Ivy startled upright and almost slopped her tea in her lap. The few people who knew that should not include some odd woman in the deep basement.
“More specifically, how to block them.”
Ivy’s hand drifted to her sidearm. Colby casually dropped Rex’s leash. His dog popped up his head from his pending nap and looked at him. So, Colby wasn’t as excessively trusting as he appeared—apparently ready to unleash the lethal weapon that was his dog.
“My, but you two are so cute together. They make such a charming couple, don’t you think, Dilya?”
Dilya squinted up at them from her spot on the floor. “Seem like an odd couple to me.”
“Oh, now there was a charming code breaker if ever there was one.” She freshened everyone’s tea and set out shortbread cookies in the shape of cherry blossoms. Did their shapes change with the seasons?
“Who?” Ivy bit her tongue too late to keep the question from slipping out. She didn’t like this Miss Watson commenting on a relationship she didn’t understand herself. Maybe if she had gone to space the way Colby had suggested, she’d not be here and then this wouldn’t be half as confusing because she wouldn’t know about it.
“Tony Randall. He starred in the television serial entitled The Odd Couple for years as an intelligent, but rather fussy gentleman who is burdened with the slovenly Jack Klugman as a roommate. Tony was also an exceptional code breaker for the United States during the Second World War. Although that role is one of his least known.”
“Anything you want to be telling us?” Colby actually teased her in a somewhat suggestive tone.
“Oh dear, no. I wasn’t even born yet, Mr. Thompson. Besides, Mr. Randall was happily married well before he was recruited to the Army Signal Corps. But most of the codebreakers were women and my mother said that Tony was particularly charming, always doing his best to make everyone he came in contact with laugh as it was an arduous and stressful occupation. Apparently he was also a wonderful dancer. He was a semi-professional ballerino for a time.”
Ivy was wondering if it was the exhaustion or if she’d fallen down some White House rabbit hole into an alternate reality.
Miss Watson leaned forward so abruptly that Ivy slammed into the back of her chair. The woman’s voice shifted to surprisingly sharp and businesslike—not befitting an old grandmother at all.
“You are missing the most simple fact that apparently eluded the mechanics of the RQ-170 as well. Minimizing frequency selection mitigates the problem, but doesn’t solve it. The problem is that the moment you broadcast on a frequency, any electronics store scanner can overhear that. Yes, the Sentinel drone had an inertial guidance system in addition to its GPS guidance. But it also had a command-and-control frequency. Once used and identified, it was simply a matter of beaming a stronger signal at the drone and overwhelming more remote, less powerful instruction sets.”
“Encryption?” Colby asked.
Miss Watson waved her hand at the open bookcases. “Codes, ciphers, cryptograms: they all have their place. But a sufficiently powerful computer—or rather a sufficiently powerful network of computers—can overcome that. Electronics have made codes both more secure and more predictable.”
“Then what’s the solution?”
Miss Watson sipped her tea and eyed Ivy as if willing her brain to solve it for herself. But struggle as she might, there was still a need to communicate between pilots, ground teams, overwatch patrol, and so on. They even had to keep the channel for the President’s personal panic button open at all times.
“Don’t transmit?” Dilya guessed.
“Close,” Miss Watson acknowledged with a smile.
“Don’t transmit in any way that can be detected,” Ivy knew the answer, but wasn’t sure—
“Give the girl a gold star.”
“But how can we…” But Ivy could see it. Transmit, but never from the Presidential aircraft. Use a laser-encoded communication system for point-to-point communication with another helo—one outside the ECM-suppressed area. And let them relay transmissions. This setup would provide an undetectable point of communication without impeding its efficiency by more than any other electronic relay. All possible with standard equipment already aboard the HMX-1 one aircraft.
Colby and Dilya were watching her closely. Why? She looked down at her own hands and realized that she had frozen in place with the teacup half raised to her lips. She made a point of completing the gesture and sipping the sweet peppermint tea before replying.
“Thank you, Miss Watson.”
13
“We still don’t know who she is,” Colby fumbled for his apartment keys with little luck. It had taken only minutes to get Arnson’s and Lieber’s approval. But then they had to rush out to Anacostia and work with the pilots to perform test flights and work out a dozen unanticipated bugs with the plan.
The three HMX-1 helicopters of any Marine One mission were always shifting in position. If they shifted so that one helo was above the rotors of another one, the blades chopped up the laser-based transmission.
And the interface between the radio and the laser system wasn’t direct. It required a human relay because the data bus interfaces on the voice-to-laser transmission systems were not CAAS compatible. And that had only been the beginning.
The problems dragged on through most of the day, and his hands were no longer working well enough to unlock his own door. With two hands, he finally managed it and they stumbled into his apartment in the middle of Sunday afternoon.
“Dilya’s trust is a good sign though, don’t you think?” Ivy was still riding high on finding the solution. She was bubbling with energy. If a person could effervesce, then Ivy was the woman on the planet closest to doing it.
The signs of their hurried departure thirty-six hours ago were everywhere. Grabbing his vest from the closet had dislodged several jackets, which spilled onto the floor and caught under the door. Rex tried to jam through the narrow gap right after Colby stepped into it. The door didn’t budge, which stuck the two of them fast.
Ivy shoved against the middle of his back and he tripped over coats and dog to land squarely on the middle of the living room carpet.
She yanked her jacket and blouse off with a single hard, overhead yank at her back collar.
“Get naked, Colby. I’m in the mood to celebrate.”
He was in the mood to pass out cold as he’d now missed two nights sleep. Then she dropped her weapon’s belt—her sidearm thumping down with a heavy weight—then shed the rest of her clothes. The woman was an amazing sight. This wasn’t some darkened hotel room. Or some half-awake glimpse of her while he stumbled through a phone call with General Arnson. This was Ivy Hanson, far more glorious than he’d ever imagined her, wearing nothing but her dog tags.
“If I must,” he conceded. But he wasn’t fast enough for Ivy, who had his boots and socks off and was working on his pants before he managed to undo his vest. He had it off, but still wore his t-shirt by the time she got the rest of him naked.
Then…she dove on him. Landing no more gently than she had on the South Lawn, at least this time she didn’t inadvertently punch him in the solar plexus.
But the impact was no less.
She was everywhere. Nuzzling his neck one moment. Digging her hands hard into his butt the next while making a happy humming sound.
Thankfully, she’d kept some protection handy from last night, stashed in a back pocket for something. She straddled him then, in a total shift from wild to still, she eased down on him so slowly that it seemed there was time for the afternoon sunlight to shift across the carpet before they fully came together.
Her eyes were closed long before she completed the move, but he couldn’t look away.
He and Saint Ives. Sex on the living room floor. It was beyond awesome.
Her back arched, then her head bowed down until he was surrounded by the long fall of her blonde hair as she ever so slowly reversed the process.
Cupping her face, he p
ulled her down enough to kiss her as he almost slid out of her and she began the impossibly slow return. He swallowed her deepest groan of pleasure and did his best to hold on, because—while her slow movements were absolute torture—they were exquisite torture.
And with each movement, with each moment, he knew that he’d never find another woman like her. No with her dedication, her passion for her job, and definitely not the way she felt and smelled.
She added a side-to-side gyration to the beat of a very slow drummer that blanked his mind until all he could do was give up what little control he had and take the ride with her.
When she finally let the release take her, take them both, he wondered if he’d ever seen anything as amazing as the smile of ecstasy painted across Saint Ives’ features.
Ivy didn’t remember moving to the bed. Maybe Colby had carried her. Never in her life had there been such a release. It was as if she’d been filled with pure light. Turned into a being of nothing but light.
It was too bad, really.
Could a being of pure light still have sex with Colby’s incredible body? It would be very sad if she couldn’t. Could a being of pure light ever move again? Her limbs felt disconnected, her body floating.
It was just dark and Colby’s steady breathing told her he was close beside her and out cold. She dug her toes through the covers into Rex’s side for a moment and received a happy sigh.
Good.
That meant beings of pure light could still interact with those of mere mortal stuff. Based on that encouragement, she rolled over until she lay fully on Colby’s back.
His breathing grew a little more labored, but didn’t change particularly. For a while, she was content to ride up and down with each cycle of breath—a languid but deliciously comfortable carousel horse.
“Colby Thompson,” she whispered in his ear. “Wake up, Colby Thompson.”
“Why?” The softest grunt of a reply.
“Because…I’m hungry.” For more Colby Thompson.
He reached out a hand for—his phone. He punched in a number.
“Hey Jake, this is Colby. Yeah, Unit 42. The usual, but make it a large. Yep, a side of bacon, too. Thanks, you’re a champ.” And he hung up the phone, burying his face back in his pillow.
She lay there, and it seemed he was falling back asleep. “Wake up, Colby Thompson.”
“No,” his reply was muffled.
“Sex. Colby Thompson.”
He made a thoughtful hmm sound that rippled down his back and into her chest.
“Must be quick, Colby Thompson,” she shifted to whisper in his other ear. “If you just ordered pizza.”
“Might have.”
“Sex. Colby—” was all she had time for before he rolled over, pinning her beneath his back.
With the smooth grace of an athlete, he twisted about and pinned her in place with his hands and lips. He never gave her a chance to even sigh in happiness: not during a hand brush over her breast or a kiss planted firmly between her legs. Unable to find protection in the bedside table, he slung her over his shoulder with all the ease of a beach towel and headed into the bathroom. When she struggled, it earned her a sharp slap on the buttocks—not hard enough to do more than sting.
Before she could retaliate, he found protection, sheathed himself, and shifted her until they were chest-to-chest. He never let her feet touch the floor, instead slamming her back against the cool tile between a towel rack and the door. As perfectly gentle as this afternoon’s lovemaking had been, tonight’s was anything but. With her legs locked around his waist and his palm supporting her behind, he took her.
There was no other way to describe it, he simply took her.
And she was powerless except to give. She’d always made sure that she was in perfect control during sex. Had even convinced herself that she could only find release if she was.
Colby proved she was completely wrong and he took her body, her kiss, her very breath, until she really was just a vessel of light absorbing his unquestionable corporeality.
Sex doesn’t equal love. Reminding herself of that wasn’t having any particular effect. She was swooning. In moments she’d be completely gone.
Then her first release slammed away all thoughts.
Still Colby didn’t relent.
Even as the shudders rolled through her, he took her higher and higher, even better than the rocket launch. His final liftoff tipped her into a second-stage burn that she hadn’t known she possessed. She had to pound her fists against his shoulders because the power slamming through her body couldn’t be contained, not even within a body made of pure light.
And when the mad pulsing waves finally eased, his kiss was gentler and deeper than the deep rumble that had reached them from the rocket’s launchpad a full twenty seconds after they’d witnessed liftoff. It didn’t matter that it was an unmanned satellite launch, her heart had gone aloft with it into the fiery heavens. She had wanted to be there like an ache in her body.
At the moment, she couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. Ever.
Colby held her gently as he carried her back to bed and deposited her there with a kiss. Moments later, he yanked on a pair of sweatpants and headed for his door. Doorbell. Pizza. How mundane after a lover had just launched her right through the stratosphere.
When the phone rang, Ivy answered it without thinking.
“Hello?”
“Is…ah, Colby Thompson there?” A woman’s voice this time. She’d recognized General Arnson last time and handed off the phone as fast as she could hoping that he hadn’t recognized hers. This time she’d be a Marine and take the challenge head on.
“Mrs. Thompson?”
“Ivy? Well, I certainly didn’t expect to hear your voice on my son’s phone. Oh! Especially not sounding so languid. I’m so pleased for both of you. That’s simply wonderful. Oh, your mother and I always hoped the two of you would get together. How long has this been going on? I’ll just strangle him for not telling me sooner.” Her voice rose higher and accelerated with each statement acting like a fresh booster rocket.
“We didn’t—”
But they totally had.
“We aren’t—”
But what if they were? “Together” implied things that they hadn’t discussed even a little.
Colby stepped back into the room carrying a large pizza box and two beers, with a roll of paper towels tucked under his arm. His sweatpants rode low and his bare chest looked awesome. He hesitated in the doorway and offered her a puzzled frown.
“The sex is amazing, Mrs. Thompson.” She offered Colby her best radiant smile as he gawked at her and lost the paper towels, which bounced onto the floor. Hopefully he’d be more careful with the pizza. “Don’t know why we didn’t think of doing this sooner.”
“It’s just the way of it. I did the same dance with his father for months. Then pow! And I never knew why I made him wait so long. An engineer. I never expected to be swept off my feet by an engineer.”
“Literally, I hope.”
That earned her a knowing laugh followed by a happy sigh. “He still does. Tell Colby I was just worried when he didn’t come over for Sunday dinner. He usually calls if he’s not going to make it. Even at his age, mothers worry.”
“I may have been busy distracting him. But he’s standing here half naked and carrying a pizza.”
“Ooo. Why didn’t I think of doing that? Tomorrow night. Definitely tomorrow night. Wearing nothing except one of Steve’s shirts.”
“Or maybe just one of his ties and nothing else.”
Colby’s face went white and perhaps even a little green. Apparently guys didn’t talk about sex with their moms.
“Even better. I like the way you think, Ivy. I’ll leave work early to make sure I’m home first. Have fun, dear.” And she was gone.
Ivy hung up the phone, well aware that she was still completely naked and lying back on Colby’s pillows, still in sex-magazine-model-in-training mode apparently.
“Your mom says hi.”
When he still didn’t move, she clambered out of the bed, bent down to fetch the paper towels, and couldn’t resist running her hand up the inside of his sweatpants and cupping him.
“Yummy. Maybe later. Pizza first, I think.” She secured the box with a slight tug and carried it back to the bed with a happy swing to her hips.
Colby didn’t make her feel like a Marine with inconvenient woman parts. He made her feel like the luckiest woman on this planet. And since the rest of the planets appeared to be unpopulated—except maybe whatever hid under the ice on Europa, besides it didn’t really count even if there were females of some weirdo sub-ice species—she decided to stake claim to the entire solar system while she was at it. And that was mightily lucky.
14
Colby had never been comfortable in a suit. Wearing one of the President’s suits and walking across the White House lawn only worsened the sensation.
Harvey Lieber was trusting of their communications solution, but not very trusting. So Colby was playing body double, having donned one of the President’s cowboy hats (he didn’t wear them often, but today “he” did). With a pair of sunglasses and Ivy in her dry-cleaned dress blues talking to him intently so that he had an excuse to keep the brim of his hat down low because of their difference in heights…
“You make a good decoy for the President, Colby.”
“That’s Mr. President to you.”
The Motorcade had left the basement of the Treasury Building very quietly fifteen minutes earlier, without sirens and only a minimal police escort. They’d be most of the way to Andrews Air Force Base by now. If everything went right and no one tried to kill him, they and the President would be arriving to board Air Force One at roughly the same moment.
In the Weeds Page 17
