Disclaimers in part 01
______
"Secrets are rarely betrayed or discovered according to any program our fear has sketched out."
~~George Eliot, from "The Mill on the Floss"~~
______
FRIDAY, JUNE 30, 2000
WASHINGTON, D.C.
SRI LANKAN CONSULATE
LATE EVENING
FROHIKE:
Jesus, what's all the commotion? I crane my neck to see if Cindy Crawford has made an entrance. Of course I can't see a damn thing, what with being vertically challenged and all.
Byers is cutting a rapid path toward me. "He's here."
"O'Casey? Shit, the way people are carrying on, you'd have thought we'd at least get Tyra Banks."
"For all we know, she could be here." He's scanning the crowd.
"No, I'd have noticed. Trust me on that one."
Byers turns to me. "Looks like we have some competition for his attention. Let's get a move on and distract him as quickly as possible."
"At least let the poor bastard get a drink." It seems inhumane to not allow him at least that much.
"We let him in here, and from the looks of things, we'll never get his attention."
"I thought Sari was going to take care of that."
"That's assuming I can find her. She wandered off to mingle a while ago. I don't even see her."
He looks forlorn. And they're just friends, right? Sucking up to his future in laws like that? Yeah, sure.
BYERS:
When I do see Sari, she's got O'Casey by the hand and is leading him in our direction. This relieves me immensely. He's quite young, with dark hair and a goatee, an average build, and a pleasant face. He looks about like you'd expect a science geek to look -- a bit pale and slightly out of shape. Not unlike my partners and myself, I suppose. He's flirting with almost everyone who walks by, and getting reactions ranging from smiles and laughs to snapped replies and looks of disgust.
"John, this is Sean O'Casey, boy genius. Sean, John Byers and our friend Melvin Frohike." Sean extends his hand, and I offer my own.
"Hey cutie," he says as he shakes my hand, "what are you doing after the party?"
You know, he's really not that bad loo... God, Byers, where is your brain? I can feel myself blush to my toes. The guys are right. It has been too long. I need to get a date -- with a woman. Unfortunately, I don't know that many women, and Sari is too good a friend for me to want to risk changing our relationship and losing her if it didn't work out. "Working, most likely," I lie, even though sleeping is more accurate, and I hope it will be very far away from one Dr. O'Casey, thank you very much. I think I can hear Frohike growling next to me.
Sean looks over at Sari. "You never told me your friend was a hottie."
"What," she says, "and deprive you of the pleasure of finding out for yourself?" The two of them laugh.
"Well if he's busy, what are you doing?" Sean asks her.
"For me, there may not be an 'after the party.' My folks are very likely to want my presence for the entire evening," she says.
Sean winks at her. "You always have an excuse."
Sari laughs again and hugs him. "I'm almost old enough to be your mother, sweet cheeks."
"More years, more experience, I always say." He leers at her, and I barely resist an urge to strangle him. Fortunately, Sari seems to be enjoying their flirting. If she were uncomfortable with the situation, I really would strangle him.
Frohike steps forward with a glower on his face that could kill cockroaches, and puts an end to their banter. "We're here to work, kid, not to get you laid by everything on two legs."
O'Casey draws himself up to his full height, which is about the same as mine, but still towers over Frohike. He crosses his arms over his chest. "I'll have you know that I do have standards," he says with a wicked grin. "You couldn't pay me to sleep with a politician!" Even Frohike, annoyed as he is, can see the humor in this, and we all laugh. I'm slightly less tempted to strangle him now, but only slightly.
"So where are we doing this?" Sari asks.
"You shouldn't come," I tell her.
She gives me an annoyed look. "And why not?"
I take her elbow and pull her away from O'Casey and Frohike, then lean in and speak quietly to her -- or at least as quietly as one can in this kind of environment. "If this is anything close to as nasty as I suspect it is, it's going to be far too dangerous for you to know the actual contents of the file. Please, just give me the benefit of the doubt here. If it's nothing, it's nothing, but if it's something big, I don't want you in any more danger than absolutely necessary."
She sighs, but nods. "All right, John, I'll stay out of it, but understand that this is mostly because I have a lot of people I still need to see tonight, and my parents are going to want more of my attention than I've given them so far."
I think our argument the other night has mellowed both of us a bit, and I'm glad she's conceding this one so easily. It gives me a little breathing space in an already difficult situation. I'll have to remember to thank her properly later. "I appreciate this, Sari. Thank you."
She nods again, then gives me a warm hug and a peck on the cheek, and heads off into the crowd.
FROHIKE:
I can't believe we're entrusting whatever the hell it is Byers
found to someone barely post-pubescent and severely oversexed. The young
Dr. O'Casey has managed to hit on just about everything that moves at this
party and a few that don't. He hit on Sari, which I could understand, but
he also hit on Byers. Byers managed to handle it gracefully, but I could
tell he was thrown off balance. It's not as if we aren't off balance enough
in this mess already.
There are an awful lot of attractive women that would normally be grabbing
my more lecherous instincts, but what I've had my eye on for the last hour
is a small man dressed in rabbinical garb. He seems to be showing up every
so often, way too close for my comfort. Maybe my lack of inebriation is
making me even more paranoid than usual, but I'm twitching when he watches
us make our way to the stairs.
"You do realize that it's party time, so this better be good," Sean
says as we make our way to the guest room where Langly's crashed. We were
attempting to be discreet about it, but as Sari has pointed out, 'discreet'
is a concept sorely lacking in the young man. He managed to hit on three
people just walking up the stairs. Let's just hope he's as bright as he's
alleged to be.
"It'll be worth your while," Byers promises.
"It better be, especially if I end up leaving alone because I was busy
working."
"Oh, I doubt that'll happen, punkass," I mutter to myself. So far,
he hasn't made a move on me. Age and ugliness can be remarkable deterrents
in some cases, though I haven't noticed he's particularly discriminating.
Maybe it was the 'try that again and you're spam' look I gave him after
he hit on Byers.
We open the door and Sean flips on the light. It's been rigged to a
small desk lamp. Langly doesn't even stir as we enter.
Sean examines the lanky blonde curled up in a fetal position on the
bed, a small fleece blanket covering his legs, with a look of consternation
on his face. "Bad trip?"
"Don't even go there," I growl at him.
"Got your laptop?" he asks Byers, who was in charge of toting the equipment.
Byers looks around, then grabs it out from under the bed where Langly'd
stowed it. We never leave home without our laptops. Or our bug sweepers.
I make a quick scan of the room with my pocket model. I'm sure the place
is swept frequently -- it is a consulate, after all -- but as Susanne Modeski
once said, and it may be the only honest thing she ever said: 'No matter
how paranoid you are, you're not paranoid enough.'
"It's clean," I assure them, and Byers begins to set up.
"This better not be one of those problems students would come to me
with as a TA, screaming that there was no way they could solve it," Sean
sighs. He then pulls something from a pocket. It's a small baggie of perfectly
rolled pencil joints. "Mind if I smoke?" he asks.
"Yes, I do. Can't you wait till you've seen this?" I snap.
He holds up his hands in a truce gesture. "Hey, peace out. I was gonna
share, you know."
"Let's just hold off for a few, shall we?" Byers is being far more
diplomatic than I am. I should be nicer, but if I have to deny myself those
lovely 20-year-old single malts behind the bar, he can hold off on whatever
goodies he's brought along.
"Fine, we can hold off on the smokes. Care for a microdot?" He reaches
into his pockets again, and pulls out an even smaller baggie containing
several tiny purple pills.
"Just take a look at this first, please," Byers says softly, trying
to be patient with the young man.
"Hey, I've done all my best work tripping," Sean assures us, but I'm
not comforted.
"I think you'll trip when you see this," I tell him, more sharply than
I'd intended. God, do I need a drink. I'm still nursing my first scotch
of the evening, and I've barely had two sips from it.
Byers boots up the computer and inserts the disk.
Sean tilts his head, shaking it slightly. "Weird looking shit, man."
"Oh, it gets weirder," I tell him, allowing myself another sip of Scotch.
What I wouldn't give to be in Mel Scarlett's living room right now (assuming
we could move her errant son from the sofa), drinking beer, watching old
movies, and eating heavily buttered popcorn. Anywhere but here. Anything
but this. My nerves are shot, and I'm just hoping we can trust Physics
Boy, and that he can help us figure this out.
"Just start at the main directory," Byers says to him.
"Well, duh!" Sean doesn't look up, but I can see he's thinking 'what's
with these geezers?' If he's as good as he's alleged to be, he's about
to find out.
He clicks open the main directory and begins pulling up files at lightning
speed. He doesn't say a word for a long time, but eventually his mouth
hangs wide open, his eyes like saucers behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
"God damn. Where the hell'd you get this?" he says, sounding very young
and quite astonished.
"Where we got it isn't important at the moment," Byers asserts. "What
we need to know is, have you ever seen anything like this before?"
"Well... not exactly like this... but fuck me, if this is what I think
it is."
"Can you help us?" I ask, this time more gently. I'm really trying
not to lose patience with the kid. We are, after all, in need of his services.
"I can help you, man, but I gotta think on this. I'm gonna need some
time."
"We don't have much time," I remind him, and the urgency creeps back
into my voice.
"Hey man, gimme one night, okay? I'm gonna need some chemical reinforcements,
though." He pops a microdot. "Whatever this is, it's heavy. I gotta think
this one out carefully."
"And you're going to do it by ingesting recreational substances and hitting on anything animal, vegetable or mineral?" I eye him suspiciously.
Sean gives me a big smile. "We'll get together on this tomorrow. Man, if I can come up with a theory about this -- Nobel prize, you are so *mine*!"
"We don't mean to be curt," Byers says, "but right now, our primary interest is in staying alive. We'd appreciate it if you kept this quiet."
We expect him to blink at us in disbelief, but he just shakes his head. "Half the biggest PhD's on the planet are downstairs. You think I'm gonna share something like this? Get real. Software and soda aren't the only places where first to market counts."
He's not quite getting it. "We've had a lot of problems since we discovered this. See that lump on the bed?" I point to Langly.
"Too comatose for me. Not into necrophilia."
"I don't care if you find barnyard animals attractive. His girlfriend was shot shortly after we stumbled on this. I think they were gunning for blondie."
He's a bit chastened. "So where do we meet?"
Byers steps in. "Sari will get you to our place. Meet up with her."
"Oh, I'll meet up with Sari anytime," Sean has regained his playful tone. "Any way, shape or form."
Byers bristles but says nothing. After all, they're just friends. Riiiiiight.
"I'll make the arrangements with her," Byers says carefully. "We really need your help."
He grins. "Of course you do. But I know some federales downstairs who're waiting to try out my stash, and I need to keep them happy while I go over this in my head."
"Just keep your mouth shut," I reiterate.
"As long as I don't have to keep my hands to myself." He gets up and heads for the door. "See ya tomorrow, guys." We hear him mutter, "Nobel prize, you are sooooo mine," as he walks away.
I turn to Byers. "Think we can trust him?"
"Unless he shouts equations when he comes, I think so," Byers says, blushing. I laugh.
"I think, even for physics boy, that would be a stretch. You ready to go?"
"We can't yet. It'll be too obvious."
"Whaddya mean? It's more crowded down there than a K Mart Blue Light Special."
"I really... I promised Sari I'd meet some people. And it would look strange. Besides, did you notice that guy with the beard? The short, thin one?"
"You saw him, too?"
"He makes me nervous."
"Same here. Well, if we're going to stay, I'm going to sample the wares at the bar. No point in letting good Scotch go to waste."
"Remember, we have to work tomorrow."
"I'm trying to forget." What better way to do it than by sampling the splendid selection of Scotch? I check to see if Langly's showing any signs of life. From what I can tell, he's moved even less than usual. I adjust the blanket over him and head for the bar. I'm really not in a partying mood, but if I have to be here, I might as well make the most of it. Some anesthetic to dull the pain will help.
After sampling three single malts, one of them 50 years old, I'm starting to feel that maybe things will be all right after all. We've enlisted the help of the best known physics prodigy in the world. He's young and hungry, and while his motives for not revealing what he knows aren't ours, I don't really give a flying fuck. It's obvious that the only thing he'll open his mouth for tonight is to go down on somebody, but as long as it won't be me, that's just fine.
Byers has migrated into the crowd. I know that Sari is trying to get him to be more comfortable in social situations, and maybe it's working. I'm doing exactly what I need to be comfortable here -- getting quietly shitfaced. I'm not bothering anyone, and I don't feel like talking to anyone either, after the week I've had. If the Scotch wasn't so damn good, I'd have followed Langly's lead and crashed in another bedroom.
The only thing that's annoying is the occasional reappearance of the little guy in the bad suit. If he thinks he's fooling anyone into believing he's Hasidic, he's out of his mind. Fuck him. Let me drink in peace.
"Melvin, since when did you stop drinking rotgut and switch to something humans actually consume?"
Oh hell, a woman's voice -- and not someone I want to see. Shit!
"Don't worry, Kate, I'm not going to sleep with you this time, no matter how drunk I get." It's Kate Sandridge, one of my Bigger Mistakes.
"You're depriving yourself of one of the finer things in life." She signals the bartender. "I'll have what he's having."
"An ulcer and high blood pressure?"
She clucks her tongue. "Well, considering what happened to your blonde
friend's main squeeze..."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
She laughs. It's not a pleasant sound. "You seem to forget, Melvin; I'm a reporter."
"Fooled me."
"I'll let that pass." She takes her drink from the bartender, not even thanking him. Jesus. Since when do you not thank your bartender? The woman has absolutely no class. I can't believe I slept with her, even once. "Provided, of course, you let me in on what's going on."
"What makes you think anything's going on?"
She laughs; a harsh, ugly sound. I shudder. "Well, it's come to my attention that a certain Dr. Deborah SaintJohn was seriously injured by gunfire early Monday morning."
I refuse to comment. She stares into her drink, then raises her eyes
again, trying to be coy but only accomplishing an expression that spells
threat.
"I've also learned that she happens to be Langly's main squeeze. Granted,
I was a bit surprised; don't you think she outclasses him by a few miles?"
I swallow the rest of my Scotch as if it were water and signal to the bartender that I need a refill. He asks what brand I prefer.
"Surprise me," I say to him.
"I thought you hated surprises, Melvin." Kate fondles her glass.
"I do." Especially when they're alleged journalists trying to scoop us. It's only slightly behind having life and limb threatened. I don't think Kate would appreciate what we've been through this week, even if I were inclined to share any information with her.
"I also happened to see you and your bearded buddy, who seems to be dallying with the Grand Consul's sister in law, heading upstairs with one of the leading lights of modern physics. Were you two planning on fucking him, or consulting with him?" She takes a sip of her drink. Her face is a mask of triumphant gossip-hound.
My blood pressure takes a sudden steep rise at her snide comments. If I wasn't a gentleman, I'd deck her. If she's starting to make connections here, we could be in a world of shit, and fast. Between this and the fake rabbi hanging around all too close, I'm getting extremely paranoid.
"Javier, a Gewurztraminer, please." The German-touched voice of Hilda Thomas comes from behind me. She turns and sees Kate and I talking. "Ms. Sandridge. How nice to see you." Hilda is being courteous, but I'm not so drunk I can't tell she's putting it on. "I didn't know you covered social events."
"I don't," Kate says, her voice sly. "I was just curious about how Melvin got here. This isn't your usual circle, is it?" She stares at me.
Hilda, a very tall woman, draws herself up even further. "*He* was invited, unlike some others." She gives Kate a pointed look then turns back to me. "I do hope you're enjoying yourself, Mr. Frohike."
"It's just Frohike, ma'am," I say again. "A lovely gathering."
"Yes, it is. Come along, I'm sure there are lots of people you haven't met yet."
Normally I'd welcome this about as much as a root canal, but anything to get away from Kate. Hilda offers her arm, and I take it, walking into the crowd and away from my nemesis. I glance back quickly, noting the look of utter envy on her face. I'd gloat, but the problem is, Kate's a shark. She'll stop at nothing for fresh meat, and she wouldn't be here unless she thought she could get a story. Unfortunately, it seems the story she's after is ours. And who the hell tipped her off? As if I don't have enough to worry about already.
Just before I turn away, I see Kate catch the eye of Mr. Fake Rabbi. He nods subtly and turns to continue a conversation. Lovely. She has an accomplice. This is just what I needed to complete the day. God only knows what the guy has overheard in this crowd.
"Are you acquainted with Ms. Sandridge?" Hilda asks as we try to make our way through the swarms of humanity.
"I know her." I'll skip the fact that I've known her in the Biblical sense. From the tone of her voice, I get the impression that Hilda is not incredibly fond of our Kate. She wouldn't be the first one.
"My condolences." I'm surprised at first that Hilda would be so frank in her opinions -- then again, I know Devi. You'd never have to say 'Tell me what you *really* think' to Devi. Also like her daughter, Hilda enjoys her alcohol. We're simpatico on that. "Such a distasteful woman. I assure you, she was not an invited guest."
This is good to know. "Well, thank you for having us. Your hospitality is appreciated."
She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. "You've all helped our Sari so much. The least we can do is invite you to our little party. You know that you and your friends are welcome in our home at any time. We are so grateful to you."
If this is her idea of a little party, I worry about what she considers a major get together. "Thank you," I tell her. I don't think we'll ever end up taking her up on that offer, but you never know.
"Where is your other friend -- the blonde one? Mr. Langly, isn't it?"
"Yeah. He's asleep in one of the guest rooms. He's had a hard week." Once again, no details, but unlike Kate, Hilda would never think to press.
"Poor child," she clucks her tongue.
"I should probably get the guy home soon," I say. "I need to find Byers."
"Oh, John, isn't he just a liebchen? He's done so much for Sari. She's so much happier now. I daresay that -- if she were ever to get involved with a man again -- I hope it would be someone like him."
I almost choke on my drink. She's not blind. She must have noticed. Then she gives me a wry grin that says, 'I know and you know, and we're both going to pretend we don't until they figure it out for themselves.'
"Mr. Frohike, do you dance?" Hilda asks me. There's a band that's been playing dance tunes most of the evening, although I have to say I've barely paid attention. They're starting a swing number.
"Why, yes, in fact, I do."
"Would you care to join me? Mark hates to dance, but I love it."
"Madam, it would be an honor."
End part 14