by Steve Richer
Spicer was starting to thaw from his day on the golf course and there was only one thing that he really wanted. He left his place and went to the apartment next door. He took a deep breath and knocked.
“Hi!” Esther said cheerfully when she found him on her doorstep.
“I’ve had a really, really bad day. The thought of you somewhat made it bearable though.”
He looked at her from head to toe. She was wearing baggy flannel pajamas but to him it made her look drop-dead gorgeous.
“Are you trying to be charming?” she asked.
“Is it working?”
She opened the door wider and moved aside to let him in. He didn’t go far. His hands were on her and he slammed her body against the wall just as his lips crushed against hers. The kiss was feverish and it awakened something within the both of them.
She escaped his grasp just long enough to reach the door and push it closed. Spicer didn’t let go of her. He was feeling a need he hadn’t felt in years. It was beyond physical. He cradled her face in his strong hands and caressed her skin, so creamy and inviting.
He paused for a moment, giving her a chance to turn him down. She didn’t. He could see in her eyes she was on board with this. No, she craved this as much as he did. He leaped forward again, planting his mouth on hers and all but shoved his tongue down her throat. She moaned in response and he grinded his body against her small frame.
His hands slithered down to her chest which he pawed without mercy. She didn’t resist, didn’t even recoil. In fact, she was doing the same to him. It fueled his desire and without wasting another beat he proceeded to unbutton her shirt.
“Gene…”
“Don’t tell me to stop. I won’t. I can’t.”
“Good,” she whispered.
She undid his pants and Spicer took her right there against the wall. Neither lasted long but the intensity more than made up for the speediness. In fact, as soon as they were done Spicer was ready to start again.
He kissed her tenderly before lifting her up and carrying her to her dark bedroom. The rest of their clothes came flying off and they settled in for one hell of a night.
* * *
The room was bathed in an orange glow as the blinds struggled to keep the rising sun out. Esther strained to open her eyes, rubbing them gently while shifting under the covers. She finally took a look around and found the bed empty.
She sat up and spotted her neighbor standing at the window. He was only wearing his pants and he was looking through a crack in the blinds, clearly lost in thought.
She said, “You’re an early riser, uh?”
He looked back to acknowledge that she’d woken up and then returned to staring outside.
“Esther, I’ve…”
“What is it?”
“I want to tell you something.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not allowed though.”
She frowned. “Who doesn’t allow it?”
“Esther, I’ve done some terrible things in my life.”
“The war?”
“No,” Spicer said, shaking his head. “That was just the easy part.”
He spun around and went to the bed, sitting next to her.
“You didn’t beat your wife, did you?”
“No, never.”
“Then it doesn’t matter. It’s in the past, right?”
“Absolutely.”
He liked how Zen she was about this. Maybe he was the one stressing out over nothing. For the first time in months he saw the future as something bright and inviting. He took her in his arms and hugged her.
* * *
Ned had a small – though massively overpriced – bungalow just outside of Arlington. It was freakishly decorated with an aviation motif. On most walls were framed photographs of fighter jets, biplanes, and even airliners. There were posters from air shows. Over the couch in the living room was a life-size wooden propeller.
And Ned was looking forward to adding to the collection. He walked into the kitchen, still in the process of knotting his tie. He bit into a piece of toast that was already getting cold and went to pour himself a second cup of coffee.
“You’re out of milk,” a voice said.
He almost dropped the pot of coffee as he turned around toward the intruder.
Spicer was standing next to the fridge, dressed casually in jeans and a sweater.
“Goddamn it, I’m gonna need to change underwear.”
“Morning, Ned.”
“What the hell are you doing in my house? How’d you get in?”
Most importantly, why had he broken into his house with his little red gym bag?
Chapter 17
He put the coffee pot back without refilling his cup. He was angry and even Spicer could tell it was more about getting caught off guard than and about the home invasion.
“You didn’t hear me knock so I walked in. I need your help, Ned. I need the list of universities working for Anchises.”
“If it’s for what I think it is, you can forget it. You’ve been fired, you’re out of the loop.”
“You know and I know that something’s not right. I know who wrote the article.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? Maybe you could get your job back.”
Spicer shook his head. “No, they’d kill that person. Look, your job isn’t bureaucratic anymore, it’s real fucking concrete now.”
Ned was conflicted. He began pacing around and ended up behind the little counter.
“They find out I’ve helped you and I’m the next stress-related suicide. My wife’s pregnant, I tell you that? I can’t jeopardize that. Maybe you don’t mind risking your ass on some silly little goose chase, but I happen to be very much attached to my ass.”
“I’m not asking you as your boss, Lieutenant. I’m asking you as your friend. If there’s anything you think you can get, I’d really appreciate it.”
Ned looked down, weighing the situation. “This is crazier than dodging Migs, y’know.”
Spicer touched his arm to say thanks because he knew his friend would pull through. Then he looked around, noticing the decor.
“This house reminds me of my room, when I was five.”
“My wife thinks that when she gets back from her sister’s all this will be gone. Can you believe that?”
“I’m rooting for her,” Spicer said with a wink.
* * *
CIA headquarters was buzzing with activity but Ned was slow to start the day. He was in the hallway, waiting behind two other people to get some coffee from a vending machine, which would save him a trip down to the cafeteria. That’s how badly he needed caffeine, risking food poisoning instead of a ten-minutes round-trip.
A tall woman came to him. He moved so she could go behind him. Hell, she wasn’t bad looking and he would probably let her cut the line if she asked. But she didn’t. Instead she turned to face him.
“You’re Lieutenant Wallace, right?”
Surprised, he looked up at her. “Yeah. And you are?”
“Clara Mailley, I’m your new boss.”
She offered her hand and it was either shake or be branded as a traitor. He chose the former.
“Hi.”
“Listen, I’m settling in, they gave me an office in Medical Services. I gotta bring in all of Spicer’s files in from Dr. Michaels’s office.”
Ned nodded thoughtfully. “You mention him by name, did you know Spicer?”
“Uh no, I didn’t. But bring in the files, would you? I’m going down for some breakfast. My office is B-1943.”
She pulled her face into a wicked smile, something he’d seen on candy ass superior officers in the Navy, those who enjoyed power more than the service itself. She left and it was his turn at the vending machine. He didn’t need coffee anymore.
She had succeeded at wiring him up.
He would definitely not enjoy working with her, he thought as he rode the elevator upstairs. Spicer was a block of ice but from the beginning
he’d known there was someone under that facade. This lady? She looked driven. From his experience, driven people were selfish and devious. He would have to watch his back around her.
He reached the seventh floor, navigated the maze of hallways, and found the office of Dr. Michaels. His secretary waved him in and the man was at his desk, his feet propped up on the desk. He was on the phone.
“No, there’s no problem there. After the elections people’ll start to see clearly again.”
Michaels nodded to the young man and pointed at two corrugated boxes stacked up in the corner. Ned nodded back, grabbed the rather heavy boxes, and left.
He missed flying so much. A part of him wanted to simply ditch the boxes, tend his resignation, and move out west where he could dust crops or maybe drop water on forest fires. Nothing would ever measure up to a fighter jet but it was bound to be better than carrying boxes for some bureaucrats.
He took the elevator down again and found himself alone. He put the boxes on the ground and crossed his arms. All he could think about was Spicer in his house this morning. He had asked him a favor and clearly it was something important to him. He knew exactly what he would do if he were here.
Fuck it.
No longer hesitating, he crouched and opened the first box. He hurriedly flipped through the folders, glancing at the labels. Nothing was jumping out at him.
“Come on, come on…”
The car stopped and the door was opened. They were on the fourth floor. A redhead came in, her high heels louder than your average commuter train. They shared a glance long enough for them to realize they didn’t know each other.
The doors closed and he moved on to the second box. They were moving down again, the bell ringing ominously every time they passed a floor. He flew through the folders and finally found one related to the Anchises Project.
They reached the first floor, the doors opened, and Ned waited until the woman walked out to steal the folder. He shoved the file inside his pants, under his jacket. He replaced the lid, grabbed the boxes, and got back up.
He headed right after exiting the elevator and Clara was visible in the distance. She was coming toward him.
“Hey, my office is this way.”
She pointed behind her with a thumb. She had her purse now.
“Oh,” he said, searching for an apology.
While trying to come up with a backup plan, he started walking in that new direction.
She said, “I’ll be back in ten, fifteen minutes.”
They passed by each other and he saw a window of opportunity. It wasn’t flying over the desert with a Mig on his six, but what he had in mind got his blood pumping.
And it was just as likely to cause his death.
Chapter 18
It occurred to Ned that he was about to commit treason. Nowadays, coloring outside the lines of a children's book was considered treason as far as intelligence agencies were concerned. But it was no longer just about helping his friend, it was about doing the right thing. If no one took a stand the very basis of the American society would disintegrate.
He headed to the copy room. This was a perilous move. After all, this was the world’s most dangerous spy agency and it didn’t take lightly to having confidential documents photocopied. As a result, every user had to identify itself with a keycard and the documents were logged in the system for eventual review and tracing. Ned was working hard to find a plausible explanation for when he would be questioned.
He entered the copy room and found three people waiting in line.
Muttering a curse, he turned around and walked among the cubicles. That’s when a light bulb went off in his head. When he had been assigned his desk he had discovered something in the drawer that at the time he’d found ridiculous. Now it was exactly what he needed.
He hurried to his cubicle and set the boxes on the floor. He opened the bottom drawer and the gadget was still there. It was an old flatbed scanner. He pulled it out, untangled the wires, and plugged it into his computer. He hoped it was still installed, held his breath while Windows struggled to recognize the device, and a welcome dialog box appeared.
Yes!
The scanner was left over from the days when the Agency was digitalizing documents. Employees were expected to scan their old files to be integrated with the new system. Only the most sensitive documents were kept on paper.
He grabbed the three sheets that were shoved down his pants and placed the first one on the scanner. He rolled his mouse, double-clicked, clicked again, and the page was scanned. The noise was thunderous and gave him heart palpitations, but fortunately no SWAT team came bursting into his cubicle. When it was done, he clicked another button and his printer came to life, spitting out a copy.
Without losing a second, he did the same with the two other pages. Tapping his foot nervously, he couldn’t wait for this to be over.
Five minutes later, Ned was ready to relax. He was bending to set the boxes down for the final time in Clara’s office, his illegal copies carefully hidden away. When he straightened up and turned around, Dr. Michaels was standing in the door frame.
“Took you a long time, didn’t it?” he said while looking at his watch.
“Uh, busy elevators.”
Michaels nodded, apparently buying it. “Where’s Clara?”
He told him, still expecting to be assaulted by an entire platoon of armed men, and finally the mission was over.
* * *
Spicer took a bite of his hamburger as Ned slid into the booth in front of him.
“You couldn’t find a place greasier, uh?”
Disgusted, he wiped a spot of congealed ketchup from the table with his napkin.
Spicer ignored the comment. “Look, I can’t thank you enough. You want something to eat?”
“Like what, a bowl of Crisco?”
Ned pulled an envelope from his jacket and launched it across the table. Spicer didn’t waste any time and grabbed it. He swiftly pocketed it.
“Did anybody see you?”
“I don’t know. Michaels maybe. I think he may know something’s up, I’m not sure. You should get out while you still can.”
“It’s not just me anymore,” Spicer said. “Somebody reached out to me and I can’t let that person down.” Ned stood up. “You’re a good man, Ned. I’m sorry for having mixed you up with this.”
The young man snorted. “Save it for the eulogy.”
* * *
Spicer wanted to be with Esther but she was spending the night working on the elections. It was the home stretch and she’d said they were pulling out all the stops at the party headquarters. On second thought, that was just as well for him. It gave him an opportunity to do some research.
There was a ball game on TV but he kept the volume low. He sat at the kitchen table in front of his laptop, sipping a can of Coke. Next to him was the file stolen by Ned but upon inspection he was underwhelmed by the information contained. For now, he circled in red schools that were participating in the Anchises Project.
He went on the web and searched for a series of universities: Stanford, University of Chicago, Penn State, Columbia, the University of Arizona. Then he browsed to their individual sections on their research programs.
The Anchises Project was funding research on New Technologies, Sociologic Neuropsychology, Urban Violence, Special Constitutional Research Center, and Renaissance Literature Applications.
For the first three, all he found were vague descriptions of what it was about, stuff like pure scientific research with hopes of finding practical applications. The other two simply displayed This page is under construction.
He shouldn’t have expected anything better, he told himself. He was tired and frustrated. He took a sip of soda, leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, and ran a hand through his hair. Finally, he got up and began pacing through the apartment.
“All right,” he whispered to himself. “What do we know?”
He stretched his arms and exerci
sed his neck, acting as if he was gearing up for a fight. When he was in the living room, he glanced at the game, realized it didn’t interest him, and grabbed a yellow legal pad. He sat in his recliner and turned on his new lamp. He needed to organize his thoughts.
He wrote Anchises Project centered on top and underlined it three times. Lower on the left, he wrote Prof. Harland Fry and drew a box around it. Underneath that he wrote Government is out to get us, and lower, DEAD.
On the opposite side, he scribbled Clara - Real name? He also drew a box around it. Below that he wrote Author of article $$$. He traced a line between the two boxes and put a large question mark on it.
At the bottom of the page he wrote Thought-reading???
It was a big highway to nowhere.
He was more confused than ever. He dropped the pad on the coffee table, letting it fall on his copy of the New York Express-Ledger ad/article.
Chapter 19
Still feeling the rush of the day’s illegal activities, Ned walked into his bungalow and tossed his jacket over a chair as he entered the kitchen. It was a miracle he hadn’t been caught. He opened the fridge and scanned its content, searching for dinner. It was like he somehow expected the Grocery Fairy to have garnished his refrigerator.
His phone started ringing and he backed out of the appliance, bringing with him a Tupperware container.
“Hello?” he said as he popped off the lid and took a whiff of the food. Chicken or Fish? It was a mystery.
“Ned, it’s me.” Spicer. “I’m sorry to ask but I need your help again.”
The young man shook his head absentmindedly and set the food on the counter.
“I already took one hell of a risk.”
Right then, the front door opened and his wife came in. She looked 15 months pregnant and she was carrying two suitcases. She looked around and her face fell when she noticed that decor hadn’t changed. It still looked like a cheap aviation museum.
“I knew it, I knew it…”
Ned smiled privately when he heard her. He went to the kitchen’s entrance to look at her, barely hearing Spicer going on in the phone.
