by Julia Stoops
Nelson keeps up his continuous nodding. “This way?” he points. “The name of road?”
“Just stay on this path.” Reynolds points again, but his eyes are on the door he was aiming for, and he won’t put down the damn briefcase.
Jen is approaching from behind. Nelson keeps nodding. “Thank you. Thank you.” He gestures at Deirdre and himself. “We are on exchange.”
“Good,” snaps Reynolds, and makes to go around them.
Nelson blocks him again and suppresses a laugh. “From the Leiden University.”
Reynolds pulls in a breath and his face relaxes. “Oh.”
Jen drifts closer. She’s wearing latex gloves. It’s hard not to be distracted by her.
Reynolds cocks his head. “Ik deed een semester in Den Haag. Waar in Nederland kom je vandaan?”
Nelson nods and goes, “Ahhhh,” long enough for Jen to bounce in close and grab the briefcase from Reynolds’s relaxing hand. Reynolds swings, lunges, and trips. He lands on his side with a grunt. Obviously not as athletic as he looks.
Nelson yells, “Thief!” and Fetzer’s suddenly beside them, saying, “Let me help you up. I saw that, you got an eyewitness,” in what might be a Canadian accent underneath the wig and the handlebar moustache. Reynolds struggles up and Nelson grabs his other arm. “We must catch the thief,” he says. “We go. Anika to stay with you.” Deirdre gives him a furious look, but what can he do? Reynolds never met her at the reception, and they need collateral.
Fetzer says, “Stay right here, sir, we’ll get that back for you.”
Reynolds winces and lifts one foot off the ground.
“By the way, I’m not Dutch,” Deirdre is saying as Nelson turns the corner. In sort of an American accent.
Jen is waiting inside the doors of the library.
“Elevators?” says Fetzer, and Nelson steers them left.
Inside the elevator Fetzer’s breathing hard. Nelson’s heart is thumping and he leans against the wall. He drags on latex gloves, and so does Fetzer.
The door opens on the third floor. Hands in pockets, they march past stacks and stacks of books. If he remembers right, way down at the end, tucked behind the last stacks, is a bank of photocopiers. Please please please let them still be there.
And they are. Even more than there used to be.
Jen squats and lays the briefcase on the floor. A coil of hair bulges from under her hat. “This better not be locked.”
The carpet is an absurd shock of green and pink flowers. The locks click open and Nelson exhales with relief. The lid flips up. Six large tan envelopes. “To the Seattle Times,” says Jen, and she takes the mini garment steamer out of her backpack and aims. The envelope flap wilts and curls.
She hands the papers to Nelson. “Copy.”
Nelson pulls the jar of dimes out of his backpack. A dime slips into the metal box and the copier lights up.
Jen pulls a CD out of the envelope and swaps it for a blank one from her pocket. “Looks like he forgot to burn that one.” Then she pulls a cassette tape from the envelope. “Crap. I wasn’t expecting obsolete technology.”
“There’s some tapes in the car we could swap it out with,” says Fetzer.
“No time,” says Nelson. “We’ve been three minutes already. He might leave. Besides, our prints’ll be all over them. Fetzer, can you do some copying?”
“Sure,” says Fetzer, and he scoops up a handful of dimes.
The copiers are slow, but between the three of them they get a duplicate set in two minutes, and Nelson and Fetzer are handing the briefcase back to Reynolds within another three. Jen and the evidence are waiting for them at the car.
They laugh on the way home at Deirdre’s description of Reynolds, almost in tears over his precious stolen briefcase and his sprained ankle. He’d thanked them repeatedly. They’d said “you’re welcome” in their various fake accents, and he’d limped away.
A successful op. A successful return to campus, and with Deirdre, too. Life is good.
Fetzer strides ahead of them into the basement and drops the copies on a desk. “We can’t break this. We’re too fucking small.”
Jen rolls her eyes. “Here we go again.”
As soon as Fetzer says it, though, Nelson realizes it’s sadly true. “Too small to be listened to, or too small to be safe?”
“Both,” says Fetzer, “We should give it to Kate Simms.”
Jen’s palm hits her forehead so hard it’s got to hurt. “Give it? Give it?”
Nelson holds up his hands. “Let’s not overreact.”
“I busted my ass getting us to here,” says Jen.
Fetzer wags a finger. “And I’m not gonna watch your ass getting truly busted over this story.”
“How could they even link it to us? There’s no prints! Nothing’s missing!”
Nelson says, “We’ve been a thorn in Reynolds’s side. And he knows you’re capable of hacking, right?”
Jen looks up at the basement ceiling. “Yeah. He’ll assume.”
Something’s been bothering Nelson since they listened to the tapped phone conversation. “How would Reynolds even have the president’s hard drive? It’s not something you can just walk in and help yourself to.”
Jen shrugs. “A tech probably saw whatever’s on it during a routine upgrade. And Reynolds got wind of it. He’s got contacts among the SysAdmins for sure.”
“I wonder what’s on it. Like, how bad it is.”
Jen says, “Unless he reinstalls the drive on a computer that’s on a network I can crack, we’ll never know.”
Nelson thumbs through the copies they made. It’s all there, confirming everything. And it’s solid. Fraud and blackmail. Harry Lane University, one of the finest in the region, come to this. And the biggest story they’ve ever had, come to this. “Fetzer’s right,” he says. “We’re too close. Kate’s a step removed. And she’s got the Herald behind her.”
Jen folds her arms. “So we hand it over. To the corporate news media.” She shakes her hand wildly near her ear. “Are you even hearing what that sounds like?”
Nelson keeps his voice calm. “You know Kate will honor it.”
“No, actually, I don’t know Kate will honor it. And it’s not just Kate, it’s her editor. It’s her managing editor. It’s all the crap she’s internalized from working there for so long.” She points as she paces away. “You know I’m right.”
“Under most circumstances,” says Nelson, “I’d agree, but this feels exponentially risky.”
Fetzer says, “Especially since the Pentagon is involved.”
“Only tangentially,” says Jen and she strides back. “Come on. Like they care about some stupid college power play?”
“No,” says Nelson, “especially with hacking redefined as terrorism.”
“Would it feel worth it?” says Fetzer. He picks up the CD and tosses it down. “Going to federal prison? For this?” Fetzer then mutters, “On second thought, go ahead, get busted. Save me the trouble of worrying about what you’ll do next.”
“Fuck you,” says Jen.
“Hey!” says Nelson. “Come on, you two. This is getting ridiculous.”
“Who’s getting busted?” says Deirdre. Nelson didn’t even hear the door open. He touches her face. Soon they’ll be married.
“Jen is,” says Fetzer.
Jen lifts her arms in helpless annoyance. “He wants to get rid of me.”
Dee’s eyes stretch wide, “What?”
Fetzer sighs. “I was kidding.”
Jen puts on a sarcastic smile. “No, you weren’t.”
Nelson spreads his hands. “Jeez, you two. Please.”
Deirdre holds up a brown paper bag. “How about stuffed peppers for dinner?”
“Great,” says Nelson. “Um, there’s those leftover chickpeas, too.”
At the bottom of the stairs she turns. “Shall I open a bottle of red to breathe?”
Fetzer shakes his head, distracted. “Sure,” he says, and Deirdre heads up to
the kitchen.
“So, Jen?” says Nelson. “We call her?”
Jen throws up her arms again. “I hate this. Don’t you hate this? We’re just giving up.”
Nelson bounces a pen against the tip of his finger. Jen seems to be getting more agitated by the day.
Fetzer rubs the stubble on his head. “If we don’t give this to Kate now, I say we lock it away. Least till we’re in a different political climate. Right now, anything perceived as anti-military risks being misconstrued as treasonous.”
“That’s so cowardly I hate it even more,” says Jen. She folds her arms, paces over to the map wall, paces back. “Okay. But she so fucking owes us.”
Fetzer stares at nothing and nods for a while. “We are handing her a scoop, that’s for sure.”
“I won’t deny it hurts,” says Nelson. “But we’re not in it for the glory. Getting this out in front of the public is more important. And besides, blackmail and college politics aren’t even our beat.”
“True,” says Fetzer. “Kinda lost sight of that detail.” He dials. Presses speakerphone. Kate picks up on the second ring. But it turns out she’s leaving tonight for vacation, won’t get to see the package till next week. And no, they don’t want to discuss details until after she’s seen it.
Fetzer winces at the speaker. “We’ll have to wait till you get back, then.”
Kate says, “Now you’ve got me looking forward to coming back to work.” She laughs, and Nelson can picture her smile.
58: JEN
Deirdre hands me a bowl of soup. She has a bizarre smile on her face. “It’s split-pea tonight.” She ladles another bowl for Nelson, who merely says, “Yum.”
Does he have any idea how weird she’s getting?
Like, the day after they got married, I found her in the church. I felt like a tourist looking around, and whispered, “I’ve never been in here before.” The red and blue and green light from the windows was all over her.
“Mass is finished,” she said, “but I had a feeling I should stay, so I waited and prayed, and here you are.”
There were those padded kneeler things they have along the floor. She got down and clasped her hands. It looked stupid.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m not, like, stalking or anything, but I saw you go in here the other day when I was riding by. And then you weren’t around this morning so I figured. Well. Anyhow, I just came to say sorry. About your show. You keep saying it’s okay but it’s not. You’re, like, still pissed. I can tell.”
She squeezed her hands together and closed her eyes. “If we pray, we will be forgiven.”
“What?”
“God is the only one who can forgive.”
“Look, does Nelson know about this? You just got married. Shouldn’t you, like, be hanging out with him?”
“May the judgment not be too heavy upon us,” she murmured.
There was the requisite statue of Mary looking all sad and submissive. “I don’t care about this crap,” I said. “I want things to be normal at home. I’m sick of feeling like shit.”
Two old women kneeling near the front turned like twins and sent me death rays.
“Pray with me.” Dee’s hand grabbed mine. Hers was hot. The wind gusted outside, and colored light splashed through the windows then dried up again. I yanked my hand back.
“You’ll feel better,” she said.
But it was drafty and I was shivering. “This is insane,” I said, and walked back up the aisle, through the gusts of color from the windows.
Deirdre ladles some extra soup into Nelson’s bowl. He says, “Thanks, babe,” like she isn’t turning into a religious nut.
And Fetzer slurps his soup like he isn’t turning into a pedantic control-freak.
If rash, irritation, or swelling develops, discontinue thinking.
“So Deirdre, you got another email,” I say.
Nelson says, “How come you read her emails?”
I shrug. “Good question.”
Deirdre ladles soup for herself. “I can’t be bothered with it.”
Does she really miss Sylvia that much?
“Who from?” says Nelson, since Dee seems uninterested. He sips soup off his spoon.
I say, “Would you believe it: New Western Light.”
Nelson looks up. “The publisher?”
“Yup. They’re interested in her photos.”
He gazes at her with those doe eyes like when he was in front of the judge, in front of us, when he said “I do.”
I’ll admit it, I was moved. I had a tear. But how come he doesn’t see what’s happening? How come no one does?
“For a book?” says Nelson.
“Yeah,” I say. “They want to discuss it, anyway.”
Nelson nods, looking satisfied.
Fetzer wipes a napkin across his smile and he sits back in his chair. “A book? Who woulda thunk, huh? Good job.”
And for the first time since December, Deirdre’s eyes seem to focus right. “I could do that.”
“It’s kinda messed up, though,” I say. “We work our asses off for years, and who gets the attention from the radical book publishers? The girlfriend.”
Soon as it’s out I wish it was back in. Hands up. “Sorry!”
Nelson frowns like I’m some sad fuckup. “Wife. And what the hell is wrong with you, anyway?”
“It’s okay,” says Deirdre. “Shush.”
“No, I won’t shush.” Nelson tips his head, puzzled at me. “I know things are bad right now, Jen, but for Christ’s sake, you’re being unbearable lately.”
Hands up again. Head down. Let it go.
“It’s hard on everyone,” says Deirdre, “with this war coming.”
Fetzer says, “All the more reason to celebrate good news,” and he gets up and goes to the wine cupboard.
“None for me, thanks,” says Deirdre.
Fetzer swings around, his forehead crimped. “You sure?”
“I’m giving it up for Lent.”
Nelson looks like, WTF?
Fetzer just stands there, bottle in his hand, surprise on his face.
I want to say, See? See? See?
59: NELSON
Nelson pushes open the tinkling diner door. It feels oddly incongruous to be visiting on Deirdre’s day off. “Oh. Kate’s already here,” he says to Jen and Fetz behind him. She’s at a booth, chatting with Mr. Nguyen. It almost looks staged, with Mr. Nguyen in his pink diner polo shirt, and Kate in a pink leather coat, sitting at the pink Formica table.
They say their hellos and sit down. Mr. Nguyen’s baseball cap today has Bart saying, “Ay, caramba!” Ever cheerful, Nguyen takes their orders and trots away, leaving them to fall into an awkward silence. Nelson knows he should say something, but all that comes to mind is, I’m a married man again.
Instead he says, “No baby Adrian?” He keeps his hands under the table. Touches his thumb against the ring. The thrift store ring that Deirdre picked out for him and he picked one out for her, shoulder to shoulder over the scratched-up jewelry case at Goodwill. He doesn’t want Kate to simply notice, he wants to announce it. To say the words he hasn’t had a chance to say because hardly anybody knows yet. He considered calling his dad, and his brother in Malaysia, but what’s the point? He’d rather tell people who actually care.
It’s too bad the ceremony was so short. There weren’t even flowers. But it makes sense to save the party for the church wedding later. Which is something he never intended to go through again after enduring that hymn-drenched fanfare Lise’s parents orchestrated, but if it makes Dee happy, that’s fine.
Funny that Dee went to church the next day, a Saturday mass. She hasn’t been to church the whole time he’s known her, but the marriage thing seems to have stirred something up in her. She says the church on Seventeenth Avenue is beautiful. He should go with her some time, if only for the windows, she says. “The windows are so lovely it’s like they’re doing the singing.”
“Adrian’s with a sitter,” s
ays Kate. Wherever she vacationed, it was sunny, because she has a tan. Then she says, “My god, I’ve hardly slept since I picked up this”—her eyes scoot around the diner—“epic. What have you guys been doing?” She waggles the fat brown envelope they’d given her. “This is incredible.”
“Isn’t it?” Jen says, fake-bored. “Good thing I had the girl-cojones to go the extra mile.”
Nelson fiddles with his ring. Jen and Fetzer can barely talk to each other without arguing these days.
Fetzer pulls in a breath. “Developments since then are Reynolds took a sudden leave—for family reasons, according to his secretary—so the department is reshuffling. And President Wellesley is getting flack from conservatives for booting the military recruiters off campus.”
Kate frowns. “I saw that, yeah. I was surprised HLU even had any.”
“Briefly,” says Nelson. “They were part of the reign of Reynolds. We hope things will get back to normal now he’s gone.”
Fetzer says, “As you've probably guessed, Reynolds really stepped down in exchange for all copies of that material.”
“Thing is,” says Jen, and she points a teaspoon at the envelope, “Reynolds thinks he has all six sets. Thanks to me, you’ve got number seven.”
Kate looks at the envelope. “Okay. Next question. Why did you give this to me?”
Fetzer pauses, then says, “Times call for aggressive watchdog journalism.”
“And to be honest,” says Nelson, “we don’t feel safe with it.” He didn’t feel safe at city hall, either, but the clerk was perfunctory with Deirdre’s passport, didn’t notice the expired visa, and they both were so relieved that as soon as they were out of the office they burst out laughing.
“You think I’m protected by invisible magic?” says Kate.
“No magic,” says Fetzer, “just the establishment.”
“Aha.” Kate smiles and pulls the copies and the CD out of the envelope. “Well, I want to do a two-part feature. Reynolds, his Heritage Foundation ties, Wellesley, the perks, the blackmail. Pity you never saw the hard drive.” She looks up, frowns, spreads her hands like Fetzer does sometimes. “How the hell did you get hold of this, anyhow?”