Norton during Desert Storm.
Norton signaled for a cup of coffee. "How you been, Slick?" he asked.
Delaney didn't reply. He just kept staring at Norton. His old friend was wearing a black nylon jacket, white Western-style shirt, brand-new jeans and boots, and a baseball cap. He couldn't recall seeing Norton dressed quite that way before.
"Jessuzz, man," Delaney asked him. "Are you still in the service?"
"Yeah, still am," Norton mumbled.
The coffee arrived and they found an isolated table in the corner of the shop.
Delaney was still a bit in shock.
"What are you doing here, Jazz?" he asked. "Is this just a happy accident?"
Norton chose to ignore the question. "You're still flying around with the President, I see," he said instead.
Delaney took a gulp of his coffee. "Almost a year and a half," he answered. "With another year and a half to go."
"Must be nice duty," Norton said, dumping five teaspoons of sugar into his own coffee.
"Best I've ever, done," Delaney said. "Warm bed every night. Lots of travel. See a lot of interesting shit. Meet a lot of interesting people. I've become fascinated with the Presidents. Reading a lot about them. You know—who they were, what they did . . ."
"You hate it that much?" Norton interrupted him.
"Do I ever," Delaney replied without missing a beat. "I'd rather go to downtown Baghdad every night than be someone's chauffeur's chauffeur."
Norton stopped in mid-sip.
"Be careful what you wish for, old buddy," he said.
Delaney studied his old friend again. It was as if he hadn't aged a day in the last nine years.
"So, Jazz, what's up?" he pressed Norton. "My gut tells me this isn't just a co-inky-dinky that you're here."
"Well, I can tell you," Norton replied. "But then I'll have to kill you."
Delaney just shook his head. The clothes were giving Norton away.
"Man, I can't believe this," he said finally. "You've gone Spook? Really ?"
Norton just shrugged and sipped his coffee again.
"But you always hated those guys, Jazz," Delaney said. "I've seen you sleep through intelligence briefings."
"Things change," Norton replied.
Delaney could only shake his head. "Jazz Norton— philosopher and Spook. This is too much. . . ."
Norton leaned a bit closer over the table and lowered his voice a bit.
"OK, here's the straight jack," he said. "I got privy to your desire to drop out of this Presidential car caravan stuff. I passed that information on to some new acquaintances of mine."
"Other Spooks?"
"Yep."
"What kind? From where?"
Norton just shook his head. "You've never heard of them."
"Hmmm, CIA, huh?" Delaney said. "OK, go on."
"Well, when I first met them they wanted to know if I was into changing my surroundings," Norton said. "Like immediately, and in a very radical manner."
"Cool . . ."
"Don't be too hasty," Norton cautioned him. "I heard them out, and they gave me an hour to think about it. I did, and then went back and told them no. Then they said too bad, and sprung a letter from your boss himself."
Delaney had to think a moment.
"My boss? You mean the President?" Delaney asked.
"Yep," Norton replied. "It was a Presidential Action Letter and it had my name all over it."
"What did it say?"
"It said my commander in chief was ordering me to join this . . . well, little enterprise that's been cooked up. And that I really had no choice in the matter."
"Christ, Jazz," Delaney said. "This sounds deep."
Norton grinned a moment. "Let's just say that some people in the Agency are never at a loss for dreaming up wacky stuff."
He paused a moment.
"But truth is, something's come up and for whatever reason they picked me to be involved."
Delaney took just his second sip of his coffee since they'd sat down. It was already cold.
"So, Jazz, you've had a big career change," he said. "What's that have to do with me?"
"Well," Norton said. "When I climbed on board I got to pick who I wanted to go down the yellow brick road with. . . ."
"And you picked me?" Delaney asked with a
Norton signaled for a cup of coffee. "How you been, Slick?" he asked.
Delaney didn't reply. He just kept staring at Norton. His old friend was wearing a black nylon jacket, white Western-style shirt, brand-new jeans and boots, and a baseball cap. He couldn't recall seeing Norton dressed quite that way before.
"Jessuzz, man," Delaney asked him. "Are you still in the service?"
"Yeah, still am," Norton mumbled.
The coffee arrived and they found an isolated table in the corner of the shop.
Delaney was still a bit in shock.
"What are you doing here, Jazz?" he asked. "Is this just a happy accident?"
Norton chose to ignore the question. "You're still flying around with the President, I see," he said instead.
Delaney took a gulp of his coffee. "Almost a year and a half," he answered. "With another year and a half to go."
"Must be nice duty," Norton said, dumping five teaspoons of sugar into his own coffee.
"Best I've ever, done," Delaney said. "Warm bed every night. Lots of travel. See a lot of interesting shit. Meet a lot of interesting people. I've become fascinated with the Presidents. Reading a lot about them. You know—who they were, what they did . . ."
"You hate it that much?" Norton interrupted him.
"Do I ever," Delaney replied without missing a beat. "I'd rather go to downtown Baghdad every night than be someone's chauffeur's chauffeur."
Norton stopped in mid-sip.
"Be careful what you wish for, old buddy," he said.
Delaney studied his old friend again. It was as if he hadn't aged a day in the last nine years.
"So, Jazz, what's up?" he pressed Norton. "My gut tells me this isn't just a co-inky-dinky that you're here."
"Well, I can tell you," Norton replied. "But then I'll have to kill you."
Delaney just shook his head. The clothes were giving Norton away.
"Man, I can't believe this," he said finally. "You've gone Spook? Really ?"
Norton just shrugged and sipped his coffee again.
"But you always hated those guys, Jazz," Delaney said. "I've seen you sleep through intelligence briefings."
"Things change," Norton replied.
Delaney could only shake his head. "Jazz Norton— philosopher and Spook. This is too much. . . ."
Norton leaned a bit closer over the table and lowered his voice a bit.
"OK, here's the straight jack," he said. "I got privy to your desire to drop out of this Presidential car caravan stuff. I passed that information on to some new acquaintances of mine."
"Other Spooks?"
"Yep."
"What kind? From where?"
Norton just shook his head. "You've never heard of them."
"Hmmm, CIA, huh?" Delaney said. "OK, go on."
"Well, when I first met them they wanted to know if I was into changing my surroundings," Norton said. "Like immediately, and in a very radical manner."
"Cool . . ."
"Don't be too hasty," Norton cautioned him. "I heard them out, and they gave me an hour to think about it. I did, and then went back and told them no. Then they said too bad, and sprung a letter from your boss himself."
Delaney had to think a moment.
"My boss? You mean the President?" Delaney asked.
"Yep," Norton replied. "It was a Presidential Action Letter and it had my name all over it."
"What did it say?"
"It said my commander in chief was ordering me to join this . . . well, little enterprise that's been cooked up. And that I really had no choice in the matter."
"Christ, Jazz," Delaney said. "This sounds deep."
Norton grinned a moment. "Let's just say that some people in the Agency are never at a loss for dreaming up wacky stuff."
He paused a moment.
"But truth is, something's come up and for whatever reason they picked me to be involved."
Delaney took just his second sip of his coffee since they'd sat down. It was already cold.
"So, Jazz, you've had a big career change," he said. "What's that have to do with me?"
"Well," Norton said. "When I climbed on board I got to pick who I wanted to go down the yellow brick road with. . . ."
"And you picked me?" Delaney asked with a
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