by Jon Steele
KAT, I’M NOT SURE THAT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA.”
“Why not? And remember, I’m nuts, so let me down gently.”
“I’m not trying to let you down.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“It’s just I think I know what kind of kiss you’re talking about, Kat.”
“Well, duh.”
“And that’s why I don’t think it would be a good idea.”
Katherine stared at her. “Have you ever been with a girl?” she said.
“Only girls.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“I’ve been celibate for a few years.”
“Oh, God, you’re a nun with a gun.”
Officer Jannsen laughed.
“No, I’ve been celibate since joining Inspector Gobet’s task force.”
“Let me guess, he makes all his cops take a vow of chastity before they sign up.”
“No. It’s just when I realized what it was I wanted to do with my life, I decided to devote myself to it. Mind, soul, and body.”
Katherine let her own eyes do a once-over of Officer Jannsen’s body. What a waste, she thought.
“But it’s not a rule or anything?”
“No, it’s not a rule.”
“Huh.”
“Huh, what?”
“Well, it’s just . . .”
“Say it, Kat.”
“It’s just I thought I was picking up some vibes from you.”
“Vibes?”
“Yeah. A flirty look here, a boob flash there.”
“A boob flash?”
“C’mon, you’ve got a great body, you know it. And you know I like looking at it. And I know you like looking at me.”
“Celibate doesn’t mean I’m dead, Kat.”
“So you have been looking at me.”
“Yes.”
“And you like what you see.”
“Very much.”
Katherine let out a slow quiet sigh.
“What was that?” Officer Jannsen said.
“The closest thing I’ve had to an orgasm in years.”
Officer Jannsen smiled.
“Good for you.”
“Tell me about it.”
She lay back on her side, looking at Officer Jannsen, who’d adopted the same position to look at her.
“So,” Katherine said, “no sex.”
“No sex.”
“Not even letting your fingers do the walking?”
“My what?”
Katherine made slow flicking moves with the index and middle fingers of her right hand.
“Oh, die selbstbefriedigung.”
“Die what?”
“Die selbstbefriedigung. That’s what it’s called in German, if we’re talking about the same thing.”
“We can’t be, not with a word like that. I mean, by the time you say it, you’re finished.”
“I’m sure we’re talking about the same thing, Kat.”
“So? Do you?”
“Of course, that’s me being with me.”
“Well, how about you and me . . .”
“Then that would be me being with you.”
“How do you know what I was thinking?”
“Because I’ve thought about it, too.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“So when you’re with yourself, do you ever think of me?”
“What?”
“Simple question,” Katherine said.
“You don’t expect me to answer it, do you?”
Katherine smiled. “You just did.”
“Maybe we should change the subject, Kat.”
“Okay, best girlfriend ever, but tell me once more why it’s not a good idea, then I’ll shut up about it.”
Officer Jannsen looked up at the stars.
“I’m like you, Kat, I have emotions, too. But if something were to happen to you or Max because I let myself be distracted by those emotions, I would have failed you and everything I believe in.”
“What do you believe in, besides all those stars you’re looking at?”
Officer Jannsen spoke softly.
“Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
but bears it out even to the edge of doom.”
“Holy cow, I finally know something that you do. That’s Shakespeare, from the sonnets. Number 116. Let me not to the marriage of true minds.”
“And now it’s my turn to be impressed, Madame Taylor.”
“Don’t be, it’s about the only thing I remember from high school. Only reason I do is I had this mad crush on a cheerleader at the same time I was reading the sonnets for English Lit.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“Sure, in the dime-store teen romance sort of way.”
“What happened?”
“The cheerleader had her way with me, and then she broke my heart by switching to the quarterback. He was gorgeous, though, had him myself one night. Anyway, I had a little paperback of the sonnets and would cry myself to sleep reading them. Man, I was such a hopeless romantic. Still am, I guess.”
Officer Jannsen smiled.
“See? I told you we weren’t that much different.”
Katherine stared at her, watched her begin to move away like floating in mist.
“Kat?”
“Huh?”
“You’re crying.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Katherine took a sharp breath.
“Go ahead, Kat, let it out.”
“It’s just . . . it’s just I’ve been feeling things, sexual things, for the first time since . . . and they’re nice things. And I felt them with you, and tonight . . . I mean, I didn’t come down here to hit on you, it just happened.”
“Don’t feel embarrassed. It’s good you feel these things again.”
“I don’t feel embarrassed, I feel like I’ve found part of me I’ve been afraid of seeing. I’m just realizing how so very afraid I’ve been . . . I can see it.”
“What is it, Kat?”
Katherine felt the tears burn. “Oh, God.” Then she began to shudder and curl into a fetal position. She wept. Officer Jannsen let her alone a minute, then got up to sit next to her, put her hands on her shoulder.
“Kat?”
“Those men hurt me so much.”
“But you’re safe now. And I’m here for you, I’ll protect you.”
“I know, I know. Maybe that’s why I got all . . . you know, hot on you.”
“I know, and it’s fine. And believe me, you’re getting stronger by the day.”
“You think?”
“I know it. That’s what I see in you.”
Katherine pulled the sleeve of her flannel pajamas from under her cloak and wiped her eyes and nose. Officer Jannsen started to get up.
“I’ll get some tissues from the house.”
“Don’t leave me. Not now, not yet.”
“All right,” Officer Jannsen said, touching Katherine’s hair and combing it with her fingers.
“It’s very late, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Kat, it’s very late. You need to sleep.”
“I know. Just one more shooting star, then I’ll go to bed. It’s been such a nice night. You, me, Max, telling a story. You, me, here, just now.”
She looked up at the sky. Must be a gazillion stars, she thought, and Anne Jannsen probably knows the name of each one.
“Will they ever take you away from me, Anne?”
“Take me where?”
“Will they, you know, transfer you somewhere else?”
“Excuse me, Madame Taylor. I tell you I can’t kiss you like a lover and you’re already looking for my replacement?”
Katherine laughed.
“No. I just know how it works; they rotate the boys every four months. And you’ve been great to stay all the time, but I was wondering if you’ll ever leave. You will tell me, won’t you?”
“I told you once, Kat, there’s no place I’d rather be than with you and Max.”
“Yeah, I know. Just checking.”
Katherine fell to sleep, and it was very quiet.
Officer Jannsen waited a few minutes to make sure Katherine was under, then she got up and tucked the blanket around Katherine’s body. She leaned down, took a lock of Katherine’s hair in her own hand, smelled it, kissed it.
“Yeah, me, too,” Katherine murmured.
Officer Jannsen didn’t move.
“Kat, are you awake?”
“No . . . just . . . hmmm.”
Officer Jannsen listened to the rhythm of Katherine’s breathing and knew she’d gotten it wrong. The Night Clouds tea had only induced Katherine into the theta wave stage of sleep, and only now was beginning to produce delta waves.
Then a voice: “Je suis désolé de vous déranger, Chef.”
Officer Jannsen saw one of the Swiss Guards standing at the edge of the garden. She got up, walked toward him.
“What is it?”
“Flash traffic from Inspector Gobet. He wants you online, right now.”
She pulled her mobile from her belt, switched it on. Two priority messages advising of flash traffic, one classified file. She sent the file to her decryption application, waited. The file opened. Officer Jannsen knew what it was, and her eyes dropped to the last series of numbers. She felt her heart pound. She closed the phone, hooked it to her belt. She looked at the Swiss Guard, nodded to Katherine.
“Carry Madame Taylor to her room, put her to bed. Then call in the squad from night maneuvers and light up the perimeter.”
“Roger, Chef.”
She marched to Control.
The guard manning the Ops desk saw Officer Jannsen come through the door.
“We’re on the bird and counting down,” he said.
“How far back are we?”
“Six minutes, Chef. I’m adjusting the signal for lag time.”
She walked through the room, toward a door marked SUPPLIES. She glanced at the security monitors from the house. Saw Katherine being carried up the stairs, saw Max asleep in his crib with Monsieur Booty curled up on the nearby stool. On the exterior cameras she saw the perimeter lights switch on and the night squad coming in from the woods. She stopped at the supply room door. She grabbed the door handle, tried to turn it. It wouldn’t give. She remembered it wasn’t that kind of door.
“Öffnen sie die verdammte tür,” she said.
The guard quickly entered a four-digit code on his computer keyboard, and the door popped open. Officer Jannsen stood still a moment, turned back.
“When you get an REM sleep registration from Madame Taylor, seal the door to the boy. Release enough masking potion to make her unsure about the last ninety minutes.”
“Chef?”
“I want her to imagine the last ninety minutes as a dream, that she went to bed and didn’t come out into the garden. And notify the pharmacy in Grover’s Mill that her memory potions need to be adjusted again.”
The guard tapped a couple keys, read something on his screen.
“Excuse me, Chef, there isn’t any note of that on her medication log.”
She shot a vicious look across the room.
“Ich will es getan!”
“Natürlich, Chef. Last ninety minutes to be redirected in Swan Lake’s memory.”
Officer Jannsen went inside the room, locked the door behind her. Barely a meter by two meters, just enough to fit a small desk and chair. There was a small blue light on the wall. A Crypto Field Terminal attached to a headset with a microphone. It was called the Quiet Room. So quiet she could hear the sound of her own heart pounding. She sat down, put on the headset, adjusted the microphone. She watched the digital clock on the screen count down to real time, to the exact millisecond . . . Love’s not Time’s fool, she thought at the very moment the clock flipped to 00:00:00:00. Then a low-frequency hum vibrated through the room, and Inspector Gobet appeared onscreen.
“Good evening, Officer Jannsen.”
“Inspector.”
“I trust you’ve seen the news footage of the celestial event.”
“Yes, sir. I was in the back garden watching the stars, trying to imagine it. How is spin control?”
“Proceeding as planned; though given the state of the world’s media, we’ll be awash in false prophets by the end of the day, I’m sure. We’ve arranged for a British astrophysicist to enter the conversation this evening to calm the mood, as it were. And a statement from EPFL, which by curious timing was the only lab in Europe managing to gather any scientific data on the event, will lend gravitas to the spin. I should like to impress upon you that, given the events in Portland, Madame Taylor is not to be made aware of the comet in any way.”
“I’ve already issued an order to all operatives through closed-circuit comms.”
“Have you had time to review the data I have referred to HQ regarding the boy’s light scan?”
“I just received it, sir.”
“You saw the bottom line.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your thoughts?”
“Confused, sir.”
“Because?”
He was listening to her voice, analyzing her.
“Officer, I would appreciate it if you did not appraise the significance of your words before speaking. It only muddies the communication process between our species.”
“Yes, sir. I’m having a hard time accepting the results.”
“Please elaborate.”
“It seems to confirm your suspicion that she wasn’t impregnated by the enemy.”
“Can you find room in the data for any margin of error?”
“None,” she said.
“Indicating?”
“According to the results of the light scan, Madame Taylor’s son is normal. He’s an ordinary human being.”
“And this is why you find it difficult to accept the results. You believe the boy to be special, unique.”
“I know he is, sir.”
“Would this be an emotional reaction because of what it would imply if he is an ordinary boy?”
She felt her throat constrict with anger.
“Yes, sir. And if I may say, cutting them loose would be . . .”
“Would be what, Officer?”
“Evil, sir.”
“Walking away is the most terrible and necessary part of our job. Too often, most assuredly. I understand why, as a human being, you would find walking away from them to be evil. But that’s the way it is in paradise.”
“Not for me, sir.”
“I beg your pardon, Officer?”
“I will not leave them. Not after Portland. Not after they saw him.”
“The saxophoneman, you mean.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Officer, you are aware that our kind, including those bound by oath to us, are forbidden to interfere in the manner or time of anyone’s death.”
“Yes, sir, I’m very aware of it. I’m also aware that if the light scan is accurate, then HQ will pull all protection from Madame Taylor and Max.”
“And you will choose to stay with them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Knowing full well that we will wipe your memory of all knowledge of us, and the truth of existence in this place. You will be returned to one of them.”
> “Yes, sir.”
Officer Jannsen watched Inspector Gobet watching her. One of those showdown moments wherein the inspector waited for the next word to be spoken to determine the manner of a subject’s thinking. Waiting for it, Officer Jannsen had another thought.
“These aren’t the real results. You’ve intercepted the real results and sent HQ a fake.”
She watched the inspector light and inhale from one of his hand-rolled cigarettes with the gold filters. For a moment, she considered the oddity of working in the service of ancient beings from an unknown place; beings mankind called angels, and all of them exhibiting what humans would classify as a serious drug habit. She watched the inspector exhale.
“For the moment, let’s say I seem to have mistyped a few numbers,” he said.
Officer Jannsen remembered her conversation with Inspector Gobet ordering the light scan in Portland: Our operations in protecting Madame Taylor and the child are based on the assumption she was raped and impregnated by the enemy . . . cannot go into details . . . need confirmation on the boy’s status, one way or the other. An ordinary boy, not conceived by the enemy, but not conceived by an ordinary man. That left one option.
“You discovered Max was conceived by one of your own kind,” she said. “That’s the confirmation you were looking for in the light scan.”
“That was the primary possibility. But after reviewing the genuine results of the scan, and the case file of the Lausanne job, I’m ruling out that possibility as well.”
“Sir, there are no other possibilities of conception. Not for the human beings.”
“Outside the realm of the legends and myths of men, you mean.”
“Sir?”
She watched Inspector Gobet draw deeply from his cigarette and allow himself a moment of pure radiance before continuing to speak.
“‘Who, by procreation, is the primal father of truth? Who created the course of the sun and stars? Through whom does the moon wax and wane? These very things, and others, I wish to know.’”
She knew the words. From the Ushtavaiti Gatha of Zoroaster. She wondered at the connection. Religious mystic, prophet, priest from the Bronze Age. Born anywhere from Azerbaijan to Iran, lived anytime from the sixth to second millennium BCE. She’d studied him at university in Comparative Religions. Monotheist, dualist, articulated the concept of free will amid the creation. Good thoughts, good words, good deeds, would transform the material world into . . . paradise. And she remembered some required reading. John Malcolm’s History of Persia in 1815. He had a line about Zoroaster. Born of an immaculate conception by a ray of the Divine Reason.
