Maximum Warp
Chapter 18: Indiscretion

There were five people in the room, and I was shocked to discover that I knew them all. President Taryn was sitting in an occasional chair with its back to the Resolute Desk. Energy Secretary Britt and Defense Secretary Bradley shared a couch on the President's left, while General Aguia and Dr. Livingston, the Science Advisor, shared the facing couch on the President’s right, a garish version of the Presidential Seal marring the carpet between them.

As the door closed behind me, I said, “You can drop the illusion, Worm. And stop listening until I contact you.”

Nothing seemed to change as far as I was concerned – except that everyone else seemed startled. I looked at my hands and saw that the illusion had been lifted.

“Shadows avaunt, Jessica’s herself again,” the President said, a smile of child-like wonder on his face.

“Mr. President,” I said.

“Come in, come in,” Taryn waved us forward. “I gather you think it’s time to wrap all of this up. Such a shame. I was having so much fun.”

I sat next to Averil Livingston, Tanya Rodriguez-Tolland sat next to Secretary Bradley, and Luther Corbin took an arm chair opposite the President, situated at the other end of the two couches. What am I doing in this room? I thought.

“Before Professor James begins,” Corbin said, “You should know that someone just attempted to shoot her. Right outside the EEOB. He only failed because she isn’t as tall as the man she was impersonating.”

There were a babble of questions that newsmen asked back in the day – Who? How? Why? – but we obviously had no answers.

The President raised a hand. “Enough, everyone. Mr. Corbin, can you tell us what happened?”

He did, and his explanation was pithy. He managed to refrain from profanity, which was more than I could have done. I was profoundly tired of being shot at.

“Thoughts?” the President asked the group.

Averil looked puzzled. “Is it possible someone was trying to kill Ranveer? I mean . . . that illusion was very good.”

Aguia shook his head. “There would be no reason to expect that Dr. Singh would be there. So unless it was just a random act of violence, I’d say ‘no.’”

Remembering the killer’s eyes, I shivered. “It wasn’t random. He was focused. And his gun was loaded, safety off, and in his hand. He just pulled it from his windbreaker, aimed and fired. I didn’t have time to think.”

“Who else knew that you were meeting, and knew about the disguise?” Aguia asked.

“The aliens, of course. And their lawyer. That’s it on my end,” I responded.

“I only told the President the full story,” Corbin said. “At his request, I informed the rest of you that we would be meeting with Ms. James and why. Except for Mr. Britt, whom I was unable to reach, as I informed the President.”

The President looked sheepish. “I was a bit more loquacious when I talked to you, Grady.”

Britt bristled. “Well, I certainly didn’t tell anybody about the disguise or anything! It was obviously confidential!”

Everyone was looking at him with various degrees of skepticism. Methinks that Grady protesteth too much.

He had the grace to blush. “I mean, no one except the Department’s lawyer, whom I was meeting with when you called!”

“You weren’t in the office when I called you,” Corbin observed. “And you didn’t answer your cell phone.”

Britt flushed. “Are you accusing me of something, Corbin? Because if you are . . . .”

The President intervened. “Grady, stop. No one cares where you were meeting with Gillian, or why. What we need to know is what you told her, and when.”

“That’s confidential!” Britt sputtered.

“Not from me it isn’t,” the President said – mildly enough, under the circumstances. “As you well know. What and when, Grady?”

The two men glared at each other, but a stare-down between the President and someone who serves at his pleasure only ends one way. “Everything, and as soon as I got off the phone,” Britt said. Sounding incredibly defensive, he added, “She needed to know. She’s my lawyer! The alien’s lawyer knew about it, too!”

“Mine didn’t,” the Defense Secretary commented.

“None of mine did, either,” the President said. “’Course, I’ve got so many I can’t keep ’em all straight.”

“Call her now,” Corbin urged Britt. “Have her join us. If you can’t function without her counsel, however can we?”

“See here, Corbin!” Britt began.

“Where?” Corbin asked, rhetorically. Britt’s bluster didn’t appear to impress him much.

The President intervened again. “Go ahead and call her. We need to check each potential leak, stat.”

Looking furious, Britt pulled out his phone and hit speed-dial. After a moment, he said, “No answer. Happy?”

“Pookie?” Bradley, sitting to Britt’s left, was looking over the Energy Secretary’s shoulder.

“Hey! That’s private!!” Britt went from dull iron red to candy-apple red.

“Did you dial the right person, Grady?” Bradley asked, innocently.

“Yes!” Britt snapped. He looked around the room. “What? It’s a joke, okay? Humor, you know? Ha ha?”

“Gillian Dunlop is a ‘Pookie?’ Wow. I did not see that coming!” Bradley’s voice held a note of awe.

“It’s a private joke!” Britt replied hastily. “Very . . . ummm . . . I mean . . . God, don’t tell her!”

“A very inside joke,” Averil said with a slight grin.

“As in, ‘inside your own mind,’ perhaps?” I asked.

“When and where did you leave Ms. Dunlop, Mr. Secretary?” Aguia, clearly, was having no trouble restraining any urge to laugh.

Britt glared at him. “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

“Portuguese,” Aguia corrected.

“And surely no one ever expects the Portuguese Inquisition,” the President observed.

“This is complete bullshit!” Britt barked.

For once I agreed with what Britt was saying, though my reasons differed. And I was tired of it. Happily, unlike everyone else in the room, I was not constrained by the Fourth Amendment. I pulled out my phone and hit my own speed dial, pausing only to say “excuse me.”

No doubt this was a major breach of Oval Office protocol. Everyone else in the room suddenly stopped and stared at me. Good!

“Jessica James,” Worm’s voice answered.

“Ensign,” I responded, “One of the people in this room just placed a call to a mobile communications device. Can you determine its current location?”

“Affirmative.”

“Where is it?”

“5.3 miles from your present location, in a political subdivision labeled Commonwealth of Virginia. Old Dominion, the Cavalier State, and the Mother of states, statesmen and Presidents, all alternative names are.”

“Is there a building nearby?” I’d gotten lucky last time.

“Affirmative. The person carrying the device in a building identified as Terminal C, in a complex called the Washington-Reagan National Airport, currently is.”

I thanked the Ensign and ended the call. “She’s in Terminal C at Reagan. Was she planning a trip, Mr. Secretary?”

His ashen face was all the answer anyone needed.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment, Mr. President?” Mr. Corbin asked. At the President’s nod, he stalked over to a side door near the Resolute Desk, growling, “I’ll be back.”

“I’m not entirely sure that was legal,” Bradley said. “But hell, what do I know?”

“Sue me,” I said. “Someone just tried to shoot me – again, for the record, and I’m absolutely keeping track! I’m not waiting around until they figure out what they’re doing wrong.”

“If anyone complains, we’ll have someone look into it,” the President said easily. “In the meantime, is there anything else we should discuss about the attack, or the security leak, at this meeting?” He looked around the room.

“I’m still puzzled by three things,” I said. “How did the other bidder know to contact Mr. Abel? It wasn’t widely-known he was involved. How did Dr. Singh’s agents know where Janet and I were staying? Finally, what’s the connection between Singh, Dunlop, and the other bidder?”

Averil said, “I can answer the first one, I think. You mentioned Mr. Abel when we were playing golf. It came up during yesterday’s meeting – I don’t remember why – but Ms. Dunlop was there when it did.”

Tanya nodded. “I remember that, too. It was close to when we wrapped up – 3:30, 4:00 this morning.”

“The second issue is harder,” the President said. “Mr. Corbin is certain that the only people who knew where you were staying were the members of your security team and their immediate supervisor, Major Case. Nobody else, and they all check out clean as a pack of brand-new golf balls. Luther himself didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. President – I’ve got an update on that,” Tanya interjected. “Someone planted a tracking device on one of the security detail’s vehicles. Mr Corbin got the report just before he went to meet Ms. James.”

“Ah!” Aguia said. “That’s interesting.”

Britt was chewing on the end of a pen. “I . . . ah . . . don’t know if it helps. But certainly Gillian and Singh know each other. Professionally. There’s a fair bit of overlap between my department and DHS on the science and technology side.”

“Not unexpected, certainly,” the President said. “As for the connection between Singh and the bidder . . . We do have something on that, but I’m afraid it’s classified. At least, it gives us a strong suspicion who the bidder is likely to be.” Looking at me, he added, “But perhaps you already know?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I was just told that it’s another government.”

“What can you tell us about the offer?” he inquired.

“Very little, I’m afraid,” I responded. “Whoever made it knew enough about what was going on to contact Mr. Abel. That was around 4:30 this afternoon. Apparently, the aliens didn’t solicit the offer; the only humans they’ve spoken to are me and Janet, Justin, Averil, and now Troi Harris and Daichi Kurokawa.”

“Do you know the contents of the offer?” Taryn asked.

“Yes – but I was given that information on the condition that I not share it.”

Secretary Bradley gave a grunt; Britt looked like he’d inadvertently sucked on a grapefruit.

Averil sighed. “So you’ve got what, we’ve got who, and neither of us can share information!”

“But at least we’ve got third base covered,” Bradley said.

“Life’s a bitch, sure enough,” the President said, philosophically. “But – to take nothing from your overall assessment, Jack – there’s plenty that we do know. For starters, we know they know we know they know about the aliens.”

“Tom, don’t do that. My brain hurts!” Bradley moaned.

“Nonsense, Jack!” Aguia said. “You were my top student in logic.” Looking at the President, he added, “By now, they know we know that, too.”

Britt looked lost. “Of course they know about the aliens; they made an offer. And we know that, because Ms. James told us. They know we know, because I stupidly told Gillian. We can surmise she passed it on, since she’s trying to run, but how would they . . . .” He paused, looking a bit green.

Aguia said. “Gillian being the conduit might explain how they know we know about their offer. But their sending a hit man to stop Jessica from attending this meeting establishes the fact of their knowledge, irrespective of how they found out. And by now they have to know we’re aware they made the attempt – and that it failed.”

The President continued, “I think we can also assume that the other bidder knew what our offer was, since Gillian was in the conference where it was hammered out.”

“Arguing against the proposal the entire time,” Dr. Livingston added. “Mercifully, Toni Shakon was there to keep her in line.”

Britt looked miserable.

“Did you tell her about the aliens’ counter-offer from earlier in the day?” Aguia asked Britt.

The Secretary thought about the question carefully. “I didn’t right away. She was in another meeting when I got the word, so I met first with Hix and Squires. I told Gillian later – and I was with her from the time I told her until I got the President’s call about this meeting.”

“What’s the earliest time she would have known that the aliens could carry twenty tons?” Aguia pressed.

“A bit after 5:00 pm, I think.”

“So, it’s likely that they structured their bid to be better than ours in some way, but they probably had no reason to overshoot our offer by too much,” the President suggested.

Aguia shook his head. “That’s probably true with respect to the quantity of U-235, but there’s no reason to suppose that their offer focused on either battery tech or fusion.”

“Now there’s a charming thought.” The President looked thoughtful. “Well . . . I can see why you suggested we make a last best offer, Jessica. But you didn’t need to come here for that. Was there something else you wanted to say?”

I nodded. “Mr. President, I want to urge you to end all of this bidding, right now. The aliens made a counter-offer. The battery tech – with the possible benefit of boosting the efficiency of photovoltaics - in exchange for twenty tons of weapons-grade HEU. You should just accept the offer, sir. Even if they’d take less, you don’t want them to. If you agree, they have no more space to take anyone else’s material. They’ll have no reason to even consider other bids.”

Secretary Britt bristled like a toilet-bowl brush. “Twenty tons!!! That’s . . . .”

“Twenty tons we don’t have to store, guard, and down-blend,” Livingston finished. “It’s waste, Mr. Britt! Just waste! It’s like they offered to pay us for the privilege of cleaning our septic tank, and instead of saying ‘thank you very much,’ we’re worried sick that someday – just maybe! – we might have a craving for a shit sandwich!”

Britt snapped, “Well, we have to consider the possibility! We’re fiduciaries!”

“Oh, that word!” murmured Bradley.

“Okay, Grady. Averil. We’re just rehashing now,” the President said. “I’ve heard both arguments already and you may rest assured I understand them.”

“What about the other conditions, Jessica?” the Defense Secretary asked.

“I recommend you drop both of them,” I responded. “You know you can trust the aliens. They’ve shown it time and time again. And, while I’m not an economist, if I understand the analysis done by the Energy Department, the U.S. government still comes out ahead even if it doesn’t keep the Intellectual Property rights.”

The President looked like a hound dog that had caught a scent. “Didn’t the aliens indicate they were flexible on the intellectual property issue?” His blue eyes were bright, clear, and very focused. On me.

Don’t shade the truth, Averil had warned.

“They said they were open to discussing it,” I admitted.

Britt leapt back into the fray. “We absolutely should stick to our guns on this point. There’s no reason they should care, and the value to the U.S. Government is incalculable. Who knows? Maybe we won’t even need taxes anymore! I mean . . . .” His excited ramblings stopped and he looked, puzzled, at his boss, who was ignoring him.

The President was just looking at me levelly. The silence stretched.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Two points, sir. If you have a proposal on that, then you’re still negotiating. If you drop it, you're just accepting their counter-offer, without any other conditions. There’s nothing more to discuss.” I paused, looking to see if that made an impression.

President Taryn’s expression didn’t change. “And the second point?”

I took a deep breath. “Maybe they don’t care, Mr. President, although they didn’t say that. But I do. I have to go back there and I want to tell them that they shouldn’t bother negotiating with anyone else. What's my argument? American exceptionalism? The whole concept would be meaningless to them. That it’s my country, and I like it best? Pure self-dealing. Because we gave the world Scooby Doo?

“Now you’re talking!” said Bradley.

I shook my head. “What is it with that show? Anyway, they don’t care about any of that. They’re aliens! I want to tell them you have asked for something that will be used to benefit all of our species, not just our own country. That you aren’t looking for a parochial or sectarian advantage, much less a personal one. I want you to give me the ammunition to make that argument, and make it stick!”

“But why shouldn’t we make money off the formula? We’re buying it with our uranium!” Britt looked exasperated. “This isn’t effing Charles Dickens World!”

“Better that than Westworld!” Livingston rejoined.

The President just looked at me, saying nothing. Weighing my words.

“Is this about them, Jessica? Or, is it about you?” The President’s voice was soft.

“I don’t know if it will matter to them,” I replied. “I think it will – they prize unity, and one of the things that makes them distrust us so much is that we are divided among ourselves. I want to change their minds – at least, give them something to think about. You have to admit, they haven’t exactly seen us at our best.”

Every eyeball in the room was on me. I could almost feel them, burning into me. Urging me to let it go. It’s a private crusade . . . . Besides, everything I’d seen suggested that the President is a good man. A fair man. He wouldn’t price the IP out of range of normal people!

But then I thought about what Britt had said. He might be a voice in the wilderness right now, but today’s crazy Uncle could easily become tomorrow’s catastrophe. We might not even have to pay taxes anymore! Who could resist the urge to maximize revenue from the formula? And what a powerful rallying cry it would make, for a demagogue!

We would get the technology sooner or later; the aliens were convinced of that. But we needed it now, not in fifty years – or even ten. It would be decisive in the race to decarbonize our energy sources, but only if it got widespread market penetration worldwide, and in near-record time. The people who understood this area – Livingston, Grimm, even Singh – understood that.

“Mr. President,” I said finally. “The aliens will ask my view. I’ll give it to them, just as I’ve given it to you. I can’t say what they’ll do with it.”

To my immense surprise, Taryn smiled. Not the child-like smile of a moment before; it was something softer, kinder, more understanding. The look of a man who’d been around the block a few times, but hadn’t let its ugly side stain his soul. “Honesty! That’s one hell of a dirty trick, Jessica!”

“Who can find a virtuous woman? She is far more precious than rubies,” Aguia quoted.

I dropped my eyes. The day I thought, is getting mighty strange.

“Don’t let it go to your head,’ the President said in a lighter tone. “My friend Mr. Corbin has another quote he likes to trot out from time to time that also fits.”

Bradley snorted. “Indeed, he does! ‘I beseech thee, in the very bowels of Christ, think it possible that you may be mistaken.’”

I smiled. “That’s singing from my songsheet, Mr. Secretary, even if Cromwell wasn’t one to follow his own advice. I’ve spent decades second-guessing every thought, testing every word I write. It’s the habit of a lifetime – sort of a factory setting for any academic. I’ll do it here, too . . . but I’ll still give them the best advice I can.”

“I understand,” the President said. “Let me talk with my team, and we’ll get you an answer. Realistically, it’s going to take a couple hours, though. We might not be done until tomorrow. Do you want to stay in the building?”

Before I could reply, Aguia caught the President’s eye. “If I may make a suggestion?”

Taryn nodded.

“I honestly think Jessica would be safer if she was back on the aliens’ ship, or else someplace we didn’t know about. We can’t be sure that Singh and Dunlop don’t have other allies. The less anyone on earth knows about where Jessica goes after she leaves this office, the better.”

“The fact that I can’t ensure the security of a guest makes me very, very unhappy, Stanley,” the President growled. “We are, by God, going to get to the bottom of these conspiracies!”

Aguia withstood the President’s ire with complacency and a raised eyebrow.

In the end, it was Taryn, not Aguia, who looked away. “Until we’re confident that we’ve done that, though – and count me among the skeptics – Stanley’s probably right, Jessica. I’m so sorry. It seems like you’ve really put your head in the lion’s jaws. But I think you’re safer right now without whatever ‘protection’ we might provide.”

I was surprised to feel both relieved and ready to be gone. I was missing something important. I could feel it, percolating right on the edge of consciousness. If I could just have some time to think! “That’s quite all right, Mr. President. Perhaps if someone could show me to an empty office where I might make a few private calls, then direct me how to get out of this maze, I’d appreciate it.”

“I can do that,” Tanya volunteered.

The President stood and walked me to the door. “‘When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies?’ You know it?”

I smiled. “Of course. Cervantes at his best.”

“Take care of yourself, will you? The world needs your kind of madness – in small doses!”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Tanya led me out, past the presently deserted anteroom where the President’s assistant normally sits, then down a hallway. We turned a corner. In the middle of another hallway, an old and once-familiar sight made me pause. Into a nearby phone booth . . . .

“Hold on, Tanya,” I said. “This will do nicely. Just tell me how to get out when I’m done, and I’ll let you get back to your meeting.”

She looked a bit conflicted – she was supposed to escort me out – but she saw the sense of what I was asking and gave me the information I needed. Then she turned and walked briskly back the way she came.

As soon as she rounded a corner, I stepped into the wooden enclosure, closed the door, and placed a call.

* * * * *

Five minutes later, Tanya Rodriguez-Tolland left for the day and walked with her customary briskness across LaFayette Square to the imposing Renaissance facade of the Hay-Adams Hotel. But upon entering, she hesitated, looked around, and found an unoccupied arm chair amid the arches, coffered ceilings and mahogany of the lobby.

“What’s the matter with this town,” she grumbled to herself before settling into the chair. She crossed her legs, rested her hands in her lap, and stared across the room, lost in thought . . . .

* * * * *
“If Manet painted you, he’d have called it The Brown Study.” The young man was poised, well-dressed, well-spoken, and very much blocking my view of nothing in particular.

I focused on him. “He did, you know. It’s in an art gallery somewhere. It’s a masterpiece, and you should definitely go see it. This very instant – waste not a moment!”

He chuckled. “That obvious, was I?”

I smiled, but declined to engage further. Instead I made shooing motions with both hands.

He laughed and left.

A voice behind me said, “You should get a pair of earbuds. And maybe pretend to read. The combo usually works.” The speaker was a young woman, fairly attractive, and evidently experienced in the fine art of shooing.

I thanked her with a smile, then turned back to my thinking. Maybe I should have asked Worm to make me look like someone inconspicuous. Like James Marshall Wainwright, I thought with a smile, though he would have had no business wandering around the White House. But apparently Tanya was too attractive to be left alone to think.

Diddle loo do, diddle loo do, diddle loo do.

I groaned. Fifteen minutes! I just needed fifteen minutes! “Hello?”

“This is Jessica James, no?” The voice was heavily – almost comically – accented.

I responded ironically. “Nyet. Is Natasha. What can I do for you, Boris?”

The voice chuckled. “‘Boris’ will do. You have humor, wit, and, I hear . . . .”

“ . . . . Very little patience,” I finished for him, in my normal voice. “I repeat: What can I do for you?”

“My government would like to make offer to your friends. All twenty tons, you understand? All we ask is one youthening shot – just one! – and the secret of either their stealth technology or their tractor beam. You see? Much better than either of other offers.”

“Ah . . . so, you represent a new bidder?” Then who was the bidder that contacted Justin?

“Correct, correct. New – and improved!”

I snorted. “Now with real leprechaun parts? Well, alright, ‘Boris.’ Whatever. I’ll pass your offer along to . . . to my friends. Can I reach you at this number?”

“Wait, my Natasha. Not so fast! We do not want you to simply pass along offer. We want you to recommend it. Strongly, yes? If offer is accepted, my government will pay you thirty million American dollars. For your efforts”

“Let me guess . . . if I act now, you’ll also provide me with six Ginzu knives and a comprehensive dental plan?”

“Please, Natasha. Is not kiddie show. Thirty million dollars.”

“Is every day a no-brainer for you?” I asked caustically. “I told you I’ll pass along your offer, and I will. But forget about the bribe. You can’t buy me.”

“Everyone can be bought, my Natasha. For some, it takes carrot. For others, it takes fear of sticks. For your own sake – and for sake of those you care about – take carrot.”

My blood ran cold. That was the answer, and it had been staring me in the face the whole time. I hadn’t seen it, because I hadn’t wanted to see it. I could hear his voice now, quoting Paul Simon – “All lies and jests, still a man hears what he wants to hear, and disregards the rest.” It applied to women too, I guess.

“Natasha, my dahlink? You are still there, no?”

Singh’s goons found our safehouse with a tracking device. When I called Grant for help, I hadn’t bothered to give him directions. I’d simply assumed he would know. But Corbin, who’d set it up, had even kept himself out of the loop. Grant hadn’t been told.

And now he had Janet.

“Natasha . . . I’m waiting. I apologize for fright, but these are, you say, ‘big leagues,’ yes? When stakes are high, games get rough.”

“I’ll pass along your ‘offer,’” I ground out. “But you will fucking eat your threats!”

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” His voice lost most of its exaggerated accent. It was soft. Dangerous.

But I was boiling mad and filled with hot-blooded, youthful recklessness. “Mne póhuj, shakal!”

He refused to respond to my insult. “If you really don’t know who I am, then maybe your best course would be to tread lightly.”

“Oh, now you’re giving personal advice? Well get this through your thick, swollen head, ‘Dear Abby!’ Back off the threats, or no deal. Oh . . . and you can shove your frickin’ bribe so far up that tight ass of yours that your ears shit greenbacks!!! Got it?” I was hard-pressed to keep my voice low, and I was afraid I would be shouting soon. I ended the call.

“Worm,” I said, “Urgent! Please block all communications to or from Mr. Grant, and let me know who just called me, and whom he calls next!” I got up and went straight to the elevators. I hadn’t reached them before Worm called.

“Jessica James. We have Dukkov Grant’s communications blocked. Caller ‘Yuri Raskolnikov’ identified is. ‘Trade Specialist’ for embassy of Russian Federation is listed. Attempting to call Dukkov Grant, he is currently.”

“Thank you, Worm!” I said fervently. I stepped into an empty elevator and hit the button for the third floor, where I knew Janet and Grant were staying. “Drop the illusion, please. I need to get Janet away. Can you make a call to Grant’s phone a minute after I go in, making it appear to come from Raskolnikov?”

“Affirmative.”

“Great. If Janet and I leave the room, please disguise us as a random male and female couple. But . . . if we jump out the window together, will you catch us?”

“Strange species you are, Jessica James. We will – but better would be not to make pick-up visible so much.”

“Understood. It’s a last resort, I promise!”

The doors opened and I stepped out, looking like myself again. I walked down the hallway quickly, my strappy sandals barely slowing me down.

Down a long hallway, turn . . . and there it was. I took a steadying breath and knocked.

“Go away.” Grant’s voice, as full of gravel as a cement-mixer.

“It’s Jessica.”

“Prove it,” he replied. Was that . . . humor?

Despite myself, I smiled. “Wyrd oft nered unfaegne, eorl, ponne his ellen deah.”

“Yep, that would be Jessica,” he responded, opening the door. “Come on in.”

Janet was leaning against the doorway to one of the bedrooms, looking . . . Holy shit! Yes, she was looking! With Grant?!!!

“Can’t you go a day or two without gettin’ shot, or shot at?” she asked, sounding exasperated. “I leave you safe and sound with a bunch of crazy aliens on an invisible spaceship, and you still manage it!”

“How did you hear about that?” I was starting to lose track of who should know what and when.

“A little birdie told me,” she said. “Come on, have a seat. Tell us what you’ve been up to.”

This was going to be harder than I had thought! My whirling brain came up with no better options than she was suggesting. I took an upholstered chair in the sitting area, and Janet sat on the couch across from me.

Grant sat next to her.

“Well . . .” What could I say, safely? The Russians already knew about the other offers. And about the alien ship’s maximum capacity. “Another country made a trade offer to the aliens. I arranged to go to the White House to urge them to make a final offer. But before I got to the building, someone tried to shoot me. Corbin took him down, personally.”

“I wouldn’t want to get tackled by Luther Corbin,” Grant said, with real feeling.

“I don’t think he got up on his own steam afterward,” I agreed.

“Did you just go straight from almost getting shot into another meetin’?” Janet asked.

“Well, it seemed a shame to go to all that trouble just to turn back,” I demurred. Demurely, of course.

Grant’s phone chose that moment to go off. Mentally, I tensed, getting ready for action.

He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and declined the call without comment. “You were saying?”

Shit! I’d been counting on him taking the call in one of the bedrooms! Now what? “Actually, Janet . . . I was wondering whether I might talk with you privately.” I gave Grant an apologetic smile. “Female problem, I’m afraid.”

Janet looked at me fondly. “There’s no need for that, Jess.”

I gaped at her.

Grant chuckled. “You should see yourself, Jessica! Honest. Whatever crazy, daring escape you’ve got planned, you don’t need to do it. You're safe, Janet’s safe, you can both leave here as soon as we’re done talking – and we won’t be long. Okay?”

“Uh huh,” I said. “Forgive me if I don’t seem very trusting just at the moment. As Janet just pointed out, I seem to be living in someone else’s bad first-person shooter game.”

Grant nodded. “Understood. But that was Singh’s gang, and he’s working for the ChiComs. Has been for a while. That’s why I got assigned to watch him – it was a counterintelligence op. I know a lot about what they’re up to, but I don’t always find out in real time. I only heard about the hit after it had failed.”

“But you work for the Russians!” I accused.

“Them too,” he agreed. Like he was commenting on the weather. “I have, all my life. It’s why I joined the CIA to begin with. And I’ve spent twenty years building my reputation, doing my day job perfectly while sending back critical information.”

“Well, isn’t that special?” I looked at Janet. “How can you just sit there?”

“’Cuz I’ve heard the rest an’ you haven’t. Hear him out!”

“Try to understand,” he said softly. “In my own way, I’m a patriot. And I like to think I’ve done good work for both my countries, over the years. I never worked the Russia desk. My goal, always, was to help Russia – not to hurt America. Here, I was able to make sure that Russia had an opportunity to bid for alien technology. And why shouldn’t it? Why should America alone get the chance?”

“The content of their offer should suggest an answer to that question,” I retorted.

He shook his head. “Countries often squander the best opportunities. It doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have them. If, despite my advice, the Kremlin fumbles this chance, they are fools. But . . . what they choose to do with any of the information I provide is not my responsibility.”

“‘Once ze rockets go up, who knows where zey come down? It’s not my department,’ says Werner von Braun,” I quoted.

“Touché,” Grant said. “Except this time that jackass Yuri Timofeyevitch decided I should play field officer and hold Janet hostage to create leverage. On a whim. Just blow twenty years of cover for something that was sure to backfire . . . and threaten harm to people I had come to care about. That made it my responsibility.”

“What did you tell him?” I asked.

He gave me a strange look. “Raskolnikov is a full Colonel in the FIS. He can sound like a buffoon when it suits his purposes – it often does – but trust me, he’s a very dangerous man. I just said, ‘give the word.’ That bought time, I hope. And, after I got off the call, I told Janet. Did you allow him to believe you were interested in the more conventional bribe?”

My face flushed scarlet.

“Told him where to stick it, dincha?” Janet crowed. Looking at Grant, she said, “Pay up!”

“Oh, behave!” he said.

Janet smirked. “Not if I can help it!”

“I would certainly pay, had I been so foolish as to take your wager,” he said. “But Jessica’s refusal means Raskolnikov will move soon – the more so in that he was unable to reach me just now. You should go. If you would be so kind, though, hit me over the head with something before you leave.”

I looked at Janet.

She looked at me.

We looked helpless.

“Never mind,” he said, chuckling. He stood. “Whatever self-inflicted wound I concoct will look more convincing than anything a pair of eminent humanities professors can manage. Probably why I like you both so much. Now, scoot!”

Janet rose and faced him with her trademark grin. “You say anythin’ about how it was a business doin’ pleasure with me, and I’ll give you a dent that even the old KGB would credit!”

He gave her a look of such tenderness I could scarcely believe it of him. “You know better than that,” he chided. “Being around you . . . pleases me.”

I said, “Mr. Grant . . . Earl. I’m sorry. I’ll have to tell Corbin. There’s nothing left for you here.”

He smiled. “I knew that when I told Janet. It’s okay. Past time I went home.” He pulled Janet in, gave her a gentle kiss, and said, “Go now. Be safe, Zharptitsa!”

She grabbed her purse and we both walked out, leaving Grant behind.

We were halfway down the hallway before I said, “He calls you ‘Firebird?’”

“Don’t even start, you . . . .” She looked at me and stumbled.

“Keep walking. Some illusions, courtesy of Worm.” I continued walking.

To all appearances, a darkly attractive, bearded man, more-or-less my prior age, quickly caught up with me. Looking down, I could see that my own disguise was female. Worm’s sense of humor? Nah. He didn’t have one.

We got into an elevator heading down, with a woman, maybe forty, shepherding a couple teenagers. She did a double-take when she saw us. “Oh my God!!! Keanu Reeve and Carrie-Anne Moss! I can’t believe this is happening to me!”

“Mommmm!” hissed her son.

“Soooo embarrassing!” her daughter said, disgusted.

The woman looked at once angry, mortified, and incredulous. “You kids have no idea!!”

I felt her pain, in so very many ways. I reached out and gave her arm a squeeze. “It’s okay,” I said.

“Keanu” looked sympathetic, but wisely stayed silent. Worm’s illusion didn’t affect our voices.

As we stepped into the lobby, I murmured “Just keeping moving!”

Our arrival seemed to deaden every noise and attract every eyeball – exactly what I wanted to avoid! Then the hubbub began.

“Is that who I think it is?”

“He’s even wearing the duster!”

“Do you see who he’s with?”

“There is no spoon!”

“Maybe they’re making another movie together!”

“Wasn’t wild about their last one . . . .”

“Hush; I’d watch Keanu even if he was just sweeping a floor!”

“Damn! She’s still fire!”

“You know that road!”

Two men in suits at a table near the front entrance barely gave us a look before going back to their papers, but everyone else thought we were just fascinating.

Fortunately, our purposeful stride discouraged people from coming up to us. The doorman practically simpered as he let us out. I saw a cab discharging an irate fare and flagged it. I tried desperately to remember something about Washington, D.C., but all I could think of in that instant was an old scandal. “The Watergate, please,” I said.

We were soon driving up Pennsylvania Avenue, too petrified about being recognized to say anything. But as we started to drive through a small park, I had the driver stop and let us out. I paid cash. When he drove off, we walked over to a tree that provided a bit of shade.

“Worm . . . those faces were a bit too recognizable. Please – don’t take images from People Magazine! Make us look like . . .” my mind spun . . . “uh . . . Troi Harris and Colonel Kurtz.”

The change was so fast as to startle me, even though I expected it.

“Neat trick,” Janet replied. “But, Worm. The uniform will attract attention. Could you put me in blue jeans, sneakers and a light cotton shirt?”

Worm adjusted. I wouldn’t have picked that particular shade of coral, but it wasn’t worth arguing about.

“That looks like part of G.W. across the street,” Janet said. “I gave a lecture there, years ago. I know there’s a metro stop. Let’s put a few more miles between us and all this!”

A few minutes later, we got on an orange line train. We kept quiet, since there were still plenty of riders. Randomly, we got off at Ballston.

“I could sure use some food,” I said, suddenly aware that I hadn’t eaten in what felt like forever. My body was young, healthy, and seventeen, but I was abusing it terribly. And that didn’t even count getting shot.

It was 9:30 and the area didn’t look promising. But we found a place that was still open with a little searching.

“Rus-Uz?” I asked, dubiously.

“Any port in a storm, girl. You need somethin’,” Colonel Janet admonished.

They had a quiet table outdoors that was perfect. The hostess seated us and vanished.

I looked at the menu and grimaced. “Not much in the mood for Russian food!”

“I am.” Janet grinned. “But suit yourself: the ‘Uz’ is for Uzbekistan. I think they were nomads, so they probably eat goat.”

When the waiter came, I opted for a “Kazan Kabob,” and hoped I would recognize the meat.

Janet, perhaps just to get my goat, went with blini and borsch. “No soup for you!” she said.

“What?”

“Okay,” she grinned at me. “Spit it out now. You’ve been stewin’ so long even your carrots are mush!”

“You and Grant?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, girl!” The grin didn’t leave her face, but it did soften. “Look, I’m not crazy enough to believe he was besotted or overwhelmed by my sex appeal. He’s a strong, good lookin’ man in his mid-forties and I’ve got fifteen years on him. But we appreciated each other – a lot – and it was a pretty damned stressful day for both of us. One thing kinda led to another.”

“I . . . honestly. I don’t know what to say.” I thought I managed a pretty neutral tone. Making allowances for circumstances, of course.

“If you’re lookin’ for a recommendation, how ’bout, ‘Oh, darlin’, I’m so happy for you. That’s great. I really am. You finally got laid properly. That’s so sweet.’”

I was incredulous. It wasn’t her age. Janet wasn’t “good looking for sixty,” she was good looking, period. And whether it was her students, her temperament, or some combination of the two, she looked only a couple years older than Grant – and acted younger still. They were just so very unlike each other . . . not to mention the minor fact that he was a Russian double agent! “Was it before, or after . . . ?”

“Before or after he told me?”

I nodded.

“As a matter of fact, it was!” The grin was back. “Look, we were in bed when he got the call. He went into the other room to take it. Came back, fifteen minutes later, absolutely spittin’ ground glass mad, and told me the whole story. I was pretty ripped myself, at first. But we sort of kissed and made up.”

I smiled. “And in the role of Pussy Galore . . . .”

She laughed. “Hey, I’ll take it! . . . . Look, Jess, he didn’t seduce me from my allegiance and I didn’t seduce him from his. I can ‘hate the game without hatin’ the playa.’ We had a moment, and I had a most excellent adventure, with the added bonus of not havin’ to worry about gettin’ pregnant. So, yay. No regrets, and back to work we go.”

“Just don’t start singing ‘Hi Ho,” I warned her.

“Long as you don’t start usin’ it as a greetin’,” she growled in return.

My eyes crossed and I giggled. Janet was still very much Janet.

The waiter brought food, which was either excellent or seemed so just because I was so hungry.

I turned the conversation back to Grant. “So, he’s been spying on Singh, whom the government suspected of working for China?”

“Right,” Janet replied. “He’s got so many bugs on Singh that a DDT bath wouldn’t make a dent. So he knew about Singh and Dunlop, and about Singh and the Chinese. He knew about our offer, and he found out about the alien’s counteroffer and the Chinese offer around 5:30 or so. He had that feed goin’ to that Yuri guy as well, so that’s why he got the call that had him so worked up. But the boys over in the Kremlin must have been primed, since they were able to get an offer out within a couple hours of gettin’ the news.”

“Dictatorships can move quickly, when they want to,” I said pointedly.

“I haven’t forgotten what Russia is,” Janet said tartly.

“I know you haven’t . . . and look. I’m sorry. I don’t know why it hit me like this. I should be delighted. I am delighted. But . . . Janet, I was so worried. Scared shitless. I thought . . . I thought we might have to throw ourselves out of a window to get away from him. And there you were in his bed!”

“Technically, I’m pretty sure he was in mine. I think. But never mind.” She smiled and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Have I finally succeeded in making James Marshall Wainwright jealous? Now that he’s over-the-top in both the ‘female’ and ‘heterosexual’ departments?”

“Janet! It’s not that!”

“Isn’t it?” She cocked her head and gave me a skeptical look. “I’m a bit rusty, for certain, but I think I recognize that green tinge.”

I took a look under my hood, and found I was maybe a bit less sure than I would like to be. “Umm. I don’t think it’s that. Really, I don’t. But . . . I don’t know. I’m kind of twisted in emotional knots today.”

“Well, I can see that.” She continued to give me a measuring look, until finally she said, “What’s your plan? Now that we’ve got you fed?”

“I’ve got to call Corbin.” I gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”

She waved away my apology. “I know that. So does Grant. ‘The Colonel’s got to know,’ and all that. Honestly, I appreciate your doin’ it, since I’d have to tell him if you didn’t. But I meant, after that?”

“I’ve got to head back to the ship. I’ve got an idea to propose to the aliens, which will hopefully stop the nonsense from our various bidders.”

“Who’s doin’ the negotiatin’? Worm, or the big man?” she asked.

“Neither – they’re having Justin negotiate for them. He’s been with them a couple days – he even has a room on the ship.”

“No shit!” Janet looked first surprised, then pleased. “That was pretty clever of them, you ask me.”

She grew quiet and the silence stretched, broken only by the background sounds of traffic, cutlery on stoneware, and cicadas masticating local vegetation, their red eyes gleaming evilly in the reflected light. We were lost in our own thoughts when the waiter cleared our plates.

She set her wine glass down. “So. You’re going back up there, huh?”

“Yeah, I think I’d better,” I sighed.

“For the night?”

“Yeah?” I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

“And Justin’s got himself a room on board?”

“Yeah . . . JANET!”

She grinned. “Did I ever tell you about the trouble with tribbles?”

. . . . To be continued. Decisively.