Jezebel's Ladder (8 page)

On her way out, she said, “That’s
okay; I’m not wearing any underwear right now.”

He dropped the phone, but managed
to pick it up again without too much fuss.

Jezebel was able to return to her corporate apartment that
night as the official head of Eye Corps. The next morning, dressed and rested
for the event, she met with the other department heads. First, Jez handed
Crusader the contact information from the woman at Spago, along with her
description. “At least one team has been following Benny. I spotted the car on
the way to lunch yesterday. This woman was too friendly.”

Benny blinked, unaware that he had
people after him or that Jez had noticed.

Crusader grudgingly admitted, “Good
catch. We’ll run this down, but if they had tried a kidnapping, you would have
been helpless. You shouldn’t be in the field until you’ve been certified in
self-defense.”

Jez grimaced. “I can’t cut back my
time in the field. We filter out half of our nightly missions that way.”

Crusader said, “Then one of my
agents has to accompany you at all times until I’m satisfied that you can take
down a two-man Rex team.”

“Seconded,” Benny said.

Jez looked over the schedule on her
phone. “I have an hour and a half I use every day to work out. That slot will
be reserved for physical training till you tell me otherwise, but my kids come
too.”

Crusader balked. “I like Flakes.
She has spunk and she’s sneaky. But I don’t know about Oobie. It’s hard to fight
from a chair.”

Jez said, “He’s got great arm
strength, and no one would expect him to fight back. Work with that. The
Project doesn’t succeed if my people die.”

With a silent glance at Fortune for
confirmation, Crusader agreed. “We’ll start after this meeting.”

“Any other changes?” the London chief asked.

Without padding for egos, Jez said,
“We have to change your screening procedures. Now that we know what categories
the pages fall into, I need Dirt Bag’s team to concentrate on Life Sciences and
Buddy to concentrate on Space Fundamentals.”

“That’s not how we do things!”
Fortune erupted from the TV screen at the head of the table.

“This is the only way we can beat
the competition,” insisted Jez.

“We don’t know that this
cockamamie, three-part theory of yours holds any water,” complained the big
boss.

Jez remained calm. “Then give me
six months. If I can’t prove the effectiveness of the new model in that amount
of time, I’ll step down. But you have to commit to it 100 percent, or nothing
is going to work.”

“Two months,” Fortune snapped.

“Four,” she countered. “And I’ll
give you the butterfly if I’m wrong.”

Fortune stewed for several moments.
“Three months, not a day longer.”

Everyone let out the breath they
had been holding. With the big pill swallowed, the rest should be easier. Jez
glanced at her notes. “We need help with the red-giant viewer. I’m convinced
that there is more to that device than we know. The Anomaly and Ideal Planet
pages need to be integrated into the core somehow, but someone has to hold both
concepts in their brains at once.”

Everyone around the table agreed.
Trench Coat pressed, “What do you suggest?”

Jez took a step onto the thin ice. “In
addition to following up on Whirlwind, I need you to reach out to the Midas
project, the people who know about pages in our own government.” Rumbles of
objection sounded, but Jez raised her voice above them. “Whoever or whatever
wrote these pages, they
require
us to work together to solve the puzzle.
Offer to trade Midas access to Ideal Planets in order to get some personnel. If
nothing else, it’ll get the government on our side when war with the Fossils
breaks out.”

All eyes moved to Fortune. “Tentative
queries only. Treaties go through my office.”

“Speaking of treaties, I need the
peace envoy, the swami, and maybe that inventor doctor as soon as possible,” Jez
said.

“Vetting takes time.” Crusader
insisted. “The rest I can expedite, but the swami is from Kashmir, a place rife
with splinter groups.”

Jez replied, “They don’t even have
to know about the Ladder Project. I just want them for their brains.”

Several of the men at the table
chuckled at the reversal. Trench Coat was the only one who seemed puzzled.
Crusader explained, “Miss Johnson is able to use her unique combination of
pages to borrow mental power from experts who are in the same room with her.”

The Intelligence leader paled. “An
intriguing ability.”

 “Let me know if you need group-think
for any difficult problems,” Jez offered Trench Coat. “It works kind of like a
Ping-Pong ball in a tornado, but it hits the mark eventually.”

Biting her lip, Jez pushed the
envelope a little. “Buddy, as long as Space isn’t a problem with you, I need a
favor from somebody with your expertise. Most of the space geeks out there love
certain shows on TV. It would make it a lot easier to recruit them and get
information if you would…”

Benny looked appalled. “I’m
not
wearing a rubber alien suit on
that
show!”

Fortune hooted. “Come on, boy. I’ve
seen some of your Spring Break movies. We’ve already established what you are;
now you’re just quibbling about the price.”

Benny blushed, causing Jez to step
in, “Not that show
per se
. You could narrate another PBS show about
space exploration, make it popular. Go to a few of the conventions. We just
want people to associate your name with the concept of space exploration. You
could even have a booth for your charity there.”

Benny got an evil look in his eye. “I’ll
go to one of those conventions, but you’ve got to be right there, by my side…”

“Sure.”

“…dressed in the femdroid costume.
I have to look the part.”

It was Jezebel’s turn to blush, hem,
and haw. The men at the table eventually razzed and prodded her into the
sacrifice for the team. “Fine, but I’ll need a week’s warning.”

Benny immediately ordered one of
the skin-tight costumes in her size from the studio.

****

The group made considerable
progress toward their reforms. The workout that Crusader provided left Jezebel
black and blue. He pioneered a new technique for their group: defend, analyze
the opponent’s style, and then strike the hole. After several painful
demonstrations, Jez was able to use Simplification to counterattack in a
similar manner. However, she cheated to get the first blow. When she was ready,
she casually asked, “Find any more serial killers?”

Her surprise kick doubled Crusader
over. Once he recovered, he bowed and said, “Now you just need to spar with my
men till you can beat two attackers.”

From the success of her attack, Jez
inferred that he was still looking for aberrant criminals, but without official
sanction. She used her sleight-of-hand training to snatch and bag one of his
sweatbands-just in case Oobie had to track him down later. For good measure,
she sent Trench Coat a discreet e-mail asking him to keep an eye out for
extra-curricular, crime-fighting activities.

****

During her frantic two hours of
packing before her recruiting flight to Paris, Jez went over the basics of
Daniel’s nightly routine with Nena in their shared living room. The girl was
good with written instructions, but with verbal instructions more than a few
hours old, she sometimes needed a reminder. “Remember, check his monitors once
a minute during your shift and make sure he works out every afternoon. You
might have to stroke his ego a few times to keep him exercising.”

The girl waved her advice away. She
needed no help bending men to her will. Nena wanted to talk more about the
mission. “You just started in this job and now you’re practically running the
place.”

Jez snorted in amusement as she
stuffed clothes and an encrypted laptop into her second suitcase. “That’s like
saying the fox runs the hunt.”

“Everybody’s talking about your
promotion. People who don’t gush about you are terrified of you. What’s your
secret? Did you sleep with Mr. Hollis?”

“No,” Jez replied instantly. She
wanted to say,
And you won’t either
. Instead, the older woman paused to
consider. She had learned to do this with every important question to avoid
sharing too much. “I know where we have to be in five years to survive; the
rest of them are just playing spy.”

The first-class, commercial flight to Paris was a rare treat
for Jezebel. The handsome, young man in the seat next to her introduced himself
as Gerard, a psychologist on his way to give a lecture on sexual practices and
their influence on the Japanese and French aristocracy. Although the stewardess
offered samples of several fine, French wines and Gerard pressed her to try
some of his, she refused. Over five-star cuisine, they had several intriguing
conversations. Slide fifty-seven from his presentation was particularly
intriguing. He was cute and his accent was to-die-for; nevertheless, in the
middle of the night, she turned down an opportunity to try out slide
fifty-seven in the bathroom. “I'm flattered, but I need to be focused when we
land. However pleasant, that would be a distraction.” Instead, she read the UN
Bill of Human Rights and Plato’s
Republic
, taking copious notes.

In the morning, as Gerard picked up
his carry-on to leave the plane, he handed her a card with only a phone number.
“You are more adept than we suspected. I am authorized to offer you one million
dollars a year to work for a winning team.”

Suddenly, she felt vulnerable. He
had her boxed in, with no opportunity for a solid kick. Bodyguards from the London office wouldn’t be meeting her till she got through the baggage claim. “I think you
might have me confused with someone else.”

“Fortune will fall sooner than you
think. A smart woman like you knows where the future will be.” He dropped a
tiny pellet on the arm of her seat.

“Poison?” she asked. Fortunately,
she was still sitting, because the brush with death was making her dizzy.

“I would sooner deface the
Mona
Lisa
, but next time, it won’t be me. Decide soon,
chérie
.”

She slipped the pellet into her purse
before it rolled to the floor and some poor janitor got exposed. Heart racing,
she staggered off the plane and went to the phones. Hand shaking, she dialed
the number for Benny’s cell. “Buddy?”

He sounded genuinely glad to hear
from her. “Hey, Dirt Bag’s team has a new lead. A Falun Gong cell that claims
they have a combination of proteins and vitamins from common plants and herbs
that provides all the nutrition a human body needs. He sent out friendly scouts
to see if the brew has any Golden assistance. He’s taking you seriously!” After
a pause, hearing nothing but a choked sob, Benny snapped to alert. “What’s
wrong?”

“Fossil contact. Join or die. Expect
another attempt on DB soon.”

She heard his warm voice say, “Understood.
Anything else I should know?”

“I need a bloody drink. Double the
guard on Oobie, one guard in his room and one outside at all times.”

“We can scrub this mission
immediately. Catch the next flight home. I’ll send two men along.”

“No. Now it’s more important than
ever.”

He paused and his tone grew softer.
“I wish I were there to give you a hug when you need it.”

The heartfelt sentiment meant more
to her than slide fifty-seven ever could have. Jez reminded him, “The rules say
we can’t risk more than one of us in the field at a time. You need to stay
safe.”

Hanging up, she composed herself
for a long minute before going out to meet her team. Belatedly, she regretted
risking the butterfly on this trip. If she had fallen asleep on the long
flight, the enemy agent could have stolen it. She couldn’t afford to screw up
again.

****

Since she had arrived at 7:00 a.m.,
Jez had the driver take her to the hotel first. She had to shower, eat, and
psych herself up for the meeting. She chose the charcoal-grey, skirted suit
with a burgundy, silk, sleeveless chemise—competent yet feminine. Her shoes
were black and low-heeled. She put in eye drops to dampen the effects of
fatigue and fear.

Back in the car by 8:30 a.m., she
arrived at the target’s office early. An exceedingly hairy man with a Liverpool accent briefed her in the back seat. He had coarse hair everywhere. Even his
elbows were wooly. “Wolfman Jacques,” the man told her.

“
Hypertrichosis
?” she asked. He nodded. “
Dirt Bag can be an ass with his code
names.”

“I think it’s revenge for his own,
ma’am. They’re more tolerant here. I was Werewolf of London when stationed
there and Hairy Potter before that. This is still better than working in a
carnival.”

When she closed her eyes to
concentrate, his voice reminded her of the Beatles. “The subject is Thomas
Pierson, a Belgian national, forty-one years old.” He rattled on about
education, scholarships, and a long list of professional accomplishments. “He
succeeds when just about everyone else has given up, but it takes months
longer.”

The hirsute man handed her a stack
of photos in a file labeled “Peace Pipe.” Tom had a narrow, clean-shaven,
unassuming face that made his thick glasses stand out all the more. Some of the
photos dated back to his Oxford days.

She smiled. “Does Tom have any
skeletons I should know about?”

“His only known vice is smoking a
meerschaum pipe in his study. He wife left him years ago because he was never
home. There was always another international emergency more important.”

“Hobbies?”

“Chess, stamps, orphans in Africa, and beekeeping. He claims it’s very calming.”

“Do you have the Golden Ticket I
asked for in case he needs proof?”

“Trench Coat didn’t authorize that.”

She blew out a cleansing breath and
let the anger go. “We’ll improvise. Have you scanned his office for bugs?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I have to assume the Fossils know
where I’m going today and have the place under surveillance.” On a whim, she
asked, “Do you know the song ‘Yesterday’ by the Beatles?”

“I only know one song by them, Mum.”

“Sing it,” she ordered with her
eyes closed.

He gave a rendition of “Blackbird”
in a pure tenor that spoke of years of suffering, but the song also radiated
encouragement. If this man could persist in the face of everything life had
thrown at him, she could make it through one meeting.

When he finished, she sighed. “You
should do
that
for a living.”

“You think I’d get respect?”

“Better, I think you’d get laid
every concert,” she offered. While he was still reeling from the odd
discussion, she asked, “Is there a park around here where they play chess?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said pulling out
his phone for a search. “The closest chess club is a café near Luxembourg Park, very popular with the pensioners.”

“Phone him and change our meeting
to the café.”