Chronicles of Conversations

Cindy Lou rubbed her eyes. Awakened at four, her heart racing, she found herself gasping for air, the result of a nightmare that had taken over her dreams. She didn't know if she could go back to sleep after the experience, and instead went down to her computer to try and track down the authors or owners of the website that she was most concerned about.

By now, the press had picked up on both of the stories that the site had mentioned, putting their own slant on them. Almost universally, they praised IR for their care of the tiger, citing its rarity and congratulating IR for seeing the need for preserving such an endangered animal. As for the termite story, the press tried to get solid confirmation of the existence of the program, but found no official who was willing to tell them what they wanted. Cindy Lou snorted a small laugh and shook her head as she read the remarks made by the head of Interpol, Piers Donovan.

"At this point, we have no comment to make on this subject," he flatly stated. The press put its own spin on this statement as well, most of it speculation on what Interpol was trying to hide.

She rolled her eyes. Interpol, like most agencies of any kind, had plenty of information leaks, leaks that were either approved and covert, non-approved but overt, or non-approved and covert. The only thing that travels faster than light is gossip, she mused. She yawned, and glanced over at her vidphone. Maybe I should give Jeff a heads up on this. And let him know about those computer specs I sent along for Brains. Doing a quick time zone calculation, she frowned. I hope I can catch him. He may be asleep by now. It would be good for him if he was. Well, if he is, I'll just leave a message and he can get back to me. In any case, Marvin will email him.

Jeff was closing down his computer for the night. He had gotten an email from Penelope, stating that she was safe, settled in, and had an early morning appointment with one of the senators who represented Great Britain in the World Senate. He stood and stretched, feeling the muscles in his shoulders tighten and relax. He was about to leave his desk when the vidphone rang. Who's calling at this time of night? Irritated, he thought about letting the answering service take the call, but a quick glance at the number and the name of the town turned his irritation to pleased surprise. He sat down again, leaning back in his chair, and answered the call.

"Hello, Jeff?" Cindy Lou's face appeared, framed by tousled red curls that showed a recent rising from bed. She was also in her modest bathrobe, a fact that did not escape Jeff.

"Well, hello there, stranger," he quipped. A bit of mental math and he continued, "You're up early."

"An' yoah up late," was her quick retort. "Don't you evah go to bed?"

"I was about to when you called."

"Oh, Ah'm sorry Ah called then. Ah can call back latah."

"No, no! It's okay. We can talk now. How's Gardiner, New York?"

"Cold, still. But th' Catskills are lovely. Can't wait t' see them all covered with green. How's life on th' ahland?"

"Quiet for a change. No new 'business trips' to report." He scrutinized her carefully as she yawned. "You're looking better. The bruising is disappearing and the swelling is gone."

She nodded. "Mah shoulder's just a little sore. Ah've stopped usin' th' sling, at least indoors. Hard t' use a mouse when yoah arm's in a sling. Ah 'spect t' ditch it entirely by th' end of th' week."

"I'm glad to see the improvement," he commented. Looking at his clock, he continued. "Well, enough chit-chat. Between the late hour here and the early hour there, I doubt this is a social call. What can I do for you?"

"Well, Ah thought you ought t' know that th' 'bug's' on th' loose, an' it's in Interpol's systems."

He frowned slightly. "I saw the news. How did that happen?"

"Franks or one o' his pals musta opened th' files while tryin' t' verify th' inf'rmation. Ah don' know how they got into Interpol's computer's, but they did." She let a breath out through her nose. "Theah are those who are blamin' yoah 'family business' for th' 'infestation'."

Jeff's frown deepened. "Who?"

She sighed. "There's a website o' two that are at th' forefront o' this. One o' them had a critique o' yoah last 'business trip' hours before th' legitimate press did. An' they had th' news about th' 'infestation' hours before th' press broke th' story."

"Hmph," Jeff remarked, shaking his head. "I should have realized. I know we're not universally accepted or liked but policing the cranks hasn't been a top item on my agenda. Still, it's disturbing that someone's getting news out about us so quickly. Any idea who's responsible or where they're getting their information?"

Lou shook her head. "No. Not yet. Ah've spent mah time since th' nightm... since Ah got up, lookin' into it."

Jeff thought for a moment about what she had almost let out and considered whether or not to press the issue. He decided to do so. "Lou, you were about to say 'nightmare', weren't you?"

She looked away, and when she faced the screen again, she had lowered her gaze and her eyelids. "Yeah. Ah was. But... there's nothin' you can do. It's gonna happen an' Ah just got to deal with it." Meeting his eyes on the screen again, she said, "It's not th' first time Ah've had t' work through somethin' like this, Jeff. It'll take time, but... Ah'll survive."

He gazed at her in silence for a moment, then nodded. "I won't press, but if you need a listening ear, I've had plenty of experience."

She smiled a little. "Ah appreciate th' offer, Jeff." Then she squared her shoulders. "Any news on Franks's whereabouts?"

Now it was Jeff's turn to look away. He looked up at the ceiling as if asking for providential guidance, then he faced her squarely. "Yes. My people think they've run him to ground."

She looked surprised. "Where? Where is he?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you."

This brought out a frown. "Why not?"

"Because," Jeff began, trying to choose his words carefully. "Because... I'm afraid you'll go after him on your own."

Lou huffed out a breath and gave him an "I can't believe you just said that" look. "Jeff, if there's one thin' Ah learned from mah work with Interpol, it's that a good cop does not go into a dangerous situation without back up she can trust. An' Jeff? Ah was a good cop."

"Still, I'm not telling you," he reiterated. "My people will confirm his location, then deal with him and his cohorts accordingly."

"Ah hope they can do that, Jeff. He's as slipp'ry as an ol' catfish."

"I'll keep that in mind."

There was silence between them, then Cindy Lou said, "Oh! Ah'm sendin' some interestin' computer specs to the man with the glasses. For a duplicate 'Net connection like mah own. Has he put th' bug in yoah antivirus program?"

"Yes, it's there." In fact, it was one of the first things Brains had done on his return from Atlanta.

Cindy Lou relaxed a little. "Good."

"Lou? Could you send me the URLs for those... cranks' sites, too? I'd like to take a look at them."

She regarded him thoughtfully. "Ah su'pose Ah could... as long as you don' get yoah blood pressure up over them. You let me take care o' those sites. This is th' kinda work Ah'm best at. Ah'll send 'em with th' specs. Or Marvin will." She yawned widely, belatedly covering it with a hand. "Well, Ah'd bettah let you go. Yoah bed awaits, an' so does mahne; at least until th' cats come callin' for their breakfast. Ah'll keep lookin' for whoever's behind that website."

"I appreciate it, Lou," Jeff said, smiling softly. "You get some sleep and I'll do the same. Have a good day."

"You have a good night, Jeff. G'bye."

"Goodbye." The conversation ended, and Jeff sat back, absently picking up a stylus and beating a tattoo against his chin. Anti-IR websites? It was inevitable that things like that would pop up. But I hoped that people... well, I guess I'm an idealist in a lot of ways. He yawned, dropped the stylus back onto the desktop and levered himself out of his chair. With a final glance at the room, he activated the lift that made his desk rise to the ceiling, turned out the light and headed to bed.

At her own computer, Lou shook her head slowly and yawned again. With a click of her mouse, she powered the machine into a stand-by mode. Looking over at the clock, she thought for a moment. Might be a better idea to get my run in while the day is early. Then get a shower. I can always nap later. Nodding to herself, she headed upstairs to her bedroom to change into running clothes.

"Hey! When is the maid coming to change the linens?" Franks flippantly asked the household guards that came with his breakfast. He had been locked up for two days. Meals had been served, but no metal cutlery was provided, just a plastic spoon, which wasn't very easy to eat with. Nor were the meals very appetizing since he had a mere ten minutes to bolt them down under the watchful eye of the guards.

From his room he could see the Minister's helijet rise into the air, winging its way toward the sea. "So, where's your boss man going, eh?" he asked between hurried bites. The guards remained impassive. Franks had learned the day before that they were under orders to be silent. He had cursed at them in several different tongues, including the local patois, and though he thought he saw an angry glint in the eye of one of them, he got no other response.

The marginally smaller of the two kept an eye on his watch, and when the mealtime was up, he nodded to the larger man, who yanked the tray away.

"Give my compliments to the chef," Franks quipped sarcastically as the guards left him, locking the door securely behind them. He ran a hand through his hair; at least the room came with a bath and he could tend to his needs. Plus his small reserve of clothing had been laundered while he was still in favor, though his belts had been confiscated, along with anything that might possibly be made into a weapon. So was anything that he might have used to contact the outside world, including the laptop and its link.

He rubbed his stubbled chin. I could really use a shave. Looking around his relatively comfortable cell, he tried to remember where he had found the vid device. To him, it was a given that he'd be watched while he was there. So one of the first things he had done was search the room thoroughly. He had found several audio surveillance devices, but only one for vid feed. We did a much more thorough job at Lucinda's, he thought derisively. I wish I knew why there had been so much damn interference on the signal.

Flopping down on the bed again, he put his hands behind his head. I wonder how long Alvarez will keep me here? Not that I'm complaining; I expected to have been shot by now. The longer he waits, the happier I am. I hope I can think my way out of this. I can't count on his "generosity" forever.

"Madam Senator?" The cultured British tones of the secretary to the Honorable Addison Kennicot, Senator representing Great Britain, rang out in the Senator's plush office.

"Yes, Anne?"

"Your nine o'clock appointment has arrived."

"Excellent. Please send her in."

Anne opened the door, and a young woman with dark, nearly black hair glided into the room. Addison studied her very carefully. There was something familiar about the woman, something that reminded her of an old friend from Rowden... She rose and offered her hand to the newcomer.

"Addison Kennicot."

"Alison St. Clair."

Penelope smiled, hiding her surprise at recognizing the woman who rose from behind the teakwood desk. Here was her old friend, Addi, whom she had not seen in several years, not since Addi's graduation from Rowden the year before her own. They had been close once, but had lost touch over the intervening years. I had forgotten that she had married and what her married name was, Penelope thought with alarm. I had no idea that she had gone into politics. That was not her intention when she left Rowden.

For her part, Addison tried hard not to stare at her guest, even though she was sure that she'd seen this woman before. Instead, she offered the lady a chair and sat back down behind her desk. "What can I help you with, Ms. St. Clair?"

"The Prime Minster is planning a visit to Unity City in the near future, with hopes of addressing the combined houses of the World Government," Penelope began, aware of the scrutiny she was under. "He has sent me ahead to put things in motion for that visit. I need your help in contacting the appropriate people." She leaned toward Addison as if conveying a confidence. "This is my first assignment of this sort and though I am familiar with the names of the officials I need to see, I felt that an... introduction from your office would help me along. Establish my credentials, so to speak."

Addison nodded. "Ah, I understand. Who is it you wish to see first?"

Penelope removed a PDA from her briefcase. "Let me see. Ah, yes. First, I must see the secretaries in charge of chambers to schedule the visit." She glanced up at the Senator. "It will be at least six months from now, if not later, depending on the legislative schedule." A slim finger made the page scroll up for her, then she said, "And once the date is set, I am to see the Minister of Security to make arrangements for Mr. Trevelyan's safety. The hospitality secretary and Congressional Press Secretary would be next, I think, to set in motion the reception and the printing of various forms. Also the televid and Internet coverage."

"Hmm. The secretaries in charge of chambers should be no problem; I shall have my secretary call ahead for you. The Minister of Security is in mourning, and has been for weeks. However, you may speak with his secretary, Mr. Ramirez. Perhaps he can help. I fear that the Press Secretary would be out of the office today, also. It is his golf day." Addison shrugged slightly. "I shall have her call the hospitality secretary for you as well, but do not expect an appointment with them for today. They are very busy."

"I am sure they are," Penelope murmured. "If I could see the secretaries, those in charge of chambers and Mr. Ramirez, sometime today, I should be very grateful."

"I will see what I can do. Would you leave a number with my secretary where you may be reached?"

"Of course." Penelope took out a business card, engraved with the symbols of England, and introducing her as Alison St. Clair, from the office of the Prime Minister. She also pulled out a slim pen and underlined a phone number. "I am staying at the Embassy. This is my satellite phone number, should you need to get in touch with me yourself. I will leave a copy with your secretary." She held out the card, and realized that Addison was staring at her, a look of intense concentration on her dark face. "Is there a problem, Madam Senator?"

Addison shook herself. "Oh! Please excuse me. I didn't mean to stare. You look very much like an old friend of mine. Perhaps you know her. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward."

Penny assumed an expression of thoughtfulness. "I think I may have heard of her. Doesn't she model for François Lemaire?"

Addison smiled slightly, and nodded. "Yes, I believe she does."

"Then I have heard of her, and seen her picture. I must admit, no one has ever compared me to her before."

"Ah. If you were blond, you would look very much like her." Addison took a deep breath and let it out, then smiled widely. "Well. I shall have my secretary make those calls and she will get back to you. If there is anything else I can do to help while you are in Unity City, please let me know."

"Thank you, Madam Senator, for your time and your effort on the Prime Minister's behalf," Penelope said quickly. "I shall await your secretary's calls."

The two ladies stood and shook hands again. Addison walked her guest to the door and with a final farewell, the two parted.

Penelope moved as decorously as she could to the elevators and down to the lobby level, opening her satellite phone and speed-dialing a number. "Parks? Please bring the car around."

Addison walked over to as small table, where she kept a carafe of spring water and two crystal glasses. I cannot fathom what you are up to, Penny, but you could not fool me, your old friend, no matter how hard you tried. She sipped the water, looking out the window of her office to watch her recent visitor get into a sleek, silver Rolls. No matter what you are doing, I am sure you are still on the side of the angels and His Majesty's government, and I shall do all in my power to help. We Rowden girls must stick together!

In the Rolls, Lady Penelope let out a deep breath. "That was close, Parks. Too close."

" 'Ow so, mil..." Parker paused before coming up with the appropriate word for their cover. "Ay mean, madam?"

"The senator I visited turned out to be an old friend from Rowden. I hope she didn't recognize me and if she did, I sincerely hope she keeps it to herself."

"Ay 'ope so, too, madam. Ay 'ope so, too."

"Finally!" Baye Mohenu shouted. He looked over at his disheveled and hollow-eyed companions. "I've quarantined the beasties!"

Light applause broke out in the room as the computer techs, who had been recruited one by one to deal with the fast-moving, fast-multiplying termite, sat back in their chairs. Some stood and looked over the walls of Mohenu's cubicle, congratulating him. MacPherson did a quick check on her comrade's work and cracked her first smile in hours, then she stood up stiffly and joined him in his tiny office. "Yes you most certainly did it, Baye," she said, holding out her hand. "Congratulations. Now to copy the program as evidence and exterminate the thing."

He took her hand and flashed a bright smile. "Then we can tell Mr. Donovan the good news," replied Mohenu.

MacPherson nodded, then took a sip of her soft drink. "After that, I'll probably go home and sleep for twelve hours straight. Then back here to assess the damage and figure out what files we have to pull from the back up archives."

Several people groaned at her proclamation. "Hey, it has to be done," she said with a shrug. "I just hope that a copy of this thing didn't find it's way into..."

There was dead silence, then the people who had been hanging around scurried back to their cubicles. Mohenu sighed heavily, and turned back to his computer.

Up in his corner office, a weary and short-tempered Piers Donovan was having a tough interrogation via vidphone.

"But, Mr. Donovan, I swear it wasn't me!" said the balding, middle-aged man on the other end of the connection.

"The I & M people here tracked it down to your log-in, Watts!" he growled. "You still haven't given me a good explanation as to how someone else could have logged on as you and planted that termite."

His intercom buzzed, and he answered it as Watts sputtered, trying to convince the head of Interpol that he was innocent. "Yes?"

"Neussel on line three."

"I'll take it."

The vidphone's screen split, and Ilsa Neussel's picture appeared on it. She was older, with short cropped gray hair and a long face that had a perpetually sour look to it. Donovan put an earphone with a mike in one ear and listened.

"Neussel here. Watts's alibi checks out. His credit cards show the purchases he indicated and the waitress remembered him because his kids were acting up and he was constantly trying to control them."

"Thanks, Ilsa."

"One more thing. Myles is nowhere to be found. I had a team out to her last known address and the house was empty. The neighbors said she moved and left no forwarding address. I'm sure it had something to do with the home invasion that occurred recently."

"Hmm. Keep working on it. I'd like her input on Cho."

"Right. I'll work things from this end, but you might want to be the one to contact the other victim in the matter. He might know where to find her."

"Who was that?"

"Jefferson Tracy."

The head of Interpol frowned. "The Jefferson Tracy?"

"Yes." Neussel looked at her PDA. "He told the locals he was visiting 'an old friend'."

Donovan was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I'll deal with him personally. I've got to get back to Watts. Thank you, Ilsa."

"You're welcome." The line went silent, and Donovan turned back to Watts to find that the man had also gone silent, his face covered with sweat. "Well, good news for you, Watts. Your alibi has been verified. Now, tell me: who paid you for your password?"

"Señor Ramirez will see you, now, Señorita St. Clair." The pretty receptionist smiled at Lady Penelope as she rose from her seat and led the Englishwoman down a short hallway to a set of double doors. Opening one side she introduced her companion in Spanish, then motioned for her to enter.

"Gracias," Penelope responded with a smile and a gracious nod. The receptionist returned the nod, and went back to her post.

"Welcome, Señorita. I am Fernando Rafael Ramirez, secretary to his Excellency, the Minister of Security," said the man, coming out from behind his desk and offering her his hand.

"Alison St. Clair." As she took his hand, she studied him carefully. He wasn't much taller than she was; he was fit and looked sleek in his designer suit. He had a well-tanned, weathered face that made him look older than his fifty years. His dark hair was slicked back from his receding hairline. He smiled, but the smile never reached his equally dark eyes. They made small talk and he bade her sit down in one of his comfortable leather chairs. He sat across the desk from her, his hands steepled at the fingertips.

"So, Señorita, how may I be of assistance? I understand that you wish to arrange security for the Prime Minister's visit?"

"Yes," Penelope began, feeling a bit uncomfortable with his gaze on her. "I have consulted with the secretaries of chambers this morning, and the Prime Minister will be visiting in nine months' time..." She shook her head. "I am so sorry, but I was instructed by my employer to speak to His Excellency himself..."

Ramirez's smile faltered a bit, and his hands came down, fisted at first, then he laced his fingers together and sat up straighter. "I am also sorry, señorita, but that is quite impossible. His Excellency is seeing no one. He has been in mourning for his family. I am afraid I will have to suffice."

Penelope made a little "O" of her mouth, and put a hand up to it. "Oh, the poor man! I had no idea! What happened?"

His smile got wider, and his voice took on a resigned but sympathetic tone. "Señora Alvarez and the niños were flying home to Columbia when their helijet went down in the Gulf of Mexico."

"Oh! Now I remember!" Penelope said, looking thoughtful, "But that was well over a year ago. Surely His Excellency would be done with public mourning..."

"No, he is not," Ramirez said, a tad sharply. He softened his tone. "Forgive me. His Excellency's loss weighs heavily on all of his staff."

"Of course," Penelope murmured. Then she sighed heavily. "I am afraid we are at an impasse, Señor. My explicit instructions were for me to consult His Excellency personally. I should very much dislike to return to my employer without having done so."

"Why does the Prime Minister insist on your speaking to His Excellency?" Ramirez asked, puzzled.

She looked at him coolly. "For security reasons, of course. I apologize, Señor, but I do not know you any more than you know me. Nor does the Prime Minister know you. However, he does know His Excellency. The Prime Minister would much rather entrust his safety to His Excellency and then allow him to decide what portions of the plans you should or should not know." She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a folder, one marked with an electronic seal to show to him. "Even I do not know the details of what my employer is asking for in regards to his security. This is between him and your employer. I am in charge of setting the plans in motion... and delivering this only to the hand of Señor Alvarez." She paused then said in a slightly pleading tone. "You do see my predicament... do you not?"

Ramirez was simmering, but he forced himself to be polite. "I believe I do, Señorita. I shall convey your message to His Excellency. He will not return to Unity City until he deems his period of mourning to be over, but... he may invite you to his home. I shall call you to inform you of His Excellency's decision. However, I make no promises of an invitation, and ask you to have your employer reconsider his position."

Penelope sighed with relief, and smiled. "I shall. When may I expect your call?"

"By the end of this day," he replied, almost dismissive. "You may leave your information with the receptionist."

"Thank you, Señor Ramirez, for your time," she said, sounding eager and holding out her hand.

He glanced up and saw her outstretched hand and, as if suddenly realizing he needed to put on at least a show of politeness, stood and shook it once. Then he opened the door for her. Penelope was sure that if he dared to slam the door behind her, he would have. But all the social niceties must be obeyed, no matter how internally angry you may be, she thought as she stopped to make sure the receptionist had her business card with all of the pertinent numbers.

As she descended in the elevator, she lifted her satellite phone to her ear and called for Parker. He was waiting when she emerged from the Ministry of Security's building and handed her into the Rolls.

"Where to, madam?"

"The Embassy, Parks. I must set up a meeting with our fellow agents and coordinate the information we have already. I may be bearding the lion in his den, and I shall need some back up."

Parker's eyes gleamed. "Very good... madam," he said as he pulled out to return his employer to her quarters at the British Embassy.

Ramirez sat back behind his desk, going over the previous conversation in his mind. Then he reached for his vidphone and made a call. When the connection was established, he said, "Your Excellency. We may have a problem."