Maximum Warp
Chapter 12: The Enemy Within

To answer Grant’s question – “where to?” – we had to make another decision first.

“Janet,” I said, “I know we had a bad start today. . . .”

Janet interrupted me. “A bad start? No, I wouldn’t say that. Maybe you’d say Henry Ford had a bad start. Bankruptcy and all that. Or Leonardo DiCaprio – I mean, his first movie was ‘Critters 3,’ if you can believe it. Those . . . those were bad starts. What WE had was a Category Five Shitstorm!”

“Well, okay. Sure. . . .”

“So I don’t suppose you’d consider goin’ someplace like Bolivia?”

“Bolivia? No! Janet . . . I’m not ready to give up yet.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Of course not. You’d give lessons in stubborn to mules, cats, and Captain Ahab.”

“But I need to know . . . .”

Again, she cut me off. “Oh, I’m in,” she said. “I’m seriously opposed to doin’ shit that gets either of us shot – or, in your case, shot again – but with that minor caveat, sure. Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m actually good with not getting shot, too.”

“So glad we got that part ironed out,” she said.

I thought for a moment. “We need to find a place to stay. I need a change of clothes, since I can’t be seen like this without attracting sharks or scaring children. And . . . we need to get back in touch with Dr. Livingston. I think she’s our best hope right now.”

Grant sat silent through this exchange. Should I ask his opinion? He had been helpful with the goons, but . . .

At least, I thought, I could trust him to be honest. “Mr. Grant, I appreciate your willingness to help. But you have your own duties, your own allegiances. If you bring us somewhere, won’t you have to tell someone else where that is? I don’t want to put you in a compromising situation.”

He gave me a steady look and a half smile. “Perceptive, Professor. My only allegiance is to my country. Period. This morning, that meant that I was willing to take you into custody at the direction of the Undersecretary. This afternoon, that meant I felt compelled to assist you in escaping people who were attempting to detain you under false pretenses. But I can’t promise that I won’t arrest you later, if I conclude that duty requires it.”

Janet gave an unladylike snort. “Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning?"

“Probably nothing so drastic, Professor,” Grant’s tone was serious, though his eyes displayed a gleam of appreciation. “But I can’t disagree with the general thrust of your analysis.”

“What would you suggest we do, then, Mr. Grant?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “I suggest that you have me drop you at a metro station; the nearest one is at Bethesda. From there, you can go wherever you like. Catch a train to Philadelphia, or a flight to Bolivia. Or, find a hotel, a place to buy clothes, new burner phones . . . just about whatever you want. And, if you need to reach me again, I’ll have my normal cell phone with me within an hour of leaving you.”

He thought for a moment longer. “Ah . . . I think you are right about the Science Adviser. For whatever my opinion on that subject may be worth.”

So we took off for the metro. After a couple minutes, I suggested that our former captors should probably be released from the aliens’ tractor beam. I had no way to know whether they actually were. I couldn’t bring myself to be too concerned about it.

Just before we arrived at the station, the skies opened up and it began to pour – a very typical event in the D.C. area in the summertime. “The day just keeps getting better,” I sighed.

“No, it’s perfect!” Janet said, looking pleased. When we arrived, she looked around and spotted what she was looking for. “Gimme two minutes,” she said, jumping out and dashing to a kiosk by the entrance to the metro.

When she returned, she handed me a disposable poncho and donned one herself. “That’ll hide a multitude of sins,” she said. “Which is good, since you seem to be a walkin’ advertisement for the sacrament of confession. She cocked her head and gave me a critical look. “Even if it’s not the most stylish thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Gee, thanks!” I said in response. Then I touched Grant’s arm. “Thank you. For the ride and the advice. But mostly for being honest.”

He smiled. “Good luck . . . Jessica.”

I squeezed his arm, put up the hood of my poncho, and hopped out of the car. Janet and I raced to the Metro through the downpour and started down the escalator.

Janet was a step behind and above me. She leaned down and sang into my ear, “If you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with!”

“Janet!!! It’s not like that – at all!”

“Really?”

“Really! Honestly, I don’t know where you get your ideas.”

“Well . . . you may not intend to be flirtin’, but it’s possible – bear with me here – that guys may not see it the same way.”

“I . . . ah . . . what? Flirting?”

“It’s pretty amazing, really,” Janet responded. “Even objectively unattractive men – which our friend the Duke most definitely isn’t – often think a woman who is just being kind, or polite, or whatever, must really be signaling attraction.”

“You mean . . . “

“Yeah. As in, ‘drag him off to bed, jump his bones, shag him ragged and bear his children’ kind of attraction.”

“Horsefeathers! I have no recollection of thinking that way even once during the sixty-plus years I roamed the earth as a male!”

“Horsefeathers? Seriously? You know how ridiculous that sounds, comin’ from a seventeen-year-old girl? They’ll lock you up!” She shook her head. “Jessica, honey, I hate to break it to you, but James Wainwright was not a typical man. In too many ways to even begin to count.”

But I wasn’t focused on that. Grant? Really? “You don’t think . . . ?”

“Of course I think,” she laughed. “I’m a full professor. It’s what we do.”

We got to the bottom of the escalator and went to buy tickets. “Any idea where we should go?” Janet asked.

I looked at the schematic of the Metro system. Bethesda’s station was on the Red Line, and I looked down the names of the other stations on that line. “I’ve at least heard of Dupont Circle,” I said with a distinct lack of confidence. “I think it’s a big commercial area, right? We should be able to find places to shop and to stay.”

Janet was carrying the purse, so she got us tickets and we made our way to the platform.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

I thought a minute. “Burner phones, then a quiet place to make calls. Preferably a hotel, but we can’t waste time. We need to find out what Livingston’s doing.”

The train was busy and the car was full. We were in a crush by the door, but I didn’t want to wait for another train. After the events of the past few hours, I felt very vulnerable. Who were all these people? Were any of them working for . . . well, whoever Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were working for? How would I know? The space between my shoulder blades itched, just thinking about it.

As the train braked for the next station, I was thrown slightly off balance. I felt hands steady me . . . and then linger. And start to wander.

“You okay, babe?” asked a fruity voice behind me. His hands didn’t release me.

I snapped. In a loud and confrontational voice, I said, “If you don’t get those hands off me RIGHT NOW, you’re going to be picking your goddamned nose with your elbow!”

“Hey, hey, just trying to be helpful!” the voice said, sounding both offended and defensive. But the hands let go. Fast.

“Perv,” snarled Janet. “Pick on someone your own age – or at least, your own species! Yech!”

The fruity voice squeaked “Owww!”

“Oh, sorry,” said a rough, deep voice.

I managed to turn around enough to see an enormous man with a cold smile looking at a middle aged guy with a pot belly who was rubbing his head.

“I didn’t see you way down there,” the big man softly. “I hope I didn’t make you miss your stop here.”

“It’s not my . . . .“ The shorter man stopped talking, as the big man’s facial expression registered. Then he said, very quickly, “Thanks for reminding me,” and scurried out just as the doors opened.

Janet gave a derisive snort.

The big man looked at me, and his expression cleared. “Ma’am,” he said, with a nod.

I nodded back. “Thank you.” But I turned back around, purposefully limiting contact. I was happy that the horrid little man had gotten a scare, but I didn’t know who the big guy was. I wasn’t feeling very trusting. Besides . . . I was still processing Janet’s admonition about inadvertent flirting. Not for the first time, I thought, girl stuff is hard.

He got off at Tenleytown, which made me feel safer, though worse about not trusting him. Janet leaned in close to say, “He is the Brute Squad!”

We got off four stops later, fortunately without further incident.

The escalator at Dupont Circle was the longest I’d ever seen. Coupled with the eerie light and rain coming from the distant top of the massive shaft, I felt like I was being taken up to heaven. But unlike Iowa, no one would ever mistake D.C. for heaven. Ever. Especially not at the end of July. The whole damned city felt like a giant sweat gland.

“Good work back there, Jessica,” Janet said as we took the long ride.

“Really? I just blew up.”

“Bein’ a girl doesn’t mean you need to be a victim,” she responded. “There’s no reason not to call bullshit on that kind of behavior, loudly and in public. Throwin’ a bit of style into the mix – I liked the nose-pickin' line, by the way – well, that’s just addin’ bacon to a burger.”

When we finally finished our ascent from the underworld, we found that we had practically been delivered to an AT&T store. We went in and Janet got a couple phones and SIM cards. Finding a place to actually use them was more difficult. In the end, we decided that the best we could do was the middle of the traffic circle itself, keeping the hoods of our ponchos up. It was still raining, though fortunately it was no longer a suffocating deluge.

The first thing I did was to call Janet’s new phone. When she answered, I said, “Worm, I assume you are monitoring. Please call one of these two numbers when we hang up, hiding the location from which your call originated.”

Half a minute later, I received a call from “Bismarck, North Dakota.” “Good afternoon, Ensign,” I said. “Thank you for your assistance this morning – and this afternoon.”

“Shucks, Ma’am, ‘twern’t nothin’,” Worm replied in his animated voice. Losing affect like a punctured dirigible loses altitude, he continued, “We appreciate willingness your to continue.”

“It may not look like it, but I still think we made progress this morning. I need to make some calls, but I can’t have them traced. Can you make the connection, making it appear that my calls originate from different locations?”

“Affirmative, Jessica James.”

“Can you get a number for Doctor Averil Livingston, the President’s Science Advisor?”

After a moment, Worm said, “We have a number for the Office of the Science Advisor.”

“That’ll do,” I said. “Put me through . . . and have the call appear to originate from the Office of the Undersecretary for Science and Technology, Department of Homeland Security.”

Worm did not respond, but I could hear ringing, followed by a young woman’s voice. “Office of the Science Advisor, Kara McDaniels speaking.”

“Good afternoon,” I replied. “This is Jessica James; I spoke with Doctor Livingston this morning. Is she available?”

“Doctor Livingston isn’t in the office today. Can I take a message, or send you to voicemail?”

I hadn’t expected that. Janet and I shared a puzzled look, and I said, “Is there a way that I can reach her? It’s urgent.”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave a message.”

“Was she supposed to be in the office today?”

“We don’t give out that information,” the woman huffed. “You can leave a message, or call back another time.”

I opted for the latter, then called Worm back. “No luck there, Ensign. Any other numbers associated with Doctor Livingston?”

“I have a number associated with A. Livingston in something called ‘McLean, Virginia.’”

“Let’s try it. Have the call originate from the Science Advisor’s Office.”

It was a long shot, but – much to my surprise – a male voice answered. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon. I was wondering whether Doctor Livingston was home today. She’s not in the office.”

“She was going there as far as I know, though she had an early meeting she had to go to first. Try her cell.”

I couldn’t very well admit that I didn’t know her mobile number – not if I was calling from her office. I thanked him and rang off.

“Worm,” I said, calling him back again, “Do you have any other numbers associated with Doctor Livingston?”

“Negative.”

“Really?” I was frustrated and more than a bit concerned. “How is that possible? We know she has a cell phone.”

“Why don’t you try using two Dixie cups with a string?” Worm asked.

“What? Not helpful, Worm!” I said, surprised.

“We don’t care. We don’t have to. We’re the phone company.”

Based on his animated tone, as well as the barely relevant and not terribly helpful substance of his remarks, I assumed Worm was quoting something, though it sounded far too accurate to be from an advertisement.

Janet, at least, was amused. Very amused.

I told Worm we needed to give some thought to our next steps and ended the call.

“We need to get out of sight and out of the rain,” I said. “There’s bound to be a hotel near here.” But we were unable to discern one from where we were.

“There was a bookstore across from the phone place,” Janet said. “Looked legit, too. Someone there might know.”

“I’m supposed to let you into a legitimate bookstore? We don’t have all week!”

“Really, Jessica!” She gave my arm a pat. “I don’t know where you get your ideas!”

“Long and careful observation.”

She laughed, but despite my misgivings, we went to the bookstore and Janet was able to find someone – after three tries – who knew the area well enough to tell us where we might find a hotel. I even managed to get Janet out of the place without resorting to force or violence. I couldn’t blame her, really – it is a good bookstore. They even had a copy of . . . well. Never mind.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, we were ensconced in a hotel room. Janet had, by some alchemy, gotten the manager to buy the story that she had lost her credit card, so we paid cash and her card wasn’t run. I was eager for a shower, but I decided to let Janet take the first one. We were both soaked anyhow.

I had an ulterior motive for my magnanimity, and for once Janet didn’t pick up on it. Once she was in the shower, I called Worm. “Can you connect me to Professor Gavin Grimm? I believe Janet called him from her cell phone, and she had a direct number.”

“I record have,” Worm replied. “Where from should the call come?”

“Professor Seldon’s cell phone.” I wasn’t certain he would answer, but I figured a guilty conscience might help.

He picked up immediately. “Janet, I’ve only got a minute. I don”t have an update for you.”

“This is Jessica James,” I said coolly. “We’ve already gotten the essence of your report from Dr. Livingston and Dr. Singh.”

“What? That’s . . . I mean . . . .” His sputtering petered out.

“Professor, I don’t have time for this right now. We met with Livingston and Singh this morning. After the meeting, Dr. Livingston intended to brief the President. But we have some concern that she might have been intercepted. And detained.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know. But she may be in danger. Do you have her cell phone number?”

“Of course; she’s the co-chair of the SAB. But I’m not giving it out!”

“Fine. Don’t. But could you please call her? Make sure she’s all right? We would like to speak with her, so if you would give her Janet’s cell phone I’d appreciate it.”

He hesitated, uncertain. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes. I’m very worried.”

“Alright. I’ll call her.” He hung up.

“Worm,” I said, “Please track the names, numbers and locations of the people Professor Grimm calls.”

A few minutes passed. Janet was still in the bathroom, but out of the shower, when my phone rang. The caller ID – “Antananarivo” – made me smile. “What have you got, Ensign?”

“Professor Grimm a device called located physically in car parked near where you shot were.”

His word order was more tangled than usual, but I got it after a couple seconds. “A cell phone,” I surmised. “No answer, I assume?”

“Correct,” Worm said. “Professor Grim then the McLean number and Science Advisor’s Office called. Finally, Dr. Singh called. Ongoing.”

“Grimm called Singh?

“That is what said me.”

It wasn’t exactly, but it also wasn’t the best time for a grammar lesson. While I was considering the substance of what Worm had said, Janet came out of the bathroom toweling her hair. Seeing me on the phone, she raised an eyebrow in question.

“Worm,” I mouthed to her.

“Put him on speaker, would you?” Janet asked. When I did, she said, “Ensign, do you have a record of the vehicle that took us from where Jessica was shot to where she got medical treatment?”

“We identify the ‘vehicle’ can, Professor Seldon.”

“Do you have any way to locate it now?” Janet asked.

After a moment, Worm said, “Apologies. The area too large is.”

By this time, I’d figured out my next avenue of inquiry. “Did Grimm call Singh’s office number?”

“Wait . . . what does Grimm have to do with this?” Janet asked.

“In a minute,” I said. “Worm?”

“Negative,” Worm replied. “Was ‘cell phone,’ think me. Dr. Singh used this device in car he drove after you shot were.”

“Excellent! Where was Dr. Singh when Grimm called him?”

“In building,” Worm replied.

“Umm . . . where is the building located?”

“The State of Maryland, also identified as the ‘Old Line State,’ the ‘Free State,’ and the ‘Chesapeake Bay State.’”

“Old Lyme? Really? Thought that was in Connecticut,” said Janet.

“I you assure,” Worm began.

I cut him off. “Worm, Maryland is a big place . . . .”

“Affirmative. 12,407 square miles,” he agreed.

Worm’s view of relevance, like Janet's, can sometimes stray beyond the strictly practical. “Do you have location information within the Chesapeake Bay State?” I asked.

“The building on maps identified is, ‘Chevy Chase Office Park.”

“Hallelujah,” I muttered.

Janet interjected, “Worm, is the vehicle we were discussing near the ‘Chevy Chase Office Park?’”

Thirty seconds later, Worm said, “Affirmative, Dr. Seldon.”

“Hallelujah!” she echoed.

Worm said, “Professor Grimm ended call with Dr. Singh has and attempt to call Dr. Seldon’s ‘cell phone’ is. Connect should?”

“Yes!” I said, overriding Janet’s “huh?”

“Hello?” I said.

“Miss James?” It was Grimm.

“Speaking.”

“I . . . was not able to reach the Science Adviser.”

I waited, then, finally, said, “Did you learn anything, Professor? Dr. Livingston may be in danger.”

“You . . . I’m sorry. I can’t . . . you don’t . . . .” Grimm sounded at once worried, conflicted and apologetic.

Janet looked furious and drew a breath to speak.

I put a hand on her arm, got her attention, and shook my head. “Professor Grimm,” I said softly, “You know Dr. Livingston. You’ve worked with her. I believe she was prevented from making a report to the President concerning the technology you evaluated. What’s the right thing to do here?”

More silence. Finally, Grimm said, “Fuck it. This doesn’t smell right. But . . . I’m not sure where to go with it. You said she was going to brief the President?”

“That’s where she said she was going when she left us.”

“She couldn’t just show up unannounced. Luther Corbin would have cleared it.” He was thinking out loud.

“Corbin being?”

“The President’s Chief of Staff. I’ll call him, but . . . I don’t have much to go on.”

“And we don’t have much time. So . . . I’ll tell you what I know, and I’ll have to trust you with what you do with it. Dr. Seldon and I met informally with Dr. Livingston and Undersecretary Singh. At the conclusion of the meeting, Dr. Livingston appeared to be convinced that the President should be informed about the, ah, offer we were authorized to make. She took Dr. Seldon and me to a government facility and said she would come back for us after meeting with the President. Dr. Singh did not accompany us.

“Agents claiming to be working for three highly-placed officials came to collect us and falsely claimed they were taking us to the White House. We managed to escape not far from Bethesda. We have reason to believe that Dr. Singh intercepted Dr. Livingston and took her to a facility located at the Chevy Chase Office Park. We surmise we were being taken to the same place.”

“That’s bat-shit crazy. You know that.” Grimm sounded worried.

“You thought the same about our tech,” I reminded him.

“I know, I know! But . . . Why would anyone try to keep Averil from reporting to the President?” Before I could answer, he said, “Which officials are you talking about, anyway?”

“The goons identified three people; I don’t know whether they were being truthful.”

“Names, Miss James!” He was clearly impatient with my temporizing.

“Singh. Agnew. Tsong.”

“. . . unto the Lord?” asked Janet. “Yeah, not so much.”

“Janet? You’re there too?”

“Yeah, Gavin; Jessica’s tryin’ to keep me from talkin’ ’cuz she figures I’ll blow up at you or somethin.’”

“Wherever could I have gotten that idea?” I asked.

“It has been known to happen,” Grimm said, before adding, “but in fairness, I do sometimes give her cause. . . . Listen, I know Singh and this doesn’t seem like him. At all. And I can’t imagine why Defense and NSC would even be involved. At any level, much less the most senior.”

“Ah.” I knew this would need to be finessed somehow. “It likely has to do with the identity of the tech’s owners and the deal they are proposing.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Grimm asked.

I was about to answer when Janet forestalled me. “I’m sorry, Gavin. Dr. Livingston herself told us that was classified – ‘official secrets six times over,’ she said. We have to respect that – for the same sorts of reasons, I imagine, that you felt compelled to bring our data to the government’s notice without tellin’ us.” Amazingly, she managed the entire speech in a tone of regret that gave no plausible cause for offense.

Grimm may have wanted to take umbrage anyway – I expect he did, really – but he succeeded in restraining himself as well. Janet’s point was, after all, a valid one. “I . . . see,” he finally said. “But I certainly don’t want to stick my nose into this if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Professor,” I said, “can you think of any circumstance that would justify some bureaucrats detaining the President’s Science Advisor to keep her from making a report?”

“I can’t – but that might just be a failure of imagination on my part.”

“You, Gav? Unimaginative? Whodathunk?”

I looked at Janet and shook my head. “It’s like Grant said. Institutional paranoia, pure and simple.”

“Grant? Earl Grant?” asked Grimm.

“Dukkov Earl Grant,” Janet confirmed. “Works for your buddy Singh.”

“I wouldn’t say Singh is my ‘buddy.’ I’ve just worked with him. And I’ve met Grant. He’s solid.” Grimm sounded thoughtful. “Can he corroborate what you’ve told me?”

I said, “He can’t corroborate our information about where Livingston and Singh are – at least I don’t think he can. But he was with us up to the point that we escaped from the goons. He can corroborate the rest.”

“Ask him, Gavin,” Janet said, her voice dead serious.

Surprisingly, Grimm said, “I trust you, Janet, since you’d have to assume I’d check. I’ll call Corbin.”

I said, “Thank you. Will you let us know what he says?”

“Unless he tells me not to, Miss James. But he might.”

“Understood. Good luck.”

We signed off and I said, “Worm, please continue to monitor Professor Grim’s communications. The people he calls, what number, where they are.”

Janet was giving me a very old school glower. “Thought I didn’t need to know you were talkin’ to that snake Grimm, huh?”

“We’re running out of options, Janet, and I know you’re . . . ah . . . incensed wherever he is concerned.”

“You meant to say, ‘irrational,’ didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Only ’cuz you don’t want to get hurt,” Janet observed.

“There is that, I suppose.”

“Look, Hon, I know I sound irrational. I think I’ve got good reasons to have a bad opinion. But . . . I know our options are limited. Have a bit of faith, okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said contritely.

“Right. I’m gonna get us both a change of clothes. We passed a store getting here, so I’ll be quick and I’ll take the other phone with me in case you need to get me. Now take your phone into the bathroom and grab a quick shower.”

I nodded; it seemed very unlikely I’d hear back from anyone for a couple of minutes. In the bathroom, I practically peeled myself out of the clothes I’d worn all day and stepped into the shower. It took me considerably longer than I’d hoped to get rid of all the blood – especially the blood that had gotten into my long hair.

When I got out, I put on one of the hotel’s terry cloth robes, muttering darkly about the rank dishonesty of a “one size fits all” label. I wrapped my head in a towel and called Worm. “Can you tell me whether Professor Grimm’s been making any calls?”

“Called number listed for Office of Chief of Staff, then number for Dukkov Earl Grant. Ongoing.” Worm’s level voices gave a simulacrum of calm. It was probably just a coincidence.

“How long was the call to the Chief of Staff’s office?”

“47 seconds,” Worm replied.

That almost certainly meant he had left a message. Damn!

I was running out of ideas. I needed inspiration, but I had an idea where I might get some.

“Worm,” I said. “Connect me to Justin Abel, please.”

I heard ringing, followed by a deep, and deeply reassuring, voice. “Justin Abel.”

“Justin, it’s Jessica. Help!”

* * * * * *
There were just two entrances to the Chevy Chase Office Park. An hour and a half after I had spoken to Justin, I was watching one of them and Janet was watching another. Justin, bless him, had thought of a plan that did not require action by distracted and/or conflicted federal officials.

“Jessica,” he’d said, “Do what any good citizen would do. Call the cops.”

But not, of course, without getting good intelligence. So we knew that Singh, at least, was still in the building – or at least his cell phone was. We knew that at least three other people were with him, since their cell phones were active. And we knew that their government-issued cars were behind the building, near the exit that I was watching from a small park across the street.

It was full dark and the back door area was poorly lit – at least to the visible spectrum. But Worm’s sensors could “see” a lot better than I could.

I called Janet. “Ready?”

“Let’s kick the tires and light the fires!” she responded, with typical Seldon enthusiasm. Janet loved a little mischief and mayhem.

Showtime! “Worm, make the first call.”

“Police dispatch, how may I direct your call?”

“Dr. Livingston’s been kidnapped! We’ve located her car at the Chevy Chase Office Park. She may still be there!” I knew that the call would appear to be originating from Dr. Livingston’s office.

“Slow down, Ma’am,” said the dispatcher. “What’s your name?”

“My name’s Jessica James. I’m working with Dr. Livingston. She was kidnapped earlier today – carjacking, we think. But she doesn’t have her phone with her. We found the car she was driving and . . . Oh, please, hurry!” Okay, I was laying the “damsel in distress” vibe on a little thick, but we needed a little less talk and a lot more action.

It worked. “We’ll send officers to investigate right away. Can we reach you at this number?”

“Yes, I’ll be right here! Thank you, thank you!” Of course, if they dialed the Science Advisor’s Office, Worm would divert the call to me. That might not be legal – I suspected that it wasn’t – but they hadn’t asked and I decided that my speculation on the subject was at best uninformed. I’m a linguist, not a lawyer, I told myself. Quite firmly. Besides, the issue might never arise.

A few minutes passed and I was becoming increasingly anxious. But then I heard the sound I was waiting for – a siren. “Second call, Worm!”

The phone began ringing again. “This is Singh,” the Undersecretary said as he answered his cell phone. His caller ID should be indicating that the call originated in the National Security Advisor’s office.

I plugged my nose to disguise my voice. “Dr. Tsong directed me to tell you that your location has been discovered and that police are on their way right now. She’s been summoned to meet with the Chief of Staff.” I hung up before Singh could respond – or ask questions – then waited a bit longer.

I’d taken some convincing on this part, but Justin had been adamant. “Of course he'll be suspicious. It doesn't matter. He won’t have time to confirm it, and he’ll have to respect the threat.”

The sirens were clearly getting closer.

The back door opened and someone came out – just one person. I couldn’t tell the features, but – obviously male, and clearly alone. He walked around, looking left and right, then got into one of the cars and turned the ignition.

“Get ready, Worm,” I murmured.

Three people came out the door. One on his own, another “escorting” the third. “If you confirm the identity, Worm, execute!”

Suddenly all three figures appeared to stumble. Then the figure who had been ‘escorted’ shot into the sky almost too fast to see in the dim light. The other two figures regained their feet, looked around wildly, and began running around. I could hear them shouting, though I couldn’t make out everything they were saying. Short, blunt, very Anglo Saxon words seemed to predominate.

The sound of the sirens was very loud now.

I braced myself for what I knew was coming . . . and I shot into the sky myself. I had never moved so fast, or imagined that I even could. Wind was screaming past my hair and face, my eyes were watering, and I was very glad that Janet had gotten me a pair of pants – dressy, very fashionable pants, but pants nonetheless – rather than a skirt. In no time at all, I could see almost all of the greater Washington Metropolitan area.

I caught up with Dr. Livingston in mid-air; I assumed our proximity meant that we were close to the ship. Her eyes were screwed tight, and she was clenching her teeth to avoid screaming. We both slowed and matched speed.

It was now possible to hear something other than the sound of rushing air. “Doctor Livingston,” I said, loud enough for her to hear me.

Her eyes remained closed.

“Doctor, it’s okay. You’re safe.” I reached out with both hands and clasped her shoulders. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Her eyes opened a slit. Looked at me. “You’ve got me?” Then she looked down. “Who’s got you?”

“They call themselves The People – at least, that’s the translation,” I answered.

Our view of the city disappeared – probably just in time to preserve the Science Advisor’s composure. Light came on. We were back in the hold of the aliens’ ship. Worm, still in his pinstripes and flip-flops, was waiting for us.

Dr. Livingston’s eyes fell on our host. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

“You talkin’ to me?” Worm asked, animated.

“Not exactly,” I said quickly. “Doctor Livingston, this is Ensign Worm; I guess you would say he’s the liaison officer. Ensign Worm, this is Dr. Averil Livingston, the President’s Science Advisor.”

Livingston was still looking shell-shocked. I decided this might not be the best opportunity for interspecies communications. “Worm, may we have a moment please? Also – could you connect me to Dr. Seldon?”

“Yes, Jessica James. Moment.” He departed through the side door.

I got out my phone and waited until it connected. “Janet, I’ve got Dr. Livingston safe. What’s going on down there?”

Janet said, “Singh met the police at the door and had a discussion with ’em. A rather lengthy discussion. Then they all went inside. I assume that was just delayin’ things.”

“Great,” I said. “I need to talk to Dr. Livingston and determine where we should be dropped off. Meantime, why don’t you head back to the city? I should be back in touch in fifteen minutes or so.”

“Okay, Jessica – You both okay?”

“I guess so,” I answered. “A bit shook up though.”

“Damn, girl, you're much too tense. You're young. You need to relax, learn to take some joy in your work.”

I could hear the relieved smile in Janet’s voice, and found myself smiling in return. “I’ll try.”

“Good! Now get goin.’ And hey! Let’s be careful out there!”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Dr. Livingston was listening to the exchange, which I’d deliberately had on speaker. As I had hoped, it seemed to calm her down somewhat. After I’d ended the call, she said, “You meant what you said? They’re going to let us go?”

“Absolutely. They picked you up at my request. I thought Dr. Singh had detained you. If I was wrong, I apologize.”

“You . . . weren’t wrong. He was convinced that the . . . ah, aliens . . . posed a threat. He was afraid that I’d be able to convince the President that they aren’t . . . .”

“But . . . it’s the President’s call, isn’t it?” I asked, probably naively.

“Of course it is. But . . . well. There are folks who don’t necessarily trust him to make the right call.”

That seemed a bit presumptuous of them. “Okay. Well, the aliens would like to make a trade, as I said this morning. They want you to be able to talk to the President. I assume you would still like to?”

That seemed to put some starch back into her. “Hell, yes!”

“So, how can we make sure that you get that chance?” I asked.

She thought for a moment. “I guess I shouldn’t go back home, or to my office . . . . But I need to go somewhere I can make some calls. I need to call . . . .” she was thinking furiously. “Luther Corbin.”

“Professor Grimm has been trying to reach him for a couple of hours. No luck, I’m afraid.”

Worm's voice came through some sort of sound system. “Jessica James, I update have for you.”

I looked at Livingston.

She took a breath and nodded.

“Please come in, Ensign,” I responded.

He rejoined us. “Professor Grimm received call from Office, Chief of Staff. Ongoing. Also: Person carrying Dr. Singh cell phone left Chevy Chase Office Park with three other persons.”

“That should get Mr. Corbin up to speed – at least some.” I asked Dr. Livingston, “Do you have any idea where Singh might be headed?”

She shook her head. “I know he’s been in contact with Dr. Tsong and with Agnew over at the Pentagon off and on all day. Maybe he’s going to meet with them.”

“Will he ‘Get out of Dodge?’” Worm asked, carefully.

Again, she shook her head. “No. He can’t run. Probably wouldn’t if he could. He’ll fight.”

“Like Oh Kay Corral?” Worm’s unexpressive face nonetheless appeared to register distaste.

“No,” Livingston replied firmly. “He’ll have to try to convince the boss – my boss and his, ultimately – that what he did was justified. Or at least, that he thought he was acting in the country’s best interests.”

Worm studied her impassively, then looked back at me. “Jessica James. Your species, I doubt. Your ‘di-ver-si-ty.’ Elder must speak.” He turned abruptly and left the chamber.

Livingston looked worried. Very worried. “What did I say? What’s going on?”

“Dr. Livingston,” I said, “It’s complicated. I am convinced – completely – that The People mean no harm. But you need to understand that they aren't human. They think, reason, and communicate very differently than we do. They . . . .”

I stopped speaking when the door opened again. Worm entered, followed by the entity I had come to think of as the leader of the expedition, dressed as usual in the form and outfit of a character from Star Trek.

“Elder Mission Leader,” I said.

As before, the Elder chittered, and his voice was translated. The voice, as before, was Siri’s. “Jessica James. Doctor Livingston.”

“You’re the leader?” Livingston looked skeptical. Like Worm’s flip flops, the made-for-TV uniform didn’t exactly inspire confidence; it had been campy even back in 1968.

Siri translated the Elder's next batch of chittering, and evidently, he did not feel like answering questions. “Your people love chaos. Disorder. Even a simple trade offer creates disunity. It is distasteful. Very distasteful. Go talk to your Secretaries and Undersecretaries. Talk to your President.”

Worm added, “And his sisters and his cousins and his aunts.”

Livingston looked at me, baffled.

The leader chittered some more, and Siri’s voice resumed. “Talk to whoever you want. But understand this, Doctor Livingston. We will only deal with Jessica James.”

“But . . . Elder,” I tried to say.

“Jessica James does not represent the United States government,” Livingston pointed out.

The Elder chittered. “This is not a matter for discussion,” Siri’s cool voice translated. “We can’t deal with chaos. We can deal with Jessica James.”

“But why?” Livingston was bewildered.

Truth was, so was I.

The Elder chittered again. “We do not know whether we can work with your species. You make many many rules but do not follow them. You make solemn agreements and break them. No one language. No one culture. No single loyalty. You try to keep secrets from your swarm leader. But we have found one of you we can trust. So if you want to deal, you can talk to Jessica James. She has . . . . “

Siri’s voice stopped, then said, “I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t get that.”

“Huge tracts of land?” Worm tried.

“Worm!!!” I growled.

“No, not correct,” Worm said. “Tracts are too large.”

I stamped my foot. Honestly, I did. "Worm!"

He ignored me and chittered at the Elder, who chittered back at length.

Finally Worm turned back to us. “Your language no equivalent has. Not sure your species has. But closest this is. Elder says, ‘Jessica James has honor.’”

The chamber was quiet.

Dr. Livingston finally broke the silence. “I don’t doubt that she does,” she said, sounding very diplomatic. “But . . . .”

Worm interrupted her. “Dr. Livingston. That’s the way it is.”

They both turned and left the chamber.

Livingston looked at me, puzzled and distressed. “What the hell just happened here?”

“Beats me,” I said, though I was starting to have an idea or two. “Let’s get you somewhere you can make calls.”

“I’ll need my phone,” she said.

“I’ll loan you one,” I assured her. “And it can’t be traced.”

That earned me a funny look. “Fine then. Have them set us down . . . in the middle of Grant Circle, so long as no-one’s there. Pretty quick walk to the Metro, but almost always deserted.”

We made those arrangements with Worm, then let Janet know where to meet us. “Better make it a fast drop, Worm,” I said, fearing inadvertent discovery. “Just catch us before we hit the dirt, okay?”

I thought Dr. Livingston would be as fearful on the way down as she had been on the way up, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Now that she knew what was going on, she positively exulted in the free fall. “Yippee Kai-Aye!” she shouted, and laughed as we plummeted to earth.

I wanted to die, and thought I was just about to get my wish.

But the tractor beam broke our fall just in time, and we landed lightly on our feet in the middle of a small, poorly-lit park.

“Damn,” said Livingston, a fierce grin on her face. “That was a rush!”

“I’m surrounded by lunatics,” I said. “Deranged, cracked, loco, kooky, certifiably crazy people. The People are the only ones who make any sense, and they sound like the Marx Brothers. But hey, don’t mind me. Make your phone calls. I’ll just sit here and scream. Quietly, of course, so I don’t disturb the neighbors.”

We found a bench and sat down. The area was busier than I expected based on Livingston’s description; traffic wasn’t heavy, but six streets connected to the circle. Mercifully, no-one was in the park itself. We sat facing the two dark churches that dominated one quadrant – one Catholic, one Methodist, both empty. Not the best argument for diversity, I thought sourly. Though, to be fair, it was late, and a weeknight.

Turning my attention to the task at hand, I said, “How are you going to reach Corbin? It seems like he’s hard to get a hold of.”

To my surprise, she smiled. “Gavin would have to go through Luther’s office, and they’re well trained to understand that everyone who wants to talk to Luther thinks they’re dealing with an emergency, and almost all of them are wrong. But I know the number for his bat phone.”

“Is that a ‘know’ kind of ‘know,’ or is it a, ‘I saved the number on my phone’ kind of know?”

She chuckled. “That’s a very good question, but in this case I actually do know the number. Up here, I mean.” She tapped her head. “So, if you’ll be so kind as to lend me your phone?”

I handed it to her, and said, “Worm, have the call Dr. Livingston makes appear to originate from . . . .” I looked a question at Doctor Livingston.

“He can hear us?” she asked, startled.

I nodded.

“Oh!” She thought for a moment, then finally shook her head, resigned. “Have the call come from my cell phone, I guess.”

Once again, I heard only half of the conversation.

“Yes, it’s me. . . . He did? . . . I’m afraid that’s true, Luther. . . . Yes, I can confirm that too. He spoke with Doctor Tsong several times, and with Deputy Secretary Agnew at least twice. . . . Yes, they were. . . . Well . . . . I don’t want to discuss that over an open line. Any line, really. . . . Yes, I know. But this part’s a lot more serious. . . . A lot, a lot! . . . . Yes, of course. . . . Yes, Jessica James is with me right now. We’re expecting Professor Seldon shortly. . . . . Of course we can. . . . Yes, sir. . . . Yes. . . . I’m sure that Grant will come too. . . . I will ask James and Seldon. . . . No, sir, I don’t think that would be a good idea. At all. But I think they’ll want to. Yes, sir. I’ll see you in an hour.”

Livingston ended the call and stared at the phone for a minute.

“Well?” I asked.

“Corbin’s going to meet with us – all of us – in the EEOB at 11:30.”

“All of us?”

“Yes. Me, Grant, you and Doctor Seldon if you’re willing. . . ." She took a breath and looked down. "And Sing, Tsong and Agnew.” She looked – and sounded – surprisingly fragile.

“Doctor Livingston?”

She didn’t respond.

“Doctor? . . . Averil? Are you all right?”

She looked at me then, and her eyes were shadowed. “Yes, I think so. I’ve . . . .” She stopped, shook her head, and said, “I’m sorry, I was about to say I’ve had a bad day. But you were shot, for God’s sake. If you can keep going, I guess I can too.”

I’d been running on pure adrenaline all day, I realized. I closed my eyes for a moment. Tasted the tired in my bones. And the fear. I didn’t want to see those people again, did I?

“Doctor,” I asked, my eyes still shut, “This battery technology. I’m right, aren’t I? It’s important?”

I felt her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, yes, Jessica. Never doubt that for an instant.”

I sat a moment longer with my eyes closed. Something my dad used to say, decades and decades ago, bubbled up into the forefront of my brain. Funny; I hadn’t thought about Dad in forever. The tough old marine – I wonder what he would have thought if he’d known his son would be filling out a double-D underwire bra? I bet he'd have an opinion.

I smiled at the memory, opened my eyes and pulled myself to my feet. Looking across at the dark churches, I said, “Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”

. . . To be continued. Indefatigably.