(Last Sunday: Brazil calls the phone number on a poster he saw in a coffee shop.)
When the phone rang, Brazil was losing the battle with sleep. His eyes bulged and for a moment he wasn’t certain of where he was, or what he should do. He looked around the room, patrolling for enemies among the dark shadows of the room until he snapped out of the dream and picked up the receiver.
“You check out…nicely,” said Riley. “I’m looking for 100 combat vets willing to take big risks without pay. Once I provide you with the details, there is no turning back, no opportunity to say ‘no.’ So, I need to know now if you’re in. You will have two hours to decide—call this number (Riley gave Brazil a ten-digit phone number) if you want to go forward, otherwise, don’t call. ”
Brazil knocked on Julie’s front door. In one hour he was supposed to phone Riley with a decision.
“My husband, at last,” she said in the doorway, dressed in ripped jeans a thin white t-shirt.
“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” he said.
“Come in and don’t be a stranger—haven’t seen you in two days.”
He looked at her closely. They embraced and a few minutes later they were in the bedroom.
When he finally saw the clock on the nightstand, it was 30 minutes past the call deadline. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to his wife.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“It was okay, wasn’t it?”
He turned to her. “It was more than okay.”
(Continued next Sunday)