I went over to the desk, took the Dasani bottle with the most water in it, and sat down again. I still couldn’t look at Glenna. After taking a drink, I said, “Alex graduated with a double major—in computer science and Middle Eastern studies. As a kid, he was into computers, and the summer he was in ninth grade, I took him to Israel, Jordan, and Egypt, and he loved it. Junior year of college he studied in Jerusalem and Cairo, and he graduated Berkeley fluent in Hebrew and Arabic. And he comes out after 9/11, patriotism’s in the air, we’re in Afghanistan and Iraq, and Alex informs me he’s enlisting in the army. Wants to be a Ranger. Scared me shitless.”

“God, what’d you do?”

“Convinced him with his degree and language skills he’d make a bigger contribution as an intelligence analyst. I had some contacts, and I promised Alex—if he let me help him get a job—to buy him a Mazda RX-8.”

“Did the bribe do the trick?”

“Bribery is the parental ace in the hole. Alex got a sports car, his own apartment, a girlfriend, and a job he liked at the National Security Agency.”

I put the bottle of water on the floor. “Ten days ago, my phone rings, and it’s my ex. Beth says that Alex and his girlfriend—her name’s Julie—were supposed to come for dinner, but Julie just called—in tears—saying that Alex had gone off to Baghdad. Beth starts shouting at me, asking how I could be fucking stupid enough to let Alex go to Iraq. It’s the first I knew of it. I knew Alex and Julie had been fighting, but not that he was going anywhere. So I calm Beth down, and I check with a friend over at the NSA. He asks around and gets back to me. He can’t give me the details, but he says Alex is safe, and he’ll be flying back to the States on Christmas. I call my ex, tell her Alex is fine, and he’ll be home in a week.”

I was silent. I wasn’t sure how long my silence lasted, but it must have been awhile because when Glenna said, “Gordon?” her tone was laced with fear.

My voice was weak and far away when I said, “The morning after Christmas my NSA friend shows up at my house.”

I turned toward Glenna. It was as though I were peering down at her underwater; her image wouldn’t hold still.

I could hardly hear myself when I said, “My friend says Alex was with a convoy out along the Saudi-Iraqi border when it was attacked. Every soldier was killed, and Alex and some NSA operative are missing.”

Tears hung at the edges of Glenna’s eyes. I glanced away and said, “My friend says the guy with Alex is former Special Forces, a good man in a pinch, and maybe they’re on the move—escape and evasion it’s called. No videos of captured Americans have shown up, and our people are out in force searching for them. But after two days—nothing.”