Not Exactly Allies

by Kathryn Judson

CHAPTER 4 – DR. ORCHARD ARRANGES MATTERS

  "This won't take long, Triple-O Five," the senior member of the internal review panel told Richard Hugh after everyone got seated.

  "Sounds rather like a dentist giving a patient false hope," Richard quipped.

  Dr. Orchard was annoyed. He took his job seriously. He didn't appreciate it when field agents insisted upon being flippant. Most of them did insist on being flippant, too. Mistook it for wit, or something like that, he supposed.

  "I have an appointment with my chief very shortly. If we could cut to the car chase, please?" Richard said. He waved his hand in small, forward-brushing movements, like he was trying to move things along. Most people around the table looked like they found this annoying, but, almost without exception, they keyed in on him all the same.

  Orchard tried to not clinch his jaw. That was another thing about most field agents. After tossing off ridiculous remarks, they usually tried to assume control of the meeting. From past experience, he knew that Richard Hugh was surprisingly good at seizing control of meetings.

  Orchard squinted, to concentrate his focus so he could pick up all the nuances of Richard's reaction to the bombshell he intended to drop. It annoyed him that Richard had gone over to wearing eyeglasses. Bare eyes were ever so much easier to read. (This is why he, himself, wore glasses that featured a light to moderate tint of a color scientifically chosen for best distraction value.)

  "Did you know your wife has been sending rather a lot of money to Nigeria and Kenya lately, Mr. Hugh?" Orchard asked, after what he considered a suitable pause, intended to make Richard feel uncomfortable with the growing silence.

  "Yes, of course," Richard said. "Not to mention Uganda."

  Most members of the review panel couldn't decipher his attitude, and showed it. Orchard cursed under his breath. Hugh was good, no question about it. His whole attitude seemed to convey that he was not only telling the truth, but that he was sure that the truth in this case was perfectly acceptable. Orchard furiously tried to think of a new tack, something that would catch Hugh off guard.

  The junior members shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

  Orchard shifted his body language to convey extra authority.

  Richard didn't alter his posture in the least.

  "Honestly! Is that what this is about?" he asked.

  The investigators looked at each other.

  "We'd like an explanation, Mr. Hugh," Orchard said.

  "On what grounds?" Richard asked.

  "We're asking the questions here, Mr. Hugh."

  Richard scratched his head. "I can't remember where I signed off on my rights as a citizen when I joined the service. All the same, I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell…" He rubbed his chin, and occasionally looked as if he were on the verge of talking, but didn't say anything more.

  "We're waiting, Mr. Hugh," Orchard said.

  "Do you realize that you never call me Mr. Hugh except when you're hoping to catch me out in something horrible? Sloppy interrogation technique, really. Lets me know you're out for blood, you know."

  Orchard clinched his jaw, opting to let the agent hang himself if only he would, now that he was branching out into new subjects.

  "That's the other thing, you know," Richard said, wagging a finger at him. "You really ought to learn to control your face better for this kind of work. Unless, of course, you want me to think you're hoping I'll stumble into trouble if you let me chat along. If that's the case, you're doing a first rate job of it, I'd say." He glanced meaningfully at a clock on the wall. "Time to run," he said. He got up and left.

  "I say," a junior man said, "he forgot to give us the explanation."

  "Forgot, my foot," Orchard said.

  "Shall I have him handcuffed and brought back?" another junior man asked. The suggestion was made with some eagerness, as if handcuffing and hauling in a top British agent would fulfill a cherished ambition.

  "We can't," Orchard said.

  "Why not?"

  "His chief is bigger than our chief," Orchard said, bitterly.

  "That's not true," one of the junior people said.

  "And even if it were, it shouldn't matter," another junior person said, as if pronouncing truth to the masses.

  "Welcome to the real world," Orchard said. "Stolemaker may not outrank our chief, but he's friends with the Prime Minister."

  "So why do we mess with his people in the first place?" a nervous little man asked.

  "Are you suggesting that we run this office based on political favoritism?" Orchard asked. The nervous little man shrunk into his chair and shook his head.

  "Good. Never let me hear you say that we're politically minded around here," Orchard said. Never mind that they were, and half the people present knew that. It paid to keep up appearances around the more idealistic sorts – like the 'pronouncing truth to the masses' fellow.

  Orchard snuck a peek at his roster. Dennis Uppington. Oh, yes of course. Behind his back the senior men called him Uppity. That's why they called him Dennis to his face. There was too much chance of slipping up and using the nickname instead of the last name once you'd let yourself get into a habit of joking around. It was better, far better, to feign familiarity instead of being caught out on something like that. Besides, in Orchard's opinion it helped keep the chap in his place, calling him by his first name in a last-name sort of office. The chap himself might not notice, but the chap's colleagues would, most likely. They should, at any rate. Highly-trained social scientists ought to notice such nuances, whether the rest of the world did, and ought to be able to ascribe the proper weight to them, too, whether the rest of the world could or not. The world, in Orchard's considered opinion, sadly lacked a proper appreciation of nuance of any sort, but particularly in precisely those nuances most important to social scientists.

  "Did you want something, Dr. Orchard?" Dennis asked.

  "No."

  "Sorry. The way you were looking at me I thought you wanted something," the young man said.

  Orchard had the beginnings of a plan jump into his brain.

  "Later, Dennis. Thank you. I was just thinking of something I might have you do for me later." Just then it hit Orchard that Hugh's comment about 'cutting to the car chase' might have been a stab. In fact, it had almost certainly been meant as an insult, personally directed at himself. He'd been partially responsible for ascertaining Hugh's fitness for duty after a horrific car crash resulting from a car chase. Hugh hadn't understood, and certainly had not appreciated, internal review's role in that recuperation process, the ungrateful wretch.

  "Is something wrong?" Dennis asked, anxiously.

  "No. I was just thinking of Triple-O Five's response to our pulling him in," Orchard said.

  "Rather cheeky fellow, isn't he?" Dennis said.

  Orchard grunted what might have been assent.

  "But then, so many of the field forces are, it seems like," Dennis said.

  Orchard grunted something less assent-like than before and left the room.

  "I guess the party's over," one of the women said.

  "Everybody get back to work," the nervous little man said. He could sound surprisingly sure of himself when he was the most senior man around (and was giving orders for people to go ahead and do what they'd already started to do).

  Not long afterward, Dr. Orchard walked into the room where a couple dozen people under his command worked. Orchard spoke quietly to a young woman, putting his hand alongside his mouth as a shield against eavesdroppers and lip readers.

  The woman grabbed her purse and left. On her way, she passed a gaggle of men who had assembled mid-room to discuss a case. Most of them pointedly ignored her.

  As she hurried by, Dennis noticed that she had a determined look on her face. Whether that meant she'd just been handed a big assignment and was determined to live up to it, or whether she was offended, was anybody's guess as far as Dennis could see. A feminine clinched jaw around here was common enough, and could mean practically anything. It
probably had something to do with the sort of woman drawn to this kind of work, Dennis guessed, and Ms. Janice Pendergrast was radical even by local standards. Her jaw was hard set as often as not. It was a shame. She had the makings of a pretty woman. Not stunning, perhaps, but pretty enough, if she'd only smile once in a while. Not her, though. Angry all the time, Janice was. Angry and defiant. The men avoided her en masse, except when they wanted something from her. A shame, that – but not something Dennis felt any need to correct personally. Not usually. Not any more. He'd been batted down once too often.

  He'd put his twopenn'orth into the conversation (or had tried to, without much apparent effect) and he'd heard the other men's arguments twice over at least. He excused himself and headed to his desk feeling strangely discouraged. He didn't notice that Orchard was bearing down on him, but the others did, scattering to the relative safety of their own desks.

  Orchard handed him a printed sheet of instructions and a package about the size of a blockbuster hardback novel, but rather lighter than that.

  "Don't ask questions, Dennis. It's a matter of national security," Orchard whispered. "Move. Move. I'm counting on you."

  People did not generally count on Dennis Uppington. To be entrusted with a secret project was a dream come true. He hustled out of the office.

  Behind him, Dr. Orchard smiled and shook his head. Some people were just too, too easy. What was the phrase? Useful idiots? Dr. Orchard felt that he had to deal with too high a percentage of idiots in general. How nice, he thought, that at least some of them were useful.

  He looked around to make sure that no one was paying especial attention to him. No one seemed to be, but for good measure he made a point of stopping by a few other desks for updates and just to say hello. Far be it for people to think that he was singling out Mizzzfit Pendergrast and Uppity for attention.