The Eastern Shore of Maryland
1993
Eden Interrupted
Kevin Ward slowed his Land Rover to a crawl before turning off the narrow macadam road and onto a rutted dirt track that bisected a field of newly harvested corn. At the field’s edge, a thick belt of cockspur and black willow separated the field from the eroding effects of the Sassafras River’s watery fingers. Each year Kevin leased the land to an Amish tenant farmer who preferred to work it with horse and plow. Now shorn of its crop, the dark earth lay barren. Where before green stalks had spread open to the sky, only naked dirt and scavenging redwing blackbirds remained. In time, autumn rains would flatten the earth and wash away its scant bounty. The birds would have to move on to more promising ground.
Kevin had come here three years ago to photograph the wild birds that made the fields and wetlands their home. The blue herons and especially the common egrets, with their brilliant white plumage, took center stage in his “Big Bird” series. The National Geographic Foundation had paid him handsomely for his efforts. Kevin fell in love with the scores of mini-islets that fanned out from the shore and into the shallows of the Sassafras River. The largest of these was called Egret’s Roost. After six months of camping in this unspoiled Eden, Kevin decided he wanted to make it his home. It took him months of research into who owned the rectangle of ninety-six acres that beat back the water’s siege, but more importantly who held the title to the other fifty reed islets that formed a haphazard barrier to the river’s rough waters or the occasional storm. Kevin was determined to buy the land and as many of the islands as he could, especially Egret’s Roost. He steered the Land Rover over the uneven terrain, passing a sign nailed to a post that read: NO HUNTING OR FISHING ALLOWED. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED. A sudden wind teased the earth, forming dust devils that swirled up and then faded away. These made Kevin smile. He was glad he could still smile.
After parking on a small concrete pad, he checked his wristwatch. It was just past eight in the morning. Kevin was dressed in his usual cool weather clothes, a dark blue flannel shirt, worn denim jeans, and rough suede ankle boots. Taking a deep breath, he looked out over the wetland and relaxed for what felt like days but in reality had been only hours. The musty soil seemed to scream, “Welcome home!” Eager to be on his island, Kevin had driven all through the night—sped, really. His life had changed forever. There was no more hiding his sexuality from his parents, or anyone else for that matter. After he had graduated from the University of Delaware with a degree in marine biology, hid father had taken the news that Kevin had decided on a career in photojournalism with peaceful, if grim acceptance. Kevin’s coming out as a gay man was a far different matter. In a torrent of angry insults, he and Kevin had burned all their bridges over Kevin’s uneaten birthday dinner.
“Never come back! Do you hear me? As far as you’re concerned, you have no mother or father. We are out of your life! And as far as we’re concerned, you don’t exist! Do you understand me? Now get out!” His father had yelled all this, and much more. Kevin’s mother had not spoken. She hadn’t wept. She had simply stood next to the dining table where the food was getting cold. The light that always glimmered when she looked at him was gone.
Kevin went to his childhood bedroom and repacked his battered leather carryall bag, along with a framed photograph of himself. His father had taken the picture the day Kevin won the state swimming championship. He gave the photo a quick glance and remembered how embarrassed he had been in the speedo swimsuit that left nothing to the imagination—not that he had anything to be ashamed of. Even now his body still possessed the same hard definition of a swimmer’s build and his hair remained an unmanageable mane of ash blond curls. The only feature the picture failed to capture was the deep green color of his eyes. Kevin sighed a combination of grief and relief, and then left the house he’d grown up in without a backward look. Free from the deep darkness of the proverbial closet, Kevin found he was suddenly an orphan with two living parents. It was the most upside-down feeling he’d ever experienced. He shook his head as if to knock loose a bad thought. It didn’t work. In his heart he ached, but in this he knew he wasn’t unique. Soon he would be on his island, safe from hurt.
* * *
Kevin pulled his bag from the front seat and locked the car door. A flat-bottom boat rocked lazily next to the dock near where he had parked. Kevin quickly removed the boat’s cover and switched on the electric outboard motor. Within moments he was quietly threading his way around small islets held together with mud and marsh reeds. His stilt cottage was on the largest of these. He’d built it in a way that would be as unobtrusive as a human habitat could be in such a wild place as a tidal wetland. One more turn and the boat glided to a floating dock as if it knew the way. He was home, his private retreat.
The Illusion of Privacy:
1992 How Kevin Ward Became a Spy
Kevin opened the door and stopped short. A cigarette’s strong odor hung in the air. He looked around the living room. No one. What’s more, Samson, his one-hundred-ten-pound Rottweiler, was not there to greet him. Where can he.... Kevin heard a noise in the kitchen. With no weapon to rely upon and Samson absent, the only thing to do was confront the intruder with righteous indignation.
“Who the hell are you?” Kevin shouted at a man who was in the process adding the finishing touches on a platter of fried eggs and hash brown potatoes. Samson, who had been standing by the rear door, moved to Kevin’s side, nuzzling his head against Kevin’s leg. Kevin returned the gesture with a pat on the dog’s head.
The big man, dressed in a black knitted military-style sweater, khakis, and black leather boots, turned around, looked up and said, “Good! You’re back and just in time for breakfast. I thought I was going to have to eat alone. I hope you don’t mind. I must say you have a well stocked larder.” The man said all this as he put a second plate on the table. “But I haven’t eaten since yesterday. By the way, your pup is not much of a guard dog. He let me in without so much as a woof.”
“Samson let you in, but I guarantee he wouldn’t let you out.... It’s how he’s trained.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Kevin replied evenly. “Really.”
“By the way, who takes care of your dog when you’re away? Does he not have to be let out?”
“There’s a trapdoor in the bedroom floor with a ramp. I taught him how to open and close it. There’s a woman in Chestertown who keeps him for me if I’m going to be gone more than a few days.”
Why am I talking to this man about my dog!
“Ah, I wondered what the trapdoor was for.”
“You saw it?”
The big man grinned. “It is my job to notice these things.”
The man’s accent was unmistakably Israeli. Joshua Kedar, Kevin’s lifelong best friend, was Israeli. This man’s accent and cadence was the same. The difference was Joshua was short, rail thin, and a rabbinical student, whereas this man was tall and very large, and he didn’t strike Kevin as a student of religion.
Kevin crossed his arms and cleared his throat. “Getting back to basics, I asked who you are.”
“Correction. You asked who the hell I am. Were you not told that when you resort to profanity, you lose?”
“Hell isn’t profanity. It’s geography,” Kevin said sourly. “Now may I have your name? I’ll need it when I talk to the police.”
“You may call me Gideon.”
“Gideon? Is that all, no last name?”
“I fear Gideon will have to do, you understand.”
Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't understand why a stranger was in his house. “Umm, look, Mister Gideon, it’s not even nine in the morning and already I have a headache. I’m....”
“To be accurate, the time is ten after nine, and of course you have a headache. You need food. Sit. Eat. And it is not Mister, it is just Gideon.”
Kevin frowned at Gideon. “Wait a minute.... How did you get here? There wasn’t a boat at my dock. You didn’t walk across the water... did you?”
This elicited a low chuckle from the big man.
“No, I came by boat, however, there is a precedent. One of my relatives is said to have walked on water. As far as I know it has never been done since.”
Kevin frowned. “Very funny.”
Kevin took this in, along with the fact that a man had broken into his house without leaving a trace of damage. He’d seen enough espionage docudramas to sense he was in the presence of danger. “Let me guess. You’re from Mossad.”
Gideon gave Kevin a Cheshire Cat smile. “Not exactly. You have guessed my background. However, the Institute is in my past, not my present. By the way, that is what mossad means—institute. At any rate, I work for a very different kind of organization now.”
Gideon then turned more serious. “Mister Ward, the people who sent me want your expertise in photography and videography. They asked me to talk to you about it. Bad people are doing bad things in places that are difficult to penetrate. We want to know who, what, where, how, and when. Nothing more. No editorializing, no commentary. A picture being worth a thousand words, as they say. That is where you come in.”
“You want me to be a spy!” Kevin exclaimed. “Are you crazy?”
“A spy? Well, not exactly; however, if you do get caught....”
Kevin held his hands up, palms out. “Oh, no! No way! Not I, said the little red hen—I’m no hero.”
“Neither are you a chicken.”
“Very well. Let me put it in human terms. N-o.”
Gideon didn’t react. He simply sat in silence and gazed at Kevin, as though to frustrate him by his mere presence.
After a while Kevin broke the tension, saying, “Why me? Your people, whoever they are, have got to know that I’m nobody. There must be better-known folks in my field. My expertise is wildlife documentation, not mayhem.”
“The fact that you are, as you say, an expert without fame is precisely why you were chosen.”
“Chosen? Do you mean I’ve been watched?” Kevin gasped in disbelief. “I’m a citizen of the Republic for God’s sake! You can’t spy on people here!"
Gideon ignored Kevin’s outburst, looking over at Kevin’s plate instead. “You have not touched your food. You know, Mister Ward, there are children in this world for whom those few bits of potato and egg could easily mean the difference between life and death. Believe me when I tell you, some would literally kill for half as much.”
Kevin felt at once angry that a stranger had chastised him in his own home, and yet he was ashamed because he knew the stranger was right.
***
It was well past twelve noon by the time Kevin and Gideon finished washing the dishes. Nearby, Samson lay in the down position, watching.
“Tell me,” Gideon said as he turned off the water faucet, “how do you get fresh water all the way out here?”
“It’s pumped out from a well on the mainland. The sewage and gray water is pumped into a septic tank back onto land. I designed the house myself. Aside from the glass windows, which as you can see are quite large, the whole structure is made of cypress, even the roof. There are no nails—it’s all wood pegged. I’m an amateur in most all respects, but I believe I did okay.”
Gideon looked around and said, “You also heat with a wood burning fireplace and you read by kerosene lamps. Don’t you think fire in a wooden house is begging trouble?”
“I thought about that, but I take care not to be clumsy.”
Gideon went to one of the big windows and looked out at a clump of marsh reeds. A redwing blackbird clung to one of the reeds, causing it to bend in a graceful arc. A breeze ruffled the water’s surface into miniature waves.
Gideon turned and asked, “What do you do all alone out here?”
Kevin shrugged. “I spend my mornings and my evenings listening to jazz. I’m becoming rather fond of the 1950s French style. During the day I take photographs of my little world. When the water isn’t too cold I swim in the river. It keeps me in shape for my work. My cameras are quite heavy. I also read. I’m sloughing through what college dons like to call the classics. You know, Gideon, it seems to me that people don’t read much these days. Most of what they get in the way of knowledge is via this new Internet thing. Sad, really, since so much of that is bogus or at the very least uninformed opinion, but you’d be mistaken to think I’m all alone. I have more birds keeping me company than I can count, and believe it or not, the ones I can get close to display a remarkable tolerance, even fondness for me.”
Gideon argued, “Still you have to admit, it is a cramped existence. Do you truly like living on such a small island as this?”
Kevin shook his head. “I’ve lived in big houses and small ones like this. But in the end all we’re allowed is just six feet, or as Shakespeare says in Richard II, ‘that small model of the barren earth which serves as paste and cover to our bones.’”
“So, I find myself in the presence of a philosopher,” Gideon said, smiling. “I must be on my guard.” He looked around and shook his head. “It is too remote for my tastes. I like cities.”
Kevin wiped his hands on a cloth towel and walked into the living room. Gideon followed. Kevin checked his wristwatch. “It’s after twelve.... I don’t keep whiskey here,” Kevin said, “but I do have drinkable sherry, if you’d like a glass.”
“Yes, thank you. That would be most welcome.”
Kevin and Gideon sat opposite one another on sofas that flanked the stone fireplace. Gideon picked up his glass and took a sip of Kevin’s sherry, letting its smooth warmth fill his mouth. He toasted Kevin with a smile. “Excellent!”
“I’m glad you approve.” Kevin did not return the smile.
***
They sat and talked of war, of solitude, and liberty—which Gideon was eager to point out, was not the same as freedom—and responsibility. “We are our brother’s keeper,” he said.
***
The long shadows of evening were spreading across the marsh. The sherry was nearing the bottom of the bottle. A sudden chorus of birdcalls broke the air. Some croaked, some cawed, others chirped.
Gideon instinctively cocked his head with wary attention.
“It’s okay,” Kevin said. “The birds are saying goodnight to one another.”
Gideon finally came to the point of his mysterious visit.
“Are you aware of what is happening in Bosnia?”
“Yes,” Kevin replied without further comment.
Gideon leaned forward in his chair and put his fingertips together. Kevin waited.
“The news reports are all over the map,” Gideon said. “The people who sent me to you want the United States and NATO to stop the bloodshed, but first they need to know the true situation. That is why we need you. It is vital that you document what is happening—just as it is, not how other people want it to be.... Do you understand?”
Kevin sat in silence, his face an unmoving mask.
“Well, Mister Ward. Will you help?”
Kevin heaved himself from his chair and lit a kerosene lamp before saying, “Tell me more.”
***
Kevin and Gideon talked deep into the night. Every objection Kevin proffered for not getting involved was overcome with Gideon’s ironclad logic. After a while Kevin stopped their conversation. “Listen. I have a problem.”
The big man leaned forward and glared at Kevin. “Mister Ward, the world is in trouble. People are dying miserable deaths, and you, sitting in your private paradise, cosseted in comfortable seclusion, have a problem? What exactly is this problem?”
“It’s your name, or rather, lack of one.... That’s the problem. I feel ridiculous calling you Gideon without knowing your last name.”
The big man regarded Kevin for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “Very well. If you insist on a name, you may call me Gideon Feller. Now, may we continue?”
“Is Gideon Feller your real name?” Kevin asked, not trying to disguise his skepticism.
“Does it matter?” Gideon replied.
“No. I suppose not.”
“Good. I am going to leave a cell phone with you. It does not make out going calls, and it will cease to function once a call has been received and the connection is terminated.”
“How long do I have before I make a decision? I do have a life, you know. I’m scheduled to go to Minnesota and then to Washington.”
“You have one month. Please do not disappoint us. It is very important. Oh, I should warn you that instinct might urge you to speak of our meeting with someone—a close friend or colleague, for example. I trust you will be discrete. The fewer people who know about this, the safer you will be. You will receive a call in thirty days. If you agree to help, you will be given instructions at that time. Remember... thirty days.”
“I’ll remember. I will say that all this makes me very nervous.”
“That is good. If you were not, I would worry about your sanity. A great deal is being asked of you. You will risk much and never be able to take credit for any good you may do.”
The two sat in silence. Kevin wondered if he’d wake in the morning and find it had all been a dream.
“Umm... I don’t suppose I get a password or a codebook. That’s if I decide to do this.”
Gideon shook his head in mock disbelief. “Stick to your birds and stop reading too many badly written spy novels. Real life is simple... you live, and then you die. The rest is just imagination.”
Gideon stood and went to the door.
Kevin looked up.
“Where the hell are you going?” he asked.
“I am leaving.”
“You can’t just walk out the door! It’s dangerous! Gideon, there are parts where the marsh will swallow you without a trace. Believe me, unless you know where you are and where you want to go it’s not safe. You don’t know your way around.”
“There is a boat waiting for me.”
“A boat? I didn’t hear a boat,” Kevin said.
Gideon smiled another Cheshire Cat smile. “Of course not. You were not supposed to.”
Kevin sat and watched the door close almost without a sound, leaving him alone. He picked up the chrome cell phone Gideon had left and frowned at the polished metal. I wonder if it dissolves when I’m through with it.
Kevin fished his own phone from his shirt pocket and pressed the autodial. He got a recording. This is Joshua. Please leave your message after the tone.
“Josh, it’s Kevin. Can we meet? It’s important. I can be in Manhattan by noon tomorrow. If I don’t hear from you by six tomorrow morning, I’ll assume we’re on.... Thanks”
