A Favor to Ask

 211.

I sit with my emotions at thirty thousand feet. Surprised and more than a little amazed at their dramatic return, I am running on what fumes remain from the adrenaline and serotonin mix of the last twenty four hours. My heart beats well above normal but my back hurts and my head spins. I remember these feelings well, also recalling the remedy, an available on demand cure for this gross imbalance. I breathe deep into my belly, trying to make each in/out cycle last as long as possible. By the third complete breath I am back to what I consider to be normal operating range.

Our gathering has provided a much needed return to structured duty, like a hawk after a broken-wing grounding retaking flight for the first time. It is our nature. We are comfortable in conflict, birds of prey. Ask any soldier about the challenge of war and many will paradoxically tell you it is the peace between them. A boxer boxes and a fighter fights. In an age of specialists we are throw-backs to a time when the objective was the complete, superior soldier, capable of appreciating the nuanced art of war, the army of one. To me that concept has always implied not so much special weapons but the special tactical use of the brain. True, it is difficult to outrun a sniper holding high-ground advantage, but keeping one's head in the heat of battle more often than not flips that advantage.

I am to meet The Neurologist at the clinic where the first phase of the procedure will take place in three hours. I am not sure why she instructed me to fast for ten hours prior, but I am in begrudging compliance.

Harlan and Julie are heading to the office and Drysdale will accompany me to the clinic, acting as chauffeur and security attaché. I have been informed that the procedure will take less than two hours, with no lingering side effects from regional anesthesia. I plan an extended period of in-house R&R upon completion of the procedure.

We arrive at the clinic at the agreed time, Drysdale powering our arrival up the ramp and into the reception area where we are met by The Neurologist and another gentleman who introduces himself as Dr. Sandhi, the lead research scientist for the clinic's cellular rejuvenation department. We move into a small conference room where everyone takes a chair except for me having brought my own.

Pleasantries and introductions, outlines and backgrounds, risks versus rewards, agreements and understandings all covered, it is time to get on with it.

I ask The Neurologist if she will be a part of the team doing the hands-on part of the procedure and she says no, but that she will be watching on a closed circuit video feed in a room down the hall. I am a touch disappointed as I find her presence calming but ask a favor of her as a trade, requesting first a private word. Dr. Sandhi and Drysdale leave us in the room.

"First off, thank you very much for all that you have done for my rehab. You must know by now that I am not…"

"…Mr Larsen?" she correctly interjects.

"Yes. And that I am…"

"…a spook with the CIA?"

My quizzical answers for me, so she continues, "Gun-shot wounds, a 24/7 security detail and you talking in your deep sleep pretty much blew your cover Larsen."

"Bringing us to the heart of the matter, while Dr. Sandhi is doing whatever it is that he is going to be doing, could you please give Agent Drysdale, whom I assume you already know, all the details on Mr. Thirty-Eight Special that you can remember?"

She pauses to consider. "I will but…"

"But?"

"I was hoping to give them directly to you, because…"

"Because?"

"I have a favor to ask."