EXFIL Anthony Patton (short novels in english .TXT) 📖

brief cuddle before hopping in the shower. Any single man would jump on this deal pronto—a parallel life with her flooded my imagination—but this was wrong, a clear threat to my marriage.

With Jewel, I could get my nasty desires out of my system, but it always led me back to Beth.

The secret to keeping the flame alive in a marriage was a concerted effort to do so, week after week, not an unshakable faith in the idea of soul mates. The longer Beth and I were apart, the longer I was with Anna, the greater the threat. The good news was I didn’t see any telltale signs with Anna, such as a dreamy sparkle in her eyes or little hints about a future together.

She seemed to be a woman with a mission.

For all I knew, she was worried that I would fall for her and make a scene.

I chose a seafood restaurant in Washington Harbor near Georgetown, with a view of the Potomac River. If I saw someone I knew, I could say I was having dinner with a potential employee before going to Beth’s book-signing event.

To the dismay of wives, espionage provided the perfect cover for affairs.

The scenery was spectacular, the red-orange sky with the sun setting on the horizon and a crew team rowing with rhythmic strokes, the creak of the strained oars followed by gentle splashes of water. We were finishing our dinner of sea bass and sauvignon blanc, making small talk about work opportunities and my experiences overseas. “Oh,” I said, “I almost forgot. I have news about your security clearance.”

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Oh, do tell.”

“My colleague said your paperwork has an administrative hold.” I watched her eyes—no reaction—and prepared for the most interesting detail. “Did you study in China?”

She calmly set her fork down and nodded.

“For one semester during my junior year. I reported all the details.”

I nodded back and struggled to avoid the cognitive bias of allowing one data point against her to militate against the thousands of data points in her favor. The knee-jerk reaction of security officers was to assume the worst and delay the process, but the truth was the right people for this work were naturally curious and did things like study in China. I would have to be paranoid to connect her time in China with the fact that I was pursuing Lieutenant Colonel Li.

“Anyway,” I continued, confident that the security officers would run the issue to ground in due time, “I asked him to look into it as a personal favor.”

“Thanks,” she said and paused to admire the river. “Will you miss working overseas after you get promoted to brigadier general?”

“At this point, I think ‘if’ is a better word.”

She tilted her head.

“I would think that a West Point graduate with attaché experience would be a sure thing.”

I nodded. “Beth and I managed two careers for a few years, including an assignment or two off the beaten path that delayed my promotions. I don’t regret my choices.”

She sipped her wine. “Good for you. Too many men put their careers first. Besides, getting promoted would take you away from the fun work, right?”

“Funny you say that,” I said. “I know a promotion will take me away from the fun work but, how do I say this…” I paused, careful about lowering my defenses.

“I’ve been struggling with reaching the end of my career. I cannot not imagine myself as a brigadier general if that makes sense.”

“Then you have to do everything you can to get promoted. It might suck to play politics, but if you don’t, someone else will, and that person won’t have a record like yours.”

I didn’t resent Beth for wanting to pursue her career, but she never offered me this kind of support. This was dangerous territory: I could get used to this.

As I admired Anna, I resisted an urge to hold her hand.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked, and I nodded. “When we were having sex, is that how you…like it?”

I must have blushed because she covered her mouth to hide her laughter.

“I thought it was fantastic,” I said, hesitant. I felt like a prude, nervous about discussing sex in public. “I hope you have been…satisfied?”

She smiled. “Trust me, I’m satisfied, but I know some people are less open to certain…things.”

“What kind of…things?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“Well, I have a…friend,” she said.

“Does your friend have a…name?”

“Judy,” she said. “Would you like to meet her?”

“Sure,” I said, relieved and aroused as we paused to sip our wine.

Son of a bitch. I never saw that coming, which I attributed to my own generational blindness. Just as I was thinking of ways to end it with Anna, to save my marriage with Beth, it turned out that staying with Anna could be a way to shave off the rough edges.

Based on this offer, it was safe to assume that she had no interest in marriage.

I checked my watch—just in time for Beth’s book-signing event. Anna and I strolled up the hill to the shops, bars, and restaurants on M Street in the heart of Georgetown. She understood that this was the end of the date, with no public displays of affection as we approached the bookstore and hailed a cab. I gave her a twenty-dollar bill and reminded her to avoid a digital footprint with Uber. Good tradecraft was priceless, especially when the consequences mattered. She appreciated the lesson, including my tip of turning off her phone location function whenever we were together.

◆◆◆

I couldn’t have been prouder of Beth, given all her hard work in researching the rise of ISIS, but I’d learned over the years that being a “published author” was a social construct, a ritual to grant status and recognition. Celebrities hired ghostwriters for their autobiographies and promoted their books on talk shows, whereas some of the smartest people in the government wrote classified papers that never saw the light of day or showed up on their CVs.

They weren’t “published authors,” but they