From The Grave

Chapter 3

Arny arrived home close to midnight and found Gretta curled up on the sofa, sleeping soundly. He picked up the letter that had fallen on the floor and guiltily read the contents. His initial reaction was to shake her awake and start complaining about how Chester Stilton, even after he was gone, controlled her life. The urge passed as he watched her calm face in sleep and he put the letter on the table and went quietly to the bedroom.

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"Morning, how was your night on the sofa?"

Gretta stumped into the room, tugging off her wrinkled shirt and tossing it on the bed.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"You didn't look like you were up for much fun so I left you."

"Ha, ha." She thumbed down her track pants and kicked them up to her hand and then lobbed them into the laundry basket.

"You do remember why we were going to have fun don't you?"

"Arny, don't piss around with me, okay. I'm tired and stiff and-- why were we going to have fun again?"

"My promotion maybe?"

She stopped and turned toward him. "Oh Arny . . . I'm sorry, I forgot all about it."

"I guess your mind was filled with exotic postage stamps." He said, derisively.

Her look was scathing and she stepped into the bathroom, slamming the door. Twenty minutes later she emerged and found him in the kitchen, eating toast and reading the paper.

"There's coffee." He said, not looking up.

She poured a cup and walked around to stand beside him. "Arny, I am sorry I forgot."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you going to stay angry with me?"

"I thought it was the other way around, the way you slammed the door."

She sighed and slipped into the chair beside him.

"This is all because you read Cheesy's letter isn't it?"

"Hell, Gretta, he's even giving you posthumous orders."

"Don't be ridiculous; the letter isn't an order."

"But it's got you all wriggly over the prospect of another crusade."

Her reply took too long and Arny just heaved his shoulders and went back to the paper. Gretta sat beside him silently, unsure as to how to break the news that he was right on the money and furthermore she was going to tackle the challenge.

"Don't bother. I know what you're thinking. Globe trotting Gretta Lawrence to the rescue."

"Arny, we've been down this road before, it's what I do- what I really enjoy doing."

"I have no problem with the theory, it's the execution-- literally." He stated with heavy sarcasm.

She got up and rinsed her mug. "Well, just think theory then, Arny, because I'm going to do it." She stuck the dirty mug in the dishwasher and left the room.

"I knew it," he yelled after her. Ever since their first encounter Arny had followed Gretta on her global quest to carry out CONGA's mandate. The surrealistic existence kept him teetering between the fantasy and the reality of her exploits.

Never, as an ad writer, had he even dreamed of circumstances as bizarre as those he experienced on those flights of fancy, with Gretta performing like some mythical goddess, immune to harm and surmounting every obstacle.

The problem was, he had a good position with Cutter & Glimb, a position he found difficult to fill while leaping around the world. Gretta cared about his work but it always came second to her own goals.

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The day was a bust. Both parties moved around like polarized magnets, speaking only when necessary. By dinner time, lunch had been abandoned, Arny signaled a tentative truce and asked her to sit down and explain what the stamp business was all about.

"Making nice doesn't solve our problem you know."

"It can be a start can't it? Tell me about this stamp and what's involved. Hell, Gretta, I've been dragged through jungles and rain forests. Shot at and shipwrecked and hunted by demented killers, and it's not even my job. Surely all that buys me some consideration."

"You're right and for the record, you were never shipwrecked."

"I was on a wreck of a ship though."

She smiled and leaned over, pecking his cheek. The letter lay open on the table and she picked it up, taking out the picture of the stamp and began explaining Cheesy's concerns.

"The Cook Islands! That's in the middle of nowhere!"

"The South Pacific actually. About two fifty-three hundred miles east of Tonga."

"Oh well, it's practically next door. Tonga. Jesus."

"Hey, Tonga's only five or six hundred miles east of Fiji."

"Holy smoke, I can almost see it from the roof." He shook his head and stared at her.

"To put it in perspective, Fiji is about 1100 miles north of the northern tip of New Zealand."

"Perspective. Right. So the, according to my math, Niue is just over 1400 miles from the northern tip of New Zealand. Why we can be back in time for dinner." He rolled away on the sofa and rubbed his eyes.

"Arny, sarcasm gets you nothing. If flying to Niue, which by the way does have an airport, then that's what I'll do."

"What about Maurice and his budget measures?"

"I have some friends in accounting that are loyal to the old CIA and Cheesy's memory."

He shook his head and got up to stretch. "This could cost you, Gretta."

"I'm not letting company economics dictate the ultimate goal of our work. It's important, Arny and you have first hand experience on that front."

He made a face and picked up the picture of the stamp.

"Tell me about this godforsaken dot in the Pacific."