Nobody Ever Dies

Then I sent a brief, edited clip to everybody on his contact list. The subject line said, "Look Who I'm Fucking!!" That ought to get people's attention. I was wondering what his wife and priest would think when they played THAT attachment.

I used Shithead's own phone to send it because I didn't want blowback about revenge porn. I'd have posted the whole dreadful encounter. But you have to keep attachments short due to POP3/SMTP restrictions. If I'd included the entire recording it would've been filtered at the recipient's gateway.

Fortunately, there are no restrictions on what you can load to porn sites. So, I put up both recordings. I'd arrived late at the party. But Shithead's phone captured the entire squalid mess. The sex was so hot that he might even make back some of the money that he was currently losing to the Deepweb.

Then I sent the short, edited clip with a carefully worded explanation to every media tip-line I could think of; MSNBC, CNN, the Post, the Times, Fox and ONEAMERICA. Vengeance has no political affiliation, and this was the kind of red meat that's guaranteed to release the baying hounds of the Fourth Estate.

The message was short and sweet. It explained who Osborne was, the context of what they were seeing and the national security implications. Finally, it warned that I expected the Army to try to cover it up. That part of the message was probably my one shot at staying out of Leavenworth.

All I had left now was the lonely trek to the parking garage and the long sad trip home. I'm a nerd and nerds don't cry. We're far too rational, or maybe the proper term is "weird," for human emotions. But Becks' betrayal, no matter how involuntary, was so painful that I might've squeezed out a drop or two.

It was 3:15 AM when the first call came in. I was sitting in my little home office putting my affairs in order. It was Sharpe - that figured. Without preamble he said, "The Colonel is willing to forget about your insubordination if you give him whatever you recorded. Your wife is fine. She's just sleeping it off."

I said cheerfully, "Too late, it's already out there." He had no idea how far "out there" it was. People

who aren't hip to the cyberverse don't understand virtual - its pervasive reach and instantaneous timeframe. Those capabilities simply don't fit their understanding of what's possible.

Sharpe spluttered and said, "What does THAT mean?!" I said, "You'll see," and hung up on him.

There might have been a final confrontation with Rebecca. That is, after she sobered up and dragged her sorry ass home. But the Army beat her to it. The pounding on my door started at 4:25 and I found three burley MPs standing on my porch. They whisked me down to Fort McNair in the City.

Not a word was said during the entire hour-long drive. They parked me in a little room at Third Division Headquarters, where I was still cooling my heels at 6:30 when a guy with two stars appeared, along with Osborne, Sharpe, Wysocki and one of the Captains. The gloves were coming off.

The two star, whose nameplate said "Meade" like the Fort, said, "Stand up soldier!!" That was to remind me where I was and who was calling the shots. I stood to attention and the guy walked around me giving me the stink eye. He finally said with threat in his voice, "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in, drunkenness, insubordination, and striking a superior officer?"

So that was it. I said in an even tone, "I deny that ... Sir! My only crime was discovering Colonel Osborne having sex with my wife."

Osborne growled, "I told you he'd say that."

I said, still keeping my voice even and respectful, "I have a half dozen eye witnesses to the seduction."

Osborne laughed and said, "Did you see anything boys?!!" They fell all over themselves denying that they'd seen anything.

At that exact moment... Ta-dah! a call arrived on the General's cellphone. It was almost too coincidental, like a Deus-ex-Machina, but it actually happened. The General, went through a series of uh-huhs and then he squawked, "WHAT!!"

He turned to Osborne and said, "The Washington Post just contacted the Pentagon Press Office to ask about a cover-up of a sex scandal involving you. They say that they have the evidence."

Hallelujah, the Grey Lady of 15th Street was on the case!!! Osborne looked like he was going to have a stroke. He turned bright red and spluttered, "Where did they get that from?"

I volunteered, mildly, "I sent your recording to several news organizations. I thought they might be interested. I may have even mentioned that the Army would try to cover it up."

Now it looked like both of them were going to stroke out. Ain't revenge a bitch??

The entire group turned as one and stormed out of the room. I still had the bug on Shithead's phone, so I listened in on their conversation. I heard Meade say, his voice incredulous with rage, "What the fuck Osborne!! Why can't you keep it in your pants!!? How much do they know!!"

Osborne sounded like he was strangling on something as he said, "He has a recording of me and his wife. Somehow, he managed to get it to The Post. I have no idea how he did it. But he's one of the dweebs in the 780th."

The General said decisively, "I've had enough!! You're going under the bus!! Confine yourself out of reach of the press until I figure out what to do about you and your three friends here." Oh goody -- Shithead's enablers were going to get the green-weenie too, same as their boss - sic semper tyrannis.

Meade added, "I'm going in there now and straighten this out. Meanwhile I want you boys," - he must have been talking to the MPs - "to walk these four back to their quarters and make sure they stay put."

I had my polite face on when the General came back in. He looked grim. He said, "There are two ways this can go. Either we make your life in the Army a living hell, or you can sign an NDA that affirms that you don't know nothing about nothing and then keep repeating that to the press until this thing blows over. In which case, you retire as a Major with all the benefits."

He stopped, looked menacingly at me, and added, "Which way is it?"

So, the long and short of my sad tale was that by 10AM I walked out of Fort McNair with an active reserve contract as a retired Major and a good conduct discharge with a hefty government pension. I also got the impression that Meade was looking into whether the Army could reinstitute flogging as a punishment for Shithead.

Better yet... Osborne was now penniless, whatever the Army did to him, his career was over, and his wife would be filing the papers. It was a delicious thing to contemplate. But that's what happens when you mess with somebody with my particular set of skills. I would have laughed in the fucker's face, but he was confined to quarters -- Buwhahaha!

Now for the hard part. I had to think things through before I talked to my wife. I had been running on adrenaline for some time and I needed space to understand what had just happened. Thank God, Becks was still MIA when the MPs dropped me off at home

I got a few items together and left a note. It said, "I need time to process this. Don't try to contact me until I'm ready." I even signed it, "Love," which was the way I felt. Then I hopped in my F150 and headed for the boat. It was still only 11:30 AM.

The Island Packet is a cruiser, not a racer. So, it has the look-and-feel of a compact high-end apartment with all the amenities. I planned to live there for the duration. I had nothing better to do now. I'd unpacked the stuff I'd brought and was sitting on the deck watching the happy people taking off for their weekend adventures. That's when it hit me like a heart attack. That would never be me, again!!

Like a Draenei Paladin, I'd powered through insurmountable odds, justice had been doled out, the ungodly had been smitten. By all rights I should be feeling pretty good about myself. So, why did I want to tie an anchor around my neck and step off the transom?

It was because the one true precious thing in my life had been defiled and there was no going back. I mean... I got it; I really did. Underneath all her nerdiness, Becks was a passionate woman, Osborne was an attractive man and her fucking him was a carefully planned and executed seduction on his part.

Even so, the problem really wasn't the sight of my wife writhing in ecstasy underneath Osborne. I knew his minions had pumped enough alcohol into her to lower her inhibitions and fatally impair her judgement. It was the action that had preceded that event ... when she had cuddled so intimately into Shithead after he'd asked her to choose. THAT was the true betrayal.

Every couple relies on the certainty that your mate will choose them above any other person. It powers innate trust in the exclusiveness of your marriage. When Becks had instinctively snuggled into Shithead, I had visible proof that my assumptions weren't quite correct. Accordingly, although I might forgive Becks her transgression, I simply couldn't live with the fact that she had chosen somebody else.

The call came in shortly after two o'clock. She must have finally sobered up. I answered ticked-off, "What part of 'don't contact me' didn't you understand?"

There was a space of pitiful crying and then she said with tears in her voice, "Oh God Erick!! I am soooo sorry!!"

I said as kindly as I could, "I know you are. But that doesn't change what happened. I need time to think about this."

She said, still weeping, "You're at the boat, aren't you?"

I said, "Yes, and I want to sit out here and decide how I feel about what just happened. You need to stay where you are. I'll come home when I get this worked out, and we can talk about what our next steps will be. In the meantime, just stay away!!"

She implored me pathetically, "Oh please forgive me. I was so drunk. I know it must have been awful.

I'm so embarrassed. It was Tiffin you saw doing those things, not me."

I said letting a little anger creep into my voice, "No my dear, it was all you. Let's stop fooling ourselves. I never should have let you get away with that fantasy in the first place. Tiffin is simply your way of avoiding responsibility for your own actions. Now we have to live with the consequences."

She said sadly, "Do you hate me??"

I said, "God no!! I love you with all of my heart and that's the problem. But I'm not sure that I can get past this. Give me a couple of days to think about it, and we can talk some more."

She said pitifully, "I love you. I will always love you."

*****

Sadly, we never had our talk. The problem was that Becks had a C-5 Top-Secret Clearance and so, when it was revealed that she was the woman currently dominating the news cycle she became instant persona-non-grata at the Fort.

I should have realized that that was going to happen when I posted her little escapade - but I wasn't thinking. It was one of those spur of the moment decisions that just seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean... I wanted to hand Shithead a massive ration of shit. But I didn't want to ruin Becks' life, which is exactly what I did by plastering her adultery all over the internet.

Clearances have a lifestyle component. That's just the way it has to be with national security work. That's because a lifestyle compromise gives your adversary leverage and NSA had already had far too many Snowdens, Martins and Phos. As a result, Becks' clearance was immediately yanked, and she was put on the next C-37 headed east to Iraq without as much as a by-your-leave.

This all took place in the week following the Christmas party. NSA's disappearing my wife got her out of the clutches of the press. But that wasn't their actual motive. Their real aim was to provide an object lesson for any other nerd who might be contemplating doing something that stupid.

Becks' transfer had immediate effect and it was without appeal. The only other option was prison. It's all built into the contract she'd signed, which is no different in its effect than me raising my right hand and taking the oath.

With the press in a feeding frenzy, Becks wasn't even given the chance to contact me or anybody else. The assumption was that she could get in touch from her new assignment in the Green Zone. That is... after the media found another squirrel to chase.

Being abruptly shipped to points east might seem like an extreme penalty. But it was nothing compared to what happened to Osborne. He was busted down two ranks to Major and handed an Other Than Honorable Discharge. It was particularly gratifying to think that I outranked him in seniority as a Major, because I'd been booted down to the reserves several months before him.

Of course, it was immaterial that Becks hadn't been allowed to get in touch in the time she was being nailed in a box and shipped. Since I was spending all that time living in a bubble. I had my phone turned off and I wasn't looking at the internet. Hence, I had no idea what was going on in the wider world.

It was a full fourteen days before I resurfaced ready to talk. But my calls kept going to voicemail. THAT hurt a lot. I actually had the uncharitable thought, "That little slut is with Shithead." Which is the reason why I was particularly mortified when two grim faced civilians showed up in my life.

By January standards, it was a beautiful day on the Chesapeake, sunny, upper fifties, and I was now a man of leisure. I was happily sipping a hot cup of coffee and reading the Post, when a goveymobile pulled into the marina parking lot. You know the kind, grey, minimal trim. four door Ford sedan. That sight pricked up my ears.

Two gentlemen in black trench coats got out and asked the dockmaster a question. He pointed at me and the two of them made their way along the dock toward my boat. I got a very bad feeling. Maybe there was going to be blowback from the Army after all.

The two men in black were treading cautiously along the dock. I thought to myself, "Those guys don't get outdoors much." I stepped up to meet them as they arrived at my slip and said warily, "Can I help you gentleman?"

The older of the two flashed a credential that said that he was an Inspector in the Police Detachment at Fort Meade. He said, in a neutral tone of voice, "We need to talk to you, Sir."

I gestured toward the benches lining the deck of my boat and said, "How about here, or do you want to do it inside?" The spokesman said, "Inside would be better."

I led them down the companionway and into the interior of the boat. They were looking around admiringly at all the wood and brass. I said, "Coffee?" and they both nodded yes.

I poured three mugs and sat down on the bench opposite where they were parked. I said, "Is this about the Army? My discharge might have been a bit abrupt but it's honorable. I can't believe there'd be a problem about it now."

Both of them looked at each other. The older guy said, "It's about your wife, Sir."

That was the last thing I wanted to hear. I was conflicted enough. I didn't need a federal agency involved in my divorce.

I said bitterly, because the unfairness of the whole thing had been eating at me for some time, "I don't want to talk to her yet and why would you people be involved in a personal matter anyhow?"

The spokesman said a bit too firmly, "I need you to listen to me carefully, Sir."

Then he paused, gathered himself, and proceeded in a neutral tone, "I am very sorry to tell you this, but your wife Rebecca is dead."

I just stared at him as I processed that baffling word. Dead? As in, NOT living?? That couldn't be possible. God wouldn't let all of that vitality, intelligence and good humor be dead. I said confused, "Did you just actually say that my wife is dead? How could that be?" It simply didn't compute.

The guy said softly, "Your wife was on an Army C-37 that was scheduled to refuel at Decimomannu in Sardinia. We don't know what happened. But it dropped off the Seville Air Route Surveillance Radar somewhere east of Majorca. It was nighttime and there was a lot of nasty weather in the area. But we have no definite explanation. We might never have it."

I just sat there with my mouth hanging open, staring. We all like to think that we control our lives. Until something comes along and shows us just how infinitesimal and fleeting our moment really is. Becks' death outright refuted my existence.

I stared vacantly into space, my guts churning wildly. Becks' infidelity had hurt, and I was thinking that maybe I couldn't stay married to her. That remained to be seen. But it never occurred to me that she wouldn't be part of my world going forward. The thought was too much to bear.

The second guy said gently, "I'm Father William, from the Chaplain Corps if you want to unburden yourself, my Son.

I looked at him, still uncomprehending and said in an agonized howl, "WHY??!!"

I knew why. He knew why. Shit happens and you're nobody special. But that didn't make the pain any less. I was utterly alone now... and totally bereft. It scared the crap out of me.

*****

My life - in fact my entire reality -- had changed in a month. Thirty days prior I had been happy and content, with a woman who was an absolute soul mate. Now I was a widower whose dead wife had cheated on him in a painful and public fashion. But wait... the roller coaster ride wasn't over yet.

There obviously couldn't be a funeral since the plane that Becks was on was somewhere at the bottom of the Mediterranean. Instead, we had a memorial service at the post chapel at the Fort. There was only a small gathering. My folks came all the way from Frankfort, which is in Michigan, not Germany. Hers came from Old Westbury, in Nassau County. Becks was their only child.

Needless to say my wife was the one with the privileged background. My old man owned a hardware store. Becks dad did something with big money down in Manhattan. Still, her folks were salt of the earth, which probably explained why their daughter was such a decent humble person.

There was plenty of crying and hugging. I tried to keep myself together as I did her eulogy, but I had to pause every once in a while, to wipe my eyes -- damned allergies. I didn't mention my wife's outrageous IQ, or her many successes in the world of mathematics. Instead, I recounted her sunny disposition, her sweet nature, and her love of animals.

Both sets of parents were staying in Baltimore, so we did her memorial dinner at the Capital Grill. That was far too close to the scene of my personal apocalypse for my taste. But I was never going to mention the reason why Becks was on that plane unless it came out later through official channels. She would always be the shining light that everybody who celebrated her life had known her as.

I was seated next to Becks' dad who, like I said, was a big-time player in the money markets. We had always gotten along, mainly because he only saw the uniform, not the nerd inside. He was just making conversation when he asked me what I was planning on doing now.

As far as I was concerned that was like asking, "Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?" But we had both suffered a devastating loss. So, instead of my usual smart-ass comeback I gave him a respectful reply.

I said, "I'm out of the Army now and looking at taking something that I've been working on for the past dozen years commercial."

He seemed mildly interested as he said, "Oh and what is that?"

I explained my little gadget and how I thought it might change the world. I probably sounded overly-enthusiastic and bizarrely technical but he caught the part about how it could be mated to almost any other device to give it human cognition.

He said, "Let me get this straight, you have a computer program that can make everyday things act like they're alive?" That wasn't exactly correct. But it was close enough.