Decker was leaning on the bed in a hotel room in New York, holding a glass of Jack Daniel's whiskey in his right hand, sipping sips, and holding the TV remote control in his left hand, frantically switching channels back and forth.He asked himself, when you've been everywhere, where else can you go?
New York had always fascinated him.In the past, whenever he had an occasional free weekend, he would come to this place involuntarily.Broadway, the Metropolitan Opera, the Museum of Modern Art—these places always beckoned him like old friends.During the day, he used to go to Central Park, where a walk was always a pleasure to him.Then, he lunches at Carnegie's Deli, browses old books at The Strand, or catches street artists in Washington Square.In the evenings he liked to ask who was singing at the music hall of the Algonquin Hotel, the City Radio Music Hall, and Madison Square Garden.In New York he always had plenty to do.
But to his surprise, this time he didn't want to do anything.Mel Thom is playing at Michael's.In the past, Decker would have been the first to reserve a seat; but this time he didn't want to.Maynard Ferguson, Decker's favorite trumpet player, was performing at the Blue Voice Hall, but Decker didn't have the strength to get himself dressed and go out there.The little energy he had was pouring more whiskey into his glass and endlessly pressing the channel change button on the TV remote.
After flying home from Rome, he never thought about returning to his tiny apartment in Alexandria, Virginia.He had no attachment to the cramped bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom of the apartment.It wasn't his home, it was just a place where he stored his clothes and slept between missions.Every time he went back there, the dust that hit his face itched his nose and gave him a headache.He would never allow himself to violate safety rules by hiring a cleaning lady to clean up the apartment and prepare it for his return.The thought of a stranger rummaging through his belongings made him uncomfortable—in fact, he never left anything that would reveal his identity in the apartment.
He didn't let his boss—no, his former boss—know where he planned to go after handing in his resignation report.Of course, New York was one of the places they expected, and, as a rule, they would have someone follow him to find out where his flight was going.When he arrived in New York, he took the evasive route and checked into the St. Regis Hotel, a hotel he had never stayed at before.However, just 10 minutes after he checked into the guest room, the phone rang.Of course, it was his boss—wrong again, fuck, his old boss—who asked Decker to reconsider his resignation.
"Speak from your heart, Steve," said the boss in a weary voice, "I appreciate your decision as much as anyone else, but now that you've done it, your inner anger has been vented, let the past go. , come back to us. I also think that this event in Rome is terrible in every way. It is a disaster. But resignation will not change all that, it will not make things better Get better. You must also understand that your resignation is of no use."
"You're afraid I'll get mad and tell people what happened to people who shouldn't know, are you?" Decker asked.
"Of course not. Everyone knows you're infallible. You won't do anything against the rules, and you won't disappoint us."
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
"You're very capable and we don't want to lose you, Steve."
"With a guy like Brian McKittrick around, how would you know I'm gone." Decker put the phone down.
A minute later, the phone rang again.This time, it was the boss of his former boss who called. "If you're asking for a raise—"
"I never got a chance to spend the money you paid me," Decker said.
"Maybe you need more time off."
"what to do?"
"travel."
"Exactly, to travel the world. For example, to see Rome. I've been flying so much that it doesn't feel right to sleep in the bed because it's not shaped like the seat on the plane."
"Listen, Steve. Everyone burns out at times, it's part of the job. We have experts who know how to help people manage stress, which is why we keep them. Honestly, I Think it would do you a lot of good if you got on a plane right away to Washington and talked to them."
"Didn't you hear? I told you I've had enough of flying."
"Then take the train."
Decker hung up the phone again.He was sure that if he tried to get out of the hotel, he would be stopped by two men waiting in the foyer.They would show him their papers and explain to him that his friends were very concerned about his reaction to the events in Rome.Next they would offer to drive him to a quiet bar where they could talk to him about the things that bothered him.
To hell with them, Decker thought, I can drink in my own room, all by myself; besides, it's definitely not a bar they're taking me to.So Decker picked up the phone and asked the waiter to bring a bottle of Jack Daniel's and enough ice to the guest room.Then, he unplugged the phone, turned on the TV, and started picking channels.Two hours later, twilight was thick outside his drawn curtains, and he was on his third bottle of whiskey, still flipping through the channels.The intermittent images on the TV screen are a reflection of his state of mind.
He asked himself, where to go?what to do?Money is not an immediate issue.During his 10 years as a secret agent, he invested a large portion of his salary in mutual funds.In addition to this money, he had amassed a considerable sum of money.That was the skydiving pay, diving pay, demolition pay, combat pay, and professional pay he had earned as a member of the secret counter-terrorist special forces unit.Like many highly trained Special Forces soldiers, he enlisted in intelligence when he reached an age when he was no longer physically able to effectively perform the special activities his duties required - at the time he was 30 years old , with a broken leg and three ribs, and was shot twice while on separate covert missions.Of course, although his physical fitness has declined greatly and he is no longer suitable for the activities of the anti-terrorist forces, he is still much stronger than most ordinary people.
His investment gains have been substantial, and his net worth has reached $300,000.In addition, he plans to withdraw the $50,000 government civilian pension he contributed to himself.But while he was relatively free financially, he was otherwise helpless.The world is huge, and there are countless options, but he can only choose to stay in this hotel room.If his parents were still alive (as he fancied for a moment), he would visit them, something he'd always wanted to do but kept putting off.The truth is, however, that his mother had died in a car accident three years earlier, and his father had died of a heart attack a few months later, both while he was away on duty.The last time he saw his father alive was at his mother's funeral.
Decker has no siblings.He has never been married.This is partly because he does not want to impose his ascetic way of life on the one he loves, and partly because his way of life prevents him from finding someone with whom he can safely and boldly love.His only friends were all his fellow agents, and now that he had resigned from the intelligence service, this created a situation prone to conflict.His friends will be scruples when they are with him, uncertain what topics to talk about without provoking controversy.
Maybe I made a mistake, maybe I shouldn't resign, Decker thought, sipping his whiskey.While thinking, he changed the channel.Being an agent gave me a direction and a kind of reliance.
Decker reminded himself that he was spending his life doing this, and that no matter where you went on a mission, that place was completely ruined for you.Decker has worked in many stunning locations, the Greek Islands, the Swiss Alps, the French Riviera resorts, the Spanish Mediterranean coast – just to name a few.However, his experience in these places has cast a shadow over them, and he has no desire to go to these places to reminisce about the past.In fact, now that he was thinking about it, an irony struck him.As most people find these places to be glamorous, in literature Decker's past work is often portrayed as heroic; in Decker's view, it was nothing more than tedious, futile and dangerous work .Hunting down drug lords and terrorists may be a noble cause, but hunters pick up the filth of their prey.I must be tainted, Decker thought, and, as I discovered, some of the bureaucrats I worked for were not immune to the filth either.
Decker asked himself, what to do?He was drowsy from whiskey.He forcefully opened his dry eyelids and looked at the TV.Something flashed across the screen, making him frown.He didn't understand what he saw just now, and curiously wanted to figure it out, so he pulled himself together and tuned back to the channel he had dialed just now.As soon as he saw the image, he was fascinated.He couldn't explain why he was drawn to it, only that there was something in it that was meant for him.
What he saw was a documentary in which a team of construction workers were restoring an old house.The house was strange and reminded him of the pueblo clay houses he had seen in Mexico.But when he turned up the volume of the TV, he learned that this kind of simple but surprisingly elegant house is in New Mexico, USA.The construction foreman explained that the house was made of adobe; adobe, he added, were large bricks made of straw and earth.The bricks make for exceptionally solid, soundproof walls, which are covered with an earthy-brown stucco finish.The foreman went on to say that this kind of adobe house has a flat roof with a slightly sloping roof, and the rainwater can be drained away through a chute called "canal".This kind of adobe house has no protruding edges and corners, all corners are rounded, the entrance is mostly a cantilevered structure supported by columns called a gatehouse, and the windows are recessed in the thick walls.
The house is unique, its sandy structure and drab exterior blending wonderfully with the oranges, reds and yellows of the high desert surrounding it.The host leaves the house to make a few general remarks about its craftsmanship and tradition, while the television camera pans to the surrounding area of the house.In the hills of the larch and dwarf pine mountains, there are adobe houses of this kind, each unique in its own way, and together they form an astonishingly varied landscape.But as the host explained, adobe houses are a spectacle in New Mexico because they currently only exist in large numbers in one city.
Decker leaned forward so he could hear the name of the city.He learned that this city is one of the oldest pioneering lands in the United States. Its history can be traced back to the Spanish conquest in the 16th century, and its name still maintains Spanish characteristics: Santa Fe, which means sacred belief.Today, it is jokingly called the foreign city.
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