by M. L. Janes
What had surprised Séamus was that Wilkie had rebelled at this logic, in his own way, as much as he had. After all, Wilkie was first and last a scientist and knew that a 1% chance of a global famine that led to a hundred million deaths was, in effect, worth an actuarially expected one million lives. Even if there was only a one percent chance of the girls communicating their knowledge, and then just a one percent chance of that knowledge leading to such a famine, we were still talking about an actuarially expected ten thousand lives. Governments had to make such calculations every day. Spend a million dollars on improving a dangerous piece or road or funding some medical research? One would save the lives of five drivers and the other the lives of four cancer patients. If we choose not to fund the research, aren't we killing the four just as surely as Chrissy, Jenny, Phyllis and Tina?
Or maybe Wilkie had just wanted Alice to think that his motives were noble. Maybe the deaths of the girls would have been no more an inconvenience than their disappearance. Maybe he had joined the Consortium just to pursue his research, which the governments had ceased. As he had said, he was thrilled just to hear anything the extraterrestrials wanted to tell him. As Alice herself had said, it could be the end of the world and he would still keep chatting about unscientific theories like they were the ultimate danger. As Séamus rarely understood his own motivation, he could hardly expect himself to understand that of an ivory-tower professor.
These thoughts ran through his head as the late afternoon approached a perfect sunset, one early-Fall day at a beach-side cafe. He had been leafing through Moon Uprising one more time on his e-reader, trying to tease out some more meaning from the text. But it was pure speculation, and probably Wilkie himself would have condemned it as unscientific. He had put down the reader and stared out at the beach where Chrissy was lying now that the sun was not strong. She had allowed herself to turn a slightly golden color. She had joked that, when she took off her bra now, the white areas gave her the appearance of breasts. He had declined her offer to see them. Of all people, he didn't want to get pulled into a romantic relationship with Chrissy. It would only be a matter of time before she got bored and wanted to move on. He worked well with Chrissy, and dreaded again having a colleague whose body he craved. He believed he was finally cured of Barbara, and wanted to stay healthy.
Because his thoughts on Wilkie had been interrupted by thoughts of female flesh, it was perhaps natural that Alice now popped into his mind again. She was now working on other projects and had been able to find out little else. They wrote to each other regularly, but it was all small, personal stuff. It felt like they were consciously keeping their friendship alive because they knew they were going to need it later. He missed her company, and especially their warm nights together. She was a woman he could deeply respect because of her academic brilliance, the genuine concern she had shown for both the girls' and his own welfare, and the sacrifices she had made for her mother. But, perhaps a little like Wilkie, he was still not sure that he could completely trust her. Hiding her relationship with Grant and acting as his spy, though understandable, had not helped his level of confidence.
As he sometimes did, Séamus let his imagination wander over a range of conspiracy theories. Suppose that last night had been just more of the manipulation of Séamus FitzGerald in a second- or even third-level game being played? A negotiation tactic with the Consortium in order to wring a better deal out of them? A clever way to plant Wilkie among their scientists? If this all was a hoax, who had planted the data – the Consortium or the governments? Maybe it was a negotiating tactic with the drug and pharmaceutical companies to force better pricing for their GM products? Maybe it was all a ploy by Big Pharma to provide extraterrestrial endorsement for some radical genetic engineering program – a ploy that went horribly wrong. Could Alice be a knowing player at such layers?
She had expressed her hope that he would protect her like the girls, and Jenny had expressed her belief that she loved him. Yet her spying for Grant had created an element of danger for them all. Had her objection to them returning to their old work been motivated solely by her concern for them, or had she been trying to steer their plans for other purposes? She liked to distance herself from Wilkie, but were they so different from each other? He certainly could not fault either of them. If he had been born that smart, probably he would have put scientific knowledge and reasoning ahead of all else. If the girls had been given better education opportunities, probably they would have done the same.
But in the end he saw himself and the girls on one side of the divide, and Alice and Wilkie on the other. On the other side, abstract principle and procedural rules governed. His father had lived his life on that side and Séamus had admired Barbara Coates so much for her dedication to that approach to life. As a government agent he had wanted to be the same but, when he was finally tested in the crucible of action, he had realized he was a very different sort and that was something which could never change.
"You seem deep in thought," Chrissy remarked, standing over him. He looked up. God, she now looked amazing in a tiny bikini.
"I was wondering why my head hurt. Are you working tonight?"
She sat down next to him. "Yes, unless you plan on showing me a wild time."
He signaled the waiter to come over. "You enjoy your work?"
"Strange question. It's fine. You're not proposing marriage are you? Be careful, because I'll accept."
Séamus grinned and ordered two coffees. "Are you missing the other girls?"
"Wow, this is deep. A little bit. We make an amazing team. Are you lonely, Séamus? Are you sure you don't need some physical comforting?"
"I think I've been getting my fair share recently. I mention it because they say how much they're missing you. Not just as a friend but as someone who brings real balance to the team. The girl with the cold, hard logic."
"Yeah, they balance me, too. Make me less selfish and think more about others. As I said, I'm fine with my work here, but now I realize I only reach my full potential when I'm with them." She paused. "Any news on the Consortium?"
Soon after escaping England, Séamus had explained to the girls about The Call. Jenny and Tina had thought it all made perfect sense, Phyllis had speculated that it was a message from God, but Chrissy had a hard time understanding why anyone would bother sending such a message if they weren't going to get a reply for thousands of years. The others had tried to explain that this was a natural urge for an intelligent being, and Chrissy had grudgingly accepted that fact.
"Nothing yet. But something else very interesting happened. There's an international news journal that's widely read throughout the world, so accessing it from somewhere like here doesn't throw up any dangerous red flags. That's why the British Government uses it for getting messages to people which it knows are hiding from it. It's like a third party for safe communication. Well, my agent's number was listed there in this morning's issue. They are asking me to get in contact, implicitly for some type of discussion."
"Do you trust them?"
Séamus sipped his coffee as the sunlight began fading. "In one sense, yes. I'm sure they have a genuine offer to make which is worth me considering. Perhaps an offer of our freedom in return for helping them with something. I'm obviously going to try and find out more. I can promise you, I'm not going to make any decisions until I've had the chance to thoroughly discuss it with all four of you."
Chrissy nodded. "I know that, even though you have no obligation whatsoever to do so. None of us would raise any objection if you simply told us what you planned to do." She put her arms round him, and he looked down to see where her bikini top left a bright white line. "We still marvel at the huge sacrifice you made for us. None of us could ever imagine anyone else doing that for girls like us. I mean, freaks like us who were not much more than a source of money for even our closest family members. It's not just that we owe you more than we could ever repay. It's because you made us all feel special in a way we never dreamed of."
She rested her face on Séamus's shoulder. "Even Tina?" he joked.
She grabbed his chin. "You bad man. You know Tina's ultimate dream is for you to fall in love with her."
"But not yours, obviously."
Chrissy narrowed her eyes. "FitzGerald, why would I give a ruthless man like you such power?" She turned to join him looking at the fading sun. "I think you know I'm a bit like some of those poor gamblers in the casinos. I could be the richest woman in the world with love, then just suddenly blow it one crazy night. Maybe I'm much sicker than the others. Maybe I can't believe anyone wants to be with me for more than a short time, so I make sure it's even shorter than they expect."
"Chrissy, I just think you love freedom too much and you're not going to trade it for anything."
"Maybe, Wise Guy." She released him, drank her coffee and looked him in the eye. "So you were basically checking how ready I was to team up again with the other three? The answer is, any time, Boss. I can love them or I can leave them, but if you want the Feline Four back together then it sounds like fun to me. I leave you to decide what's dangerous and what's not. If you want my personal opinion, we already gave these governments a chance and they blew it. I don't give them any preference just because they call themselves governments. The Syndicate has so far been a good employer, and I remain intrigued by the Consortium geeks. I mean, they're likely to be better lovers than the average businessman, aren't they?"
She drained her coffee. "Anyway, I need to shower and change. See you for breakfast?"
"Of course. By the way, Chrissy, did you finish this book?"
"Yes. I enjoyed it. I'm sort of like the early Meg Moon, don't you think? I wonder if love could make me do what she did?"
"You think the book is about the power of love?"
Chrissy pulled a face. "More like the ultimate futility of love. Well, maybe that's a bit harsh. The limitations of love. Personally, I think Meg should have stayed with her truck." She kissed Séamus's cheek, wrapped a sarong round her waist and walked up to the road.
Séamus watched her leave, then turned back to see the sun disappear. The only meaning to his life came from actual people who put their trust in him. Without that simple trust he knew he was nothing, or at least nothing special which for him was virtually the same. He was the girls' protector, first and last. It was a complex protection because it was not just of their bodies but had now become their souls and their personal fulfilment. The G-13, the Syndicate and the Consortium were being viewed through the lens of the girls' interests, and any decision made would be governed by that one criterion. Pure love, or a pure substitute for love? Maybe he was just too simple, but the question didn't seem to worry him.
Two months later, the same thoughts went through Séamus's mind as he lay in bed after waking with the sunrise, finding the effort to rise and take a shower. That day he was to receive a very important document and, if all went according to plan, would attend a very remarkable lunch. In order to respond appropriately to the conversation at that lunch, he wanted to review a number of pieces of correspondence with a fresh mind. After showering and putting on a pair of shorts, he carried his breakfast to his balcony table and sat there with his reading material, looking out over the coastline and the vacationers already arriving on the beaches. He never tired of that view. Chrissy was down there somewhere, sharing time with some vacationing executive who had had the bad luck to become entranced with her.
After breakfast he began to review the recent messages he had received from the other girls. As he read through the texts, each of them seemed reasonably satisfied with her current life. Each had managed to finesse their escort roles so that they were essentially on excellent retainers with a handful of wealthy clients. They had made ample money, both for the Syndicate and themselves. They claimed to be well treated, feel secure enough, and not lack for any physical comfort that was of value to them.
Yet, reading the correspondence again, he did detect a growing element of restlessness. Tina had fallen in love once, only to be disappointed again. She felt she needed something else to occupy her mind to prevent herself becoming obsessed once more with the pursuit of romance. Jenny felt she was not spending enough time with her sisters, and was afraid of them forgetting about her. Phyllis often asked if her experience that evening had made her a member of an elite group of deputized agents, and was there any way she could parlay that membership into a new career.
Séamus checked his watch and realized it was about time to leave. He dressed and left his apartment, taking a taxi across town to a large, three-star hotel. There he went to the 21st floor, stood in the doorway of the entrance to the service elevator and waited. Five minutes later a boy emerged from the elevator, placed a large envelope in the corridor, and took the next elevator down. Séamus continued waiting where he was but kept a remote cam watching the envelope. A maid walked past with her trolley, saw the envelope, picked it up and put it on her trolley. When she entered the next room to clean it, Séamus called that room and the maid answered the phone. He asked about an envelope and, when the maid said she had found it, instructed her to bring it downstairs immediately, but also bring her trolley for some special supplies to another floor. The maid found Séamus waiting for the service elevator. During the journey down, he knocked over some of her supplies and took the envelope while she wasn't looking.
In a cafe a few blocks away, Séamus ordered cappuccino and read the documents in the envelope. They included an official report into the incident at the facility. The report concluded that Séamus FitzGerald had acted in justifiable self-defense, and in the necessary defense of individuals he had been charged to protect. Those individuals had also all acted in justifiable self-defense. A serious error in communication within the Agency had led to the deaths of two agents and the disability retirement of two others. An unnamed Agency principal had been terminated. All charges against Séamus FitzGerald had been dropped and none made against the individuals who had been under his charge. Another document in the envelope was a signed order from a judge. Séamus was a free man. But there was even more. A commendation from the Chief for bravery in the line of duty.
Though he had been expecting the documents and had wondered if his precautions in collecting them were overkill, holding them in his hands was a moment to savor. His months on the run had taken a mental toll and just then he felt light-headed. He could now talk to Alice and the girls whenever he wished. He could even call Sheryl.
But he had to get his mind disciplined for his lunch which, given the documents' safe receipt, was now certainly going to take place. He decided to run through all the relevant information one more time, now from the perspective that the Agency was no longer his mortal enemy. Sometimes, facts looked different depending upon which side of the battle-lines you found yourself. It was a bit early to imagine himself back in the Agency's camp, but it surprised him how even his resentment at his treatment seemed to have left him. His gravitational pull seemed to be towards the Establishment, rather than as a soldier in the Grant army and its allied forces.
As he entered the restaurant, the two faces he noticed gave him a slight sense of déjà vu from the Friday evening in January. One was Terry Lawrence, the man from the Ministry, looking immaculate in his pale summer sports coat. The other was Barbara Coates, who noticed him across the room and waved. Séamus kept his eyes on her smile as he approached the table, trying to read something new into it, but it struck him as impossible. She was just too good at knowing how to present herself. Lawrence looked up to see him, and on this occasion his response was markedly different. From barely acknowledging Séamus last time, this time his eyebrows were sufficiently arched to imply some element of interest and respect. It was purely a formal expression, not pretending to act out a real emotion inside. Séamus wondered if he would ever be in such a position in his life where the mastery of such an expression would be of value.
Barbara and Lawrence both rose to shake his hand, causing three waiters
to appear and move their chairs back into place as they sat down. The senior waiter described the dishes that day, about which Lawrence asked a number of searching questions. Barbara then made her choice and Lawrence held out a hand to Séamus.
"It all sounds good to me," Séamus said to him, "so why not just double your own order?" He was interested to note not even a flicker of a frown from either of them.
"Congratulations on the commendation," Barbara said, which Lawrence echoed. "Of course it's terrible that such an event had to happen, but if there is one positive note out of the tragedy it's the example you have set the Agency. There can be no better example of the principles our Agency stands for than the actions you took that night."
You know my actions could not have been further removed from your precious principles, Séamus thought, but it was pointless having that conversation. To begin with, it would appear to accept that she was not the one who had arranged the incident, carefully ensuring that someone else would take the blame.
"Barbara, if I may address you that way," Séamus replied, "You will hopefully forgive me if I no longer think in terms of being a role model to other agents. Almost half a year feeling like a public enemy does curious things to the mind. You start to become cynical about all and every cause. You become focused on survival, a bit like the way a stray cat knows it has to attack mice and birds to survive. So what you have sitting before you is what might be called a predator mentality. I cannot claim to be operating under any set of principles."
Barbara gave him a closed-mouth smile which he felt was intended to be both understanding and comforting. She glanced over at Lawrence to suggest that it was his cue to speak.