“So I can write an article about that—my personal experiences surviving, leave all mission details very fuzzy...”
Spencer owed such a debt to Bacon that a story that highlighted his bravery seemed like the least he could do, even if he had to keep the specifics out of it. But he was trying hard not to think of Bacon while at this meeting, not to feel guilty for continuing to email back and forth with the man. Naval PR couldn’t forbid a friendship, but still, Spencer didn’t want them getting even a hint that he was personally invested in Bacon.
“That’s a risk we simply can’t take.” She shook her blond head. “Rear Admiral Loveless has already spoken with the paper that contracted your story. They’re in agreement that running a story based on your embedded experience simply isn’t prudent.”
“What? F—That’s rather heavy handed, don’t you think?” Spencer thumped his hand against the scarred wooden table. He’d expected to be told not to write about the mission, but this, going behind his back to make sure the story was good and dead, took him past frustrated and disappointed, straight to angry.
“Naval PR decided this was the best course of action,” she said firmly.
“You can’t keep me from writing about the military.” His unspoken promise to Harry’s memory weighed him down, made his words that much more defiant. He wasn’t giving up. Wasn’t going to prove Harry’s desperate conclusion right.
“No, we can’t. But in terms of this story—the inner workings of the SEAL team—the navy will no longer be cooperating.”
This story. The seed of a plan sprouted in Spencer’s brain.
“What if we wait a bit, and I write about the recovery of the men injured on the mission?”
“I can ask, but I doubt the higher-ups will want that. That’s the sort of negative story Naval PR seeks to avoid, you know?”
And that’s exactly the sort of story I have to write. Spencer saw it clearly now, saw past the lieutenant’s resistance to the heart of the story he’d been searching so hard to find. Sure, the paper wouldn’t go against the rear admiral, but that was fine. He had the credibility from his book on amputees to lean on, and his agent would be more than happy to hear from him. Controversy sold, and Spencer could provide that in spades. He’d thought he needed to embed to find a story worthy of Harry’s memory, but maybe Harry had been the key to the story all along. Spencer was going to do a deep dive, find the other Harrys out there, bring their stories to life. And Naval PR could just deal.
What about Bacon? A little niggle at the back of his brain made him shift in his chair. Bacon would hate this idea, that much Spencer was sure of. But at this point it was all hypothetical, right? Doing a proposal was no guarantee the book would actually sell, and emailing back and forth with Bacon wasn’t the same as making a lifetime commitment to the man. Maybe there would be a way to keep his...friendship with Bacon and pursue the story he couldn’t give up on. Maybe.
* * *
Bacon usually used the long, lonely hours of waiting in position with his sniper rifle to recall song lyrics in his head, sometimes coming up with his own riffs that he’d write down later. He hadn’t been lying to Spencer—he really couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, but that didn’t stop him from messing around, trying to write songs. Spencer was the first person he’d confessed to about the lyrics in a long, long time. And he hadn’t teased or made light of it. That was something Bacon really liked—how seriously Spencer treated even the little details. And now, in the chilly, predawn hours on yet another godforsaken island, he had all the snippets of emails he’d memorized over the last few weeks to keep him company.
Hey Del (see it’s easier to type that than Bacon even if my brain still thinks of you that way unless I’m...otherwise engaged), anyway, I’m back in Los Angeles now, nursing my wounds from a contentious meeting with Naval PR. But I don’t need to unload on you about that. Your last email mentioned being hungry. I know you’re not a fan of South Pacific cuisine. If someone wanted to cook you a nice meal, maybe open a bottle of wine with dinner, what would you ask for?
Oh how Bacon had agonized over his reply. He wasn’t sure whether Spencer was asking just to be polite or whether it was part of this extended dance they were doing about whether—or rather, when—they would get together when Bacon got back to the States.
Finally, he’d written.
I’m more of a beer guy, truth be told. But I’m game to try any wine that’s not too dry. I’m pretty easy to please, honestly. I like meat, and lots of it, and no, that’s not a dirty double meaning. But ever since coming to California, I’ve had a thing for Mexican food done right. There’s a place near base that does the most amazing enchiladas. Margaritas aren’t bad either, if you’re into that. If you’re in the area sometime, you should let me take you. But it sounds like maybe you won’t be having as many reasons to visit Coronado?