Skyfall

“And your promise in writing of course, Mr. President.” Bandin took a deep breath, glared at Dillwater, turned and slammed out. Simon Dillwater left as well and General Bannerman was alone.

He raised his drink, glared at it, then downed it.

“Well maybe PEEKABOO is dead,” he said as he tightened his belt and pulled down his jacket. “But NANCY JANE is almost out of the planning stage and at least that bastard Dillwater doesn't know about that one yet.”

His nostrils flared like a war horse going into battle as he stamped, jingling, from the room.

Cooper tapped the figures into his hand calculator and watched the little red numbers flicker and change. And come up with the same solution each time. If the Gazette-Times had upped their circulation because of his stories on Prometheus, then at the end of the year they would have added to their profits $850,000, more if the additional advertising revenue were taken into consideration, but that was good for a rough picture. Or an additional profit of $16,346.15 a week. While he had a twenty-dollar raise, or about one eighth of one percent of the profits his brilliant writing had earned them. Not only that but, after taxes, the raise would be about seven bucks a week and if you considered the growing inflation his annual income would be down about thirteen percent by the end of the year. He clicked off the calculator and.threw it into the drawer in his desk. A copy boy dropped an envelope onto his typewriter.

From the editor! Things weren't going to be as black as he thought. He tore it open and took out the boldly typed sheet inside.

NOT REALLY SATISFIED THIS STORY OF YOURS. WEAK PUNCH. GET SOMETHING NEW. WHAT ABOUT CHROMIUM POISONING IN JAPAN? COULD IT HAPPEN HERE? COPY SOONEST.

There was fine beading of sweat along Cooper's receding hairline as he groped down his copy of Annual Abstracts,

Chemical Contents of Industrial Waste.

“You can't go in there, nurse,” the MP said. “There's a debriefing going on.”

Coretta stopped and looked at him scornfully, lifting one eyebrow high. “Look again, soldier,” she said. “I'm a doctor not a nurse. And if you look a little closer you might even recognize me.”

The man started to smile until he saw the look in her eyes. He snapped to attention.

“I'm sorry, Dr. Samuel. But I have my orders.”

“Not in a hospital, sonny. Don't try to get between a doctor and Tier patient. Now move.”

He moved and she threw the door wide. The four officers grouped around Patrick's bed looked up, startled.

“What is the meaning of your presence here?” she asked.

“Just talking to the Major, Dr. Samuel,” the colonel holding the tape recorder said. “A de-briefing. Dr. Jurgens said it would be perfectly all right.”

“This is my patient, Colonel, not Major Jurgens'. I insist you leave at once.”

“This will not take much longer….”

“You're dead right. Just about as long as it takes you all to walk out the door.”

Senior officers in the Army are not used to being addressed in this manner and the situation was rapidly approaching an impasse when Patrick spoke.

“I called for the doctor, just before you arrived,” he said. “It's an injection, the pain, I thought we might be able to finish, but…”

“We understand, Major, of course. Dr. Jurgens will advise us when we can return.”

They exited in order of seniority, honor saved, and Coretta closed the door behind them and turned to Patrick.

“Is there really pain?” she asked, worried. He shook his head and smiled in her direction.

“No, none at all now, I just wanted to get rid of them.” The smile vanished as he touched the bandages. “What do the eye people say?”

“Just what they told you earlier, too early for a prognosis. But I have been talking with them and they're guarded, but seem to feel that if the retina damage is not too widespread then a measure of function will return.”

“Meaning?”

“You'll be able to see, but not too well. Glasses like the bottoms of bottles, you know the drill.”

“Well at least they won't be black glasses with a tin cup. Where is Nadya?”

“Just down the hall.”

Patrick threw off the blankets and swung his feet over the side of the bed. “Help me, will you,” he said. “My robe, somewhere in here. And take me to her room.”

“Be happy to. Here, put it on.”

The MP was still there when they came out, looking frightened, not knowing what to do. Coretta felt sorry for him. “Don't you worry,” she said. “We're not going far. Right there. You come with us and stand outside the door and you'll still be on the job.”

Nadya was sitting up in bed when they came in, wearing a white hospital nightgown.

“Who is it? “she asked.

“Coretta. I have Patrick with me.”

“Come in if you like.” Her voice was tired, empty of any emotion.

“I'll leave you two now,” Coretta said.

“Whatever you wish,” Nadya said.

“No you won't,” Patrick told her. “Close the door. We were all in that thing together. We're still together.”