Free Word of Honor by Nelson DeMille Page A

way. He said, "You know, Phil, when I got that Community Fund Service Award, no one seemed to hear about it. But as soon as I get myself mentioned in some obscure book as a war criminal, everyone has heard the good news in two weeks."
    "That is life, my friend."
    "So I've heard."
    Sloan took Tyson's arm. "I have to tell you, Ben, a lot of people kept asking me tonight, 'Are you suing?' I don't know what to say anymore."
    Tyson knew Sloan was maneuvering him toward a lawsuit the way a surgeon maneuvers a patient toward the operating room. He knew he needed a second opinion and not Beekman's. He said to Sloan, "If we sue and it went to trial, how many Army lawyers would be in the spectator seats? How many Justice Department lawyers?"
    Sloan didn't reply.
    Tyson continued, "You see, win or lose, in a civil suit, the government will hear enough to make them curious. Did that occur to you, counselor?"
    Sloan shrugged. "That's a possibility, of course. But still, Ben, I'm assuming that in a strict legal sense you are not guilty of murder.
    That's what the government will conclude if they monitor a civil trial."
    Tyson leaned closer to Sloan. "They will conclude no such thing, my friend." Tyson fluffed Sloan's red pocket handkerchief. "Good night."
    Tyson turned and walked toward the lobby where he found Marcy seated in an armchair. She stood as he approached, and without a word, he took her arm and they left the lobby of the hotel through the main doors. The night had turned cool and misty, with a soft wind blowing from the south.
    Tyson breathed deeply to clear his head. "I think I smell the ocean."
    "You always say that after you eat canap6s made with anchovy paste. You said that once in Switzerland."
    Tyson gave the doorman his parking chit. About a dozen people waited under the marquee for their cars. Tyson looked at Marcy. "Did you have a good evening?"
    Marcy considered a moment, then said, "No. For the WORD OF HONOR 0 63

    first time, I felt I wasn't Marcy Clure Tyson but Ben Tyson's wife. "
    "Weak ego, Marcy."
    Marcy did not reply.
    Tyson lit a cigarette and leaned against a pillar. He looked out across the hotel grounds toward the road. To the left was the village's main street, a long block of little shops and banks. Everytown, USA; as Everytown had looked before the malls and commercial strips. To his left front was the library, and to the right of that, the small war memorial park. Directly opposite the hotel was the commuter station. In the distance, rising above the trees, he could see the tall Gothic spire of the Episcopal Cathedral of the Incarnation against the moonlit skyline, topped by an illuminated cross. This was familiar territory. Safe ground.
    "Are you all right?"
    He looked at his wife. "Yes."
    "You were somewhere else."
    "Sometimes I do that."
    Marcy said, "Your mother called today. I forgot to tell you. I I
    "What did she want?"
    "She wants you to take care of yourself. Eat well. Relax. I think Florida made her Jewish."
    Tyson smiled. He'd heard from a few old friends and some out-of-town family over the past two weeks. He was a little surprised at how fast news traveled. It reminded him of the Army, the rumor mill par excellence.
    Marcy, as though she knew what he was thinking, said, "Anybody who didn't know about it when they got here knows now. Maybe you ought to issue an official statement in the village papers and the club newsletter.-
    Tyson smiled again. "Phil said no statements, public or private." But he himself had called a few people, close friends and relatives. And he'd been surprised by the variety of reactions: some people seemed insensitive; some were noncommittal; a good number seemed unimpressed by the seriousness of what had been written about him. A few people, as he'd noted tonight, sensed a developing celebrity status, albeit of a questionable nature, and he had the impression that these people were trying to get close to him to 64 * NELSON DEMILLE

    somehow share the limelight.