by Jake Devlin
“I'm back. So how's it going up nord dere, Ro?”
- 66 -
December 31, 2012
11:38 a.m. local time
Soldeu, Andorra
“So how's it going, Doc?” Greg asked. “Your face seems to be healing up okay.”
“Yah, still painful, but the skin and bones are coming along well.”
“Good. And on your adaptations?”
“I am close, very, very close.”
“Details?”
“I have the range out to about fourteen kilometers and backward to a little over an hour. I cannot make it go forward, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You do understand the math?”
“And the physics.”
“You know you must go beyond Einstein to make it work?”
“Yes. It was tricky to build past his theories, but after you showed us your equations, Julie and I finally worked it out.”
“She is quite intelligent.”
“Yes, she is, and much more intuitive than I am.”
“Intuitive?”
“Uh, more, uh – ah, more right-brained.”
“Ah, yes. Artistic, imaginative, visual, maybe psychic?”
“Sort of, yeah; you're in the ballpark.”
“In the ballpark?
“Close, about right, in the neighborhood.”
“Ah, in the near?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“In the ballpark; okay.”
“And that gizmo on the side does it all?”
“Gizmo?”
“Device, the thing there with all the dials and buttons.”
“Ah; gizmo, device, gizmo, device Yes, that is what does it.”
“And it's powered with thorium?”
“Correct. A very delicate balance for the – for the gizmo.”
“And have you tested it?”
“Of course; six times. That is how I found the maximum ranges.”
“Can you demonstrate it now?”
“Of course.”
“Let me get Julie in here.”
“Take your time; it is only imaginary.”
A few moments later, Greg returned with Julie at his side.
“Okay, Doc, give it your best shot.”
“Best shot?”
“Demonstration.”
“Ah, okay; best shot, demonstration. Okay. Look in that book, please.”
“This? The binder?”
“Binder, yah. Pick out any object shown there.”
“How about this one, Greg?”
“Fine. Okay, Doc, Julie's picked out a coffee cup.”
“Good. Now point to any surface in the room.”
“Julie?”
“How about that table over in the far corner there?”
“Good.” The doctor looked at his watch and snapped his fingers. A coffee cup appeared in the air next to the table Julie had indicated, fell to the floor, bounced once and settled on its side.
“Scheiß!” the doctor said. He walked over, picked it up and handed it to Julie. It was warm to the touch.
“But you didn't do anything,” she said, examining the cup.
“Not yet,” the doctor replied, “and my aim will be off.”
- 67 -
December 31, 2012
11:13 a.m. local time
In the Gulf of Aden
“So there I was, naked as a jaybird, stretched out on the bed, and this fat, hairy mid-level KGB analyst is prancing around the hotel room in toe shoes and a tutu, waving his sword around … that's what he called it … no shirt, no pants, nothing but that damned pink tutu and those ecru shoes, the straps falling down around his ankles. I was trying so hard not to laugh, but to just keep looking seductive, that my tongue was bleeding, literally, from biting it.
“Then he does a really bad pirouette, arm flapping over his head, stumbles over to the desk, grabs his vodka, swigs the last of it down in one gulp, flings the empty bottle against the mirror, which shatters, and then he trips over the chair, lands on his face on the floor, throws up, farts and passes out.
“If it had been a larger room, the smell woulda dissipated, but this was Moscow, so it was overpowering.
“I waited as long as I could stand it, then threw on my robe, gave the all-clear signal and the rest of the team came in, hogtied him and flopped him into the bathtub. I leaned out the window and took a deep breath, and even the Russian smog smelled better.
“When he woke up in the morning, Richie stayed with him while he cleaned himself up and got dressed, and then we showed him the tapes we'd made, and he shit his pants. So before we could pitch him, Richie had to watch him while he cleaned himself up again.”
“Poor Richie.”
“Hey, Richie was a pro, no problem.
“Anyhow, after we turned Tutu-Man, he gave us six years of fairly good intel, not top-level stuff, but some of it helped Reagan deal with Gorby. He was caught in '87 and got his nine grams.”
“Nine grams?”
“The weight of a Soviet bullet.”
“Ah, right; I'd QH'd that.”
“But to this day, I can't bear the smell of borscht or even beets.”
- 68 -
December 31, 2012
11:58 a.m. local time
Soldeu, Andorra
“Now I set these dials for the location, but as I said, my aim will be off. Nothing I can do about that.”
“Because it already happened,” Julie said, still holding the cup, which had cooled off.
“Exactly.”
“But you got the timing exactly right,” Greg said.
“Of course I did. I am Swiss.
“We are all set. Are you ready?”
Greg and Julie glanced at each other and nodded. The doctor pressed a button on the gizmo, but nothing happened.
“Ach; I forgot.” He rustled through a stack of CDs and pulled one out. “Coffee cup,” he said, checking the label, and inserted it into a slot on the machine. After a momentary whirring sound, a green light glowed.
“Ah, good,” the doctor said and pressed the button again. The machine surged to life, squeezing a plastic substance from a nozzle to form a coffee cup exactly like the one in Julie's hand. After three or four minutes, the cup was complete; the doctor pressed a second button and the cup disappeared.
“Voila!” he said, smiling.
Greg and Julie looked at him quizzically.
“Yah, in some ways I am multilingual.”
- 69 -
December 31, 2012
11:27 a.m. local time
In the Gulf of Aden
“I wouldn't worry about that, Pam. Remember, it's just fiction. Hell, I even changed your name to Pamela.”
“But, Jake, even with that, anybody who has access to the actual records could figure out who I really am. All they'd have to do is crosscheck female agents on the PPDs from Clinton to Bush and Bush to Obama, and I was the only one who was on both of those details. AND you used my husband's real name.”
“Robertson, you mean?”
“Right. So that'll tie me back to the Company. You know they'll be coming after me … and you, too. Hell, maybe even JJ.”
“But we've all got new identities, new passports, a new name on the boat, and we're way out here in the middle of nowhere. Besides, you haven't done anything wrong.”
“Well, we have started on my memoirs, and even though I'm being very careful, some of those paranoid assholes will believe I'm gonna reveal classified information.”
“Well, even if they believe that, they don't have any evidence, and if they actually read the book, they'll get over believing that.”
“You mean this one, not the first one, right?”
“Right.”
“But that first one ended with the possibility of doing my memoirs, right?”
“I guess so. But I've been working so hard on this one that I've QH'd that.”
“Remember how you left it so it looked like that
guy on the PVC lounge had written the whole thing, with that list of alternate ideas he'd put in his notebook?”
“Ah, right, right. Starting on your memoirs WAS one of 'em.”
“Well, there's another red flag in front of angry bulls. And they'll believe what they want to believe just from that. Don't forget, I've been on the inside and I have a pretty good idea of how their heads work, and most of 'em are totally paranoid and arrogant.”
“A bad combo.”
“Got that right.”
“Okay. Lemme think.”
“Sure.”
A moment later, Jake said, “Okay, maybe this'll work. How about if we tweak it all so it's not the actual stories, but disguise 'em beyond recognition?”
“Maybe that'll work, but only after the second book comes out. For now, all they've got to go on is that final epilogue, and believe me, they're gonna really be thinking that at least some classified info will come out, and they'll want to stop that. Especially one guy who's now pretty high up in the Company.”
“But if we – wait, what?”
“I think he's the guy that got my husband killed, set him up as the mole.”
“Why would he do that?
“To cover himself.”
“You mean HE was the real mole?”
“I never managed to get real solid proof of that, but he sure didn't like it when Zach took over from him as my case officer. Even more when we got married. And he had tried to get me into bed, but I rejected him. So it coulda been just his ego. Or maybe he WAS the mole. But he even had me believing it was Zach. It was a very good setup.”
“And now he's high up?”
“Yup. Seventh floor up.”
“Oh, crap. Really?”
“Really.”
“Who is it?”
Pam gave him the name.
“Shit! He was in my class at the Farm. And I've been – so if he WAS the” --
“Right.”
“Geez. So the Russians still have” --
“May have; again, no solid proof.”
“So now Putin” --
“Yup, almost a direct line into the very top of the Agen- – I mean the Company.”
“Oh, fuck.”
- 70 -
December 31, 2012
1:08 p.m. local time
Bonita Beach, Florida
“So how d'you like it, Gordy?”
“Looks good on you, Rona.”
“And me?”
“Great, Sharon.”
“How 'bout mine?”
“Janet, never seen one look better.”
“And here come Jill and Carie.”
“Now, they look delightful … and delicious.”
“Hi, Gordy,” Jill and Carie chorused.
“Hi, kids. So why are you all wearing the T-shirts?”
“Last day of the year, and Rosemary asked us all to wear 'em today, wherever we were going to be. And we're all gonna wear 'em to the party tonight. You're coming, right?”
“Of course, Sharon.”
“What party?” a high, squeaky voice intruded as Ron strode down to the group gathered around Gordy on his PVC lounge.
“Our New Year's Eve party,” Rona said.
“And me and Jenny ain't invited?”
“'Fraid not, Ron,” Sharon said.
Jill added, “It's also to celebrate Gordy's book.”
“Oh, that,” Ron sneered. “Well, Jenny and I have invites to five parties, and we'd sure pick any of those before yours,” and he turned on his heel, as best he could in bare feet on beach sand, and went back and sat down next to his wife. Everybody in the group tried to contain their sniggering, some more successfully than others.
“You didn't give him a T-shirt, did you, Gordy?” Sharon asked.
“Nope; just 'cause I used his name in the book, if he hasn't read it, he doesn't get one. And he'd probably just burn it if I did.”
“Are we late?”
“Not at all, Wayne, hi, Linda. Everybody, this is Wayne and Linda. Remember, they were the bodyguards for Jennifer.”
“Where is Jennifer, by the way?” Sharon asked.
“I think she's off in the Caribbean somewhere with her daughter. The kid's a sailing champion and they've got some kind of a race down there.”
“I don't think we've met her,” Rona said.
“She doesn't get to the beach too often,” Gordy replied. “Cute as a button.”
“I'm sorry. Wayne, Linda, nice to meet you; I'm Rona. Joel and I were the ex-Mossad trainers.”
“Hi. I'm Sharon; he made me a sniper and ex-porn star.”
“Oh, right; up on the tenth floor over there,” Linda said, pointing across the street to the condos.
“And Carie and I were the Mimosa twins,” Jill added.
“But you don't look like twins,” Wayne said.
“No, but we are sisters,” Carie said.
“Hey, Gordy,” Louise said as she joined the group and was greeted by most of the people there.
“Hey, Louise. How ya doing?”
“Great. And you?”
“Super. By the way, thank you for the intro to those profs. I got the book edited the way they wanted, and they'll both be using it next semester. And I added a national lottery to the mix; a guy named Keith suggested that a couple weeks ago.”
“Great. They told me you gave 'em a nice bulk discount, too.
“Yup, and I owe you a big thank you for putting that whole deal together. I'm gonna have to do something special for you for that.”
“A finder's fee wouldn't be refused,” she said, laughing. “Just kidding; I was happy to do it.”
“Actually, I was thinking of something like that. But we'll work it out, okay?”
“Sure, whatever you want. No big deal.”
(Author's Note: This edited booklet was actually published, with the title “257 Ways to Fix the USA,” and is available in reality.)
“Oh, here comes Rosemary,” Rona said.
“And who's that with her?” Linda asked.
“That's Dallas; she's gonna help me with some stuff in the sequel. We've gotta spend some time on that, so maybe we can continue with the introductions later?”
“Sure, Gordy,” the group said as they dispersed back to their spots on the beach, greeting Rosemary and smiling at Dallas as they passed.
“Hi, Ro,” Gordy said as she air-kissed him. “Hi, Dallas.”
“Hey, Gordy. What's with all the T-shirts?”
“Oh, Gordy gave 'em to everybody who let him use their name in the book.”
“'I heart Being In The Book'?” Cool.”
“Just a little gift … and some shameless self-promotion.”
“Good idea. I'll have to tell my publisher about that.”
“No problem. And there's a lot of other folks who got 'em who aren't here today.”
“But they may be at the party tonight. Oh, Gordy, I invited Dallas to come, too. Okay?”
“Great idea. You know where Slinky Joe's is, right?”
“Sure. Been there a lot, even gotten some good ideas there.”
“I can imagine. Me, too.”
“So are you ready to look over my next draft?”
“Yup. Just let me get my overshorts on.”
- 71 -
December 31, 2012
11:38 a.m. local time
Aboard Defiance
In the Gulf of Aden
“We're gonna have to put Tutu-Man and the rest of your memoirs on the back burner.”
“Why?”
“We've got a new target.”
“Another hit?”
“Not if we can help it. But if it comes to that, then yes.”
“Who's the client?”
“I am.”
“And who's the target?”
“The seventh-floor guy, the guy you suspected.”
“Are you crazy, Jake? We'll never get close to him.”
“We don't have to. We're just gonna get that solid proo
f that he was and still is a mole – or that he wasn't and isn't. And then we'll decide what to do.”
“How are we gonna do that?”
“I've got a few ideas, and we'll see what comes from those and where we go from there. First step, I've got to make some calls and get the balls rolling … under the radar for now.”
“What can I do?”
“Well, first, can you gather any information you have on the guy, anything you've ever known or suspected about him?”
“That's easy; I've got it all in a journal and on a flash drive, and copies hidden in lots of places.”
“Ah, I should have guessed that. Insurance.”
“Of course. What else?”
“Uh, let's see. Anybody in the Service you can trust, and I mean really trust?”
“Been a year and a half since I retired, but there's a few I can think of.”
“Good. While I make those calls, how about if you start making a list?”
“Okay. I can also think of some in the FBI and a few in the Company.”
“Great; add them, too.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, I'll tell Jean-Claude to take borscht and beets off our menus, too.”
- 72 -
December 31, 2012
11:53 p.m. local time
Bonita Springs, Florida
“Great party, Rosemary.”
“Thanks, Dallas. Glad you could make it.”
“And I'm glad I came. Look at that chick dancing out there.”
“The one with all the tattoos?”
“Yeah, and the big boobs.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Silicone and ink, sure signs of the skank.”
Rosemary nodded and chuckled.
“You know, Gordy said something once, “The bigger the boobs, the dumber the boob – or was it the shallower the boob? Something like that.”
“So true, Rosemary. But I'd bet a lot of the guys here think she's sexy as hell.”
“You don't mean the guys in our group, do you?”
“Nah, the ones who are just here, like that guy with the mullet. See how he's ogling her?”
