The Recall
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

I was close to him in age, which is why they called on me, I guess. I was still assigned as “Active for Operations”, but I had not done a whole lot. That work is for younger men.

It was just that he had worked in the Ukraine, and now that was the place everybody wanted to understand. A lot of intelligence is about experience, and old connections. It is the kind of stuff that people retire with.

He was only in his fifties, but people do leave. It can be stressful work, so you choose your time. That time had not come for me, but I would never criticize another for leaving.

But you never really retire from the agency. What is in your head is Government Property, and if they want it, you have to turn up and hand it over.

I just went to the last address on file. It turned out to be a nice little cottage in a small street in a small town, a short walk from a modest main street. It had a white picket fence and tended rose bushes, and it looked well maintained and loved. That is the right word. It was lived in and cared for – it was a home. I know one when I see one, perhaps because I hadn’t lived in one since I was a kid.

I went up and knocked on the door, and she answered. I remember that my first thought was that she was a perfect match for the house – some age on her but somehow it made her more attractive to me. Well maintained in that she wore makeup, and her dark hair was styled nicely. If not loved, then she was worthy of it. Her smile warmed me.

“I am looking for Dabney Stoddard,” I said, returning the smile as best I could.

“I am Diana Stoddard,” she said. “Perhaps I can help? Please come inside.”

There was no record of a wife, but why should there be. His personal life was his own, after he had left. Was there hope for me after all? Could I find a wife with all the baggage I was carrying after years on active service?. I had to enter, even though I sensed that she was alone, if only to get a glimpse of the life of the lucky.

“I work for the Agency,” I said, as if she might know what I meant. “I worked with Dabney. I wanted to talk to him about coming back to his old job for a while, to help us out, on contract. Nothing dangerous. There would be remuneration, of course.” It was an old trick – tell the wife and she might put pressure on him.

“You didn’t work with Dabney Stoddard,” she said. “I would know. I was Dabney Stoddard.”

I was shocked. I mean I had heard all about transgender people and I knew that there were some real knock out girls who used to be boys, but I was not expecting this. She was attractive, and now I could see that she was not a small person, but to me she seemed totally feminine, and that thick dark hair had to be real.

“So, you are Diana now?” I said, to make light of whatever confusion was going on inside me. It had nothing to do with having lied about working together. We lie all the time and he would know that ... she would know that. “I don’t think that changes anything. You still have information and could still help us with what we are doing. We are not expecting for you to go into the field. It is back-room stuff. I am sure that you know what we need.”

“I do know, and I would have been happy to help. But knowledge or not, I am not the same person. Not anymore. I just can’t do it now.”

“Hey, once a spook always a spook, as they say,” I found myself saying.

“Next, you’ll be telling me ‘once a man always a man’,” she said. “I did all that was required when I was a man, but now that I am a woman, I have put aside manly things. I am not a destroyer - I am a nurturing person. I look after my home and my garden, and I hope that one day I will find somebody else to care for.”

I suddenly became aware that she had fulsome soft breasts visible through her partly open blouse. I had a sudden urge to bury my face between them and shut out the light, even if only for a moment. I said – “We need you”, but I wonder if what I really meant was ‘I need you’, or ‘I want you’.

“You’ll find somebody,” she said reassuringly, in an almost maternal way that I found strangely sexy. “There are so many aggressive young men out there who would love to be asked by their government to destroy the world. I used to be like that. Now I am me.” She struck a little pose that made me want to kiss her.

“People will be disappointed,” I said.

“Including you?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. “I would have liked to have got to know you better.”

“Are you in a hurry?” she said. “I could make some sweet tea? Or I have beer, or even some rye whiskey?”

I ended up staying the night, sharing a bed, and in the morning talking to her about how I could extract myself from the agency and live with her in that little cottage.

The End

(c) Maryanne Peters 2022