Coding Isis

by David Roys

  ‘I think I’m going for a run,’ he said.

  Michelle squared away the breakfast things and went up to the bedroom to get dressed. The cat saw her coming and ran under the bed looking guilty. She thought about how they’d never given it a name. Chris had said they should just call it the cat and it had stuck. That was so like Chris. The cat meowed noisily and walked towards the bathroom door and Michelle saw why it was looking so guilty; there, just by the door was a dead bird. It was tiny and lay on its back with its wings flat to its side. She rushed over to it to pick it up before the cat got there; she didn’t want to spend the morning cleaning up blood and feathers from the bedroom. As she came closer she saw it was still alive. She picked it up and it weighed almost nothing, its head flopped back as she cupped it in her hand, she looked at it as its tiny little chest pumped up and down. She couldn’t tell if it was the heart about to beat right out of the chest or if it was just the lungs rapidly sucking air in. The bird’s eyes were fully closed, she figured it didn’t have long in this world. She carefully carried it to the window and all the time the cat meowed and rubbed against her legs. She slid the window open, held out her hand, and let the bird fall to the ground below.

  ‘Goddammit cat,’ she said. She washed her hands and then dressed.

  It was nearly an hour later that Michelle started to feel bad about the bird. It was probably dead now, but she felt guilty that she’d tossed it out the window like a piece of trash. It was a beautiful living thing and then it became a toy for a cat. Just a waste.

  She found herself close to tears, but she didn’t really know why. She left the house and walked to the pavement beneath her window. She picked up the body of the bird. It was still now. Carefully she took it inside and placed it in an old tissue box. She put some flowers in with it and then took it to the garden to bury it. She patted the earth down and said the Lord’s Prayer, because she didn’t really know any other and it seemed, somehow, appropriate. She went inside and half-watched TV, but really she waited for Chris to come home.

  Chris ran towards Rock Creek Park. He’d been a regular through the park which was one of the better places in D.C. for runners, but he hadn’t been back since Jasmine had been killed. He didn’t know why he was going back there today. He needed a run, but somehow he felt drawn there. Maybe he was hoping he would see a gunman crouching on a grassy knoll. Some little clue would help. Maybe just seeing the area would help this whole thing to make more sense.

  He turned from the road and started along the track. The clouds gave the air a heavy feel and his breathing came hard. He was definitely out of shape, but still he pushed on. He wasn’t far in to the park before he started to feel wrong, he slowed and put his hands on his knees to help catch his breath and that’s when he noticed the staining on the track. It was a dark muddy brown but he knew that it had once been a rich crimson. He squatted down and put his hand to the stain, his fingers were spread as he touched the ground.

  ‘What the hell happened to you Jasmine?’ he said. ‘What shit had you gotten yourself into?’

  He stood and walked slowly looking for tell-tale signs of Jasmine’s last few minutes. The occasional drop spotted the path for the next few yards. Had she really kept running after being shot? The human body was an incredible thing and he’d heard of occasions where people had survived being shot in the head. There was that woman from down south, was it Mississippi? He’d remembered reading about it, the report had said that her husband had shot her in the head and then turned the gun on himself. She’d then made herself a cup of tea and waited for the police to arrive, apparently offering the officer something to drink. The county sheriff had said she appeared to be in a confused state. Is that what had happened to Jasmine? Shot in the head without realizing it?

  A little further on he arrived at a big patch of brown. This must be the place she finally collapsed. What was she thinking as she lay on the ground watching the clouds drift past? What a lonely end.

  Chris looked around for somewhere a sniper might hide out, somewhere high with a clear view of the track. He knew the caliber of bullet was used in weapons such as the M107 Long Range Sniper Rifle but he had two problems with that being the weapon that was used. First of all, it was a weapon tasked for destroying lightly armored vehicles or equipment, not blowing away joggers in the park. Secondly, this wasn’t the sort of weapon you could sneak around with. At around 40 inches when compacted, he couldn’t imagine anyone, no matter how crazy, lugging something like that into the park where a .38 special would have pretty much the same effect. Why would anyone use a long range weapon in a place where it was impossible to travel more than fifty yards without hitting a tree? And the thoughts of a .50 caliber handgun being used was even more ridiculous. Why would anyone want to try to conceal such a weapon when a much smaller and more subtle handgun would be just as good? It made no sense. None of this did. He stood and carried on with his run.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Ben rinsed his razor under a cold running faucet. The shower was running and he tried to shave before the mirror fogged, though not so quick as to make a hack job. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date, and if truth be told, he felt a little nervous. He examined his reflection. He was fifty-two, but he couldn’t remember how he got to that age. When he’d been in his twenties, full of piss and vinegar, he’d figured that anyone over forty had one foot in the grave. Now, he didn’t feel any different to those days, maybe a little slower on the basketball court, hell of a lot slower, but he was still fit. He ate well, didn’t smoke and tried to stay out of the sun when he could. He’d kept a full head of hair and that helped keep him looking younger, he guessed. It seemed to Ben that no matter what real talents you had in life, a good head of hair and good teeth would get you a long way. He’d met so many assholes in this town where those two attributes were practically all they had going for them, and yet, here they were, serving their country in congress.

  He finished shaving and then stepped into the shower; the water was hot and felt good on his skin. He thought about Margot. Maybe she’d be in the shower now too? Maybe later on they’d be in the shower together. Now there was a thought. He turned the faucet to cold and that helped him get his mind off things.

  He’d booked a table at an Italian restaurant in the North West district, close to the Italian Embassy, which he figured meant the food was likely to be good. The prices certainly indicated he was in for a rare treat. Ben usually ate at home and he was a good cook, but he thought Margot deserved something special, and it wasn’t like he spent a lot of money on women.

  He entered the restaurant and found Margot waiting for him at the bar. She was wearing a little black dress. He wasn’t up on fashion, but he liked what she was wearing. She was sitting alone nursing a drink and he was surprised that no one had offered to join her. Or maybe they had and she’d given them the brush off already. Ben walked up to the bar and ordered Bourbon on the rocks. He asked if Margot wanted another, but she’d only just arrived and ordered her white wine spritzer.

  ‘You look amazing,’ he said. He meant it. He’d thought she looked good in her uniform the day before but now she was something else. The years had been kind to Margot, or at least she’d been very good at taking care of herself. She smiled and took a sip of her drink.

  ‘It’s been a long time since I went on a date. I bought this today. I’m pleased you like it.’

  Ben decided that if she was buying clothes just for their date, then that was a good sign. Unless she really liked shopping, in which case it was probably a warning sign. A young lady came over and said that their table was ready. She showed them to a table towards the back and a barman carried their drinks on a tray.

  ‘I must say my evening meals usually consist of a sandwich at my desk. I tend to work long hours.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said, ‘this is a real treat. We should make this a regular thing. It would be good for both of us.’

  Ben couldn’t quite figure if Mar
got was simply implying that it would be a convenient arrangement to have a friend to dine with on a regular basis or whether she was saying that they should be seeing each other regularly.

  Margot smiled and Ben wondered whether she was reading his confusion. He’d never managed to figure out the female mind, although he had the majority of the male population for company in that respect. He looked at the menu and flicked to the wine list.

  ‘Would you like wine?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, ‘why not.’

  He didn’t want to appear cheap but some of the prices were a bit beyond his usual budget.

  ‘How about a Chianti Classico?’ he said.

  ‘Sounds fine to me.’ She carried on studying the menu.

  Their waiter arrived and he looked quintessentially Italian with an olive complexion and black hair. Ben ordered the wine and they decided to share an antipasti platter. Ben ordered the Wild Boar and Margot went for the Veal Florentine. Ben loved Italian food, ever since he’d holidayed there with Yvonne, his ex-wife.

  The waiter brought the wine and poured for Ben to taste. It tasted fine and he nodded his approval.

  ‘I still have my cheerleading uniform you know?’ Margot said.

  ‘Does it still fit?’ he asked. He realized that was probably a dumb thing to ask but the look of horror on his face must have been priceless. They both burst into fits of laughter and Ben poured more wine into their glasses.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I never did have the smooth-talking gene.’

  She was still smiling and she reached across and put her hand on his arm. ‘That’s OK’, she said, ‘to be honest I’d rather be with someone that feels comfortable enough to speak their mind. I don’t like to be fed lines, so you passed muster soldier. And yes, to answer your question, it does still fit.’

  The food platter arrived and it was enormous. Ben took a bite of the bruschetta and it seemed to melt in his mouth, a perfect blend of olive oil, garlic, basil, and tomatoes on a crispy ciabatta. He couldn’t help but let out a small moan of delight. ‘Have you ever been to Italy?’ he asked.

  ‘I joined the army after leaving college because I wanted to see the world and boy did I see the world. I spent nineteen months in northern Italy, moved around a fair bit. I often thought of moving there permanently, apart from the fact my Italian was lousy; I loved the culture, and the weather. But if I ate like this all the time, I’d need to spend twelve hours a day in the gym. I don’t know how the Italian girls do it. Amazing food, but they all seem so thin.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I spent some time in Florence and I must have put on about twelve pounds.’

  They finished the platter between them and Ben ordered another bottle of wine. The waiter brought their meals out and Ben felt pleased he’d picked this restaurant, the food was amazing. Margot wasn’t looking at the food, instead she was staring at him.

  ‘You haven’t asked,’ she said.

  Ben smiled, ‘I know,’ he said. ‘It somehow doesn’t seem important right now.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘You should. But since you brought it up?’

  Margot laughed. ‘I knew it. You only want me for what’s in my head.’

  Margot pushed her plate forward and took her wine glass. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘here’s the thing. I tried to pull the records for our friend John Amosa. You were right there’s not a lot there and there definitely seemed to be something missing. Usually we keep pretty good records of those who serve, but for John there’s a big hole for the last six years.’

  Ben continued to eat and nodded to show he was listening. Damn this food was good.

  ‘I looked for classified ops, special assignments, that sort of thing, and believe me I’ve found them before, but there was nothing.’

  Ben finished his mouthful and took another swallow of Chianti. ‘Is that it?’ he asked.

  ‘It is for now. It’s going to take some time to find out what this guy’s been up to but one thing’s for sure, whatever it was it was code word, or higher.’

  ‘How do you know he didn’t just drop out for a while? Bum around?’

  ‘Sure we get people that do that, but there was something about the hole in his records that didn’t seem to add up. Leave it with me, I’ll see what I can find. I’ve got a few favors I can call in.’

  Ben started to think about the case again, which was a shame because he had genuinely forgotten about work for the first time he could remember.

  ‘You seem disappointed,’ she said.

  Ben pushed his thoughts on the case to one side. ‘No, no, don’t think that. It’s just…’

  ‘It’s just you’re wondering why you’ve blown all this money on an expensive dinner for no real info?’

  Ben looked serious, ‘Look Margot, this is the most fun I’ve had in, well, in a long time, I don’t know how long, but I’m pleased I called you. To hell with the case.’ He raised his glass and she clinked hers against it.

  ‘To hell with work,’ she said.

  They finished their mains and Ben was feeling quite full and more than a little drunk.

  Margot said, ‘I don’t really feel like going to the movies now.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘What do you say we have dessert at my place?’

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘I thought you might like to see my cheerleaders outfit?’

  They laughed again. Ben put up his hand to catch the eye of their waiter. ‘Check please,’ he said.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Chris decided to keep running on to the campus at Foggy Bottom so he could grab a spare headset and pack which would allow him to work from home. He always kept a change of clothes at the office for those occasions when he’d work through the night. He’d grab a shower at the gym and call Michelle. Hopefully she’d pick him up and take him out to lunch.

  Chris was surprised to find the door to his office open, he was sure he’d locked it, but there was no one inside. Probably the cleaners. He’d have to talk to them about that again. He used his desk phone to call Michelle. She sounded a little down, but soon brightened when he suggested a lunch date. She agreed to pick him up in half an hour.

  He grabbed his clean clothes and headed to the gym. The George Washington campus was never really deserted, but on a Saturday the place was buzzing with sports teams either competing or running drills. The boys were on the basketball court practicing hard. It had been a good season for the Colonials and if they kept playing as they had, they’d be making the playoffs again this year. The shower rooms were empty and Chris took a long hot shower and changed, then went back to his office to grab his things and wait for Michelle.

  Joshua stood at the head of the large table in what was often referred to as “the board room”. It was the largest of the six meeting rooms in their facility but the concept of a board of directors seemed almost comical given the line of business they were in.

  ‘I’ve decided what I’m going to do with Mr. Sanders,’ he said. The other two men in the room sat in expectant silence. They knew Joshua well enough to know that this was a monologue and not a discussion.

  ‘Mr. Sanders will be coming to work with us directly here at our facility.’

  The two men looked at each other hoping the other would be the first to speak but knowing that one of them needed to, if nothing else but to show they were listening and understood what they were being told.

  Maynard was the first to open his mouth. ‘How exactly do you plan to make him do that?’ he said.

  Joshua smiled; he was hoping someone would ask. ‘Mr. Sanders is going to hunt us down and then, when he finds us, he’s going to come to me and ask for a job.’

  Silence from the two again.

  ‘I need you two to get this place cleaned up. Remove all references to Chris in the system. He mustn’t find out about our contacts. Don’t worry about what happened to his young assistant, I’ll take care of that.’

  Th
e two men figured the meeting was over and stood to leave. There was a lot of tidying up to do. They couldn’t help but wonder how the hell Joshua intended to pull this off, but they had ceased being surprised by his Jedi mind tricks. If Joshua said that Chris would be applying for a job, they knew it would happen.

  Chris was waiting outside when Michelle turned up in her Mercedes SLK. She had the top down and was wearing a headscarf and sunglasses. Chris thought she looked like Grace Kelly. He walked around to the passenger door and let himself in.

  ‘You look nice,’ he said, ‘where are you taking me?’

  ‘I thought we could grab a sandwich and visit my dad, is that OK with you?’

  ‘Sure, drive over to GW Deli and I’ll order as we drive. What do you fancy?’

  ‘Something light, maybe a salmon and cream cheese bagel.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Chris, ‘maybe not GW then, it’s more of a bacon place. Where can I find a good smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel near here?’

  Michelle was confused by the question, and then she realized he wasn’t talking to her at all. ‘You’re doing that thing again aren’t you?’ she said. ‘I’ve told you if you keep talking to yourself and waving your arms around in public, you’re going to get locked up.’

  ‘It’s the way of the future honey, you’ll see. A little voice told me to try Brueggers on L street, take a right here.’

  Before she knew it Chris was ordering. She knew he was using the technology built in to his sunglasses, but anyone else would think he was just talking to himself. She’d try to tell him this was a big problem with his technology. At least with a phone in your hand people knew you weren’t crazy as you chatted away. Maybe Chris was right, maybe in the future everyone would talk to themselves and wave their arms around in the air. Maybe people would steer their cars by holding their arms out in front of them and pretending to drive. Chris had explained to Michelle that most modern cars had no physical connection between the steering column and the wheels, so who’s to say there’s anything wrong with that? Still, it scared the crap out of her and she’d feel much safer holding on to something. Chris ran in to grab their takeouts and they headed off to the hospital.