in her file is still there. Someone may, however, have gone slightly overboard with the black marker while redacting it.
—How very nice of you. I didn’t peg you as a romantic.
—I did not say that I did anything. I said “someone” may have. However, I find it more productive to keep my promises. We may need her in the future, and I would not want her holding a grudge.
—What about the French kid? I mean French Canadian…You know what I mean.
—Mr. Couture, unfortunately, is on his own.
—Not so romantic after all, I guess. After everything he did for you, you’re gonna send him back home?
—It was his choice. I offered him counseling. I called in a few favors and found him employment at DARPA. He declined both. He is not in the best state of mind.
—You think? Where is he now?
—Probably over the Great Lakes. His flight left at ten o’clock this morning.
FILE NO. 229
INTERVIEW WITH CW4 KARA RESNIK, UNITED STATES ARMY
Location: Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Washington State
—How long has it been, Ms. Resnik?
—Since we last met, or since Dr. Franklin died?
—Would not the answer be the same?
—Pretty much. And I’m sure you know the answer better than I do.
—I meant to ask how long it had been since we last met. And I genuinely do not know. I would say six or seven months.
—Nine.
—I see you were promoted. I am happy for you.
—I’m not…I barely get to fly since I made CW4. I spend most of my time planning missions. It’s funny, I never paid much attention to any of it before. I just went to mission briefings and I flew my bird. I never really thought about how long it took someone to work out all the tiny details of my five-hour flight. Well, now I know.
I swear my head will explode if I have to spend another minute staring at a map. They’re all desert maps, too. I spend hours staring at gigantic beige pieces of paper, squinting to figure out if one little square is ten feet higher than the one next to it.
—I take it you did not ask for that promotion.
—God, no! They called me in one day and broke the news. They said I have good leadership skills. How does that make me fit to look at maps and weather reports?
—People often confuse leadership with managerial skills. I agree with their assessment. You certainly have the ability to inspire people. Minutiae, on the other hand, might not be your forte. That being said, even if you are not the most organized person in the world, it would be a shame not to let everyone benefit from your experience and wisdom.
Can I ask how Mr. Couture is doing?
—You tell me. Last time I heard from him, he’d just gotten back to Montreal. That was also nine months ago. He’s either not taking my calls or he’s gone somewhere else. I guess he could be anywhere by now.
—He is still in Montreal. I take it this is not the high point of your relationship.
—I should have known it wouldn’t last.
—Your relationship?
—No, your asking questions you don’t already know the answer to. I thought something bad might have happened to him. It’s nice to know he just doesn’t want to talk to me. What’s he doing now?
—That is a lot of cynicism to fit into just three sentences.
—I don’t know what to tell you. He just left. After her death…It’s all he could think about. It just ripped apart whatever was holding him together.
—I spoke to both of you after the incident. Unless you hid something important from me, it seems clear that neither of you are to blame for what happened.
—We didn’t keep anything from you. But none of it would have happened if we’d listened to Dr. Franklin. Vincent chose not to. It’s his legs that gave up, his hands that pushed those buttons. I know I’m as responsible as he is, maybe more. I was trained to listen to others. But I can’t blame him for thinking he killed her. He did. I killed her too.
—Everyone knew there were risks involved, especially Dr. Franklin.
—It’s one thing to risk your own life. It’s fairly easy to rationalize the deaths of strangers. To shoulder the death of a friend, someone you know, that’s a completely different thing.
—I would venture with some measure of certainty that she would not want either of you to blame yourself for her death.
—I know she wouldn’t. There wasn’t a mean bone