"Leaning with both arms braced and legs driving,
he heaved it toward a height, and almost over,
but then a Power spun him round and sent
the cruel boulder bounding again to the plain."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 11, Lines 711-714. Used without permission.
 

MARTHA:

What did I just say?

I wasn't supposed to say that. I had no intentions of saying that...I didn't even know I was feeling that...

It just slipped out...

Of all the times and places and circumstances, it had to be when I'm watching Mel be carried off to surgery, again, and I'm with his surly, recalcitrant son...

If I feel this way, it should be Mel that hears it, not this overaged brat.

And he is a brat. He's been disrespectful and unkind since we first met...which admittedly was not that long ago, but his dislike of me is certainly a curious thing. Mel claims he has told the boy nothing of me, and I believe him.

How did he know?

He's obviously not a stupid boy, not by a long shot. He almost radiates a kind of nervous intelligence. It's as if he has gifts that he is afraid to use.

If this child doesn't change my feelings for this man-and they don't-then nothing ever will.

I'm not particularly partial to children. I don't have any of my own, and I never wanted them. Which is just as well-the life I led with Daniel did not facilitate raising a family.

Of course, I remind myself, this boy is 25 years old...hardly a child, you would think.

And yet, he is so juvenile in so many ways.

And what is most irritating about him is that he confuses me. He is ill-mannered and obviously bad-tempered. Yet there is a certain sweetness about him that can't be refuted. In spite of himself, his love for his father shines through, and his terror is so transparent that I have the urge to just take him in my arms and tell him it will be all right.

Which would never work. One, he'd probably belt me. Two, we have no idea...

And right now, in this small room, it is our terror that binds us.

He looks near tears.

I want to tell him to just let go, let it out.

He would not do that in front of me. I am the stranger. I am not to be trusted.

"I gotta call some people," he says to me, and I can hear the cracks in his voice.

"Who?"

"My girlfriend. His friends. My friends."

"Why don't you wait and we can get some more information?" I don't like to alarm people unduly...there is a time and place for disseminating information, and I don't think this is it.

"I'm calling my girlfriend." He gets up, stomps out of the room.

I am not sure, but I think I hear a sob as he leaves.
 

MICHAEL:

No...no...no...

This can't be happening...

I'm dreaming this shit...my dad was getting better...no...

Yes. His bed's empty.

I need Kelly. Right now, I don't care how busy she is, I need her here. NOW.

I got the number to Dr. Scully's lab, and Peter picks up, he says Kelly left about ten minutes ago. Shit. Now I got to wait for her to get back to Chateau Langly...oh fuck.

Maybe the prof. I dial his office at AU. No answer. I get the voice mail. "You have reached the offices of Dr. John Byers, Chairman of the Department of Public Policy at American University...if you would like to leave a message, please hit the star key and begin speaking at the tone..." The soft voice, I remind myself, is just an electronic reproduction.

I try his home number. J answers the phone, she says he's not there, try the offices.

Doubt it...it's drive time. Everybody's on the move right now.

The offices are empty. Ain't nothin' but voice mail, babee.

Maybe I should leave one...no. That would be like so rude...I got to tell them myself.

I try Chateau Langly. Kelly's not there if she just left, but Ally would be, probably, unless she's out doing stuff or she's in the water with Patrick.

I get her on the third ring. "Hey Ally, where's the old man?" I'm trying to keep it calm.

"Wish I knew."

"I really need to talk to him."

"Michael, if I knew where you could get hold of him, I'd tell you, believe me. Can I have him call you?"

"Well, I'm not at home right now-"

"How's your dad?"

"Not too good."

"Oh fuck. You at the VA?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Let me get Miranda and Patrick situated here, I'll be on over."

"I got to get hold of Langly. And Byers."

"I don't know where either of them are. I don't know John's schedule, and what Langly's up to, God only knows." She doesn't sound real happy about this.

"You try calling the CIA?"

"I did. They don't 'give out that information.'"

"What, you can't leave a message?"

"I don't want to unless it's important."

"Maybe this is important enough. My dad had another heart attack."

She's quiet for a second. "I think that qualifies. Let me try to get hold of him, or at least find someone to pass word on to him. Where is he?"

"Surgery." I got to get off the phone. I'm losing it fast. "Is Kelly there yet?"

"No, did you try the lab?"

"She left a few ago."

"I can leave her a note if you would like."

"Please."

"I'll do that...anything I can bring for you, Michael?"

"A beer would be nice."

She giggles. "I'll see what I can do about smuggling."

I was just kidding, but this is Ally...

And maybe a beer wouldn't be so bad...
 

Christ, nobody's around!

I try Mulder, he's either with the kids or he's got a patient or he doesn't wanna be bugged...with Mulder, you never know. I get HIS voice mail, too.

Now I know why they call it voice jail.

Maybe Dr. Scully's there...

If she is, she's not picking up. If she's not near one of the TTY's she won't see it and she won't pick up. She's got a TTY answering device, but I'm not gonna do it like that.

Jo. Jo's gotta know. I try her office...she's not there, of course. It's past quitting time for most normal people. But she's not home, either.

Shit!

Maybe I ought to call back and tell Juliet. She'd at least tell the prof.

I try her again. "Hey J, it's Michael."

"What's up? You okay?"

Christ, do I sound that bad?

"Um...not really...like Byers, he wasn't in the offices, I really need to talk to him, like now-"

"He probably just left work, most likely he's in transit."

"Well, you see him, tell him to get his skinny ass over here. My dad had another heart attack. They think."

"Oh my god. Listen, do you want me to come now, or should I wait for John?"

"Just wait for the prof, okay? Just get here soon."

Please.

"All right. Hang in there, Michael."

I wish I didn't have to shake her up like that, but I mean, I kind of can't help it.

Time to start the whole fucking cycle again.

I go for Jo. She's gonna wanna know. She's gonna wanna be here.

I luck out this time. She made it home.

"Hey Jo." I can barely believe this is my own voice.

"Michael, hello, what a nice surprise."

"Sorry, wrong answer...it's not a nice surprise. They think...they think...my dad...he had..."

I can't hold it anymore. I start to break.

"They think what, dear?"

"Like he had another heart attack...he's in surgery...can't you get here?"

"Of course. I have a meeting, but of course that can wait. Michael. Get yourself something cold to drink, sit down, and take slow breaths. I mean it. You'll work yourself into another asthma attack. I can hear it coming in your voice."

No, I think I'm just crying.

"Michael. I'll be there in 15 minutes. Be brave. I know you can."

She might think so, I know better.
 

ALLY:

Shit!

This is unbelievable!

I can't even talk to my own husband!

The switchboard, of course, is closed, seeing as it's after five...and I've tried EVERYONE I could there...this is insane.

Nobody, of course, knows who he is, and if he's new, one of the colonels told me, it could be months before his name is posted to the phone lists...our efficient government bureaucracy at work.

The only number I haven't dialed are the cleaning people. Housekeeping.

Oh, come on, Allison, get real!

Desperation makes you do strange things.

I let it ring about 10 times. Finally, a strongly Spanish-accented voice comes on.

"Housekeeping, Carmenita."

"Hello, I'm trying to locate someone who I believe works in cryptography-cryptology, he's new, his name is Ringo Langly-"

"Langly? He gots white hair? New boy?"

Jesus Christ. All the military officers and PhD's and god knows what lurking in the place...

And the first glimmer of recognition that my husband even exists there is from the woman who cleans the floors and takes out the trash...

"You know him? He just started yesterday."

"Si. He work so late, they make him work so hard, so mean to him."

"Carmenita, listen. He's my husband. And I need to get hold of him. Can you get a message to him?"

"My English not so good."

"Here, let me tell you in Spanish, then I'll translate it for you, okay?" Growing up in California has its advantages.

"You speak Spanish?"

"Si." I switch into her tongue-I'm rusty, but it's not all forgotten. Then I spell it out for her in English. It takes a long time, but it's about the only shot I've got.

"I tell him."

"When do you see him?"

"Ocho."

8 o'clock. That's still a long ways off...

"Carmenita, please see him right now. This is his wife, one of his best friends is very ill..."

"Okay, I see him now. I tell him. You not worry, you say your name is?"

"Ally."

"Ally. I get him to you."

Sometimes you get lucky in the strangest places.
 

LANGLY:

This is the creepiest place I've ever been.

I get my car keys taken from me when I get in, so I can't just bail out like a back entrance or something. I got to wear my tags all the time. We were supposed to wear them in the Pent, but I used to just sort of stick them in my pocket and just take them out when I needed to get through a door or something where I needed my cardkey.

My office, well, it's not terrible. I'm not sharing with anybody, I always thought that might be cool, but fact is, I miss the guys. It's like nobody talks to you around here, it's so bizarre.

And I don't have a phone, least not yet, wonder if I'll ever get one. I ask for a number where Ally can reach me if she needs me, they're like, she doesn't need to call you here. Which pisses me off totally, it's total bullshit. Shit happens out there, guys, whether you engineer it or not.

And I like asked the guy in the next office, could I use his to call my wife, and he doesn't have one either. Wonder how long he's worked here.

There's a secretary out front of our area, but when I ask her to use her phone to call my wife, she's like, I can leave her a message if you like, but she can't call back here. And I'm not allowed to use her phone!

This is just so so so weird...and I've seen weird.

Talk about feeling like you're in an unreal universe.

Stephen Hawking may have to revise his entire paradigm if he ever visits this place.

I'd take Ally's cell, but they're not allowed down here, and they wouldn't work, anyway.

I'm really ready to bail out of here. I did everything Zupan-prick told me to do...I don't give a fuck if he's not satisfied or not. I did my bit. Now I want out.

Where is that fuckrag?

I'm starting to lose all concept of time here, when I see the office cleaners I'm like, shit, maybe my watch is fucked up...

"Senor Langly."

Christ, how did she know my name? Oh, maybe it's the nameplate by the door. They put your titles there, too. I got PhD next to my name, but it's like she didn't notice, which is okay. I don't have to lord anything over someone who cleans up after me.

"Hi. What's up?"

"I have a message from your wife, she needs you-" she hands me a sheet of paper, first written in Spanish, then in English, and her spelling's worse than Junior's, but at least she's got a good excuse.

"How'd you get this?"

"Your wife, she try everything, try to find you, no, so she call housekeeping, I tell her I find you."

I just about faint when I read the note. If she got this right-and man, I hope she didn't-the Fro is in real, real bad shape.

I got to get out of here, but first I need my keys.

"Um...like...I don't know your name-"

"Carmenita."

"Carmenita, you wouldn't happen to know where they keep our car keys, would you?"

She gives me a big, big smile full of teeth and shakes her head. "I do. Cleaning people, we know everything. All the big bosses, they think we know nothing, but we know. I get them for you."

Christ, who'd have thought...all the fucking generals and PhD's around here, and the only people who know what the fuck is going on are the people who clean your office.

Hey, it's your tax dollars at work.
 

Carmenita gets me my keys, and she shows me how to get out pretty unnoticed. I still got to swipe the old ID before I do, but she's like, go this way, nobody but us goes this way.

I decide, I owe this lady. I got to remember to do something nice for her.

In the meantime, I just keep crossing my fingers and praying to whoever whatever that Fro is alive and okay. Amazing how superstitious you get when they throw big ones in your face.

I just hope the lady who helped me get out wasn't a spy.

Also amazing how bad your paranoia gets when you're stressed.

I'm like, all the way over, Frohike, you asshole, don't you dare go and die on me, or I'll kill you...
 

BYERS:

I can't wait to move out of this colorless, faceless apartment. I realize the arrangement is temporary, but it doesn't feel like home, and I constantly feel vaguely out of sorts.

The only way I know it's home is that Juliet and Tivvy are there. And tonight, I'm looking forward to an evening of being curled up on the sofa with them, not doing anything more intellectual than cuddling and watching terrible situation comedy.

Thanks to a little bit of computer engineering, our closing is now on schedule. We plan to spend the weekend purchasing new furniture and artifacts for the new place.

It seems odd to be moving into such a normal, middle class neighborhood, but I actually feel very secure with the notion. I'm grateful I acceded to Juliet in this matter. This will remind her of a childhood she remembers fondly, and will separate me from one I detested.

I'd have bought her any house she desired.

I did.

While the house was bought in deference to my academic earnings, we have dipped into my trust fund for a few other items. Juliet is now the proud owner of a Ford Explorer. Personally, I think they're a bit ridiculous-it's not as if she's going to be doing anything more daring than negotiating the jungles of the Tri-State area.

I guess that could count as wild, if not off-road.

I actually think about trading in the Buick for the first time in I have no idea how long. I've had it for eleven years. It's reliable and comfortable. It would work in our new neighborhood.

So why, all of a sudden, do I have this urge to find a classic Datsun 280Z?

The 280Z was always a fantasy car for me...I would never purchase one because I felt the insurance payments were far too extreme.

I still think they're too pricey, but something in me has the urge to live out this fantasy.

I should call Jaleel. No doubt he has plenty of information on where to obtain one. The only caveat with Jaleel is, if you want a particular vehicle, you can't always be terribly fussy about provenance. Jaleel's first question to his buyers is generally, does title matter?

I don't know why this makes me nervous. God knows I engage in enough activities that are, if not blatantly illegal, certainly skating the thin edges of the law. And I'm not the least bit disturbed by that fact. We adhere to a certain code of ethics in our organization. You could phrase it in a number of ways, but I think it can be summed up by: Never pick on anyone less powerful. That's bullying.

Now, picking on the more powerful-that's not only acceptable, but, in my book, commendable.

I think I can thank Susanne for most of my moral inconsistencies these days.

I'm looking forward to having a garage that will actually have room for both vehicles. We get two spaces for each apartment, but it's more like two spaces if you happen to drive a Deux Cheveaux. If you've ever been to Paris, you know what I mean.

And the people in this complex park like the French as well.

Of course, if somebody smacks into me, I'll have the perfect excuse to indulge in that Z...

My heart sinks when Juliet greets me with a look of utter panic on her face. I was in desperate need of a quiet evening...

And I absorb her panic when she tells me what the source of her fear is.

Absorb it and multiply it thousandfold.

I am promptly reduced, once again, to a mewling five-year-old.

Frohike, don't die on me...

END OF PART 26