CHAPTER 17 – IN THE MORNING
Dennis Uppington was careful to arrive just on time in the morning, just like normal. Janice Pendergrast wasn't at her desk, but everyone else was where he should be and seemed to be doing what he or she usually did. No one paid Dennis any heed, which was also normal. He stifled a sigh. No one around here took him seriously, and he had no idea how to change that. On the other hand, he wasn't sure that he wanted to change that until he figured out who besides Dr. Orchard was working both sides of the fence. Felicity had warned him against trying to get too clever, especially all by himself. But she didn't know him, or the situation, did she? Besides, Triple-O Five had introduced him as a rookie, which surely gave her the wrong impression. He'd worked here two years now. Long enough to know a thing or two.
Janice showed up a couple hours late. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, like she'd been crying. She had a limp. She had what looked to be a walking cast on one foot.
"Good heavens, Janice. What happened to you?" Dennis blurted, without thinking.
"Like you care," she snipped.
"Dennis, I need to talk to you," Dr. Orchard said. Dennis jumped several inches, not having noticed Orchard coming toward him. "Now, if you please," Orchard ordered, motioning toward his office.
Dennis considered making a run for it. Then he caught himself. He was sure he could brazen this out. "Yes, sir," he said, as he walked as meekly toward the office as he could manage, having decided outward meekness was the proper mode under the circumstances.
Meekness, Dennis found, was a tall order when a fellow was upset, not to mention when he thought he knew a thing or two of considerable importance, not to mention when he thought he was heading into a meeting with someone who likely was a no-good, double-crossing, dangerous rat.
Dr. Orchard closed the door behind them.
Dennis fought off a fresh wave of near panic.
The two men sat, Orchard behind his desk and Dennis in a vaguely ridiculous straight back chair that Orchard had decided had the right features to put visitors at a psychological disadvantage.
Orchard fixed Dennis with a stare that Dennis could not decipher. "Um," Orchard said, and then fell silent.
Dennis caught himself before he jumped into the silence. This was an old trick. Sometimes if you sat quietly and said nothing, the other person would nervously toss out something that was more instructive than they meant for it to be. This was usually great for the interviewer, usually not so great for the interviewee.
After what he considered a carefully calculated pause, Dennis said, "You wanted to talk to me, sir?" as if confused by the silence instead of being scared by it. He hated to admit even to himself how scared he was of anything to do with Orchard, much less being alone in the same room with the man – but of course it was reasonable fear, he told himself. Reasonable fear was good.
He sat quietly, letting Orchard take the next move. Well, making Dr. Orchard take the next move, he decided. His confidence blossomed marvelously, once he realized that he had some control of the situation. He fought manfully to not let his newfound confidence show.
"Well, yes, I did want to talk to you, Dennis," Orchard said, slowly, as if weighing something in his mind. Then, decisively, "It's about Ms. Pendergrast. I just wanted to warn you. She's under suspicion at the moment. It wouldn't do to associate with her too much just now."
Dennis leaned forward. "Could I help, sir?"
Orchard blinked. "How do you mean?"
"I don't know. I'd like more to do, you know. I wouldn't mind asking her to dinner, or whatever, and feeling her out. I mean, not feeling her out, precisely." He blushed and faltered, his mind having taken an unfortunate, ill-timed, inexplicable leap that had him imagining Janice under his caresses. He shoved the thought from his mind. "You know, asking her about things, seeing if she let on to anything? I have the training for it, you know." For good measure, he adjusted his tie, and otherwise tried to give the impression of being professional as well as ready.
When Orchard hesitated, Dennis looked worried. "Yesterday went all right, didn't it, sir?" he asked. "I didn't botch anything?"
Orchard rubbed his chin. "Ah, yes, well, yesterday. I want to talk to you about that."
"Oh, I.., I did mess up? Where? How? I thought I…"
"Easy, Dennis. Easy. You did just fine. Just fine." Orchard cocked his head. "You haven't read the papers yet, have you?"
"No, sir. I don't understand."
"No, no, of course not. It's just that, well, there was a… well… a murder at that cottage after you were there. Probably very soon after you were there, in fact."
"Not anything to do with…"
"Easy. No, nothing to do with you. We'd known there was a threat, but hardly expected murder, and of course we didn't expect trouble yesterday or I'd never have risked sending you into the path of it. Not our job, you know. We leave that to field agents."
Dennis thought, "You old reprobate, we also leave drop sites and bombs to field agents, too, as a matter of course." He clamped down on his temper. This was no time for that. He also bit back the urge to explain that Leonard Loomis was dead before he got there. That bit of information was decidedly best kept to himself for now, he thought, especially since Orchard probably knew it already and was merely running a disinformation campaign.
"Is something wrong, Dr. Orchard?" he said, anxiety dripping from his tone. "Well, I don't mean that. Murder of course is something wrong, obviously. Sorry."
Orchard rubbed his temples. "You really think you could get her to go out to dinner with you? Pendergrast, I mean?"
Dennis thought that shifting a conversation blithely from murder to dinner dates seemed symptomatic of something, but he forced himself to refocus on the task at hand. "Well, I think I can. I can't promise. She's not exactly, uh, man-mad, is she?"
Orchard burst out in a chuckle. "Uh, no, I guess you could say that."
"But I could try, sir. Really, I'd like to try, if it would be of any help."
"Go ahead, then."
"What would you like to know, sir? About her, or from her? Specifically?"
"Let's take this slow and do it right. Build up a rapport first, will you, and we'll see from there."
"Yes, sir. Could I try for tonight, do you think? Or would that be too soon?"
"Tonight would be fine, if she's willing. I'm not betting on you making much progress right away, but it's possible of course. Just do the best you can. Without slacking off on your other duties, of course."
"Of course. Was there anything else, sir?"
"No, thank you, Dennis. You're dismissed."
As Dennis walked out the door, he cast a contemplative eye on Janice. Orchard had wanted to keep him away from her. He was sure of that much. That likely meant that she was in on something with the boss. They didn't know that he knew anything. Two birds with one stone, he thought. He was very proud of himself. (Behind him, Dr. Orchard watched him go with some satisfaction. Two birds with one stone, he likewise thought.)
When Dennis got to his desk, he wished fervently that he had an office with a door. He didn't know whether he wanted to do a war dance – finally going toe to toe with Dr. Orchard felt unbelievably good – or whether he was going to be sick. He'd always heard that courage and poise took practice, but this was ridiculous. The adrenaline seemed to be seesawing up and down in his head and somehow simultaneously going round and round, rather like one of those contraptions out in oil fields. The state of his stomach was even worse. Strangely, though – he hadn't considered himself that sort of fellow – the thrill of having outwitted a nemesis outweighed the thudding miseries of his body trying to cope with the aftereffects of high stress. There was something else, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It felt almost like having graduated from something.
"Are you going to stare at imaginary moons all day, or are you going to get me that report on the recruits in the Zed-25 program?" one of his colleagues asked.
Dennis cringed. He hadn't seen
the man come up to his desk. He hadn't any idea how long the fellow had been there. So much for being a graduate of anything. He felt ten years old again, and in trouble with the teacher.
-
"Uh, Janice, I'd like to, um, call a… call a truce or something," Dennis said to her later, when no one else was around. He cringed. He was awfully close to lying, and lying was against his principles. That she was a woman made it somehow worse. That she was a very impolite woman, and probably a traitor on top of that, helped his conscience some. But not much. Nor should it, he thought, right being right, and wrong being wrong. He took another run at it. "I mean, not a truce. I mean… I… Oh heck, I don't know what I mean. I… I'd like to ask you to dinner, and I suppose you're going to chew my head off, but I'm asking anyway."
She watched him squirm, cast a dubious glance at Orchard's office, looked back at Dennis, narrowed her eyes, and accepted.
He named a rather good restaurant.
She almost backed out.
He hastily named an even better restaurant.
She agreed.
He offered to pick her up.
She said no.
Her refusal to be picked up wounded his pride rather more than he liked to admit. He offered to pick her up somewhere other than her home if she was squeamish about him finding out where she lived. She named a hotel nine blocks from the restaurant. She had him out-negotiated, he realized (well, of course, traitors were sneaky devils, just by definition), so he went with what he had, and agreed to meet her in the hotel lobby.
He considered calling Felicity, in case this was some sort of trap, in which case it would be good to have backup on standby. He decided, in the end, to not call. She already thought he was a rookie. Surely he could handle one simple pseudo-date all by himself.
Not Exactly Allies Page 17