Sam arrived as he did. She carried a small satchel and there was a gleam in her eye that he recognized as her geek alert. She had a challenge in front of her and she could hardly wait to tackle it. Ike hoped she would be successful, and then wondered again why he bothered with this stuff. It was none of his business, he could get both himself and Sam in trouble, and when all was said and done he’d have very little to show for his efforts. He was only after the murder of Sacci, right? But his tenure in the CIA and its aftermath had left him permanently irritated with the world of secrets and operations conducted in the dark. National Security was one thing; geopolitical manipulation was another.
After consulting several photo IDs and asking Ike to sign a receipt, Essie’s slick and sassy woman handed Ike a package and left.
“Rudest woman I ever met,” Essie complained. “Didn’t say a word except to tell me the coffee was burned. What’d she expect? It’s been in the pot since six.”
“Make us a new pot will you, Essie. Sam, have you got everything you need?”
“I don’t know, for sure, Ike. I may have to run to the mall. Let’s have a look at that thing.”
Ike slit open the tape on the package and extracted a smaller box and a slip of folded paper.
“Ha! Charlie writes us a note to wit; ‘Do not try to read the contents of this file. It’s all lies anyway.’ Then he adds this post script, ‘I mean it, Ike. The boss is watching.’”
“So what do we do?”
Ike smiled. “Charlie knows that the surest way to get me to snoop for the contents of this chip is to tell me not to. We tackle the thing. Here you go, have at it.” He handed Sam the small box and they walked into Sam’s office/communications center.
She carefully tilted the contents of the box into her hand and inspected it.
“It looks like a micro memory card like I said. Let’s see if we have a carrier.” She poked about in the envelope she’d brought and removed an SD memory card carrier and held the two up side by side.
“Will it work?” Ike peered over Sam’s shoulder. That sort of close proximity by men made her nervous. Except Karl, of course, and there were times when she’d as soon he were in front of her, not crowding her space. She wondered some times if it was some kind of neurosis. She’d never confided it to anyone else. Maybe she should. She sat straighter, forcing Ike to retreat marginally.
“You’re in my light,” she lied and Ike stepped back. “The contact points look like they are in all the right places, but this chip is way thinner.”
“Can you make it work?”
“Oh, yeah. Remember I told you about people in the intelligence business having to have identical equipment on either end of the sending and receiving system?” Ike nodded. “So here’s an example. If they’d used a complicated chip, you know, custom-made and all that, then the person who received it would have to be in possession of the same special equipment. What they’ve done, and your pals in the Agency have reproduced, is a chip that can be read by the kind of card reader you can buy in any electronics shop, camera store, or on-line.”
“I thought you said it was too small.”
“I didn’t say too small; I said it was thinner. All I have to do, and all the recipients would have to do, is fatten it up with a layer or two of card stock. This will only take a minute.”
“So, it’s different enough to dissuade an amateur but if you know what the thing is, it’s no big deal.”
“Right.”
Sam used nail scissors to cut three small squares of card stock and carefully glued them on the chip. “We’ll have to remove the glue when we’re done here.”
“That going to be a problem?”
“No. It’s school paste. Heck, my little brother used to eat the stuff. It’s water soluble. Okay, here we go.” She slipped the chip in a carrier and that into her card reader. The file opened up in Adobe, “There you go. Piece of cake.”
“I think it would be a good idea if you didn’t look at this file, Sam.”
“Why? It’s got to be junk, like in the CIA’s accessible computer site, right? What’s the harm?”
“I’m thinking that if the Agency does send in a goon squad, you can say with a straight face, ‘No, I didn’t read it.’ Capisce?”
“I don’t capisce…well, okay. But you’ll tell me what you think it means, right?”
“Perhaps. Copy all this for me, and then, Karl awaits, so hit the road.”
***
It took Ike less than twenty minutes to read the documents. His Hebrew was nearly nonexistent. It had been a long time since his bar mitzvah and he’d not had much use for it since, but he got the gist. The same was true with his Arabic. You use it or you lose it. He lost it.There was an interesting bit in French that he could make out, written by a French advisor to their air force probably. It didn’t matter. Now he knew what the CIA intended to quash and what the Mossad wanted to keep out of the wrong hands—the USS Liberty. The damn business wouldn’t go away and in the divisive political climate that characterized the day, resurrecting it could be a bombshell, true or not.
Undoubtedly, the information on the original chip, now in the hands of Charlie and his friends and copied, analyzed and summarized by a half dozen sub-directorates, formed the thrust of their next move, whatever that might be. Bully for them. In the meantime, the originals were still out in the Near East somewhere, ready to resurface if the senders of this batch wished to try again. The Mossad and the CIA would scour the desert for them. But the critical thing at the moment was to keep a request for another chip or package of some sort from being requested. The recipients of this new version had to believe they had the authentic goods. Ike shook his head at the significance. This bit of history of military bungling could not be worth the lives of two, at least two, and who knew how many more on the other end. Madness.
Ike removed the adapter, slipped the chip from it, and peeled away the cardboard. He didn’t bother to clean off the paste. By the time he remounted the thing in its microdot look-alike, no one would notice.
Chapter Thirty-four
Ike finished reassembling the ersatz microdot, fastened it with a dab of rubber cement on the eye of the icon, his icon, spritzed it with a puff of varnish, and called for Billy.
“He’s out running some errands, Ike,” Essie said. “He’ll be back directly.”
“Errands? What kind of errands? I don’t remember asking him to run errands.”
“We needed some things down to the store and since he didn’t look too busy at his desk, and all, I sent him up to the Shop and Save to pick up a few little things for dinner.”
“Essie, I know you are in an acute state of maternity and your judgment may, therefore, be somewhat impaired, but this is a police operation and on-duty deputies do not, I repeat, do not, slip out to ‘pick up a few little things for dinner’ unless, and only when, I say so.”
Essie blushed. Her jaw dropped. In all the years she’d worked the dispatch desk Ike had never spoken to her that way.
“I’m sorry, Ike, I didn’t think…I’ll get him back.” She spun in her seat and toggled the radio key.
“You do that.”
Ike felt badly for snapping at Essie. There wasn’t a disingenuous bone in her body, but hormones or something had changed her from the smiling hard worker to a grande dame, and he needed to nip it in the bud. He’d apologize later. He retreated to his office and began wrapping the icon for transport to Dakis’ place. Billy scuttled in the front door, conferred with Essie, shot a look in Ike’s direction, and hustled into the office.
“Don’t blame Essie, Ike. I was the one who thought I could squeeze the run to the Shop and Save. You were tied up with Sam and all, so…well, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”
“Billy, you know I run a pretty loose ship around here. I am happy for the informality, the lack of…” Ike took in Billy’s unorthodox uniform. He’d substituted a Stetson for the standard issue campaign
hat and cowboy boots for shoes. Hardly any of his deputies were ever in proper uniform, including Ike. “Convention, and I adore Essie. She has been a loyal, always cheerful, encouraging employee, and friend. It’s that lately she’s become,” Ike searched for the word he wanted, “imperious.”
“Say what?”
“She is acting like a queen bee. That has a lot to do with her pregnancy, no doubt, but there is a time and place for everything and, I hate to say it, the dispatcher does not assign duties, or dispatch you or anyone else to the store. Not in this office. At home—maybe, but not here. Send her in. I’ll apologize and we’ll have a coffee.”
“Doctor says she shouldn’t be drinking nothing with caffeine in it.”
“Is that why she substituted decaf in the urn?”
“You knew about that?”
“I used to be a spy, remember? Now, I want you to take this icon out to Dakis. Tell him to put it out where the thieves, if they come, can easily see it without having to tear his place apart, but not to make it too obvious. I wrapped it in a oversize box so that if the bad guys are watching the house, they won’t see that an icon is being delivered by the Sheriff’s Office. At least that’s the hope. Tell you what, have a civilian do it. No, send one of our volunteer auxiliary deputies. And then call and make sure Dakis understands what he’s to do.”
“Right. Got it.”
“Tell him to make a point to be away several nights in a row so that the snatch can be made and he won’t get caught in the middle. Tell him one man is already dead because of that icon. Maybe two men. Now git, and send in Essie.”
Billy hustled out the door and Essie swiveled out of her chair and heaved herself erect and walked to the office. She seemed so different now. Before Billy, before her pregnancy, she would have swooped into the office. Now she moved slowly, not a waddle exactly, not yet, but definitely not a swoop.
“Ike, I got these messages for you and I’m sorry for being pushy. I guess I been here so long I sometimes think I’m home, like, this has been my home for so long and now me and Billy…well, I’m sorry.”
“I got carried away, and I shouldn’t have barked at you. The truth is, you are the heart of this department and so, your baby will be our baby. So, forget I said anything.”
Essie brushed away a tear and dumped a stack of pink call-back slips on Ike’s desk.
“Anything important in there?”
“The usual complaining by the mayor. He’s upset you ain’t enforcing the uniform dress code like he told you to. The State Highway Patrol people want to know if we have anyone on the force that would like to transfer over. I guess they miss Frank. You think they want him back? And Ms. Harris called and said it was urgent, like, and you should call her. Oh, and thank you for the ‘heart of the department’ thing. I’ll get back to work.”
Ruth answered on the first ring.
“What are you doing answering your own phone? Where’s Agnes?”
“Busy. We have an emergency. I need your help.”
“Is it serious? I’ll be right out.”
“No, it’s not that kind of an emergency. I don’t want you to come out here. Well, not until tonight at the party, at least.”
“So what is it, then?”
“Mother.”
“Your mother is the emergency? How does that work?”
“Never mind. She showed up in the office an hour ago. Agnes is entertaining her in the cafeteria at the moment. My God, Ike, she wants to move in with me.”
“Is that bad?”
“Damn, Ike, I told you about her. She’s nipped and tucked and…you know. I hardly recognize her.”
“And you want me to do what? I could arrest her for impersonating a celebrity. She could move into the jail, but I don’t think that’s what you had in mind.”
“Don’t start with me, Schwartz. I want you to call your dad and invite him to the party tonight. Tell him he owes me for showing up at Dolly’s debut on short notice. And he should bring Dolly with him, too. I need reinforcements.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Ike arrived at Ruth’s party as presentable as possible. Clothing, sartorial acumen, he would say, was not his long suit. He managed to own one—a suit, that is—and could, if given enough time, manage a decent four-in-hand knot on his necktie. Left to his own devices, however, his preference went to golf shirts, slacks, and his scuffed walking shoes. But Ruth wanted to show him off at his best and, then, there was her mother, whether to impress, dazzle, or contain, he couldn’t be sure. The party seemed in full swing. A string quartet rubbed well-rosined bow over cat gut, and the room rattled with chatter. On his way in he scooped up a martini from the bar set up by the front door, downed it and helped himself to a second. He spotted Ruth in the corner listening to an older faculty member, probably one of the retirees in whose honor the party had been mounted, and worked his way over to her.
“Excuse me,” she said to her companion. He smiled, nodded a greeting to Ike and drifted away. “What are you drinking?”
“Martini. I haven’t eaten since this morning, I don’t think, and I thought, given your apparent panic, a small buzz might be helpful.”
“Oh, that’s great. As you predicted, my mother is flirting with the junior faculty, the older ones are giving me the fish-eye over my engagement ring, and you’re on your way to getting shit-faced.”
“Tsk, how you talk. Your mother never taught you to say shit-faced. Shall I tell on you?”
“Shut up. That’s her over there with those two assistant professors. They’re new and single. What am I going to do?”
“Ah, you are in a panic. I will limit myself to two of these concoctions—maybe three, but no more fear not.”
“Listen to me, Sheriff. Two is your limit or there will be no joy in the morning.”
Ike swung his gaze across the room in the direction Ruth had indicated. “That’s your mother? Wow, you’re right. She certainly has reinvented herself, enhancements and all. I can still see a resemblance. So, that’s what you’d look like as a blond. Worth a try.”
“Forget it. Can you imagine what my faculty would say if I showed up blond?”
“I was thinking of variety. Maybe a wig, in private. What do you think?”
“Men! Forget it. Where’s your father?”
“My father said, and I quote, ‘I’ll be along directly soon’s Dolly has her beauty rest and then puts on her face.’ I assume it’s the same face she had on the other night, but with women of a certain age, you never know.”
“Okay, enough already. It’s time to meet Momma.” They made their way across the room and stopped in front of Ruth’s mother. “Ike, this is my mother. Mother, Ike.”
“It’s nice to see you again,” Ike wracked his brain for a name. He should know it from the old days. Ah-ha…“Paula.”
“It’s not Paula anymore, but how did you know?”
“I visited your house, the dean’s residence. It was years ago.”
“Oh, my, you were one of John’s ‘young men.’ That explains a few things. Not why you’re here playing at sheriff but…Well, isn’t that ironic.”
“Yes, you could say so. You say you’ve changed your name? Retaken your maiden name or…”
“Maiden name, how quaint. No, as I am now an author, I have a nom de plume. I am Eden, Eden Saint Claire.”
“I see. So you’re a writer? Ruth didn’t tell me. What are you writing?”
“An exposé. The dark side of academe. I’m calling it Ivy League Peyton Place. What do you think?”
“Very catchy, but I’m not sure many potential readers will get the reference. The TV series ended nearly forty years ago and more years than that since the movie and book.”
“Ike knows all this stuff because he watches old movies, don’t you, Ike?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling your daughter, but the truth is, you caught me. I’m an eighty-year-old man. I happened to have lived an ex
emplary and sheltered life as an ovo-lacto-vegetarian, which accounts for my youthful good looks and stamina.”
“He also fancies himself a comedian, but nobody believes that either.”
Ruth’s mother watched the exchange between the two of them and grinned. Ike thought she must have had plastic dentistry; was there such a thing? Implants, caps, or veneers to finish the rest of her makeover.
“So, what shall we do with the weekend?” Eden Saint Claire asked.
Ruth and Ike exchanged looks.
Abe and Dolly made an entrance and bee-lined to them.
“Well, well, there you are Miz Harris, excuse me the Misses Harris.” Abe scooped Paula/Eden in a bear hug. “This here is a real pleasure.” He released her. Eden recovered and turned her amazing white and straight teeth in a huge smile on Abe. “And I want you to meet Dolly. Dolly Frankenfeld, this here is Ruth’s momma.”
Dolly and Ruth’s mother made a startling contrast. Dolly trim and statuesque, but decidedly her age, platinum, and Eden Saint Claire, gold but decidedly neither one of those other things.
“Mother has come for a visit,” Ruth said.
“Her name is—” Ike began.
“Eden Saint Claire.” Ruth’s mother extended her hand. Dolly took it without batting an eye. Old school, Ike thought. You’ve got to love it. She’d shake hands with the devil if he was introduced properly.
“I am thinking about settling here,” Eden declared. Ruth rolled her eyes at Ike.
“Why that’s plain super. Here in Picketsville? Say, why don’t you come out to the farm, and me and Dolly can spend the weekend showing you around. You’ll love it here. I can show you some places in the valley you’ll love and Ike, here, has a friend in the real estate business who could fix you up in a jiffy.”
“What a wonderful idea. Mother, you’ll love Abe’s place. Country, fresh air…What a great idea, Abe.” Ruth sounded a little desperate, Ike thought and glanced at her mother to see if she noticed. Eden Saint Clair looked quizzical but did not lose her smile.
Abe Schwartz winked. Dolly inspected Eden Saint Claire the way a mongoose surveys a cobra. It promised to be an exciting weekend.
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