Janine's résumé was one of the strangest I'd ever seen: PhDs in molecular biology and material science along with a BA in "visual art." Among her claims to fame were creating a painting using human bacteria, growing super-strong metals, and developing a breed of "synthetic animals," whatever the hell they were. What would I say to her if I ever got close enough to say something? Would we even speak the same language?
I located some Youtube videos featuring Janine talking to groups of science nerds about her various projects. I needn't have worried about her being too highbrow. She pumped her fists and giggled like an exuberant teenager as she discussed carbon lattices, magnesium nano-sphere alloys, and metal-producing bacteria. What the heck did she do at Lockheed Martin – grow spaceships?
I closed my laptop and leaned back, focusing on the ceiling as a flight attendant made her way down the aisle dispensing nuts and drinks. I tried to imagine various scenarios where I'd "accidentally" run into Janine. I didn't see her going to bars. I saw her more as a work all day and go home to sleep kind of girl.
My guilt over deceiving Ethan Ellenberg and Sonja Hanson was still eating at me. At least I'd leveled with Sonja before we'd gotten down and dirty, and I had achieved what we'd set out to achieve. If I succeeded this time, it would have to be on charm alone absent any "down and dirty."
Assuming that Janine Callas, with her stratospheric IQ, didn't see right through me.
I AWOKE in my new hotel room to the hum of air conditioning. I parted the curtains and looked out on dry, hot, downtown Palmdale, California and some dingy mountains in the distance. Even with the filtered air, I could smell the grungy aroma of fossil fuel.
Last night I'd driven to the Embassy Suites in my rental car – another GM van - passing Lockheed's Skunk Works a fraction of a mile on our right, though I couldn't make it out in the dark. Lilith had already arrived – she'd emailed me her room number on the second floor – but we hadn't seen each other yet. We wanted to minimize contact in the hotel to avoid leaving any connection between us on the security cameras or in anyone's memory.
Markus and his team had done more digging into our "targets." Janine Callas had been living with a significant other – a dude a bit older than her who also worked at Skunk Works – until about six months ago. She'd been pregnant a few months before the breakup, but had apparently lost the baby. Not long after, her live-in boyfriend moved out. The boyfriend was Stanley Hill, 39, who worked in Advanced Research. In the photo, he was a tall, bespectacled, string-bean of a guy with a bald head sprinkled lightly with wisps of blond hair. As a physical specimen, I kicked his ass. His IQ would probably kick mine, however.
Markus didn't send me any information on Sheldon Bronstein. I perversely hoped he was homelier than Janine Callas' ex. Anything to take Lillith's self-satisfaction down a notch. I smiled and shook my head at my pettiness.
After showering, I descended to the dining area for the free breakfast. I was expecting the usual "continental" deal with some fruit, dried cereal, and the ubiquitous waffle-maker (I called them "awful-makers"). I was pleasantly surprised to find an actual kitchen where omelets and pancakes were being cooked up by individual order. I guessed that was what $170 a night bought you in sunny Palmdale, California.
Lilith was already there, tucked away in a far corner of the large dining area, consulting her laptop over a cup of coffee. Falling into a short line, I ordered a green pepper and cheese omelet with a side of pancakes. I settled down at a table on the opposite end of the room from Lilith. I ate slowly because I had little idea of what I was going to do. I wondered what Lilith's plan for the day was. I imagined she was studying Sheldon Bronstein right now trying to find an angle of attack.
She looked up from her computer, a faint smile forming on her goddess face as we made eye contact. I replied with an even fainter nod. She returned to her study. I finished my breakfast and departed the lobby without a backward glance in her direction.
Thinking of nothing better, I drove out to the Leona Valley neighborhood where Janine lived. It was just after nine A.M, so Janine was likely at work – or just leaving for it. From what I'd read, the "Skunk workers" were a strange lot, prizing creativity and thinking outside the box. On the other hand, since almost everything they worked on was classified, they had to be mentally stable, too. Well-adjusted brilliant nutcases? Lilith might relate a lot better to them than I would.
Janine's house – public records listed her as the owner – perched atop a hill off Melissa Creek Road. It looked like a lot of property for a single young woman: big, sprawling ranch house with a pool planted amidst ragtag hills and scrub desert brush. Maybe she'd been planning on a family?
I cruised up the road. No place to hide a car that I saw, but plenty of places for a person to hide in the hills overlooking Janine's house. I drove around to the road running behind her property, looking for points of ingress. Luckily, the properties were several acres each, offering some covert wiggle room, but I couldn't just park and hike up there in daylight without risking someone calling the police.
I caught a nice little break when I spotted a red compact roll down Janine's driveway. The dark hair and small female figure inside matched my subject. I whipped my van around and followed.
I assumed she was on her way to work, but she headed downtown and pulled into the parking of XFitness . She emerged carrying a gym bag and entered the gym. I parked a few spaces away, not quite believing my good fortune. This was not only my kind of place - it offered vastly better chances to naturally bump into somebody than at a bar or a grocery store. And as serendipity would have it, I'd been thinking about finding a local gym, since we might be in the area for a while. I was woefully missing my tri-weekly workouts.
I headed inside up to the front desk. I asked the pretty redhead there about gym memberships, and was handed off to a salesman. He launched into a pitch about how this gym contained the seven workout wonders of the world. I cut him short by agreeing to their most expensive, which included enrollment in either Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Mixed Martial Arts, and Muay Thai. All for the "unbelievably low price" of $125 per month. I didn't know anything about the martial arts instructor, but it listed him as a "champion" and I was encouraged by the Brazilian association. The main thing was to get in some grappling sessions, which I'd been missing even more than my weight workouts.
I spent more of Markus and company's money in the gym's clothing/sports shop, purchasing two pair of gym shorts and t-shirts as well as a gi robe. I changed in the locker room and strode out in search of my prey. I figured Janine Callas was the typical office girl who spent fifteen to thirty minutes on a treadmill plus a light sprinkling of machine exercises once or twice a week. Imagine my surprise when I found her in the free weight area, grinding out some bent-over rows. My respect for her jumped a notch.
I strolled into the free weight area having only the vaguest idea of my cover story and what my approach toward her would be. Did I work for some local company? Maybe I was a traveling salesman? What kind of work might appeal to her besides science or technology?
I hoisted a pair of thirty pound dumbbells and performed some lateral lifts to get my shoulders warm. Maybe the blood being blasted into my brain helped, because then it hit me: I was already a card-carrying employee of Intelligence Services International – even had my employee card tucked away in my wallet – which could offer the perfect cover for being here. I had no idea if Lockheed ever hired someone to test their security, but considering its number of top secret projects, I wouldn't be surprised. Working for ISI also allowed me a plausible reason for being both nosy and not gabby about my work. It also made me appear reasonably smart and successful without needing to compete at her level of braininess.
Feeling shored up, I dared to give Janine a dry smile as she winced her way through a set of upright lifts with a barbell.
"Am I doing it wrong?" she asked in her high-pitched teenage girl's voice.
"Upright rows with a barbell can be pretty hard on y
our shoulders," I said. "You can hit the same muscle groups but avoid the joint stress by using dumbbells, in my opinion."
"Well, you look like you know what you're doing." She smiled and lowered the barbell. "I'll give it a try."
I smiled back, permitting myself a small note of self-congratulation. I continued my pretend workout as she switched to ten pound dumbbells and smiled with satisfaction as she performed the movement.
"That does feel better," she said. "More biomechanical."
"That's a good word for it. Just starting out with free weights?"
"Ya. I was your typical machine person, but then after analyzing some studies on muscle loading..." She trailed off with a frown. "I, um, concluded that working against gravity generally causes more micro-damage to tissues –" She cut herself off with another frown.
"I think you're trying to say that free weights better stimulate muscle growth."
She laughed. "Sorry. I tend to be prone to science jabbering."
I grinned. "I can think of worse kinds of jabbering."
Janine grinned back and brandished the dumbbells to me. "Any particular weight exercises you'd recommend for core strength?"
Wow, she was hitting on me? I took a moment to tone down my ego. Probably just being friendly. At ease with men because she was surrounded by them at work.
"Deadlifts and squats," I said. "Pushups and pull-ups. Situps."
"I tried squats with that machine." She nodded to a Smith Machine. "It bruised my shoulders."
"Yeah, it's kind of a pain." I smiled. "You could start with two dumbbells. Just bend down, using your legs, and pick them up. You'd get the best of two worlds – squat and deadlift."
"Oh, thanks! I like that idea."
I thought of suggesting the obvious – that she get a book or check out exercise blogs – but hell, why vacate my position as her new exercise guru/personal trainer? The whole point was to make a connection and keep it going.
"I'm Scott, by the way." I thrust out my hand.
"Janine."
We shook. Her grip was firm and brisk, as if she had a lot of practice shaking men's hands.
"Do you want to increase your strength for a particular sport or just general conditioning?" I was honestly curious.
"Well..." She glanced away, her half-smile pained. "I had an encounter with a pair of gang-bangers recently at a convenience store that made me think I wouldn't mind being stronger."
"What happened?"
"Nothing, really. One of them jostled me a bit. The manager stepped in. They left." She shrugged, her eyes lowered. "Anyway, it made me think. I'm kind of small, and it would be nice to be stronger and maybe learn some self-defense. I even signed up for one of the classes here."
"Really?" It was as if some unknown force was shepherding Janine into my devious hands. "Which one?"
"Muay Tai." She noted the question in my face. "Not the best choice?"
"Nothing wrong with Muay Tai. I'm into it myself. But I don't think relying on it with bigger, stronger opponents would be your best bet. I like Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for you as a starting skill."
"It seemed a bit too much like wrestling to me." She wrinkled her nose. "I can see head-butting some guy and really hurting him, but I don't see having the strength to manhandle him."
"That's the nice thing about it. Your attacker will assume that, too. But that's just an illusion. Most of the time he'll grab you and throw you to the ground, but if you know BJJ that's like being thrown into the briar patch. And he won't know that until after you've broken his arm or choked him out."
"Wouldn't you have to be fairly strong to do that?"
"Nope. It's all about skill and leverage. You could do it easily with the right leverage."
"Mmmm." She pursed her lips and adjusted her large glasses as if to examine me more closely. "So you're into martial arts, too?"
"You better believe it."
She adjusted her glasses again, her brown eyes narrowing in frank appraisal. I decided she was cuter in person. Not that that mattered. I saw where this could go, but I needed to play it cool and not rush anything.
"I signed up for a class, too," I said. "I've been traveling a lot lately and really slacking off. I need to get some grappling sessions under my belt."
"So you think I should take the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu class instead?"
"I think so, yeah." I considered hedging, but decided what the heck. That was my honest, non-manipulative opinion.
"Well, maybe I'll change my class to that, then," she said. "I should let you get on with your workout. I don't think anyone's paying you to be my personal trainer or anything."
"That's okay. I doubt I'd be worth much as a personal trainer anyway."
"Maybe I'll see you in the Jiu-Jitsu class?"
"I'd like that."
That drew a questioning look. I didn't know how brainiacs responded to flirty comments, but I figured I ought to give her some indication of interest. And when she headed over to the treadmill section, she did pause to smile back at me. I thought about asking her out for coffee, but the moment didn't seem quite right. Or maybe I was just chickenshit.
She wasn't at all what I was expecting. Maybe she was going out of her way to seem normal, but at the moment she was one of the least affected girls I'd ever met. Even Sonja Hanson wore more of a mask than she did. Nerds weren't my type ("You go for women who are like runners-up in a beauty contest," as my Marine friend, Sam, put it), but there was something about this girl.
I tried to blank out Janine for a few minutes and focus on my lifts. Since it had been a couple of weeks, I went easy, getting my muscles re-accustomed to the movements rather then trying to build muscles. I'd probably have some sore muscles anyway. And I wanted to leave something for later tonight, when I planned on returning for the Jiu-Jitsu class and hoped to run into Janine again.
I RETURNED to XFitness at six. Attired in my new gi, I listened to the instructor give his opening spiel in a room set off from the main gym. The instructor seemed cool: a buff dude two or three inches shorter than I was, but he had the same confident aura and cat-like movements of my teacher back in Phoenix. A dozen or so people, including two young, very muscular women and some medium to large-size dudes, composed the class. Janine wasn't here, but I was still looking forward to a good and much-needed martial workout. I was confident I'd catch up with Janine later.
After the usual warm-ups and training drills, I paired off with a dude a few years younger than me for some technique-specific sparring. He was a big guy – my height but heavier and more muscled up – and had been training for a few months. Students came in all shapes, sizes, and attitudes. Some – usually the novices – go all-out and can't stand the idea of being submitted. Others are more mellow or collaborative. I guessed from the frozen grin and the harsh glint in my spar-partner's eyes that he was one of those gung-ho, pedal-to-the-metal types. Great. Just what I needed with sore, stiffening muscles and a two-week layoff.
Then Janine showed up, standing in the doorway looking shy and a little lost. She raised one hand and wriggled her fingers in greeting.
I didn't have a chance to respond, because my partner lunged forward and grabbed my gi, yanking me into an ankle takedown. I reflexively stepped back – slipping his reach for my right leg, and stepping back again from his hand when he dropped to one knee and reached for my ankle. I shoved him away and locking up his arm, which I used to sweep him to the mat and into an armbar. He tapped out grudgingly after a few seconds of increasing pressure.
We shuffled to our feet. Mr. Muscles was red-faced, his eyes shining with fierce determination. I would've guessed that by now his belief that he could dominate people with strength alone in this sport would've been dashed. But some people are slow learners.
I could see he was ready to lunge again, and I thought what the hell, and beat him to the punch with an all-out rush for his legs. As I'd figured, he hadn't expected that aggression, and I laid him out nicely, passing his guard while his eyes b
ulged with surprise. Before he could gather his resources, I pivoted, locked in his left arm, and leaned back Rhonda Rousey style. This time he tapped without hesitation. I helped him to his feet.
"What belt did you say you are?" he wheezed out.
"I didn't say. Brown, third degree."
"Oh, shit."
He coughed out a laugh. Over his shoulder, Janine was grinning. I gave her a quick smile, and pushed her out of my mind as Muscles and I resumed grappling. Several choke and armbar submissions later, my larger opponent mellowed and began doing the smart thing: asking questions.
Janine was standing with the instructor in a corner of the room, smiling and nodding as he pointed out and commented on the various sparring sessions. It wasn't uncommon for first-timers to observe a class or two before diving in.
My partner shook my hand as the class broke up, thanking me politely "for the lesson." There was hope for him yet.
Janine waited by the entrance as he the others filed out.
"Hi," she greeted me. "I meant to get here earlier, but got caught up with something at work."
"Sometimes it's a good idea just to observe at first anyway."
"I get sweaty just watching you guys." She lowered her voice as the others filed out. "I was surprised how easily you knocked that big brute around. I almost started feeling sorry for him."
I laughed. "He thanked me for the session. Anyway, with martial arts, it's best to check your ego at the door."
"I doubt I'd even have an ego to check, when it comes to this."
We walked toward the locker rooms. This obviously was my moment.
Operation Indigo Sky Page 15
