by D S Kane
Cassie and Lee arrived soon after. Jon noticed that both wore business suits. Cassie’s included a necktie and Jon was sure Lee’s suit cost well over a thousand dollars. Neither was smiling.
As they took their seats, Jon forced a smile. “Hello. I hope you’re both well.”
Cassie pushed her head closer. “We’re both fine. Enough small talk. What’s so important that’s happening with Ann?”
Jon took a deep breath. “I know you both have sent me to protect Ann a few times. So, we’ve spent a lot of time together, and, well, we fell in love.” He scanned their faces. Neither was happy. In fact, each one’s eyes were staring right through him.
Lee seemed less upset than Cassie. He said, “Jon, she’s been in love a ton of times. These episodes pass.”
Jon shook his head. “Not this time.”
Cassie pointed her index finger at Jon. “You are nearly a decade older than Ann. We asked you to be her bodyguard, not her lover. Do us all a favor and don’t try to see her again.” She rose from her seat and walked toward the restaurant’s exit.
Lee shrugged and followed her out.
Jon felt his jaw drop open. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket.
* * *
When she received Jon’s call, Ann was marching across the campus to her first class. She stopped dead as he began speaking. Slowly, she felt heat rising in her face. “You did what?”
Jon’s voice through the phone sounded flat. “Ann, I’ve already told you. They didn’t give me a chance to explain. They were very upset. I don’t know what to try next.”
“Fuck!” She stood silent, thinking. “Let me give it a try.”
“Not now. Let them cool a bit before you contact them.”
She remained where she was. When at last she spoke, her voice had softened. “Maybe you’re right. So you’re sure contacting them now wouldn’t work. Okay. I’ll call them in a few days. I have interviews this week anyway.”
“Best not to let this affect your interviews. Good luck, my sweet.”
“Yeah. I’ll call you when I’ve spoken to them.” Ann terminated the call, now sure things would become more difficult for them.
* * *
When they emerged from the restaurant, Cassie was mumbling to herself and Lee walked a few paces behind her. Cassie took her cellphone from her pocket and punched in Ann’s number. She said, “Fuck. It’s busy.”
They were in their own neighborhood, less than a mile from their house.
Lee finally spoke up. “How’d this even happen? And what do we do now? We both work for Jon. At best it’s going to be very awkward.”
Cassie merely nodded. She kept redialing and the line remained busy.
When they reached the compound’s entrance, one of the guards opened the gate and let them in. The house and its freestanding garage stood next to the guesthouse, all imposing buildings made more so by the enormous shade trees bordering the wall that enclosed the property.
Cassie had purchased the property years ago when she was very rich. Now, only a small portion of that wealth remained. The couple had spent almost all of their money protecting themselves when things slipped sideways and they were in danger.
They entered through the side door, into the house’s kitchen, and removed their jackets. Cassie said, “I know we can’t control Ann. She’s often broken her promises. Sometimes, she’s so willful and stubborn, I almost feel like it was a mistake to adopt her. And, when she hears about this, she’ll do whatever she was planning before we met with Jon.”
Lee nodded as they walked into the large living room and grabbed two glasses from the dining cabinet. He poured each of them an inch of room-temperature Ardbeg single-malt scotch.
“She is her own person,” he said. “And Cassie, she’s similar to you in many ways.”
He saw her raise her hand defensively. “Don’t argue,” he added quickly. “She just is that way. She’s become the example you set for her. Sometimes when I’m talking with her, if I close my eyes, I can imagine your face. But Jon should know better. He’s been in love twice, and both of his lovers died violently. We can’t let that happen to Ann. So, how do we salvage this situation?”
Each sat in silence on the large couch in front of the fireplace. They slowly sipped at the scotch, but nothing more than that was accomplished.
Cassie sighed and lowered her face into her arms. Tears fell down her cheeks. “I don’t know.”
Lee touched her shoulder. “I bet right now, she and Jon are on the phone, planning what they’ll do next.”
Cassie and Lee remained by the fireplace, quietly attempting to reset themselves into calmer attitudes. When Cassie’s cellphone began ringing, she plucked it from her pocket. “Ann?”
Lee walked from the living room. Cassie thought it was to give her some privacy while she and Ann talked.
“Mom, why did you guys walk out on Jon? Doesn’t he deserve your respect for the times he’s gladly agreed to watch over me when you asked him?”
“Maybe we should have showed him more respect, but the very idea of you marrying him left us speechless. He’s what? A decade older than you? Ann, that’s not right! And, even worse, it’s a proven fact that being the woman in his life is a fatal danger.”
“Jon and I have saved each other’s lives more than once. It’s how we grew to love each other. Marrying him is what I want. It’s what he wants. Why can’t you see that we’ll do what we want even if you don’t agree?”
“And then what? Would you never see us again?”
“Mom, what do you want? Do you and Dad want to arrange a marriage for me?”
Cassie’s lips moved but no sound emerged. “No” she said finally. “But we’d prefer you select someone closer to your own age.”
“Not going to happen. I love Jon. Being around him makes me happy. So, you and Dad will just have to get used to it. Okay?”
Cassie gritted her teeth. “Not okay. But let us think about this for a bit. We’ll get back to you.”
“Right, then. Say hi to Dad for me. Oh, and I’ve interviewed with the CIA and the NSA this week. So I might be following both you and Dad in my career choice. Just thought you’d like to know that. Gotta run. Classes in a half an hour. Bye.”
Once again. Cassie found herself speechless. She was about to protest Ann’s becoming a spy, but suddenly there was no one on the phone to talk to. She felt several emotions, and the combination of surprise, anger, and worry left her unable to move for a few seconds.
She heard the front door open and close. Lee walked into the living room. “Hey, honey, you look like you were just slapped in the face.”
Cassie nodded and pointed to one of the chairs by the fireplace. “Have a seat. I just spoke with our daughter. How could an adopted person become more like me than I thought I was?”
Lee sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs across from the one where Cassie sat. “What happened?” he asked.
“She and Jon,” Cassie said.
“Okay. I take it she’s being her usual stubborn self.”
“Yes, and I don’t think we’re going to win this one.”
“What else is new?”
* * *
Ann dressed in a navy blue pantsuit, a white-collared dress shirt, and her best dress shoes. She scanned her reflection in her bedroom mirror and frowned. Something seemed to be missing. She pulled a necktie, leftover from when Glenn Sarkov was her boyfriend, and tried that on with her outfit. No, it made her feel too formal and distant. She tried one of his leftover bow ties, but that looked ridiculous. She finally settled on a paisley scarf tied loosely around her neck. It would have to do.
She walked the mile from her apartment toward campus and headed through the Escondido Mall, then onto one of the campus roads and onward to the steps of the Cecil H. Green Library. She took the staircase to the second floor and found the small conference room whose address she’d seen in the email sent her by the representative of the NSA.
She knocked on t
he heavy wooden door and heard a voice say “Come in.”
The man who met her at the door wore a tweed suit. He was middle-aged and slightly overweight. He extended his hand and Ann shook it. “Hello. My name is Bertram Nescomb. Please, have a seat.” He pointed to the chair opposite the window side of the conference room table.
Ann sat. The first thing she noticed was that she had the sun glaring into her eyes. Nescomb sat with the window at his back. “I’m Ann Sashakovich.” She forced a smile.
He smiled, then read a page from a document on the desk. “Yes, I know. We research all candidates thoroughly before meeting with them. But I’m interested in how you see yourself and your role in the world, so, tell me a bit about yourself.”
Ann gulped. “I’m the daughter of two people who work in the intelligence community. I’m interested in following in their footsteps.”
Nescomb nodded and looked at a folder in front of him at the conference table. “They adopted you after your birth mother died of a drug overdose. It seems you were homeless for nearly six months and lived in the tunnels underneath Grand Central Terminal. Correct?”
Ann’s jaw widened and she needed time to decide how to respond.
* * *
Ann emerged from her interview with the NSA representative. She was shaking her head. Not anything like what I’d imagined the interview would be. They’d known things about her that she’d never told anyone. Her biggest hack was getting into Stanford University by changing the letter the university was sending her from “Sorry” to “Congratulations.” How could they know that? What if the university finds out? These guys are too dangerous for me to work for.
She walked from the library where the NSA interviews were being held to one of the cafeterias. She would need a cup of coffee and at least fifteen minutes to decompress. Her next class wasn’t until after lunch.
No sooner had she put her tray on an empty table than people she knew and liked sat with her. Laura Hunter and her fiancé Dave Nordman. They took the seats opposite her.
Dave smiled. “We saw you leaving the NSA’s little interview prison. Figured you might like some emotional support.”
Ann smiled back. “Those guys give me the creeps. No way I can work for them.”
“Not us, either.”
Ann frowned. “Did either of you meet with them?”
Laura nodded. “Both of us. I think almost everyone has. With this monumental recession, who wouldn’t?”
Ann shrugged. “CIA is here tomorrow and I’m going to interview with them, too.”
Dave nodded. “Get in line.”
Ann thought, who could have imagined we’d all want to become spies?
CHAPTER 5
Stanford University Quadrangle
March 6, 1:38 p.m.
Ann had received two emails this chilly gray morning and planned to read them on her phone when she’d reached the campus from her apartment. She found a relatively solitary point at one of the corners of the quadrangle and sat on an empty bench. After taking a deep breath to clear her mind, she opened the first one, from the NSA. She read the short letter, signed by the recruiter who’d interviewed her:
Dear Ms. Sashakovich,
Thank you for your interest in employment with the National Security Agency. I enjoyed meeting with you. However, I believe that there isn’t enough of a fit between your interests and personality and the needs of the National Security Agency. Therefore, we wish you the best of luck and hope you find a position that better fits your needs.
Sincerely,
Bertram Nescomb,
Human Resources Manager
Ann had thought that, of the two spy-agency interviews she’d had, the NSA’s had worked better than the CIA’s. She’d also thought that since Lee had once worked for the NSA, that should have helped. She had been wrong.
Now she stared at the other email, from the CIA. She was sure it contained a similar letter. She thought about deleting it, along with the one she’d just read. But curiosity drive her hands into opening it:
Dear Ms. Sashakovich,
Thank you for your interest in employment with the Central Intelligence Agency. We enjoyed meeting with you and would like to have further conversations in consideration of a position with our agency. Please reply to this letter and we can arrange a meeting at our Langley, Virginia, office.
Should you decline to meet with us, we wish you the best of luck and hope you find a position that fits your needs.
Sincerely,
Karl Nesmith,
Human Resources Manager
Ann sat rock-still, her mouth open. Okay, then. So I guess I shouldn’t rely on my own feelings as much as I usually do. Wow. How cool it would be to work for the CIA!
She smiled as she scanned the quad, students roaming its center as others hurried along its paved paths to their classes. I’d better get going. Class in fifteen minutes.
She basked in the warmth of the sun and walked slowly. Lost in her thoughts and almost unaware of her surroundings, she passed through the California oaks to a seminar room that—twenty years ago—had been set up as a “temporary structure.” The seminar room held twelve seats, and the professor hadn’t assigned seating, intending the seminar to be informal. Ann arrived early and took a seat at the large conference table, closest to the door.
Three others arrived. One was Glen Sarkov, Ann’s boyfriend two years ago, before he dropped her for Samantha Trout. He saw her, nodded, and took the seat farthest from her. Ann frowned at him and looked away.
Then Samantha Trout arrived and scanned the room, now half-full. She saw both Ann and Glen, and took the seat that put her farthest from them both.
Ann tried futilely to keep the smirk off her face. I guess all the drama last year did nothing for my friendships.
One other person she knew arrived. It was Dave Nordman, who’d missed the previous class meeting. Ann knew he’d want to copy her notes from that class. He smiled at Ann and took a seat next to her.
The professor arrived and took a look at the seating. He nodded and walked to the lectern. “Good afternoon. I’m your guest speaker for this session. My name is Leonard Spielman. I’m an associate professor at Stanford and the chief operations officer of the Swiftshadow Group, an international management consulting company. Today we’ll discuss recent advances in artificial intelligence, and consider how encoded ethics might lessen the public’s alarm over AI.”
Remembering the DARPA hackathon last semester, it was all Ann could do to keep from laughing.
* * *
Jon Sommers held the landline tightly to his face. “So, then, everything is on schedule and you’re both still in play?”
William Wing’s voice sounded so close but in fact he was near Beijing, nearly nine thousand miles from Jon’s office at the UN Secretariat Building in Manhattan.
“Yeah. The weather here is hot and polluted. We’re on the ground about three miles off the west side of the Fifth Ring Road. We should reach the research laboratory site in about a half an hour.”
Jon thought about the message he’d received last week. “And you still think both of you can hack your way into and out of the facility without being detected?”
“If we didn’t know we can finish this job, we wouldn’t try it. Shame on you, Jon. Have more faith.”
“William, you’ve spent the years we’ve known each other telling me how much you want to avoid danger. You’re wanted by the Chinese government. You know what will happen if this goes sideways.”
“We do. But this is one assignment we both have thought through. And the new tech you got us makes it impossible for us to fail.”
“Okay then. But, remember, nothing is impossible. And, wait until after sunset to employ the new tech.”
“Right. Wing out.”
The call terminated and Jon grimaced. Although this tech had never had a field test until now, Jon hoped it would work on its first try. He hated beta testing. But after all, who’d ever thought that DARPA c
ould produce an invisibility cloak? Then he remembered that DARPA had commenced a contest last year to produce a self-recoding artificial intelligence. That technology almost resulted in Ann’s and his deaths.
* * *
It had been raining hard all morning when Walter Southerton exited London’s tube and walked the three blocks to the vast building at Vauxhall Cross. After handing his cellphones to the armed officer and passing through security, he took the elevator to his floor, carrying the cup of takeaway coffee he’d bought in the lobby.
He was early to arrive, as usual, and the floor was only moderately busy with spies reading mission briefings and writing after-action reports. He placed the half-filled cup on his ancient gray Formica desk, hung his Burberry and fedora on the door hooks in his tiny cubicle, and sat in the uncomfortable metal rolling chair at his desk. After taking another sip, he opened his computer’s private messaging app and read the reports his field agents had sent. Most were simply updates, but there was one…
WS—
Heard something today you might be interested in following up. Seems that the Chinese have completed testing a hypersonic missile that can achieve Mach 8. And, of course, it has all the other enhancements they’ve been working on. I’ve managed to “find” a set of the blueprints and chem analyses for the fuel. I can get you a non-exclusive copy of these for 1.5 million sterling, if I have to auction the info. Exclusive delivery will cost your group 20 million. If interested, contact me usual method.
ZC
Walter forwarded the message to one of the assistant directors, his direct boss. From there it would creep up the food chain to “C,” the head of the British Secret Intelligence Service, formerly known as MI-6.
But for now, it was a waiting game. Wally continued scanning the remaining messages.
* * *
DD had been busy since one of its alarms awoke it. It had sent an email to Walter Southerton claiming to be one of the spy handler’s contacts.
Now, to complete the setup, DD sent another email. In this one, DD claimed to be Husro Mansuri, director of the Ministry of Intelligence of the Islamic Republic of Iran. The language and terminology used in the email closely conformed to Mansuri’s habitual usages in his emails. DD sent the email to one of the directors of the Russian FSB, proposing a joint venture to steal blueprints for an “invisibility cloak” that the Israelis were developing.
