‘An hour ago.’
‘About time.’
He kissed her lined face, cradled her wet bottom. ‘You don’t look a day older.’
‘Bulsh.’
If a man’s as old as the woman he feels, Cain thought, I’m now fifty. But the pressure of her job had made Pat Newsome look years older. He said, ‘What are you doing here? I thought they never let you out of Tassie.’
‘We’re delegates. I’ve got to do my number.’ She clamped a hand on his penis. ‘I suppose a root’d be out of the question?’
He cradled her breasts. ‘Still got a soft spot for me?’
The cadet passed them, said dryly, ‘Acquainted?’
They went back to his cabin. He was too tired to be much good but it was bliss to be with her again — in a familiar tense body that bucked, jerked, demanded its due. He relished the scrawny feel of her, the swinging breasts, lank thighs. He found her as pleasurable as the gorgeous Rehana. It proved to him that each woman was the dearest, the only person you wished to be with.
At last they lay content, jammed together on the bunk, lulled by the movement of the ship. She said in her Aussie accent, ‘Lucky I got in first. You’ll be beating them off with sticks.’
‘I’m too old for sex-crazed cadets.’ He was fading with tiredness. ‘How’s John? Still down with you at Beta?’
‘Yup. In the pink. Always asking about you.’
EXIT had replaced everyone from resistance leaders to presidents but John Paul I was the first pope.
He yawned. ‘What’s he up to?’
‘He writes. Walks a lot. Has a bliss-session at dawn with some of the staff.’
‘You talk to him much?’
‘No. He’s sweet but I find him scary. Makes me feel like an ankle-biter. So — change of subject — getting pensioned-off worry you?’
‘Should it?’
‘Some take it hard.’ A level look from kindly eyes with dark crescents of skin beneath. ‘Steponoski’s still there — working in the storeroom.’
Steponoski had done the job on Tito. ‘Why? She must be worth millions.’
‘We’re her family, that’s why. Poor old bat’ll do anything to stay.’
‘Perhaps she wants to be near John.’
‘Hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Anyway, I won’t hang around.’
She stroked his face. ‘What’ll you do?’
‘Might shoot the odd commercial.’
‘Pull the other one. Whatever for? Directing’s your cover job. Why fart-arse around selling tampons?’
‘It’s what I do. You make duplicates of world leaders. I grind out Lollywood mush. Would you rather I teach Punjabi?’ He closed his eyes, his body begging for sleep. ‘Making movies for illiterate Pakis is hardly creative. Coy sex, violence, daffy heroics, asinine love scenes, mindless songs. I could use a reasonable budget and script.’ He was drifting off, pulled his mind back. ‘Ron says someone’s knocking us off.’
‘Yeah. Just dentists. Lovely, tell your ma. Surgeons, strangely enough, don’t have probs — still getting smeared in the course of duty, but…’
He ran his hand along her flank. The skin had seen too much sun. She was head of Duplications and Rhonda’s 2IC, so had to know the plot. ‘How long is it since you corrupted me?’
‘Nineteen years, give or take a century.’
‘I’m not much of a security risk. And if you want help with this, you’d better fill me in. Don’t need details. Just high concept. The elevator pitch.’
‘Can’t, love. Classified.’ She put a finger on his nose, smiled sadly. ‘It’s over, Ray. You’re yesterday’s hero now. Take the loot and give us the flick.’
‘I will,’ he yawned, out of it.
‘Won’t miss not being around?’
‘Am I getting a whiff of subtext here?’
‘It’s just that… if Ron found you another job…’
‘What’ve you two cooked up? Did she send you into the shower on assignment?’
‘Just a small short-term job. Grab you?’
‘Women!’ But he nodded.
‘Good-oh.’ She patted his bottom. ‘I’ll slip Ronnie the word. Next question: what’s your opinion on psychic phenomena?’
His mind was drifting out of phase. He was in Antarctica again. The dazzling sunlight. The profound silence, peace. His first snore jerked him back.
‘Ray? Are you receiving me? Psychic phenomena? True or false?’
‘What? It’s… bullshit.’
She held out her hand. ‘How much?’
‘A thousand bucks if you can prove it.’
She shook the hand. ‘Done. And you have been.’ She kissed him and left.
8
THETA
The conference room was cramped but equipped with everything from a rear projector to sound and lighting consoles. He’d been told that the audience, young people of all races, were mostly Department D.
As he walked down the aisle, a murmur started and heads turned. He found a front-row chair beside Pat who winked. As he bent to sit, the breast-cannon harness dug into him. He hadn’t worn it on a base before.
The department heads sat on the podium like politicians granted equal time. Vanqua, elegant in expensive casual clothes. Rhonda, enduring a dress uncharacteristically clean. Was she on her best behaviour? He doubted it.
Vanqua moved to the lectern first. ‘Welcome to Theta. First, I’ll introduce our visitors. Commander Spencer many of you know…’ He motioned the man to stand — which he did, smiling around the room. ‘He’s attached to the Strategy and Tactics Group of the Naval Special Warfare Center, Coronado, and is our liaison with the CVN. Remember we are guests on this vessel. Unwanted guests.’
Cain noted the ‘N’ which meant the carrier was nuclear-powered. He suspected the ‘Theta of the Absurd’ had been positioned as additional reactor shielding.
‘Also observing this session are the heads of five intelligence services. And for them, we’ll briefly outline what we do.’
He pressed a remote. The lights dimmed and a slide of the EXIT hierarchy appeared. Gone were the prior EXIT directors: Tigon and Wolf. Now it merely showed participating nations: UK — FRANCE — USA — GERMANY — JAPAN.
‘EXIT,’ Vanqua continued, ‘stands for EXTRACTION INTERNATIONAL TASKFORCE. We’re funded by a consortium of nations. But funding is all we get. No nation can help us directly or even admit to our existence because it’s too politically dangerous.’ A bleak stare at the audience. ‘So we are not just orphans but outcasts.
‘EXIT has two departments,’ he continued, ‘D and S — who we call dentists and surgeons. Surgeons kill difficult people. Dentists replace difficult people. Sometimes it’s better to kill. Sometimes to replace. I am Vanqua. My colleague is Rhonda. Not our real names.’ He pointed to the slide. ‘I command Department S. And Rhonda commands Department D.’
He switched to a slide of the departmental structure. ‘My department’s main function is to kill. Its secondary function is to aid Department D operations and protect their agents. My field staff are taught practical and scientific skills and fatal techniques. Training is long, and assignments difficult because many targets are well protected.’
Cain listened without interest, feeling the slight roll of the ship. Pat’s fingers brushed his thigh and he closed his hand over hers. They’d seamlessly come together as if they’d never been apart and after the long, dreamless sleep he felt good. His attention drifted back to Vanqua’s drone. ‘… a last point. Field staff of both departments above Grade Two level have Blue Cards — which signify international kill exemptions. These are unique to EXIT.’ He made standing gestures to someone in the front row. ‘Jan.’