The Swimmer Read Online Free PDF

together college money for the two children. But all of that is part of the framework. The game within the big game. We all feel that the everyday is too slow, too mundane. Not important enough. Too little is at stake.
    The air-conditioning is turned up so high that I’m starting to get goose bumps. My ears are still ringing from the explosion, and every terrible night I dream of white light, shallow breathing, and your greasy hair. I wake up sweaty, wild, the sheets twisted around me, protecting my pillow with my body.
    ‘They were both in the car?’ she says and sits on the edge of the only other chair in my microscopic room.
    I nod, forcing myself to look her in the eyes, to neither hesitate nor move.
    ‘Terrible,’ she says. ‘Terrible. I’m so sorry. This job, this life. We pay a high price.’
    She doesn’t look sad. She’s as neutral as her car, her house, her ill-fitting suit. I swivel my chair and stare out toward the parking lot and the thin, green trees on the other side of it. You can hardly sense the highway. We sit in silence for a while, let the dust swirl in the late summer sunlight streaming through my window. But she’s not here for condolences. Not only.
    ‘Why did you show up in Paris?’ she says at last. ‘Why didn’t you go directly to the embassy in Damascus or Cairo?’
    I shrug, turning my gaze back to her, looking straight into her eyes again.
    ‘That was the original plan,’ I say. ‘Boat from Latakia to Larnaca. Flight to Athens. Night train to Paris. I had tickets from de Gaulle to Dulles, but I thought that under the circumstances, it was better to check in in Paris.’
    ‘After what happened… Wouldn’t it have been appropriate to deviate from the plan? To check in in Damascus?’ she says.
    Her voice is soft and friendly. On the surface, she’s still here to make sure I’m okay, express her sympathy. But we both know that’s just on the surface. There’s always a subtext, always an underlying reason. And another reason beneath that one as well.
    ‘I explained everything in my debriefing,’ I say. ‘The bomb was meant for me. I followed protocol and stayed under the radar until I felt sure I wouldn’t get shot in the embassy’s parking lot.’
    She leans back. Drums her wedding ring gently against the steel frame of the chair.
    Click click click click click.
    Only that and the rustling of the air conditioner.
    ‘You overestimate the Syrians and their allies,’ she says. ‘A car bomb in Damascus is all they’re capable of.’
    ‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But as I said, I wanted to be sure.’
    Susan nods, allows herself to be satisfied. There’s nothing here that doesn’t follow protocol. Not a trace. She locks her eyes with mine.
    ‘We’ll get them,’ she says slowly. ‘You know that. Damascus, Cairo, Beirut… All the Middle Eastern agencies are looking into this now. It’ll take time, but we’ll find the culprit, you know that.’
    I nod. The thought of revenge is still just a seed.
    She leans forward. A different look, a different tone when she speaks.
    ‘And the information you received from your contact?’ she says. ‘The weapons delivered to the Syrians. You’ve only given that information in my report, right? Not in the debriefing? Nowhere else?’
    I nod my head.
    ‘Only in your report,’ I say.
    ‘It’s probably a dead end, of course. A plant. But we don’t want to raise any alarms.’
    ‘I’m aware of the consequences. It stays in your report.’
    She leans back for a moment. Following my gaze out the window. Finally, she gets up.
    ‘Are you okay?’ she says.
    Her tone is constant, no matter how much suffering she demands.
    ‘I’m okay.’
    ‘Take the rest of the week off,’ she says. ‘Go for a swim. Get a drink.’
    I see how she pats the plastic doorframe with the palm of her hand before leaving my room. It rattles. Encouragement, perhaps. Sympathy. She knows I swim. There’s nothing they don’t know about me.
    The water in the