Diamond Rain: Adventure Science Fiction Mossad Thriller (The Spy Stories and Tales of Intrigue Series Book 2) (4 page)

Light
at the End of the Tunnel

Thomas floated through the years of becoming
American.  The loner in him drifted to the surface without any conscious effort
on his part.  He spent all his free time on his grandfather’s lobster boat; he
even slept there on weekends.  One August morning in 1979, while Thomas waited
patiently to photograph an osprey that fished at sunrise in the bay, he noticed
a man popping soundlessly out of the water near a neighbouring lobster boat. 
He’d heard about Billy, the guy who did three tours in ‘Nam’ in the Green
Beret.  “He went ‘native’,” the townspeople whispered.  “He came back more
‘gook’ than American.”

When Billy turned what
Thomas could see of his head in the misty water, only the whites of his eyes
emerged on a blink between the black and green camouflage he wore.  Thomas
snapped a photo through his new long lens.  Billy heard the shutter and
submerged, soon popping up on the other side of Thomas’ grandpa’s boat.  Billy
limbered up over the gunwale.  Thomas stood.  Billy took a step towards Thomas.
“You got balls, kid.  I must be gettin’ rusty in my old age.  Nobody gets snaps
of me coming out of the water.  If they did, I’d be dead.”

“I was waiting for an
osprey.  Saw you surface.  Didn’t hear ya.  Snapped it before I thought,” said
Thomas.

“I heard about you. 
You’re the Irish kid who sleeps on his grandpa’s lobster boat. I’m Billy.”

 “Don’t have to tell me
that.  Everyone knows who you are,” said Thomas.

“I heard Ryan beat the
crap out of ya in June, Thomas.”

“Ryan was bothering my
little sister Patsy.”

“His family’s no good
blood.  How’d you like to whip his ass next time he bothers your sister?”

“Would I,” replied
Thomas.

“You teach me how to
take pictures of those wild birds in the mornings and I’ll train you good.  No
one’ll ever bother you or your sister again.  Deal?”

We shook on it like
men
, thought Thomas.

Off and on for the next several years, Thomas
learned about survival in the bush and trained in self defense, while Billy
developed the expertise that would be his ticket back into the real world after
Vietnam.  Using the skills Thomas taught him, Billy published the first of many
National Geographic articles.  Much to Thomas’ surprise, Billy dedicated the
article,
The Osprey of Maine’s Inlets
, to his mentor, Thomas O’Flaherty
of Deer Island, Maine.  Later in life, the dedication would get Thomas his
first job as a photographer too.  In September of his twenty-first year, Thomas
would get a job as a ‘stringer’ for the Boston Globe on the strength of Billy’s
recommendation and Thomas’ wildlife portfolio.

Thomas’ training with
Billy in the mornings spread around town that first summer.  Without Thomas
having to lift a finger against him in September, Ryan never bothered Patsy
again.  Billy’s friendship didn’t make Thomas any more sociable though, just
more sure of himself.  From that point on, Thomas accomplished everything he
tried because Billy taught him the determination of the warrior.  For Thomas’ ma,
the problem was Thomas.  He still chose to hide from the world and look at it
from a safe distance through a lens.

****

One September, after Thomas' family moved to
Maine, an exchange student arrived from Montreal, Canada.  He was French
Canadian and his parents wanted him to learn English, but the school system in
Montreal wasn’t succeeding in giving him both languages.  As usual, their
teacher asked new students to say something about themselves in front of the
class before the new student took his seat.  Jean Pierre, all skin and bones
and legs, stammered and stumbled through a description in broken English of his
past in Montreal.  Completely out of character, but remembering how he’d felt
when he made his own speech, Thomas stood up when Jean Pierre finished.

“Hey, Lanky, that’s a
great story.  You and I’re gonna be friends.”

A little embarrassed by
his unexpected outburst, Thomas sat down. Taking Thomas’ cue, perhaps purposely
starting a great friendship, the teacher made a place for the new boy beside
Thomas.  From day one, the two boys became inseparable.  As the years passed,
especially after Jean Pierre returned to Montreal, the two young people kept in
touch.  During their year together in Maine, Thomas tried to teach Billy’s
lessons in self defense to Jean Pierre, but Jean Pierre didn’t take to
discipline.  He was an incredibly bright but, paradoxically, simple person. 
After science, his strength was laughter and he gave his love of hilarity to
Thomas.  From Jean Pierre, Thomas learned to laugh from the depths of his
heart.  This was a gift that Thomas received without even knowing it.

After at first keeping
up a written correspondence, Thomas visited Montreal when he was seventeen. 
From there his friendship with Jean Pierre was cemented into an important
friendship.

“What’s this place?”
Thomas asked.

“
Vieux Montréal
,”
replied
Jean Pierre, in French.

“I know that means Old
Montreal.  I’m talking about the bar.”

“Oh.  Hotel Nelson. 
Dat
guy on harmonica’s amazing, eh?” replied Jean Pierre, shouting over the din of
the blues.

Just then two young
women arrived at their table and spoke to Jean Pierre.  "
Il y a la
place
," said the taller of the two while eyeing the only two seats
left in the smoky room.

“What’d she say,
Lanky?”

“Wait.”

“
Mais oui, mais oui
,”
answered Jean Pierre, his upbringing taking over as he slid one of the chairs
out for the taller girl beside him.

“You’re gonna wish you’d
learned more French now,
mon ami
,” said Jean Pierre.

“
T’est pas un tête
carré, toi.  Pas d’anglais ici
,
la
?” 
shouted
the girl.

“What’s she saying? 
How come she won’t speak English, Lanky?” asked Thomas.

“
Merde
.  She
speaks English fine.  Chooses not to.  It’s politics, man.  You don’t live
here,” answered Jean Pierre.

The second girl nudged
Thomas, leaned towards him, kissed him on both cheeks and whispered in his ear.

“My name’s Suzelle.” 
Thomas froze. 
She smells so good
, he thought as she pulled away from
him and started bobbing her head to the music.  Before he got up the courage to
speak, she grabbed his hand and dragged him onto a tiny dance floor in front of
the band.  After Thomas lurched around nervously for thirty seconds, the song
ended. He prayed for a slow song before Jim Zeus, the harmonica player, began a
ballad.  Suzelle snuggled close to him.  Her shampoo and perfume overwhelmed
him.  When the song ended, she spoke into his ear again, the feel of warm
breath sending shivers down his spine.

“You
don’t told
me your name?”

“Sorry.  Thomas. 
Thomas’s my name.”

“Your accent’s British,
non?”

“Irish, not British
ever, please.”

“Irish?”

“You know, Ireland.”

“
Ya. Irlandais. 
My
granny’s
Irlandais
too. 
Is
hot here.  We go
h’outside
now, okay?”

“Sure. I’ll just tell
Jean Pierre,” said Thomas as he spun his finger around in the air to let his
friend know he’d be back.

The Hotel Nelson took
up most of the east side of
Place Jacques Cartier
under the watchful eye
of Lord Nelson on his majestic column.  It was a warm spring evening in
Montreal and people flooded into the streets, escaping the drudgery of the long
winter for the first time that year.

“I see the ‘Brits’ hang
over you here too, eh?”

“Not you too.  I'm sick
of ‘
polytic’
.  I wanna have fun, just fun,” said Suzelle.

She took a hand-rolled
cigarette out of her pocket and lit it while they walked down the cobblestone
street to
Rue
St. Paul.  Jugglers, musicians and portrait artists plied
their wares to the passing Montrealers, practicing for the upcoming tourist
season.

“What’s that you’re
smoking?” Thomas asked.

Suzelle filled her
lungs and jumped into Thomas’ arms, glued her lips to his, pried his lips open
with her tongue and exhaled into his mouth filling his lungs with the pungent
tasting mixture of tobacco and hashish. Smoke poured out of him when he
coughed, unaccustomed to either of the substances.  Then she kissed him again,
deeply this time, still squeezing her slender hips around his waist, one of her
arms around his neck.  Thomas set her down on a park bench in front of a
restaurant opposite
Marche Bonsecours
.  No one paid them any heed.  She
continued puffing on her ‘splif’, as she called it and Thomas gave up resisting
her kisses, allowing her to fill his lungs repeatedly.

“I like you,
Irlandais.
”

This time Thomas leaned
into her and almost swallowed her with his embrace, their tongues hungry snakes
thrusting and knotting around each other.  Thomas’ head spun up and around when
he let go of her.  His eyes popped open and he hooted louder than usual.

“Good, n’est-ce pas? 
Now we go dance,” she said as she got up, took his hand in hers and slipped
under the grip of his arm over her shoulder.

“I feel right here,
Irlandais. 
Yer energie
make me happy.”

Thomas strutted a bit
and then forgot about her as he lapsed into a series of hysterical cackles.

“You’re so sweet.  Not
like
les
boys here in
Montreal,”
she said when he finished
laughing and they resumed their stroll back to the bar under the Hotel Nelson. 
It took about half an hour to go through the line and get back to the bar when
the bouncer at the door carded Thomas. His American seventeen-year-old's
driver’s license didn’t pass muster and dragged him out of Suzelle’s hashish-induced
haze.

“No problem,” said
Suzelle. “We can walk,
non?”

They strolled down by
the harbor talking about anything and everything and Thomas fell more and more
in love each second.  For the first time in his life, he felt real desire
stirring inside him.  Again they sat on a bench in the dark after laughing
about the descriptions of the oldest ocean going tugboat in the world, Daniel
McAllister, on display near the edge of
Vieux Montréal.
  This time
Suzelle slipped her legs through the back of the bench and straddled Thomas. 
Her hot breath tickled his neck and his ears, then she starting grinding
herself on him and kissing him, making his head spin.  Her hands reached into
his shirt through an open button and she scratched his nipples with her nails,
the heat from her crotch unnerving him.

Just when he thought
she would stop and get off him, she took his hand and passed it under her silk
blouse and placed it on her breast.  The weight of her womanhood filled Thomas
with a whirlwind of thoughts.  He edged his hand up and touched her armpit.  It
was sweaty and excited him further, then he reached under the frilly part of
her bra and cupped her breast in his hand.  He groaned uncontrollably when
Suzelle forced her hand between them and into his pants.  The minute she
touched him, he climaxed and pinched her nipple so hard she uttered a small
screech with an intake of breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re sweet, Thomas. 
Non problem.  Non talk,” said Suzelle.

She hiked up her mini,
took his hand and put it between her legs and rubbed herself on him as they
kissed more and more deeply.  Her orgasm pleased Thomas and the smell of love
on his fingers excited him again, but she got up.

“Time to go,
mon
Irlandais.”

Intoxicated by his
first sexual experience, Thomas followed Suzelle like a lost puppy to the bus
stop on
Rue Notre Dame
, where she jumped on a waiting bus before Thomas
realized he didn’t even have her phone number.  He ran after the bus until the
next stop and made a sign through the window, but Suzelle just offered a Gallic
shrug in return and blew him a kiss.  Life seeped out of Thomas as he watched
the bus disappear, but he walked a little taller on the way back to Jean
Pierre’s family home in Outremont.  The walk took about an hour and a half and
Thomas was glad of the few days he and his friend had spent walking around the
city, but then, Thomas’ sense of place was uncannily strong.  He’d just sat on
the front steps when a taxi stopped and let Jean Pierre out.

“I was worried sick,
man. Where’d you get to?”

Thomas couldn’t hide
his excitement and pride.

“She smelled so good,
Lanky.”

”I’m sure man, but you
left me there worrying about you,” said Jean Pierre, unable to cover up his
feelings about his own experience.

“You too.”

“I’m a ‘
bourgeois’
for
her.  All the activists’re Marxist here, man.”