly the same problem."

"Did you ever try to get treatment?" I ask.

Paul is heaping more fresh vegetables onto the rice and then reaches for soy sauce. He's not taking any of the meat.

"Pfff... Yeah. I had a very nice therapist. But the whole thing was completely useless. I had to explain to the guy what a Pave Hawk is. It wasn't his fault that he had no idea. He's never been over there. With someone like that, therapy just doesn't work."

I understand Paul. There are experiences that you can't really put into words.

"I suppose you feel that only those who've been through the same experience can understand you?" I ask.

"Nope", Paul says. "I wouldn't say that. Alex understands me. And Caroline loves it when I speed through Manhattan like a madman."

"That reminds me of a joke", Nick says. "How many war veterans does it take to change a light bulb?"

This joke I know. I grin. "You wouldn't know that. You weren't there. "

Later we move on to the sunroom. Caroline disappears in her room, crying. She realizes that she has lost her phone. No-one raises her hopes that she will ever get it back. We are sitting on upholstered reed chairs in a semicircle. Through the leaves of a giant fern, I observe a traffic jam on the Washington Bridge. The taillights of the cars glow red in the raindrops on the window panes.

"Nice crib", I say.

Paul laughs. "Old money, Marina. You have to imagine that both Nick and Alex have ancestors who came here on the Mayflower."

"Then I guess they have a lot in common." It wasn't meant to be sarcastic, but Alexandra giggles.

"It's called inbreeding", she says. "At some point during my pregnancy someone actually asked if I had done a genetic test."

"Well, when I look at Caroline, I'm pretty sure there's nothing to worry about", Paul says.

"Yeah okay, whatever." Nick straightens up a little and looks at me. "We've been talking about ourselves all the time. But Marina is sitting here like a sphinx. Why don't you tell us who you are."

I put down my coffee cup. It's best to be straightforward again.

"I'm here in New York to see a friend."

This is not a complete lie because I was going to meet my old school friend Jesse tonight. "I've got a few days off. I work for the Air Force Office of Special Investigations, and right now I'm based in Texas. I used to be an aircraft mechanic though. In the past, I was stationed in Germany for a while. And I was deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan. Which means I can totally see why Paul can't behave like a normal person when he's behind the wheel."

Paul stares at me with his mouth open. Nick can hide his surprise a little better. But I can see their brains working. One thing is the fact that I'm a veteran and that just like Paul, I served in Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom. In addition to this coincidence, I also happen to be in the Air Force, just like Paul. But I'm sure that what bothers them most is the fact that I've just outed myself as a federal agent.

Of course this will only be a cause of concern if the two are pursuing any criminal activities. If it's true that Paul is trafficking heroin from Afghanistan, as we were told in the briefing, and if Nick is actually part of this scheme, then they will ask themselves one and the same question: can it really be a coincidence that a special agent was on the Intrepid at the same time as they were?

Alex is the first one to say something after my audience fell silent.

"Wow. This is crazy. Nick was in Afghanistan, too. That would be a great book project. If the three of you wrote down your stories. It would be fantastic to get a female perspective on the war."

Nick rolls his eyes. "Don't listen to her, Marina. My wife is an editor at a publishing house. She's been bugging me for years. Trying to make me write down my war experience."

"And me too!" Paul nods, giving me a wary look. "For at least a year now."

Alex throws her hands in the air. "What can I say? The stories that you two could tell - they would be of huge interest to a wide readership. Especially the story of how you guys met in Afghanistan."

I can't hide my curiosity. "You met over there? How and where?"

Paul's face undergoes an amazing transformation. It's almost as if someone else is sitting in his chair, as if the cheerful Paul had been replaced by a frostier version. His face is an impenetrable mask.

Nick looks weary, with the same air of resignation as when Paul told him in the car that Alex would not kill him.

"I'm a Kiowa pilot. One day we crashed. I had to hide in a valley with my buddy, and Paul was part of the team of PJs that got us out of there."

Nick looks about as distant as Paul now.

"You don't need to tell me any details if you don't feel like it", I say quickly.

The details I'm sure I will find out at work. What a crazy story. When I was deployed to Afghanistan, I stayed on base the whole time. I never set foot on Afghan territory. Unlike Nick and Paul, who got to explore the Afghan wilderness up close.

"It's nice that you're not bothering them with questions." Alex stands up, stretching her arms and suppressing a yawn. "They don't like talking about it, you know? I'll get some more soda."

"I just wish they would write it all down", she sighs and picks up her glass.

We're silent while Alex is away. Nick inspects an exotic plant aligning its strange leaves towards the sunlight. He looks too soft to be the pilot of an attack helicopter. Kiowa pilots have one hell of a reputation. Their job is dangerous because their light helicopters have only one engine, and they draw a lot of enemy fire. Nick's full lips and his soft blue eyes surrounded by long eyelashes don't fit that image. Paul, however, looks badass with his sharp face. Especially now that he's watching me think, with the keen attention of a cat watching a mouse.

But today I'm not falling into anyone's trap. I was smart enough to tell my hosts who I work for. If they conclude that I'm spying on them, then it doesn't really matter. I'm about to leave anyway. And once the elevator door has closed behind me, I'm not going to see Nick and Paul again, I'm quite sure. I'll just have to find a way to give Alex her clothes back.

Alex comes back with a bottle of water and Caroline in tow. Apparently the two have cooked up something. Caroline looks up at her mother, who shows her an encouraging nod. Nick pours himself a glass of water. With a solemn face, Caroline hands me a red postcard-sized piece of cardboard. In yellow handwriting, she invites me to her tenth birthday. At this occasion I will be the only guest of honor. And I will receive a medal – made by Caroline – to be pinned on my lapel by a real Kiowa helicopter pilot.

To put all this information on paper, Caroline had to write on both sides because she has the large, spidery writing of a thirdgrader. The whole thing is so sweet that I would love to hug her.

I resist the impulse and say, "Thank you for the invitation. If I don't have to work the next weekend, I'll be happy to come. I just need to check and I'll let you know, okay?"

Caroline is content with my answer and starts running back to her room. But I realize there is something important I need to ask her.

"Wait!" I call after her, and she comes back again. "What do you want for your birthday? And don't tell me it doesn't matter, because it does. I don't know you well. I have no idea what you like."

Caroline looks to her mother for help. Nick has an idea.

"Marina, give us your email address, and Caroline will send you something in the next twenty-four hours."

Now that the problem is solved, Caroline disappears into her room. I believe that we have now reached the point at which the guest should say goodbye.

I get up. "Okay, thanks for the delicious lunch. And the clothes. I gotta be on my way. I still have some sightseeing to do."

The others get up as well.

"I'm calling you a cab", Alex says and goes back to the living room.

Nick puts his hand on my shoulder and looks at me thoughtfully. "You may not be a very talented swimmer, but you did something today that you can be proud of. I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am."

"I'm grateful too", I laugh. "For the fact that you're not making a big deal of it."

Nick takes his hand from my shoulder as Paul approaches us. Paul's good mood is definitely gone. He looks way too serious as he shoves his hands into his pockets and eyes me with the kind of attention you would normally reserve for a suspicious person. His eyelashes are so fair they're almost invisible. That makes his look even more intense. Or maybe that's all in my imagination. Paul's mood swing does make me nervous.

"I have to agree with Nick. Your swimming skills are not too impressive. But the way you leapt into the river, that was more than cool. Too bad there were no surveillance cameras. If there was any CCTV footage of your jump, you'd be a star now."

We laugh and hug. In the hallway Alex insists on giving me a fifty-dollar bill for the taxi. Then we have a final group hug and I promise to come back for Caroline's birthday.

The elevator door closes without a noise as a thought shoots through my head.

Why did Paul even notice that there were no security cameras?

Next Chapter: New Chapter