The Practical Spy

by Doug Walker

CHAPTER TEN

  Orson, it seemed, was acclaimed a hero and a gifted peacemaker after the glitter and hoopla of that press conference faded. Some called him a peace monkey, but that was easily enough ignored as long as it wasn’t backed by lethal force.

  While still in Israel, President Warren called him and offered him a choice of jobs in her administration. He was headed for home, pregnant wife and all. Delilah was well along in her pregnancy, but the first night they killed a bottle of Pinot Grigio and made passionate love. Nevertheless, Orson sensed something was amiss.

  In the days that followed, Delilah showed signs of what Orson guessed was paranoia and possibly some mental aberration he could not pin down. It was up and down as the time of delivery approached.

  But there were flashes of total sanity, the old self, and she declared that her child would be raised for foreign service, thus both children would have identical educations. Very little difference between foreign service people and spies, often the two overlap.

  So there were good times, and Orson was confidant that whatever it was with Delilah would pass. Of course her condition, she thought of herself as grotesque, was very likely the root cause of the issue.

  Of course the babies were born, a girl and a boy. After talking it over, Orson got the girl, Alice. The boy would be Dan. A pair of nannies had already been engaged. One would live at the house, the other would come and go as needed.

  And there would be a great need because Delilah slipped back into a frail mental state days after the births and as usual refused all treatment. Cook had her hands full. She was like a comforting mother to Delilah.

  At one time, Delilah blurted out to Orson, “I have two beautiful, bright and perfect babies and here I am, hideously deformed. What do you think they’ll think of me as they grow older?”

  “They’ll love you, Darling. Just as I do.”

  But there was little he could do to console her. She dug out her old hook and subbed it for her artificial hand. Orson was not easily frightened, but he felt cold fear, fear for the babes and fear of losing his remaining eye.

  Cook feared she might harm the babies. While Delilah slept, he carried the hook off and buried it in a deep hole near the beach.

  He and Delilah had been more than lovers, they had been the best of friends. All along he had meant to tell her that he had been seduced by the President. But this was no time for honesty.

  Early one morning while Delilah slumbered, he was having coffee in the kitchen and remarked to cook: “What would you think of a peaceful mental home for Delilah?”

  She nodded grimly. “They would simply shoot her full of drugs and reduce her to a zombie state. Things were not so bad before you returned. Your fame as a peacemaker didn’t help the situation. That hurt Delilah bad.”

  “I’m sorry, Cook. What must I do?”

  “I’ve thought this thing through, Orson. Take the children and the nannies and go someplace, but keep in touch. Delilah and me, we’ll do OK on our own.”

  It puzzled Orson that Delilah was jealous of his seeming triumph in restarting the peace talks. The fragility of the peace talks was obvious to both of them. The public’s perception and acclaim is what seemed to matter. Not the rocky road ahead. Everyone loved an optimist.

  Orson was aware of a Japanese method of doing things, that is, saying one thing and meaning another. He was also aware that Delilah knew of this method and would likely play along with it. It was not meant to be deceitful, yet it was.

  Walking on the beach a day or so later he called the White House, identified himself and asked to speak to the President. Moments later she came on line. “Orson, long time no see. You short of money?”

  “Always. If you can find a spot for me in D.C., I’ll be along with a pair of babies and a nanny or two.”

  “But not a wife.”

  “Not a wife. You may know of her physical condition. Well, it’s eating on her mind. Two perfect babies and she feels more or less deformed, of course disfigured by the bomb. It eats on her. I think she’ll recover. Our cook is a mother figure and will care for her.”

  “What about psychiatric help?”

  “She won’t go there.”

  “So, Ok. I’ve something in mind for you. Where will you be staying?”

  “I’ll be staying in a three-bedroom townhouse in Georgetown if you can find one for me.”

  The President chuckled. “Leave it to me. How can I contact you?”

  “E-mail.”

  One fine day when Delilah and Cook were shopping in the city, Orson called a limo and fled with the nannies and the babies. He left a note stating they were off on a vacation and that he would keep in constant touch. He guessed Delilah would understand, possibly be relieved, and the deceit was prearranged with Cook.

  Orson, like many men, claimed not to understand women. He thought their thinking might be intuitive to some degree and that Delilah might have guessed he had a sexual encounter. But would that have bothered her? Maybe, because of her physical condition. But he would never know.

  At the White House, Orson would serve as alternate chief of staff. There was already a competent chief of staff, Lucy Lapin, who would continue to serve. Orson would be available for envoy duty, attempting not to ruffle too many feathers at the State Department. He was known to have the President’s ear.

  Delilah’s mental health seemed to improve as soon as he, the babes and nannies departed, according to Cook. Her reputation as a sharp, analytical observer of the political scene, cut short by the bomb, endured. A National Public Radio reporter, aware of their marriage, inquired about her situation to Orson.

  Learning that she was in the best of physical and mental health as could be expected, she was approached by NPR editors and began doing guest spots on the morning and evening news shows. Orson was in a position to give her the occasional heads up.

  Orson and Delilah maintained contact through e-mail, avoiding the telephone. She maintained the same contact with the nannies. The entire arrangement seemed rather bizarre, but it worked.

  Orson and Delilah’s e-mails were frequent and often involved future family plans and the babies.

  E-mail transcripts: “Dearest Delilah – I’m concerned about the twins future as spy and foreign service employees. I believe language tutors should be hired when the twins reach 18 months, or by the time they are two. I suggest Chinese, German and Spanish. Math, geography, political science and history would follow. What are your views? All my Love, Orson.”

  “Dear Orson – I am more a traditionalist and would sub French for German. I assume you want a native speaker for each language. Might that person also serve as a nanny? One of the nannies is already a native Chinese speaker, I think Mandarin, which would be the proper language. This would mean hiring two new nannies and letting one go. Of course I wouldn’t do anything to disrupt the twin’s psychological development. The nannies are mother figures and losing one might not be wise. Money seems no problem. We have plenty, and both of us are now gainfully employed.

  “As we move into the training years, I do have questions about scheduling class-time, recreation and sleep hours. Your devoted wife, Delilah.”

  “Dearest Delilah – French is Ok by me. We both speak it haltingly, but better than our non-existent German. We seem to agree on Chinese and Spanish. There was a time when everyone seemed to want to learn Russian or some Slavic language. That seems to have passed.

  “As young children, I believe the twins need eight hours of sleep at night. Or maybe six or seven if they take afternoon naps. There was a time when it was thought one could learn things while sleeping with some sort of subliminal recording device. That too seems to have gone by the boards.

  “With eight hours of sleep, this leaves 16 hours of time left to cram their small heads full of information. Of course they must have three meals a day, plus some exposure to the media. They should learn what TV is, but not watch it to excess. That is, maybe 30 minutes a day. NPR plus MSNBC might be a mainstay.
Thus 16 hours would be reduced to 14 or maybe even closer to 13 for study.

  “What would you think of hiring a type of schoolmaster on a part-time basis to schedule these recreational-study activities?

  “Your loving spouse, Orson.”

  “My Darling Orson – It would seem you are a hard taskmaster. But perhaps that is what is needed if we are to raise the twins in a desirable fashion. Of course the broad schedule outline you propose is subject to some tweaking. But we are on the same page. Hiring a type of schoolmaster would be the best bet. This would be a compassionate scholarly type who would take the twins’ everyday needs into consideration.

  “One thing missing might be individuals in their own age group. We mustn’t neglect the social needs of the small ones to interact with like individuals. We also must guard them from perverts who seem so common in today’s society. I think the nannies will see to this over the years.

  “I have some regrets about personally not being able to interact with the two tykes. If they see you on an almost daily basis they will become accustomed to your scar and attractive eye patch. But if I am introduced to them at some later date, what would they think of their hideous mommy?

  “Love you as always, Delilah.”

  “Dearest Delilah – You bring up a point that is often on my mind. Of course there might be an initial shock by your appearance. But they would love you as I do. My greatest hope is for the two of us to be together again, perhaps not as a family, but as two lovers. And I feel in my heart that this will be true.

  “My days at the White House are crammed with mundane activity. I know you have met Lucy Lapin (Lucy the Rabbit) at some stage and may again encounter her on NPR. But her days are quite full and our paths seldom cross. It is amazing that two of us, doing basically the same job, can have such busy schedules and avoid conflicts. But we do.

  “The President is in the second year of her term. I believe I should see the term through. What would you think about a second term if she were to prevail in the election? I am thinking it might keep us apart and I am not growing younger. The other direction seems more likely. Of course I have nine or ten years on you.

  “Your devoted husband, Orson.”

  “The Darling of my Life, Orson, I would not look forward to seeing the children until they are fully grown and out in the world. Through the years my position can be explained to them. If they are to be the bright and stable individuals I hope and pray for, they will understand.

  “This then, bears on our future, you and I. I would hope that we might simply permit them to be raised by the nannies and the yet unnamed schoolmaster. I do not look on this as a cop-out as they would be constantly on our minds, in frequent communication, and monitoring their progress and well-being with great care.

  “Do these circumstances appeal to you? Love you always, Delilah.”

  “My Dearest Wife – Of course it appeals to me. I would move heaven and earth to be with you if our happiness was insured.

  “One issue might stand in the way. We are a fairly well known couple, not a pair of rednecks from West Texas. Someone might raise the issue that we are not fit parents because we leave the rearing of the twins to others. I would hate to have to grab the twins, their nannies, you and the schoolbooks and flee into the wilds of Mongolia. Do you see a legal challenge?

  “All my Love, Orson”

  “My Delightful Husband – That is a possibility. In the days of the ancient regime in France, the nobility had no use for children. They would send them to some forgotten country house along with the appropriate servants. When the children attained a well-polished adulthood they would be received into the companionship of their parents and possibly the court.

  “So, rather than Mongolia, we might have an apartment near the Louvre, or a stone cottage in the south, not far from the fresh fish of the polluted Med.

  “With Passion, Delilah.”

  “Dear One – The French idea is not a bad one. But I would still enjoy a situation where we could both interact with the children now and then. Your appearance is not as dismal as you believe. Of course it is different from what it was before the explosion. But you have overcome many hurdles and are once again an on-air person, a respected commentator on NPR. Your children will know that.

  “Frankly, Delilah, I don’t know what the future holds for us. But I will do my best to work out some plan to bring us together. Our two careers at the moment are on a level keel and there is little reason to disrupt that. But I would throw it all over in a New York minute if we could be together, whether France or Mongolia. With the twins, or without them.

  “All My Love, Orson”

  “My one-eyed husband – I have been thinking, random thoughts. If we do get together in the near future, as we both wish, I wouldn’t mind having another baby. The experience was not bad, and any alteration to this body is welcome. But I would not want the burden of rearing such issue. It’s simply a thought that ran through my head like the rustle of leaves on a spring morning.

  “One thing we could raise if we had the setting, which we do in my present residence, is chickens. It’s quite an urban thing now. The hip society does it for free-range eggs. Strictly hens, no roosters. One problem. Neither of us use that many eggs. We could open a roadside stand.

  “Your devoted Bride, Delilah”

  “Dear Devoted Bride – We might introduce a rooster and forget about the eggs. Let the hens hide them here and there and wait for the broods to dash around the place, very much like an African village.

  “If you’re into livestock, rabbits might be another option. Although I prefer the wild type brought down with shotguns. The dark meat has more flavor, while rabbits that skulk in pens, slacker rabbits, taste like chicken.

  “I may be sent abroad soon. I cannot say where because these e-mail accounts are not fool proof. I would trust you to keep the secret. Truth to tell, most administration secrets are not really secret. But some members of Congress will attempt to make political hay with them. Wherever, or whenever, and if I go, I can stay in e-mail touch from the farthest corner of the earth. Which corner do you prefer?

  “Love you to death, Orson”

  “Dearest Orson – Please don’t love me to death. Near death is OK, but I’d rather gasp a little. Just after the bomb detonated and I woke with these horrors inflicted on my body, I would have gone gleefully into that oblivion. But now I have you, the babies and even a new career – behind that blank mask of a radio mike.

  “You may not think I love the infants, but I do dearly, despite not being able to cuddle them. I talk to the nannies frequently and, as you know, Cook has visited them in the flesh, plus the web photos. I am probably more conscious of their every improvement than most flesh and blood mothers who perform all those obnoxious jobs involving body fluids and so forth.

  “Time flies and it will not be long until our little ones cry out for tutoring, to follow their paths on the trails we have laid out. There is ample time to discuss and bicker over their exact schedules, but we can be confident that both of us do so with their best interests as our guide. Our highway to molding a pair of individuals to our own desires is certain to be strewn with deadfalls and unknown hazards. But we will make a difference.

  “Now that you will venture to other worlds and leave me rustically at home, my thoughts go out to you. The deadline in my heart is the end of the presidential term, this term. I wish you well on your travels. Come well to my door.”

  “All my love, Delilah”