Oath of Office. Jack Mars

rolled down Becca’s cheek. “My garden is over there, Luke.”

      “I know.”

      “I can’t work in my garden because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of my own house, a house I’ve been going to since I was born.”

      Luke said nothing.

      “And Mr. and Mrs. Thompson… they’re dead. You know that, don’t you? Those men killed them.” She looked at Luke sharply. Her eyes were hot and mad. Becca had a tendency to grow angry with him, sometimes over very small matters. He forgot to do the dishes, or take the garbage outside. When she did, she would get a look in her eyes similar to the one she had now. Luke thought of it as the Blame Look. And for Luke, right now the Blame Look was too much.

      In his mind, he caught a brief image of their neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. If Hollywood were to cast a kindly older couple who lived next door, the Thompsons would be it. He liked the Thompsons, and he would never have intended for their lives to end like that. But a lot of people died that day.

      “Becca, I didn’t kill the Thompsons. Okay? I’m sorry they’re dead, and I’m sorry you and Gunner were taken – I will be sorry for that the rest of my life and I will do everything I can to make it up to both of you. But I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill the Thompsons. I didn’t send people to abduct you. You seem to be blurring these things in your mind, and I won’t have it.”

      He paused. It was a good time to stop talking, but he didn’t stop. His words came out in a torrent.

      “All I did was fight my way through a blizzard of gunfire and bombs. People were trying to kill me all day and all night. I got shot, I got blown up, I got run off the road. And I saved the President of the United States, your President, from almost certain death. That’s what I did.”

      He breathed heavily, as if he had just sprinted a mile.

      He regretted everything. That was the truth. It hurt him to think that the work he did had ever caused her pain, it hurt more than she would ever know. He had left the job last year for that very reason, but then he had been called back for one night – one night that turned into a night, a day, and another impossibly long night. A night during which he thought he had lost his family forever.

      Becca no longer trusted him. He could see that much. His presence frightened her. He was the cause of what had happened. He was reckless, he was fanatical, and he was going to get her, and their only son, killed.

      Tears streamed silently down her face. A long minute passed.

      “Does it even matter?” she said.

      “Does what matter?”

      “Does it matter who the President is? If Gunner and I were dead, would you really care who was President?”

      “But you’re alive,” he said. “You’re not dead. You’re alive and well. There’s a big difference.”

      “Okay,” she said. “We’re alive.” It was agreement that wasn’t agreement.

      “I want to tell you something,” Luke said. “I’m retiring. I’m not going to do it anymore. I might have to take a few meetings in the coming days, but I’m not going on any more assignments. I did my part. Now it’s over.”

      She shook her head, but just slightly. It was as if she didn’t even have the energy to move. “You’ve said that before.”

      “Yes. But this time I mean it.”

*

      “You want to always keep the boat on an even keel.”

      “Okay,” Gunner said.

      He and his dad loaded the boat with gear. Gunner wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a big floppy fishing hat to keep the sun off his face. He also had a pair of Oakley sunglasses his dad had given him because they looked cool. His dad wore the same exact pair.

      The T-shirt was okay – it was from 28 Days Later, which was a pretty awesome zombie movie with English people in it. The problem with the shirt was it didn’t have any actual zombies on it. It was just a red biohazard symbol against a black background. He guessed that made sense. The zombies in the movie weren’t really the undead. They were people who got infected with a virus.

      “Slide that cooler athwartships,” his dad said.

      His dad had all these crazy words he used whenever they went fishing. It made Gunner laugh sometimes. “Athwartships!” he shouted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

      His dad motioned with his hand to show the placement he wanted; across the middle, sideways, not near the back rail where Gunner had originally stowed it. Gunner slid the big blue cooler into place.

      They stood, facing one another. His dad gave him a funny look from behind his sunglasses. “How are you doing, son?”

      Gunner hesitated. He knew they were worried about him. He had heard them whispering his name in the night. But he was okay. He really was. He had been afraid, and he was still a little bit afraid now. He had even cried a lot, which was okay. You were supposed to cry sometimes. You weren’t supposed to hold it in.

      “Gunner?”

      Well, he might as well talk about it.

      “Dad, you kill people sometimes, don’t you?”

      His dad nodded. “Sometimes I do, yeah. It’s part of my job. But I only kill bad guys.”

      “How can you tell the difference?”

      “Sometimes it’s hard to tell. And sometimes it’s easy. Bad guys will hurt people who are weaker than them, or innocent people who are just minding their own business. My job is to stop them from doing that.”

      “Like the men who killed the President?”

      His dad nodded.

      “Did you kill them?”

      “I killed some of them, yes.”

      “And the men who took Mom and me? You killed them, too, didn’t you?”

      “I did, yeah.”

      “I’m glad you did that, Dad.”

      “I am too, monster. They were the exact kind of men who are good to kill.”

      “Are you the best killer in the world?”

      His dad shook his head and smiled. “I don’t know, buddy. I don’t think they keep tabs on who the best killers are. It’s not really like a sport. There’s no world champion of killing. In any case, I’m retiring from the whole thing. I want to spend more time with you and Mom.”

      Gunner thought about it. He had seen a news show about his dad on TV the day before. It was really just a short segment, but it was his dad’s picture and name, and video of his dad when he was younger and in the Army. Luke Stone, Delta Force operator. Luke Stone, FBI Special Response Team. Luke Stone and his team had saved the United States government.

      “I’m proud of you, Dad. Even if you never got to be world champion.”

      His dad laughed. He gestured toward the dock. “Okay, are we ready?”

      Gunner nodded.

      “We’ll head way out, drop anchor, see if we can find a few stripers feeding on the dropping tide.”

      Gunner nodded. They pulled away from the dock and moved slowly through the No Wake zone. He braced himself as the boat picked up speed.

      Gunner scanned the horizon ahead of them. He was the spotter, and he had to keep his eyes sharp and his head on a swivel, as his dad liked to say. They had been out together fishing three times earlier in the spring, but they hadn’t caught anything. When you went fishing and you didn’t catch anything, Dad called that being “on the snide.” Right now, they were on the snide big time.

      In a few moments, Gunner spotted some splashes in the middle distance off the starboard quarter. Some white terns were diving, dropping like bombs into the water.

      “Hey, look!”

      His dad nodded and smiled.

      “Stripers?”

      Dad