“I don’t believe it,” Pete said mournfully, staring out the window of his apartment. “How the hell can it snow a foot in Manhattan on September third?”
Hannah Donnenfeld, Sari James, and Neville More were with Pete in his living room, enjoying snacks and drinks. “Looks like you’ve got yourselves three guests for the night, Peter,” Donnenfeld said.
Pete turned away from the window, started to draw the shade down, but decided against cutting off the view of the outside oddity. “I guess so. No problem—got plenty of room and plenty of food.”
“Do you have boots?” More asked.
“What?”
“Boots.”
“For sleeping or for cooking?”
More smiled. “Neither. For walking in the snow.”
“Sure, but are you sure you want to go out there?” “Well, I’ve spent most of my adult life living where it always rains, but never snows, and I for one would love to stroll in the snow. Besides, I hear a nice white blanket makes this city awfully pretty.”
“It does,” said Sari. “May I be your guide?”
“Why, certainly.” More put out his arm, and she linked hers through it. “Maybe we could even take in a show. I hear the Great White Way is pretty well lit these days.”
“Anybody care to join us?” asked Sari.
Pete and Hannah exchanged a look. Neither thought Sari really wanted them to tag along.
After waiting a barely polite moment, she shook her blond ponytail back over one shoulder. “No? Well, you old folks have a nice time watching the tube or whatever it is you feel like doing.” Sari tugged Neville in the direction of Pete’s ornate oak coat rack near the front door. “Pete, do you have an extra key?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s on a hook right near the intercom. You got it.”
Sari disengaged herself from Neville long enough for them to slip into their coats, then wrapped his arm around her again. “Well, don’t wait up, Mom and Dad. See you whenever. ‘Bye.”
The door thumped shut behind them. Pete ambled over to throw the dead bolt.
“Old folks indeed,” Donnenfeld sniffed from the couch. “She forgets that / have to wait for her when we jog on our beach at the Cove.”
Pete retrieved his coffee mug from the end table and took a sip. “She must’ve been referring to me, Hannah. Sure as hell couldn’t have meant you.”
“Want to play Trivial Pursuit?”
“Why should I? You always slaughter me. You’re a goddamned scientist, Hannah. You’ve got no business knowing so damned much about everything else.”
The old woman leaned forward to take a chocolate chip cookie, snatching it up as if it were about to escape. “I just happen to have vast and shallow knowledge of almost everything, Peter.”
“Bull. You even beat me on the sports questions. I would like to play a form of trivia, though.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I’d like to know about Neville. When did you latch on to him?”
“Actually, he came to us,” said Hannah. “Says he’s been traveling around the country since the war started up again.” “Traveling around and doing what?”
“Helping science and defense teams shore up their computer systems. He says computers are going to be the key to winning this fight. I tend to agree with him there.”
Pete munched thoughtfully on a cookie. “Well, from what I can remember about him, he really is one of the top people in the field. But do you need help?”
“Places like Brook Cove Lab can always use another hand—especially a reputed all-star like Neville More.”
“I thought Mitchell Loomis was your computer hotshot.” “So did Mitchell,” Hannah said, like a mother thinking about her bright but troublesome child.
“How’s he taking the intrusion?”
“Mitchell pouts a lot these days.”
Pete nodded. “I can just see that pudgy baby face of his as More corrects him. Must be cute.”
“Cute enough to make you barf.”
“Sari certainly seems to have become attached to Neville. How long’s he been with you?”
“Oh, ’bout two weeks now,” said Hannah. “Yes, yes, Sari has taken a liking to Neville. And why not? He’s handsome, charming, witty, quite nearly a genius.”
Pete straightened in mock defensiveness. “I’m all those things.”
“Sorry, Pete, but he’s also got great hair. And Sari’s always gone for the slim types. So’ve I, come to think of it. If I were twenty years younger—”
“Twenty? Wanna try forty?”
“Don’t be rude, Peter,” Hannah clucked.
The snow fell in fine flakes now, dancing before streetlights like tiny sculptures of cut crystal, then slipping gracefully from the pools of brightness down to the ground. There was almost no traffic on Fifth Avenue, no noise other than the soft scuffing of boots in the granular snow. Couples strolled arm in arm and window-shopped at Bloomingdale’s and Saks. The windows of lower-priced stores were often empty these days as commonplace items grew scarce. But the finer shops still displayed their luxury wares. The war-drained economy meant few people could actually afford such things, but there was an odd sort of comfort in being able to see them, and perhaps dream of having them someday.
Sari snuggled close to Neville More as they walked. “1 love Manhattan when it’s like this,” she murmured. “Of course, it’s usually not like this until January.” She shrugged.
“It is nice,” he said. “Tranquil, unhurried. . .
“Was life ever really like that—tranquil and unhurried?” “You mean before the Visitors?”
She nodded.
“I suppose for some people,” he said. “Not for me, though. Somehow I was always too busy for that. I was always selling, developing, raising money to bring some new idea to life. Oh, don’t get me wrong—it was bloody exciting.”
“There’s a ‘but’ in your voice, Neville.”
He chuckled. “But excitement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. How about you, Sari? What was your life like before the wars?”
She gave it a few seconds’ thought. “Well, Brook Cove might not be what you’d call exciting. None of those high-pressure deals necessary to keep you one step ahead of the creditors. The way Hannah Donnenfeld ran the lab, we didn’t even have to publish. We were just one big, sometimes argumentative family of oddballs and geniuses and social maladroits who all happened to love science. There was a quiet excitement in that, I guess. It wasn’t exactly tranquil and unhurried. I mean we all had self-imposed motivations pushing us forward in whatever we were working on. But it was pretty relaxed. God, it seems like so long ago, I can barely remember.” Sari rolled her eyes. “Geez, listen to me flapping ray gums here. You ask me a simple question and I just go on and—”
Neville leaned over and gently kissed her lips. It was a brief kiss.
“Uh, you trying to tell me to shut up?”
“No, not at all,” he said. “When you talk, I leam more about you. And I’d like to learn as much as I can.”
“Talk is cheap,” Sari said, doing a Mae West impression. “I’ll take shutting up any day.”
They kissed again—softly at first, then gradually increasing their intensity, but still in a tranquil, unhurried way, as if they both had those words in mind. After a long time, they separated.
“Are you sure you’re not getting cold, Sari?”
She stared at him, then broke into a giggle. “You must be kidding! Besides, it’s not that cold. I love it when it snows like this—no wind, just a dusting of little soapflake snow. I feel like 1 could stay outside forever. When I was little, my mom would threaten to get the National Guard to drag me in on nights like this.”
Neville grinned at her. “Oh, I’ll bet you were a terror. What would you do when she called you the first time?”
With a devilish glint of reminiscence in her eyes, Sari pirouetted away from him. “I’d waltz across the lawn,” she called, her voice musical. “Then I’d prance close to t
he porch to tease her. Then I’d do a Highland fling out to the sidewalk— pas de deux with the lightpole—-and then swing a little.” As she spoke, she did each dance, ending up literally gripping a street lamp and spinning around it. By now More couldn’t contain his laughter.
Abruptly, Sari lost her footing and fell flat on her back. He rushed over, concern wiping the laugh off his face. “Are you all right?” he said, cradling her head.
Sari’s eyelids fluttered, then she propped herself on her elbow. “And I always wound up on my ass. All these years later, nothing’s changed. Except one thing.”
He helped her to her feet. “What’s that?”
She tugged his collar, bringing their faces nose to nose.
“When you kiss me and make it better, it’s not quite the same as when Mom did it.”
With a half smile of gentle lust, Neville closed his arms around her and their lips touched and opened.
“My place or yours?” Sari said in a husky whisper.
“Peter’s.”
Taking pains to be slow and quiet, Sari turned the key in Peter Forsythe’s lock. The dead bolt slid with a maddening creak that she was sure would wake the whole building. She pushed the door and she and Neville crept into the foyer. Good—it’s dark! she thought gleefully. She closed and relocked the door, trying to hide her nervousness. What's he gonna think of me if I say I want to sleep with him? What are Pete and Hannah gonna think when they see us coming out of the same bedroom tomorrow morning? What do I care what anybody thinks? With silent resolve, she held More’s hand firmly in hers and pulled him along.
“Where are you going?” he whispered.
“To my room.”
“And where am / going?”
His expression was neutral. She couldn’t tell if he was being playful or charmingly obtuse. “My room.” She continued guiding him.
“And who’s going to my room?”
“Nobody.”
“Oh.”
He followed meekly as she hurried into the bedroom Pete had shown her earlier, and shut the door quickly and quietly. Sari prayed to herself: Don’t chicken out, stupid! She avoided looking at Neville’s face as she reflexively switched on the dresser lamp and shed her coat. Then she glanced up. As their eyes met her shoulders slumped.
“Oh, you don’t want to do this, I can tell. I’m such an insensitive idiot sometimes. I just assume that somebody else wants the same thing as I do, has the same feelings. I’m so at home in a lab where everything comes so naturally, but I’m such a klutz when it comes to bedrooms. I’m really sorry if I
pushed you into anything.” She found herself reaching for the door to open it and let him escape, then felt his hand turning her face up. He kissed her.
"What was that for?” she asked.
“To shut you up. What makes you think I don’t want to be here? If I may be so bold, do you always talk yourself out of tilings you want?”
“No.” An embarrassed smile curled one comer of her mouth. “Only when I’m overcome by extreme dumbness. Now, where were we?”
He struck a studious pose. “Ah, let me see. Well, I was about to take my coat off and turn off this lamp.” He did both.
I le drew Sari close to him and they drifted over to the queen-size bed. Cold, dim light came through the blinds, a shaft illuminating her face. “Then I was about to unbutton this lovely blouse.”
She felt the buttons being undone, then his touch feather-light on her stomach. His hands lifted the blouse in a smooth motion. The material slipped over her skin, and her shoulders were bare. She shivered slightly.
“Chilly?” he asked, not waiting for a reply. “We’ll soon lake care of that, I think.”
Sari shivered again, but this time because she felt the warmth of his breath on her neck as he bent to kiss her. Part of her felt like sitting back and enjoying whatever he fancied doing to her, but part wanted to return the favors. The second part won. She reached around to grasp the back of his ski sweater, then pulled it over his head and off. With one hand, she smoothed his hair; with the other, she scraped a fingernail through the curls of fur on his chest.
Keep your eyes open, she told herself. She’d lost count of the times she’d forgotten that one sense while making love. The sounds and smells and feelings were committed to memory, but all too often the component of sight—what he looks like—had been sacrificed amid the other sensual pleasures.
This time she made herself look at Neville More. For two weeks she’d seen him with his clothing on. The man sure knew how to dress. He was tall and slim, and everything fit him perfectly. But the more she’d grown certain she wanted to wind up in bed with him, the more curious she’d become as to how he’d appear without attire worthy of G.Q.
So she looked. He wasn’t a poster hunk-of-the-month. His shoulders weren’t broad enough for that, pectorals not that well defined. But there was feline sleekness in place of brawny bulges, muscles long and smooth. He leaned back a bit, enough to slip a hand between them. With two fingers, he deftly unhooked her bra clasp and slipped the straps down her arms. She shrugged to help him get it off, then held him tightly against her cool skin. His chest hair felt warm against her breasts, and she lay down on the flannel comforter, pulling him with her.
This is going to be fun, she thought. Then, she let her eyes close. . . .
The phone rang at seven, but Pete was already up. He and Hannah Donnenfeld had gone to sleep reasonably early, and the gray light of morning had Pete’s eyes open by 6:55. The voice at the other end of the line identified itself as Chief of Staff Len Katowski. William Brent Morrow was convening an urgent meeting in his Hyatt White House suite, and he wanted Pete to be there.
“Can I bring someone along?”
“Who?” Katowski asked curtly.
“Dr. Hannah Donnenfeld.”
Katowski answered without hesitation. “Sure. Her input might help.”
An early riser by nature, Donnenfeld was also awake and had even showered and dressed by the time Pete tapped on her bedroom door. With a quick explanation, Pete proceeded to rush around the apartment getting ready. He scribbled a note to Sari and More, who hadn’t yet stirred, and threw open the kitchen cupboards to reveal the makings of any breakfast they might want later.
Then Pete and Hannah rushed downstairs to meet the four-wheel-drive wagon Katowski sent to pick them up. With better than a foot of unplowed powder on Manhattan’s streets, a four-by-four was the only vehicle that could get through.
The Secret Service driver parked the vehicle in the hotel’s garage and escorted his passengers up to the top floor. They were the first to arrive at the beige suite, and the President’s wife greeted them and took them to the dining room. The oval table was set for breakfast, with bagels, pastries, juice, and hot beverages.
“Just help yourself,” said Mrs. Morrow. “Bill should be in any minute, and the others are on their way up.” She was dressed in a gorgeously patterned silk kimono, and Hannah touched the sleeve.
“It’s lovely, Mrs. Morrow.”
“I wish I could wear it all the time. I picked it up when we were on a state visit to Japan.”
“She would’ve bought up the country’s entire kimono supply if I hadn’t stopped her,” boomed the President as he entered the room.
“He kept pulling the most wonderful things out of my hands, screaming about the balance-of-trade deficit,” Barbara Morrow lamented. “If I were President, I’d let you buy souvenirs.”
Morrow grinned at the teasing. “Next election I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned to Pete and Hannah. “Good morning, Doctors. Thanks for rollin’ outa bed and into all that snow. Didn’t get much of the white stuff where I grew up in Texas. Though when we did, the whole damn state’d close down,” he chuckled.
They heard the suite door open and the rest of those called to the conference filed in. Lauren Stewart, representing the United Nations, was obviously the only one who’d come from outside, with her nose sniffling and her scarf still dra
ped around her neck. She and Pete exchanged meaningful smiles. Behind her, Secretary of State Nick Draper, Secretary of Defense Stuart Hart, and Len Katowski trooped in. Everyone sat around the table and reached for food right away. President Morrow prowled the room in plaid bathrobe and Indian moccasins, a bagel clutched in one hand “I don’t know about you all,” he said without preface, “but there’s no doubt in my mind the Visitors arc responsible for this. Diana as much as said so when 1 called her last week.
Now, I don’: know how she did this, but I do know we’re in a shitioad of trouble if we don’t do something to stop it, and come up with immediate ways to make sure we’ve got ample supplies of fuel. The floor’s open for anybody’s two cents.” Secretary of Defense Hart pursed his lips. “It appears we have very little choice. We’re going to need those Strategic Oil Reserves.”
Lauren sipped a glass of orange juice. “I’m just afraid we might be too late. If I recall, Gerry Livingston said—” “Where the hell is Livingston?” said Morrow, exasperation in his voice.
“Probably picking out just the right suit,” Katowski mumbled. “Wouldn’t want to be caught underdressed.”
Hart and Draper couldn’t help snickering. There was a rustling in the hallway and Livingston strode in, wearing, of course, just the right suit and murmuring apologies for tardiness. Morrow glared at him, then looked back to Lauren.
She took the cue and continued, “Anyway, Gerry said the Visitors hadn’t been devoting much energy to actively trying to cut our supply pipelines and rail transport. Well, it looks to me like Diana is suddenly inordinately interested in everything that has to do with oil supplies. If we do anything to reveal the existence of those underground reserves down in Texas and Louisiana, we may be playing right into her hands.” Morrow nodded. “So what you’re saying is, we could be drawing attention to supplies the lizards didn’t know we had.” Pete raised a finger. “Lauren’s got a point. Moving it’s risky. We move it, we could lose it.”
“Ah,” said Hannah, giving a piercing look at the others, “but if we don’t move it, and they find it before we can do something—or if they’re fooling us and already know about the reserve—we still lose it. I think inertia is even more risky.” “Inertia?” Morrow questioned.
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