by Jay Brandon
Her blue eyes flashed at Alicia Mortenson. No one would ever accuse Elena Valenciana of having dead eyes. She was Spanish, with a gypsy mix. Her skin was pale, but its base color was not white. Pale copper. When she and Alicia had met at a spa years ago Alicia had wondered what Elena was doing there, because she was already a woman of incredible beauty. As they’d become friends she’d discovered that Elena had a spirit to match her looks. She was wild but resourceful. She will never be any man’s wife, Alicia had thought at the time, and so far she was right. Elena didn’t enter into marriages, she ruined them. She went through phases, and now liked men of power. The current Secretary of State had been the CEO of an international corporation, so already familiar with many heads of state when he’d gotten his appointment. And his travel schedule often left room for an extra passenger.
“Maybe he should give in himself,” Elena said. “Lead the charge the other way. If one is going to lose this battle anyway…”
Alicia’s expression was a little pained, enough to cause larger pain on her companion’s face. “No, if I do that I will be convincing him to join the herd. Also to do away with his own values. Even if I convinced him, he would hate me for it.”
Alicia smiled approvingly, as if liking an item she saw on the menu. The restaurant was one of those light, airy cafes Georgetown does so well, even on an out-of-the-way side street. Elena didn’t have to hide out from anyone. She was, within her own limits, very discreet. In her first days in Georgetown, years ago, Elena had learned that a particular woman was gossiping about her ferociously. Elena had taken the woman’s husband away for a wonderful weekend in the Shenandoah Valley. People didn’t gossip about her any more, except in an admiring way.
So they sat at a back table, but not hiding. A basket of fresh daisies hung near their table, not only giving off their pleasant scent but subtly affecting the light. Daisies, Alicia thought, how refreshing.
Alicia didn’t mind being seen with Elena. She had many friends, and was a funny conversationalist. Elena had too many contacts for anyone to think that lunch with her was aimed at any other particular person. This was much safer, for example, than having lunch with the First Lady, which Alicia had also considered.
“But just encouraging him in what he already thinks is boring,” Elena pouted. “And it doesn’t give me any credit.” She smiled at Alicia’s arched eyebrow. “Yes, it is all about me. You know, darling, if a giant asteroid were coming to smash the Earth into pieces, I would be quite sure it was coming to pick me up.”
“And I’m sure you’d be right, dear.” They clinked white wine glasses. “Outside events are shaped to your will, not the other way around.” Alicia looked up at the waiter. “Salad Nicoise, I think.”
She handed away her menu while Elena kept gripping hers. She finally felt the waiter’s stare on her and said, “Steak tartare,” as if it were an incriminating statement dragged out of her.
When the waiter had gone Elena muttered, “That’s it, of course. Everyone’s been thinking too small. It’s this damned District of Columbia, it reduces everything to personal pettiness. But out in the world—”
“I don’t follow.”
When Elena turned to her, her eyes were so bright that they could have been dead moments earlier by comparison. “Albert needs forces in the outside world. That riot in Korea the other day made a few people start questioning this withdrawal idea. Albert said he saw the President waver, but then the NSA and other pro-withdrawal forces swooped down and captured him again. If only something like that could happen again.” She gripped her friend’s hand. “If only he could predict something like that happening again.”
“Hmm,” Alicia said thoughtfully.
The two women talked of other things for a while, fashions and shows and the births of babies. Alicia introduced that last topic, which clearly bored Elena, so when their food came she switched back to the first. “You hear things sometimes, Alicia. I don’t know how, but you do. If you could give me an alert, even of just a day… Albert would look brilliant and he would want to reward me.” She smiled. “He does that very well, when he’s well motivated.”
Alicia shrugged. “If I hear of anything, of course, darling. Sometimes someone drops a word. Nothing on a schedule, of course. My other thought is—” She gazed off into a white corner of the restaurant, which looked cool. “—to discredit the source. If this National Security Adviser is made to look like a fool personally, wouldn’t that make the president question his advice? I’ve heard the man is quite a clod. Perhaps a dinner party—”
Elena was shaking her head. “Believe me, Albert has thought of that. But the President thinks of this Wilkerson man as sort of a backwoods prodigy, like Abraham Lincoln or Davy Crockett. Every time he uses the wrong fork or drinks from his water bowl, the President is more convinced that he is a genius. And he’s the President’s own genius, you know? He likes him more because he thinks he discovered him. The way I was with that tenor.” She gave a little shiver of disgust. “Believe me, those illusions have great power.”
“Oh well,” Alicia said, shrugging. “I should just give up trying to give my friends advice. It never works.”
“But you’re such pleasant company,” Elena said, squeezing her hand. “And somehow, I don’t know, I just seem to think better around you.”
Alicia dipped her eyes in gratitude. She waved off the dessert menu. Her work was done here, and for dessert she’d picked up a couple of tidbits of information she hadn’t had before.
Leaving the table, she said, quite without irony, “Say hello to Imogen for me.”
“Oh, I will. Thank you, darling.” Imogen was the Secretary of State’s wife—and Elena Valenciana’s sister.
Craig Mortenson liked stuffy old clubs. There were too few of them any more, except in recent years they were making a slight comeback. Aging baby boomers embraced some of the fantasies of their parents’ early lives, such as old men with cigars ruling the world from comfortable wingbacked chairs while a waiter brought brandy.
Craig, who was as often as not somewhere else in his mind, liked the comfort of noticing his surroundings and finding them so clichéd. The Russians did these things quite well. Sergei had found the perfect place, a short cab ride from his embassy. The two men sat in cozy isolation in a room full of heavy furniture, discreetly placed ferns, and tables of people who seemed equally disinclined to be overheard.
Alicia was the subtle member of the Mortenson family. Craig leaned back in his leather chair and said, “So, Sergei, will you people take over the world once we’ve withdrawn from it?”
Sergei Eisenstein looked pained. “Who wants it? Thank you for the headaches, no. You take it.”
“Can we palm the whole thing off on the Chinese?”
Sergei shook his head, taking the joke seriously. “Even they are no longer unsophisticated enough to want world domination. No, it would have to be some madman, the kind the middle east and Africa seem to produce so well.”
“Well, that won’t do anyone any good. Come on, we want reasonable people running the store. Japan?”
Both men broke into laughter. It was a very pleasant lunch.
Jack managed to find an electronics store, even in this out of the way place, and bought a new personal game player. He looked over their stock of games, bought one, but then slipped one of his own out of his gym bag and put it in the machine. To Arden he said, “I need a few minutes to configure this. Why don’t you see if you can scare up some transportation for us?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack smiled down at his game, smiling for her without looking up. Arden went wandering. Jack watched her depart, wondering if she was aware of his gaze, wondering so many things. When she had come into the jail he had been sure she was on the other side, because there was no other way she could rescue him. But then she hadn’t rescued them; he had, more than she. It was very neatly managed, if it was, to let him think he’d pulled off the escape.
But there remained
the fact that she had found him in the jail in the first place. That would not have been possible for a normal person, in normal ways.
Then Arden had ditched the French girl, an act of jealousy, humanizing her, then they had made love, which shouldn’t have made a difference but did. His head spun.
But he had work to do. While Arden was gone Jack made other calls, first to his old friend Ronald, a valued member of the Circle who had contributed much to their coffers with fortunes made in the dot com world. His first words were, “Ronnie, are you safe?”
“Well, safer than some of us, because I’m not trying to contact that damned National Security Advisor.”
“Yeah.” Jack glanced down at his game. They conferred hastily about what each was doing to dig the Circle out of its current hole. Ronald was unsurprised to hear that Jack was near Salzburg. Then Jack asked, “Ronald, where’s our money?”
“The Circle’s? The Hornet treasury? Here and there. Why?”
Jack told him what he had learned about the planes that passed through America that one night. “I’ve already passed this on to the Chair and the Mortensons, etc., and no one can find a connection to any country. I’ve thought of one other organization that could have afforded that kind of project.”
“Microsoft? Google?”
“Us, Ronald. We could afford it.” Because the Circle was, among other things, a multi-billion dollar non-organization. “So I repeat. Where’s our money?”
Three seconds’ silence on the line showed how hard this idea had gripped Ronald, because Ronald could think very deeply while talking at the same time. In three languages. “Let me check.”
“You do that, Warren.”
Ronald chuckled. “Warren” was Jack’s pet name for him, only Jack’s. It referred both to Warren Buffett and to Warren Worthington the III, who was the Angel in the X-Men, as well as the scion of a very wealthy family. It was a financial nickname.
Ronald would be on this quickly. Jack had given him what he liked best, a money angle to a huge puzzle.
Next Jack called Craig Mortenson, who answered the phone sounding jovial, which was odd. Oh, wait, no. Their world was coming to an end, America faced its worst crisis ever, villainy was both afoot and unknown. Yes, Craig would be having a high old time.
“Hello, Craig, it’s Jack.” Jack still had a hard time calling him by his first name, but “sir” would sound smarmy. “Quick question. Do we have a treasurer?”
“A treasurer? Do you need to send in your dues, Jack?”
“But seriously, folks.”
“Yes. Well, of course the Chair oversees everything, but you can’t reach her. I guess if we have anyone else who might hold that honorary title it would be Don Trimble.”
“Professor Trimble? I never knew. Where can I reach him?”
“He’s in Salzburg, dear boy.”
“Salzburg!”
“Yes. And he’s either learned everything by now or he’s bumbling around helplessly. Why don’t you look him up?”
“Maybe I will, if I get the chance. Anyone else I know on the scene?”
“Not that I know of. Alicia might know, especially by this time. Is that your phone beeping?”
Jack took the phone from his ear, glanced at the screen, and said, “That’s her calling now, Craig. I’ll—”
“Give her my love,” Craig Mortenson said, and clicked off just as Jack was saying, “Where—?” So he took the other call. “Alicia, hi! It’s so good to hear you. Are you calling from the White House?”
She chuckled, a mature woman’s acknowledgment of a compliment. “I never go near the center of power, dear. The periphery is much more fun.”
They talked for a minute of what sounded like idle chitchat but was actually a coded, densely-packed exchange of information. “Can I bring you anything from Europe?” Jack finally asked, prelude to ending the conversation.
“Yes, actually. You remember the trinket from Korea? The border stone? Do they have anything like that in Europe?”
“As a matter of fact…”
“Sooner would be much better than later, my dear. And can you give me a heads up when it’s coming? I’m planning a party, and I’d like to wear it.”
Jack thought quickly. He wasn’t sure where he would be in an hour, let alone three days from now, and it would be much better to cut out the middle man, anyway. In the next sentence he dropped a phrase, “Alps peddler,” which sounded perhaps like a reference to the Tour de France, but would actually put Alicia Mortenson in touch with his old friend Stevie, if— Jack laughed quietly to himself. He had almost thought, If Alicia caught the hint. As if Alicia Mortenson had ever missed a clue in her life.
Alicia’s voice colored like a slight blush. “Thank you, dear boy,” she said, accepting a compliment, as if she had heard his mental exchange with himself.
“I’ll try to stay in touch,” Jack said. “But don’t worry if I don’t. By the way, I was just talking to Craig. He sends his love.”
“Did he? That’s odd, I’m on my way to meet him now. He could tell me himself.”
“Does he?” Jack asked, his voice sounding childlike, unable to stop himself from asking for a little insight into the most intriguing couple he knew, the most complete marriage.
Alicia laughed again. “Oh, there may be a bit of blather about what a fascinating creature I am, especially if he had a brandy after lunch. That never hurts. Take care, Jack.”
Jack looked up into Arden’s eyes. She had returned sooner than he had expected. That next to last sentence of Alicia’s sounded like advice. Jack didn’t smile, nor did Arden. Their eyes held on each other’s. Jack’s lips began to curl upward. Hers didn’t.
Into the phone, he said. “‘Bye, Alicia. Be—” He’d planned to say Be careful, but that would be silly. Just in time he finished the sentence, “—happy.”
After he’d hung up, Arden said, “The Mortensons? What are they up to?”
“They didn’t say.” Jack put his phone away. “Couldn’t find a way to get to Salzburg?”
Alicia gave him a frowning smile, as if he’d told a joke that wasn’t funny. She gestured toward the curb, where a baby blue Mercedes 360 sat idling.
“That’s great,” Jack said, “except renting a car is going to leave a trail that might be prob—”
“Oh, thanks, Professor. Teach me more. And should I buy a pop-up ad on Yahoo saying ‘Arden and Jack ask any assassins in the vicinity of Salzburg, German, to contact them’?”
“Sorry. But then did—” He didn’t want to suggest she’d stolen the car, which would undoubtedly set her off again.
“A man loaned it to me. And no, Jack, I didn’t give him my real name. Or give him anything significant in exchange.” She frowned at him, and Jack spread his hands, apologizing for a remark he hadn’t made.
They climbed into the car. The padded seats accepted them like lovers who had stayed away too long. “But you were only gone, like, twenty-eight minutes,” Jack said.
“Do you want me to tell you all about how I got the car?”
“Sure, that would be entertaining,” Jack said, doubting her story would have many intersecting points with the truth. By this time he understood that Arden was quite aware of her air of mystery. She cultivated it. Of course, they all did, to different extents, but not with each other. That was one way she was different, outside the Circle, extraordinary.
Jack took her hand for a moment, raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He smiled, out at the road, not at her, as if a lovely memory had just crossed his mind. From the corner of his eye he could see Arden smiling too, but still with that sadness in the heart of the smile. She was one of those women who started thinking about the end even while a relationship was still new, he thought.
“Salzburg?”
Jack nodded. “But first I need an Internet connection, and fast.”
CHAPTER 11
Level 5
There was an Internet cafe on the outskirts of Salzburg. There
was always an Internet cafe, or a hotel offering free connections, or a wireless network to breach. It would not be long before the Internet would simply be in the air, you could think your way into it. And it into you. It was a tempting fantasy. But Jack, one of the best-wired people on Earth, would hate that. He wanted his thoughts to himself.
As he was launching the game in the café, leaving Arden the task of ordering German coffee, he began searching for his usual partner on-line. As Arden sat beside him, he muttered a curse.
“Am I not giving you enough space?”
“The person I usually play with isn’t there.”
“Is that so important? I thought you just liked the game. Is it a competition thing?”
Jack turned to her. Her eyes were close to his. They looked different now, her blue, patterned eyes. He thought he could see a little deeper into them. Sex gives that illusion. On the other hand, he’d been as close to Madeline as any person he’d ever known, or thought he had been, and now he didn’t know if he’d known her at all.
Arden must have seen something change in his eyes. She took his hand, under the tabletop of the booth, and raised one eyebrow. Now she looked amused. His eyes had gone sad with memory and that had made Arden happy. He wondered if they were going to be like that, on an emotional seesaw. The expression didn’t just mean up and down, it meant that one was going up as the other went down. There could be only a finite amount of happiness between them, it had to be shared.
He smiled. Somehow having been intimate with Arden made him feel bad—sad or guilty or untrustworthy or maybe just uneasy. But she was a lovely girl, and much more. She had depths and twisty byways to her mind he could explore for decades. They could be like Alicia and Craig Mortenson, except that those two knew each other so well that one stood up before the other even said Let’s leave, and he thought he could spend a lifetime with Arden and never know her mind. Why was that?
