My secretary called me 'hon.' How cool was that? Of course, she could pretty much do as she liked. She might be a 4'8" granny with mocha skin and whipped cream hair, but she could nail your ass to the floor with a single look. I asked her about it one time. She said it was the result of raising seven children, every one of whom still wilted beneath The Look like old lettuce. Never mind the only one of her kids without a Ph.D. was an M.D. All of them acknowledged her as the Supreme Leader of the Evans clan. Luckily she had her soft-spoken hubby, Lawrence, around to make sure her rule didn't run to fascism. Lawrence spent his weekdays teaching at the Southern Baptist Seminary and his weekends saving souls at Hope Baptist just down the street from my apartment. What a sweet man. And generous too, unlike some guys I was about to name.
"Hey Martha, I need to talk to Pete. Um, how is he feeling today?" As Pete's secretary (and Vayl's—we're big on sharing at the C.I.A., just ask the F.B.I.) she was in the best position to know.
"Annoyed. But that's typical." She sighed. "This morning I told him the other department heads had started a pool based on the timing of his last gasp. They're giving two-to-one odds on a heart attack at the office. The man has no idea how to relax!"
Ouch. If he died, I'd have even more guilt to add to the trailer.
I was already towing. Not a pretty thought. "You should talk him into going on a fishing trip or something."
"I could. But he'd just end up snagging his line on a body or catching sight of some high level, vacationing drug lord and that would be the end of that."
"Well, we'll think of something. So… did he tell you about last night?"
"I heard your car got a little bent out of shape."
"Yeah. But it wasn't my fault."
"It never is, hon. Are you and Vayl okay?"
"Yeah, we're fine."
"Well, that's what really matters." She sighed. Disappointed we'd survived, or just dreading the task ahead? "I'm starting the paperwork this morning, so it should be ready for you to sign when you come back. Do you need a new ride? I might even be able to get you one from the same company."
The same company. Holy crap, Martha knew exactly what kind of car we'd been driving because she'd made the rental arrangements to start with! She could easily have given Graybeard the details. Of course, Pete would've had access to that information too. The senators? Yeah, they could've found out as well. So much for narrowing down my field of suspects. Only Bergman had an airtight alibi, that being his paranoia. He'd never hire someone else to do his dirty work because he'd be too sure they'd betray him.
Bergman's bow out of the race gave me no consolation. That still left five other people I liked and/or worked for. No way would finding the answer to this particular riddle make me a happy camper. My stomach churned, spitting acid all over my delectable breakfast, making it want to part company with my digestive system.
"Jasmine?"
"Sorry, I was spacing out." Out, out, out… I dug my fingernails into my thigh. "Naw, don't worry about the ride. It's taken care of. Pete, however, is another story. Is he busy?"
"Never too busy for you. Hang on."
I didn't have long to wait. Pete's got a thing about telephone charges. He doesn't like paying them.
"What's up, Parks?"
"Last night's fiasco. We seem to have an information leak in our department. There's no other way those jokers could've found us."
"I agree. I'm also concerned about the Assan side of things. If we don't handle this right—" he stopped, because what could you say that didn't reek of drama? We sat in frozen silence, fully understanding the ramifications of a plan that included the words 'terrorist sympathizer,' 'evil vampire,' and 'virus.' Then I guess our dwindling phone minutes snapped him back to reality, because Pete trucked right on, saying, "Last night I suggested to Vayl that you might want backup. He said he would let you make that call."
Hell yeah, I wanted to say. How about the Florida National Guard for a start? But in our business, if you pressed the panic button every time you thought the world might be ending, you'd be out of work before you could say, "But we thought—"
However it would be nice to have someone outside the Agency we knew we could trust, because you never knew what these loons were going to throw at you. And I had an ideal candidate in mind.
"I want to bring in Bergman."
Thoughtful pause while Pete tallied up the potential expense of that request. "You sure you need a tech-head?"
"We've already got plenty of muscle. I know it's gonna cost you, but I shouldn't have to remind you the guy's a genius. Plus he's an outsider." Way out, actually, but I knew how to deal with that. "He made a big difference in the result of our last mission. You said that yourself."
"Okay, give him a call."
"Thanks. And, Pete, I really think we've got to go silent until this is over." I waited for him to protest. If he'd engineered last night's attack, he'd want to keep track of us so he'd know where to send the next wave. His reply, immediate and definite, left no doubt in my mind where he stood.
"I think that's for the best."
Yes! That left one less heartbreak on my horizon. "Okay, talk to you on the other side."
"Parks…"
"Yeah?"
"You're clear on your duty to Vayl. I know that. But take care of yourself too. That's an order."
"Yes sir."
After we hung up I did a little happy dance around the rim of the pit, managing not to fall in despite some spectacular high kicks. Gosh, if I hadn't minded the whole world ogling my butt I could've been a showgirl! I took one more victory lap, settled back down at the table and called Bergman.
After drumming my fingers through five different sets of prerecorded options and punching a combination of buttons that practically committed me to sacrificing my first-born child if I revealed any detail of our pending conversation to anyone, I had to leave a voice-mail. While I waited for his return call I keyed the name of Senator/Suspect #1 into our database and started reading.
Two hours later I'd read all the information I could gather on Senators Fellen, Tredd and Bozcowski. I'd also done a short background check on Cole Bemont out of pure nosiness. I felt much better about our spontaneous exchange of affection now that I knew he was definitely one of the good guys.
Wondering when Bergman would decide to crawl out of his cave and reenter the real world, I decided I'd wait more patiently if I could do so standing up. So I moved all the furniture out of the pit and lined it up against the walls like freaked out pre-teens at the Christmas Dance.
Taekwondo was the first martial art I ever learned. Mom started sending me to class when I was eight, somehow managing to find me a new instructor every time we moved, so that by the time I hit eleven I'd earned a first-degree black belt. I've trained in plenty of other disciplines since then, but taekwondo is still my favorite. I started with white belt, worked my way through each form until I reached my present rank, 5th degree black belt. By the time I'd finished my ribs were pounding out an S.O.S. on my lungs and my sweats were soaked. So I headed to the shower.
I peeked out the curtain on the way. "Nothing moving out there. The whole damn state must be hungover." Which was when I realized a new year had crashed on me. Should I make a resolution? Be nicer to old women and cats? Swear less? Learn a new language?
"Got it!" I told my reflection as I went into the bathroom to undress. "My resolution is to learn how to swear in a new language."
If Evie were here she'd be rolling her eyes. "That's not swearing less, Jaz," she'd say.
"Ah, but that is where you are wrong little round grasshopper," I'd tell her in my Chinese grocer accent. She loves that one because, of course, I do it terribly. "I will be swearing less in English. And I will be learning a new language."