Dragovic’s place. Jack understood that Dragovic had begun running his operation from a back office here—when he wasn’t in the Hamptons.

One more move against Dragovic tonight and that chapter would be closed—he hoped. And as long as he’d be out on Long Island, he’d look in on the rakosh, just to make sure it was still fading away.

Jack was about to turn everyone around and head back when he saw an older man in a khaki Eisenhower jacket, blue twill pants, and a defiantly angled overseas cap limping toward them. Jack gave him a friendly wave as he came abreast.

“Hi. Isn’t there supposed to be a Memorial Day parade?”

The man frowned. “There damn sure should have been. I hear there’s a little one on Upper Broadway somewhere. Probably nobody watching it, though. We just had a ceremony on the Intrepid with hardly anybody there.”

Jack took in all the medals on the right breast of the old soldier’s bulging waist-length jacket. He saw a star that looked bronze and recognized a Purple Heart.

“You were in the Big One?”

“Yeah.” He looked at Jack. “How about you?”

Jack had to smile. “Me? In the army? No. Not my thing.”

“Wasn’t my thing either,” the guy said, his voice rising. “None of us wanted to be there. I hated every minute. But there was a job to be done and we did it. And we died doing it. My whole platoon, every one of my buddies, was wiped out at Anzio—everyone but me, and I just barely made it. But I did get back, and as long as I’m alive, I’ll show up to remember those guys. Someone should, don’t you think? But nobody gives a damn.”

“I do,” Jack said softly, surrendering to an impulse from out of the blue. He thrust out his hand. “Thank you.”

The man blinked, then took Jack’s hand and squeezed. His eyes puddled up and his lower jaw trembled as he tried to speak. Finally he managed a weak, “You’re welcome.” Then he limped away.

Jack turned to find Gia staring at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Jack, that was…”

He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable.

“No, really,” she said. “Don’t shrug it off. That was nice. Sweet, even. Especially since I know how you feel about armies and governments.”

“He isn’t a government or an army. He’s a guy. No matter what you think of any particular war, you’ve got to feel something for some poor guy ripped out of his life and handed a gun and sent somewhere to kill other guys who’ve been ripped out of their lives and sent to do the same thing, and while they’re both shivering in their foxholes, scared they’re not going to see another sunrise, all the fat cats, all the generals and politicos and priests and mullahs and tribal elders who started the whole damn thing, sit way to the rear, moving their chess pieces around.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he took a breath. “He got handed the dirty end of a dirty stick but he handled it. You’ve got to respect that.”