The Cloud Atlas

Gurley, of course, disagreed.

“It's not just about me, Sergeant,” he said. “It's not just that I sense dark forces are, yet again, trying to sweep me into some forgotten corner of the war. I have America 's interests at heart.” He looked at me. “This campaign has only begun. These first balloons, what have they carried? Piddly little incendiary or antipersonnel bombs? You don't develop an entire program like this to start a few brush fires. Think, Sergeant.”

I did, but all I could think of was how Gurley really was taking this personally.

“There's worse coming, Belk. That must be evident, even to you.” He looked at me and waited. “A man, Sergeant. Manned balloons. An invasion force. Saboteurs. Spies. Silently dropped behind enemy lines.” He looked back toward the terminal, as if to make sure no one had overheard him. “Angels, indeed.”

“Where?” I asked, or stammered, honestly frightened-though more of Gurley than of what his imagination had produced.

“Well, I doubt they're in goddamn San Francisco with my so-called superiors.” He turned around, waved broadly at the mountains that formed a backdrop to the base. “Here, Belk. Alaska. In the vast, concealing wilderness. Our backyard, Belk. We have to find them. And damn soon, before we get shut down. So you shall be busy while I'm gone.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, looking up to the mountains, their crowns still scabbed with snow.

Gurley followed my gaze. “Not up there, you ninny. Or who knows, maybe. But we're not going to go hiking around aimlessly- I'm certainly not going to go hiking around anywhere-no, start your search here. Back at 520. Start with the book. I trust you came up with nothing?”

“No sir,” I said. “Nothing yet.” I'd stayed in the office until midnight, staring at the book until the watercolor maps seemed to animate, its rivers flow and grasses glisten after a rain. Which seemed like more than a book could or should do, so I had closed it and crept back to the barracks for sleep.

Gurley shook his head. “Well, of course I didn't expect a child prodigy. Just someone to put in the tedious work of comparing the book's maps to ours, quadrant by quadrant, feature by feature. Tedious work-you can see why I thought of you.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but didn't utter a sound when I saw Gurley's face harden into the one he assumed before delivering a blow. “Sergeant Belk,” he said, low and even. “One balloon, one explosion, one leg. I almost had my war taken from me.” He straightened up. “I barely held on to my commission. I had to fight to even get posted to this godforsaken place. They'd rather have me in a bathrobe and wheelchair in Princeton. If we fail to find more balloons, or worse still, find one and handle it injudiciously-if I lose the second leg-or a hand, or an arm, or an eye, or the skin off my fucking face-it won't matter how much I yell. I'll be shipped home before the blood's even soaked through the bandages.” He took a deep breath. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“I shall close by letting you in on a final secret,” Gurley said. “A trifle compared to all that I have told you so far, but still, a secret, and an important one nonetheless.”

“Sir?”

“Right, then: I know almost nothing about defusing bombs.”

He paused.

“And thus, I shall leave those details… to you.”

I could only stare at him. He wore the same bomb disposal insignia I did. I'd assumed that when he'd gotten himself assigned to this mission he had picked up the bomb disposal training that went with it. Of course he would have. He'd learned, hadn't he, the price explosives exacted from the ignorant?

“Sir,” I began, searching for the best way to phrase this. He was an officer, I was the sergeant. The way things worked-

“You're incapable of this?” Gurley asked. “I was told you were the best in your class. Now that I have had some time to observe you, I can see that it was not much of a class, but still, I had certain expectations.”

“Sir,” I began, thinking back to Manzanar, the pit, Sergeant Redes, and the “rare” fuze pocket that had simply fallen out of the bomb. Damnedest thing. I tried again. “Our training was-I mean, didn't you- well-there was always, you know, an officer who actually did the, well, the last part. That's procedure, proper procedure and all.”

“So I understand,” said Gurley. “And so it was here, until recently. But, as I believe I've said, they've been trying to shut me down. Starve me. I used to have a full detail, including a young lieutenant, planning to read history at Oxford when this was all done.” Gurley's actor's mask fell for a moment, and then he resumed. “I must admit, I took a certain shine to him, although he was given to a younger man's ways. And, of course, he was no good at his job, or I assume as much, because he blew himself right up on the team's second mission.”